WWJM?

So what's the deal with grass? It is a well documented fact that I hate, hate, HATE mowing it. And today I had to. I realized the truth of that statement when I got out my machete to go to the mail box. So. It was not nearly as hot today as it was when I mowed after dark last week. (Mowing after dark did not help. I still finished dehydrated, exhausted, but with less of a tan.) I got the job done but found myself in a bit of a conversation with God while decimating His handiwork. In a nutshell ...

If God made the earth as a perfect place ... Eden ... was grass originally suppose to grow? Because that requires mowing. Mowing, in turn, makes earth less than perfect. Perhaps grass was intended to stay one height forever. But that would eliminate ultimate-Frisbee and pick-up football games 'cause those wear grass down. This is, perhaps, the ultimate theological dilemma, dwarfing free will vs. election

Mowing pollutes the atmosphere therefore it cannot be a "God thing." Ticking off my neighbors by not mowing is clearly a stumbling block to others so not mowing cannot be a "God thing."

I suppose the best thing I can do at this point is sell out my theological genius and make a profit out of this thing. So as of tomorrow I'll be offering wrist bands emblazoned with "WWJM?" "What Would Jesus Mow?" You can get yours for just $9.95 plus all applicable taxes, shipping, and a 15% gratuity for the orphans in the sweat shop that I am building to mass produce them. Don't worry. I'm building the sweat shop in the good old US of A. I would never out source such an important piece of modern culture.

That's just the kind of guy I am.

A laugh and a hug

I started blogging in 2002. This little site was set-up by my favorite son-in-law, Joe. I've enjoyed it so very much. Writing, to me, is therapy. I've blogged through healthy times and not so healthy times. I've blogged after winning victories and suffering defeats. I've blogged from jets flying cross country, from the ranch home where I raised my children, from behind frozen windows in suburban Cleveland, from an office desk, and propped up in bed. And I've loved every minute of it.

Two weeks ago I posted my 800th blog. That's a lot of words. And then I ran out. It's not that I find writing a chore. Not at all. Many times I've vented on this little space. Many times I've shared cute pictures, amazing stories of God's faithfulness, and plenty of anecdotes about the best grandchildren in the world. (Mine are better than yours.)

I've watched my "hits' (the visits to this site) plummet from about 2,000 a month to around 800. And I understand why. I don't write as much anymore so why should anyone really check back? And yet about 30 people a day drop by to see what's new. Thanks for that. The "regulars" are from California and Maine. Ohio and Texas. And mainly Missouri and Illinois. There's maybe 18 or 20 other states scattered in but they seem to have neither rhyme nor reason. I have no idea who keeps reading from Maine. It must be really cold up there.

I think the the older I get the more careful I've become about what I write. I think that going from being a youth pastor of 33 years (youth pastor's are suppose to be able to say anything ... they are my favorite people) to "putting on the big pants" and taking over as a lead pastor has caused me to think twice about what I am saying. When you are the Sr. Pastor you are suppose to know what you are talking about each and every time you open your mouth. And the truth is ... I don't. I mean, ask my family. When I am around them I tend to put my brain on "auto pilot" and say whatever comes to mind. And trust me ... they let me know that it isn't always pretty. Those who love you the most are generally your harshest critics. Last week I actually called one of my daughters-in-law by the name of my other daughters-in-law. She told me I was semi-senile. I told her she was fat. But she's due to have a child in 5 days and so she is suppose to be large. I asked her which way I was leaning (since I'm only "semi" senile.) She told me that I'm teetering. That cracked me up. But it also made me think.

So anyway. I said all of that just to say that I came really close to pulling the plug on "Lost In The Woods" yesterday. I mean, nothing lasts forever. Right? My finger hovered over the "delete blog" button for a few seconds. And I couldn't do it. It felt like I was shooting an old friend. And that's just not something you do. But God's been working on me for a couple of years now. I'm not sure what He's doing. I'm not sure where the road goes. God doesn't pave His roads with yellow bricks so that you can see them far in advance. He's more of a "take the next step and wait for instructions" kind of God. So I"m taking a lot of next steps these days. And I'm spending a lot of time waiting for instructions. But I've got as many minutes as He chooses to give me and I plan on giving them all back to Him. That means He can lead where ever He wants to and I'm willing to listen and obey. I wish I could say that I'm comfortable with that. But it's been a very long time since I've been comfortable. That's probably a God thing too.

Thanks for stopping by. Sorry I couldn't make you laugh or at least bring a smile to your face. Wait. Wait. I'll tell you a joke. It's the one my oldest granddaughter, The Amazing Elle, dropped on me unexpectedly a couple of weeks ago when she said ....

Q: What do you call a dog with no legs?"

I don't know, Elle. What do you call a dog with no legs?

A: I doesn't matter, Grandpa. He's not coming anyway.

I laughed. I hugged her. Sometimes that's the medicine we all need. A laugh. A hug. It's a winning combination.