They Never Told Me I Might Not Have An Office.

This morning, I read a FaceBook note from one of the Pastors at our church, saying that his office is packed and he will probably be working from home a few days. His office is being repainted and re-carpeted.

I think it's great that he is getting a fresh makeover for the place where Sermons are formed and refined, prayer battles are waged and won and personal counseling encourages and restores. To be comfortable in such a setting is important and vital.

It made me think about my excitement leaving Bible College in 1975 and going to my first position as Assistant Pastor to my Father-In-Law. I was already dreaming of my office and all the miraculous ministry that would flow from that environment. I couldn't wait to get in there and furnish it naturally and spiritually.

The church had a recently built new facility and there were quite a few unfinished rooms. As luck would have it for this "Dreamer of Offices", there were no finished offices as of yet. So, it turns out that my first office was a shared room with my Father-In-Law. Not only did we share an office, we also shared an 8-ft folding table as a desk. He worked on one end; I worked on the other. It was quite a setup, but we made it work.

I eventually did get an office of my own and even my own desk. Through the next 30+ years, I have shared offices, worked from hallway offices, had small spartan offices and large well appointed offices and home offices and attic offices and basement offices. Of course, as you would imagine, it turns out in the end that while offices are necessary and conducive to good ministry, the bottom line is that Sermons are formed and refined first in the heart. Prayer battles are waged and won in every environment in which people live and struggle. Encouragement and restoration happens wherever the Word of the Lord is fitly spoken, even from my current desk sitting unenclosed and exposed in the middle of a bank lobby where I work as a Personal Banker.

I miss my own church office at times while in this different season of my life working and ministering at a bank. One great Revivalist wrote, "The world is my pulpit." A Circuit Riding preacher said, "The saddle is my pulpit." So, I say, "The world is my office, " and I am happy to know I'll never be without an office.

By the way, the Pastor I referred to in the opening paragraph would no doubt gladly give up his freshly painted and re-carpeted office to minister anywhere and everywhere there are hungry souls.

They Never Told Me About Going To Jail.

When I was a teenager and dating Dallise, I left her house late one night going home on back country roads in South Georgia. I got pulled over by a policeman who jumped out of his car with his pistol drawn and pointed over the top of his car door. He screamed at me to put my hands on top of my car and spread my legs. I was in no position to argue, so I did exactly what he said, but thinking this was obviously a mistake. He said I was speeding and resisting arrest, though I explained I never saw his flashing lights in my rearview mirror. Notwithstanding they escorted me back to the police station and after making a somewhat convincing argument, they let me go with a fine.

It was many years later that I was again arrested and spent two nights in the Birmingham, AL jail. Our church was participating in Operation Rescue. We planned to stage a sit-in on a particular weekend to block the doors of abortion clinics, hoping to save a few babies who might otherwise have been aborted those days. There were four Pastors on staff and it was decided that we should not all participate on Friday in case the police held the arrestees through the whole weekend. One of us would need to be available to lead the Sunday service. I was the elected hold-out for the Friday Rescue. As expected everyone was arrested by mid-morning, men and women and teenagers. But they were released late Friday night, so I was free to do the sit-in the next day. I was arrested fairly early, my hands cuffed behind my back with the tough white plastic zip cuffs, shoved into the paddy wagon with a few others and hauled off to the county jail.

It had been decided that we would take no personal ID with us and that we would each give our name as "John Doe"when booked in. It was thought this might drag out the process a bit and perhaps attract more media attention to the effort. We were all placed in a large common room with 5'x7' individual cells surrounding the perimeter. We were not in with the general population of the jail; we were isolated only with our group, so we certainly felt no danger. We were free to talk, fellowship, pray and read our Bibles together, which we did. It really was turning into just a nice day with other Believers.

We were given an evening meal, then shortly afterward guards escorted each of us to our own individual cells. When the big metal door slammed shut behind me, it no longer seemed to be a day of fellowship. I was wondering why we were not released like the group the day before, but then remembered we had not given our real names and the police were not going to be so easy on us. The cot which stretched from wall to wall in my cell had no sheet, just a hard plastic mattress and no pillow. I had my own little private toilet and sink, but it was very austere.

Somehow, I finally drifted off to sleep, only to be roughly awakened about 3:00 am and dragged down the hallway by the night guard. In my sleepy state, I was having trouble focusing on where I was and why I was being treated this way in the middle of the night. The officer had realized they had failed to fingerprint me and they were going to do it now. He demanded my name, to which I replied John Doe, having finally remembered where I was and why I was there. He explained this game could be played both ways and they did not have to, and would not, release me until they had my real name and felt that I was being cooperative. In spite of the sleepy stupor hanging over me, he finally had my undivided attention. I snapped to alertness and blurted out, "Philip Goodson. That's Philip with one "L". He fingerprinted me and returned me to a fitful night of waiting for morning when I felt sure I would be released.

For whatever reasons the police had, none of us were released on that Sunday either and we all spent a second night in jail, a little less traumatic than the first. Finally, late Sunday we were bonded out upon agreeing we would not participate in Operation Rescue again for some determined period of time.

I don't really think this experience qualified as having been arrested for my faith. I certainly did not suffer and I was not persecuted or even mistreated. We did some "soft time" for taking a stand on an issue about which we felt passionate. I want to believe it made a difference in Birmingham and that a few babies might be alive today because of our actions.

But I have to say that nobody in Bible College told me I might spend a couple of nights in jail. By the way, whose idea was it that I was the one elected to wait until day two and spend two nights in the 5'x7', when everybody else on staff got to go home to their nice warm beds?

They Never Told Me About Unrighteous Indignation...

I have experienced moments of righteousness indignation. There are certain injustices that must be met with a certain extreme level of anger. It demands reaction. Jesus displayed that type of anger when he overturned the moneychangers' tables.

I think God blessed me with a pretty easygoing personality. I am not too easily angered. The problem is that easygoing personalities have a really ugly side. If pushed too far, the circumstances can devolve into UNRIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION. I don't like the picture of who I am when that happens, although from the perspective of 25 years later, it does have an element of humor.

We once faced an accusation by a Grandmother of inappropriate discipline of her Grandchild in our Daycare Ministry. She was so incensed on the phone that we could not speak civilly, so I invited her to my office for further discussion. It picked up where the phone call ended, definitely not on a pleasant note.

The tension escalated until I became very defensive and ultimately stated EMPHATICALLY, "This meeting is over!!" She hotly replied, "Don't tell me when this meeting is over! I'm not finished!" At this point, I had reached the "ugly side". I slapped my hand on my desk several times demanding that she leave. When she refused, I turned off the light, walked out and shut the door behind me, leaving her in my darkened office.

Of course, she hotly pursued me still irately berating me. I followed her across our building to be sure she did not engage any of our workers, and even though she never let up on me, I had gained control of my own emotions and was relatively calm again - that is, until she whipped around right in my face. She screamed, "Don't you follow me!" That sent me right off the deep end again. I explained loudly that this was my sidewalk and so was the surrounding 5 acres and that I could walk anywhere I wanted to, violently waving my arms to accent my attitude.

As our voices climbed the decibel scale, she drew back her hand to slap me in the face. Out-yelled at this point, all I could do was lean into her pointing at my cheek, daring her to go ahead and slap the snarling cheek I presented to her. I'm sure it must have taken great restraint on her part to withhold her desire to deck me.

I distinctly remember to this day the fearful prayer coursing through my thoughts at that moment, "Dear God, She is going to knock me on the ground. My only request is that you help me not to cry when she does." For whatever reason, she did not follow her instincts to oblige my foolish offer of a free shot at my jutting law, for which I will be forever grateful.

She left, but filed an official complaint and soon a pair of police officers showed up to question me about the incident. I was more than happy to answer their queries until they read me my Miranda Rights. I have to admit that was a bit unnerving. I invoked my rights and called our attorney. Thankfully, we were able to resolve the issue without bruises or bloodshed.

The ugly side of an easygoing person is just that - UGLY! I'm mostly thankful my actions did not result in cosmetic reconstruction. I did, however, undergo a painful spiritual reconstruction and I don't think I have ever stooped quite that low again in unrighteous indignation.

Mission Trip Hot Tub Incident...

Well, I promised the story about the Hot Tub Incident. Prefacing the story, I must relate a simple fact. I have always admired Billy Graham for many reasons that are immediately obvious. He has always been represented as a man of high moral integrity. One of those reasons is his carefulness to never be placed in a compromising position with women. I have read in his autobiography that when traveling, he would never enter his hotel room unless a staff member went in first to verify there was no one there of the opposite gender.

I have also worked hard to be careful that I am in no similar position of moral question. I have made it a practice to not counsel women unless someone else was present in the building or in an outer office. I will not close a door completely if I am counseling a woman. I include Dallise or some other Christian lady in counseling if and when possible. Except on rare occasions, I do not even have lunch in public with a lady by myself. I certainly do not visit a woman at home alone. I have this whole scary, fearful, funky paranoia thing going on about this sort of encounter.

Now to the story. We were on this R&R trip with our Missionaries in Puerta Vallarta, MX. (See previous blog) About five of us from our group were lounging in the massive 30-person hot tub outside by the pool area. Dallise was sitting by a friend at the opposite end of the little half-circle we formed in the seating area. I'm chatting with one of the guys beside me on the other end of our little half-circle. I looked up to see two young "ladies" entering the hot tub. Now there was lots of room across the hot tub with plenty of distance from where we were seated, but these two girls sat down immediately to my right, immediately adjacent to me, in broad daylight, mind you.

One of them stepped directly in front of me in the water, stuck out her hand and said , "Hi, I'm _____. What's your name." I was rather flustered at this brazen approach and stammered, "I'm Philip, and that's my wife right over there." Undeterred, she asked, "Are you here for business or pleasure?" I was so befuddled, I could not even answer. One of the ladies, one of our friends sitting beside Dallise, took up my defense. While I sat in stunned speechlessness, she answered, "This is our Pastor and we're here on a Missions Trip with our church! We're holding devotions tomorrow morning. Why don't you join us?" Well, that was all that was needed to end the encounter and the two "ladies" immediately left the hot tub. By the way, the "ladies" did not attend devotions the next morning.

I was completely lost and embarrassed and consequently the target of many jokes and jibes for the remainder of the trip. When we returned home and dedicated a service to sharing the events and fruit of our trip, it seems to have been the one story told repeatedly by those who attended the "incident" with me. In future Mission Trips, I have decided it might be wise to avoid the whole hot tub scene altogether. Still, what a way to do a Mission Trip, huh?

I can't say They Never Told Us ABout Missions.

Missions was integral to the life of the Bible College we attended. What amazing times we had at Liberty Church in Pensacola when it was Missions Week! There were the most incredible stories of Mission work from Missionaries who had committed themselves to work long-term in various fields of ministry around the world. Special offerings were taken and Faith Promises for the coming year were confirmed. Dallise and I found ourselves so inspired that we promised more the first year than we actually made in income. We had to figure out the balance, however, and were a bit more realistic after that.

We have had the pleasure of leading a few short-term, 2-week trips to Guatemala and Mexico. We always wanted to inspire members who had never been to the mission field to go see first hand what their giving and prayers accomplished.

One of our church families had served for years in Jocotepec, Mexico. Several of our men had made trips down to assist the missionaries in constructing a new building. When it was finished, we were invited to participate in the dedication of the building. When I announced the trip and asked who wanted to go, the men who had been down volunteered to go again. I was disappointed that no one else was interested. The following week, the Director of Globe Missionary Evangelism, the overseeing mission organization, and I spoke about the trip. He was planning to be at the dedication and then sponsor an R&R trip for several missionaries over in Puerto Vallarta on the Pacific Coast. I offered that our church would sponsor our missionary family and join them for the trip. We would spend about 4 days at the dedication and then another few days at this fabulous resort. Next Sunday, when I announced the expanded plans that included Puerto Vallarta, we had a whole new group who was ready to go. We all went and had a great time of ministry and of rest.

Now, hardcore missionaries who go out to immerse themselves long term in the culture of the mission field thereby effecting lasting change for the Kingdom of God probably scoff at such a mission trip. It probably seems like a glorified, feel-good exercise that makes the individuals participating feel better about themselves and their altruism. They may have some valid observations from that perspective. However, I found on our trip that it was an effective way to introduce missions to Believers who had never ventured out before. Their appreciation and prayer and financial support for those who do go long term was greatly increased. Bottom line is that it's not a bad combination to bring perspective to those who had no personal experience other than listening to Missionaries speak and show their slides. (I know, I know. We now call it a PowerPoint Presentation.)

Everyone who went to Mexico with us on that trip came back with great memories. Sadly for me, the favorite story seems to have involved the Hot Tub Incident involving Yours Truly. I'll tell that story in my next blog. Stay tuned. You don't want to miss that one.

I don't know about you, but I'm ready for another mission trip, maybe to Jamaica or Hawaii this time. Who wants to go with us on this "Mission Trip"?

They Never Told Me How To Balance Ministry With Family Life.

They did tell me it was important, but there were no formulas on how to make it happen. So, I had to figure it out on my own. I'm not sure you can teach a Minister how to keep focus on Family. Every family and every ministry is so different. For me, I look back over the years with gratitude that I was an Associate Pastor for half my ministry life. As Sr Pastor the other half, I led smaller churches and was not overwhelmed with round-the-clock schedules. It seems to have taken the pressure off a bit and I could adjust my ministry schedule around personal life a little more easily.

One year on the Saturday when our church was hosting a Liberty Fellowship Winter Conference in which I had some organizational responsibility, I was able to slip out and attend basketball games for my sons. Dallise and I always made it to band concerts and football game halftime shows and sporting events and sailing events. It was hectic, but we felt it was important.

Once as Sr Pastor, I had scheduled Judson Cornwall as our guest speaker. As we neared the week of the meetings, I realized it coincided with the final game of Seth's High School basketball career. Dallise and I toyed with several ideas about how to juggle the conflicting schedules, including skipping the service that particular evening. In the end, I called Bro Cornwall to explain my dilemma and ask if he might be flexible enough to reschedule and come to our church on a different weekend. He replied that it was the most legitimate reason for a reschedule he had ever been given and graciously agreed to come later.

We have been blessed in our family. As one friend put it to us, "For parents who have done so many things wrong raising their children, they sure have turned out remarkably well." That's about all the credit Dallise and I can take. We just blundered through it all and now have every reason to be proud of our kids. Each son has married a godly wife and together they are raising their own children in Christian homes and wisely balancing their service as Leaders in their respective Churches.

We just finished a blessed Memorial Day weekend with the whole bunch of them in our home. What a delight! There are now seven Grandchildren (two in Heaven) and another due in November. You may gather from the previous statement that life is not always rosy. The sweet is mixed with the bitter, but in the end, God has triumphed in our family.

I have said often that my greatest life ministry would be reflected in our kids. That is already apparent. Who they are in God and what they will accomplish in their lives will be evident in generations to come.

Do I ever think I somehow missed out on greatness in ministry? Not a chance! The most challenging, yet rewarding ministry in which I ever engaged was with our kids. The balancing act was worth it, and I think God is just pleased in the Center of our Family.

They Never Told Me That Not Everyone Is Transparent.

People say that they appreciate my transparency. The problem is that I know myself and I sure don't feel very transparent a lot of the time. If there is any transparency in me, I'm not sure I can say that becoming transparent was a natural process for me. I'm not sure it is natural for anybody. We all have a tendency to put forward our best foot, to maybe talk and act as we think other people want to perceive us. We want to hide the innermost thoughts and feelings that betray the fact we are not all we are cracked up to be. We Christians seem especially to struggle with this. We certainly have our own language, Christianese, and we have developed a carefully crafted set of Christian platitudes that are not always, but can be, empty and meaningless.

I'm not about to suggest that all conferences and retreats are bad. However, it can be very painful for the minister whose church is in the middle of a difficult time to get to the retreat and hear the glowing reports from everyone else present. The feeling is that I must be doing something wrong; I must not be a good leader; I must be the problem in our church. It took only a few years in the ministry to discover just how difficult it is to be open and honest with other ministers.

One year in particular, Dallise and I headed off to the annual retreat. We were not very excited because we had been going through a difficult year. I was not looking forward to pretending that all was well. We decided that we would be honest about our emotions and confess the hard times, but also that we were trusting God. We did not even get to the registration table before we had been greeted by two or three close minister friends. "Hey, Bro Philip. It's great to see you. How are thing going in your church? Great, I'm sure; just like ours. Isn't it great to be a Pastor?" Well, my response was, "Not so great right now. We had a rough year. Some key people left. Our finances are down and we're struggling a bit. But we are also believing God and know He will see us through this time. It will get better. We're just needing some encouragement." Honestly, some of our friends did not know quite how to handle us. We just kept being honest at this retreat because it was the only way we knew to ask for help and understanding. Finally, on the third day of the conference, one of our best friends broke down and admitted he had been going through all the same things we had experienced and that he too was discouraged. It took him three days, but he finally got transparent with us and we were then able to encourage each other honestly. The honesty was refreshing and liberating.

Maybe you notice that I value being real and that I do not value pretence. One of the best compliments I have ever had made about me was from my daughter-in-law, Charis. A co-worker once asked her how she could deal with her father-in-law being a Pastor. The co-worker's perception was that Pastors are different out of the pulpit than in it, and how could Charis deal with that difference. Charis' response was that it was not a problem for her because her father-in-law was the same both out of and in the pulpit. I was honored by her kindness.

Although I wish it were always true about me, I appreciate that occasionally someone may see and appreciate the real me. It sure seems to make life easier and more enjoyable when I don't have to remember who I think I'm supposed to be to make others happy. I think I'm just gonna have to be me, you know - the me God wants me to be.