Sexting

Sexting—what exactly is it and how is it affecting the church today? In this episode, Mike Glenn interviews Brentwood Baptist’s Girls Minister Amy-Jo Girardier. They cover how sexting came about, what parents should look for, and how to help your child combat this growing danger.

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My Dad Was a Mountain Climber

My father’s favorite Bible character was Caleb. Do you remember him?

He and Joshua were the only two spies who believed Israel could take the giants in the Promised Land. As a reward for his faith, God protected Caleb during the 40 years of wandering the wilderness.

When they entered into the Promised Land, Caleb went to Joshua requesting the land Moses had promised him. Joshua agreed and the land became Caleb’s.

What’s interesting about this story is that Caleb wanted the mountains that were still occupied by their enemies.

For Dad, this was a great story. I can still remember how his face lit up when he would tell the story and triumphantly quote Caleb, “Give me that mountain!”

That was my dad. He was a mountain climber. And I’m the son of a mountain climber.

My dad believed all things were possible. You could climb as high you wanted, but you had to want it badly enough to work hard and keep climbing—no excuses.

Like Moses, my dad got to see the future, but he couldn’t go there. He could see the mountains, but it would be up to his sons and grandsons to climb them.

That’s what great dads do. They climb mountains.

At first, the father carries his children when he’s climbing. Then, he teaches his children to climb. Then, he points to the mountains they’ll have to climb all by themselves.

I had a great dad.

One year ago last Saturday, my dad passed away. Today, I don’t grieve his loss, but celebrate his life. He was a great man.

He taught me how to climb and pointed me to my mountain. But whether or not I make it is up to me. I’ll have to climb my mountain all by myself.

That’s the way it is when you’re the son of a mountain climber.

A Time to Grieve a Time to Hope

Do you know where you were this time last year?

I do. I’ll never forget where I was.

My mom had called me at 4:30 am and told me she thought I needed to come to Huntsville because Dad wasn’t doing well. Jeannie and I got to the hospital as fast as we could and we spent the rest of day counting my father’s breaths.  He passed away about 2:30 that afternoon.

This past year there have been days of intense highs and desperate lows. Some days, I couldn’t get over how fortunate I am to have had a dad like I had. I guess every son thinks their dad is a hero, but mine was.

Sometimes I’ll remember a conversation with him, remember something he did and I’ll stand a little taller with the pride of being this great man’s son.

Sometimes I’ll laugh until my sides hurt (my dad was a very funny man).

Other times, I’d reach for the phone to call him (we talked several times a day) and then I’d remember that he’s not here.

I would hold the phone in my hand and cry until I thought “I’m running out of tears.”  What I would give to talk to him just one more time.  I still have his number in my speed dial. For some reason, I just can’t take it off yet.

Today, my family is gathering at my mom’s house to remember my dad.

My family is all boys — two sons, four grandsons, and one great grandson.

When I first floated the idea of getting together, I was surprised at how fast everyone jumped on the idea.  Everyone re-arranged their lives just to be here today.

I think it’s important not only to remember, but that we remember together.

So today we’ll tell stories. We’ll eat together. We’ll affirm and confirm our love for each other. We’ll do our best to act like Big John taught us to act, to live as he would want us to live, to be the men he saw in each of us.

When I was little, my dad worked two jobs, and sometimes three, trying to build a secure future for our family. This meant that most nights, Dad didn’t get home until after I had gone to bed.

But I was sneaky when I was little. Mom would make me go to bed, but I wouldn’t go to sleep.  I would lie awake until I heard my dad come home. I would hear his footsteps in the hall and then I would know everything is OK.

Daddy’s home.

Do you know I could recognize my dad, I could find him in a crowd by listening for his footsteps? I knew the way my Dad walked.

I still hear his footsteps.

Late at night, and in moments when my mind wonders off during the day. . .I hear his footsteps. They remind me everything is OK.

Daddy’s home.

And just like when I was a kid, I can rest now knowing tomorrow is coming with opportunities to seize and mountains to climb.

That’s where my dad’s steps lead. I’ll have to walk fast to catch up.

We Make it Harder than It Has to Be

I love great restaurants. My friends know this and make a point to tell me about great places they’ve eaten.

The conversation follows a predictable pattern. They’ll excitedly tell me the name of the new restaurant, tell me when they were there, and then go into great detail about what they ordered, how it was prepared, and of course, how it tasted.

Now, there are a couple of obvious points here: 1) you have to have been to the restaurant and 2) you have to have eaten there.

You can’t have driven by and tell me how good the food is. A great restaurant review is always first hand—and only first-hand.

Evangelism is the same way.  Like a great restaurant review, you can only talk about Jesus first-hand.

You can’t just drive by the church and tell me anything about Jesus. Your story has to be your story. There aren’t secondhand accounts. It has to be first person.

Your friends want to know what’s going on in your life. They care about what you care about. That’s why you’re friends.

So telling them about Jesus isn’t as hard as you might think it will be. Just honestly tell them in your own words what Jesus means to you.

Your authentic experience will have more impact than you realize.

Here’s a question for you: why do we make evangelism harder than it has to be?