Not quite the way I had envisioned it...

Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men. Thanks to the extreme cold and wind, lack of oxygen, and a screaming lung in the same place my friend Pneumonia settled a few weeks ago I opted out of the ski platoon this morning. The boys went but got pretty beaten up. They were skiing Loveland on the top of the continental divide and said the wind and falling snow made conditions very treacherous. Scott hung it up first around noon with oxygen problems that were giving him "heart pains." Chris and Jim hung in there a bit longer and just called me to say they've had enough. Tomorrow they are going to try to ski Vail where the weather is a bit friendlier. But a GREAT time is being had. The picture above? That's as close as I've gotten to a ski slope. I did, however, hike across Vail to an awesome pizza place called "The Blue Moose" last night for a late night piece of the pie. Yum! Anytime you can score good pizza ... you are having a great day! Maybe in your 20's - 40's you are meant to ski. Once you reach 50 perhaps you are meant to eat pizza.

I will research that and get back to you.

The "Let Freedom Fling Tour" Part Two

Today it begins. The “Let Freedom Fling Tour” part 2. If you frequent this blog you might recall that last summer Scott and I winged our way eastward to the metropolises of Baltimore and New York. It was late June and his wedding was cast in stone for July 6. Together we caught an Orioles at Camden Yards and a Yankee’s game at Yankee Stadium. We hiked Manhattan with our backpacks tightened securely over our shoulders. By mutual agreement that was all of the luggage we took. One backpack each. It sounded like a great idea at the time. As it turned out we wore wrinkles for four days and were looked over closely by every security agent at every airport. I guess it raises eyebrows when grown men travel with only backpacks. But we had a great trip without blowing anything up.

Today we start from the beginning. Only this time Christopher (aka: Topher) is the man of the hour. To be more accurate, he is the man of the year. His wedding is not until October 11th. But in order to accomplish his dream “guy trip” we had to go a bit early. And so I am writing this from seat “c” in row “18” on a Southwest Airlines Flight from Chicago to Denver. Once we arrive back on Terra Firma we will pick up our rented SUV, bore a hole through Denver and then begin winding our way into the mountains. Our destination? Vail. We will be joined late tonight by my brother-in-law, Jim. He will fly in to Eagle Airport in Summit County and we’ll go get him. Our agenda? Two days of skiing. Our ultimate goal? Have a blast without breaking anything other than a few speed limits and perhaps the law of gravity. At the moment, Jim’s arrival is in question. Actually, his departure is in question. He’s flying out of St. Louis where there is a winter storm warning. (I just love those words. It’s like the weather man is saying, “Hey, here comes a storm that might make the scenery prettier and give you a couple of days off work to boot!” It’s a total no-lose situation.) So hopefully Jim will get airborne and all of the connections will work. I love it when a good plan comes together.

But honestly, my agenda has already been achieved. I am with my boys. I was standing in an odd place about an hour ago. Not really odd. It’s just odd that I would mention it here. But it’s my blog so here goes. I was in the men’s room at Midway Airport in Chicago when a thought flashed through my brain. “What would I have given for a trip like this with my dad before my wedding?”

Answer? ANYTHING.

My dad loved me. He loved my brother. But he was not inclined to be the sentimental “let’s make some memories” kind of guy. He held life in, playing it close to the vest. You never knew for sure what he was thinking. Sometimes you were sure he was pretty selfish and the next thing you knew he was throwing the family into his 1964 Chevrolet Impala Super Sport (complete with black bucket seats, cool chrome trim, and hard to open “monkey box … actually you and I would call it the console but he had trouble opening it so after monkeying around with it for way too long he named it the “Monkey Box” and it stuck to the point where I still call my own console the same thing) and heading west for a family vacation in the Ozarks. But to go away to pre-celebrate a wedding? Not gonna happen. He showed up and I was satisfied with that.

I’m so glad that I caught whatever it was that my dad never had. These are some of the best days I’ll ever spend on this planet. I have relived that trip to New York more times that I can count on boring evenings in a one room apartment when I didn’t know a soul to hang out with. I would not trade those memories or these days for anything.

Kelli, I know you are out there reading this somewhere. You didn’t get your trip, I really feel badly about that. (You did get a $12,000 wedding so don’t be too hurt!) You are one of my favorite people too. And I did take you out of school one day when I had killer tickets to a Cardinal’s game. We made it through nearly four innings before I realized how incredibly bored you were. That’s when I asked you if you wanted to go to the mall. I don’t think I have ever seen you smile as wide as you did at that moment. I hope I bought you something nice.

Colorado. Snow. Vertical. Yesssss…..

Stay tuned.

WANAGT2 ... R.I.P.

"Emma the Mustang" is no more. Yes the car still exists and she's still a beauty. But her beloved license plates, WANAGT2, have been terminated by the state of Ohio. She is now EIM1267. How ... boring. But I think I have figured it out. She snuck one in on them.

EIM = "Emma Is Miserable." She is sitting outside in the parking lot at this hour covered in snow. We knocked about 7 inches off of her today but there are remnants clinging to her. And she's expecting 4 more inches tomorrow. And so ... she is miserable. As for the numbers 1267?
1 - There is only one way she is going to be happy and that is for ...
2- The amount of months left until spring hits this snow bit region. Then she'll be happy.
67- I've always lied to Emma, telling her she's a 1967 Mustang. She doesn't know she is a 2002. And we aren't telling her. It makes her feel ... special. And she is.

I love me some Emma.

Stars in the universe

It was the summer of 2001 and Debbie and I were at a pastor’s and wives retreat in the mountains of Colorado. We were so far out in the back country that I don’t think the FBI could have found us. The lodge we were sharing with the three other couples was log cabin style. There was a wonderful host couple that cooked the meals and gave us directions around the area during our free time. And best of all, out on the back deck, overlooking the Crystal River, was a huge Jacuzzi hot tub. Now this is a prescription for rest, relaxation, and encouragement!

I remember one night everybody had gone to bed. The lodge was quiet but I couldn’t sleep. So I slipped into swimming trunks and a t-shirt, snuck out the back door, turned on the hot tub and slid in to liquid heaven. As I sat there I couldn’t help but look up. The only words that I could manage to form in my stunned brains was … “God, YOU ARE INCREDIBLE!” Tens of thousands of stars highlighted the sky from every angle. All day long I had looked at the mountains in all of their splendor. But I have to tell you, those mountains had nothing on those stars. I sat in awe for a very long time just pouring out a heart of gratitude before God.

As I read Philippians tonight that night came to mind. Philippians 2: 15 – 16 says, “… so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life …”

Me? Shine like a star in the universe? You gotta be kidding me. But no, that is what it says. If I live my life to honor the God of heaven and earth, if I live my life without complaining and arguing, I will shine like a star in the universe.

It’s pretty ugly outside tonight. A lot of snow is on the ground. The wind howls through the trees. Lake Erie is a massive sheet of ice. It’s cold. Really cold. And when I look up I see … nothing. Because all that is up there are clouds. You know, it’s easy to be a cloud. Most people live their lives raining on everybody and everything they come in contact with. They drench God’s world with profanities and problems. But you and I do not have to be that way. We can live to honor God. And when we do …

… stars in the universe. That’s God’s kids. That’s us.

Shine, my friend, shine

Three of the best people on the planet

Debbie and I are leading a bible study on Monday nights at our apartment building. After three weeks ZERO apartment dwellers have shown up. However we have had a fairly decent turn-out of church members. Our topic is "Raising Kids God's Way." It's amazing to listen to these parents of young kids talk about the stresses and trials of raising them. I have constant flash backs. I remember those tough decisions and difficult days of trying to turn Kelli, Scott, and Christopher into "independently dependent followers of Jesus." There were times I wondered if they (we) would make it. But not really. I mean, not in a major way. Over all they were a delight to raise. Never did I consider burying everything but their heads in the backyard and then spreading honey in their hair so that the ants would attack. (So don't ask me why I even thought of that. Really. It never entered my mind.)

I just talked to Christopher for about 45 minutes. He was driving home from work and decided to spend the time talking to his mom and dad. Can I just stop here for a minute and say ... wow. He could have had the stereo blasting in his Mustang. He could have called his lovely fiancee. He could have enjoyed the silence after a long day at work. But no. He chose to call his parents and check in. Do you know how that makes a parent feel? It makes us feel great. Like we really did some things right during those wonderful years of watching them grow into full fledged adults. Truth is, I talk to all of my kids at least every other day. Okay, sometimes I miss that goal. But not often. Talking to them is one of my favorite hobbies.

It's tough living away from these wonderful people. I knew when God relocated us to the Cleveland suburbs that this would be the hard part. And it is. But there is so much joy in knowing that there are 3 young adults out there that God blessed us with. I have no fears about how they will spend their tomorrows. All 3 of them fell in love with wonderful mates (or in Christopher's case, "almost mate.") This is what satisfaction feels like. It is a good feeling. It is one to sit back and enjoy. There was a day I worried about them if Debbie and I just went out to a movie, leaving them at home. But now? Now I know that they are world changers. They change the world for the better. And it isn't really something that should be charged to our credit. It is further evidence of the goodness of God.

Next week Christopher, Scott and I will be taking one last "single guy trip." Christopher will be getting married in October. Before Scott's wedding he and I went to a Yankee's game and an Orioles game. It was awesome. Christopher couldn't go because he was working "Centrifuge." He was busy telling teens about Jesus. But this trip will find all 3 of us skiing the Rockies. And I can't wait. When I took them skiing the first few times I could literally ski circles around them. No longer. They will make me look really sick. And you know what? I'll love every minute of it.

Kelli, Scott, Christopher (in that order in the pictures above) ... I love you. Thanks for making this dad a very proud and satisfied man.

Real People ... Real Prayers

My Apartment Is So Little That...

-My apartment is so little that I vacuum with a dust buster. (Seriously)
-My apartment is so little that I can hit the garbage disposal in the sink with my pizza crust while laying in bed. (I've done it.)
-My apartment is so little that the headboard of my bed is my old air mattress and it covers 1/3 the length of the wall.
-My apartment is so little that I can prop my feet up on my bed from either of my chairs OR from my two kitchen chairs.
-My apartment is so little that I can (and have) thrown a potato chip from my bed, out the patio door and off the balcony.
-My apartment is so little that I I have one heat duct.
-My apartment is so little that my total cabinet counter space is eight inches wide.
-My apartment is so little that my laptop's "hibernate" light illuminates the entire room
-My apartment is so little that the microwave sits on the burners of the stove.
-My apartment is so little that there is no kitchen cabinet big enough to hang a paper towel holder under.
-My apartment is so little that when you take a shower in the bathroom you have to crack the patio door open in the living room/bedroom/kitchen to clear the mirror.

Ten Reasons Why I Miss My Granddaughter, Elle

1. I miss her because when we see each other she hugs me, burying her head in my shoulder and not letting go for at least 5 minutes. I melt. Every time. She makes me feel like the only person in the world.

2. I miss her because she sings songs to me. Actually, she sings medley's that only she knows. Because she cannot sing one entire song she mixes as many as she wants and turns them into one beautiful solo.

3. I miss her because she lets me sit next to her on her potty chair and read to her while she pretends like she knows why she is there.

4. I miss her because she lets me crawl in her tunnel with her even though my shoulders are too big to really fit. She still meets me in the middle, laughs, and kisses me all over my face.

5. I miss her because she acts just like my daughter did when she was 20 months old and she was the first 20 month old that I ever was madly, crazy in love with.

6. I miss her because she sits on my lap and we read books. Sometimes we actually read the entire book before she turns a page prematurely.

7. I miss her because all I have to do to make her happy is to be there. She doesn't expect anything else. Just being there is enough for her.

8. I miss her because she defines "love."

9. I miss her because she thinks a laptop computer is named "Grandpa." She sees me on it's screen more than in real life.

10. I miss her because I'm not with her.

Bob Evans ... down in the farm

I have nothing to blog about. You think that's going to stop me? Has it ever? Quick answer: No. So why start now?

Well, Sunday has come and Sunday has gone. Almost. We flipped the switch on our new sound system at church today. Very cool. Last week people were complaining that they could not hear. This week? It's too loud. I would not be a "sound guy" for any amount of money. Okay, that's not true. I could be a sound man mercenary very easily. But no one seems anxious to pay me to do it. That's for the best. I have no idea what all of those little knobs are for.

Debbie and I came back to the apartment bringing our fast food lunch in tow. Mid way through the afternoon she decided to make me cookies. (She's the best.) Well, being a nearly 4 month resident of this apartment never required me to turn the oven on. She was the first. Evidently whoever lived here last, or whoever cleaned the apartment before we moved in, decided to clean the oven. And they must have used one of those canned over cleaner chemical things. This is not good news for an asthmatic. Within 5 minutes the smoke alarm was going off. Within half an hour she was not breathing too well. (Too good? Whatever.) She limped her way through church tonight while taking a nebulizer treatment. Then we went to my favorite biscuits and gravy place, Bob Evans. (He's not really down on the farm. He's down IN the farm. stone cold ... dead. But the biscuits are still good.) After woofing down supper we came back to the apartment. I was very hesitant. I entered first and, smelling nothing peculiar, allowed her in. She was really struggling. As we were pulling into the parking garage I had noticed that it was lightening out over Lake Erie. So I opened the patio door about a foot and proceeded to get Debbie as comfortable as possible, propped up in her favorite $59.99 chair. (Sarcasm ... just one of our many services. And, by the way, her chair was not outside the door. It just sounded that way.) I went back and sat by the door as the storm rolled in. Lightening flashed, thunder rolled, rain came in buckets and, best of all, the wind blew. It blew refreshing cool, clean breezes into our little cozy home. It cleaned our air. Debbie is breathing easier now. She is relaxing. Soon she'll be asleep. Tomorrow morning she has to be at work at 7:00 AM. I have prayed over her and trust that God will refresh her and give her all the strength and energy she needs to tackle 8 hours at the Marriott.

God is good.

An Open Letter To My Wife On Valentines Day

February 14, 2008


Dear Debbie,

How in the world do I ever begin to write a letter to tell you how much you mean to me? It is impossible. I cannot begin to do justice to it. God has not created words strong enough, lofty enough, pure enough, for me to begin to tell you what I think and what I feel every time you come to my mind.

We began our lives together as “one” over thirty years ago. I suppose that I very much took you for granted in those days. We were young. Life was full. We had not yet been exposed to the difficulties, the trials, the raw pain that life has to offer. And so we ran through the days with a sort of bliss that is reserved for the young and the in love. And it was good! Our first studio apartment experience was a amazing, wasn’t it! It was our love nest and we were so proud of it. We invited friends over as though we lived in the Taj Mahal! True, we paid the wrong landlord for six months before we found out we were being schnuckered by a crook. But it was not our fault and we moved along and continued life

Tonight, quite unexpectedly, we find ourselves in our second studio apartment. The view is better. The landlord more honest. The heat and the air conditioning actually work! And when we lay down at night, when the lights are turned off, when I hear the gentle sound of your slumber next to me, all is right with the world.

It was “The Days Between The Studio Apartments” that were interesting. They went by so quickly that it is easy to dismiss them, to take them for granted, to forget the complexity and challenge that they brought to our lives.

We produced three incredible children. Our pride in each of them runs deeply and with good cause. They are wonderful people, Debbie. They love God and they serve Him. I know that there were moments when we truly wondered if they would make it. But they did. All three of them. And they are something to behold. When our kids-in-law are added to the mix, along with little Elle, our quiver is full. We are so blessed.

We have served God in five churches, going from Chicago to St. Louis and now Cleveland. Sometimes we have felt loved, sometimes we have felt betrayed, sometimes we have felt ignored. But through every minute of it Jesus Himself has walked by our side. I see no reason to think that He is going to stop now. I know that these days are difficult. You are struggling to find your way down a new career path. We are coming to know and love people in a new church. We live in 360 square feet while we own 1,900 square feet that sits empty and for sale in Illinois. Not all of it makes sense, does it? (Am I the only one confused?!) But we are walking in the imprints of sandaled feet. The Rabbi is leading the way. He is not confused. That honor is reserved for us! But we both know that all we have to do is stay on His path and all will be well.

So this brief letter is to say thank you, my dear bride. Thank you for the wisdom you give, the joy you bring, the thousands of meals you have prepared, the tens of thousands of dishes washed, the shirts ironed, the floors scrubbed, the diapers changed, the tears shed, the prayers prayed, the dreams pursued, the tragedies averted, the tragedies suffered. Thank you for rubbing my back, for kissing my lips, for holding my hand, for wiping my tears, for the wink of an eye, the caress of a cheek, the look deep in your eyes that tells me you would rather be by my side than any place else in the world.

Thank you for loving me. Thank you for giving me the courage to be a man when it would have been much easier to have been a mouse. Thank you for praying for me. Thank you for whispering to me. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for knowing me better than I know myself. Thank you for being my eyes when I was too tired or too sick to see straight. Thank you for standing up for me when I was not wise enough or sure enough to stand up for myself.

“Thank you” are two small words that are almost too tiny to matter. So allow me to add three more.

I love you.

Eternity with you will not be long enough,
Ron

Oh what a difference 3 days make

I always assumed that if Lake Erie froze over this winter it would begin at the shore line and work its way out. Hey, what do I know? Well, now I know I was wrong. In 3 days it transitioned from the gentle sounds of waves lapping against the shore in to Siberia II. All we need are a few polar bears.

This is getting ridiculous

I think I've figured it out. I'm dead and they just forgot to tell me to lie down.

My nice new doctor just called with the latest test result. Yup. I've got the flu. Yippee. So I've been crunching the latest data. Here's what I've come up with.

Pneumonia + Influenza = Me.

I am pneumonia. I am influenza. They have taken over my being and I have morphed into them. This concerns me. Once the meds knock them out I may cease to exist. If so I promise to stop blogging so many times in one day.

Me ... if I were furrier

P-n-e-u-m-o-n-i-a?

"Every year, more than 60,000 Americans die of pneumonia —" That's the way the Mayo Clinic web site begins their dissertation into the wonderful world in pneumonia ... a world that I just found out that I inhabit.

For those of you who encouraged me yesterday to go to the doctor ... thanks for helping to keep me out of the 60,000! A cheery little nurse just called to tell me that the lower half of my right lung was infected and that I need to take the prescribed medications and stay in bed. (I knew there had to be an upside to this thing.) I was scheduled to speak tomorrow evening at our youth ministries "True Love Waits" retreat. The nurse nixed that. I can only speak once on Sunday and must keep it brief. (I'm betting she threw that in just for laughs.) Then I have to come back home and go to bed. Again.

How do you get pneumonia anyway? And what is that "p" doing out in front there? Oh. It's doing what I am doing. NOTHING.

Ron ... OUT

I surrender

For all of you who left a comment, narced on me to my daughter, or sent me an e-mail expressing concerns ... you win. I'm putting away my manly tendencies. I have a chest x-ray and some other dumb test lined-up this evening. And they prescribed enough medication to cure a small African village.

Seriously. Thanks for the encouragement and wise counsel. Sometimes the sick one is the last one to see it.

I Was Wrong (CAUTION: Whine Alert!)

I know what I said in my last blog but I was wrong. I think I AM dying. I seldom get sick but boy I did it this time. I don't just cough. I start with a cough and it rooooolls into this huge, gut wrenching series of coughs that won't quit until there is no air left in my lungs to propel it any longer. My ribs feel like they have been donkey-kicked ... from the inside. My back ... let's not even talk about that.

My only real concern is that Debbie might get this ginormous germ. I don't know what it would do with her asthmatic situation. On the plus side she hasn't had one asthma event since arriving in Ohio. This is a, "Thank you, God!" I'm actually hoping that I don't have a cold. I'm hoping I have the flu. Because she got a flu shot. So maybe she'll dance past this one with no issues.

I have not gone to the office since Tuesday morning. I missed church last night and will, no doubt, miss our Church Council meeting tonight. These poor people are probably wondering if they really called a pastor or not. Thank God for those who fill in when pastor's can't pastor.

Okay, that's all I got in me. Please pray that Debbie stays healthy. That would mean a lot to me.

There is not such thing as a "good cold"

I'm not dying. I just feel like I am. It's called "A Bad Cold." What a dumb name. Have you ever heard anybody say, "I have a good cold?" Me neither. I had an appointment today with my new doctor. Her name is Dr. Wu. (I resist the urge to say, "Wu who?" She holds my life in her hands.) She noticed my BAD cold. I mentioned that i am trying to keep from passing it to Debbie. Her violent asthma attacks would just love to get a hold of this bug. The doc suggested we sleep in separate rooms for now. Great idea. Maybe we can just hang a sheet down the middle of our one room and hose it down with Lysol.

So in celebration of what feels like the end of my life but in reality is just my coughing up two lungs and anything else that connects to them ... here is a picture of today's lake. It's out there ... somewhere.

Sad

You've probably read about the shooting that took place yesterday in Tinley Park, Illinois. Tinley is a suburb of Chicago on the southwestern side of the city. It is also the town I grew up in. The murders took place in a strip mall that did not exist when I lived there. That side of town was all corn. It was about one mile from my house and maybe half a mile to my church. I graduated from Tinley Park High School. One of my "serious" girlfriends was from Tinley. My family lived in two houses there during my parents 22 year stay there. My wife and I lived in 3 different apartments there during our first years of marriage. When I think of the words "home town" that is the place that comes to mind. Sure, I call myself a "Chicagoan." But that was merely the identity of the region. For all practical purposes I learned to live, love, and laugh in Tinley Park. I came to know Jesus as my Savior in that church just blocks from the site of the shootings.

Tinley Park is a great town. Actually, less than two years ago I was asked to return there and pastor the church I grew up in. It was tempting to say "yes" simply because it would be like ... you know ... going back. It would be like giving something to the place that gave so much to me. I said "no." It just was not God's direction for me. I would have been happy to relocate there if He had let me. He didn't.

But I love that town. I seldom go back but only because I really don't know anybody there anymore. But when I do make the occasional trip through the village streets it feels like home. And knowing what took place there makes me sad in a way that I really cannot explain. Tinley Park is generally a peaceful place. It was a great place to grow up. The people are friendly and the town cares about the way it looks. It takes a sense of pride in its identity. And that identity has been violated. They have been added to the ever growing list of communities that are linked together by the tragedy of mass murder. And it just isn't right.

My last few years as a "single guy" i use to run the streets and sidewalks of Tinley Park late at night. My route would end at 179th and Harlem Ave. The shootings occurred at 191st and Harlem Avenue. That's 12 blocks from where I turned around. The streets I would run were tree lined and the homes were ... and are ... filled with young families that are living the American dream. Events like the one that transpired yesterday make me wonder what the American dream really is. I mean, evil is attacking it on every side. I do not think that the dream is a myth. I do think that it is being attacked from a deadly enemy that would happily destroy us all. This reinforces my belief that the only safe place to be is in the Holy Hand of our Heavenly Father. Anyplace else is very, very dangerous indeed.

I am sad for my hometown tonight. I am sad for our country. Sad for our way of life. I hope they catch the guy who did this horrible deed. But there are more like him. And they will continue to surface and carry out the will of our enemy, Satan.

There is but one hope. And His name is Jesus. And it is my sincere prayer that He is working overtime in Tinley Park tonight. It's a great town. It doesn't deserve this pain. But then ... who does?

Buy my house

That's all. Buy my house. Pretty please.

Thank you.

Sticking With The "S" Towns

Now I know why it is taking Jesus so long to come back for His bride. Not even He could get through security without a hassle.

Cleveland airport. One more time. Flying home to get my bride. She's ready. She's packed. She's quit her job. The car is full of gas. My flight leaves (theoretically) in fifty minutes. Of course, it's snowing in St. Louis. Heavily. I just looked at the jets outside the window and they all have 3 sets of landing gear. I have no idea how long the runway is. But it occurs to me that the jet I leave Cleveland in might just decide to put down in ... oh ... Memphis or some city like that. No way I could luck out and get diverted to San Diego or Seattle. (I'm trying really hard to stick with cities that begin with "S" so as not to presume I could even possibly wind up in ... Joplin. *Shudder*)

I am being the responsible husband. I won't let Debbie drive from St. Louis to Cleveland in my rear wheel drive Mustang without me. God has assigned me the task of being protector and defender. So it's time to take to the air.

No snow. No snow. No snow. No snow ...

San Diego. San Diego. San Diego ...

Choose one of the above and stay tuned.

T - 1 ... and counting

One more day. We can do this. After one more day passes I'll be flying to St. Louis, meeting Debbie, and after 24 hours she and I will be leaving town in Emma the Mustang. T-O-G-E-T-H-E-R. Finally. At long last. My quaint (I'm being kind) little apartment is about to take on new life. My awesome bride is moving in with me again. I cannot wait.

I was looking at my calendar yesterday and noticed something interesting. I moved on November 4th, 2007. I'll fly back to get her on January 31. That is 88 days. But along the way God blessed us beyond anything we dreamed of. During those 88 days Debbie and I were able to spend at least part of 44 of them together. That is 50%. Half. Honestly, it doesn't feel that way because it wasn't like ... every other day. The days came in clumps. But still. How remarkable is that? How good our God has been to us!

And so I've cleaned and arranged and grocery shopped and have everything as ready as I can make it. Because my bride is coming home. I know it is really hard on her right now. This is a tough week full of "good bye's" and "I've enjoyed working with you for 15 years" kind of conversations. I wish I could take the pain of that away for her. I went through it. I go through it every time I go back to St. Louis for a few days. Leaving is so hard. But yes, the first time is the hardest. And so I want to be there for her. And I want God to pave the way for her. But it is going to hurt. You don't live somewhere for 25 years and walk away without feeling something.

But the future is here in this place. And I am so glad. The people are wonderful. The church God has blessed us with is going to GROW. I can see it beginning. And I cannot wait to see what His plans really are.

T minus 1 day. My bride is coming home.

Yessssssss.

A stunted blog

I have noticed lately that all of my blogging friends write very short blogs. I tend to write very long blogs. Perhaps I just talk too much. Or I have more to say than they do (which makes me smarter.) But, most likely, I just like to write more than they do.

Tonight ... a short blog.

If you have not gone to our churches new web site yet ... do. You will find it at www.firstbaptistsheffieldlake.org. It's pretty good for being less than one week old. Kudo's to Tim and Pam for doing such a great job. I just provide the content and they provide the talent and the flash.

That's it. That's my blog.

Say goodnight, Gracie.

Goodnight, Gracie. (If you are too young to understand that ... google it.)

p.s. Here's tonight Lake Erie "ice update."

Good Bye!!!! (Elle Style)

Elle. I love this little girl. It was time for her to go home and go to bed. THIS is the way a 20 month old says "GOOD BYE!"

I cannot tell a lie ...

I was sitting on the jet yesterday before it took off. Minding my own business. Laptop tucked securely under the seat in front of me. Book in my lap. Ready to take a nap and enjoy the 80 minute flight. Given the choice I always choose the same seat. SWA only flies 737's and over the wing is one row of seats on the right side of the plane that only has places for two to sit, rather than the usually three. I choose the one nearest the window which is also an emergency exit. No big deal. If the plane goes down I'll gladly rip a hole in the side for people to escape through. The flight attendant always comes by and asks if I will accept that responsibility and be willing to help others exit the plane before leaving myself. I say yes. Smile politely. Whisper "so long suckers" under my breath, and go back to reading my book. I am so good at this. Calm. Cool. Collected. I've survived hundreds of baptist church "business meetings." The prospect of a little plane crash doesn't faze me.

What? Are you crazy?

As the flight attendants got up to give their emergency instructions yesterday, for the first time I realized that while I may still be looking at my book ... I am listening to every word. I have virtually memorized every syllable. Somehow it's that "in the unlikely event of cabin depressurization..." part that gets my attention. Do I pull down on the mask before or after wrapping the thing over my face? Even though nothing is visually inflating is there REALLY air coming through the hose? I can ignore the less-than-bright individual sitting next to me and put my own mask on before helping them with full approval of the TSA? This is okay? Evidently it is. The nice lady said so.

So I guess there is some information you need to take with you after you finish reading this blog. If you fly with me ... I'm not as relaxed as I look. If you fly with me and the wings fall off ... you are probably on your own. If you fly with me and I have to rip open the side of the plane designated as the "emergency exit" I will probably be on the ground waiting for you when you smack into terra firma.

"We realize that you have a choice when you fly and we thank you for choosing to fly with us." And by the way ... if we land in water? I'm grabbing both my seat cushion and yours to use as my flotation device.

You are now free to roam around the country.

Going ZZZZZZOOM ... again

So her I sits. One more time. Cleveland airport. Southwest Airlines. If you are concerned with any retirement fund or stock market plunge simply invest in that airline. I am personally keeping them financially afloat.

God has once again "stepped up to the plate" on our behalf. He granted Debbie a job running the front desk at the local Marriott. She starts in two weeks. We are SO grateful. Living with this incredible woman has been the highlight of my life and I cannot wait to do it again. It does leave unanswered questions and unresolved issues. Like a certain house on Sanders Street that we continue to own. The health insurance issues are being resolved in 120 days through her new job. (Take THAT Guidestone!) And there are a myriad of issues that I need to figure out and so I'm jetting back to think them through. I'll return on Saturday and our church will celebrate "Vision Sunday" the next day.

So. Not much going on in our lives!

I've been a little too busy to write very creatively but I did want to update you all ... my wonderful friends ... about these events that God has brought to pass. He is good!

Thanks for reading and thanks for caring ...

God ... one step ahead of me. As usual.

Well, we are back on the great “blog express.” Debbie is behind the wheel as we tear down I-70 at p-r-e-c-i-s-e-l-y the speed limit. (Riiiiiight.) St. Louis is in the rear view mirror and Cleveland somewhere out in front of the windshield. It is such a good feeling to know that this separation from my wonderful bride might soon be drawing to a close. You know, I really do like her. Obviously I love her. But I really do like her too. I don’t mind sharing a one room apartment with her for a while. We’ll pretend it’s a hotel room and the maid’s are all on strike.

But that’s not the point. This is …

I was taking some time alone with God this morning. I was crashing in what our family calls “The Date Chair.” It’s big and soft and two people can pretty much fit in it. So I was curled up across it and talking to The Father. I was thinking about the events in our lives over the past few years that have brought us to this point. They don’t need rehashing. We have always had a close family. My kids love each other. Everybody approves greatly of those they have chosen to spend their lives with. We even love their in-laws. We have “adopted kids” like Jim and Alisha. How could it be better?

And then I had this thought.

“God, you know what I would do with the rest of my life if you would let me? Seriously? If I had unlimited resources I would build this huge house. It would be a rustic log cabin style on the outside. The inside would be “north woods” décor but still very modern. A lot of light. Tons of space. Every conceivable convenience and amenity. Enough room for everybody. And then I would invite my kids, their families, those close to them, their in-laws … everybody … and I would take them into my home and we would just live out our lives together. God, I know that is a really selfish thought. They have lives to live and would never want to do that. But if I could call the shots that is precisely what I would do."

The still soft voice of the Holy Spirit spoke. “I know. I totally understand. And that is exactly what I am doing.”

What?

“Remember, Ron? I’ve gone to prepare a place for you, that what I am there you may be also. I get it, Ron. I want all of my kids with me just like you want all of your kids with you. And I DO have unlimited resources. So I am building that house. That’s the way it all ends up. All of us. My family. The family of God, living together in unimaginable beauty and joy … forever. So don’t feel badly, Ron. You are just feeling what I have been feeling for eternity.”

And I think that for the first time in my life maybe I understand a little bit of the passion with which God loves me. And you. Us. His kids. His family. The ache I feel at knowing my kids are spread out from Chicago to St. Louis while Debbie and I take up residence in Cleveland is just like the ache that God feels. He wants His kids to come home. Home. Home.

I hope it’s almost ready.

And our second guest blogger is ...

A dear friend and former teen in my Bethalto youth group. You'll love her! Here's her wisdom for the day ...
*************************

Have you seen the All State commercial where the man with the deep voice says " You should treat people like they are in your home, not in your way" At first I thought wow what a profound statement. Who would think that an insurance company would be pulling at the moral heart strings of America's drivers? I wouldn't have. Especially not All State and for many reasons! Reason number one, when I moved into my first apartment the All State people some how got my number and called me RELENTLESSLY trying to get me to sign up for their coverage. I literally had to put the number in my cell phone as "Do Not Answer" so that when it rang I would know not to answer. It's still there because everyday I live in fear of them calling and me accidentally answering and then hanging up on them. I hate to do that but people who take those jobs have to know that's going to happen right? So that makes it ok in my book! They get paid whether or listen and say no or if I hang up. The second reason I am irritated by this statement is that I drive 40 minutes one way to work and then I drive around all day and turn around and drive 40 minutes back at the end of the day. I do this because I love my job not because I would invite the umpteen hundred people I see on the road ever day into my home. I think to myself as I drive and someone cuts me off I'd rather kick you out of your car then invite you into my home" Of course I would never say this and instead i just grab the wheel and pray to God to continue allowing me safe travel to work but I might throw in there that if that guy were to get a flat tire I wouldn't be at all disappointed! So to you All State Insurance.... stick with what you know, badgering people into buying your service. (even though you're really terrible at that too)

--
Suzy

Where have all the bloggers gone ...

I can almost hear "Peter, Paul and Mary" singing it now. "Where have all the bloggers gone? Long time passing. Where have all the bloggers gone? Long time ago. Where have all the bloggers gone? Writers turned chicken, most every one. When will we ever learn? When will we ever learn?"

I expected a huge influx of potential blogs to fill my void over the course of this week. To date I have received ... one. Thank God for Bella. It's not too late. Get those entries in! Let's go! This could be your road to fame and fortune! (Probably not ... but who knows?)

On the more important side of life, I do believe that God is doing something odd. He majors on odd. I came back to St. Louis to slay the "insurance dragon." That has not happened. But ... I may have found Debbie a job about 3 miles from our apartment that would provide not only a place for her to work BUT ... insurance after 120 days. How weird is that? I had to drive 550 miles to turn up a potential answer 3 miles away. Hey, I'm not looking to complain! I'll take whatever God sends and thank Him for it.

Your continued prayers about this stuff is really appreciated.

Later ...

And our first guest blogger...

Our first guest blogger is my "Almost Daughter In Law." It becomes official in October at Beaver Creek, Colorado. But for now she is just my dear friend. (You can find her own blog on my links to the left under "Laura.") Her name is "Laura" but she often goes by "Bella." Take it away, Bella...
************

(disclaimer) Ron is busy...and I was asked to blog/ramble in his absence.

Recently I was being reminded of how much I miss taking undergrad classes. This is mostly because I recently started taking MBA courses and it has proven itself worthy of the debt it will surely cause me. During the 4 years of my undergrad degree I had the opportunity to take a lot of classes that allowed to become extremely introspective and a little more self aware than I had ever thought was allowed...or definitely needed. In my Interpersonal Communications class I shocked the professor who had assigned that we read a book called Discovering Your Strengths. After I read the book and took the 40 page personality test, it was calculated that my number one strength was "woo".....which is one of the rarest number one strengths to be assigned. Basically it just means that I "woo" people in to liking me, talking to me, getting me things...giving me more than passing grades for less than passing effort.

Perhaps the best piece of introspection that I ever got from one of these classes (that didn't inspire me to convince some other poor soul to do something ridiculous for me...just for the sake of taking my new "woo" for a test drive) was the topic of values in my Ethics class. Oddly enough the class was taught by the campus lawyer. I never let him forget the irony in that.... The truly ironic part was that he was actually very good at teaching us on the truth behind ethics and values. One of the most dynamic (yet simplistic) things that came out of that semester for me was him saying "Values are not by definition the things that we believe or show priority....or the things that we say we believe or say we show priority.....they are the things that we SHOW we believe and we GIVE priority to".

For some reason or the other that truth for me had never really felt so tangible. I had a long list of things I had labeled as "my values". Church, school, family, friends....blah blah blah. The values that would make me seem most normal....most inconspicuous....least controversial. No one wants to realize that the thing they feel they prioritize more than anything in their life is their Tivo...or their sleep schedule....or their money. Everyone believes that because they love their family or friends or their church....that it automatically becomes a value..... But where is the action? What makes it true?

Who wants to be the first one to say...."yes I believe that my Christianity is something I base all of my values on....yet I spend most if not all of my money before I can tithe...I waste all of my time on 'life' before I read the Word or pray....and I don't plan on giving up the fight for MY will even after I ask God to show me His...". I never thought of "values" as being such an action word....not just a state of mind. It's like saying "I'm so grateful I have the full use of my legs..." and then never getting out of a wheelchair. It's incredibly handicapping.

This wasn't really shocking to anyone else in my class....but for some reason it really took me by surprise. My values are more than a list I write down during some boring lecture. They are what I do with my day. They are how I choose to talk to people. They are how I interpret and apply the Word of God. I hope and pray I never find myself in that proverbial (and metaphorical) wheelchair....that state of mind when you realize you are nothing less than a fake....unbeknownst to even yourself.

I hope my values are a testament to my list....and that the list is NOT a testament to my ignorance.

Gods love, the LORD's grace and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you...
Bella

Applications Being Accepted!

I have made the decision not to be stupid. Having arrived back in Bethalto about ... oh .... 20 minutes ago I have realized THERE AIN'T NO WAY THIS BODY WILL BE DRIVING ANY LONG DISTANCE TOMORROW! God is good but the road is loooooooong. And on the northern end it was very, very snow covered. And my head is spinning. And I think I'm going to throw up. And no, I'm not kidding.

So. Who wants to blog? I'm going to be doing my best to slay the "insurance dragon" while I'm here. That means my blogging ability will be minimal. So if you REALLY want to be a guest blogger here's your chance! Write your blogs (as many as ya want ... it's free, doncha know ...) and email them to me at www.churchaintforsissies@yahoo.com. If it's acceptable by my impeccable standards ... you're on! And if you submit please let me know if you want your name to be published. Otherwise you remain anonymous.

Oh, this oughta be fun ...

See ya in blogville!

Nascar 101

Tomorrow night there will be a meeting at my house in Bethalto concerning the all too difficult ... insurance. While thinking, praying, etc., I realized that this meeting is so potentially critical that I need to be there. (insert sigh here!) So I'm going to play the "Nascar Game" tomorrow. I'll be leaving Sheffield Lake early to arrive by meeting time at 5:00 PM. Then I'll be leaving Bethalto early on Wednesday in an attempt to be back in Sheffield Lake by church at 6:30 PM. Ya lose an hour going that way. (Insert an even heaver sigh here.) I just mention this in blog-ville because I would appreciate the prayer cover as I follow the white lines ...

Thanks. And pray for the insurance meeting too.

Anybody care to be a "guest blogger" in my spot for a couple of days? Applications being accepted...

The One Who Spits In My Sink Everyday

Yes, indeedy. This is about the most important person in my life. I've known her since I was about 17 years old. When I first saw her she was wearing blue jeans and a red top. She was so cute that I had to get to know her. At that initial moment she was sitting cross legged on the floor of her pastor's office. He was behind his desk. Her father was in a chair in front of the desk. It was a Saturday morning and they were getting ready to go on "bus ministry." That meant they were going to drive the church bus around the neighborhood and look for kids that wanted a ride to church the next morning. I suddenly took a keen interest in community outreach among children.

We wound up dating for four years and some months. When she was 19 and I was 22 I married her. Since that day she has been the one who spits in my sink every morning. I don't really pay much attention to this daily ritual. It is all a part of brushing your teeth. You put the paste on the brush, you scrub your teeth, you rinse your mouth, and you spit in the sink. Today we have been married for 11,010 days. That's a lot of spitting.

I know a lot about this woman. I know that she would rather eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich than to go out and eat alone. I know that she is much more concerned about the care of her family than she is about her own self. We have reproduced ourselves three times and so that is a lot of care-giving we are talking about. I have never seen her fail to give care when it was needed. Not one time. I know that from the time we share a good night kiss she will most likely be sound asleep within 2 minutes. I will never understand how she pulls it off but I promise you it is true. She falls asleep faster than I can turn over and turn out the light. I know that she is smarter than I am but she tries to convince me that she isn't. I know that I am a better driver than she is but she has never had a ticket or an accident and I have had both. Something is wrong there. Still, I hope the trend continues because I never want her to be involved in an accident. That is a nightmare I avoid thinking about. I know that HGTV is the only channel she needs. I know that she loves frilly girly stuff but often pretends that they are not important to her. That is because she is afraid I will spend money on her and she always sees something or someone as more worthy of the funds. I know that she loves it when I go behind her back and buy her something frilly anyway because it tells her how much I love her. I know that she makes friends quickly and once you are her friend she is fiercely protective of you. I know that watching her adult children interact with each other is one of the greatest joys of her life. I know that Elle Parker is another one. I know that her son-in-law and daughter's-in-law have been adopted by her heart as if they were her own flesh.

And perhaps best of all I know that she loves spitting in my sink everyday. Because it means we made it. There is a lot more spitting to do. And as long as it is in my sink I will continue to be the happiest man in the world.

Hey! That's my car! Hey! That's my wife!

So I was sitting on my luxury air mattress today doing a lot of nutten when my phone rang. It was my lovely wife calling to talk to me while she drove to Kelli's house on the other side of St. Louis. After a few minutes she muttered that there were cars stopped up ahead. Not good. Even worse was the fact that she was on a stretch of I-270 in Illinois between what is known as the "Canal Bridge" and the "Chain of Rocks Bridge." That's about 3 miles of exit-less territory. You are actually driving across a man made island just before crossing the Mississippi River.

Traffic stopped. I grabbed my laptop and surfed to a site that shows traffic conditions in the St. Louis area. She was in for a long wait. A car in the westbound lanes of her expressway, the lanes she was in, had managed to flip over while on the river bridge. (I'll never understand how you make a car do that.) Nary a car was moving. It was clear that this would take a while.

We were entertaining each other with typical husband/wife conversation when I noticed a link for "traffic cams." Hmmm. I clicked the link. It gave me options of dozens of camera's across St. Louis. Two got my attention. They were in the general area where she was stuck. I clicked the first link. A huge line of cars stood still facing Missouri. I clicked the other camera. Same result. I began asking her about her exact location. We talked about the trucks that were around her and what road signs might be nearby.

Today ... I saw my car and my wife three times stuck in a traffic jam in St. Louis. Once she even got out and waved at the camera. (Yes, the car was stopped at the time!) Unfortunately the camera kept turning and I didn't see her do it. But there is no doubt that it was her that I saw. One emerald green mustang with a khaki convertible top and two white semi's and an orange semi next to her. I saw her again at the next camera as she stopped next to the "Rest Area Ahead" sign.

It was almost as surreal as a cow with a "Virginia Tech" logo on it's forehead. But not quite.

Cow Tales Part 2 (The cows are coming for us)

Look, I don't make this stuff up. Some guy in Virginia has a cow with a unique marking on it's forehead. It's the logo of Virginia Tech. Yeah, really. He didn't put it there. It was born that way. Here's the NBC web site says about the bovine.

"The wife of one of the calf's owners was watching a Virginia Tech football game one day when she glanced over at the calf and saw the VT logo. She couldn't believe her eyes, according to Hayden. 'It's a feeling that other people who look at the calf for the first time can relate to. They think it was painted on. It's hard to believe it was there, actually grew there,' Hayden says"

For some reason this does not surprise me. Yesterday I wrote my first blog ever about a cow. They obviously monitor this web site. It only makes sense that the cows of the world would take advantage of the situation and make their move. I suggest that you keep an eye on the fields. Don't stand in front of the barn door. They are coming. The cows. They have smelled the fragrance of fame. They have tasted the grandeur of glory.

Beware the cows.

Cow Tales

There is a story posted by the AP tonight about a tornado that ruthlessly ripped through an Arkansas community last night. The not-so-amusing part is that a man was killed when his mobile home was blown into a tree. That is tragedy and I certainly mean no disrespect.

But then there is the cow.

Here is how the AP phrases it ... "Miraculously, the same tornado swept up a cow and carried it close to a mile. Its owner says the animal was uninjured. "

Hmm. For the first time in my life I find myself wondering what it feels like to be a cow. There is the whole "milk me" issue. I really don't even want to go there. Then there is the "eat grass" thing. Yeah, I'm a little curious about it but not curious enough to carry a plate of "Kentucky Blue Grass" up to my table and grab a fork. Then there is ... well, actually I don't think there is anything else. I'm not a farmer but my keen observational skills indicate that's about it.

Unless, of course, you go flying.

Do cows think? There clearly isn't much to think about. Milk and grass. Chew your cud. There ya go. And then all of a sudden you find yourself on a cloudy day, a little wind, kind of humid. But the calendar in the barn tells you it's January so you aren't too concerned. Besides, you are a cow. And before those thoughts even flash (okay, crawl) through your cow brain ... you are airborne. If cows CAN think ... this would probably be a good moment to do so. "Hey, there's the barn! And over there is Farmer Bob's house! Wow! Isn't that the highway? I'm over the highway! I'm across the highway! Woo Hoo!"

There is no point to this blog. None. You can go to bed now.

Stupid Picture Chronicles 17

I'm really not sure that this qualifies as a "stupid" picture. I'm not sure what it qualifies as. But somebody lost the front end off of their Mustang. As a Mustang owner myself ... I feel their pain. And, well, they must feel pretty stupid driving around without it. So yeah. Yeah. It fits as a "stupid" picture. Here is #17 for your enjoyment!

Stupid Picture Chronicles 16

Am I the only one that wonders what goes on behind this door? I asked but for some reason could not get a straight answer ...

Et Tu, Kelli?

Deep grief consumes my soul. My daughter … my only daughter … just announced on her blog that she is giving up soda (aka: pop.) Her reasons are immaterial. She has broken her father’s heart. No more father/daughter carbonation-fests. No more “accidental” belching contests.

True, she says it is for health reasons. For increased energy. (Give up caffeine for increased energy? That’s a one way ticket to coma-ville!) For weight loss. (She weighs like … 115 lbs in the rain if she’s wearing a backpack filled with 2 liter bottles of Mtn. Dew.) And don’t think for a nano-second that she’ll give the old heave-ho to Starbucks. Oh, no. I’m totally convinced that she’ll still down the chocolate (God bless you, Hershey.) So hopefully she’ll live. But life will never be the same.

And so I’m taking applications. I want to add a daughter to my family. She must be at least a teenager. I will consider 20-somethings. Married is no problem. You just have to be willing to remain caffeinated. No, I’m not dumping Kelli. Never. And she will still be my favorite daughter of all time. I’ve always told her that if God were to allow me to design my own daughter the result would look just like her. Nothing has changed. My design-o-daughter would still look exactly like Kelli … only caffeinated.

I must go buy Kleenex now. The tears will not stop flowing …

New Years Resolution - 2008 - Iron Clad Agreements With Myself

10- Less chocolate, less pizza, less Hostess Cup Cakes.
9 - I will work-out more. (I will work out a way around resolution #10)
8 - I will marry off my last child. Even if his fiance changes her mind. Even if HE changes his mind. He's getting married. End of story.
7 - I will not, not, NOT buy a dog. Or accept a dog. Or steal a dog. Or allow a dog to buy, accept, or steal me. I will pet other peoples dogs because I am tired of chasing my own dogs.
6 - I will listen to Debbie and avoid buying a large screen/medium screen hdtv. (disclaimer: Resolution #6 is only in effect when Debbie and I are in the same city. Otherwise Resolution #6 is open to interpretation.)
5 - I will become an official "Toledo Mud Hens" fan. (Definition of "Toledo Mud Hens Fan: One who attends no less than three (3) Toledo Mud Hens home games AND owns no fewer than three (3) team t-shirts and three (3) team ball caps.") This will satisfy the requirement that I cheer for an Ohio home team without compromising my allegiance to the "Chicago Cubs."
4 - I will allow my wife to move in with me.
3 - I will eat something with Elle that is completely new to her and I will not tell her mommy until it is too late. (OK, actually I have already done this multiple times but it is so much fun I'm promising to do it again. Oh, and don't tell her mommy. She doesn't know about the "Great Circus Peanut Experiment." I see no reason to bring it up now.)
2 - I will drive to my bank without having to use my GPS. (This may take until like ... October.)
AND MY #1 NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION FOR 2008 ...
1 - I am going to make my church wonder if they have called a total idiot to be their pastor or a genuine genius! (This resolution has already been achieved with multiple individuals.)
A BONUS RESOLUTION - I am going to answer the question posed in resolution #1 in a way that leaves no doubt. But ... which will it be? Oh the tension of wondering!!!

Stupid Picture Chronicles 15

Piggly Wiggly, New Holstein, Wisconsin... you guys are a little late on this one. My kids have been doing this for decades.

Please Pray For My Friend...

I was a youth pastor for a long time. It was a great time of life. God blessed me by making me a tool. OK, I know that is not usually a compliment. But to be a tool in God's Hand ... what could be better? A tool for God.

Tools seldom work alone. I know that I did not. I had a network of youth pastor's and we walked together through ministry. We learned from each other. We encouraged each other. We laughed together. We cried together. More than once I sat with one who's wife had left him because she could not take the ministry thing anymore. There was just a lot ... a lot ... that we went through together.

One of these guys wrote a song. At least I think he wrote it. Nobody else would claim it. It was simply called, "The Booger Song." The lyrics? You know you want to know ...

"Sitting at the stop light with nothing to do
You're watching the light ... and I'm watching you
You look sophisticated in your fancy new clothes
And then your index finger disappears up your nose

And I say "Hey! You! You know who you are!
I saw you pick your nose when you were driving your car!
Don't try to deny it, you won't get very far!
I saw you pick your nose when you were driving your car!"

There's more but you get the idea. The guy who wrote that is named Ron too. As a matter-of-fact, my two closest youth pastor friends were named Ron. And so am I. Sometimes we would get together with our wives and if one of them called out to her husband ... chaos ensued.

I got a phone call from "The Booger Song" Ron tonight. I was doing a wedding rehearsal in Wisconsin and I couldn't hear him. So I tried to text message him. He responded with, "I am" and then another one with "I am in du" and nothing else. I didn't understand. About two hours later I was back in my hotel room and I checked my email. I had received an email from the wife of "The Booger Song" Ron. It seems that "d u" is "Duke University" ... as in hospital. My friend had a heart attack tonight. And he reached out to me from ICU on his cell phone and then through text messaging. And somehow I dropped the ball.

Do you know how much I hate that? I would drive to North Carolina for him tonight if he needed me. He's out there visiting friends and I guess things just went badly. His wife tells me that surgery went well and hopefully everything will be OK. They'll know more tomorrow.

But please pray for "The Booger Song" Ron. We've called ourselves "friends to the grave." I don't think he's in immediate danger but somehow I wish we had phrased that pledge differently. Ron's my friend. When I hurt he was there for me. When he hurt I tried to be there for him. The world needs more "Booger Song" Ron's. I wish wish WISH I had stopped whatever I was doing and called him back tonight. I remember thinking that he must be better at picking his nose than he is at text messaging.

But no. He was having a heart attack.

The little drummer girl

My grand daughter is cooler than your grand daughter!

Jesus ... crashing, kicking, plowing ... and waiting

You ever go anyplace you were not invited? Perhaps you "crashed" a party or invited yourself to a friends house when you knew the timing might not be the best. It's a strange feeling, isn't it? I remember intentionally going to the home of a person in a church I served once, knowing that he did not like me. As a matter-of-fact that is precisely why I went. No, I didn't want to confront anybody. I didn't go to sew seeds of discontent or to argue. On the contrary. I hoped ... I prayed ... that my "dropping by" might open the door for new opportunities. Healing. Reconciliation.

It did not work. True, we talked. We swapped a story or two. Still, no headway was made. No healing took place. By all appearances it was a wasted visit. I will never know for sure. All I know is that I tried. Sometimes trying is all you can do. There is no forcing friendship. No coercing companionship. Life does not work that way. Oh that it were so simple.

So it is Christmas Eve. Oh Holy Night. The night that Christ followers celebrate the coming of baby Jesus into a world over flowing with sin, evil, self righteousness, and a blatant rebellion against God. He was not invited. He received no request for a visit.

And yet He came anyway.

He could have come to tell us "how it is." You know. Twist the arms of several billion people. Force the issue. Insist on instant compliance with His plan.

That just isn't His way.

Still. It does not change the facts. "While we were yet sinners Christ died for us." He crashed the party. He kicked in the gate. He plowed the road. He totally opened the way for me ... for you ... to go from "self server" to "Christ follower." But even though the party is crashed, the gate is kicked, and the road is plowed the door knob remains firmly in one hand. Mine. And your door knob remains in yours. Everything on the other side of the hearts door is cleared. The path is ready. Only the door remains to be opened.

And only I can open mine. And only you can open yours.

As for me and my house ... we will serve the Lord. I deeply and sincerely hope that you will join us in that life giving endeavor.

Oh ... and Merry Christmas.

This is why I drive all of the way to St. Louis for Christmas...

Any questions?

I thought not...

Dying of thirst at the water's edge

Water. There isn't any. I turn the faucet on. Nothing. I flush the toilet. Nope. I twist the knob on the shower. Dry. It's been that way since 11:00AM, or so they tell me. Some water pipe in the building burst. I don't know. I didn't see it. I was at my office. All I know is that H20 is missing!

Oh, the oddities of life. That giant compendium of human knowledge known as "Wikipedia" tells me that this big body of water is right outside my door. (As if I haven't mentioned that enough on this blog.) But here are the staggering facts. It's the 10th largest lake on planet earth and the 4th largest by surface area covering 9,940 square miles. It is 241 miles long and, at its widest point, 57 miles wide. That's a lot of liquid, my friend.

And I can't get a drink of water to save my life.

So tell me this. I was FINE until I found out the water was off. Suddenly I'M DYING OF THIRST! My 'fridge has milk, grape juice, orange juice, ginger ale, diet Dr. Pepper (for Debbie's all-to-rare visits,) and a 12 pack of canned Coke. Not only that but by the side of my chair is a mug that holds 55 ounces of my favorite poison ... Coke with a little vanilla mixed in. It's full. AND ALL OF A SUDDEN I'M GOING TO CROAK IF I DON'T DRINK WATER! Oh, did I mention that I also have Hawaiian Punch? And everybody knows that's just red water.

Actually, the water came back on just a few minutes ago. It's ... brown. Or if you are into fashion, khaki. I have khaki water. Anybody care to do laundry? I thought not.

I find myself flashing back to 5:00PM. I stopped at a car wash, put in $3.00 in quarters, and hosed the salt off of my Trail Blazer. My SUV has had a looooong, cold drink. I wish I was a car.

On the up-side I purchased a card table and chairs today. Nearly doubled my furniture if you count each item separately. I'd make a lousy bachelor. Debbie agrees ... I hope.

And my nominee for "Dumb Christmas Song Of The Year" is ...

"Sleigh bells ring ... are you listening?" - No.
"In the lane ... snow is glistening." - It's glistening everywhere, thank you very much.
"A beautiful sight ... we're happy tonight ... walking in a winter wonderland." - Yes, yes, and only when the wind dies down.

"Gone away is the blue bird" - I didn't notice him through all of the suicidal sea gulls. What ARE they doing out there?
"Here to stay is the new bird" - The last "new bird" I saw was a turkey on Thanksgiving and ... mmmm ... delicious!
"He sings a love song as we go along" - I don't think so. All he sang was, "feeling hot, hot, HOT!"
"Walking in a winter wonderland." - Yesterday I stopped walking for just one second and the wind pushed me forward on the ice. I slid toward the door without taking a step. Can we sing, "Sliding in a winter wonderland?"

"In the meadow we can build a snow man" - This I can do. But the scare crow is going to really be hacked-off.
"And pretend that he is Parson Brown" - OK, that's just cheesy. Impersonating a "parson" is just wrong on so many levels.
"He'll say, 'Are you married' we'll say, 'No, man'" - I've yet to walk up to someone and say, "Are you married" just on the spur of the moment. See what happens when you get a cheap "snow parson!"
"But you can do the job when you're in town." - You have a snow-man-parson" who travels? Must be the wind. Or he's haunted. In which case ... burn him.

"Later on, we'll conspire" - A blatant confession. You're going to jail. You'll love the food.
"As we dream by the fire" - Conspiring AND smoking in bed. This isn't going to look good in your permanent file.
"To face unafraid, the plans that we've made, walking in a winter wonderland" - Plans? You just finished the entire song and you never once mentioned plans. You need to lay off the egg nog, big guy.

A New Branch On The Family Tree

Some days go down in the family history book as unbeatable. 5 star days. 2 thumbs up. That is today.

Two years ago tonight my son asked a young lady to go out on a date with him. She said, "yes." They wound up in our kitchen where they baked cookies. Now here is a boy who knows how to date! A cute girl AND chocolate chip cookies!

Tonight he asked her back to make more cookies. The evening started off looking like this ...

As the evening progressed the dough took this form ...

From there it progressed to this ...

And then on to this ...

And ended like this ...

Wow.

And now a personal word from an almost 3 times father-in-law...

Ms. Laura Dawn Rulo ... on behalf of Ron and Debbie Woods ... welcome to our family. I know that I also speak for Kelli, Joe, Scott and Amanda when I say we could not possibly be more pleased, more thrilled, more ecstatic to have you in our family. You know, Joe feels more like my son than my son-in-law. Amanda? She feels like my own flesh and blood. My daughter ... much more than my daughter-in-law. And having you as my new daughter-in-law ... DAUGHTER ... makes me every bit as happy as I was the night Joe asked for Kelli's hand and Scott and Amanda showed us her hand with a stunning ring on it. You are a remarkable young woman. And we are honored that you and Chris are building a new branch on the tree.

With all the love in the world ...

Your new family

Potty Breaks And Poinsettia's

I suppose stranger things have happened. I would be hard-pressed to tell you when. I found the following news article on Fox News.com today.

"David Leggat was stuck in the bathroom at his bowling club with no food or contact with the outside world after the door jammed behind him.

The 55-year-old, who spent 16 hours of each day in darkness, was eventually freed after cleaner Cathy Scollay heard his cries for help and raised the alarm.

"There was no reason for anyone to come looking for him," she said. "David looked awfully grey and shaky when he came out but he managed to walk up the road to his house."

Let's get real for just second. Who hasn't had a nightmare of being locked in a public bathroom? have you ever had to pull on the door especially hard wondering all the while if you would ever be able to open it again? Or have you ever gone into the bathroom of a jet plane, clicked the lock on the door, and wondered what would happen if you could not get it open again?

I have.

Tomorrow I fly from Cleveland back to St. Louis to visit my family for a few days. I am one of those guys who actually enjoys going into the bathroom on an airplane. It is kind of like having your own apartment in the sky. For a few glorious moments you are living high and fast far above planet earth in your own 3 square foot bungalow. You do your duty, wash hands, and pray. And what do you pray? You pray that the door opens. Because the alternative is to know that the next sound you hear will be a flight attendant screaming her lungs out to the rest of the passengers saying " is there mechanic on board?" Much better to give birth at thirty thousand feet ... or even keel over of a heart attack ... than to get stuck in the John. At least that's the way I see it.

On the brighter side, I spent the better part of the morning visiting shut-In's from our church. I just wanted to take them a poinsettia in hopes of bringing a little Christmas cheer into their lives. Purely honorable intentions. Yeah. Well. That didn't work out so hot. It seems that the last one I visited did not want to unchain her door. After looking over the situation I realized I was not going to be able to squeeze the plant through the minuscule opening. Not that it mattered. My new found friend finally opened the door, received her plant, and asked me to thank the pastor for her. I tried to explain to her that I AM the pastor. She would not hear of it. She knows her pastor and I am not him. She finally told me to wait for a second, closed and relocked her door, only to return a few seconds later. She opened the door (leaving the chain intact,) and reached a frail hand through the opening to offer me my one dollar tip. I looked at it long and hard. Yes I was tempted. But no I didn't. I told her we are not allowed to take tips but I would thank the pastor for her, I wished her merry Christmas, and made my way back to my car.

Somewhere out there is a pastor who owes me $5.99.

I-C

To all of my friends back in St. Louis I can only think of one thing to say tonight ...

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Ahem. Sorry.

It's just that you all warned me about Cleveland weather. And yes, I'm sure we have had more snow than you have had so far this winter. (Wait. Isn't it still fall?) But .. our kids went to school today. I didn't see any cars slip slide'n away. That's because we didn't have any ICE. None. Nada. Zippo. It was actually a rather nice day. Sunny. Mid- 70's.

OK, I'm lying. It was cloudy, dreary, and the lake looked like the sky which looked like a 3 year old that only had gray in his box of crayons. Tis the season.

Still, the roads were dry and the temps were high. So there. :)

I scored a victory for the little man today. I took on the mighty "Time Warner" cable company and won. It doesn't rhyme or I'd write a new song, I fought the cable company and I won..." I got my bill reduced from $51 per month to $7.25. That, my friend, is a major reduction. All I wanted was the Cleveland channels and they trotted up to my apartment and installed everything digital from channel 2 through something like 7,385. Or close to it. Truth is, I seldom watch anything in Spanish. I have no desire to spend a nano-second with HGTV. I can even live without Mike Rowe and "Dirty Jobs" if I need to. So I axed them all. Can't even get the weather channel. (I do grieve that. Paul Godloe is my hero.)

I learned today that there really is a "Cleveland Clinic." I didn't really doubt it but today I saw it and it's really there. In case you were wondering.

I ate 3 chili dogs today. And a salad. Fine dining, my friend. Fine dining.

And on Wednesday I'm flying to St. Louis to go to the dentist. It's not that they don't have dentists here. They do. It's just that my insurance (through Debbie's work) doesn't pay for them here. So I'll take wings and jet my way to the big guys drill. The screaming and begging for mercy you hear will be me. I'm sure he'll appreciate the chili dogs.

I'll be sure to tell you the awful details in a future edition.

Later ....