Between My Ears

Seldom, if ever, have I written a "request blog." But tonight I make an exception. A very close friend, (Hi, Adam!) listened to my sermon at Towerview Baptist yesterday and was evidently puzzled by the inner workings of my mind. I discussed the episode where the disciples are in a boat rowing their way through a storm while Jesus slept in the back. I had more questions about that event than answers. And so my message was built around questions. It seemed reasonable enough to me. And then Adam came along. He's a very level headed guy. As level as they come. Highly intelligent. Extremely motivated. Completely dedicated. And so when he began wondering about my brain ... well ... so did I. Adam asked me to "blog my day" today. He wanted a blow by blow account of what I encountered and how my brain handled it. Sounded easy enough to me at the time. I decided to enlist the assistance of an app on my iphone called "Voice Memo." All day long as events occurred I recorded my thoughts. And so Adam, I present to you without commercial interruption ... my day.

(DISCLAIMER) You are about to read a "stream of consciousness" essay of how my day unfolded. It isn't always pretty. Names have been omitted or changed to protect both the innocent and the guilty. What can I say? It is what it is...
************************************************************************************************************************************Okay, so I'm starting the day off, job one, showered, cleaned-up. Ready to rock and roll. It's been a normal day so far but that won't last long. It's Monday and on Monday my brain is scrambled eggs. I burn all of my brain power on Sunday and my thoughts are muddled with a side of bacon all day long. I had planned on enjoying a slow morning but circumstances have conspired against me. So I find myself driving to the first hospital of a very hospital filled day. I'm going to visit a gentlemen who is having a pretty major piece of surgery. We'll call him "Burt." Because his name isn't Burt. It's something else altogether. None of your business. The thing that bothers me right now is that he's having this surgery at a place named "Memorial Hospital." This raises the obvious question. Who is the hospital in memory of? And why didn't the poor soul survive? Do you really want to have major surgery at a place named in honor of someone who is in need of memorializing? Is this really a good idea? Count me out. If I'm having surgery I want it to be at "Take Up Your Bed And Walk Hospital." Or maybe, "We Were Wrong About That Mole You Have A Hickey Hospital." In my experience hickeys are preferable over moles. But I digress for the sake of my future as a husband. 'Nuff about that.

Well, I just made my first stop of the day at a place called "Casey's" for a little caffeine and "High Fructose Corn Syrup." Here's a lesson from Old Uncle Ron for those of you who hang out at hospitals a lot whether you are a pastor or not. Never ever visit a hospital without at least some degree of a foreign stimulant in your system. It's important when you arrive at the hospital that those in charge, particularly those with scalpels, be able to tell the difference between the patients and the visitors. Don't ask me how I know this. Just trust me and get yourself jacked up a bit before you walk through those doors. A little note along the way. I just passed Sonnenburger and now that we've reached the last day of winter and all of the cold is over with you can, according to the electronic sign, order up your firewood by phone. Congrats on that. Let's dial up that number and get our firewood stocked up for summer. Which brings us to the all important question of just how much firewood do you need for summer. And the truth is, nobody seems to know. Darned if any weather man can figure out what's going on. It seems that the jet stream has slipped up so high that it just might flip over the top of the planet and come down on the other side. My personal weather man, Mr. Joseph Dills, is in Spain right this very minute. Obviously he's on a humanitarian mission checking out the jet stream. Maybe he's seeing if the rain in Spain really is falling on the plain. Joe, if you are reading this, we need a shout out. Or maybe the rumors are true and he's really over there running with the bulls. While I can confirm that he's in Spain I can't confirm that he's running with the bulls. Personally, I don't think that would be a good idea. We all know Joe is full of bull himself. This would obviously leave the Spaniards wondering if they should run with Joe or from him. Fortunately, that's not our problem. Love you, Joe.

Okay, we knocked that first hospital down. It's about 10:45. I mentioned that I won't divulge the names of those that I'm visiting. We all know that there are Hippa Rules to protect your medical records from becoming a public spectacle. Your hickeys should be grateful for that. But you might not know that there are also Hippo rules. Hippo rules come into play when you talk about somebody on the world-wide-web that doesn't want to be talked about. They call them Hippo rules because they will hunt you down and beat you like an angry hippo. Again, don't ask me how I know this. I must apologize to Mr. Adam Page. He asked me to please avoid embarrassing elevator moments today. I tried. Really I did. But it didn't work out that way. I was going to room 140 in the central wing. So I got on the elevator and pushed number 1. Nothing happened. It just stood there With the door open. That's when I realized that I was already on 1. Never get on an elevator and punch number 1 if you are already on the first floor. It just doesn't go anywhere. And you feel really stupid afterward. So don't do it. The only win was that nobody noticed. I only confess here for the sake of honesty and transparency. Sorry, Adam. I didn't even make it until noon.

Now we move on to Mercy Hospital. Once again we are left wondering who names these places. From Memorial to Mercy. Mercy is what you beg for when you check in. And now I'm just passing a church where the sign says, "Members wanted. Apply inside on Sundays." To which my thoughts are ... "Hahahahahaha." Yeah, that's going to bring all of the hardened sinners in. They are going to read that and say, "That's cute. Let's go see what's going on at this church." Probably not. Bad plan, guys. You can do better. Let's ratchet it up a notch or two, eh? 10:37 and do you know what happens if you blow into your cars tire gauge? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. So don't do it. Besides, it's dirty. It tastes like Michelin. Just drove by Winstanley Baptist Church. I've heard of that church. Never been there. You can't see it from the road. I wonder what you would do if you drove past and your name was Stanley? Who is Stanley? They've had that name for years. How long is it going to take them to win him? Wouldn't you think that Stanley would just go ahead and give up? Get saved? I mean, if for no other reason than to get his name off the sign? And now I think I had better shut-up before Stanley or someone at the church learns about the Hippo Rules. (Love you, Winstanley!)

Oh, wow! Here's the "Banquet Hall Salon & Spa Barber Shop." You can relax in the spa while getting your hair cut for the big banquet in the other room. This requires a picture ...


Right, so now I'm driving down I-64 and here's another church van with a very cool logo. "Come Grow With Us." That's certain to peak the interest of all the lost people out there. Because they are all sitting around thinking, "I wonder which church I can help grow?" And how amazing is this? At the same time there is a bill board on my right that is advertising "www.23minutesinhell.org ." Now you tell me. Which one is going to get the attention of those whose eternity is hanging in the balance? I wonder how this poor schmuck got stuck with 23 minutes in hell when every other author gets to go to heaven for a while? Let me add this little disclaimer. No disrespect intended. Just in case the Almighty really did send this fella down below. I guess somebody has to get the tough assignments. I'm a Cubs fan. Enough said.

Well, it's 11:30 and we just experienced the thrill of driving 40 miles to pray with someone only to find that our surgery candidate ... if you are having surgery are you a "candidate?" Or maybe a "victim?" Never mind. We had the thrill of driving 40 miles to find out that they were taken to surgery two hours early. So while I'm an hour early I'm also an hour late. And this is another reason this hospital has us screaming, "Mercy!" If Obama-Care fixes this ... I'm for it.

(Sadly, after this some things went wonky and the day got serious and I had to forego my stream of consciousness journaling. For now. To be continued ... maybe)