The Better Bowers' Story

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A couple years ago I birthed this project called Better Stories. It was built on the idea that we were never meant to live life complacent. It contained a series of live talks, podcast interviews, and more. Over the course of that time, my wife Carrie and I began to chase a dream of adoption.

It has been a long while since we have had any updates regarding our family’s adoption story.  To say the least, it has been a long and grueling process.  Nearly two years to this point since we started the pursuit of adopting a child from Burundi, Africa.

With that said, I want to tell you the story of where things are at this point. We shared this yesterday with our church family for Orphan Sunday, so I thought it was time to “go public.” 

When Carrie and I began to wrestle with what we understood to be a call to adoption, we weren’t sure exactly what that meant.  We talked about international adoption.  We also talked about sensing that God wanted our house to stay open, perhaps to a college student needing a family and a home.  In many ways both of those things happened. 

As we said yes to pursuing international adoption, we also met a young woman named Stephanie (pictured above to my right) who had begun attending our church and was a student at West Virginia Wesleyan College.  Getting to know Stephanie has been a gift to our entire family.  She spent the summer of 2018 with us and became like a daughter to Carrie and I and a sister to our girls.  In February of this year, as she wrestled with her own family background and faced some big decisions, we let her know that if it made sense we would be happy to assume guardianship or pursue adoption of her.  We didn’t know what that meant for an almost 21-year old woman, but we knew she was family and we wanted to make that as real as possible.  All of this was taking place as we continued our international adoption process.

Several months later, in July of this year, Stephanie asked us if we would still be willing to adopt her, because she wanted to be a part of our family.  We were amazed at God’s goodness and so excited to say yes and gain this daughter. 

 And that leads to the past month. 

It turns out, adopting a 21-year old domestically is much easier than adopting a young girl internationally.  After a few signed papers, we had a court date to bring our new (21-year old) daughter “home”.  When this was set, I called our international agency and the lady told me this was amazing and would only put our Burundi process “on hold”.  We would not lose our international place in line; Stephanie would merely need to do some paperwork and we could update our immigration forms and all would be ready to move forward.  A slight delay, but we were moving.

Then, a week later, I received a call from our same international agent apologizing profusely.  She informed me that after talking with several of their social workers their policy was that if we, as a family, had adopted someone else (even a 21-year old), that our international process was to be terminated.  If we would like to continue this international adoption we would be taken back to square one and start over in this (nearly 2-year) process.

We found all this out the beginning of this month.

To say the least, this has been a bit of a shellshock.  We are standing in between what the author Kelly Nikondeha calls “the two rivers” of relinquishment and reception.  We have been given, by God, the gift of an amazing new 21-year old daughter named Stephanie.  She is a piece we didn’t know was missing - full of joy and passion and life. She is truly our daughter.

We have also watched a process and pursuit of international adoption end.  Given this same scenario 100 more times, we would not change a thing.  We would say “yes” to sweet Stephanie every single time.  She is our daughter.  She is our gift.  And… we are sad to see a process end that connected us to Burundi.  We feel some guilt for not knowing this; though, apparently there was no way of knowing.  But we are overjoyed at the completion of our family.

I share all this because you are our tribe.  You are the ones who have walked beside us in this.  You are the ones who text, call, check-in and let us know you’re praying.  You have been with us in this journey, and we wanted to tell this story. 

Our anthem in this season has been the words of that old song, “You give and take away… but my heart will choose to say… Blessed be Your name.”  And we are living that… experiencing God’s gift even as we surrender and lay down a part of a dream.  We do not feel like we’ve lost… only that we’ve gained this precious daughter.  We had the privilege of hearing God call, like Abraham, to follow Him even when we didn’t know the outcome.  And while the outcome isn’t what we expected, it is His outcome, and we are at peace with that.

So, thank you.  Thank you for loving us.  For dreaming with us.  For celebrating with us and for grieving with us.  Our family is amazing; and our family is tired.  Those are tensions we recognize and embrace.  Following Jesus is hard; but we wouldn’t trade it for anything.  And along the way, we have found courage in your presence in our lives.  For that, we are grateful.

Can We Stop Calling America a Christian Nation Yet?

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A couple years ago, as the strains of the presidential election droned on for what seemed like decades and our country heard continual stories of racial conflict, there was a Sunday I remember leading our congregation in prayer and conversation about what it might mean to find stillness in the midst of chaos.  We spent two weeks — two Sundays — in these conversations.  Week 1:  We talked about God STILL being God.  Week 2:  We talked about a God who STILLS the storms of our world.  And I thought I had done a good job of handling our difficult times with grace and truth.

Today I think these talks are like a songwriter who walks away after writing lyrics and then goes back a year later still happy with what she’s written.  When I look at my teaching notes, they “hold up”.  I like what I said and I would teach these things again.

But there’s a problem.

In these teachings I gave as a pastor with my congregation, I spoke as if the events of those days were out of the ordinary.  I taught from the Scriptures as if the chaos of police brutality and the gross unraveling of the free voting process turning into reality television snippets were a hiccup — something that would eventually go away and leave us with America as it “normally” exists.

Of course, after the weekend in Charlottesville two years ago, I’m reminded once again that these events, these patterns of unrest and infighting, and at the most honest level deep-seated racism and HATE are and have been the norm for longer than I’ve had my eyes and my ears and my heart open to the reality around me.

A bit of my backstory

I grew up in my Christian faith primarily in the 1990’s as an adolescent who found belonging in a community of believers who instilled in me affirmation that I was a child of God and I had potential to work for God for the good of his mission.  I remember attending camps and conferences through my teenage and college years and being deeply transformed by those experiences.  To this day, these stand as the formative years for me in my vocation and journey as a pastor.  I would not trade them.

But, I also recognize in the midst of any journey there are hazy illusions that convince us they are concrete realities.  

For me, the underlying theology and nationalistic pride in the United States as a(perhaps the) beacon of light shining out of a truly Christian nation was the assumption of those to whom I listened.  I remember pastors, leaders, authors, and other speakers decrying the apostasy of our nation that came a few decades earlier because of the removal of prayer in schools or the acceptance of abortion.  I remember the passionate call to put God back in his right place in America because only then could we be rescued from our threat of abandonment by the God who was obviously the king of our nation.

My assumption in all of this as a young believer in my teenage years?

Christianity fit into the American dream like an oven-mitt over the baker’s hand.  The two were synonymous and our nation had been founded by Christian forefathers with the best intentions and a clear commitment to not only Christian morals but Christian living.  We were truly a Christian nation.

It didn’t take long to have my views of the U.S. expanded.  I remember several steps along the journey of life that unhinged my assumptions and broadened my perspective.  Little things to big things that forced me to assess the unspoken rules of my Christianity and begin to understand that the color gray that often overlapped and out-shadowed what I assumed to be black and white was actually a beautiful color.

I remember a political science professor at my tiny, evangelical college who confronted my assumptions with grace and rigidity and helped me understand that liberal/conservative, democrat/republican didn’t work as labels in the Kingdom of God.

I remember the first time a student in my youth ministry confessed to me she was struggling with her sexual orientation and wondered if God hated her and all the easy answers to these difficult issues I’d been handed suddenly became that much cloudier.

I remember working in a proudly liberal (theologically and politically) church and a proudly conservative (theologically and politically) church and walking away from both jobs humbled by the Jesus-lovers I’d met and shared life with in each congregation.

In these experiences, I never forgot that label given so often to the U.S. — a Christian nation.  I remember songs, quotes, sermons, and books, all espousing this proposition that part of the uniqueness of the U.S. should lie in our identity as a truly Christian nation.

It perhaps hit me no more clearly than a time I worked behind the scenes of a concert for one of the mega-stars of contemporary Christian music.  For an hour and a half, he led worship.  He sang amazing and powerful congregational songs about Jesus, about living faithfully for Jesus, and about caring for the world in the name of Jesus.  Then, in the next fifteen minutes he performed a series of patriotic songs and the intensity of “worship” in the room became electric.  The passion and zeal that had existed in singing for Jesus was elevated to a new level as images of the flag were displayed on the HD screens of the church.  It was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

End the back story…

As I’ve watched and read the stories coming out of Charlottesville this weekend, the question I’ve been asking is simple.

Can we stop calling ourselves a Christian nation yet?

I know many reading this already have.  I know others who never did.  But I also know many, many Evangelical leaders and pastors, congregants and friends who still hold to this false theology that the word Christian can or ever should define an entire nation.  Friends, this is — if anything — a smoking gun of theological heresy.

The reality is God has never allowed himself to be co-opted to fit national agendas.  He didn’t allow it in Israel and he will not allow it for us in the United States.  In fact, at all points he seems to warn that the nationalistic desire to make God our biggest advocate and lobbyist (be it Republican or Democrat, Libertarian or whatever) will end with a failed attempt at divine power cornered in our own ambitions.

Can we stop calling ourselves a Christian nation yet?

So I’m asking this question as I’m watching the pictures and the videos of white supremacist terrorists spewing hate that says my black friends and my Asian friends and my immigrant friends do not belong in this Christian nation.

I’m asking this question as our president lives each day promoting and proclaiming his own excellence and infallibility across social media in the midst of this Christian nation.

I’m asking this question as we in small towns that are 98% white pretend these racial conversations do not affect us in this Christian nation.

I’m asking this question as those on the margins — the immigrant and refugees, the poor and homeless, the sexually disenfranchised, the beat down and worn out — continue to pass our church doors because we do not make them feel safe in this Christian nation.

I’m asking this question because I believe our nation is in desperate need of seeing Christ-followers truly act and live as Christians.

Those who incited the violence in Charlottesville this weekend moved in the name of God, claiming they represent Christ and the myth of a Christian nation.

But they do not represent me, and they do not represent my tribe, and they do not represent Jesus.

So I’m wondering, can we stop calling ourselves a Christian nation yet?  Because maybe when we do those who have been hurt, wounded, confused, and battered by the false representations of Christ… maybe then we could see an outpouring of love, unity, reconciliation, healing, lament, and forgiveness at every level to truly become the Kingdom God intended.

For my friends of color who are once again scared or angry, confused or broken, forgive us for believing this myth for far too long.  Forgive our silence.  Forgive our inaction.  Forgive me for not always knowing how to act or how to love more strongly or how to do anything.  But at least know this.  The myth has long ago been shattered for me… and I’m doing the best I can to piece together a new mosaic of truth.

The Tension of the "No"

About five months ago I was three chapters into a dissertation journey that started back in 2013. About five months ago I was overwhelmed and wondering how I’d ever complete that journey. (The final product is only five chapters, but man were those …

About five months ago I was three chapters into a dissertation journey that started back in 2013. About five months ago I was overwhelmed and wondering how I’d ever complete that journey. (The final product is only five chapters, but man were those last two painful!)

About five months ago I did something that I’ve never been very good at.

I started to learn to say no.

Today, I’m writing again here. I’m putting some new projects on my radar that I put on hold for a while. I’m saying yes to some things that I’ve wanted to say yes to for a while because last Friday I turned in my completed dissertation.

And you know what I learned in this process?

The no paved the way for the yes.

Actually, the “no’s” paved the way for the “yes’s”.

I know this is like Leadership 101 and we’ve all heard this, agreed with this, and maybe even taught this; but the reality is not many of us practice this. Not many of us have the willingness or the discipline to say the “no’s” we need to say in order to get to the “yes’s” we need to get to.

And in the words of the Apostle Paul, “I am the chief of sinners.”

I’m not writing this to say I figured it all out. I’m writing this to say I’m writing here today because I finally said no to the right things and yes to the right things and my dissertation is finished and my daughter stored my name in her phone as “Dr. Daddy” and that felt pretty stinking cool and had I never said the “no’s” it took to finish the paper the stinking cool thing wouldn’t have happened.

So no’s are worth it.

Period.

What should/could you say no to this week?
What “YES” have you been putting off because you haven’t said the right “NO”?

Whatever it Takes

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I don’t know if you saw the image in this post a few months ago, but it captured me.  And it captured me because the story behind it is so powerful.

On April 23, 2018, between 1:00 and 3:00 am, a line of thirteen semi-trailer trucks lined up under a bridge close to Detroit to form a blockade that would prohibit a suicidal man on the bridge above from jumping to his death.

And it worked.

There’s this song my kids have been listening to.  I don’t know many of the words except for the hook in the chorus that repeats, “I do whatever it takes…”

I saw this picture and read this story and that song was all I could think about.

You see, I love this image and I love the story of the drivers lining up and I really love the end result of a man’s life being saved, but I want to know more.

Because somewhere behind this story there’s another story.  Somewhere behind these trucks is an individual who saw a suicidal man and spread the word to another individual who had the idea that a line of really big trucks simply stopping what they normally do (driving at high speeds) and parking under a bridge could form something that would save a life.  And somehow, those individuals communicated to people who communicated to truck drivers and organized an event that literally saved a man’s life.

They did whatever it takes.

Every single day in the organizations we lead, there are problems.  There are issues.  There are crises.  There are things staring us in the face that need dealt with by those who can do something about it.

But every single day in our organizations the vast majority of us ignore the problems, stay in our lane, pretend the problems are not ours, keep doing our jobs, don’t look up from our desks, or bypass the urgency of the situation.

And we miss the opportunities for real, lasting, substantial impact.

So what are you going to see today and who are you going to talk to about it that will make a lasting difference?