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01
iding
 
The
C
ResT
 
of
 
The
W
 ave
I
can still smell the summer of 1976. As far as I was concerned, summer began in the middle of May 
and ended the first week of August—spanning the twelve weeks
when our high school baseball team roared into the Wisconsin State
Baseball Championship. A lot of the guys on the team had known eachother since fourth grade, when we started playing with or against one
another in an assortment of city and county baseball leagues. With
a potent mix of seniors, juniors, and two sophomores, we started
fast.Then we had a midseason slump. With ten games to go we were barely above the .500 mark. I blew out my right arm. Not that I had
a strong arm in the first place—but an outfielder has to be able to
throw. I was moved to DH. After a 12–0 shell-shocking at the hands of 
Homestead High School, we had a team meeting on the way home.
It was an intense moment on the bus when we vowed to do whatever 
it took to turn the team around.
What a ride! We won our last ten games, including the state
championship game against our archrival, Nicolet High School. Every 
game of the streak was better than the one before. We rode the crest
of the wave. Great fielding. Deadly pitching. Incredible hitting. In the
three-state tournament games we outscored our opponents 35–1.
(The lone run was unearned.) I can still remember running onto thefield and jumping into the air as the final out was made, hugging my teammates and crying like a baby, hoisting the championship trophy toward the sky. For years we had practiced and played in backyardsand rocky fields through all types of weather to prepare for this day.We had come from many backgrounds, but what was important wasthat we had done it together. We were a team.
 
10
h
oW
 
To
B
uild
 
 a
l
ife
-C
hanging
M
en
s
M
inisTRy
I won’t forget the exhilaration and excitement of winning and being 
a part of something that felt enormously bigger than anything I had
ever experienced.I won’t forget. But I’ve more than matched it.In ’76 we rode the crest of the wave to a state baseball champion-ship. For seventeen years I have been riding the crest of the wave with
another team. Not a sports team. A ministry team—a
men’s
ministry team. As I work shoulder to shoulder with other men on my leader-
ship team, the exhilaration and excitement mimics the summer of ’76.Tears flow when a man crosses over from trusting in his own goodnessto make him acceptable to God to trusting Jesus as his Savior and Lord.My heart jumps up and down when I see men striving to be godly menin their homes, at work, and in their communities. I get ecstatic when
men start to use their spiritual gifts to ignite the local church. When
men start to really “get it.” When they get excited about the things thatexcite Jesus.
I have had the privilege of ministering to pastors, men’s ministry leaders, and other men around the world—from here in the United
States to Asia, Europe, the Middle East, and Africa. In each place I seevirtually the same thing: men riding the crest of the wave, men hungrto grow, men hungry to learn how to effectively minister to other men,
and men hungry to have an impact in their country for Christ. The
highlights include:
Working alongside Max in the Philippines, going from barrio to bar-
 
rio, ministering to men in thatch-covered churches, teaching them
what it means to love their wives and follow hard after Jesus.Speaking at the first-ever men’s conference in Krasnodar, Russia,
with hundreds of men singing their hearts out, and then having them listen for the next four hours as I unpacked what the Scrip-tures say about being a man of God.
Teaching nearly one hundred army chaplains from all over the
European theater for three days on how they can more effectively minister to the soldiers in the Middle East and Europe.
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