Topher

I miss him. He occupies the southeast corner of our home and a ton of his stuff is still in there. I go in and walk around every now and then. It is really odd but ... I feel him there. He's got this huge queen sized water bed, a desk, and a dresser covered with things that are his. His poster's are on the wall. (Not to mention a picture that used to belong to his grandfather. You have to see it and know the family story to understand. But it was a major coup for Topher to score it.) Actually, to walk into the room is to pretty much know that it is owned and operated by an early twenty-something young man. It's just got the feel.

Christopher is simply called "Topher" these days. It's a name he grabbed at Centrifuge (the summer camp for teens he works at... some guys drink their summer away... Topher teaches teens about the amazing love of God for eight weeks at camp) last year and it's stuck. Some simply call him "Toph." But whatever you call him he is my son and I miss him. He passed through here a week ago after an absence of thirty-nine days. (Yes, I count them.) Now he's been gone for six days and will be back in seventeen. When you are a dad you know these things. I didn't get to spend enough time with him when he was here. I was gone for part of the week with Scott on our previously blogged "Great Baseball Extravaganza." The only bad thing about that trip was that it kept me from being here when Topher got back. And then he had friends to see and a very, very special young lady to hang-out with. So we kind of crossed paths a few times, I got a few of those manly hugs in, and then he was back on the road again. I feel like I kind of missed him. And now I do. Miss him.

There are a lot of amazing things about Topher but my favorite one is that he is what he is. There is not an ounce of pretense in him. He is an extremely good looking young man ... that consistently wears one of the oddest hats that I've seen. I mean, it's not got horns or pig tails or anything. It's just this knit hat with a baseball style bill on it. But it's knit. And it's summer. And he's been wearing it for well over a year (though I think he takes it off to sleep.) And you know what? I LIKE IT ON HIM.
I heard the funniest story about that hat tonight. There were about ten of us eating fast food Mexican style and looking at pictures from Scott and Amanda's wedding. Topher came out looking great. I mean like ... really good. Like he cleaned-up in an amazing way. And then somebody mentioned that he had worn the hat all day ... the day of his brothers wedding ... and pulled it off when it was tux time, ran his fingers through his hair and said, "Well, I guess it will have to do." And in the pictures he looks like he spent fifty bucks for a haircut!

That's the way it is with Topher. He is real. And I love that. I do not think he reads my blogs and that's ok. But if he did he would learn something. I hope he already knows it. He is one of my favorite people walking the planet. I love him. He is my beloved son in whom I am well pleased.

And I miss him.

The Stupid Pictures Chronicles #1

I noticed that I have accidently compiled a collection of stupid pictures that I have taken over recent years. I have been wasting them by allowing them to remain hidden from the world. Well, no longer. For tonight we begin a new bi-occasional series ... "THE STUPID PICTURE CHRONICLES!"

And now our first entry ...

Tonight's entry is a photo of probably the dumbest sign I have ever seen. I took it in a parking garage at Pike Place Market in Seattle. I rate it at "5 flashes" on my own personal "flash-O-Meter." (Out of a 1 - not so dumb to 5 - totally stupid - scale.)

Waiting For Mornings Light

When I was a very small child the dark nights sometimes scared me. One of my most vivid memories of early childhood years in Detroit was lying in bed wide-awake, having been roused from the innocent sleep of a child in the middle of the night. The shadow's cast by the moonlight did not bother me. I was comforted if there was a light on down the hall indicating the presence of my parents. No, I was only afraid on the very dark nights when all I could see was darkness compounded by silence. Had my parents left? Were they asleep in their bed or was I alone in the house? There was only one way to know for sure. I clearly remember calling out into the void for my mother ... hoping to hear her comforting voice calling from the far side of my fear. I have no memory of a night when she did not respond. There was no need for her to come to my room. The simple sound of her voice was enough. She would assure me that all was well, that she and my father were there. This alone was enough to relax a little body and allow it to drift back into the dreams of baseballs soaring over walls and footballs being thrown downfield.

I have not changed all that much.

Live long enough and you will learn that a walk with God produces seasons of great conversation with The Holy Spirit as well as times of dreadful silence. As a child the darkness of night deepened the silence. I have found the reverse to be true in my relationship to my Heavenly Father. It is the silence of His Voice that deepens the darkness of an evil world.

I spoke to God about that today. I was driving through the suburbs of Chicago delivering a load of "life stuff" to my son and daughter-in-law. They are still off honeymooning and so I had to make a brief stop at Willow Creek to get a key to his condo from a friend. As I drove I complained. I told God that I was tired of His silence. I admitted that I had wanted to tell Him that for a long time but I was hiding the truth behind pseudo respect and trust.

Always tell God the truth. Always. He already knows. Why waste time pretending that He does not? If it is true that demon's die in the light ... and it is ... then go ahead and shed light on the ugly truth and let God kill it off. That lesson learned has not come as easily as it might sound when reduced to five sentences. Spiritual warfare is brutal.

So I was finally getting up the courage to tell God the truth. I am mad at Him. This is a unique and awkward time in my life and I would really appreciate it if He would pay closer attention and maybe throw a "bone" of advice my way every now and then. That may be a flippant way to speak to the great "I Am" but it is pretty much how the conversation went. I dumped on Him for the better part of an hour before arriving at Willow.

My heart hurts. I want to serve. I want to obey God. I want the trenches that I spill blood in to matter. I want to win more people to Christ and baptize more people into the family. That is what my life is about. In the last months I have turned down the opportunity to serve at four churches. I did not find God calling me to any of them. It has been a long decade so far and have needed the rest but it seems that (get this...) "rest" is making me "restless." Go figure. As I entered the church the first thing I saw was a booth set up for "Pastoral Care and Counseling." It was empty. "Why are places like this always empty when I need them not to be, God?" No answer.

I found my friend and got the key. Next I made my way upstairs to "Seeds Bookstore." I quickly came across a book about spiritual and emotional healing. $14.99 will buy you the formula. I was about to put it back when a sales person asked me if I was ready to check out. I had only been in the store for less than five minutes. Still, I really needed to get to Scott's and with a little effort I just might beat the worst of rush hour. I bought it and complained to God as I did. If He would just speak I would not need a book.

I turned the corner to walk through a reading area filled with shelves of books, tables and cushy chairs. As I did I breathed a prayer of desperation. "God, I really need to dump this stuff and if you want me to talk to somebody you are going to have to put them in front of me because I just cannot see them." I walked across the mini-library. A person sat on the far end with an open laptop and notebooks. I did not pay much attention. The person looked up as I rounded that corner uttering that prayer in my ice cold heart. Oddly, I had turned down the offer of a bag to put my book in and I carried it in my right hand. That is the hand on the side about to pass by the person ahead of me. As I neared the table the person looked up again.

"A new book?" The stranger spoke.

I lifted it up showing the cover. We began a conversation about books on spiritual and emotional healing. The person began to tell the story of the past years. It seems that my new friend had left Willow Creek not too long ago at the direction of God to serve in a church in Nashville. In this one person I was talking to the former head of greeters at Willow Creek, an author, a public speaker, a parent, a person suffering from a destroyed marriage, a two-time cancer survivor and the product of a horribly dysfunctional family. I stood and listened as the story poured out. After half an hour or so I took a seat on a nearby sofa, realizing that something unique was happening here. I was not relaxed. I was not all together comfortable. Yet I sensed a holiness on the horizon.

I do not remember the conversation word for word but my new friend asked me how I had been wounded. I told my story. It hurt to speak it. It felt wonderful to speak it. I felt weak. I felt energized. I know, I know, it makes no sense. I am just telling you what happened to me today. I wanted to cry. I could not. I never do.

I really do not know but I think we talked for nearly two hours. This person read me as though I was a children's book. I would present a dilemma and would receive an immediate smile and help in knowing how to handle the issues. Please understand that I have spent hundreds of dollars in the last years seeking the wisdom of Christian Counselors. They have all been great. They have all helped. But this person told me more than what was right or wrong. This person told me how to change.

After a long while an old friend of my conversation partner came and they greeted each other with hugs and back pats. My friend had come to Willow today to meet with another person, a friend who had gotten sick and had not been able to make their meeting. That is why the laptop and notebooks were open. Time was being killed until another meeting later in the evening.

I interrupted long enough to say, "Thank you so very, very much." Then the strangest thing happened. My friend said, "when I saw you come around the corner from the bookstore God told me to speak to you. I went back to my work and when you came near God told me again to speak to you. When I saw the book you were going to read, (the one I had just refused the bag for,) I just had to obey. I know about hurting, anger, and healing." I then told of how I had rounded that same corner asking God to please put someone in front of me if He wants me to talk. I don't cry. I didn't cry. But my eyes got very moist and my voice cracked as I told my side of the experience. My friend did cry.

The same corner. The same moment. The same God.

For a couple of hours today I was a child again. I called out into a dark night in hopes of hearing a parent’s voice. And my Father answered. I still have questions. I am still in the middle of a battle that I thought would be over long ago. But tonight I have what I needed the most. Father is home. He loves me. He remembers me. He is here ... no matter where "here" is.

And that will be enough until morning’s light.

Isaiah Knew The Truth

"Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."
Isaiah 41: 10

I like it when God makes me promises. Because He never breaks them. He never calls a "time out" or a rain delay. If God says it is so then write it in ink. Chisel it in stone. It is going to happen. I wish I were that dependable. That faithful. I fear that I am a bit more wishy-washy than that.

Shaddup. So are you.

God says, "Fear not, for I am with you..." I cannot think of a better reason than that to drop my fear right where I stand. Who's the biggest guy on the universal block? I'm thinking that is my God. So let the sweat stop here.

God says, "... be not dismayed, for I am your God..." Say what? You ever had a bully pick on you? I have. The guy two doors down from me when I was a kid thought he was a one man gang. Eventually you either fought him or he owned you. I fought him. I left with a bloody nose but he never bothered me again. It would have been MUCH better had a bigger guy stuck up for me. When you are the little guy in a fight you get creative and you scrap like a tiger or you get creamed. I don't like getting creamed. But if I had a bigger friend than the bully, well, he never would have picked on me. God says I have a bigger friend than the bully. He is my God and He gives me permission to not be dismayed. In other words, no distress. And you know what I say to that? SWEET! No more bullies.

God says, ..."I will strengthen you, I will help you ..." So not only will God protect me but He will become my personal trainer. The closest thing I have ever had to a personal trainer was a sadistic gym coach in high school. God is not sadistic. He knows how to give us strength that will take us home safely. I like the thought of that.

God says, "...I will uphold you with My rightous right hand." Friend, you don't have to fall over any more. When God says He will hold you up He means all the way up. He means that if you take His training advice you will not fall to the bully anymore.

Lot's of bullys in the hood. My hood. Your hood. You want to bow to them, you go right ahead. As for me, I am with Isaiah. I'm holding His Hand.

Ron ... OUT!

Burning Bridges ...

What good is a 6th of July wedding without walking through an arch of sparklers on a stone bridge as you leave for your honeymoon?

Phantom Vibrations of the Soul

You got a cell phone? You keep it in your pocket? You keep it on vibrate? If you answered, "yes" to all three of these questions you surely know what I am about to talk about.

Phantom vibrations. They drive me crazy. I keep my phone in my right pocket. It is always on vibrate even when the sound is on. That's 'cause when I am driving in my car I like the music loud, causing me to fail to hear the phones ringing tunes or clanging bells. You don't have to hear vibrations. And admit it, when something vibrates against you it gets your attention. The "vibrate mode" is a brilliant addition to the cell phone.

But there is a problem. Sometimes you feel it vibrating and it isn't. I mean, your leg tells you it is vibrating but when you reach for it ... nothing. No ring. No vibration. No phone call. I have mentioned this phone-nomena (I just made that up and it totally kills me...) to quite a few friends and every one of them knew precisely what I was talking about. I don't understand it. It's like you leg just decides to trick you. To make you think your phone is vibrating when it is not.

Why would my leg do that? Clueless here. Answers will be considered. Just leave them in the comment box at the end of this blog.

I had one of those experiences today. I was lying across my bed talking to God. Yes, I talk to God. Get over it. He answers when He wants to and He is quite when He doesn't want to. But I was talking to God about some things that are on my mind and I have a phantom vibration.

First it annoyed me. It distracted me from God.

Then it opened my eyes. It told me that just maybe God was teaching me something through phantom vibrations.

Sometimes it occurs to me that God wants me to do something and I do it and when I am done I feel His pleasure. That's a cool thing. And sometimes it occurs to me that God wants me to do something and I do it and when I am done I realize that it was not God at all. It was just me.

It was a phantom vibration of the soul.

There are times in life when God speaks often from His Spirit to mine. And there are times when He is very, very quiet. I rather like it when He speaks. Right now I am deeply into a period where He is quiet. And so I am listening all the more closely. He has my complete attention ... and yet He does not seem to want it. Now I am no rookie to this Christian thing. I know a lie when I hear it. And it is a lie to believe that God does not want my attention. Just because He is not speaking or I am not hearing does not mean that He wants me to turn my back on Him. No, it means He is teaching me. Through the silence. Often it seems that His silence comes when I most need His voice. I know that there is a reason for that. I have no idea what it is. I just trust that He knows what He is doing. Hey, He is God. If He is not in control ... Houston, we have a problem. And if I am going to trust Him I am going to do it every day and every moment ... unless I get careless and blow it. I have been known to do that.

Phantom vibrations of the soul are dangerous things. When I think God is "calling" me and directing me and He is not ... I can do some really strange stuff and get into some deep trouble. Fortunately, He seems to honor a trusting and seeking heart. He has never let me crash into the rocks yet. I doubt that He starts now. So I am listening. Sitting quietly and listening. He will speak when He is ready. And when He does I will have my ears turned and tuned in His direction. It is all I can do. That and wait. And time? Time I have. Nothing but time. But time is something that He made. And He can use it as He pleases.

I love God. I really, really do. I've got my hand on my "phone." I wish He would call...

A Wedding To Remember

Alas, it is done. The two are now one and at this hour should be winging their way to the left coast. I am much too foggy today to write but I thought you might enjoy a picture I captured of the very in love couple during their first dance. It was just taken on my Treo so go easy on me...

Scott and Amanda, sitting in a tree ...

Today is the day. The day of great anticipation. At 6:30 this evening I will conduct the wedding ceremony for my oldest son, Scott and his lovely fiancé. I have done many, many weddings over the years. Only one other can compare in stature to this one. That was the day I gave my daughter to her knight in shining armor, Joe. It was a good move on her part. Not a bad one on his either. (And it resulted in the production of the all-impressive Elle, the world’s greatest granddaughter.) The vow that Scott is taking tonight is just as good. Just as wise. His almost bride, Amanda, is one incredible young woman. She is totally worthy of his hand. She is one of my favorite people.

The feelings a parent goes through on a day like this are so mixed that they defy my clumsy attempts to make words obey my emotions and explain themselves. I really disappoint myself in that. I desire to host nothing in the way of a pensive heart or so much as a backward glace at the years gone by. I want each of my kids to marry God's intended mate. Looks to me like one has done it, one is about to do it, and one is most certainly on the right track to do so in the future. (Just my opinion, which, by the way means absolutely nothing.)

Amanda has always been an amazing young woman in my eyes. I tease her that the first time I saw her she was upside down. And that is true. She was in a musical production. As the lights went up the first thing seen on the stage was a flood of young people with Amanda running out and doing a perfect back-flip and not missing a step as she continued on to her assigned place. I was rather taken aback. I was equally taken aback when Scott began dating her because I learned that she is as talented and intelligent as she is beautiful. I cringed with all parents when she became the captain of the cheerleading squad at her university and because she was the only one willing to "fly." You know what that means. They launched her in all sorts of convoluted directions in hopes that things would go well and the right people would be in the right spot to catch her. Over the four years of her college career I think her catchers were 100% successful. I'm really glad about that. So is Scott. I am certain that none of us are more pleased than Amanda.

This wedding has my approval X 1,000,000. It is a match made in heaven. I am used to Scott's room being empty as he moved to Chicago over a year ago. And yet there is something so definitive about saying the big "I Do." And definitive is exactly what it should be. It is meant to last until death do they part. I plan on parting long before either of them.

And so here is my cyber-toast to the young couple. The catch in my throat and the moisture in my eyes ... don't pay any attention to them. It is joy. Pure joy.

Scott and Amanda ... the greatest dream you have dreamed, the day you have longed for, the moment that always seemed just out of your grasp ... it is here! Walk to that altar with purpose and exuberance. Hold the hand of your beloved with intent and passion. Repeat your vows while contemplating their deepest meaning. And when I say, "you may kiss your bride..." Scott, kiss her like she has never been kissed before! Because the greatest days of your lives begin today. Savor every second. Memorize each moment. Drink it in like a thirst-maddened couple that has stumbled into the purest of oasis. Squeeze every moment until the last drop of bliss saturates your heart with the bold love of youth.

I know that I speak for all of your parents when I say that we love you. But I want to say it this way as well ... I love you. Both of you. And I want to tell you that in each other you are about to find out what God meant when He said ... "...and it is good."

It's All About The Words

So here I am propped up in my big cushy bed contemplating the meaning of life and it hits me. Ok, I don't really think the "entire" meaning of life just landed in my brain but part of it did. And I am going to tell you for free. So if you disagree, well, tough noogies.

Here it is. You ready?

Words.

That's it. Life is about words. If they come at you one at a time all by themselves they usualy do not mean much. But just string them together and see what happens.

Let's try an experiment. I'll give you a word and you tell yourself what you think of it. (You can't tell me 'cause I am not there. So tell yourself. consider this an interactive learning experience.) Ok, here goes ...

"Jelly."

That didn't mean much to me. How about you? Ok, let's try it when we string some words together.

"Pass me that lovely donut covered with powdered sugar and filled with jelly."

Now there is a fine example of taking a nothing word and giving it true meaning! From "jelly" to "jelly donut" all in one sentence just by adding a few words.

Let's try another.

"Home."

It's a good word but you must admit it is pretty limited. So ...

"I cannot wait to get home because that's where the love is." Or, "I wish you would go home because you are boring me and I need to take a nap."

Pretty cool, huh? Words really mean something when you string them together. As a matter-of-fact, life is all about words. My words. Your words. Words from anybody and everybody. We use them to give us meaning and purpose, to transfer knowledge and information from our brains to the brains of others.

You know what I think? I think that it is in words that we leave our greatest legacy. You bless with them or you curse with them. Maybe most harmfully of all you ignore someone when you fail to use them. But what I say, what I write, the way I use the words of my language will effect untolds amounts of people everyday. I can cheer up the grocery store clerk with them or I can make her cry. I can put them in the proper order to do good or to do bad. It is up to me and I must decide every time I open my mouth.

You know, God put some Words together too. They are indelibly inked into history and have meaning for every person to walk the planet. That means you.

God said, "I love you."

God said, "I want to adopt you."

God said, "Let's do life together and you'll have a ride you won't believe."

God said, "Don't!" when He saw us thinking about doing something that would hurt us. That's why He said things like (warning: paraphrase ahead,) dont' sleep around or kill anybody or want and steal other people's stuff.

God said, "Go for it!" when He saw us getting ready to bless and serve another person. His chest puffed out and He got the greatest smile on His face because He heard and saw you use your words to help someone who needed positive words.

So. Every word matters. There are no "free zones" where you can blast someone or gossip or slander. Nope. Every word you utter gives you an "add on" to your legacy.

Anyway, that was on my mind and I thought I would share it with you. Because I like you. Even if we have never met. I'm serious. You are God's and Iike you. And so does He.

He told me to tell you.

Chicago on Steroids

I'm not sure what happened but somewhere along the way I hit a glitch in the space/time continuum. I think it happened around 7th Ave. and 33rd St. Scott and I turned a corner and there was Madison Square Garden. It was one of those moments when all of those files stored neatly away in your mind suddenly come flying open and enter "now." All of those files were simply television. Now was... well... now. The same thing happened in Times Square, Rockefeller Center, NBC Studio's, etc., etc., etc. Yeah, my just-turned-52-year-old knees were screaming at me. The thirty or so pound back pack I was hauling didn't help but... well, I told them to shut-up and I kept walking.

For me, Manhattan is easy to explain. I grew up in the 'burbs of Chicago. Hadn't ever been to NYC until this week. There was just no need. But I went to help Scott celebrate the termination of his bachelorhood and that was a good choice. Here is what I discovered. NYC is simply Chicago on steroids. I'm suspending the internationally known rule of paragraphs for a moment and moving to bullet points...

- Those wide and clean streets you see in TV ... well, they aren't. You know the place where Matt and Katie's replacement (I miss me some Katie) stand and greet people on "the plaza?" Well, it's just a little dirty, scrungy street. With a big stack of steel railings that they set up in the mornings to separate the famous from the not famous. It was a place. That's about it.

- Times Square is insanity at its finest. Turn it off and the world’s energy problems are solved. Don't ANYBODY get in my face again and complain about my usage of fossil fuels until they TURN OFF TIMES FREAKEN SQUARE.


-In Chicago or my adopted St. Louis I can honk my horn any time I want to. It is my God given right and I believe that it is either in the Ten Commandments or the Declaration of Independence. I keep confusing the two. If I honk my horn in Manhattan it is a $350 fine. God help you if you have a coronary and fall face forward into your steering wheel setting off your cars horn. I don't know if they charge by the minute or by the offense but your "noise ordinance ticket" could well surpass your hospital bill.

- Subways? They have 'em. Where do they go? You either had to grow up in the city or have a degree in the translation of hieroglyphics to get anywhere. And they obviously let you practice for your degree on the underground subway walls. Interesting.

- You can walk to any corner in Manhattan and get anything you want to eat as long as it is a hot dog.

Ok, there's more but I'm in Chicago and I have to drag my son back to St. Lou for his impending wedding. Emma is sitting in his parking lot waiting to drive us down. Scott's being a party scrooge though and won't let me put the top down. I think it has to do with his hair. I keep trying to remind him that the BRIDE is supposed to be beautiful but he just won't listen...

The Great Baseball Extravaganza ... Day Two ... New York City

First of all you need to sing to me. It's my birthday. Today at 2:59PM in 1955 I was born in a little log cabin in Detroit Michigan. Ok, most of that sentence is true. There's one lie. See if you can catch it. Anyway, that makes me 52 years old. That's not a bad thing. When my age is the speed limit on I-55 I'll start to worry.

So today began in Baltimore and ended in Weehawkin, New Jersey. The drive was b-r-u-t-a-l. Scott can't drive the rental because he's 5 months short of being old enough. He can get married, go to war, drink ... but he can't drive a rental from Avis. And by the way, Avis is ticking me off. They have been 100% RUDE and I just thought I'd tell you that. Do with it as you will.

So the drive around Philly looked a lot like this ...



Ugh. Solid traffic with constant tail lights. That made us 8 minutes too late in our arrival in Jersey to turn in our rental. That means I have to get up at 8:30 in the morning to return it. Again ... Ugh. But our hotel is pretty cool. It's on the shore of the Hudson River on the New Jersey side. We have a view out the window of lower Manhattan. It looks a lot like this ...



I know that there is a lot of good things to see in NYC but, never having been here, I can't get away from the fact that the room we are in right now had an unimaginable view of the terror and tragedy at the World Trade Center in 2001. They were at the far right end of lower Manhatten in the picture very near to the Hudson. We took a water shuttle across to Mid-town Manhatten and then a bus to lower Manhatten where we walked all of the way around "ground zero. These days it looks like a construction zone. Actually, it looks pretty much like this ...



And every now and then you run across things like this ...



Or this ...



It makes you wonder. Who put those flowers there? Who did they lose? Are they healing? And who spray painted the note? What is there story? We will never know. We grabbed a piece of pizza at a little restaurant directly across the street from the former towers. You eat the pizza (which is very good) but you mind is wondering what that site felt like ... looked like ... at those moments? You actually have to force yourself to walk away from there or it will consume you. I found myself looking up at what used to be. Thinking. All of those people. All of the loss. For no reason other than hate. You have to walk away.

Then you find yourself in places like Times Square where I do believe there is probably more neon lighting per square foot than any other place in the nation. It is amazing. It boggles the mind like this ...




I actually looked for a nurse to kiss. You know, like in the famous picture on taken in Times Square on the day the US won World War II. The sailer grabbed a random female on the street and laid a big time smooch on her. She happened to be a nurse. I was determined to relive the scene (at great risk of getting punched out or tossed in the hoosegow) but there were no nurses in site. There was a cute policewoman on horse back but she had a really big night stick so I backed off. I'm not stupid, ya know.

So there you have it. We also managed to navigate the cities subway system. Now THAT is a journey.

New York is cool in a lot of ways. But ... it doesn't compare to my sweet home Chicago.

Tomorrow? Yankee Stadium and the Bronx Bombers. Stay tuned! (and check out www.flickr.com/photos/rotola for more NYC wierdness.)

The Great Baseball Extravaganza ... Day One ... Baltimore

Wow. 3:15 in the morning is E-A-R-L-Y. I do 3:15 better if I come at it from the other side. You know, staying up until 3:30 is easier than getting up at 3:30. But hey, it's for baseball and it's for Scott. Not in that order. So it's cool.

We walked outside of his condo at 4AM to meet his friend Matt. He was to drive us to the airport. But Scott had other plans. He slipped one in on me. He fired Matt and hired a guy to drive this ...

It was a cool way to start the day. And the guy drove really fast because the flight to Baltimore was leaving totally on time. The weather was a bit rough but Scott and I scored again. We were the only two on the plane to have a 3-seat-span to ourselves. Sweet! But it was bumpy enough that a kid a few rows in front of us went on a barfing spree. Fun.

We took the Baltimore light rail system from the airport to a drop-off about five miles from the hotel. A shuttle picked us up. (side note ... I have no idea what medications the shuttle driver was on. That's all I have to say about that.) We couldn't check in until about 1PM and it was only about 10:30AM so we grabbed our rental, a white Chevy Impala. Not exactly a Mustang but it will do. So we hit a mall where I found a cool Orioles mesh shirt for $9.00 and we grabbed a couple of ball caps so that we would be all prepared for the game tonight. By the time we got back to the hotel our room was ready and it was "nappy time." From there ... BASEBALL!

We drove to Orioles Park at Camden Yards, a very awesome place to watch a ball game. The first thing we came across was something I had promised myself to find. The Orioles old fist baseman from back in the 60's, Boog Powell, runs his own concession stand. And guess what? Boog was there! In person! He's a huge man with a tree trunk sized neck. And best of all ... he signed my new shirt right on the left bicep for me. (I'm sure he was impressed.) When he did he looked exactly like this ...

And then we had a little conversation where I told him that I thought I was older than he is but I enjoyed watching him play. He looked at me funny and said, "Man, I'm going to be 62 years old." I told him that I was going to be 52 tomorrow (which is now today, happy birthday to me.) He said, "When I was 52 I didn't even know how to barbeque yet!" Ahhhh ... that felt better. So it was a good day. Boog Powell signed my left bicep (ok, the shirt ON my left bicep ... still ...) and then we "chatted" and it looke totally like this ...

Then I ate the best turkey sandwich OF MY LIFE. No joke. Totally serious. That bird died for a very good cause!

Then it was time for baseball. We cheered for the home team which, of course, meant that they eventually lost. But it was a lot of fun and it rather looked like this from our way too expensive seats ...

Aubrey Huff actually hit "for the cycle." He is only the 3rd Oriole to do that in team history joining Brooks Robinson and Cal Ripken in this tough feat. It was cool to see. But the good guys lost anyway. Bummer

So the game ended and I managed to get the worlds largest policeman who was standing on the field behind home plate to reach around the net, grab my camera, and take this ultra cool "reverse" picture ...

How awesome is that? I thanked him and promised not to speed on the way home. (Yes I really did. And no I really didn't.)

Then we drove back to the hotel and Scott is trying right now to go to sleep before I crank up the snoring machine and begin shaking the 10th floor. What a day. I want to do this one again.

If you want to see more pictures surf over to www.flickr.com/photos/rotola

One More Time

There is this kid I know that is not a kid anymore. I met him when he was zero seconds old. They pulled him out of the oddest place, took him to a sink, hosed him off, weighed him, measured him, stuck a yellow sock hat on his head, wrapped him in a blanket tight enough to make a mummy scream and handed him off to me.

Because this was my son. My first son. The first of two of my best male friends in the world. Scott and (Chris)Topher.

Now this kid is 24 years old and in just 10 days he will commit himself to his lovely fiancé and then my words will turn him into her husband. Yes, the kid who used to scream and fight to get on the bus or in the van with me as I left on yet another youth ministry trip is now a youth minister in his own right and is about to become a married man.

I don't have to ask where the time went. I know very well where it went. We spent it getting stitches installed in his head, watching him barf his guts up while enduring yet another migraine headache, observing from the stands as he "swung for the fences" in little league and later in high school. We sat in Wrigley Field more times that I ever dreamed we would. We actually became "bleacher bums" and I do believe that back in his hey day Sammy Sosa blew us a kiss. We've been to "old Comiskey Park" to see the White Sox in their last year there and we've been to "The Cell" to watch them play in their new park. We basked in the outfield sun at Tiger Stadium before they tore it down too. We invaded Milwaukee's County Stadium to watch the Brewers take out the A's in the ninth inning. Scott focused on the game but I was more enthralled with the glass encased "shower thongs" (the foot kind not the ... nevermind) worn by Hank Aaron. Of course there have been frequent trips to old and new Busch Stadium over the years but only because it's so close and never once did we wear the home teams colors. I remember once when he was in high school we had some pretty good seats that a friend had given me. You know, in the polite area down low near the field. No matter. I still had to get him up and move him in the 7th inning before he got us killed by the home crowd. I love me some Cubbies too but they didn't die for my sins and I don't plan on dying for theirs.

So now it comes down to this. One more "Great Baseball Extravaganza" before the old knot gets tied. Yes, I'm certain that we'll keep going to ball games after he brings his lovely "Mrs. Woods" home to live with him. (And he is marrying VERY well. His bride to be is one of the sweetest, smartest, and wonderful young women that I know.)



Here's the deal ...

On Thursday I drive up to Chicago. At 4AM on Friday one of his friends is picking us up and taking us to Midway airport where we have a 6:15AM flight into Baltimore. We catch a train across town and then a hotel shuttle takes us to our temporary home where we have a rented car awaiting us. We'll check in and spend the day "doing Baltimore." On Friday evening we'll be at the Orioles/Angels game. I plan on eating something cooked by Boog Powell himself out on his deck in the right field stands. After a good nights sleep we hit the road. The direction is north where we will pass through Philly, down a couple of cheese steak sandwiches, give the liberty bell a ring, and move on toward Wehawkeen, New Jersey. We'll check into a hotel on the Hudson River directly across from lower Manhattan. The rental will get turned in to a location in Jersey City and we'll cab it or something back to the hotel. After a partaking of local cuisine and another nights rest we catch "The Yankee Clipper" at 11AM. This is a "shuttle boat" that we've reserved spots on. For our $18 each we get all of the food and drinks we want and a scenic cruise that will drop us blocks from baseball's greatest shrine ... The House That Ruth Built ... Yankee Stadium. It's a 1:05PM start. The Yankees against Oakland. I'm betting we will spend as much time walking the park and taking in the history, as we will watching the game. After the last out we have 30 minutes to high tail it back to the Yankee Clipper, which sails back to our hotel. After that we have about 24 hours to sleep, eat, and take in as much of Manhattan as we can. Before we catch our jet back to Chicago on Monday evening we hope to knock around Times Square, Rockefeller Plaza, Ground Zero, Wall Street, and whatever else jumps out at us. Don't worry. We are going to put the hurt on Nathan's hot dogs and whatever the local's eat. Tuesday will see us driving back home where he will finish the day with his bachelor's party and tune up whatever needs tuning before taking his vows on Friday night.

What a way to go out, huh? The night before my wedding I spent with my brother at an indoor amusement park in Chicago. Then we went to Dunkin Donuts and ate a dozen with cold milk. At 2AM I still couldn't sleep so I went out and washed my car. In the rain. If I had known what the next 30 years held I would not have been one bit nervous. It would have been pure joy and anticipation. And yes, I would write that even if my wife didn't read my blog. I’d write it because it is true.

It's going to be a whirlwind trip kicking off a whirlwind week. We have limited ourselves to one backpack each for the "Great Baseball Extravaganza." If we are going to be hiking New York we don't want to be pulling luggage behind us. So somehow 3 days worth of clothes (can you say "t-shirts?") a laptop, a gps, all of the plane tickets, ball game tickets, rental car reservations, Yankee Clipper tickets, an i-pod, and hopefully a toothbrush have to fit into one solitary back pack. We travel light.



We don't care who wins the ball games. We don't care what kind of gas mileage the rental gets. We are not concerned with heat, humidity, sunshine or clouds. We just want to hangout one more time and enjoy the experience. No, no. Not the "national pastime" experience. The father and son experience. I wish Topher was home from 'Fuge and could go with us. That's the only thing that could make it better. But I have a hunch that maybe he is planning his own trip for the not-to-distant future. That's not good news.

I think he wants to go to Wimbledon.

He was born in a small log cabin in ... Korea?

Today I honored a dead guy. He died long before I was born. He started off slowly. You know the drill. A little log cabin in Kentucky. Seriously. He grew up and decided to run for public office and he lost. He married a lady a full foot shorter than he was. Then he ran for office again and this time he won. He went from being a nobody to being the President of the United States in a very short time.

The Abraham Lincoln Library and Museum are in Springfield. That is only about 75 miles away. The weather was nice today so I dropped Emma's top (get your mind out of the gutter. Emma is my emerald green Mustang.) and Debbie and I drove up to see what it was all about.

Abe was a pretty cool guy. I mean, for being really ugly. And really tall. And wearing funny looking hats. Sometimes things went his way. Like having 3 kids. Sometimes things did not go his way. Like having 2 of them die. Good things like getting elected president. Crummy things like having to lead in the fighting of a war. A homegrown war at that. Rewarding things like winning the war. Awful things like getting murdered just a week after the war ended. Post-humus good things like having a most excellent funeral that spanned half of the continent by way of train. Post-funeral ugly things like having hoodlums try to steal your body.

All in all it was a very interesting day. It ended sitting across a table from a beautiful woman while eating steak and all of the trimmings. Then we wound our way home on the old two-lanes rather than the interstate.

The best part of the day was the person I shared it with. We played mind games all day. You know what I mean. All of the way home we took turns asking each other questions that HAD to be answered honestly. It started silly and ended seriously. After 29.5 years of marriage we learned some things about each other that we did not know.

I wore two rings today. One was my wedding ring. It is actually my second wedding ring. (Don't worry. I've only had one marriage. I just had to have my first ring cut off after I let it get trapped behind a knuckle practicing for mid-life arthritis.) The other ring is on my right "pinky" finger. That is the only place it will fit. It is my father's wedding ring. I wore it today along with his WWII "dog tags." The last time I spoke to my dad was 7 years ago today. After our final conversation he lapsed into a semi-coma and semi-incoherent state. He never recovered from either and the next day cancer took him away from me. I still miss him more than I can say. He never ran for public office but he was born in what probably amounted to a log cabin. Only it was in Arkansas and not Kentucky. He was not a wartime president. He was a wartime soldier. He spent the better part of 4 years behind the steering wheel and the 50 caliber Browning machine gun of a "half track." I suppose dad caused some real carnage in North Africa and Europe. I think he understood what was at stake just like Lincoln did and so I doubt that he regretted that carnage for a minute. After he got home he landed a job on an oilrig in Ventura, California. Then he sent for and married the cutest girl that he knew. She took the train out from "The Land of Opportunity" and married him in the home of a Baptist minister.

Parts of me are glad that dad did not live long enough to see things like the terrorist attacks of 9-11. He might actually have cheered for a Republican president to go kick butt. And dad had never, NEVER cheered for a Republican before. I am glad he didn't have to watch the son's of our country go of to war one more time. But he would have stood behind every one of them. Actually, knowing how angry he would have been after the events of that day he just might have tried to enlist in the army himself. God help the recruiter that turned him down. I do wish dad had lasted long enough to see my daughter take a husband, meet my first granddaughter, see all 3 of my kids go into ministry positions and the White Sox win the World Series. Dad did love the Cubs but he would only go to Sox Park. I can't think of that place without thinking of him.

So I honor heroes today. Men bigger and better than I will ever hope to become. I am grateful for them and those like them. You know, it just occurred to me that if dad and Abe had ever met they would have probably gotten along famously. One fought to free the slaves and one worked like a slave.

Only one thing went wrong today. While purchasing the tickets for the Lincoln Museum the lady at the desk figured me for the safe middle-aged type. She gave me a card with the time Debbie and I entered the museum on it. She told me that if we would return it to the same desk when we left she would give us a cool laminated Abraham Lincoln bookmark. Hey ... free bookmark. Who am I to look a gift president in the mouth? At the end of our visit I dutifully turned in my card. They made a note of our time of departure (they were trying to figure out the average length of stay by their visitors) and handed me my freebee. Pretty cool. I'm ahead a whole bookmarker for the day and it's only 3PM. Then I read the bookmark. Under the picture of Abe and the facts and statistics of his life I read in reduced lettering "Made In Korea." I have absolutely nothing against Korea but come on. This is Abraham Lincoln, for cryin out loud. Is nothing sacred?

Oh wait. I forgot about yesterday's blog. No ... no, nothing is sacred. Not anymore. Not even Abe memorabilia.

Do not read this blog.

No, really. I mean it. You need to stop here. Turn back. If you read any further ... this is my disclaimer. You will be sorry. Run away.

Galatians 5: 19 - 21 ticks me off. I mean it really makes me angry. And that is the problem. The more I read it the angrier I get and thus the guiltier I am. And because you are too lazy to look it up yourself here is what it says. "Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, FITS OF ANGER, rivalries, dissensions, divisions, envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these." (Capitalizations are mine.)

There are a lot of things listed there that can cause a man problems but right now I've identified the enemy and his name is anger. You know what is making me angry? No? Me neither. Well, that is not entirely true. I can identify a few things. But here is the biggie.

Why are you still here? I've warned you twice now! It does not get any better if you keep reading!

I am tired of being nice.

Isn't that stupid? Isn't that un-Christ-like? Isn't that sad? Sure it is. But that does not keep it from being true. GUILTY AS CHARGED, YOUR HONOR. I have spent a lot of years trying to help people. Sometimes I have been successful. Sometimes ... not so much. But even when I've failed I seldom got angry. I have been an expert at shrugging my shoulders and telling myself that the world already has one Savior and I am not Him. It also occurs to me that Jesus did not die to make us "nice." He died to make us "His." (Thanks for reminding me of that, Steve.)

I have been sitting around watching the world spin lately. Every time I think I have figured out what God wants me to do I quickly discover that I am wrong. I do not like being wrong about important things. And it is not like God is mad at me. He is so very patient. He will tell me what to do and when to do it ... in His time. He seldom (never) consults my schedule. He is large and in charge. I am very glad about that. You do not want me to be in charge. Trust me on this. That would be bad for all of us. Not even I want me in charge.

You are not too smart, are you. I would have left by now.

I have two "Sweet Gum Trees" in my front yard. You may know what that means. They produce these miserable little balls that are about one inch in diameter and prickly and horrible to step on with bare feet. I have owned this house and those trees for fourteen years. For the first thirteen years I loved the trees yet hated the gumballs. I tried and tried and tried and yet not once did I manage to rid my yard of these mini-monsters. And then last July 19th we had The Mother Of All Storms pass through our neighborhood. The winds exceeded ninety miles per hour. Tree branches were everywhere. I took down what I could and let a professional do the rest. I had damage to every tree I own, damage to my house, damage to my roof, and survived without power for about a week. Fun times. My beautiful Sweet Gum Trees were cut back to stubs. Very, very tall stubs. I was quite certain they were dead. And then two more winter storms seemed to seal my diagnosis. Then spring came and the suckers started blooming. Now I have two extremely tall and yet stubby trees with "limb wannabees" protruding out in all directions. But you know what I don't have? Gum balls. Not one. They will probably return when the trees have had a few years to heal but for now I can walk barefoot in my front yard without fear.


I have named those trees. The slightly shorter one is on the south side of my yard and it is named after my wife. The taller one is on the north side and is named after her husband. You see, the trees got the stuffing kicked out of them. They paid a nasty price and they stopped producing their fruit. But give them time. My bet is that it will be back.

My wife feels like those trees. So does her husband. No details. Not needed. The things that are making the two of them angry and fruitless are pretty much legion. Sometimes it seems like one squall line after another after another. A woman and her husband can start to feel a little haggard and wind blown after a bit. We have not produced much in the way of "fruit" for quiet a while. But we will. Just like the trees, we will be back.

Ok, I give up. Read on ...

Do you think trees get mad? I doubt it. That is where my analogy breaks down. The trees took the shot and just went on about the business of healing. They do not know what it is like to feel as though you have a hand grenade going off in your chest constantly. I tried to complete a writing assignment today and I could not do it. The assignment requires that I write nice things and I was not feeling nice. There is this guy who writes books. He's been on the New York Times "Best Seller's List" more than once. He read one of my blogs and left me a note asking me to consider writing a contribution for his next book. That's a pretty cool thing to be asked. But today was not the day. The hand grenades were too loud and too violent. I was only successful at pacing and doing mindless busy work. And so I climbed on Ron-duh the motorcycle and pointed her out of town. Together we burned a full tank of gas ... and she gets really good gas mileage. I'm talking serious miles here down old route 66. I needed the wind because when you are doing seventy and there is no windshield in front of you it feels very violent against your chest. I enjoyed that. A lot. The harder the wind pushed against me the more I felt the tension break inside.

You probably will not like this quote but it has been credited to a famous former pastor of the very large First Baptist Church of Dallas, Texas. He said, "Sometimes I want to go out and sit on the back steps of the church, light up a stinky cigar and say 'damn.'" I never met that guy. He's dead now and so I won't get to. That's a shame really. I think we would have gotten along.

I warned you not to read this blog. But you just wouldn't listen. Next time maybe you will believe me.

111 And Counting

The worlds oldest man apologized for living so long today. Checking in a 111 years old he is from Japan and his name is Tomoji Tanabe. He believes that the secret to his longevity resides in his diet. No booze. No fried foods. Lot's of healthy stuff.

Would you rather live to 111 and only eat fish or die at 80 with a Twinkie in your mouth? Why do you figure that God did not do us a favor and make Twinkie flavored fish? It would have solved the whole problem.

Personally, I do not care to live to see 111. I certainly do not want a name that would take most people 111 years simply to pronounce.

Tomoji was only 60 when I was born. If he had warned me about life on the outside I might have just stayed in the womb. True, there was no cable or wireless internet. But there all I had to do was sleep and eat.

Come to think of it ... not all that much has changed ...

An Open Letter To My Kids...

I wrote my three kids tonight. They are scattered all over the country right now. So I e-mailed them some father's day thoughts. I hope they don't mind, and I really don't know why I'm doing it, but I decided to make it an "open letter." That means I am sharing it with you ... the world. It's just that I'm so proud of them that I want everybody to know what amazing people they are.

So forgive me kids, if this should have been kept private. But I'm shouting it from the roof tops (blog tops...)


Dear Kids,

Ok, you are not really kids anymore. But compared to me ... you are kids. So I reserve the right to call you that. :)

I just wanted to thank you guys for making me probably the happiest dad on the planet. You all know it's been a crazy couple of years around our house. Usually not in a good way. But when it comes to my kids my heart is full of thanksgiving and praise. God somehow intervened in our little family and did the extraordinary.

Kelli, you are an excellent mother, wife, and "minister" to those who leave children in your care at church. You constantly amaze me. I often find myself watching you when every one else is watching Elle. Your maturity and wisdom stretch far beyond the norm. On top of all of that you always have time to love on your dad when he needs it. Being at your home today was pure joy ... not to mention fun. Thank you for being the daughter I would have designed had God asked me for blue prints! Sometimes I find us in the midst of a conversation and I suddenly realize that you are far wiser than anything you could possibly have learned from me. How did that happen? Only God.

Scott, when I look at you I often feel joy and sadness at the same time. The joy is because of the man you are, the way you are spending your life, the bride you are about to take, and because for some strange reason you still like just hanging out with me. That's pretty unusual and I am very honored. The sadness is simply because the guy that used to sleep 30 feet away now sleeps 300 miles away. But this is as it should be. I deeply believe it is God ordained. I miss you every day but I also know that all I have to do is hit #4 on speed dial and you are right there. (I'm sure I over use it but you never get mad at me for it.) Thank you for "getting it" when it comes to the exceptional circumstances of the last few years and for walking through so much of it with me. And I have to tell you, I simply cannot WAIT for our "Great Baseball Extravaganza" the week before your wedding! I feel like we should be taking our ball gloves and playing catch in the hotel parking lot. (Why not?!)

Chris, just hearing your voice on the phone from Centrifuge causes me to feel this amazing glow deep inside. I can remember watching you last year as you totally DOMINATED mega-relay. You are living out one of my dreams ... being a 'Fuge staffer. I have such a deep respect for the way that you teach, encourage and love those kids. I know that it is not easy when you are tired of everything from cafeteria food to the heat to an over dose of teen weirdness. I know that God has huge plans for you. You and I share something else in common. I hated school just as much as you do. But just as I got through it, you will to. You have to because God is calling you to something and He needs you to be educated in order to do it. I'm behind you, praying, caring and looking for ways to help you kick academic butt. By the way, I find myself sitting in your room sometimes missing the "COME ON!" that we've heard so many times. We are keeping your place ready for your return.

Ok, well that's all I wanted to say. Except for one thing. I love you guys more than I love life. More than I love my next breath. My life did not really begin until the three of you came along.

I am praying for you tonight and every night.

Dad

He Did Good

Thanks Dad. I miss you.
Ron

Life Between The Dashes (or "How I Learned to eat dirt for Jesus")

Today a really dumb thing happened. And I had nothing to do with it. I was not even in the county. I saw it on the news and mentioned it to my wife. Turns out she was driving through the Illinois interstate highway system making her way to downtown St. Louis when she ... literally ... ran across the dumbness. She said it was difficult not to see.

It seems that in the early morning rush hour a semi-truck was driving down I-55. He was south bound which means he was heading toward the mighty, muddy Mississippi. His route would take him to Missouri and the beautiful ... if strange ... St. Louis Arch. You know the one. "The Gateway To The West." So this trucker was hauling some kind of industrial grade paint. Evidently one of the barrels turned over inside his trailer and sprung a leak. The paint flowed out of its holder, out of its trailer, and colored one entire lane of the expressway bright orange. For miles. It looked sort of like this. Well, actually it looked exactly like this...

To me it is just kind of funny. To the people driving behind him it was a lawsuit waiting to be filed. Can you imagine cruising to work on a muggy summer morning with the sun at your back, maybe some morning talk show on the radio when SUDDENLY your lane turns orange ... and so does your car? Can you further imagine what that would be like if you were taking advantage of the weather by dropping the top on your spiffy convertible sports car?

Oh my.

You know, I actually wish that life were a little more like that. When you are driving down the interstate you have a pretty good idea where you lane is. The state highway department goes to all of the trouble to paint these big white lines like huge "dashes" along your route. They even use reflective paint so that you can see them better at night. You don't want to straddle those white lines. Chances are you'll get squished from both sides. No, you want to stay between the dashes. That is where the driving is the best. On the highway life is best lived BETWEEN the dashes.

Oh that it were as simple and as clear in the rest of life. True, there are "dashes" to lead you through the moral issues of life. You might call it the law. You might call it the bible. You might call it the "Ten Commandments." You would be right on all counts. But there are precious few reflective dashes to help guide us through the daily decisions that you and I must make in order to best fulfill our purpose in life. Yes, I do believe that we are created with a purpose. None of that random chance stuff for me. It takes more faith not to believe in God than it takes to believe in Him. (Yes, that is my opinion. But it is also my blog. So get over it.) I want to get from the point of my creation (aka: birth) to the point of my graduation (aka: death) by the proper path. That would be the one God desires that I travel.

And, alas, the dashes are sometimes few and far between.

I have been praying lately and God has been listening. He has not been answering (yet) in any fashion that I have been able to discern. And can I be honest here for just a second? It is beginning to irritate me. He told me to ask and that He would answer. It's all in the bible and pretty easy to find. But get this. Psalm 16: 11 says, "You make known to me the path of life (the dashes!); in Your presence is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forever more." Pretty cool, huh? I think so too. But back up the paint truck for a minute. Before you go getting too exuberant on me look at Psalm 10: 1. "Why, O Lord, do You stand afar of? Why do You hide yourself in times of trouble?"

I hate it when He does that. Some would read those two verses that are written so closely together and say, "Ah ha! A contradiction in the bible!" Those people don't understand much about God's ways. A person who has gotten to know God would say, "Ah Ha! Sovereignty at its best!" The author (or author's) of these two chapters was experiencing God on God's own terms. He will paint dashes on your road sometimes and the cruising comes easy. A mile further down the road things turn to gravel and seem to stay that way forever. And it is all because God is going to do what He is going to do and you don't get a vote. Sometimes walking with God brings joy unimaginable. Sometimes walking with God brings frustration beyond comprehension.

Right now? I'm praying for a spiritual truck to spring a leak and paint God's path for me an unmistakably bright orange. It doesn't happen very often. And right now would be a really good time for it. Gravel gets old after a bit. Dust filters up through your floorboard and into your nostrils and onto your tongue. The windshield gets dirty from the inside and you start to wonder if you strayed off the trail. A bright orange path would be quite a welcome sight these days.

But if it's going to be gravel ... it's going to be gravel. Keep walking with God and you will learn to eat dirt with the best of them. I never played much football. The extent of my pigskin career was frequent Sunday afternoon games with church friends back in the Chicago burbs. I was never big enough to block. (I weighed 125 lbs. when I married Debbie. don't worry ... I got over it.) I never had a good enough arm to quarterback. So I would occasionally get the ball handed off to me or thrown in my direction down field. And on those sunny fall days I learned a valuable lesson. When you are holding the ball and focused on the goal line NEVER LET YOUR FEET STOP MOVING. We were stupid enough to play tackle football without pads or helmets. I don't advise it. I never did like getting hit. So, no matter what happens .. KEEP YOUR FEET MOVING. Stop for just a second and you are a goner. And that is when it really, really hurts.

When you are following Jesus never stop. If you don't know for sure where you are then just keep walking in the direction He pointed you in the last time you heard from Him. If the gravel turns to orange pavement, lucky you. But if it stays gravel ... well, if it stays gravel just eat the dirt and keep your feet moving.

And never forget ... you may not know where He is ... but He most certainly knows where you are.

A Taylor Update

This evening I received an e-mail from Taylor's mom, Tanya. As you may remember, Taylor is a nine year old little girl battling Leukemia. She lives in the suburbs of Chicago. The good news is that Taylor has been in remission. (See. I told you God listens to our prayers.) I'll leave you with the e-mail from tonight and then trust you to "hit your knees" yet one more time on her behalf.

"Hello Ron,
Hope all is well.. I updated Taylor's caringbridge site as to whats going on, please get the prayers going, we will be heading back to Chicago tomorrow for the doctor's to decide if they want to start chemo...REMISSION!!!!!We have to pray she's still in remission!!!!!I will try my best to keep her caringbridge site updated..Thanks again for all of the prayers...Have a blessed night!"