Crazy Glue. It's not just for crazies anymore.

I've done it again. After years of benign glue activity I have managed to soak my finger tips in crazy glue. I caught the problem in time ... I think. After realizing that I had done this unfortunate deed I stood in the parking lot of our apartment complex turning circles with my hands and fingers pointed toward the sky. That way nothing could stick to me except a wayward sea gull (which could conceivably think I was offering up bread crumbs for a mid-day snack.) Or perhaps a Mayfly which survived the most recent manifestation. It didn't happen.

Finally, I reached oh-so-carefully into my LEFT jeans pocket with my RIGHT hand in a desperate attempt to reach my keys. Debbie realized I was acting oddly (okay, not so odd for me but still) and I told her what had happened. I got "the look." After retrieving my keys I got us into the building and, finally, our apartment. I went directly to the sink where I washed and washed and washed.

Note: You cannot wash off Crazy Glue.

I do not have access to any Crazy Glue remedy: fingernail polish remover. So I just waited until the stuff hardened. Currently I have no finger prints on the index or middle fingers of my right hand. They are glued over. And yet, like an idiot, I made my way directly to my mac and began blogging this post. I cannot feel two fingers and yet it occurs to me that I may well end up "one" with my macbook pro. I mean, I love Tess (that's her name) and all. But I also like to put her down occasionally. (I mean on a table. Not put her down like, "You're ugly.") So perhaps I best stop now. But I know what happens if I stop. I'll wind up glued to something like the TV remote. Or a book. Or a chair on the balcony. Or ... toilet paper.

Decisions never come easily these days.

Parade time on Lake Road

Well, we are experiencing our first "Community Days" in Sheffield Lake. Translation: There is a carnival down at the parking lot of a grocery store downtown. Downtown won't be downtown for long because they just announced that the grocery store will be closing in November. Hey ... more room for next years Community Days!

Anyway, our church had a float (nice job, Hicks family!) and a bunch of kids rode on it throwing candy to the crowd. Adults walked along side handing out lunch bags with information on them about our coming Vacation Bible School. I drove Emma the Mustang behind the float with kids sitting on the back throwing candy too. Debbie was having an "asthma day" and I didn't want her to try to walk the half mile parade route. Anyway, it was pretty cool. TONS of people And here are a few quick pics from the cell phone.

Pieces of "The Pie" to die for

#1 - Aurelio's PIzza ... suburban Chicago
#2 - Geno's East Deep Dish Pizza ... Chicago
#3 - Gino's 140 Pizza ... Bethalto, Il (Pepperoni & Onion, please)
#4 - Giordano's Deep Dish Pizza ... suburban Chicago (ANY toppings will do)
#5 - Imo's Pizza ... St. Louis (extra sauce!)
#6 - Mama Santa's Pizza - Cleveland's "Little Italy"
#7 - Roma's Pizza - Bethalto, Illinois (White Sauce!)
#8 - J Bucks - Clayton, Mo. (BBQ Chicken. Mmmm.)
#9 - Cannoli's - Florissant, Mo. (Okay, it's actually pizza soup but it counts)
#10- Still searching!

Write right

I love to write. Sometimes I live to write. It's cheaper than a psychiatrist. And yes, I do know that for a fact. Writing is often where I take the saplings that are growing in my mind and turn them into full grown trees. Sometimes they turn into Redwoods. Sometimes they just turn into Maples or something of a lesser quality. But writing is where fledgling thoughts turn into full blown ideas for me.

If only they were always good ideas.

I have not written much lately. I suppose that is because I choose to write in a place where people (that would be you) can read what is going on in my head. In my heart. And every now and then my head and my heart gets full of things that just don't need to be published. Things that are best left between God and I.

I've watched my blogs evolve over the years. I won't bore you with the story of how or why that happened. But it did happen. And it will probably happen again. Or maybe not. One thing I have learned is certain is that I really do not know what is going to happen tomorrow. And I certainly do not know what life will be like one year from the moment I now inhabit. I suppose it is best that way. It makes it more difficult for me to screw up God's plan.

Not too long ago I spent a couple of nights in my house. No, not my apartment. My house. The one that one of you should buy but won't! (I wish you would stop being so selfish!) While I was in that house I looked at the pictures on the walls. Many were pictures of a young family. A family that has spread out now. A round trip to all of our homes would now (according the the Almighty Google Maps) take about 1,300 miles. How did that happen? I thought about the family parties and the many get-togethers with friends. It kind of made the place feel haunted.

It's not haunted. It's just empty. Nobody is asleep in that house tonight. No dogs bark. No garbage in the can. It's just a house.

But I digress.

I've said just about all there is to say about the big old lake outside my door. I no longer ride a motorcycle so I have no harrowing stories of near death experiences. The Mayflies are gone again. For now. Life is different. Life is, well, new. I don't know who plays second base for the local major league baseball team. I have no idea where to find a real honest-to-gosh shopping mall that is both indoors and also relatively up to date. Just lots of very nice outdoor shopping centers. Does it matter? No. Not even a little bit. It simply underscores the differences between life "then" and life "now."

So here is what I think. I mean, as best I can figure it all out.

Life moves fast. And then it slows down and you don't think it will ever change. I mean, EVER. And then when it finally does it totally takes you by surprise and you aren't sure what to think or what to say or how to act. And you start thinking too much. You spend too much time filtering things through your brain and not enough time smiling at God. He is, after all, smiling at you. I mean ... me.

Family is so important to me. Friends make my spirits soar. The simple pleasures of life that are actually relatively silly become treasures that provide flavor to what can easily become a mundane, tasteless life. But the really important thing in life? Well, that would be His Smile. The smile of God. It comes when I least expect it and it reminds me of the importance of order. The smile of God should be very, very high up in the order of what is important to me. Everything else ... less so. Even those things that are, rightfully, extremely valuable and of great worth. Yes, even those things should pale in the shadow of The Smile.

And so I stopped writing for a while. And I had to really push myself to write tonight. And I doubt that I have written anything at all that should be deemed worth reading. But I went to bed when my Debbie did. She was not feeling well so we retired earlier than usual. I listened to a 45 minute long podcast of a sermon. It made me think but did not motivate me to write. And then I tried to talk to God and I am pretty sure that I heard Him tell me to go on and go to sleep because He would stay up all night and watch out for the world. I'm going to do that in just a moment. But first I grabbed Tess the Laptop and made my way into my mega-chair ... better knows as my "fuzzy buddy" or simply "The Date Chair." And I typed in the appropriate web address and now here I sits. Typing. Writing. Telling whoever might take the time to read that, to me, it is so very important that I write right. And if I can't write right, well, then I won't write at all. Because I want to grow trees. Redwoods. And sometimes the seeds just are not there.

Therefore, I beg your patience. Many of you have been reading my blog faithfully for years. Do you know how much that means to me? Well, it means a lot. And I really do not want to waste your time. I want to write right. I use to write most everyday. And I am sure I will do that again. Who knows? Maybe that starts tonight. I'm not the type that can be satisfied by just writing about my day. I have done a lot of that lately. That is because what's in my head needs to stay in my head until God responds to it. What is in my heart needs to stay in my heart until God deals with it. Or shows me how to deal with it.

Because if I am going to write ... I am going to write right.

Wanted: Blogging motivation

I've never felt less motivated to blog. I think I have become blog impaired. Perhaps I have been buzzed by one Mayfly too many. Maybe it was overdosing on Tahitian Treat. Or it might simply be that I've OVER-CHEERED for the Cubs to decimate the Cardinals. (They did 2 out of 3 times. Mission accomplished. We all know that it was my cheering from Cleveland that caused the victories.)

I have nothing funny, deep, inspiring, or mildly amusing to write about. My friends ... I am boring.

Tomorrow I shall take the proverbial bull by the horns. I shall step out of bounds. I shall pursue creativity and frivolity. And I will reenergize my blogging. For now it's ESPN or C-Span. I just can't decide which way to go ...

Duped by Dastardly Dead Beats

They got me. Right between the eyes. The previous blog? It's animated. Lies. All lies. http://www.animusic.com/index.shtml

John Deere. I trusted you. I'm trading in my tractor.

God Bless John Deere

I got this from a friend in John Deere land. It was accompanied by the paragraph below. Read it and then watch the video. Not bad for tractor boys.

This incredible machine was built as a collaborative effort between the Robert M. Trammell Music Conservatory and the Sharon Wick School of Engineering at the University of Iowa . Amazingly, 97% of the
machines components came from John Deere Industries and Irrigation Equipment of Bancroft, Iowa, yes farm equipment!
It took the team a combined 13,029 hours of set-up, alignment, calibration, and tuning before filming this video but as you can see it was WELL worth the effort. It is now on display in the Matthew Gerhard Alumni Hall at the University and is already slated to be donated to the Smithsonian.

You've Got To Be Kidding

This is what my apartment door looked like when I left for the office this morning. Hundreds of Mayflies. They crunched under foot on the sidewalk. Sweet.

Fifty-Three

I am suppose to be in a meeting right now. I'm going to be late. Today I am fifty-three years old and I have decided to take advantage of my new found maturity (no laughing) and get there when I get there. Besides, they'll be better off without me.

I've been thinking about this whole "53" thing. It shouldn't bother me. And it doesn't. But it does have me thinking. Not so much about the future. I've been thinking about the past. It has been a very good past.

In those 53 years I have managed to get somewhat educated. I managed to do the usual things young Americans do. You know. Survive Kindergarden. Drive a car. Date. Get married. Have children. Figure out a direction in which to point my life. It's all worked.

But here's the real deal. As I look back I see very, very few decisions that I would change if I could. And the ones I see are so minor that they really would not have much of a bearing on my today if I were to be able to change them.

God blessed my childhood with parents who loved me and a brother who didn't kill me. (Though he tried.)

God gave me the wife of my dreams. I am still amazed when I wake up every morning at her love and faithfulness to me. I could not be more serious about this. I think there are times that I tested her resolve on these issues but she has NEVER failed. Not once. How many men can honestly say that? (I love you, Debbie. Deeply. Passionately. Permanently.)

My kids are tremendous. They are not exactly mini-remakes of me. They all have brains and plans and the ability to chart out their own lives. The thing is, they are all going in the right directions. They love God. Two of them have taken mates and the third is about too. And the mates they have taken are beyond ... way beyond ... anything a dad could have dreamed for his kids. Not once have I looked at any of them and said, "Ooops. Maybe that was not the best decision and choice." And their spouses (and almost-spouse) even seem to love and accept me. Warts and all.

I have the world's best granddaughter. She gives me hugs. Deep, huge hugs. And when a month or two goes by and she doesn't see me because we live over 500 miles apart ... well, I show up with a bit of concern that she will have forgotten this particular grandpa. And you know what she does? When she sees me she smiles and walks right to me. And then she melts into my arms and we hug and hug and hug. And in her hugs there is peace. The peace of knowing that God is still at work in this world because He produced someone like her.

I have friends that I do not deserve. Two of them just spent the weekend here in our apartment visiting Debbie and I. Stephanie and Eric are this early 30's couple that we got to know well when I pastored in Illinois. They are great people. And for some reason they have decided to allow this 50-something couple to just be real long-term friends with them. Why would they do that? I have no idea. But I am so glad because I love them so much. (Eric and Stephanie, if you are reading this ... thanks.) Beyond that there are many more friends and I am deeply grateful and amazed by them all.

What do I have to complain about? I have a God who loves me and sees after my every need. He listens to me when I need to talk to Him. He puts food on my table. And He puts gas in my car so that I can keep up with this long distance family and the obligations I find on my plate each day. Best of all he has guaranteed my future with Him forever. In His house. And, my friend, that is nothing to dread.

So I plan on enjoying 53. And I plan on looking forward to 54. There is just nothing to dread. And the reason? Because my Heavenly Father loves me. And He sent His Son, Jesus, to pay the price for my sins so that I can be forgiven and live a life with Him forever. Nobody ... not the fiercest enemy ... can take that from me.

So, Father in heaven, thank you. Thank you for 53 years of untold goodness. Thank you for amazing love and amazing grace. Thank you for accepting me unconditionally because of the sacrifice of Your Son. Thank you for today. Can we spend it together?

Why I ...

Shave - Because my chin looks like a 8 month old Christmas tree when I don't. Lot's bark with nothing growing on it.
Sleep - Because sometimes I get lucky and dream about playing for the Cubs. (I'm starting to think maybe they really never will call me up.)
Email - Because it's easier than talking on the phone and I can't go over on my minutes.
Read - Because I have a bottomless hole in my soul that I want to fill up with truth.
Write - Because I have to do something with the stuff that keeps leaking out of the bottomless hole in my soul.
Avoid my ipod lately - Because I'm psychotic and am afraid somebody is trying to get my attention and I won't hear them. (I told you ... I'm psychotic.)
Love the Cubs - Because they represent all that is right with loyalty, tradition, and ... my childhood. And they are the best team in baseball. I'm just sayin ...
Love cheese - Because it's either orange or it has holes in it and I love orange things and things with holes in them.
Am a Coke-a-holic - Because I love things that tingle, burn, and are opaque.
Hate my feet - Because my big toes don't bend. Really.
Love Katie Voitek - Because her brain is warped in the exact same way my brain is warped. (And because she tells me things about Bratwurst that makes me eat chicken.)
Miss "Rhonda the Motorcycle" - Because she set me free on back road Illinois.

Hail VS. Pizza. And the winner is ... PIZZA!

You ever see hail the size of your head? Me neither. But as Debbie and I left Chicago yesterday the clouds were building. We had time and so we chose the route through downtown Chicago. We crossed the skyway and entered Indiana. I punched our favorite pizza place into the GPS and found an "Aurelio's" in Muncie and we headed there. It was beginning to rain as we got back into the Trail Blazer and hit the toll road again.

Then it started. Like, REALLY started. First it rained. Then the clouds dropped. It was s-c-a-r-y. (Tip: When you are driving through a major storm do not ... NO NOT ... look in that little convex blind spot mirror you might have on your gas guzzling SUV. It would make a sunny day in Hawaii look tornadic.) Well, then the hail started. And it just kept coming and coming and coming. I mean, this wasn't just a hail storm. This was the mother-of-all hail storms. Traffic slowed to about 25 mph. I figure that was about how fast the storm was moving and we were both going in the same direction. So we drove through it and through it and through it. It took like ... an hour to get out of it. And the genius on the radio kept talking about the beautiful weather in Chicago. Well, we were about 25 minutes out of town and the only thing that was beautiful was my pizza pie.

Speaking of which, do you know how hard it is to drive with your knees through a major league hail storm? I'm here to tell you, it ain't easy. But I had the worlds best pizza and it had sausage and mushrooms on it. What was I to do? I did what you would do. I ate the pizza. If I'm going to die in a hail storm I'd prefer it would be while chewing a sweet sauced, greasy pizza.

Well, we didn't die. Debbie was looking out the side window as I drove and she said the ice appeared to range from moth ball sized to golf ball sized. It wasn't fun but the pizza helped.

I have a new favorite restaurant!

As you can see on the banner photo above, I a new favorite restaurant! They have a "Deacon Enchilada Buffet" every Sunday afternoon! (Just kidding, guys.)

Stupid Picture Chronicles #22

Well, this isn't really a stupid picture. It's just that Debbie and I were sitting at a stop light. In Madison. Madison, Wisconsin. This was the view out the windshield as she asked, "Is Madison the capital of Wisconsin?"

"Uhhhhhh ... Why do you ask, honey?"

Just another night in my backyard

Use to be in my backyard I would heat up the old weber grill. Throw a couple of burgers on it. Maybe a dog or two. A brat if I was REALLY living high. Sometimes I would climb on my dad's old riding lawn mower and make a few spins around the grounds, trimming the grass down to a very low level. It brought back great memories. Almost as if dad were riding there with me. When Bear (our Golden Retriever) was still around I would clean out the dog run. Okay, I'd have the kids clean out the dog run. (I'm too old to start lying now.) Sometimes the boys and I would play a game of catch. Or we would take turns standing in the front yard hitting whiffle balls over the house to be caught by the other two in the backyard. Our huge trees would often make the whiffle ball act more like a pin ball, bouncing from limb to limb before (hopefully) coming to rest in our hands. After dark the hammock was the great temptation. It would hang between one maple tree and an iron pole marking the end of the clothes line. You could look up through the branches of the trees and see countless stars. Until an ant dropped off of a leaf or a limb and into your widely gaping mouth. Yum. Kelli loved the hammock. She hated the ants. The hum of the air conditioners could be clearly heard as the neighborhood fought to keep the oppressive summer heat at bay. It was a great place to raise kids. Actually, it wasn't a bad place to just "be." Then, in the last years, the storms came. The trees paid the price, nearly dying in the gales dropping out of the thunderheads. It cost me over $1,000 to get them shaped up so that they would be safe to walk under again. Today they are beginning to regain some of their former beauty. I've always believed in letting trees grow. Never was one for much pruning. I always said, "They are God's trees. He can trim them anytime He wants to." Well, he took me up on my offer and it took me days to clean up the mess. There is a lesson there. Somewhere.

My backyard is different these days. Tonight it is filled with hundreds of the famous Cleveland "Mayflies." You don't dare walk outside tonight with your mouth open. I'm not exaggerating. They will fly in and bring a few friends with them. The wind is howling in off of the lake. With sliding doors open on both ends of our apartment we officialy live in a wind tunnel. Last night we slept with our bedroom patio door open and enjoyed the lullaby of God's waves crashing into the shore. It was hypnotic. And tonight? Well, a picture is worth a thousand words. A video? Must be worth a million. Here is my backyard on this cool, windy, bug filled, June evening. (About a third of the way through the video you will see a black blur. Not to worry. It's simply a Mayfly buzzing my lens. And by the way, walk 31 miles straight ahead and you find yourself in Canada.)

Score one for the little guy!

Cars have feelings too. I mean really. Emma the Mustang isn’t any different. We’ve developed this relationship over the 6 years of her life. It’s quite special. You might even say intimate. She shares her deepest needs with me. Her thirst for fuel. Her desire for frequent oil changes. An occasional bath. I meet her needs. In turn she takes me places. We go up and down the highways (always abiding by the speed limits and other rules of the road.) That’s all I need from her. I nice sunny day, cool temperatures, and a casual ride. The relationship works for us.

And so we look out for each other. That’s what brought us to last Saturday night. Debbie and I had been out of town. Emma stayed in our apartment buildings parking lot while the Trail Blazer did the dirty work. Shortly after we got back a survey of the fridge showed us of our imminent need for a grocery store. We fired up Emma and drove to “Giant Eagle.” We pushed our little chrome cart up and down the aisles, grabbing the needed ingredients to keep our tummies from rumbling. We went to the cashier, paid our bill, and exited to the parking lot.

My breath became ragged as I saw the car BESIDE Emma. It was a 1970’s vintage Mustang Cobra. Black. Her hood indicated that she sported a 351 cubic inch engine. Ouch. I could only imagine how that made Emma feel.

“Why, why, why does a guy have to park a car like that next to Emma?!” I asked Debbie. She began loading the groceries into the trunk while I secretly wiped the drool from my chin.

And then the owner showed up. He was this studly 40ish kind of guy with a small bag and a big key. “Oh man, did you HAVE to park there?” I asked him.

He laughed and said, “Hey, they are both Mustangs.”

Sure. I patted myself on the back while making a mental note that Emma is a convertible while this beast of a Cobra would always remain hot on those brutal summer days. I watched the owner slide into his car and put the key into the ignition. I braced myself for the rumble to come.

“Click.”

Huh?

“Click.”

The Cobra’s owner looked up at me. I busted up. I am soooo sorry but I just could not help it. I was doubled over Emma’s spoiler when the guy said, “Well, at least I’ve got jumper cables.” I told him that Emma and I would be happy to help him out… providing he wouldn’t mind my capturing the moment on the camcorder of my cell phone. The rest is history.

Score one for the little guy.

Flat

Water is flat.

Okay, that is not always true. Sometimes there are waves. Boats leave a wake. I can only imagine what hurricanes do to the big pond. But basically, in its natural state, water is flat. There is just no denying it. Peter (see yesterday's pictures) and I have been staring at the horizon for an hour and there are no bumps, hills, mountains, or anything else out there. Flat. The sun went down a while back and I can't be 100% sure but there is this freighter out there in the distance that has been making its way slowly from west to east and I have not seen it go up or down one bit. So it must still be ... flat.

It is a study in consistency. And consistency is not something you usually get in life. People change. Addresses change. Your team wins one day and loses the next. The world is in a state of constant flux. Flux can be good. It keeps life interesting. Keeps you on your toes. Consistency can be boring. You always know what you are going to get. There are no surprises.

What is the meaning of it all? I have no idea. I wrote that several hours ago before I got called out on a hospital run in downtown Cleveland to a hospital that I never found. But it's all good because the guy who was in a motorcycle accident (that I was going to see) is going to be alright. But now I can't remember what I was driving at.

Uhhhh.

I love Dasani?

Aquafini makes me smile?

I'll sleep on it and maybe it will come to me in a dream because it was obviously really going to be an awesome blog.

Feeling hot hot HOT...

So it finally got hot in Cleveland. I mean, it had to happen sooner or later. I think this is the first time in my life I've been wearing a jacket into late May. I like it. I received a rather perverse pleasure knowing that many of my friends around the country were already sweltering in the pre-summer heat. I do think I like the climate around these parts. I didn't mind the snow. The cold wasn't all that overwhelming. And the spring has been ... spring like. In the meantime my family and friends in Wisconsin, Chicago, St. Louis, and around the country all seem to have been washing away under floods and huge mega-storms.

Of course there was "The Great Air Conditioner Debacle." There are only about 250 apartments in my building. I would think (knowing what I pay for rent) that they make a fair income here. And yet they have this policy that the air conditioning system is not turned on until the date the average temperature is 70. That was last Wednesday. So they turned it on. Guess what! It didn't work! Guess what else! It was in the mid-nineties! Guess one more time! They didn't get it fixed until after the day I moved my stuff from the old apartment and out of the U-Haul into the new one! Wheeee! I mean, wouldn't ya think that they might just check and make certain the system works sometime around ... oh ... early May? Noooooo. That makes too much sense. I love the people that work in the office here. It's not their fault. But the owners must be a little shy on the brain cell side. You know, the kind that tries to "smoke a ham" but can't keep it lit so they switch to cigars.

Okay, I can't believe I just said that. Chalk it up to the heat.

So anyway, here's a few shots of the new place. Once I canceled Debbie's asthma medication we broke even with what we were paying in the old one room joint. (Calm down. I'm just kidding.)


"Peter" made the trip from our front porch to our new balcony. We purchased him on the Apostle Islands on Lake Superior. He's glad to be back home on the lakes.

The pool view isn't as good ... but that's probably a good thing too.

We'll actually have a tree to turn colors if we are still in the apartment when fall arrives. (Please God ... sell our house!)

Look! A living room!

Look! A living room from another angle!

You can't see the other rooms yet. They need ... um... Debbie's touch.

Ashley

I'm dealing with something that I do not know how to deal with. Again. Ashley. I wrote about her in 2002 on this blog. At that time she was just a young kid. She was in my youth group at church. She had Leukemia. I got to walk a long road with Ashley. It was an honor to be allowed to be a part of her life. A part of her journey. She beat that horrible disease. It slid its slimy tail between its legs and ran off into what is joyfully called "remission."

And now it is back.

While at the airport earlier this week waiting for a flight to St. Louis her father called me and gave me the news. Neither of us spoke with steady, strong voices. When I got to town Debbie and I went to her house and visited with her and her family. Ashley is a beautiful young woman now, having just completed her freshman year at a university in Kentucky. She came home to enjoy a great summer. Instead she developed head aches. The doctor ran his tests and came up with the awful diagnosis. Now Ashley will have to reenter the hospital next week. She will probably be there for a month. At least a month. We are fighting for, praying for, remission once again. And the next step will probably be a bone marrow transplant.

I don't get it. I don't understand this one. There is a lot more that I could say tonight about Ashley but I just do not have it in me to type it. Let's just say that I cannot get her out of my mind. She is my friend. I helped her learn to love Jesus. I saw His joy in her eyes. His light shining through the past filled with pain. I heard her share her story with over 700 kids at camp a few years ago. Ashley taught me a lot about living life in the midst of pain. I think she taught me more than I ever taught her.

I do not know what is next for Ashley. I do not know how this plays out. Nobody does. Only a loving God that allows a fallen world to sometimes experience the results of its rebellion. Ashley is not perfect. But this disease is NOT God's judgment on her. She is His child. She has trusted Him with her eternal future. In 100 years neither Ashley, her parents, her family, her friends, or her old youth pastor will be worried about her. But right now? I just want to make it all better.

One of the toughest parts of being an adult is the realization that sometimes things won't "go away" simply by our kissing them to make them all better. And frankly, that is a part of being an adult that I just hate tonight.

I am praying for my friend. I would be grateful if you would too.

Moving ...

... is a highly over-rated activity. I advise against it.

Okay. Just ONE more...

Dedicated to Dana at Mamalogues...

I don't drink beer

Maybe I'm getting carried away with this Tim Hawkins stuff. But I feel like I just found a gold mine of laughs. This one is a favorite ...

Cletus, take the reel.

Some things just defy any attempt at narrative. Watch and weep.

Check out time is 1:00 PM Saturday

Bittersweet? No. Not exactly.

Sad? No way.

I'm not really sure what tonight feels like. Seven months ago today I moved into this little apartment. I brought my clothes, an air mattress, and ... and ... well, that's all I brought. When I first walked into it after dark on a Tuesday evening the wind was howling like my former Beagle on the trail of a renegade squirrel. In the dead of night you could still see the white caps of the waves rolling in on Lake Erie. I knew that this was the place I wanted to camp out until my house sold and my wife joined me.

Well, the house has not sold but my wife did show up. She's back in Missouri this week babysitting our granddaughter. And so I'm spending my final night in this little room all alone. The wind is absent. Almost eerily so. (No pun intended, Mr. Lake.) There are no white caps tonight though I did see a baseball cap or two on various heads strolling around the parking lot or by the pool. And the dreaded "Mayflies" have not only invaded the outdoors but one just landed on the screen of my laptop. Not good. He paid the ultimate price.

I've spent a lot of time thinking in this room. A lot of time praying. A lot of time agonizing over what God's will is for the church He has sent me to serve. He has not answered all of my questions yet. I suppose it will have to wait for the next apartment. The only meals I have cooked here have been in the microwave. The only phone has been my cell. I have fallen in love with the garbage chute. I have finished six books and I'm in the middle of the seventh. I have read over half of the bible here. I have looked at my balcony with the realization that I would not under any circumstances step out on it because of the ice and snow cover. And, more recently, I have spent entire evenings on it watching God put His sun to bed. To the best of my memory only five people have entered my doorway since I moved in.

Yes, it has been a lonely place. But I won't forget it. And I won't miss it. Still ... it is strange. I was thinking earlier that it is like reading Edger Allen Poe's poem "The Raven." I don't totally understand it. What I don't understand intrigues me. What I do understand frightens me. God has been doing a work on me in this room. It is a silent work. That is my least favorite kind. He hasn't told me what He's doing. He's just, well, doing it. And it leaves me going, "Hmmmmm." God often leaves me going "Hmmmmm."

So tomorrow it's another jet which leads to a U-Haul which leads to my house which leads to filling the U-Haul which leads to driving back here and moving the "stuff" of my life into another apartment. Same lake view but from six floors lower. It's got a real kitchen. And a breakfast bar. And a living room. And a bedroom. Honestly, after seven months it sounds like a mansion.

God, if you read my blog, (and I suspect that you do,) thank You. I mean, for everything. The quiet. The loneliness. The frustration. The joy. The gazillion fast food meals. Blowing backward on the parking lots ice without even moving my feet. The trash chute. The view. The first day. The last day. The days in between. I don't understand it all but you do and I'm good with that. Just ... thanks.

(And God, erase three more Mayfly. Sorry about that.)

Coincidence? I think not.

It has come to my attention that following the Cubs 5-3 victory over the Rockies today they have won 7 in a row. They swept their entire road trip. They have the best record in baseball. And ... they are playing .632 ball. Today is June 1, 2008.

So let me ask you, when was the last time the Cubs played at least .632 ball on June 1st and had the best record in baseball?

Anybody? Anybody?

That would be June 1, 1908. One hundred years ago today. Interestingly enough, that was also the last time the Cubs won the world series. Yes, it has been 99 years of frustration. I've lived through 52 of them and I've cared about the Cubs for roughly 44 of those years. 44 long painful seasons. My autographed Ferguson Jenkins jersey is turning a bit yellow with age.

I might also point out that the White Sox are also in first place in the American League Central. This irritates the life out of my new Cleveland friends who have fallen 5 games behind the Sox. And that is after the Sox managed to lose the last 3 games.

What does it mean? Well. I'm not sure. I just think it is ... interesting. Very interesting. Gas is quite expensive these days. Jet fuel can't be much different. Maybe it won't matter, come October.

Maybe they can just take the El?

Stupid Picture Chronicles #21

You know, I don't mean to poke fun. Really. I'm not the type to do that. (STOP LAUGHING.) And I certainly don't mean any disrespect. But sometimes, well sometimes you just have to say ... "What?"

Like with this statue. I came across it this week.

Now let's make one thing clear. Jesus is my Lord, my King, my Savior, my Hero, my Everything. And I'm positive He held children just like this one in His arms. No doubt. I am not making fun of Jesus or children. I'm not making fun of any person's faith. It's the expression of faith that sometimes makes me cringe.

Having said that ... do you really think Jesus would have given that child a cross to hold? Obviously, this statue of Jesus was pre-crucifixion. There are no nail scars on the hands. No thorn marks on his brow. I kind of doubt that He walked around handing out miniature crosses to children. Actually, I doubt that He met many children with blond hair. Maybe I'm wrong about this and if so I'm sure you all will let me know. Still, I have my doubts. A cross was an instrument of torture and execution and I kind of doubt that the God of love would have tormented children by passing out trinkets of the equivalent of the modern day electric chair or a gurney with an arm rest for your pending lethal injection.

I do like the Lilly's though. That's a nice touch.

That Girl

I will go ahead and confess. The title for this blog post has been ruthlessly ripped-off. I stole it from a song my son-in-law, Joe, wrote about his daughter, Elle. Joe looks like this ...

Ignore the bars in the background. Joe was not in jail. His band, the "Fundamental Elements" were in a battle of the bands before a Cardinals game at Busch Stadium this week. The bars are to keep out the non-paying Customers. Anyway ... If your brain is engaged you will have already figured out that his daughter is my granddaughter. The song is amazing. It will be available in a few weeks on i-tunes. If you like love songs ... especially love songs from a dad to his daughter ... you will want to check this one out. The bands name is the "Fundamental Elements." They already have a cd available but the one with "That Girl" will be out soon.

This blog is not about the song. It's about ... that girl. Elle turned two years old this week and she looks like this ...

Now I ask you. Is that not a face that could conquer continents? (Hint: Go with "Yes.") Elle is an unusual child. I know, I know. I'm suppose to say that. I'm her grandfather. It's a girls birthright for her grandfather to brag about her. To be proud of her. And I am. For all of the usual reasons. But there is one reason that is ... different.

You know what is most remarkable about Elle? She loves me. I mean, it's just that simple. She doesn't ask questions about whether or not I've been good. She has no idea what I do for a living. She doesn't care if my shirt matches my pants. She just loves me. Just because. I can't talk too much in her opinion. She doesn't think I am capable of saying something stupid. She never gives me "the look." She loves to talk to me. She loves to sit with me. When I ask her for a hug she always gives me one. How is it that two little arms can bring so much peace?

You see, my granddaughter is ... is ... well, she's the best granddaughter God ever created. No, I have not met them all. I don't have to. I've met Elle. That's quite enough. I got to spend some time with her this week in between dragging branches to the street at my house that has been empty all to long, trimming bushes, dusting furniture, and doing all of those things you have to do in order to make your house attractive enough for some unknown person to buy it. I spent the nights at Elle's house. We celebrated her birthday in her garage on Memorial Day. (Don't ask.) We ate cake. We played with toys. We read books. And in the middle of all of that Elle did something to me that very few other people can make me do. I simply relaxed. The world went away. There was just "that girl." And that was more than enough.

When I am with Elle I understand a little better what Jesus meant when He said we must become "childlike" in order to inherit the Kingdom of God. We have to love like Elle, without reservation. We have to trust like Elle, knowing that the one in charge is trustworthy. It helps to laugh like Elle. Her laugh makes me laugh. It makes all of the darkness that likes to gather in my heart melt away into pure light. (Yes, I admit it. Elle has her moments. Every now and then she gets crabby. But it's almost always because she's over tired. No, she isn't perfect ... but she's the closest person to it that I have seen in a long, long time.)

Okay, well I just wanted to make certain that you got the opportunity to meet "That Girl." At least you can see her through my eyes. Do yourself a favor. Find yourself an "Elle." There are more of them out there than we realize. And then do what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to build a little bit of "Elle" into my life. I want to be childlike again. I want to remember the simple, the awe inspiring, the trusting. I want to be worthy of The Kingdom.

That Girl

My Next Career...

After much thought, deep pondering, and a bit too much pepperoni I have decided on a post-ministerial career. (Note: I don't plan on having a post-ministerial career. But should I be wrong, I've got my next gig lined up.) I am going to be ... (drum roll) ...

AN ICE ROAD TRUCKER!

Yes, indeedy. I will never trade in my bible for a trucker repair manual but I will set it beside me on the big seat. And then I will creep northward in my growling rig, edging my way toward the hinterlands and the frozen tundra. (This is going to be so cool.) By then I want to look like that guy they call "Polar Bear." This will be a challenge because I absolutely cannot grow hair anyplace but on my head. And that is getting more questionable by the year. Okay, by the month. Week? Geez. Alright. By the day, darn it.

Just last night I woke up thinking I was listening to the creaking of the ice under the weight of my massive rig. Then I realized it was my spine. (We are sleeping on an air mattress this week. My back is reliving November, 2007 - February, 2008.) Still, it SOUNDED like cracking ice and that's what counts.

Ice road truckers don't have meetings. They don't have to ever wear a suit. Tie's are unheard of. They get to whip around big chains and use neat stuff like ratchets and winches. It's just them, the rubber, the ice. And, of course, the stray shark ten feet under them hoping for a mid-winter snack.

Did I mention that I don't swim? I mean, not even in the summer. I just don't. So I plan on staying on TOP of the ice.

I'm hoping that Kevin Costner will play me in the Hollywood production they are destined to make about me. Buy popcorn. I might get a cut of the proceeds.

(P.S. My next post will be about something deep and meaningful. But it's gotta be "in ya." And tonight I just want to cruise the polar ice shelf. Does it help if I say, "Jesus is my co-pilot?" I didn't think so.)

Now That's More Like It!

Remember that old puzzle kind of thing they use to put in the newspapers? They would print two nearly identical pictures that actually had six tiny differences and your job was to find them? Well ... let's play again!

Here ya go ...

Photo #1


Photo #2


I know it's tough but keep trying ...

Inning #5. Baseball 7 - Ron A GAZILLION!!!!

HOUSTON, WE HAVE SPLASHDOWN!

And I have no video. No proof. Debbie was feeling sick. And she was on the phone with Alisha. She was not on the balcony with a video recorder.

I had already tried once today and my poor sore arm was not happy. But after an hour the baseball called my name again. If you ever played baseball you know exactly what I mean.

It whispered, "Ron. One more time. Just one more time."

When a baseball pleads no self-respecting man can refuse its call. I grabbed it in all of its brown glory. I stepped onto the balcony. No warm-up. No scanning for the best angle. No adjusting for the wind. I just threw it.

It carried over the grass, over the rocks, hit the sidewalk, bounced once, and immersed itself into the Great Lakes.

It is gone forever. And I have no proof. But if there is any integrity left ... any trust left ... so help me that ball is on the bottom of the lake.

And then the strangest thing happened. I was jumping and yelling and dancing. I told Debbie and I ran down 9 flights of stairs and straight to the place where the ball crossed into semi-international waters. And there, on the sidewalk, was a coin.

A coin.

I don't know what kind of coin. It isn't from the United States. I thought it was Mexican but the print looks oriental. And it was just lying there, marking the spot of my victory. What's that all about? I have no idea.

I only know that ... THE BALL IS IN THE LAKE!

We aren't home yet

I wonder why disaster keeps striking in such enormous ways. Earthquakes. Cyclones. Tornados. It just keeps coming and coming and coming. People are dying by the tens of thousands. Why?

(We aren't home yet.)

Life is going whack-o. Gas is $4.00 a gallon. Airlines are cutting service. Truckers are in deep trouble. What's going on?

(We aren't home yet.)

My almost daughter-in-law is having surgery tomorrow. I'm concerned about her. Why does someone so wonderful have to suffer?

(We aren't home yet.)

My sister-in-law is still recovering from a very long illness. She's doing well but not even close to being back to normal yet. Why does healing take so long?

(We aren't home yet.)

I visited a woman in the hospital today who has been knocking on deaths door. Her predominate and repeated statement was, "Bless His holy Name." Why does she have to linger when she wants to see Jesus?

(We aren't home yet.)

The more I ask God what to do about a particular situation the less certain I am concerning His will. Why can't I hear and understand more clearly?

(We aren't home yet.)

I miss my kids, my granddaughter, and my closest friends beyond all ability to put into words. Why does God sometimes require us to be far away from those we love?

(We aren't home yet.)

Living in a one room apartment with sterilite furniture for seven months is not my idea of fun and tonight I found out that the new real estate agency I just contracted with to sell my home has already lost my paperwork. Tomorrow I have to reprint, resign, and refax it all. For the third time. What's the deal with that?

(We aren't home yet.)

My wife and I were eating lunch today at a restaurant in Cleveland. A man came and stood over us and asked if we had ordered the chili fries. (Clue: they were sitting on the table between us.) We said yes and then he told us what he had ordered. He was obviously very, very lonely. Why do people have to be lonely in the midst of 2.5 million people?

(We aren't home yet.)

I was sitting on a concrete wall along the lakeshore tonight watching the waves roll in and the ships roll out when a friend called. He was sitting on a lawn chair near his home watching the traffic go by and breathing fresh air. We had both been thinking of the other. We are connected by the same Spirit. Why does that Spirit draw us together while keeping us at such a great distance?

(We aren't home yet.)

After my friend and I hung up I asked God "Why?" And I heard Him. He said ... "we aren't home yet. But when we get there? When we get there it will all make sense. And it will all be fixed."

He promised. And He asked me to remind you.

inning #4. Close. So very, very close. Baseball 7 - Ron 0.

Today the arm felt good. The wind was calm. Mayeflies were swarming. Yet sometimes you just ... feel it. So you uncork another virtual ROCKET. Here she goes. From the ground up.



Can you believe that? That's her, sitting there all brown and beautiful just at the edge of the rocks. I don't know if I need more altitude on my throw or just more horsepower in the arm. Geez. Maybe tomorrow. All I have to do is carry those darn rocks ....

Highway To Heaven

Why do I miss all of the good accidents? I've been stuck on this particular expressway so many times but I have yet to have free cookies to make it worth my time ...


MORRIS, IL -- You'd need a lot of milk to dunk all the cookies that spilled on an interstate highway in Illinois this morning.

A trailer loaded with 14 tons of double-stuffed Oreos overturned, dumping boxes of cookies all over the road and the median about 50 miles southwest of Chicago.

It shut down the highway and backed up traffic.

Illinois State Police say the truck crashed after the driver fell asleep at the wheel.

"Things I Wish I Had Done First" Picture Chronicles #2

Every now and then a good idea comes along and I just have to admit it. Like ... okay, instead of purchasing screens for every window in your house ... why not just cover the whole darn thing with one big sack-like screen? What's the down side? You say, "Hey, I have a big house!" No problem! If it works at this place ... it will most certainly work for you. Just buy the special "Sears Tower" size!




And if you really buy the premium design I'll bet you can even zip your house to the ground...

(Special added bonus. Feeling a little suicidal? Well, it ain't happening in your newly screened in home! The kids can actually amuse themselves for hours by bouncing on their beds and then diving out the window!)

Inning #3. Who moved the lake?

What can I say? First we couldn't get out on the roof. Melody got us there though. With the help of John from engineering we found ourselves on the eastern roof. Not good. The eastern roof is much further than the western roof from the lake. But still, it was my best shot. This one's for you, Mel ...

"When this old world starts getting me down
And people are just too much for me to face
I climb way up to the top of the stairs
And all my cares just drift right into space
On the roof, it's peaceful as can be
And there the world below can't bother me
Let me tell you now

When I come home feelin' tired and beat
I go up where the air is fresh and sweet (up on the roof)
I get away from the hustling crowd
And all that rat-race noise down in the street (up on the roof)
On the roof, the only place I know
Where you just have to wish to make it so
Let's go up on the roof (up on the roof)"



Then came the moment of truth. I had a crowd. There were a couple of people watching from down below. I think I saw "News Chopper 3" circling above. (Not sure about that one ...) And then ....



Tomorrow is expected to be a rainout.

Update! 3rd inning to be played later today!

Sweet. It truly is not about what you know but WHO you know. And I seem to know the right people. There are two "penthouses" on top of this building. I have met a friend who lives in one of them and another friend has a key to her penthouse. This friend is willing to let me into the penthouse which ... (and this is HUGE) ... opens up to the roof. The ROOF, my friend! That means height! Elevation! A RUNNING START!!! (Note to self: stop running before the building ends.)

Stay tuned.

Baseball 5 - Ron 0 (2nd Inning)

(Note from the trenches) This is harder than I thought. I took 4 throws over my lunch hour today. Debbie video taped all 4 but I'll save you the repetitive agony of the first two. Here is the last 2 throws and the walk to get the ball. Sorry. I posted them in mixed-up order. Blame it on too many pitches in the 2nd inning. Took the blood away from my brain ...
(Actually the first video is the second video, the second video is the first video and, well, the third video is obviously the third. So. Just switch the first two. I think. Geez. Just watch 'em so that I didn't do all of this for nothing!)

And today's guest blogger is ...

Thank you thank you ladies and gents, thanks to large quantity of requests I, Katie, am the guest blogger. Ok, not really, it’s more just my Uncle Ron and I are lazy and asked each other to do a guest blog so we wouldn’t have to. I was thinking, my Uncle Ron shared some memorable moments from my young life, and it just wouldn’t be fair if people didn’t get to hear some of MY stories about him…so here it goes.

I was convinced when I was younger that Uncle Ron was a bounty hunter or something. He used to watch my sister and I like we were gazelles and he was the hungry lion. And then when he saw us at our weak point, he’d pounce, he’d come in for the kill. The dreaded hug and kiss. My sister and I hated it, I don’t really know why, but we did. Then even when we thought we were safe because my Aunt Debbie, Scott and Chris would come we were sadly mistaken. He’d send his two henchmen out to hug us and kiss us for him….these were probably my first memories of my dear old uncle, and they will probably be the ones that I remember when I’m wearing diapers with a walker and hearing aids and they feed me lime Jell-O in my moo-moo.

Before I continue on, there is something I should admit to you. I have a problem, well it has actually progressed past problem into addiction. I’m an addict of Vanilla Coke. It all started one glorious day in good ol’ Bethalto. What the heck, I was just thrilled to be hanging out in my Uncle’s sweet mustang. I didn’t know I was about to be introduced to my future unbreakable habit. He went in with a giant mug of his own, and I was a little confused, up here in Wisconsin, you don’t see that, but then again, if we had vanilla coke many things would be different. I’m convinced that if Vanilla Coke was here, no one woulda cried at Brett Favre’s retirement, I know I didn’t, the Fonz woulda been bronzed a long time ago, and everyone else would finally see that the Brewers really DO suck, Prince Fielder or not. But I guess that’s a little off topic. Over that Thanksgiving trip down there I drank triple my weight in Vanilla Coke, which lead me to get pretty sick. But did I stop drinking it, at the request of my mother, I don’t think so, I continued to guzzle that amazing beverage until the moment we left. And just as any good enabler would, Uncle Ron brought me up a gallon of the vanilla they use!! But just like any dealer, the goods come with a price, I exchange him cases of Tahitian Treat for my Vanilla, at an undisclosed location of course.

Now is one of my favorite memories, Uncle Ron rented a house thing on Madeline Island, ok maybe that’s not the name, I don’t really remember, but you had to drive all the way up north and then put your car on ferry and come across Lake Superior, once again, I don’t know if that was really Lake Superior. Once we got there it was like this little adorable island. I honestly can not tell you what we did there besides one thing. Scott and I watched Scrubs the entire day, I remember people coming in and out from doing stuff but we watched Scrubs for an entire day. I’m crossing my fingers, waiting for the next time we all get together like that. Plus they had these wicked hand driers at a restaurant that like move your skin out of the way and you can see all your bones…it’s even more fun if you put your face down there…not that I tried or anything.



Our family is spread out, pretty much from the Mississippi River Eastward, which doesn’t always make staying in touch easy, but when I was in high school and I was going through what every high schooler goes through, he was one of the people I could tell EVERYTHING to. Seriously my inbox was fuller than anyone else’s I knew, he even has his own folder! When it comes down to it, I don’t have a gazillion memories of him physically being there for me, but the ones I do are really important because I know how often I get to see him, so I make the most of it. For some people this is hard to understand, and unless you are part of a family like mine, I don’t really think you could. It’s this awesome vibe knowing that at any given moment if you needed something or just needed to talk there is a handful of people scattered across the country who would love to hear from you and who would do anything to help you out.

So in an effort to avoid getting all mushy on you, I’ll tell you one more thing. Uncle Ron and I are in a challenge. He is trying to throw the baseball in the lake and he has challenged me to bowl a 200. Little does he know when I was younger my mom started a similar challenge to learn how to whistle. You know that loud obnoxious whistle with your fingers, well, guess what, I won $20 that summer. And I’m not about to start losing.

Ciao all of Uncle Ron’s faithful readers, I’m sure you’ll be hearing from me again,

Kate

Baseball 1 - Ron 0 (1st inning)

It has been so tempting for so long. I stand on the balcony and stare out at the lake, baseball in hand. I can do it. I know I can do it. I cannot tell exactly how many feet it is but I know it's reachable. By me.

Years ago I was in an Eddie Bauer store at some suburban shopping mall and they were selling off a bunch of brown baseballs. Yeah. Brown. I suppose it was suppose to be trendy or something. I bought one. Or two. Or six. But I have one left and I brought it to Cleveland with me when I relocated.

Well, the lake is brown. The baseball is brown. It seemed like a natural fit. I've been carrying this baseball around for half a decade now. It is time for it to take its rightful place. And today ... was the day.

I really thought today was the day.

I stood on the balcony, measuring the throw. No, I wasn't trying to keep from over-throwing the lake. Duh. I was trying to figure out how to get maximum velocity and distance without smashing my hand on the frame of the patio door behind me or the railing of iron in front of me. I took practice throws without the baseball. I loosened up. I prayed over my rotor cuff. I took the baseball in hand. It felt so good. Just like it did back in high school.

I can do this.

I gripped the ball. I wound up as best I could in the small area. I went directly over hand and released the ball at the point of maximum lift and speed. Oh how she flew. Debbie let out a little gasp. (THAT made my day. Actually, it made my life!) We watched her soar off toward her watery grave. It was a certain "slam dunk." (Pun intended.)

And then it landed on the grass. Yeah, the grass. About 30 feet short of the water. It didn't bounce. It didn't roll. It landed with a thud and lay there in the grass. If ever a baseball felt ashamed, this one did. And it should have. I KNOW I threw it hard enough. Obviously this ball is aerodynamically challenged.

There will be a round two. It's only May. This baseball WILL be in the lake before the first of summer.


Come on. That was a long toss anyway you look at it. I threw that thing from the 2nd balcony from the top in the middle section that juts out from the building. I'm behind 1 - 0. But it's just the first inning...

Like a cruise ship without the cruise. Or the ship.

I swore off "lake pictures" a few months back. But, darn it, it got so pretty this afternoon that I just had to go stand on the balcony and stare. I mean, come on. Sometimes it's just ridiculously beautiful. From the port hole ... I mean the balcony window ... you can see currents in the lake, swirls of water going in different directions. The colors take on a hue of their own in these areas and you can't help but being spell bound by them. I'm hoping it will be as spell binding next month when we move into a one bedroom apartment (we are moving into a one bedroom apartment!!!!!) on the 3rd floor as it is from this 300 sq. foot cell on the 9th.

Sitting on the bed and staring out the window gives you a view that will not allow you to see any of the grass or the pool area between the apartment building and the lake. It's got the view of a cruise ship. A cruise ship that isn't really a ship. And it isn't really moving. And it's on a huge lake and not the ocean. And it isn't nearly as deep as the real sea. And their aren't hurricanes, octopus, sharks, or submarines.

See what I mean? Just like a cruise ship. Oh. And there are no ice bergs, reefs, tides, or huge sandy beaches. See? Just like a cruise ship...

Mom's Day

So today is mother's day. And that is a very big deal. The most giving, loving and devoted people that I know are mom's. Seriously. My mom was lovingly devoted to giving me grief! (Okay, that was a joke. So smile and get over it!)

But the best mom I've ever known is my wife. Today was the first mother's day she has ever experienced without seeing her kids "face to face." And I say "face to face" because, thanks to hi-technology, she did see all three of them. We spent about 45 minutes video-chatting with them tonight, along with our son-in-law and daughter-in-law. No, it's not the same. You can't smell the food you are sharing or get the hugs that accompany the day. But it is far better than just talking on the phone and trying to imagine what they look like today. True, my family is insane. And I mean that in a very good way. When we are together the place never lacks for laughter. It also never lacks for commitment, love, and caring. You see, I have the best family dwelling on the planet. You know why?

Because of her. My wife. She's the reason.

I watched her nurture our daughter, Kelli. As our first born she got all of the theories and experiments tried on her. And now? Now she's a mom just like her own mom. She reflects her mother's competence and wisdom. No, she never baked me much with her e-z bake oven (I still grieve this, Kelli) but she caught the wonderful traits of her mom. Things like caring, nurturing, and selfless devotion. The love she exudes to her husband and daughter was learned at the knee of her mom.

Scott? "Mr. Strong Will." And Debbie was quick enough to pick it off and to realize that this often difficult personality trait would serve him well in later years. Once he decided what he believed in NOTHING would sway him from following its path. Today he serves His God ... our God ... with passion and fervor. Couldn't possibly be more proud of him. And where was he nurtured into the young man that he is? At his mom's knee. It's just true. I'm not exaggerating.

Chris? Wow. He loved to throw challenges at us. They began when he had hearing difficulties early in his childhood. That made it difficult for him to speak. So what did Debbie do? She ignored the advice of many experts and taught him sign-language. It was invaluable to him throughout those years until things cleared up for him. Yes, we spent the first 5 years of his life teaching him to talk. We are still telling him to shut up! (Just kidding, Christopher!) He is a man who loves God, loves his fiancee, loves his family. We are amazingly proud of him. And why did he turn out like he has? Because of the love and commitment of his mom. And I'm dead serious.

You see, I could write all sorts of tributes to my wife. They are deserved. But honestly, there is just no need for me to do that. Her tributes live and breath. They walk and talk. They serve and they care. Her tributes are her children. Nothing ... NOTHING ... speaks more loudly than that.

I love you, Debbie. Thanks for letting me be part of your life.

And then there's my brother ...

He use to beat me up. Then we became best friends. Now I wouldn't even shake his hand.

No. It's not what you think. I love him. He's my brother. I'd take a bullet for him. But no, I won't shake his hand.

You see, he was going potty recently and I guess his phone rang or something. (Oh geez. I hope he wasn't calling me.) Anyway, he dropped his phone. This was not a "clatter" kind of drop. It was a "kerplunk" kind of drop. It was a splash moment. His nice shiny "Razor" got "deep sixed." So what did my brother do? I mean, he had just flushed. The toilet was still in that swirly stage. And his razor was getting picked-up by the tide.

So my brother ... my brother took the plunge. He reached INTO the toilet. He reached THROUGH all of the stuff that was ... well .... swirling around with the phone. He actually managed to lay a hand on the Razor.

And then it was gone. Sucked into the sewer systems of Chicago. And he was left with a wet hand. A gooey hand. And no phone.

That's my brother. He's special. And I love him.

But no, I won't shake his hand.

Pit Bull Pity

I've never felt badly for a Pit Bull before. But I kind of do now. I suppose he was only looking for a warm place to hole-up for a bit. Catch a nap. Feel warm. Comfortable. Safe. And now here he is. Trapped. The very thing that was intended to get him someplace became the object that tied him down.

Isn't that just like life?

How many times have you had grand plans only to find out that the tools that were suppose to help you achieve those plans had become the very things that kept you from them? I think God must feel that way sometimes. He loves us so much. It is nearly unbelievable what He went through to call us "His." He gave His Son. I mean, you mess with one of my son's and you are messing with me. You hurt my daughter and you are going to find me all over you. But God voluntarily gave up His Son to purchase us back from the wrongs we had willingly chosen. Amazing.

And then He sets us up and gives us directions to win the world. He tells us how to do it. Listen to the directions given to us by His Spirit. Don't get caught up in ourselves. Serve Jesus at the expense of anything that gets in the way. And we set up our systems to make it happen. And those plans work. For a while. Then they stop working. But we won't give them up. They become more important to us than the mission God has assigned.

And we find ourselves trapped motionless in the very "vehicles" that were meant to propel us on our journey of obedience. We get so attached to the vehicle that when they break down and keep us from going where we were told to go, we would rather sit in them, motionless, than to fix them. It would be so simple. Run some new wires. Change a spark plug or two. Then run the mission.

Nope. I like things just like they are. I love these wires. We started off together. We'll finish together. These spark plugs? My spark plugs. Leave them alone. I prefer to sit right here, trapped in my own engine. Accomplishing nothing.

Poor dog.

The Score

-Six days.
-One thousand six hundred seventy nine miles
-Seven hundred sixteen million, three hundred and seventy three thousand, three hundred and thirty four white lines. (Based upon six foot lines and six foot spaces between each line. A mere guess on my part.)
-Twenty three confirmed mosquito bites.
-Zero "Sand Dollars" found by me.
-Untold hundreds of "Sand Dollars" found by everyone else.
-Four new cases of "Tahitian Treat." (Piggly Wiggly rocks!)
-One repaired tooth.
-One bottle of Tylenol (24 count.)
-One replaced cell phone.
-35.9 miles per gallon.
-One aircraft carrier. (Vintage and retired.)
-One cruise ship. (Viewed. Not cruised.)
-A new appreciation for the north.
-One happily married couple.

I stole this from Joe (Deal with it)

Who can you carry today?

God ... only a tractor pull away

Annnnnnd another happily married couple have been added to my ever growing list of joy-filled customers. Uh. I mean friends. sorry.

Dani and David became Mr. & Mrs. yesterday at precisely 6:38 PM EDT. It was wild! The wedding was held on a semi-boardwalk/semi-gazebo on the forever shores of the Atlantic Ocean. At high tide. With the wind blowing in. Dani was her usual stunning self. Her husband, David, was dashing to say the least. And a great party-time was had by all, despite mammoth suicidal mosquitoes diving bombing us from the black reaches of the Atlantic. Seriously. I think a wind blew them in from one of the middle-eastern countries that is mad at us. At least they weren't locusts.

But what's with the tide? I mean, really. What is WITH the tide? I live in the Midwest, remember? And Lake Erie, while it might have a rather dynamic "bathtub effect" during a strong westerly wind, there ain't nothing like a tide.

We began Saturday with a big beach. I know it was big. I walked it. No, it was not as wide as it was long. That would have been a bit of a stretch seeing as how it's length is like from Florida to Maine if you don't count foreign countries. And I don't. But it was seriously wide. It looked like this...

So the tide was "out." There was room for football, volleyball, and probably a decent sized tractor pull. But the next day when it was time for the wedding ... well, it looked like this ...

True, you can barely see the ocean in this picture but it's that blue thing out beyond the groom and I. Out beyond the wood. What you can't see is that Bob and his daughter, Dani, were walking the two feet that were left of the beach in order to get to the altar. I actually thought Bob was going to have to piggy-back the bride to get her up there. Fortunately, he is the creative type and he avoided that indignity.

I don't think I want to live by the tide.

Except. Well. Come to think of it ... I think I do. Because I've spent a lot of time thinking and driving today. The Isle of Palms is a serious piece of concrete highway from Cleveland. And while I was using my brain it occurred to me that "my version" of the tide has nothing to do with water. It has everything to do with God. Sometimes He seems to close. I am pretty sure I'll trip over Him every time I turn around. Now I know that God is always there. I mean "here." Where ever I am. Where ever you are. There is God, right there loving on us. But then "the tide" goes out. And I'm all like ... "where'd He go? He was here just a minute ago? Suddenly ... no God."

It's an illusion. I know it's an illusion. My feet are always "wet in God." But I must admit, some days it seems like there is room for a tractor pull between us. And those tractor's are so loud I couldn't hear a thing He was saying even if I did recognize His presence. But it's an illusion. An illusion that I really hate.

So there you have it. I drive 1,700 miles round-trip and I walk away with a new picture of God. Does the picture help me to understand my situation in life? Yes, I think it does. As long as I remember ... the ocean's tide is real. God's tide ... an illusion. Only an illusion.

I still have 400 miles to drive tomorrow. I think I'll concentrate on sand for awhile and see what I learn from it. You know. Sand. It looks like this ...