Fun At The Grocery Store

I'm going to narc on myself. I've already confessed to my wife and kids so what the heck ... might as well tell the planet.

I got "hit on" in the grocery store yesterday. How cool is that? I mean, really? I had been given a rather long list of items to be purchased for a couple of meals Debbie wanted to prepare. Being the one with all of the free time I was elected the go getter. So I goed. I mean, so I went. And I went to the biggest, nicest grocery store that I know of. It's new and it's big and they have E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. They have a chocolate store within the main store and I recently bought malted milk balls there the size of your head. I am totally serious!

But yesterday's shopping excursion was just an excursion. I did not buy even one thing that was not on my list. Nada. Zilch. I was so proud. Still am! And I was cruising along doing fine and making time right up till I hit the tortilla's.

Tortilla's are always my downfall.

I had been instructed on the right size of tortilla shell to buy. I noticed them on a very neatly displayed shelf and I picked up the ones I wanted. Trouble. The package held only eight shells. Debbie wanted twelve. More trouble. There was only 1 package. What to do, what to do?

Well don't do this ...

A voice over my right shoulder said, "Don't they have any more of those?" A quick glance revealed a 30ish soccer mom type. Dark hair in a pony tail. Sun glasses on her forehead. I told her that this seemed to be the only package and that was a shame because I needed two. She said that she only needed one. I told her to go ahead and take it because I either had to find an employee to see if they had more or I had to go to another store. A guy has to have the right tortilla shells, don't ya know. She smiled and politely refused my offer saying I needed to take the one package in case I couldn't find more. I insisted she take them. She insisted I take them. She asked what I was going to use them for. The correct answer was chicken enchilada's. She was making burrito's. Somehow that led to us talking about our kids. Hers live at home. Two of mine do not and one of mine does. That led us to talking about church. Ok, the truth is that I took the subject there on purpose. If life is ultimately about God (and it is) I like to make certain people know that. I go to a baptist church and she goes to a presbyterian church. I told her that I'd probably be a presbyterian if I were not a baptist. I didn't mention that I'm a pastor because I'm not currently practicing. If you know what I mean. I wasn't WASN'T wasn't trying to hide anything. I suppose we stood and talked for about ten minutes but I stopped wearing a watch when I quit my job so I'm not really sure. We laughed a lot because, well, that's what you do during good conversations. And I like to laugh. And I like to make people laugh. It's fun. I don't know what it is but I am passionate about talking to strangers. It doesn't usually get me into trouble but Debbie often has to say "RON" in that "I'm seriously going to kick your butt if you don't come on" kind of way. So soccer mom was in a talking mood and I'm almost always in a talking mood and so we talked.

That's when she asked me if I'd like to come over and we could cook together and share the tortilla's.

This was a new twist. I remember cold hands. How can cold hands be sweaty? I don't know but believe me they can. I said the only thing I could think to say and fortunately it was the absolute right thing. I said, "I think I would need to check with my wife about that." To say that she turned red would be like saying the sun is bright. Scarlet might be more appropriate. I remember it set off the high lights in her hair. (Just kidding, honey.) She took a full step back and began apologizing profusely and pointed at my hand and said, "I am SOOOO SORRY! You don't have a wedding ring on!" I said the only thing I could think of. "Oh. My bad." That is word for word the best I could come up with. Doh. Then as I tried to explain about having left my ring off because my hands were cold which kind of shrinks my fingers (really!) I didn't want to lose it and so ..." but it didn't matter because by now she was half way to frozen foods.

I felt horrible and I felt horribly flattered. Hey, I'm just being honest. I wound up in the check out line next to hers and I apologized again. She was still red. To her credit she jokingly said that she usually tries to pick-up men at the gas station and not the grocery store. Heads turned and she got even redder. (I forgot to tell my wife that part.) I finished first and told her to have a nice Tuesday and thanks for making my day. She smiled and I rode off into the sunset.

Life is weird.

Later in the afternoon I found myself an another grocery store. I had forgotten milk or something. I don't remember. I went to a VERY dumpy neighborhood store figuring I couldn't hurt anything or anyone there. But as I was paying, the check out lady (who happened to have a total of four teeth) complained about how cold it was. I told her "Yeah, I don't know why they don't put the cash registers in the back of the store where it is warmer." I promise you that this is really what she said .... "Yeah! Have you noticed that almost all grocery stores have the check-out lines up by the front doors? Except for the Super Walmart. They put the doors on the sides." I smiled. I didn't say anything. I am learning.

So what do you do when you are 51 and you get hit on at the grocery store by a soccer mom? I narrowed it down to two options. Either "blog it" or make a bumper sticker announcing it. Blogging is free. So there ya go.

LIke I said before ... the days are packed.

Mona who?

I thought I would write tonight. You know, it's dark, damp, windy, threatening. They polished up the tornado sirens today because there's some huge monster storm coming this way in the dead of night. We'll probably all be dispersed across the east coast by noon tomorrow. I could write a killer (no joke intended) blog about that.

But I decided to go with art. Sometimes you can write art. If you are really good. And I'm not. So instead of trying to write art I decided to show it to you. Here it ... I mean she ... is.


Simply Elle. Eat your heart out, da Vinci.

Good is ... good

It sounds redundant but it is not. Good is good. And feeling good is VERY good.

It is hard to believe that 3 months ago today was my last day as a pastor at FBCB. 3 months? How could that be? So many of the days since then are just a blur. Some bring pleasant memories. Some ... not so much. Honestly for the first week I felt a sense of relief. Relief that I could concentrate on the things that were going wrong in my body. I had been living in denial for about 6 months and I could not ignore or hide it anymore. Once again the old adrenal system just crashed. I had promised myself near the end of 2001 that I would never allow that to happen again. Turns out I lied. The feeling of relief was accompanied by decreased symptoms. I thought it was over with all that easily. Wrong. The next 6 weeks saw the bottom falling out again. I made a deal with myself to forget the past, not worry about the future, and simply experience the day. It was usually nearing noon before I could stay vertical. Part of my personalized "deal" was that I would be showered and dressed every day before the morning ended. That sounds so insane, doesn't it? It wasn't. My body didn't work. Well, I could force it to work like I had been doing but that wouldn't do any long-term good. So I decided to let the flesh and blood have its way. I was out of bed at the usual time only to relocate to a horizontal position on what we lovingly call our "date chair." Bailey usually joined me under a down comforter. No music. No tv. No books. Just more sleep and rest. It was not fun.

The next stage was just kind of ... blah. It wasn't so important that I stay horizontal and that made my other issues stand out more clearly. My vision drove me crazy. Everything was often fuzzy through both eyes by mid-afternoon. If I closed my eyes for a nap or simply became more active than usual my left eye saw the world as being pale. Colors were not vivid. Everything took on a whiteish hue. Just through one eye. My right eye was normal. Strange, very strange. Dizzyness and I became close friends. I was an expert stumbler. My muscles would decide to spasm all on their own. Debbie says it was the worst at night. I would not know but I have no reason not to believe her. Sometimes my hands would tremble but I could keep other people from noticing it. Energy? Nada.

The third stage played on my brain. I started "shoulding" all over myself. You ever play that game? I thought of all of the ways I should have acted and all of the decisions I should have made to stay well. Don't ever "should" on yourself.

And then suddenly, sometime early last week, I felt ok. Really ok. I noticed it but decided to ignore it lest I do something stupid to mess it up. And another day or so down the line I felt good. GOOD. Not just alright but GOOD. Laughing came easily. I actually wanted to eat. Going outside sounded like fun. Playing with my granddaughter became a delight again instead of something that scared me because I was afraid I would accidently drop her or something. Quiet moments were no longer fearful moments. They were rewards for behaving. I had already read about 50% of the bible the youth group gave me on my last Sunday and it was covered in yellow high-lighter. I started going back over those verses and praying them to God. One dumb eye is still reminding me every day of the price of living stupid ... living outside the perfect will of The Father even when you think you are doing it as a kindness to Him. How ridiculous. How prideful. I have to get it checked out because I am really tired of it.

That's when I truly remembered. He loves me. I hadn't actually forgotten the truth of that statement. I had just stopped living in the constant awareness of it. Abba ... Abba is my everything. I would die for Him. My doctor had told me to keep on living the way I was living and that was exactly what I would do. And I realized that was not what He (Abba) wanted me to do. So under His watchful gaze and loving care I slowed down. I lay down. I calmed down. And He had begun raising me back up.

What is next? Don't know. Don't have to know. Just have to keep hearing Abba. And avoid EVER living stupid again. Jesus died to save the world. That means I don't have to.

Thank you, Abba. Good is ... good.

Blazing Inferno's

It is Sunday afternoon. Cloudy. Cool. Muddy. Damp. My car, Emma, is unhappy because she sits in the driveway instead of in the garage. My dog is unhappy because I will not let her outside to chase squirrels in the swamp known as my backyard. Some would call this a God forsaken day. But God does not forsake days. Days forsake God.

Sunday afternoon.

I sit propped up on a comfy chair, feet resting on a matching ottoman, clothed in sweats. Most of me is hidden under a soft down comforter. The house is quiet. That is all well and good but what really makes the difference in my today stands in the corner upon a base of stone. She is one of the reasons why I bought this house. She is a wood burning stove. She has no name. After all, she isn't a car. But if I were to name her it would be Ashley. Most of the time she sits alone and filled with ashes, memories of cozyness gone by. However, on days like today she is filled with light, heat, flame. She brings me cheer and I like being cheerful.

I read the news a few minutes ago. Another child was kidnapped recently. Fortunately it all ended happily with him escaping his captor. A rogue country is hell bound on creating a nuclear bomb. Nobody knows yet how that story will end. A professional football player collapsed and died last night at a hospital 20 miles from my house. He had just played in a charity game to benefit his brother who had received a heart transplant. Irony does not begin to define what happened to that family. Tornado's tore up part of Arkansas last night. There were no deaths reported but 27 people were injured to varying degrees.

It seems that outside the doors of my house the world is not a safe place. Of course it was in this house that I once broke a toe, recovered from severe bouts of adrenaline exhaustion, picked my golden retriever up for a final trip to the vet, watched my wife struggle for breath as asthma gripped her lungs with nearly life robbing fury, covered my son with a cold cloth as a migrane left him screaming in pain, prayed over the sleeping body of my youngest child after he made a really bad traffic decision that could have ended his life, and watched my (now very happily married) daughter go through the painful ups and downs of adolesence and dating life.

Perhaps it is not that safe in here either?

I cannot fix yesterday. I cannot dictate tomorrow. All I can do is sit by my blazing inferno and look heavenward for the smile of my Father. He has a name but I did not give it to Him. Actually He has many names. He seems to like it best when I call Him "Abba." It is not a complicated name. It means "daddy," or "Papa." Others call him "Jehovah," the great "I Am" or a variety of other biblical titles. Some simply call Him God.

When I was a boy I would travel with my parents to their childhood home in Arkansas. It was a yearly event. They looked forward to taking my brother and I there to show us to their friends and relatives. I guess we were trophy kids. When we would arrive we were greeted with hugs and kisses. One special aunt always had strawberrys waiting for us. The beds were fluffy and covered with warm blankets. But what I really remember was the trip down. We would leave our home in Detroit when my dad got off of work and drive all night. I did not know it then but now I find that Mapquest says it is 721.32 miles from our driveway to grandma's. Dad really had to want to get there badly to make a trip like that in one night. Mom didn't have a drivers license in those days. We would leave the very southern tip of Illinois and enter the bootheel of Missouri. If my brother and I were awake this was the sign that we should strap in and hold on for dear life because the closer my dad got to his home the faster he would drive. It was all 2 lane roads in those days and my dad liked big cars with big engines. I only recall a policeman catching him once. You can't radar what you can't see and dad surely drove faster than the human eye could keep up with on those straight, dark roads. All he wanted to do was to get home.

That is a pretty good picture of life. The closer you are to getting "home" the faster time seems to move. The scenery does not impress you as much anymore. You are focused on that city limit sign in the distance. I suppose these are deep thoughts for a dreary Sunday afternoon sitting by a beagle and a wood burning stove. I hope you do not mind. I don't mean to confuse or depress you. I love my stove. I love the journey I am on. I love my beagle and even my muddy back yard.

But you know what I really love? I really love my Abba. Sometimes when it is very quiet ... like it is this afternoon ... I hear my heart calling His name. I wait quietly hoping He will answer. Psalm 42 says it well. "Deep calls to deep at the roar of your waterfalls; all your breakers and your waves have gone over me. By day the Lord commands His steadfast love, and at night His song is with me, a prayer to the God of my life." When I look at my world and all that goes on around me the breakers knock me off my feet. I cannot stand. Not on my own. But my Abba ... my precious Abba. He commands His steadfast love by day and sings a song over me at night.

And I know it's all going to be alright. No matter what. No matter who. No matter. I feel Abba's love. I hear Abba's song.

So. Take that, world.

The Days Are Packed ...

I am so overwhelmed with options. I just cannot decide what to do. I've been between "pastor gigs" for nearly 3 months now. No really, that's a good thing. I'm just now feeling human again. 3 months of no stress, no meetings, no ... well ... nevermind. I am having fun being a person again just like most everybody else. I only have one remaining hold over from the stress induced Adrenaline Exhaustion that sometimes bops me upside the head. About mid-afternoon my left eye begins to get blurry. I can still cope. It is not a problem driving or anything. Except for when the sun is up or at night time. (Relax. That was a joke.) But the problamatic symptoms were legion 3 months ago and now I've reduced them to 1. I am a happy man. I am looking at some ministry opportunities. Actually, they think they are looking at me. I know better. They are spread far and wide over several states. That's kind of exciting. As long as my daughter knows that if we are told by God to relocate out of the St. Louis area our grand daughter WILL be coming with us. (Hi Kelli!)

So as I was saying, the days are just full. Like just this morning. I sat in front of the fridge trying to decide between orange juice and pineapple juice. The orange juice won. It was an arbitrary decision. Then I had to decide whether to clean the bathroom before I showered or shower before I cleaned the bathroom. (I cleaned bathrooms today trying to win brownie points with the little woman. Didn't work.) The shower took a back seat to the cleaning. It made sense. I checked my email and didn't have any. That too is a new thing for me. An empty email box is a clean email box. I got dressed and chose jeans over dockers. The dockers needed ironing and the jeans ... who cares? Easy call. Then I drove to Maryville to make my appointment with the Christian Counselor at our church. Jack's a great guy. He tells me his problems and I tell him mine. He thinks mine are worse. He has trouble keeping his eyes the same size when I tell him the kind of stuff that's rolling around in my head. I find that hilarious. I give him my reality in small doses so as not to overwhelm him. I'd hate to scare him out of the ministry business. So far he has given me really great advice. He says things like, "Write a book! Nobody will believe it!" I figure if they don't believe it they won't buy it. So why bother? I'll stick with blogging. Well, actually I am writing a book that nobody will buy. It's about how to survive 32 years in youth ministry without going postal.

Ok, then it was time to eat. I met my wife and two friends at a local eatery. Here is the tough question. Baby back ribs vs. riblets? Riblets won by a nose. I mean by a bone.

Next my daughter called me. She lives 50 miles away but I would run there on broken legs if she needed me. I had given her an old laptop a few months ago. It was a hold over from 1970 or something. But she was only checking email on it so it was alright. And then today she began getting "The Blue Screen Of Death." That is the same screen that drove me to the joy of "Mac Land." Anyway, after supper Debbie and I drove to her home. I "accidently" woke little baby Elle and so I had to hold her. Tough assignment. Then I messed with the laptop. Is the hard drive supposed to click and whir? I thought not. So I fired it up for about the 10th time, held it about 3 feet above the floor ... and dropped it. You know what happened? No, I still got "The Blue Screen Of Death." The next time I go to her house she and I are going to beat it to death with hammers. Don't worry. We'll wear goggles.

And now it's late at night and I need to go to sleep. Another decision. Do I sing myself to sleep with my ipod? Do I start sleeping on my right side or my left side? Here it is nearly midnight and STILL I'm having to make judgement calls.

The days are packed ...

A Lesson That Sucks ... I Mean, Seriously

Last night Debbie and I drove to the home of our daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter. We spent the night so that we could baby sit early in the morning and throughout the day. So we visited, we slept and we got up to be with baby Elle.

This is a child of 9 months old who loves people! I mean, she finds her toys (which she has in abundance) to be cool but she would obviously rather play with people. Just my kind of girl!

So play we did! We flew around the room. We crawled. Well, I crawled. She "army crawled." But somehow she still managed to beat me to the toy or the keys I had thrown across the room. That little sucker is f-a-s-t! The she took her nap. I was tempted to do the same but refrained. And after she got up ...

THE FUN STARTED!

You see, baby Elle likes to be upside down. She is happiest when she is totally inverted. I picked her up by the feet and let her giggle at her grandma sitting near her. Then I took her for upside down tours of the house. She giggled and cackled like a 9 month old. Which is exactly what she is. Then we played "Grandfather Clock!" That's where I hold her upside down by her feet and swing her back and forth like a pendelum while saying "tick, tock, tick, tock." Yes, I have video if you care to observe. She loved it.

Then it was time for the finishing touch of our fun soaked day. Elle was sitting on the couch by her mother who had just returned home from work. She had her pacifier (aka: pacy) in her mouth. I really don't know why I did what I did. It just happened. I reached out and quickly pulled it out of her mouth and put it in my own. You have NEVER seen a little child look as stunned as she looked. I thought she was going to cry but she did not. She did not pout. She simply took stock of the situation and then reached out and snatched her "pacy" back! She put it straight into her mouth and began sucking and chewing on it while her mom and her grandmother grossed out.

And then ... then the most unusual, unexpected thing happened. Baby Elle looked at me. She took her pacy out of her mouth and held it out toward me. I opened my mouth and she put it in. I didn't know what to do. So ... I sucked on it! It's been a few years since I last had a pacifier of my own. (Honest!) And then she took it back and chewed it herself. For the next 5 minutes my lovely granddaughter and I shared her precious "pacy." She and I both delighted in the sharing. Pacy spit is no big deal between a grandfather and a granddaughter.

I learned from Baby Elle today. I remembered how wonderful it is to give. I recalled what it feels like to forget about yourself in favor of someone that you love. Maybe this is way too deep a conclusion for such a silly game. But it was more than a game. Elle shared with me her most prized possession... the coveted pacifier that she uses to comfort herself when she is going to sleep or is simply restless. Why can't I remember the lesson of a 9 month old? Do I have to wake up in the morning and be the same old jaded adult that I too often find myself being? You know, I am tempted to go out and buy my own pacifier so that I won't forget the lesson of Elle ... and so that the next time I hang out with her ... we can swap pacy's. After all, that is what really good friends do.

I love you, Elle. Thanks for reminding me.

Beware of Pink Hockey Pucks

<----This is a real hockey puck. It is black. It has "NHL" written on it. Make a note of it.


Remember Judy? Sure you do. I wrote about her a couple of blogs back letting the world know that she is the best volunteer youth staff member ever to grace planet earth. She blushed but got over it. It's still true. Nothing has changed.

Well ... something has. But it has nothing to do with youth ministry. It has to do with janitorial services. Cleaning. In particular, cleaning the mens room.

It seems that many people volunteer at First Baptist these days. The church is ministering with a reduced staff for a lot of reasons. They have nothing to do with the story. What is important is that volunteers are cool people. They give expecting nothing in return.

Well, I happen to have a Judy update for you. I think you will be interested in this. You might want to sit down before you continue reading. Do not be drinking anything that you don't want to blow out your nose. Trust me on this.

It seems that Judy was doing her weekly volunteer cleaning one day recently. She usually cleans what is fondly referred to as the "Fireside Building." They call it that because it has a fireplace in it. You can sit beside it and have a nice cozy meeting. Or it has been known to add flame to an already heated discussion. Tough to tell ahead of time. But on this particular day Judy was not cleaning in the Fireside. She was in the main building. She was cleaning ... the mens room.

By her own admission Judy had never been inside a mens room before. When she arrived she rolled up her sleeves and fearlessly got to work. You have to admire her spunk. She cleaned the sink. That was probably a yucky experience. Men are pigs. I know. I am one. She emptied the trash cans. I can't imagine the odor eminating from the tissues used for blowing noses and drying hands. She mopped the floor. She scrubbed the toilet. I am sure there was a brush for that. Toilets are not fun to clean but they don't have to be that bad. Just use the correct tools and cleaners. Oh, and wear gloves.

Judy ... did not wear gloves.

She said they make her hands sweat. There are worse things than sweaty hands. Much worse things.

There was only one place left to clean in the mens room. All men know what it is for. It is politely and correctly called a "urinal." Judy approached the urinal. She looked inside of it. It must be a strange looking object to a woman. That is when she noticed something in the bottom of the urinal. It was just sitting there. It was pink. It looked like a hockey puck. A pink hockey puck. Everybody knows that hockey pucks do not belong in urinals. So Judy picked it up. She looked it over. She felt its texture. She brought it to her nose and smelled it. I believe that was the moment that Judy realized that this pink hockey puck belonged in the urinal. So she put it back.

<---This is NOT a hockey puck.

Playing with the faux pink hockey puck was just the first mistake that Judy made. The second one took place at Walmart. That is where Scott and I saw her shopping. We were so happy to see her! We hugged! We almost danced. Customers stared. Fortunately we did not shake hands. We talked about the events that are current in our lives. She told us her pink hockey puck urinal story. Scott looked at me. I looked at Scott. At that point things become blurry. I couldn't see through the tears. Scott was gasping for breath. Judy looked sheepishly shocked. She asked us to promise not to tell anybody.

Riiiiiight. I love me some Judy. I encourage everybody to love on Judy. She deserves it. She is one of the best people I know. But whatever you do ... remember ... friendship with Judy is to be a hands-free experience.

Friends...

A few days ago I ran into an old friend while shopping for groceries. I was walking behind a woman when she turned around and we suddenly were face to face ... and we both lit up at the same time. Denise has always been a remarkable young woman. She was in my church youth group a loooooong time ago. Long enough that her age now puts her in the final decade that begins with a "T." That's the only clue you get. We were both very surprised to have stumbled over each other and we talked for about 15 minutes. By then my wife had found us and joined in the catch-up conversation. Eventually we had to pay for our food items and leave. But it was so, so good to see Denise again. It has been a couple of years since we talked.

And then she sent me an email. It was an update on the life of another young woman from my youth group in the same era Denise was in. Sheri. I had lost track of Sheri in the late 90's. I knew she had married and moved to Florida but that was about it. She seemed to have fallen off the planet. It happens.

This is where God's Hand begins to show up. Denise had called Sheri after we met in the grocery store. They talked and at some point she mentioned that she had seen me. Let Denise tell you in her own e-mailed words what happened next...

"I tell you this because she wanted you to know that God had been placing you on her heart for about six months, but her health was so poor, and her energy was so low that she never picked up the phone to call you, but she has been lifting you up in prayer. As soon as I told her that I had seen you she said, "How IS he doing??" before I even had a chance to tell her you weren't at 1st Baptist Bethalto anymore. She said to tell you that she's sorry she didn't call, but that she has been praying for God to strengthen you and restore you for about 6 months now. That's the message!"

That is the way my God works. It was about 6 months ago that I began my second experience with adrenaline exhaustion. It was about 6 months ago that I began to realize that God was in the process of releasing me from my 23-year ministry at my church. It was about 6 months ago that life began to really hurt. And it was about 6 months ago that God told an old friend now living one thousand miles away to start praying for my strength and health.

To quote the old hymn, "I stand amazed in the presence of Jesus the Nazarene, and wonder how He could love me, a sinner condemned, unclean."

This is not the first email or phone call I have received like that in the last 3 months. It has happened multiple times and EVERY SINGLE TIME has been from a person who had allowed me the honor of being their youth pastor years ago and had now grown into adulthood. EVERY SINGLE ONE has come at the perfect moment when I needed to be reminded that all of those years count to God and to people. All of those youth trips, JPL nights, True Love Waits retreats and everything else we did together as a small part of the family of God COUNTS.

And I am so humbled. So honored. So broken. To be used by the Hand of God. Thank you, Denise. Thank you, Sheri. Thank you, Melanie. Thank you, Lisa. Thank you, Ed. Thank you, Shannon. Time prevents me from listing you all by name. But to each of you ... thanks. You have been here ... Jesus with skin on ... when I have needed you so much.

I am blessed.

Emmanuel … "God with us" ... God with ME

God. I wonder what He thinks about when He thinks about me. The bible says He is thinking about me all of the time. Before you begin to wonder if I am in trouble or something rest assured that He thinks about you all of the time too. He has a brain big enough to do that. So don't go getting cocky on me. We are in the same boat. God's watching.

Maybe that's the first thing I know about God. He is watching. If I hide under my bed He sees me anyway. If I close my mouth He still knows what I am thinking. In other words ... I can't get away with squat.

The second thing I know about God is that He loves me. You too. So relax a little bit. He's not looking for reasons to squash us like a bug under His size gazillion shoe. He's looking for reasons not to. That is where the love thing comes in. This God paid for my sin. It was a gift which I have accepted. So my screw-ups are paid for. Forever. Yours are too if you have asked Him to forgive you and have intentionally accepted His offer of free grace (forgiveness.) That's a pretty good second thing to know about God. If there is a God ... and there is ... then I want Him to go by the nickname of "Love."

The third thing I think I know about God is that He has a plan. I know so many people that have trouble with that. It's like we all want to do things our own way and live out our own plans. But you know what? At the ripe age of fifty-one I now realize that I really do not want my own way. I've screwed up enough, thank you very much. It has finally occured to me that every time I listen to Him and do what He tells me to do ... I come out just fine. Sure, I might go through some deep waters. Things might get hairy for a while. But so far I've always come out on top. I believe that someday I am going to die. I've been watching and the birth to death ratio seems to be 1/1. For every birth there is a death. And everybody who is born eventually dies. I've never met an exception. That would seem to indicate that I too am going to get boxed up and sunk in the ground someday. But here's the thing. God's not screwed up one thing in my life yet. Even when He does something or allows something that hurts it has always turned out for my good. So why should I believe that He will break His pattern just because my body wears out or a truck runs me down? If He's really God He should be able to overcome a little thing like death. Right?

In case you are wondering, these ideas are not original with me. I first read them in the bible. But life seems to prove each of them to be true. And God said that if we trust Him we'll even conquer death because He conquered death and so we can too. It's another part of that gift I was telling you about.

The fourth thing I now about God is that He is very big, very intentional and very in charge. I know He is big because I have seen what He has made. Well, I've seen part of it anyway. There are places like the other side of the moon that I've not caught a glimpse of yet. But from what I have seen He has done a very good job. I've often stated that I'm a "lower 48 kind of guy." In other words I have no desire to leave my homeland. I love me some America! I've seen both oceans as well as the Gulf of Mexico and the Great Lakes. I've skied the Rocky Mountains and I've done some minor hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains. I've fallen from the top of a ladder only to land in a fluffy snow drift and laugh about it. I've walked in snow deep enough to make you trip over the top of street signs. I've watched hundreds of times as the mighty muddy Mississippi River floats barges and boats around about 7 miles from my home. I've caught glimpses of thousands of square miles of corn, wheat, bean, cotton and tons of other types of vegetable fields. I've driven across Texas and that will make you certainly HOPE there is a God! I've seen and survived more than one tornado. (FYI, I will be perfectly happy not to see another though I'm holding on to the surviving part.) I've seen the northern lights. I've eaten freshly picked oranges and stood 3 feet from a Florida alligator. I nearly collided with a VERY LARGE wild boar while driving across the wild life refuge adjoining the Kennedy Space Center. And come to think of it I have watched in person as God's creation was harnassed by man as the space shuttle roared off into the utter void of space. I have stood atop the continental divide more than 12,000 feet up and looked both ways. Both were down. I think you get my point. This wonderful stuff did not just happen. Somebody did it. Somebody made it. When I eat a yummy piece of chocolate it never enters my mind that things like cocoa, sugar, etc. just went "BOOM!" one day and the net result was a bag full of M&M's. How dumb. But not as dumb as thinking that all of those things I just mentioned happened by another even more unlikely "BOOM!" No way. I don't buy it.

I think that I know more about God. But I am guessing that you get my point. He's got me hook, line and sinker. I'm totally sold on the whole God concept. I would .... and have .... staked my life on it more than once. I've gone places and done things that I should never have survived just because I deeply felt He was directing me to. And again, I've always turned out on top.

How very cool is that?

Still I wonder what God is thinking as He looks at me tonight. It's nearly midnight and I'm propped up in bed typing on "Tess." I should be sleeping. But no, I am thinking about God. And He is thinking about me. He knows me inside and out. I know only what He has revealed about Himself to me. But that is enough. It is enough to make me trust Him. I've been doing a lot of nothing for 11 weeks now. I am beginning to feel health returning. I'm not dizzy anymore. My body feels rested. (I don't believe I ever thought I would feel that way again. But I do.) I still have some issues like a blurry eye that is driving me crazy. I still have a muscular tension that has not totally subsided. My wife says I still do strange things in my sleep. Jerking. Twitching. Crazy stuff. But the fog of the last 3 years is lifting. Slowly but surely it is lifting. And I just do not know how to say "thank you" to God. Words are just words. I want to say it with my heart. I'll find a way. It won't be enough either but it will be a start.

Someday I am going to sit down with Jesus and He will show me His scars. I fully expect that will make me forget my own.

They're Heeeere ...

<--- It looked kind of like this only it didn't have a tail and there wasn't a city under it. Honest.

I saw one. I really did. Maybe you've noticed what I've noticed. Lately there has been a ton of reports making the national news about mysterious objects flying through the nighttime sky. We used to call these things "UFO's." Now we call them meteors, weather balloons, flares launched during military manuevers or perhaps swamp gas.

You know what I think? You want me to tell you? Honestly?

I ain't got a clue.

I was driving home from Chicago last Sunday night. The Bears had just gotten the beezwax beaten out of them in the not-so-super-bowl. So I was rather depressed to begin with. But I don't drink. Ok, there was probably a Coke in my cup holder. There's almost always a Coke in my cup holder. So I admit that there was caffiene in my system. That's the strongest thing I drink. Therefore I was clear headed, depressed and sober.

I'm not certain where I was at. I mean, once you get on I-55 between Chicago and St. Louis it really doesn't matter where you are. The mile markers only tell you how much longer the torture will last before you arrive. I think I was probably south of Bloomington and north of Springfield. Not sure. I am sure that I was not passing through a town. The stereo was on REALLY head bangingly loud. No, really. It was. I know I'm too old to do that but I did because it was about 1:30am and I have made a covenent with myself not to die on I-55. The tempreture outside was about -8. Cold. So it was cold, it was Super Bowl Sunday night, it was very late and I was in the middle of nowhere. There was so little traffic that I drove most of the trip with my head lights on bright. Nobody complained. It was really, really dark.

And then it was really, really not dark. My Mustang is emerald green and at first I wondered why it was glowing. Seriously. I could see the green on the hood outside of my windshield. This is unusual. Something drew my attention to the drivers window. The something was green too. It was moving slowly. I don't do "degrees" very well so let's just say that if you use your thumb and index finger, hold them about one foot in front of your face, you can spread them about 6 inches apart and that's how high it was above the horizon.

I've seen meteors before. You know, shooting stars. We are all educated people and we know they not stars. That's just the romantic name. They are space junk or stray space rocks entering the atmosphere and burning up. We've all seen them. It's cool. But I have never seen a green one, I have never seen a slow moving one and I have never seen one not burn up. But that sure enough was the case on the last very early Monday morning of my life.

I watched it for about 30 seconds. It did not light up the world in the kind of way that would allow you to read a map but it did make my green car look ... green. Ok, so maybe that's not very convincing. But it was the dead of night after all. So it should count for something.

Oh, did I tell you that the music on my CD player suddenly distorted, my car lights dimmed, my watch spun wildly out of control and my convertible top began going up and down all on its own? Of course I didn't. Because those things didn't happen.

But I really did see it. It really was up there. It really was unlike anything I have ever seen before. I don't know if anybody was driving it or if it was just a REALLY SLOW rock. Or maybe the Korean's launched the big one and missed. (Has anybody checked on Indianapolis lately? I haven't heard from them since the big win. Maybe Chicago "took them out?")

What I do know is that the next day the news said that people from Missouri to Wisconsin saw the same thing that I saw at differing times.

Ok, that's my wierdness for the week. Sorry it took so long to tell you. I've been busy doing nothing. And sorry I didn't tell it with more humor and gusto. There just isn't much to tell. It was green. It was moving. It stuck around for multiple seconds. Then it was gone. I don't know where it went. I thought I had better look at the road for a minute and when I turned back the first time it was still there ... the second time it was still there ... the third time, nope.

You know, come to think of it I did have a burrito about the time I left Chicago. It was potent. Yummy and potent. Maybe the light was simply burning gas ... inside the car ...

Hi-De-Ho, Good Neighbor

Wow. We've gone around the world yet again! Welcome to our latest readers from (get this...) Lipidas, Philippines; Henan, China; Shandong, China; Gaigain, China; Montevideo, Uruguay; and Rosaria, Argentina!

All together now ... "We are the world! We are the children!" Hey... anybody want a Coke?

Night Thoughts On Steroids

Ok, it's early in the morning. Even for me. But I just had this dream and I have to write it down. Dreams vanish into the mist if not recorded. So I'm recording this one because I cannot afford to let it get away. For now ... this is all you will read. Oh, the rest of it is written down. But it's in a safe place. When the sun comes up ... and it will ... I will sit down and read it. And if it still makes sense in the light of day as it does in the dark of night I will print it. But wisdom tells me to take my time.

And time ... time I have.
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Ok, let's just say this and get it out of the way. Most dreams are simply ... dreams. They are often the result of pepperoni on the pizza or salsa on the burrito. Their primary meaning is to urge you along toward certain dietary restraints. Oh, and they help make sure your brain stays sane during the daytime by allowing it to go insane during the night. That's my theory anyway. Just remember that as you read of my latest adventures in dreamland that I scratched out somewhere around 2am this morning...
**************************
I do not remember any sound. No words. No grunting. No crowd noise. Silence.

I do remember color. Vivid color. I was on a football field. I was a quarterback. I was wearing blue and orange and the helmets of the men lined up in front of me had a large "C" on them. They were and I was a Chicago Bear. That is pretty crazy but it gets crazier.

The team we were playing wore all white. They were not dirty. No mud stains. No grass stains. Just pure white uniforms with shiny white helmets. I do not remember any markings on them at all.

My first memory was that I was lined up under the center and was calling for the snap. I did not look down field as far as I can recall. I just looked at their defensive line and our offensive line. The grass was green and torn up in places from previous action. The hash marks and yard lines were all present in their white chalkyness. The crowd was an out of focus Kaleidoscope of color.

I said the right word, not that I know what it was, and the ball was snapped into my waiting hands. I turned to the right and dropped back a few yards. Running toward me was Bears defensive star Brian Urlacher. This did not strike me as odd. It should have. Why was he on the field with the offense? I only wonder about this now that I am awake. I was staring through my face mask and through Brians face mask and he was coming at me like a truck. I remember holding the football with both hands and pointing it out to the right so Mr. Urlacher could take it like a good running back and turn down field.

Before that happened the dream went bizarro. Not that it wasn't already bizarro. I would just call this a "post-Bears-Super-bowl-dream" were it not for the surprise ending.

Urlacher slowed in his run and grabbed the bottom of his jersey. He actually ripped it as he pulled it over his mammoth shoulders and his helmet covered head. He dropped his Bears jersey to the ground. Underneath it he was wearing a clean jersey. It was white. As his Bears jersey went over his helmet it reappeared as one matching the white helmets of the bad guys. (I thought good guys were supposed to wear white?)

I did not have much time to think about this as Mr. Urlacher was running at me again. I remember retreating in a direction that was parallel to the left side of the Bear offensive line. My natural reaction was to slide between my blockers and hopefully they would manage to spare my life. That's when I noticed that they all were now wearing white jerseys and white helmets.

The rest of the dream is pretty chaotic. I do not remember pain. And there was still no sound. But my teammates pounced on me like real bears would if I had been covered with honey. I remember the pushing, shoving, grabbing and eventual throwing to the ground. From there I looked up to find that they were not finished just because I was down. The ground merely formed the firm foundation for the beating that followed. The pushing turned to smashing. The shoving turned to squashing. The grabbing turned to stomping. I remember a quick thought of not understanding. Of wondering why my team had turned on me. I was trying to help them accomplish their goal ... win the game. I guess my goal was not their goal.

That's about it. I woke up. I was not panicking. No jerking awake and screaming. No punching and clawing at the air. But I was soaked in sweat. No, I did not find any mysterious grass stains on my t-shirt as I changed. No cleat scars on my arms. Just slightly trembling hands and a deep and profound wondering.

I believe that my spiritual enemy hates me. Every now and then he gets a really good shot in. My best guess is that he did that a few minutes ago. Still, I am not sure. I am not making any claims. I had a tame meal this past evening and even went to church for bible study. Then I came home and listened to worship music on my ipod with my wife as we went to sleep. Maybe the bully snuck in and beat me up. Maybe he was trying to get me to reminisce about battles gone by. Maybe he was trying to get me to draw conclusions.

Or maybe it was just a dream.

I hate football

I hate football. I'm going bowling.

A special shout out ...

Welcome to the southern hemisphere! A special HOWDY to the most remote visitor's to "I wasted time ... and now doth time waste me ..." Glad to have you Beijing, China; Ningbo, China; Brisbane, Australia and Homebush, Australia! Nice to have you aboard. Oh, and I do not want to forget Piazzola Sul Brenta, Italy! Hey, if we all get together we can make a pretty awesome lunch buffet. Everybody bring their speciality. China, you've got the crab rangoon and the egg rolls. Australia, bring some Walk About Soup and maybe something with some Kangaroo in it please. Italy ... Ravioli and Spaghetti! I've got the burgers and steaks! We'll meet at my house tomorrrow at noon!

Peace, ya'll ...

3 negative things about Chicago today

It totally slipped my mind what cold feels like. It is 2:53pm and the official temperature is -3. That little "dash" sign before the "3" means "negative." 3 degrees below zero. I have been 23 degrees colder than that in my lifetime but that was also about 23 years ago. Two 23's can make all of the difference in the world!

But can I be honest? I kind of like it. I would rather it would be -3 than +103. Seriously. I have this big overstuffed down jacket and huge gloves and when I climb in them it feels just like being inside. Except that my eyeballs freeze open. When I arrived for the first session of the seminar I'm attending at Willow Creek last night it was dark and the wind was howling. There were not many cars in the parking lot. I encountered only one person as I made my way from my car into the building. I think it was a woman but I could not really tell because she was all clothing. I mean everything was covered. She even had one of those "gonna rob a 7-11 ski masks" pulled over her face. The only reason I know she was a she is because as we passed on the tundra of a parking lot she said, "get a hat." The she faded off into the crystal clear night.

Not bad advice, that. I have been told that 99% of your body heat escapes through your head. This means that if you have a REALLY good hat you could ski naked and stay quite warm. Maybe I'll give that a try tonight. Hmmmm.

Film at 10.

Appointed ...

Man, I have to tell you ... I'm still wrestling with that whole "God appointed ..." thing. God appointed a FISH? Holy cow (no pun intended toward the animal kingdom) how big is this God if He can appoint a fish? Nevermind that He also appointed a plant, a worm and a scorching east wind. I don't have a problem with the whole Jonah story. I believe it. I buy into the whole thing. It's just that somehow reading the English Standard Version caused it to trigger lights, buzzers and bells in my head.

"God apponted ..."

It makes me wonder what God has appointed in my life and I didn't even know it was from Him. A meal with a friend? A doctor's appointment? A wrong turn? A spur of the moment compulsion to ... whatever?

God is tricky. God is not safe. He plays by His own rules and answers to no one. Especially not to me. Be glad. Be very glad. I would have wiped out a lot of people and places by now....

Tomorrow I am leaving for a seminar at Willow Creek. It is called "An Ordinary Day With Jesus." I'll be looking for things appointed. Problem is, I most likely won't recognize them if I see them. I mean, I'd have to question every potted plant, every shopping cart in a parking lot, and the remote control of the tv. And that's just for starters. The good news? It appears and time has shown that God's appointments can be trusted. The older I get the more I realize that a big part of my job as a people is to simply love Him and stay out of His way. He, my friend, is large and in charge.

Talk to you from the Windy City, home of .... DA BEARS.

<----One seriously hacked-off appointed worm.

Today

Today I got a haircut. It is short. I like it that way. Nobody else does. But it's my hair. So tough noogies.

Today I went with my son to get his oil changed. Well, actually the oil in his car. When they drained his old oil they immediately came in and told us that he had less than a quart of oil in it. He did not blow his engine but nobody knows why. I just looked at him. For a long time.

Today I rolled on the floor with my 8 month old granddaughter. She is the Queen of the Universe in my opinion. We drooled together. She pooped. I didn't. She stuck her fingers up my nose. I didn't.

Today I made an appointment with a Christian counselor. I don't know him but I want to tell him some things. He has to listen. It's MY TURN to blow off steam for a while.

Today I read the book of Jonah out of the bible. Three times. I noticed that God "appointed" things like a storm, a fish, a plant and a worm. That's what it says. He "appointed" them to do certain jobs. And then God "spoke" to the fish. He told the fish to throw Jonah up. And please do it on dry ground. This all gives me deep thoughts. It makes my head hurt. If God can "appoint" a worm surely He can "appoint" me in the right direction. Surely He can "speak" to inner bruises and make them heal. God? Appoint and speak, please Sir. Anytime now would be just fine.

Today I drank 2 cans of Vernors ginger ale. My dad used to walk my brother and I to their storefront bottling plant in downtown Detroit and buy us a mug of it out of "old oaken barrels." Dad's gone and I drink from a can now. La la la la life goes on.

Today I got an e-mail from a friend in San Diego. She told me that "maybe you could take your brain out, hold it on your lap and rock it for a while when it's especially fussy." Ok, I admit to taking that out of context. But nobody has ever told me to do that before and so I found it worth sharing.

Today I had lunch with my best pastor friend on the planet. And best of all ... he bought!

Today (actually tonight) I drove with sun glasses on because they are prescription sun glasses and my drivers license says I have to wear glasses when I drive and my regular glasses were at home. (I know that was a huge run-on sentence. Deal with it.) And now I wonder, would it be better to get a ticket for driving without glasses or for driving at night with sun glasses on? Where does one get the answer to this question?

Today was good. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.

Shut up and deal ...

It started with the Milky Bones. It always starts with the Milky Bones. I give her one every time she comes in from doing her "doody" outside. She knows what to expect and walks straight to the container, waiting with less than exemplary patience. She gets her bone. I get to have (relatively) clean carpet.

Then she progressed to being the self-appointed family guardian. There does not need to be a knock at the door, a car door closing nearby or even a face at the window. If a cricket chirps she's on it. If a leaf falls to the ground she's straining at the window to make certain it isn't a terrorist act. If a neighbor 3 doors down burps too loudly she faces their direction and proceeds to ream them out with the most remarkable stream of dog obscenities you've ever heard. Very impressive.

She is able to discern between a plane flying over and a truck on the street. The truck gets barked at. The plane is ignored. She knows a ringing cell phone from a door bell. How? Who told her? She doesn't open an eyelid at the cell phone. God help whoever rang the doorbell. If the dryer contents are off balance and it begins banging the floor like a mad cannibal on a drum at dinnertime it's no big deal. If the mailman closes the mailbox she's ready to rip his leg off, mace him with his own can of mace and hold him down until authorities arrive.

Bailey the Killer Beagle has a mind of her own. It's only the size of a walnut but it works.

And now? Now she is ready to learn to play cards. Poker I suspect. It's the card game closest to her nature. (I would think long and hard before betting against her. She has a killer poker-face.) You think I'm kidding? No. No I am not. She's been practicing her poker-playing-posture (henceforth known as her "PPP.") Who told her to sit like that? She's been watching. Watching I tell you. Observing quietly from the corners of the room. Seeing how we do it. Learning.

I suspect she will be shuffling a deck of cards any day now.

B Brief ...

I had prepared a beautiful piece of writing tonight to share with the world my deep and lasting love for my daughter. But she mentioned that my blogs were running a little long so I figured I'd just cut this one short.

Love ya, honey!
Dad

Lunch with Judy

Her name is Judy. She is a little bit older than I am. She is a lot smarter than I am. And she has done what I've done for longer than I have done it. When I arrived in my adopted hometown in 1983 Judy was already a part of a group of volunteers that worked with the teenagers at the church where I had accepted the position of youth pastor. When I resigned 2 months ago Judy was STILL going. Strong. This woman is the Energizer Bunnie's worst nightmare!

Judy invited me to lunch today at a local pizza place. It's the same place where we have huddled together dozens of times over the years discussing this kid or that situation. We have strategized there and debriefed each other there. Today? Today we just ate lunch, talked about old times and she brought me up to date on how the kids are doing.

Once upon a time Judy and I figured how many times we had driven (the equivelent of) around the globe at the equator with teens. I've been told that the distance around the old planet is about 24,900 miles. At that time we figured we had done it twice. That was in about 1990. We had been together for 7 years. That was 17 years ago. I have no idea how many times it would be now but let's just say we'd be Rand McNally's dream customers.

Judy has bailed me out countless times. All I ever had to do was call her and she would almost always agree to pick up food or drinks for the kids at the last minute, fill in with a bible study that would be relevent AND understandable to a 12 year old and an 18 year old at the same time. She drove in cities which, believe it or not, many adults will not do. She and I have dodged tornado's in Kansas and Wisconsin. We have navigated snow storms in the prairies of Illinois. We have climbed up the sides of mountains in New Mexico. We've walked through the White House and the out house. We've ridden on rented motor coaches, school buses, vans, cars, hay wagon's, my convertible Mustang and her mini-van. We've married kids and we've buried kids. We've eaten with kids and thrown up over kids. We have consumed thousands of pizza's and donuts. We've told kids why not to have sex before marriage and we've hugged them when they've ignored our advice and had their hearts broken. We've taken kids to the ocean and to Disney World, to Sears Tower and to Georgia swamps. We've taken kids to our homes when they've had no place else to go. We have prayed for kids and seen God's answer and we have prayed for kids and watched as they rejected the truth. I am quite sure that I have been in more hotels with Judy than I have been with my wife and don't you DARE to assume anything by that except that we were with dozens of kids where we sat outside there doors in deserted hallways until all hours of the night when were finally convinced that they were actually asleep or at least afraid to leave their rooms. Between us we have sweat literally gallons while walking through places like Union University; Glorieta, New Mexico; Ridgecrest, North Carolina; and Carson Newman College. Why? Well because it was hot. And humid. And our kids were outside and we wanted to be outside with them.

Dozens ... no, hundreds ... of kids will be in heaven because of my friend Judy. She will blush when she reads this. But it is true.

I have worked with more volunteer youth staff members in my life than I can remember. And I have never worked with one as dedicated, as loving, as devoted, as committed, as kind, as gifted ... as Judy.

Thank you for lunch today, my friend. And thank you for nearly 24 years of doing youth ministry side by side. You are my sister and I am so proud to be your brother.

I love you, Judy.

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.