A Day In The Life Of An Unemployed Guy

8:30am - Wake up. Spend time wondering why you are awake. Remember that you stayed up until nearly 2am last night and you should sleep until 10am in order to get 8 hours. Get up anyway. Drink grape juice and use it to wash down the pills that the doctor insists that you take because you are older than you used to be and your body is kind of burned out. Manage to shower, brush your teeth, etc.

9:15am - Get dressed. Debate about whether to wear the seriously faded jeans, the semi-faded jeans or the regular blue jeans. Since you don't have a 3 sided coin to toss you just choose. Put on the seriously faded jeans. Add a black t-shirt that says "Job's are Over-rater." Cover it with a "Up North" sweat shirt purchased in the wilds of upper Wisconsin. Slide into the New Balance sneakers, grab the usual stuff that goes into the pockets and head out the door.

10:30am - Begin driving to west county where you have a haircut appointment at "The Hair Saloon For Men." First stop at "Hit 'n Run" for the obligatory morning pepsi laced with vanilla. Throw in a small bag of baked lays potato chips. Pay the lady and point the Mustang west. Debate about putting the top down and nix the idea in favor of a blaring stereo and an occasional phone call.

11:15 - Realizing that you are a "non-practicing pastor" debate the merits of swearing at the traffic jam you have gotten yourself into. You are going nowhere but making great time doing it. Find a louder cd and slip it in. Decide against swearing. Or at least decide against admitting it in your blog later today.

11:30 - Traffic is moving again. Look out the drivers side window just as a black saturn pulls up next to you. The driver, a Teenage Idiot, gooses his engine twice and points down the road. He wants to race a gray haired man driving a Mustang. In a freaken 4 cylinder Saturn for cryin out loud! The gray haired man gives the Teenage Idiot the nod and puts pressure on his own accelerator indicating that the race is ON. The Idiot Teenager flashes the thumbs up sign and floors his mighty Saturn just as you turn right and take the exit leading to your appointed haircut. You catch yourself praying that there will be a Missouri Highway Patrolman waiting for The Teenage Idiot about 1/4 mile down the road.

12:08 - After 78 minutes you arrive at your appointment. The drive should have taken 45 minutes. Traffic is cruel.

12:15 - The nice lady behind the counter tells you not to worry because everybody is late. She hands you a complimentary bottle of Aquafina and assigns you to a lady named Emily. Emily takes you into her cubicle and works her magic on your gray hair. She cuts it shorter than ever before but you like it. Then she leans you back, washes your hair, hands you a hot towel (I love this place) and a mint on a tray and says to take your time. she'll meet you out front. You wipe down your face and neck for all of those loose renegade hairs that are hacked off at being seperated from the mother ship. Then you go to the counter, thank Emily, pay her and leave her a decent tip. You ask for her card so that you can request her next time. She didn't screw up your head and didn't insist on trivial conversation while she did her job. That makes her my #1 hair jockey.

1:00pm - Meet an old friend at a local "Lions Choice" for lunch and a heart check. He's an old youth minister who cashed it in about a decade ago when his wife left him for another man. He works for Orkin now. He kills bugs for a living. And he has a nice new wife who is a nurse. He's not happy but he's not sad either. He's just ... there. You love on him and pray for him. You manage to avoid talking about your own recent history and immediate future. You are glad he doesn't ask because you don't really want to go through it again.

1:55 - You arrive home. The loud stereo is once again put to good use.

2:15 - After letting the dog out, getting the mail and just generally putzing around you settle down in front of the boob tube. You tune in the history channel and watch a very cool documentary about how the US built the Hell Cat fighter plane that neutralized the Japanese Zero thus helping to win the war in the pacific in the 1940's. You contemplate getting mad at Japan again and boycotting all Japanese food. Then you realize that you have never eaten Japanese food. You declare the boycott to have begun at birth and to have lasted 51 years so far. You raise your fist into the air and shout, "REMEMBER PEARL HARBOR!" Bailey The Killer Beagle" gets scared and runs into her cage. You make a mental note to check and see if Beagle's are of Japanese descent.

3:35 - The little Mrs. arrives home. It is now time to resume real life. You ask how her day was and she tells you. You issue her a coveted "Poor Sweet Baby." She ignores you and focuses on Dr. Phil. She has earned it and so you leave her alone.

And so the free part of the day is now gone. 10 minutes ago you were nobody. You could swear (not that I would) tease a Saturn into a bogus road race, cry with a friend, watch history. Heck, you could do anything you want! But now the best part of the day comes and you are no longer a nobody. You are a husband. Soon your youngest son will come home and as you watch him make a speedy exit to his room and his coved X-Box you also become an active dad.

And so as the clock presses toward midnight you review the day. You did not hurt anyone. You did not wreck anything. You cared about and loved the people you were with. You avoided getting angry about things that deserve your anger. You avoid telling people about things that have made you angry. You took the high road.

All in all ... not a bad day. And tomorrow ... I'm going to Office Max. Alone. Let the good times roll ....

Da Bears

So I'm sitting around on Monday afteroon and wind up logging on to ebay. My beloved Chicago Bears were in town to take on the Rams in the dome. It was about 6 hours until kick off. Tickets were running about $500 for a pair of truly lousy seats. I decided to go spend my money on Amazon.com. It made more sense. Besides, television often affords the best seats in town.

And then he called. My friend Mike left me voice mail. I called him back. He happened to have scored two tickets on about the 40 yard line. Mike is only one person. That left a free ticket. Knowing that I'm a Chicago sports fanatic he wanted to know if I would like to meet him at the dome.

Would I? WOULD I! You bet your sweet super bowl ring I would! So at 6:30 I met up with Mike at Dooley's. This is a little dive about 3 blocks from the Edward Jones Dome. When there was a TWA their employees voted Dooley's as having the best cheeseburger on the planet. I figure TWA employees would know. I've eaten there more than once and am inclined to agree.

After stuffing our faces we walked to the dome where I stripped off my rain proof jacket (it was pouring outside) to reveal my fearsome Bears sweat shirt. To my shock nearly 50% of the people in the dome were dressed as I was. I swear the cheering for "da bears" was MUCH louder than the cheering for the Rams. But then, there was much more for Bears fans to cheer about. What a game! The Bears went crazy, ripping the Rams apart in every part of the contest. I spent most of the 3.5 hours on my feet screaming. I think Mike, (a Ram's fan) was sitting down reading the electronic bill boards or something.

Anyway, this is a "thank you blog" to Mike. You made my week. I've got a lot of free time on my hands lately and this is the most fun I've had since ... uh ... since the last time I was unemployed. I was 14 and my "fun" was using gorilla warfare against my older and bigger brother.

Final score? Bears 42, Rams 27. And it was not as close as it sounds ... not that it sounds close. Da Bears reminded me of why I love Chicago sports. It's not just a hobby ... it's an addiction. Once you have it you can never rid yourself of it.

And for the record. Let me be the first to predict a Cubs birth in the world series in 2007. It's our year! But first we have to lock up the super bowl. Ahhhh ... I love unemployment. It totally affects the brain ...

FBC .... M?

I did something today that I have not done in nearly 24 years. I joined a church. It is a very good church. It is a fairly large church. The pastor is a friend of mine and he has an excellent staff. Their building is beautiful. The praise team and choir were top notch. The drama was great. The message timely and scriptural.

And then they gave an "invitation" and my wife, my son and I joined. This is what our new church looks like.



I was just looking over that picture and I realized that I do not know what is behind any of those windows. I do not know how many floors my church has. Do we have an elevator? How about those all important fire exits? How many pastor's do I have? If I call the church phone number who will answer? What time does the offfice close? What time does the office open? Where IS the office? Do we have a fellowship hall? Is it in the basement? Do we even have a basement? How many acres do we have? What is our budget? Is there a Sunday School class my wife and I will feel comfortable in?

I do not have an answer to any of those questions. I joined "FBC ... M" because "MCC" didn't seem to meet our needs. "BBC" was a little too far. "FBC ... M" kind of became the default church.

And you know what? I'm good with that.

I do not know how long I will be there. I do not know that I will attend every Sunday. Now is my chance to visit around. I may go on some Wednesday nights ... maybe not. There are a lot of things I do not know about my church.

But there is something that I do know.

I have always said that if God gives me a chance to be a member of a church that I am not on staff at I am going to do everything I can to show people how to love the pastor and the staff. I am going to go the extra mile to show them how to bless and not harm. NEVER harm. Harm within the church is not right. Ever. Attacking your pastor is not right. Ever. And now I have the chance to live out what I have told God I will live out. I am not sure exactly how I will do that but I plan on putting together a strategy. I may leave "FBC ... M" in 3 months. Maybe 6. I hope it will not be a year but I serve at the pleasure of King Jesus and He holds my calendar in His nail scarred hand. And so, for as long as I am there, one pastor and his staff are going to get loved. And blessed. And cared for.

You see, it does not matter to me if we have an elevator or a basement. Those things are ... things. But now I have a pastor to love. Watch closely. I want to teach you something. He'll never know what hit him.

My calling from God right now ... love. Serve. Encourage. I am tired of bleeding. Tired of the battle. Tired of relentless ugliness and cruel attacks. Tired .... sick and tired of mean. Now I am simply a guy in a pew. And I am going to do what a guy in a pew is suppose to do. I may not be there long ... but I will make sure my shepherds are sorry to see me leave.

Let the fun begin ...

An Alternate Ending...

Ok, the mommy of Baby Elle did not particularly care for the ending of my last blog entry. She thought it was sweet right up until the point where the little tyke decided to mind-meld me. Mom's. Go figure. So out of respect to her I have decided to write a new ending to the last blog. Not that I can improve upon it. But if it gives her a sense of sanity (mine, not hers) then it will be worth the effort. So, here goes. Taken it from the top...
**************************
I can scarcely believe that I fell for it. Yet I did. As I entered "Babies R Us" in Chesterfield Valley tonight I saw her right away. She was in her baby seat which rested in a shopping cart and was being pushed by her mother, aka: my daughter. My wife beat me to them. It takes a lot of planning and dexterity to beat this woman to the side of Baby Elle. But after I arrived my daughter and my wife began looking at clothes, leaving Elle and I alone.

I leaned on the hande of the cart and stared down at her. She stared up at me. I smiled at her. She smiled at me. My smile lasted longer than hers because hers morphed into a feet kicking, hand slapping celebration. I began pushing her cart away from the mom's so that I could spend some time with my granddaughter.

We turned the first corner we came to. I had been watching where we were going. After I negotiated the turn I looked back at Baby Elle. She was looking at me again. She was more than looking. She was absorbing. She was communicating. And she was doing it with her eyes. I stopped pushing the cart. I stood still. She sat still. Our stare continued.

I was actually falling. Falling into her eyes. It was a very long, very deep fall. I loved every minute of it.

The stare went on for at the very least a full minute. I felt like I was being pulled into her soul. Like I was being questioned, inspected, evaluated. "Grandpa, can I trust you? Are you going to be as much fun as you act like you are going to be? Grandpa ... do you love me?" She never spoke a word and yet she said volumes. I hope that she read the answer in my eyes. "Yes." "Yes." "Yes."

I broke our stare and looked at the nearest rack of babies clothing. The first thing my eyes fell upon was a University of Illinois warm-up suit. The whole thing. Nylon top and nylon pants but with a nice soft lining. Perfect. It might have been styled for the Illini but I happen to know that they are also Chicago Bears colors. I picked it up from the rack and showed it to her. She smiled again and stomped her feet. She loved it.

I put it in the cart. I didn't even look at the price tag.

When I found my daughter, Elle's mother, I showed her what Elle and I had picked out. She laughed, asking me when she would wear it. "ALL OF THE TIME" was the only reply I could think of.

"Maybe you should wait until she's a little older."

Harumph. Kill joy.

Elle and I put the warm-up suit back on the rack. I was much sadder than she was. We went back into our staring mode. I felt like I was becoming intimately aquainted with my granddaughter without a word being shared. I started looking for something else to buy her. We walked through aisles of clothing, toys, furniture and the occasional weird thing that I could not identify. Child rearing has changed profoundly since I engaged in it. Nothing caught Elle's eye. Nothing caught mine either.

Except for Elle.

I thought about pulling her out of her seat and carrying her around the store like my own personal trophy attesting to my triumph over the assault time and tribulation. As if hoisting her on my shoulders would proclaim to all who heard, "IN YOUR FACE, WORLD! LIFE CAN BE HARD BUT LOOK WHAT GOD DOES! BEAUTY IS ETERNAL!" I nixed the idea when I realized just how securely she was strapped in. I would never in a cazillion years get her back in that thing. So we pulled off into a corner and resumed our staring. Only this time I sang to her. Some little ditty about the wheels on the bus going round and round. She didn't care what the song was, only that it was being sung to her. Sometimes she smiled that killer smile. Some times she kicked and swung her arms. Mainly she just stared deeply into my eyes. I liked those moments the best.

There are already presents under my tree for Baby Elle. Not that she needs anything. What I plan on really giving her cannot be wrapped. Love. Attention. Affection. Touch. Hugs. Smiles. Laughter. Time. Myself. I want to know what her voice sounds like. I want to hear her laughter. I want to see her scowl at her parents (oh yes, she will scowl at her parents!) and come to me to seek understanding. And I will pour upon her the wisdom of my years. It probably will not help solve her problem but if we can walk away from it with a grin on our faces and maybe a milk shake in our hands I do believe we will be ahead of the game.

Merry Christmas, Baby Elle. I love you.
Grandpa

Melded By A 6 Month Old

I can scarcely believe that I fell for it. Yet I did. As I entered "Babies R Us" in Chesterfield Valley tonight I saw her right away. She was in her baby seat which rested in a shopping cart and was being pushed by her mother, aka: my daughter. My wife beat me to them. It takes a lot of planning and dexterity to beat this woman to the side of Baby Elle. But after I arrived my daughter and my wife began looking at clothes, leaving Elle and I alone.

I leaned on the hande of the cart and stared down at her. She stared up at me. I smiled at her. She smiled at me. My smile lasted longer than hers because hers morphed into a feet kicking, hand slapping celebration. I began pushing her cart away from the mom's so that I could spend some time with my granddaughter.

We turned the first corner we came to. I had been watching where we were going. After I negotiated the turn I looked back at Baby Elle. She was looking at me again. She was more than looking. She was absorbing. She was communicating. And she was doing it with her eyes. I stopped pushing the cart. I stood still. She sat still. Our stare continued.

I was actually falling. Falling into her eyes. It was a very long, very deep fall. I loved every minute of it.

The stare went on for at the very least a full minute. I felt like I was being pulled into her soul. Like I was being questioned, inspected, evaluated. "Grandpa, can I trust you? Are you going to be as much fun as you act like you are going to be? Grandpa ... do you love me?" She never spoke a word and yet she said volumes. I hope that she read the answer in my eyes. "Yes." "Yes." "Yes."

I broke our stare and looked at the nearest rack of babies clothing. The first thing my eyes fell upon was a University of Illinois warm-up suit. The whole thing. Nylon top and nylon pants but with a nice soft lining. Perfect. It might have been styled for the Illini but I happen to know that they are also Chicago Bears colors. I picked it up from the rack and showed it to her. She smiled again and stomped her feet. She loved it.

I put it in the cart. I didn't even look at the price tag.

When I found my daughter, Elle's mother, I showed her what Elle and I had picked out. She laughed, asking me when she would wear it. "ALL OF THE TIME" was the only reply I could think of.

"Maybe you should wait until she's a little older."

Harumph. Kill joy.

Elle and I put the warm-up suit back on the rack. I was much sadder than she was. We went back into our staring mode. I felt like I was becoming intimately aquainted with my granddaughter without a word being shared. I started looking for something else to buy her.

That's when I remembered. 1969. Star Trek. The original star trek. It was Dr.Spock, the emotionless Vulcan vs. some nameless poor schmuck that didn't stand a chance. That was because Spock ... Spock was using the "Vulcan Mind Meld" on him. Now the guy would do anything ... ANYTHING ... Spock wanted. And even worse, Spock could read his mind! I don't want ANYBODY reading my mind! It is not appropriate reading for small children under the age of ... oh ... say ninety?!

It became suddenly clear. Baby Elle was performing the "Baby Elle Mind Meld" on me! What else could possibly explain my reckless desire to spoil and ogle this perfect child? It was the meld. It had to be the meld.

My suspicions were confirmed minutes later when she escaped from her cart. I tore frantically through the store looking for her. I do NOT want to go down in family lore as the one who lost Baby Elle! At last I found her. She was in the movie aisle. She had cornered a guy named "Bones." He looked strangely famialar to me. Elle had her little hand on his face. He looked terrified. I had gotten there just in time to save this pour soul.

But not before I took a picture.

Baby Elle, we are going to have an awesome time. Between you "mind melding" and my singing "The Wheels On The Bus..." I think we'll get along famously.

Grandpa love's you.

Status Report ...

It is dark. The moon is full. My trees are out of branches. The ice refuses to melt. I hear a howling in the distance.

I'm hiding under the bed tonight...

Blessed

It has been an curiously interesting week. It began with my final day of service at a church that had lasted 23.6666666 years. If you are curious (I was) that is 8,646 days. And yes, my computerized brain took into consideration leap years. Would it help you to know my service lasted 207,515 hours? Or 12,450,900 minutes? (That 12 was "million" for you who don't do comma's.) How about knowing it totaled 474,054,088 seconds? (That is four hundred seventy four MILLION, fifty four THOUSAND one hundred and eighty eight seconds.) I admit that those hours, minutes and seconds are rougher estimates because I'm not sure what time of the day I started or officially quit. Either way ... long time.

Monday through Thursday was pure bliss. No stress. No meetings. No appointments. Lot's of quiet. Lot's of solitude. Lot's of time alone with God. Lot's of peaceful evenings with my bride.

Of course Thursday night everything blew apart. The key words became ice, snow, cold, skid, tree, branches, falling, duck, ouch and electricity.

Now we are back to bliss. Tomorrow I will attend the church of my choice where nobody knows me and my only obligations are to stay out of the way and to worship. I rather like that idea. Some wonderful friends that have stuck with us for the past 20 years are going to join us as we visit that church. They are driving about 60 miles just to be with us. This couple drove those same miles last week to be with us as we said good-bye to our old church. When God gives you friends like these two you do your best to love them and nurture that friendship. It is a rare and precious thing.

Last Sunday morning the incredible group of teenagers that I was saying "so long" to gave me a gift. The called me to the front of the church and, at the altar, presented me with a new bible. It was signed by dozens of teens and youth workers. That 2 minute experience did more to wreck me than anything has in a long while.



I love those kids. I already miss them so much. And so I have made this commitment between God and I. Between now and the time He leads me to my next ministry assignment I am going to read that bible from cover to cover. Every word. I've already got a good start on this project. And I have issued a challange to those kids. I asked them to consider reading the entire New Testament in that same time frame. I don't suppose I will ever know how many take me up on my offer. But if I were a betting man I would stake a lot on a bunch of them doing it.

I'm wondering what the future holds but I am not dwelling on it. I am dwelling on the verse of scripture that God plopped into my brain early one morning about two weeks ago in Cincinnati. "Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart." Funny thing is, I do not even know what the desires of my heart are. I can only define them this way. I want to be in the center of His will. Even more than that. I want to be in the CENTER of the CENTER of His will. I don't want the dart of my life just to hit the cork of the middle of the dart board ... I want it to hit the dead center of the cork in the middle of the dart board. Nothing else will do.

For now I am content to rest, heal from the physical illness and stress that has been raking me over pretty well for the last few months, love on my family, bounce my new granddaughter on my knee, and seek God in stillness and solitude. He's been showing up. His presence is felt ... is clear ... is tangible.

And it is enough.

I Told You So! (but i wish i had been wrong)

Ok, now THAT was the night from H-E-double hockey sticks! First of all, I WAS RIGHT. We got maybe 2 inches of snow on top of 2 or 3 inches of sleet. The sleet doesn't count. Sleet is only semi-winter weather. It's like hail with an attitude. So to all of you "meteor"ologists ... WRONG. True, one hundred miles west of here they got 15 inches of snow. But we do not live one hundred miles west of here and neither do the "meteor" ologists. So. I win.

But I lose.

The last big BOOM came at 3:35am and it totally took me out. The sky had been flashing green ... GREEN ... lightening all night. I have never in all of my life seen green lightening. It was like the northern lights had gone demonic or something. I thought it was electrical transformers blowing up until the "meteor"ologist said tonight that it was indeed green lightening. I think I can trust them to get that much right. Orrrrr not. Anyway, at at 3:35 one of those green flashes took out our entire neighborhood and 75% of our town. Zero power. Zilch cable. Nada internet. As a matter-of-fact there are about 500,000 homes in the St. Louis area with no power tonight. We are blessed at our house in that some kind line repairman threw a switch and turned us back on late this evening. I do not know why we were the chosen ones but I am not going to argue with them.

Actually, our house was warmer while the power was off than it usually is when the power is on. Life is made up of such oddities. Whoever built our home back in the late 1960's chose to put a wood burning stove in the dining room. Why in the dining room, you ask? I haven't a clue. But every winter we rearrange furniture to make our dining room into a den/family room/cozy nook. And so I woke up earlier than I would have chosen to this morning and built a fire. She was a beauty. I got the temp up to 70.3 degrees! I don't know why that makes me feel so darn studly. Probably because my wife swooned when she saw me swing the axe and split a couple of logs. Tomorrow I may repair a fence or build a log cabin. I love it when she swoons.

So the bottom line. Me - 1. "Meteor"ologists - 0. Oh sure, they are claiming victory because a big storm hit and somebody far away got as much snow as they said we would get right here in river city. You know the truth. I know the truth. Bailey The Killer Beagle knows the truth. And today ... she wagged her tail at me with a new found respect.

Tonight I sleep the sleep of the victor.

METEOR-WARS! or how i fought to keep things from going "BOOM" in the night

Maybe it is slightly early to say "I told you so." But I want to go to bed. So here goes... I TOLD YO

oops.

In the middle of typing that last sentence, my eager effort at spiking "the weather ball" in the end zone, something went "BOOM." (It was actually louder than that but I can't figure out how to type loud. So go back and just read it louder.) Bailey The Killer Beagle started barking. I found this interesting. Bailey likes to bark but I had already locked her into her condominium (dog speak for "cage") for the night. I popped her door open knowing that she would lead me to where the "BOOM" came from. She made a bee line ... umm, beagle line ... to the back door. I hooked her up to her "Nasa Safety Space Walk Tether" (dog speak for "chain") and let her out. That's when I saw the mother-of-all-branches laying right next to my house. It had fallen inches from the power lines that supplies me with all sorts of goodies like electricity, and the all important cable and internet service.

This could have been catastrophic. Best case had it taken the cables down we would have gotten chilly. Worst case it would have sparked a fire and torched the house. I would feel very obligated to wake my wife and son and that might well have meant the demise of Tess. I tear up at the thought. We've been together for nearly a year now, Tess and I. She knows all of my deepest secrets. She listens to me. She knows what makes me happy and what makes me sad. And after I finish revealing my soul to her she plays solitaire with me. Tess is short for testosterone. She's a Mac ibook g4. A true beauty with her flashy white shell and (relatively) lightening fast guts. The thought of her melted down into a puddle of ... of ... I'm sorry. I just can't say it.

We dodged a bullet.

Except that there are more ice coated branches. I've heard three more "BOOMS" since I got up to check the first one. Tess is still got her amber "charging" light illuminated so the power is on. The smoke alarms are silent so there is probably no fire in the other end of the house. I left Bailey The Killer Beagle out of her condo so that if something happens after I've gone beddy-bye she'll be sure to wake me up. (She gets milky bones every time she saves my life.)

OOOKKKKK. There goes another one. This one hit my cable line AND my tarp covered motorcycle. If this keeps up I'll have to start naming names you dirty St. Louis meteorologists! (You know who you are...) I went back out and pulled the son-of-the-mother-of-all-branches off of the line. (Does anybody know if there is actual power running through cable lines? I really need to know.) It has torn part of the soffit off of my house and the entire thing is low enough for Bailey to jump over on a good day and hanging from one lone screw. I think it's taunting me. I am inches from losing cable.

So ok, meteorologists. You get a reprieve until morning. The nice lady on channel five just said that my side of town will now only get two to three inches of snow because the ice hung around so long. So she's already begun to chicken out. Last nights predictions are already declared a bust. I could claim victory at this point.

But it would be rather silly if my house burns down.

SNOW!

Ok, this is a picture of my house at the end of last year's biggest snowstorm in our town. Pathetic.

And now they tell us ... SNOW IS COMING! First I must say ... I will believe it when I see it. Sure they say that snow is coming. Should start tomorrow sometime. Gonna get INCHES. Gonna be ICE under it. Run out to the store! Do it quickly! Buy milk! Buy bread! Buy salt and a new snow shovel! Hurry! Oh... but don't panic!

yada, yada, yada.

If weather men and weather women really know anything about weather shouldn't they be called "weatherologists" or something weathery like that? I'm not buying it anymore. It's all too clear that these people called "meteorologists" went to school to study meteor's. You know, big rocks flying through space. Nobody knows where they came from and nobody knows where they are going. But heck, they are out there and so they must be studied! Get a team on it pronto!

Here is the problem. The study of meteor's must get really and truly b-o-r-i-n-g. I mean, what is there to do but get a telescope and, well, look up? Seems to me that's about it.

Here is my hypothosis. Somewhere along the line people began to realize that we needed to know what the weather was going to be far more than we needed to know how many rocks are flying around up there. So somebody with a brain must have said something like ... "Hey. You. Meteor man. Think maybe while you are looking through that telescopy thing of yours you could maybe point toward the horizon every now and then and tell us if it's gonna rain?" And the meteorologist, being the smart individual that he or she is, said something like, "sure ... if you pay me for it." From there it was just a short hop to network television, radio weather reports and my own personal favorite ... The Weather Channel." This is a channel that gave up looking at rocks in space long ago. They have turned weather prediction into not only science but entertainment. I am passionate about "Storm Stories." Things always get torn up and sometimes people even (to be perfectly blunt) get whacked around and eventually assume room tempreture. Fun, huh?

So how come these meteor guys cannot get it right? Oh, in the summer they are really good. They can fire up their little doppler radar and actually show you your STREET. That's right, friends. Your weather, street by street by freaken street. (Would you believe that they actually interrupted Dr. Phil last summer for a weather bullitin when I turned my lawn sprinkler on too high? No? I didn't think you would.) And in the summer they are almost never wrong! If they say, "Hey, set off the siren's and get in the basement" then you darn well better set off the siren's and get your little fanny downstairs. From March through November these people know there stuff.

And then December happens. This coming Friday is December 1st. That's the day they are leading us to believe that the world will probably end under the wrath of 3 to 8 inches of snow. (And MORE in places! Not that they have a clue which places this will happen in.) If they are predicting 3 to 8 we should expect a dusting. If they predict 8 to 12 we should expect to have to actually scrape our windshields. No matter the amount ... in 2006 ALL snow is considered armageddeon. Seriously. These people most own stock in salt mines or snow shovel factories.

When I was a kid growing up in Detroit and Chicago and they said it was going to snow, well by golly you had best go buy whatever you need and do it fast because it was always ... ALWAYS worse than they said it was going to be. I remember when I was twelve we had the biggest snow fall I have ever seen. It was, at the time, the biggest snowfall Chicago had ever received since they began keeping records. And Chicago is all about records. I'm not kidding. If you went out for a walk you had to be careful lest you trip over the top of a street sign. A helicopter actually landed on the street in front of my house one night(my dad and the neighborhood men had cleared it with snow shovels and lit the area with cool red flairs.) My brother and I sat in our living room eating frozen pizza (well, that's not really true. It had been frozen but mom heated it up, bless her heart) looking out the picture window as the guy coasted in and landed about 40 feet in front of our house. Then they carried the VERY pregnant woman next door out to the chopper. Off she went into the night. She delivered a bouncing baby something hours later and named him or her after the pilot. Seems appropriate to me. All of us men folk got tired of waiting for the snow plows after two days (this was Chicago after all... they were busy clearing the mayor's street ... ) and we shoveled our entire neighborhood. The next day the plows showed up. They did not stick around though because all of these men were running at them with angry shovels waving in the air. Their hasty retreat was a wise thing to do.

It doesn't snow like that anymore. My kids are now 26, 24 and 21. I don't think they actually know what a sled is for. It's a shame. I remember sitting on the deck of my 3rd floor apartment in Tinley Park, Illinois, in the winter of 1978/1979 and watching front-end loaders actually clear out our parking lot. It was that bad.

So anyway. It's going to snow. Maybe. Somewhere. Sometime. You'll excuse me if I don't go and dig out my boots just yet. I think that the odds are greater that one of those meteor rocks will fall on us. And if that happens all of the milk and bread in the world will not help you, my friend.

Permission Granted

When I was a mere lad (that sounds so British ... and I'm not) I liked to do things in a rather impromptu fashion. I still do. Well, as long as it pertains to things like, oh, talking without thinking or acting without considering the consequences. I am really, really good at apologizing. I have a standing account with a local florist just so that I can kiss the boo-boo that I just inflicted on some usually deserving soul. Still. I've always been one of the pastor's and so I'm supposed to be nice.

Somewhere along the line things changed. Not sure why. Maybe it happened in the halls of higher education. There was this girl that shared a philosophy class with me. She was a nice person most of the time. Still, for some reason her own personal philosophy was to wait until I came into the room before she entered. Then shen would sit in front of me, turn around, smile a charmingly disarming smile ... and with one sweeping arm motion wipe all of my books off of my desk and onto the floor. It became a daily occurance. It took me several months of patient waiting but at last my day came. I entered the room and Paula (the name is not changed because she is totally guilty) had already assumed her seat. I'm not sure what was going through her mind of that day. Maybe she just slipped a mental gear. Maybe it was the 24th day of her month (oh, I am so going to pay for that when my wife reads this) and she just was not feeling up to par. Either way. I turned the corner, saw her there and without even thinking about it I put my books on my desk, said "Hello, Paula," picked up every book on her desk walked directly to the window, opened it, and dropped the entire stack from our second floor perch to the sidelines of the soccer field down below. I closed the window long before Paula closed the mouth that hung open in shock. I do not remember the next few seconds. Maybe other students were laughing. Maybe they were hiding under their desks. All I remember was a feeling of deeply satisfying glee. That lasted until a man in gray bibbed cover-all's stepped in the door. He did not look happy. He was actually quite unhappy. He was simply going about his day MOWING THE SOCCER FIELD when half a ton of philosophy, biology and math books fell onto his head.

My bad.

I followed his suggestion by going downstairs and retrieving Paula's books. As the class ended I was handed a note to report to the dean of students office. While that was not exactly good news it could have been much worse. You see, I was working part time at Sears in those days. I have mentioned before that I usually worked in "Customer Pick-up." (I will refrain from jokes about picking up customer's this time. I like sleeping in "The Big Bed.") As fate would have it, Dave, the dean of students had come in just the week before and dropped his only television off at my counter for repair. Seems his wife was watering the plants that were sitting on the tv when she accidently watered the tv itself. (Insert "sizzle" and "fry" sounds here.) Dean Dave knew that if he wanted to ever watch Monday Night Football again he would have to go easy on me. And he did. He told me not to throw any more books out of any more windows. And he suggested that I sit in the front of the class so that Paula could not sit in front of me anymore. This is why Dave was a dean and I was a mere student. I had not thought of that.

So I think that is where it all began. In that moment Dean Dave created the need in me for "permission." Makes sense, don't you think?

Ok, you have stuck with me this far so let me 'splain to you what I'm getting at. A couple of weeks ago when I was at the National Youth Workers Convention I met up with my friend who is in charge of the subject area in which I taught a seminar. Beth is cool. She lives in a cool place, has a cool husband, works at a cool job and, best of all, does not know she is cool. (Not know that you are cool makes you even cooler. Make a note of it.) So my wife and I took Beth and her husband to lunch. A really fancy (sarcasm intended) chili restaurant. I had bragged about it to her and they did not live up to the billing I gave them. But I digress.

Beth and her husband Joe listened to my wife and I rant and rave (in a refined and yet intense manner) about things in life that had been bugging us. No details so don't ask. And that is when it happened. I think they were really talking to my wife, Debbie, when they said it. They gave her permission. Permission to be mad. Permission to yell. Permission to beat something (not someone) up. Permission to tell God that we are freaken mad and He needs to get involved in a particular situation in our lives and kick butt. They showed us how that is exactly what takes place over and over and over in the real life testimonies told quite frankly in the book of Psalms. They went so far as to tell us that if we failed to do these things it would eventually bubble out in other much more destructive ways. Like my doctor said ... "eliminate the stress or it will eliminate you."

So. Permission granted. And now I am taking my friends advice. I am learning that it is an art. No, I have not spoken rudely to any one. I have not kicked the dog. Actually, I am starting slowly. I need new tires for my Mustang and I went and got some quotes today. Twice I burst out laughing when they told me their price. Twice! Ok, it's a slow start but at least it is something. I had a doctor's appointment this afternoon because I've got an elbow problem going on. Nothing serious. I just keep getting this build-up of fluid (ok, actually it's blood) under the skin. You can't see it but my elbow feels squishy to the touch. My insurance is changing on January 1st so I thought I better get it checked out. The doctor said it was no big deal but that he would try to drain it and then give me anti-inflammatory drugs. I let him stick me with The Needle From Hell five times before I told him to knock it off. Give me the drugs. I'm going home. And on the way home I stopped at Walgreens to get my miracle pills and the pharmacist made a mistake and asked a question that ... well ... came out wrong. And I totally took advantage of it. I played innocent while she turned various shades of crimson. And I also played dumb. It was a totally lopsided match-up. She didn't stand a chance.

So Beth, if you are out there in blogdom somewhere and find yourself reading this I just want to say THANKS! Permission rocks! I realize it is a potent weapon and I promise to use is wisely and sparingly.

HA! Don't you believe that for a second! Tomorrow is Wednesday and for the first time in many, many years I do not have a church I have to be at in the evening. Heck, I don't even have a church that WANTS me there! I'm free! And you know what I plan on doing? Me neither. But it's going to be good....

Ten Things To Do When You Do Not Have To Do Anything But Are Not Quite Ready To Do Nothing

1. See how many numbers you can delete from your cell phone because you do not use them anymore. (I have 7 numbers left. I'm kidding.)
2. Count how many potato chips have slipped between the console and drivers seat of your car. (Note: Do NOT eat them.)
3. Hide the dogs bed and wait for her to go get in it. Watch her stare at the empty place where it used to be as her walnut sized brain tries to figure out what happened.
4. When your phone rings answer it by saying, "Hi. I am sorry I am not here to take your call right now but if you will leave a message at the beep I will get back to you as soon as possible." And then go "BEEEEEP." See how many people leave messages. Trust me ... you will be shocked.
5. Put bread crumbs in the back yard near the door and wait for squirrels to come and get them. When they do let the dog out. Watch the squirrels run and the dog go crazy trying to decide whether to go for the bread or the meat.
6. In the middle of the night put a "We will Miss You!" sign in your neighbors yard pointed toward their house.
7. Email people who send you dumb "do this or you'll die in 3 days" emails telling them that you are writing to let them know you've changed your email address and can no longer be reached at your old one. Give them the email address of another person who sends you dumb "do this because you love Jesus and are a patriotic American" emails. Rejoice in sweet vengence.
8. Get a can of "construction zone orange" spray paint. Paint lines across your neigbors grass ten feet from their house with the words "new curbs here" and "street widened to here" in every other yard. Do your own yard too or they'll know.
9. Wait until a friend goes to work. When you are certain that nobody is home decorate the outside of their house for Easter. (This is most effective in early December.)
10. Sit in a lawn chair in your front yard and point a hair dryer wrapped in tin foil at cars as they drive by. If they slow down give them the "thumbs up" sign. If they don't ... frown.

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.?