Instruction

High fives, fist bumps, and words of encouragement are given freely by the Flash Dads. The Flash Dads program was launched seven years ago by Jefferson County Public Schools in Kentucky, and there are now several dozen members. The men go to elementary schools across Louisville and line up to greet students, cheering them on and getting the day started on a positive note.

Participant Roger Collins said, The Flash Dads are "community members showing up for students who sometimes don't have anybody showing up for them." Another member of the Flash Dads, James Bogan, heard about it through his grandson, and signed up so he could surprise him one day at school. "It's contagious and I've been doing it ever since," he said.

The Flash Dads take their duties as role models and mentors to heart, and Bogan said the students know "we're not just there that day. We're there whenever you need us. It's not a one-day thing, it's a lifetime thing."

In his newsletter, blogger Aaron Renn reflects on the crucial role of mentors:

One of the core functions of mentors is to [tell you the things] people are already thinking and saying about you behind your back - and helping you overcome them. A Financial Times profile of American Express CEO Steve Squeri shows how a mentor did this for him.

Squeri is the grandson of Italian and Irish immigrants and the son of an accountant who worked nights and weekends at Bloomingdale’s department store to make ends meet. During his studies at Manhattan College, Squeri lived at home. He had never been on an aircraft until he joined a training program at what is now the consulting group Accenture.

Four years later he moved to Amex. There, his Queens accent and cheap suits stuck out so badly that an executive took him aside. He said, “You have a really sharp mind, but the rest of you needs a lot of work. [Senior managers] tend to use all the letters of the alphabet when they talk.”

The mentor took Squeri shopping, arranged for [speaking] lessons and even organized sessions with a cultural anthropologist so the younger manager would feel comfortable when he was sent to the group’s overseas offices. Squeri says, “I’m an example of how anybody can get to the top with a lot of hard work and having people that run the company that … are looking at individuals broadly and not judging books by their cover.”

Renn comments: “This mentor saw a diamond in the rough guy and made it his business to polish him up. This sort of thing is worth its weight in gold. [But notice how] good mentorship gets uncomfortable.”

By now you’ve probably heard about the Alaska Airlines flight in early January that experienced a sudden loss of pressure when a mechanical failing in the Boeing Max 9 caused a door plug to pop out midflight. Many consider it a miracle that the flight was able to safely land without any fatalities or even major injuries.

For the FAA and the NTSB, the crisis did not end when the flight landed safely back at Portland International Airport. Both agencies needed to get to the bottom of how and why the door plug flew off in the first place. This required locating any of the debris that flew off midflight, including the door plug, which is the size of a normal airplane exit door.

Enter Bob Sauer. Sauer works as a science teacher in the area of Portland in the plane’s flight path. Sauer heard that NTSB authorities were searching for debris in his area. So, on a rainy Sunday night, he took a flashlight into his dark backyard to see if he could spot anything that seemed out of place. Sure enough, dangling midair among a small grove of cedar trees, was something that didn’t belong.

Sauer told a reporter, “It was definitely an airplane part. It had the same curvature that the fuselage has, and had a window in it.” Sauer called an NTSB hotline, and sent a few photos of his discovery. Within a day or so, investigators descended on his property, excited to confirm that it was indeed the door plug.

It turns out the plane was not directly overhead when the door plug failed, but landed in Sauer’s yard because of the several scientific factors. In light of this, Sauer used the incident as a teaching moment, and spent the first fifteen minutes of his astronomy class Monday morning explaining the discovery and relating it to the principles of terminal velocity, such as the plane’s airspeed, and wind speed, and air resistance during its descent.

Sauer was glad it hadn’t landed on his house; something that size moving at that velocity would’ve punched a hole in his roof.

Possible Preaching Angle:

Christian parents can follow this example and find teachable moments in life and use them to instruct their children. Teachable moments involve using everyday situations to illustrate biblical principles and teach children about God and faith. These moments can be tailored to the child's age and comprehension level, showing them the biblical relevance to their lives.

In a review of Timothy Keller’s book, Prayer: Experiencing Awe and Intimacy with God, Jen Michel writes:

One summer, my husband and I wanted to teach one of our youngest sons, age 6, to ride his bike. His twin brother, Colin, had already mastered the skill and was nearly keeping up with his older brother. But despite our cajoling—“It’s fun to ride a bike!” Andrew could not see the merit of potentially skinning his knees, and our attempts ended in his vain tears.

Then suddenly, in early August our little boy outgrew his fears. Nearly instantaneously, the mechanics of balancing, steering, and simultaneously pedaling became almost easy. The fears and tears dissolved, and Andrew forgot that riding a bike had ever been hard.

When it comes to prayer, most of us feel clumsy. We don’t recall someone running alongside us, shouting instructions as we learned. Instead, most of us found our balance by a hodge-podge of imitation and experimentation. Once we’ve learned to ride a bike, we can be sure we’re doing it right. Can anything remotely similar be said about prayer?

In his book, Prayer: Experiencing Awe and Intimacy with God, Timothy Keller invites readers to systematically learn to pray. Keller asserts that prayer depends on both grace and effort. He gently reminds us, there are no perfect prayers or perfect pray-ers. He says, “All prayer is impure, corrupted by our ignorance and willful sin.” We should try and yet can fail at prayer—an encouraging piece of news, when we remember that grace is there to sustain us.

As Keller concedes, “[Sometimes] you won’t feel that you’re making any progress at all, [and fellowship with God] maybe episodic.” But when your prayers are lifted toward a God of grace, at just the unexpected moment, you find that you know how to pedal, and that you are headed toward home.

Moms and dads understandably experience a great deal of worry and uncertainty when choosing a parenting style. A recent article by Good Housekeeping's Editor and Chief, Jane Francisco, offered this advice:

When my son was a toddler, I struggled with the concept of discipline, how to know what was too much … or not enough. So, I called up my dad, a teacher for decades, and asked him what parenting style he thought yielded the most well-adjusted kids. His answer was pretty simple: You can’t really go wrong as long as a) your child clearly understands that they are loved unconditionally and b) your approach to discipline is consistent, regardless of how strict (or not!) you are.

The takeaway? I probably won’t mess up my kid too badly as long as I deliver love and consistency (and don’t accidentally put him out with the recycling!). My dad’s “recipe” certainly calms me when the idea of parenting becomes overwhelming, and I hope it has the same effect on you ... there is no single “right” way — and being a parent can be an adventure as original as you are.

Possible Preaching Angle:

Raising God's children is a weighty task. If you're not concerned about how you do it, you're likely doing it wrong. But parenting is simpler than we make it. Love them unconditionally, show them consistency, and don't put them out with the recycling.

According to many industry analysts and insiders, the rising dominance of streaming platforms over the traditional broadcast networks is causing an unintended consequence: a lack of leadership development. As NBC’s Sierra Ornelas puts it: “Structurally, we'll have to figure out a better way to do this, because the structure we have now is not working.”

The pipeline from writer to showrunner has become strained by the explosive growth of the streaming series. The pace at which new streaming series are being greenlit and produced, combined with the shorter runs of episodes, are creating a situation where inexperienced writers don’t have enough opportunities to gain valuable mentorship experience.

When there were only a few networks and a few cable channels, there was a path to becoming a showrunner that made up for the lack of training a writer would have in logistics. Basically, the training came through mentoring and experience. When television consisted of 20-22 episodes a year, even junior writers could watch their script go from their hands to the screen. Writers moved up the writer ranks, and by the time they were pitching their own shows, they would have seen at least 50 episodes of television being made.

Something systemic needs to be done to ensure that new writers are trained as much as some were in the old system. Because as sink-or-swim as television has always been, the lack of experience and support in the new one will simply leave many to fail.

Possible Preaching Angle:

Successful ministry never happens in a vacuum. Rather, mentorship is an essential element of Christian community, and without it our people tend to drift aimlessly.

Wall Street Journal columnist Joe Queenan made some funny comments on the complexity and information overload of modern life:

I bought a sinus rinse the other day. Just a basic, no-frills sinus rinse. In making this purchase, I thought that rinsing my sinuses would be a fairly straightforward operation. Boy, was I ever wrong. For starters, there was the packaging. Colorful diagrams and instructions festooned the sinus-rinse box, including a long list of the 10 "advantages" of using this particular nasal spray. For example, the nozzle on the "easy-squeeze" plastic bottle fits any nasal opening whatsoever. Very important detail for people with virtually invisible nostrils.

But the sinus rinse makers were just getting warmed up. Inside the box I found a 32-page manual with an introduction, testimonials from physicians and customers, warnings about mishandling the device, a full page of instructions for cleaning and disinfecting the unit, and four pages of answers to frequently asked questions about sinus rinses.

The manual contained tens of thousands of words, all in tiny, tiny print. It did not explain how to launch an intercontinental ballistic missile or how to address the queen when being admitted to the Order of the Garter. No, it just dealt with the whys and wherefores of using a sinus rinse. It went on and on and on.

American society suffers from a plague of things that [are far too complicated].

In many parts of the developing world, aid workers have often struggled to get people clean, disease-free drinking water. Surprisingly, it hasn't always been easy. For a while, aid workers helped people get clean water by digging wells. But by the time people got the water into their homes it was often still contaminated. The next step involved adding a tiny bit of chlorine, which keeps water free of germs for days. So aid workers started trying to get people to use chlorine. In Kenya today, you can buy little bottles of chlorine, made just for purifying water, for pennies. Problem solved? Unfortunately, surveys show that only a small percentage of people buy the chlorine, even though it's cheap and widely available.

So the next step to help rural areas get clean water involved putting chlorine right next to the spring or well. It's basically an upside-down bottle with a dispenser that releases chlorine into the containers people use to carry water. A tiny bit is enough for 20 liters of water. It's simple and it's free.

But it turns out that only 40 percent of people who have access to the dispensers actually use them. Some people don't like the taste; some people don't believe in it. The American aid workers sometimes don't use the dispensers either. One aid worker said, "Sometimes you're in a rush, or you're thinking about something else and you just don't do it. I've had malaria five times now. I have a bed net hanging above my bed, and I don't use it."

What's the real problem? The article zeroed in on one issue—human nature. In other words, people from Nairobi, Kenya to New York City often know what's right but we don't do it. Interestingly, the NPR blog that reported this story was titled "A Surprising Barrier to Clean Water: Human Nature."

Philip Ryken writes in “He Speaks to Me Everywhere”:

During one memorable at-bat the spring of my son's first baseball season, he repeatedly hit the tee instead of the ball. And it was obvious what the problem was. He wasn't keeping his eye on the ball; he was looking right at me instead. He was unable to get a base hit until finally I stepped out of sight.

We joked about that the rest of the season, but what the incident shows is the power of fatherly approval. My son wanted me to take pleasure in his accomplishment even before he accomplished it.

I observed the same desire at work the time he caught a pop fly. Before he threw the ball over to the first base to complete the double-play, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure I'd seen his catch.

In a way, I'm touched that my son wants me to take pleasure in his success. But I'm also awestruck by my responsibility as a father. A father's love means almost everything to a child. It establishes his or her identity. It brings peace, security, and joy.

If a father's affection matters so much, then it had better be the kind of affection that is just as strong after a strikeout as it is after a grand slam.

Max Lucado writes in the “Cure for the Common Life”:

The bank sent me an overdraft notice on the checking account of one of my daughters. I encourage my college-age girls to monitor their accounts. Even so, they sometimes overspend.

What should I do? Send her an angry letter? Admonition might help her later, but it won't satisfy the bank. Phone and tell her to make a deposit? Might as well tell a fish to fly. I know her liquidity. Zero. Transfer the money from my account to hers? Seemed to be the best option. After all, I had $25.37. I could replenish her account and pay the overdraft fee as well. Since she calls me Dad, I did what dads do. I covered my daughter's mistake.

When I told her she was overdrawn, she said she was sorry. Still, she offered no deposit. She was broke. She had one option, "Dad, could you…" "Honey," I interrupted, "I already have." I met her need before she knew she had one.

Long before you knew you needed grace, your Father did the same. He made an ample deposit. Before you knew you needed a Savior, you had one. And when you ask him for mercy, he answers, "Dear child. I've already given it."

Most of us would agree that singing worship songs in our gatherings is important. But do we realize just how important those songs are to our growth as believers? In a New York Times article entitled "In One Ear and Out the Other," Natalie Angier examines the limited power of human memory. She points out that while we can't quite seem to remember the birthday of a loved one, we can't quite forget every word of the Gilligan's Island theme song. Why is that? It seems that if you add a little music to something, it's more likely to be remembered. That's how the brain is wired to work. Angier writes:

Though scientists used to believe that short- and long-term memories were stored in different parts of the brain, they have discovered that what really distinguishes the lasting from the transient is how strongly the memory is engraved in the brain…. The deeper the memory, the more readily and robustly an ensemble of like-minded neurons will fire.

This process, of memory formation by neuronal entrainment, helps explain why some of life's offerings weasel in easily and then refuse to be spiked. Music, for example. "The brain has a strong propensity to organize information and perception in patterns, and music plays into that inclination," said Michael Thaut, a professor of music and neuroscience at Colorado State University. …

A simple melody with a simple rhythm and repetition can be a tremendous mnemonic device. "It would be a virtually impossible task for young children to memorize a sequence of 26 separate letters if you just gave it to them as a string of information," Dr. Thaut said. But when the alphabet is set to the tune of the ABC song with its four melodic phrases, preschoolers can learn it with ease.

In other words, the hymns or choruses we sing—which combine Scriptural truths with moving melodies—teach us things that won't easily be forgotten. That should probably give us pause—pause to reflect on the value of what we have in the hymnals tucked away in our pews; pause to revisit what is being projected on the screens that line the front of our worship auditoriums; pause to remember that God has given us a powerful tool in music and its potent relationship to human memory.

The true pupil, say of some great musician or painter, yields his master a wholehearted and unhesitating submission. In practicing his scales or mixing the colors, in the slow and patient study of the elements of his art, he knows that it is wisdom simply and fully to obey.

It is this wholehearted surrender to His guidance, this implicit submission to His authority, which Christ asks. We come to Him asking Him to teach us the lost art of obeying God as He did. ... The only way of learning to do a thing is to do it. The only way of learning obedience from Christ is to give up your will to Him and to make the doing of His will the one desire and delight of your heart.

You cannot help men permanently by doing for them what they could and should do themselves.