I'm Toast

I have always had a unique home. Except for when I was growing up. That was a fairly normal time. Then I got married and Debbie and I began our journey of weirdness. We have been married 31 years and we have moved 21 times. Some moves were very long distances. Some were just down the hall.

Our first home was a studio apartment in Tinley Park, Illinois. As I lay in bed I could access the television, the refrigerator, the air conditioner and, if I reached really far, the sink. Our dresser was in the closet.

Weirdness.

We lived in a rented house once when our kids were small. Our church youth group loved to stage gorilla attacks on it. They saran wrapped our van to the front porch.

Weirdness.

We lived in a church parsonage for seven years. It seemed like twenty-seven. Once the air conditioner (in the attic) broke and water leaked from it, through the ceiling, and pooled in the light fixture above the kitchen table. It dripped onto the table, warping and ruining it. The church trustees told us it was no big deal. "Nah. Don't worry about the electric light filled with water. It won't hurt ya."

Weirdness.

We rented another house and lived in it for a year. The youth group attacked it with forks. They planted them in the front yard topped with pickles. Sliced pickles. I went into the crawl space of this house once and found slugs as big as my fist.

Weirdness.

Finally we purchased our own home. We absolutely loved it. It was just made for the years of finishing up raising our kids. Of course there was the chimney fire. And the lime green fiberglass garage door. And the trees that kept getting knocked over by storms and punching holes into the roof. And the unkillable holly bush.

Weirdness.

Of course we followed that up with our mega-apartment building in Cleveland. That's the place where I found the grad students throwing their laundry down the garbage chute (one of them would be downstairs catching it before it hit the compacter. Then they'd haul it to the laundry room.) This was the place where I froze to the patio door on the 9th floor during a winter storm. I lived alone and didn't have any furniture. So I sat in the dark leaning against it blogging ... kind of like now. When I finished writing and tried to stand up my sweat shirt had frozen to the door.

Weirdness.

Well, now the kids have grown and abandoned home sweet home. I assumed things would calm down. Finally there would be normalcy. Nah. It's just beginning. I'm not sure how weird this place will be. We really, REALLY like it. But weird has already begun. I wanted a bagel last week. A nice toasted Cinnamon Crunch bagel. So I sliced it open and popped it into the toaster. I only turned away for a few seconds. Just long enough to grab some veggie creme cheese out of the fridge. When I turned back ... flames were leaping out of the toaster. You know. Like... fire. My bagel and my toaster was on fire. Not only is the toaster dead but so was the wall socket. (Yes, it has since been tweaked and is doing well.

Weirdness.

I mentioned "The Great Toaster Debacle" on facebook last week. Tonight when I arrived at church for Wednesday evening Bible study there was a plastic bag hanging from my door knob. Inside? A new toaster. A really NICE new toaster! I have no idea who put it there. (If it was you ... thanks! You rock!) But perhaps the weirdness is waning? Perhaps this new toaster is a sign that goodness is fighting back? Then again, my next door neighbor has a weed growing in her yard as tall as my second floor deck and my dish washer turns itself on.

Weirdness.

The Top 10 Days I'd Live Over And Why (just off the top of my head)

10 - My wedding day. Because it was a truly fantastic day that started with a brown sugar cinnamon pop-tart and ended with ham. Oh yeah. Other stuff happened too.

9 - The first day I skied Colorado. I was all alone and it was REALLY COLD and REALLY WINDY and REALLY SNOWING and totally worth driving 1,000 miles for.

8 - The days my kids were born. Because ... wow ... I had no idea that could really happen like that. And it didn't even hurt!

7 - The day I ate my first REAL (aka: non-frozen) pizza. It was at a place called "Veneuzio's" in Tinley Park, Illinois. My taste buds are still thanking me.

6 - The day I hiked Mt. St. Helens. Because it was amazing and started spewing stuff when I got about half way to it from the visitors center. And when I got back my wife bought me cobbler. Or maybe I ate hers. Either way.

5 - The day I first sat in a jacuzzi. Just because.

4 - The day my dad and I sat all alone in the upper deck in the right field at Old Comiskey Park and watched the White Sox beat the A's twice. Nobody was within 20 yards of us. Because, well because it was just one of the best days of my life.

3 - The day my bride and I celebrated out 10th wedding anniversary and I gave her a ring with 9 diamonds. Because she cried in a good way and I knew she loved me as much as she always tells me she loves me.

2 - The day she and I sat on a boat dock on Lake Superior and watched the northern lights. Because ... it was a moment.

1 - The day I asked Jesus to forgive and save me. Because I would love to feel that clean and fresh and unjaded again.

Now Here's The Way To Kick-Off A Wedding!

Candy coated popcorn, peanuts and a prize ...

Today I helped my son and his bride of 9 months move into a new apartment in St. Peters. It's a much nice, much safer place than they have been living in. It was actually fun to help them move their stuff and see them light up at the prospect of life in their new "joint."

But the coolest part of the day came before the moving began. I met my brother-in-law, Jim, at their old apartment and they had not yet arrived from picking-up their key at the new place. So we did something all red blooded American men do. We went to ... THE BATTING CAGES!

Okay, it's been about ten years since I was THAT red blooded. But I got my tokens, my complimentary helmet, loaner bat, and headed to the baseball "medium pitch" batting cage. Debbie and Jim stood outside as I took a few practice swings, deposited the fake coin into the slot, and stepped into the batters box.

You know. Ten years is a long time. This particular cage was suppose to clock out at 60 MPH. That might not be much to Albert Pujols but it's about the speed of a bus on the highway to me. The light came on at the machine. I dimly saw a baseball drop into a rocket like contraption. And then, "Holy moley, what was that?" Zing! Swing! Whop. The ball came. I pulled the trigger on the bat just about the time the catcher would have been throwing it back to the pitcher. Zing! Swing! Whop. I slapped at the first three swings as a right handed batter without so much as a foul ball. I looked and felt sadly pathetic swinging wildly. Zing! Swing! Whop. And then the strangeness kicked in. The very first time I picked up a bat as a little kid I started swinging from the left side of the plate. I have no idea why. I don't do anything else left handed. I golf from the right side. I write right handed. I pet doggies and tickle "The Amazing Elle" right handed. But batting left handed just always felt natural to me. So I moved over.

Suddenly the aluminum bat began meeting the horsehide ball. That's when I remembered the purpose for batting gloves. I mean like,... ouch! Still, it felt so sweet to hit a baseball for the first time in this millennium. I didn't set the baseball world on fire. And I didn't dare step into the 80 MPH batting cage.

Yet.

It felt good. Right up to the moment when my elbow popped and I remembered that I'm not in high school anymore. So I hung up the bat and helmet one more time. I'll be back. I'll have more tokens. And once again I'll make the cubs wonder why they didn't sign me earlier. (I'm holding out for a last minute contract just in time to propel me into the upcoming World Series.)

Ahhhh. Eyes on the ball. The swing of the bat. The sweet vision of the ball rocketing toward left field KNOWING it would most certainly evade the grasp of all outfielders.

Can you smell it? Can you? That's the smell of .... Cracker Jacks. Candy coated popcorn, peanuts and a prize. You. Are. All. Mine.

I take it back

I wrote a blog post last night. I reread it this morning and read the comment posted below. After thinking about it and especially after praying about it I have decided to remove the post. I do not know if my anonymous friend who left a comment is correct or not. If he or she is correct ... and that just might be the case ... then I threw a "spiritual torpedo" in the water at a church and that was wrong. If my friend is wrong and my original thinking is correct, well, the world will carry on quite well without this piddly little post.

I try to live what I believe. And I believe that it is wrong to do harm to those trying to do good. And so to my friends in the church I referred to, I apologize. Even though you probably didn't even know this blog exists much less that you appeared in it. That's not the point. I bless you and ask that you exalt the name of Jesus.

Ron

How Not To Take A Nap

The Amazing Elle Catching A Well Deserved Nap

I have this lunatic friend...

I have this lunatic friend who is totally A.D.H.D. No, I mean really. His doctor gave him the test today. It's a done deal. No room for doubt. He's a nice guy and all but he has the attention span of a gnat. I don't know what to do with him. Suggestions are welcome.

He once closed out a bank account because he did such a lousy job of balancing his checkbook that he just gave up. He stopped writing checks until he knew for sure what the balance was. Then he withdrew his money and opened a new account at a different bank. Nobody ever knew.

He did premarital counseling recently and for the entire hour he twirled a pair of sharpened scissors on his index fingers and never once thought it odd. He could have killed somebody. My friend was blown away when it was pointed out to him.

He spoke to hundreds of church staff members a few years ago on how to survive ministry while being A.D.H.D. About a quarter of the way through the 90 minute meeting a late-arriver walked in with a suit case in tow. He paused his entire presentation and told her that she had really nice luggage. Every staff member with A.D.H.D. turned to look. Their spouses buried their faces in their hands. I saw it myself. I know it really happened.

He confessed to me one time that sometimes in the middle of an illustration when he is speaking he will totally forget what the point of the illustration is. After he panics for a second he laser focuses until he remembers where he was going or he fakes it. He's learned to stick more closely to his notes and that's a really good thing. I'm proud of him for that.

He was told by several Junior High School students once that he makes them tired. How does that happen?

He could not sleep one night when he was living alone. He said that his mind would not be quiet. And so he took three Tylenol PM's. He woke up at 3:30 AM with an entire gallon of milk in one hand and freshly made chocolate chip cookies in the other. Yes, his mouth was full.

I could go on. I mean I have a TON of illustrations about this guy. But honestly, this is getting boring and there's something shiny over there in the corner and I think I need to go see what it is.

Later.

After Kicking The Tires ...

After "kicking the tires" of the claims I mentioned a few days ago, what do you think?

1. I am deeply loved of God.
2. I am fully pleasing to God.
3. I am totally accepted by God.

Do you buy into that? Are you skeptical about God's love for you? Do you feel like a failure? Is there a deep and abiding sense within you that you are constantly letting God down and, thus, He is holding you at arms length?

Consider.

The Apostle Paul was a man who made it his passion and calling to kill as many Christian's as possible. Oh, he believed in God. He just didn't buy the "Jesus stuff." He actually thought "Christians" were working contrary to the God of the Old Testament. And so he took it upon himself to stop those propagating this nonsense. And then God interrupted Paul. He stepped in one day, knocked Paul off of his horse as he was on his way to kill more Christ-followers, He blinded him and sent him on into the city to chill a while. And then God gave him the incredible privilege of spreading the gospel of Jesus to the Gentiles (all of the "non-Jews.) God chose Paul against all common sense and all odds.

Later on Paul penned the following words...

"I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen." (Ephesians 3: 16 - 21)

"Love that surpasses knowledge." Hmm. And yet Paul said he wants us to be able to comprehend how wide, long, high and deep God's love is. Paul understood because he was guilty of murdering God's kids and God loves him anyway. If God loves Paul so completely ... do you really think He doesn't love you?

Paul said he prays that God will strengthen us out of His (God's) glorious riches with power through His Spirit in our inner being. He wants us to be strong and He wants to use is to do good in this world. God has a vast army of angels. God has believers that have stood the test of time. God has been known to speak through a donkey (Numbers 22: 21 - 31.) So if God can use anybody and anything He chooses and He has so much to choose from ... why would He use you? The answer is simple. He is pleased with you. No, you are not pleasing to God because you are so good or have never failed Him. Give me a break. We all know better than that. You are pleasing to God because (and IF) you have trusted His Son as your Savior. You see, it actually was God's will to crush His Son and set you free. Incomprehensible, but true. (Isaiah 53: 10) Your mess ups are all on Jesus. Your "junk" was transferred from your account to the account of Jesus Christ. God purchased you back from sin with the blood of His Son. And since He owns you He can feel any way He wants to about you. And He chooses to be pleased with you. Believe it or not. I Peter 2: 9 - 10 says it rather well. "But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy." Rather than arguing with God you might consider looking upward and saying "Thank You."

Paul said that God is able to do immeasurably more in us that we could ever imagine to ask Him to do because of His power at work within us. God's power ... at work ... in ... you. You. He accepts you as worthy. I have no idea why. I only know that His Word says He does.

Loved by God. Pleasing to God. Accepted by God. It's true.

Kick the tires as hard as you want. You can't break them. They are paid for. And so are you.

It's True...

Some years ago a guy named Robert McGee wrote a book called "Search For Significance." It was quite ground breaking. They turned it into an entire study. (Don't they always? And who ARE "they" anyway?) The whole thing was good but God reminded me today of three facts taught in "Search" that will change your life if you buy into them. And if you don't? Well, you life will turn into a spiritual train wreck.

So it would be not so nice of me to withhold them from you. Here they are. Simple but life giving.

1. I am deeply loved of God.
2. I am fully pleasing to God.
3. I am totally accepted by God.

Give that some thought. Kick the tires on it for a while. Do you buy it?

Tomorrow ... we'll talk.

Un-In-Spired

Writing is more than a pass time or a hobby. It's like life to me. When I write it often takes on human form in my head. I'm not sure how that works.

But it's like this.

When I was a youth pastor I took something like 50 week long trips with teens. That's nearly a year on the road. There were mission trips, Centrifuge trips, choir trips, all sorts of trips. And every one of them, in my brain, took on a life of their own. For some reason, to me, those trips were not static events that simply took place in life. They actually feel like living breathing things that are out there someplace. Lives were changed. Eternity was changed. Only God Himself knows how deeply and how far reaching those changes are. But to me, the trips themselves took on life.

And that's what writing is. To me.

I've been about this blogging thing since my son-in-law, Joe, introduced me to the concept way back around 2002. This is like nearly the 600th post. (Thanks, Joe!) I just love to write. And it too takes on life. You are reading this blog and that means that in some weird way my writing reaches beyond myself and touches someone else. You. And approximately 70 other souls per day. Thanks for dropping by.

Rarely, but every now and then, I seem to lose the ability to formulate anything inspiring in my brain. All things that matter go on sabbatical. Even humor goes AWOL. This is one of those times. I've been trying to figure out why. I think it's a bunch of things that all clumped together. The thrill (sic) of moving 4 times in 20 months tends to dilute the humor in life. It's nice not to be living out of Tupperware anymore but my garage is full of unopened boxes. So it's a trade off. Even more seriously, the deaths of 3 close friends this year as rather taken the wind out of my sails. I find myself thinking about the brevity of life a lot lately. Not the fear of death. Not even the fear of the process of dying. My thoughts just seem to gravitate to the reality that all of this ... THIS ... can end without even a moments notice. I don't like that thought. It isn't so much my own departure from this earthly soil that has my attention but ... yours. People that I know and love. I didn't get an opportunity to say good-bye to any of my 3 friends and they were just ... gone. That stinks. And I wonder when it ends. Then I realize that it doesn't. I've been contemplating going to visit my parents graves sometimes soon. I have not been there since my mom died in 2004. Five years. And it's a six hour drive. I keep putting it off because, quite honestly, I don't want to go. It doesn't seem prudent at the moment. So I wait.

Anyway, I say all of that just to say this. I am currently a really terrible blogger. Sorry about that. Thanks for sticking with me and checking back here every now and then. I'll get my act together soon. Maybe even tomorrow. But in the meantime I just really stink at writing.

As a friend of mine use to say ... sucks to be me. :)

John And Kate Plus Five

Okay, I know this is warped. But I saw it when it aired on Conan and I've been watching it on their web site ever since and every time I do I start ... like ... laughing and rolling and crying and falling out of my chair. This is not an editorial on divorce or child abandonment. It's just humor. Oh, and if there is a booze commercial before the video I'm not in favor of that either. SO DON'T SEND ME MEAN EMAILS! :)

The Hand of God

It has been said that God works in mysterious ways His wonders to perform. I'm a believer. I have written a few times over the last weeks about the death of our friend, Lynda. It's tough to lose a friend. It hurts when God calls a long time "pal" home. We all know that we are suppose to celebrate for them. And we want to. We really do. But sometimes the pain is so real that we forget to be happy for the one who no longer has any pain. Sure, it's selfish. But it's also true, honest, and real.

When Lynda passed away her husband Dave, who is my equally good friend, asked me to not only conduct but to totally PLAN her funeral service. The friendship that the four of us shared was always a little warped. In a good way. We always knew that with Dave and Lynda we could laugh at the misfortunes of life. Humor was abundant. Along with chocolate. And steaks. It's just that kind of friendship. And the loss of 1/4th of this equation makes it all the more difficult to fathom the fact that things will never be quite the same.

Oh, that and the fact that she stiffed me for Debbie's birthday present. She decided to have Debbie's bible rebound for her as it was falling apart. Ephesians was literally taking a plunge to the floor. So I got it to a re-binder, paid for it, and Lynda was going to pay me back. But God called her on home and she skipped out on me. (Please know that I'm saying this with a HUGE smile on my face knowing that in at least one way she got the last laugh on me! I'm honored to be a part of this process between her and Debbie. And when I arrive in heaven ... you betcha ... she owes me!)

But God did a couple of really weird things to drive home the point to Dave, Debbie and I that HE was the one sending for Lynda. She did not die by accident, chance, or fate. God dialed her up. He sent for her. And as He so often does He left His fingerprints all over this event for us to see and learn from.

For instance ...

Since I planned the entire service I determined that all music would be from prerecorded CD. No live music. Lynda loved contemporary Christian music. And so I chose two songs. (Dave later added a third.) The songs I chose were "I Will Rise" a very new song by Chris Tomlin and a very old hymn, "Come Ye Sinners," performed by Jami Smith. I had never heard either song performed live by anybody. Yet I felt strongly that they were the songs to be sung at my friends funeral service.

And then God's Hand left their fingerprints.

The day after her funeral, at our church, a young man who had just returned from college in Alabama picked-up his guitar and sang a solo just before I spoke. The song? "I Will Rise." I talked to him later. He had just found out the day before that he was singing and he just selected that song on that morning. He didn't know the music and had never played it before. He just felt that it was what God wanted him to sing. Yeah ... I'd say so.

That was the day Dave flew back to his home near Fort Worth. He didn't get to attend church until the following Sunday. He emailed me the next day and mentioned that at their service they celebrated "The Lord's Supper." As the elements were being served several men stood up and performed an acoustic version of "Come Ye Sinners." Dave said he chocked back tears and then "smiled at Lynda" knowing that she was getting a kick out of it. That was the first time Dave had heard the song since his wife's funeral and the first time he had heard it performed at church ever.

So what do you think? Two songs that we had never heard performed live but that I chose for my friends memorial service are suddenly "front and center" at the very next worship services that the three of us attend? In two different churches in two different states 600 miles apart. Chance? Coincidence? The Hand of God? I can't think of a third option. As for me I believe my Father, "Abba," was wrapping His Holy Hands around the hearts of three hurting people and, in so doing, was reminding us that "precious in the eyes of the Lord are the death of His saints." (Psalm 116: 15)

The Peace Train (VBS Style)

I guess there was too much beef on the peace train.

Too pooped to write

Yeah. I don't mean to complain so don't take it that way. But it seems that moving is serious work. And it's seriously hot. And I'm totally ready to have it all over with. ONE. MORE. DAY.

And I was just thinking. Crunching some numbers. Just for curiosities sake. It doesn't really matter. But I just finished living 593 days in apartments. Hey, I wasn't living in a refrigerator box under a bridge. I had the refrigerator ... not the box. I had balconies. I had flushing toilets and nice showers. Two of the apartments had absolutely killer views. There is absolutely no hardship in any of that.

And here's the deal.

About 80% of everything I own has been stored away during those 593 days. I thought all of that stuff was important. Sometimes I've missed an item or two. But over all I've realized that life has continued on quite splendidly without it all. I mean there's some nice stuff there. A leather sofa. A huge heavy wooden entertainment center. Gigantic wooden dressers that my clothes usually go in. I've been living out of tupperware for 593 days and it really hasn't hurt me at all. All of my baseball memorabilia has been in storage. And honestly, it's been okay.

Yesterday I set-up our bed and a few other items into our new house and we've been living there. Tonight is our second night in the new place. The amazing 47 inch LCD flat screen that my wonderful friends at Towerview Baptist gave us for my birthday (can you believe that? WOW. I am totally humbled by their love. And I totally do NOT deserve it.) is up and running. I haven't connect the blue ray player yet just because I haven't had time. But we've been living in a rather sparsely furnished home since yesterday. And can I tell you ... no big deal. I could, I have, done without the stuff. And it hasn't hurt me at all.

I owe God an apology. And I'll gladly make it in a public setting like the world wide web. God, I'm sorry I have placed such value on my things. Thank you for the lessons that you have taught me in 593 unique days. I don't understand all of them. Some of the greatest frustrations have come because I have wanted to make absolutely certain that I'm learning the lesson You are teaching. Please don't let me miss it. My heart realizes in a new way that there is a new home waiting for me and I'll never have to pack another box or store another item. You are the Decorator. The Designer. Please put it together any way that brings you pleasure. And in the meantime, thank you for reminding me that You, my precious Father, are enough.

If you want me to live in a tent, I will live in a tent. I just want to live close to You.

MOOOOO-ving

Today we began our move from apartment living into home ownership again. So I'm just wondering. I've moved five times in the last twenty months. Each time it has been either over 95 degrees or below zero.

What's with that?

Curve Ball Shy

I was 15 year old and playing sandlot ball. My next door neighbor came home early. He was a steel worker, walking the sky high beams of the growing Sears Tower in Chicago's loop. He watched for a few minutes and then offered to pitch for both teams. Jack was a big guy in his mid-thirties. I'm sure he went gentle on us concerning speed. I'm sure he made certain not to hit any of us. But when I came up to bat I fouled off a couple of pitches. He never threw anything but strikes. The next pitch was moving a little and I was able (for probably the first and last time in my life) to time my swing just right, sending the ball soaring to dead center field. I watched my own fly ball as it left the ball park, crossed the street and landed ... on the fly ... in the back yard of some guys house. I remember floating around the bases knowing that this one swing would lift me into the baseball hall of fame in our little neighborhood of guys. I also knew that my days playing here had probably ended. I was getting too old, too big, to keep playing in our neighborhood ballpark.

The next time up Jack struck me out on three pitches.

But the reward of the day came later that evening when I saw my neighbor sitting on his front doorstep. I walked over and sat down next to him, silently hoping he wasn't going to kill me. Instead he said the nicest thing anybody ever said about any athletic ability I ever had (which was not much.) He looked straight at me and said, "You killed the most wicked curveball I ever threw."

Honestly, I had no idea. I never really noticed a wicked curve. I just saw a ball coming and I did my best to put my bat where I thought the ball would go. In reality I probably put the bat where I never meant to put it and just got very lucky. Dead serious about that.

I've faced a thousand curve balls since that day. None of them came in the form of a baseball. They have all come in the form of the incidents of life that I never expected. A suicide. An accident. An argument. A moral failure on the part of a person I trust. A murder. A job change. A confession. A run away. An offer. A rejection. A death. Ad nauseam.

I've been thinking about curve balls this week. You know what makes them so wicked? The fast balls that precede them. If you always expect a curve you will be ready for it when it comes. But when you see fast ball after fast ball after fast ball, well, a curve ball catches you off balance and you swing like a drunk with a thousand pound bat. Fast balls are nice. They are predictable. You know where they come from and where they are going. You know what to do with them.

Then comes the curve. You swing so hard that you look positively cartoonish as you corkscrew yourself into the ground. You end up laying in the dust, wondering where the ball went. Then the catcher pulls it out of his mitt, laughs at you, spits in the dirt, and throws it back to the pitcher. And it's time to get ready for the next pitch. There is always another pitch. And you must always be ready.

We are still trying to brush the dust off this week. It's been a long 2009 when it comes to curve balls. There have been plenty of fast balls too. And we've turned on them pretty well, planting a few across the street behind the houses. But we've yet to truly connect on a curve ball. Honestly, the thought of another one leaves me queazy. I'm a little "curve ball shy." Wondering when it's going to come and from where it will originate.

I am not use to playing in the dust. I can't say as how I like it. I know the final score of the game even though we are still playing. I think I need a pinch hitter.

Jesus. You're up.

Free Floating Thoughts

It's been such an insane weekend. I've tried to turn my brain off with minimal success. One of my greatest downfalls is that I think too much. So I talked to God for a while today. Actually, I talked to God for a long while today. And I decided to tell Him what brings me great joy in life. It came as no surprise to me that each and every "thing" ... was a person. Unexpected death will make you think. It will keep you up late nights. It will wake you up early mornings. Honestly, I am getting tired of sleeping four hours per night. And there isn't a switch to it that I've been able to find. So if you have to think, I figure you would be wise to think about the joys. Otherwise the sadness will overwhelm you and send you tumbling into a dark and seemingly bottomless hole.

So. The list I gave to God was very long. I'm going to share the top 10 with you in no particular order. And my one rule? No sentences. Just a name followed by solitary words that, to me, defines that person. You will notice that this list is a family list. If you are not on it ... no worries. You were very likely on the list I gave to God. And one other thing ... each person could have twenty more things on their list. These are just the top ones that I can remember sitting here in the darkness of a late night living room.

Debbie - Solid. Dependable. Dedicated. Passionate. Wise. Loving. Emotional. Trustworthy. Mine.
Kelli - Stable. Committed. Caring. Focused. Overwhelmed. Capable. Intuitive. Charming.
Joe - Talented. Funny. Inspired. Able. Happy. Carefree.
Elle - Hugs. Arms. Whispers. Laughter. Smiles. Joy.
Scott - Energetic. Mature. Visionary. Trustworthy. Loyal. Creative. Reliable.
Amanda - Sweetness. Able. Strong. Friend. Focused. Athletic.
Christopher - Amazing. Mature. Growing. Hilarious. Fresh. Unsuspecting.
Laura - Real. Brilliant. Caring. Sacrificial. Honest. Thinker.
Jim - Smart. Brother. Independent. Creative. Seeking. Survivor. Fun. Fun. Fun.
Alisha - Caring. Committed. Loyal. Capable. Deep. Creative.

Family ... I love you. This past week has reminded me to tell you that more often. So if you see me staring off into space a bit more frequently over the next few weeks I trust you will understand. If I call you or text you more than usual it's because I want you to know that you are my life. Next to my relationship with my God you are the reasons that I want to continue to walk the planet.

How Fragile We Are

Sometimes, no matter what you say, your words just sound stupid in your own ears. Raw emotions leave you feeling like a frayed rope that has been torn from its anchor. Fragments of memories spin through your mind like falling leaves in a summer storm.

We lost another friend this week. Thus far 2009 has been "The Year of Loss."

Fred Winters.

Woody Foreman.

Lynda Edelen.

Our friend of a quarter of a century succumbed early this morning to complications following cancer surgery. How do I tell you about this friend? I think ... by stories. Glimpses of a life lived with gusto and passion.

When I think of Lynda I think of ...

-A ski trip to Wisconsin. Convinced by her husband, Dave, to attempt one of the more difficult trails with him, she climbed on the lift. Debbie and I waved goodbye and headed to our van, too chicken to attempt the descent with them. In about 10 minutes Dave skied up ... alone. We looked at him. His glance held no hint of humor. He quietly said, "Not a word." We looked up the mini-mountain to see Lynda walking down the slope carrying her skis. It was a moment. It was also a silent trip back to the hotel!

-Dad gummit!

-Driving all day with our kids for a round trip White Sox/Rangers double header in Chicago during the last year of Old Comiskey Park. Being glad that Dave loved to drive and Lynda loved to keep him awake.

-Ten consecutive 4th of July celebrations at their home. Launching highly illegal bottle rockets into the sky to impress our kids only to have one sail into the neighbors roof. Oddly enough, they purchased that house and moved into it a few years later. I think it was a "guilt purchase."

-Hoppin mad!

-Another ski trip to another mini-midwestern mountain. Sharing a bed and breakfast with them and sitting in their room watching the winter olympics. Lynda had back pains and Dave used a little massager on her as she lay on the floor. I fell off the couch laughing as she gasped, "If I knew it was going to feel this good I would have started moaning sooner!" That became a running joke for years.

-Teaching teenagers to "foot wrestle" during "JPL" in the late 1980's ... and losing to her. (You grab each others hands and try to stomp on each others feet while dancing out of the way of their feet trying to do the same to yours.)

=Sitting in a lawn chair and watching Lynda and Debbie dig two feet of snow out of their driveway while I nursed my broken arm in a sling. An arm I broke ... you got it ... skiing with them.

-Watching her host my son Scott's (approximately) 4th birthday party in our home because Debbie was sick in bed with mono. That's what friends do.

-Listening to Lynda and Debbie talk on the phone every Sunday for the last few years. Each conversation lasted about two hours and ended as I heard my wife say, "I love you, Lynda."

-Conspiring with her every Christmas and birthday as she worked to find Debbie the perfect present.

-Emails that always included a minimum of three "Ha!'s" as she laughed at the events that life was throwing her way. Even the events that start with a "C" and rhyme with "Lancer." She never complained about it. Never showed fear of it. Always treated it like a side light to be dealt with but not mastered by.

The stories do not stop there. There are so many more. I did her grandmothers funeral. I did the funerals of her in-laws. At her request I did the funeral for a 10 year old little girl named "Anna" that lived next door to her and died way too young. And now on Saturday I will do her funeral. Honestly, I do not know what to say. Like every good pastor I have a well stocked and often used file of funeral sermons. But they will stay in their digital file cabinet this weekend. You see, I have to talk about my friend. And someway, somehow, I have to help my other dear friend, her husband Dave, find hope in the midst of pain. I cannot for the life of me figure out how to do that. When his future consists of coming home after work to their dream home, decorated by his bride, with food in the cabinets that she purchased. How do you get through that? For that matter, how do you help someone else get through that?

Lynda lived life with passion. Joy was her friend. She knew her cancer was very serious and very dangerous and yet she seldom spoke of it. It was, for her, an obstacle to be navigated around. It turns out it was an iceberg to be sailed into. Which reminds me that in our last email we talked about a cruise that she, Dave, Debbie and I had talked about taking in 2010. But there will be no ship. No ocean. No cruise.

In one of the last emails she sent me she said, " I don't feel happy right now. Hate that. I like to live my life in my happy place but can't seem to find it these days. Have you seen it??????????????? Not on the GPS currently. " Tonight I know that Lynda has found her happy place. She is home. How do I know that with confidence?

Two nights ago, when we believed that all was well and she would be home by the weekend, Debbie and I went to bed. In the middle of the night she had a dream. She was in her class room with her students. Lynda walked in. She invaded Debbie's dream. Debbie was surprised in the dream to see her. Even in the dream she knew she was out of place. She said, "Lynda!" And Lynda said, "I'm okay. I'm in the arms of Jesus." Debbie told me the story the next morning. I assured her that Lynda was fine, the doctors said the danger was passed and it was just her own brain playing out its fear. Two hours later Dave called me with the horrible news. The unexpected truth ... that had occurred in the middle of the night. Just about the time Debbie was having her dream.

A gift from God. A last visit by a dear sister who just stopped by on her way to heaven. I don't really have any answers about how that works. But I believe it. So does Debbie. So does Dave. Don't bother trying to tell us otherwise. It will be fruitless.

Tonight she is okay. She is in the arms of Jesus.

But I'm not at all sure that the rest of us are doing that well. How fragile we are.

Lynda being "pick pocketed" by The Amazing Elle

Everybody Deserves To Be Loved

What is it about being at 30,000 + feet that makes me want to write?

Debbie and I are on the final leg of a journey that took us from our “love hovel” in the St. Louis ‘burbs to visit her dad and step-mother-in-law in the Richmond ‘burbs. We are truly “burben.” It’s been a great trip. One of the memorable ones. The weather was good three out of four days. Debbie’s step-mom is winning a battle with breast cancer. She was tired but doing well. Hey, if ever you have a right to tiredness it’s after a round of chemo therapy.

But that’s not really the point.

Somewhere along the way in the last few years I’ve begun to question “love.” I don’t doubt its existence or that I have experienced it frequently on my earthly journey. Still, I seem to have traversed a period where things in general have been ... harsh. There has been plenty of frustration. A fair amount of angry people. And over-all I’ve just seen a lot of things that I don’t really want to see. Ever. Not again. “Good” can turn “mean” in an instant. “Trusting” can turn “accusing.” Friendship can fade. What you once believed to be solid can prove itself sponge. I’ve found my motives called into question so many times that I’ve begun to question them myself. The Hand of God has been frequently visible but His voice has often been quiet. Less than a whisper. More like a memory. A very desired memory.

If you are reading this and thinking I am talking about you the odds are tremendously high that I am not. So relax. Read or don’t. My job is to write.

The point of this trip we are wrapping up is love. Hopefully it has been love in a pure form. I hope we have given it freely though it has come at a cost. Nothing is free in the world of commerce. Still, if I have learned anything over these trying episodes it is to always err on the side of love. Even if nobody believes that is what you are doing. Love anyway. Even if they attack your motivations. Love anyway. And so when weighing financial considerations against the desire to love without reservation ... indeed without “counting the cost” ... we voted on love. My in-laws are probably reading this and I wish they were not but I have to write it anyway.

Everybody deserves to feel loved. I do not know where I was sitting or what I was doing when it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps I (we) needed to show them that they are a loved and cherished part of our family. They have been to my home multiple times since I have been to theirs. I am ashamed to admit that. But I do admit it. I have not done a good job of showing love. Honestly, what better time to show someone that you care deeply for them than when they are sick? What better time to break your habitual absence than when they might just be in need of a hug? There is an answer to that question. It is not rhetorical. The appropriate answer is “at every opportunity.”

When it comes to love, I fear that I have not been very opportunistic. I have no plea but guilt. No excuse but ignorance. I have made an art form out of speaking before I think, acting before I consider, and living to draw attention to the wrong thing. I have forgotten that humor can coexist with gentleness, fun with kindness, and that I most often receive when I am focused on giving.

And for the fact that it took chemo therapy to remind me of that, I do nothing but repent.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #32