At the urging of my publicist, my teenage daughters, the church staff, and practically the whole universe, I entered the world of social networking in 2009.  This despite the fact that no one in their right mind would write a "book" about my "face," "twitter" sounds like someone with a caffeine addiction, and LinkedIn reminds me of either sausage links or the fact that I'm a really bad golfer. 

I've now accumulated almost 600 friends on Facebook.  But, are they really? 

In a recent New York Times magazine article, Hal Niedzviecki asked this very question.  Soon after starting a Facebook account, Niedzviecki had accumulated about 700 on-line "friends." In his own words, he was "absurdly proud of how many cyberpals, connections, acquaintances, and even strangers I'd managed to sign up." But he went on to point out that due to a 2-year-old at home, his "workaholic irritability," even his love of being left alone, he had fewer in-the-flesh friends to hang out with than he'd ever had before. So he decided to have a Facebook party to push his virtual friends into actual friends.

Niedzviecki invited all 700 of his "friends" to a local bar for a party. People could respond to one of three options: "Attending," "Maybe Attending" and "Not Attending." Fifteen said they would be there, and sixty said they might be there. He guessed somewhere around 20 would show up.

He writes about what happened next: "On the evening in question, I took a shower. I shaved. I splashed on my tingly man perfume. I put on new pants and a favorite shirt. Brimming with optimism, I headed over to the neighborhood watering hole and waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually, one person showed up."

And the one woman who showed up to meet Niedzviecki? He didn't know her. She was a friend of a friend. They ended up making small talk and then she left.

Hal waited till midnight but no one else showed up. So, he ordered a beer and sulked. He concludes his article with these words: "Seven hundred friends, and I was drinking alone."

Jesus himself had thousands of followers on his Jerusalem Facebook site.  But when He threw a Facebook party at Golgotha, they all allowed two simple pieces of lumber to get in their way.  I wonder if Jesus thought from the cross, "Thousands of followers, and here I am being offered vinegar to drink--alone." 

"Greater love has no man than this," the Lord said, "that a man lay down his life for his friends."  And so at Calvary Jesus proved to be the greatest friend I could ever have. 

I want to be that kind of friend to YOU in 2010.  I want to go beyond Facebook and Twitter and really serve others.  I want to experience the depth and breadth of friendship this year.  As my dad always said, "Son, you have to BE a friend in order to HAVE a friend." 

So here's to enjoying rich, abiding friendships in this new year.  Pass the sausage links, please. 

Watch this YouTube video in its entirety first, then you'll understand my comments.  (And if someone can patiently teach me how to embed video in this blog, I'd be grateful!)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4-94JhLEiN0



By now you're either rejoicing at the creative celebration, or your sensibilities have been offended.  If it's the latter, reading any further won't do your blood pressure any good.

There are all types of Baptists.  Southern, American, National, Northern, Independant, Regular, Primiitive, Reformed, General, and probably even Specific.  I'd like to start a new quasi-denomination--Dancing Baptists.

Just look at the wedding party in the video.  Can you imagine a closer group of friends?  I wish I was in their circle.  Obviously they didn't learn all that choreography in one quick Friday night wedding rehearsal.  But what a celebration!  I don't know the bride or groom, but I found myself wanting to celebrate with them.  I was so happy for a couple I've never met. 

And just where's the solemnity befitting the occasion, some might ask?  Please.  Who says you can't take vows seriously and smile at the same time?  There are those in life who seem to make it their goal to warn others if they smile too much.  Where's the reverence?  Where's the organ?  God surely can't be for this, can He?  But dance is throughout the scriptures, first because it was a valid cultural expression, and second as a metaphor for life itself and the acceptance of Christ (Matt. 11:17). 

I think this couple got it right.  (Some will scoff at the woman minister, but that's another discussion for another day.)  Jesus invites us to a wedding feast.  Someday in heaven there will be rejoicing and celebrating like we've never known.  I'm afraid us Baptists are going to be left out if we don't learn that God gave us happy feet that need to be let out of the box every once in awhile. 

Pirouette, anyone?

Hugh

www.hughpoland.com
http://twitter.com/HughPoland

Someone wise once said, "Find a job you love to do, and you'll never have to work a day in your life."  I know I have found it in being a dad.

I admit, I've not been much on Father's Day in the past.  Sure, we get together as a family, and I enjoy seeing my dad, watching a ballgame with him, etc.  I usually receive the obligatory tie from my kids (thankfully, I didn't get one of those this year!) and the card with the sweet sentiments. 

But yesterday was absolutely the best Father's Day I've ever had in my life.  It started off with a very memorable time of worship, led by men from our Creative Arts Ministry.  The men rocked!  And the congregation responded.  God was in the house, and it was just a great day of worship. 

Then my little family and I packed all of our instruments in the truck and headed down south.  We ate lunch at my in-laws, and they all began to look at old pictures.  Wow, 20 years ago I was 50 lbs lighter and didn't have grey hair.  I saw pics of my wife in high school.  She was and still is awesome looking.  My only regret is that I didn't meet her sooner.  I'd love to have known her back then and say I married my high school sweetheart. 

Then we went to my folks house.  My father is 81, and I can only assume he might not have too many Fathers Days left.  So we decided to do a "sneak" concert for him in his living room.  We brought the drums, keyboard, bass, guitar, mandolin, ukelele, and all necessary amps.  Can  you say Partridge Family wannabes?  We went there to be a blessing to him.  But as usual, God turned the tables on me, for it was I who was extremely blessed.

With my oldest daughter Kayse on guitar & vocals, Jayme on bass and vocals, Ally on drums, and me on keys (+ my brother on anything else that needed covering) we had our own time of celebration & worship, one we won't forget for a long, long time.   Dad's face lit up with joy, and I knew we were touching his heart in a powerful way. 

When we got back home to Kingwood, I laid awake much of the night, with my heart as full as its ever been.  It's so easy to get picky & critical with family members.  They do this.  They don't do that.  They did this wrong. 

But for me, I was in awe that God would allow me to be part of a family that is still maturing in the Lord.  No, my parents weren't perfect.  But they weren't out getting drunk & running around on each other.  They weren't abusing us in any way.  They were strict, but they loved us, and still do in very tangible ways.  They've made their boys their life, and have set much aside to bless us and their six grand-kids. 

I'm also in awe as a dad.  My kids aren't perfect.  But I don't have any worries that they're out doing drugs, running with fast boys, or getting into serious trouble.  I say this not to brag, but to boast in the Lord.  It's all--repeat, it's ALL--God's grace.  One of my prayers for them over the years has been that when they are guilty, they are caught--that they might never get good at lying or becoming deceptive people.  And God has answered that prayer.  No, we're not talking Mother Teresa here, but my daughters are senstiive to the Lord & others around them.  They have brought much joy to my life. 

I'll never be a land baron or appear on any list from Forbes.  Unless they come up with "American Idol for Middle-Aged Men" I won't be rich & famous (and I wouldn't win, anyway!)  But if I was to die today I could say I can't be happier.  Being a dad and the son of a dad is the best job in the world. 

I'm in my fourth and final week of the "Fat Farm" workout class here at WBC.  At least, that's what we used to call it years ago.  Nowadays that's not too PC, so we call it "Fitness Boot Camp."  'Course that's probably an insult to the men and women in uniform who go through a REAL boot camp in order to protect our country.  So I'll just call it four weeks of the most intensive, grueling workouts I've ever done.

Make no mistake--I'm no athlete.  Years ago the coach would tell me, 'Poland, you're a double threat--you're both short AND slow!"  I've never been in great shape, although I certainly weighed less in school than I do now.  But I'm not obese, and I thought, "How hard can it be?" 

Are you familiar with the Bataan Death March?

Here's the results after 3 weeks of suicides, skullcrushers, squats, thrusts, and enough crunches for a forklift full of cereal--

I've lost maybe 4-5 pounds.  But my pants definitely fit looser.  I no longer have to inhale all the air out of the room just to get 'em zipped up.  So, the work has been good.  After the first 20 minutes of the first day, I wanted to quit, but I've stuck with it.  And I like the results.  So will I stay with it?

Not on your life.

At least I'm honest about it.  Truth is, it hurts.  It's tough.  I don't like exercising at 5:30 in the morning.  OK, I don't like exercising anytime of day.  It costs me comfort & is an affront to my laziness.  It would be easier to simply throw stones at the fitness program; i.e. "It's too hard" or "It's unrealistic" or "I don't like the program, the instructor, etc."  (Truth is, we've had a fine instructor who has patiently worked with us.)

OK, in the words of my favorite TV detective, "Monk," here's what happened . . .

I kept going to the fitness class because of positive peer pressure.  I didn't want to have to face my collegues around the office and wear the shame of sleeping in while they were working hard.  And once I was there, I worked hard because I didn't want to look like a slacker or "whimpy." 

Don't get me wrong--I'll try to exercise at home after this week.  And I'll probably stay with it, for at least a couple more weeks.  But long term, I need someone else to push me, to encourage me, to spur me on.  Or I'll slip right back into my bad habits of Blue Bell Ice Cream and a remote control. 

I think a lot of people view the church the same way.  "I don't need what they offer" . . . "It's full of hypocrites" . . . "It's unrealistic" . . . "Too hard." 

I'll admit, loving people is hard work.  Even harder than the exercise class.  That's why I need to stay in the church.  My tendency would be to pull back and hang with people that are just like me.  Of course, after awhile I'd find something wrong with them, too.

But in the church, I find people who provide positive peer pressure, who spur me on, who encourage me, who patiently let me build spiritual muscle.  And I also find people that are hard to love.  Maybe the two are destined to go together.  Especially when I consider that I'm bound to be on someone else's list as "hard to love." 

"And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another--and all the more as you see the Day approaching."  (Hebrews 10:24-25)

____________________

Hey, my latest book is out.  Intentional Walk:  More Devotions for Baseball Fans should be hitting the stores right now.  If you want one from me, you can purchase it in the CAM office from Jeri ($12) or order it through my website www.hughpoland.com  (but you'll have to pay shipping). 

It's a pretty exciting day around here, because something I labored over has finally come to fruition.  My latest book, Intentional Walk, has finally been published by Judson Press, and should be available through www.judsonpress.com, my own site, www.hughpoland.com, or your local bookstore. 

Lest you think this is simply a cheap commercial (well, part of it is!) I've go to admit, there's a lot of heavy lifting when it comes to writing a book, but it's worth it.  The joy of seeing someone "get it" with regard to a spiritual truth that you've written about is pretty exciting.  I feel like it's been a "birthing process" of sort, it goes from idea to inspiration to hard work to panic, and then "push push push" and it's finally out.  (Sorry, was that too much information?)

And I have a feeling that anything worthwhile is the same.  I'm currently taking a 3-day-a-week fitness boot camp at my church.  I don't mind telling you, I'm a whimp.  Right now there are parts of me that we won't go into that have never been sore in my life.  Well, they are now!  The class meets at 5:30 a.m., so I can't say I'm having much fun being there. 

But I'm hoping I'll be satisfied with the end result once the class is over.  I'm also hoping I'll have the discipline & courage to continue what I learn. 

Paul reminded Timothy, "For physical training is of some value.  But godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both this life and the life to come."  (1 Timothy 4:8)  There is some value to exercise of the body.  There is even greater value to exercising your spirit.  And I find that the muscles that I build spiritually aren't developed in easy times.  I develop them by doing hard things, being around ornery people, learning to love and forgive my enemies, being patient with others, training myself to BICHOK (it's a writer's acronym--anyone know what it means?) 

I have such a long way to go as a writer.  I have even farther to go as a Christ-follower, a husband, and a dad.  Here's hoping that you'll see fit to run alongside of me, train with me, be patient when I stumble, and encourage me along the way.  I sure want to do the same for you! 

I recently read a fascinating book by Dr. Katrina Firlik, a neurosurgeon.  The book provides a great glimpse into the training and work of a brain surgeon.  Firlik writes with super insight and humor, and I recommend the book highly.  

There's are great lessons to be learned from her stories, and one in particular has really spoken to me.  I've paraphrased it here for the sake of brevity.  She describes a scene in an exam room late in the last year of her residency at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center, a time when she was already becoming jaded to the tragedies of neurological devestation: 

I walked into yet another examining room . . . a brand-new consult from out of town:  18 years old, cerebral palsy, spasticity.  OK, ok, I've seen this before, I just need to get a good history before my attending (physician in charge) walks in . . . I looked at the patient for a second:  very skinny, special wheelchair, amrs contracted, headsupport in place, mouth hung open.  It was clear I wasn't going to get the story from him, so I turned to the parents  . . . and started to take down the history.

(When) my mentor walked in, I cringed . . . He sat down on the examining table, introduced himself, and focused his gaze back on the patient.  After what seemed like several, almost uncomfortably quiet seconds, he looked the patient in the eye and asked, "So, when did you graduate from high school?"  The young man's face lit up like I had no idea it could.

My mentor had noticed something I had missed.  The patient was wearing a large high-schol ring, so large that it looked a little silly on his bony finger.  His body, far more than his mind, had borne the brunt of his cerebral palsy.  He was a proud, beaming high-school graduate, who used a specialized computer to help him communicate.  For the remainder of the visit I sat in the corner, duncelike, humbled by the enormity of this ring now staring me in th face. 

I too, make snap judgments everyday.  Most are innocuous, like where and what I will eat, or what songs we will sing on Sunday.  But when I judge another person and assume I know their story, (or worse) assume they wouldn't be a good candidate to become a Christ-follower, I make the saddest mistake of all.  It's so easy to view people as a statistic and not as a person that Christ died for.  I have misjudged many people over the years, and proven I'm not worthy to sit on the bench.  "The LORD does not look at the things man looks at," God reminded Samuel.  "Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart."  (1 Sam. 16:7-8)

Lord, help me see people through YOUR eyes this year . . .

As I told my wife when we were standing in line at Best Buy a few days before Christmas-- "Ssh--I hope no one sees us buying this--I'll be REALLY embarrassed."

What was it?  The DVD collection of Season One of the Dukes of Hazzard?  A CD of "Michael Jackson's Greatest Hits"?  A backup copy of Windows Vista? 

All of those would make me blush, but the gift I didn't want to admit buying for my kids was "Guitar Hero." 

Now I have to admit, until I went in the store, I thought Guitar Hero was someone like George Benson or Phil Keaggy or Matt Reviere.  But my daughters have been clamoring for it for some time, and they have patiently extolled its virtues to me these last several wekes.   So a few days before Christmas, I caved. 

But my angst is this--Guitar Hero has nothing to do with music.  

Now I'm probably coming across as a snob, but as I told my wife, "If they would spend as much time practicing a real guitar as they do spending time playing this game, they could be REAL guitar heroes."  

To which Karen just rolled her eyes.

The premise of the game--for the uninitiated among you--is to strum the guitar (which has no strings) or beat the drums at the same time a little bar-icon passes by on the screen.  Grudgingly, I can see how the game might increase rhythmic coordination.  But you're not making any music with it.  

Music, at it's foundational level--comes from the heart.  It can't be boiled down to a mechanical repetitious movement.  It's something that is alive, something that flows, that takes on different characteristics & moods & tempos & crescendos as you play it.  It calls forth your deepest joys and tears as you perform it.  It's not a game where you try to hit the bullseye three out of four times so you can win.

When I play music, I don't want it to be the same over and over.  I experiment, I add or subtract, I shape the music as it shapes me, and I react to that.  Whether I'm jammin' with friends or in a quiet room by myself with my guitar or a piano, music is soul, baby. 

I don't think Guitar Hero has a soul.  And after buying it, I wonder if I've lost a bit of mine.  .   

Christmas used to be my favorite "holy day" or holiday.  Since I grew up without a lot of festivity regarding Christmas, I've always made sure we hung lights, listened to nothing but Christmas music from mid-November to Dec. 25, and led my family to decorate a tree, putting presents under it.  I think a lot of this was an attempt to be different from my father, who to my knowledge has never hung so much as an ornament or strung a set of lights in his life.  That's another story, and it's not meant to be a slam against dad.  I just wanted to be different, that's all.

But the last few years, the lights and the music have not been very fulfilling to me, and I think I know why.  I've put way too much expectation in the day, and it always leaves me a little flat.  Truth is, I've always enjoyed the preparation for the day more than the day itself.  And that's why a few years back I began to learn more about Advent, and make it the vehicle by which I worship during the Christmas season.

Advent is simply a season (the four Sundays before Christmas Day) that enables us to once again prepare not only for the birth of Christ, but also for His second coming.  Rather than throw it all on one day (Dec. 25) Advent challenges us to see an entire season of preparation, like a pregnant woman preparing for a birth.  The anticipation, the joy, even the fear and pain, are all part of Advent. 

Historically it was also a time when new converts to the faith prepared for baptism, searching their hearts for sin and impurity, desiring to walk worthy of this newfound faith.  And then they would be baptized on the first Sunday of the new year, or Epiphany. 

There are lots of favorite Christmas carols out there.  One of our least favorite might be "The 12 Days of Christmas," simply because it's so long and repetitive.  And what's with Christmas lasting 12 days?  It's only Dec. 25, right?

Take a look at the lyrics of "The 12 Days."  Many point to the original meaning of the song as a simple tune used for teaching children the basic tenents of the faith during the 16th century.  Others disagree, saying there is not enough evidence for this. 

1 True Love refers to God, and Jesus is the Partridge in a Pear Tree, the one who protects his chicks (see Luke 13:34)
2 Turtle Doves refers to the Old and New Testaments
3 French Hens refers to Faith, Hope and Love
4 Calling Birds refers to the Four Gospels that call out or proclaim the Good News
5 Golden Rings refers to the first Five Books of the Old Testament, the "Pentateuch", which gives the history of man's fall from grace.
6 Geese A-laying refers to the six days of creation
7 Swans A-swimming refers to the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit
8 Maids A-milking refers to the eight beatitudes
9 Ladies Dancing refers to the nine Fruits of the Holy Spirit
10 Lords A-leaping refers to the ten commandments
11 Pipers Piping refers to the eleven faithful apostles (leaving out Judas)
12 Drummers Drumming refers to the twelve points of doctrine in the Apostle's Creed

Perhaps, when all is said and done, historical accuracy is not really the point.  Perhaps more important is that Christians can celebrate their rich heritage, and God's grace, through one more avenue this Christmas. Now, when they hear what they once thought was a secular "nonsense song,"  they will be reminded in one more way of the grace of God working in transforming ways in their lives and in our world.  After all, is that not the meaning of Christmas anyway?

Preparing . . . waiting . . . yearning . . . anticipating . . . I still celebrate Dec. 25 with my family,  but Christmas morning is no longer the pinnacle of my worship.  Now it's an entire season of Advent Candles, Christmas Eve, giving to the poor, soul searching, and deepening of my faith. 

__________________________

If you're looking for last-minute gifts, check out my website, www.hughpoland.com  The little devotional books there have been known to point people toward the One who is the Center of Christmas. 

I'm a sucker for music of another era, specifically 1929-1954, the era of the Big Band in American Pop music.  Now THAT was music to dance to.  Jitterbug, anyone?  Someday in heaven I hope I'll be able to cut the rug like some of the best.  Go ahead--I dare you to sit still listening to an upbeat swing tune by Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, or Tommy Dorsey. 

One song in particular from that era is from Irving Berlin, and Bing Crosby sang it in the movie "White Christmas."

When I'm worried and I can't sleep
I count my blessings instead of sheep
And I fall asleep counting my blessings
When my bankroll is getting small
I think of when I had none at all
And I fall asleep counting my blessings

I think about a nursery and I picture curly heads
And one by one I count them as they slumber in their beds
If you're worried and you can't sleep
Just count your blessings instead of sheep
And you'll fall asleep counting your blessings

What a great Rx for insomnia.  Contrast that with a song from Wayne Watson from the late '80s, which said

My temple is built on wood and of stone
Each space is filled with the things that I own
Idols and gods that call me to bow
I try to be free but there's no freedom now...No freedom now
The ones I hold dear--Those most precious to me
Some days I set them afloat on an indifferent sea
And these things in first place--They're worth nothing at all
At night in my dreams graven images call

And my gods won't let me sleep
And what a man sows that he will reap
I toss and turn at night
I've got places to go, got battles to fight
And my gods won't let me sleep...tonight

Can you relate?  When I make my car, my house, my job, my stuff to be my god, I lie awake at night worrying about how to protect it or how to maintain it.  My gods keep me up at night. 

But when I turn to the One True Living God, I can crash without worries.  Yep, the rest God gives usually leaves me in a comatose state with drool on my face, I'm so relaxed.  Psalm 4:7-8 says "You have filled my heart with greater joy than when their grain and new wine abound.  I will lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety." 

So give thanks today.  I'm thankful for my Savior, my wife & daughters, and about a billion other things.  I've got plenty of grain and new wine.  But the joy of knowing Jesus gives me peace and rest like no other.  (Yawn)  . . . I'm already getting sleepy . . . time to go count my many, many blessings . . .

Ever been ripped off?

I've been using Ebay for years now.  I've bought everything from a penny baseball card to a tuba for $1000. By the way, next time you go camping, wanna guarantee that the spot you pick is secluded and private from all the other campers?  Leave a tuba on the picnic table outside your tent. (And for those who are really hung up on this, yes, I can play the tuba!)

Back to Ebay.  My feedback score is perfect, 100% positive, with over 130 transactions or so.  But I'm in the middle of a transaction now where I'm probably going to have to leave negative feedback, because I think I've been ripped off.

I purchased a trunk for my scooter.  It mounts on the back of the bike, and would be great to have to transport files, books, small items to and from work.  I paid the day after the auction ended, which was 28 days ago, but have never received the trunk.  My attempts to communicate with the seller have been less than successful.  He keeps saying "It's in the mail," or "I sent it to the wrong address."  Lately he seems more defensive, angry and incensed that I would even ask him where the trunk is.  (I think it's in his imagination.)

It's always disappointing when something advertised doesn't meet our expectations.  Whether it's a large expenditure, like that 1983 Plymouth Turismo I bought while in college



(What?  You don't remember the Turismo?  Whenever I tried to enter the freeway, the motor would roar to life--unfortunately, it had to work harder to make the roaring sound, diverting power from the differential, actually slowing the car down when I pressed on the accelerator.)  or something smaller, we can probably all identify with the feeling of being lied to or cheated.  And perhaps nothing is worse than feeling defrauded by a church.

Ever feel like the church sells you one thing but delivers another?  It's pretty easy to get disappointed in other Christians.  The question is not "Will I fail you?" but "WHEN will I fail you?"  Because sometimes I walk authentically with Jesus, and other times I choose to live for me.  It's not right, but it's real. And many who set their eyes on Christians instead of Christ move from disappointment to feeling jaded & disillusioned to being dropouts of the local church.

All I can say is, it happens to everybody at some point.  But you don't quit eating hot bread just because mama once burned the biscuits (look at my picture and you'll see that's VERY true!)  And just because you are disappointed with your church doesn't mean it's time to leave. 

I don't know everything, but I know this--the God of scripture doesn't disappoint.  His children do, but He never does.  Following Him is worth it.  The local church is still the hope of the world.  Sometimes I look at Jesus & the 12 disciples and I think, "Lord, surely there is a better way!" 

Keep the Son in your eyes.  Don't judge the Kingdom of Heaven by it's citizens--judge the kingdom of heaven by the King. 

And if you've got a scooter trunk for sale, let me know, will ya?  I'm tired of balancing my briefcase on the handlebars.