This place has changed my life. It’s a family homeless shelter that gives families a starting over point.

It gives parents a chance to relearn skills needed to get back on their feet.

But the kids…

They are the ones who have changed me. Every smile. Every hug.

They are always looking for volunteers. If you have been looking for a way to be the hands and feet of Christ, step out in faith and volunteer at Safe Haven. I promise you that it will change you.

Things I remember about church when I was a kid…

After every service, and I mean every service, we had an “invitation.” Now, let me give this preface, I am not saying that this was a bad thing. But as a kid, it was long and painful.

The invitation was a time for people to walk down in front of the entire church and whisper to the pastor what was going on in their life. Decisions were made and prayer was given. Sounds easy enough, right?

Well there was a little more to it than that. There was a process. First, the pastor must remember to turn his mic off. I used to get quiet joy when the first few words out of the poor souls mouth on how messed up his/her life was echoed throughout the sanctuary. (Yes, I have confessed this quiet joy.)

Next came the prayer. The pastor would huddle with the person and pray, but behind their back he would hold up some fingers. Depending on how many counselors were needed, he would hold that number up. He would keep them up, and his prayer, until the appropriate number of counselors touched his arm.

I was never asked to be one of the people who were allowed to touch his arm while he prayed. (Probably a good thing) I don’t know what the qualifications were but I saw them many times during my youth group years, especially at revivals.

My favorite part of the entire service was when the “signal” was given. The entire time the invitation was going on the music minister was leading everyone else in song. He would go from verse to verse to verse while the invitation was being given. When no one else was letting go of the pew and coming down, the pastor would turn to the music minister and circle his index finger. That meant wrap it up, last verse. Needless to say, that verse was always sung the loudest by everyone, as I wasn’t the only one who knew that the end was near.

Lastly, we were all let in on the secrets as everyone who came down front and made a decision were presented and we all clapped for them.

I bet I have spent at least 6 months of my life standing in the pew during the invitation trying to guess what was wrong with each person that came down the isle. I became jealous of senior citizens who got to sit down in the longer invitations and would quietly groan when someone would wait until after the “signal” was given before coming down (I confessed this as well), as this meant a new signal would have to be given.

Ah, the memories of the invitation.

When the preacher took his watch off and placed it on the pulpit. He would be introducing himself or the topic and he would go to his wrist and start unclamping the classy gold watch. It was always a comforting feeling. “Whew, we’ve got the lunch insurance today! He’s bound to see that watch at some point and be forced to stop!” Then my mind would wonder to what I was going to order at Casa Mexicana that day.

The worst however is when the preacher would forget to take his watch off. You could just sense the uneasiness in the room as everyone settled in for a “long one.” Many times I contemplated raising my hand and gently reminding him that he forgot the part where he places his watch on the wooden pulpit. “Excuse me Brother Jeff, you forgot to take your watch off. I’m sure you are a creature of habit and I didn’t want you to have that nagging feeling of ‘what did I forget to do’, the entire time you are talking.”

Without the visible reminder, you could never really tell when he was exactly going to be done. You know what I mean, when he closes his Bible and starts speaking a little slower. Especially the last few words: “That’s what you need to… do… today. Turn to Galations for point #3.”

So close…but yet, so far away.

I don’t remember if they had a clock on the back wall or not, but hopefully at some point someone suggested it. If it were up to me, I would have snagged my moms eggbeater timer, that ironically I never once saw her used to time herself beating eggs, only to time how long I had to keep the soap in my mouth or my time in the corner. Anyway, there would be no chance of the preacher going over once that “DING!” went off. Everyone would know that his time was up and he would be forced to say, “let’s pray.”

As a kid, those are the things you remember about church. Next time – What I remember about the invitation.

Did your pastor use his watch as a guide?

I remember random things from my childhood.  I’m sure we all do, but I am really glad I have this memory.  I was about 6 or 7 and I was in my brothers bedroom and Monday Night Football was on.  My mother was making me go to bed and I told her I wanted to stay up and watch more of the game.  The team that was playing had this cool logo on their helmet.  I decided right then and there they would be my favorite football team. (She made me go to bed)

So if you are ever on Jeopardy and Alex reads the previous paragraph you will know to buzz in and say “What is how Wes Howard became a Saints fan?”

I stuck with the “cool logo” team for the next 21 years.  Every year I would have all the hope in the world about the upcoming season and every year they would fail miserably.

So you can imagine my excitement when the New Orleans Saints won the Super Bowl.

Finally, they were the champions.

Finally, cheering for them paid off.

Finally, my team was the winner.

After my jumping up and down subsided and the game went off the TV.  I walked upstairs, brushed my teeth and got into bed.  My life wasn’t going to change.  I had already gotten back into my routine. The Saints winning it all did nothing but add temporary happiness to my life.

I’m not saying that cheering for sports teams are a bad thing.  Not at all.  I have so much fun cheering on this team, but pursuing happiness and joy in anything other than Christ leads to temporary results.

If I can only get this job, everything will be hunky dory.

If I can only date this girl my life will be complete.

If, If, If…

Once you realize that these things will bring you temporary happiness and they are not the end all be all, you can focus on making every moment in your life a chance for increased intimacy with the Creator.  There’s no “if” when it comes to Christ’s love.

Go Saints! Super Bowl Champs!!

If you work at a church, you are expected to pray.

No, I don’t mean what you think I mean.  I mean you are expected to pray the Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner prayer.  Really?  They do know that I don’t actually preach on Sunday’s right?  We all circled around and held hands and it was announced that I should pray.  I said sure and prayed and then filled my plate.  Things were really looking up until I asked which one was my seat and found out I was still at the kids table.  28 years later and I am still at the kids table.  I thought the person that blesses the food sits at the head of the table!

Lesson #3

Learn people’s names.

It’s a practice everyone should learn, but it’s something I struggle with.  It really hit home when one Sunday a group of my friends were standing around and I wanted to say hello to someone but couldn’t remember their name.  So I asked a friend and she looked at me and said, “Wes, you know you have hurt people’s feelings by not remembering their name.”  That hit me like a ton of bricks, but it’s true.  You can make someone feel 2 feet tall by not remembering something as simple as their name.

I remember a friend telling me a story about Bill Clinton.  A friend of his met him late one night at a restaurant bar.  They had a drink together and talked for about 30 minutes.  A few years passed and he actually ran into the ex-President again and before he could say hello, Bill Clinton called him out by name to see how he’s been.  Unreal.

Calling someone by their name instantly gives your message credibility.  It makes you more approachable and it shows respect.  After that day, I went and searched for tips on remembering people’s names and have tried ever since to be more aware of remembering names and faces.  It’s definitely taking some practice.

“Hey, Peter.” “Oh, hey Wes.” (Then we shake hands) We both feel confident and sure about the conversation that is about to happen.

Then one day, someone somewhere decided that a simple handshake wasn’t enough and thus began the evolution of the man-shake. I don’t know who decides when the handshake needs to change, but it is universal. One day we are shaking hands and the next we are doing a version of a secret handshake that we did as kids.

First up was the handshake to arm wrestling maneuver. You start with a handshake and then immediately move to an arm wrestling position.

Then one day it became cool to add on to this. The next step was to do the handshake to arm wrestling to sliding your hands against each other until your fingertips touch, gripping them together.  That sounds weird. Then when that wasn’t enough we added a snap at the end. Yes, a snap.

Handshake to arm wrestling position to sliding hands together to gripping the fingertips to snapping.  And this was perfectly normal.

Thankfully the powers that be decided that we were getting a little too weird with the handshake and took a step back. They decided to start with the handshake and still go to the arm wrestling position but now we pull each other into a half hug. 1 or 2 pats is acceptable but can be a little awkward.

This seemed to be the norm for quite a while. We even started going straight to the arm wrestling position to half hug after a while, totally eliminating the handshake all together.

The problem with all this is that no one knows which version of the man-shake you are going to do and it gets awkward. It’s awkward when someone wants to do the arm wrestling maneuver and you are wanting a regular handshake. The worst, however, is when you go in for the arm wrestling half hug and the person was expecting a handshake. You end up with a man’s hand pointing you in the lower stomach while you are patting him on the back 1 or 2 times. I won’t even get into how many times the person looked at me blankly after a handshake/arm wrestling/gripping fingertips snap shake and then tried to snap 5 seconds after the shake was over.

It just gets awkward. Now, you have to make your intentions known well before hand. Like 4 or 5 steps ahead of time. Hold your arm up in the arm wrestling position to let it be known that a man hug is coming. If you really know the person you have to hold both arms out wide letting it be known its time for the intimate real hug.

I’m sure we look ridiculous walking with our arms up or out just waiting to embrace, but that’s the reality of our awkward world. I would rather look stupid than go through awkward moment of when both men offer up different handshakes. It’s the same thing of when you are trying to get out of the way of a stranger. You keep stepping the same direction and at some point one of you has to standstill while the other awkwardly passes.

Thankfully we have started moving towards the “fist bump.”  Just hold a fist out and that lets the other person know, “Whoa, this relationship is not at the man hug level yet. This guy really doesn’t even want to touch me. Just bump knuckles.” This is all well and good, but I don’t want to offend my friends with the fist bump.  I do want to show them love, but not at the risk of feeling their helpless hand being stuck at my waistband while mine is stuck in between their man boobs.  It’s just awkward.

Being a man is tough.

Any horror stories of trying to say hello?

I am going to let you in on a little secret: As a kid, I was very self-conscious. I used to HATE it when someone would say, “You are just skin and bones.” Anger would boil up inside me and I would not speak to that person for an extended period of time. Truth is though, I was. I was skin and bones and not matter how many chili dogs or school pizza I ate, I never would gain a pound.

Once I got to the age where looks started to matter, I noticed it. I was skinny. My calves were no where near as big as my friends. Sitting down, my knees looked like sticks when sitting next to people. Something must be done about this, I remember thinking.

So one day I decided to take things into my own hands. I started wearing sweatpants underneath my church pants. Yep. Sweatpants. I would even wear a sweatshirt underneath my button ups. Now when I sat beside my friends at church, my knees looked almost as big. Never mind the fact that it looked like a pillow, I was “big!” If someone ever blew my cover by seeing the sweatpants, I would just reply that I was cold natured.

The next step was to fix my butt. I didn’t have one, so I came up with the next best thing. I remember begging my mother for a checking account so I could have a checkbook. I would put my wallet in one back pocket and my checkbook in the other. Bam! Problem solved. I had a butt. Now if I could only get arm pit hair. (No, I didn’t fake that)

I look back on it now and it seems ridiculous. I wonder how many people had the conversation, “Why does Wes have sweatpants on underneath his clothes?” I am positive that it did NOT help me with the ladies. I’m not sure when I got out of the phase, but I imagine that the day I did, I got a girlfriend.

Did you do anything ridiculous as a kid to fit in?

I got a call from Jenni Catron at Cross Point. She had a wild idea for an experiment. The experiment has now become permanent as I learn ministry firsthand by assisting Pete Wilson on a day to day basis. I’m learning something new everyday and am amazed at the journey God has taken me on. I am so thankful for where God has me and where he is going to take me.

My journey came full circle for me the other day as I was reading Francis Chan’s new book Forgotten God. In it he tells this story:

I recently had dinner in Seoul, Korea, with an amazing man. He was one of the twenty-three missionaries who were held hostage by the Taliban in Afghanistan in July 2007. For those who don’t recall the story, the Taliban executed two of the missionaries before a deal was reached with the government of South Korea and the missionaries were released.

This man told me about the horrors of being locked up in a cell, knowing that martyrdom was a strong possibility. He also shared about the amazing time they had on the last day they were all imprisoned together. Each of the twenty-three missionaries surrendered their lives to God that night and told Him they were willing to die for His glory. There was even an argument over who would get to die first. One of them had a small Bible that the missionaries secretly ripped into twenty-three pieces so each could glance at Scripture when no one was watching.

One of the most fascinating things this man told me was about what has happened since. Now that they have been back in Seoul for a while, several team members have asked him, “Don’t you wish we were still there?” He tells me that several of them experienced a deep kind of intimacy with God in the prison cell that they haven’t been able to recapture in their comfort.

The words “Don’t you wish we were still there?” resonated with me. My journey was painful, scary and control-less, but I miss it. I experienced an intimacy with God that I never had before and I find myself thinking back on it and missing that time in my life. When I had no certainty, no illusion of control, no idea of what was next…when I had nothing…I had God. And that was enough.

If you are going through a rough time or you are scared to death of what’s next, let me encourage you to take time to enjoy it. Let God develop that intimacy with you that will draw you closer to him as he guides you down your journey.

I gotta be honest. I am jealous of you. I remember days waking up with tears coming down my face and getting on my knees and saying the most humbling words you can say, “I have nothing to offer…only my faith. Stretch me, guide me, love me, draw me closer to you today.” Then face the day and count it all joy.

One day you will look back and be amazed at the work God did in you during that time… and you will miss it.

The first situation is when I am getting off the phone with someone I don’t normally talk to. It’s just awkward. We both know that it is time to hang up, why does it have to become weird? It usually happens like this:

Me: Ok, well it was good talking to ya.
Not me: Yeah, it was. We will catch up again soon.
Me: Absolutely. Let’s do that.
… … …
Me: Ok, well have a good one.
Not me: You too.
Me: Ok, well talk to ya later.
Not me: Oh yeah ok.
Me: Ok
Not me: Ok
Me: Bye
Not me: yeah..ok..bye

The problem? I am pushing the hang up button when I hear the “yeah ok, bye” part. It makes me feel like they didn’t know a “bye” was coming. It’s not like I sprung it out of nowhere! “Oh yeah, so let me tell you about- BYE!” I would expect the surprise then! I just don’t get it. Why is it so awkward? Do I not set up the goodbye well enough?

I guess I could say, “Well, I am going to let you go”, but then that makes me feel like I have held them captive. “Good news. Your time is up. You can go now. I am letting you go. You are released. Come back now… ya hear?”

There’s just not a good setup to say goodbye. I miss the old days of arguing with my middle school girlfriend over who is hanging up first.

Me: I’m not hanging up first.
Cute girl: Well then we are going to be here a while, cause I’m not!
Me: Me either! I can’t let you go.
Cute girl: I’m not doing it. You have to.
Me: I guess we will just fall asleep together.
Cute girl: ::giggles::
….silence…..
Me: Are you asleep?

So, I apologize to you if I have awkwardly hung up the phone with you. I’m just not good at it. I am willing to get better though.

Any suggestions?

My pursuit of a job in ministry had given me the opportunity to interview with several places and each time God taught me something different about rejection. That was all and good, but it was time to pay rent. A rent that I didn’t have.

The week before September 1st, everything seemed to happen at once:

- A roommate had decided to move out and we couldn’t find a replacement. If we couldn’t find someone, our rent would go up significantly until we did.
- I was up for a ministry job in Austin, TX. and I hadn’t heard yet on what the final decision was.
- I had felt a calling to start a community group at my church. Should I start a group not having a job or not knowing if I would even be in Nashville? How can I lead a group on a journey with Christ when I can’t even pay rent?
- I had run out of money.

I remember being scared to death and feeling like a complete failure. What will my life look like next week? I had to come to a very important realization that I want to make sure is conveyed:

I had to expect God to come through, but not necessarily in the way I wanted him to. I knew that God would come through, but I had to accept that it might be that I would be homeless. That if everything came crashing down it was going to be for His glory. That what I perceive to be success isn’t what God defines success by. That realization was tough and humbling, but it allowed me to be ready for God was about to do.

Sunday morning was the day all the new groups were going to be announced and we would meet people to sign them up for our groups. I had to be there at 8:00AM. I decided that night before that things were just too “up in the air” for me to lead a group. I turned off my alarm. I admitted that I wasn’t in control, but I was going to act like it and not be a group leader.

I woke up at 7:00AM on the dot the next morning. I was going to be a community group leader after all.

The next day a guy contacted us that had seen our ad for a new roommate. He needed a place to live before September and came by to visit the place. He loved it. We had a new roommate for September.

The job in Austin, TX called me the next day to let me know that although they really enjoyed getting to know me, they decided to go with someone local. I wasn’t moving.

On Wednesday night I went to my community group that I was in but didn’t lead. At the end, someone stood up and said that the group had sensed I was struggling financially and they had pooled some money together. They hoped it could help with rent – it was the EXACT amount of my rent.

September 1st came and went. The day that was looming was just another day. God had come through in His way, not mine. I wasn’t a failure, I was a son of the Living God who was teaching me and molding me into His image. My plans were not His plans, His plans became my plans.

A week later, I got a random phone call from Jenni Catron at Cross Point asking me if I would come in and talk. She had a wild idea for an experiment…