Notes from "A Wondering And Very Distracted Man Of God"

In brief ...

I showed up in this town on a Saturday evening 24 years ago. Some new friends unloaded my truck, dumped my belongings in the living room of a roach infested apartment and left to go play volleyball. My confused bride and I did our best to get our kids into makeshift beds and then get up and arrive at church on time the next morning. We pulled it off.

Since then we have loved on thousands of teenagers. About 20 of them are in ministry themselves tonight. I got to baptize hundreds of kids after leading them to faith in Jesus Christ. We raised 3 incredible kids of our own that I would not trade for any I have ever met. Tonight they teasingly gave me a "living funeral." It began as a joke by "Bella," my youngest son's precious girl friend and, hopefully, my final daughter-in-law someday, and morphed into a fun evening of pizza and puns at Bellacino's and Kelli's house. I held my amazing granddaughter and quietly gave thanks as I spent time staring at each and every person in the room, giving thanks for all they are in my life. My family helped me "count down" the moments to "a new day" in life and ministry. Bella read a two page long letter that left me with tears in my eyes and no words in my mouth. (Thank you, my dear Laura.) Did I mention that Scott caught a train from Chicago and took the time to come and enjoy this last evening in Bethalto with me? Tonight I sat up with he and Christopher until after 1AM watching TV and laughing. Joe, Jim and Alisha rounded out the perfect evening. Debbie and i are overwhelmed by the love of our immediate family. We miss our Amanda who could not get away from work but we know her love for us runs deep and we can't wait to see her at Thanksgiving.

And so it is over. There is a "For Sale" sign in my front yard. I will end this part of my life on a Friday. Tomorrow at this time my former home town will be far away in my rear view mirror. My future hometown will still be half a days drive from my windshield. There are no roaches in our home anymore. No babies. Everyting has a place and fits well in it.

To think that after tonight ... TONIGHT ... I will never again have one of my own kids as a permanent resident in the house I am living in just boggles my mind. I got up about 3AM last night and just walked through the house with no lights on. Obviously everybody was asleep. I walked the entire house (which isn't THAT big!) without a light and without having to do anything to orient myself. 14 years in one place will do that to you. In my mind there were birthday parties, Christmas celebrations, Thanksgiving dinners, quiet evening around a pizza ... going on in every room. Ghost memories. Then I walked to Christopher's door and put my hand on it and prayed for his wisdom, safety, protection from evil ... you know ... all of the things that we pray about for our kids. I prayed over Debbie.

Why does life have to be such a jumbled pile of good and bad. Fun and painful? Full and empty?

Well. Because God says so. And the end of the day ... that's all we've got. Because God says so. I've been "clocked in" on this planet for 52 years and I know that "because God says so" is enough. It's just that it does not remove the hurt. It only promises the pleasure. And the greater the obedience and faithfulness in the midst of the pain (the war) the greater the pleasure when we see His Face.

I'm typing this while sitting back in my huge-mega-chair in the living room. Cold orange juice by my side. And I know that after I hit "send" my next job is to sleep and then actually finish packing. Like ... clothes. Books. Office stuff. Computer stuff. Pack it and sit it in the middle of the garage floor so that I can throw it in the Explorer and drag it 560 miles and pull it out again. Then I'll go find a laundry mat, a grocery store, a cleaners, a "Hit 'N Run Vanilla Coke" replacement. And if there is enough daylight left I'm going to drive the 1 1/2 blocks to the lake, find a bench that faces water, and watch the sunset. I don't plan on asking God "why." I'm going to do my best to say "thank you." Not sure I can pull that off but it's my plan. Life is a blink. Yesterday my mom was handing me my pajama's and today I'm packing for Cleveland. Tomorrow? Cremate me and do whatever you want with the ashes. Makes no difference to me. I'm going to be Home. HOME. I figure in the game of life I'm about mid-way through the 3rd quarter. There are a lot of snaps left to take and a lot of yardage yet to be gained. I'm really, really tired of playing "defense." It's been about 5 years of "the big D" now. Tomorrow I get to go on offense again.

Charles Spurgeon once wrote, "Some people want to live within the sound of chapel bells but I want to run a mission a yard from the gates of hell." After these last years I smell sulfur on myself. That mission a yard from the gates of hell isn't really over ... not really ... until I am out from under the shadow of the building down the street and around the corner. It started at 2:58AM on November 19, 2003. It ends tomorrow around 4PM. Perhaps that was too blunt of a statement. It is the first and only time you will read it here. Forgive me if it offended you. That was not my purpose.

I gave it my all. I left everything I had on the playing field. I rested and healed for one year minus four days. I have neither sorrow nor regret for the decisons I made and the plays I ran. I did my best. "He" knows. "He" surely knows. "He" knows my thoughts and intent.

And as the old season ends and the new one begins ... that is more than enough.

When in Texas ...

Every now and then you just have to go with the flow. I spent three days in Texas and ran right out and bought a pair of boots. What are you going to do? When in Rome ...

It was not just a shopping mall pair of boots. Noooo. It was the Texas Boot Super Store kind of boots. Texas builds boot stores like Missouri builds fireworks stores. I found a nifty little pair (minus the rodeo, yee haw, giddup, stitching) of plain brown, thick leather, rubber soled 11" tall boots. In just a few minutes I am going to put them on and go to Home Depot. I suspect I will command more respect than usual but we will have to wait and see.

When I went in to buy my boots my wife found the exact pair I was looking for. I put them on. Mmmmmm. Nothing feels better than a fine pair of properly fitting leather boots. Well. Maybe a foot rub but that's an entirely different blog. A cowpoke strolled up with a Clint Black hat on and asked if he could help me. I told him that I think he can. I believe my foot needs measuring.

"We don't measure feet."

"Huh?"

"It doesn't work."

"How do you know if they fit?"

"How does it feel?"

"Good."

"It fits."

And just like that I bought my boots. The reason nobody is in a hurry in Texas is because they have not figured out that time is a finite thing. They think it goes on f-o-r-e-v-e-r. And I don't mean that in a heaven way. I mean that in a Texas way. And, regardless of what you may have heard, Texas is NOT heaven. (Calm down, Larry. It isn't.)

I got to the counter and produced my debit card. He told me that if I will be moving to Cleveland I need to buy "this" bottle. It will condition your leather, keep it from drying out, and make them whistle "The Yellow Rose Of Texas" everytime you put them on. I was about to politely decline when the delightful young woman in the cowgirl skirt and red bandana told me that she just LOVES that stuff. I asked her what leather items she put it on.

"My saddles."

"I'll take two bottles."

(Insert sucker punch from my favorite wife here.)

Well, Clint sold me my boots but neglected to remove the security tag. And it didn't set off any alarms when I left the building. This makes sense to me. This is why we are so worried about the Texas/Mexican border. If they can't protect their boot stores how in the world are they going to protect their desert border crossing? Forgive me, but I have this mental image of thousands of illegal aliens darting across the border wearing those plastic security tags and not a soul bothers to slow them down. It's probably just me.

So yesterday I had to go back to the boot store for the removal of my silent, non-exploding security tag. (Perhaps it was intended to irritate my leg so badly I would die of infection. Ahhhhh. That's it! Those sneaky Texans! Who would have guessed?!) Another cow poke mosied (mosyed?) up to help me. He roped me, pinned me to the floor, and removed the tag. I rather enjoyed it. And then I asked him to show me, please sir, the most expensive boot in the store. He produced a crocodile skin boot that cost a couple of thousand dollars. It was creepy. He told me he could order me a $6,700 boot (that is a SIX THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED DOLLAR BOOT FOR YOU MIDWESTERNERS) which is made from the skin of three seperate crocodiles that come from the Nile.

"Ahhh. Egyptian cowboy boots," I declared in my ignorance.

"No. They come from the Nile."

"Uh. Isn't the Nile in Egypt?"

"No. It's a river somewhere."

God bless Texas.


Here we are soaking our feet in our friends not-yet-finished-pool behind their not-yet-finished-house. (Hi Dave! Hi Lynda!)

The Eyes Of Texas Are Upon Us

So here we sits in lovely Dallas, Texas. Actually, Arlington. Well, more specifically, Mansfield, Texas. Whatever. We are in Texas. The best I can tell it all looks alike. Flat. Scrubby. Lots of boots. Pick-em-up trucks with cow crud dripping down the side. You know the place.

It's been a week since I've done a wedding and so I thought I'd fly on down to Dallas and do one for the son of an old friend. The wedding is on a golf course. Last weeks was at a park. The park was fine but the golf course has already gotten me into trouble. It was the rehearsal. "Talk through it and walk through it" time. I got to the point where I asked, "Who gives this man to be married to this woman?" The bride interrupted. "Why do they always give away the bride? Why don't they ever give away the groom?" (Shaddup, Betsy.) Ok. My job is to marry them and, as much as possible, cooperate. "Fine. We'll give away the groom." The next nano-second played out in my mind in a way that leaves it re-traceable for the rest of my life. I remember thinking, "Stay within the theme of the wedding. Golf. Use a golf metaphor." For some reason that brought to mind a driving range which led me to a bucket of golf balls. Perfect. And then it was coming out of my mouth. "Who gives this bucket of balls to be married to this woman?"

Selah.

Silence.

The air was sucked out of the place.

This is an outdoor wedding. I turned away from the wedding party to face the first tee. I hung over the railing (we were on a balcony) and totally lost it. I was vaguely aware of the uproar going on behind me but there was nothing I could do about it. The words were out. I was just trying to find oxygen. Trying to get the tears out of my eyes. If you know the groom you know that this ill chosen phrase is PERFECT for him. And I mean that with all of the love in the world. Adam is a great guy. He just deserves this kind of slam.

About five minutes later we had all composed ourselves and the rehearsal continued. And now I have to go do the real wedding. And I know what might well happen. I am going to get to that point ... the place that blew up on me last night ... and I MUST GET IT RIGHT. NO laughing! NO tears! Certainly NO repeat! So much for protecting the solemn occasion from verbal terrorism.

On top of that, one week from right about now I will become a resident of Sheffield Lake, Ohio. You think that is not on my mind? Was Neal Armstrong thinking about the consistency of lunar dust when he took that first step onto the moon? You betcha. Were Wilbur and Orville considering the potential reality of "lift" when they cranked that first airplane down the beach in North Carolina? Darn right. To say that next weekend is on my mind about every other second is like saying "Hey, water is wet." It is a given.

Ohio? Get the pork rinds ready. Here comes the RV.

The Tree of Blood ... A Great Christmas Tradition

Christmas. A time of white snow and green trees. Tasty cookies and parties with yummy snacks.

Unless you shop at Ace Hardware. That, my friend, is where you will be accosted by ... THE TREE OF BLOOD! ($519.00 ... get 'em while they last..)

Putting the "Hustle" back into Hustler

Flying to Dallas on Friday. Staying through Sunday. Doing a wedding. Nothing unusual about any of that. One of my "old" teenagers is marrying his heart throb. Still, quite common and ordinary ... which, in the case of a wedding, means extremely special and unique. Did that make sense? It only applies to weddings.

I talked to his bride to be tonight. Her name is Betsey and she is marrying Adam. They are an amazing couple. They look like this ...

There is a twist to nearly every wedding. This one does not just twist. It goes into a convoluted state that boggles the mind.

It seems that the brides mother hired a photographer. This is going to be a rather casual affair, held at a country club and attended by a mere 50 guests. The photographer should have it easy. I mean for a man of his great experience. It seems that he use to work for a magazine. Taking pictures. Lots of them. Some of them got "air brushed" and published with a staple in the middle. The bride did not know. Momma only told her that the photog was a pro. Worked for a long published and high volumn magazine. You have probably heard of it.

It is called ... "Hustler." Betsey's wedding pictures are going to be taken by a porn photographer.

This brings up a whole set of questions. Will he bring his portfolio with him? Will the wedding pictures be shot in soft lighting with nothing left to the imagination? I made the bride a promise. I told her that I would be standing right next to him when he began taking his photo's. I have watched hundreds of wedding photographers ply their trade over the years and I am quite familiar with the standard poses. If he suggests something that seems unreasonable ... I'm taking him out.

Correct me if I am wrong but Jesus turning the water into wine is not the first century equivilent to a photographer turning a bride into a porn star. I'll turn over his table and chase him out of the "temple" so fast his camera won't have time to flash.

And i'll do my best to confiscate his portfolio in the ensuing chaos. Hey. Don't say I didn't do my best to uphold the honor and integrity of the moment.

Thank me later...

They Tell Me "Cleveland Rocks"

They tell me Cleveland rocks but I really wouldn't know. I've only seen the tops of a few sky scrapers from the windows of a jet plane on a late night flight. They tell me there is a museum where they chronicle the history of "rock 'n roll music." I understand that their beloved Indians blew a trip to the World Series tonight as they caved in to the Boston Red Sox. They have a football team named simply "The Browns." What does that mean? What is brown? They have a basketball team named "The Cavaliers." I checked and a "cavalier" is a "gentleman trained in horsemanship and war." Or simply "a soldier." Perhaps they play basketball on horses in Cleveland. I do not know. They do not have a hockey team and so I am automatically suspicious. Cleveland is situated on the shores of a big lake named "Erie" which gives me pause. Haunted houses I have heard of but a haunted lake? They have a river named the Cayahoga. It caught fire once back in the 1970's because it was so polluted. Somebody must have put the blaze out because the river is still there. The lake looks pretty clean and is home to many sailboats and yachts. So they tell me. Like I said, I've only seen the tops of some buildings.

But what I have seen is a town named "Sheffield Lake." There is no lake named "Sheffield" in Sheffield Lake. It too is on the Erie beach. This town has lots of homes and precious little industry or retail. They seem to have saved that for communities directly surrounding Sheffield Lake. One thing it does have is a body of Christian believers named "First Baptist Church."

As of today I am their pastor.

I could tell you a little more about this church and this town. But just a little. Actually I do not know any more about either of them than I do about my own thoughts and feelings. I am looking for words. Struggling to comprehend my own emotions. Grasping for a handle on the entire thing. Several friends that I talked to on the phone today said the same thing. "I can't wait to read the blog you write tonight." Actually, I probably would not have written a blog tonight had it not been for their comments. But they unknowingly made a good point. This little blog spot gets about 50 "hits" per day and about 300 "unique hits" per month. Many of those people have been praying about this with and for me. It is only fair say something. Just so long as you understand that there is a lot of emotional and mental fog between me and the keyboard tonight. I reserve the right to take any of it back at any time.

Here is what I am thinking ...

-How very gracious of God to allow me to live in one town for 24 years and completely raise my children here. I know many youth pastors and none of them can make the same claim. And it wasn't me. It was God. I ticked off enough people (and got ticked off myself enough times) to have realistically been gone long ago. I wrote my resignation on more Monday mornings than I care to remember. All but the last one wound up in the shredder. My kids knew stability. They knew consistancy. Most of the time they felt loved by their church. Ok, so it blew up in the last few years. They were big enough to deal with it by then. And they are all directly serving King Jesus so it must not have harmed them too badly.

-I am 14 days away from leaving every human being that I know. I will live alone in my father-in-law's awesome "5th wheel" trailer until our house sells and Debbie joins me. Christopher may come but it is doubtful.

-Every familair landmark in my life is about to become a part of my personal history. From the grocery stores that I frequent to Jessica, the lady that cuts my hair. From the names of the streets to the name of my mayor and friend. Just yesterday I was driving down a street in my community when I noticed a police car driving toward me. I mean driving TOWARD me. Like he was playing "chicken" with me. When he got close he veered off and waved as he went by. I know his name. We've worked together with some problamatic teens. If a policeman drives toward me in Sheffield Lake I will assume he is trying to take me out. The police chief stopped to talk to me at a local quick mart a few days ago. He is my friend. We have walked through dark buildings at 3AM together looking for people that were not supposed to be there. I do not even know if Sheffield Lake has a police chief. They must. But it is just a guess.

-I never really understood "The Arch." And now I am going to have to explain it to people who will wonder about St. Louis. I have to make up a story. It is big and shiny and half missing on foggy days. And no matter what you say ... it is wierd.

-Having been a youth pastor for 32 years I fully plan on doing "youth ministry for big kids" as a Sr. Pastor. They will never know it but that is exactly what I am going to do. Before you tell me it's a dumb idea please remember that Jesus said we had best become like little "children." I'm thinking it is the only way to go. They will never figure it out. They probably expect that a normal guy is moving to town. He is not. I know I am many things but "normal" is not one of them. I am going to teach this church how to pray and obey. They will learn or they will tolerate me or they will fire me. Check back in a year.

-If this sounds harsh I do not intend for it to. Had I resigned 5 years ago and moved away I would have had several hundred people to say "goodbye" too. But I resigned a year ago and spent the bulk of my time healing on emotional, physical, and spiritual levels. And today when the decision was made and the deal was done I only had a handful of phone calls to make. That is not something that gets blamed on anybody. It is just one of the facts which stem from taking a year and laying low. But still, it made me profoundly sad.

-What will I miss the most? People are exempt. The following things come to mind. Forgive me for butchering paragraph form and all of the rules of good grammer. I will miss fighting about the Cubs and Cardinals. (Cleveland is an American League town.) I will miss fighting about the Bears and the Rams. (Cleveland is an AFL town.) I will miss toasted ravoli, Imo's pizza, scores of teenagers, my house, Dierbergs, Becky "Queen of Carpet" commercials. I will miss the central time zone. I will miss the occasional Boeing test pilot trying out the latest F-18 hardware at St. Louis Regional Airport and a case of Fitz's rootbeer.

-I will not miss the refineries 5 miles to my south. I will not miss incredible heat and humidity, totally inaccurate winter snow predictions, oil and chipped roads, all of the closed Wendys restaurants, the mad dash to see who can build the biggest and coolest new facility on Moreland Road, pork steaks, Hartfords flammable dirt, the Mississippi River and her miserable shortage of bridges, the only lake in town being at the cemetary, highway 140's "suicide lane," and walking the hay of homecoming.

All I know for certain is that I am going to the Cleveland suburbs. That is in Ohio, the state that is so friendly it says "hi!" in the middle. There are people there that need Jesus and God told me to go tell 'em. I have not baptized anybody in nearly a year and my prune fingers are not pruney anymore. I have prayed and prayed and prayed. I have asked God for a church, how big or how little is immaterial to me, but a church that wants to fall in love with Jesus. I have prayed for a body of believers that were not going to be afraid to throw away the mold and even beat the heck out of the mold maker. I have asked Him for a group of men and women who are willing to learn AND teach. I believe that He has answered my prayers in the form of FBCSL. I am aware that I have every potential to walk in and screw it all up. But my plan is to hold on so tightly to His coat tails that I cannot possible miss a turn in the path of following The King.

How do I feel tonight? I'll close with some singular words. Maybe that is the most honest way to go.

I feel honored. Humbled. Trusted. Loved. Ready. Rested. Ambitious. Determined. Lonely. Excited. Frightened. Tenative. Prepared.

Of all of those words my favorite is "loved." Loved by my Father. My Abba. And I am ready to love Him back and to love my neighbor as myself. 14 days and counting. Let's do it.

Public Speaking Is A Dangerous Profession

If you watch a little be sure to watch it all. You'll be glad you did. Oh, and don't be drinking anything. Trust me. This is the kind of thing that gives me nightmares ...

Most of my friends are pretty cool ... even if they are insane

I have this friend. Her name is Beth. We are not the kind of friends that "hang-out." She lives in San Diego. I live in St. Louis (for the time being.) She surfs the ocean and I am a child of the corn. She and her husband live in a loft downtown. He teaches while she works part time as the "Spiritual Director" for Youth Specialties. Beth is all California. If you are not comfortable with that you won't be comfortable with her. She loves Jesus with all of her heart. She loves Joe just slightly less than Jesus but he's ok with that. Beth is one of my long-distance friends that allows me the grace to "dump" on her. With her the only face I have to wear is my own. She doesn't get mad, self-righteous, indignent, or any of those other crummy things people often get when they know the truth about you. She is an encourager. A guide of sorts. She has never given me bad advice. As a matter-of-fact, some of her advice has been almost spooky ... she "gets" what it is like to be a pastor and diagnosis situations quickly and accurately. I am grateful God has let our paths intersect. She and Joe just had their first child recently and it's put a new twist on life for both of them. They'll be awesome parents.

But like I said, Beth is all California and all about Jesus. I suppose it was a little of both of those things that made her do what she did. And, oh yeah, she is insane. Anyway, here is what she did as told by her husband...

"When Beth Slevcove moved into the center of a large city, she embraced everything about urban life—except for the guys who ran the tattoo parlor across the street and who got into fights, harassed women and intimidated men. One day Beth decided to get a tattoo herself. She walked over to the tattoo parlor and told them she wanted "Love thy neighbor" inscribed on her wrist, explaining that she was having trouble loving her neighbors because of their fighting. One of the tattoo artists said to the proprietor, "Manuel, dude, we're scaring our neighbors. We got to stop fighting." After that, the fighting ceased and the sidewalk seemed safe. Several months after she got the tattoo, Beth ran into Manuel. He gave her a big hug and said to a friend, "Here, this is my neighbor, the one I was telling you about"

See what I mean? She's crazy. Crazy in love with Jesus and crazy enough to do exactly what He told her to do. May there be more Beths in all of our lives. And may each of us be a Beth when the opportunity arrives ... which it does on a daily basis.

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.)