T minus Zero ... we have lift-off

Well. This is interesting. I wonder what tomorrow will be like? I seem to be unemployed. What do you do when God tells you to resign? Well ... you resign. At the close of the day on November 26, 2006 my resignation becomes official. That means in 47 minutes I have zero obligations ... zero calendared events ... zero responsibilities. (Ok, we all know that really is not true because I'm a husband, a dad and a granddad. But you get my point.)

Church this morning was surreal. I mean, it was a good experience. I enjoyed telling the people what God gave me to tell them. But it was the responses that really nailed me. I want to give you an example. This one left me in a puddle. I do not have permission to tell you who wrote it so just consider it from an "anonymous teenager." But it pretty much leaves me humbled and over whelmed. Please read with a heart full of grace. I wish that I was half as good as this person thinks that I am. Hopefully he was just seeing Jesus in me.

"I know you have to leave but I wish you wouldn't go.
All those people you have touched, some you didn't even know.
All the love you've shared, the smiles that you gave
All the lives that crossed your path, the one's you've helped to save.

It's hard to say goodbye but I'll try to find a way
I swore I wouldn't cry, that everything would be ok
I will never forget what you've taught us; I will try everything I can
To be everything I can be, with this image of a better man.

I thank you for your prayers but now I give them back to you.
I hope that they find you in whatever you choose to do
I'll carry your words with me always, with all the loving wisdom that you gave
And I'll walk forever as a symbol to you, as a life you helped to save."

What do you do with kids like that? How do you tell them good-bye? I guess you just get up and do it. And then I guess you hug them and cry with them and remind them that you love them and that, because of the love of Christ it will all be ok. But it sure hurts. It does not look ok.

I woke up this morning to find my front lawn covered with signs, all facing my house. They said cool things like, "We love you! You are the best youth pastor ever!" They were colorful and cheerful. And some of "my kids" made them and snuck into my yard in the middle of the night and planted them so that I would see them when I woke up. And then at church, after I finished speaking, the kids sent two representatives down to the altar and they presented me with a bible that they had all signed. A year book of sorts. Except that it is a book with no stretching of the truth or dispensing of lies. It is the Word of God and my favorite people bought it for me, signed it, and asked me not to forget them. THAT WILL NEVER HAPPEN.

I'm really tired tonight. Three years of constant battle has just come to a close. The wounds are still fresh. Some are scarred over but even those are tender. It does not take much to make blood flow again. But now I am done. 23 and 2/3rds years have come and gone. And now I can rest. I have great plans to do just that. And to write. And to follow up on a few resume's that I have out. And to follow God's direction to "Delight (myself) in the Lord and He will give (me) the desires of (my) heart. Right now I think I might not wake up until January. I doubt that I can pull that off. But it is so nice to know that I served the King, doing what He told me to do at every turn. And now, at His direction, I can rest. And heal. And worship. And love Him. And love people.

The mission clock reads "T minus Zero ... we have lift-off" of the next chapter of life. I am anxious to see what it holds. I suppose we shall see. I don't want to let my young friend down. I want to keep being used by God to touch lives. I can touch them more effectively when I am past the gut searing fatigue and the heart breaking grief that has been in such abundance over the last few years. I want to feel loved, human, healthy and full again. And tomorrow begins that part of the new journey.

If you are reading this and you are a part of FBCB please know that I love you. I cherish you. And I gratefully and with all confidence lay you in the Hands of our Father. He's never droped one of us yet. He will not start with you.

And, oh yeah, that "Pass It On" closing ... way over the top. But somehow I kind of loved it. "HEY WORLD!"

One More Day

I was sitting around tonight listening to my new "Lost Dogs" cd and happened across this song. I like it. After 23 years of serving King Jesus at a church I dearly love I have been instructed by God to lay it down tomorrow. I have one more day. I will speak in the morning. I know what I am supposed to say. It is written on paper. More importantly it is written on my heart. (note: if you can't be there and care to listen in you can do so at www.fbcbethalto.org. Click the "sermons series" link.)

Being at FBCB has been an incredible ride. Some days have been so near to heaven that I swear I could hear the angels sing. Some days have been so far ... so far from God's plan that my heart breaks. I have made some life long friends there. I have met some people there that I have yet to figure out. This song reminds me of the whole package. You may understand. You may not. Following Jesus is a call to live a life of great paradox. The longer you serve, the longer you live, the more confusing it gets. You finally reach a point where you throw up your hands to The Father and say, "Whatever!" You do not mean it in anger or frustration. You mean it in surrender. "Whatever, Jesus. Whatever you want ...let's do that. Wherever you lead ... let's go there. You take the point and I'll follow."

This song reminds me of what that kind of life is like. It feels so good. It hurts so bad. You will never figure it out. You just wait for The Father's smile and say ... "Whatever." For me "whatever" means ... one more day.

"ONE MORE DAY"

from the album "The Lost Cabin and the Mystery Trees"

(2006 Mike Roe)

One more sad and silly love affair gone bad
One more best friend that I thought I had
But didn't have
One more dream long gone forgotten
And yet still I carry on
It's a wonder I can sing you
One more song

One more song for you
To live your life beside me as I cry me
One more tear I shed aloud
For crying out loud
One more sacred song to bless you
While I curse the life I lead
Plodding down the path of sorrow
Bringing you the joy you need

One more sun to wake my weary
Eyes wide open
One more day
That surely will give way
To one more night I'm gonna
Find a way to get all the way through
To one more day
I made it, yay, horray

To climb instead of walk around
But even so I know that I
Should be so grateful for yet one more

Life that I could touch in some small simple way
Or one more light that I could shine
To show someone the way
Or one more sure word of encouragement
To say to one more soul
Oh Lord please won't you save me one
One more day
Lord won't you save me one
One more day

An Open Letter To God...

Dear Abba,

I just want to take a few moments in the midst of this day to say thank you. Yes, it is Thanks Giving Day. I deeply hope that I do not confine my thanking you to this Thursday in November. But anyway, here is what I want to say to You...

*Thank you, Abba, for the gift of Your Son. Jesus, you mean everything to me. You alone cause life and this world to make sense.

*I am so grateful for my bride. My wife. You made her just for me! She amazes me every day that she gets up and kisses me good morning. I don't know why she puts up with this ADHD type person but she does. And I am forever in her debt. (Honey, I loved you long before you ever tackled me!)

*My three kids are among your greatest gifts that I have ever received. Kelli, Scott and Chris. Abba, I could not have designed better kids if I had tried. And now they are all adults. Very good adults at that. Tonight I just sat and watched them with the wonder that only a father can feel as he sees the children that began as little rug rats turn into God lovers.

*And then there is Joe, Amanda and Laura. Laura and Topher have been together for almost one year now, Abba. She seems like a part of our family. When she walks in the door I just automatically smile! And she actually laughs at my jokes! Traveling with her to South Carolina last summer was one of the highlights of my year! Oh, and Abba ... she didn't really mean what she did in front of the Lifeway store in Knoxville. Ok, ok, she did mean it. You are God and you already knew that. But I have to think you understand! And if not ... please just forgive her! (You owe me, Bella...) And then there is my Amanda. You know, Abba, she is about to become my actual honest-to-gosh daughter-in-law. That is so incredible! She and Scott have walked together over the long haul already. They are so made for each other! I had so much fun with her yesterday when we just sat and talked for well over an hour. And then our late night White Castle topped off a perfect day. She's right ... we had quality time! Abba, I love her like my own daughter. And, as you know, I really, really love my own daughter. Oh man. God, I will always cherish the moment that I placed my daughter's arm into Joe's. That was a very good day. He has loved and adored her as I knew he would. To watch them serve you, build a home together, minister to and love kids and their church, well it's almost too much to believe. Wow. And together they bring me to the next reason I thank you today...

*Elle Parker McGill. Oh Abba, how I have fallen head over heels in love with my granddaughter. All I have to do is to smile at her and she almost always smiles back! What a delight to hold her and feel her grab one of my fingers with her fist. She is amazing! So trusting. So happy. Ok, most of the time. There are moments. But she gets over them! I love this little lady, Abba. Thank you so very much for creating her and putting her in our family. We will do all we can to point her toward you ... her truest Daddy.

*Thank you, Abba, for twenty three and two thirds years to serve you by loving teenagers at FBCB. I cannot believe that I only have one Sunday morning left and then I will be finished there. There are so many memories. Centrifuges. Mission trips. JPL's. Willow Creek Retreats. Time alone with individual kids as they sought out opportunities to grow closer to you. Kids that you allowed me to watch go into the ministry themselves. Oh God, it is all just too much! My cup is over flowing! Thank you for this gift! When my body is dead to this world ministry and service will still go on through these (roughly) twenty young men and women you have allowed me to love, disciple and send into ministry. I am humbled, Abba.

*And how I thank you for the future. It is true that if my life on planet earth were to end right now I would call it a raging success. Not because I am so good. No, it is because You are so faithful! I do not know what is next on Your agenda for my life. A kind church has allowed me to have three months to rest, heal, seek you and find the doorway you would direct me through. Thank you, Abba. Such a kindness!

Well I could do this all night. There are so many friends. So many special people in my life that are there because you brought us together. Some live here. Some live on the left side of the country, some on the right. But I am rich in friendships. My brother and his lovely family are chief among them. Thank you, Abba, for Jim, Edwina and Jackie! Thank you for Jason, Tanya, and their families. Thank you for Dave, Lynda, Bob, Cindy, Dave, Barb, Reda,Tammy, Brad, Sheri, Judy, Jim (my other "bro",) Alisha (my newest sister!) Diane, Steve, Theresa, Katie, Jeff, Jeannie, Jeffy, Jim, Sandy, Ruth, Ronn B., Ron W., "Big Steve" and "Big 'Nita," Matt, Tim, Danny, Cheryl, Larry, Frank, Ed, Mindy, Patti, Rick, Steve, Shannon, Kristi, Lisa, Scott, Bill, Eric, Stephanie, Gary, Cathy, Beth, and even Bailey. And of course, every kid in a very special youth group that will probably be my last one. I love each of them as You have told me to. And every one that came before them. I could go on and on and on and on. There is neither time nor space. But Abba ... I am rich. You have made me rich through the blessings I have received from You.

And I can never, never say it loud enough, long enough or frequently enough. Thank you, Abba. For everything. The crowns that are waiting and the scars that are healing. The pleasure and the pain. The Word that keeps me pointed in the right direction. The blood that flowed. The thorns. The nails. The spear. The empty tomb. The fish you cooked for the disciples breakfast. The acension. And thank you for loving this man. Me. Really, tangibly, audibly, visually, shockingly.

I will praise you as long as their is breath in my lungs. And when the breath is at last gone I will arrive in Your presence and praise you all the louder as I lay at your feet.

Abba ... Jesus ... Holy Spirit ... Thank You. I love you.

Your child....
Ron

Here Is Why

The last time I was unemployed I was 14 years old. It was the year Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. (1969 for you young 'ens.) The year the hated Mets STOLE the division championship from my beloved Cubs. The year I took my first job as a cook at a "Dog 'n Sud's" style drive-in. A buck twenty-five an hour and I dated the car hops. I'm telling ya, I was worth at least a buck fifty. But I was 15 and not supposed to be working at all. (Where were the child labor lawyers in those days?) I quit after about a year and went over to the enemy ... McDonalds. While there I was named "Grill Man of the Year." I could flip a row of burgers so fast that cow's were lining up to get on my grill. From there it was K-Mart for me. I was a stock boy in ladies lingerie. That's right, children, I made my living with ladies frilly unmentionables. Best job I ever had. After that I decided to get serious about earning money because it was college time. I landed a job at Andrew Corporation in Orland Park, Illinois. At first I worked on an off-campus location. We made "gas block cable." The purpose of this little wonder was to run across the desert floor, down a couple of miles beneath the surface of our fair planet where it would provide the charge to detonate a nuclear bomb. My job was to test and inspect the cable to make sure it really would block the gasses from leaking to the surface. I am still waiting for my thank you card from the state of Neveda for keeping their air nuke free. Then after the S.A.L.T. talkes all nuclear tests came to an end. I was transferred to the "reflector room." This was a horrible pit of a place. I'm sure you've noticed those big round "micro wave dish" antenna's stuck high up on towers. Well the ones with the orange lightening bolt on them are dishes I just might have worked on. I did not actually make the things .... I had the highly technical job of sliding down into them after they were laid on the bowl-like bottom on the factory floor. They had been coated with grease to keep them from melting from the friction while being spun out on a lathe. I got to take this liquid cleaning chemical in a bucket with a bunch of rags and slide down into the dish. After a minute or two I would settle to the bottom after sliding around like a penny that you put in one of those funnels in the mall to donate to some worthy cause. Then I would clean the grease out. Only problem was that the fumes of the cleaner were heavier than air. if I forgot to lift my head above the rim of the bowl every few seconds and instead breathed the chemical fumes in the bowl ... well, they would have to pull me out and wait until I woke up. Then I went back to work. That only happened a few times. There were no lasting effects. Debbie disagrees but what does she know? I quit that job and went to work at Sears. They were still connected with Roebuck back then. I think it was 1976. I worked in "customer pick-up." Yes, I was a young and warped teenager and it did occur to me to try to pick-up a few of the customers. I usually just got slapped for my efforts. That's all I have to say about that. I left Sears and went to work for Panduit Corporation in Tinley Park. I did that so that I could make enough money to marry Debbie. It seems that her family was moving to Milwaukee and it was get married or get a new girlfriend. I liked the one I had so I took this new job to pay for her and college. At the same time. college was getting old by now and I really wanted to get done. I did not know it would take me five more years. That's a whole other blog. At Panduit I was a "material handler" which means exactly what it says. I handled material. And then I became an inspector which meant that I became one of the most hated men in the company. I would inspect the product that machine operators made and if they were not up to code I would yank their days work. This made them upset because they were on commission. They were also bigger than I was or ever have been and they carried huge steel tools with them everywhere they went. Needless to say not many product batches got yanked. I quit that job and went to work for myself. I bought a pick-up truck and sub-contracted the installation of storm doors and windows all over the south side of Chicago. The south side is NOT the safe side. I got to know a lot of things in those days called "street smarts." Basically that means "how not to get killed for being the wrong color. I hated my job. My boss hated me. We had a blizzard that winter and the city residential streets were impassable and so I could not get to the houses to work. That means we almost starved. One day Debbie came home from work to find that I had cooked pheasant for supper. Later that evening she noticed our two parakeets were missing. I will let you decide for yourself if that is true or not. Ok, I was also working part time as a real, honest to gosh, part time youth pastor at that time. I lasted 6 months. The pastor was crazy. No, really. He was. I could tell you stories but I won't. But I think it's ok to tell you that after I got fed up and quit the church fired him a month later. He lived in their parsonage. He refused to move out and actually ... STARTED A MISSION IN THEIR PARSONAGE. See. I told you he was crazy. So I quit and went away for a week to help my dad paint his retirement home in Mtn. Home, Arkansas. I hated Arkansas. Still do. But I loved my dad so I went. Debbie did too. She owed me because I saved her from Milwaukee. When we got back I had an interview waiting for me with the First Baptist Church of Clarendon Hills, Illinois. Clarendon Hills is a very, very nice Chicago suburb. We met for about a month and they hired me. I was now a full time youth pastor, a full time college studend, and a part time school bus driver. Debbie was full time pregnant. (This is where Kelli entered the picture. I loved that church and the seemed to like me ok. After I had been there for 6 months the pastor got caught with the secretary. She knew short hand but she was not taking a letter. So he was suddenly gone. They hired a new pastor after 6 months. I was not allowed to preach for those 6 months because ... well ... I don't know why. I just wasn't. After about 3.5 years they ordained me. The pastor said he did not really want to because, in his experience, everytime he ordained a staff pastor they moved away in about 6 months. Well. Yeah. Three months later I finished college, got my degree in theology, and in six months I moved to the First Baptist Church of Bethalto. Sound famaliar? So I came to Bethalto. Two months later I got a phone call from my former secretary at Clarendon Hills. (This one did not know short hand and nobody caught her doing anything. She was my friend.) She called to tell me that they were writing their church history down. The church was 25 years old and they figured they needed to get stuff in writing. So anyway, that morning the pastor that was mad because I left after they ordained me came into her office, grabbed the master copy of the new church history, took a marker and drew a line through my name everywhere it appeared. She wanted me to be aware that I no longer existed in their official history. Oh, I have a certificate of ordination in my prayer room here at home where all of their deacon's and my unhappy pastor signed it. But the church that ordained me in 1982 does not know today that I exist. But I do. I just checked and I am still here.

But now I'm not. Here. I am not here anymore. This coming Sunday will be my last at the First Baptist Church of Bethalto. Wait. I have to say that again because it just looks weird. Excuse me. This coming Sunday will be my last at the First Baptist Church of Bethalto. Nope. It did not help. It still looks weird.

But it is true. Twenty-three years. Actually and oddly, my last day will be on November 26, 2006. My first day was March 26, 1983. That is exactly and precisely 23 and 2/3rd years. Is that weird or what? I don't suppose it means anything. Unless God knows something that I don't know. And He always does. But I cannot comment on it because I don't get it. I just know it's strange enough to make me raise my eyebrows.

I do not know what is next. Really. I do not think I am finished in ministry but God has not told me what's on His agenda for me. Will I wind up wearing a blue vest and shoving carts at people at Wal-Mart? Might I become a dentist? (You had best hope not because I have no plans to return to school.) Perhaps I will write a "tell all book" about my ministry years. Would anybody buy it? Would it scare anybody? (insert manicial laugh here.) Should YOU be worried? Only time will tell!

So the deal is that my doctor got in my face a couple of weeks ago. He and I had been talking about some health problems that I have been having. He listened. He asked questions. He told me in no uncertain terms to "eliminate the stress or it WILL eliminate you." That's a fun thing for your doctor to say to you. And if he says it in front of your wife, as he did to me, it means you might as well reconcile yourself to simplifying your life. For me that meant resigning. With no plan for the future. And that is one of the reasons why I'm sitting here tonight talking about being unemployed. I am really going to miss those teenagers that God has given me. I simply cannot imagine anything in life better than being a youth pastor. I've been one for 32 years when you count my volunteer years at the church Debbie grew up in and we eventually married at. It's been my sole source of income since 1979. Twenty seven years.

I guess that now I am going to rest for a month or two. I have been very busy talking to God about all of this. This "not knowing" thing makes me uncomfortable. Two days ago while I was still in Cincinnati at the National Youth Workers Convention God woke me up early in the morning. (Ok, it was early for me. That's different from "officially" early.) I was still in that not awake but not asleep stage. There was no dreaming going on and nothing on my mind ... until ... very clearly the words, "Delight yourself in the Lord and he shall give you the desires of your heart" began ringing in my head. If that sounds slightly famaliar to you that's because God said it through David in the Psalms. Which is in the bible. Psalm 37: 4 if you want to check for yourself. I happen to believe that that voice speaking in the depths of my brain was the voice of the Holy Spirit.

So here is my immediate agenda. I am going to delight myself in the Lord. I am going to start tomorrow. When I wake up. I will know how to do that when the time arrives. But I am going to do it tomorrow and I am going to do it on Thursday and on Friday and on Saturday and on ... well, you get the idea. And I totally believe that as long as I do that ... there is nothing to sweat about. God has been so good to me. I really miss "my" teenagers at FBCB. I don't suppose they can really understand how "stress" and "ministry" connect. But they do. Trust me. Don't ask me about it because I won't tell you. You will have to take my word for it. My brain is tired. My body is tired. My spirit is tired. I am tired. And I am going to take whatever time God tells me to take in order to get un-tired and prepared for my next assignment. There are some interesting possibilities lurking out there. I was asked today if I would consider becoming a Presbyterian pastor. I am honored to be asked. But ... well ... no. I don't look good in a robe. God has a record of telling His people to do strange things. Like ... oh ... knife their kid on an altar ... march into a raging sea while an army bent on their destruction is fast on their heals ... marry a prostitute (no, I'm not kidding. Read Hosea. And don't say I did not warn you.) ... and now to resign and rest and heal and wait. I want the gorilla to stop sitting on my chest. He has gotten so very heavy. I want my vision to stop blurring. My left eye cannot read the computer screen as I type this. I want to not hyperventilate because I have to go to a meeting that is going to be difficult. I want to stop jerking in my sleep and scaring my wife. And I think God has made it clear that He wants that for me too.

It will be strange. But following our Abba (daddy/father) usually is. Pray for me and I'll pray for you.

I Loved This Day

A-M-A-Z-I-N-G. That is the only way that I know how to describe today. Debbie and I are in Cincinnati. That's in Ohio for you who are geography challenged. We are here to attend the National Youth Workers Convention. There are 4,000 youth workers who paid well over $300 for the privilege of coming. And that does not count the hotel, transportation, food and the obligatory t-shirt. I have come to this convention many times during my career as a youth pastor. But this year is different in one key way. I did not pay them to come. They paid me. Can you say, "Freebee's out the wazoo?" I mean they loaded me up with a backpack (complete with the "Youth Specialties" logo,) actual CASH to pay for meals while we are here, a check ... A CHECK ... that I can actually cash for m-o-n-e-y when I get home, a voucher to turn in for my other expenses like mileage and stuff and a free pen! Oh, and THEY pay for the hotel room!

WOO HOO!

And you know what I had to do in order to score these goodies? This so crackes me up. I cannot believe they paid me for this. (I feel like I robbed a bank or something.) I had to stand at the front of a room where a bunch of youth pastor's had freely and voluntarily come to hear what I had to say about (you will love this...) about having an ADD (attention deficit disorder) personality and still surviving in youth ministry. Anybody who knows me understands that I am the postor boy for ADD. I have not been doctor diagnosed. No, my credentials are better than that. I have been wife diagnosed. I have been children diagnosed. I have been close friend diagnosed. That carries more weight than anything Mayo Clinic could print out.

AND I HAD A BLAST! I do not know how many showed up for the seminar but the room was full. And as they came in I just decided to mess with their minds. Those who knew they were ADD in a complete and uncompromising way sat to my far left. And then they graded themselves down from there. Those on my far right were probably forced to come by their Sr. Pastor. For the first 20 minutes or so we traded our ADD youth ministry experiences. One guy said that sometimes he thinks of two things at once and tries to say them at the same time thus creating new words. I watched as nearly every head in the room bobbed in understanding and agreement. They've been there. I thought it was just me!

Then we got serious and I told them about my 2001. It's not pretty so we won't go into it here. I told them what ADD and a raging "Type A" personality drove me to when I got smacked by more than a few consecutive crises situations. I described the unrelenting pain, mental confusion and blurred vision. Then I told them about getting well. I told them about a church that loved me so much that they paid big bucks to help me survive. Without them I do believe I would be in the vinyl repair business by now. I told them what I had learned on those hard days and how God taught me so much about "soul care" for the next two years. And then the next big disaster hit. That one lasted 3 years for me personally and then I found myself being drug back under by the same currents of stress, the same pain and mental fog, the same ADD characteristics and pure fatigue. I told them that I've already been sick for a couple of months but I'm drawing the line here ... now ... and I'm moving on with God. Where? I don't know. When? I don't know. What all does it mean? I don't know. But I am committed to soul care on the personal level.

Here's what is interesting. In the middle of talking to these men and women I realized something. It was not in my notes. I believe it was from the Holy Spirit. I told them that if God gives you an assignment and you work 5 minutes longer than it takes you to complete what He told you to do ... you are asking for trouble. You are out of God's perfect will. Obey God. Period. No matter what anybody ... I repeat ... ANYBODY ... tells you. Obey God. It's the first and the greatest commandment. Jesus said that the second is like it. Love you neighbor as you love yourself. But get the order straight. We ADD youth pastor types tend to love our neighbors, better known as our youth groups, first and foremost. And we assume that because we are loving them we are pleasing God. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Our direction is to love God first and then we will love our neighbors and our youth groups out of the over flow of what He does in us as we love Him. Guys, I'm not smart enough to figure that out. But it's in the bible. Read it yourself.

Then we talked some more. When we closed a few stuck around to ask questions and seek advice. I talked with them, I prayed with them, I hugged them. They ... are me. Ok, they are 20 or 30 years younger than I am but that's why I know more than they do. That's not bragging. I've just been around for a long time and God has taught me a lot.

I loved this day. I love youth pastor's. They are some of the best people that I know. I have been honored to be one of them. I have trouble believing that anything I do with the rest of my life will be as fulfilling, as joy filled, as plain old fun as being a youth pastor. I have lived my dream for 32 years. I fully believe that God created me to be a youth pastor.

Ok, I just wanted to say all of this before time mellowed the memory. It was a dream day. A day I am grateful for. It is good to be alive and it is good to look back at the day just before you fall asleep and be able to say, "Today ... I fulfilled the purpose for which I was created."

Oh ... and did I mention that in the speakers lounge there is FREE CANDY 24/7? Unfreaken real.

The Yellow Brick Road Is A One Way Street

Have you ever found yourself in a position where you are not certain if you have been complimented or defamed? I think that maybe I am not smart enough to tell the difference. That's entirely possible.

I have a friend who is employed by "Youth Specialties," the premiere producer of youth ministry materials in the country. This friend is pretty smart. We've only met one time but have exchanged many emails. In the course of our e-versations she picked-up on a few things about my personality. Things like ... oh ... I am "mentally focus impaired." Some people would call that A.D.D. or "Attention Deficit Disorder." Now understand that no medical professional has ever diagnosed me as such. No matter. My wife has. My kids have. And the spiritual director for Youth Specialties has. And that is what prompted her to call me up last spring and ask me to speak at a break-out session of the National Youth Workers Convention in Cincinnatti this fall. I said yes because it sounded fun. And then I just put it in the back of my brain and forgot about it. And now ... well now "this fall" has turned into "this week." And I have not given a lot of thought to what I am going to say.

A lot of people come to these conferences. They are mainly professional youth workers. They know their stuff and they work their butts off serving teenagers all year long. And then they come to the National Youth Workers Convention looking to get fed, filled and fired up. I've known a lot of youth pastor's in my day. Almost every one of them (at least almost every successful one) has had an A.D.D. personality. This means that my little conference may not be so little after all.

I know what to say to these men and women. I've had some interesting years this decade. (And might I point out that there is quite a bit of decade left.) In the last half of the previous decade, known as the '90s, I saw some pretty extreme ministry. Suicides. Sexual abuse cases. Kids who were "cutters." Kids who are now in prison. There was much more but you get the picture. I walked my brother through a horrific stroke that almost cost him his life. I stayed near him as his marriage dissolved, his church closed and his life fell apart. I buried my parents. My response to those events was to fall back on my A.D.D. tendencys and run myself into the ground. That finally made me sick. Then I got well. It took nine months before I learned how to stop A.D.D.ing all over the place. I got sane. Then my church blew apart and I spent three years trying to fix it before I gave up last week. And one of the reasons for the timing of my giving up was that I had fallen back into being "mentally focused impaired." In other words I found myself getting sick again. It's pretty clear to me that this is not God's perfect plan for my life so I followed His clear direction and hung it up. It hurt to do that. But my choices were few.

So now I get to go talk to these youth workers that are generally younger than I am. Significantly so. And I really want to help them not to do what I did. Not to become what I became. So I think what I am going to do is to scare the living daylights out of them. How? Simple. I'll tell them the truth. That should take about twenty minutes. And then I am going to tell them how to be smart. That's simple too.

You see, God does not intend for His kids to self-destruct. Ministry is important but guess what. All we are responsible for doing is what the Holy Spirit leads us to do. That's it. If you do any more than that, if you work five minutes longer than it takes you to obey ... you are screwing up and begging for trouble. And the enemy will be more than happy to provide it. How do I get that truth across to those young and energetic youth pastors? Will they listen? Would I have listened when I was their age and working their insane schedule? I hope so. Who knows? I just know that if they listen to me it will save some marriages, enrich some families, and make them much more effective in ministry.

I always wanted to be the first eighty year old youth pastor. Now that I am fifty-one it occurs to me that I do not want to be doing it at eighty. And I am really torn about that. I am addicted to the bright eyes, the quick smiles, the easy laughter that comes with being a teenager. I have not lost my passion for winning them to Christ. Sometimes it is as easy as picking a ripe apple from a tree. You just do not find many adults like that. But I've got some things that I know now that I didn't know ten years ago. And I feel like it is important that I share those things.

Since I resigned I feel better physically. I know why but I am not going to tell you. it isn't something that you need to know. It is between God and I. If you know me you probably think that you know why. You may even tell other people what you "know." I can only tell you that you are dead wrong. Sorry. I am 100% confident that you are clueless. I did not even know myself until God told me. And at least for now it is between He and I.

He has not told me what is next but I've walked His "yellow brick road" too long to go back now. Too late for a detour. And God's yellow brick road is a one way street that leads to His throne room. I may not know what is on the horizon but I'm pretty certain ... I'll know I'm not in Kansas anymore.

Bumper Cars and God

Today I watched two movies. One at the theatre and one at home. Honestly, they were both chick flicks. But that was ok because I was with a chick. And I ate at Q-dobe. Yum. The best chicken and cheese buritto north of Mexico City. Let's see. then I burned popcorn and the house still stinks. Few things smell worse and longer than burnt popcorn. I answered a bunch of emails and ignored my cell phone. I am so far over on my minutes this month that Sprint will probably give all of their employees raises. I went to my office and brought a bunch of stuff home. It's all still in the Explorer because I was tired of messing with it and decided that tomorrow would be a better time. And now I am trying to figure out where to go to church tomorrow. I have not had this problem often. I always know where I am going because, well, I work there. Correction, I "worked" there." These days I am trying to spend a lot of time collecting dust. I am trying to sleep a lot and spend much horizontal time. This is the main road back from adrenaline exhaustion. It is not a fun road so i am looking for all of the short cuts that I can find. Unfortunately, there are not many. Actually, there are none.

Today I got 18 emails from the same teenage girl. And I got 7 from another one. I tried to answer them all. And I got several phone calls from a wonderful young man who is having a difficult love life at the moment. I am not good at giving that kind of advice. But I tried.

I wonder what God is thinking about tonight. Yeah, I know. He's thinking about everybody and He's thinking about places where it is not night. But I wonder what He is thinking tonight when I come to His mind. Is He upset? Ticked-off? Bemused? Frustrated? Disappointed? Happy? Pleased? Ecstatic? I really do not know. The older that I get the more I realize that I usually only think that I know what God is thinking. I only THINK that I always have a handle on what His will is. That is discouraging. But it also means that I must trust more deeply in His soveriegnty. For if He is not soveriegn ... we are all screwed.

So I cast my vote for a Soveriegn God. He has His Hands on the wheel and they are at the 10 and 2 position. God does not have wrecks. Not the kind you see on the highway. Not the kind that are accidental. But I have noticed that He sometimes delights in playing "bumper cars." Remember those? As a kid I used to pay the man the correct amount of tickets and then get in my car (I always chose a blue one. It was a Cubs thing even back then.) When the power was turned on I would run into all of the people that I could. Sometimes when I would get a really good hit on somebody you could see them bounce backward or to the side. You could tell they felt the impact all of the way to their teeth. That was a sweet feeling. Bumper cars are all about causing as much destruction and havoc as you can within a controlled environment where nobody really gets hurt long term. God has been like that of late. Lot's of hits keep coming my way. None of them have killed me. None have sent me to the hospital. I am, however, taking very serious medication. And when your doctor "strongly recommends" that you quit your job by thanksgiving and it's already November ... well, my friend, you have just been "T-boned" by God. And it gets your attention. At least He's got MY attention. I will live through it or die trying. (Joke intended) I don't think God is going to run out of tickets for this ride and so I think I am going to go and look for another ride to get on. And obviously I want Him there with me. I'm just hoping that He is finished with His famous "bump and run."

And I sure hope He doesn't put my on His tilt-a-whirl.

Whispering Memories

Ok, I am going to try to write something here but I have no idea what to say. You are going to have to cut me some slack if I screw it all up. Maybe I need to start it off with some words written and sung by one of my favorite bands on the planet, The Lost Dogs. Yeah, it's a lame name but not as lame as some of their music. Still, when they nail a good one it just sings my heart. That's the case with "Whispering Memories."

"No, I don't wish that I never met you
Though the thought of you tears me apart
Now and then I may try to forget you
But your memory burns in my heart

The Angels were reluctantly against us
So they didn't do enough to interfere
Ah, but true love was never meant for us
No surprise it all ended in tears

Time waits for no one
And our day is done
The sun gave her light to the moon
So tonight I'll listen
To the voice in the wind
Whispering memories of you

We might have rode out to the desert
Or to some big city to hide
But it's obvious now we were dreaming
Just a fantasy destined to die

Time waits for no one..."

Those dogs. They know how to turn a phrase. I mean, that is obviously a love song. It's about romance and caring and love. And that's different from the love a youth pastor experiences for a youth group. But only a little bit. The romance part doesn't apply. And yet walking with Jesus IS the greatest romance in all of life. He is the Groom and we are the bride. And when you love a bunch of kids that are all a part of "the bride" with you ... well ... they somehow move in and take over your heart. And that is exactly what has happened to me.

I have been a youth pastor since I was a youth myself. I started as a volunteer at 19 years old. A brief 32 years ago. And 23 of those years involved kids in this church right here. And the latest group of kids in that church ... the ones I pastored until about 48 hours ago ... they are some of the best I have ever known. And I've Known some good ones.

When I told them that I was resigning it took me way too long to get to the point. I just did not know how to say it. And when I finally got it out they didn't get it at first. Then I heard a muffled cry. I locked eyes with a young lady in the back corner. I led her to Jesus this year and baptized her. She's like maybe 15 years old and yet she loves this old man and has let me be a part of her life. Then I heard more sobs and saw more tears. They put me in the middle of their circle. They lay their hands on me and prayed for me. I felt drops ... tear drops ... land in my hair and on my neck. They ran down beneath my shirt and across my back. And it hurt. It really, really hurt.

It was much easier telling the adults that I was leaving the church than it was the kids. Adults "get" stuff like this. They know life changes and moves on. Kids don't really understand that yet. And there is part of the problem. I'm 51 years old and I don't get it yet either. And worse yet, I don't want to get it. I just want to keep looking into those bright eyes and seeing joy. I am addicted to their smiles and their laughter. I do not see or hear much of that from people my age. And I do not want to let it go.

And so we are left with "whispering memories." I wake in the middle of the night and I think of them. The 'Fuge's. The JPL's. The Willow Creek retreats. I think of a hundred other places and times and events. I think about standing in a big tub of water with about 17 of them this year alone and baptizing them into the Family of God. I'll never get over that. Please God. Don't let me ever get over that.

If you are a kid and happened to read this I just want you to know that I quit because God told me to. And my life is about following Jesus no matter what the cost. That's what I've tried to teach you to do. Please ... please do. It hurts sometimes. But I have checked and their is nothing else in life worth living for. The angels were reluctantly against us ... and they didn't do enough to interfere. I don't suppose I really believe that. It makes for a good song. And it certainly feels true tonight. I'm sure I'll understand it better someday but from this vantage point ... it's hard.

Ok, I hate this blog. I will probably read it in the morning and either fix it or delete it. We'll see.

The way the ball bounces ...

If you were going to be a ball what kind of ball would you be? Some possibilities …

A baseball. Did you know that before every major league baseball game the umpires take the balls that are going to be used, remove them from the box and rub them up very lovingly with dirt? It is very special dirt. I do not know why but it is. It is not a bad dirt but a good dirt. And then we have all seen the pitcher take the ball and rub it up again while standing beside the mound. They all want the ball to feel right. When was the last time that somebody went to any effort to rub you up to make sure that you felt just right? Being a baseball would be a good thing to be.

A football. Sure they get kicked around a little bit. It’s part of life. But did you ever watch a running back take a hand-off, tuck the ball away like a precious gem and sprint toward victory? Or have you seen a receiver jump high to grab a ball and keep it from landing in the enemies hands? When was the last time somebody tucked you away to protect you? Or when was the last time somebody pulled you back from the clutches of the enemy? Being a football would be a good thing to be.

A basketball. The whole point of basketball is to pass you from friendly to friendly and then to make you achieve the purpose for which you were created by “swishing” you through the net. Anybody trying to help you achieve your purpose? Anybody trying to make sure only friendlies get to lay a hand on you? I thought not. Being a basketball would be a good thing to be.

A tennis ball. Tennis begins with “love” and throughout the game the ball gets “served.” How can that be bad? Loving service! Sweet. Being a tennis ball would be a good thing to be.

A tether ball. A tether ball exists for one purpose and one purpose only. To get smacked. When you are a tether ball you get this screw shoved into you and then you are hung from a rope or a chain. Next two people square off and take turns smacking you back and forth. Neither of them wants you to come their way. The goal is to take you and wrap you all the way around the pole as many times as possible until you are smacked up against it on the enemies side. That’s it. You get screwed, hung and smacked. Being a tether ball is not such a good thing to be.

So there it is. Life. Rubbed up to feel good. Tucked in like a gem and protected. Passed from friend to friend while being propelled toward your life's purpose. Loved and served. Screwed, hung and smacked. Sad thing is you never get to choose which one it's going to be.

S.T.R.E.P = Sick - Temperature - Restlessness - Expectorate - Pain

Did you ever notice that life tends to (usually) balance itself out? I mean really. Think about it for a minute. Man takes nice trip to Seattle. Man enjoys scenery. Man enjoys food. Man enjoys time with wife. Sounds good so far? Man comes home from Seattle. Man works for a couple of weeks. Man starts feeling poorly. Man calls doctor. Doctor sends man drugs. Man stays home from work for two days. Man feels better. Man goes back to work. Man feels badly again. Man goes to doctor. Doctor shoots man in the butt with a needle. Man goes home. Man stays home two more days. Man feels better.

Ok, I have gotten my cavemanesque talk out of the way. Thank you for indulging me.

Strep throat stinks. I mean really. If I were the type that believed getting sick was God’s judgment for sin I would be repenting my tail off right now. I have spent way too much time in “the date chair” since taking that first antibiotic pill. Bailey the Killer Beagle is tired of having me at home. And I am actually starting to look forward to going back to work.

Maybe I am sicker than I thought.?

Ash, Steam and Volcano Dust

So we've been back on Illinois soil for 25 hours now. I've had a little time to think about the experiences I shared with my wife in America's great northwest. Some trips are just so relaxing, so enchanted, so needed that they are just hard to come back from. This was one of those trips. But you always have to come home and we did. It is still hot and muggy. Our little town is still recovering from a good storm-bashing from a month ago. After 23 years this place has become home in a way that I never expected when I moved here. God has allowed us to put down roots that most youth pastor's never experience. Our kids grew up in one place. I am grateful for that. If our time here ends next month, next year, or next decade I will have to say that He has been very gracious to us. I have no complaints.

Anyway ...

There was a three hour period of our trip that Debbie and I did not share. It happened on Monday. That is the day we drove back to Mt. St. Helen's. It was a stunningly clear day and after kissing my bride at the Johnston Ridge Memorial Observatory I set out on a solo hike. My tools were few. A sweatshirt over my arm, a pair of New Balance sneakers on my feet, an ipod playing in my ears and a bottle of water lodged in the leg pocket of my cargo shorts.

Looking into the crater of the volcano was shocking. The observatory is six miles from the center of the hole where the new "lava dome" is rapidly building. At the rate it is growing it will restore the mountain to its original height in a mere one hundred years. That's not very long in geological years. A very thin and steady stream of ash and steam floats straight up from the dome most of the time. If the missing top and sides of the mountain are not reminder enough, this steam keeps the fact that this is an active volcano in the forefront of your mind. St. Helen's has been in a state of eruption since 2004. Hiking to the rim was banned until about two weeks ago. Now it is limited to, I believe, one hundred people a day and a maximum of twelve in any one hiking expedition. Oddly, the climbers begin from the back side, the south side, of the mountain rather than from the north side where the open hole reveals the gory results of the May 18, 1980 eruption to the world. I am certain there is a reason. I do not know what it is.

My plan was to hike as close to the opening as I could get without leaving the trail. To do so results in a fine of at least $100. And there is always the possibility that you could get lost, injured, swallowed up by some unforgiving crevice or, yes, killed by doing so. I was very satisfied by the trail.

As you leave Johnston Ridge you walk up a rather steep incline on a paved walk way. That is just to hook you. It lures you in. After you reach the top of the first ridge the asphalt vanishes and is replaced by a wide and well maintained trail that turns toward the mountain. There are signs at this point reminding you of the appropriate response to an ash fall. Not to worry though. It will never happen. It's just a wisp of steam. A tiny bit of ash. There is not much going on. Less than a quarter mile down this trail you will find a marble (granite?) memorial to those who were killed in the big eruption. I found the names of David A. Johnston, the geologist manning the ridge when it blew. He was decimated after shouting his final words into his radio ... "Vancouver! Vancouver! This is it!" He was hit by a 300mph blast of super-heated gas, ash, and rock. They never found him. A forest service employee told me that they did find small remains of his trailer. Sadly, David was the man who predicted the eruption and he had not even been staffing the observation point. The man who was happened to be called away for a day and David agreed to take his place. As you might have guessed, that day was the day of the huge explosion that forever changed the face of the region as well as the way scientists study volcano's. I also saw the name of Harry Truman. You may remember him from a made-for-tv movie back in the 80's. The movie portrayed him as a grizzly, stubborn old mountain man who refused to leave his lodge at Spirit Lake. Locals will tell you that the truth is he was quite the entrepreneur in reality. He would not leave because he was concerned about what someone would do to his place in his absence. He was afraid of the mountain but he stayed. The ranger told me that he probably had enough time to turn and look over his shoulder when the mountain blew before his life ended. I'm telling you ... this is a wild place.

As I hiked on I had my eyes on the fragmented mountain. It is very hard to take your eyes off of it. I had my ipod tuned to "shuffle" and music praising the eternal God, maker of mountains filled my head. I walked and I prayed. The wide and maintained walk way tapered off into a discernible but definitely non-maintained trail. When it did I saw the final sign of my journey. It told me that to go any further was a serious decision. If you are afraid of heights, concerned about your physical abilities, or apt to panic in tough terrain you should not go any further. I did what any red blooded male would do. I took a picture of the sign to show everybody when I got back.

I kept walking. I came across a bench with an almost shocking view. I could now see all of the growing lava dome from my new vantage point. I sat for a few minutes and stared, trying to imagine what it looked like to be in that spot all of those years ago. Some strange form of flying insects were buzzing around the area. They made a rattling sound. At first I mistook the sound for a possible rattle snake. That scared me more than the volcano did. And then one of the flying creatures landed on my shoe and started its rattling. I shook it off and ceased to worry about slithering reptiles. I don't think there are rattle snakes in Washington state but I don't want to bet my life on it.

I stood and began walking again. My trail map placed me more than a mile and a half from the observatory. I walked on. Then I walked so more. And then a bit further. I can only guess that I had walked somewhat more than three miles at this point when I came across a large rock. The trail beyond this point turned toward the east, somewhat away from the mountain. It followed a ridge line that appeared to have its view of St. Helen's blocked. I decided that this was probably as close as I could get. My map showed that the trail would split after the walk across the ridge. A right turn at that split would take me directly onto the apron areas of the land slide in front of the mountain. A glance at my watch told me that if I continued on that far I would not be able to return to the visitor's center by their closing time. That would get me in trouble with the rangers and especially with my wife. And so I took my hooded Centrifuge sweat shirt, folded it up, and used it as a cushion on the boulder at the edge of the trail.

And I sat. In stillness. In silence. I could hear the wind whipping through the valley, the rattling of the insects, and pretty much nothing else. I had not seen any other people for roughly the last mile. I do not know if anybody was on the trail beyond me or not but it did not matter. I was ending my treck here.

And I stared. Mt. St. Helen's commands your full attention. It is just too much to take in. A broken mountain. A shattered forest. A river valley buried under 650 feet of pumice and boulders.

And I prayed. I asked God if He wanted to do in my life what He had done to that mountain. Is it time for Him to rock my world? Are there false faces that He needs to blow away? Does He want to expose me to the heat of His inspection and burn away old growth in order to allow new growth to take place?

Silence. No response.

I reached to my pocket and tuned my ipod to the Psalms. I told it to read the scriptures to me in whatever random order it would choose. I asked God to program it to pour into my soul what He desired that I hear. I was listening to Psalm 97 when it happened. I had been staring into the moon-like valley. As I glanced back to the mountain my mouth went dry. My pulse began to race. The small and steady stream of ash had grown into a large and moving plume. It was moving downward and quickly covered the entire lava dome. In retrospect it does not look like much in the pictures. In person? In person it was an entirely different story. The steam and ash kept coming. I began snapping pictures. I turned on my cell phone to see if I had a signal. I had a weak one and I called Debbie's cell to make sure she was seeing this from the visitor's center. She did not answer and so I left a message. (She told me later that people began panicking and running away when the eruption started. The rangers took bull horns and told them to stop running and start taking pictures because they would likely never see this again.) I put my phone back in my pocket and sat stunned on my rock. That is when the words from Psalm 97 penetrated my own fog. I heard the Word of God say, "The mountains take one look at God and melt, melt like wax before earth's Lord. The heavens announce the He'll set everything right, and everyone will see it happen - glorious!" (Psalm 97: 5 - 6.) I remember thinking, "God burped the mountain for me."

All too soon the mini-eruption ceased. The cloud lifted out of the crater, floated above the mountain and formed into a small band of clouds heading eastward. I began a slow walk back to the visitor's center. I had been gone nearly 2.5 hours. After a while I came across a Park Service Ranger. She was walking in the direction I was coming from. She asked if I had seen the eruption. I showed her the pictures on my camera. We walked to a nearby bench, one of two I had seen on the trail, and she spent the better part of thirty minutes giving me a first hand description of what I was looking at on the mountain, in the valley, and to my left at the famous Spirit Lake. There is no space to write it all here but rest assured, when God wants a mountain to melt ... He does a very good job of making it happen.

After our conversation she asked me if I had seen anybody further up the trail. I told her that I had not, thanked her for the guided tour, and began my walk back to Debbie and the Johnston Ridge Memorial Observatory. It was an amazing day.

Two days later I was still finding ash and pumice in my hair when I washed it in the mornings.

It was an amazing day with an amazing God. And yes, He spoke to me. The eruption was a gift. It had nothing to do with what He told me. Neither did the worship songs I tuned in to. Neither did the reading of the Psalms. But He addressed my questions and dilemma's specifically and in a way I did not expect. I am not ready to tell you about that. Maybe some day. Maybe not. For now it is between my God and I.

And now, roughly 100 hours after my own personal volcanic eruption, something occurs to me for the first time. The Words of God spoken softly and quietly within my own spirit are of far great worth than a close-up and personal view of a mangled mountain and hot lava spewing up from the depths of the earth. Yes, it was worth the drive back down from Seattle to see the crater. And yes, it was awe inspiring to see the eruption. But hearing God's voice? Nothing is better than that.

As a side light, we had just taken off from SeaTac airport in Seattle yesterday morning and had not even approached cruising altitude when I glanced out the window of our 737. It was cloudy in Seattle when we took off and was still cloudy now about twenty minutes later. I noticed a few mountain peaks in the distance but I paid no attention because right in front of me. to the right of the jet, close enough that I felt like I could reach out the window and touch it ... was the ridge, crater and lava dome of Mt. St. Helen's. They were rising above the clouds as though they wanted to say a quick "good-bye" before we got too far away. And oddly, there was not even a tiny stream of rising ash this time.

How good is God anyway?

(For more pictures of my hike and the mountain go to www.flickr.com/photos/rotola and click on the "Seattle 2006" link." To see live pictures from the web came at the Johnston Ridge Memorial Observatory go to http://www.fs.fed.us/gpnf/volcanocams/msh/ )

Weird Happens

Weird happens. It is built into life. You can't run from it, hide from it, or control it. I have already confessed that the last time I flew (before this trip) was 3 days before the horror's of 9-11. Since then I had been earth bound. I drive. I ride my "hardly." I occasionally walk. I even skipped once when no one was looking. But I had not flown again until August 16th. It all went great. St. Louis to Phoenix. Phoenix to Seattle. Piece of cake. And then my bride and I drove around a little bit. Spent a couple of days just enjoying ourselves. I checked e-mail before going to bed on the third day of our journey and I noticed a small headline on foxnews.com. I was tired and did not pay much attention to it. But the next morning when I woke up the news was pretty much all under one headline. Terrorism. It seems that some bad people were being arrested in Britian for plotting to blow up many airplanes headed for the United States. I realized right away that we had flown three days ago.

Hmmmm.

Three days. Three days before. Three days after. I see a trend.

And then they announced that the day the new terror event was planned to have occured was August 16. That is the day I held tickets for to return home. Like I said ... weird happens.

I kind of feel guilty. Like if I stopped flying all of this would stop happening. Ok, not really. I mean, I know better. But you have to admit that it IS kind of strange. For the record I would like to point out that I didn't fly anywhere near the time that "shoe bomber" guy tried to light up his Adidas. Can't hang that one on me.

So this morning I dutifully took off my shoes for the guy behind the x-ray machine, emptied my pockets and disposed of my bottled water before arriving at the gate. My toothpaste and shampoo are in my checked luggage in the belly of the plane. Not only that but I kept all of my electronic equipment off until the nice lady up in front said it was ok. And even then I kept my ipod turned down low. Right now I am typing at 41,000 feet above New Mexico, or so the Captain tells me. I have my seat belt on, I am smiling a lot at the flight attendents and I am watching my wife play "Go Fish" with a little girl flying alone from Seattle to St. Louis. She's a pretty special woman, my wife. So, you see, I am really trying. Today I am doing it all right. Playing by the rules.

Anyway, I think maybe I'll just stop flying again. I don't have any tickets pending. Since I stole the northwest corner of the country on this trip (see previous blog) I kind of thought I might go for the northeast next summer. You know, start a collection of the farthest rocks stuck to the farthest corners of each part of our country. Florida would have been robbed in 2008. San Diego would have lost their rock in 2009. And in 2010 I would have sold them all on e-bay for a tidy profit allowing me to retire early and enjoy life on some mountain. Hey, it was a plan. But I guess it's just not happening. For the sake of national security and the airline industry I suppose I should hang-up my wings.

So here I go, one last time. Everybody singing ... "OFF I GO, INTO THE WILD BLUE YONDER..." Tomorrow I'll just drop the top on my 'Stang and cruise the asphalt. The world will be better for it.

I have to see the crater...

I have to go again.

After flying 2,300 miles, driving 135 miles and walking maybe a mile or two I got to see a really cool cloud. Oh sure, it was covering the most active volcano in the history of the United States but it was still a cloud. It was only shrouding the actual crater of the volcano. The destoyed north side of the mountain was clearly visable. But I did not come here to see a cloud. I came here to see a crater.

When Mt. St. Helen's erupted on May 18, 1980 it was a bright and sunny Sunday in Chicago. My wife and I were at church. I was the youth pastor. On the front of the program that was handed out on that day was a picture of the nearly perfect Mt. St. Helen's in southwest Washington. How odd. We did not know it until we got home but while we were at worship, holding our little program in our hands, that very mountain was exploding. It lost its entire north face. It blew down trees like twigs. It pushed Spirit Lake so far up the side of a mountain that when the water returned it brought all of the trees and soil with it. It killed the entire lake and everything in it. Over fifty people died. The devastation is still overtly evident today, 26 years later. Oh, and that was also my wife's twenty second birthday. What a candle.

And so today we walked through the "blast zone" and found out exactly why it is called that. I think of words like "amazing," "awesome," "powerful," and even "unbelievable." None of those words explain what it looks like. As President Jimmy Carter said, "the moon looks like a golf course compared to this." I am certain it looks much better today than it did when he said that. But still ...

So today the cloud lifted. It is not supposed to return over the next few days. Therefore, I am going back. I do not know what it is. Something draws you to that place. Especially for those who remember the eruption in their own personal history. I plan on returning to the "Johnston Observatory" and striking out on one of the trails into the valley that touches the base of the volcano. I will leave my precious asthmatic bride at the visitor's center for maybe an hour. Maybe two. I cannot hike to the very rim of the crater because I have neither the permit nor the energy. But I want to get close enough to KNOW what the raw power of God feels like in a very small way.

I read an advertisement recently for a children's ministry program. Their motto is, "Experience God at full force." How dumb. Nobody could live through that. Nobody could survive a nano-second experiencing God at full force. My God is the God who can blow the top and side off of a mountain with less than a sneeze. But I do want to get close to that mountain. As close as I can. I think I am looking for my own personal "burning bush." I know that there are no bushes out there. Only ash and pumice. But God and I have been having this situation lately. I keep forgetting about Him having me in the crater of His Holy Hand. I have been getting distracted by perceived threats and the saber rattling of the enemy. The mindless chatter of silly voices that don't know how to keep quiet rings in my ears all too often.

So I am going back to the mountain. Monday. Tuesday at the latest. I am going to stand as close to it as I can get. And I ama going to remember the God who made it ... and the God who took it out. And I am going to see what happens when He sneezes. I am going to let my bush of doubt and fear burn to the ground. I am going to ask Him to blow the top and sides out of my mountain of insecurities and questions about the future. I am going to expose the tall trees of "self" and trust Him to break them like insignificant toothpicks. I will allow Him to turn my jeans and t-shirt to sack cloth and ashes if He so desires.

I want my cloud to lift. I want to see the crater. And I want to remember who my God is.

The Corner of the Country

Location, location, location. Those are famous words in the world of real estate. They are also famous words in the world of vacation. As I mentioned previously I chose Seattle as our get-away spot for 2006 because it was the farthest we could get from our home without leaving the "lower 48." I was wrong. I realized it on our first evening here. The farthest point from our little cottage on Sanders Street is ... Neah Bay, Washington. I knew immediately that I must go there. I checked mapquest.com. I punched it into my gps. I grabbed my bride and we slid into our rented Jeep Liberty and headed west. I navigated the city of Seattle with little diffficulty. "Sophie" the gps queen guided my turns. We boarded the Edmonds/Kingston ferry and crossed Puget Sound. As our wheels found pavement again we began our journey in earnest.

Little did we know.

It is only 167 miles from our hotel in Renton, Washington to the spot know as "Cape Flattery Viewpoint." Back in Illinois that would take about 2.5 hours to traverse. But this is Washington. And that is the Olympic Pennisula. Those are the Olympic Mountains. That, my friend, changes everything. How does 4 hours and 25 minutes sound? Unless ... you have to wait for the ferry. And of course we did. Our little jaunt to the corner of the country yesterday took something over 12 hours. That included a quick lunch in Sequim. The rest was driving. Up, over, around, switching back and crossing over. It was a stunningly beautiful ride that my bottom side will never forget. And when we arrived at Neah Bay on the reservation of the Makah Indian nation we were already intoxicated by the views.

And then came the walk. Nothing major. Only about 3/4 of a mile. Down. Through a rain forest. A wet rain forest. The Mukah's trained some carpenter's and they made some boardwalks over the wettest places. One woman walking behind me slid on a wet and exposed tree root. She laughed and pulled herself up, her husband worrying over her. I made sure to stop and point out all of the slippery spots to her as I passed over them. Debbie and I eventually out ran them and arrived at the very north western tip of our country all alone.

Wow. I had never seen the Pacific Ocean. It looks like the Atlantic only backward. And there are these HUGE rocks jutting up out of the sea. The best I can tell their only job is to stand there and be breath taking. The water roared in from the west. To the northwest you could see the mountains towering on Canada's Vancouver Island. It is August and they are still snow capped. We stood and stared at the view. There is actually this wooden viewing deck but it didn't look like fun because there was about 10 feet of open ground between the deck and the edge of the cliff that was the actual tip of America. So we did what any self respecting American would do. We skipped the deck. I went straight to the edge. Heights have never bothered me. Depth do. When I got to the edge I realized that my cavalier attitude toward heights revealed my terror of depths because straight down about 100 feet below were mammoth waves crashing against the cliff we stood on. You can actually FEEL the cliff shudder occasionally due to the sea caves located below. I retreated a couple of feet. And then I had a craving.

I wanted to take the corner of America home with me. I got down on my knees. I stretched. I reached. I did everything but lay down and finally I wrapped my hand over the edge of America and I grabbed the last stone that hung out over the ocean. It is only about 1/8th of an inch by 1/8th of an inch. But I got it. I got it! And now I own it! And It's coming back to mid-America with me! It will be on display in my office in a couple of weeks. Stop by and see what I risked my life for!

Our return drive was long but satisfying. We got back to the ferry across Puget Sound 55 minutes before it was to leave. Debbie sat in the Jeep while I walked back a few blocks and found an open late night bakery where I purchased 2 cinnamon rolls just before they closed. A fitting end to a magnificant day.

The top left edge of the country. I got it.

Score!

Character References...

Ahhhhh. Seattle. Who would have thought it? I assumed it was about scenery. Mountains. Water. And I guess it is. But so far it is mainly about characters. People. Like just today …

He’s a big dude and young. His name is Danny. I thought he just waited tables at XXX Rootbeer Stand. (In the 1970’s the place was one of 79 franchises. It’s the only one left. If it isn’t a gold mine somebody mismanaging it.) Turns out his dad owns it. He looks Hispanic but sounds like a typical north-westerner. He recommended the foot long hot dog over the mega-burger. And he was right. The dog was named the “Dual Exhaust.” They call it that for a reason. He knows everything there is to know about this area. And he has fun sharing his information with you. You go east? You’ll get hot in about one hundred miles. You go west? The coast. Anyplace on the coast is a good place. Danny loves it here. But only if the temperature is between 75 and 82 degrees. Any less and he needs a jacket. Any more and he sweats.

And then there was everybody we met in downtown Seattle. Nobody was normal. NO BODY. Maybe we went too late in the day. Not sure. But you could sense a story in every person. And then when you come across the park … the one with the big totem pole … people get really, truly weird. They are scary. And some of them fight. We saw that a couple of times and decided it was a good opportunity to walk the other way. As we did we happened across another guy walking toward us. I think he was big enough to handle himself. He smiled at us and said, “Sounds like they’ve had too much fire-water.” We saw him later across the street from the park. I guess he survived. The girl at the candy store looked like she could not afford her own caramel apples. She suggested a sea food restaurant down past Pike Place and near the crazy park. We glanced at the menu and noticed that the meals started at $45 a plate. We weren’t that hungry. Maybe she makes more selling peppermint sticks than we realize.

Finally there was our waitress at “The Outback” tonight. It took about five minutes to discover that she moved here eleven months ago from Chicago. Lincoln Park to be exact. And she’s trying to have a baby. I mean she and her female “partner” are trying to become parents. They have selected a donor. They purchased four doses of … of … some kind of donation. If you know what I mean. Each dose costs $250. The first one didn’t take. They have three more chances. Did I really need to know all of this? All I wanted was a steak and maybe a baked potato. But she did tell us to stay away from the Totem Pole park after about 3pm. Where was she two hours ago when we needed her? Oh, and she really liked Debbie’s complexion. And she smiled at me and put her hand on my shoulder when she talked about the $250 per dose issue. Yes, I squirmed. She misses Chicago because her daddy is there. I think there is a piece of this story we have not heard.

Hey, maybe we are characters too? Maybe Debbie is a mysteriously well-complexioned exotic woman and she’s hanging out with me, a chili dog lovin, dual exhaustin, fight avoiding, straight, jeep renting kind of guy? It doesn’t make for a very good story. But at least it’s true. And if we pay $250 for something … you darn well better be able to sit on it, watch it, or at least listen to it.

I am sooooo small

I am the very last person in the country to get on a jet in the post 9/11 era. Yesterday I actually got around to going to the airport and boarding a plane. My last flight was on 9/08/2001 and was from Phoenix to St. Louis. Oddly this flight was from St. Louis to Phoenix. Wouldn't it be lovely if we could reverse all that has happened in our world as easily as I retraced my steps? It isn't happening. I have not been avoiding flying. I just haven't had anywhere that I needed to be. Well, no place that required jet engines and altimeter's. And now I am sitting with my bride in the suburbs of Seattle, Wa. I've barely looked out the hotel window. I think it's partly sunny. And it's going to be 72 degrees today. Max. That's why I chose this place. That and because it is the farthest I could get us from our home and remain in the lower 48. I'm not sure why I wanted to remain in the states. I'm just a state-side kind of guy I guess. Anyway ...

Here are some things that I learned or remembered while "slipping the surly bonds of earth" yesterday...

-I am small. Very small. Sometimes I get caught in the trap of believing that all of life, all of the world, revolves around me and my issues. If I am upset then the world must be off kilter. Spinning off its axis. And it is not. Those jet engines just kept gobbling up real estate and the more they gobbled the more there was to gobble. And all of those people down there? Not one of them knew I was up in the sky. I am sure none of them even cared unless I fell on their heads. Which I did not. We are all better off for this. (On the other hand falling out of the sky unexpectedly is probably the only way I will ever get on CNN.)

-Clouds are strikingly beautiful from above. There is little of the flat, gray sameness to them. They bubble and they billow and the go in anyway the please. If clouds looked from below like they look from above they would scare all of us to death. God keeps the best view of the clouds for Himself and for those who fly jets.

-Lightening at night is REALLY cool from above. You cannot describe it. it is just ... raw power.

-Phoenix is hot. Really. I am not kidding.

-Professional glass blowers are fun to talk to. Master professional glass blowers are even more fun. For about thirty minutes. At that point they have nothing new to say and yet they never finish saying it. Put a little liquer in them and they begin to say nothing with gusto.

-Gray haired ladies in their seventies have every right to insist on only reading the King James Version of the bible if they want to. I do not have the heart to argue with them. It brings them a sense of security and peace and that is just fine with me.

-I do not agree with laws legalizing prostitution. But there is one place where, if you are going to legalize it, you might want to start. Nevada. And actually sex for money is legal in much of that state. After spending a great amount of time flying over it yesterday I must say that there is probably nothing else to do down there. I do not think that God is going to "look the other way" but if He ever did that might be where He would do it.

-I am absolutely drawn to bathrooms on airplanes. The ceiling curves severely over your head. One foot above that curve you would be dead. One foot below that curve you can pee in peace. Somehow (though I am not sure how) that seems to be a fitting metaphor for life. I must work on that. I'll get back to you.

That is it for now. I have to go pick-up a rental car so that I can peek into a volcano and look for some whales. No, really. That's what I am going to do. Ok, not in the same place. But that is on the agenda. Along with some extended time in a hot tub.

Later.

back?

I've been away from blog-dom for a bit. I needed a break. My kids, as you know, were gone. The dog was peeing on the carpet supposedly because she was missing them. Seperation anxiety. Yeah, right. My wife was driving back and forth to West County many days to baby sit for Elle. And so life has been odd.

It hasn't, however, been peaceful. No. Not peaceful. I do not want to go in to all of that here. If you know me you also know the drill. Let's just leave it at that.

But my heart, which I thought would be full, has been empty. Kind of rocked back on its heels. (If a heart has heels.) It has been a hot and tiring summer. Lots of time with teens which is good. Great actually. But also lots of time to think. And right now thinking is making my head hurt. I am really ready to think about new things. I am weary of thinking about old things. Some old things just need to die out and go away. Maybe they will. Maybe they will.

God says He makes all things new. New is good. I am ready for new. Next week I am taking my bride to Seattle. I have never been there and I have always wondered what it is like. It just has a...

Ok, before I could finish that sentence my youngest son called me sounding distressed. I drove to meet him at our home. It seems he was coming back from registering at college. As he crossed the Chain of Rocks bridge over the Mississippi River a truck kicked up a tire that was laying on the road. He had no "swerve room." It nailed his front bumper and tore it up then ran down the drivers door of the car and scratched it pretty badly. He was mad. I understand that, having been in similar situations myself. But I tried to remind him that this happened on a bridge that rises about 50 feet above one of the longest and widest rivers in the country. He could have hit it and been thrown through the guard rail. That would have been quite a bit worse. "Bad" is usually relative.

I got to pray with five 4th graders to receive Christ tonight. I got to teach bible study to 9 middle schoolers. I got to visit and pray with a dying man this morning. I got to deliver school supplies to a Christian activities center in a very impovrished East St. Louis after that. And then I got to spend time reading to and praying with a women who has ALS. She cannot talk. She types me letters with a special mouse that she moves with the one remaining toe she has that still works.

So my son survived a near disaster and I got to do some cool eternal things. I should be pumped. I should be up. Way up. But I am tired. To the bone. I am ready for a break in the great northwest. I am ready to be away from the air of home for a while. I want to look at mountains and stare at the ocean while it swallows the sun. I want to gaze into an active volcano. I want to go to a fish market and watch them throw fresh sea food at each other. (They tell me they do that there.) I want to watch my bride smile and hear her breathing come easily for a change. The air is clean there. Tell me that the air is clean there. Please? I want to forget about agenda's and deficits. I want to forget about people who are a more than a little mean and yet pretend to be a friend. I want to go to church and not have anybody ask me something or tell me what is wrong. I want to worship in a pure and unadulterated way. That is, after all, the only kind of worship.

Ok, rant over. Sorry for not being more upbeat. I'll do better next time. After the plumber fixes my faucet and the insurance adjuster writes my storm-damage check and my jet is wheels up over a state that doesn't touch mine ...

The View From The Nest

There comes a time when life, which had been a whirlwind of activity, suddenly down shifts into slow motion. It never stays there for long so when it happens it is best to pay attention. Something important is probably going on.

Tonight I held my granddaughter. Elle is two weeks old today. She is not as big as my head and weighs far less. This was the first time she has come to my home. I think she liked it. At least she seemed to as I cradled her little body in my arms. I feel like a giant when I am holding her. I hope she thinks I am a good giant. The kind she can count on if things take a turn for the worse. As I held her I looked at my daughter. She looks just like she did before she told me she was pregnant. She has the same beautiful smile. The same pure and innocent laugh. But in her eyes I see a wisdom that she did not have before the birth of Elle. Somehow parents gain it at the birth of their first child. At least good ones do. My son-in-law has the same look. It is a look that says that they understand something about the universe that had not occured to them before. I think that this knowledge runs deep. It rings of life and obligation and responsibility. But it is more than that. It is about sacrifice and a total commitment to make something happen. Something good. Something good in and for their child. I think they might understand something now that I have wanted them to understand for a long time. We have always had a great relationship but I think it would have been even better had she understood it when she was living under my roof. But life does not work that way.

This afternoon I talked to my youngest son. He called me from North Greenville College in South Carolina. He is willingly taking on the role of a super-man this summer as he serves God by serving young people. Christopher is on staff at "Centrifuge," an incredible camp for teens held across the country. He is helping these kids in ways that they will not understand until much later. He is doing his best to introduce them to Christ. He is watching out for kids at risk, kids who are abused, kids who need a word of encouragement from an adult. That is what he is now. And adult. He still has a bedroom that he will spend more time in two doors down from mine. But he's spending less and less time there as days go by. It's all a part of the process. Christopher does not need to be a permanent fixture in my home. It would be detrimental to him. He has found his wings and he needs to exercise them. I think he flies rather well. And he is only going to get better. I don't think he has any idea how proud of him I am. And I don't think that I have the ability to tell him in a way that he will understand. Maybe ... maybe when he has his first child.

In thirty six hours my oldest son will climb into his jeep and point it north. The most crucial of his belongings will be in it. Clothes. His television. His laptop. His mountian bike will be strapped to the back. He will be back and forth quite a bit over the next year. But he will be more "forth" than "back." That too, is a good thing. He's twenty three and, other than my wife and I, has been the most consistent resident of my home over the past few decades. Now God has called his number and he's moving to the suburb of Chicago where he will be working as an intern at one of the largest churches in the United States. I fully approve of this relocation. But it does hurt. The hurt is tempered by the pride. The pride is enriched by the joy. The joy is a gift from the Father we both share. The eternal Abba. Scott is going to learn a lot during these next twelve months. He will probably come home a better youth pastor than I have ever dreamed of being. This is as it should be. I would like to know that I have not only reproduced myself but that I have improved upon myself in the reproduction.

You know. Come to think of it I believe I have done that three times.

My wife is staying home with me. She and Bailey the Killer Beagle will now join me as the sole occupants of our four bedroom house. It will be much quieter than it has ever been before. The pictures of three infants turned children turned adults will be looked at more closely and more often. There are no regrets. Not one. We have gone "three for three." God has given us far more than He owed us. That is one reason why we have taken that fourth bedroom and converted it into a prayer room. Our house has been a place of service as we have raised our children. Now it becomes a place of prayer as we launch them from the nest and into a world that might not welcome them but most certainly will not be able to ignore them.

If I were a betting man my money would be on the three of them to do a lot of "damage" for the Kingdom. It should be a delight to behold.

Perfect Innocence

To hold her in your arms is to experience absolute trust. There is no guile in her intent. There is no fear in her eyes. There is no malice in her cry. She believes all will be well. She believes that she can count on you. She believes. She is the picture of innocence. The epitome of trust.

Elle Parker McGill entered a world littered with much ugliness. Greed. Envy. Hatred. War. Lust. Murder. Lies. Deceit. The list goes on. And yet she knows nothing of any of that. Her needs are simple and yet complex. She needs sleep. Lot's of sleep. She needs milk that only her mother can produce. She needs to be kept warm and finds herself wrapped in a sleeper, blankets, and topped off with her first sock hat. She needs to be touched. Held. People are lining up to provide for those needs. She needs love. She has found an abundance.

Why is Elle different from most children born on planet earth? Well, first of all she was born in the wealthiest and arguably the best nation every to grace the surface of our planet. The United States of America is her home. It is not a perfect place but nobody can say that it does not try. With all of it's faults there are still none better. Were it not for the United States of America the world would be at best communist and at worst nazi. The options would not be good. Elle has been placed in the best possible place to be born. She was given to a mother and father who would quickly exchange their lives for hers if the need arose. Her grandparents would do the same as would a host of great grandparents, aunts and uncles. Her parents can provide for her in a fashion that most children will never know. Elle lives in a home that will go to great lengths to educate her and she will have every opportunity to cash in on outstanding possibilities. Elle is loved. She has done nothing to deserve it yet. She cannot do the dishes or wash the laundry. She cannot walk the dog. She cannot clean her room.

Elle can trust. That is about all she can do. The difference between most people and Elle is that Elle is quite aware that others are providing for her. I do not think it has entered her little mind yet that it could possibly be any other way. Me? I try to stand on my own two feet and meet my own needs. And in some worldy ways I am able to do that. But the major things are a gift for me just as they are for Elle.

I cannot buy love. I cannot earn the air that I breath. I cannot make my own water to drink. I canot create myself, sustain myself, or save myself. I am dependent upon another.

Lord, thank you for Elle. She is not even 48 hours old and yet she has taught me much ... reminded me of much. Life is not about me. It is about those I can serve. And it is about the one that served me and provided for me when I was unable to do so myself. If is about you, Lord. Food comes from you. Air comes from you. Water comes from you. Love ... well love comes from you. Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. Jesus told me that. Elle just reminded me.

Welcome to the world, my precious granddaughter. I am so glad you are here.
Grandpa Ron
P.S. People keep asking me what I want you to call me. It really does not matter to me, Elle. I'm just honored to be a part of your life. Welcome to our family. Welcome to our world.