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.