Yoopers

I do love me some vacation.

I have a job that I love. It isn't really a "job" job. It's ministry. It's serving God and being paid by a church so that I don't have to make a living in other ways which frees me up to spend my time being their pastor. (aka: serving God.) Sometimes it is a lot easier than a "job" job because I feel "called" to it. "Called" by God. When you are doing what you are convinced God wants you to do ... what you were created to do ... it makes it a lot more palatable, even on the tough days. And history has caused me to see some pretty tough days.

But I do love me some vacation. I am about 3/4 of the way through a two-weeker. And last week was just in-cred-ible. I grabbed my bride and drug her up to "Da U.P." Better known as the "upper peninsula" of Michigan. Those in the U.P. call themselves "Yoopers." I think that is suppose to be a good thing but I'm not sure. Anyway, let me be a "Yooper" for a minute. Here's what life looks like right about now if you are one of those ...

That, my friends, is a nice view to wake up to!

And this is what a very much in love couple of Yoopers looks like. Cool, huh?

And in Yooper-ville they have waterfalls that appear to be made of root beer! Way to go, Michigan!

There are places up there where you can leave notes for God to read. I left lots of notes. This was the first one. Just making sure He remembered that I was up there.

Their bridges are really long...

...and really tall ...

... and they even let you play underneath them! (I am a graduate of Trinity Christian College. Our school mascot is the "Trolls." I felt right at home under the bridge.)

In the U.P. you can drive down beautiful roads.

In the U.P. you can watch beautiful sunsets over pristine lakes.

In the U.P. you can watch your wonderfully wacky wife pour popcorn into her Tomato Bisque Soup. On purpose.

And perhaps the best of all, in the U.P. you can fall asleep on a piece of driftwood and nobody will steal your wallet.

In the U.P. we looked at stuff from sunken ships and we ate deep fried White Fish. We walked through indian cemeteries and we ate deep fried White Fish. We relaxed in a swirling hot tub and we ate deep fried White Fish. We watched Clydesdale horses pull their carriages on an island in Lake Huron and we ate deep fried White Fish.

I ate four consecutive meals of deep fried White Fish. White Fish that were swimming in Lake Superior when I woke up in the morning were coursing through my digestive system when I went to bed at night. If there are White Fish in the Sea of Galilee I am pretty sure Jesus cooked them up.

I have never been to the Sea of Galilee. But I could get use to being a Yooper.