I'm 10-1 because He seems to have 10-3'd so I'm 10-65 until He says I'm 10-69

I confess. I am one of those strange people that believes God really speaks to human beings. To many that makes me neurotic. Do you think I care? Nope. Couldn't care less. Because, in my humble opinion, a life well lived is judged not by man but by his Creator. At the moment nobody can fire me and I'm used to being judged so I might as well tell you where I'm coming from. I suspect my "hits" on this blogspot might drop but, hey, nobody is paying me here either. So here goes.

God speaks. Jesus said so. Over and over again we hear Him saying profound truths followed by the phrase "He who has ears to hear, let him hear." Matthew 11: 15 would be the first example. Jesus was not talking about physical ears. The floppy kind with funny little things we call "lobes" hanging down from them. He was talking about spiritual ears. Ears of the inside variety. You get them when you become "reborn." Again, that's the terminology of Jesus, not Ron. So don't blame me if you don't like it. He said it and I truly believe He meant it. He is refering to His followers, believers who still their physical activity, quiet their soul, and wait patiently for God to move in their hearts ... spirit's ... in a way that they can recognize. So no I'm not talking about an audible voice. God is God and He can speak that way if He wants to but He has never done so to me. I'm kind of glad about that. I don't think I would survive it.

I remember the olden days of CB radio's. They were the precurser to cell phones. I drove a school bus while in college to suppliment our family income. Nothing quite like 2 jobs, a full time college schedule and a baby on the way. Our busses were owned and operated by a company called "DuPage Motor Coach." They subcontracted for local schools and I majored on high schools in the western suburbs. Every bus had a radio with a dedicated frequency to our home base. My bus was number 171. She was a real dog. The shiny new buses had automatic transmissions. Mine had a 5 speed and could barely make it up some hills. But good old 171 was not the problem. The students were the problem. I usually get along with kids. It's the nature of being a youth pastor. But some of these kids are probably on their second or third terms at Levinworth by now. I caught them doing all sorts of fun things. They tried unscrewing the back seats and turning them around to face the back of the bus. They tried stuffing notebook paper into the rear heaters to set the bus on fire. And they always thought I was too blind or stupid to figure out what was going on. (Side note: that's what that big huge mirror is for over the driver's seat. To bust the dumb kids.) So when I saw them trying to mess me over or turn their fellow riders into crispy students I would simply pick up my trusty old microphone, depress the button and say, "171 to Westmont." When they would reply I would ask for a Dean to meet me at whatever school I was driving too. When we arrived there the dean would inevitably be waiting. I'd just sit with my grown-up smirk as the offenders were toted off to face justice. Sweet. Sometimes you would think that things were awfully quite on the radio and you would ask for a 10-32. That simply means, "would somebody please respond if you can hear me so I'll know my radio is working?" If nobody responded you were left all alone with a bus load of terrorist wannabee's. If somebody did respond you would most likely live to fight another day.

God speaks. I listen. God is quiet. I listen. And then I wonder. Is He still there? I pick up my pretend microphone and I say, "171 to God. Can I please have a 10-32?" And I wait. Sometimes He gets back to me right away. Sometimes my "hearing ears" remain deaf. In those moments I wonder if I am left alone in a world of mean, evil, corruption and danger. That is when I have to trust. I have to believe that everything He told me before is still true. He told me that He will never leave me. That means He always hears. Always. I am never left alone. It is not easy trusting in the silence.

I was at the Bears/ Rams game a month or so ago. My cell phone rang and it was from an old friend that I really wanted to talk to. I let him leave a message and I walked out into the concourse of the dome to call him back. I got through to him but all I was able to say was, "Hey, I'm at a football game and I can't hear. Is it alright if I call you back in the morning?" I strained to hear but was not able to make out his reply. Then he hung up. For a second I wondered what he said. Then I remembered my friends heart. I knew he was my friend. I knew he loved me. I knew he understood. I could not hear him because of the noise level around me but I knew that he said "ok" and hung up. I knew he was not mad. He is my friend and I trust him.

That's the way it is with God sometimes. Sometimes He isn't really quiet at all when I speak to Him. Sometimes I just cannot hear Him because of the ambient noise. At those times I have to trust His heart. I know He loves me. I know He promised He would be here for me. So even though we are not communicating very well I KNOW it's all ok. My request for a 10-32 didn't work out too well but no matter. He is dependable. He is worthy of my trust. He died for me and He's not going to turn His back on me now.

You've probably guessed about what I'm getting at. God seems to be very quiet lately. I'm not clear on whether He is not speaking ... just letting me remember how to trust ... or whether the ambient noise in my heart is too loud for me to make out His still small voice. I think it is the latter and not the former. But I am not sure.

Here is what I am sure of. He is good. God is good. All of the time. I started walking with Him when I was 13. I am now 51. You know what that means, don't you? It means I'm in for keeps. I'm not turning back now. If I never hear another Word from Him I'm going to keep on trusting. I am THAT SURE of what He has told and taught me before. I will ... I am ... staking my life on it.

I've been resting and recovering for 8 weeks and 2 days now. I want to go back to serving Him full time. All of His actions tell me that He is not ready for me to. I am not the patient type. But I do not have to be comfortable with obeying to be obedient. I just have to do it. I trust Him. He provides in amazing ways. I am not at all worried about that. I just want to be used. I want to feel His pleasure again. I want to feel His Spirit work through me. De-stressing and recovering can be tedious. It can be trying. It can also be an order from my King. So until I hear I will obey the last thing He told me to do.

I have "ears to hear" and I will do what I heard. No turning back. In it for the long run. I am bought with a price. He owns me. I am His. And in the words of one of my hero's, Martin Luther, "Here I stand. I cannot do otherwise. God help me, Amen!"

Me and Walter ... I tell ya, I coulda been great

(Disclaimer: The following events occured well before I met my beloved bride whom I would take a bullet for at any given minute and who has absolutely no competition for my affectionin in this particular galaxy. In addition, any rebroadcast, reproduction or other use of this blog without the express written consent of Major League Baseball ... uh ... I mean, of me, is prohibited)

She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen and she wanted to date me.

Selah.

Opportunities like this only come along once in a lifetime. Well, actually they came around 3 times for me. This was the first one and I married the last one. The middle one was my pastor's daughter who was moving WAY too fast for me and so I decided to move along. I don't get it. An ugly guy like me got to date 3 of the most beautiful girls I knew while growing up. I told you that God is good. (FYI: I married the prettiest. Hi, honey.)

Ok, all of this is far from the point.

So anyway, this girl decided to grace me with her presence. We were the same age, different genders, same species. It was all good. Except that she lived in Arkansas and I lived in Chicago. While this would be a problem for most people we were maybe 15 years old and so it was no major deal. Only stupid people get serious at 15. She was not stupid and I was too shocked to know what I was. So I went with the flow and enjoyed every minute of it. I enjoyed our families frequent trips to her town and I enjoyed flashing her picture around to my high school buddies when I got back home. Sweet.

Then thanksgiving came. I don't know for sure but it was probably about 1971. Our family found ourselves at her house for a weekend that included football. College football. This was a foreign thing to me. It still is. But college football was as precious as uranium to her father. It was all about Nebraska and Kansas. I never did figure that out what with their living in Arkansas. But whatever. He was her father and thus he held the fate of my date in his hands. If he said we are watching college football then, by golly, college football it would be. To this day I have no idea which team we cheered for. But I must have done alright because we went to a movie that night. Not her dad and I. She and I. Just wanted to make that clear.

The inevitable happened sometime later. She dumped me. (Note: This was the first and last time I ever got dumped. The greatest life's truth she taught me was that it is far better to be the dumper than the dumpee.) As often as I went back to that town after I was a husband with my own children (my parents had retired in her town long after she moved away) I related to them the story of the mysterious queen who "flushed me from the toilet of her heart." She doesn't know it but it's become a part of family lore. Even Debbie loves to hear it because it ends with me in pain. Women can be brutal.

I got over her but I never got over football. I couldn't play it worth a lick but I could watch it with the best of them. When it became less profitable to cheer for college teams from states I had never been in I switched my allegiance to the blue and orange. You may know them as The Chicago Bears.

I know them as ... "Da Bears."

To drive down Lake Shore Drive in Chicago is to be confronted with Soldier Field, home of these "Monster's of the Midway." When I was a kid it was a bunch of roman columns surrounded by a concrete base inside of which was a football field. Da Bears were usually a bad team. They were the Cubs of football. Then 1985 came around and Da Bears were led by Da Coach, Mike Ditka, into the Super Bowl where they decimated New England. I was drunk with joy. There was not a World Series flag flying over Wrigley Field but there certainly was a Super Bowl trophy in Halas Hall where Da Bears practice. It was almost as good.

Being a pastor (we work Sunday's) I've only made a few games in Soldier Field. It's like a new place these days. The columns and the base of the old stadium still stand but within them rises an entirely new edifice ... you hate it or you love it but you don't ignore it. My impression is that a cruise ship landed in the base of the old Stadium. I was blessed to attend the first game at the "new stadium" when a friend and one of my former youth group teenagers now all grown up, Marc Vaughn, snagged some seats from his brother-in-law, Joe Odom, who actually played for Da Bears. Joe made the first tackle in New Soldier Field. It was also about their last tackle of the night because the Packers killed them.

When I was a kid there were two things on Lake Shore Drive that absolutely stopped me in my tracks. One was the U-505, the German WWII submarine that the American's captured in the Atlantic. It had since found its way to it's permanent home outside the Museum of Science and Industry. The other ... Soldier Field. As I grew into a man I knew it as the place where Walter Payton WAS the franchise. Da Bears basically had 3 plays in those 1970's and early 80's days. Payton right, Payton left, Payton up the middle. I lived and I died with them. Mainly I died.

Well, that's my story. I got to see Da Bears beat the Rams in St. Louis earlier this year courtesy of a friend. (Thanks, Mike!) And now I'll go to sleep for the next two weeks dreaming the same dream I used to have when I was a young man ... wearing the blue and orange ... darting down field, faking right, cutting left across the middle, jumping high in mid-stride to bring down a pass while getting clobbered by some lousy Viking. Still, I kept my balance as I came down and of course wound my way into the end zone where Walter was waiting to helmet butt me. I tell ya ... I coulda been great ....

Da Bears!

Bear down, Chicago Bears, make every play clear the way to victory;
Bear down, Chicago Bears, put up a fight with a might so fearlessly.
We'll never forget the way you thrilled the nation with your T-formation.
Bear down, Chicago Bears, and let them know why you're wearing the crown.
You're the pride and joy of Illinois, Chicago Bears, bear down.
(Fight song of the Chicago Bears)

<----(Opening night at "new" Soldier Field, Oct. 30, 2003. Tickets courtesy of Joe Odom via Marc Vaughn)

Jimboombaa!

Late breaking news! A hearty howdy to our down-under friends who recently checked in to this little site from ... (drum roll, please...) JIMBOOMBAA, AUSTRALIA. We'll have to cut them some slack. After all, they are reading this upside down ...

Well yes, as a matter-of-fact, I did ...

I have not told anybody this yet. Not even Debbie (my wife.) And now I am going to tell the world.

Here are my favorite ways of beating boredom while waiting to be crowned King of the Universe ... or getting a job. Either way is fine by me.

1. Check email 437 times per day.
2. Sit.
3. Stand.
4. Repeat as needed.
5. Walk laps around the inside of the house until the dog gives up and stops following me. (My record is 39 laps.)
6. Go to http://babelfish.altavista.digital.com/tr and find the coolest language in which to say, "The crazy monk built an out house over the baptist graveyard." And the winner is.... GERMAN! "der verrückte Mönch errichtete ein Heraushaus über dem Baptist Graveyard." (Who would have thought "graveyard" would be the same in both languages?)
7. Clean out the garage. Oh wait ... I haven't tried that yet. Sorry.
8. Listen to Japanese radio stations on the good old www. Oh yes you can. You just have to try hard enough.
9. Sit on an overstuffed chair and pretend that I am Oprah interviewing myself.
10. Pull my Mustang in the garage, put the top down, turn the stereo up, close my eyes and pretend it is summer. And for some strange reason I'm wearing a goose down jacket and gloves. (No, the car was not running. I'm bored, not suicidal.)

AND BEFORE I HANG IT UP FOR THE NIGHT ...
A warm American welcome to our two newest other-side-of-the-world locations to visit "I Wasted Time ... And Now Doth Time Waste Me." WUHAN, CHINA and SINGAPORE!

Night Thoughts Revisited

Last nights blog was intended to be light and carefree. I give myself an "F". Sorry about that. I have too much time on my hands. But I digress.

Here, in no particular order because I am so ADHD that I can't make up my mind, are the Top Ten Things I Find Floating Around My Brain Tonight (aka: "TTTIFFAMBT")

1. Are my Chicago Bears going to break my heart this coming weekend or are they actually going to wait until the Super Bowl?
2. Why is it that when all you do is work all you can think of is time off and when all you have is time off all you can do is look for ways to go back to work?
3. Is it remotely possible to teach a Beagle not to bark every 90 seconds?
4. Ozzie Smith's restaurant has door handles shaped like baseball bats. J. Bucks restaurant has door handles shaped like microphones. If a urologist opens a restaurant what do you suppose the door handles will look like?
5. For Christmas next year I want God to make me Jonas Blaine from "The Unit" for one week.
6. I got my evaluations in the mail this week from Youth Specialties about the conference I taught for them last November at the National Youth Workers Convention and I got all 4's and 5's (out of 1 - 5 with 1 being awful and 5 being brilliant.) Unfortunately I know that all youth workers lie at these things because I always do.
7. Why doesn't it snow at my house anymore? You want to melt the polar ice caps? Move me to the north pole.
8. How cool would it be to have the job of the guy who gets to name new cars? Like the new "Ford Phlegm." The "Chrysler Colon." The "Dodge Diarrhea." The "Honda Hernia." The "Chevy Shoveit." I so want this job!
9. Who would win if Aunt Annie (of pretzel fame) and Mrs. Fields (of cookie fame) got to mud wrestle?
10. Why do I stay up so late typing this stuff?

Night Thoughts

I love the nighttime. Always have. It is quiet. It is restful. The stresses and issues of the day finally lie down and take their own naps and allow me to do what I really want to do. Usually that means writing. Sometimes I am a faithful journaler. Sometimes I am a faithful blogger. The journal gets the things that nobody is meant to read. It is pass worded and sometimes even encrypted. My wife knows my passwords. I am a lousy designer of them and besides, there is little in my life she doesn't already know about. I've never been to Amsterdam, robbed a bank, shot at a human being or even failed to pay a parking ticket. I've only had one of those in my life and it was in Denver where I could easily have skated away into oblivion. Nope. I paid the sucker before I left town. I just don't have a lot to hide.

The encrypted stuff is different. Sometimes I think I've been a pastor too long. Or maybe I just have pastored in a place where weird things happen. I have and they do. I have a "book" that I've written that details a period in my life when all hell (literally) broke loose. The "book" was actually a journal account of some of those events. In 2001 I "hit the wall" and got myself sick. It was stress induced. I ran out of adrenaline. Odd, huh? But I did and it was very painful. It took me 7 months to get out of the acute stages and an entire year before it went away altogether. I've flirted with it again over the last few years because life got squirrelly again. That's why I blew the whistle on myself, threw the yellow penalty flag at my own feet, and resigned. Bold move? Not at all. My bride tells me that had I not done that she is convinced that my funeral would have been sooner rather than later. She's one cheery woman.

No, when I die the encrypted stuff dies with me. It deals with stuff like child abuse, murder/suicide, plain old suicide, babies that didn't make it, busted up families where teens pay the ultimate price, breaking the news to people that someone they love very much has been killed, getting called to the jail because some drunk wants to talk to a pastor, getting bit by a dog while praying with a woman whose husband is dying in the other room, and other sick and sad stuff like that. (Pay attention pastor-wanna-bee's. Ya gotta get that stuff out somewhere so if you don't have anyone to talk to at least talk to your journal. The encrypted one.) I've had a tough week so far. I don't really know why. When you don't work (note: I do clean the house, etc. at this point in time so applaud appropriately.) you have plenty of time to think. Sometimes I think too much. That's my problem I guess. It becomes an emotional drain. As a friend told me recently, "don't should all over yourself." When she said it she spoke quickly and it didn't sound like she said, "should." I think you can figure it out. I blinked a couple of times and asked her to repeat herself. She did ... more slowly. She pronunciated "should." And then she told me that the worst think to do is to sit around after you make a major life decision and throw "shoulds" at yourself. You know. "I should have done this." "I should have said that." She's right. I should stop shoulding all over myself.

Night thoughts are the places that I let my mind go when I feel like it is dark enough that I can hide it. Silly. Yes, it is silly. No one knows what I am thinking about in the daytime either. But the darkness just makes it feel somehow ... safer. That is when I allow my brain to wander. It gets the freedom to go where it wants to go. When I was a young man and I gave my thoughts their own freedom to roam they often went to places where they should not. Now that I am a bit older and hopefully a lot wiser they do not go there as much anymore. There are just so many "real life" things to sort out. I have learned that fantasy is best left as fantasy. I enjoy it on the movie screen or in a good novel. Not that I watch or read many. You see, I have let life get to heavy. That is never a good thing. But for a season it was necessary. I had no real choice. Like our old friends the Blue's Brothers I was on "a mission from God." And I have completed my mission. And now my night thoughts are helping me to debrief myself. And that, my friend, is a really dangerous thing to do. One should never debrief one's self.

It is dark. It is quiet. The love of my life breathes gently in her sleep beside me. I pulled an extra blanked onto her because it is cold outside. Of course it is warm inside our home. But there is a third layer and it is cold there too. That third layer is even deeper inside than the inside of my house. It is the inside of my soul. It is having its own ice storm. Don't worry. I know how it ends. The ice will not last. It will be warming up inside soon. I am working on that a little bit more every day. Pretty soon it will be summer inside again. For now I will just do what I did as a kid growing up in Chicago. When it gets cold I will turn to my father and ask him to please turn up the heat a little bit. He always did because he loved me. It worked then. It will work now. Watch ...

"Father ... Almighty Creator of all that is too big to understand and all that is too small to see ... would You please bring Your Fire once again? I am cold. And You are the only One who can make me warm again. Thank You, Father. In advance."

Just watch. God knows my night thoughts. He hears them before I think them. And history has assured me that He is walking to the thermostat even now.

Late Breaking News!

Welcome, Winnipeg! Canada rocks. (See previous blog...)

All nations, tribes and tongues

Did you know that the "www" is REALLY a "world wide web?" I guess I kind of believed that it was in some mentally disconnected way. I sometimes surf over and read the Jerusalem newspaper. (By the way, I do not mean that I get on a surf board and "water surf" to Jerusalem. But I would if I could.) That's as close to Jerusalem as I expect to ever come. I'm pretty much a "lower 48 states" kind of guy. If some terrorist is going to knock me off he's going to have to cross some serious ocean, navigate extensive corn fields, and then get past my Beagle. At that point he's got a 50/50 chance cause I plan on ruining his trip.

But that is not the point.

My brilliant son-in-law helped me download and program this cool tracking tool that is attached to this blog. DON'T PANIC. It doesn't install anything on your computer, tell me your name, shoe size, sexual preferance or anything about your buying habits. It does tell me how many "hits" I get per day, what ISP those hits come from AND ... this is the coolest of all ... what cities the hits come from. If this son-in-law had not already married my maiden daughter and granted me a granddaughter I would insist that he do so immediately. I would even kick in a wedding reception. Fortunately, we've already done that.

But again, that is not the point.

The point is that within the last couple of days this little blog has been read by several hundred people in the US of A. That's cool and makes me feel good. It's also been read in France, hangzhou, China and the Malaysian city of Petaling Jaya. Did I mention CHINA????? Isn't that like ... around the globe from here? And all I know for sure about Malaysia is that, well, to misquote Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz ... it ain't Kansas. I mean, you can't even look those places up on Mapquest.com! BUT ... you can find hangzhou china on www.google.maps.com. Looks like a pretty big place. It's got a river with a bridge across it and is not too far from the ocean! That means it's probably a much nicer place than my little suburb of St. Louis.

I wonder if they have a Taco Bell? That would so close the deal for me. I'd be calling U-Haul up tomorrow first thing.

So whoever you are and wherever you are from allow me to take this opportunity to say WELCOME! I am so happy that you found my little corner of cyber-space. Please know that you are welcome here, you are loved (in that I don't know you but love you because God made you just like He made me and even though we are on different sides of the earth let's be friends kind of way.)

I joke around a lot on my blog. I enjoy writing and playing and having fun. I wish I could figure out how to write for a living so I'd never have to send out another resume. Heck, I'd maybe even give my Mustang away and just live in my den 24/7. But the point is that I am totally serious when I say ... whoever you are ... wherever you are ... thanks for taking the time to come here and read my ramblings. If you know me and live in my home town, welcome. If you don't know me and live in the states, welcome. And if you live some where else on this globe we call earth a very special welcome to you. I will try to be worthy of any return trip you choose to make here.

Oh, my name is Ron and I look exactly like the guy in the picture up on top of this blog because he is me.

One Degree

When I was in high school I loved baseball. It did not always love me. I played it with passion and it gave me a demotion from left field to first base in return. In college I loved tennis. It liked me. I played on an inner - school league. I did ok. No trophy but no shame. Sometime life is a wash. For some reason I excelled in archery. You know. Bow's and arrows. I had never touched one until my freshman year at Lincoln-Way High School. We had a couple of weeks of archery every year. Something really odd happened my junior year. When it came time for the big yearly show down ... the round robin tournament to see who the best archer was ... I took 3rd place. Ok, actually I took 4th and the coach took 3rd but he didn't count. I have no idea how this happened. I just kept pulling back on the arrow, looking at the target and letting it fly. And the arrow kept hitting its mark. Nobody was more surprised than I was. I was actually getting some bulls eyes. The coach thought I was cheating. Heck, even I thought I was cheating. But there isn't any way to cheat with a bow, an arrow and a target. They had to admit it. I took 3rd. And I never picked up a bow and arrow again.

Then came golf. I never played it when I lived in Chicago. It was kind of forced on me by friends after our move to the St. Louis area. I came up with some used clubs somewhere. Eventually, after I had served my church for 15 years they actually gave me a set of new clubs. Let me be brutally honest here. I was hoping for skis. You know. Like to slide down mountains on the snow. But I got golf clubs and that was ok. Except that I really stunk at golf. One of the first things I learned was that golf balls are not cheap. This is especially true when you lose every one that you hit. Finally somebody taught me to watch where your ball goes and, as best you can, line it up with an object on the horizon. When it is time to go take your next swing simply walk toward that spot you have been staring at in the distance. More often than not this plan worked. I did learn one thing for sure. You have to really walk directly toward that object on the horizon. If you vary from it just one degree, well, over the course of maybe 200 yards (on days when the wind was at my back and I had eaten breakfast) you will wind up far, far from your goal. Your golf ball will be a distant memory, found by some lucky golfer behind you.

As I write this we are having our 2nd major winter storm of the still young season. Like our first storm this one is all about ice. I miss snow. Snow falls gently, lays quietly and generally does no harm. You can push it around, stack it up into the shape of a man, turn it into a ball and hit someone in the head with it or just leave it alone and eventually it will go away. But ice? Ice is a force to be reckoned with. You can barely stand on it, drive on it, or even bear to look at it after a couple of days. (Yesterday I climbed up on my roof to clean out my fireplace chimney and found a branch about as big around as a quarter sticking all of the way through my roof. It blasted through the shingles and through the wood! And I didn't even find it for nearly a month.) Last night we had a big old batch of freezing rain. I stepped outside this morning to find my driveway wet but my trees covered in ice. Hmmmm. It seems the ground temperature was above 32 degrees while the air temperature was below 32 degrees. So everything that was not resting on the ground was frozen while the ground itself was not. Right now a new batch of water is falling from the sky. I just stepped outside to check and guess what? It is rain. Just rain. You can hear the trees crackling in the darkness under the weight of the ice that fell last night. But at least for now no new ice is accumulating. You know why? I just checked on the web site that lists the temperature of the air at St. Louis Regional Airport, which is about one mile from my home, and I learned that the temperature is 33 degrees. See. I told you so. It only takes that one degree. Golf and winter weather have a lot in common. One degree makes all of the difference in the world.

And then there is God. (Do you realize how common that last sentence should be? There is ALWAYS God.) God has a purpose. He has a plan. He gives directions. Sometimes they come in the bible and sometimes they come through the influence of His Holy Spirit, the wisdom of another believer, or possibly an interesting set of circumstances. But God always has a purpose and a plan. My job ... your job ... is to trust Him and follow that plan. And the hard part is to do it accurately. It is so very easy to cut corners or try to take shortcuts. And then God's plan for you becomes like an errant golf ball. You will totally miss your assignment and somebody else will come along behind you and accomplish what should have been yours to accomplish. You only have to be off a little bit. One degree will do. Over the span of your entire life missing the will of God by one degree will have you totally OUT of the center of His will.

I do not find that acceptable. No way. No how. I want to walk straight toward God's assignment for me. I want to be propelled there like an archers arrow that is dead on its mark. I want to track it as if it were a golf ball made of gold. Nothing short of reaching the goal set out for me by my King will do. Right now I am in a bit of a wilderness state. I am having trouble finding and keeping my bearings. Many of my metaphorical objects on the horizon are no longer there. Some were people that are no longer active in my life. Some were plans and programs that have changed. Some were other unmentionable things best left between my Creator and me.

I will reach my goal. I will pursue it with ruthless love and ruthless trust. I will not back away from what I have learned because He paid the price to teach it to me. And when I finish the race, when I reach the target, I will find my bulls eye ... the face of the one who died for me. I will not be one degree off.

It is just not acceptable.

Rest

R = Renew
E = Energize
S = Submit
T = Trust

Abba,
Help me please, in this time of REST that you have provided for me, to have my mind renewed, my body energized, my will submitted, and my future trusted to You.

I love you,
Your kid

ZIP ...

No squirrel's were harmed in the writing of tonight's blog. My wife was home sick and my anti-squirrel activities were curtailed. She is feeling better. Tomorrow the hunt is on.

Squirrel War's ... Let the battle begin

Today I received a grand total of two e-mails. That is an unusual day for me. Twenty is more like it. I didn't even get any interesting spam. Not only that but the nifty cool google thingy that keeps track of my "hits" on this blog said that my total today was zero. ZERO. I am feeling a little neglected. A little lonely. Slightly unappreciated.

Ok, I'm over it. (I have a remarkable propensity for "speed healing." It's a gift.)

And here's absolute proof positive that the good people down at the Google HQ are asleep at the wheel. One of my two (sniff) e-mails today was about yesterday's blog. How can that be, you ask? If nobody read the e-stinken blog then how could anybody e-mail me about it? Correct. Google Schmoogle. That's all I have to say about that.

But here is the thing. The e-mail about my blog? It was complaining about my vain attempt to smash a squirrel. GIMMEABREAKPEOPLE. Squirrels are everywhere in my neighborhood. They easily out number people. One of my neighbor's used to blow them out of trees with a .22 caliber rifle. This is not a legal thing to do. I happen to have a .22 caliber rifle. (It has a nifty cross-hair scope but that's an entirely different blog.) Do you know why .22 caliber rifles are so loud when you shoot them? Because they fire a very high velocity projectile (aka: bullet.) It goes so fast that it exceeds the speed of sound. Thus the "BANG!" Do you know how far a .22 caliber bullet will travel if you shoot at, oh, say a tree branch and miss the squirrel? I don't either but I'll bet it's a honken long way.

Ok, I've killed a few squirrels in my day but always with my Goodyears and never with my rifle. And yes, it was usually a total accident. Honest. Really. I swear. I did kill a few rats with my rifle but I was only about 10 years old then and was probably aiming at something else. Like, ohhhh ... a Cardinal fan. (Slow down, would ya? It's a joke.)

But lately squirrels have been declaring war on me. Yes, that's right. Squirrels have been attacking my homestead. Specifically they have been prying their little bodies under my ugly green garage door. Once through there they hot foot it to a big fifty-gallon rubber maid trash can that is filled with Bailey the Killer Beagle's dog chow. This can is two feet from the door to my inner sanctum! They are almost in my home!!!! Next they'll be using the toaster or making themselves grilled cheese sandwiches! These vicious vermin have fangs the size of a samurai sword. They have eaten through the top of the rubber maid container where they have been holding regular parties for their families and friends. At MY expense. This has been going on for sometime.

You ever open a big old tub expecting to find dog food only to find squirrels instead? I was offended. I was hurt. These are the same squirrels that I often throw stale bread out onto the lawn in the winter for. Last month I actually dumped about 3/4ths of a crock pot full of meat balls ... yummy meat balls ... into the curb of our street because they were getting slightly rank for human consumption which I figure is just about right for squirrel consumption. And all of a sudden they think this is an invitation to party at my place?

I think not.

So I struck back. Sure I missed the one on the road yesterday. I'll get my chance again. I'll stamp "maximum psi 40 lb" on his little forehead. And for his buddies that make it under my garage door again I have left a little surprise. Steel. Pure galvanized steel. I can hardly wait ...


Not even Rocky J. Squirrel could get into this puppy. I figure the current score is SQUIRREL'S 1/HUMAN'S 1.

The battle has just begun. They have now eaten through my (garbage company provided) garbage can. I can't replace that one with steel. But I can leave them a little ... "treat" ... in the can for their next visit. I may not be able to stop them from getting IN the can ... but maybe I can stop them from getting OUT.

Stay tuned.

Milk Duds ... My Personal Manna

Absolutely nothing happened today worth writing about. Actually, I started to write that as a lead sentence last night and realized how hopelessly dumb it was so I just un-booted (which I am assuming is the opposite of booting) Tess the Laptop and went to sleep. I was confident that today would bear something of interest to someone. Anyone, for cryin out loud.

Wrong.

So why are you here? Why are you reading this? Go away!

Ok, if you insist. You must be terribly bored. I’ll do my best so as not to let friends and family down. Have you all considered buying a TV or something?

Being jobless …. Unemployed … is really a freaky thing to be. Try it sometime. But only if you are really sure it is what God wants you to do. I’m a pastor/preacher guy and, as such, I am supposed to know what God is saying to me. Sometimes I am pretty good at “hearing” and sometimes I really suc…. Uh … stink at it. But this was a good call. I really think I got it right.

Those of you who know me in the real world (as opposed to the blog world) know that my doctor/counselor/wise guy that I pay big bucks to told me a couple of months ago to lose the stress or it was going to lose me. This got my attention. My wife was with me and it got her attention too. And when her attention has been gotten mine is about to be kidnapped, duck taped, and force-fed the doctor’s orders. So I quit. My job. Bingo-bango, just like that I’m sitting around trying to do what the good doctor ordered. It is called resting, recuperating, getting mindless for a bit.

So yesterday I go back to his office for my first appointment since he suggested I commit career suicide. And yes, Debbie went with me. I don’t think she quite trusts me to be totally honest with her about what he tells me. This is very smart of her because I would lie like a rug to get my way. Any who, we walk into his office and take seats on his cushy furniture, which I have paid for several times over. He trots in a few seconds behind us (I am so not paying for those missing seconds) and his first question is, “So how is the job hunting going?”

That’s the first thing he says. Not, “how are ya feeling?” Not, “nice weather we are having, huh?” He goes straight for the juggler. Before I could respond my bride jumps in and says, “How did you know he quit?” His response? “I can tell by the way he looks.” (I felt like a lamp ... talk about it but never, never TO it.)

DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I HATE THAT?????

How transparent can I be? I have to be the King Dork of the planet if he can read me that easily! Sure he’s a doctor with cool creds all over his wall but I’m a youth pastor and that means I know how to fake people out simply to survive. I swear I could tell a kid that I stitched my dog’s head to the carpet and have him believing it. But this doctor WITH A PONY TAIL nails me in one sentence. I so hate doctors.

Basically he patted me on my little head and told me to keep doing what I’m doing and someday soon I can go out and play again. I told him that as much as I appreciate the wonder pills he gave me and they really are making me better I do tend to take rather extended naps with little notice. (The drool factor is huge.) He told me the equivalent of “tough noogies” and to keep it up for another month. Maybe if I am really good he will let me have my life back then.

So I have no reason to get up in the morning, a doctor’s permission to sleep all day, and nobody wants to stay up late and play with me at night when I’m finally all slept out. They all have places to be during the day. Well, WOO HOO for them! (You cannot find it anywhere in the bible where it says pouting is not allowed.)

Life is not fair.

To make matters worse I have developed a Milk Duds addiction. Can meth be far behind?

Come to think of it I believe that my life can be summed up in a box of Milk Duds. No, really. Hear me out. I just opened a new box and the sucker was sealed so tightly half of them flew across the room when I finally broke through. That’s like me. I’m wound pretty tightly these days. I was driving down my street this morning when a squirrel ran out in front of me. I almost drove onto some guy’s lawn trying to hit … not miss … HIT this little rat wannabe. I would have had him if the guy’s garbage can hadn’t been out. Anyway, then I get inside the box and … isn’t there supposed to be some kind of wrapper in the box? Nope. They just float around in there for months. Maybe years. They are totally free to roam around as long as they stay in the box. Me too. This tightly wound body of mine gets to sit around a lot, staring at the fire place or watching one of the 200 cable channels I pay for that broadcast absolutely nothing fit for human mental consumption. I roam around the house or even the city with no clue as to where I’m going. That way I am never late. Bouncing around. Just like the Milk Duds. And then inside the box you find all of these brown little turd like things. I swear they look exactly like what Bailey the Killer Beagle leaves in the back yard. And what do I do with them? (The Milk Duds, not the Bailey droppings.) I EAT THEM. By threes. Why threes? I have no idea. Not only am I adrenaline exhausted I’m OCD’d out the wazoo.

So there it is. My life. Reduced to Milk Duds. Why couldn’t it have been Godiva? It least there was a horse to play with. (You have no idea how hard it is to leave the Godiva analogy right there.)

Tomorrow something exciting may happen. Check back. I just have this feeling …

What If I'm A Bobble Head?

They stand guard over my office. Night and day. Summer, fall, winter, spring. No matter to them. They have a job to do. They are a highly committed team of fearsome warriors. Their presence makes me feel somehow ... safer.

From left to right you can view them.

Wally. He is a pirate. I know, Wally is not a very good pirate name. It is just that he is often undercover and who would suspect a guy named Wally to be carrying a sword? Well, ok. It looks like a beer mug but it's all part of the covert operation thing. Make Wally mad and that mug will turn into a flashing blade. Wally is on my side. He doesn't say much these days. His mouth does not work. He's just a bobble head.

Then there is Norman. Norman does not have a spring loaded neck. He is an old country preacher carved out of wood especially for me by an old friend. Norman (don't call him "Norm." He does not like that.) sports a brimmed hat and a pair of over-alls. With his bible spread open in his left hand and his index finger pointing skyward on his right hand there is not doubt he is preaching the truth in rural America. Still, you will have to just trust his posture and his wardrobe because blocks of wood do not speak either.

Moving on we come to NunZilla. I guess her hame is Sister. I've never called a nun by her first name before even though I have occasionally known what their first name is. Sister NunZilla is angry. With a capital "A." Her head does not bobble either but she has this little key sticking out of her side. If you wind her up and let her go she walks with an angry step and sparks fly out of her mouth. It's all kind of scary. I suspect that is why she is looking at the next guy on the shelf. He tore up her little play house because his name is ...

Martin Luther. Martin is my favorite bobble head. He is clutching the bible that he translated into German, setting fire to what we fondly call "The Reformation." I suspect their is a 95 point thesis in the folds of his robe somewhere. What a guy. What a hero. Martin is my favorite biblical character that is not actually in the bible. I feel certain that if the bible had a "Part 2" there would be a 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Martin in there somewhere. My Martin is pretty cool but, alas, he too is quiet. He's been in my collection for years and he has yet to utter a word. He is a bobble head.

John Calvin is just stage left (that's your right) to Martin. As far as I know John never kept much of a garden but he is responsible for more T.U.L.I.P. than any one else I have ever known. Ever heard of Calvinism or Calvinists? He's your guy. Most people do not realize that Calvinism's 5 main points were not original to Calvin. They were a product of "The Synod of Dort." (Don't ask.) I know all of this stuff because many of the people I studied with were Calvinists. He influences my thinking but we don't agree on everything. I like Martin better. Still, Calvin is way up there on my list of silent people. I mean, being a bobble head and all.

The next guy you are going to know. He's a giant of a man. His name is Billy Graham. They say that Billy has preached to more people than any other person in history. I believe that is probably true. But even if it is true, and even though he holds his bible in his hand, in my office he pretty much stands there. Quietly. His little bobble head bounces everytime I kick the wall under my desk.

Last and definately least we come to Alfred E. Neuman. You may remember him from the cover of Mad Magazine. When I was a kid Alfred and his magazine were much cooler than they are now. It was satire at its best. I would spend hours pouring over it's pages seeking the often hidden and multiple meaning behind every sentence. And then there was the tri-fold back cover. Man, those were the days. Alfred may be the least of my collection but he holds a special place in my heart. No, he does not speak either but his pedestal does recite his favorite line. "What? Me worry?"

I have a list of people I am searching for in the wonderful world of bobbleism. I frequently search e-bay to see who is new and available. I google people at random. My current quests involve both Charles Spurgeon and Dwight Moody. I know they are out there somewhere. I can hear them calling my name. I have found Sigmund Freud but out of respect for my mother I did not buy him.

As much as I love my bobble headed friends they all have a fatal flaw. They are silent. Not a peep slips from their cold plastic lips. Sometimes, especially late at night when the house is quiet, I sit and stare at them and I wonder ... what would they say if they could talk? Of course, I will never know. These are the mass produced versions of the real deal.

Which leads me to my next point of pondering.

What if I am a bobble head? What if I am nothing more than a spring loaded pile of hardened plastic, painted into blue jeans and a sweat shirt? What if God does not have anything more for me to say? What if I am all talked out? What if I am on the shelf? What if there is a fire breathing nun, or far worse, a spark spitting WMU'er sneaking up behind me? What if I have carried out my last assignment? What if ...

What if I lay off the late night slice of pepperoni and onion and maybe got a little more sleep instead...

Passing the Mantle

He was just a kid. No, I mean really. Just a kid. When I first met him he was not much bigger than my beagle. And I think the beagle has more hair. But his parents started feeding him and he grew up.

And he kept growing.

And growing.

And growing.

Suddenly he was playing football at good old CMHS. He was feared by the enemy offense ... or was it defense? I forget. But he had gotten big enough that whover lined up across from him had to consider the ramifications that awaited him when the ball was hiked.

His first dad died of cancer when he was just a kid. His dad was a friend of mine. His mom still is. So is her new husband. He was a friend of mine before he became the kids dad. But before this new dad came along I got the honor of doing some of the dad stuff. Nothing too amazing. Just hanging out with him. Being his youth pastor. It goes with the territory. But it was more than the territory thing. He and his brother were, and are, very special to me. Second only to my own real life blood kids.

And then it was like I just turned around and he was in college. He spent 4 years at Missouri Baptist University. We talked a lot about what he was going to do with his life. He thought he was going to be an engineer. I thought ... nah. He had too much of a heart. He loved people too much. Besides, I had already been praying that God had other plans for him.

I was right. And yup, I'm rather proud of that. Somewhere there in the midst of his college career he realized that God was calling him into youth ministry. And while I was proud of being right I was also feeling a little bit guilty. Being a youth pastor has great rewards. It also has great heart ache. Both are associated with the calling. The reward is when you get to lead a kid to Jesus and see his or her life change. The heart ache is when you lose one. Maybe to alcohol. Maybe to drugs. Maybe to just worldly passions and stuff. Maybe ... God forbid ... but maybe to suicide. It's happened on my watch more than once. And I will never ... never forget the horror of it all. It is in the back of my heart every day of my life. What could I have maybe done to prevent it? You do not get over it.

Anyway he rearranged his educational career to meet his new goals. And he began serving at Centrifuge, our denominational youth camp that lasts alllllll summer. It's an honor to be assigned, chosen really, to work at 'fuge. And he did it 3 times. He met his wife there. It is a wonder he didn't become brain damaged. Too much Centrifuge can do that to a person. I've been 28 times and look at me. I'm living proof.

Then he let me marry him. Ok, quit the snickering. Like I've not heard that joke before. He let me perform the wedding ceremony between he and his lovely bride. She was from Conway, Arkansas. She didn't act like it though. I mean, she wears shoes and everything. He worked as a part time youth pastor for a while. It was at a small church in our area. He was good at it but he still had to go through what all youth pastor's eventually go through. We are the last guy on the totem pole and he found himself jobless one Sunday. He stayed away for a while and then he started coming to our church again. The church where he grew up.

It took me a while to figure it out but I suddenly realized that he needed to be actively involved in youth ministry. God was not and is not done with him yet. So I talked to him about jumping in to our youth ministry on a volunteer basis. I mean with both feet. We had a lot of kids and I was not feeling very well. I needed him. And he needed me. It was a great match and we servied together for months. I cannot tell you how cool it was to work side by side with one of the kids I helped raise. Helped mentor. We had a ball.

And I kept feeling worse. Life was beating me up. I was getting sick. And then sicker. I gave more and more responsibility to him. It occured to me more than once that he would be excellent at leading this youth ministry himself. We kept working together while my world was spinning, my vision was blurring, and every red flag in my body was waving, trying to get my attention.

And then God said it. I had been asking him for a long time. And he finally said it. When I came to my church 23.6666 years ago my wife and I told God that we would stay until He made it as clear that we should leave as He had made it that we should come. And one day He did. He said it through events, circumstances, health, and the leading of His Holy Spirit. I obeyed immediately. It was hard but it would have been harder to disobey. Nothing is worse than disobeying God. Nothing hurts worse than disappointing Him. So I simply resigned. I quit. I walked away. I had no plans, no direction, no clear leading in any direction other than to lay it all down and rest. And trust. And wait.

I also watched. I watched the kids that I Iove so much bless me with many wonderful gifts. They gave me a new bible that they all autographed. They gave me their love in cards, letters and emails. They gave me a gift certificate. They gave me hugs and assured me that they understood. But I felt as though I had simply walked away from them leaving them hanging. Because that is exactly what I did. With very little notice I was suddenly gone from their lives. That was the hard part of leaving. I wondered what the future held for those kids. Who would love them? Who would live like Jesus in their presence? Who would teach them?

He would. It took nearly two months for the church to figure it out and iron it out but tonight they voted in a very intelligent way. They called him to be their part time interim youth pastor. And he has accepted. My kids? They are in very good hands. Hands that I got to help raise. Hands that I got to help train. I got to mentor the guy who is now mentoring them.

Do you have any idea how cool that is? Very cool, indeed. And so tonight I pass the mantle. Tim. They are yours. Take good care of them. Shepherd them. Love them. Feed them for they are HIS sheep. Show them how a man of God lives. I love them. I miss them everyday. And I am so glad that you are taking over. I am out here if you ever need me. You do not stand alone. And I left you a small army of highly trained adults to help you do your job. I absolutely cannot wait to see what God does through you!

So here it is Tim. I do not have a real one. There is no ceremony planned. So this is the ceremony. It's an e-mony. A passing of the e-mantle. I have held on to it for nearly a quarter of a century. Who knows? Maybe God will let you do the same. In the meantime here is the only mantle I have to give you. I give it to you with great love, respect and admiration. Oh, and a great deal of pride. So ...




Fight the good fight, my friend. I love you.
Ron

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

I told you I was going to write a really special cool worthwhile blog for New Years. It didn't happen. I tried. Really I did. My brain went blank. Zippo. Nada. My finger tips went numb. Couldn't type. Sorry about that. Not that I think you waited up, held your breath or bet the milk money on it.

Oh well. It's 2007. Not 2006. Does one digit really matter all that much as long as it is in the far right column? I think not.

Happy, happy.

Be Thou My Vision

The 8th century was a long time ago. I mean a SERIOUSLY long time ago. But there was this guy named Dallan Forgaill who wrote a song that doesn't get much airplay anymore. It should. Read it for yourself. (The capital's are Dallan's. The parenthasis are mine. He out wrote me using much less words than I did.)

BE THOU MY VISION, OH LORD OF MY HEART (God ... would you please be my eyes today? I have so much sin in me that the way I see things is skewed. Let me see life, the world, myself, and people the way you do.)

'NAUGHT BE ALL ELSE TO ME, SAVE THAT THOU ART, (Please do not let anything else in me matter compared to you! Not my wants and desires, not my opinions and thoughts. Nothing.)

THOU MY BEST THOUGHT, BY DAY OR BY NIGHT, (God, nothing enters my mind that is worth anything at all compared with my moments of meditation upon You.)

WAKING OR SLEEPING, THY PRESENCE MY LIGHT. (It matters not what my condition. If I am awake You are my light. If I am asleep You are my light. It is all You, oh God!)

BE THOU MY WISDOM, AND THOU MY TRUE WORD; (My best ideas are foolishness next to your most simple idea's, Father. Every word You speak is greater than my greatest utterance.)

I EVER WITH THEE AND THOU WITH ME, LORD. (What can seperate us? Nothing. Nothing! Because You, oh Lord, will not let it!)

THOU MY GREAT FATHER, I THY TRUE SON; (Our relationship is real. It is deep. It is everlasting. You are my Father. I am Your son. Legally. Eternally. Really.)

THOU IN ME DWELLING, AND I WITH THEE ONE. (When I feel empty You are still inside of me. My feelings mean nothing. It is all about fact. And the fact is that You are in me. We are so closely intertwined that we are one!)

BE THOU MY BATTLE SHIELD, SWORD FOR THE FIGHT; (When evil attacks, Father, You alone shield me. And I can counter attack because You are my Sword in this spiritual battle.)

BE THOU MY DIGNITY, THOU MY DELIGHT; (I have no dignity on my own. You give me worth and integrity. And that makes me delight in You all the more!)

THOU MY SOUL'S SHELTER, THOU MY HIGH TOWER; (In You do I hide, my God. You shelter me from life's storms. I need not worry about anything sneaking up on my or anybody bigger than I am picking on me because You are the biggest, tallest tower around. I can trust You!)

RAISE THOU ME HEAVENWARD, O POWER OF MY POWER. (I get spunky and feel powerful sometimes. But when I wise up I realize that You are the power that powers my power! Pick me up, Abba! Hold me in Your arms! Lift me high toward heaven!)

RICHES I HEED NOT, NOR MAN'S EMPTY PRAISE, (Money has come to mean nothing to me. Stuff is simply ... stuff. I pay no attention to them. The same is true of the words men speak of me when they are being kind. I pay no attention to it. I live to hear Your voice, oh Abba.)

THOU MINE INHERITANCE, NOW AND ALWAYS, (You give me all that is Yours. You love me. I am never broke. I am never hopeless or helpless. My Father is always rich.)

THOU AND THOU ONLY, FIRST IN MY HEART, (You have no competition with me, oh God. You have won my heart. The fight is over. The contest has been decided. I forsake all others for You alone.)

HIGH KING OF HEAVEN, MY TREASURE THOU ART. (You are the pearl of great price. You are the treasure above all treasures. No diamond, no gold, no check or money order, no power-ball victory can come close to being Your's and having You!)

HIGH KING OF HEAVEN, MY VICTORY WON, (It's over! I marched under the banner of my King and I ... WE ... won! The dragon has been slain. Yes, his tail still swishes sometimes but he's down for the count. The victory is won!)

MY I REACH HEAVEN'S JOYS, O BRIGHT HEAVEN'S SUN! (I may have won and I may reign with You on high but right now my body and my soul are right here on earth. It's still muddy and foggy and polluted. It is still dangerous. Please, Abba, bring me home! Let me enter Your presence soon!)

HEART OF MY OWN HEART, WHATEVER BEFALL, (My heart beats to the rhythm of Yours. Your heart defines my heart. No matter what! Forever! You, oh God, are the very heart of me!)

STILL BE MY VISION, O RULER OF ALL. (The enemies darts still come blazing at me, Father. I walk with You and the victory is assured. But battles still rage. The enemy has not conceded. And so even if his fiery darts should pierce my heart, oh great God, keep my vision on You. For You are ruler of all that is!)

Santa is in the house

Is there a Santa Claus? Of course there is. This picture is proof.

I thought Santa was a "he." Turns out he is a "she." I thought Santa comes down your chimney. No, she comes through your front door in her car seat/baby seat combo. I believed Santa brought presents. Wrong again. Santa IS the present.

You have to admit that Christmas is a pretty cool holiday. It is the day somebody selected for us to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. Kudo's to them. That, of course, is the best part. We give and get presents. Some we need, some we want, and some ... we neither need or want. (That is why the stores are open on the 26th.) We cook and eat awesome amounts of quality foods. We build fires in fire places and sit as families and maybe actually even talk. There is usually a football game on tv. Hey, it's all good.

And then Santa shows up. And she comes on Christmas afternoon rather than very, very early on Christmas morning. And she smiles at you in a way that rearranges all of your plans, desires, and opinions. Suddenly it is very important to you that the world be a safe place for a long time to come. And there is nothing you would not do for Santa. NOTHING.

So, you see, there is a Santa. We got that fact right. We just got the details wrong. And you know what is really cool? Of all the people Santa knows ... I am her favorite. Sweet....

Questions for Christmas ... late night wonderings

As the seconds continue to slip away I cannot help but think about the majesty of the events of the day we call "Christmas." It all seems so unlikely. Nearly impossible. Certainly unthinkable. And yet I am convinced they are true. God sent His Son, in the form of a common man, to this fallen planet to purchase us back from the penalty of our sin. Born of a virgin, lived a sinless life, died as a common criminal, resurrected to new life on the third day. The story line is better than any Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, or the greatest block buster movies of all time.

God. Putting on skin. For us. Amazing. And it makes me think and ask ...

What did Joseph really ... I mean REALLY ... believe about Mary's pregnancy in the deepest parts of his heart?
When Mary said "Let it be to me according to your word" did she "get it?" Did she have a clue what she was getting herself in to??
When Mary was giving birth was the declaration of the angel on her mind or was she just too busy screaming to think about it?
What did it feel like to breast feed and then burp God?
Did Joseph worry about getting into trouble with God? He was, after all, a surrogate father.
What went through the minds of Mary and Joseph when they thought they had lost Jesus coming home from Jerusalem? ("Oh, man. How in the world and I going to explain this to God? I lost His Kid!")
Did God (Jesus) ever ... throw up? ... stump His toe? ... get constipated or get diarrhea? ... ummm, pass gas a little too loudly? ... get mad enough at us to consider quitting the whole "saving us from our sins" thing? ... want to just slap the living day lights out of a pharisee? ... get embarassed by accidently saying something that could be taken the wrong way? ... hate any particular food that, by the way, He had originally created? ... wonder if we were worth it?

There are a lot of other things I ask when it is late, the house is quiet and only my laptop "Tess" and I are awake. But I think you get my point. It was truly a BIG DEAL for God to come to earth. I just spend two days traveling to and from the Chicago suburbs. Nine of us went to worship at Willow Creek as we had obtained free tickets to their Christmas presentation. It was amazing. And it has made me think ... why? Why would a God who could have anything He wanted decide He wanted us ... me? Why would He go to the trouble? The pain? The misery? I am just not worth it. But He thinks I am. We are. His economy must be so different from ours.

But it is really true. People matter to God. Every single one of them. Every single one of us. I have never looked into the eyes of someone Jesus does not love and die to give an opportunity to be adopted into His family. I believe in predestination. I have tried to get away from it but the only way to get it out of the bible is with scissors. I believe in the God given free will of man. I like the idea of being in charge of my own life until things get a bit hairy and then I want to believe that God is in control. And I do make my own decisions. The bible tells me to make good ones therefore I must be free to make them. And yet God is soveriegn. How does that work? How does that paradox find its way into reality and fact on this hard and demanding planet? I seem to believe that two things that just do not add up in my brain do add up in God's. So I will believe Him and trust Him for it.

Christmas. CHRIST-mas. The day we celebrate the coming of the Christ Child. I am so glad that it is true. I wish I understood it better. I wish I had more answers to my questions. I wish I could make the paradox of it all less paradoxical. I am a pastor. I am supposed to understand these things. But I am currently churchless so I can be honest without worrying about the deacon's or elders nailing me for it. Here is my honest answer ....

I haven't a clue.

What Christmas Is All About ...

Doin Time For Baby Crime

I confess. I am a news junkie. I do not subscribe to any newspapers. I do not read Time or Newsweek. My computer home page is Foxnews.com. I usually start there and then go hunting. I am already aware that we are at war and that the war is very unpopular. I know that all kinds of whack-o countries are developing nuclear weapons. I realize that St. Louis has been named the most dangerous city in America. That is not the news I am addicted to.

I like ... the wierd stuff.

Did you know that earlier today a grandmother ... a sweet loving grandmother ... ran her one month old grandson through the carry-on x-ray machine at an airport in L.A.? I mean, can we just think about that for a second? Several things come to mind when I kick this around my frontal lobe. Things like ....

WHAT WAS SHE THINKING? Did she mistake her grandson for her purse? Is this kind of mistake more common that I would have imagined? Did she think that maybe the little fella was a "terrorist infant" and wanted him checked out? Did she mistake that chubby little belly for a belt of dynamite sticks? I'm clueless here.

WHAT WAS HE THINKING? I am truly at a loss to imagine what a one month old thinks about. If I had to guess I would probably say ... oh ... a bottle or a mother's breast? (Perverts ... please go to another blog immediately.) Maybe he would be dreaming of a chocolate covered pacifier? The mother-of-all absorbant diapers? Again ... I'm clueless.

WHAT WAS THE SECURITY GUY THINKING? I can picture this poor burned out guy sitting at his monitor quietly whispering,"hair dryer ... laptop ... stick deoderant ... infant baby ..." Did this guy stop the conveyer belt and back it up to check and see if he really truly saw a baby? Did he go back and forth to check the gender of said child? Did he confiscate the baby and put him with other dangerous items like nose hair trimmers and liquid cough syrup? Did the little guy make his flight or did he have to wait for a later opportunity?

Friends, we live in a truly strange world. When I flew home from Seattle recently I had a carry-on with a laptop computer, an ipod, a gps, two sets of headphones, and miniature speakers. Not to mention wires to plug them all in and spare batteries. Nobody looked twice. Nope. They were busy scanning for babies.

I could tie in some deep spiritual revelation at this point. Like ... oh ... God sees through everything. He knows your inner motivations. You cannot hide anything from Him. He sees all and knows all. But why ruin a classic example of stupid with a classic example of truth? All of those things about God are true and most people reading this blog know that. (Or at least know that I believe that.) No, I will resist the temptation. Sometimes stupid must simply stand alone. Way to go grandma.

Melon Collie

Sitting in front of my fireplace today (yes, of course it had a fire in it. It's December ya know,) I had just finished an extended time alone with God. I didn't know what to do next as I had already been to the mall and polished off my Christmas shopping. So I tried to come up with a good word or term that would cover all of the bases on what my brain and body are saying to me of late. I thought I had the perfect one picked out. Then I was not so sure.

The chosen word is "melancholy." I have always wondered about that word. First of all I had it all misspelled in my head. I thought it was like "melon" and "collie." Yes, I realize that this is weird but I pictured this big long haired dog with a head like a cantelope, a body like a watermelon, and legs like some strange gourds. This would not be a fast dog but then you would not expect him to be fast if he were feeling meloncollie. I mean melancholy.

Just look at that word. MelancHOLY. I don't sense anything more holy about that particular feeling than I sense anything doggie-ish about it. It's just a word that doesn't seem to accomplish much. So I decided to look it up. That was not easily done seeing as how my spelling was all screwed up. But I kept playing with my mac's "widget" dictionary until I hit upon the right combination. Turns out that I didn't know what melancholy means after all.

"Mel*an*chol*y: Noun: A deep, pensive, and long lasting sadness. Adjective: Sad, gloomy, or depressed."

Drat. Now I had to look up "pensive."

"Pen*sive: Adjective: Engaged in, involved in, or reflecting deep or serious thought."

I didn't know it was going to be this complicated. I almost decided to settle for sleepy, tired, semi-light headed and dizzy, deeply weary, or even relaxed yet exhausted. All of those fit pretty well. The last time I got smacked by this adrenaline exhaustion crud it stayed pretty much in the acute stage for 7 full months and hung around for a full year. This time my doctor told me to quit or it would likely finish me off eventually. (I did not ask him specifically what "finish" was meant to imply. Why ask what you don't want to know?) The last few weeks of rest seems to have broken its back this time but it is not vanishing into thin air just yet.

Anyway, back to the point. I kept feeling called back to melancholy. So the first thing I did was to toss out the last two thirds of the adjective thing. I've never felt LESS gloomy or depressed. I had to keep the "sad" in because it was listed under the whole noun thing too.

"A deep, pensive, and long lasting sadness." I thought I ought to chew on it for a few hours.

In the meantime Debbie came home and we had a split vote on what to eat for supper. I nixed her idea of cooking because I was feeling too lazy to help and too guilty to let her do it alone. I offered up the suggestion of a local barbeque place. She took me up on it. So we got in the Explorer and i drove to a Chinese place. She looked at me really funny as I parked but, hey, it was a buffet so who is going to argue with that? She's no dummy.

After eating wahn lahn poo or something like that we went to the mall. It was one of those in and out trips. Debbie went to some girl store and I, being the Man of God that I am, went to the Family Christian Store. About ten feet from the entrance was where it happened.

"It" was three high school girls. I did not know them. But they had these bright eyes. They were smiling and laughing. Having fun. As I passed them they probably thought I was "one of those guys" because I just stared at them. It was their eyes. There was life in them. I looked around at the adults like me and our eyes are either darting around trying to figure out which way to go next or staring down at the floor in deep thought about difficult issues. But not these girls. Their eyes danced. When I saw them I felt a a hand grenade go off in my heart.

That is when I knew what I felt. Melancholy. A deep, pensive, and long lasting sadness. I miss a whole bunch of teenagers. "My kids." I miss Rachel who I always called Sarah and I miss Sarah who I always called Rachel. I miss Casey because he liked to hug me and it was a real hug that meant that I mattered to him. I miss Deano and his laugh and his smile. I miss Hannah and the way that she always looked at me like I was an idiot (that would have offended me except I realized that she was right.) I miss Hillary because, well, because she's Hillary. I miss Chelsea because she was about the only teenager that consistently called me "Pastor Ron." Actually, I think she was the only one that realized that I am a pastor. Ok, not really. But they never treated me in that high and holy way. They let me be old and gray haired and much slower in JPL than they were because they knew I had my physical pedal to the metal and they were good with that. I could go on. And on. And on. And on. I miss them all. Every one of them.

I do not miss meetings. I do not miss purchase orders. I do not miss schedules. I miss them. I miss loving them, helping them, encouraging them, teaching them and just being with them.

God created me to be a youth pastor. He let me do it for a really long time. I know that I will never get over it. I do not want to get over it. I did it for 32 years and that is considered a career. In the military I would have a really sweet pension if I had given them 32 years. And now two of my three kids work with teenagers and the other works with preschoolers. My brother was a youth pastor. It is in our blood line. Our genes. There has not been one day since 1973 that one of my immediate family members was not a youth pastor. We've overlapped each other a few times but never has there been a day since I was in high school (my brother graduated first and went right into youth ministry) that one of us was not in youth ministry.

I spoke at the National Youth Workers Convention last month. The youth pastor's in the room were very attentive and absorbed in our topic. Then somebody asked how long I had been doing youth ministry. I told them. Expressions changed. NOBODY lasts 32 years. But there is a secret. I quit just about every Monday. I wrote more letters of resignation than you would believe. I just never turned them in until last month. Lasting 32 years was not a me thing at all. It was a calling ... a gift from God.

And now it is over and I am looking at an entirely different type of ministry. And as much as I am looking forward to it I just have to admit something. Leaving youth ministry was exactly what God directed me to do. I was obedient. And now? Now I am feeling very, very ... melancholy.

I'm kicking my tires and checking my oil ...

Illinois? Missouri? Indiana? Wisconsin? Florida? They are all on the current short list.

Where am I going to live? It has been many years since I seriously asked this question. Sure, there was a time or two while living in our current dwelling that I considered other opportunities. While I did take them seriously none of them seemed to be a place or a situation God was directing me to.

This is different. I know that I have completed my call here. After 3 weeks of reflection and seeking God's heart I am firmly convinced that I began in this town on the day God wanted me to begin here. March 26, 1983. Furthermore, I believe that my last day serving here was the day God determined would be my last day. November 26, 2006. I am held to this town by one thing. I own a home here. Ok, two things. My wife works nearby. Oh right, three things. Family lives nearby. (Specifically a precious daughter, a fantastic son-in-lawy, the most beautiful granddaughter on the planet, a brother-in-law and a sister-in-law.) Wait, four things. God's given me a few life-long friends here that it will be tough to say good-bye to. But I look at the questions differently today than I did in the recent and not so recent past. I am fully aware that God is sending me to a new assignment. And I do not know where. As tied to this place as I am by real estate, Debbie's occupation and, most importantly, family and friends, I have to place all considerations secondary to the will of God. He has made it clear that I may be remaining in the general surroundings of this metropolitan area. It is a distinct possibility. But there are other distinct possibilities too. I do not feel any pressure at all because the decision is not mine. The decision is God's.

And this is a decision He has not yet revealed to me.

Several people have asked me if I am stressing over not knowing what comes next. The answer is "no." Not at all. Not even a little bit. The moment I finished my most recent assignment I felt the pleasure of God rest upon me through His Holy Spirit like I have not felt it in a long time. That makes no sense. It is illogical. But then God generally makes no sense and is most often illogical. So why should I be surprised?

You know what I feel? I feel honored. This may make no sense to you but that is ok. It makes sense to me and that is enough for now. I feel honored that God would ask me to trust Him at such a level that it would require me to resign from my long held ministry position with absolutely no clue as to what comes next. I feel honored that He would think that just maybe I would trust Him enough to do that. I feel honored that He has given me this Christmas season to totally skip all musicals, meetings, parties and everything else that has been such a part of my past 2.3 decades. While those are all excellent things they do begin to wear on a pastor. I have learned that Christmas is more fun NOT being a pastor than it is being a pastor. I have read approximately 25% of the bible in the last 3 weeks. I have spent countless hours alone with God. I have sung to Him and He has been kind enough to listen which simply cannot be a pleasant experience. I have shared many evenings alone with my lovely bride just enjoying her. We have worshipped with a lot of people that we do not know and they have all been very gracious to us. I actually purchased some Christmas music this year. I never purchase Christmas music. Something must be going on in my heart! My new pastor took me to lunch last Wednesday and we spent 2 hours just talking. I already knew him (slightly) but I did not know that I would like him as much as I do. He knows that my time at his church will be short. And you know what he told me? He told me to rest. He told me to come when I am up to it, to visit other churches when I want to and ... in a very gracious way ... he told me to feel free to stay at home, sleep in and major on just healing and getting well when that is what I need to do. Do you know how that made me feel? Honestly? I felt like I was having lunch with Jesus. My new pastor was Jesus with skin on to me. He even picked-up the check.

It feels good to feel good. I know, I know. That is redundant. But if you have ever felt really bad and I mean REALLY bad in a scary way, you know what I mean. Sometimes lately I just sit down and revel in the reckless joy of knowing Abba has His hands under, above and around my family and I. Sometimes I just feel free in a way that I have not felt in a very long time. I suspect that it may be something like a soldier feels when his tour of duty is over. Certainly not that dramatically but I think there is a parallel. And honestly, sometimes I feel totally wasted and junky. Occasionally when I take a nap in the afternoon (you can do that if you are unemployed!) I wake up feeling really strange. Other worldly. And the most annoying thing is that my left eye decides to rebel in those moments. it goes all blurry and all foggy. I do not understand that. I remember some similar things happening when I was ill in 2001. This is pretty much the same. I'll go to my big kahoona eye doctor in January if it is not better. And I've got this lump on my left elbow that keeps filling up with blood. They gave me meds to try to fix it and it did not work. But what it did do is mess me up because the new meds did not like my old meds. I really do not think I am old enough to be taking 14 pills a day. FOURTEEN! My next door neighbor is 87 and he is pill-less. I take more pills than my 15 year old friend Ashley did when she had leukemia. Kind of ridiculous, wouldn't you say? 5 years ago I was a work-out-aholic. I miss my daily runs. Turns out that adrenaline is important and when you burn yours all up ... you are going to feel an "owwie." And you are going to take pills. Yum.

Oh well. That's just a me update. Some of you have been asking what's going on in our lives. This was the best way I could think of to answer. It occurs to me that it might just be one big whine. If so ... sorry. But it is, after all, MY BLOG!

Comedy is tragedy with distance. Next year ought to be hilalrious.

Prison Break ... Beagle Style

I was home alone this afternoon. No, that is not a bad thing. I had stuff to do and I could do it better and more quickly if I had less distractions. And then the Bears happened. They played the Buc's today and those wiley Floridians started to make a game of it toward the 4th quarter.

That is when the bells rang. We have this leather strap hanging from the knob of the back door of our house. Debbie has trained Bailey The Killer Beagle to jump and ring the bells if she wants to go out. She jumped with about 50 seconds left in the 3rd quarter. I groaned, got up, hooked her to her chain and let her into the back yard. I went back to the living room and continued screaming at the television and the Bears victory that was clearly slip sliden away. The game went into overtime. I hate it when that happens.

That's when I realized Bailey was still outside. I walked to the back door to let her in. Gazing into the backyard I saw the end of her metal cord of a leash sitting all lonely in the grass. No Beagle. This is not the first time Bailey has managed to escape the steely grip of her forty feet of freedom. I put some sneakers on, got in my car and started to drive. And drive. And drive. I put about 5 miles on the car in 45 minutes. That is a lot of driving when you are only doing 25mph in and around my neighborhood. No sign of Bailey. Anywhere. I gave up and went home.

There just was not much I could do. She could be anywhere. Beagles are famous for having great noses. Hopefully she can track back home when she gets hungry enough. Assuming she avoids the pick-up trucks and mini-van's that roam our street. I decided to get my mind off of Bailey by cleaning our bathrooms. All 3 of them. Ok, I'm clearly lying. Nobody that knows me would believe for a minute that I just "decided to clean the bathrooms." I was saving my marriage. Don't ask.

I first heard it when I was on the second bathroom. Something slammed into the back door. Bailey? I jogged toward the kitchen in time to see my Beagle dart away from the door and begin a loop around the backyard. She was being followed by a VERY LARGE chocolate lab. And she did not have much of a lead. After she made her circle she slammed into the back door again, jumping against it so that she could briefly see inside. I have to wonder what was going on in her walnut sized brain. The lab got there before I could do anything about saving her. And so she began her next lap around the yard with the lab in hot pursuit. When she came around and slammed into the door again I opened it and tried to drag her inside but the lab was too fast and he ran over her in an attempt to get in himself. I slammed the door catching him mid-body. Then I pushed him back outside. This did not please Bailey who suddenly found herself circling the yard yet again. Hey ... it was her or me!

It took 4 more laps, a pair of thick leather fire place gloves and a well placed pile of milky bones off to the side of the door (hopefully to distract the lab ... though it didn't work) for me to grab her around her little scrawny neck and yank her inside as the big dog snapped at her tail.

You have never seen a beagle look more grateful in her life. She did not even wait for her usual "welcome back into the house and thanks for peeing outside milky bone." She went straight for her cage and dug under her blankets. I do believe that if she had opposable thumbs she would have closed and locked the door behind her. The lab trotted away. Probably finished off a squirrel or two before going home himself.

It's been nearly 5 hours since the prison break ... Beagle style. Bailey has not rung the bell once. She doesn't want to go outside. I think I may have to grab a baseball bat and go with her if I want her to go outside before bedding down for the tonight.

Thinking back on this day I have to say that church was really wonderful this morning, I had a great Mexican lunch and the Bears (finally) won this afternoon. And yet I really think the highlight of my day was seeing Bailey The Killer Beagle "get hers." After all the times I have chased her around the neighborhood this was total justice. She is the most arrogant dog alive and today she received the gift of humility.

Thank you, Mr. Chocolate Lab, wherever you are.

5 Reasons To Glue Your Ipod Headphones Into Your Ears

(The surgeon general is not here but I will take it upon myself to warn you that I feel crabby tonight. The following blog, specifically item #3, is not to be taken personally by anybody ... except one of you ... and you know who you are. Oh, and that last part was a joke too. Maybe.)

1 - Daytime television. Watch it and you will want to give yourself a lobotomy.
2 - Radio. Can ANYBODY play anything different for cryin out loud? And shouldn't "talk radio" really be named "Everything You Never Wanted To Talk About" radio?
3 - Cellphoneitis. Are there really 30 people a day who need to call me? If they SAW me they probably wouldn't say "hello" but give them a cell phone and I find myself on their "must call" list. It isn't like they have anything to say. They just want to talk. Aren't their medications for this?
4 - If you do not have a Beagle go and buy one immediately. I promise your ipod will become your best friend. Nothing barks like a beagle. If I were my neighbors I would have shot her (Bailey the Killer Beagle) by now.
5 - Weather and traffic reports. They both want to convince you that the end of civilization is near. Not only is the weather eventually going to kill you if you stay put but you can't run because somebody got depressed in "the depressed section" and committed "semi-icide" (aka: death by tractor trailer.)
6 - (A BONUS REASON) If you have ipod headphones in your ears you do not even have to have your ipod turned on. Heck, you do not even have to own an ipod. Just run the end of the headphones cord into your pocket and everyone will think you are tuned to tunes and they just might (emphasis on "might") leave you alone. If they do talk to you just go about your business as though you didn't hear a thing. I do this pretty much everyday. Actually, I am doing it right now. Sorry honey ... can't hear a thing ....