The reception desk was staffed with a team of bright, smiley 27-year-olds when I walked into Facebook headquarters in Menlo Park, CA.  They were hip, casual, and optimistic.   After receiving credentials, we met Alex, a friend of a friend, and our "in" to FB HQ.  

Accompanied by a small team from my church on a mission expedition to the San Francisco Bay Area, we followed Alex to a corral with rows of bikes.  To traverse the complex of buildings, we gleefully biked like kids, calling them "Mark's bikes," a shout out to CEO Zuckerberg.  

Like it's own city, the Menlo Park hub has everything, and it's all free.  An employee will find:

• Dry cleaning.
• A bike shop.
• A cafeteria.  Mexican?  Thai?  A burger?  They have it.
• Snack corners on every floor with racks of gum, candy bars, and bottled beverages.  We filled our pockets with packs of Orbitz gum , which for days we referred to as "Facebook gum."

A sense of optimism permeated the grounds.  There was a feeling that "we're changing the world."  It seemed less a company and more a cause, nearly religious in nature. 

Common reactions to the growing list of men accused of sexual misconduct, harassment, or abuse.  

"I'm so disappointed."
"They're dropping like flies."
"Disgusting." 
"I can't believe it.  I would never have guessed . . ." 
"Charlie Rose?"
"Who's next?  The Pope?  The Rock?"

We should all be saying that such behavior is unacceptable. 
We speak on behalf of the dignity of women. 
We work to break systems of lewd perversion and abuse of power. 
We press for a new transparency in workplace and society.  
We stand for those violated and look for ways to provide healing and support.  

While we certainly say all these things, I'm also looking for what no one else is saying.  

"Do you want to quit this job?" the supervisor asked her young employee. 
"No," replied the young man.  "It's just a lot.  I'm so busy.  I don't have any time."  
"I understand," she stated.  "It is a full time job.  But let me ask you, do you watch Netflix?"
"Yeah."
"How much time a day do you spend watching Netflix?"  
"I suppose 2-3 hours."
"Do you keep up on social media?"
"Yeah."
"How much time do you spend?"
"Uh, probably two hours a day."
The supervisor paused, and then stated plainly, "No, you do have time.  You just need to know where to spend it."  

The San Francisco Bay Area is trendy, techie, and cool.  
New York is the impressive intersection of the world - business, media, arts, culture . . .
Nashville and Austin are hot and happening cities with booming populations.  

I live in St. Louis, Missouri.  St. Louis was hot at the turn of the century - the 20th century.  We hosted the World's Fair in 1904 and were the fourth largest American city, the Gateway to the West.  Today, we're a worn and tired city.  We've lost our NFL team and a few Fortune 500 companies.  We suffer from a history of racism, white flight, and social disparity.  

We're anxious right now because of tension over the acquittal of a white police officer who shot and killed a black man.  Over the weekend, we witnessed clashes between protesters and police that returned us to 2014 and the unrest that followed the death of Michael Brown in Ferguson.  

Twelve years ago, I resisted St. Louis residency.  I did not choose to live here.  It was chosen for me.  Today, I claim this territory as my hometown.  

What happens when God calls you to a place you don't want to be?  

"How are you?" they ask.  "Busy," I reply.  

You say it too.   "My schedule is crazy!"  "I'm super busy."  "I've got too much to do."

In his book, The Contemplative Pastor, Eugene Peterson gives two reasons why pastors become busy.  I believe they apply to all people.  I reread Peterson's book annually, and these two statements continue to convict me.  They are my yearly "check-up," and help me to refocus my time and energy.

I got at app called Moment that tracks how much time you’re on the phone and how many times you check it in a day.  Let’s just say, “Convicting.” 

I was at my daughter’s gymnastics class.  There’s an upper balcony with bleachers for parents to watch their kids.  Forty parents and all of them glued to screens.

Ten years ago, before the iPad and iPhone were mainstream, the average person had an attention span of about 12 seconds.  Now it’s 8 seconds.  Shorter than the 9 second attention span of a goldfish.  See Adam Alter’s book Irresistible and his recent interview on NPR. 

So I’m going on a tech diet.  I’m not quitting, just putting my electronic devices in their proper place.  Why?

Did you give something up for Lent?  Why?  Why not?

I find it amusing when people give up things that are entirely trivial.  Chocolate.  Soda.  Snacks.  Coffee . . . Now, wait.  Caffeine might be more than trivial.  

You don't have to give up anything for Lent.  There's no biblical command to fast.  But if you do, make sure it's significant, and make sure it's for good reason.  Below are four reasons to fast.  

I don't love Valentine's Day.  Sorry.  We don't go out to eat on February 14th.  We don't do roses, chocolate, or gifts.  

I bought my wife flowers last week.  A spring bouquet with tulips, daffodils, and a sunflower.  Why?  Because she likes spring and sunflowers.  

​And because I said something stupid. 

Love is the long, perilous work of giving your life to someone else.  It's more than flowers on one day.  It's the act of selflessness every day.  It is not proven in the diamonds and gifts.  It's proven in the times we utter regrettable words.  The times we mess up, struggle to be happy, and want to scream.

I've learned something from mentors married for decades: 

It's easy to buy chocolate and flowers.  Try loving someone for 60 years.  

The following is what I believe about love.  It's an excerpt from my book, Loved & Sent.  Happy Valentine's Day :)  

The room was packed for the preschool Christmas program.  I was sitting near the aisle with my camera in hand.  My son Joshua was Joseph that year and his friend Claire was Mary.  I was prepared to document the entire event. 

The procession commenced.  As the kids walked in, I spotted Joseph and Mary, holding hands.  Totally precious. 

I fumbled with my camera, trying to capture the moment.  Unable to get the cap off the lens, I reached for my phone to get some video.  I was looking down . . . pushing buttons.  By the time I was ready, the kids were already up front.  I missed the entire entrance.

But there was Joshua, in his Joseph garb.  He picked me out of the sea of faces and waved.  “Hi, Dad!”  He didn't care about the pictures.  He just wanted my attention.

At that moment, I made a vow.  "I’m going to stop documenting this event and instead simply be at this event."  This applies to much of our life, especially in December.  
​
​We are obsessed with doing at the expense of being.