The Flog – The Fabry Log

This is from Dr. Michael Easley from the program today, 6/25/09.

What Would Happen If I Lost My Integrity?

Establish my footsteps in Your word and do not let any iniquity have dominion over me. Psalm 119:133

1. I would have lied, sinned and offended God.
2. I would wreck my marriage.
3. I would lose all ability to minister.
4. I would butcher my credibility with ______________ Church
5. I would ruin my alumni relationship with ___________________________.
6. I would disgrace ________________________, and all who have trusted me.
7. I would spoil my relationship with people of influence.
8. I would damage every relationship I have.
9. I would lose (my husband’s / wife’s) ________________ love and support.
10. I would lose my husband’s / wife’s trust for the rest of our lives.
11. I would scar (my kids) ___________________ for the rest of their lives.
12. I would never replace the relationship I enjoy with (my husband / wife) ________________.
13. I would deeply disgrace and insult my in-laws.
14. I would deeply disgrace and insult my parents.
15. I would ruin any credibility with all the counseling I have ever done.
16. I would never escape the guilt and regret.
17. I would lose my “job.”
18. I would negate any ministry or testimony I have had to the divorced & remarried.
19. I would offend, hurt, betray and cheapen my dearest friendships with __________________ and many others.
20. I would never want to face anyone from (former churches, Christian ministries…) _____________________.
21. I would have betrayed the trust of all the staff from (churches I’ve worked with) _______________________.
22. I would have betrayed a trust given to me by the elders of (churches).
23. I would find it impossible to remove the mar in my relationship with the Father.
24. I would forever look back & regret the stupidity of my decision to sin.
25. I would never find “fulfillment” in anything.
26. I would fuel the fire of “nay-sayers” and unbelievers.
27. I would have scorned the high-call/high-privilege that has been entrusted to me.
28. I would insult the credibility of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Andrea and I are going to be on Midday Connection today talking about our journey with mold, the illnesses we've been through, and whatever else Anita and Melinda want to talk about. Our hope and our goal through all of this is to help someone facing some giants in their life, whether it's mold or something else.

You can listen live at 1:00 Eastern or hear the podcast/stream of the program on the Internet. Here's the link for Midday Connection.

Saturday was my first baseball game as coach. I intended for it to be my last. We only had five players and one of them is five years old. You can’t play a season with five kids, especially with vacations, sickness, etc. My intention was, after the first game of the year, to hang up my “Coach” shirt and call it a lesson learned. I am not a quitter but I am a realist.

But something happened on the way to the game. A memory sparked from long ago. I don’t know why it’s there, it just is. I was in elementary school. It was the fifth grade, or maybe fourth, or sixth, that part I can’t remember. It was the last day of school and the whole class walked down the street to a church campground, right next to the cemetery where my grandfather is buried. I can't tell you the year, it could have been anywhere from 1970-1973, but I can tell you the strongest memory of that day.

We are in the field by the picnic tables. The teachers and mothers are working with the food, keeping the flies away, making sure the kids don’t choke on hot dogs. The girls giggle and run in packs, playing tag or talking or doing whatever girls do. And I am in the field holding a plastic bat. My friends are both behind me and scattered in the field. And there is a man in work clothes on the impromptu pitcher's mound. He is holding a Wiffle ball. It is my father. He must be on evenings or midnight shift because he is there at one in the afternoon.

When a smaller child or a girl comes up to bat, he throws underhanded. When I come up to bat he puts something on it, overhanded, and I whack the ball as hard as I can and run to first, which is someone’s discarded shirt. He is laughing. We are all laughing and sweating and swatting at flies and mosquitoes. All of us want our team to win. And we all think it is the best thing in the world to have a dad playing baseball with us. My dad. It is the best memory.

For some reason, that’s what I thought about when I drove to the game Saturday. Just that image of my father standing so tall before us and tossing the ball.

We had five players for our team. The other team had 12. I walked over to the other coach and explained the situation.

He grimaced. “We only had six until we got six more last week.” He rubbed his chin. “It’s okay, we’ll have some of our guys play for you. This is all about the kids. We want them to have a good time and learn something about the game.”

This is all about the kids. He said that several times.

We were up first. Colin actually hit the ball and ran to first, just getting out by a stride or two. The next three or four batters got on base. They scored. It was wonderful.

In the bottom of the first, the bases loaded, one Red Sox player hit a screaming line drive to first. Colin caught it on the fly for the third out.

I went in to catch in the bottom of the second. Angel pitched. The umpire let us move him forward so he could get the ball over the plate.

“Coach, tell your pitcher to move back,” one of the parents from the opposing team said behind me.

“Talk to the umpire,” I said. “The pitcher is five.”

“He’s five?” she said in wonder.

Brandon was playing shortstop, his knees locked. “Bend your knees,” I called. “Get ready for the grounder, remember to catch the bunny low when it comes to you.”

He put his glove down in the dirt and waited, perfect position.

Final inning. A couple of Red Sox runners on. Colin pitching. Another line drive, this one at Alex at second base. He puts his glove up, the ball goes in with a smack, he looks at it, then looks to the dugout like he has found the missing clue in a thousand year old mystery. He can’t believe he caught it.

I looked at one of the dads. “Think we ought to try one more game?”

He smiled and nodded. “All we need are maybe four more players.”

We slapped hands with the opposing team. Good game. Good game. At the end of the line was a Red Sox player who seemed a bit bewildered. He turned and looked at me, his hair unruly and covering his eyes. It is our nature as men to keep score. To try and figure out who is better, who can spit farther, who can be the best.

“But what was the score?” he said. “Who won?”

“We all did,” I said.

And somewhere in the distance, in a place where children’s hearts are stirred, my father laughed and I heard the sound of a Wiffle ball passing.

I try not to let external things dictate what type of day I have. I believe there’s an inner peace and joy that can transcend any circumstance in your life. To have someone or some thing make you happy or sad or irritated enough to ruin your day is not the way I want to live.

Having said that, I was having a bad day yesterday. Maybe it was the letdown of Brandon’s birthday being over. We had counted down the days and now I miss him saying, "Thirty five more days, Dad!" Maybe the struggles we are going through and the toll that has taken physically, emotionally, financially, and relationally had something to do with it. Or the fact that we need to move in about a month. Or that my daughter, Shannon, was driving back to Colorado and I was concerned. It could have been about the reunion planned for my defunct high school in West Virginia. It’s been 30 years since I graduated and some of my classmates are getting together next week and I know I won’t be able to attend. Bummer. My drive through construction into Tucson didn’t help my mood. I had to drive 30 miles to retrieve our jerseys and equipment for the first baseball game Saturday.

All of these thoughts put me in a sour mood. I could have focused on the good things, but I was not doing that.

Then my cell phone rang. It was my editor from Tyndale. She calls to find out how I’m doing, how the family is, what’s up with my writing, and to give reports on current projects.

My excitement level about the new novel, June Bug, is pretty high, but there’s an angst level too. How will people receive it? Will they “get it?” Will all that hard work done during the most troubling time of our lives be “worth it?”

I’ve received some really good response to the pre-release of June Bug. But after reading a comment on Amazon the other day about Dogwood, I wondered if this story will hit the mark.

Karen said, “I have some good news.”

“I need some good news.”

“We just saw the Publisher’s Weekly review of June Bug. Do you want me to read it to you?”

She did. I was blown away. Publisher’s Weekly doesn’t determine how many copies of a book is sold, but those in the book industry look to it to help them decide whether or not to stock the book. It’s too expensive for me to have a subscription, and to be honest, when I read it I wind up thinking too much about marketing and comparing my work with others. But when Karen read me the following, I was truly encouraged.

June Bug Chris Fabry. Tyndale, $13.99 paper (350p) ISBN 978-1-4143-1956-8

Chris Fabry (Dogwood)—evangelical fiction author of more than 60 titles and coauthor of Left Behind: The Kid series—offers a lovely, moving, present-day account of sacrifice linking to the famed novel Les Misérables. It all begins in a nondescript Wal-Mart parking lot where nine-year-old June Bug sees an artist's rendition of herself on a missing child poster in the store where they've parked their broken-down RV trailer. With questions galore, June Bug starts pestering her “dad” about their RV vagabond life and where they're headed next. Johnson, little June Bug's father, is obliged to face his past in short order as a series of unexpected media events force his hand and reroute his life. Afraid and emotionally battered, Johnson returns to the “scene of the crime” and discovers what he thought was lost forever. Fabry's retelling of the world-renowned Victor Hugo tale is a stunning success, and readers will find themselves responding with enthusiastic inner applause. (Aug.)

That kept me going the rest of the day. The reviewer "got it." Bigtime. I hope others will, too.

If you would like to pre-order a copy, you can click on the link to your right. Or, go to my website, chrisfabry.com and in a few days you will be able to order an autographed copy. June Bug should be in stores in late July or early August.

Check out the NEW WEBSITE. It's not open yet, but you can hear a greeting from me and see the general direction of where we're going.

We had a really good day with Brandon yesterday. He went to pick up his sister at the airport, then went to breakfast and was doted on by the server. Then off to Blockbuster to rent two movies. The kids don't watch much TV so watching a movie is a luxury. After my show, I took him and three siblings to bowl. Kristen is in a bowling class and she's doing really well. Broke 100 yesterday. I broke 100 too, but I was using the bumpers with Brandon. :)
After bowling it was back to watch another movie, have dinner, get his picture taken (along with the entire family) and then open presents.

Seems like he had a really good day and he was up early to put together his new Lego toy he received from friends back in Colorado.

This is Brandon, in low light, showing off his recently lost front teeth. And his muscles, of course.