heard her sweet little voice,

and held her sweet little hands in ours.

Happy birthday, my Sweet Little Eden Grace.

What a difference a day makes.

This also seems to be the blog entry where I start things off with the least creative opening line ever.

Full confession: On the metaphorical list I have long carried with me that lays out important items concerning the life and ministry of Reunion, a logo has never been near the top. To be clear, I’m not at all saying church logos have no importance. I’m merely saying I don’t see why they deserve the place of importance we often offer them in the church world – a pedastal that had several people asking me in the first month of our stepping into the world of church planting, “Do you have a logo yet?” I know, I know — “But we’re such a visual society, Brian!” This is true. What is also true is that we’ve always been a visual society. I suppose if you have a lot of time on your hands you could prove to me that we’re more visual than ever, but I would probably just shrug at the end of your presentation (which would surely include PowerPoint) and say, “Okay. So we’re more visual than ever. Either way, we’ve always been visual.” Which would probably be maddening, seeing as you spent all those hours on that presentation.

The immediate and obsessive emphasis on logo development makes a great deal of sense to me in the business world. In the business world you’re often pushing an inanimate product, so you do whatever you can to gain an emotional draw, ranging from hiring an endearing spokesperson to designing a logo, which, in its own odd way, serves as a “person” with which to identify. This is why I think designers are incredibly talented and much needed. Sure, their work can be so good that I’m snookered into unnecessary consumerism, but the beauty and power of their work can catch my attention and draw me toward something I actually might need in life, be it insurance or counseling or medical needs or you name it. But with the church we are already hoping to have people deal directly with a person and a people. The need for a stand-in and other marketing trappings aren’t as key – or they shouldn’t be as key. I feel like we can all at least agree on this, whether we love the idea of church logos or feel a bit cool toward them: The key visual for a church — the key logo, if you will — will always be the Logos, the Christ. (I’m really not trying to be cute in my wordplay. I actually think that’s a significant thing to think on from John’s Gospel, but it requires another blog entry entirely.) The second key visual for a church — the second key logo, if you will — will always be the people. We know this is true, because if you remove a logo from a local church and Christ and the people who comprise that local Bride remain in stunning display, everything is well and good. That seems to put a logo in its place. So as things have continued to take shape with Reunion, I have spent the vast majority of my time continuing to sharpen my understanding of Christ, with the rest of my time devoted to working with and working on the people, allowing them to work on me, too. As I’ve done so, I’ve thought from time to time, When we get to the logo, we get to the logo.

All that being said, when it came time for designing the logo, I did take it seriously, because in this day an age, the blurring of the lines between the business world and the church world means you can’t escape the gravitational pull of a logo, even if you want to. But I’m cool with it. Because a logo can be but one more way to tell a story, the story. It is one more thing – though, again, less important than displaying as incarnationally as possible the Christ and the Bride – that will have a draw to Christ and the Bride. Besides, I have a deep, abiding love for the world of art, in which logo design falls. And besides, I know several brothers and sisters who are incredibly gifted as artists, and I love setting them loose to help us find but one more way to tell the story, to help us as we’re out and about doing the grittier work of incarnationally telling the story.

I didn’t go into the process with a whole lot of convictions. I wanted it to be simple. I wanted it to tell a story — a story of reunion, of coming together, of movement toward reconciliation and the recreation that comes about in the overlap of that. My final conviction was that we not lose hours of time or serious money to a design process. In the end, here’s where we landed:

I suspect that 1/3 of you will like it all right, another 1/3 will be kind of “meh” about it, and the final 1/3 will think, This confirms my suspicions that Brian is terrible at decision-making. There were other ideas and iterations, but this one just worked and works for us. It’s certainly simple. It also simply and subtly tells a story of reunion, of a coming together of two things and a new reality in the overlap between the two—two bars (blue and yellow) coming together, with a new reality or union at the middle (the green box). And I am quite happy to report that we did not lose hours or much money at all to this. In fact, with that whole “yellow and blue makes green” element, I’m hoping Ziploc will rejoice over us and become an official sponsor. We might actually make money off of this. And if that happens, I will tell you that there are few things more important than your logo.

And they say that one day Joshua
Made the sun stand still in the sky
But I can’t even keep these thoughts of you from passing by
Oh we are not as strong as we think we are

We are frail we are fearfully and wonderfully made
Forged in the fires of human passion
Choking on the fumes of selfish rage
And with these our hells and our heavens
So few inches apart
We must be awfully small
And not as strong as we think we are

And the Master said their faith was
Gonna make them mountains move
But me I tremble like a hill on a fault line
Just at the thought of how I lost you
Oh we are not as strong as we think we are

We are frail we are fearfully and wonderfully made
Forged in the fires of human passion
Choking on the fumes of selfish rage
And with these our hells and our heavens
So few inches apart
We must be awfully small
And not as strong as we think we are

And if you make me laugh
I know I could make you like me
Cause when I laugh I can be a lot of fun
But we can’t do that I know that it is frightening
What I don’t know is why we can’t hold on
We can’t hold on

It took the hand of God Almighty
To part the waters of the sea
But it only took one little lie
To separate you and me
Oh we are not as strong as we think we are

When you love you walk on the water
Just don’t stumble on the waves
We all want to go there somethin awful
But to stand there it takes some grace
Cause oh we are not as strong
As we think we are

No we are not as strong
As we think we are

Walk on the water
Walk on the water
If we could just hold on
Just hold on

“We Are Not As Strong As We Think We Are,” Rich Mullins

So, sorry.

I even asked for a suggested topic to address in the blog, however, Brian didn’t provide much inspiration or direction in that area either.

So, sorry.

Stylistically speaking, this post will be different from the norm as Brian and I don’t agree on usage of commas, colons and semi-colons (I say he could use more, he says I could use less); that is a post for another day, perhaps.

So, sorry.

In fact, I fully understand if you suddenly feel the urge to stop reading and give the usatoday.com crossword puzzle a try instead; that’s probably where I’m headed after I’m done here.

In fact, I’m a bit distracted while trying to figure out what to write as little Miss Eden is twirling herself around inside a blanket on the couch, singing her own version of the Elmo song, and trying to convince herself she’s not tired enough to take a nap.

In fact, she is tired enough to nap. I am tired enough to nap, so she has to be tired enough to nap. Who isn’t tired enough to take a nap after playing indoors all day on such a gloomy day?

Let’s face it, she’s so stinkin’ cute that I can’t help but laugh at her trying to charm and smile her way out of a nap. See, and now she just came over to give me a kiss and a fake drink from her cup. How can I suggest she go back to the couch for her nap when she just wants to snuggle and play with mommy?

Let’s face it, this girl has me wrapped around her cute little fingers and can get a laugh, a smile or fake food nibble out of me at any time.

Let’s face it, I would’ve never guessed I could love someone so much as him. As her. As Him. Because of Him. Through Him. For Him.

This year’s Father’s Day will be quite different in that it is my first without my father.

And because of what makes this year so different than previous years, I suspect there will be a mixture of sadness and thankfulness. I hope the greatest of these is thankfulness. It should be. But the reality is that I’m still in the stage of not knowing when the grieving side of things will have a little more sway than the celebrative side of things.

I do know there will at least be some sadness on Sunday. I know this because last night we had our first official launch team meeting for the new church. I don’t think I’m being overly dramatic when I say it was one of the most joyful moments I’ve had in ministry. And I can’t even begin to tell you just how badly I wanted to call Dad to tell him about it. I know there will be sadness because I see that Bob Dylan’s Neverending Tour is going to do a U.S. swing this summer and fall, and I don’t know what it looks like to buy a ticket for just one. I know there will be sadness because in the very near future we will be boxing up Dad’s office at the seminary, and I know that in the middle bottom cabinet drawer of the hutch system that lines his side wall there is a red Frisbee that Dad always kept for my sister and me to play with during long summer days. To know he kept it there to this very day undoes me.

But still I know there will be deep thankfulness because I thank my God everyday that I had a dad who would spend hours on the phone with me, who would stand in the pouring rain to hear Dylan just one more time with his son, who clung to Frisbees long after we’d outgrown them—you know, just in case.

Again, I don’t know which I’ll feel more — the sadness or the thankfulness. I’m going to do my best to at least reach 50/50 this first time around and hopefully watch the percentages skew in the right direction in years to come.

But here’s why I’m writing all of this, really — and I make this turn with no small amount of trembling because so many bear scars from terrible fathers and so many never even had a father. Forgive me for any wound I tear open by doing this. Though I feel it for different reasons, I alongside you feel the pain of that absence. That being said with deep love and concern, I do suspect a good many of you still have your father with you, and a good many of you have decent-to-wonderful relationships with your father (not without its ups and downs, but decent-to-wonderful still, and even because of those ups and downs). I really don’t know if I can tell you just how important it is that you look that man deep in the eyes and tell him that you love him and are thankful for him.

Please do take the opportunity this Sunday to talk on the phone for hours.

Please do decide it’s long past due to go to a concert with him or catch a matinee.

Please do toss a Frisbee around if the weather’s nice.

You will be so very, very glad you did – this Sunday, on Monday, for many days to come, including the days you would love to have that Sunday once more, all over again.

-from Phyllis Tickle’s The Divine Hours: Prayers for Springtime