A Cleveland Weekend

I know I have ignored writing about the weekend. I just haven't gotten home yet and I am still processing it all. But it seemed to go exceedingly well. Next Sunday is the ballgame. Until then there just is not much to say. Do what I am doing. Stay tuned. Life is a roller coaster.

Debbie & I at the lake

Christopher and Laura

An Erie Sunset

Peering down the Pier

Stupid Picture Chronicles 14

I have absolutely no idea ...

And Then There Is God ...

Surreal. That is the best word I can find to describe what tonight feels like. I am walking through a Salvador Dali painting. No, the sun isn't dripping in the sky and the chairs in my room are not warped out of proportion. But reality is ... unreal. There is a touch of déjà-vu mixed in with it all too. I have been here before. Yes, it has been 24 years. But this is not the first night I've slept in a strange hotel room knowing that when morning dawns I will be going to speak to a part of God's family that I do not know. I will stand before them and proclaim truth as it is taught in the Word of God. They will be analyzing me. I will be analyzing them. They will be trying to decide whether or not I am a worthy leader. I will be trying to discern whether these sheep will follow. And both of us are praying for divine guidance.

I feel so blessed. One of my best friends, my son Christopher, and his incredible girl friend, Laura, came with Debbie and me. They did not have to. They could be at home right now but they chose to accompany us. All day long they made us laugh. They kept our minds off of the coming task. We ate McDonalds, Skyline Chili, and incredible wings and ribs at a place name "Quaker Steak." It was designed to look like the inside of a gas station. Fun.

But now the room is dark. Debbie and Laura have retired to the room next door. Christopher is beginning to breathe the deep breaths of sleep. And I am left with a glowing computer screen in a quiet room in a strange city. I believe that God is calling me here. And I must obey. But my thoughts turn to...

-A little girl named Elle who holds her arms up to me, spins in circles when I tell her too, and bends over to put her head on the floor so that I can help her do a summersault. I cannot imagine not being close enough to do that at least a few times each week.

-The best daughter on the planet, Kelli, and her rock 'n' roll playing awesome husband Joe. They make me smile, keep me sane, and remind me of the deeper definitions of "family." Living 550 miles from them is unthinkable.

-Jim and Alisha. My brother-in-law who is more like a blood brother to me than a legal one. He and Alisha are some of our best friends. Yes, family can be that way.

-Christopher and Laura. Just because they joined us on this journey is no reason to assume that either of them will be able or willing to actually take up residence here. They know they are welcome to. But sometimes real life is more complicated than that. Honestly ... how can I live in a house without Christopher? He's been a constant in my life since 1985. They are an incredible couple and he is an amazing ... if often challenging ... son. I like people who march to the beat of their own drummer and "Topher" does hear his own.

-And a small handful of friends that have stuck with us through thick and thin. If you are reading this you know who you are. When it's been ugly, you've been there. When it's been good, you've been there. And I will always love you for it. And I have no desire to leave you.

And then there is God. He has always been loving and kind to me but since 2001 he has taken it to an entirely new level. It's been intensely painful and deeply joyous. The pendulum has gone both ways. He is God. And I am His child. And what He tells me I will do. I have a hunch He is telling me to come here. I will know for sure in 8 days. But first I have a job to do. I have a tomorrow to serve my way through. And that is what I insist on doing. Serving. I do not want to be served tomorrow. I do not want to be catered to or impressed. I want to serve. I want to do it with excellence. And then I want to get out of His way and allow Him to accomplish whatever He wants to accomplish.

And I will do what He tells me to do and go where He tells me to go. There is no other way to live.

But tonight? It is surreal.

Design On A Whine - Part 2

Ahhhhhhh. The question has been asked. Thank you, Gregg. If you read the comments from my last blog you will see our good friend Gregg dropped by and asked me to explain, to the best of my limited knowledge, precisely why it is that we don't dress up, renovate, and repair our homes until it is time to sell them, thus depriving ourselves of enjoying the upgrades. Thanks for throwing it out there my friend. Honestly, the answer is not that elusive.

No one makes us.

Yeah, it's that simple. I knew that my laundry room floor looked ... undesirable. Who cares? It's a laundry room. I've even heard them called "mud rooms." Who am I to defy generations of tradition and de-mud the mudroom? No way. I respect my ancestral chain.

When I was in college I supported my family for a while by installing storm doors and windows on the south side of Chicago. For the past couple of years only about 8 screws have anchored my back storm door. The "closure" was destroyed in a windstorm. The anchor chain that used to be at the top was ripped out too. The only reason it stayed on the house was because it was afraid I'd throw it in the garbage if it fell off. And I would have too. Tonight I have a lovely new storm door on the houses backside. Nobody can see it but it's there. Hip-hip-ha-ray!

There are rooms being painted and trim being replaced. A new light is mounted in the shower bathroom. All of the carpets have been cleaned. There is more ... much more ... to come. Tonight an old friend came by. Cindy is an expert mover. We met her and her husband Bob in 1984 when they moved into our burg. Since then they have lived in 7 different cities. They now live about 50 miles from us and Debbie asked her to come over tonight and tell us what we need to do to sell our house fast. Cindy left 3 pages of notes. Poor Bob has had a hard life.

But let's get real for a second. I stand to make a few extra thousand dollars by doing all of this home repair. The de-cluttering will pay off. The new paint slapped on over the old stuff won't hurt. But that isn't really why we do it. ("We" being men. Husbands. Guys.) We do it because somebody makes us. We like sleeping in the big bed. We enjoy getting to hold the remote control. It is nice to get home made cookies every now and then. And yes, we will paint and clean and install and trim and repair and do just about a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g else we are told to do in order to make certain the goodies keep on coming!

I could have lied. I could have said it was about integrity. Making sure the new owners get the best house available, the best bang for their buck. But honestly I'm trying to take them for all they've got. I want to spend nothing and make everything. I could have said it was purely about the money. But I have to use the money on another house. Seriously, I have to. Or the taxman goes berserk. And we can't have that happening, no can we? No sir, we can't. If I could use the money for a new 60" flat screen HDTV I would be MUCH MORE INCLINED to get the jobs done right and with appropriate haste. If I could perhaps invest it in a new motorcycle you would see me hanging out at the hardware store night and day. If I could buy any laptop I wanted with the money Lowe's would name a wing after me.

But I am going to spend it on another house. Another house that I will someday have to paint and repair and dress up. To sell. So that I can buy another house.

Do you see a trend here?

So there it is Gregg. The honest truth.

And honey ... love of my life ... wife of my dreams (yes, really) ... I don't do it just for you. I do it for us. And for the kids. Even though two thirds of them don't live with us anymore. Hey, have you considered that maybe we could use the money to buy a houseboat and set-up our personal effects there? We could point it toward any island you want and hang out until we got bored and then point it somewhere else. If it starts to rain we'll sail away so we don't really need to worry about fixing the roof. The "weathered look" works on a boat so paint won't be necessary too often. And storm doors? Come on. Get real. You ever see a storm door on a boat? I'll trade you the flat screen for a chance to cruise to Key West. You can call me Gilligan and I'll call you Mary Ann. Or, if you prefer, I'll be Thurston and you can be Lovey.

I know, I know. It was just a thought.

(PS. Hi Nicole!)

Design On A Whine - Part 1

Ladies and gentlemen, I am selling my house and moving away. Won't be long and I'll be outta here. So if I am going to sell this place then it needs a little sprucing up. That was not my idea. It was hers. You know. HERS. This current round of "home improvement" has solidified a well-documented fact. I have no e-stinken idea what I am doing when I pick up a tool. And so I think it behooves me to tell you what I have learned over these past weeks. Learn from my mistakes. At least then it will all be for something.

Tonight we are talking about "mitered corners." The dictionary says that a mitered corner is "A joint made by two pieces of wood or other material at an angle of 90 degrees, such that the line of junction bisects this angle."


Oh. I thought it was when you screw up two pieces of wood by trying to cut them on an angle so that they match up in the corner. But now, it turns out that the junction has to bisect the angle." If they had told me that early on it would have saved me a lot of time, money, and sawdust production.

Let Old Unca Ron give you a tip. If you are going to spend big bucks resurfacing a floor (i.e. in a large laundry room) make the baseboards look good too. Buy expensive ones. Tall and white with fancy schmancy curved designs on them. Then get out your cool circular saw. Set it at 45 degrees and cut away. Do this to two pieces of wood. Then take them into the house and jam them into the same corner as if they really do fit together. (Unless you are good.... like Noah good.... it won't even come close to working.) Then do what Old Unca Ron does. Nail them down anyway and schmear whatever kind of putty you have around the house into the gaping holes, smooth it over, and paint it white. NO body will ever know. If I can do it ... so can you!

Oh, and don't forget to wear goggles when you use that saw, boys and girls. Old Unca Ron did every single time but once. And that was when the wood demon jumped up and bit him in the left eye. That then, in turn, led to creative garage dancing and holding my face under the showerhead with my eyes open. Then I used a half of a bottle of some sort of over-the-counter eye drops. Still, every now and then a little wooden piece of crap floats across my eyeball and makes me scream

I know it sounds like a lot of work but having mitered corners might make your house sell more quickly. So get out those saws! Plug that sucker in! Get cutting! You'll be out of your house (and into the hospital) in no time!

That's all for today, boys and girls. Tune back in soon for more of our new series, "Design On A Whine!"

The Mother of All Weeds

A couple of weeks ago I cut down this amazon weed in my back yard. This was probably the 5th or 6th time I've cut it down over the last few years. It is also the last time. It had weaved (wove? woven?) itself back and forth through our chain link fence. It started out as a little sprout of a thing early last August. I noticed it one day and thought that I ought to go and snip it off before it started growing. I did not. I should have.

When I finished removing this weed in late September it was nearly 10 feet tall. My neighbors were complaining. (What? They don't like the shade?) I ruined my chain saw on it. I fell back to my trusty old axe and some massive, industrial strength pruning shears. I hacked and chopped and swore and hacked and chopped and swore. Then I dug around the massive roots until I had a huge hole encircling it and I poured some super powerful "stump killer" on it. After I got it out I had to call the city to come and pick-up the pieces after dragging them around the house to the curb. This was not just a weed. This was the Mother of All Weeds. I would have gotten a picture but I was panicked.

How does a weed get so big so quickly?

And then there are the flowers. My wife grows them in the back corner of the yard. And they take FOR-EVER. I am talking months and that is just for a simple 6" bloom. What's the deal with that? And then they die in a couple of weeks never to be seen or heard from again.

There is a lesson to be learned here. Get a pen. Ready? Good. Here it is...

"Flowers take time. Weeds do not."

Doesn't that sound like life? How many times have you heard that "tragedy beFELL" somebody. "beFELL?" Does that not imply that the tragic event in question dropped from the sky in a mere moment of bad fortune and crushed every one in it's path?

And then we strive to master avoiding "instant gratification." (Well. You do. I gave up long ago.) We teach our children that "good things come with time."

This all seems so unfair to me. You might go to the doctor and hear, "You have six months to live." What he really means is "In six months you are going to die." He's just dressing it up for you. Six months to live and the rest of history you get to spend dead. If anything needs dressing up it's that bit of news.

I don't know for sure what the deal is but it seems that God likes to make His children wait and Satan chooses to strike like lightening. I can think of a ton of applications for this principal (if you missed it the principal is "Flowers take time. Weeds do not.) but I think it would be best if I just let you kick it around for yourself. I tend to believe it has different applications for all of us. I know what it means for me right now. But for you? I haven't a clue. So get to work on it.

It might just make a difference in how you live your remaining days. Maybe not. But it might.

Cubs + Prayer = 3 and out

I declare the experiment officially over. It was a miserable failure. Praying for the Cubs to win the World Series only hastened their demise.

Anybody want to play some hockey?

Questions For God (Don't Worry. He Can Take It.)

I seem to remember that we, as believers in Jesus Christ, are encouraged to boldly approach the throne of grace. Actually I am thinking of Hebrews 4: 14-16 where it says, "Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need." It sounds to me as if we have a God who gets it. A God who understands. A God who has been there. And so He has thrown open the door to the throne room, allowing us to enter in with our hurts, frustrations, and questions. If you are in a time of need He is most certainly a God who cares.

And so I have questions. He does not have to answer them. It is enough that He lets me ask them. I mean, without throwing lightening my way or dropping a piano on my head. He's a far better God than I would be if I were Him. I bring my questions with confidence that He hears and is, therefore, aware. That is enough.

-Only He will understand this one. Only He was there. God, what would you have said or done on that day 17 months ago if I had said "tell me" instead of "I trust you? When you gave me the choice?

-Will I ever learn to be more discerning when it comes to figuring out whom to trust and whom to "let inside?" Would you make me a better judge of motivation and of character?

-Why do I insist on "riding the roller coaster" when you offer to let me sit next to You in "the big seat?"

-Why does Debbie have to do this asthma thing? Why did it take her 40 years to get it and what can I do to make it stop?

-If I was created from dust and will return to dust why does it freak me out so badly when I have to clean behind the washing machine?

-Is heaven as good as I hope it is because if it is like going to "Six Flags" everyday for ever I'm going to be really disappointed?

-God, you know that deep, nagging question that I will never speak out loud because it would reveal how I REALLY think and how I REALLY feel and nobody has a right to know me that deeply but you? The one that takes me from calm to boiling in about 6 seconds? Well ... why?

-This might sound frivolous but I'm quite serious. Why do the Cubs always stink when it matters?

-Why do you continue to put up with Pharisees and would you please tell me if I ever become one because I will most definitely will want to change?

-You've been speaking but I've not been hearing. Would you please speak up for the time being? It is not an abundance of ambient noise. It is my own traitorous brain.

-Forgive me for asking the obvious. But you have been promising to take us "home." Well. I know we aren't there yet. How much longer?

That's all for now. But please do not be surprised to find a "part two" in a day or so.

Sin-sear-ly (unfortunately,)
Me

The Gloom In Between

It is a strange time. I am confused by my own thought patterns, behavior oddities and impatience. It is not my norm. But I suppose if times are strange it would not be abnormal for my actions or reactions to be a little offbeat as well. I am not a stranger to anger but I am a stranger to having it well up in me so quickly that I don't even see it coming. That has happened once or twice recently. Or maybe ten times. I lost count.

A few weeks ago I was flying home from Dallas. Friends had dropped Debbie and I off at Love Field on an overcast, dreary morning. We waited an hour or so and then boarded our plane home to St. Louis. Within seconds of leaving the ground we were in the clouds. And within seconds of entering the clouds we broke out of them into the bright sunlight of "upper Texas." It was wonderful to see the blue sky. I am a solar powered guy. I need sunshine in order to run properly. As we coasted toward home I glanced outside to notice the view had changed. Now the clouds were multi-layered. Clouds below us, clouds above us, and in the distance you could see them in levels with clear air in between. Every few minutes we would pass through a layer. Sometimes it would take us into a sun-filled sky and sometimes into the gloom of the in between.

I found myself thinking about that flight today. I was supposed to be laying tile in the laundry room but I was leaning against a wall thinking about the circumstances that had brought me to this moment. Glancing out the window of life I can easily see multi-layered situational clouds. A backward glance at life shows mostly sunny skies mixed with a few storms. The last year has been a turbulent ride with fantastic up's and phenomenal down's. I am trying to look out the front window. It is hard to see out there. There seems to be great potential for sunny days but the promise of their arrival is elusive.

It is the gloom in between.

I am fixing up a house that I will not own for long. And I am wondering ... why didn't I fix it up in time to enjoy it? I don't have an answer for that. I am writing a sermon that will either be the first of many or the last of one. There is no way to know which it will be. I am listening to a God who makes great promises and never breaks one of them. But He keeps His calendar tucked away under His arm and never lets me see when those promises will see the light of day. One month from tonight I will either be falling asleep in my new city or I will be trying to figure out what God is trying to get across to me while I sit in a very clean, newly painted, freshly tiled, shampooed carpeted house.

Yes, it is the gloom in between. This season of life has lasted long enough. Four plus years. I remember the second it started and I will know the second it ends. The clouds will finally fall away and the layers will be a distant memory. Flying is the best when you can see the ground below and the sky above. I know, I know. I'm not a rookie and I'm not stupid. There will always be clouds around somewhere until we get "Home." You know the one. "H"ome. But even the biggest hurricane blows away eventually. This one needs to leave. Now.

It is time to throw the touchdown pass. Time to hit the walk-off home run. Time for the fade away three point jump shot with no time left on the clock. It's time for a new game on a new field with a new team. I am as rested and tuned as I can be. Only one thing is needed. Would somebody please say, "Play ball?"

(I am aware that I have mixed my metaphors. Get over it.)

C-ompletely U-nbeatable B-y S-eptember

A cold front blew through hell tonight. Donkey's were reported to be donning wings in barnyards around the globe. The Chicago Cubs ... my beloved Chicago Cubs ... won the National League Central Division title.

Haven't you heard? Good things come in three's. And this year there might even be a special bonus.

Flashback 1969. On the first of September in that fateful fall the Cubs were roughly 10 games up. The laughable Mets were in 2nd place. It had only been 51 years since the Cubs last won the World Series. A minor slump compared to today's 99 year drought. That is when strange things began to happen. Balls rolling through the legs of All-Star infielders. An honest-to-gosh black cat crossing in front of the Cubs dugout at Shea Stadium as their infamous collapse began. You know how the story ends. The Cubs self destruct. The Mets go on to win the World Series. I have lived on Tums ever since. I start popping them on opening day and don't stop until my boys are safely on the golf course and off of the ball diamond where they could get hurt.

1969 almost killed me. How connected am I to that memory? To that team? Catcher: Randy Hundley #9. 1st base: Ernie Banks #14. 2nd base: Glen Beckert #18. Short Stop: Don Kessinger #11. 3rd base: Ron Santo #10. Right field: Billy Williams #26. And then center field and right field saw a multiplicity of players like my favorite Adolpho Phillips. I have an autographed Ferguson Jenkins Jersey, #31, in my office right now. The Andy Frain Ushers controlled the crowd. Jack Brickhouse and Lloyd Pettit called the game on WGN. Don't mess with me when it comes the the Cubs of '69. I'm still looking for a team to heal the hurt.

And now lookie, lookie. Guess what's happening. The Mets have been in first place since May. Until tonight. The night the Cubs won their division the Mets lost their 5th straight and slid straight into 2nd place. And they did it by allowing the bases to get all loaded up against them and then hitting the next two batters. Way to go, New York. Not too long ago they were 13 games up. Can you say "choke?" Only one word comes to mind when I think about this. No, make that two. "Sweet revenge." It has taken 38 years ... and all it will take is another Mets loss to heal a very deep wound. Sweet. Revenge. Ahhhhh.

So. Will the Cubs win their first play-off series? I honestly do not know. Might they go on and win the National League pennant? The odds are against them. Could they pull off a miracle and win the World Series? Nah. Doubtful. But ... oddly possible.

And let me finish with this little thought. I have a friend who mentioned in an email this week that they were sweating out the final numbers on their 3rd quarter profits in his huge conglomerate of a company. Do you figure that my friend, a godly man if ever there was one, prayed about those numbers? I think yes. I KNOW yes. I have another friend who is working his fingers to the bone as the C.O.O of a medium sized hospital. Do you suppose he prays about the status and success of his hospital, both in patient care and financial earnings? Of course he does. Anybody got a problem with that? I think not. So why is it so wrong to think that maybe ... just maybe ... it's alright to pray for ones favorite baseball team? They are a "for profit" organization. Right? God is soveriegn and He cares about every molecule in His creation. Right? So why do we always say when discussing sports and athletic endeavor's, "Oh, God does not get involved in that. Pray that they do their best and things will turn out the way they turn out." You can believe that if you want to. As for me?

I'm PRAYING for the CUBS.

That was a weekend?

Gimme a break. THAT was a WEEKEND? Well then. Please sir, may I have some Monday?

Tomorrow is "fall Junk Day" in our little community. That means anything and everything can be hauled out to the curb to be picked-up as trash. Well, no tires, batteries, paint or anything else that you really want to get rid of but don't know how to. So instead of the obvious nap my wife "suggested" that I begin working on the attic and the garage. Got a big move coming up, doncha know. And I, the ever dutiful husband, began the task of throwing away nearly thirty years worth of accumulated ... stuff. We have lived in our current home for fourteen years. Everytime we did not know what to do with something I was sent to the attic with it. Debbie has never been up there. It's off the ground and she doesn't go off the ground. She doesn't go in the crawl space either because it's below the ground and she doesn't go below the ground. All of that ... and she makes it a point to laugh at me in front of the world at every opportunity because I have decided that I do not want to die by drowning. And I don't swim. So I don't go into deep water. Her God given (?) task is to tell everybody that I am afraid of water. Huh? What? I drink it. I love any hot tub I can find. I can do the pool as long as my feet are on the bottom and my head is above the top. This makes sense to me. Fear of the attic and the crawlspace however, not so much.

Ok, I'm off my subject.

It was in the 90's all weekend. The nice lady on TV just said that it was 98 in our suburb today. The attic was at least 120 degrees. And of course there is that wonderful insulation up there that makes it all soooo much fun. I cleaned and cleaned and gathered and gathered and dumped and dumped. I cannot begin to tell you how much treasure turned trash that I threw away. But this is what my front lawn looked like curb side just before sundown tonight. And you know what? That is only about half of what I took out. About every thirty minutes a car or a truck drives down my street and, seeing my pile, they stop and sift through it look for valuable objects that cannot be relegated to the land fill. They never leave empty handed. I put one of the first lap top computers I ever owned out there because it was old and you had to really work on it to simply turn it on. But before I dropped it off I beat the living daylights out of it with an axe. Because you never know.

Oh, and you want to know what the really fun part of the weekend was? I have one of those attic stairs thingys where you pull it down and a self-contained set of stairs drops down out of the ceiling. It was about mid-afternoon on Saturday and I was making my gabillanth trip down with a hand full of trash. I stepped onto a rung of the ladder about four feet off of the ground. It was waiting for me. Ready to extract revenge for having been stored up in the one hundred plus degree attic for years. As soon as I put my weight on it ... it blew apart. Snapped right off. I went down THROUGH the ladder to the garage floor about four or five feet below. The nails that held the wrung in place decided to get even too. It happened so quickly I barely realized what was happening until it was over. I didn't even drop my armfull of stuff and I ended up sitting on the second step off of the floor. But I couldn't extract myself from the ladder because of the nails. About that time Debbie came to the door because the "thunk' of me hitting the floor didn't sound like the "thunk" of junk hitting the floor. She had to bring me a hammer so that I could bend the protruding nails out of the way just to get out of the mangled mess of a ladder. It was such a fun Saturday! Here's what the back of my legs look like tonight. I was merciful and made that picture small. And yes, I did have shorts on. And no I don't shave my legs. And I ain't bow legged she made me stand that way for the picture. And you are a perv just for thinking those things. I am in pain and YOU should be ashamed.

I'll bet you are not.

So it was a good weekend. Well. It was a weekend. Ok, it was weak. And we are finally to the end. Therefore, technically I am correct, except for the spelling.

It was a weak end.

Not that you asked ...

1. I cannot spit worth a rat’s patootie. This is an insult to my maleness. I remember watching my father when I was a boy. When he had to spit you could hear him work it up for blocks around. It began as a scraping noise deep in his throat and slowly emerged upward and outward. Small children would cling to their mother's skirts when dad would let one go. Stray dogs would whimper and run for the tree line. Dad never taught me this skill. That may just be the one thing I cannot forgive him for. I was substituting in Jr. High physical education today. We are still playing flag football. I got a mouthful of dust and felt the need to remove it. I tried to be like dad. I tried to BE dad. But all I got was moisture of the scattered variety. I do think I lost the respect of the entire red team.

2. Lately I have been craving food drenched with sauce. Nearly any sauce will do. Mexican? Italian? White? Red? Sausage gravy? Cheese? Barbeque? It doesn't seem to matter. Unfortunately, not many sauces are actually healthy. If you read of my demise anytime soon please forward this to the coroner's office. It might shorten the autopsy process. It might also invoke the "suicide clause" on my life insurance policy. If I intentionally eat unhealthy sauces and die as a result can this be considered intentionally taking my own life? I need a judgment call here.

3. *WIFE WARNING: WIVES NOT ALLOWED TO READ #3. PLEASE PROCEED DIRECTLY TO #4. THANK YOU.* I stopped being hungry as I cleaned my plate off tonight at supper. It was just Debbie and I. She went into the living room to see something that interested her on television and I began clearing the table. (That's just the kind of husband I am.) She told me to just put the cover on the chicken we ate tonight and she would mix it with rice for our supper tomorrow night. I looked at the chicken. I thought about the rice. And I immediately ate the rest of the chicken. It is going to work. Unless she reads this blog before suppertime tomorrow.

4. I have done a lot more flying this summer than usual. I like to fly and I have been reflecting on the "why" of that fact. I have determined that it comes down to two things. Take off's and landings. I love taking off. The feel of the sheer power as it presses into your chest is so cool. Going from zero to four or five hundred miles per hour in just a few minutes is a kick I don't think I will ever tire of. The second thing I really like is landing. For the same reasons only backward. I think that if I should die in a plane crash I will be appropriately terrified but I also think I will enjoy those last few moments the most. I am thinking they happen really, really fast. There is a roller coaster in an amusement park near the church I may be moving to in the Cleveland area. This roller coaster reaches speeds up to 120 mph. I am sooooo there...

5. "Barnes and Noble" beats "Borders" every time. Two reasons. The smell of the coffee shop and the greater proliferation of cushy chairs. I don't drink coffee but I do enjoy smelling it. And chairs? I'm all about cushy chairs.

6. Once upon a time I was walking down the hallway of a church and I passed a woman who was exiting the women's room. Her dress was lifted up and tucked into her waistband in the posterior area. Things were exposed that were not supposed to be exposed. She was walking to the church auditorium for the worship service. You are thinking that I did the right thing by discreetly telling her, thus avoiding her even greater embarrassment. You are wrong.

7. The Cubs are going to win the World Series this year. Oh yes they are. And I am going to move to an American League city and nobody is going to care. I find it petrifying that this could happen and I would have nobody to gloat to. After all these years in St. Louis. Life is a cruel mistress.

8. The thought of being a Sr. Pastor does not scare me. It terrifies me. Who do I blame when things get screwed up? How do I explain to God why I missed a "signal?" What if they want to do something silly like build a building or repave a parking lot? Can I memorize "Roberts Rules of Order?" Can I even find a copy? Oh ... Barnes and Noble. Never mind.

9. I miss my stupid dog.

10. I think being an "ice road trucker" would be about the coolest thing you could be. You do it all winter and brag about it all summer. Hmmm. That's like the same reason I got married in November.

Just Time Away...

I think my lobotomy has finally kicked in. I have not been writing much of late. If you log on to this little site often I ask for your forgiveness and understanding. I almost always have something to say. I do not shut-up often. Things are just odd right now. It is just that I have been thinking a lot lately.

As you probably know there is a very good chance that I will be packing up and moving northeast in the near future. I am happy about that. Still, it is a very sobering thing. If God brings this to pass I will be leaving some very precious people behind. I am reminded of the words sung by Carol King on her famous album "Tapestry" a few decades ago ... "You're just time away. Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore? It would be so fine to see your face at my door and it doesn't help to know you're just time away...” It seems that the space/time continuum is getting in my way again. It is the biggest pain in my life. Anyway, it is all God's deal. I just follow orders. Still ... it is on my mind everyday. I want the decision made. The facts decided. I do not like living in the in-between.

And then my dog ran away. Bailey the Killer Beagle darted out the door a few weeks ago and has not been seen since. My carpets are cleaner. But when I sit on my mega-chair she is not there to put her chin on my leg and try to doze off before I do. It was one of the finest parts of the day and I miss it. I have had four dogs since becoming a big person (aka: an adult) and three of them ran away. Why? Well, I am not sure. The smart one stayed. His name was Bear and I will never get over him. Bailey was a decent fill-in though and I loved her for who she was. Maybe she heard about Cleveland and just did not want to go.

On top of that it seems that God has been very quiet lately. I know He's here. He just isn't talking much. I am not sure why but it seems that He is at His quietest when I am most wanting to hear Him. There is a reason for that. Really there is. But right now it eludes me.

The Cubs are tied for first place and that scares me to death. If they fold as usual it will really be depressing. If they do not fold and manage to win it all ... well, I will probably be dead soon. I have prayed for years that God would let me live to see the Cubs win the World Series. If they win it there will be nothing between the grave and me. My blunt son told me recently that if I move I should choose my new house very carefully because that is probably the house I will die in.

Selah.

Anyway, seldom does a day go by that I don't get zapped by some bit of loose reality that needs writing about. I make a note of it and begin to bang on the keyboard after the house is quiet. Lately the only quiet thing is my brain. Perhaps it is merely a slump. Perhaps it is the gathering clouds of change on the horizon. Or maybe I've just finally run out of things to say. Ya think? I don't. Seriously, there is just too much to life to run out of ideas. Reality is too weird. Too random. No, it's just a dip in the road.

Two months from today I will most probably be living in a borrowed "5th Wheel" in a strange city, preaching to people I do not know and trying to win people who talk just a little funny to Jesus. Win or lose on the baseball diamond, the Cubs will be playing golf somewhere. It is just a lot to try to comprehend. On top of all of that I was in Dallas to perform a wedding last weekend. (I wore a chocolate brown tux with chocolate brown wing tips. But 5 minutes into the reception I looked like this ...

Nobody noticed for nearly an hour. That proves something but I am not sure what.) The night before we flew home Debbie and I had supper with old and precious friends, Dave and Lynda. Their oldest son and his girlfriend asked me to perform their wedding as well. So I will be going back to Dallas ... which is located in my 2nd least favorite state ... and tying the knot for Adam and Betsy late in October. Then I have to be in Wisconsin in late December to tie Jessica to her new fella. I seem to be the king of weddings lately. It's all good.

I just need some brain juice.

Reflections on 9-11

I walked the perimeter of "Ground Zero" for the first time last July. Today it is a busy city construction site. Buses, taxicabs, pedestrians and pigeons surround it. The sounds are those of city life. If you were not aware, not looking for indications, you would never know that six years ago today it was hell.

It was late on a Saturday afternoon and my son and I sat at a table outside a pizza place and stared at the hole across the street. I found myself so busy looking down that I almost forgot to look up. When I did ... the pizza lost its flavor. The sky was blue and the breeze was cool, much like the 9-11 of six years ago. And without expecting to I could see horrors unfold in my mind. Proud skyscrapers, a testament to the tireless men who built them. Racing jets, mere yards from a doom that nobody expected or imagined. Vast fiery infernos, fuel mixed with every imaginable item. Ball point pens and body parts. The shower of papers floating to the ground like so much snow in mid-January. The hollow, nauseating "thud" that kept a sickening cadence as over 200 bodies chose to crash into the sidewalk rather than burn to death.

What did it look like on September 11, 2001 to sit in the seat where I was eating my pizza? Was anybody sitting there? Did he or she live? Is their story being told today?

The next morning I found myself walking down a railroad track in New Jersey with a 19 year old young man. It is not important how this midwesterner came to be in that place with a Puerto Rican immigrant teenager. We had been sitting on a platform of the light rail system when we realized that no trains were stopping. Closer inspection showed that it was closed for repairs on that day. And so that young man chose to help this lost stranger walk the tracks to the next station so that I could catch up with my own son and we could make it to a Yankee's game on time. What is important is the story he told me as we walked. This young man had only been to "The City" twice in his life. His momma will not let him cross the Hudson River into Manhattan alone and he has chosen to obey her. Everyday he looks across the river at the largest city in America and he does not go there because he respects his mother. Is this not a part of a fading Americana that we all miss? I asked him what 9-11 was like for him. He became quiet and we walked many yards before he replied. He had been in school as a 13-year-old junior higher. Suddenly the teachers dismissed the students. He was not told why. He and his friends were just sent home. As they rounded a corner on their short walk home a smoke shrouded city skyline came into view. They could only see one tower due to the smoke from the first explosion. As these junior high school kids stood along their river, looking at their city they saw another jet fly directly into the second tower. The young man grew quiet again. Then he told me that it did not look like it did on TV. They saw it. Then they heard it. Then they felt it. He said that upon the impact of the jet they watched steel girders shoot out the other side like airborne toothpicks pushed from their places by the explosion that took hundreds of lives as they stood and watched. I asked him if the memory has faded since that day. He said that it has not. He said that he does not expect that it ever will. Moments later we were on a train and got separated by the crowd, he on his way to work and me on my way to a ballgame.

I understand anger. I understand fury. But hatred? Hatred at this level eludes me. I do not want to be capable of it. And then I think of that sidewalk that once ran deep with blood and ash. I think of that boy who should have been studying math but was forced to watch the subtraction of human lives. I think of how it will shape his future and I am afraid that I begin to perhaps comprehend in a very, very minute way what hatred feels like. I give regularly to the poor, I swerve to avoid squirrels on the street, and I have volunteered in soup kitchens and homeless shelters. That is what humans are supposed to do. Yet I confess that if I found myself in the mountains of Pakistan or Afghanistan and I came across a certain bearded individual I would neither hesitate nor lose sleep over pulling a trigger.

And I really do not like that in me.

New News (as opposed to old news)

Well, this is an unusual blog entry. It is not intended to entertain, teach, stir your brain cells or anything like that. It is purely informational. Forgive me for stepping outside my norm. But here goes ...

On Sunday, October 14 Debbie and I will be at the First Baptist Church of Sheffield Lake, Ohio where I will be speaking in the morning service. That evening there will be a church-wide meal and then an open forum question and answer time during which the church will be able to ask me any question they like. I, in turn, will be able to pretend that I have all of the answers. They will be taking one week to pray, seeking the will of God, before voting on whether or not to call me as their Sr. Pastor on October 21st.

Sheffield Lake is a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio. It is approximately 25 miles from downtown Cleveland and is situated on the shores of Lake Erie. The church has been averaging around 150ish during the summer months, give or take. They are debt free and own two buildings that, honestly, need some work. After many phone conversations with their pastoral search committee and spending last weekend with them I believe that they are a church that desires to seek and follow the will of God, regardless of the cost. They are flawed but so am I. (I know that is hard for you to believe but really, I am. Ask Debbie. No... don't.) I am grateful that they are willing to spend a week between my time with them and their vote as they commit themselves to prayer over the matter. There are only a couple of protestant churches in Sheffield Lake, FBC being the largest. The area is heavily Catholic. The opportunity for evangelical ministries to serve the community are limitless.

Obviously we are grateful for your faithful care, prayers, and support. I will do my best to keep you updated on any prayer requests as they arise. It has been an interesting year. I am sure the next month or so will be even more so. While Debbie and I do believe that this move is God's direction for our lives we realize that we are leaving family and dear friends. That's pretty stinky. In addition, if God puts this together, I will probably be spending the majority of the winter in the frozen tundra without her as she impatiently waits for our house to sell. Ahhh... the joys of home ownership.

Anyway, that's what's going on within the confines of our lives. This is not confidential information and you may feel free share it or to call the National Enquirer with the information if wish. I expect fifty cents from every dollar you make from the proceeds.

Seriously ... this is huge for us. Happy. Sad. Joyful. Sobering. Pick an emotion and it's there. But overall we are grateful to God for choosing to use us at His discretion.

Thanks for caring and loving us...
Ron & Debbie

Oowie

i am "hunt and peck" typing. got a problem. was subbing in a jr high p.e. class this morning. flag football. 1st period i was talking to a girl on the field before the game. i saw movement ouy of the corner of my eye, looked over and the football was flying toward her head. jr, high heads are empty so i should have let it go. but noooooo. i lunged in and batted the ball away. now fingers go in strange directions. cant type. fingers taped. not good. obviously i am her hero. right? not so much. NO THANKS NECESSARY, EMILY. I'M FINE. DON'T GIVE IT ANOTHER THOUGHT.

so. brief blogging sabbitical is in order. miss me. check back in a couple of days. pass thy tylenol...

A Labor Day Treat

Enjoy...

The View From The Web

Don't think I haven't been trying because I have. I am well aware that I have not blogged ... seriously written anything worth reading ... in a few weeks. It is not for having failed to sit in this place late at night pounding the keyboard. The simple truth is that life is becoming complicated and I'm limited on how much I can say about the "whys" and "wherefores." I am almost as limited on the "what I know's."

Did you read about the massive spider web found in Texas this week? If you missed it, here is what www.foxnews.com had to say...

"WILLS POINT, Texas — Entomologists are debating the origin and rarity of a sprawling spider web that blankets several trees, shrubs and the ground along a 200-yard stretch of trail in a North Texas park.

Officials at Lake Tawakoni State Park say the massive mosquito trap is a big attraction for some visitors, while others won't go anywhere near it.

"At first, it was so white it looked like fairyland," said Donna Garde, superintendent of the park about 45 miles east of Dallas. "Now it's filled with so many mosquitoes that it's turned a little brown. There are times you can literally hear the screech of millions of mosquitoes caught in those webs."

Spider experts say the web may have been constructed by social cobweb spiders, which work together, or could be the result of a mass dispersal in which the arachnids spin webs to spread out from one another."

I am trying to decide whether I feel like the spider or the mosquitoes.

This coming Friday I will be flying off to a far away city to meet with a pastor search committee, a finance committee, a staff, a real estate agent, and then speak to a local "neutral" church. If all goes well and we sense that God's Hand is in it then I will return in a couple of weeks to meet with the entire church, speak to them, and we'll decide whether or not it becomes official. (But not before I fly off to Dallas to perform the wedding of a precious friend and the daughter of one of my best buddies.) If it does ... I'll be leaving my bride, my home, my family, and pretty much everything except Bailey the Killer Beagle (because she already left me. She's a run-away.) I would be living there alone until the house here sells, etc., etc., etc. I don't mind the alone part. I mind the not knowing part. I want to be the spider. I want to chart the course. I want to weave the tapestry. I want to set the trap.

But I am not the spider. I am the mosquito. Let there be no doubt about it. I have been caught in God's web. I do not call the shots on any of this. The church sets up the details, and rightly so. God makes the decisions, and VERY rightly so. I simply do my best to follow His string and obey His directions. In the mean time my mind runs at about 120mph. What do I say to them when I speak? What points does God want me to make? How do I handle (insert any of about 50 things here.) And most importantly ... am I hearing God? Is my heart in tune with His? Is my spirit sensitive to the leading of His Spirit? These are difficult questions and if I mess them up ...

Well, I do not want to think about that.

I have never been to this city before. I do not know what it looks like from the air or from the ground. I can't tell you the name of the airport. I cannot tell you where a shopping mall is. I have no idea about the names of the local grocery stores. They have a baseball team, a football team, a basketball team and for all I know a water polo team. I do not know the name of the county the church is in. I only know the area code because they keep calling me (a fact that I am grateful for.) I know the time zone but it is not one I am used to.

I am the mosquito. I am caught in God's web. He wove it and flew me right into the heart of it. He has held me fast and I couldn't get away if I wanted to. Which I don't. I often find my head spinning as I examine the possibilities and probabilities. It is hard to explain. I seem to be a person that has developed a penchant for "forgetfulness" of late. Ask my wife. (No, don't!) Ask my former boss, Patti. Ask my kids. And it frustrates me to death. I do not know how to say it ... the phraseology fails me. But life has thrown so many curve balls my way over the last few years that I have almost lost track on what is worth paying attention to and what is not. And honestly, there are so many things that I thought were important five years ago that I realize now are a waste of time. I just tune them out. Unfortunately, I also tend to tune out the person talking about them. That causes pain and strained relationships. It also makes me feel quite stupid. But my brain is not cooperating. It keeps running ahead to the next problem .... the next issue. I spent four years living in constant "crises mode" and, while I have gotten rid of that original crisis, I have learned, regretfully, to replace one crisis with the next. And so I try to pay attention to so many things that I wind up being unsuccessful at paying attention to anything at all.

And then God brings a 200-foot spider web to my attention and I remember that I am merely the mosquito. But the analogy takes an odd twist here. God's web is one that you want to be caught in. You would be crazy to fly around it. It is in the web of God that you find peace, security, fulfillment, safety, and dozens of other positive attributes. I am grateful for His web. I just wish I could remember to stop struggling against it and let Him do His work in me.

The Stupid Picture Chronicles #13

Well, I think I know what their intent was when they wrote this sign but ... come on.

This was on the trash can in the sound both at our church. I was SO TEMPTED after the service to grab some of their garbage and sprint out the door.

The Seinfeld of Blogs

This is the Seinfield of blogs. It is about nothing.

I suppose that some days are just meant to be "nothing days." This was one. I am trying to think of something ... anything ... that I did today that had any sort of real consequence. Eternal or otherwise. And I am not coming up with much.

Is that ok?

I am all for "the purpose driven life." I buy in to the entire idea that life is not about me. It is about God. It is about knowing Him, loving Him, serving Him. He is the focus and the reason. I live for Him.

This is going to be boring but here it is ...

Today I woke up. I sat for a bit. I showered. I sat for a bit. I ate tuna. I sat for a bit. I went to the store for really unimportant reasons. I sat for a bit. I ate supper out with my wife. We walked through a couple of stores. Now I am at home and I am sitting for a bit.

If I had not lived today nothing would be any different in the world. I did not make anyone better off. I did not really make anyone smile or frown. I gave out no meaningful information. I learned virtually nothing new. And now the day is over and I do not even have anything to blog about. And so I am blogging about nothing. Because that was my day.

But I have this blank space on my screen and it seems like I should put some words on it. Why do I think that? Why do I think that a day that has been purposeless is of no value. That cannot be true. Is it? I should know. But I have forgotten. What would I tell someone else if they asked me if having a day like this was alright? I would say, "Certainly. It is called 'down time' and it is profitable simply because it is unprofitable." They would feel better about their day and I would feel better because I gave out meaningful advice and spiritual direction. But I guess that I do not really believe the advice I give sometimes or I would not be asking the question of myself.

Or ... or maybe I think to much.

So I think I will just sit for a bit.

Satan's Sebring

I think that if the devil owned a car it would be the one I drove last weekend. I had to go to Chicago for my nephews wedding and then to Steven's Point, Wisconsin to talk to a friend who wants to get married and wants me to be the officiating minister. (That sounds so much better than the preacher boy.) I noticed that I could rent a car for 50% off over the weekend and get unlimited miles. Well, my Mustang and my Explorer both get about 20mpg on the highway. Not good. So I trotted on over to the local car rental place of national repute and got it from my brother-in-law the car rental guy. Remember Herb Tarlik from WKRP in Cincinnati? He looks just like him. Actually, I think he IS him. Look up and you be the judge. Anyway ...

She was a real beauty. A nice burgundy with a black convertible top. And she got a blessed 34mpg! Score! The gas savings paid for the car and I didn't have to put one mile on my own vehicles. Mission accomplished!

But then ... there were these situations. They make me ... wonder.

Debbie brought the car home on Friday night and parked it in my driveway. On Saturday morning we pulled our luggage outside and the car windows were down and the headlights where on. Why? I don't know why. There was only one key and I had it. Sophie the GPS was stored in the console and she was still there. Nothing was taken or damaged. The windows just opened. And the headlights just turned on.

So we loaded up and began our drive. When we got to the hotel in Schaumburg I noticed that the doors on the car would not lock. The key fob wouldn't lock it. The button inside on the door wouldn't lock it. I could not push the button down or pull it up. This car had decided not to lock.

As a side note, I travel with everything I own of value. I had my Mac laptop Tess, my GPS Sophie, my Ipod ... remind me to name my Ipod... my Treo smart phone. Get the picture? And now my car will not lock. So I drug everything into the hotel. That was all well and good until Sunday morning when I drove Debbie to the airport for her flight home. I dropped her at the curb side check in and went back to the hotel (it was too early to drive far in a possessed car.) I showered, packed, checked-out and loaded the car again. In the rain. As a matter-of-fact the outdoor wedding was held indoors because of the rain. It began raining as we entered northern Illinois and it was still raining. It rained as I left the hotel. It rained as I stopped at the bookstore at Willow Creek. It rained as I got onto the toll way. It rained as I felt my ears go funny because of a sudden pressure change in the car. It rained as I noticed in the rear view mirror that my trunk was open.

My trunk. The protector of Tess, my nameless Ipod, my clothes, Debbie's clothes and perhaps worst of all ... my pillow. And the lid popped open at about 70mph. I pulled over onto the side of the toll way and jumped out into the driving rain. This was not just a driving rain because I was driving in it. It was driving at me too. We are talking about serious RAIN here. Rain that would have made Noah proud. And I got out into it and closed my trunk. It took about 15 SLAMS before it stayed closed. Why? I don't know. There was nothing in the way. And there was no way for me to have opened the trunk while I was driving if I had wanted to. Which, by the way, I didn't.

I got back into Satan's Sebring and prayed that the trunk would not pop open again. I could not leave my stuff in the car if I had to stop and go potty because the car would not lock. And I could not be certain the windows would stay up. And at any moment the trunk might open.

What to do, what to do?

Drive. Faster. Get there. Sooner. It was somewhere around Beloit, Wisconsin when I noticed the new light all gold and pretty, shining on my dashboard. It looked like this ... (!). That's it. An exclamation point in parenthesis. It was right below the "D" on the "P R N D" lights. At first I thought that meant I wasn't just in drive ... I was REALLY in drive. But that would be silly. So as I drove through the blinding rain I decided to get out the owners manual and look this new symbol up. I mean, come on. I could not see past the end of the hood anyway. I might as well read. Ok, it made sense at the time. The light went off. The light came on. The light went off. The light came on. This trend continued for the rest of the trip.

After a few minutes I found the symbol and discovered that it meant my car had some kind of tire monitoring device. It was checking my tires in relentless fashion. It was running checks on my rubber 24/7. While that is a pretty cool feature, what do you do if it lights up? I did what any self-respecting guy would do. I kept driving. And I prayed. And I called Herb. I mean I called my brother-in-law. I don't think he believed me. Actually, I don't think he was convinced until I returned to the Gateway City, to the home of unquenchable grass and crop thirst named St. Louis and he saw the door lock problem for himself. (Did you know that everything north of ... oh ... Bloomington, Illinois looks like the Garden of Eden? It's all green and growing and wet. And everything south of Bloomington looks like the moon with grass. Dead grass but still grass. They were wearing sweatshirts in Stevens Point. In Springfield they were wearing sweat.

Other than that the car was fine. Not really. You see I was really, really sleepy when I left Stevens Point. I stayed up way too late visiting with the daughter's of my friends and then I drove forever with the wipers on super high and I was leaning forward, squinting and trying to see between the raindrops. By the time I got to Rockford I was woozy. The air conditioner was on high and pointed directly at my face. The stereo was turned all of the way up. A voice in my head kept telling me to just go to sleep and let death come painlessly. Then I remembered that applied to victims of extreme cold and not to drivers doing 70 through a flood of biblical proportions. So I did the next best thing. I stopped at this place called "Beef-A-Roo." Yes, really. And I ordered up two Chicago hot dogs, a large fry and a large Coke to go. I got back in the car and navigated to the expressway where I put the steering wheel up as far as it would go, took off my tennis shoes and opened my first hot dog. It promptly exploded. Well, the hot dog didn't. The condiments did. Have you ever seen the neon green relish that goes on a loaded Chicago style dog? It's a thing of beauty. It is the best tasting pickle by-product ever. It is the gold standard of all things stored in vinegar. And I was wearing it. So was Satan's Sebring.

I returned the car later in the day. A small notation was made about the windows opening on their own, the phantom headlights, the unlockable doors and the levitating trunk lid. But I think they wrote a page and a half on the strange relish-like odor permeating the vehicle.

If they had only asked I would have told them.

See. I told you he looks like Herb Tarlik.

I Got Nothin...

... to complain about.

I do not know anybody trapped below ground or anybody who is dead because they tried to rescue somebody trapped under ground.

I am not in outer space on a vehicle that is going to re-enter the atmosphere soon with a "harmless" hole gouged in its underside.

I am not hungry.

I have friends who call me or e-mail me simply to say, "How are you?"

My house maintained a pleasant 72 while the outside thermometer's raged at 105 most of the week. This kept my asthmatic wife breathing which, in turn, kept my heart at peace.

I am not in a war zone.

My family is healthy, happy, employed, clean and each one likes all of the others.

Their are no hurricane's bearing down on my home.

I see no wild fires burning in my neighborhood.

What? I should complain? Why? Because everybody does? Because it gets attention? Because it is the new American way?

I think not...

Stupid Picture Chronicles #12

I am not really sure what to say about this. I came across this tombstone while driving through a cemetary. Ok, did I really need to say that? If it was not in a cemetery I would have a truly, truly stupid picture. But it's the angel. The angel on the tombstone bothers me. Is that celestial boredom I detect?

What? Is he tired of waiting for the resurrection? Is he disgusted with the way the deceased became ... deceased? What is the deal with a bored angel? (No disrespect to the dead intended. I'm only making fun of the marble angel.)

Not so long ago, at an intersection not so far away ...

For a brief few moments tonight ... I believed.

Debbie and I had been out all day and after we got home from the mall, a funeral home, a gas station, and a restaurant ... she asked me to go to the store. (Selah) There really is no point in debating whether or not to go because sleeping in "The Big Bed" is high on my list of priorities. The evening had cooled a bit and I opted for Ron-duh the Hon-duh instead of a car. I slapped the helmet on my head and roared off to Walgreens. After procuring the requested item I re-mounted Ron-duh, pulled out of the parking lot and stopped at the traffic light on the busy corner. The light was red and it just seemed like the right thing to do. There were not many cars out and I had the intersection to myself for a few moments.

Then I felt it. The hair on the back of my neck would have stood up if I had any. All I can say for sure is that I KNEW it was there. Above me. It is a clear but moonless night. I raised the clear face shield of my helmet and slowly looked up.

It was indeed there.

Do you remember the opening scene of the original Star Wars movie? I think it was the Millennium Falcon that was flying slowly over or under you as you sat in awe struck wonder. The sheer size of the massive space ship was an incredible start to the entire Star Wars series.

And that is pretty much what I saw. Hovering over me ... moving slowly from the northwest to the southeast was a ginormous gray ... something. It was not moving fast enough to be an airplane. No typical airplane could stay airborn at such a slow speed. In addition there were flashing lights, one on its left and one on its right. They flashed in sequence. I am telling you, the thing covered the entire sky. At least that is how it appeared from my perch on Ron-duhs leather seat.

I do not scare easily. I've been in nasty slums face to face with bad men who out numbered me. They threatened me with a tomahawk in my "little white forehead." No, I'm not kidding. Atlanta, late 1980's. I worked on the streets of the south side of Chicago during hot summers and frigid winters in my college days. But this ... this caused my mouth to drop open and my brain to shift into high gear.

Speaking of shifting, that is exactly what I did with Ron-duh. I kicked it into all 5 gears within 2 blocks until I was able to pull into the parking lot of Ace Hardware where I killed the engine, tore off my helmet and looked up to see ... the Met-Life blimp.

Drat. I had my camera with me and was SURE that the last shot of my life was going to be the one to get me on the cover of National Geographic and maybe even Scientific Quarterly. I had, after all, hard proof of intelligent life beyond planet earth. And in the end it was really the least intelligent life ON planet earth ... an insurance company.

Sometimes life does not produce what it promises. Sometimes it sets you up only to smack you down. Tonight I got smacked down. I did get my pictures. The first one turned out ... funky. I tried to take the picture of the IFO (Identified Flying Object) at 40mph by just pointing and clicking without even glancing at the viewfinder. Hey, it wasn't a picture worth dying for. I'm not sure how the weird lights came out like they did. I think I caught the reflection of the blimp off of a chain link fence around the adjoining airport. But the other picture was one I stopped and clicked-off with a little more planning.


Ok, it is not the Millennium Falcon. It isn't even a Cessna. But for one brief moment in time .... I sang "So Long and Thanks For All The Fish" and meant it. (If you have not watched "A Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy" you won't get that so don't bother....)

The Stupid Pictures Chronicles #11

I generally try to not include people in my stupid picture chronicles. Expecially people in my family. But I took this picture of my son Scott not too terribly long ago. And you know ... it just begs to be posted. So here you go.

Still, I'll only give it a 2 on the Flash-O-Meter. Sorry, Scott. Maybe if you had put a cherry on top?

Life Is An Off-Speed Pitch

Sometimes life throws all fastballs at you. That's when you dig in at the plate, take your swings, and cast a wishful eye toward the outfield fence. Sometimes it throws curve balls. When that happens you really don't know what to expect anymore. The "tried and true" morphs into the "gasping and guessing." I hate it when that happens. Sometimes a screwball gets mixed in and then you might just as well walk back to the dugout and take a seat.

But it is the off speed pitch that leaves me bewildered. You know how it goes. You get used to life's 99mph fastballs and suddenly one comes at you doing ... oh ... 55. Before the ball gets half way to the plate you've swung three times, taken a shower, gone out to lunch, and power napped. This has been an "Off Speed Pitch Week." Let me tell you why.

I have reconnected with a friend who spent six years in my youth group some time back. That means I was his youth pastor and he owes me big time. Anyway, he just graduated from law school, can't find a job, and turned down an opportunity to be an FBI agent. You know them. They are the guys with the truly big guns, the awesome ball caps, and permission to do just about anything they want to do whenever they want to do it. He e-mailed me to ask me to pray for him. Well, sure I will. But how do I pray? He's an unemployed lawyer. I never met one of those before. All you have to do is wait for an ambulance to drive by and then run after it. Right? And the feds offer him a badge and gun and he says, "No thank you." Be aware that if some one offers me a badge and gun I am going to do the happy dance and then clean-up dodge. That is only one reason why this offer will never happen. I would be positively dangerous. Mainly to myself.

My second freaky off-speed pitch came over the weekend when another one of my former teens from my youth ministry days dropped by to visit. Krista is cool. She is one of the famous (infamous?) "K" girls. Kelli, Krista, Kim, and Kristen were all buddies and since Kelli is my daughter they hung out at my house a lot some years back during high school. Krista married an Englishman and moved to jolly old ... someplace. She lives in Britain but I don't know where. So there I find her knocking on my door last Saturday night and I hug her and she starts talking ... foreign talk. She has a perfect British accent. What is with that? She's only been there a few years. I could not have been more surprised if she had sounded like Donald Duck. But no, she's Benny Hill in a dress. I found myself not hearing her words ... just listening to her accent. I wanted to ask her to read Shakespeare to me but I was afraid I would finally understand it. And that would ruin the entire experience.

Did I mention that my friend turned down the opportunity to wear a cool blue windbreaker with FBI written on it? I did? Oh. Sorry.

Sunday afternoon I was going to the Sprint store because my brand new Treo cell phone stopped working and that's not acceptable. I went to four ... count 'em ... FOUR stores before they managed to swallow their pride and swap it out for a new one. But that was not the off-speed pitch of the day. As I was leaving the parking lot I was the second car in line to make a left onto a busy highway. It's known as Clayton Road and you really have to look both ways like ten times before gathering up the courage to make a left. The car in front of me was breaking the worlds record in caution though. I figured it was some little lady who could barely see over the steering wheel because I could not see her over her seats headrest. I waited. I waited. I waited some more. Did I mention that I had been waiting for FOUR HOURS AT FOUR SPRINT STORES and my patience was running short. I almost honked my horn. (I don't do that much because people carry guns and I don't want to tick-off the wrong guy who just might be having a Vietnam flashback or something.) That's when I saw something that made SPRINT, THE COMPANY THAT WASTED FOUR HOURS OF MY SUNDAY AFTERNOON, look like it was staffed by all Jr. Einstein’s. A teenager girl walked out of a store, opened the drivers door of the car with the blinker on in front of me, got in, made a left and was ... gone. Ok, you have to admit that's a new one. Who parks their car in a turn lane with the blinker blinking its little guts out while they run into Starbucks NEXT DOOR TO THAT SLOOOOOW SPRINT STORE and grab a nice Latte? You see why we need more FBI agents? Who is going to stop the stupid people?

The final off-speed pitch (so far) occurred last night. My wife was driving in her Explorer. She was coming home from her brother's condo in St. Louis. It's only 25 miles. She has a GPS. She has a cell phone. She has a full tank of gas. The tires are good. The oil was just changed. What can go wrong? How about two idiot adult males that decide to harass her? They pulled up next to her and noticed that she's a total babe. Then they won't stop driving by her. She slows down so they can pass and they slow down. She speeds up and they speed up. Finally she opened her cell phone and they saw her, prompting them to pull in front of her. Now understand, my wife is brilliant. Really. She is. Except that she didn't DIAL her cell phone. There are numbers to dial on occasions like this. Number like ... oh ... 911? Instead she fakes them out by turning on her blinker so that it looks like she's exiting the expressway. The wise guys do the same thing. Remember, they are in front of her now. So as soon as it's too late for them to change their mind she hits the gas, swerves back to the left, and stays on the expressway. Two exits later she gets off and comes home where she tells me her story. What is a husband to do? Well this one called the non-emergency number of the Illinois State Police. I mean this is a no-brainer. My wife is home safely (thank you, God) but SOMEBODIES WIFE is still out there and these guys are dangerous. So naturally the State Police dispatch a car to check out that part of the highway. Oh wait. No they don't. They say it's her word against theirs. Of course, they didn't go looking for them so we really don't know what their word is. Did I mention that my wife got the make, color, and model of their pick-em-up truck as well as their license number? I told you she was brilliant. (She would have been staggeringly brilliant if she'd called 911.) The police said they had already had one call like that last night so see ... it happens all the time. Hmmmmm. Let me think about this. It had already happened once. And then it happened again. Is that what one might call ... A TREND? Might there be a 3rd attempt? This makes me angry. But I won't tell you how angry because, well, because they have guns.

If we only had more FBI agents this would not happen. (I hope you sleep well tonight, Bo. Geez, you even have a cool FBI sounding name, for crying out loud. What were you thinking?)

I hear that it reached 101 degrees today. I have a nice air conditioned Mustang I can drive to work. It's all emerald green with a 6 CD changer and really cool looking. I walked right by it and roared off on Ron-duh the motorcycle. Within minutes I was sitting on a 300-degree engine. Wearing a helmet. Maybe ... Just maybe I am the biggest off-speed pitch of all?

The Stupid Pictures Chronicles #10

Any idea why the "abandon ship gear" would be PADLOCKED in the locker? "Excuse me. I think the boat is sinking. Could I please borrow the key to the life jackets? No? You don't know where it is? Oh. Ok. Well, can I use your cell phone to call my insurance company and raise my life insurance policy?" I noticed this on a car ferry on Puget Sound and it rates a "5" on the Flash-O-Meter for huuuuuuge stupidity.

Things I Have Learned Today (so far)

I woke up feeling rather poorly this morning and so I decided that it would be best if I write my blog early. I do not want my massive wealth of knowledge to die with me, therefore my purpose in today’s blog is to tell you everything that I know all at once.

Don’t laugh. You might learn something. And do not ask how I learned any of these things. Ever.

Here we go ...
-Never trust any one older than two years old. People learn to be surly early.
-If you do something nice for somebody for free they will be big-time surprised. They probably won’t thank you though. That is way too personal.
-Humidity kills more people than drown in the Bering Sea each year. Be especially cautious of humid days ON the Bering Sea. (This may or may not be true but I think it is.)
-The trophy belt of the minimally successful professional wrestler will kill an ordinary man if it hits you just right.

-Never let any one hear you say, “Hey, I’m all caught up!”
-Never call a woman “wench” even if she calls herself that.
-Dogs do not smile. If a dog looks like he is smiling it is a trick. He is simply wetting his teeth so that they can sink more deeply into your flesh.
-On a hot day “Ice Road Truckers” is the best show on television.
-I asked God for "a sign" about what He wants me to do and now I work at a sign shop. Pray clearly and specifically.
-From 2 until 5 in the afternoon is “The Death Zone” because that is when the sign business turns my brain to mush and I become dangerous to myself.
-If you whip a rubber ball at a co-worker odds are even that you’ll hit the boss by accident.
-Listen to too much classical music at close range and you will start having elevator hallucinations.
-I actually know somebody who knows somebody who got charged with kidnapping today. How cool is that?

It is now nearly 4PM and I think I am going to live. But I’m publishing just in case...

The Stupid Pictures Chronicles #9

The thing that makes this picture so outrageously stupid is not the fact that the sign is posted over the moat surrounding the Gorilla's at the St. Louis Zoo. No, you have to be a little more observant to "get it." If you look to the left of the letters you'll notice that a bird "dropped" something on the sign that most assuredly can NOT be returned ...

Call me warped but I give this a strong "4" on the "Flash-O-Meter!"

Being Simple is Complicated

I did it again. And again. And again. And again.

Get the picture?

One of the most valuable lessons I have learned in my travels with God is that He delights in simplicity. Oh, trust me. HE is complicated. But He calls us to the simple. Don't believe me? Well, think about it for a second. When was the last time you remember God giving somebody a complicated assignment in the bible? (Remember, I did not say "hard." I said, "complicated." Big difference.)

God told Adam and Eve to enjoy the garden and everything in it except for this one tree. Under no circumstance were they to eat from it. Are those directions complicated? No. Are they simple? Yes. Still, they could not manage it and they succumbed to the temptation of the yummy looking tree.

Abraham was told to sacrifice his only son on an altar with a knife. Unimaginably difficult? Yes. Complicated? No. The direction was simple.

Noah was told to make an ark. Moses was told to talk to the Pharaoh. Jonah was told to preach in Nineveh. Nehemiah was told to build a wall. The disciples were told to "follow me." Paul was told to tell the gentiles. Anything complicated about any of that? (Grant it, I could not build an ark but Noah was given specific instructions and evidently he had some carpentry skills.) All of those things were difficult. None of those things were complicated.

Jesus was told to go to the cross. Difficult? You betcha. Complicated. Not at all.

So why do I keep falling for the lie that it is different for me? Why do I convince myself that it is so stinken hard to get past the barriers that keep me from knowing what God wants me to do? Do you notice anybody in the bible begging and pleading for God to reveal His will to them and God bobbing and weaving in order to keep them guessing? Uhhhhh. I cannot think of any. Correct me if I am missing something but it seems to me that the problem was in the obeying not the knowing. Is it not true that when God does not reveal anything new to you it means you should either keep doing what He last told you to do ... or simply wait on Him? You might reference Paul again on that. After God knocked him off of his horse on the way to Damascus he was told to go on into town and ... wait. Jesus told His disciples many times that He was going to be killed but that He would be back and they should ... wait. I can picture Paul between holy assignments working at his day job making tents. That part does not get much press in the bible but it is clearly what he did.

Every morning I get up and I think about my day. I do not consciously say, "Hey, I think I will beat myself up today. I think I will worry so much about missing my next God assignment that I will lose my appetite, work my way through a bottle of Tylenol and pay a Christian counselor to help me figure it out." And yet those are exactly the kind of things I have done. Over and over, ad nauseaum.

Then The Whisper comes. You know what? In the entire reality of my life only one-person whispers to me. The Holy Spirit. Everybody else has a volume button and knows how to use it. And the enemy? He shouts. He yells. He screams warnings that I am going to screw up and miss God entirely.

Then The Whisper comes. I only hear it when I have cultivated a quiet inner heart. I have to learn and relearn to be still and trust. I have to put away the fear, the false fronts, and the disbelief. Those things all make my heart noisy. The noise always drowns out The Whisper.

Then The Whisper comes. The Whisper says, "It's alright." The Whisper says, "I've got you." The Whisper says, "You can rely on me." The Whisper says, "I love you." The Whisper says, "I've got your back." The Whisper says, "My yoke is easy." The Whisper says, "My burden is light." And then I realize I have not been listening to the right voice. Because I have been living complicated. I have forgotten about the simple. You know what is amazing? When I hear The Whisper all I have to do is take a deep breath, listen, and obey the simplicity of His Voice. And the moment that I do I find myself right back on track as though I had never stepped off of it.

You know what I love the best? I love it when I hear The Whisper say, "Follow Me." I have no earthly idea where we are going. But I know it is going to be one amazing ride.

The Stupid Pictures Chronicles #8

How can this not be at least a 4 of the Flash-O-Meter????

I saw this sign tonight while riding "Ron-duh" the motorcycle. Am I the only one that sees a certain irony in it?

The Stupid Pictures Chronicles #7

Yes, indeed. A "5" on the Flash-O-Meter.

Stupid? This one is deliriously insane. A volcano blows up and you should "remain calm?" "Don't panic?" Don't "breath in" ash? Are you looking at that cloud? If it comes your way ... what ARE you supposed to breath?

The Stupid Pictures Chronicles #6

I am not sure what my current fasination with garbage is all about ...

From "Tom's Burned Down Cafe" on Madilyn Island in Lake Superior. I give it 2 flashes on the Flash-O-Meter.