1. Out of my bondage, sorrow and night,
Jesus, I come; Jesus I come.
Into Thy freedom, gladness and light,
Jesus, I come to Thee.
Out of my sickness into Thy health,
Out of my wanting and into Thy wealth,
Out of my sin and into Thyself,
Jesus, I come to Thee.
2. Out of my shameful failure and loss,
Jesus, I come; Jesus, I come.
Into the glorious gain of Thy cross,
Jesus, I come to Thee.
Out of earth’s sorrows into Thy balm,
Out of life’s storms and into Thy calm,
Out of distress into jubilant psalm,
Jesus, I come to Thee.
3. Out of unrest and arrogant pride,
Jesus, I come; Jesus, I come.
Into Thy blessed will to abide,
Jesus, I come to Thee.
Out of myself to dwell in Thy love,
Out of despair into raptures above,
Upward forever on wings like a dove,
Jesus, I come to Thee.
4. Out of the fear and dread of the tomb,
Jesus, I come; Jesus, I come.
Into the joy and light of Thy home,
Jesus, I come to Thee.
Out of the depths of ruin untold,
Into the peace of Thy sheltering fold,
Ever Thy glorious face to behold,
Jesus, I come to Thee.
(by William Sleeper)
Do you get those words? Read them again.
We have been called out of the despairing, exhausting, gloomy shadows of this sin-infested place into a whole new world - which blows away any of the faintest comprehension of goodness we might have What a glorious gospel!
Jesus, I come - running, wholeheartedly, with a goofy smile plastered on my face, like a little child. Where else would I go but to you?
Thursday, January 26
Thursday, January 19
Wednesday, January 4
Tony Dungy
Do you know anybody like Tony Dungy? That man is so darn genuine. It's awesome.
There was an article last week in the Orlando Sentinel about the inspiring funeral for Tony's son, James, who died in an apparent suicide. I debated about posting a link to the article, or even just some of my favorite quotes. But I've been thinking about this a lot; it really affected me. It's long, but I think you should just read the whole thing. It'll be good for your soul. Here goes:
Dungy puts emphasis on faith, family as he deals with son's death with grace
by Mike Bianchi
"Leave it to Tony Dungy.
Amid all his tumult and tragedy, all the pain and the strain, all the tears and the fears, it was he who comforted us.
Dungy stood there at a church pulpit Tuesday, his dead son, Jamie, lying in a casket beneath him, and, miraculously, he made everybody feel better -- even the reclusive owner who once fired him.
Can you believe it? The most horrific personal tragedy any parent ever could endure -- the suicidal death of a child -- and there's Tony Dungy at the funeral, thanking Tampa Bay Buccaneers owner Malcolm Glazer for the way he used to treat his son.
"Jamie was 9 years old when we came here to Tampa," Dungy, now the coach of the Indianapolis Colts, told a gathering of about 2,000 at Idlewild Baptist Church. "When we would take bus rides to the airport, Mr. Glazer would sit in the front seat. Every time my son would come on the bus, he'd talk to Jamie. And he'd never talk to him about football, but he'd always talk to him about being a good son. And then he would talk to me about taking care of my boys and being a good dad. Every single trip we took."
And then Tony Dungy looked in the eyes of the man who fired him and said, "I love you and appreciate you for that."
How can any coach be this good?
How can any man be this good?
And that's the real tragedy here. How can this much bad befall a man so good? Why should a man who tries so hard to be a loving, caring father have to endure a tortured son dying a dark and lonely death?
Too many times, we treat NFL coaches not as people but as topics. They are discussion points for sports-radio callers to dissect. They are fodder for sports columnists to second-guess. They are the poll question on Web sites. (Which coach will be fired first -- Dom Capers, Mike Tice, Mike Mularkey?)
Not Tony Dungy. He always has been different. Didn't matter who it was -- team bus driver, cafeteria lady, even lowly sports writer -- Dungy treated them all with respect. And, so, when the word spread last week about Dungy's 18-year-old son taking his own life, we didn't think about how it would affect Dungy the football coach; we agonized about how it would affect Dungy the dad.
The first thought that popped into my head wasn't, "Will Dungy's team be OK?" It was, "God, I hope Tony's OK."
Should have known, Dungy, the unfaltering man of faith, is handling death with the same grace and class that defines his life. Which is why there were head coaches and Hall-of-Famers and equipment men and ball boys filling the church pews Tuesday. And messages of condolences sent from all walks of life: from the president of the United States to Reggie Roberts, the former Bucs PR guy who walked out of the funeral shaking his head incredulously and saying of Dungy's dignity, "I don't belong in the same church as that man."
On a church stage filled with flowers, wreaths and harps, Dungy delivered a message sprinkled with smiles, sobs and substance.
Was Dungy alluding to his son's darker side -- Jamie romanticized the gangsta-and-guns lifestyle of the hip-hop generation, and he was recently taken into custody under the Baker Act, fearing a possible drug overdose -- when he urged the many NFL players in the audience to become even "bolder" role models than they already are?
"Our young boys in this country, they need to hear from you," Dungy told the players. "Our boys are getting a lot of the wrong messages about what it means to be a man in this world. About how you should act, and how you should dress, and how you should talk, and how you should treat people. They don't always get the right message, but you guys have the right messages. You know it. You live it."
Dungy is a national spokesman for All Pro Dad, an organization dedicated to improving fatherhood skills. A year and a half ago, he told me in an interview that he might retire soon because he wrestled with the dilemma of spending too much time away from his children.
"I don't think I'll be coaching in five years," he said then. "I have a 19-year-old and a 17-year-old, and I wasn't there as much for them as I should have been. I've got three younger children I want to spend some time with. There are more important things than being a football coach. Like being a father."
Now, more than ever, Dungy must be dealing with the inner conflict and the what-ifs. What if he had spent more time with Jamie? What if he had been there to see the warning signs?
Up at the pulpit, he was thinking back to Thanksgiving -- the last time he saw his son alive. Jamie was rushing off to the Indianapolis airport to fly back to Tampa, and Tony forgot to hug him.
"Parents, hug your kids every chance you get," Dungy said. "Tell them you love them."
His voice cracked.
"You never know when it will be your last time."
And Tony Dungy, the closest thing the sports world has to a saint, embraced his wife, walked past a wooden casket and out of the church.
The choir sang, "I love Jesus.""
---Comments?? There are several notes I made as I was reading this. What do you think?
There was an article last week in the Orlando Sentinel about the inspiring funeral for Tony's son, James, who died in an apparent suicide. I debated about posting a link to the article, or even just some of my favorite quotes. But I've been thinking about this a lot; it really affected me. It's long, but I think you should just read the whole thing. It'll be good for your soul. Here goes:
Dungy puts emphasis on faith, family as he deals with son's death with grace
by Mike Bianchi
"Leave it to Tony Dungy.
Amid all his tumult and tragedy, all the pain and the strain, all the tears and the fears, it was he who comforted us.
Dungy stood there at a church pulpit Tuesday, his dead son, Jamie, lying in a casket beneath him, and, miraculously, he made everybody feel better -- even the reclusive owner who once fired him.
Can you believe it? The most horrific personal tragedy any parent ever could endure -- the suicidal death of a child -- and there's Tony Dungy at the funeral, thanking Tampa Bay Buccaneers owner Malcolm Glazer for the way he used to treat his son.
"Jamie was 9 years old when we came here to Tampa," Dungy, now the coach of the Indianapolis Colts, told a gathering of about 2,000 at Idlewild Baptist Church. "When we would take bus rides to the airport, Mr. Glazer would sit in the front seat. Every time my son would come on the bus, he'd talk to Jamie. And he'd never talk to him about football, but he'd always talk to him about being a good son. And then he would talk to me about taking care of my boys and being a good dad. Every single trip we took."
And then Tony Dungy looked in the eyes of the man who fired him and said, "I love you and appreciate you for that."
How can any coach be this good?
How can any man be this good?
And that's the real tragedy here. How can this much bad befall a man so good? Why should a man who tries so hard to be a loving, caring father have to endure a tortured son dying a dark and lonely death?
Too many times, we treat NFL coaches not as people but as topics. They are discussion points for sports-radio callers to dissect. They are fodder for sports columnists to second-guess. They are the poll question on Web sites. (Which coach will be fired first -- Dom Capers, Mike Tice, Mike Mularkey?)
Not Tony Dungy. He always has been different. Didn't matter who it was -- team bus driver, cafeteria lady, even lowly sports writer -- Dungy treated them all with respect. And, so, when the word spread last week about Dungy's 18-year-old son taking his own life, we didn't think about how it would affect Dungy the football coach; we agonized about how it would affect Dungy the dad.
The first thought that popped into my head wasn't, "Will Dungy's team be OK?" It was, "God, I hope Tony's OK."
Should have known, Dungy, the unfaltering man of faith, is handling death with the same grace and class that defines his life. Which is why there were head coaches and Hall-of-Famers and equipment men and ball boys filling the church pews Tuesday. And messages of condolences sent from all walks of life: from the president of the United States to Reggie Roberts, the former Bucs PR guy who walked out of the funeral shaking his head incredulously and saying of Dungy's dignity, "I don't belong in the same church as that man."
On a church stage filled with flowers, wreaths and harps, Dungy delivered a message sprinkled with smiles, sobs and substance.
Was Dungy alluding to his son's darker side -- Jamie romanticized the gangsta-and-guns lifestyle of the hip-hop generation, and he was recently taken into custody under the Baker Act, fearing a possible drug overdose -- when he urged the many NFL players in the audience to become even "bolder" role models than they already are?
"Our young boys in this country, they need to hear from you," Dungy told the players. "Our boys are getting a lot of the wrong messages about what it means to be a man in this world. About how you should act, and how you should dress, and how you should talk, and how you should treat people. They don't always get the right message, but you guys have the right messages. You know it. You live it."
Dungy is a national spokesman for All Pro Dad, an organization dedicated to improving fatherhood skills. A year and a half ago, he told me in an interview that he might retire soon because he wrestled with the dilemma of spending too much time away from his children.
"I don't think I'll be coaching in five years," he said then. "I have a 19-year-old and a 17-year-old, and I wasn't there as much for them as I should have been. I've got three younger children I want to spend some time with. There are more important things than being a football coach. Like being a father."
Now, more than ever, Dungy must be dealing with the inner conflict and the what-ifs. What if he had spent more time with Jamie? What if he had been there to see the warning signs?
Up at the pulpit, he was thinking back to Thanksgiving -- the last time he saw his son alive. Jamie was rushing off to the Indianapolis airport to fly back to Tampa, and Tony forgot to hug him.
"Parents, hug your kids every chance you get," Dungy said. "Tell them you love them."
His voice cracked.
"You never know when it will be your last time."
And Tony Dungy, the closest thing the sports world has to a saint, embraced his wife, walked past a wooden casket and out of the church.
The choir sang, "I love Jesus.""
---Comments?? There are several notes I made as I was reading this. What do you think?
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