5 Guys Rule!

I was challenged to a "Hamburger Dual" by a great friend of mine, Kristi. Somehow she thinks that the Texas "Wataburger" is better than the east coast's (and Avon, Ohio's) "Five Guys." How silly! She blogged about it yesterday and I hereby accept her silly challenge. What do Texans know about burgers?!

So Kristi ... here's the proof. Game ... set ... BURGER.

This is how your trip to "Five Guys" begins...


Our first stop is the FREE peanuts! (You don't even have to order food! America is such a great country!)


The totally cool counter geek ...


Is forgiven once you meet the ultra competent cooking crew ...


Next we come to "The Brag Board" where people post their (always positive) opinions of The five Guys ...


And you find out THE EXACT TOWN where your french fried potato's were birthed ...


The burger doesn't look as big as a sissy "Wataburger" because my head is bigger than yours ...


And because it's nearly as thick as it is wide ...


Now it is time to eat ...


I could go on but I think you get the point...


This, my friends, is a burger to be reckoned with.

Today

Today I did laundry. 5 loads. I am a hero husband or a total wuss. Poles open at 6:00 AM. Vote early. Vote often.

Today I ate pizza. "Mama Santa's" from Cleveland's "Little Italy." It's awesome for Cleveland pizza. (We must all learn to adjust.) And then I purchased a picture of a young Frank Sinatra standing in a doorway. A sign over his head says, "Miguel Santos: Attorney --- Divorce your loved one with dignity." How can you NOT buy that? It is irony of the finest order! The sweet little ancient Italian woman that sold it to me asked if I am a lawyer. I told her that I was not. I am a pastor. She began making "Pffft. Pffft. Pffft." noises. I do not know what that means. I also find it slightly fascinating that the picture was purchased in Little Italy ... which is nearly as Italian as Rome ... and yet the picture frame is made of bamboo.

Today I watched "Juno." You know what happened. It made me severely miss being a youth pastor. I really had not missed it yet. But I wanted to sit down next to that kid (Juno) put my arm around her and tell her how her life can be better. I don't think you ever get over being able to help someone at that level.

Today I started to throw my $29.99 Timex wrist watch off our balcony. Ever since Scott "fixed" it for me it beeps every hour on the hour and the alarm goes off every time it is 3:40. I had all I could take, grabbed it and ran out the patio door ready to hurl it toward the lake. That's when I noticed I was getting the old "stink eye" again from ... someone who shall remain nameless. Tonight the watch is in the bottom of my sock drawer. It's just waiting ... waiting ... waiting.

Today I climbed the stairs to our apartment four times for a total of 36 floors. And that does not count going down.

As Calvin and Hobbs once said ... "The Days Are Just Packed...."

Primp My Bride

Look what followed me home! They had a $5.99 special down at "We Cut Hair" and I had them "Primp My Bride." I got myself a new cut too. Here she is ...




And here's my new look ...


She got more for her money.

"The Raven" Poorly Revisited 4 Years Later (With apologies to Edgar)

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary
I did tend to faint from furious memories of ill-gotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
Sounding like some mouth gone yapping, yapping at my office door.
'Tis some member," I muttered, "yapping at my office door -
Only this, and who needs more?"

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak November,
And each angry griping member reviled curses at the door,
Eagerly I wished the morrow; -prayed and wept heart filled with sorrow
From the charges time would borrow - borrow for the lost pas-tor.
For the fallen miserable fellow to whom the chosen came to bellow-
Nameless here for evermore.

All our lives he has branded, all our efforts turned empty handed
And his failings no longer candid did press receive in print and pixel galore,
I am remiss in not dismissing - much the poorer for venom hissing
The action of the beggar failing - failing in a glory not seen before.
'Tis my empty heart yearning for a distant glory shore -
A shore of rest not known before.

And from four years a distant thought has once more my attention sought
Now dare I take it's lying hand and lead it once again into the fore
Neigh, I it turn back unrecognized, the pain that once antagonized
The every beat upon my office door - the clamor of a self-righteous bore.
It is an evil without parallel far surpassing the one who fell
And it screams for the blood of those it did once adore

I turn my back on evil barking that forever is loudly harking
Demanding pay for tragedy gone before
I cast my eyes unto the glory of the One Who wrote The Story
Who hung dying for the failure we deplore.
I recall the scream of "crucify him" in anxious attempt to finally try him
In hopes of sleep in innocence once more.

'Tis the evil inside each one ... our own Raven ... our smoking gun
But not this time, I will not listen, I'll turn the gloom to the suns sweet glisten
I'll look behind and look before me, twist the neck of that which tore me
And bid adieu from my distant shore
As I quote that Raven ... NEVER MORE.

Debbie's first blog

My husband drove me 42 miles for lunch and all I got was this lousy sammich.


Then he took me home and made me stand on the balcony during a tornado warning so I could see the lightening over the lake.

Just another risky day in the life of Debbie Woods ... housewife.

Politics for toddlers

"What IS John McCain doing?" Kelli ... if you don't blog it ... I will. The story must be told!

10 Items or less... (Part 2)

10 Items or less that are just wrong and should be dealt with appropriately ...

- Every human being is allowed a minimum of 18 inches of clear "air space" around them. Violate the space? You get sprayed with "Pam" so you can just sliiiiiiiiiiide away.
- Stand at the "Red Box" for more than 5 minutes and get towed. No, not your car. You.
- Random dreams. Not so good. Dreams should be like going to the movies. You look at the marquis of choices, make your selection, have your dream.
- Pepsi means Pepsi and Coke means Coke. No, Pepsi is not okay. I ordered Coke. You carry 50 kinds of wine why can't you carry 2 kinds of cola?
- Mr Policeman, if you are going to take my picture at stop lights I should be able to take your picture at donut shops.
- You want to "save a tree?" Stop telling me to recycle my gum wrapper and go after the guy who fills my mail box with 50 pages of junk mail every day. Holy cow. Why hasn't Al Gore noticed this?
- Why should I have to PAY CostCo or Sams to shop there? Why should I give them my money to take my money? Am I the only person that thinks this is odd?
- Toll Roads = Evil. You KNOW we've paid them off at least 20 times and yet we keep paying and paying and paying ...
- Okay, tipping makes me angry. I do it because I feel sorry for the poor lady trying to raise 3 kids on minimum wage. BUT ... why can't restaurants pay their employees like most every other company does? Who told them it was alright to stiff their workers because, "Hey, let's let the customer pay them. Oh, and only offer one kind of cola too." What if the airlines did this? We'd be tipping the pilots based upon the delay (or occasional lack thereof) and how smooth the ride was. That means their families would starve. What if we treated surgeons this way? "Hey, Doc. The smaller the scar the more I'm paying you. So let's be careful down there, huh?"
- Gas stations that change prices 3 times each day. I don't think I need to say anymore about this one.

10 Items or less...

10 Items or less that are so fine they should never be messed with ...

- Biscuits and gravy
- Curvy roads with lots of trees
- Receiving a spontaneous e-mail for no purpose other than to tell you that you are cared about (NOT EVER a "forward)
- Neighbors that will linger in the hallway for friendly conversation
- A dream that you are disappointed about waking up in the middle of and actually being able to go back to sleep and re-enter it
- Sunshine, blue sky, gentle breeze and temps perfect for a hoodie
- Coke with fizz so serious that it actually burns on the first swallow
- A friend who comes looking for you
- Watching an entire season of "Rocky and Bullwinkle" without interruption
- Actually knowing the answer

Click The Link...

My son-in-law is better than your son-in-law. (If you have one.) He takes good care of my daughter and my granddaughter. Not only that but I happen to love him just because of the guy he is.

But I digress.

Joe is on staff at the 1st E-Free Church of West County ... or something like that. He's a tech guy. And he mentioned to me recently that my little blog ... the one you are reading right now ... is number 10 on the top referral sites for his church web site. We both thought that was funny. Then it occurred to me ... "WHAT THE ... NUMBER 10? Why just number 10? I want the whole enchilada!"

So would you do me a favor. It's free. On the right you will see a link to my "My daughter Kelli's church web site." It's listed under "Web sites I hang out at." Would you please click that link. Better yet, would you please click that link on every computer you own. Just for the next week. You see, I want good old Joe to check his stats and find our that my blog is now ... NUMBER ONE! I want him to totally be IN AWE OF ME! I want ... I want ... I want him to buy me dinner!!!!

Okay, that might be asking a bit too much. But do me a favor. Click the link. Pretty please? I'd really appreciate the help. :) And it isn't really cheating. It's just ... creative clickery.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #19

Oh? Really? I hadn't noticed anything tricky about it.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #18

I just love this. It is a sign at a railroad crossing in Avon Lake, Ohio. The tracks are on top of a rather steep incline on both sides. In other words, it's on a hill. The sign is "worried" about trucks crossing the tracks and getting stuck ... or worse yet, all busted up ... on top of the tracks. I guess this would leave the wheels dangling on each side of the tracks while locomotive from hades comes bearing down on it. But what I really, REALLY love is the little "ooowie!" arrows on top of the stuck truck. 'Cause, as we all know, trucks are only human, and as such, experience a range of emotions including pain.

Riiiiight.

Beating the Cleveland infidels ... uh ... I mean Indians

What can I say? The sox go 0-2 here in Cleveland to begin the season. I pay attention but, hey, I have a life. They have to be big boys, ya know? Today however, I'm free. Debbie, Scott and I go to "The Prog" for game #3. Final score? Sox 2, Indians 1. I just had to give them "the talk." Hopefully they'll recognize this as the turning point of the season and cut me a full share of their World Series bonuses. That will be thanks enough.

Things I Wish I Had Done First Picture Chronicles #1

Why, why, why can't I figure out how to have this much fun...

The Joe & Elle Show

Many of you don't know my son-in-law, Joe. He plays (tours, records, drives insane amounts of mile) with a band named "The Fundamental Elements." You can catch them on "youtube." And then there is the worlds best granddaughter, Elle. They took this brief video and my daughter, Kelli, posted it on her blog. Well, you may not know them so you just might miss the best father/daughter instrumental in history ... at least when the daughter is only 21 months old. So ... presenting ... "The Joe and Elle Show!"

Playing Ball @ The Prog

It is indeed a new day. It is March 31, 2008, better known around the country as "Opening Day." This is the day when "The Boys of Summer" will don their uniforms, trot onto the field, and as the gladiators of old, do battle with the opposition.

It is also the first time in twenty-five years that I have not worn a Chicago Cubs jersey (or at least t-shirt) on opening day. "Why" you ask? Simple. Nobody in Cleveland gives a rip about the Cubs. To Indian fans the Cubs might as well be some team that plays in Tokyo. They just don't register on any richter scale. Now in St. Louis it was an entirely different story! By flying my Cubs colors I could keep a conversation going all day long. You see ... it's all about causing havoc! It's about mentally tormenting the opposition. No matter that the Cubs consistently fell flat on their faces throughout those years. On opening day ... no body was really sure what was going to happen.

And now I find myself on the outskirts of Cleveland, home of the dreaded (sic) Indians. Over the winter they snatched away the name of their beloved ballpark, "The Jake" (short for Jacob's Field) and replaced it with "Progressive Park" (long for "The Prog.") There is still a lot of moaning going on locally about that. I feel their pain. Wrigley Field is threatening to rename the wonderfully friendly confines something like, "Malox Memorial Stadium," "Pepto Bismol Park," or "Depends Field."

Oh, the pain.

So anyway, here I sits at my desk in the office today all decked out in my "White Sox" jersey. Why? Because the White Sox are the worthy opponents of the Indians on this opening day. They are also the mortal enemy of the home team. I understand that people here in my adopted hometown will not smile upon my decision to wear the black and silver. Rumor has it that I am risking life and limb. Geez, people. It's baseball. Get over it.

You know, I still bleed Cubbie Blue. But I'm forced to scream loud and long for the White Sox this year. It's the only way I can possibly cause trouble around here. I can't picture a season without tormenting the locals. I've been ruined by being away from Chicago for 25 years. My job is to be a missionary for Chicago baseball, reaching out to the heathen masses in the cities worshipping at the altar of pagan teams.

But here is a question that I need answered. My two teams are from Chicago. (I know, you aren't suppose to be able to do that. But I'm doing it. So deal with it.) When I moved away from Chicago, God placed me in the hometown of the baseball team that I despise the most ... the Evil Cardinals. I put up with that for 24 years. And now God moves me again. And He plops me down in the hometown of the nemesis of my second favorite team ... The Indians. Is God trying to tell me something? And if so ... what? I need a bit of help on this one. ONLY Cubs and White Sox fans are invited to reply. The rest of you just sit quietly and behave yourselves.

Scott is flying in on Wednesday. He, Debbie and I will be going to "The Prog" for Thursday's game. It might snow. It might rain. It WILL be cold. The wind WILL blow. The Prog is just a couple of blocks from Lake Erie where the wind always ALWAYS always blows.

Opening day. Man, I miss Harry Caray.

An Idea Whose Time Has Come

A friends blog has prompted me to take action. There is a time to talk and a time to act. Now is that time.

I want to build a trebuchet. The word itself is of "middle english" origin having been translated from an old French word, "trebucher" or "over thrower."


A trebuchet is a machine used in medieval warfare and was used for hurling large stones or other objects.


It is the "other objects" that have caught my attention. Having learned from reliable sources (thank you, Mr. Mayor,) that Sheffield Lake is a mere 31 miles away from Canada by water, I have decided that the time has come for me to leave my mark on our neighbors to the north. They are, after all, simply "America's hat."

Tonight I ate Lake Erie Perch for the first time. The sign in front of the restaurant said that the fish are certified. I asked the waitress if I could see their papers of certification. She said their dog ate them. I'm doubting it. Therefore, I am building a trebuchet. I plan on catching all of the Lake Erie Perch that I can this summer. Certified or not. And then ... then I am going to load them up, position the counter-weight, hit the lever ... and pelt Canada with Perch. One at a time. To the best of my knowledge this has never been attempted before. However, I have it from OTHER reliable sources that Ontario just issued their first "Perch Watch." This means that conditions are right for the formation of Perch over the skies of the province of Ontario. Should this happen a "Perch Warning" would be issued. At that time citizens of Canada will be given instructions on how to withstand the onslaught of Perch. I suppose they will be sent to the center of their homes on the lowest level. Perhaps hiding in the bathtub would help, though, upon further reflection, that is probably where the Perch will attempt to land. Especially if their is water in the tub. They will be told to never attempt to out run falling Perch and in the unfortunate event that they are caught out of doors they should lie flat in a ditch or the lowest piece of ground available. I wonder if doppler radar will detect Perch?


This is going to be an amazing summer.

Losing Your Religion

A church in Naperville, Illinois, is doing a sermon series on "Losing Your Religion." This is the video they showed on Easter Sunday. Me like.

In-Law's and Elle

I have the best in-laws in the world and they are visiting with us this weekend. They arrived this afternoon from Richmond, Virginia. We blew the bank wide open and took them to "5 Guys" for supper. Burgers to die for. Cost almost $20 but they (the in-laws) are so worth it. We even got extra fries! Then we went to their hotel with them where we sang several versions of "the birthday song" for my father-in-law who is turning a remarkably young 75 on Saturday. The cake was stupendous! Tomorrow after I get off of work we are going to give them the tour of Cleveland. Shouldn't take too long, seeing as how I don't know my way around.

And then there is Elle. Here's the latest picture of the Granddaughter of the Century! Yes, it's true. I am her favorite. She screams (in a good way) when she sees me. (Many people scream but it's not the same.) If the world were full of more Elle's this would be a very pleasant planet...

K-K-K-KATIE!

How can you not love a girl wearing "moon shoes?"

Me -1 / Moe - 0

Evidently Larry and Curly spoke up on my behalf because Moe caved in. My burrito's reverted to their normal price and my bank account was credited the deeply missed $172. You know, you'd think they'd at least offer you a free taco after holding your money for six days. Wouldn't you? Nada. Not even a free cup for ice.

I trust this isn't representative of the entire Mexican culture. Nah.

You may now resume eating at Moe's. Just pay cash. And count your change.

Spring sprung a leak

Spring. Tomorrow it is spring. My balcony disagrees. And how heavy does snow have to be to prompt you to wear a bright orange "road construction vest" when you walk your dog?

A Six Word Memoir

I am stealing this idea from a friend. It's called the "Six Word Memoir." The goal ... write your memoir in six words. Sounds simple, doesn't it?

Think again.

So, you write yours and then "tag" six other bloggers with an invitation to write their own. Then each of them "tag" six others, and six others, ad nauseam. And don't forget to ad a "link" to those you tag so that we can read their wisdom.

As for me? My "Six Word Memoir?" It has taken some work. But here it is.



And I'm "tagging" Kelli, Scott, Laura, Alisha, Suzi, and Katie. Okay, guys. Knock yourselves out. Make it count!

Moe And The $191.00 Burrito's

I do love me a good burrito. I like it with chicken and rice and beans and some good cheese. Life just doesn't come much better than that, my friend! So last week Debbie and I decided to try out a new (to us) place named "Moe's." It's a chain. Don't know if you have one or not but we do.

We went in and ordered two "Joey Bag of Donuts." That is their eclectic name for the burrito described above. We added a bowl of mexican style soup and two cups of water. Moving down the line we approached the cash register where the young man rang up out total. He slid my debit card through and as we looked up we realized that our late lunch was billing our bank account $191 and change. That, for the number impaired, would be one hundred ninety one dollars and change.

Not acceptable. The cashier noticed it about the time that we did. He called for help. No manager was on the property (strike one, Moe) and two teenagers credited our account about $172. He gave us the credit slip and the accurate receipt and we moved along. We moved along right until Debbie checked our bank account today.

We paid $191 for lunch.

She went to Moe's. Again, no manager was on duty. (Strike two, Moe.) They said the manager would be in later and she would call my cell phone to let me know what was going on.

My phone did not ring.

Supper tonight was at Bob Evans (they charged me much less for a real meal) and then we trotted over to Moe's which is just next door. Guess what! No manager was on duty. So they called up the owner. She told them to assure me that she would look into it.

Now do you really think that satisfied me at that point? Uh. No. I took the phone. She asked me how I was doing and I told her "not so hot." We talked about our problem. She assured me she would look into it first thing in the morning. I told her that was all well and good but this WAS A DEBIT CARD AND SHE WAS TYING UP MY CASH. She replied with a highly intelligent "Oh." I did my best to express my dissatisfaction without being ... rude. Or even unpastoral. it was not easy.

So right now I'm going to wait for my phone to ring in the morning. I expect good news. And if I don't get it I just really think I might go all "unpastoral" on her. You see, that would be "strike three, Moe." And strike three would not make me happy.

I think I'm pretty easy to get along with. And it really was a good burrito. But come on, Moe. Right now I'm just expecting Larry and Curly to walk through the door at any minute.

Lake Tornadoes

I have something totally new to look forward to. Today we had our "Team Kid Grand Prix." It's a pine wood derby for the children's department of our church. Lot's of fun. Very cool.

And I got to meet our communities mayor. He attended and actually raced a car. (He lost, taking last place. I presented him with a roll of toilet paper with two tires glued to it to commemorate the occasion. He seemed genuinely touched.) He's a really nice guy. We spent half an hour or so chatting. He grew up here. He is mayor in a part-time way and also a fireman. He lives right on the lake. He use to pilot a chartered boat and is licensed to steer anything up to 20 tons. I don't know what boats weigh but I would think that would be a fairly substantial floating object.

I asked him what he likes best about living here. That's when he told me about a phenomenon that takes place when the lake finally begins to melt. The massive sheet of ice breaks up into ice floes. At least I think that's what he called them. You know, chunks of ice that break apart from the main ice. Anyway, when this happens it seems that you can often stand on shore and see mini-tornadoes form above the big chunks of ice. At least they look like tornadoes. He said you can watch them spin from the ice up ... well, I don't know how far up. But up.

I am not sure what to think about that. I've never heard of this, much less seen it occur. I'll have to get back to you. At least I don't have any trees here that can get torn up. Of course ... I could get sucked off of the balcony. That might be worse?

God Bless Bob Evans

I know I shouldn't post this picture because my daughter posted it on her blog. But I figure our readership is different. So. As Kelli phrased it ... here's what happens when you turn your back on a 21 month old eating pancakes....

Elle ... grandpa is so proud of you. I do the same thing ...

Things I've Noticed About Debbie Since She Moved Back In With Me

1- She really is addicted to HGTV.
2- She makes great soup.
3- She cannot live without her green down-filled comforter. She's like Linus and his blanket.
4- She is addicted to Wal-mart and fabric shops.
5- She has so many friends that her phone is constantly ringing.
6- She remembers EVERYTHING. (Not always good for my health)
7- She likes me! She really, really likes me!
8- She can live in one room with absolutely no problem.
9- If I don't act right ... she knows how to smack right. (With thanks to Bella)
10- I love watching her pay the bills because it means I don't have to.

Proof that SOMEBODY actually skied

Topher at Vail celebrating his pending nuptials.

Why do all good things have to come to an end?

Seriously? Why do all good things have to come to an end while crummy things tend to go on and on and on and on? You ever notice that or is it just me?

Today is the last "Vail day." The only ski's I've touched are the antique pair on the hotel wall. But that's really alright. I knew shortly after we landed in Denver that it was probably going to go this way. If your lungs ache at 5,280 feet you have yourself a solid hint that they aren't going to be any happier at 11,000 feet. So I've been just kicked back and hiking around Vail during the day while the boys ski and enjoying them during the evenings.

Honestly, they amaze me. When they lived in the same house they usually wanted to kill each other. Now that they are grown and living in separate cities they are best friends. I get joy just watching them walk together, laughing and enjoying the time. There is such great satisfaction in that to me. I actually remember a conversation I had with them on a few occasions when they were teenagers and in their "you stink" stage. I told them that my brother and I use to be like that when we were kids. And then one day we got together. We were both married. Life was very different from those high school days. And something just clicked. We've been great friends ever since. We'd each do anything for the other. When I told them that story I really thought the odds of that happening were minimal. But, to my great pleasure, I was right. Nothing could please me more.

So tomorrow morning it's off e-a-r-l-y to Eagle Airport where we drop Jim off. Then we high tail it across the mountains where our jet leaves DIA at 2:15. It's suppose to snow tonight both in the mountains and in Denver. How tragic would it be if we got stuck in the city for an extra day? Not too tragic at all.

And now a side note to God. (He reads my blogs faithfully.) Thanks, Father. Yesterday Christopher text messaged me from the mountain a simple "Thanks." He meant "thanks for the trip." If I had your phone number I would send you the same message. Thanks. The memories will last eternally. I am grateful. More than words can express. Thanks.

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."