The Desert Song

In light of the tragic events in Aurora last week, the age-old question of "Why Does God Allow Bad Things to Happen?" is being asked and pondered by almost all of us...which is why this guest blog by Kevin Vannorsdel is so welcomed. Kevin has wonderfully put into words some of what our hearts are aching to express. Thanks Kevin!

--Dan

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Desert Song

So I’ve been listening to the Flatirons worship CD lately. Cut 10 is one of my favorites: The Desert Song. 

I’ve sung that song dozens of times I suppose but for some reason- I’ve missed some of the meaning in the lyrics. Wow! They are good. The first verse goes like this:

This is my prayer in the desert

And all that's within me feels dry

This is my prayer in my hunger and need

My God is the God who provides

At a recent Theology On Tap meeting we discussed the difficult topic of “God and Hard Times”. With the recent shooting in Aurora, the question is heavily on most of our minds I suppose…Why does God seem so distant sometimes… and how can we cope during these times of drought?

The first verse of the Desert Song and the topic in general make me think of Psalm 77. Check it out and see what you think.

The last verse of the song addresses just the opposite season and goes like this:

This is my prayer in the harvest

When favor and providence flow

I know I'm filled to be emptied again

The seed I've received I will sow

Wow! This one has some weighty content…Take a look at the last two lines.  Then have a look at 2 Corinthians 1:3-5—especially verse 4.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows.”  

There is some important theology hinted at here with--regards to the role of suffering in a Christian’s life.  More prominently on my mind at the moment though is the joy that comes from being able to, in some sense, use the suffering or pain of a past experience to help someone else who is in a similar struggle now.  

Let’s actively be involved in other peoples lives, even during a harvest season, so that we can share some of the seeds we’ve received with others who are currently in the desert.   

I think that’s how God wants us to live.

-- Kevin

A FULL Life

Over the last year I’ve had a few people question—if not my sanity—the motives behind some of the things I’ve done (shark diving in Honduras, traveling to Afghanistan, chasing after a black bear on vacation and climbing Long’s Peak). I’ve even had a person or two (Okay. One. My wife) question whether I have a “death wish” or not. To put this on record (Amy, my dear) No. I DO NOT have a death wish. Really. I don’t. But I don’t fear death either. Not anymore, at least.

Now, I’m not going to sit here and “wax all religious” and say that the reason I don’t fear death is because “I have such and deep and profound relationship with God that His perfect love has driven out all fear.” That would be dishonest (at the most) and disingenuous (at the least). True. There IS an element of this that is due to my relationship with God, but I also think it’s a stage-in-life thing too. Not to get maudlin, but I’m 52 years old and I have much more life in the rearview mirror behind me than I have in the windshield before me. My kids are all grown. Raised and out of the house. And three weeks ago I had the privilege of walking my daughter Katie down the aisle to marry the love of her life…which leaves only one true, family landmark ahead for me: grandkids! And I can’t tell you how much I look forward to the day when I have a little Ben/Ali or a little Nick/Katie around to love and spoil…and I really do look forward to growing old and feeble with Amy, but if life teaches us anything—and the Bible backs it up— there are no guarantees, right?

Okay. So I climbed Long’s Peak over the weekend. I’m sure that’s why death has been at the forefront of my brain pan—and I got to climb it with two of my favorite people in the world, my son Ben and my best friend and dive buddy, Jim Burgen (See pic).

I won’t lie; climbing Long’s Peak was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I’m sure it’s because I’m such a wimp. Not only was the trek to the summit physically exhausting, the return trip...hobbling and bouncing off all those boulders...was excruciatingly brutal on almost every muscle and bone in my body. And IT TOOK FOREVER TO GET BACK! I will no longer refer to it as Long’s Peak anymore. From this day forward I will only refer to it as “Too Freakin’ Long’s Peak”! We started the climb at 2AM on Sunday morning and made it back to the truck after 7PM. For those of you who have tackled this behemoth, you know this to be true, there really are places where you can die along the way. Several, as a matter of fact!

Standing in line at the Kaiser clinic this morning really brought this all home to me though. I was in line because I need to get some vaccination shots for a trip I’m taking to the Sudan. I was in line, insurance card in hand, when I saw several cancer patients walking through the lobby. Mid-morning is obviously the time of day that chemotherapy patients have their treatments. I witnessed several people with their heads wrapped in that telltale cancer scarf with the baby-fine whisps of hair protruding underneath. My heart ached for them and I silently (and selfishly) thanked God for not allowing cancer into my world and (quite selfishly, again) asked Him to keep me from that fate. I may not be afraid to die, but I really don't want to go out that way. I would much rather fall off a cliff or get eaten by a bear.  

I'm not saying anything new here. Death comes for us all. No one gets out of this alive. But there’s no doubt about it, there’s a thrill in doing things that are life-threatening. I mean, I loved swimming with the reef sharks in Honduras last November—probably because they had the potential of eating me. And I loved seeing that black bear while vacationing with Amy 2 weeks ago in Estes Park…and I loved running after him…and I loved standing less than 100 yards away from him—even though he could have mauled my dog Peanut and I in a heartbeat. As I said to my wife Amy on the way to get my travel vaccinations today, “I would much rather die living…doing something crazy-dangerous…than to die dying.” But the only real choice I have in the matter is my “dash”, right? That little dash on my tombstone that will represent all that I’ve done between my birth date (March 4, 1960) and my death date (TBD). And I want my dash to have a little flash! Don’t you?

This was one of the driving forces behind our new ministry FULL: Active Outdoor Community. The whole idea of FULL came about over a couple of beers after one of our dives in Honduras—this idea that Jesus promises to give us a full life—a life filled with faith and hope, freedom…and maybe a little adventure. Jesus says in John 10:10, “The thief (the devil) comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I (Jesus) have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”

Part of that “full life” is sharing in it with others too. FULL: Active Outdoor Community is much more than just diving (DEEP), fly fishing (HOOKED), climbing 14ers (PEAK) and camping (GROUNDED). You can do all these by yourself, but doing these things with someone else—in community—is a much better way to do life. And we’re all about community here at Flatirons, right? As Creative Director Chris Coleman is fond of saying (tongue placed firmly in cheek), “Community is our middle name!”

So, are you looking for a little adventure? Looking to meet other folks at Flatirons?  Looking to give your “dash a little flash”. Then, check out FULL: Active Outdoor Community at: www.flatironschurch.com/full.  Heck! You can even join some other folks and climb Long's Peak too! And while you do that…I need to go ice down my ankles...again.

-- Dan

Real Men Do Dishes

Last weekend a bunch of the men from Flatirons went up to Crooked Creek to serve the ladies at Women's Retreat. My good buddy (and Christian counselor) Dave Garrison joined them and he cameback down the mountain with more than dishpan hands...he came home with the following insight. Enjoy!

-- Dan Foote

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When was the last time you got a standing ovation from your wife…or from 300 other women?

 

That’s what happened at Barbie Boot Camp (the Flatirons Women’s Retreat) this past weekend. A small army of 40 Flatirons Men committed themselves to cooking, serving, and doing dishes for the women at the women’s retreat. At breakfast on Sunday, all the men were brought out and the women expressed their gratitude through applause, whistles and smiles. 

Embarrassing, humbling….but still pretty cool to be on the receiving end of their appreciation.

                                            (Retreat volunteer and busboy Robb Paolasso)

Oh, to get that level of appreciation from your wife or girlfriend!  What a game changer that can be. And I guess that’s the lesson: men have to serve first.

The men up at the women’s retreat made the food, served the food and cleaned up afterwards….not expect anything from the women. There was no “Hey, let’s make a deal, I’ll cook and do dishes if you’ll _________.”(Fill in your own blank). There was no score keeping: “Hey, I served you, now it’s your turn to serve me”. The mentality of the men was simple: “We’re here to serve you. Nothing expected in return”. 

The Bible is pretty clear about this too. It says “Husbands love your wives as Christ loves the church” (Ephesians 5:25).  It doesn’t say “Husbands love your wives as long as she does for you in return”.  In the book of Mark Jesus said, “Anyone who wants to be first must be the very last, and the servant of all…” (Mark 9:35). Jesus goes on and speaks of Himself saying, “For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve…” (Mark 10:45)

Making a commitment to serve the women in your life, by doing some cooking, cleaning or helping out around the house may not get you a standing O, but maybe the little smile on her face…and a greater sense of appreciation might just be enough. 

(A special shout out to my fellow Pit Crew members:  Jim, David, Austin, and Ewing)

– Dave Garrison

Land of Paradoxes

Flatirons Men's Afghanistan Trip

Day Eleven - Tuesday, May 1, 2012

So here we are, our last day in Afghanistan...for the time being. I plan to return again someday and I know the other guys on the team feel the same. We sat around the breakfast table drinking coffee and talking long before the food ever arrived. Bart Lillie opened up and shared a particularly rough time he and his family endured several years back -- and how God brought them through it. It was, once again, another powerful moment of vulnerability and acceptance -- something that's has bonded this team from the get-go.

Packed and loaded, we made the cacophonous and chaotic trip to the airport. Once inside the terminal, after multiple security and passport checks, Bob said it was the smoothest he's ever had on the team's he's led. Still, the last security check in Kabul (which included an extensive pat-down from a guard in rubber gloves) was the most up-close-and-personal inspection I've had from another man since my 50 year checkup.

Sitting in the terminal I was consumed by something one of the ex pat staffers said on our first day upon arriving in Kabul. She said, "Afghanistan is a land of paradoxes." And she's right. I sat at the gate, waiting to board our flight to Dubai, and ran through a bunch of the paradoxes in my head like you scan through a rolodex.

- Afghanistan appears to be a place so foreign and exotic, yet we learned it can be as familiar as your own hometown or backyard.

- To the outsider, the traffic in Kabul appears to be this crazy, disorganized jumble of a mess, but instead, it really has its own rhythm and routine.

- Afghanistan's a place that appears to be filled with suspicion and closed-mindedness, but we found nothing but openness and acceptance.

It was one paradox after another. But as I type this, 29,000 feet in the air, headed for Dubai (and eventually back to home), the biggest paradox I've found is this: I might look like the same man who came to Afghanistan 10 days ago, but I'm not. I am different. Afghanistan has changed me. I guess that's what happens when you leave a part of who you are in the Land of Paradoxes. And so I will miss it until I return.

Til that day. Thanks for reading.

-- Dan

Day 10: Best Day Ever

Flatirons Men's Afghanistan Trip Day Ten - Monday, April 30, 2012

Can't believe we're already down to our last 2 days in Afghanistan. I know it will take weeks...months...a lifetime...to process what we've experienced here. What I do know for sure is this...and I can confidently speak for our team; we have fallen in love with the land of Afghanistan and its people. Our hearts have been opened, and broken, and filled up again by what we've seen here...and what we see God doing here. We finally get it now...we see why everyone comes home from this place different...and we see why everyone wants to come back, again and again.

But today was the clincher. Our trip to Istalif. Istalif is a little town north of Kabul that was decimated by the Taliban, and one of the first places to receive relief from out missions partner. The drive out to Istalif was slightly different than what we'd experienced so far -- in regards to scenery. We drove through an area we had only seen from a distance. The surrounding hills of Kabul are littered with the hand built brick and mortar homes that distinctively mark this entire region. These earthen colored, boxy homes seem to be stacked, one upon the other, stretching up the hillsides, until (as if held down by gravity) they finally peter out...to leave the hilltops exposed. Driving along the base of these neighborhoods, we see the Afghans who live here up close. There are literally hundreds of people hauling bricks, produce, and other wares in carts by donkey...or going to-and-from school...or sitting on their haunches in clumps...talking animately to each other. It's as rugged, and exotic and as beautiful as the rest of Kabul. But then there's Istalif. Where Barak Aub is a community sitting in a barren, dry expanse of a valley at the base of a mountain, Istalif is a rich, green, verdant village that sprawls out, and winds through the mountain base just north and across the valley from Barak Aub. If I thought the architecture and construction leading to Barak Aub looked like something from the Bible times, Istalif was that...only a thousand more. To say this place is "scenic" is like saying the Rockies are big -- it's great understatement. There are houses and neighborhoods leading to the center of Istalif that are lined with vineyards -- vineyards that were scorched and burned by the Taliban years ago, but are bursting out and coming back to life. "Life"...life is the best word to describe this place. It's bursting with life. Lush and green and screaming with new life.

After a visit to the clinic, and a meeting with some of the local leaders, we grouped together to eat lunch at the river that is formed by the streams that cascade off the mountain peaks. OH. MY. GOSH. I am NOT exaggerating. It was one of the best meals I have EVER eaten! And I've had some great meals in my time...just look at my waistline and cholesterol levels. We sat down on a large mat under (what looked like) a blossoming lilac tree and were served kabobs -- cooked fresh from a kabob vendor a stone's throw from where we were resting...at the river's edge. We were first served fresh, warm naan (the traditional bread) and then came the kabobs -- lamb, hot off the grill. My mouth is watering just typing this. We were joined by the governor of Istalif -- which is commonplace when you travel with our host. This man knows everyone! Everywhere we go, he is either cornered or greeted by Afghans... governors...elders...leaders...street vendors...everyone. He seems to know almost everyone in Afghanistan. Shortly after the governor squeezed in and joined us on the mat, the kabobs came, skewered on long metal rods, arrayed like this: meat, fat cube, meat, fat cube, meat. For those of us who are health conscious and trying to clean up our dietary acts...caution was thrown to the wind. We gorged like ancient kings...eating with our hands...ripping naan by the fistful...gnawing on roasted lamb and lamb fat...with the juices dripping from our bearded chins. It was amazing! Could it get any better? We ate and ate until we couldn't eat anymore. I confess...I sinned. I was a glutton. Then, with bellies full, and after Bob and John relieved themselves on a stone wall (we have the pictures), we visited the marketplace, then headed back to Kabul.

Teammate Jase Smith coined this phrase on our first day in Afghanistan. I asked the guys during our first morning devotional time what they expected from the day. When we got around to Jase (a man of few words, but when they come, they are either profound or hilarious), he said, "I don't know what to expect, but I know it will be the best day ever." We all cracked up. It was profound AND hilarious! And that's what Istalif was: the best day ever. On the ride back home I was overcome with this one thought: I love this place...and I love these people...and I pray that all of Afghanistan will one day experience the healing and renewal we saw in Istalif...and that everyday will be "The best day ever."

-- Dan

Day 8: Foundation

Flatirons Men's Afghanistan Trip Day Eight - Sunday, April 29, 2012

I can't even count how many times I've heard the word foundation or foundational used in the business, ethical and cultural worlds. "This is foundational to our marketing strategy" or "The very foundation of our beliefs is centered on (fill in the blank)". But rarely do I get to hear stuff like, "We've got to frame this out so that we can pour the foundation." Today we headed back out to Barak Aub for a second visit to do just that; work on a foundation. There is a widow in the Barak Aub community who is having a house built for her (Thanks, in part, to Flatirons) and we were hoping to get the chance to help a little.

It was a beautiful, clear day as we made the 45 minute trip out of Kabul. Now, I have the directional capabilities of a blind flea, but some of the routes we've been taking are even becoming familiar to me. I can almost find our way back to the guest house, once we're within spitting distance, "Oh yeah...I know! We turn here at the disemboweled sheep shop...then turn left at the rug shop with the armed guard out front!" The men at Barak Aub were already at work when we arrived. In short order, the team was given directives, handed rubber dishwashing gloves, and put to work moving rocks. The foundations on the homes in this little community are all laid the same way -- the way they've been laid for centuries. Large, granite rocks are fitted into a pre-dug trench on the outside and inside parts of the trench, then smaller bits-and-pieces of rock are used to fill the center...in between the larger bordering rocks. Steve Yeager was our eyes and ears on the actual building of the foundation. We needed someone to REALLY learn how this is done because our hope is to come back to Colorado and build a fire pit at the church, using the same technique, in an effort to honor our friends at Barak Aub. So while Steve worked with the foundation masons, the rest of us worked on strengthening our lower backs. We spent the better part of the morning moving rocks and boulders to several designated areas at the building site. It was fun...hauling rocks with the locals...wearing pink rubber gloves...silently communicating with the men (and boys) at Barak Aub...connecting through work and laughter.

The biggest takeaway for me all morning came during our tea break. You always have to break for tea and biscuits at the worksite. While we sipped chai tea, I walked over to observe the building of the foundation. I was struck by the sight of this one little boy. He couldn't be any older than 4 years. He wore a corduroy clothe winter jacket, pants, sandals, and his little head was topped off by a dusty, red cap. He reminded me so much of my own son, Ben, at that age. This little boy was diligently working side-by-side with the other two Afghan men working the foundation. He would look over and judge the size of rock needed, then trot over to a rock pile (a pile we had made), find the right sized rock, then bring it back...and the man would put it into place. Perfect! Standing in this biblical-like land, I watched and wondered if this was what it looked like for Jesus, when he was learning the tools of the carpenter trade from His earthly father, Joseph. This little boy was obviously welcomed at the site -- and even a help. I couldn't tell if either of the men was the little boy's father or not...and it didn't matter. Either way, he was learning something...something foundational...in the metaphorical sense. He was learning how to help...how to be a productive part of his society...and that he mattered...no matter how young or old he was. He mattered to these men and to his village. And that's a foundation that will last long after these rocks crumble and become part of history again.

Our team ended our last day in Barak Aub meeting with a few of the elders from the community. We listened to them, and watched their body language, as they shared their recent struggles and need for more assistance. We all felt helpless, listening to the two main elders talk about their plight. Leaving Barak Aub left the team more than a little somber. When (if ever) will we be back here again? And how will these people fare between now and when we get back. This is where faith has to hold true. God has this in control every bit as much as He does our lives back in Colorado.

The night ended with a special trip to Camp Eggers -- a military installation in the heart of Kabul. Our host was able to get us clearance so that we could join the troops for evening church. We were dropped off at the street and began the long walk through several different security checks. The street was a chasm bordered by high cement walls topped with razor wire. Concrete barriers and armed guards are scattered along the long walk to Camp Eggers entrance. Once we had cleared security, we were escorted by one of the soldiers to the camp church tent. Inside, we joined the troops, sitting in metal folding chairs, singing praise songs to a band made up almost exclusively of soldiers at Eggers. I sat next to one of the largest men I have ever seen. He was a sergeant from North Carolina who stood at 6'8", but looked like he was every bit of 8 feet! And he had the voice of an angel. I know Jim Burgen would love this church. It's the only time I went to church and people laid their automatic weapons on the floor to worship! The "congregation" said goodbye to one of the officers heading home after a year away from home. He shared with the group that he was going home to his wife and four kids -- the youngest being a year old. I don't know how they do it. I've been away from home a total of 8 days and I'm already counting down the hours to see my wife Amy and the rest of the family. This guy's been away from home for a year. He's missed all that stuff you miss when your kids morph through that first year. It made my heart ache.

My heart has ached a lot since landing in Kabul over a week ago. It ached at the school. It ached in Barak Aub. It ached at Camp Eggers. And I know the biggest ache is still to come; when we load up to leave on Tuesday.

-- Dan

Day 7: Stop

Flatirons Men's Afghanistan Trip Day Seven - Saturday, April 28, 2012

This was one day I had been looking forward to for a long time -- visiting Barak Aub. I first learned of Barak Aub three years ago, while living in Texas, after watching Jim Burgen's message online. It was the weekend an Afghan rug was laid on the stage and God used the community of Flatirons to re-chart the destiny of a group of Afghan refugees huddled on the side of a mountain, in this region called Barak Aub...or "Broken Water". The rest of the team was the same. Other than our team leader, Bob Tunnell, this was everyone's first time at this community. We have all heard about it...heard from others who had been there...seen the pictures they had taken...but now...we were going to see it for ourselves.

The anticipation was palpable during our devotional time and during breakfast. When our host stepped into the dining room and said, "Okay guys! Let's go!" we were in the cars and ready to caravan out to Barak Aub before he could say, "Me Too." I lucked out and got shotgun when we loaded up in the SUV driven by the new executive director for our mission partner. The new ED confessed that his Afghan driving skills may be a little rusty, but 10 minutes into our journey...he was bobbing, weaving, swerving and honking like a national. He was also a great tour guide. The new ED is an ex pat who has worked for several different mission groups -- in Afghanistan and Pakistan and has returned to Kabul after a 7 year absence. He was here during the Taliban days and has witnessed (by his own admission) many, many changes since he lived here last and found it a little difficult to navigate the streets and get his bearings due to the changes and development.

As we made our way through the dusty city and out into the country, we were really able to see the progress and rebuilding that is going on in Kabul. The streets are lined with countless (and I really mean, countless) little shops and merchant wagons, side-by-side, peddling everything from meat and produce...to copper wire and bricks. We couldn't get over all the dead animals hanging in the windows. Goats...Chickens..Entrails. It reminded me of pictures I've seen in history books of New York City at the turn of the century. And the people! There are Afghans everywhere! In cars...on bikes...on motorcycles or just walking, weaving their way through the maze and chaos of the morning traffic. Young. Old. Poor. Rich. We could see them all from the windows of our caravan heading to Barak Aub. The Afghans are a beautiful people. Dark, proud and well-kept...especially in light of the destruction and bleak conditions of lot of them live in. Even the ones on the street begging take care of themselves. Most of which have been women, dressed in traditional Kabul light-blue burkas -- covering them completely. You can't see any part of their faces, and only a fabric screen allows the women to see and breathe through. I can't help it. It's a haunting sight. No face. No eyes. The only part of their body exposed is the women's' feet and hands -- one hand out-stretched asking for money...the other holding a baby...always around the age of 8-9 months. Seriously! It's the same all over the city. Light-blue burka wearing women, each holding a baby, hands reaching out and saying, "Please. Mister." It's been one of the hardest things for each of us to process.

Once out of the city, the dust started to settle (a little) and the Hindu Kush mountain range started appearing, almost as if out of a fog. And they are huge! Long's Peak would be dwarfed by the massive heights that stretch across this horizon. The road out to Barak Aub is peppered with open, barren expanses, military installations (with high brick walls topped in razor wire) and shepherds. Yes! Shepherds. There is something Old Testament and biblical feeling about this area. You can easily imagine Abraham and Isaac walking across these plains, coaxing their herds to the spotty patches of vegetation seen dotting the hillsides...if it weren't for the occasional semi tractor trailer broken down on the side of the road or ubiquitous motorcycles...driven by turban-wearing Afghans.

After a good half hour of driving though this part of the country, the new ED turned to us and said, "Here it is, up ahead." all of us craned to see out our respective windows. Up ahead was Barak Aub -- this community that has been so much at the heart of Flatirons and our missions outreach. We could see the low-lying valley filled with little brick homes enclosed by little brick walls. Again, like something out of bible times. I immediately recognized a couple of buildings: the school and the clinic. I have had pictures of these two buildings in my office since I was first asked to co-lead this trip. Our caravan came to a stop within the walls of the school and we were immediately met and surrounded by the locals -- consisting of elders, children and school officials. We were invited into the boys school to help pass out care packages that had been put together by the ladies team before us. Each guy on the team took turns passing out the bags to the students and the looks on the little boys faces ranged from wonderment to outright fear. What must that have been like for those little guys? Sitting in the classroom, doing their A,B,C's...then in walks 10 smiling white dudes...in beards and shalwar kameez...passing out goody bags. The alarms had to be going off! "Stranger danger! Stranger danger!" We spent the rest of the morning visiting the girls' school and the clinic - the only medical facility in the entire valley. It was all a blur. Again, sensory overload.

Clarity came when the assistant director, a handsome...almost regal...Afghan gentlemen in his late 50s stood to talk. We gathered around him and listened to him tell his story...and how the community at Barak Aub came to be. It starts with the assistant director and his trip back to Kabul after visiting his family -- just over the hill from where we were standing. He spoke of driving past this valley on his way back to Kabul and seeing a handful of plastic tents scattered across the valley. And what did he do? He stopped. He stopped and asked what was going on...only to learn that these refugees had been dumped on the side of this barren hillside by the government in Kabul to fend for themselves.

What happened next a lot of us know: our missions partner was informed, people were rallied, support was given, wells we're dug, schools were built and clinics were opened. And why? All because one man stopped. We have a great story like this that Jesus gave us. It's a parable called: The Good Samaritan. Most of us know it...about this Jewish guy who gets beat up and left for dead on the side of a mountain. First, a priest walks by...and does nothing. Next, a temple leader. Nothing. Then, a Samaritan, the sworn enemy of most Jewish people, and what does he do? He stops. The world changes when we stop. God does some awesome stuff when we stop. And all it takes is one of us...just one of us to stop and do something. It took this one stoically handsome Afghan gentlemen to stop...and the world is not the same. It's not same for those refugees...it's not the same for Afghanistan...it's not the same for our missions partner...and it's not the same for Flatirons. The real question for me is this: Is it the same for me...and am I going to be the kind of man who stops?

-- Dan