Crying Babies

Every so often, like virtually every Sunday, it happens. I'm in the middle of my most important point, a powerful illustration, or a captivating conclusion, and the moment is stolen by a set of six month old lungs. Every pastor has experienced the same thing. Not only does the speaker lose his train of thought, but the congregation hears nothing he says. In those moments when some infant is doing what infants do, I've actually considered saying something like, "And I'm leaving my wife to go to Uzbekistan and marry a girl I met online." My guess is no one would flinch. I could say just about anything, and all they hear is "Waaaaaa!"

Recently a friend forwarded a blog to me by Jon Acuff, the extremely gifted writer of "Stuff Christians Like." To quasi-quote David Allen Coe, after reading this I realized that my friend had written the perfect blog, and so I felt obliged to include it in this post. I hope you enjoy.

A few weeks ago at church, there was a baby crying during the middle of the sermon.

Here is what immediately went through my head.

1. Am I the only one that hears that right now? No one else is looking back in that general area. Maybe this is my super power?

2. Heightened hearing? Is that the best superpower? The hearing of a bat?

3. Oh man, I hope my superpower is not just an ability to hear crying babies in crowded rooms. That would be the lamest superpower ever.

4. Except for the character Scarlett Johannson is playing in The Avengers. I love that scene in the trailer where they’re all back to back in the middle of the street. The Incredible Hulk is looking massive. Captain America is standing there with his crazy strength. Iron Man is all suited up. Thor has his mythological hammer. And then Scarlett cocks a handgun. Seriously? She’s a teammate of Thor, and she’s bringing a pistol to the party? If I’m a supernatural villain, I’m thinking “How adorable, tiny bullets!”

5. Don’t be that guy. Don’t you dare look back to see which baby it is.

6. But it’s so hard not to. I’m not judging. I’m just curious. That kid has some lungs! I feel like he’s probably standing up right now with both arms raised above his head victoriously. I gotta see this.

7. I live in Nashville. Maybe that kid will grow up to be the next Garth Brooks, and if I just sneak a glance back I’ll be able to say, “I saw Garth Brooks sing once when he was a baby. Sure hated sermons on spiritual warfare. I’ll tell you that right now.”

8. You can’t turn back to look at a screaming baby and not look like you hate babies. And people who bring babies into church.

9. Maybe they’re a visitor. And it’s their first kid. And their puppy died this morning as well. You’re such a jerk.

10. Remember how hard it was to get L.E. to go to the nursery when she was a baby? She wailed in the hall like you were dropping her off at baby prison. Have some empathy.

11. As a parent, it’s not easy to hand some stranger your baby and, in return, receive an elastic bracelet with a number on it. You vet babysitters at home like you’re the CIA, and now on Sunday morning you’re supposed to just walk up to a stranger in a brightly colored t-shirt and say, “Here’s my baby. I sure hope you’re not crazy. See you in an hour!” Have some empathy.

12. Be careful about writing about this on SCL. Even the faintest hint of suggesting that someone bring their kid to Sunday School instead of big church is libel to stir up some controversy. Like Rob Bell and Harry Potter.

13. Is there a verse where Jesus says, “Don’t you dare drop your kids off at Sunday School?” In the Sermon on the Mount did he ever say, “This next part is for the kids in the crowd. Could they join me up front for a minute?” At that point, did he dismiss them?

14. If we’re supposed to take our kids to big church and have them experience the same sermon adults experience, how come none of the disciples were little kids? How come we never heard about Timmy, the 4-year old disciple who used to get all grouchy when he hadn’t had a nap in a while and got sick of eating fish and loaves? Timmy wanted some chicken fingers!

Eventually the baby stopped crying. Or they took him out of the room. I’m not certain because I didn’t look back at the kid. Cause I love Jesus. And puppies.

How about you?

What goes through your head when you hear a baby cry?

Why We Need More Bubbas

Yesterday I watched, along with millions of others, as Bubba Watson secured the coveted Green Jacket in a playoff against Louis Oosthuizen. Bubba's second shot on the 10th hole is one that will be a part of Master's lore for years to come. I'm sure he's still wondering how in the world he hooked that ball off the pine needles, 150 yards away, around the trees, and stuck it that close to the pin. Along with Oosthuizen's albatross on hole number 2, the twosome produced a lot of excitement on Sunday.

Already there has been a lot of subtle joking about this year's winner: the first "Bubba" ever to win the Green Jacket. Jack, Arnie, Tiger, Phil...Bubba. Seems like some in Augusta are hoping that this will be the only time they have to engrave the name "Bubba" onto a winner's chalice.

I disagree. I hope he wins eight more Green Jackets. I hope one day they are forced to name the clubhouse after him, as the winningest player of the great Masters tournament.

Disclaimer: Before I go any further, I must confess that we have a son named Bubba. His real name is Ryan, but his sister, who was 16 months old when he was born, could not say, "brother." So, as is the case with most "Bubba's," he received the nickname from an older sister who had not quite learned how to say the letter "R."

There is a popular caricature of Bubba's that is something like this: not that bright, slow talking, listen only to country music, probably will end up working in a garage or at a Bass Pro Shop. Certainly not the kind to win the Masters, become the CEO of a major company, or discover a cure for cancer.

I hope Bubba Watson's win yesterday is the beginning of changing mindsets and the rise of many more Bubba's in successful ventures.

Here's why: I've known several Bubba's in my life, and now I have a nearly 2 year old Bubba I get to observe on a daily basis. I've learned some things about Bubba's.

Bubba's aren't pretentious. Bubba's aren't that interested in impressing other people. They never put on airs. They never pretend to be something they are not. When they succeed, it's for themselves. Or their mamas. Bubba's love their mama's.

Bubba's are loaded with common sense. Some Bubba's may struggle with book sense, but they are blessed with common sense. And let's face it: there are some out there who can make A's in every class but don't know not to pee into the wind. Bubba's always know to pee outside with the wind to their backs. Oh, and Bubba's love to pee outside.

Bubba's love their family. You don't read about drama and scandal involving Bubba's. You won't see Bubba's on the headlines of tabloids. If Bubba's have family problems, they get them worked out. Then they take their wives fishing.

Bubba's love Jesus. They are not perfect. Bubba's can mess up like the rest of the world. But at the end of the day, Bubba's love Jesus. You won't see a Bubba leading an atheist rally in Washington. They tend to be in church on Sunday, unless they happen to be in Augusta winning the Masters.

So, to Bubba Watson, thank you for being a role model for my son. And thank you for blazing a trail for the future success of Bubba's everywhere.