It took the better part of the day to clean up all the dust and drywall bits that the shotgun had left in the kitchen, but after cleaning everything enough to be functional, the whole family sat down and enjoyed the apple pie that had luckily remained untouched and under it’s wrapping paper the whole time.

With calmer nerves and a better arsenal of tools, Dad was more than ready to make sure the bear would not be returning again. He called up two of neighbors and they quickly put together a plan to follow the bear while the sun was still up. Assuring his wife and kids that it would be ok, and explaining to his son that this would not be a trip he could come along on, Dad grabbed the keys to the Suburban, the black car he had urged the kids to hide in, and slipped out the door to pickup his partners in this venture. The rear passenger door to the car was still ajar from when he had urged the kids to take shelter there, so he tossed his rifle in the floor through it.

It only took a few minutes to swing by and pickup Knute and Ray, which was good, because the pungent odor of the bear from their earlier encounter seemed to fill the car as he drove. Dad tried to recount their encounter to the men as they drove back to the house, minimizing the description of the home damage, which he was renting from Knute. But as they pulled into the driveway again, all three men saw and heard the bear for themselves, this time, from the rear cargo area of their vehicle. Dad looked in the rear view mirror to see the bear’s head rise up and look over the third row headrests. Knute, who was seated behind him, leapt from the car without looking, as did Ray, from the passenger seat.

Bringing the car to a quick halt, Dad exited the car to see that both men had managed to hang onto their weapons and were now aiming them at the vehicle’s remaining occupant. Assured that he had some protection, Dad ran around and opened the back hatch of the suburban. The bear seemed to be just as anxious to exit as the three men had been, and he tore off into the woods next to the road in a flash.

Still trying to process their experience, none of the men managed to pull the trigger of their weapons in that instant. Instead, they dropped them down as soon as the bear was out of sight, with breaths of relief. I can only imagine that the bear must have stopped just out of sight, to breathe his own sigh of relief. What a day!

Dad lazily stumbled to the windows at the back of the house to look toward the chickens, but instead of viewing the hen house, there staring back at him on the other side of the glass, was the head of a huge bear! It sat looking expectantly toward his two oldest kids, licking egg off it’s face. Apparently, after the shock had worn off, the bear had discovered that it’s face was covered with a delicious egg! He had followed the kids back to the house for a second helping.

“Wow,” Dad exclaimed, “you were right, that IS a Bear!”

“I think he wants to come in,” Eli replied.

“Well, he’s not allowed!” said Lizzy in response.

“Too late,” Eli shouted, pointing to the door as the bear pushed it open, “we forgot to close the door all the way!”

“Everybody get back!” Dad ordered, as they beat a hasty retreat through the house. “Head for the front door.”

The bear charged through the house right behind them, equally excited at the expectation of more food. Dad and the kids ran without looking back, out the front door and around into the garage. Dad was hoping that with a little luck, they might lead the bear back out of the house and trap him outside. Unfortunately, looking back from the garage, they watched as the bear stopped in the doorway, sniffed the air, and noticing the scents coming from the kitchen behind, turned back into the house.

“That bear better not eat my apple pie!” Lizzy remarked angrily.

“He’s got plenty of choices, for sure.” Dad said in a concerned tone, but his mind was on more pressing matter. They weren’t the only ones in the house today: Mom and their youngest girl were fast asleep in the bedrooms at the back of the house.

“Lock yourselves in the black car!” Dad shouted to his two oldest, opening the vehicle door, then running the opposite direction into the garage. Peeking through the garage door, he saw the bear curiously examining the kitchen countertops. Quickly he loaded a shell into the single shot twenty gauge rifle on the rack, cursing his luck for placing the more formidable weapons above the kitchen cabinets. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come down to hitting him with one shot!” He thought to himself.

Locked and loaded, Dad took the shotgun in one hand and a board in the other. Slipping silently around the kitchen toward the bedrooms, he noticed his wife groggily leaving the bedroom after a long nap. Before he could say anything, she turned and entered the hall bathroom, still half awake and totally unaware of the chaos ensuing a few yards further down the hall.

Dad blocked the hallway with some chairs, hoping to deter the bear from going that way. Back at the front door, he noticed Eli and Lizzy had failed to follow his directions and were watching anxiously as the bear sniffed at the apple pie.

Rapping on the floor with the board, Dad quickly caught the bear’s attention. “You Bad Bear!” he shouted loudly, “Go home!” He brought the board up and gave the bear a stout pop in the nose, hoping to elicit the same shot as the egg had gotten initially. But the bear’s hunger was in charge now, it wasn’t going to leave without some satisfaction. It roared back a challenge.

Dad knew that if the bear stayed, everyone was in grave danger, so he did his best to look and sound intimidating, banging the board on everything and yelling, but the bear only challenged back, this time, standing on it’s back legs to roar back the challenge. Now he could hear his wife and kids behind him, panic-ing at the unfolding battle.

Down to his last resort, Dad took aim into the bear’s chest with the shotgun and squeezed the trigger, but at that very moment the bear’s movement sent the board in his other hand flying upward into the rifle. The gun fired into the ceiling with a deafening sound, raining down pieces of drywall onto the bear and covering everything with fine white dust. Fearing the worst, Dad snapped the gun open and reloaded, but when he looked up through the dust, the only remaining trace of the bear was white footprints leading back through the house and out the back door.

Locking the door behind the bear, he called the kids back in, calmed the confused and crying Abby down, and hugged everyone.

“That, was the end of that,” he thought.

I’ve always been amazed at the epic things God does in our world! It’s only with the advent of computer-aided design that I feel our dreams might be exceeding His in their vastness and creativity…and even then, that’s probably only because I haven’t seen what He’s up to in Heaven.

From the earliest day, God has been writing epic stories and giving men epic dreams:

• Noah must have been intimidated by the size of the boat project God sent his way.
• Abraham must have given up counting the stars after only moments of looking them over…not to mention the sand on the sea shore.
• and the Prophets, including the disciple John must have wondered if all they had seen of God’s heavenly creations could really be more than fanciful dreams.

I love that capacity to believe in the immense, the unattainable, and the impossible. I believe it’s why men like Martin Luther King, Jr. shot for the stars with his movement for equality and the people he led could believe in that same dream. And why a good Christian man like Jerry Falwell Sr. could dream of a school that was as big as Notre Dame, yet teach from an evangelical Christian perspective in every subject…a school I benefited from in my own education.

But those great dreams more often than not, come with a catch that’s hard to accept. God’s timing is often not a part of the promise. He delivers dreams that often exceed the dreamers lifetimes. As Hebrews 11 says so eloquently,

“These all died in faith without having received the promises, but they saw them from a distance.” ~ Hebrews 11:13

That was certainly true of Martin Luther King Jr and Jerry Falwell Sr, as well as Abraham and the Prophets. The gift in the dream that they were given was really for the generations that would follow them.

And I find it to be true of thousands of others on a slightly smaller scale: good Christian people who dream of a business or ministry that changes lives in their city or world on a scale that addresses the need that has overwhelmed them in their own work.

This Holy Tension: to dream, and yet walk with patience that waits on God’s timing is one that is lacking in the lives of many dreamers. It breaks my heart to see churches now struggling, ministries and businesses that have closed their doors because they built their dream too quickly or without sharing it with a generation that could continue it. It’s God’s timing that can really help dreamers remain humble and push them to make sure their dream lands in the hands of capable leaders when they are gone.

The dreams that I find span 2-3 generations are the ones that make the greatest difference in our world: churches who build a strong core of believers that can support the next pastor to come (like Andy Stanley’s NorthPoint ministry born out of FBC Atlanta). Ministries that have earned the trust of their community and are able to partner with in at a deeper level. Pastors equipped in ministry for success by a seasoned leader (like Craig Groschel’s development in the Methodist church, or the strong church and university under the leadership of Jerry Falwell’s two sons). In Scripture, we even see this example in the way leadership remained strong from Moses to Joshua in the Old Testament, and from Jesus to His disciples in the New Testament.

Too many dreamers get caught marrying the dream to their reputation, and they fail to trust another to carry on their work. It’s not without good reason: many a dreamer has handed off a healthy organization only to have their successor drive it into failure or abuse the influence they were given. However, I truly believe it’s worth the risk–the potential future impact far outweighs the risk. And I believe it’s God’s desire that we play the long game–shooting to build things that have multi-generational impact.

I love being a part of a ministry that is equipping future leaders and sending them into ministry as well as resourcing other ministries with tools for free. And I hope that for my kids, I can leave them as trained, capable leaders, who will build on my work or the work of others. I would love to leave them my home, and an inheritance, that will hopefully allow them to do great ministry in our world without having to pay all the bills I have had over the years.

Standing next to the chicken house, the young boy could not believe his eyes: a bear had emerged from the woods just feet away from him! It lumbered lazily toward the chicken house, but paid no attention to him. He didn’t think bears lived in Oklahoma!

Then he felt a sense of panic, because just on the other side of the chicken house was his sister, checking the nesting boxes for eggs. She was too preoccupied with her task even look at him so he could warn her. What should he do? he wondered.

Then the better question came to mind: what would Steve do? Steve was the bear whisperer elsewhere in the country, and Eli has watched his show dozens of times, learning how Steve managed bears to keep them out of trouble.

With a greater sense of confidence, Eli rushed to his sister’s side and snatched one of the eggs from the nest just as the bear rounded the other corner of the chicken house to face them. “What are you doing, you bad bear?” he shouted, trying to sound fierce. When the bear stood its ground as his rebuke, he angrily tossed the egg into the bear’s face. It shattered across his forehead, covering his eyes and nose in gooey egg slime. The shock and sudden blast of moisture on his face shocked the bear, and he beat a hasty retreat into the woods where he had first appeared.

Lizzy was still standing in shock at the sight of the bear, but Eli didn’t waste a moment. He knew the bear could come back. He quickly slammed the chicken coop shut and took her hand. They ran back to the house together, and slammed the door closed behind them.

“Dad, Dad,” they both shouted. “We saw a bear!”

“Bears don’t live in Oklahoma,” Dad responded without looking up from his book.

“This one does!” Eli retorted, “and he was gonna eat the chickens.”

“Let me see.” Dad replied, getting out of his chair.

(to be continued…)

In middle school, I spent a great deal of time in the group of kids commonly referred to as nerds. I was ridiculed for my glasses, my off-brand shoes, and my sack lunches. So when I got into high school and found I had some pretty strong talent for soccer and running, I became fairly obsessed with proving myself as good as popular kids…even if I was never welcomed into their circles. I especially wanted to be a varsity player and earn my letter. The thought of sporting the letterman jacket felt like the ultimate achievement to solidify my worth to the other kids.

Then came tragedy. In the prime of my rise to significance: killing our fall preseason soccer training and on my way to claiming my position as a started for the varsity team, I locked legs with one of the biggest guys on the team, and lost the battle. A broken leg not only set me back from soccer plans, it killed my soaring spirit of achievement. And worse, it refused to heal. What the doctor told me would take weeks, ended up taking months. Months on crutches or in a boot hobbling around the halls of the high school…in front of the same kids I wanted to impress.

If God had not have gotten my attention, I expect that year would have felt like a complete failure, and my attitude and involvement would have dropped pretty low. But having no ability to play sports, I accepted a friend’s invitation to a weekend retreat. And hobbling around the camp for three days, I encountered God in a new and powerful way.

I knew God as the one who died on the cross and who I had asked to save me. But all around me on the retreat, I met men and kids my own age who were taking their faith seriously every day: reading the Bible and praying, meeting with others to discuss their struggles, and working to see others come to know Jesus too. I fell in love with the ministry of the people of God, and it was there that my desire to be popular died, giving way to a desire to be useful to God.

A broken leg cost me a personal dream…but gave birth to God’s dream for me and in me. It was a worthy trade.

I later heard a speaker say that a shepherd will sometimes break a sheep’s leg if he can’t get it to stop wandering off. The sheep learns as it heals to stay close by. Though it sounds cruel, the harsh action is the best way to protect a teach that can’t learn to heed his warnings.

I think the Good Shepherd used that method on me.