Laughter from the throne

I can almost hear it. Can't you?

It has been a long season of news releases, debates, breathless reporters trying to keep pace with sprinting politicians. And commentators. Don't forget the commentators. They all write as though they have the scoop of the century. He was a war hero. She was a soccer mom. He was raised on the south side of Chicago. He is the consummate politician. He is a conservative. He is a socialist. She looks great in a bikini. He ... you get the drift.

It is all so new that it's old. It's enough to make you miss Lyndon Johnson. (Yes, I remember him, but barely.)

I cheer for the underdog. Hey, I'm a Cub fan. It's in my blood. But I also like a patriotic war hero. Soccer mom's keep the families planet spinning. Not sure what to say about that other guy. I'm so unexcited about this election that I actually feel guilty. I honestly doubt that either of the potential presidents will save or destroy The Union.

Of course I could be wrong.

My personal problem is that I have listened to so many talking heads that I start assuming that they know what they are talking about. Truth is, they know little more than I do. My 401K is in the toilet just like yours is. I'm glad gas prices have crashed and I don't really feel terribly sorry for the companies that have stopped raping me.

But I do hear it. Most people do not. I hope you do. Truly. It is the best sound one can possibly hear in this bent, distorted world. You see, The Savior has already come. He didn't sit in an oval office or wear a blue suit. There wasn't one commercial touting his qualifications. He didn't care to debate ... He just told the truth. And the arguments posed against Him were left in rubble. They thought they killed Him but the truth is that He lay His life down intentionally. And in so doing He made all other moments of life not only endurable ... but potential bastions of victory.

Tonight He loves red states and He loves blue states. He loves every continent and every person on either side of every border. If you vote for the guy I'm not going to vote for He loves you. So do I. If you vote for the guy I'm going to vote for He loves you. So do I. Personally, I don't think He plans on voting at all. And I don't think He is worried in the least. I don't think He is angry and I don't think He is "tsk, tsk, tsking" his way through the election day.

He's bigger than that. And He really would like us to remember it. So if you are sweating the outcome and having trouble picturing what our world will look like if "the good guy" loses ... well ... my best piece of advice is to listen closely and see if you can hear it too. It's coming from The Throne. The one He sits on.

It's laughter. It's not the laughter of sarcasm or the laughter of "I'm about to smack you so you better get in line or duck." You see, He is in charge of human history. It's the laughter of a Father who is watching His children who really believe that if they don't build the house it will never get built. He's The Carpenter, remember? He's building us a house not made with human hands. Trust Him and you get to live there. Forever. The house we are building here will not last. Ain't going to happen. We need to remember that and get over it.

Yes, of course we should take the election seriously. Yes, we should take the high road and we should combat evil in high places. But don't get so busy pointing to a man that you forget who sits on The Throne. And don't get so busy listening to the talking heads that you miss the laughter. It's the laughter of a Father who loves His children and delights in taking care of them. And I suppose it is the laughter of the one who IS in charge as He watches the ones who think THEY are in charge.

If you need me tomorrow night I'll be looking for His Lap. I think it will be far more enjoyable than sitting in front of talking heads.

Just thought I'd remind you.

(PS ... Yes, I believe in family values, the sanctity of life, etc. And I don't mean to minimize any of that. Please do not misrepresent what I am saying. What am I saying? I'm saying that we need to do our best through our vote and through legislation and then we need to remember that our world is very fallen, very broken, and we will never be able to fix it. God alone wins the battle. So do your best, pray your heart out, and don't be surprised or devastated when "we" lose one. The Throne is occupied. His Lap is available. There is room for you.)

Awww. Do we HAAAAAVE to? (And a great contest idea!)

Awwww. Do we HAAAAAVE to? Do we HAAAAAVE to have another election day? I know, I know. It's what we do. We are a democracy. This is the United States of America and I am, indeed, a proud American.

But election days are just so .... so .... brutal.

No, it's not the politicians. Their brutality has finally ended. We've watched them and listened to them and most of us have made our decisions. They aren't the problem.

It's the press.

My stomach balls up into a knot just thinking about it. Don't misunderstand. I care who wins. I care very much. I just don't want to go through the endless telling and retelling of who is going to win this state and that state and by how much ... when people are still voting. A newspaper in New Mexico has already proclaimed a winner. And it's not even Tuesday yet! I don't know about you but that ticks me off just a little bit.

Nothing I can do about it though. And besides, I happen to believe that God is in charge of human history. The bible teaches that God places people in positions of authority. Look it up. It's there. So why should I worry? Why should I subject myself to listening to eeennndddllleeesss predictions and prognostications if my God is the one that's keeping the world spinning anyway?

He is. And I shouldn't.

So here are my thoughts on how to spend Tuesday evening AFTER I have voted. Remember, these are just my thoughts. Feel free to do it your way!

- A movie? With popcorn? With extra butter? (Just in case I am wrong and the world IS ending on the day after election day I might as well enjoy my last bowl of "da corn.")

- Dance with my wife? In the quiet of our own apartment? (If I buy her some steel toed shoes she should be safe.)

- Go outside and sit on the lake? Well, not ON the lake. BY the lake. I can stare across. A guy in the Coast Guard told me this week that it's only 19 miles from my apartment to Canadian waters. (If the election goes REALLY badly I can ... nah...)

- Watch the "Hallmark" channel. (Not in this lifetime. Ha! I made a joke! That's a channel I'm not going to watch either!)

- Drive to Ashtabula. I don't know why. I guess just to see if it's really there.

- Go and buy that 42 inch flat screen. (You know. The one that ends in my divorce ...)

There has to be more ideas. Feel free to leave your plans as comments. I have a free evening next Tuesday night. OH! Here's a thought! Whoever leaves the comment with the idea that I really do ... will win a remarkable prize! It will come in the mail! Seriously! It's now a contest!!!!!

This could be cool ...

Welcome to my backyard!

Open your mouth and you can taste the perch in the wind ...

Me and Ralphie

Today I invited a cricket to join me for supper. I named him Ralphie. We met on the balcony. How do crickets get on to third floor balconies? I do not know. But they do. So I carried him in for a meal. We enjoyed wings and ribs from Buffalo Wild Wings. He did not talk much. That is alright. I was not in a talking mood. The little fella really put away the barbeque though. I think he liked the wings best.

He’s asleep now. I didn’t know that crickets sleep on their backs. With their legs straight up in the air. It must be one of those “cricket things.”

Okay, the phone woke me up and so I thought I’d blog while waiting to get sleepy again. It isn’t working so I’m going to go try a movie. I have an old “Petticoat Junction” DVD around here someplace. That should work.

Hope I don’t wake Ralphie.

God. Would you type through my fingers? Please, sir? I have thought about it and I really do not know how to say the things that are rambling around in my brain like loose marbles on the floor of a lurching subway car. There are so many marbles ... each representing a topic ... a thought process ... a list of things to figure out ... a person who needs help ... a question ... an ache. You know the list well.

I have a friend who is very ill. Life-threatening ill. She is mad at you and so she will not talk to me. To her I represent you. Therefore we both get her silence. She believes ... she sincerely believes ... that you have turned on her. Failed her. Maybe even cursed her. And so she is angry right back at you. My heart cries for her, wanting to tell her that it isn't true, this rush to judgement she has made. Still, if I were in her shoes ... or her hospital bed ... I would most likely feel the same way.

How can I help her?

And then there are these ... situations. You know very well the ones that I mean. They come rushing at me like the wind off of Lake Erie did a few minutes ago when I dared to open my window that held it back. That wind was cold. A reminder of the winter that is most assuredly on the way. I breathed it in for a moment and then closed the window again, knowing that no pane of glass can prevent the storms that will come howling in from Canada very soon. Same thing. These situations must be recognized. Must be addressed. They are puzzles to be solved. Combinations to be dialed. Some are people that hurt and look to me for answers. Some are problems that require action when I know fully well that no action taken by one man will be sufficient. Why do you put your children into situations where they must fix the unfixable, solve the unsolvable, answer the unanswerable? That really is not fair, you know.

How can I fix things?

So I need you to type through my fingers. I have typed the questions. Won't you type the answers?

Just this once?

Facts That I've Noticed Lately

- I sleep less than 200 feet from death. It's not that I'm so brave. (Though I am EXTREMELY brave.) It's that Lake Erie's murky depths encroach on the shoreline of America right outside my bedroom. And I don't swim. At all. Therefore I sleep near death each and every night.

- I left town for 8 days and the top of my mustang (a convertible) started growing mold. MOLD! I swear the elements are against me!

- Debbie made a dinner tonight that would have made the chef at "Hell's Kitchen" weep with gratitude. And i was the recipient of this gift. I married good.

- Our little one bedroom apartment never gets dusty. Why, you ask? I don't know. Perhaps there is no dust in Ohio. Perhaps it was the kids all along that created dust and injected it into our world. I have lived here for 50 weeks and I have never dusted. Not once. Of course I can't find any of my stuff under that gray powdery stuff ... (joke) Seriously. No dust.

- I am two weeks from my first anniversary in Cleveland. And I am SO "high fiveing" myself ...

- If there were a "Daniel Dingeldien Fan Club" I would join it in a heartbeat. Danny ... if you read this ... thanks for being my friend. (Geez, I hope I spelled his name right...)

Colorado Re-Visited Pt. 1

I've put off writing about the big wedding in Colorado last week because, well, I wanted to see what everybody else said first. And honestly, there isn't much to say that they have not already said. So if you have read their blogs (see the tool bar on the right if you haven't but want to) you pretty much know the story.

Still ... here are a few memories that I made that they didn't mention or didn't share in ...

- It was cool to watch Elle react to so much of her family at one time.

- It was not cool to hear Elle fall out of bed at about 3AM. Twice.

- Realizing that Kelli has turned into ... me.

- Watching my macho sons, son-in-law, and brother-in-law descend a mountain in record time because they found what appeared to be an elk skeleton whose bones had been scattered by something bigger than it was.

- Darting through the "dancing fountain" in Beaver Creek Village. Oh yeah, and getting soaked.

- Buying Timberland sweats for $14.99. Sweet.

- Driving the Vail/Leadville/Copper Mountain loop with my bride. S-T-U-N-N-I-N-G! (And so were the mountains!)

- Grown-up conversation with Bob, Cindy, Doug, Karen, and Debbie. They let me sit in and listen.

- Biscuits and Gravy at the Arapahoe Cafe

- Watching Toph walk down the aisle with the biggest grin I've ever seen on the face of a human being.

- The "High 5" Toph and Bella shared right after the "You may kiss your bride" moment. Priceless!

- God rearranging our seating on the flight from Denver to St. Louis, placing me next to a hurting mom who needed a pastor to talk to.

- Amanda's new boots and how they actually DID match her jacket! (shock!)

- Spending an hour in a Catholic/Spanish cemetery reading tombstones and trying to figure out why Mother Mary was in a bath tub.

- Receiving a text message from Scott as he arrived back in Chicago that simply said, "Landing at Midway always requires a change of pants."

- Watching Alisha fake eating a donut.

- Arm wrestling the female teenage desk clerk in Castle Rock for the bill on the room. (She won. Strong kid.)

- Rosie's awesome condo.

What I Learned At The Cemetery Today

An Open Letter To My Son Christopher

This is where I want to say the things to you that you'd punch me for saying if we were face to face. (See ... you forced me to go public. It's all your fault.)

Topher, thanks. I suppose I've taught you a few things in your life. Relatively simple things that you would have learned on your own sooner or later. Things like tying your shoes. Zipping your coat. Not running with scissors. Throwing the smoke bomb before the fuse actually reached the little colored ball at the bottom. The usual things that help to get a kid to turn into an adult with the least possible difficulty. You, however, have taught me so much more.

You taught me how to laugh when I really wanted to scream. The "challenges" you presented as the ever growing toddler turned child turned adolescent turned young adult turned almost married man were things that never failed to remind me that life is to short to get bent out of shape by the trivial. I could not tell you this at the time, but almost always when I was having to correct your for one of your famous "Christopher-isms" I was dying laughing on the inside at your insane creativity. You were never the kind of kid to get busted for breaking the law or violating God's moral code in any major way. No, you were the kid who told his teacher to "put a sock in it" when she gave you a direction that you didn't like. And that is exactly what I would have done had I been you. As you know, I still had to ground your sorry self but that's because, being the dad, I couldn't let you get away with it. You were the kid that got himself Duck Taped to a stop sign to find out what drivers would do when the passed by. I'm sure you should have expected that first car to be a police car. But you didn't. True, he simply cut you loose and you were on your way. It probably never occurred to you that he might not have seen the humor in it. There was the infamous "Cat Incident." I won't go into detail here. Just picture the obligatory scowl you saw on my face when I had to call Officer Lindsey and know that behind it I was actually thinking, "Wow. This kid has potential. That was incredibly creative." How did you manage to always land on your feet? Most anybody else would have a long rap sheet by now but somehow, to this very day, when I see one of your old teachers or particular police officers they smile and ask how you are doing. And I know that deep inside each one of them knew, even when they were doing their duty, that you were not only going to "make it" but that you were going to shine.

And that is what you are doing. Today you take your bride. She is an amazing woman. She had better be. She has an amazing future ahead of her. I was there when you were born. I was there for every day of your growing up years. I am here today as you slide a ring onto her finger. I'll be around tomorrow and everyday until Jesus gives me permission to "come on home." I might live a few hundred miles away but all you would ever have to do is call and I would be on the road as soon as I can slip my shoes on and gas up the SUV. I know that you cannot imagine ever needing or wanting to do that. But somehow it's important to me that you know that. And now "Bella" is getting a ring-side seat to the life of Christopher. She already knows what she's in for. She's been around long enough to have figured it out. I do believe she is up to the task she is signing on for.

Indulge me one more second while I tell you, Christopher, that I love you. I won't go into detail. Just try to imagine how much you will love the little child that Bella lays in your arms someday. A product of your love for her and hers for you. Imagine how deep that love goes. Imagine how you would lay everything down for that child ... whether he is two hours old or two decades old. Try to understand how time will never change that love except to deepen it. And then you will have some idea of what you mean to this guy who feels so honored when you call him "dad."

Oh, and just another "last" thing. You know how sometimes when you are driving home from work you grab your cell phone and punch in my number and we talk while you drive? We talk about everything or nothing. And then as you pull in the parking lot you tell me you are there and you have to go. And then you say the simple words, "I love you, dad." Did you know that those moments ... those words ... are worth more than jewels to me? I cannot repay you for the thrills and joys you have brought me.

It is simply enough that you know.

Congratulations son. You chose a very worthy bride. I am proud of you. I love you. Always have. Always will.

Dad

Cleveland to Chicago to St. Louis to Denver ... and worth every mile

Today was a long and awesome day. It began with our friend, Brandy, taking us to the airport in Cleveland. That's where we found out that we were going to Chicago. I really need to start reading my flight itineraries when I'm going someplace. So we went from Cleveland to Chicago to St. Louis (where we changed planes and caught up with Christopher and Laura) to Denver. Denver is where we greeted Scott and Amanda, as well as grandpa and grandma Sandy. It is also where I decided that I only brought 2 checked bags on the trip instead of three. Yea, me. I totally forgot our "hanging bag" which holds all of our wedding clothes. And I didn't realize it until we checked into the hotel in Castle Rock. Way to go, Ron! After about an hours worth of phone calling I got someone at Southwest Airlines (they were INCREDIBLY helpful) who actually got the bag and put it in the office. Tomorrow the rest of our family flies in and will grab our bag and drag it up to the mountains for us. I love having people willing to bail me out! May their tribe increase!

It was just an awesome day. The fight attendants on the St. Louis to Denver leg of the trip "somehow" found out that Christopher and Laura were getting married. And so they demanded that everybody applaud them as they were presented with a special gift. "Official SWA House Slippers" for Laura. Made out of ... Maxi-Pads. This is too much for the male mind to comprehend so I'll just post a picture and leave it at that.

But by far the best part of the day was just hanging out with my amazing family. I love just listening to my grown kids (including my kids "in-law" which I insist on the right to just call them "my kids,") interact. It is food for my soul. Each one of them is insane is his or her own way. I laughed harder today than I have in a year.

After arm wrestling the teenager girl desk clerk for the hotel bill (I lost) my sons and I ended the day by spending about an hour in the hotel whirlpool just talking. Catching up. Honestly, it may turn out to be the best hour of the trip. If so, it was worth every dime. And tonight it occurs to me ... we closed on our house back in Illinois yesterday, and Saturday we "close" on our last child by gratefully watching as he commits himself with a full heart and without reservation to the woman of his dreams.

Does it get any better than this?

No way.

I hate baseball

See that picture? I saw it live on television as a 13 year old kid. I remember it. It is not the Cardinals. I don't care about them. It isn't the Mets. They don't matter. It isn't the individual Cub players. They are pawns in something bigger. I just do not know what that "something bigger" is. It is like God is mad at the Cubs. Too many quality guys have come and gone only to fold in October. To many weird things (hello, Steve Bartman) has happened. It's cosmic. I really believe it is cosmic.

At this moment, after watching total CARNAGE unfold on my television for several days, I cannot conceive of ever caring about baseball again. If the players do not care then why should I? I am perfectly capable of holding a bat on my shoulder while baseballs go whizzing by just like they did. (Hint: No "swingy swingy/no hitty hitty.) And you wouldn't even have to pay me millions of dollars for the privilege. Just buy me dinner. I'm a cheap date.

I have a personal rule. Being a pastor, and with Sunday being the most intense day of the week, I have made a covenant with myself to never make a major decision on a Monday. This rule has served me well.

This, being the day after the total implosion of "my" Cubs, is not a day for making decisions about my future as a baseball fan. If it were ...

Well, never mind. It just is not the day.

Today I hate baseball.

The best things about non-home-ownership

Today is the day that a new family was SUPPOSE to close on the house I've had on the market for a year. They are involved in some type of program that had the title companies so backed up that the realtor emailed me paperwork last night to sign and fax back allowing them to postpone the closing until Thursday. Since I didn't really have a choice I complied. So I still own my own home for 48 more hours. Then somebody will be mailing me a check that I'll be keeping far away from Wall Street.

Anyway, I've been thinking this thing over and, much to my surprise, there are many reasons one should be happy (did I say happy?) about not owning their own home. Here's the best reasonings I can come up with...

10 - Lawn mower? What's that?
9 - Wow! That was a whale of a storm that just passed through. Look at all of those branches on the ground. Somebody really should clean that up!
8 - When I pay rent, darn it, it goes for a place to live! Not a DIME goes to interest!
7 - Hey, look at that busted pipe. Bet that's going to make a mess.
6 - Whoa! The shower leaks! NOT MY PROBLEM!
5 - Check out the view of the lake out that back window. Ya can't find that in a subdivision.
4 - Hmm, what did we use to call those old things a few years ago? Uhhhh. Snow shovels? Yeah, snow shovels.
3 - Renters insurance VS. home owners insurance. No contest.
2 - Show me a house with an elevator and I'll show you a house I can't afford to live in!
1 - The banks foreclosing on this place? No problem. Let's move down the block!

Lessons from a dumpster

Today is for later. I am aware that makes little sense. But it is true. Stick with me.

I just spent the last 60 hours packing up a house that my family lived in for 15 years. This is the last time I am going to write about it. The experience has taught me some things that I have to put into print lest I forget them. This seems like the logical place. If they are helpful to you in anyway, you are welcome to them. If not, well, try www.weather.com.

I filled a dumpster (8 ft X 6ft X 5ft) with the debris collected over 15 years of living in a house raising kids. I cannot believe the things that I threw away. I cannot believe how totally ruthless I became in deciding what was to stay and what was to go. In the end we still filled the largest truck U-Haul rents out. Today it is all in the basement of some of our best friends on the planet. They are saving me thousands of dollars in storage because that stuff will not fit into the one bedroom apartment in Ohio. Well, it would fit ... but we wouldn't.

I sat in front of open drawers and tried to sift through the little objects we all save thinking that we cannot live without them. It is the "stuff of our lives." Well, guess what. We can live without them. They are keepsakes. Tokens of memories. They tug at our hearts reminding us of how good things were. The precious nature of shared events. The profound meaning of a moment in time that we so want to freeze ... and cannot.

Here is what I learned this week.

I love my family. I loved each of them the moment I met them. And since those moments the love has, in each instance, deepened. Without my family I am not certain that there would be anything left of me. Oh, I would still have a body and a brain and obligations. But the essence of "me" is tied up in "them." If you do not have family ... what do you have?

I love my friends. So many came to our aid this week. They packed and they hauled and they fed us and they prayed over us. Our friends carried us this week. They did not have to. They chose to. It's a love thing. If you do not have friends ... what do you have?

I love my God. He has been pretty silent this week. But He has not missed a moment. He paid for it all. He kept reminding me that "stuff" is simply that. Stuff. Perishable things. He places bandages on my past wounds and keeps pointing to a future where there are no moving trucks or boxes or expendable stuff or even Duck Tape. If you do not know God ... what do you have?

I really don't know what else to say. I am so sleepy that I could doze off at this keyboard. My knees creak and groan from the weight they have borne. I suppose I am trying to understand the twists and turns that life has taken. And I have nearly reached the conclusion that I never will understand them. How do you come to understand life? Life is not meant to be understood it is meant to be lived. Navigated. Conquered.

When I was in my late teens I went to a movie on a gloomy Saturday afternoon. It was a "war" movie. Lots of tanks and bombs and soldiers. I walked from a dark and depressing afternoon into the a movie theatre that left you wanting to cheer for the good guy but with the certain impression that victory against evil would never fully be achieved. As I left the theatre I stepped out the same doors I had come in through. The early evening that I found stood in stark contrast with the afternoon I had left behind. The clouds had given way to bright sunshine and a brilliantly blue sky. The air was fresh and clean from recent rains. I felt fresh and clean too, very glad to put away both the gloomy day and the chilling movie.

Life brings pain. The two are synonymous. You will not get through it without feeling its sting. And I guess every life is littered with dumpsters. That is just the way it works. Some are physical dumpsters that sit in a driveway and collect the refuse of years of living. Some are emotional dumpsters that plant themselves as deeply into our minds and hearts as we will let them, collecting feelings and thoughts that you just cannot carry any longer. But there is good news. We are not "home" yet. My faith in Jesus Christ reminds me that someday I will walk out from under the gloom that the days on this planet can bring and into the brilliant sunlight of ... my Father's House. And we will take up residence there with Him. LIfe at Home with Dad. We will not need drawers for token memories because all will be a glorious "now." There will be no more jet planes taking me away from those I love. There will be no more craving for one more hug from precious little arms. There will be no more broken or bruised relationships.

And there will not be one dumpster. Ever.

Stepping on a crack = Bad news for mom

Special Blog Edition: "EMUS CATULI!"

Due to the celebratory nature of this day ... the day when the Cubs once again secured their place in post season play ... the editor (that would be me) has removed the title banner (I Wasted Time and Now Doth Time Waste Me) of this blog from the picture posted above. Why? Because time is not being wasted. True, the Rockwell painting shows sad Cubs fans but that is simply to remind ourselves that the team consists of mere mortals. They only play like supermen. Are they going to win it all? Of course they are. But let us restrain ourselves. Let us remember from whence we came. Let us not count unhatched eggs. Let us remember ... Steve Bartman. The black cat of 1969. You get the idea.

And yet ...

100 years. EMUS CATULI!

Relax

I'm so glad that I paid attention to the stock market this week. It was not at all dissimilar to riding the latest "Puke 'em Up" roller coaster at the amusement park of your choice. Down 500 points. Up 400 points. Down ... up ... up ... down ... you get the point. I only paid attention because the media has to have a way of keeping your attention so that they will get paid. That means they have to get hysterical over, well, anything. If they are hysterical they know I'll watch. Kind of like when the reporter on some cable news network got blown over and rolled through a bush while filming in the midst of hurricane Ike. He was a real brainiac. But I did watch so I suppose he got the job done. The bottom line is that in spite of all the hysterics the stock market is up 40 points in the last month, 18% over the last 5 years and 44% over the last 10 years. And for this I'm suppose to be hysterical?

I say all that just to say this.

In heaven ... nothing has changed. I just asked. God quietly assured me that He is still in control. He's in control on the days when I'm down and He's in control on the days when I'm up. He's in control no matter what the latest politicians stump speech may indicate. Hurricanes wreak their havoc on the coast. Tornado's tear through the heartland. Earth quakes bounce people all over the west coast. Lots of stuff goes wrong. Lots of stuff goes right.

And every time, every moment, no matter what I feel like ... God is still my God. He never wavers, trembles, breaks a sweat, or gets surprised. He is ... well ... God.

So go to bed tonight. Turn ALL of the lights off. There is nothing hiding under your bed that He doesn't know about. He is in charge. And He loves you.

I just thought maybe you needed to be reminded. I know I did.

Every Four Years ...

Eight years ago my father passed away. I really loved him. He was strong and self-confident and all of those things that men are suppose to be. And then he was no more. Sometime after the last eulogy was read, the last song was sung, and the casket was lowered into the ground I went to his house and cleaned it out. It was an act of total stupidity. I rejected the offer of my wife and a close friend and I did it myself. That isn't exactly true. I sorted through their stuff and filled two dumpsters with family memories. And then I hired teenagers from McDonald's to help me load the rented truck and bring the furniture to my mom's new apartment one half of a mile from my house.

Cleaning out their home was brutal. I paid an enormous emotional price.

Four years ago today I buried my mom. We placed her earthly remains next to dad's in the Arkansas cemetery. And it was time to clean out another dwelling. My amazing wife did most of the work this time. She grabbed a few friends and did the sorting and tossing out of memories. I only had to deal with the major furniture. That was hard enough. I really loved my mom just like I did my dad. I still miss them both more than I can say. Last week I was back in the town we all lived in when my mom died. I drove past her old apartment and just parked the car for a minute. Remembering.

And last week my house sold. And so next week I will be going back one more time and cleaning out a place of memories. Blessedly, nobody had to die this time. But this is the place where we raised our children into the awesome adults that they are today. Every room has an abundance of memories. And the garage? The garage is filled full to overflowing with their stuff. Souvenirs ranging from preschool to college. Pictures of wonderful times. Items that hung on my refrigerator door for years.

I have learned sometimes that it is best to simply turn your brain off. Put it in neutral. Let it run out of gas. Do anything but allow it to roam freely. Sometimes it is best to refuse to look backward and simply focus on the task at hand. Or dream about joys coming up in future days. Onward and upward.

I don't know what life will look like four years from now. Given my recent history this concerns me. I have never been the sad type. My life has been more defined by joy and exuberance for living than by gloom. But geez. This cycle has to be broken. Three times in a row is more than enough. I have often noticed an odd symmetry to life but this is ridiculous. And so I am giving my family and friends ample notice. The year 2012 will be joy-filled. Dying will not be tolerated. Those who relocate far away will be scorned. I don't want so much as a fender bender in a car or a pet that has to be put to sleep. I want more grandkids by then and I want them bouncing on my knee and slobbering up my face with their kisses. I want hugs and holding hands and loud laughter bouncing off the rafters. I will be 57 years old. My hair will be even more gray than it is now and I will be celebrating every one that is left on my head. It WILL be a GREAT year.

But for now? One more house. One more dumpster. One more time.

Hurricanes are not suppose to come to Ohio

Who knew? We were in church Sunday night when the lights started blinking. We heard the wind. But we are a hardy bunch up here. Wind is not unusual 1 1/2 blocks from Lake Erie. We finished our bible study, had our monthly business meeting, and drove home. Debbie was experiencing some asthma issues and so I walked her up to our apartment and then left to go grab some supper and bring it home.

I stepped outside onto the 3rd floor catwalk.

HOLY STINKEN COW! The wind had more than doubled in the five minutes I was in the building. I'm guessing it was blowing way faster than the speed limit on the local expressways. I had to lean in to it in order to continue forward progress. And weirdest of all? It was barely raining. There was just this like ... driving mist. Totally odd. When I got into the Trail Blazer it was rocking in the wind. I pulled out onto Lake Road and the trees were dancing. The farther inland I got the slower the wind blew. After a tour through the Arby's drive-in I returned to hurricane-ville by the lake. To the east of us and to the west of us the communities lost power. We never did. This was a grace as it would have been a very difficult thing for Debbie to fight asthma through an un-air conditioned night. Blessedly we didn't have to find out just how tough. Some of them are still powerless. And a young boy was killed nearby trying to get home on his bike before the storm hit. A tree fell on him. How totally tragic.

But aren't hurricanes suppose to, you know, be by the ocean? I don't remember them drifting up into the upper midwest before. Must be global warming. Or maybe it's because it's an election year. Could be the economic crises.

Whatever it is I wish it would quit. I don't like Ike.

It's our year

Sure it was a no-hitter. I mean, Carlos Zambrano beating the Astro's tonight. No hits. But did you also know ...

-This was the first Cubs no-hitter by a pitcher who's last name begins with a "Z?"

-This was the first Cubs no-hitter at a "neutral site" ball park?

-This was the first Cubs no-hitter that W-stinken-GN didn't show outside of Chicago? Thanks so much to whoever made that decision.

- This was the first Cubs no-hitter since I moved to Cleveland, moved to St. Louis, moved to the western suburbs of Chicago, got married, had children, graduated from college, graduated from high school, and started shaving.

- This was the first Cubs no-hitter since a gallon of gas cost TWENTY NINE CENTS PER GALLON.

I'd say it's about time.

Supper With Elle

From a grateful Dad and former home owner

I have to make a choice. I can write about two things tonight. Both are very important to me. Four days ago my house sold after a year on the market. Today my daughter turns a lovely 28 years old. I have to write about the one that means the most to me.

She was all pink and slimy. Her eyes were like saucers except that they pierced deeply into my soul. In ninety seconds I went from being a man who never wanted children to a man who would die for one. It took her a heartbeat to win my soul. That was 10,220 days (you may adjust for leap years yourself) ago and absolutely nothing has changed. I have gone through the observation phase of the birth process three times. And three times I have fallen to unfathomable depths of love that I never thought possible.

Kelli was the first and today, from a distance of nearly 600 miles, I have silently celebrated every hour. How do you say "thank you" to God for someone so life improving, so heart changing, so soul inspiring, as any of my three kids? How do you wrap your mind around the truth that God allows us ... mortal human beings ... to participate with Him in the process of creation? God created my kids through love. The love of my wife and I for each other. And now we see the reflection of that love in each of them as they have chosen their mates very well.

And so to my kids on this night I say a grateful thank you. Thanks for being who you are. Thanks for loving your parents. Thanks for the unmitigated joy of watching you grow up. Thanks for making our houses into homes. Tomorrow I will fly back to St. Louis to that newly sold house. I'll fix the minor things that need repairing before inspectors descend upon it. But my mind won't be on wiring or termites. My mind will be on memories. Laughter. Games of "HORSE" in the driveway. Dates making their way through the front door and out again. Some rejected. Some accepted into the family. Christmas mornings. Pizza dinners. An occasional disagreement. Some of them louder than others. But I will remember that it's just a house. Houses all come down eventually. Memories? They last forever when you make them treasures and not anchors.

Kelli. Scott. Chris. Here's to the treasures. And Debbie? Nice job...

10 Reason's Why I'm In A Blogging Slump

10- Uh.
9- Um.
8- Well.
7- (scratching head)
6- (looking around the room)
5- Because ...
4- (sweating)
3- (sigh)
2-
1-

Sleep = Good

What better time to blog than when you've slept 2.5 hours out of the last 36? This mini-essay is an experiment. I want to see how many brain cells I've killed off.

Debbie and I made a dash to Bethalto Sunday afternoon after morning worship service. 575 miles. A decent drive. We slept in our own house on our own air mattress. The place is haunted. No, seriously. It's haunted. About half of the furniture is gone and what remains likes to tell stories. It is impossible to sit on a chair or at a table without recalling the multitude of great times that took place on that spot. Even the garage tells stories. And don't even think about going into the (former) kids rooms!

But I had not checked on the house or the yard since June. I was shocked when I pulled in the drive. It was dark but not so dark as to prohibit seeing the carnage that three months had taken. The shrubs had extended over the sidewalk. The driveway had mega-weeds sprouting through the cracks. And the 4 trees in the backyard had grown to the point where their branches came within one foot of the ground. Seriously, I had trimmed them in June and had walked under them and could not touch those same branches that I now nearly tripped over.

And so a long hard day was spent trimming and dragging, trimming and dragging. You know. Trim the growth and drag it to the street. And it was a lovely 93 degrees. The humidity reached the "ocean" range on the old humidity scale. If I didn't lose a few pounds there is simply no justice.

But there were fun times like last night. We had a great evening at the home of our forever friends, Bob and Cindy Dude. Kelli and Joe were there, The Amazing Elle was in attendance, and Jim and Alisha also showed up. Debbie and i were the last ones out the door and arrived home around midnight. I saw 1AM before finally falling asleep. And I woke up at 3:30AM with the realization that Debbie was moving around. She hadn't fallen asleep. So I did that "husband comfort" thing, telling her that all was well. She fell asleep. I was awake. Somewhere around 4:30AM she woke up and told me that a light had just flashed through the living room window. (We were sleeping in the living room.) Then she fell back asleep. I ... didn't. I checked the yard. Nothing. I went back to the air mattress, listening for foreign noises. You see, nobody has lived in the house since April when Christopher moved to Kelli and Joe's. So the house is a target. That's obvious. At 4:45AM a police car with flashing lights drove down the street. Now I was not only awake but in hyper-mode. At 5:15AM a garbage truck came along with a flashing light on the back on his truck. That had to be checked-out. And at 5:45AM my neighbor across the street started up his truck and flipped on his headlight. He had backed into his drive and my room light up almost violently. At 6:45AM my alarm went off. We drove away at 7:30AM. I think Debbie slept for 3 hours. So she had to do most of the driving on the drive home today. We got back 45 minutes before I had to teach Wednesday evening bible study.

Okay, there it is! Tomorrow morning I'll reread this and if it actually makes sense I'll know that I am a genius that can survive on virtually no sleep after sweating off my entire entire body weight.

This .. is a test ...

I guess we really do get forgiven ...

A blog by my good friend and "birthday buddy" Kristi has got me thinking about Moses. I don't spend a lot of time thinking about him. He's been gone a long time. We didn't exactly cross paths or anything like that. Still, he does take up a lot of bible space and so I am very familiar with his ways and the events of his life. He did some really good things. Screwed-up a few times too. Case in point ...

Moses screwed-up so badly that God banned him from the promise land. He gave him this simple direction. In the presence of the Israelites speak to the rock and command it to bring forth water. Pretty simple, huh? But when the time came and the people were gathered together Moses struck the rock twice with his staff instead of speaking to it. He also to credit for the pouring forth of water by asking "Must we bring you water out of this rock?" referring to himself and his brother, Aaron. In short, he simply disobeyed God. And God takes obedience very seriously.

You didn't know that? Shame on you.

So God told Moses that he was not going to get to enter the promise land. He could see it. He just couldn't enter it. And sure enough Moses died never having gotten to enter that much anticipated country.

Fast forward a couple thousand years. We find ourselves on "The Mount of Transfiguration." Jesus took a trio of his disciples there. Peter, James and John. Suddenly Jesus was "transfigured" and began speaking with two heavenly guests. Who were those guests, you ask? Well, One was Elijah. The other was ... Moses.

Hmmm. The "Mount of Transfiguration" was located in "the promise land." And Moses was there. In other words ... he made it. He got in. Once Moses died and entered the presence of God the guilt was erased. The penalty was obviously lifted. He got to see what he was not allowed to enter while walking around the planet in his regular old flesh and blood body.

I really am glad to know that. I fail God more often than you know. And I am not going to start giving you a laundry list of my own personal screw-ups now. God knows. I know. That's quite enough, thank you. And Moses is my own personal poster boy for forgiveness. Because of the gift God gives us in allowing us a glimpse of Moses showing up where he was not suppose to be able to show up we can actually buy in to the truth that when Jesus died for us He paid for EVERYTHING. I'm off the hook. I'm free. I'm forgiven. The curse is lifted.

Death is not to be feared. Death is freeing. It is in death that we finally ... at long last ... find ourselves home. Home. Forgiven at home. I don't have a death wish. I have a lot to live for. But a big part of me ... can't wait.

(Note: If I die anytime soon please know that I did not write this as a premonition! I'm driving carefully, looking both ways before I cross the street, and going inside during thunderstorms. Maybe God knows something but He sure hasn't told me! So you can read this at my funeral but as you do ... shake your head sadly at my total cluelessness!)

What good is a lake if it doesn't spit at you every now and then?

I finished my daily tasks and decided to take a lakeside walk this afternoon. The lake was kicking up its heels a little bit. It was really cool to watch it as the breakers slammed into the concrete covered by steel dock at our apartment complex. After a few minutes I grabbed my cell phone and called for Debbie to come down. Well, being the adventurous soul that she is, it wasn't good enough to stand at a safely dry distance and watch. So we lay ourselves down on the wide sidewalk. I grabbed my camera and switched it to video. What you see above is the final result. It's a couple of minutes long but ends very in a very worthwhile manner with my darling wife getting quite wet. Every husband should have a day that ends as happily as mine did!

My Fuzzy Buddy

It's sad watching an old friend die slowly. (I mean, I don't really want them to die quickly either.) Some are just suppose to last forever. But, alas, I don't think she's going to make it. She's not yet "critical" but she's moving in that direction.

No, no. Debbie is fine. The kids are great. It's ... "The Date Chair."

I'm sitting in (on?) her as I write this. I purchased her years ago from a wholesale place in East Alton, Illinois. I had never been in the store before but found myself walking through it one day and came across her. It was love at first sit. I went and got Debbie, knowing that she would share my love. She didn't. I walked away broken hearted. A week later I went back ... you know ... just to visit. I sat in her again. It was a perfect moment. The angels sang. Then I noticed a flaw in her fuzzy arms. I pointed it out to the salesman. He sighed and knocked another $50 off of the price.

SOLD!

I loaded her into the back of my mini-van, drove to the old "TR's" restaurant and phoned in an order to be delivered to the back parking lot. Kelli was there and she delivered with Tammy Iskarous. I was lounging on my new fuzzy buddy, van hatch open, shoes off. The bagel just made it all the more perfect.

Eventually Debbie forgave me and wanted to sit in her too. I had to share. But she was really mine. Always was. Always will be. She became officially known as "The Date Chair" when the kids started bringing their dates home and discovered that she was big enough and long enough (she's a "chaise lounge") for them to sit next to without dad (that's me) going nuclear. This chair survived Kelli and Joe's dating extravaganza. She saw Scott and Amanda fall in love from close up. Christopher and Laura have camped out on her through many an evening. One of my favorite memories is of Amanda and Laura sitting side by side in her singing the theme song to "The OC." Ahhhh. Those were awesome days. The Date Chair never met Bear but she survived Bailey. I often lay in her (the chair, not the dog) in the nearly fetal position with my head on her thick fuzzy arms while Bailey lay next to me, resting her little Beagle brains on my leg. It was the best moments I ever spent with Bailey. We bonded there.

And now she's not doing so well. She made the trek to Cleveland with me a few months ago. I noticed her creaking as Danny Dingeldein and I moved her upstairs. And now as I sit in her I realize that she isn't so fuzzy anymore. I lay my head on her arms but she no longer caresses my cheek. Perhaps worst of all there are patches ... little areas ... where her fuzz is gone. Completely worn off by the very love she offered.

I don't know how long she'll last. And there is no point in calling the chair doctor. (Is there a chair doctor?) No, her condition is terminal. She isn't going to make it. I believe that 5115 lake Road is going to be her last stand. But I'm not giving up on her. I'm not throwing her out the door early. Like the true lover she is I'll sit with her till the very last moment. She'll be my fuzzy buddy until her little cushions no longer beckon me to rest ... until her cushy arms are nothing but fabric covering 2X4's. Until she is pronounced "deceased" by a stronger heart than mine. And then I don't know what I'll do. Perhaps I'll have friends come and remove her while I'm out pretending that all is well. Tricking myself into believing that it's just another evening. And when I get home and gaze through tear filled eyes at the place where she brought me so much joy ... I'll lift a cold can of Vernor's in her honor ... and toast the days gone by.

Then I'll probably go chair shopping. (Hey. You can only take this grief over a chair thing so far!)

Scott, Elle & Bailey in The Date Chair

The Christmas Story House

We've waited until we really needed something to do before pulling this one out of our hat. Friday's are our designated "Discover Cleveland" day. Last week you may have read that we drove all of the way to Toledo for peaches. Okay, we got that one wrong. So today we made up for it. We went to "The Christmas Story House" in the inner city. If you have any holiday spirit in you at all you've seen "The Christmas Story." It was filmed in 1983 and is the story of Ralphie and his family as they live their lives out around the Christmas holiday. The house where it was filmed is still standing. A couple of years ago it was in a state of total disrepair and for sale on ebay. It sold for $150,000. I think the guy who bought it was from the west coast and was not really terribly happy when he came out and actually set eyes on the place. (Lesson: Never buy a house on ebay.) But he's done okay for himself, rehabbing it and charging $7.50 per person to tour it. I'm sure it takes a lot of tourists to cover the purchase price of the house (20,000 to be exact,) not to mention the rehab tab. But people come by the bus loads. So I'm not too worried about him.

We finished off the evening by heading over to Blockbuster and renting the movie. Had to verify its authenticity, don't ya know.

And in case you are wondering ... no, Debbie would not let me buy a "leg lamp" at the gift shop. Not that I didn't try...

10 Summer Olympic Events I Would Like To See

Hey, we all love the olympics. The sportsmanship. The competition. The medals. But it's all gotten so predictable. We only watch these sports every four years. So I say it's time to revamp the events. Out with the old, in with the new. Let men prove themselves to be men. Let women show once and for all what they are made of. In the spirit of the original games I humbly submit the following "upgraded" events. LET THE GAMES BEGIN!

10 - Asphalt volleyball
9 - Parking lot diving
8 - Beach bob sledding
7 - 100 Meter Reader Dash
6 - Cherry Bomb Badminton
5 - Chain Link Fencing
4 - Waterford Crystal Basketball
3 - Real Horse Gymnastics
2 - Inverted Aquatics
1 - I-Beam Pole Vaulting

-195 miles

Today I found a fruit stand selling "Red Haven Peaches" five miles from my apartment. I refused to purchase any.

Should have settled for a banana

All we wanted was some peaches. Freshly picked "Red Haven Peaches." 'Tis the season. So this morning Debbie asked somebody she volunteers with at "Meals on Wheels" for advice. The kindly woman wrote up directions to her favorite fruit stand and "nearby" "Lake Erie Fresh Perch And Walleye Restaurant." Peaches and Perch. (Peaches and Perches?) Sounded good to me. But It looked like a rather long trek. And the directions were ... less than stellar. But we decide to scrap our previously agreed upon plans and "go for it." So we dropped the top on "Emma the Mustang" and headed west. We followed the directions meticulously.

We gave up when we got to Toledo. That's near Michigan.

No, I am not kidding. We drove 200 miles (round trip) for peaches and Perch(es). But we would not be defeated. On the way home we actually found the restaurant AND the fruit stand. They were both in the GPS data base. Who would have thunk it?

We purchased 19 peaches. I crunched the numbers. With gas we paid roughly $1.83 per peach. Neither of us have eaten one yet. I think we feel a certain reverence toward them.

Just Wondering

So today I was sitting on the beach gazing out over lovely Lake Erie. I was sitting with my wife, which is a very fine choice of people to sit with. A boat went by. Quickly. And I asked myself ...

"Self? Why don't fish die in propellers?"

If I understand the purpose and function of a propeller (and it is entirely possible that I do not) the propeller spins it's little curved blades. In so doing it pulls water IN from behind the propeller and forces it out the front of the propeller. Right? Seems right to me.

Well, fish live in the water. This part I am certain of. So if fish live in the water and the water is FORCED through the blades of a propeller ... why do you never see hacked up fish floating up all bloody behind a boat?

Anybody? Class? Anybody?

In Good Hands

My "Leadership Summit" experience last week went in a direction that I did not expect. I know Willow Creek and I was certain that the Summit would be first rate. I was not disappointed. But what really impressed me, what was really off the charts, came out of left field.

I spent the nights in the Chicago suburbs with Scott and Amanda. If you don't know my family, Scott is my son and Amanda is his amazing wife. They own a killer condo and I camped out in their spare bedroom. (I was nearly licked to death by their new dog, Wrigley. He's a great pooch and, yes, he's named after what you think he is named after.) And so each day I rode the half hour from their home to the church with Scott and his friends. His ... youth pastor ... friends.

I spent 33 years doing youth ministry. That's a long time. If I were a Marine I could retire by now. And I probably would be less tired than I am. I know youth ministry. I know it quite well. I don't mean that in a "Yea, me!" kind of way. But when you do something for over three decades you either figure it out or you don't make it. I made it. So I must, in some meaningful way, understand it.

So there I was, spending the entire days with this group of twenty-somethings. Guys half my age. Guys that work with kids because it's God's calling on their lives. Let me tell you something about these guys.

They are insane. They are hilarious. They are brilliant. They are passionate. They know God. They love God. They love kids. They know how to connect the two (God and kids.) They are dedicated to the point of driving themselves to exhaustion at times. They kept me silently shaking my head and thinking, "I can't believe these men and women." I do believe that watching them and interacting with them had a greater impact on me than what I viewed and heard from the stage. And I came away saying, "If this is the norm among youth ministers today, the young people of the church are in very, very good hands." Please understand, these guys are the cream of the crop or this church would not have hired them. But I don't believe that they are anything but fully representative of the young men and women that serve God in youth ministry throughout our land every day.

I left youth ministry because it was time. And somewhere deep inside of myself I wondered if the roof would cave in on the whole thing when I walked out the door for the last time. It did not. It will not. I am proud of these guys. I felt like a grandpa (which I most assuredly am) when I was with them and it did not bother me at all. Because I realized that it was the men and women that I worked with over the years in youth ministry that blazed a trail so that these "young en's" could be who they are and do what they do.

Excuse me just a second while I say something that I need to say. Something to men and women who probably do not know that this blog exists. But it needs to be in print somewhere. So I'm saying it here...

Jim. Mike. Roger. Ron. Carly. Ronn. Ed. Clint. Kling. Ed. Jeff. Vicky. Randy. Gary. It was a great ride. And we won THOUSANDS. We left it in good hands. Hands that are at least as capable as ours and hands that have far more tools than we ever dreamed of. Come to think of it ... seems to me that was how it was left to us.

Huh. Full circle. Just like it should be.

Carry-on.

My son, Scott

Tara

Adam

Kellen

Scott & Scott

Descending from the Summit

Sometimes all you can say is "wow." That pretty much describes the Leadership Summit. I'm so glad that I went. I'm so glad that it is over with. There were just so many moments that stand-out. I can't even begin to explain. So settle for this ... a couple of pictures of how things work at this particular church. You see, they have this ... uh ... video system ...


And they have this little worship center ...



But tonight it's back to home and reality. Debbie is still in St. Louis and won't fly back until tomorrow night. This place is way too quiet when she's away. So I opened the balcony door and the roar of a wind blown Great Lake fills the rooms. Both of them. The smell is fresh with the Canadian air dropping in from the north. It sounds poetic or even romantic. But I would trade the rhythm of the waves and the smell of the water for the happiness of her smile.

Yeah. I'm still in love with her.

It's still strange to me but after speaking twice today and leading a church "business meeting" I find myself tired. How can you get tired speaking about the God that you love? I suppose it's just the pouring out of the passion that causes it. Whatever it is, it is real. I'm not sleepy. I'm just tired. And I really hated missing the family events this weekend. I know, guys don't go to showers. (I'm forever grateful for that fact.) But I love the "hang-out time" and, while I'm totally glad it occurs, it makes eating a Whopper with extra ketchup over an Olympics broadcast pale in comparison. We have this really amazing family and there are a handful of us that don't live nearby. Scott and Amanda in Chicago. Kristi in Dallas. Debbie and I in Cleveland. That's what you call "scattered." But we all went in these directions at the call of God. And that, my friend, makes all the difference in the world.

Reaching the Summit

Today I attended day one of the Willow Creek Leadership Summit. I've attended quite a few Willow conferences before but this one was more than mildly amazing. The conference is about the obvious. Leadership. The auditorium at Willow seats around 7,000 and was full. But the truly stunning fact is that this conference is beamed live to cities all around the country. Many leaders, both church staff and corporate leaders, attend this once a year event. And the total registration reached ... 100,000 people. Watching. Live.

Can you believe that?

What an incredible opportunity. God has created this training event based upon the faithfulness of one church. Today's speakers included their Sr. Pastor, Bill Hybles, as well as the founder and CEO of "Teach for America, " the President and founder of " International Justice Mission," and the former CEO of "Medtronics" who is now a professor in the Harvard Business School. Folks, that's not a bad line-up for one day. All of these are believers in Jesus Christ who have made a major impact in our world.

Tomorrow's speakers include former Richard Nixon advisor, Charles Colson, the Vice Chairman and CEO of "Best Buy," and the founder of "Life Church.com." Again, not a bad group of leaders to sit at the feet of for a day.

But I think that the most striking moment of the day for me came as a young woman, a worship leader at Willow Creek, sat on a stool and sang "I Saw What I Saw." The leader of the International Justice Mission had just shared stories of rescuing children stolen from their neighborhoods and sold into prostitution in third world countries. It was a heart breaking moment punctuated by the joy of knowing that believers were making a difference by prevailing against the gates of hell. And then Helena sang. The lyrics to this soul searing song are ...

"I saw what I saw and I can't forget it
I heard what I heard and I can't go back
I know what I know and I can't deny it

Something on the road, cut me to the soul

Your pain has changed me
your dream inspires
your face a memory
your hope a fire
your courage asks me what I'm afraid of
(what I am made of)
and what I know of love

we've done what we've done and we can't erase it
we are what we are and it's more than enough
we have what we have but it's no substitution

Something on the road, touched my very soul

I say what I say with no hesitation
I have what I have and I'm giving it up
I do what I do with deep conviction

Something on the road, changed my world"

You can see Sara Groves sing a video of this song at http://www.artistdirect.com/nad/window/media/page/video/0,,4707180,00.html?aff=lyricsmania.com

I suggest you watch it. I don't think my heart is that hard to "touch." I don't think I'm that calloused. And I know that you will not have had the benefit of having heard the amazing story that I heard today. But somehow ... it reached deeply.

Jim & Elle

Here's how my brother-in-law, Jim, and granddaughter, Elle, spent their summer vacation. Yeah ... it runs in the family.

It rocks when it should roll and it rolls when it should rock.

Last night we had some great friends stay over and sleep at our place. They are in the midst of a long summer trip. Really long. They live in Stockholm. Pretty sure that is in Sweden. Pretty sure that is in Europe. The wife, Amy, was the best kid that I ever had in any youth group. No, really. She was. And she married Jonathan and they've set-up housekeeping in his home country. So they were heading back to New York to fly home and stopped here to visit and stay with us. It was great. Catching up with old friends is one of my favorite things to do.

We were sitting in our living room talking after having polished off a couple of "Mama Santa's Pizza's." (Yum.) I saw a flash come from down the hall. That can only mean one thing. Lightening. Well, or maybe the bedroom has blown up. I opted for the lightening option and was correct. We stood on our balcony for the better part of an hour and watched the most amazing storm move out of Canada, across Lake Erie, and make landfall on the other side of Cleveland. God's lightening display was incredible! You had your cloud-to-cloud lightening which lit up all of the multi-layers of clouds. You had your cloud to ground (or in this case, cloud to water) lightening which was positively riveting. It went on and on and on.

Jonathan really noticed it first when he said, "I'm surprised that with a storm like this the water is totally calm." Huh. He was right. It was like glass. No wave action to speak of at all. That really makes no sense to me.

Well, it is 24 hours later and today has been a beautiful day. I just watched the sunset splash-down into the lake. There is no wind at all. Yet the waves are crashing into the shore as though God were using a giant mixer to do His bidding. Go figure. That doesn't make any sense either.

And yet ... it makes total sense. It has been said that all of life is a reflection of God and His handiwork. If that is true, and I believe it is, then while I can't understand it, I can agree that it is a perfect picture of how God seems to work.

Why is it that turmoil rears its ugly head just when you thought you would be relaxing and enjoying life? And when you think you see trouble gathering on the horizon an inner calm suddenly takes over and you just cannot find a good reason to worry or fear. Yet, isn't that just like life? Unpredictable? Untamable? Unexpected? There is this Hand bigger than my hand that seems to be in control. That Hand makes decisions based upon what pleases Him. And He always works those decisions to my good because I have decided to trust Him. It's a biblical concept. It's also true.

Still, it drives me more than a little crazy. Why can't life play by my rules just once? Why won't it play and work well with others? No, I can't really complain. God has been quite good to me. He's given me far more than I deserve. His kindness is what drives me to repentance and makes me want to please Him. Not His harshness. His kindness. You would think it would be the other way around, wouldn't you?

If I were just a little bit wiser I would give up trying to figure out God and trying to figure out life. I would sleep better at night if I were to do that. I would probably be more carefree and joyful. But I must admit that there is something inside of me that drives me to want to understand the un-understandable. I want to "get it." And God says, "No. Trust me." He wants me to "Walk by faith and not by sight." Me? "Show me the money!"

But I don't get a vote. And so the waves of life rock when I think they should roll and they roll when I think they should rock. And God sits on His throne patiently waiting for me to give it up. I mean, give up trying to get a handle on it ... on Him.

What you can understand you can control. I don't understand God. I don't understand this world. And I don't control either one. It's best that way, really. Because I seem to have come to an understanding that I can't understand myself either. And while I can control my words, my actions, and my decisions, I certainly cannot control my frustration and not being the one in charge. Be glad that God and life leaves me confused. Be very glad. Because if I understood it I would most assuredly screw it all up.

I'm just saying...

One day I Heard Voices

WLS ... "THE ROCK OF CHICAGO"

Oh the joys of living in Tinley Gardens. The backyard of our home bordered on a huge open field. We are talking acres numbering in the hundreds here. It was mostly vacant space that seldom saw a tractor come by to mow it. It was separated by an easily scaled six foot chain link fence. In the middle of this vast piece of open country stood a 500 foot tall radio transmitting tower. This was the place where the signal for WLS "The Rock of Chicago" was hurled across the country side at, quite literally, the speed of sound.

WLS was not just any old radio station. In the 1960's and 1970's it was the standard bearer for rock 'n roll music radio nation wide. It was a "clear channel" station. That meant that no other station in the country shared it's frequency, 89 on the AM dial. We listened to that station at night when visiting our grandmother in Arkansas. We heard it from family vacations in Tennessee, Missouri, and even Colorado. We are talking serious power here. Even tonight I can listen to WLS at night from my new home in the suburbs of Cleveland. I don't really want to because it has sold out and become "talk radio."

There were several reasons why WLS was significant to we little ones growing up in Tinley Gardens. First, it was a great place to play "guns." Or "war." You might find that barbaric but you need to get over it. Every kid played guns in those days and I suspect they still do. But we had a real battle ground complete with high grass to hide in, a few rolling hills to sneak up behind the enemy, and plenty of room to roam. It was perfect for reenacting world war two.

The second reason was the way the tower reenacted with the weather. Specifically, thunderstorms. My brother and I would stand in our bedroom window, which faced the tower, and watch as frequent lightening strikes sent visible currents of electricity shooting down it's guide wires to the ground below, sparking and popping all the way. One day we were in school and my mom was out shopping with a friend. As they returned to our house to enjoy a nice cup of coffee mom walked to the kitchen sink to fill the coffee pot. The window over the sink looked out upon the field and the WLS tower. Mom lost her ability to speak. Her friend, Bonnie, said she could only gasp and point out the window. Bonnie joined her in time to see a full fledged tornado slide right past the tower and make a bee line for our little home. They ran to my bedroom where dad had cut a hole in my closet floor making for an easy entry into the four foot crawl space below. That was the safest place to be during tornadic activity. While mom tried with all of her might to remove the floor "plug" Bonnie stood at our bedroom window and watched the twister veer off to the north several hundred feet before it could obliterate everything we held dear. It tore up a lot of homes and property but ours was spared.

The third reason why we loved "our tower" was because once every couple of years we got to sit in the backyard with cheap binoculars and watch skilled men climb their way to the top and paint their way down. The shiny red and white paint job never saw a tarnished day on my watch. "My boys" did a good job. I suppose they even changed the ever blinking light bulbs on the way down.

And the final reason why this tower was so special to us? Well. Honestly, you might not believe this but it's true. One day my dad was eating breakfast preparing to leave for work. Mom mentioned to him that she heard a radio playing. He listened. He heard it too. Actually, they realized they were listening to WLS and its "on the hour" news broadcast. In the broadcast it was mentioned that a convict had escaped Stateville Penitentiary which was located about ten miles to our west. Dad followed the sound of the radio and discovered that it was coming from the heating ducts. Yes, WLS was broadcasting from our metal heating vents. According to their retelling of the story later in the day, mom turned to dad and said, "You think he's in our crawl space listening to the radio?" Dad replied, "You want me to go look?" Mom, in her infinite wisdom said, "You want to get your head shot off?" Dad said that he found that idea less than appealing. And so he went to work. And mom went back to bed. Actually, she pulled the covers OVER her head. This was during the summertime and my brother and I slept in late. But when we woke up we heard the radio as well. We traced it to the same heating duct. The news was not on. Rock and roll was playing. Let's be specifically clear about this. We were listening to The Beatles playing in our crawl space through our heating ducts. And so we did what any eight and ten year olds would do. We decided to go to the concert. We skipped breakfast and made our way to the outside entrance of the wonderful world underneath our house. We pulled the cover off of the little entry way and, flash lights in hand, descended into the netherworld. We saw the water softener, the sump pump, numerous pipes and duct work. No Beatles. No escaped convicts. We scratched our heads and went off to play for the day.

At this point I would like to thank my parents for going to such lengths to protect the lives of their young children on that danger filled morning. They are both in heaven now. Probably listening to WLS broadcasting through those streets of gold.

The WLS building with the big town in the background

*As a side note, we occasionally picked-up WLS on our telephone. Our neighbor got it on her mixer. This was one honken station.

**As a second side note I came across a web site recently dedicated to radio transmitters. Yes, I did. Don't argue with me about this. For the WLS portion check out http://www.fybush.com/sites/2004/site-041015.html . There. I told you so. As a result of this discovery I found myself emailing one of the old "disc jockeys" from those sun-filled days in the summer of my youth. I told him my stories. I confessed that "The Big Dare" among the neighborhood kids was to run all the way up to the tower, touch it, and run back. None of us mustered up that kind of courage. It's inner sanctum was guarded by multiple fences all topped with differing sorts of razor wire. The retired disc jockey replied that I should thank which ever god I worship that I never made good on that bet. To touch the tower could easily have fried me on the spot. You would think maybe they would have mentioned that on the "No Trespassing" signs, wouldn't you?

One Day I Moved To Chicago Again

The day must have come but I do not remember it. I only remember arriving in Chicago. Actually, Tinley Park. Our house in the new subdivision of Tinley Gardens was not completed yet and so we moved into a local motel. No, not a "hotel." That is too nice of a name for it. It was one of those places behind a Texaco station. You know the type. Nice colored lights across the front at night made it look very inviting. During the daytime, however ... not so much. It wasn't really bad. It's just that if you wanted to watch TV you had to put a quarter in the meter. Uh huh. Really. Attached to the Texaco station was a diner. It was exactly what it sounds like. A few tables but mainly a bunch of stools anchored to the floor facing the counter. There were no backs on the stools and they swiveled 360 degrees. It's a major miracle that my brother and I didn't unscrew all of them and fall flat on the floor. It isn't because we did not try.

Dad worked during the daytime. I have no solid recollection of what the rest of us did. I do know that one night mom screamed in the bathroom because a "peeping Tom" was gazing at her through the glass slats of the crank-out window. Dad wasn't there or we probably would have had a killing. In reality, mom was more than capable of dispatching the pervert herself if she had gotten her hands around his neck.

The house we were building was about five miles away. Mom and dad managed to buy it for $100 down. That's quite funny given the current market prices. It was a simple two bedroom ranch with an attached garage. Dad way paying to have the shell built and then he was going to take it over and finish the inside. When we finally did move in I realized that this was not a perfect plan. All of the walls were mere 2X4 studs. That means the privacy ratio was effectively zero. Mom hung blankets around the bathroom to afford some privacy. That didn't help much because the plumbing was not yet hooked up. And the house was located across one street from city sewerage. That meant that a septic tank was being installed. When we moved in there were big trenches dug in the back yard. They ran the entire depth of the yard and were about six feet deep. For the first week we lived there those trenches were designated ... our bathroom. It was not pretty. Don't try to imagine it.

The water was hooked up but it was from a well dug on our own property and tasted like pure steel. So my parents and our neighbors (which was also dad's new business partner in the storm door and window industry) would drive into the downtown area of Tinley Park and fill metal trash cans with fresh city water. That's was for drinking. This trend continued until water softeners could be installed in each of our homes.

But there were many huge pluses to living in a new ... VERY new ... neighborhood. Bull dozers were parked everywhere and at night they became the dream machines of every kid that had moved onto the block. We would climb into the drivers seat and for a few precious hours practice being the ones moving the dirt and digging the holes. There were new friends. Kids we had never met. And most of them had no desire to beat me up. That too, was a major benefit. During the daytime we could ride our bikes to our content around all three blocks that had been whittled out of the corn fields on the edge of town. And as an extra added bonus, the land directly across from my house had been designated a park. Volunteer dads took the time to carve a baseball diamond out of it and for the next years I would practice being the latest star of the Cubs or White Sox, whichever team held my fancy at the moment. Yes, in those days you could root for both and nobody called you evil or a traitor. It was the game that mattered.

Finally, one day the house was finished. We had a new home. I found my way to a new school. This time there was no walking involved. No, the wheels on the bus went round and round. I got my own lunch box and my monthly bus permit was dutifully taped to it by my mom. Detroit? Who needed Detroit? I was now an official resident of suburban Chicago.

Little did I know that the best was yet to come. Tornado's and snakes. They were to shape me into the man I am today. (Snickering will not be tolerated.)

One Day I Moved To Chicago ... And Back

Dad came to get us. That was the good news. We were moving to Chicago. That was the bad news. And to make matters even worse we did not know if the move was permanent. But I was like ... five years old. So what did I care? Mom and dad moved all of our stuff into the basement of our home and rented it out. Then we made the trek to a rented house on Seeley Street (Avenue? I have no idea.) In Chicago.

I don't remember much about it except that mom was not pleased. At all. Even a little. Dad rented the place all by himself, a dangerous thing for any man to do. I recall mom mopping and mopping and mopping, trying to make things clean enough for her little kids to live in. Or maybe on. Whatever. She was really and truly hacked-off.

One day we went to a park. It was within walking distance to our rental. It had to be because mom did not drive. She wanted her kids to be able to play. Well, it didn't work out so well. While my brother and I played on the swings a car beside us caught fire. I have no idea how that happened because it wasn't going anywhere. It was just sitting there and suddenly flames were climbing up the sides of it. Mom rushed us home and that was the end of our excursions to the Chicago City Parks.

Sometime in the not too distant future we moved back to Detroit. I know it was less than a year because our house was still rented out. This time mom must have had something to do with the situation because we rented a two story townhouse on Chicago Avenue. Catch the irony?

This one was a winner. I really don't recall whether or not it was clean. I could not have cared less. Because from my upstairs bedroom window my brother and I could clearly see over the tall fence across the street and directly to the biggest video screen my young brain could imagine. Yes, my friends, we had a ring side seat to the first drive-in movie in my personal history. Unfortunately, (or perhaps fortunately?) we were unable to hear the sound. It didn't matter to us. We were in movie heaven. Every new release was ours from our bedroom perch. I have no idea what God was thinking but as far as my brother and I are concerned ...

It was very good.

One Day I Moved to Detroit

I really don't remember much about it. I mean, there was not much to remember. I moved to Detroit from the womb. Now there was a dark place.

But I digress.

9976 Vaughan Street, Detroit, Michigan. I remember the address because, well, because it was written right there on the front of my house. Little kids might not be smart but one thing they do is notice things. And before I moved away from there I had it memorized. Don't ask me about the phone number. I could not reach the phone so there really was no reason to concern myself with it.

I had a tricycle. And from it I eventually graduated to my brother's BIGGER three wheeler. It was shaped like a policeman's motorcycle. Decals and everything. Yeah, policemen in Detroit must have ridden three wheelers. Can't prove it by me. I was between zero and six, remember?

What I do remember is a "ribbon" driveway. That means that the places where the wheels went were paved with a grassy strip between them. There was a front porch with an awning over it. The backyard had a concrete porch too. It also had a sand box and a brick barbeque grill that my dad made. Very cool. I don't remember anybody ever cooking on it so maybe it wasn't such a big thing after all.

There was a basement with a workshop for my dad. He took me there one day and showed me a gallon jug full of a green liquid. He told me that it was not kool-aid. It was poison and if I drank it I would die. He really didn't have to mention the kool-aid part. The drinking and dying was quite sufficient to get my attention.

There was an upstairs too. It had mahogany paneling with closets with doors that blended into the walls and, to a little kid, was shockingly awesome. I never understood why we didn't live up there instead of down stairs.

I went to Horace Mann Elementary School. That is where I attended Kindergarten. I'm not sure but I think we moved away from Detroit before I graduated to first grade. My teacher was really nice. Her name was Mrs. Lambert. I may have been five years old but I knew she was hot. No, not in a sweaty way. I made a pumpkin out of newspaper one day just before thanksgiving. It was colored all orange with a greenish yellow paper stem. Very authentic. (Did I mention that I made it myself?) When the bell rang that day I walked out of my classroom with my paper pumpkin in my hand. And there was nobody there to meet me. I remember standing all alone on the sidewalk. No mom. No dad. No brother. Just me. And so I started walking in the direction they always pulled me in when they took my hand at the end of the school day. For some reason I suddenly noticed for the first time that the driveways actually sloped down to the street. I mean they didn't make you go "thump" over the curb to get from the drive to the road. They sloped. And they sloped very, very well. I had not picked up on that before. But I noticed it on this day and I examined every driveway on every block during my walk home. And I did get there. Not before I crossed several busy city streets. I shudder to think. And then I proudly presented my pumpkin. I would imagine that at some point my mom went ... "oops" ... and realized that she had forgotten to pick her kid up from school. But it was not a big deal to me then and it isn't a big deal to me now.

As my days in Detroit were winding down my dad started driving frequently to a far away city because he could work there. I did not understand that Detroit was a city with a whacky economy. When the auto industry went sour everything went sour. My dad did not work in the auto industry but we were affected by it. And one day I found myself crying as I looked out our dining room window at my dad's pink 1957 Chevy backing out of the driveway and turning to the left. He was going back to that far away city. He would be back as soon as he could but that didn't mean much to a five year old. I just knew dad was leaving. I did not yet know that I would be leaving soon too.

Even forty-seven years later i remember Woodward Avenue, Hudson's Department store, Vernor's Ginger-Ale, the big building downtown with the huge Christmas tree fashioned out of lights on the front in December, Willow Run Airport, Silver Cup Bread, and the building my dad worked in. I remember my friends, Chrissy and Tony. Their dad never mowed their back yard and we had big steel rods to kill snakes that surely lurked back there. We never saw any. But they were there. Tony said so.

Oh. And I remember that walk home. It was no big thing. Every five year old kid should be deserted by their parents in the depths of Detroit at least once. Seriously. I made it. And I sleep just fine at night.

Once the nightmares stop.