Gotta Love It!

(Thanks to Rawhide.)

For Her Son and Jesus ...

(The Huffmans used to minister in Kermit before they moved to Lubbock and opened an excellent bookstore. I hope all three of my readers will shop there. The Lubbock Avalanche-Journal published this touching story about them in their Sunday February 15th edition. I am excerpting it without permission as always.)

Melody Huffman, 51, keeps memories alive.

She dresses up as Aunt Lydia (as in Lydia from Thyatira, from the book of Acts) in a modest purple robe (like the kind Lydia might have sold) inside her Christian book store, The Bible Barn. She tells stories about giants and whales and fiery furnaces. On Feb. 7, five little kids - some she knew, some she didn't - marched around the store and blew kazoos and sucked on Dum Dums and the walls of Jericho came down.

"What do you think the name of this city is?" she asks her audience. "Do you think it's called Lubbock?"

Noooo.

"Do you think it's called Dallas?"

Noooo.

"No, not Dallas. It's ... called ... Jerrrrrichooo. Can you say that? One, two, three: Jerrrricchooo."
Monty, Huffman's husband, watches and smiles.

"She's been a Bible class teacher all her life," says Monty, 52, a minister at Central Lubbock Church of Christ, where the two attend. "She's probably been teaching Bible class since she was a pre-teenager. She's had 40 years of experience. It's something on her heart, and a way to use her gifts for something good."

The couple opened The Bible Barn in September 2007. Aunt Lydia was born two months later.

"I just love kids and just wanted to have something where they could come," Melody says of her alter ego and the weekly story time she calls Matthew's Korner, named in honor of her son. "I thought it would be something to help bring people in, something different. It's little. It's been slow. Sometimes kids are here; sometimes they're not, you know. But I'm always ready."

Ready or not

On Aug. 9, 1991, she wasn't ready. Parents never are, even when they know God holds the future and they'll all meet again one day. But little Matthew, 7 years, 1 month, and 1 day old when he died, was as ready as anyone's ever been.

The whole family was in Brazil. Melody and Monty were missionaries. The boys, Matthew and Micah, chased lizards and climbed trees. On Saturday night, Aug. 3, Matthew got sick. He was vomiting. He had headaches. The doctors said it was the Brazilian mumps. It wasn't.

"I was in the backseat as we were driving 30 miles to the hospital," Melody says with tears in her eyes. "And Matthew kept reaching out. He had spinal meningitis. He'd already gone blind and lost his ability to walk, and he just kept reaching his hand.

"I'd hold it and he'd tell me, 'No, I don't want it.' And, just in desperation I said, 'Well whatever you want, I'll get it. Just tell me.' And he just said, 'I'm trying to reach Jesus' hand,' and his hand closed in the air and ... that was it."

Telling stories

Christian author Max Lucado, a former missionary to Brazil himself and pastor of Oak Hills Church of Christ in San Antonio where relatives of the Huffmans attended, wrote about their ordeal in his 1993 book "And the Angels Were Silent."

"Max wrote about that and what his last words were," Melody said. " 'I'm reaching for Jesus.' "

It's still hard to talk about. Some days she can't. But each Saturday she'll sit down in front of photos of Matthew, framed and hung on the wall in his "Korner," and tell other people's children all the stories she used to tell him.

Five-year-old Andy Woods even kind of looks like him.

"What's that?" he asks, sucker in his mouth, pointing to a book just before things get going on Saturday.

"That is a book about The Story Keepers," Melody says. "They keep the story of Jesus alive."
(OTHER VOICES: Matthew Morine has a great post about the future of the largest churches of Christ. Check it out.)

Texas Monthly Reviews Oak Hills Church

(After some hesitation, I thought I would send this on for the benefit of my readers outside of Texas Monthly's circulation area.)

Faith Bases
Oak Hills Church
San Antonio October 7, 2007
by William Martin


Oak Hills Church, San Antonio Photograph by Valerie Taylor
DENOMINATION None
PASTOR Max Lucado
ADDRESS 19595 Interstate 10
PHONE 210-698-6868
ON THE INTERNET oakhillschurchsa.org
MAIN SERVICE Saturdays at 5:00 P.M.; Sundays at 8:30 A.M., 10 A.M., and 11:30 A.M.

Having grown up in the Church of Christ, I have been interested in observing, at a modest distance, the differences that have evolved over the years between the small-town churches of my youth (similar to the Oak Hill Church of Christ in Luling, which I reviewed in July 2006) and “seeker friendly” megachurches such as San Antonio’s Oak Hills Church, by lineage a Church of Christ but one that has moved sufficiently far from its roots to have dropped the name. With a weekly attendance of approximately 5,500, Oak Hills, located at the northwest edge of San Antonio on Interstate 10, is one of the state’s largest congregations and led by one of its best-known preachers, Max Lucado.

After following several corridors one Sunday—past offices, nurseries, a coffee shop, and the UpWords bookstore—my wife and I found the elevator and stairs to the second-level worship center. If the banners hanging from the rafters of this large multifunctional space had read “State AAAA Champs, 2005” instead of “The Holy Spirit, Our Power” and “The Church, God’s Battalion,” one might well have assumed that this was the gymnasium of an affluent high school. Most of the congregation of about 1,500—there are four weekend services at this campus, plus two others at auxiliary locations—sat in comfortable, movable chairs on the main floor; the rest of us sat in theater-style bleacher seats. Dress and demeanor were casual, with some worshippers wearing shorts and a number carrying mugs of coffee.

As the service got under way, we immediately saw and heard a superficial but nonetheless decisive difference between the Oak Hills Church and most churches of its parent body: a choir and a band! With guitars and drums! The nineteenth-century founding fathers of the Churches of Christ, in a desire to restore the first-century church by imitating its practices—an approach they hoped would encourage unity among all Christians—interpreted the absence of mention of instrumental music in early church worship as warrant for prohibiting it, instead favoring a cappella singing, usually in four-part harmony. In recent years, however, a small but growing number of Churches of Christ have elected to break with that tradition. At Oak Hills, I later learned, the decision to introduce instrumental music proceeded slowly, with much discussion, and then only partially. It began with the use of instruments in one of the weekend services, a compromise designed to attract people who found the prohibition off-putting and to mollify those who still preferred an abstinence-only approach. Soon, however, the balance tipped. At present, only the 8:30 a.m. service retains a cappella singing.

An old friend who serves as a leading elder at the church acknowledged that substantial numbers of members had left Oak Hills to attend other churches, “some specifically because of the instrument, others because of the ‘slippery slope.’” That perceived drift included a greater public role for women, who have traditionally taken no part in the worship of Churches of Christ beyond singing from their pews. At Oak Hills, women hold some official ministry positions, lead worship, and address the congregation (as in making announcements) but are not yet deemed eligible to fill the pulpit, serve as elders, or preside over communion.

As more and more people from non—Church of Christ backgrounds began attending Oak Hills—they are currently estimated to number a bit more than half the congregation—church leaders learned that many had been reluctant to even set foot inside a Church of Christ because of its association with a strong form of legalism and a widely resented (though increasingly less common) assertion that members of other denominations are not really Christians. So, following the lead of more and more churches everywhere, Oak Hills dropped the label in 2003 and prefers to be known simply as a “community church.”

Undoubtedly, much of the credit for Oak Hills’ growth must go to its pastor. Though only 53, Lucado (pronounced “Lu-cay-doe”) is an amazingly prolific and successful author. Beginning with a reworked collection of columns he wrote for a church newsletter while he was an associate minister fresh out of Abilene Christian University and then polished during a five-year stint as a missionary to Brazil in the eighties, he has written more than fifty books, published in more than twenty languages worldwide and with aggregate sales in excess of 50 million copies—more than either Joel Osteen or Rick Warren (The Purpose-Driven Life) and second only to Billy Graham among living inspirational authors. Christianity Today has called Lucado “America’s Pastor,” and in 2005 Reader’s Digest named him “America’s Best Preacher.”

No preacher will receive such high marks on all scorecards, but Lucado is an uncommonly good communicator. He has an excellent eye and ear for the details of a story, delivering his messages with a range of voice and tone that captures attention without being theatrical. On the day of our visit, he recounted the story in John 8:1—11 of the adulterous woman whom religious leaders had apprehended and were prepared to execute when Jesus intervened. Lucado noted that the woman had been “caught . . . in the act,” indicating that her self-righteous accusers had likely set a trap for her. Even more important, they were using her as bait to trap Jesus. “The law of Moses commands that we stone to death every woman who does this,” they said to Jesus. “What do you say we should do?” Lucado then described the scene in which Jesus stooped down, wrote something in the sand, and said, “Anyone here who has never sinned can throw the first stone at her.” As her accusers dropped their stones and slunk away, Jesus looked up and said, “Woman, where are they? Has no one judged you guilty?” When she answered, “No one, sir,” he said, “I also don’t judge you guilty. You may go now, but don’t sin anymore.”

The lesson, Lucado emphasized, is that for those who will accept Jesus as their savior, every sin they have committed, or will commit in the future, is forgiven. Jesus has left a message for everyone, he said, not in the sand but on a cross. That message is “Not guilty. Let my forgiveness cover you. Put the past in the past. It’s time to move on, relieved of guilt and shame.”

This assertion of radical grace was a notable departure from the sermons I heard as a child. The message I received back then was that the slate got wiped clean at baptism but that every slip thereafter would be indelibly inscribed in a heavenly account book. On Judgment Day, if your good works outweighed your shortcomings, grace might serve as a sort of “bridge loan” that would allow you to make a down payment on a heavenly mansion. But the notion of walking around feeling fully accepted by God was simply not part of the arrangement. Recently, however, grace has made amazing headway among Churches of Christ, particularly those with younger preachers and congregations, often to the disdain of those who fear it will be viewed as a license to sin. That possibility obviously exists, but I can say without hesitation that had I heard such an encouraging message during the first two decades of my life, I would surely have regarded it as Good News.

Landmarks: Wink, Texas

This is along Highway 115 between Kermit and Wink. Four orange barrels surround a crack in the earth which is right by the highway. The crack emanates from the first sinkhole, about 50 feet behind the fence, and runs under the highway and for about 3/4 of a mile west, if I remember correctly.

Welcome to Wink! (Robert took most of these pictures!) Wink is eight miles southwest of Kermit ...If we'd known he was gonna be famous, WE WOULDN'T HAVE TORN HIS HOUSE DOWN!On the day Kermit the Frog came to Kermit, the Roy Orbison Museum's owners wanted him (the frog, that is!) to come and visit Wink also, but he was far too busy.The museum's proprietors advertise that they only want die-hard Orbison fans, so we've not yet gathered up the nerve to tour it.Our little church house. Attendance was down to about six people until 2003, when fifty of us began coming over from Kermit. The original six didn't know what to make of us. Like most church buildings around here, there are bats in the attic.

Here's the elementary classroom in relatively pristine state. The class has between one and four children, depending on the week.


I inherited the class from a woman named Dorothy, who has since passed on. Here's good advice from Robert:
This is the sanctutorium, which was constructed in 1990.

Interestingly, Roy Orbison may have had roots in this church. I found an old guest register that was signed by Mrs. Roy Orbison in 1959, but of course I can't find it now.

Landmarks

Robert takes spooky, surrealistic pictures."Come on, Robert. Give me the camera." My job requires me to drive long distances. This is the first in a series of pictures of landmarks which I see at least once a month during my travels. This is the "rooster stump" at the entrance to the Kermit Sandhills, about ten miles northwest of Kermit. Just be sure to keep the gate closed, or else ... "BAWK BAWK!" The Kermit Sandhills are the dune buggy capital of West Texas.

Next up is Andrews, Texas, where a famous author used to attend this church. (Cue the angelic choir now.)Seagraves, Texas has an abandoned motel called Cotton Country USA, which is adorned with images of Hollywood stars. Here is the Marilyn door.
Speaking of Seagraves, a resident of that town wrote a neat post here about a new church that started up three years ago in Lubbock. They met at the strip, which is where all the liquor stores are. I think they have since found other quarters. Check it out.

Christian Celebrity Hounds

Even worse than being a spiritual whiner, I am also an event junkie and a celebrity follower. I have dragged my poor family to countless Christian events, and the excuses are getting pretty labyrinthine:

David: "See the guy leading singing? His grandfather had a neighbor who dated a girl whose brother knew a guy whose hair was cut by another guy whose cousin once walked a dog belonging to Trey Morgan."

Liz: "The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down."

Someone we know (and not always the same person) is always upset that we go to these things, and their excuse is usually just as obscure:

Friend: "We couldn't go to that event because Trey disagrees with us on the identity of Zelophehad in Numbers 36:2. Surely he will face the wrath of God for this error."

David: "Well, okay, but don't call me Shirley."



For instance, we went to Andrews to hear Mack Lyon on October 14th, and now a couple of our friends are very hurt that we went. Supposedly it's because they disagree with him on the operation of the Spirit.

I've Been Discovered!

Well, hold everything! This blog got reviewed by webcogito.com, and here's what Jean Valjean said:

"Frogtown is the unique title given to the Blog written by David Kirk. No drama. No exploitation, no antics, and no Britney Spears pictures... just honest stories shared by an honest man. I highly recommend you stop by, read, and comment."

Thank you to the folks at WebCogito!

(And what happened next? Well, in Frogtown they say, David's ego grew three sizes that day!)

Just got back from a spiritual mountaintop of sorts - Ken Young was leading worship Saturday night and Sunday morning at Golf Course Road in Midland! It was great! We are the only people from Kermit who go to these sort of events. Our spiritual family in Wink just kind of scratches their heads at us.

Here's a Fred Thompson update - for those who need one! You know who you are!

Church When I Was a Kid

This began as sort of a response to this post on Trey Morgan's blog, which is a nice way of saying I stole his idea.

• I remember the first congregation we went to was Southside in Odessa, now known as Texas and Clements. The building was sold to a black congregation in about 1964, and for awhile we had church in an elementary school building.My folks soon tired of this arrangement and moved to Sherwood. After my mother died, my dad remarried and we started going to Parkview in late 1968. Parkview is sort of famous now because Max Lucado was baptized there. The Lucado family went there until they moved to Andrews in 1966. So I missed knowing them by two years.
  
  
• I remember when gospel meetings lasted a whole week, usually preached by Abe Lincoln (not the president), Jim McGuiggan, or Ed Wharton. Ed was particularly memorable. He would write on a chalkboard as he preached, as if teaching a class. I remember he was the first preacher that explained grace in a way I could understand it.



• Gospel meetings usually included several responses back then, like baptisms and re-dedications. I remember one in 1970 where no one came forward all week, and the preacher looked all dejected by the end of the meeting. One of the elders even gave a statement about how the meeting wasn't a failure, that seeds were planted and would someday bear fruit, etc. It was markedly unusual.
  
  
• I remember our song leader and unofficial youth minister, Frank Harrell. He never, to my knowledge, held a title such as elder or deacon, but he worked harder for the Lord than anyone I ever knew. He did jail ministry before it was commonly done. On at least one occasion I remember a prisoner being baptized on Sunday morning, escorted by sheriff's deputies. Frank Harrell died in a car accident in April 1997, and his funeral was attended by more people than had ever attended a funeral in Odessa.
  
  
• My perspective on the church is different from many of my readers. I gave up on churches of Christ for several years, believing that no good thing could come out of them. Then I encountered the words of Max Lucado, Mike Cope, Rubel Shelly and others, and my mind and heart were changed. Hey, no wonder some call them change agents!

Slinkys, Signs and Splits

• My next article is about my mother, and it's takingan eternity, so in the meantime here's some random thoughts:
  
• A sign at the McCamey Allsup's:
  Some people are like Slinkys. They serve no real purpose, but it is pleasant to push them down the stairs.

• Actual concert line-up (3 bands coming to Odessa August 14):
  She Turned Us Into Trees, How to Start a Fire, and Hit the Ground Running.

• A very good friend grew up in Andrews (45 miles away) and used to be Max Lucado's biggest fan. She phoned us twice last week to express her outrage over the fact that his church in San Antonio, Oak Hills, had dropped the "of Christ" from their name in 2003. All we could do was look up their reasons for the change - to reach people with the gospel - and send the information to her. She was not consoled. I asked my preacher about it and he said "If you had the power to preach the gospel to more people just by removing two words from the sign, wouldn't you do it?" Hmm...
• It is difficult to tell the story of Frogtown without touching on the church split of 2003, which some say never even happened. It came about suddenly and without warning. Supposedly, it began when two guys didn't agree with the idea of the church hosting grief seminars, financial seminars, and marriage classes. "We need to touch people where they hurt," the preacher at the time said, "not hurt people when we touch them." Those who agreed with the preacher, including the three of us, mostly wound up at the Wink church, eight miles away, while the rest remained in Kermit with the two guys. The preacher moved to Carlsbad and sold cars for awhile, until he eventually got a preaching job again. Can't we all get along?

34 hours after the split, a gas plant blew up 6 miles outside of Kermit, at 5 in the morning. A sign from God? In any case, we remember that week for the church and the gas plant both blowing up. In a manner of speaking.

E-mails

Hi!

Response to my calls for odd news has been overwhelming, meaning that one great friend has sent me about 20 links, most of which I am still sorting through. Please be patient. In the meantime, here are some things he reminded me of :

• Unusual church of Christ news. Yes, Fred Dalton Thompson, former Watergate lawyer turned actor turned former senator turned actor turned possible presidential candidate, is of church of Christ roots. Mark Elrod's excellent blog ran a satirical contest of sorts (which was totally misinterpreted by the media) as to whether Thompson still attends regularly. (Hey, Thompson's a busy man.)
• Favorite question: "Can he sing the Law & Order theme without instrumentation?"
  
  
• Heroes, the NBC/Sci Fi network drama, featured a story arc, not actually filmed here, in which some of its characters came to Frogtown in search of ... something. I've never seen the show, because in this house it's difficult to watch anything unless Spongebob is on it. Some Heroes fans even did a wiki in which they posted a fake story about Frogtown. Favorite quote:

• "Kermit -- why does that sound so familiar ?"
• "Cause of the frog?"



• Wide Open was actually filmed in Kermit and Midland. I didn't know it was ever finished. Our family, along with a hundred other people, went to an open casting call for extras a couple of years ago, in a less-than-air-conditioned room above the credit union, and listened to the film's director, Rick Owens, who had grown up here, speak for about an hour about how he intended to dress up one of Kermit's streets to look like a Miami street. The film's plot, if I remember it right, was about a couple of people in the Witness Protection Program who are relocated to the middle of nowhere -- Kermit! We (or anyone we know) were never contacted any more by the film company, and their website vanished, so we just assumed the production ran out of money. I would love to see this movie but I don't know where to find a copy -- but I continue to check the budget DVD rack at Wal-Mart!



• No one E-mailed me this, but as a public service, let's all do everything we can to put a stop to this sort of thing.