Practical Spirituality

Parenting Course Starts January 15

Wes Eades — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 00:13:10 +0000

Parenting with Love and Logic

Taught by Wes Eades
At First Presbyterian Church, Waco, Texas (1100 Austin Avenue: The class will be in the Fellowship Classroom. Park in the lot at the corner of 11^th and Franklin, and come in the entrance under the portico. The classroom will be immediately on the right.)
January 15, 2012 – February 26th (6 sessions, skipping SuperBowl Sunday, February 5)
5:00 p.m. – 6:30 p.m
Cost: $5/person per session

I have enjoyed teaching the principles of Love and Logic Parenting for many years. In this six week course I will be providing an overview of the core principles, along with an exploration of how these principles shape the spiritual formation of both parents and children. The course will include some lecture, but will focus on the practical challenges in parenting that you are currently facing. You will be encouraged to develop “experiments” based on the L&L model, and encouraged to share whatever the results with the class. I am very transparent regarding my own successes and failures in parenting. My wife and 22 year old daughter will attend one of the classes to help us explore how parenting effects our marriages, and our relationships with our kids as they move into adulthood.

The developers of Love and Logic, Dr. Foster Cline and Dr. Jim Fay, have written a general book on their approach, along with a second book which is targeted at parenting teens. My goal is to approach the material so that it will be relevant regardless of the ages of your kiddos. I will have copies of both books available at a cost of $20. You can probably pick up a copy locally as well.

You don’t have to make a reservation, but if you are planning to come, it will be helpful to know…

[contact-form]

Upcoming Course: 10 Crazy Relationship Rules

Wes Eades — Tue, 27 Dec 2011 13:45:23 +0000

Course: 10 Crazy Relationship Rules

Where: St. Paul’s Episcopal Church (Waco, TX)

When: Sundays, beginning January 8, 10:00 – 10:45 a.m.

St. Paul’s Episcopal Church has graciously invited me to spend a few more weeks teaching during the Sunday School hour. After having spent some wonderful time discussing parenting with these fine folks on Sunday morning, I’ll now be turning my attention to marriage, and relationships in general. St. Paul’s welcome all members of theWaco community to participate.

Shortly after Letterman popularized his Top Ten lists, books and magazine articles began to follow suit. You can now find lists of the top ten books of top ten lists.

Of course, I could never admit that I was just following the crowd, and the evidence is sketchy that Letterman actually got the idea from me, so I’ll just have to present my list and let you think what you will.

Here it is:

10. If you love me, you’ll read my mind.

9. It is your job to make me happy.

8. Its your job to broker my relationship with other people (especially with YOUR family).

7. Whenever a stalemate has been reached, the next person to speak loses.

6. If I don’t get one, then you shouldn’t get one.

5. Affection and/or sex will solve anything.

4. We must be joined at the hip.

3. Nothing can be resolved until blame has been properly assigned.

2. If you are different from me, you are either wrong, stupid, or insane.

1. If I’m not sure I can get love, then it’s okay to go for control.

You are welcome to join me in unpacking these “rules” over the next several weeks, beginning January 8.

The Most Effective Minute of Therapy I Ever Received

Wes Eades — Wed, 25 May 2011 12:12:47 +0000

circa 1997

I was sitting in my psychiatrist’s office in the aftermath of losing my job, head in hands, and moaning,

“What am I going to do? WHAT am I going to do? I’ve been humiliated. I’m a laughingstock. Everyone will know I messed up. All my work… down the drain. What are people going to think of me? I’m so embarrassed… I’m so ashamed.”

Bill sat quietly for a moment, and then replied,

“Wes, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but not all that many people around here even know who you are.”

Ice water, right in the face. I smiled,

“That was good.”

In Honor of Maureen

Wes Eades — Mon, 23 May 2011 12:04:32 +0000

This post is part of a post on the Balcony Persons who have shaped our lives.

In Honor of Maureen by Alison Urbank

Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it (Hebrews 13:2).

A very striking woman suddenly appeared one day at the door of my childhood home, fresh from Beverly Hills, dripping in sophistication and elegance. She was introduced as Maureen, an interior decorator. She was hired by my mother to do for our late ’50s 3-bedroom suburban Los Angeles tract home the things that she (my mother) imagined were important.

In some ways this woman from the north was a breath of fresh air. In others she was overbearing and opinionated, and therefore intimidating, but in the end she did many lovely and sometimes astonishing things for our internal environment. My only problem with the outcome was that my new bedroom furnishings did not seem very much like me. I made the best of the situation, learned to take care of the new things I had been given, and enjoyed the opportunity to start fresh. After all, I had reached the double-digit years of my youth by then and it was time to move on from childish things.

In the midst of Maureen’s comings and goings during the relatively brief period of time she was putting her touch on our household, she brought my sister and me each a gift. I don’t remember the occasion, or even if there was one, except that we were both called into the living room to sit and receive.

I still remember the moment I opened the tidy little box and saw a clear sphere with a small dot inside on the end of a gold chain. As I silently marveled at its unique simplicity, Maureen began to tell the story of the mustard seed in words of her own that I can no longer recall. I only remember the moment seemed full of light and love. I promptly put the necklace on and I did not take it off for a long, long time.

Maureen disappeared from my life as quickly as she came. Decades later, many years after I became a Christian at mid-life, I thought of Maureen’s gift one day and suddenly understood it for the loving witness that it was. I was astonished and full of wonder at the memory. The entire focus of the household relationship with his woman had been on worldly trappings; the true purpose of her intervention had been to plant a seed. Whether or not Maureen knew the full reach of her interior decorating skills is unknown. But God knew, and he equipped her and used her to help woo me to Him, for sure.

Thank you, Maureen, wherever you are.

Alison Urbank, PhD, is a psychotherapist who is a breath of fresh air in that giant un-walled mental institution known as Southern California.

In honor of my mother-in-law, Miriam

Wes Eades — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 11:12:06 +0000

This post is part of an on-going series on the Balcony Persons in our lives.

In Honor of Miriam by Patty Williams

People like to joke about mothers-in-law, but mine is my balcony person. Miriam Caldwell Williams was 50 years old when she was suddenly called home to our Lord. I was still a young woman, married to her son, Ralph, when she left us.

Miriam was a beautiful Christian example both inside and out. As I began dating her son, she drew me in to their family. She insisted on my presence at dinner each evening. She always invited me to church with them.

In the few short years we were blessed to have her I never heard Miriam utter a profane word. She was a registered nurse, and when I was going through 22 hours of hard labor she was by my bedside. Family and friends had gathered right outside the labor room. I won’t say that I always watched my language as carefully as Miriam, but I certainly would have never cussed in front of her! However, when a woman in pain has enough drugs in her to knock out a small elephant, she isn’t always a picture of sweetness.

A gossipy relative came in to check on me and returned to the audience in the hall to announce there was a stream of “OH SHITS!” coming from the bed. My very proper mother-in-law went to the door and declared, “If ever there’s a time for a young woman to be cussing, NOW is that time! All of you should just shut-up!”

When that child first entered the world, we had no rocking chair. That is, until Miriam had a rocking recliner delivered to our front door. Over the next 10 months, when she came for a visit, I would open the pantry door and find at least one shelf stacked with jars of baby food. Miriam was our angel of strained peas and sweet potatoes.

Miriam was the rock of her family, and it never dawned on me that my time with her would be so brief. I never had the chance to draw deeply from the well of her cooking skills and homemaking tricks, nor from the wisdom gained from her gracious love for our Lord.

When I think of her I am reminded just how often we should tell our love ones what they mean to us. Thank you, Miriam, for filling an empty place in me with the warmth of love and acceptance.

Patty Williams is a salt-of-the-earth country woman from Lockhart, Texas. She is married to Ralph, who has a few pet cows and calls himself a rancher.

In Honor of Big John

Wes Eades — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 13:59:09 +0000

Honoring Big John (aka, my dad) by Linda Filgo

My Dad was always up there on the balcony, and still is. He occupies the first balcony to the right of the pearly gates.

As a teen I knew better than to play the ask-one-parent-and-then-ask-the-other-if-you-don’t-like-the-answer game. My mother would almost automatically say “No.” But my Dad, when I would ask permission to do anything at all, he never said “No.” He would say, “I know you’ll do the right thing.”

Oh man – that meant I HAD to Do The Right Thing, so as not to let him down.

And no easy way out explaining to my friends that my parents won’t let me…

I HAD to say I KNEW it wasn’t a good thing to do, if the venture was the least bit questionable.

Of course what he was giving me was the gift of independence and the key to the double doors of maturity and responsibility.

Much later in life, I became a 40-year old art student at TSTC and he was my most enthusiastic cheerleader. I couldn’t wait to show him my assignments and projects, because I knew he would be so proud of me.

Recently, my son, Kelly, did a recording at for National Public Radio, recalling his memories of his grandaddy as the man who inspired his love of flying. Daddy was a passionate pilot. He built two planes, and loved having Kelly work with him. Kelly “caught” the flying bug, and recently devoted his life to missions work with Wings for Christ.

We were all blessed to have had my dad in our lives. He gave as much focused attention and encouragement to each of his children and grandchildren as he did to Kelly and me. We all knew he expected goodness and great things from us all. He could look at us, even as children, with blazing amazement. He helped me believe in my gifts. His confidence empowered me.

Twenty years ago, he died and the world hasn’t seemed “right” since. However, once in a while, just when I need it the most, I can hear his quiet, steadying voice say, “Atta girl!”

Linda Williams Filgo is a Waco artist whose beautiful work can be seen HERE.

In Honor of Aunt Thelma

Wes Eades — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 14:30:06 +0000

This post is part of an ongoing series on the Balcony Persons in our lives.

From Cloak Room to Balcony by Susan Cowley

In the still of a cricket-drone summer day in Oklahoma City, my Aunt Thelma moved from the cloak room, as it were, to an enduring role as my Balcony Person. She was sturdy stock, “a good scout,” my Dad, her brother, might have called her.

Aunt Thelma was a warm and steady fixture in my life as a child and on the trips we made to visit her in an old tri-level boarding house she ran, I joyed in her simple love most of all.

But that day came in 1959 when her gentle way turned to decisive determination, and I still stand in awe by the size of the crowd that gathered as though witnesses.

Always entertained by my own imaginary play, I was probably the last on the block to hear the commotion. Yet as Aunt Thelma strode from the house wearing a fixed jaw I had never seen, I knew a commanding moment was near.

As I followed, I saw the crowd of neighbors and bystanders and heard the roar of what I came to learn was the foul cursing of a drunkard. I watched as my Aunt Thelma parted the waters of humanity by the sheer majesty of her determined approach. She walked right up to the man’s weathered house, barged right through the open front door, and emerged holding the hand of a beaten teenage girl who she took home, binding her wounds of both flesh and a broken spirit.

I am certain I stopped breathing. It was the slow motion moment when I could not imagine that my Aunt Thelma, singular among all the men simply gawking, took the matter completely in hand, setting aside all fear to right a wrong in progress.

She is in the balcony, because as I watched from the orchestra seats, I learned for the first time that a woman can be both gentle and strong, quiet yet courageous. I have often recalled that moment and it has heartened me with boldness these past 21 years as we of CrossTies Ecumenical Church have served one of Waco’s deepest pockets of poverty and violence.

Along that journey, I was once asked, “You don’t go down there at night alone, do you?” “Sometimes,” I said, “because Jesus didn’t call me to be safe, but to be obedient.” I owe at least that much to Aunt Thelma.

Susan Cowley, seeking to live eucharisteo in every day while owning a marketing firm (The Cowley Group), writing copy, and serving as Psalmist and Spiritual Director of CrossTies Ecumenical Church. She is cofounder of CrossTies’ Talitha Koum mental health therapeutic nursery in South Waco, Texas.

In Honor of Cousin Conrad

Wes Eades — Wed, 30 Mar 2011 12:02:25 +0000

This post is part of a series honoring the Balcony Persons in our lives.

Remembering a Cousin

by Mark Long

Years ago I had, as I still do, a sense of awe about the Mississippi River. My grandparents lived in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and when we made the trip, I waited for the moment when I would first see the great bridge over the river. I could spot it, when I was attentive, from many miles away.

When I was a teenager, my brother Mike and I would sometimes stay with my cousins who lived on the other side of the Mississippi, 30 miles outside of Baton Rouge, in an old farm house. The countryside fascinated me, with its twisting roads, massive overhanging oaks, and duckweed-covered streams. My cousins, of course, were the greater attraction. At one time or another, I think I was in love with all three of the girls. Don was a guy cousin I could hug, cry and laugh with. But I was closest to Conrad.

Conrad and I were both firstborns. We both confronted a parent struggling with alcohol and, at times, madness. We both shared the struggle to escape what life had dealt us. Conrad shared his joy of hunting and fishing with me. When it came to girls, I was inexperienced — a situation Conrad thought intolerable, and an area where he believed I was in need of his tutoring. I will only say, diplomatically, he showed me things.

One trip in particular stands out. I was hiking with Conrad through the marshy, gray woods. I knew the river I held in such awe was not far distant, but I couldn’t see it through the dense growth. We wended our way through wetlands and past small ponds. Then suddenly–how well I recall the exact moment–we turned a corner, pushed past some trees, and there before my feet rolled the vast river. The opposite bank stood hazy in the far distance, a slight shroud of evaporation blurring the vista. I stood there, transfixed. The vast flow of the river I so loved and feared surged away before me. And what did I hear as I stood alongside Conrad? I will never forget.

I heard absolutely nothing.

Brooks babble joyfully. Rivers, like the mighty Mississippi, are all quietness and grandeur. I can enjoy a babbling brook, but the other speaks to me of what most enriches life. Nothing has ever made that as real to me as when, on summer day almost a half century ago, my cousin stood quietly beside me on the river bank.

In my mind I can stand again on the banks of the place, only now alone. Conrad has passed on. I feel very acutely the loss.

Someday, I will again drive east beyond Opelousas toward Baton Rouge on Highway 190. As I approach the River, I will await the first glimpse of the great bridge. I can almost feel, the excitement the sighting will bring. I will also listen, as intently as I can. And I know that, once again, I will hear absolutely nothing. Which is as it should be. The deepest things are quietest of all.

Thanks for helping me discover that, Conrad. I will never forget. May the waters roll ever on.

Dr. Mark Long is the Director of Middle East Studies and an Associate Professor in the Honors College at Baylor University. Mark is also an accomplished train jumper.

I’m a Lent Cynic

Wes Eades — Wed, 09 Mar 2011 14:51:39 +0000

“Rend your hearts and not your clothing.”

Joel, the Old Testament prophet

I was raised Southern Baptist in the Texas Panhandle. My buddies and I were always mystified by the weird stuff them semi-Christian, idolatrous Catholics were up to. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the fish sticks in the school cafeteria every Friday, but every now and again the handful of Catholic kids in class upped the weirdness a bit. Lent was one of those times. My friend Brian would show up with a smudge on his head, and start refusing to eat dessert.

Now I find myself a part of a Baptist congregation (non-Southern variety) that follows the seasons of the church year. I’ve come to understand and value the symbols of this ancient tradition, and the power they have to bind millions of diverse Christians together.

But sadly, I must admit that I’m a cynic when it comes to Lent. I’ve played the “game” over the years, giving up sugar, or meat, or alcohol. I can’t say that it’s ever meant much to me. This year I’d decided to give up giving things up.

Then, a friend sent me a link to an essay by Sister Joan Chittister, along with these comments:

Sort of takes the contest and “anything you can give up I can give up better” crap out of Lent. All of the “what are you giving up?” talk makes my skin crawl. It’s like praying in the marketplace. Do it or don’t do it. Make a personal commitment to God. You owe no one else anything. To discuss it, lessens it. When you talk about it, it becomes about you. Talk about your experience afterward, when you have something to share. That’s where the power is. How did the sacrifice change you? Or, how did failing change you? Did you experience Easter differently because of the change you made for Lent?

There is real suffering in the world. I for one, don’t want to hear how much my friends miss red meat, chocolate or soda!

Hmmmmm… I’m still not sure what, if anything, I’m going to commit to this lenten season. But my friend has convinced me that, at least for me, it’s important that I just keep it to myself.

Wes

P.S. You can read Sister Joan’s essay here.

In Honor of Dorothy

Wes Eades — Sat, 05 Mar 2011 16:27:08 +0000

This post is part of a series honoring the Balcony Persons in our lives. If you have a BP you’d like to tell about, then please email me your story to WMEades@gmail.com.

My Balcony Person: Dorothy
by Judy Filer

I have been blessed all of my life by the presence of my godmother, Dorothy. Although I am an Episcopalian and Dorothy is a Presbyterian, the church allowed her to become my godparent when I was baptized and confirmed at the age of 12. She was the person I wanted most because she already had influenced me.

Dorothy is a lovely person, inside and out. She is smart, articulate, and loving. But her greatest gift is hospitality. She is the epitome of the woman described in Proverbs 30. She keeps a beautiful home with an open door. Her gardens bloom cheerfully throughout the year. She is a great cook.

As I was growing up we spent Christmas Eves at Dorothy’s, with a group of other close friends. Her Santa Claus collection grew every year, and her home always expressed the beauty of the season. The table was set in a way that sparkled, and every guest found a small wrapped gift on the dinner plate. Those Christmas Eves were magical and remain among my best memories.

When I graduated from high school, Dorothy hosted a celebratory luncheon for my friends and me. The luncheon was in her backyard. She filled her garden with daisies, my favorite flower.They were everywhere! All of my friends and I left with gifts and with the strong impression from Dorothy that we were very special people.

Over the years, Dorothy’s deep love has extended to my husband and my daughter. She provided my daughter with her favorite Dolly (of course the one from Dorothy would be the favorite).

Two years ago, Dorothy’s husband died. He had suffered a debilitating stroke seven years before. For all those years, Dorothy had nurtured him at home. When I asked how she did it, she said, “With God’s help. He really does help you, you know.”

Dorothy has been my encourager from the beginning. My first job after college, as a case worker in a D.C. congressman’s office, came about because of her. She is the loveliest person I have ever known because God’s love shines through her. I’ll bet other people have similar stories about how Dorothy has been the encourager in their lives. I am so thankful for her influence in my life.

Rev. Judy Filer is an Episcopal priest in Central Texas.