I've Been Bad

-Debbie is preparing to leave town for a long weekend in Wisconsin. I have made plans. 'Nuff said.

-I scared the Orkin Man today. He was at my neighbors. I told him about my snake-in-the-house. He didn't like my story. I pointed out a hole in the ground. He walked away. Said he doesn't do snakes.

-I didn't have a quiet time today. Well. That's not exactly true. I did have. But I fell asleep. Totally fell asleep on God. I don't think He was mad but I feel naughty.

-I watched one of those crime scene shows tonight. When the bad guy did what he did I realized that there are people that I'd enjoy doing that to.

-I ignored a voice mail that I got three days ago and I didn't feel guilty about it.

-I got my dad's old rifle back from a friend who has been keeping it for me since I moved to Ohio in 2007. It's stored directly under me right now as I lay here in bed. It's all scoped up and with enough ammunition to change the map of Europe.

I tell you ... I'm a wild man on a rampage.

Sometimes Screaming Like A Little Girl Is Appropriate

I hate spinach. I detest humidity. I cannot stand the opera. But today I found something that I hate worse than all of those put together.

I hate finding a snake in my house.

I had been sitting in my "man cave" putting the finishing touches on my Sunday morning sermon when Debbie came home. She wanted some help in her office area so I made my way into the main part of our downstairs. Our home has a finished walk-out basement with wooden floors. Our backyard borders a creek that is surrounded by trees and brush. It's a nice setting. I was helping her print something when I glanced down the hall toward her sewing room and an unfinished storage room. There was a long twig on the floor. I didn't have my glasses on but I thought I saw it move. Twigs generally do not move. So I walked over to see this marvel and the twig turned and looked at me. Then it stuck its tongue out at me.

Oh.

I resisted the desire to scream like a little girl and wet myself. That was for the best because Debbie needed to scream. If we had both screamed, well, we might just have sold the house for five bucks and moved to Ireland where there are no snakes. She handed me a small oval trash can and suggested I put it over the snake. I knew it was too small and I didn't want to scare it and give it a reason to run (slither) and then we'd live for who knows how long wondering where it was. I thought about "manning up" and just grabbing the snake and taking it outside. Then I realized that I had no earthly idea what kind of snake this was (still not quite sure) and I'm not exactly adept at snake handling. I'm not that kind of Baptist. But this snake must die. Now. So I ran into the grandkids playroom where I knew there was an empty box. By the time I got back (like .... 10 seconds?) she had put the trash can over half of the snake.

Let me just take a moment to say ... Impressive. She might have screamed but she didn't run away! She actually went after the sucker. She did it while screaming but she did it. I put the box over the trash can and the remainder of the snake, pressed really hard on it and slid it to the patio door. Then I slid it onto a rug and out the door. Next I introduced the snake to the neighbors shovel that was sitting outside. His final resting place is in the creek from whence he came.

We are walking carefully tonight. Yes, I did look under the covers before I climbed into bed where I am currently pounding on my laptop while my half-a-snake-trapping wife snoozes beside me. (I "high 5'd" her before bed time and told her that, while it wasn't fun, we do have the satisfaction of knowing that the score is Ron & Debbie 1 - Snakes 0.) The next time I have a free day a tube of high grade caulking and I will be making a close inspection of the entire outside of the house. And I suspect a good friend who works for Orkin will be hearing from me as well. If that doesn't work I'll be burning the entire lawn and setting up a machine gun nest with a clear line of fire all the way to the creek.

There was a reason I never went to see "Snakes On A Plane."

House Fly's And God

Do you ever wish that God had a web site? I know that the Bible is not kidding when it says that He is with us always. He dwells in us. We can go to Him anytime with anything. He loves us and He cares about all of the issues of our lives. I buy into that 100%. The problem is not in whether or not God is really present in me and available to me. The problem is in our (my) ability to hear Him when He speaks. And not simply hear Him but understand His Heart. I want to know more than the syllables He would speak into my soul. I want so deeply to understand His intent ... I want to "get" everything He wants me to "get." I don't want to drop the ball on Him. Not even one time. It just isn't acceptable. God is much more forgiving of me than I am of myself. When I blow it He still loves me and forgiveness is total. I, on the other hand, want to smack myself around the block a few times and punish myself for getting it wrong. Even if I didn't mean to get it wrong. (Don't misunderstand. I am perfectly capable of disobeying on purpose. But I want to disobey on purpose less and less these days. I really do want to please Him.)

I was just surfing through Sprint.com a few minutes ago. I wanted to check out a few things on my cell phone package. It's a pretty easily navigable web site. Lot's of drop-down menu's. Your personal information is available at the click-of-a-mouse once you've punched in the appropriate password and user name. It took less than five minutes to find out everything that I wanted to know, log out, and move on to the next on-line task.

And it all just reminds me of the way I spent my day today. I've been feeling a little spiritually malnourished lately. Pastor's tend to feed other's several times each week. It's part of the calling. It is as it should be. But the very nature of what we do makes it difficult to get spiritually fed yourself. When others are teaching God's Word, so are you. So you can't exactly sit under their teaching and "eat." If you are not careful it won't take long until you realize you've allowed your spiritual reserves to run a bit low. I try to be diligent to defeat this by listening to tons of sermons on podcasts, video casts, and I read more books than I could begin to list. But still, I've been feeling the need for more. If I'm going to feed others I have to be certain to eat enough myself.

It's kind of like when you get on an airplane and the flight attendants are doing their thing, telling you what to do in case of an emergency. At one point they tell you that in the unlikely event of cabin depressurization, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling above. Put one over your face, pull on the rubber tubing and air will flow. Then they make it a point of saying that if you are traveling with a small child you should put YOUR oxygen mask on before putting theirs on them. That is quite counter-intuitive for parents. We want to take care of the kids, make sure they are breathing, and then we'll take care of ourselves. But the truth is, before you can get their mask on you might well pass out from lack of oxygen and then everybody is in trouble. You have to have air before you can give air.

A teacher has to be faithful to learn before he can teach others or he will soon run out of, well, not just stuff to teach but the spiritual energy with which to teach it.

So I've decided to dedicate one day each week for a while to seeking God through prayer, bible study, silence, and solitude. I don't know how long I'll do that but for now I believe it is what God is telling me to do. I want to feed others well. So I have to eat. I work hard to get my regular office duties/outreach/in-reach/sermon preparation/bible study preparation/visits/ meetings/ counseling sessions/ etc. into four days so that I can dedicate one to being totally available to whatever God wants to say to me.

That is what I did today. It's been a while since I've given myself this assignment and you know what? It's harder than I remembered. MUCH harder. It's hard in the getting still. It's hard in the getting quiet. It's hard in the knowing what God wants to feed me from His Word. It's hard in the knowing what devotional materials will do me the most good. In the middle of the silence a mere house fly can tear my mind from the creator of the universe. What a shame to have to choose between a house fly and God only to find that God loses.

With God there is no web address. There are no drop-down menus. There are no pass words or user names. There are no "company representatives" to click a button and "chat" with if you need help. (Wouldn't it be cool to punch "chat" and get some clarification from Peter or maybe one of the Archangels? You don't suppose God would outsource ... nah ...) It would be a whole lot easier if there were. But there is just you ... and God. And He has the upper hand. The room can get small. The silence can get stifling. The words on the page can begin to look like a size 3 font. But you do what you have to do. Because not to do it ... unacceptable.

Eat or die.

10 Things That I Think Makes Me Abnormal

1 - My "sleep number" is usually 100. Unless I'm really, really tired. Then I slip down as low as 80. I've never met another 100 before.

2 - I really don't care for breakfast or lunch but I can mow down an entire bag of "Baked BBQ Lays" in minutes.

3 - I would rather have a really good double cheeseburger (extra gooey) than a really good steak.

4 - God seems to speak to me most clearly when i'm walking. Not like ... to the garage. I mean walking like hiking.

5 - The older I get the less I like mornings. I have noticed that, in most people, the older they get the earlier they rise.

6 - I would much rather drive at night than in the daytime.

7 - I am not a fan of Christmas.

8 - I find no satisfaction in the mowing of a lawn. I find frustration. It's the same every time and it never stays done.

9 - When I can't sleep at night because my mind is too busy I think about being a truck driver getting in the cab to make a long haul. If that doesn't work I think about cruising underneath a hurricane in my own submarine. Yes, really.

10 - Every time I go into Wal-Mart everybody I see looks like they are from Arkansas. Even me. Seriously, I checked a mirror.

BONUS #11 - The one time in life that I feel most complete and in sync is when I am doing my pastor thing behind a podium.

Snippets that need to be snipped

-I would like to take the opportunity to thank the Chicago Cubs for folding in April this year. It will save me a lot of heart ache when September arrives.

-I would like to thank the Cleveland Cavaliers for giving my "Great North Coast" friends something to cheer for. Cleveland is not a horrible city. It isn't a world class city but neither is St. Louis. That's reserved for the greats like Chicago, New York, Los Angeles, etc. It is a city with a reputation to over come. Honestly, it pretty much did it to itself. When you dump cars in your biggest tourist attraction, Lake Erie, because you can't figure out what else to do with them, well it's going to come back and bite you sooner or later. So my Cleveland friends need something to cheer for. The Cav's are top seed and could well get the ring. I'm pulling for them!

-Debbie did her best to choke to death on pudding this evening. It had a few stray apples in it. She managed to lodge one in her trachea. Fortunately, she dislodged it before I could get in the room and make it worse.

-A wonderful young 7 year old called me this evening and asked if I would baptize him this Sunday. ABSOLUTELY! It made my day!

-My "cough from &%^$*" has returned and so I'm sucking up the codeine cough syrup again. It makes me feel like I'm on drugs. Oh. Wait. I am.

-I'm trying to devise a great vacation plan for my lovely bride and I for late this summer or early fall. I promised she would either dip her toes back in an ocean, set her feet on the top of a mountain, or walk the streets of a new (to her) city before the year is out. I have no idea at all where to take her. Ever since I orchestrated "The Great Debbie Woods Mystery Ramble, 2005" we have decided on our vacation destinations together. Maybe it's time for another mystery ramble. Mail suggestions to www.churchaintforsissies@yahoo.com. I won't give you credit if I choose your suggestion (I want it for myself!) but you'll have the personal satisfaction of a job well done. Isn't that worth something?

-"Five Guys" is building a restaurant 1.5 miles from my home. I must increase my work-out regime to prepare for the onslaught of calories.

-My niece Katie asked me to go spelunking with her this summer. I am SO in. I think she may want to get me alone so she can kill me. It's a risk I'm wiling to take. Do bats eat human flesh?

His Eye is on the sparrow. Mine wasn't.

I mowed a sparrow last week. I've got this steep hill that runs from the side of my house into the backyard. I had the old Lawn Boy on full throttle and set for "self-propelled." She was just knocking down blades of grass and having a great time. My job? Just guide her along. Just drive. But you know how it is. I was doing what I always do when I'm driving. I was texting with Oprah. And that's why I missed seeing it. I'm pretty certain it was alive before I got there. I"m 100% certain it was not alive when I left. It was just kind of ... laying there. Both halves.

Bird decapitation. What a horrible way to go. Quick but horrible. Fortunately I don't rake because that would have been just ... gross.

Okay, so there is no spiritual application to this little essay. I mean, you can dwell on whether or not God gets out His eraser and reduces the number of sparrows by one when something like this happens. I prefer to think He uses a heavenly spread sheet that updates itself automatically. In reality I think He just ... knows.

But the bottom line is that I have a gnarly mower, a messy lawn, and a not even slightly guilty conscience. And the sparrow population is down.

Be glad it wasn't a Bald Eagle. Pretty sure the government wild life people would not be as forgiving as God is.

FYI:

Not this kind of Sparrow.


This kind of Sparrow.

I use to talk good but I got over it

I've lost my voice. I've looked behind the couch. In the garage. Under the bed. No voice. It's gone. It first turned up missing the day before Easter when I had to do a lot of yelling (the good kind) at our church at an Easter Egg Hunt. But it came back. It's gone back and forth a few times since then. But after speaking yesterday morning it really went away. It faded back into range a bit for the evening service but afterward it went AWOL and hasn't been seen since.

So today I got up with specific directions to call my doctor. I do not like doctors. If my spleen is hanging out I agree it's probably time to go but my spleen is fine thank you. Still, I enjoy marriage and after living alone in Cleveland for all too long I've learned that I'm not the "single sort." So when my wife tells me to call the doctor I reach for the phone.

Here's an interesting question. When you have no voice ... and I do mean NO voice ... how do you tell the nice lady on the phone at the doctor's office what's wrong? It was an interesting conversation. It went something like ...

Doctor's Office - Hello.
Me - (gravely exhale)
D.O. - Hello?
Me - (hack/cough/whisper)
D.O. - Is anybody there?
Me - (sigh)
D.O. - Look. If you need something please tell me because I don't have time for ... games.
Me - (deep breath)
D.O. - Last chance wise guy.
Me - (mustering up all my strength to keep from coughing) I hhhaaaave nnnO vooweece.
D.O. - You Hab no Boice?
Me - (sigh) (long drink of water) Right. I have no voice.

It was not pretty. After a long struggle I convinced them that my throat doesn't hurt, I don't have a fever, I do have a cough, I do not have the ability to talk. So it's no big deal. If it's still like this in a week I'll call you back.

Nope. They weren't buying it. Either they want to actually meet their real live, heavy breathing, obscene phone caller or they were telling me the truth when they said I need to get there ASAP. Seems that something similar is going around and if you don't get treated quickly it can last 8 - 12 weeks.

Aww, crap. That's not what I want to hear. So tomorrow I get to go see my doctor who, it seems, just got back from Haiti. That's cool of her. Unless she's raised her rates to pay for her trip. When I get there I suppose either the police will be waiting or they'll stick one of those awful cotton stick down my throat, swab it around, and tell me I'm days from death.

So this may be my last blog. If it is, I hope you've enjoyed our time together. If it's not please ... a cake ... with a file baked inside of it ... would be greatly appreciated.

We Are Proof

37 years ago tonight I took her out on a date. Our first date. The first of hundreds. She was a cute little blonde girl. She still is. She had been dating this guy that wasn't really working out too well. That's another story. My mistake is that I told her previous boyfriend that I would never date her because "she is too immature." That was on a Sunday night. On Wednesday night she slapped me. She slapped me right in church. And she told me that was for calling her immature. I figure she had just proven my point. However, I do like me some spunk. So the next night, Thursday, I invited her out on a date for Saturday night. April 14, 1973.

She said yes.

For her "Yes" she got a bad movie and greasy pizza. I mean seriously greasy. I chose the place because ... well ... because I was her youth pastor. It wasn't a paying gig and I was just a teenager myself so no serious laws were being violated. This particular pizza restaurant did not serve alcohol and I thought, as her youth pastor turned date, that might be a good selling point toward getting her to hang out with me for a while. Turned out not only didn't they serve booze, they also didn't serve good pizza. They did serve grease. Enough to run down the sleeve of her white blouse. Somehow she decided the evening was not an entire waste and neither of us ever dated anybody else ever again. (Unless she's lying to me. And I don't think she's got lying in her.)

While the date ended life together was just beginning. During those 37 years we have produced 3 children (who themselves have produced for us approximately 2.4 grandchildren,) we have shared 4 dogs, way too many fish, a couple of renegade birds, more rented apartments than I can count, 2 purchased houses, and among others, a bright orange Pinto that almost killed me. (It was a wedding gift from her parents. I'm pretty sure it was their attempt at getting their little girl back.) We have served 6 churches, discipled hundreds if not thousands of kids, learned to argue and make-up, and murdered a couple of hamsters.

I take her to better pizza places now too.

I love her more today than I ever have in our lives. We are proof to anybody who is interested in asking that a man and a woman really can love each other even if they are fighting. We are proof that both of us can be wrong at the same time. We are proof that a beautiful girl and an ugly guy can have great looking kids. We are proof that the smarter spouse should balance the check book and the dumber spouse should mow the lawn. We are proof that gentle touch is better than anything to a hurting heart. We are proof that a morning person does not have to murder a night person. We are proof that the guy can be the better driver even though the girl has never had a ticket (though this one is still being hotly contested.) We are proof that passion is best expressed through selfless caring than in any other form. We are proof that best friends can get married and make it work. We are proof that an act of violence may be a great way to begin a relationship.

We are going to find out that we are proof of things that we don't even know we are proof of yet. 37 years isn't long enough to have it all figured it out. But it is long enough to know that neither of us would trade our worst day together for our best day apart.



We even plan on going to space together to celebrate our 50th year of marriage in just 18 more years!

Raising the level of risk...

I was enjoying one of my favorite television stations a few minutes ago. I'm a "Weather Channel" addict. I'm not sure why. It's just that when I turn over there I usually know what I'm going to get. I'm going to get the weather. No surprises. No big shock. The Weather Channel exists to forecast the weather. But today they decided to mess with my mind. They were doing this special program about what would happen if a major tornado struck at the heart of downtown St. Louis during a Cardinal's game. Oh boy, it was not pretty. Now to know me is to understand that I'm a Cub fan. But not even a Cub fan wants a tornado to hit Busch Stadium during a ball game. Not even if the Mets are in town. I mean, come on. It's baseball. We love it and we love to argue about it. But at the end of the day we all go to sleep on the same planet and enjoy the same gentle breezes. Nobody would wish that kind of carnage on anybody. As a matter-of-fact if I knew a tornado was moving toward the ball park during a crowded Cardinals / Mets game I would most certainly make the phone call to report it and try to divert utter disaster.

So why is it that we live right here in the wonderful St Louis metropolitan area and another type of horror is taking place every day and yet we do so little? I mean, I hate to sound like "a preacher" or something but I have neighbors who really are rushing headlong into disaster and all too often I find a good excuse to ignore it, turn my head, and occupy myself with other things. Have you thought about what would happen if somebody you see every day at work or at Starbucks or maybe even over the backyard fence were to suddenly meet up with their own disaster and enter eternity without knowing Jesus? The thought of what it would be like for them is unimaginable! We are quite happy to take a meal over after they have been sick or have had surgery. We might mow their lawn when they are on vacation. Possibly could feed their pets too. But so many of them stand on the verge of losing everything. E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. Forever.

I'm not writing this to make you feel lousy. I'm writing this to remind myself that God has given me an opportunity today that I will never have again. And I need to take a risk. I need to step up to the plate and gently, lovingly, offer to share what I know with them. God loves them. He loves them just as much as He loves me. And I am convinced that He loves me a lot. So please, take the chance. Odds are strong that they won't mind. You don't have to drop everything on them at once. Just start loving them toward the Kingdom. I am fully convinced that God will tell you when it is time to take each step in the process.

Hey, just a Saturday night thought.

Paisley's First Crawl ... She gets by with a little help from her friends

This is how people in our family tell you they are pregnant...

Can't wait to meet you,

Because He Loves Us

How can your heart not be moved? How can your life not be impacted? When I think of the sacrifice made by Jesus on this most incredible day all I can do is shake my head and say, "No way. No way." To think that God in the flesh would, of His own free will, walk this dirty, grimy planet is hard enough. But to think of Him walking voluntarily all the way to the cross is just more than my mind can conceive of. Only God could come up with a plan like that. It was a plan to redeem the human race. To purchase us back from the horrible consequences of sin. He didn't take a short cut and He didn't chicken out. He did it. He hung on that cross, heart broken, bruised, beaten, flesh torn, nails in His hands and feet. And He did it all on purpose.

Because He loves us.

Only God.

I don't know what your response is to that kind of love today. But how can we even consider doing anything short of saying, "Jesus, I'll follow You anywhere. I'll do anything You ask me to do. I'm Your man, Jesus. Put me in the game. Point the direction and I'll walk in it. Put somebody in my path and I will love them like You have loved me. No holds barred. Say the word."

Good Friday is more than simply "good." It is life changing. Life saving. It means literally everything to the Christ-follower.

I hope you are planning on stepping onto a church campus this coming Sunday. Celebrate Easter the way it should be celebrated. And one more thing. Pray. Take some time today and tomorrow and ask God to show up and bring Himself glory this coming Sunday. You might even say a humble, "Thanks, God, for all You've done." He knows your heart but He loves to hear your words.

All of this. For one reason. Because He loves us.

Congratulations, Master Sergeant Page

Today I got to do something really cool. I got to honor a great friend. His name is Adam and he is in the United States Air Force. Adam was being promoted to the rank of Master Sergeant. This is a VERY big deal. And I was thrilled to be asked by his wife to attend the ceremony where he would be "pinned" with his new stripe. And so at 3:30 this afternoon I found myself in a large room at Scott Air Force Base surrounded by many men and women wearing either camo's or dress blues. Impressive.

They have this odd tradition in the USAF. When it's your turn to get "pinned" you step forward, have your picture taken with somebody that out-ranks ... Okay, not God but certainly Elijah. (He's the only other biblical figure I can think of who "flew away.") They read a brief bio about you including your hopes, dreams, and aspirations. And then you take a step forward and two people you have selected "pin you" by placing your new insignia on your sleeves (with a sticky substance on it's back) and then they stick it to you by POUNDING you on the arm. Some of the guys that got pinned also got rocked pretty hard. But Adam is a great family man and also a very, very smart man. He chose his petite wife and two small daughters to pin him. So while everybody "oooh'd and aaaah'd" Adam barely felt the brutal attack. And, at the same time, he honored his family. (Nice job, Adam! It's a double-win for you!)

It was all very moving and a great tribute to the men and women that protect our country. Adam does far more than that. He's a husband who loves his wife deeply. It shows. He's a father that would die for his kids. Again ... it shows. He's a friend that would sacrifice for those he loves. And I'm very honored to be one of those friends, as well as his pastor. Which brings me to the best part of Adam. He unashamedly loves his Lord, Jesus Christ. I've heard his testimony of faith. It rocked my world.

Congratulations, Adam. I'm proud of you. Proud to be your friend. Proud to be your pastor. And I'm very grateful for you and your friends that make the Air Force what it is today. Rock solid.

Carry-on, Sarge.

A sock hat + a duffle bag (does not) = DUCK!

It's easy to over use the phrase "We live in strange times." But the truth is ... we live in strange times.

During our morning worship service this morning things were going quite well. The "felt" presence of God was in the building. The worship (aka: singing) was vibrant and moving. The crowd was sizable. The pre-message video actually received a round of applause. And the pastor, well he was just "off the hook." The guy was on fire! He was bringing fresh bread!

Okay, he was me. And I'm probably over stating the pastor part just a little bit.

But about mid-sermon the door of the worship center opened and a man walked in. He was dressed strangely A bit like a homeless person, wearing some odd sort of a sock hat and carrying a duffel bag of sorts. I never got a good look at it. He walked to about the fifth pew from the rear and made himself at home on the aisle of the far right side of the church.

You know, when you are speaking the Word of God you really should pay close attention to what you are saying. I mean, you should be listening hard to hear the Voice of The Holy Spirit. You should be sticking to your notes unless prompted by God to do otherwise. You should NOT be looking at the oddities of those in the congregation.

But a duffle bag? Or a back pack?

I admit that it got my attention. It's only been slightly over a year since a friend of mine was murdered in the pulpit as he spoke on a Sunday morning by a man who came in late. It is, admittedly, hard to forget about that. Since that event we have established a "Security Team" that operates invisibly. We don't talk about them around church at all. But there are ways I can cause them to swing into action without anybody knowing that I have done so. It was obvious that the team was already paying attention. That told me that my job was to NOT pay attention to the man. My job was to go about the task of speaking God's Word.

He seemed to listen closely to everything I said. He fidgeted a little bit but so do the deacons. That's not exactly a sign of anything. It took me all of sixty seconds to realize that this was God's place and God's deal. And at that point I intentionally stopped looking at him and focused on "hearing" and "speaking." And yes, for those who have already asked, I did close my eyes when I led in prayer before the end of the service.

You know what was amazing? Following the message we began singing. This unknown man raised his hands toward the heavens, closed his eyes, and sang full throttle. He was obviously lost in the moment. Worshipping God. Seeking His presence. I felt really stupid.

It's a shame when you have a stranger visit your church, even a "strange stranger," and you don't know whether to turn them in or to welcome them with open arms. I think the truth is that we have a directive from our Father to forget the former and do the latter. After you've done all you can do it is imperative that you lean on your Heavenly Father for protection and trust those you've put in charge of security to do their jobs. Yes, we have an obligation to make our church as safe as we can. But when a person of question enters and one of your first thoughts is "I'm glad my wife isn't here this morning because I don't want her to see what might happen" ... something is just wrong.

I was sitting with eight guys in my small group this evening and every one of us admitted to feeling the same feelings and thinking the same thoughts when we first saw our friend. There were even tears shed because we have become to quick to judge and jump to conclusions. It's a tough spot we've been put in in our churches. And we just can't allow ourselves to forget our church motto ... "Love God. Love People. Pretty Simple."

If we forget that ... we've given the enemy too much ground and we've already lost a big part of the battle. We live in a dangerous world and we are, to an extent, targets. Easy targets. We don't anticipate, want, or even expect violence. And we'll do all we can to prevent it and act quickly if it should occur. But the mission goes on. And we learned today to do our best and lean into Jesus for the rest.

Because, yes, we live in strange times.

With apologies to Humphrey Bogart ...

With apologies to Humphrey Bogart "“Of all the donut shops in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”

Supper with the family tonight ended at a donut shop. Elle, as usual, took the opportunity to scour the room for interesting elements. We were all at a table and she ended up at the counter. On a stool. Looking for all the world as though she was a weary traveler who just stopped in for "a cup of joe." I hope she left a tip.

We love these Thursday evening family gatherings. We love them so much that we spend twice as much time in the car going to and from them as we do actually at them. We don't mind at all. That says a lot about the people we are spending time with. Tonight it poured rain all the way to the restaurant and the traffic was hideous. But one wet slobbery smile from Paisley, one neck crunching hug from Elle, and an hour of wise cracks from those we have become accustomed to calling "The Adults," and all of the traffic faded from memory.

(Scott and Amanda, if you are reading this, I know it stinks that you can't come. But you are always mentioned, and are always loved. We don't let 300 miles keep you from our hearts.)

Okay, enough gratuitous sentimentality. I am a dad and a grandfather so every now and then I have the right to indulge myself. We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog ...

Stupid Picture Chronicles #46

Proof that dinosaurs played basketball.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #45

One has to wonder ... (Notice that the door is nailed shut from the OUTSIDE ... as if to keep "something" in. I don't even want to know.)

Thirty-Seconds-O-Fun

So I'm riding my motorcycle today and stopped in a parking lot. Parking lots are suppose to be safe. Right? That's where you park your vehicle and turn it off. Thus the name "parking" lot. I guess some guy didn't get the memo because before I could stop he backed his car into me, tore the rear turn signal off the bike and knocked me down. The way he hit me caused the bikes tires to slide to the left which made me fall to the right. That was the side he was on. So I had the fun-filled few seconds of trying to turn in a direction that would allow me to see him. My view was blocked because I had this helmet on (helmets save lives but not if somebody runs over you with their Goodyears) and I didn't know if he was still moving. He was. I was able to right myself just in time to see him stop, look at me, and squeal his tires on his way out of the lot. All I saw was an old black Buick. No video camera coverage. Only one eye witness who really thought she should call somebody or take me to the hospital but all I had to show for the 30 seconds-o-fun was a scraped up knee and a busted tail light. I avoid emergency rooms unless I my spleen is hanging out or something.

It's amazing how quickly life can go all wonky. It was a beautiful day. I was on the bike for only the second time this year. The breeze felt great. The sun was positively gorgeous. And then you are lying on asphalt trying to figure out if there is a front tire coming at you with your name on it. Cap it off with a not-so-nice person who decides to make an early departure and you've got the makings for a true spoiler ending.

Fortunately he straightened his tire out and I live to blog again.

I'm trying for the life of me (pun intended) to figure out some sort of cosmic meaning in all of this. You know. "Live every moment like it's your last." "Start seeing motorcycles." "It just wasn't my time yet." I"m afraid that stuff doesn't work for me. Bottom line is some loser almost ran over me just because he didn't look before he backed up and his stereo was playing so loudly he couldn't hear the bikes engine. Ya see, it just doesn't take that much to kill ya.

If it helps, I was sitting in St. Charles at a Penn Station sub shop tonight with two of my kids and their families. I'd packed away a sausage sandwich (I thought about eating chicken but what with life being so tentative and all I decided to go with the high fat/high calorie entree. Did a full order of fries too.) And I was just watching and listening. Feeling a little reflective I suppose. Not deeply so. Just ... enjoying the moment. Elle was sitting across from me. She and Paisley had both spent the day at the zoo. So I was just listening to my kids and their spouses talk. Watching my wife hold Paisley. Toying with the straw wrapper. And there was a tap on my knee. The one with the fresh scratch on it. I slid back and looked down and Elle had crawled under the table and made her way over to me. She wanted to be in my lap. I pulled her up and instead of sitting on my legs she continued to face me, wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me really, really tightly.

Nobody knew it. They were all talking, eating, and enjoying. But I had my very own "moment." No tears, sighs, or deep reflections. Just ... the realization that life is very good, very precious, and entirely too unpredictable. It was a significant hug. I couldn't have asked for it because then it wouldn't have counted. I couldn't have paid for it because that would make it cheap and superficial. She couldn't have really known that I needed it because I didn't even know myself. But when it came it was from her heart and it pierced mine.

It made me glad not to be flat.

Nearly Archless ...

I don't know why I like this picture. I just do. The arch takes on a different life in the dreariness. It was that kind of night...

A Lake. A Chair. A Snowman

The visit with my son Scott last week was, as always, a relaxing and fun time. Scott and Amanda have one of those homes that is just great to visit. It's homey. It's warm. It's friendly. I love being there and I love hanging out with them. I couldn't possibly be more proud of the two of them. I believe they are living life in the center of God's plan. Scott is a youth pastor and Amanda works at a not-for-profit that helps find housing for homeless women. Can you think of more quality ways to spend your days? When we visit the days often revolve around food. That's one of the perks of living in Chicagoland. You have a plethora of places to please your palate. (I'm on a "P" roll ... don't stop me now!) So we gain weight, maybe shop for a while, watch some movies, sleep, and then start the process all over again.

Hey. It works for us.

But every now and then you come across something that just defies understanding. Scott and I were driving along a road in the Crystal Lake area when he pointed out a frozen pond alongside the highway. Not that there is anything unusual about a frozen lake twenty miles from the Wisconsin border in March. But this one had a couple of things that made it ... different. Here ... look for yourself. (Click on the picture to blow it up. You'll see much better.)
Yes, that is a folding chair and that is a snow man. And they are maybe 50 or 75 feet apart. And the mind wonders .... why? Why would anybody build a snowman on a frozen lake and then sit on a chair and stare at it from a great distance? Or was he perhaps shooting at it? Or was he waiting to see if it would fall through the ice (which doesn't seem terribly bright.) Or was that his wife who turned around to look at Crystal Lake and was turned into a pillar of salt. Hey, it's as solid of a possibility as anything else I've got.

Sometimes life just jumps up and gets weird. Sometimes circumstances just make you say, "Huh?"

Scott has a very good friend named Adam. They work together. Adam is the worship leader with their youth group. Last night, totally out of the blue, his father passed away. His heart simply stopped beating. He was in his mid-fifties and taught school somewhere in the Tulsa area. There is a lot of pain in that family and a lot of people who can't think of much more to say than, "Huh?"

A very little girl who is not even a year old and is the daughter of my friends was just diagnosed at Mayo Clinic this week. Without going into detail she has a genetic condition that causes her great pain in her leg. The doctors don't really know what to do. When you've stumped the doctors at Mayo Clinic you've done a pretty impressive thing. The little girl could conceivably lose her leg. And her parents are left wondering whether or not to have more children because there is a 50/50 chance that child could have the same condition. At this point all they know to say is, "Huh?"

Life does that. I could give you a ton more examples but I think maybe you have some of your own.

It's amazing what a chair, a snowman, and a frozen lake will bring to your mind. Life is unpredictable. We only think we have tamed it. At any moment you and I could be left saying, "Huh?"

The extraordinarily good news is that God is never shocked. "Huh?" is not in His vocabulary. And in the face of our "Huhs?" the very best thing that we can do is to tie ourselves off to Him and hold on tight. He has every answer. He understands every situation. He is never surprised, never left speechless, and never cursed by the unpredictable. How can anybody stay sane without Him?

Because without Him we are simply a snowman waiting to melt. On a less than frozen lake. Staring at an empty chair.

Let me tell you the good news. The chair isn't empty. Actually the chair we face is a throne. And the Son of God sits on it. And that is a very, very good place for us to be. I suggest you hold on tight. Your lake might be melting. You might feel a bit like a snowman facing rising temperatures yourself. What to do? Simple.

Keep. Your. Eyes. On. The. Throne.