He Loves Me

Life is a sermon. Every incident, every detail, every nuance has a purpose and a meaning. I do not know why some things happen but I also do not believe in accidents. Not for the Christ follower anyway. The problem is that I do not know where that leaves me. A little girl that I have been praying for because she had Leukemia died this week. Did God cause that or did God simply allow it? It has to be one or the other. There does not seem to be a third option. What happens and is not caused by God is allowed by God. I like to know which it is but I seldom do. So I sometimes fool myself and pretend that I know. But God is too big. His ways are too high. And honestly, I usually do not know.

So I trust.

What is my part in the sermon? In the sermon you hear. You. The person reading right now. Do I have a role in your life because if I do not .... why are you reading? Am I good news or bad news? Am I a parable or a bullet point? Maybe I am the bad example. I cannot know. I can only be and do and try. I can only seek and see and respond. What becomes of my words and my actions when they leave me and enter your "zone of awareness" is beyond my ability to control or even know. It is out of my hands. How many times have I seen my best intentions become broken wires refusing to make a positive connection? Too many times to count.

Few things in life are as simple and clear as they should be. But this much is. God is good. God is strong. God loves me. God loves you. There is more to fear than fear itself. Much more. But it becomes a mute point when God speaks. In the presence of the voice of God there is nothing to fear. His voice says, "Peace. Be still."

The wind still rages outside my glass wall. I suspect it will for the duration of my stay in this building. It is midnight and I can still see white caps far off into the darkness. I watched those waves today and I understood that God keeps a running count of them. He watched every snow flake that fell this afternoon. He counted and maybe even named the hailstones that pounded the head of the lady I saw run across the parking lot. And through it all He still never took His eye off of me. Or you. And He will not. Ever.

That is why I can close my eyes as I hover some ninety feet above the earth, up where the wind takes a second breath and comes around to give you more. That is why I can sleep though I know people in pain over the loss of a nine year old child to a sadistic, evil disease. That is why I can smile, laugh, dance and even sing when I am not in the shower. He loves me.

He loves me.

Lake Erie asked me to remind you ...

Tonight there is this amazing wind blowing in off of Erie. My patio door is just howling! I just got up and turned on the fan over the stove ... which is in my living room/bedroom/dining room/den combination. The fan drowns out the wind noise. I was sitting in the dark with the blinds open and my binoculars trained on a ship out miles from the shore. How in the world do guys stand it? I can't imagine what it must be like out there. The waves are hitting the concrete retaining wall with the walkway above it across the lawn from our building and EXPLODING at least 15 feet into the air. I wish it was daytime so I could get some pictures. It surely reminds me of the strength and might of God. I would hate to be walking along that sidewalk right now.

You cannot look at this scene and not think back to that stormy night when the disciples were trying their best to row across the sea and along comes this scary figure that turns out to be Jesus walking on the water. You know what? I worship Him because He walks on water. But I also worship Him simply because He has the courage to take the stroll in the first place! I love water. I love it in the shower. I love it in a jacuzzi. I love it in a cup with ice. I love to look at it from the shore. But I'm really not so hot about being out ON it. I swim like a chunk of concrete only with less style. So I'm not stupid enough to tempt gravity while splashing in the ocean. Or the lake. Or a deep swimming pool for that matter.

Jesus MADE the ocean and the lake. He chose the course for the Mississippi River in St. Louis and He lay the foundation for Lake Erie and the rest of the Great Lakes here "up north." And when the real cold weather hits and the snow comes crashing into my window off of that lake He will be the one that sends it too.

How can you not love a God like that?

I spent my supper tonight at a table in a Wendy's talking to a man of another faith. He was a young guy. Maybe 23 years old. He just was accepted as a candidate to become a fire fighter in a local suburb. Right now he works at the Wendy's. We talked about our faith and how they have similar points and radically different points. And then you know what I did?

I ate him alive.

When it came to Jesus he really could not hold his own. He had rules and numbers and all sorts of thoughts and ideas that just don't really appear in the bible in any relevant context. It was not even a hard discussion. So I invited Him to my church. I gave him the address and he said he would come. We'll see. But I really want this young man to walk into his first life threatening fire with the love of God wrapped around him like a protective blanket.

Jesus. He walks on water. He's my hero. He deserves my worship.

Lake Erie asked me to remind you.

Sunshine and Chocolate

Well now. That's better. The SUN came out today and the sky is actually still up there. I hereby vow that I will never take that fact for granted again. (I solemnly swear ... yada, yada, yada...) I came home from the office to grab some lunch today and a couple of guys were fishing off the mini-pier that juts out into the lake below my building. Very cool. There was some big ore type freighter in the distance. And beyond that I could see the Canadian province of Ontario forming the horizon.

OK, that last one was a lie. A total fabrication. You cannot see Canada from here. When I was a kid growing up in Detroit, well that was a place you could see Canada from. It looks like America. Only backward. Nevermind. But I did notice at the grocery store tonight that they were selling "fresh Canadian walleye." Who do they think they are kidding? All they had to do was go half way plus an inch across Erie and they were IN Canada. That Canadian walleye might well have been swimming in Ohio water half an hour before being nabbed. If I want walleye I'll ... well, actually I have never wanted walleye so I don't know what I'll do. If the urge hits me I'll get back to you.

Where was I?

Oh. Sunshine. The sunshine was complimented PURRfectly by my good friends Cheryl and Danny Dingeldien. (Yes, that is pronounced "Dingle" and "Dine." I think it's swedish for giver of great gifts.) At their great effort and expense I received a package today. The good people in the offices here at Erie Shore Landing did not want to give it to me. I reminded them that it is a felony to tamper with the U.S. mail and so they relented. Oh the wonder of it all! It was a box with the "Hershey's" logo all over it. Nothing bad e-v-e-r comes with a Hershey's logo on it! So I ripped it open post haste. Lo and behold ... this is what I found inside ...



Yes, friends, it is a HUGEMONGEROUS brick of chocolate shaped like a computer keyboard and monitor. Inscribed in still MORE chocolate on it are the words, "Have Fun! Download This!" Not a problem, Danny! No sweat, Cheryl! Tomorrow I shall call the staff around my desk and we shall partake of dark brown goodness! And all because of my wonderful friends. Danke, danke, danke!

Oh, and i promised Danny I would post his picture on my blog tonight. So here it is. This is the best shot I could find, Daniel. Remember? You posed for it at Cannoli's last time you visited us. :) It's my favorite Danny shot ever!



God bless Danny! God bless Cheryl! God bless ... HERSHEYS!

That ain't what you want to see ...

Sometimes you look over the edge of the balcony and you see waves lapping on the breakwater. Sometimes you look over the edge and you see sea gulls soaring on lake breezes. Sometimes you look over and you see this ...

''

And ya know, a good fire drill just was not on my agenda this evening. It's raining. It's cold. It's dark. I much prefer a "Hot Apple Blast" from the Caribou Coffee in Avon and maybe a good book or a dvd on the laptop. But noooooooo. Instead there are men in thick rubber coats bouncing around the hallways with thermal image monitors trying to determine if anything ... or anybody ... is really on fire. They have been looking for over an hour now. I am pretty sure somebody would have screamed by now if there were flames dancing around their apartment. The drama has been replaced with tedium. Don't misunderstand. I'm being really nice to these guys. I am very grateful for them. They want to be at home in front of their fireplace too. And I really appreciate their making sure that my marshmallow doesn't roast tonight.

How ironic. There is a 300 foot deep lake outside that is about 35 or 40 miles across. That's got to be enough water to put out all of northern Ohio should the need arise. It won't. So let's all go to sleep.

Say "goodnight" Gracie.
PS... Tonight I ate a bowl of Frosted Flakes and milk with a fork. It can be done.

Steve Jobs ... I love you

(Just before Scott joined the chat)


I just love technology. Tonight after church my wife and I did our usual "video chat." We've talked face to face via computer every day since I quit my job and left her. (OK, you know what I mean. I did quit my job and I did leave her to go set-up life for us in a new city. It was a joke. So laugh! There ... thank you.) But I had also talked to Eric, one of my best and most missed buddies from back in St. Lou. He's a mac guy too. So he and his wife Stephanie (maker of all things fudge and master mind of the spectacular "biscuits and chocolate" breakfast) joined in. And then I got an IM from my son, Scott, in the Chicago burbs. Yep, a mac guy. Suddenly we had this "quadrophonic" video chat going. On the fringes of the pictures were Christopher, Laura, Amanda, and Sarah. It was a reunion!

AWESOME!

Video chat is the strangest thing. You can see your family and loved ones just like they were in the room with you. You can hear them. In the case of Scott and Matt I"m pretty sure I smelled them too. You just can't touch them. Last night I was doing a video chat with my wife and daughter from her home in St. Charles, Missouri. Of course, baby Elle was the star attraction. She was so into it that she tried to feed me from her plastic fork through the laptop screen. Now THAT is a computer age child!

It amazes me how God blesses. I am, according to my GPS, 553 miles from my house. And yet I can press one button and talk to my family or the friend of my choice. It's called "speed dial." I can fill out a little form called an "email" and shoot off a message for them to pick-up and read at their leisure. I can click another "virtual button" and see them as live and real time. It is hard enough being away from those you love. I'm grateful to my Father that the only major time of separation I have ever had from my bride of nearly 30 years (as of the 19th of this month) comes at a time when computer genius guys have made it so much easier.

Steve Jobs ... you are my hero.

11 Things I learned today ...

-Eddie Bauer rain/wind proof jackets ... really are.
-A thunder storm rolling in off of the Great Lakes at night when you are sitting in a darkened apartment 9 floors up and watching through a double paned sliding glass door is EXTREMELY impressive.
-Wind is loud.
-Watching "Scrubs" on-line is as good as watching it on regular television but singing the theme song by yourself ... not so much.
-Every time I look out my window I feel like I am on a cruise ship.
-Cell phones, e-mail, and video chats are priceless.
-Living alone is boring.
-The attraction of "fast food" is not that it is fast. It is that it is easy.
-Furniture is optional. Family is not.
-Dropping trash down a garbage chute is oddly addictive.
-The eastern time zone is a rip-off.

I can't think of a good title for this post

So here I sits ... propped up in my obscenely luxurious apartment. Reclining on an air mattress (I really must buy an air pump someday soon) and leaning against my not-painted-within-the-last-five-years wall. Don't get me wrong, the view is awe inspiring. Well, it will be if the sun ever shines again. I woke up this morning and peeked out the blinds to realize that I literally could not tell where the lake ended and the sky began. It was as though some fledgling artist had painted my entire window GRAY. Lovely. I'm solar powered and I'm living in a gray world.

After work today I came home and sacked out for a few minutes. OK, maybe a couple of hours. It occurs to me now that perhaps my life has been measured by what program is on television. No, I don't watch it much but if I'm home ... wherever that it ... it's usually on as background noise. And so now I have no way of regimenting my time. This is a pathetic confession. I should be able to do better. Perhaps tomorrow.

After I rose from my slumber I felt a rumble in my tummy, grabbed a jacket and headed out the door to forage for food. I turned left out of the parking lot onto Lake Road and instantly felt compelled to turn around and go to church. Why? Dunno. It was just this clear desire. So I turned around and drove the (exactly) one mile to FBCSL. Lights were on. Uh oh. I'm the pastor. Am I supposed to be somewhere? Am I missing ....A MEETING? I parked and went inside to find thirteen teenagers and one adult in the auditorium practicing a drama. They smiled and waved. I smiled and waved. They don't know me. I don't know them. They asked if they could do a drama for me. So I took a seat and waited. Music began to play through the sound system. Seven kids on the stage began doing motions to a song by "Casting Crowns" called "I'll Praise You In This Storm."

Oh.

That song has probably had more air time on my ipod in the last year than any other song. And there are a LOT of songs on that little bugger. And then I realized ... one year ago tonight ... no ... one year ago at that very moment ... I was reading my resignation to another youth group. The youth group at FBCB. And now I was the pastor of these kids. These wonderful kids who had no way of knowing what my last year had been like. No way of knowing that they were the hands, feet, and voice of God to me on this evening. What is it with me and youth groups. I made a lousy teenager when I was one. Now that I am an adult (so they tell me) I just can't get them out of my system. I think God programmed me backward.

So you have to admit that is a bit amazing. But then this God that I serve is a bit amazing. This has been a hard week. I am coming to love the people in this new church but I don't really know them. They have washed me in blessings and grace. Still, I must admit an intense feeling of emptiness as I deeply miss my family. I don't doubt that God has called me here. I simply am going through the process of separation. (You have no idea what I would pay right now for a Hit 'N Run "Hum Dinger" with just the right amount of vanilla.) I am away from my family and all of the familiar items that have represented "home" for twenty-four years. And it all has caused me to give some funny looks God's way. There are hundreds of churches within easy reach of my family and He calls me to one 556 miles away. Why? Why would He do that? Because He chooses to. That's good enough for me. But it doesn't take the sting away. By the way, He can handle my funny looks. They probably crack him up.

I spent an hour today back at the hotel where I had been staying before moving into the apartment. They had called my church to tell me I had left a suit in a closet. They had been wearing the coat and pretending to perform exorcisms. No joke. At least that's what they told me. Sounds legit to me. So anyway I stopped in to get it and got into a conversation with the hotel manager, Kitty. (Actually, it's Kathryn but somehow she thinks "Kitty" is a better name. Must be a Cleveland thing.) Kitty grew up in the church, became a nun as a young woman, and then twenty years ago got burned by someone in leadership. And so now she's not in a church at all. She has dabbled in "the mystical" side of life. She has learned the danger of believing in God but not having a "community" of Christ followers to help keep you on the sane side of the line. Religion will make you weird or mean if you don't have checks and balances. I told Kitty that I would define her as "a seeker." She said, "Yes, that is exactly what I am. I am a seeker." The desk began getting busy and I excused myself with a promise to return and continue our discussion.

It's people like Kitty that make me certain that this call is from God. It's moments like tonight with the youth group that bring me encouragement and confidence that God does indeed know what He is doing.

So as an extra added bonus tonight here's a picture of my office as it looked when I left this evening. Lot of things to be moved, hung, shelved and thrown out. The chair is cushy and the desk is big. And the walls? The walls are very, very blue. There is a story there but we'll save it for another day...

Moving. Again.

The view from the balcony on a cloudy, cold, snow flurry filled day...


For 5 days I've been living out of the back of my Explorer. No, I have not been sleeping there. Nothing like that. But when you move you pack your "stuff." You don't pack a suit case. So every night I had been walking down to the parking lot and dragging some clothes for the next day out of a box or a duffle bag. Ladies and gentlemen, this is not fun. Today I moved again. This time into the apartment. I made 6 trips up to the 9th floor carrying "stuff." (4 elevators. No waiting.) Then I went to Debbie's favorite store. Yes, the infamous Dollar General Store. Ugh. But she told me to go there and I miss her so much that I would indeed jump off the roof if she told me to. I've never filled a household from the bottom up before. I pushed my little cart up and down every aisle like a 90 year old woman on social security. i grabbed this. I grabbed that. I spent the Dollar Stores name times 62. When I got back to the apartment I started carrying up the last huge arm load of "stuff." That's when one of the rental agents asked me if I wanted to use the cart.

The cart.

I was on my 7th load ... the 7th time I walked RIGHT BY THEIR GLASS WALLED OFFICE ... and now they want to know if I want to use "the cart."

Yes, please.

I had no idea a studio apartment could take so long to organize. And I'm a "type a" personality but I'm certainly not "ocd." Anyway, it's not done yet. I'm camping out in my living room (I own 2 these days. Want to buy one in Illinois?) on an air mattress. No tv. I do have my trusty ipod and a speaker system. And fortunately one of my neighbors neglected to password their wireless internet. Tsk, tsk. Lucky for them I'm just tired and a bit lonely. Another neighbor might be criminal.

Tomorrow is "day 7" of The Great Cleveland Adventure. It might last 7 months, 7 years, or the rest of my life. Who am I to say? I'm here on orders. Video chatting with my wife and family has kept me sane thus far. But I'm off work on Friday and Saturday and have no idea what to do to kill off those days.

Maybe I'll buy a dog.

Snowing, sloshing, and soon to be sleeping

Snow? Isn't it November 6th? Today was crazy. Debbie flew home. Got there safely and we had a video chat complete with Kelli, Joe, and Elle in attendance with her. Then we added Scott, Amanda, and Matt in Crystal Lake, Il. It was the coolest thing. A family reunion without starting a car.

And then there was the weather. It thunder snowed, rained, hailed, and ... winded. Like a constant 40mph wind with these gusts that made my Explorer shudder. At home storms knock my trees apart. Here? There was this thunder storm with snow in place of rain. But that is not the strange part. I was just watching the weather and Lake Erie sloshed today. That's what the nice weather guy in the PURPLE SUIT said. The wind was just roaring all day long and Lake Erie, being an average of 62 feet deep and maxing out at 210 feet sloshes. I mean, that's deep enough for me. But as the Great Lakes go it's pretty shallow. And so when the wind goes nuts like this it pushed a bunch of the water to the east and it piles up there. I'm freaken serious. They showed a photo of where the lake usually hits the shore in our area and then one of where it was today. It looked to be a 3 or 5 foot difference in a shallower way. When the wind stops ... it will slosh back. They called this "the bath tub effect."

I live by the worlds largest bathtub.

Oh, and we gave up on the trailer. I'm not going to be an RV guy after all. My incredible father-in-law did his dead level best to make it work out but it just kept getting harder and harder. We finally had a talk and agreed that this was just not the way to go. So last night Debbie and I rented a nice studio apartment. Nothing fancy. It's just a little place ON THE 9TH FLOOR OVER LOOKING LAKE ERIE WITH A BALCONY FOR MY STILL-TO-BE-PICKED-OUT-LAWN-CHAIR. The entire north wall is glass. My glass apartment over looks the worlds largest bathtub. I'm telling you I've moved to the land of Oz. I would not be at all surprised tomorrow if a scare crow, a tin man, and a cowardly lion are waiting for me in my office.

At 52 years old I finally have a swinging bachelor's pad. (www.erieshorelanding.com) No, there isn't any shag carpeting. But the three painted walls are creme colored ... with about a 3 foot wide (tall) horizontal brown stripe mid-way up the wall. Why? I dunno. Some girl lived in it last. The apartment people were going to paint it. I told them I'd rather they just leave it alone and cut my rent. So they took $75 bucks a month off. Deal! I'll find a way to maximize that brown strip. If you have suggestions leave them in the "comments" link below. Right now I'm considering painting grass on top of it. Maybe some earth worms in the middle of it. We'll see. Did I mention the work-out room? The free tanning salon? The great room with a fire place and surrounding windows on the lake? It has a huge laundry mat. You don't put coins in the machines. There is a machine on the wall. You put money in it and it gives you a debit card that you swipe in the washers and driers. I MAY NOT BUY A HOUSE AFTER ALL. Ok, Ok. I could have cut $100 a month off the rent by taking a apartment facing away from the lake and having an outside entrance. Nope. I live alone in Cleveland and if you live in Cleveland you gotta have SOMETHING to look at. My furniture will be easy enough to arrange. Mainly because I don't have any. ANY. A-N-Y. Not one piece. So tomorrow I procure an air mattress and maybe a trash can. Might throw in a toilet brush if the price is right. I'm going to throw my shirts in one corner, my pants in another, underwear by the bathroom (of course) and suits in the closet. Which, by the way, is big enough for a microwave oven if you have a small one. I'll bring some real honest to goodness furniture when I come back from Thanksgiving in B-town.

Yes, I actually have showed up at the church every day this week. but my office is still bare walled and totally disorganized. I've been busy dealing with setting up life. Everybody has been great about allowing me the space and time to accomplish that. What I haven't been doing much of is sleeping. And that starts .... NOW!

Thank you...

I need to step aside from regular blogging for a minute to say "THANK YOU" to all of the people who have either left comments or sent emails and text messages over the last week. I can't begin to tell you how much it has meant to me. The Cleveland 'burbs is where I am called by God to be, need to be, and therefore want to be. But right now I admit that it feels like the far side of the moon. It has nothing to do with any lack of kindness on the part of the people or the church here. On the contrary, they have been so wonderful to us that it has totally taken us by storm. Even the hotel we are spending our first 3 days in has been unreal. I spent about an hour talking to "Kitty" the last time I was here. She is the hotel's general manager and quickly became a friend. And when I made the reservation this time she upgraded us to this fantastic suite AND cut the rate. It's been unreal.

But you guys, whether I know you in real life or you are someone who has just become a friend in the wonderful world of blogging ... wow. Your kind words, encouragement, and expressed hopes that I will continue blogging have been so humbling. I write for fun and for personal fulfillment. I write to keep my soul alive and to fight off the stagnation that comes when I don't. Quit blogging? It's never even occurred to me. (Though my son-in-law tells me I'm supposed to keep it to 150 words. HEY, JOE. YOU HAVE PERMISSION TO ONLY READ THE FIRST 150 WORDS! AND YES, I'M TEASING! NO I'M NOT! CHOOSE ONE!)

Today I asked my GPS to find local banks for me. I listed a few dozen within 30 miles and suddenly one appeared that was 43.2 miles away. I don't remember the name but the word "Montreal" was in it. Odd. I punched "map it." You know what? It is a bank across Lake Erie in Canada. Yes, it's only 43.2 miles away ... as the crow flies. To drive there was something over 180 miles because of the water. Ain't no bridge across the Great Lakes! See what I mean about the far side of the moon?

You know what's a truly great thing that isn't mentioned nearly often enough? The proliferation of the cell phone. I miss my kids really badly today. I called each of them right after church this morning. All it takes is punching one single button on my phone and ... bingo-bango ... there they are! That is a very cool thing that is way over looked. I wish Elle could talk on the phone.

And then there is Staci who made me this huge batch of brownies that I ate all of the way to Sheffield Lake. Staci was in my youth group like ... 60 years ago. Well, roughly 60 years. Give or take. When we arrived in my office this morning there was this big box waiting for me on my desk. The return address was that of my friend Stephanie. It seems that this world class friend spent $24.50 to overnight express a huge box of home made vanilla fudge to me. I love me some vanilla fudge! Staci and Stephanie, you are two of my favorite people E-V-E-R! And seriously ... you both brought smiles to Debbie and I when we needed them. You and your husbands, Kevin and Eric are priceless friends. (Hi Eric!!!!)

Well anyway, thanks. You have lifted my spirits and been a great encouragement. I am humbled and thankful for the network of real and cyber friends in my life. Pray for me and I'll pray for you ....

Disjointed bits of vitally important reality

Cleveland. Hmmm. Eastern time zone. The end of "daylight savings time." Tomorrow I begin as Sr. Pastor of a new church and I have no idea what time to get up ... much less show up.

Today I secured my spot on my trailer park. I think it is named "Twin Wells Mobile Homes" or something like that. It's pretty nice. Well, it's decent. OK, I don't think anybody has been murdered there in a few weeks. It is in Lorain, Ohio. "Lorain" sounds like a sad drinking song that Willie Nelson would sing. Or maybe a "free love" song by Eric Clapton. I'm going to be living on twin 30lb propane tanks during a Cleveland winter. This may not be one of my brighter ideas.

I am 516.84 miles from Elle Parker McGill (my perfect granddaughter.) I am maybe 30 miles from Canada if you do not mind going by way of water. I am 238.2 miles from Niagra Falls, 484.64 miles from Carnegie Hall (with or without practice,) 395.09 miles from George Bush's bedroom and 155.29 miles from Pittsburgh. Why is my favorite place also my farthest place?

As I was driving in to my hotel parking lot tonight a man walked out of the door and he was a horse from the waist down. I suspect it was a costume but I have no proof. I didn't know they accept pets here. He waved at me. I yelled "giddup."

People here seem to be proud of the fact that their river caught fire back in the 1970's. I think we should stop bringing it up and laughing. It just encourages them.

Tomorrow will be exciting because it will be my first day pastoring the people of this church. Monday will be interesting because it will be my first day in the office and we have staff meeting.. Tuesday will be sad because Debbie flies home. Wednesday will be fun because I am meeting an old friend (who happens to be in town) for lunch. Thursday will be spent in anticipation of finding a laundromat on Friday. Saturday ... that day might be a problem.

Birds have nests, foxes have holes, and the Sr. Pastor must now find a place to lay his head.

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.