Donald Miller recently wrote, “What makes a great story is one that has great characters in memorable scenes.” That is so true.

I showed a clip from “It’s A Wonderful Life” this Sunday, the scene where George Bailey runs down the streets of Bedford Falls yelling “Merry Christmas” to anyone and anything. Classic. I was surprised, though, by people’s response. Some, who had never seen the movie (which is a crime), still knew that scene from random places in our culture. That’s how powerful the story is; it’s scenes are part of American culture. Bottom line, characters and scenes are what people remember about a story.

So, what if we applied this same principle to our family? What if we worked on building memorable moments (scenes) for our spouse? Our children? Furthermore, what if we looked back on those moments, brought new light to them and started telling our family story that way. “Do you remember when…,” you might start. “…we went to that Christmas tree farm and it started snowing as we cut down our tree. And then we got back in the car and the heater was broken and the tire was flat…” You get the point.

Here’s an idea: Sit down in front of your computer and type out all the memorable scenes of your marriage and/or family for the past five years. Put a heading on each scene and describe it in your best five-sentence paragraph. Collect 8 or 10 on a couple pages, package it up however you want and then give it to your spouse as a random gift–major points, by the way.

After you’ve practice this looking backward, then go forward with more intention. Start creating memorable scenes that become a part of your family’s culture.

Personally, I just bought a “very used” popup camper. Our first outing was disastrously beautiful. And my kids can’t stop talking about it. Now, I can’t wait to make that camper a key character in the scenes of our ongoing family story.

Let the memories begin.

Family is one of the toughest things we’ll do in life, especially extended family. Yet, if done wisely, it is one of the greatest gifts God offers our days on planet earth.

Why is family tough? Because unlike great friendships, family relationships are designed to be lifelong. Most friendships will change like seasons, but family stays and requires tons more energy. That means there’s more time and opportunity to inflict wounds and experience calamity, and yet there’s equal time to forgive, grow closer and change one another.

For some, family gatherings are like getting a root canal–I can hear the drill and smell the burning. For others, these get-togethers are bursting with fun and meaning. Still, whichever side you’re on, your family has the potential to go to the other side. Crazy and dysfunctional families can move closer to being tolerable and even transforming. But also, close and highly functioning families can take a major plunge into a downward spiral. Bottom line, messed up families can get better, and put-together families can fall apart.

What is required of both? A lot of things are necessary, but a commitment to gather and genuinely share life with each other is a nonnegotiable. If the family stops gathering, the family grows apart and snuffs out its ability to be the gift God offers in family.

Here’s some random things to consider in protecting the family gathering:

1) Don’t expect the family elders to always call everyone together. You might have the Gandalf grandfather or dad who still calls the tribe to meet and everyone heeds the call, but most people do not. Maybe those elders were the catalyst decades ago, but they’re aging and covet their ruts and routines. Therefore, getting the kids and grandkids scheduled on the same calendar day might as well be writing healthcare legislation. And, if no one else is planning the reunion or gatherings, then plan it yourself and invite anyone who wants to come.

2) Don’t let the holidays be your only days. It is easy to get so busy with your immediate family–paying bills, raising kids, etc.—that your extended family gets reduced to a two-hour lunch on Easter or Thanksgiving. Try to gather more than once between holidays. If you live on the other side of the world, save your money for an extended trip every other year.

3) Don’t expect some other family member to make the gathering fun and meaningful for you. Instead, take the lead and become the family cruise director. I hear people complain sometimes about their family gatherings being a paint-dry watch, so if they do attend, their stopwatch is set for a quick, clean getaway.

4) Don’t settle family strife at the gatherings. Sure, the family needs to deal with the skeletons in the closet, but do those offline and in more intentional settings. This will take the burden off you feeling like a hypocrite, because everyone acts like it’s okay…when, of course, it’s not. Don’t misunderstand me, conflicts and old sins need to be handled, but not right before you slice the turkey or take the family photo–Hey, Dad, can we talk about how badly you treat mom?

I haven’t, obviously, covered everyone’s strange and unique considerations, but these are some general ways to gather up the family.

Finally, it’s easy to wine about your family expectations not being met–no one every wants to do anything, and when we do it is like eating glass–but it’s more worthwhile to be a catalyst for change and growth in your family. Instead of being a complainer, be a sustainer; instead of being passive, become active and bring your family together. Who knows, you might be the reason the family becomes great again or better than ever.

We start a series this Sunday called Blocks: Something To Build On. Plain and simple, it’s going to both inspire and freak you out.

Here’s the deal: God built us all inside a unique family. Maybe that family was functional, dysfunctional or something crazy in-between. Either way, we are products of those family blocks. In the same way, God is building a family through us. Yes, whether we are married, parents or single, God intends to forge a family through our lives. A marriage and generational legacy will flow from us into the world and throughout eternity. Pretty cool, but also pretty sobering.

Which brings up a question: Where does my family begin and grow, and how does it become prevailing and Christ-centered? Those building blocks start in our character and values. To get to those blocks, however, we must first uncover the family that first shaped them in us.

So, on Sunday, there are blocks you will have to tear down and other things you will build upon. Come and see what they are and take a radical step into God’s next move.

(Here’s a re-post from my former blog. Thought it needed some new readers.)

I met my wife in high school. We weren’t love-at-first-sighters, but pretty close. Two months after meeting, we dated. Five years later—through one 15-minute breakup and the college years—we married. The past 11 years has been a journey of fortunate mistakes, valiant dreams and whole lot of faith, hope and love. Now, I’m more in love and more attracted to this remarkable woman than on our wedding day.

These days our three children grow up at rapid pace and I wonder what vibrant skies we’ll face next. Yet, while I get ready for those horizons, I can’t help but sift through our voyage—along with the stories of others I’ve counseled over the past decade—to offer some advice. These thoughts are for someone who is about to begin a marriage or perhaps for a couple who have somehow lost their way. So here’s some guidance from someone a little ways ahead.

I think we should all ask this question before we get married: Do I know who I am? Know the answer. Why? Because we’ve all heard a story like this before: A woman wakes up in her marriage one day, looks at her naive family and says, “I really wanted to be a Broadway star, not a cook and carpool mom.” So she runs off to the Big City and leaves the rubble behind. Sounds extreme, but as a pastor I hear it all the time, just different names and places. Early on, I had to realize that my marriage is not a cute puppy I brought home from the pound that I might return if it messes on the carpet. No, it’s an allegiance to someone, another soul whom I’ll love and grow and change with for life, thick and thin. So, if you’re not ready to turn in your “Me Card” for an “Us Card” then my advice is grow up some more before you say, “I do.”

I married my best friend. Yes, I’m serious. And I’d tell you to do the same. Sounds trite, but so much of marriage is shaped by the chemistry and trust of two friends, not infatuated lovers. It’s a man and woman who sense the safety of being real in every way, thoughts and emotions especially. They don’t hide or perform to keep up fairytale illusions of themselves.

Here’s a twist: Imagine Prince Charming prepares a candlelight dinner to captivate Cinderella, but spends the time confessing his inadequacies and past regrets to her—not exactly her idea of an evening out. Best friends, though, can welcome this. They laugh and cry and work through each other’s junk patiently (and we all have junk) and then love each other more deeply than before. Don’t misunderstand; the fire of romantic attraction is critical and needs to be kindled, but major decisions and changes rarely happen over seduction games. So if we can’t be authentic with someone, then married life will be lonely and exhaustive. It is, after all, impossible to be “enchanted” 24-7.

It’s tough for me to accept, but my human love can’t sustain my marriage. And if we’re honest, we’d all like to think we’re competent enough to hold a relationship together on our own—livin’ on love. The reality is confirmed for me that a Christ-driven love is needed to thrive and finish strong in marriage. Otherwise, our odds are 50-50.

Think about it, our natural love is fickle and self-focused, at best. We release and deny it with conditions that change by the second and fade over time. Get two selfish people together who try to make it on the “factory installed” love and everything gets really blurry. Personally, my faith and followership in Jesus Christ, and my church community have been the greatest coaches in higher (or divine) love for me. This belief and embrace of God’s love has helped me weather some pretty intense seasons as a flawed husband. It’s taught me how to truly say, “I’m sorry” and “I forgive you.” So, don’t just find a religious building to book your ceremony; discover some true believers to do life and faith and family with for the long haul. Trust me, you’ll find what you’re looking for.

There’s so much more to unfold, but if I only had five minutes to condense a decade, these three would be the big ones for me. So quick review, 1) Know who you are (Am I selfless enough for marriage?), 2) Know who your fiancé(e) is (Is this person just my boy/girl friend, or my best friend?), and 3) Know where true love really comes from (Do I believe and embrace something bigger than human love?). Now, go enjoy a life in this heroic journey of marriage. I promise, you’ll never be the same.

Brentwood Tribe,

Pretty awesome weekend!!! Record attendance again–more people in our building than ever before. You guys are bringing guests every week despite the crazy parking and space demands. And your guests come back despite the beautiful insanity. Keep it up, because we’re finding creative ways to cram adults and children inside until we go to four services in January. We don’t want one person to not hear and experience the Gospel because of overcrowding. It reminds of the paralyzed guy in Mark 2; his friends ripped open the roof, so he could see Jesus.

About four services, we have almost reached our goal of 400 early adopters; just 60 more to go. Reminder: We’ll see all you PM-people at 6:15p.m. this coming Sunday (11/15) for the pre-launch experiment. It will be the same as the A.M., but with some special sauce.

Finally, here’s a BONUS. My friend Jonathan Carone got this little Top-Ten list started on his blog. I thought I’d share these inside jokes with the Brentwood Tribe:

The Top 10 Ways You Know You Go To Brentwood Church

1. You’ve ever been given free McDonald’s to leave church.
2. You refuse to wash your car before going out on Saturday night because you know how dirty it’ll get on Sunday morning.
3. You have a Freedom 4/24 sticker on your car.
4. Along with your computer, water bottle, book-bag, frying pan, cell phone, and tooth brush.
5. There is always one overly affectionate couple around you during service.
6. You’ve ever looked in the mirror and wondered if your v-neck shirt was cut too low…and you’re a guy.
7. You listen to Steve Fee on your way to church and then hear two songs from that album during worship.

8. You’ve ever worn the same dress you wore out with your friends on a Friday night to church on Sunday morning.

9. You’ve described the church as “You know, the one with the rock concert for praise and worship.”
10. You feel like you know every funny or embarrassing thing to ever happen to Jon Dupin.

Thanks Jonathan for making us laugh at ourselves.

Below is a piece I wrote for Lynchburg Living magazine. Thought it needed a re-work and some new readers. Here it is:

One Saturday in early summer, I took my family on a day-trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains. No real plans, entirely spontaneous; just laugh, play, be together and hopefully put my mind in neutral. We packed a lunch that morning and piled in the van and drove west on 221 towards Bedford. The day changed everything for me… I mean everything.

I should confess some things. There’s a tendency I succumb to that many mistake as heroic, but it’s a flaw anyway you play it: I am a Work Junkie. And right then all my internal gauges were screaming out this forewarning: Stop! End the big rush to get to the next ministry challenge. I had grown tired of the cell phone, texts, emails and deadlines that lurked behind warmed over promises, “I’ll be there in a minute, kids.” Most of me knew I was missing a bigger point; that I had the Work Junkie trapped inside and he always wanted to take over the show. But maybe, I thought, higher ground can sift through my humanity and get to deeper roots. So I headed for the hills to put the Junkie back in his place and let God’s Spirit speak to me antidotally.

We drove with the windows down to let Virginia come in. Livestock and compost are pungent and the smell wafts through like a state fair. Willow trees and corn bristle the farmlands from Forest to Cifax and then on to Bedford. It’s an earthy and scruffy Virginia; its well-worn boots hung in the barn. The contours of this terrain get to me though, possess me and conjure up boyhood naivety. I guess there’s a Lassie episode in all of us and suddenly I’m envisioning the good collie and me helping Pa save the family farm a thousand times on this drive.

Anyway, my children—all under 9 years old—point and speak about the gritty world outside. My wife and I fall silent. Nothing harsh is between us. She must have realized I sought a voice stronger than our own, so she just let me escape into the wind gust and topography. I did seek a voice, but it wasn’t Dr. Phil or the Appalachian Guru Ninja (“Hey, Grasshopper! How’s the rat race workin’ for ya?”). No, a wiser, more primitive voice was needed, the Holy Spirit.

Our pursuit brought us to a mountain creek right off the Parkway, a natural water-park cut with wading pools and mini falls. No overpriced t-shirts or two hour lines at this park, just a lot of time to get lost in the organic. We descended the creek little by little at first, jumping rocks to keep dry, but gain confidence and pace as we continue down. Soon, we just got wet. I caught myself having fun and forgetting about deadlines and being somebody else’s “hero.”

But suddenly, the Junkie tried to take over. “Who can I call or text right now? How can I get productive?” I think my wife spotted him first, because she gave me that look. The kids shouted, “Look at this! Look at me!” I faked delight and said, “Yea, yea, that’s great. Let’s keep moving.” The look, again. Fading, I would soon slip into work mode—like a wannabe family man—and miss the splendor of right now. But my wife is a genius and she did what any crafty woman might do.

“Here, take our picture,” she said and handed me the camera. The hand-off startled me. “I don’t want to carry this,” I thought. “I can’t get to my phone if it rings.”

The look changed. Now it said, “Please remove the scowl and take a picture of your children and their mother posing on a rock, and try to enjoy it.” My wife told the kids to smile while Daddy took a picture. I framed the shot—mother and children with arms around shoulders and making funny faces. Snap. The shot digitized gradually, so I waited for the preview in the tiny LCD screen. I lingered and hoped it was good, scrapbookable perhaps. The shot finally crystallized, and as it did, a voice came to me, something like this.

“You’ll never get this moment back again,” the voice said. “You’ll always have work that you presume takes precedent, but you’re wrong.” I knew where this was going, so I braced for impact. “These children,” the voice pounded, “they’ll grow up and you’ll grow old. And then you’ll wish yourself right back here in this cold, Virginia creek again, to splash and climb and be together.”

The outcomes seemed unavoidable to me: relish these moments or regret it. “What’s it going to be?”

I drew the cell phone from my pocket. It signaled a new text message loitered inside.
“What’s it going to be?”

The scene of me in the water and rocks, holding a camera in one hand, a phone in the other and my family ready for a second take, was Biblical.

“What’s it going to be?”

The action was swift. I flipped the phone, killed the power and sunk it in my pocket for good. The Junkie fled and I took pictures the rest of the day. My mountain creek intervention was really only a beginning. I guess that’s how it works; a moment of clarity is ordained and puts life back in the right drawers, but it can always get mixed up again if you’re not careful. That’s why I have to always get to higher ground and seek wiser voices.

Brentwood Tribe,
I never know how a particular message is going to hit people. Sometimes I just go out there and say to the Holy Spirit, “I’m not sure about this one, but do that thing you do.” Anyway, I guess I was blindsided by the response this Sunday. Better yet, I was inwardly floored.

Our communal application (drop your 3 x 5 baggage card in the basket) was like a campfire gone wild and then all-consuming. Honestly, I thought just a few individuals would actually take the time to pray through and scribble down their hardships and helplessness. Wrong. Not only did so many write it out, but hundreds actually got up and walked across the room to lay it down. Seriously, an entire room full of church-goers arose from their cushions and proclaimed their helplessness to Christ and their church community. That is the Gospel; that is what transforms a generation.

So this morning, I came to the office well-caffeinated and rested, but haplessly naive. The plan was simple: Read through and pray for some of the 3 x 5’s from yesterday. Should be easy, I thought. Wrong again. Ink and lead sentences walked me down paths of dread and fathomless pain. These confessions and laments became so dark I had to catch my breath and wonder if I should continue on–alcoholism, leukemia, loveless marriages, failed relationships, mental breakdowns, entrenched addictions, suicidal impulses, parental wounds and rejection, etc. And deeper and darker the words got etched. For a moment, I imagined this must be a crude glimpse into how God watches over us. He sees much more than we do, and certainly none of it can be scribed on an index card. And yet, my heart wrenched the way I thought His might every moment we struggle with the sin and pain of this broken world. No wonder He had to send Jesus.

Now, I realize that our church has a mission more torrential than my frail mind can possibly think up on its own. Here it is: We are in this town, and planted on this globe for a brilliant historical moment. That statement is not rhetoric, but reality. We are to be forgiven and healed by Christ’s Gospel and then empowered by the Spirit to exhale that Gospel into every moment we’re given.

Keep on keeping it real, Brentwood. God’s Spirit is about to rock our world.

Onward,
Jon

A valuable tension seems to nurture the best relationships in life. It is like a chess match where checkmate is a win for both sides. Sometimes I forget about this and then my wife makes a move, puts me in checkmate and all I can do is say nice one, I needed that.

Not long ago, I convinced my wife that we absolutely needed a camcorder. So I scrapped up enough cash and bought one. I felt big-time, like a certified suburbanite—Spielberg with a minivan. Then I persuaded her that we absolutely needed to accessorize it with a trendy bag and some adapters; we would be gold-key certified then. She was reluctant; then agreed, but only because this jewel was promised to be with the family to secure memories for decades to come, childbirth to wedding speeches. The way I pitched it was that someday in our autumn years, we would settle in our living room, watch old tapes and relive days gone by. Sounds convincing, but it was only a charade, a Clark Griswold notion.

I was bored within six months and absolutely needed something else high-tech. Meantime, the camera got tossed in a closet while memories were being made, but not captured. Every life-nugget I let go—children’s first steps, zany birthday party sound bites—stirred something inside my wife and it was not blonde and lovable like her. The gap between her expectations and my delivery was a canyon, and our son’s kindergarten recital would expose it.

The recital teemed with overanxious relatives; their cameras flashed, clicked and chimed like the Oscars. Just before my arrival, I unearthed our camcorder and prayed the battery was charged in the last six months. My wife turned to me, clutched the camera and made me promise I’d get this one. I promised. Then my son’s moment came. He carried his props to the stage and took his mark to begin. I set up to shoot. Flip went the power switch, but nothing. Dead. He was brilliant, of course, but another great memory was left undocumented.

Afterwards, we walked out to leave and my wife asked, “So, did you get it?”

I looked at her casually and answered, “No, sorry the battery was dead.”

She lingered, but then years of video neglect surfaced. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say, sorry, the battery was dead?”

A thousand virtual stones pummeled me. I was wounded and tempted to say what do you expect, at least I have a job and am not in prison. But the deadbeat felon deflection never wins the day for any man; he comes across whiny. Out came, “What do you want me to say? I tried to record it, but it wouldn’t work.” So I sounded whiny anyway.

She performed her version of the silent treatment the entire ride home; she sprays her words with whipped cream as she talks to the kids—wasn’t your brother so amazing up there—but speaks to me like a 4-1-1 operator—yes, that’s correct, Ashtabula, Ohio, sir. Come on, this is ridiculous, I thought; I’ll get the next one right. And yet, she must have known there’d be an excuse why I failed again. I guess a point comes when results are best revealed by actions and not intensions. Either way, I was busted. The camcorder was not about the family; it was just the childish whim of a grown up—I want that, so I’ll get it.

That night, when the drama softened, she opened up and said she just wanted me to care, to not take tender moments for granted and to be open with my motives when I was selling an idea. My assurance came modestly. At first, I felt like a deadbeat felon, but then came around to gratitude. I said things like you’re right and I’m sorry. We were both tired, so I reached for the lamp so we could fall asleep resolved.

“Oh yeah, by the way,” she whispered through the dark. “You’ll be glad to know. I thought something like this might happen, so I asked another mom at the recital to record it for us. She’s putting it on DVD.”

Checkmate.

-

My one and only daughter is 9-years-old and she has filled my soul with an incomprehensible joy.  Of course, I absolutely love my sons, but the father-daughter connection is and should be distinctive.  Here’s some stuff I’ve gathered so far about raising a little girl to someday become a wise, confident and Christ-centered woman.

1) A father cannot and should not be like a mother.  Let me explain.  I think a father sometimes gets intimidated by the natural closeness his daughter longs for with her mother and therefore he resist to pursue her deeply.  He simply defaults to let the daughter-thing be for the “women-folk.”  This is a catastrophic mistake for a father.   Absolutely, he should encourage the mother-daughter relationship in all its special wonder, because mom is the natural template for what a woman, wife and mother looks like.  But, he should not back away from his daughter just because he is not wired the same.  Instead, he must own what unique bond he will have with her that is different, but not superior, to her mother.

And what is that bond?  Simply put, character and confidence.  A father will teach his little girl how to live, think and feel the way God does.  And also, he will instill a humble confidence in her that she is beloved and beautiful to God, the world and her father.  His words and actions, especially in her childhood and teenage years, will deepen the waters in her emotional and spiritual well.

2) A father shows his daughter how a man should treat her.  If a father wants his daughter to respect herself and expect other men, especially a potential husband, to do likewise, then he has to set the bar by his own example.  She will first study the way he loves and respects her mother.  How does he care for and romance mom, or not?  Does dad talk to mom like she’s cherished in the family, or is she demeaned and/or ignored? Also, a daughter will take her cues from how he acts towards her personally.  When a father chases after his daughter’s heart, mind and attention honorably, then she tests future boyfriends and potential husbands through her father’s character grid and not infatuation or insecurity.

3) A daughter will seek two critical things from her father throughout her lifetime.  Yes, a girl will become a woman, meet and marry a man and leave her father’s household.  She will take another man’s name and mutually submit to his vision and leadership over her former patriarch. She will eventually hear her husband’s voice over her father’s voice, and she must do so in order for a new family to successfully emerge.  And yet, she will forever seek these two elements from her father, even when the man is dead and gone.  What? His wisdom and his love.  Even when she is a grandmother, she will tell stories about the truth and proverbs imparted by her father—“My father used to say to me…” What’s more strange is that even absentee and jerky dad’s sometimes get memorialized by their adult daughters, because she longs to remember him with grace and redemption.  She will also replay the few or thousand times her father expresses his fondness and affection for her.  Some advice: Somehow, show your daughter everyday that you love her, think she’s beautiful, and so does God.

There are countless more things to unpack, but these are the ones I’ve started to wrestle with.  Add some others to the comments below, if you’re compelled, but before you do that here’s a freebie: Watch this Tim McGraw video.  Note: watch alone or you might have to explain the man-tears.

What an incredible start to the “Run For Their Lives” race movement.  Nearly three-times more people than expected and an unexplainable energy.  Thanks to everyone who came out to run and volunteer.

Hopefully this video inspires you to run next year and bring someone with you.

www.runfortheirlives.net