WANAGT2 ... R.I.P.

"Emma the Mustang" is no more. Yes the car still exists and she's still a beauty. But her beloved license plates, WANAGT2, have been terminated by the state of Ohio. She is now EIM1267. How ... boring. But I think I have figured it out. She snuck one in on them.

EIM = "Emma Is Miserable." She is sitting outside in the parking lot at this hour covered in snow. We knocked about 7 inches off of her today but there are remnants clinging to her. And she's expecting 4 more inches tomorrow. And so ... she is miserable. As for the numbers 1267?
1 - There is only one way she is going to be happy and that is for ...
2- The amount of months left until spring hits this snow bit region. Then she'll be happy.
67- I've always lied to Emma, telling her she's a 1967 Mustang. She doesn't know she is a 2002. And we aren't telling her. It makes her feel ... special. And she is.

I love me some Emma.

Stars in the universe

It was the summer of 2001 and Debbie and I were at a pastor’s and wives retreat in the mountains of Colorado. We were so far out in the back country that I don’t think the FBI could have found us. The lodge we were sharing with the three other couples was log cabin style. There was a wonderful host couple that cooked the meals and gave us directions around the area during our free time. And best of all, out on the back deck, overlooking the Crystal River, was a huge Jacuzzi hot tub. Now this is a prescription for rest, relaxation, and encouragement!

I remember one night everybody had gone to bed. The lodge was quiet but I couldn’t sleep. So I slipped into swimming trunks and a t-shirt, snuck out the back door, turned on the hot tub and slid in to liquid heaven. As I sat there I couldn’t help but look up. The only words that I could manage to form in my stunned brains was … “God, YOU ARE INCREDIBLE!” Tens of thousands of stars highlighted the sky from every angle. All day long I had looked at the mountains in all of their splendor. But I have to tell you, those mountains had nothing on those stars. I sat in awe for a very long time just pouring out a heart of gratitude before God.

As I read Philippians tonight that night came to mind. Philippians 2: 15 – 16 says, “… so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life …”

Me? Shine like a star in the universe? You gotta be kidding me. But no, that is what it says. If I live my life to honor the God of heaven and earth, if I live my life without complaining and arguing, I will shine like a star in the universe.

It’s pretty ugly outside tonight. A lot of snow is on the ground. The wind howls through the trees. Lake Erie is a massive sheet of ice. It’s cold. Really cold. And when I look up I see … nothing. Because all that is up there are clouds. You know, it’s easy to be a cloud. Most people live their lives raining on everybody and everything they come in contact with. They drench God’s world with profanities and problems. But you and I do not have to be that way. We can live to honor God. And when we do …

… stars in the universe. That’s God’s kids. That’s us.

Shine, my friend, shine

Three of the best people on the planet

Debbie and I are leading a bible study on Monday nights at our apartment building. After three weeks ZERO apartment dwellers have shown up. However we have had a fairly decent turn-out of church members. Our topic is "Raising Kids God's Way." It's amazing to listen to these parents of young kids talk about the stresses and trials of raising them. I have constant flash backs. I remember those tough decisions and difficult days of trying to turn Kelli, Scott, and Christopher into "independently dependent followers of Jesus." There were times I wondered if they (we) would make it. But not really. I mean, not in a major way. Over all they were a delight to raise. Never did I consider burying everything but their heads in the backyard and then spreading honey in their hair so that the ants would attack. (So don't ask me why I even thought of that. Really. It never entered my mind.)

I just talked to Christopher for about 45 minutes. He was driving home from work and decided to spend the time talking to his mom and dad. Can I just stop here for a minute and say ... wow. He could have had the stereo blasting in his Mustang. He could have called his lovely fiancee. He could have enjoyed the silence after a long day at work. But no. He chose to call his parents and check in. Do you know how that makes a parent feel? It makes us feel great. Like we really did some things right during those wonderful years of watching them grow into full fledged adults. Truth is, I talk to all of my kids at least every other day. Okay, sometimes I miss that goal. But not often. Talking to them is one of my favorite hobbies.

It's tough living away from these wonderful people. I knew when God relocated us to the Cleveland suburbs that this would be the hard part. And it is. But there is so much joy in knowing that there are 3 young adults out there that God blessed us with. I have no fears about how they will spend their tomorrows. All 3 of them fell in love with wonderful mates (or in Christopher's case, "almost mate.") This is what satisfaction feels like. It is a good feeling. It is one to sit back and enjoy. There was a day I worried about them if Debbie and I just went out to a movie, leaving them at home. But now? Now I know that they are world changers. They change the world for the better. And it isn't really something that should be charged to our credit. It is further evidence of the goodness of God.

Next week Christopher, Scott and I will be taking one last "single guy trip." Christopher will be getting married in October. Before Scott's wedding he and I went to a Yankee's game and an Orioles game. It was awesome. Christopher couldn't go because he was working "Centrifuge." He was busy telling teens about Jesus. But this trip will find all 3 of us skiing the Rockies. And I can't wait. When I took them skiing the first few times I could literally ski circles around them. No longer. They will make me look really sick. And you know what? I'll love every minute of it.

Kelli, Scott, Christopher (in that order in the pictures above) ... I love you. Thanks for making this dad a very proud and satisfied man.

Real People ... Real Prayers

My Apartment Is So Little That...

-My apartment is so little that I vacuum with a dust buster. (Seriously)
-My apartment is so little that I can hit the garbage disposal in the sink with my pizza crust while laying in bed. (I've done it.)
-My apartment is so little that the headboard of my bed is my old air mattress and it covers 1/3 the length of the wall.
-My apartment is so little that I can prop my feet up on my bed from either of my chairs OR from my two kitchen chairs.
-My apartment is so little that I can (and have) thrown a potato chip from my bed, out the patio door and off the balcony.
-My apartment is so little that I I have one heat duct.
-My apartment is so little that my total cabinet counter space is eight inches wide.
-My apartment is so little that my laptop's "hibernate" light illuminates the entire room
-My apartment is so little that the microwave sits on the burners of the stove.
-My apartment is so little that there is no kitchen cabinet big enough to hang a paper towel holder under.
-My apartment is so little that when you take a shower in the bathroom you have to crack the patio door open in the living room/bedroom/kitchen to clear the mirror.

Ten Reasons Why I Miss My Granddaughter, Elle

1. I miss her because when we see each other she hugs me, burying her head in my shoulder and not letting go for at least 5 minutes. I melt. Every time. She makes me feel like the only person in the world.

2. I miss her because she sings songs to me. Actually, she sings medley's that only she knows. Because she cannot sing one entire song she mixes as many as she wants and turns them into one beautiful solo.

3. I miss her because she lets me sit next to her on her potty chair and read to her while she pretends like she knows why she is there.

4. I miss her because she lets me crawl in her tunnel with her even though my shoulders are too big to really fit. She still meets me in the middle, laughs, and kisses me all over my face.

5. I miss her because she acts just like my daughter did when she was 20 months old and she was the first 20 month old that I ever was madly, crazy in love with.

6. I miss her because she sits on my lap and we read books. Sometimes we actually read the entire book before she turns a page prematurely.

7. I miss her because all I have to do to make her happy is to be there. She doesn't expect anything else. Just being there is enough for her.

8. I miss her because she defines "love."

9. I miss her because she thinks a laptop computer is named "Grandpa." She sees me on it's screen more than in real life.

10. I miss her because I'm not with her.

Bob Evans ... down in the farm

I have nothing to blog about. You think that's going to stop me? Has it ever? Quick answer: No. So why start now?

Well, Sunday has come and Sunday has gone. Almost. We flipped the switch on our new sound system at church today. Very cool. Last week people were complaining that they could not hear. This week? It's too loud. I would not be a "sound guy" for any amount of money. Okay, that's not true. I could be a sound man mercenary very easily. But no one seems anxious to pay me to do it. That's for the best. I have no idea what all of those little knobs are for.

Debbie and I came back to the apartment bringing our fast food lunch in tow. Mid way through the afternoon she decided to make me cookies. (She's the best.) Well, being a nearly 4 month resident of this apartment never required me to turn the oven on. She was the first. Evidently whoever lived here last, or whoever cleaned the apartment before we moved in, decided to clean the oven. And they must have used one of those canned over cleaner chemical things. This is not good news for an asthmatic. Within 5 minutes the smoke alarm was going off. Within half an hour she was not breathing too well. (Too good? Whatever.) She limped her way through church tonight while taking a nebulizer treatment. Then we went to my favorite biscuits and gravy place, Bob Evans. (He's not really down on the farm. He's down IN the farm. stone cold ... dead. But the biscuits are still good.) After woofing down supper we came back to the apartment. I was very hesitant. I entered first and, smelling nothing peculiar, allowed her in. She was really struggling. As we were pulling into the parking garage I had noticed that it was lightening out over Lake Erie. So I opened the patio door about a foot and proceeded to get Debbie as comfortable as possible, propped up in her favorite $59.99 chair. (Sarcasm ... just one of our many services. And, by the way, her chair was not outside the door. It just sounded that way.) I went back and sat by the door as the storm rolled in. Lightening flashed, thunder rolled, rain came in buckets and, best of all, the wind blew. It blew refreshing cool, clean breezes into our little cozy home. It cleaned our air. Debbie is breathing easier now. She is relaxing. Soon she'll be asleep. Tomorrow morning she has to be at work at 7:00 AM. I have prayed over her and trust that God will refresh her and give her all the strength and energy she needs to tackle 8 hours at the Marriott.

God is good.

An Open Letter To My Wife On Valentines Day

February 14, 2008


Dear Debbie,

How in the world do I ever begin to write a letter to tell you how much you mean to me? It is impossible. I cannot begin to do justice to it. God has not created words strong enough, lofty enough, pure enough, for me to begin to tell you what I think and what I feel every time you come to my mind.

We began our lives together as “one” over thirty years ago. I suppose that I very much took you for granted in those days. We were young. Life was full. We had not yet been exposed to the difficulties, the trials, the raw pain that life has to offer. And so we ran through the days with a sort of bliss that is reserved for the young and the in love. And it was good! Our first studio apartment experience was a amazing, wasn’t it! It was our love nest and we were so proud of it. We invited friends over as though we lived in the Taj Mahal! True, we paid the wrong landlord for six months before we found out we were being schnuckered by a crook. But it was not our fault and we moved along and continued life

Tonight, quite unexpectedly, we find ourselves in our second studio apartment. The view is better. The landlord more honest. The heat and the air conditioning actually work! And when we lay down at night, when the lights are turned off, when I hear the gentle sound of your slumber next to me, all is right with the world.

It was “The Days Between The Studio Apartments” that were interesting. They went by so quickly that it is easy to dismiss them, to take them for granted, to forget the complexity and challenge that they brought to our lives.

We produced three incredible children. Our pride in each of them runs deeply and with good cause. They are wonderful people, Debbie. They love God and they serve Him. I know that there were moments when we truly wondered if they would make it. But they did. All three of them. And they are something to behold. When our kids-in-law are added to the mix, along with little Elle, our quiver is full. We are so blessed.

We have served God in five churches, going from Chicago to St. Louis and now Cleveland. Sometimes we have felt loved, sometimes we have felt betrayed, sometimes we have felt ignored. But through every minute of it Jesus Himself has walked by our side. I see no reason to think that He is going to stop now. I know that these days are difficult. You are struggling to find your way down a new career path. We are coming to know and love people in a new church. We live in 360 square feet while we own 1,900 square feet that sits empty and for sale in Illinois. Not all of it makes sense, does it? (Am I the only one confused?!) But we are walking in the imprints of sandaled feet. The Rabbi is leading the way. He is not confused. That honor is reserved for us! But we both know that all we have to do is stay on His path and all will be well.

So this brief letter is to say thank you, my dear bride. Thank you for the wisdom you give, the joy you bring, the thousands of meals you have prepared, the tens of thousands of dishes washed, the shirts ironed, the floors scrubbed, the diapers changed, the tears shed, the prayers prayed, the dreams pursued, the tragedies averted, the tragedies suffered. Thank you for rubbing my back, for kissing my lips, for holding my hand, for wiping my tears, for the wink of an eye, the caress of a cheek, the look deep in your eyes that tells me you would rather be by my side than any place else in the world.

Thank you for loving me. Thank you for giving me the courage to be a man when it would have been much easier to have been a mouse. Thank you for praying for me. Thank you for whispering to me. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for knowing me better than I know myself. Thank you for being my eyes when I was too tired or too sick to see straight. Thank you for standing up for me when I was not wise enough or sure enough to stand up for myself.

“Thank you” are two small words that are almost too tiny to matter. So allow me to add three more.

I love you.

Eternity with you will not be long enough,
Ron

Oh what a difference 3 days make

I always assumed that if Lake Erie froze over this winter it would begin at the shore line and work its way out. Hey, what do I know? Well, now I know I was wrong. In 3 days it transitioned from the gentle sounds of waves lapping against the shore in to Siberia II. All we need are a few polar bears.

This is getting ridiculous

I think I've figured it out. I'm dead and they just forgot to tell me to lie down.

My nice new doctor just called with the latest test result. Yup. I've got the flu. Yippee. So I've been crunching the latest data. Here's what I've come up with.

Pneumonia + Influenza = Me.

I am pneumonia. I am influenza. They have taken over my being and I have morphed into them. This concerns me. Once the meds knock them out I may cease to exist. If so I promise to stop blogging so many times in one day.

Me ... if I were furrier

P-n-e-u-m-o-n-i-a?

"Every year, more than 60,000 Americans die of pneumonia —" That's the way the Mayo Clinic web site begins their dissertation into the wonderful world in pneumonia ... a world that I just found out that I inhabit.

For those of you who encouraged me yesterday to go to the doctor ... thanks for helping to keep me out of the 60,000! A cheery little nurse just called to tell me that the lower half of my right lung was infected and that I need to take the prescribed medications and stay in bed. (I knew there had to be an upside to this thing.) I was scheduled to speak tomorrow evening at our youth ministries "True Love Waits" retreat. The nurse nixed that. I can only speak once on Sunday and must keep it brief. (I'm betting she threw that in just for laughs.) Then I have to come back home and go to bed. Again.

How do you get pneumonia anyway? And what is that "p" doing out in front there? Oh. It's doing what I am doing. NOTHING.

Ron ... OUT

I surrender

For all of you who left a comment, narced on me to my daughter, or sent me an e-mail expressing concerns ... you win. I'm putting away my manly tendencies. I have a chest x-ray and some other dumb test lined-up this evening. And they prescribed enough medication to cure a small African village.

Seriously. Thanks for the encouragement and wise counsel. Sometimes the sick one is the last one to see it.

I Was Wrong (CAUTION: Whine Alert!)

I know what I said in my last blog but I was wrong. I think I AM dying. I seldom get sick but boy I did it this time. I don't just cough. I start with a cough and it rooooolls into this huge, gut wrenching series of coughs that won't quit until there is no air left in my lungs to propel it any longer. My ribs feel like they have been donkey-kicked ... from the inside. My back ... let's not even talk about that.

My only real concern is that Debbie might get this ginormous germ. I don't know what it would do with her asthmatic situation. On the plus side she hasn't had one asthma event since arriving in Ohio. This is a, "Thank you, God!" I'm actually hoping that I don't have a cold. I'm hoping I have the flu. Because she got a flu shot. So maybe she'll dance past this one with no issues.

I have not gone to the office since Tuesday morning. I missed church last night and will, no doubt, miss our Church Council meeting tonight. These poor people are probably wondering if they really called a pastor or not. Thank God for those who fill in when pastor's can't pastor.

Okay, that's all I got in me. Please pray that Debbie stays healthy. That would mean a lot to me.

There is not such thing as a "good cold"

I'm not dying. I just feel like I am. It's called "A Bad Cold." What a dumb name. Have you ever heard anybody say, "I have a good cold?" Me neither. I had an appointment today with my new doctor. Her name is Dr. Wu. (I resist the urge to say, "Wu who?" She holds my life in her hands.) She noticed my BAD cold. I mentioned that i am trying to keep from passing it to Debbie. Her violent asthma attacks would just love to get a hold of this bug. The doc suggested we sleep in separate rooms for now. Great idea. Maybe we can just hang a sheet down the middle of our one room and hose it down with Lysol.

So in celebration of what feels like the end of my life but in reality is just my coughing up two lungs and anything else that connects to them ... here is a picture of today's lake. It's out there ... somewhere.

Sad

You've probably read about the shooting that took place yesterday in Tinley Park, Illinois. Tinley is a suburb of Chicago on the southwestern side of the city. It is also the town I grew up in. The murders took place in a strip mall that did not exist when I lived there. That side of town was all corn. It was about one mile from my house and maybe half a mile to my church. I graduated from Tinley Park High School. One of my "serious" girlfriends was from Tinley. My family lived in two houses there during my parents 22 year stay there. My wife and I lived in 3 different apartments there during our first years of marriage. When I think of the words "home town" that is the place that comes to mind. Sure, I call myself a "Chicagoan." But that was merely the identity of the region. For all practical purposes I learned to live, love, and laugh in Tinley Park. I came to know Jesus as my Savior in that church just blocks from the site of the shootings.

Tinley Park is a great town. Actually, less than two years ago I was asked to return there and pastor the church I grew up in. It was tempting to say "yes" simply because it would be like ... you know ... going back. It would be like giving something to the place that gave so much to me. I said "no." It just was not God's direction for me. I would have been happy to relocate there if He had let me. He didn't.

But I love that town. I seldom go back but only because I really don't know anybody there anymore. But when I do make the occasional trip through the village streets it feels like home. And knowing what took place there makes me sad in a way that I really cannot explain. Tinley Park is generally a peaceful place. It was a great place to grow up. The people are friendly and the town cares about the way it looks. It takes a sense of pride in its identity. And that identity has been violated. They have been added to the ever growing list of communities that are linked together by the tragedy of mass murder. And it just isn't right.

My last few years as a "single guy" i use to run the streets and sidewalks of Tinley Park late at night. My route would end at 179th and Harlem Ave. The shootings occurred at 191st and Harlem Avenue. That's 12 blocks from where I turned around. The streets I would run were tree lined and the homes were ... and are ... filled with young families that are living the American dream. Events like the one that transpired yesterday make me wonder what the American dream really is. I mean, evil is attacking it on every side. I do not think that the dream is a myth. I do think that it is being attacked from a deadly enemy that would happily destroy us all. This reinforces my belief that the only safe place to be is in the Holy Hand of our Heavenly Father. Anyplace else is very, very dangerous indeed.

I am sad for my hometown tonight. I am sad for our country. Sad for our way of life. I hope they catch the guy who did this horrible deed. But there are more like him. And they will continue to surface and carry out the will of our enemy, Satan.

There is but one hope. And His name is Jesus. And it is my sincere prayer that He is working overtime in Tinley Park tonight. It's a great town. It doesn't deserve this pain. But then ... who does?

Buy my house

That's all. Buy my house. Pretty please.

Thank you.

Sticking With The "S" Towns

Now I know why it is taking Jesus so long to come back for His bride. Not even He could get through security without a hassle.

Cleveland airport. One more time. Flying home to get my bride. She's ready. She's packed. She's quit her job. The car is full of gas. My flight leaves (theoretically) in fifty minutes. Of course, it's snowing in St. Louis. Heavily. I just looked at the jets outside the window and they all have 3 sets of landing gear. I have no idea how long the runway is. But it occurs to me that the jet I leave Cleveland in might just decide to put down in ... oh ... Memphis or some city like that. No way I could luck out and get diverted to San Diego or Seattle. (I'm trying really hard to stick with cities that begin with "S" so as not to presume I could even possibly wind up in ... Joplin. *Shudder*)

I am being the responsible husband. I won't let Debbie drive from St. Louis to Cleveland in my rear wheel drive Mustang without me. God has assigned me the task of being protector and defender. So it's time to take to the air.

No snow. No snow. No snow. No snow ...

San Diego. San Diego. San Diego ...

Choose one of the above and stay tuned.

T - 1 ... and counting

One more day. We can do this. After one more day passes I'll be flying to St. Louis, meeting Debbie, and after 24 hours she and I will be leaving town in Emma the Mustang. T-O-G-E-T-H-E-R. Finally. At long last. My quaint (I'm being kind) little apartment is about to take on new life. My awesome bride is moving in with me again. I cannot wait.

I was looking at my calendar yesterday and noticed something interesting. I moved on November 4th, 2007. I'll fly back to get her on January 31. That is 88 days. But along the way God blessed us beyond anything we dreamed of. During those 88 days Debbie and I were able to spend at least part of 44 of them together. That is 50%. Half. Honestly, it doesn't feel that way because it wasn't like ... every other day. The days came in clumps. But still. How remarkable is that? How good our God has been to us!

And so I've cleaned and arranged and grocery shopped and have everything as ready as I can make it. Because my bride is coming home. I know it is really hard on her right now. This is a tough week full of "good bye's" and "I've enjoyed working with you for 15 years" kind of conversations. I wish I could take the pain of that away for her. I went through it. I go through it every time I go back to St. Louis for a few days. Leaving is so hard. But yes, the first time is the hardest. And so I want to be there for her. And I want God to pave the way for her. But it is going to hurt. You don't live somewhere for 25 years and walk away without feeling something.

But the future is here in this place. And I am so glad. The people are wonderful. The church God has blessed us with is going to GROW. I can see it beginning. And I cannot wait to see what His plans really are.

T minus 1 day. My bride is coming home.

Yessssssss.

A stunted blog

I have noticed lately that all of my blogging friends write very short blogs. I tend to write very long blogs. Perhaps I just talk too much. Or I have more to say than they do (which makes me smarter.) But, most likely, I just like to write more than they do.

Tonight ... a short blog.

If you have not gone to our churches new web site yet ... do. You will find it at www.firstbaptistsheffieldlake.org. It's pretty good for being less than one week old. Kudo's to Tim and Pam for doing such a great job. I just provide the content and they provide the talent and the flash.

That's it. That's my blog.

Say goodnight, Gracie.

Goodnight, Gracie. (If you are too young to understand that ... google it.)

p.s. Here's tonight Lake Erie "ice update."