Interviews With Ashton: Russia Meets Father of the Bride

Interviewing My Daughter:

The Best Kind of Working Lunch

Lunch yesterday at Holiday Deli & Ham was a working lunch, of sorts.  I met my daughter, Ashton, to catch up on her life in general and to talk about her recent mission trip to Russia that I first wrote about in "To Russia With . . . Hesitation?"  She went on this 10-day journey with two other young lades from our church, and they connected with a group of 14 others from Texas under the umbrella of Allies in Youth Development, whose stated mission is to train and empower in-country university students to become volunteer mentors to orphans in their area.

I will be sharing several stories of Ashton's perspective of orphan care in Russia over the next few blogs.  I look forward to writing about her perspectives on a graduation at an orphanage, a rat, a future millionaire, an angry little boy, and several others.

Father of the Bride . . . Well, in a Way

Ashton is 18 years old and graduating from Ainsworth Christian School (sounds better than graduating from homeschool, doesn't it?).  Her graduation party is tonight, and plans are in full swing to make it happen.  In fact, my blogging time this morning is cut short by the necessity of my participation in the preparation.

Several years ago, Ashton was in a play that required her to be away from home most nights for the better part of several months.  Or so it seemed.  She began to lead worship for the students at church -- practice every Monday night.  Not too long afterward, she became a licensed driver and the owner of Joey and Sarah Beeson's 1998 Taurus.  In rapid succession, she started going to proms, got a job, became a manager, decided what she wanted to do with her life after college.

Daddy-daughter dates have become much more difficult to schedule.  I have been living as Steven Curtis Chapman singing "Cinderella" and morphing into Steve Martin in Father of the Bride.  I said that out loud to Ashton that yesterday when, at the end of two hours together, I felt like we had just started talking.  That set up a really funny moment last night:

When my wife and I were talking last night about Ashton's graduation party and all the things that we both need to do today to make it happen, my wife dropped this line on me:  "I may need you to stay outside for a while tomorrow night and help with parking."   I had a vision of my 10-year-old and I destroying the neighborhood as we parked vehicles on every square foot of available property.  (If you have not seen Father of the Bride, you totally don't get that -- sorry.)

Starring Role

I promise to share some of my actual interview with Ashton and some of her experiences caring for orphans in Russia -- next week.  But today, I have the starring role in Father of the Graduate.  I have a table to get and set up, a ping pong table to move out of our entry hall, barbeque to pick up, and, yes, cars to park.  Because today, like all the other days before it as Ashton's dad, is not about me.  It's about turning her loose in a world that so desperately needs bright lights like her.  It's about releasing her to be everything God has created her to be.  I'm so incredibly proud of her; words just won't describe how much.

So when you see the guy on the edge of her party with that look that Steve Martin so wonderfully mastered, that's one proud daddy.  I love you, Ashton.

Thanks for reading.

4theVoiceless,
Al

We Interrupt the Regular Blogging Schedule for This Update

In the Process

I have shared several "in the process" foster care and adoption stories with you over the last few weeks:

"Kidney Stones and Heartache: One Family's Foster Care Journey"

"Coach Hammond: Man of Many Hats (and One Very Special One)"

"Coach Hammond: A.K.A. Levi's Dad"  (Updated 5/29/12!)

I want my readers to understand that the process for families going through adoption or foster care is arduous and oftentimes heart-wrenching.  But today, I want to share with you one of the sweetest moments in the adoption process that one of our church family members experienced yesterday.

It's Her!!!

I couldn't wait until Friday, my next regularly scheduled blogging day to give you a quick update on Michael and April Satcher's adoption of little Primrose  (Michael first shared his heart for adopting a then-unknown-to-him Chinese girl in June of 2012 on the 4theVoiceless blog.):

Yesterday was the day that makes adoptive parents' hearts leap: The Satchers received photos of their little girl!  Read more about it and see other photos -- as well as the in-between parts of the Satchers' adoption journey -- on The Satcher Family blog.

Now, back to your regularly scheduled day . . .

Thanks for reading.

4theVoiceless,
Al

3 Levels of Fishing

When my son Garrett and I go fishing, we always call our activity by the generic title, fishing . . . at least at the beginning of the day.  After a few hours, however, the terminology changes.  At the end of the day, we have three different levels of reporting, based on our results:

Level 1: Casting

This is when we spend (usually no more than) a couple of hours practicing casting, removing lures, tying lures, and trying new lures -- only to come up empty.  These are the days that we determine that "there are NO fish in this ENTIRE pond."  (Because if there were, of course we would have caught some of them.)

Level 1 days are also the days that we have the greatest opportunity to default to conversations of frustrations over the fishing.  Simultaneously, these are the days when we have the greatest opportunities to talk about other things that matter a lot more than fishing.

Some days, the beauty of the lake belies the scarcity of fish in the lake.

All it took was finding the right lure!

Level 2: Fishing

Garrett and I call the second level of fishing . . . well, fishing.  These are the days when we get a few bites and maybe even catch a few fish.  The lure (pun intended) of catching fish usually keeps us on the pond an extra hour, at least.  The right lure, the right spot, the right flick of the wrist, make this a different day and take us to the next level.

These are the days when -- in the poetic words of Ernest Lawerence Thayer -- "hope springs eternal."  There are many transferable principles there, principles to be taught and of which to be reminded, on level 2 days.

And then, there's . . .

Level 3: Catching

Every once and a while, we have those days when we catch fish after fish, including some big ones.  There was the time when Garrett and I went with my dad to a pond near his house and caught 27 big bass within a couple of hours.  We may have caught more, but we spent some of that time taking photos of the ones we did reel in.

The level 3 days are the days that keep us going back.  Every time we go fishing, we make our predictions of how many fish we will catch.  Typically, we are optimistic that it will be at least a level 2, perhaps even a level 3 day.

Always a good sign to start catching fish before the sun is up good.

Good morning, beautiful!

My favorite fishing photo -- definitely a level 3 day!

 

A Word of Encouragement

The whole point of this blog is not simply to share my fishing experiences.  The point is this: If you are influencing people at any level, there are various seasons of results.  There are seasons of casting, when our best efforts just don't seem to produce any results.  There are season of fishing, when we see enough results to encourage us to keep going.  And there are seasons of catching, when the results of our impact on others is so great that it can barely be captured.

Whether you are a pastor, a teacher, a mom, a student, an orphan care advocate-- no matter where your place of influence is, be encouraged that there are relationships that are enhanced at all three levels -- casting, fishing, and catching -- if you are intentional about using your influence.  Keep investing.  Keep influencing.  Keep encouraging.  Let God bring the results in His timing.

While walking by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon (who is called Peter) and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fishermen.  And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him.  And going on from there he saw two other brothers, James the son of Zebedee and John his brother, in the boat with Zebedee their father, mending their nets, and he called them.  Immediately they left the boat and their 
father and followed him.  (Matthew 4:18-22)

Thanks for reading.  Fish for people today.

4theVoiceless,
Al

Making the Most of Moore and Newtown

The News You Never Want to Hear

The meetings for this past Monday at our Colonial Hills Church staff advance were drawing to close when we first learned of the deadly tornadoes in Oklahoma that had happened earlier in the day.  After making sure my sister and her family, -- who live in Broken Arrow -- were okay, I began to watch the news about the devastation of this storm.  News that included injuries to one of our church member's parents, injuries that they would survive.  News of damage that resembled a war zone.  And news of the numbers of children in the Oklahoma City suburb of Moore among the casualties.

Normally, the focus of the 4theVoiceless blog is children who have lost or been separated from their parents, but as the funerals have now begun for the children killed in the Oklahoma tornado, I felt compelled to write as a parent today.  A parent grieving with those who will bury their children over the next few days.  A parent who grieved with the parents in Newtown, Connecticut, late last year as they buried their children.

I have walked through the steps of grief with some good friends who lost their 10-year-old son almost a decade ago in an automobile accident.  The Lord was so gracious to them as they steadfastly placed their hope and trust in Him, even amidst their enormous grief.  I know that in Newtown, Connecticut, and in Moore, Oklahoma, you can multiply my friends' grief many times over, and that is an overwhelming thought to me.  I pray for their ability to trust in the Lord, even as the world as they know it has changed forever. 

Newtown and Moore have caused me to reflect on my own children and how grateful I am to still have them with us.  Having dedicated them to the Lord when they were all very young, I am aware that they belong to Him and that Loretta and I are caretakers of His children.  God will take them on His timing, just as He will us.  I hope that that time comes long after we are gone, but, as we have seen with the tragedies in Connecticut and Oklahoma, we have no such guarantees.

Celebrating My Children

I can't imagine life without any of my own children.  I'm so proud of them, for who they are and what they are doing to make a difference in this world. 

Ashton is in Russia right now, loving on orphans alongside Russian college students.  You can read more about that trip in "To Russia With . . . Hesitation?" 

In the photo to the right, she is holding a mouse (or rat, depending on whom you ask) that one of the kids in one of the orphanages had as a pet.  The girl then took the mouse back and put it on Ashton's head.  Ugghhhh!

I am very grateful for the young woman of integrity (amidst the goofiness) that she is and for how she is making a difference in the world . . . right now.


Garrett is finishing up his first year at Lewisburg High School after homeschooling for his first 9 years of school.  I think it was a courageous move on his part.  He has made good grades and found his place on the baseball team.  Though his freshman team's season ended several weeks ago, he gets to be a part of the varsity team that plays for a state championship tomorrow.  He knows the value of simply being a part of the team.  From all accounts he has made a positive impact on his school, and I am very proud of who he is.  He heads to FCA camp next week, and I eagerly anticipate how the Lord will use that in his life and in the lives of others.

Drew is having a blast during Garrett's baseball season, running around and playing with his friends Robinson and Tate (other little brothers of guys on the team).  I have thoroughly enjoyed all the trips to games and the father-son time that he and I have enjoyed over the last few months. 

Drew has recently committed to go on our church's mission trip to Haiti next February, trusting God more than his bank account to provide the necessary funds.  (For those of you who don't know Drew, he's 10 and without a viable job to pay for such a trip; God has already given him a glimpse of His provision for this trip!)  The kids at the House of Abraham are going to love him, and they have the most potential of actually wearing him out -- though I will believe that when I see it!  I love Drew's relentless energy (though, admittedly, it drives me crazy sometimes) and look forward to seeing it used for God's glory in Haiti and other places.

Celebrating Your Children

If you are reading this post today and you have children, I beg you to take time to celebrate them for who they are (not so much for what they have done) and make the most of every moment you have with them.  Use the disaster in Oklahoma and the tragedy in Connecticut to break the ice and say the things that you need to say to your kids.  We are not promised tomorrow with them.  Simply, make the most of today.

Thanks for reading. 

4theVoiceless,
Al

3 Things I Hate About Staff Retreat

Two conferences/retreats in less than three weeks, and I am nearing overload.  The first of this month was the Summit 9 conference in Nashville.  This week, it's the Colonial Hills Church annual spring staff retreat (to be followed by our annual fall staff retreat in a few months). 

Pastor Shannon O'Dell from Brand New Church suggested to us yesterday as he talked leadership with our staff that we should change our title from staff retreat to staff advance since we are not moving backward.  I like that.  Just words, but words matter.  Nevertheless, there are some aspects (besides the obvious being away from my family) about staff retreats or advances that I just don't like.

Not the view -- it's remarkable.  Great backdrop for private times with God.

Not a lack of activity before and between meetings.  We have plenty of opportunities to have fun together during our 3 days here and plenty of opportunities to connect with one another.

Not a lack of inspiration.  Many of our volunteers joined us last night to be encouraged and challenged.

No, there is much to like about staff advances, but there are several things that always come to light.  Necessary things.  The reasons we have these getaways in the first place.  But uncomfortable nonetheless.

1.  You realize how far you have drifted.

Even with the best of intentions and plans, ministry drift happens.  As the small groups pastor at CHC, my primary filter during our conversations, is discipleship, but the principles transfer to the ministry of 4theVoiceless, as well.  What happens between the fiery-hot vision for a ministry and the here and now?  Life.  Busyness.  Unexpected responsibilities.  Choices.  The actual work of carrying out of a vision.

There are certainly stories that reinforce that the vision that God planted in the hearts of leaders is becoming reality.  Our focus in small groups this term has been learning and -- more importantly -- practicing how to lead someone to Christ and how to help that person take the first few steps in his or her new relationship with the Lord.  There are multiple stories of how the Lord has used the most unlikely people to accomplish great advances for His kingdom over the last few months.  This has been one of the most fruitful small group terms I have ever experienced in many ways.

But there are still far too many people who are missing out on what small groups offer.  We term it simply "Discipleship Together."  There are still far too few leaders and groups. 

And still far too many children in need of families.  In need of the knowledge of the Father who loves them.  Too few of the Father's arms (to be clear, that's our arms as the body of Christ) reaching out to them.

2.  You are reminded of how much work there is yet to do.

The fall of man and the effects of sin in this world leave an insurmountable task in front of all who follow Jesus.   As a ministry staff, we get away to a cabin for a few days and talk about what God is doing in our church and the needs that are in front of us.  The need is always overwhelming and intimidating.  The good news is that the greatest work has already been accomplished on a cross and at an empty tomb. 

When we come together on Sunday morning at our Southaven and Hernando campuses, we are encouraged as we worship together with other believers.  When our church all comes together at one time -- what we call our One Church events -- like we did for a giant party this past Sunday, we are encouraged by the growing numbers of Christ-followers in our church.  However, when those numbers are dispersed into neighborhoods and workplaces, they don't seem so big anymore.  There are many who still don't know the Good News of what Christ has done on their behalf.  The work to reach them seems daunting.

Similarly, the overwhelming nature of the orphan crisis -- the sheer numbers of orphans and the complex issues surrounding why many of them are orphans in the first place and will likely remain orphans -- can easily lead one to do nothing.

3.  You realize how small you are.

I don't have the capacity to disciple large numbers of people in their walks with Christ.  I don't have the capacity to make a significant dent in the world's orphan crisis.  I just don't.  I don't have enough of the education or the experience or the creativity or the anything else that great leaders have.

But . . . 

. . . that's the beauty of retreats or advances or whatever you want to call them.  The God I serve is the God of the universe who holds the whole world in His hands, who never sleeps, who knows has known the tiniest detail of every one of 7 billion lives.  He is able to do anything He wants.  He is able to bring me to what He wants me to do and provide everything I need when I need it in order to accomplish His purposes.  By reminding me how small and incapable I am, I realize how big and capable He is.

Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations forever and ever.  Amen.   (Ephesians 3:20-21, ESV)

"He must increase, but I must decrease.”  (John 3:30)

Thanks for reading.  I pray that God shows you how to apply this to your own life.

4theVoiceless,
Al

To Russia With . . . Hesitation?

My daughter is on her way to Russia on a 10-day trip to work alongside Russian college students as they serve orphans there.  I'm not sure it has really sunk in to my wife and me that we are sending our 18-year-old "little girl" to the other side of the world . . . but I didn't hesitate when she first asked to go.  Will I miss her?  Absolutely.   But she should go.

Over the next 10 days, Ashton will experience a culture that she has only read about and heard about from the young adults in our church who went on a similar trip last year.  She will experience up close the orphan crisis that her dad writes about so often.  And so, with no hesitation, I delivered her to the airport this morning with several expectations:

• I want her to see firsthand that anything short of a family is not the best place for a child.  

• I want her to see firsthand how confining an orphanage -- especially one using the large institutional model that most Eastern European nation tend to use -- can be.

• I want her to see how much difference reflecting God's light in a dark place can make.

• I want her to find the children on the edges that I wrote about earlier this week in "Remembering Kickball and Picking Teams".

• I want her to express the joy and hope she has in Christ to college students and orphans who don't know Him.

• I want her life to change forever because of what she experiences over the next 10 days.  

• I want her to change the world.

And so to Russia she goes . . . with no hesitation on her part or mine.

Thanks for reading.  Would you join me in praying for Ashton and the others on the Russia trip?  Thanks!

4theVoiceless,

Al

Remembering Kickball and Picking Teams

Remembering Kickball

I remember kickball from my elementary school days.  The boys from my school would spend the entirety of recess playing kickball.  The best I can recall, home plate was a tree stump, first base was a utility pole, second base was a circle drawn in the dirt, and third base was a fencepost.  We played every day, we argued like elementary-age boys do, and we never got tired of playing.

I also remember the process of picking sides.  Name after name would be called and kids would move toward their respective teams while the pool of players that I was sometimes a part of would dwindle down to just a few.  Even then, everyone eventually was chosen.  And even when I wasn't one of the first kids chosen, I was always eventually chosen. 

I remember that feeling of inclusion after the mounting tension of the team captains choosing their respective teams.  I vividly remember having my name called, whether early or late in the process of picking sides.  It didn't really matter when I was chosen; I was on a team!

"I was never picked."

These were the words of Stephen Ucembe, a pastor from Kenya who shared his tragic story at the Summit 9 orphan care conference in early May.  Pastor Ucembe was orphaned at age five and placed in a state-run orphanage.  The orphans there were not allowed to cry.  They weren't given opportunities to step outside the fenced-in confines of the institution, though sometimes they would climb the fences to get a peek at the world outside:  "Some thought that was the rest of the world."

Pastor Ucembe remembered that visitors from the outside, usually from the United States or Europe, would come to visit his orphanage in Kenya:  "Visitors picked the ones that were cute.  I was never picked."  Cast aside again.

Can you imagine what that felt like?  Perhaps you can.  Perhaps you grew up in a home where you were neglected.  Perhaps you attended school with kids who were so mean to you that you couldn't stand the thought of going back the next day.  Perhaps you can relate. 

I can't.  My last post about Mother's Day (updated earlier this morning) indicates that my childhood was nothing like Pastor Ucembe's.  Oh, I remember the kickball games and sometimes having to wait a looonnng time to hear my name called.  But it was always called.  I can't relate to Pastor Ucembe from my own personal experience.

Chosen

I know that from Psalm 139 that God knows every fiber of my being, that He knew me before I was even conceived.  I know that He knows my name, the number of hairs on my head, my every thought, my joys and my sorrows.  I know that He loves me.  But what does He want me to do with that?  How do I use my relationship with Abba Father ("Papa" / "Daddy") to reach others who may not know Him like that because no one has ever picked them?

Here's one simple way that you may have the opportunity to use:  Notice the children on the edges.  Whether in an orphanage or a classroom or a children's ministry or even within a family, look for the ones that tend to get left out or marginalized.  Maybe they're not as cute as some of the others.  Or as well-dressed or as athletic or as smart or as witty or as outspoken -- the list goes on and on.  Do a craft that makes much of their names (like this one that our team that recently went to Haiti did with the kids there).

You can choose to notice them.  You can make them feel special with high fives and fist bumps and hugs.  And by calling them by name.  Something glows on the inside of neglected children who are lovingly called by name.  In calling their names, you reflect a heavenly Father who values the marginalized children just as much as all the rest . . . and He knows their names.

See what changed Pastor Ucembe's life in Nugget #1 of "5 Nuggets and 5 Questions from Summit 9."

Thanks for reading and for making a difference on behalf of the Father to His children on the edges.

4theVoiceless,
Al

Mother's Day, Roger Staubach, and 10th Birthday Parties -- Updated May 14

Today marks the first anniversary of my first blog post, and it is also the 100th post on the 4theVoiceless blog.  I've had an ability to write (or at least so I've been told) since at least as far back as 7th grade, when I wrote sports stories for the Rankin County News.  That was also when I was a part of Mrs. Knight's English class (which I remember being harder than my junior level grammar class -- in college!).  Mrs. Scharr, my 11th grade English teacher and Beta Club sponsor, encouraged me to write and helped me to hone my still-developing craft.

However, no one has encouraged and challenged me to write over the years like my mom.  In every phase of my life -- high school, college, teaching, coaching, ministry -- Mom has always taken every opportunity to remind me of the skill that she has long recognized in me.

Whether she realizes it or not, my mother has made a significant contribution to the awareness of and movement toward this world's at-risk children through this blog.  In light of that (and also the impending date on the calendar), I choose to write about my mother today, keeping in mind that millions of children close to home and around the world do not have mothers who are actively engaged in their lives like mine continues to be.

Here are five reasons I appreciate my mom.  As you read them, think about five ways that you appreciate your own mother, and -- if you are still blessed with the opportunity -- tell her.

1.  Home Is Where the Mom Is

Growing up in Star, Mississippi, I never heard much talk about stay-at-home moms.  I just knew that Mom was there to cook breakfast; to provide milk and cookies when we kids got home from school; to cook supper; to put up all the peas, butter beans, and green beans that we so diligently shelled/snapped during the summer.  She was the one who came up with the chart that determined who among my two sisters, my brother, and me would be first in line to wait for the bus on a particular day when we couldn't seem to come to a consensus.  She was just always, you know, there . . .

2.   Worlds of Adventure

Mom was the one who read to us when we were little and bought us all clip-on lights for our beds so that we could read ourselves to sleep at night.  She was the one who taught us to spread out the quilt under the oak tree during the summer months, where we experienced the west through Laura Ingalls Wilder's books and where I experienced the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat through countless Matt Christopher sports books.  Mom took us to the Star Baptist Church parking lot every Wednesday to the bookmobile.  I read all the little orange biographies (and learned a little history in the process), and I probably checked out The Lucky Baseball Bat at least a dozen times.

3. 10th Birthdays and Such

There were four of us Ainsworth children, each separated by about a year from the one in front and/or behind.  (I'm the oldest; therefore, the most responsible . . . as I'm SURE my sisters and brothers would agree.)  We didn't have birthday parties every year, but on our 10th birthday, we got to invite some friends over to have the one party of our childhood; somehow, I didn't feel robbed of my right to have a birthday party on the other years  .

We also didn't get to raid the pantry and eat anything we wanted throughout our childhoods; Mom portioned out the cookies each day; somehow, I didn't feel robbed (though I would sneak an extra cookie or two from time to time).

I would lose this contentedness in my later teenage years, but I had a foundation to which I could (much) later return.

4.  Roger Staubach and That's About It

Mom has never been much of a sports fan, though my brother and I are still, in my Dad's words, "eat up with it."  Back during our childhood, the baseball game of the week came on TV at 2:00 most Saturdays (after rasslin' and Tarzan).  Mom would always make my brother and I clean our room before we watched the game.  Though it would only take us a few minutes once we got started, we agonized over the thought of missing even part of the game; Mom just didn't understand . . . .  The only interest I ever remember her having in sports was when Roger Staubach and the Dallas Cowboys were playing, not that I remember her watching very long, even then.

What I do remember about my mom and sports was that she didn't miss OUR games.  Sports were important to us, and we were important to her, so she went.  To this day, if her kids and now grandkids are involved in something, you can find her there at some level.

5.   Missions With Me

I recently went on my 10th mission trip, and my mom has been a part of most of them.  She hasn't actually traveled on any of them, but she has invested heavily in the work God has done and is still doing in Belize, Poland, Seattle, and Haiti -- and soon in Russia through my daughter.  She is also one of only a handful of people who really want to hear about my trips -- in detail instead of a cursory sentence or two.  If you have ever been on a mission trip, had God do a great work in and through you, and tried to relate that to someone who wasn't on the trip, you know to appreciate people like my mother.

This Mother's Day, Very Special Day

This Mother's Day falls on my 47th birthday.  Due to the effects of leap years, this is the first time in 11 years that this has happened and only the seventh time in my life.  So this Mother's Day is extra special to me and to my mother.  I love you, Mom.

Thanks for reading.

4theVoiceless,
Al

For a look at 4theVoiceless at one year, check out "God Stories: 4theVoiceless at One Year."

MOTHER'S DAY UPDATE

There was more that I could have written in the original post but that I had to keep revealed for a special purpose.  On Sunday, I took a day off from my church, got up early, and drove three hours to my mom's church.  She was in Sunday school, and no one was in the sanctuary.  I knew where she and Dad would be sitting (after all, they've sat in pretty much the same place for over 45 years), so I left a bouquet of flowers and a Mother's Day card with her name on it.  The card indicated that I wished that I could be with her on this special day and that I had simply made arrangements for her to get the flowers and card on Sunday.  (It never actually said that I wasn't or wouldn't be there; I am a man of principles, after all.)

After placing the flowers and the card, I left without anyone having seen me.  Having picked up a bulletin, I was able to know approximately when the congregation would have their greet time, so I planned my surprise entrance accordingly.  I wish I could have captured the look on my mom's face when I walked through the door.  Counting the return trip Sunday afternoon, I spent almost seven hours driving just for that moment -- all worth it!