A time machine would be nice

If I had a time machine I would be a hero. There is so much I would do. I remember the entire "Back To The Future" dilemma about whether or not you should go back in time and change any events ... if you could ... because it would have profound effects on everything that happens afterward. Kind of like the old, "If a butterfly flaps its wings in Europe the movement of air, slight as it may be, will eventually have an effect on the weather in America." Yeah, well. I suppose that might be true. And changing an event that happened 200 years ago just might somehow mean that things would be different now. Like ... maybe I would never be born. I can live with that. (Joke intended ... wait for it ... wait for it ...) But I've never been one to think everything through before I take the plunge on something. That's one of my fatal flaws. I try to adhere to the biblical admonition to "count the cost" and I know it's always the right thing to do. But I still eat fudge, drink sugary drinks, fail to faithfully work-out, skip meals, over-indulge in subsequent meals, and I occasionally run with scissors just because I can.

My wife would say that I'm slightly impulsive though not as much as I use to be. And she would also say that I'm totally distracted, living life in rhythm with the glittery things that crowd in on my peripheral vision.

Guilty as charged.

What would I change? Well, off the top of my head Hitler would trip and fall into a blast furnace at a not-so-ripe young age. Scratch one holocaust. Michael Jackson would stay 10 years old forever because ... well, just because. The Cubs would have won the World Series in 1969, 1983 and most certainly 2008. I'm not being greedy but I could be because it's my time machine. Oh heck, throw in 2005 too. Sorry White Sox. I love you but I'm feeling the power and I have my allegiances. The first "Gulf War" would have been enough. 9/11 would have been thwarted when the box cutters turned out to be toys purchased at the Dollar General Store and the terrorists would have been turned over to the whatever union airplane pilots join. I'm not trying to be funny here. I think that would be just and fair.

But I think that one of the first buttons I would push would change the events of last Sunday morning at 1st Baptist Church, Maryville. FBC never has its choir remain on the platform after the music is over but I think I would have had chairs up on that platform. It would have been filled with a men's choir. And the men ... the men would have been known as "The Over Caffeinated Men Of The Illinois State Police Tactical Unit." I know it's a long name. I don't mind that. And honestly, I believe in a sovereign God. I believe that God called Pastor Fred home. And I believe the shooters gun jammed because Fred was the only one that God was calling at that time and place. But I'm just dreaming. And I have a time machine. And it has a button.

And yeah ... I would push it.

A time to cry

What do you say when you don't even have words to speak in the solitude of your own mind? What do you do when you know you should be able to fix something that is broken and yet reality says that it just cannot be fixed? Not by you. Not by me. What then?

A friend of mine died today. Okay, that is not really accurate. A friend of mine was murdered today. He was guilty of standing in a pulpit and telling people about the love and forgiveness of God. That's something that I do twice every Sunday. He was not walking down an alley or hanging in the shadows of high rise slums. He was in a middle class church in a middle class suburb talking to middle class people.

And a man shot him to death with a .45 caliber hand gun. The first bullet blew his bible into confetti like rubble. One of the next two took his life. And now a lovely young woman has no husband. Two charming and beautiful daughters have no father. A vibrant and growing church has no pastor. And the world is a much poorer place.

Why?

Because evil exists. Because it knows no boundaries. Actually, I think it knows the boundaries, it just delights in crossing them. A mad man in a state of rage trying to create a nuclear weapon to annihilate a city. A lunatic in a high school executing kids in random fashion. The face of evil in a place of worship attacking something that it can never be ... holy.

Evil.

The last time I spoke to my friend was when I called him with a difficult problem. I had to make a decision on whether to remain in the ministry I was serving in or move to the church I now serve. I sat alone by the lake in my car and asked God to bring a name to my mind. Somebody that I could call and find the voice of wisdom. My Father instantly brought my friends name to mind. I dialed his number and reached his Administrative Assistant. I told her who I was and what I needed. She told me that my friend was in a meeting but to hold on for a few seconds. In less than a minute he was on the line, interrupting his schedule, putting his meeting on hold, and giving me as much time as I needed to present my dilemma and ask my questions. And then he gave me stellar, Spirit - led advice. Time has proven that he was right. I told him that I owed him lunch. I never got the opportunity to pay up.

Evil got in the way. I know that we win. Someday. By the might of God as His own Son bled out at the cross.

But tonight ... tonight is a time to cry.

(late night addition .. a friend reminded me that I wrote this post <--(Click there ... the link works but won't change colors) about FBCM when I joined it. It seems like an eternity ago...

Thanks, Denise!

My friend, Denise, read the last blog post and created this awesome "wordle" on http://www.wordle.net/ for me. Thanks, Neeser!

Vanilla Fudge

I am in no mood to blog but there are some words I just want to say without having to put a sentence around them ...

-Vanilla fudge
-Chalice
-Carnie
-Epistemological
-Sabbath
-Dogs of corn
-over it
-slippery slope
-not legally binding
-puppy dumpings

They all fit together into one story but it isn't ready to be told just yet.

Wait for it ... wait for it ....

What a man won't do for rubber pants

Well, faithful readers, you remember the sad saga of the waders that had a blow-out a few weeks back? Since that chilly and damp day my inclinations have been to prevent a further similar incident. And tomorrow there is a young man who desires to follow Jesus in biblical baptism. YIPPEE!!! Seriously. I absolutely love baptizing God's new kids.

But this time I would like to do so without wetting myself.

Debbie and I have been providing room and board to The Amazing Elle for the last few days. Kelli has been ill. And while I am very sorry about Kelli's tummy troubles I certainly enjoyed my granddaughter. Well, today was the day to take her home. And they live just a few miles from the world famous .... please, maestro, my I have a drum roll ... THE BASS PRO SHOP!

I've heard about this place for years. Never had much of a hankerin (entering my red neck mode) to go there. I use to fish a bit with my dad when I was a kid. He would take my brother and I and we would camp out on the stinky shores of the Illinois River at Starved Rock State Park in northern Illinois. I think dad did it because, well, a dad is suppose to do that. And we went because a kid is suppose to. We'd catch carp and throw them back or give them to people along the river bank that eyed our catch with a weirdly fascinating hunger for bottom-feeding fish. That's pretty much been my exposure to fishing. I hated putting the worm on the hook and I prayed that no fish would bite because I didn't want to have to take them off the line ... and re bait. Ugh. But I know a lot of people that fish and hunt and buy guns and generally have love affairs with aluminum (canoe's) and canvas (tents.) Me? No thanks.

And then I went to the Bass Pro Shop. And I have only one thing to say about that.

IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY AND RIGHTEOUS PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME EVER GO BACK!!!!!

Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to announce that the recession is officially over. I could barely find a place to park outside this Disney World for Bambi-Killers. Debbie ran ahead while The Amazing Elle and I pushed our way through the very cold wind toward the front door. That's when trouble first hit. Free handfuls of kettle corn. We grabbed some and ran before they changed their minds. And then ... this is hard ... then they had this huge swimming pool kind of thing set up. And there were bass in it. Big bass. And all around the pool were little fishing poles. Kid sized fishing poles. It was an opportunity for kids to learn the art of de-bassing our planet at the place whose name throws fear into all bass world wide. Al Gore, where are you?

And guess who wanted to fish. Yup.

I delayed her as we went into the store in search of the sacred waders. Are you aware that you can actually spend in excess of FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS for rubber pants? I'm dead serious! I stared in wonder ... pants sticker shock ... swearing that my next stop would be Wal-Mart for a pair of speedo's. That's when a nice teenage girl asked if she could help me. I told her that I needed some waders that would not require that I sell my churches property in order to pay for them because all I wanted to do was stay dry while I baptize people. She immediately pointed to a table with large boxes of rubber waders ... a mere $39.99. She told me that they sell a lot of those for baptisms. SOLD!

Debbie, Elle and I then weaved our way d-i-r-e-c-t-l-y to the check-out line. And when I say "weaved" that's exactly what I mean. There were more people per square foot in there than in a homeless shelter for bankers. That's when Elle reminded me about "fishen." I pointed out the stuffed twelve foot tall grizzly bear at the front door. No matter. It's time for fishen. Grandpa promised.

Oh geez.

Okay, so I asked Debbie to pay for the waders while Elle and I went "fishen." We walked outside with zipped up coats and freezing fingers. It was free day for kids. This was good. So we picked up a pole and made our way to the pool of frenzied Bass. Odd. There was no bait on the hook. They weren't even real hooks. Just bent ... wires or something. But I remembered that Debbie told me when she was a kid she caught a fish once on a paper clip with no bait. Hey, I'm gullible. Whatever. We threw our hook into the pool along with about twenty other kids and their parents.

Poor Elle. Not even a nibble. And yet people kept pulling out these HUGE Bass. What the ... How in the ... I couldn't figure it out. We froze for about 20 minutes when I noticed Debbie standing next to us. Ahhhh ... my excuse! My asthmatic wife cannot be allowed to stand in the cold. I explained to Elle that sometimes you catch the fish and sometimes the fish catches you. She gave me a puzzled look and propped her pole up against the wall. We returned to the wonderful heater of our Trail Blazer.

It was not until tonight that Debbie mentioned that Bass that they had tied to that one line.

What?

Yeah. You know, the one they kept catching. The one that they kept on a pole that they were passing around from kid to kid and then pulling out with a net. That fish.

Uhhhh. I knew that. Really I did. I just didn't want to spoil things for Elle. It's all about the illusion. You know. Pretending to ... uh ... catch fish.

I'm never going back to the Bass Pro Shop again for all eternity.

Ms. Elle

My granddaughter, Elle Parker, is visiting us this weekend while her daddy tours with his band (The Fundamental Elements) and her mommy fights a bout of the "turning tummy syndrome." I'm having the time of my life with her. I could write a gazillion stories or I could just sum up a busy day by saying that it ended like this ...

I'm not very good ....

I'm not very good at this home buying stuff. No, really. I'm not.

This afternoon Debbie and I went to see a real estate agent after she got off of work. We had an appointment to view a home that is up for "short sale." That means something like ... the owner is about to get foreclosed on and so they have set a (supposedly) ridiculously low sale price in order to unload it before it's too late. Of course the bank has to agree to the ridiculously low price. So the number really doesn't mean anything. It was just pulled out of a hat in hopes of luring a perspective buyer. I can't blame them. I would do the same thing.

But here's the deal. The house was nice. It was pretty big. It was only about 3 years old. Honestly it is way more house than we need. The only time we would even conceivably use all of the space is if all of our kids showed up at once and wanted to stay with us. Seeing as how that has never happened in the course of human history, it isn't all that likely to happen in the future.

But it might.

Still. That's not my point. The family that owned the house left before we got there and they were obviously in the middle of packing things up. Boxes were strewn everywhere. Furniture sat at odd angles. The kids bedrooms were about the only places that were not all torn up. Yet. That's coming too.

So I'm suppose to be looking at this house and thinking about what a great deal it just might be. That's the way it works. Somebody else's pain is my gain. Instead I'm walking through the house and I'm thinking ... "These poor people. A family is having their guts torn out here. They are losing their home. This isn't right. This place was there dream home just slightly over a year ago. And now they are trying desperately to get out from under it before it drags their credit rating even deeper into the muck and more."

I want to help those people. I can't. I mean, maybe it would help them if I bought their home. But I really deeply believe in waiting for God to "bump me" and tell me when to do what. And He hasn't "bumped me" yet. Maybe He will tomorrow. But not yet. And so I'm suppose to be sleeping and dreaming of a nice beautiful home in the suburbs again. I mean, our apartment is nice ... but it's still an apartment. And God has blessed us with the ability to buy a home. Hey, it's a buyers market. It's the mother-of-all buyers markets. Still, I'm waiting for God. And instead of dreaming ... I'm wondering what it's like to sleep in that house right now. Tonight. It must be so sad. It must really, really hurt.

I told you. I'm not very good at this home buying stuff.

News Radio and God

'Twas a dark evening. Chilly to the point of being cold. The car heater was taking its time transforming the inside of my car from winter to summer. I punched the button to turn the stereo on. KMOX from St. Lois came loud and clear through the speakers. Nothing there caught my attention. I punched the next three buttons with similar results. I punched the fourth button. There was a little static in the background but it was overshadowed by the voices in the foreground. I was tuned to "News Radio SSSSSSeventy Eight" in Chicago.

Hmmmm.

That's about 275 miles as the crow flies. I was getting the traffic report on the Kennedy Expressway. It wasn't pretty. And yet it was fascinating. Call me weird but I've always gotten a bit of a kick out of listening to live radio from far away stations. Just knowing that those voices are traveling through towns, over highways and rail road tracks, across lakes ... it's cool. Way out there is a guy or a girl sitting in a nicely appointed, warm studio, talking into a wired microphone. Is it snowing there? Is it colder than it is here? Does he have a pizza sitting on the console in front of him? It's just ... interesting.

I punched the next button. There was more static this time but the voices were clear and audible. That would be WTAM News Radio broadcasting from downtown Cleveland, Ohio. It was my hometown "talk radio station" for about a year and a quarter. I didn't really like it but it was local and it told me when the traffic was screwy. So it earned a programmed spot on button #6. Tonight I listened to my favorite Cleveland weather person, Betsy Kling, tell me to watch out if I "live on the Lake because old man Erie is throwing some snow our way." I appreciated the tip. I might be 600 miles away but that doesn't mean I don't have to worry about lake effect snow.

Oh, wait. Yes it does. It means exactly that. But I digress.

One cold winters night in late 2007 I was driving home from some non-memorable restaurant and I turned on the radio. I hit "seek" in order to find something worth listening to in my new hometown. I quickly came across some guy speaking french. At first I was amazed at the power of those Paris radio stations. Then I realized that Canada was only 31 miles off shore. It turned out the station was in Montreal or Toronto or some place that I think probably houses men with pointy mustaches wearing berets and women who drink great wine and ride bicycles to the store to pick up bread. I think I've watched too many movies.

I sat at my desk today and thought about God. I opened my bible and read the entire book of Zephaniah. Don't be impressed. It's only 3 chapters long. But as I read it God kept pointing things out to me. Things about His fathomless love. Things about His certain judgement. Things about the depths of His care for His children. Things about what happens to people who reject Him. As I listened I knew that God was speaking to me. He was encouraging me to walk straight toward Him. Do not waver. Do not stray off the path He had laid out for me. Sometimes when God speaks it is as though there is static all around me. He can be hard to hear. Sometimes His voice rings through very clearly. Sometimes it feels as though He is a million miles away. Sometimes it feels as though I am sitting on His lap. But always ... always ... when I hear His voice, I learn. Sometimes it is about difficult traffic that is all around me. Sometimes it is about the cold and frozen conditions that plague my attempt to stay near the warmth of His fire. Sometimes I have to "turn the dial" in order to find Him. He might speak through Zephaniah. He might speak through another book in the bible. Sometimes He speaks through a friend, a circumstance, a dream, the voice of my wife, or the still and quiet voice of His Spirit. But when He speaks it is obvious that it is Him.

Radio's and God. I never realized that they had so much in common. Both are always available. Both always want your attention. Both always require that you tune your ears and/or heart. But only one, the voice of God, will speak words of eternal love and eternal life.

Is it dark tonight? Are you cold? Is your personal space full of "static?" Do not be deceived. The voices are there waiting to be heard. Be careful what you tune your soul in to. You might simply hear french women on bicycles seeking bread. Or you might hear the voice of God seeking to save that which is lost ....

God is BIG and I play on His team.

We serve a really strange God. Strange in that He is not at all like us. Strange like "Wow!" Not strange like "weird." Sometimes it's a blow-out in the baptistry waders. Sometimes it's a little more serious. Sometimes He needs you to be in a particular place and He will go to great lengths to make it happen.

I went with debbie to her pulmonologist appointment today. You know, the lung doctor. Asthma has been beating her up lately. So she got checked out, got some new meds to help her over the hump, and then we moved on. First we visited with a family from our church who had a family member in surgery for a very serious work-related burn. The surgery went well, we prayed with them, and took our leave. I tried to visit a family having a baby in that hospital but I could not find them. And then I made a phone call to see if I could visit another woman in another hospital but she was going to be taking tests all afternoon. So those two things were not going to work. And so we made our way to Clayton. A friend of ours from Nashville was in town after having completed a speaking engagement. We were to pick her up at her daughters house and go grab a bite to eat together. On the way there I noticed a "joint" alongside the road named "Carl's Deli." Looked interesting. I made a mental note of it. We grabbed Sandy and agreed that Carls would cook our lunch. So I punched it into "Sophie the GPS" and off we went. I was in the middle of the worlds best pastrami sandwich when my "not-an-iphone" rang. It was my brother-in-law, Jim. I stepped outside to take the call. I was leaning against the glass window of Carls, looking inside at the people eating as he told me that he was admitting his wife, my sister-in-law, to St. Mary's hospital at that very moment. He wondered if we could come by. He ... they ... were having a very, very hard day. Alisha was in a lot of pain and Jim was hurting with her and frustrated by other events of life that he had been dealing with.

As he spoke I ran a mental list of hospitals through my brain. I knew I had been to St. Mary's before but not often and it had been years. Then I realized that it was in Clayton. I asked Jim if that was right and he confirmed that it was. I told him that we were in Clayton and that I was pretty certain that we were close. As I spoke I slowly turned to face the street. Cars and busses whizzed by. As they parted I focused on the sign across the street. The sign naming the building behind it. The building close enough for me to hit with a baseball. The building named ... "St. Mary's Hospital."

I didn't know what time Debbie's doctors appointment would end.

I didn't know that I would only be able to visit one of three people in local hospitals.

I didn't know my friend, Sandy, was still going to be in town today until she emailed me this morning.

I didn't know I was going to find time to pick her up and take her to lunch.

I didn't know Carl's Deli existed.

I didn't know Alisha was not well.

I didn't know Jim was going to call.

And yet all of those things fell perfectly into line at exactly the right moment to allow my "not an iphone" to ring as I ate my sandwich literally yards from the building where Debbie and I would be needed.

God is strange. God is big. And I am very, very glad He has allowed me to be on His team.

A Blow-out of Epic Proportions

I think that what I like best about being a pastor is the dignity ... the honor ... the never ending respect the position offers. Take this weekend for example.

Yesterday I had the wonderful opportunity of performing the marriage ceremony for a lovely young couple, Christie and Nick. Nick recently became a Christian. He is in the air force. He leaves for Afghanistan this week. And so he decided to marry his very-worthy sweet heart before he left. Yesterday ... Valentines Day ... was the appointed moment. It was a very small and very fun wedding! And this morning I had the privilege of baptizing them both. That's how we were kicking-off the worship service. And then I was going to speak on the scripture from Acts, "In Him we live and move and have our being." In order to illustrate the point I went to Wal-Mart and bought six gold fish last night. You see, gold fish live and move and have their being in water. I thought that the parallels were obvious. The gold fish were twelve cents each. Well, we all know how these particular water creatures are famous for expiring early. That's why I purchased six. I was hoping that at least one would make it until morning. When I woke up today five were still swimming. By the time I arrived at Towerview four were still with us. I was getting worried. I placed them on a roman-esque pillar next to the acrylic pulpit in the worship center and went to prepare for Nick and Christy's baptism.

I wore a suit this morning and so I took the coat off, kicked off my shoes, removed my cell phone from my belt, and dropped my watch in my coat pocket. I picked-up the fishing waders that we pastor types use to keep us dry so that we can get back into the worship center quickly. They were tough to get on. Really tough. It had been a while since they had baptized anybody at Towerview. The feet didn't want to bend. Odd. But I managed. I put on the white baptismal robe, prayed with Nick, and it was time to Rock 'N Roll.

I stepped into the water. No problem. I took another step down. Hmmmm. Water immediately soaked the sock on my left foot. This did not bode well. By the time I made it all of the way into the baptistery I felt water up to my calf. When Nick and Christie arrived at my side I was wet up to my knees. The inflow showed no sign of slowing down. I baptized Nick first. This airman is a big guy! He's all beef. Not an ounce of fat on him. He's in "one of those" units. A couple of fly boys in the church told me that he knew 20 ways to kill me. Well, yeah. I don't doubt that. But let's remember that it was THIS little preacher boy that pinned him under water.

BOO-YAH!

And then I baptized his new bride, Christie. She's a petite little thing and as sweet as St. Louis style Gooey Butter Cake. (Christie, that's a good thing, if you are reading this! Tell Nick not to get mad ....) But the point of concern was that by the time I brought her up out of the water I was nearly as wet as she was. And the reason was obvious. One entire foot of the waders was flopping back and forth, held on by one little piece of rubberized cloth. I was soaked from toes to belly button.

You know, when you baptize a person they just bounce up and virtually trot up the steps to waiting towels. But when you are wearing the waders and they are full of water? Well, it's one step ... wait for the drain ... one step ... wait for the drain. You get the picture? By the time I got to the top I was pretty much drenched. I asked for a towel and they gave me all they had. Two paper towels. That wasn't quite what I had in mind.

So at this point I did what any pastor worth his Sunday School Diploma would do. I entered the worship center. Dripping water with every step. Shoeless. A shorted-out lapel microphone in my pocket. Hey, my dignity was never worth too much anyway. As I approached the pulpit I looked down at my gold fish and it occurred to me. It is in the water that they live and move and have their being. And for this one morning ... the same was true of me. I WAS the sermon illustration! That's when I heard it. Laughter. From the throne. It was coming from The Great Laugher of Laughs. I can't help believing that the Father was elbowing The One who sits at His Right Hand. I can almost hear Him say, "Hey. Watch this. Belleville. Towerview. The worship center. This is gonna be so cool!"

The laughter must have rolled. And yea ... I had to join in.

Maybe

Maybe it was to teach me.
Maybe it was to instruct me.
Maybe it was to inform me.
Maybe it was to train me.

I just do not know.

Maybe it was to correct me.
Maybe it was to rebuke me.
Maybe it was to chastise me.
Maybe it was to reform me.

I just do not know.

Maybe it was to empower me.
Maybe it was to embolden me.
Maybe it was to arm me.
Maybe it was to equip me.

I just do not know.

Maybe it was to remind me.
Maybe it was to rekindle me.
Maybe it was to prompt me.
Maybe it was to persuade me.

I just do not know

Maybe it was to rest me.
Maybe it was to recharge me.
Maybe it was to unwind me.
Maybe it was to stop me.

I just do not know.

Maybe it was to break me.
Maybe it was to crush me.
Maybe it was to penetrate me.
Maybe it was to shake me.

I just do not know.

Maybe it was to befuddle me.
Maybe it was to perplex me.
Maybe it was to disorient me.
Maybe it was to bewilder me.

I just do not know.

And I do not have to know.

Deep must rest in deep.

Nurse! Scalpel!

So i almost performed surgery today. All I needed was a blue gown, some cool gloves, a nifty hat, and ... well ... I suppose a PhD from a prestigious medical school.

The day began with a flurry of hospital calls. In both cases wonderful little ladies had been sent for medical care for various reasons. It was my job to check on them, not to fix 'em.

After the first visit I hopped in Emma the Mustang and tooled on over to the next hospital, St. Elizabeth's. I had never been there before. I didn't have a lousy little quarter for the parking meters so I had to park in the high rise parking garage. I found myself entering the building onto the second floor. A quick check with the nice people at the information desk revealed that my victim ... er ... parishioner ... was on the third floor. Hey, I can do the math. One floor up. No problem. Except that after I punched the button on the elevator nothing happened. NOTHING. An orderly passed by and I asked if there were any stairs nearby. She pointed down the hall toward a glowing "EXIT" sign. I made my way over, went through the door, and ascended up the staircase.

That's where things went wrong. REALLY wrong.

I opened the door to the third floor and walked directly into a group of masked men scrubbing for surgery. They appeared very serious about their mission, what with all of the foaming and rubbing and the orange-ish glow on their hands and arms. And their I stood, under their gaze. My little "CLERGY" badge pinned neatly to my chest. Feeling very, very tiny.

I don't think they were impressed. I know I wasn't. I quietly ... slowly ... excused myself and stepped back into the stairway.

Ahhhhh ... I love the smell of chlorhexidine in the morning...

My close brush with imaginary death at the hands of Lake Erie... and I don't even fish

I thought I was all finished writing about Lake Erie. It's nearly 600 miles away and what else could I possibly have to say about it? And then several hundred people decided to talk a walk on it to catch some fish yesterday. I lived on that lake all of one winter and the better part of another and never ... not once time ... did I ever see anybody EVER walk out on it. Not for fish, not for fun, not for a stroll to Canada. Maybe people around Cleveland are just smarter but it didn't happen. I was actually a little shocked yesterday to learn from Fox News that people ... a virtual "city of people" ... had been out there to the west of my former home for a couple of weeks. Fishing. Searching for the elusive Walleye.

When the lake freezes it doesn't usually become just a flat piece of ice. It becomes "ice dunes." Under currents and pressure from ice floes blown about by the wind causes the bits of ice to wreck into each other and it becomes like one giant car wreck. I've seen some of them easily reach five feet high. And it appears that the tops can be razor sharp. Evidently that's not the case to the west. In order to walk out on the lake where I lived you would have to have had a total lobotomy. Of course, some people DO have total lobotomies. So I suppose it's possible.

But would you do it for a fish? All of this took place just to the west of Port Clinton, Ohio. That is where some of the people stuck out there on ATV's and snow mobiles traveled to in their successful search for uncracked ice to cross back over to the mainland. Port Clinton is also where my favorite fish joint is. Jolly Rogers. Best certified Lake Erie Perch I ever found. And you can get it for under $10. That's about $6,990 less than your typical funeral.

Dumb, dumb, dumb.

I was talking about that event tonight with some people at church. They had expressed interest in my Erie experiences and I was telling them about the joys of living 9 floors above the water in the dead of winter. That's when I remembered a particular evening that I had filed to the back of my brain. Probably due to embarrassment due to stupidity. I had not lived in Ohio very long. Debbie was still in Illinois. It was a VERY cold night with a VERY strong wind out of the north and a VERY large dump of snow was blowing in off of the lake. You could not hear the waves because there weren't any. It was all ice. I walked out onto my balcony wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. It felt good just to experience the raw power of God's raging storm. After just a few moments I went back inside, face frozen and, evidently, brain frost bitten as well. I grabbed Tess the Laptop, sat on the floor, and leaned against the double sliding glass doors to my balcony. All of the lights were off. When the lake is covered in ice it stays every light outside. Erie can be very eerie. I opened my electronic journaling program and began to write a letter to God. That's how I journal. I write and He reads. A lot was going on. I was missing my wife. I was a little lonely. Okay, I was VERY lonely. It was late. I was dumping on God. I probably wrote for the better part of 30 minutes. I just looked it up and read it. At least I think I read the correct one. Doesn't really matter. But when I finished writing on that cold winters night I closed my laptop and went to stand up only to find that I was FROZEN to the glass of the balcony door. Well, my shirt was frozen to it. The condensation had turned to ice, invaded my flannel and I was glued to the door. To add insult to injury the shirt was stuck to my back. I was, in a very real way, frozen 90 feet above Lake Erie on a stormy night in the dead of winter. Honestly, it was not hard to get unstuck. The back is strong but I didn't want to tear the shirt and so I pulled it off and then gently peeled it away from the glass.

So that was my dumb Lake Erie story. It's pretty boring compared to those who walk out ON that thing in the dead of winter just to pull in a few fish that you can buy on shore for just a few bucks. My life was never at risk. My dignity was bruised. My flesh was stinging. But the Coast Guard was not needed and I didn't loose anybodies ATV.

I really need to up my level of risk.
(Erie from space 3 days ago)

Just call me "Grandpa." Again!

I've stolen this little video from my daughter's blog. I don't think she'll mind!

Reality Confuses Me

They tell me that I live in O'Fallon. The sign says Shiloh. My church and office are in Belleville. Two weeks ago I lived in Sheffield Lake. It was only two blocks from Avon Lake. They called it all Cleveland. At that time I was staring at the massive ice cube called Lake Erie. Canada was on the other side. Now I can see the top of the arch in St. Louis peeking over a hill from my apartment balcony. If it should topple it would land in the muddy Mississippi. That is a river. Missouri is on the other side. I do not think they have many Canadians over there.

Can somebody please tell me where I am?

I don't know my own phone number though I have finally nailed down my address. Two weeks ago I lived in apartment 310 and now I live in apartment 309. So I only lost one apartment. How can that be when I drove 569 miles to get here? I lived off of interstate 90 and now I live off of interstate 64 so I think that I got demoted by 26interstates. But 90 merged with 80 which made it 170. 64 merges with 55 which rings in at 119. So maybe I lost 51 interstates. I just don't know. According to text messages received the village that I left behind now has well over two feet of snow on the ground. The village that I now live in has well over two inches of snow on the ground. And yet it seems to be the only village in this metropolitan area with any snow at all. Is this random chance? I somehow think not. I think that it is my fault. But please do not tell them.

I don't know my church/office address though I am able to drive to it. And I sit in amazement staring at the phone because everybody tells me to punch the green button but there are only red buttons. And when I punch them, well, people that are suppose to be there ... aren't. Please tell me where they go. I obviously don't hang up on them because other people have been able to retrieve them. So do they just float around the building, hopelessly stuck in the phone system until they finally wash out onto my desk? Somebody very nice empties my garbage can everyday. I am really grateful for that. Perhaps I will meet him or her someday. I would like to shake a hand and say, "Thank you!"

In the meantime I shall practice leaning on the constants. Obviously, "Jesus loves me" is the biggie. But sometimes I need the smaller ones as well. Like ... all Barnes and Noble's look the same. It feels safe there. Red means stop while green means go. QWERTY still works. A taco is a taco is a taco. Debbie still falls asleep in the middle of the amazing podcasts that I try to play for her. (Can you say, "heretic?" I knew you could.) Coke + Vanilla = Smile.

Anyway you slice it ... life is good.

Of Concrete and Cardinals With A "Shout-Out" To U-Haulers

Long live wall board and wood! After being out of our concrete cocoon for a solid week now I have come to recall a forgotten truth. Regular dwellings do not eeeccchhhoo cooo cooo ooo ooo ...

Oh, and it's really cool to eat at an honest to goodness real table instead of at a card table or on a random chair in the living room. And did you know that many Americans actually have a washer and dryer for their dirty clothes IN their living quarters! There is freedom in not having to drag an amazing amount of laundry down 9 (or 3) flights of stairs and pay a kings ransom to use the public laundry room in the basement of our old apartment complex. Lo and behold ... our little "love hovel" has a real washer and dryer! Whoa! What hath God wrought?

Today was the first day in my new office. So I did what any self respecting new guy would do. I turned everything around. Literally. Things point in different directions today. Why? Not sure. It just looked like it needed to be done. And tomorrow? I just might dictate a letter. Not that I have anybody that I need to write. Doesn't matter. Perhaps I shall send my thought off to the pope or Billy Graham or Zach Braff. I haven't decided. Tomorrow morning I will just know in some inherently correct sort of way. Did I mention that 5 people joined our church yesterday morning and on became a new Christ-Follower? I did? Just making sure. Cause it was a amazing morning.

And now about the super bowl. Bummer for Kurt Warner. He is obviously a stand-up guy. I was cheering for him right up till they showed a picture of Bill Bidwell in his luxury suite. Then I remembered ... the moving vans, the empty football field for years ... and I realized, I cannot cheer for a team this man owns. And so I immediately switched allegiance mid-4th quarter. I might mention that the Cardinal's WERE winning when I switched. It looked like a bad decision. Right up until that beautiful catch in the right rear corner of the end zone. Yo, Pittsburgh! Nice! Yo, Bill! Bummer for you, dude!

And finally, if you are reading this and you were a part of the amazing group of men and women that showed up one week ago to night to help unload a certain pastor's U-Haul, I have not said it loudly enough. So let me say it again ..T-H-A-N-K Y-O-U!!!!!!

ron .... OUT!

Time Zone Wars

After 15 months of careful consideration I have reached a conclusion.

It would be a walk-over. If the central time zone ever decides to attack the eastern time zone, the eastern time zone does not stand a chance. They are sleep deprived.

It works this way. If you live in CST you quickly realize that "prime time" television ends at 10 PM. The news comes on at 10:00 and lasts 30 minutes. Leno and Letterman? 10:30 PM until 11:30 PM. If you live in EST prime time ends at 11 PM. The news comes on at 11:00 and lasts 30 minutes. Leno and Letterman run from 11:30 until 12:30. That's 12:30 AM. Morning. Don't even think about watching Craig or any other truly late night program.

But here's the rub. Office hours start at the same time in most all offices. No difference between EST and CST. The simplest mind can quickly understand that those who watch regular programming in EST get one hour less sleep than those watching regular programming in CST. One hour per night. Seven hours per week. Three hundred and sixty five hours per year. That means that the average person in EST accrues 15.2083333 DAYS less sleep per year than those in CST. Over two weeks.

I slept two weeks less last year than I did the year before that. And honestly ... I'm rather tired. And I'm going to bed now. Turn off the lights when you are done, would ya. And if you need me tomorrow ... I just might be attacking Indiana.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #30

This sign will help a lot when you are being attacked at 3 AM at the rest area on I-70 in Indiana where it's posted. Maybe you could unscrew the sign and club your attacker over the head with it?

Bittersweet ... lakes & flakes. From a grateful Ragamuffin

It's late and I'm tired. Yet somehow I feel compelled to put into print some kind of synopsis of today. It was a weird one. Weird like in "unusual." Not weird like in annoying or disturbing.

Today I left a church family that I had come to love. It was hard. And yet when God gives a direction there is no turning back. At least that's what the old song says. And I don't argue with old songs. I also don't argue with God. That's a good way to lose.

Yesterday 3 of my closest rented friends and I loaded a 17 foot U-Haul truck. It took about 3 hours and it was bitter cold. I spent my time on the outside end of the proposition. By the time we finished, hugged our apartment manager goodbye (Hi Crystal! Hi Melodie!) I was frozen solid. Figuratively. I think. It felt literal. And so we drove to the hotel where we had rented a room for the night. My brilliant bride went to check us in while I parked the truck. When I got in with the luggage she has managed to suck-up to the desk clerk and got a free upgrade to a room with its own jacuzzi. Not the bath tub kind. The real deal. I spent a couple of hours there thawing out. Then she fed me Tilapia at the Outback. I love this woman.

After a nights sleep we made our way to FBCSL where I was blessed to have the opportunity to baptize 3 adults and speak to the people I have called my spiritual family for the last time. It was bitter sweet. The bitter is in the leaving friends. Those amazing young couples (you know who you are...) have become like precious gold to us. The sweet was in the baptizing ... the worshipping ... and yes, the realization that God is writing a new chapter in our lives. How good He is. How grateful we are.

It snowed from Cleveland to west of Columbus. I didn't order that and nobody that I'm aware of predicted it. Things like that just happen when you live in the wilds of the Great Lakes states. I didn't mind so much. You don't seem much snow in St. Louis. The lawn between my (former) apartment building and Lake Erie had nearly 2 feet on it ... knee deep stuff ... when I walked out to say goodbye to the lake on Friday. That's a lot of flakes.

And so tomorrow is ... tomorrow. There are nearly 300 miles to go. And then our new spiritual family will team up with us at our new (temporary) apartment and, under Debbie's direction, we'll set up housekeeping one more time. It's becoming a trend. But in this life a roof, walls, heat, light, food ... they are not "a given" for everyone. And so we are thankful to our God who so richly provides.

Sheffield Lake FBC'ers ... thank you for loving us. We love you right back. And our prayers are with you every day.

Tower "Viewers" ... thank you for accepting us into your family. We cannot wait to serve alongside you. We cannot wait to see what God has on the agenda. Let's get messy for Jesus ...

The Things That Define A Life

I've been thinking about life and time and stuff. I suppose it has something to do with packing (again) and preparing for a major, life changing move (again.) I keep walking to my balcony and looking out at Lake Erie. I think I am going to miss it. I know I'll never have a view like this from my bed again. Not until heaven anyway. (Will we have beds in heaven????) Today it's frozen for a couple hundred yards and then open water with the exception of mini-icebergs that float slowly by on route to their imminent death at Niagara Falls. Two days ago it was white for as far as the eye can see. After nearly fifteen months I still have not gotten use to this behemoth of a lake.

That started me thinking. (This is usually where the trouble begins.) What items do I have ... things I have accumulated ... that define my life? Some of them are in boxes scattered about my apartment. Some are stored away in "a secure location." Some are sentimental and some are practical. I'm not nearly as difficult to define as I would like. You'll see what I mean if you read "the short list."

Things that define my life (aka: my identity) in no particular order ...

1. "Tess the Laptop." We are close. I mean CLOSE. Everything I've ever known or written is stored in her cyber-brain.
2. Three wedding rings. True, I've only been married once but enlarged knuckles necessitated a changing of rings. One is on my finger. One hangs around my neck with my dad's WWII dog tag. And one is my dad's. All of those items are precious beyond any dollar amount.
3. My bricks. One from "Old Comiskey Park" and one is an original part of the Wrigley Field wall. I have derived great pleasure from "my teams." So I'll add my autographed Ferguson Jenkins jersey. Priceless.
4. My "smart phone." It's smarter than i am but that's not much of a trick. The reason it defines me is because it allows me to communicate with those I love.
5. Emma the Mustang. If you know her the reason is obvious.
6. The pictures that have, and will, adorn my office walls.
7. Sweats and my favorite New Balance sneakers that don't have backs in them. They are the epitome of ... relaxed.
8. Airplane tickets. If you have known me for the past year you totally understand.
9. Music. I can't make it, sing it, or usually even name it. But the stuff on my ipod keeps me sane. It stays on "shuffle."
10. Ray-ban wrap around, prescription, bifocal sunglasses. (Yes I did.)

There is more but you've taken enough of a beating for one night.

I can write the blog but I can't write the title. Go figure.

I really don't know how to blog about this. But my entire world seems to know so what's the point of ignoring it? None that I can see. I have not blogged much in several months and it's been because I don't know what to say. God has been working in me and, until now, I have not had the permission or the right to talk about it. And so I just ... shut-up. But now I guess it is time to speak-up.

Last Sunday I resigned as the pastor of the church that I have led since November 4, 2007. That's not a long time to pastor a church. Not at all. So why would a person leave after just 14+ months? I can only think of one good reason.

God told me to.

Yes, I'm one of those whack jobs that actually believes that God communicates with His people. If you are a frequent reader of this space you already know that. There are multiple ways that I believe God has revealed to Debbie and I that we are suppose to take this action but I am not going to go into that. When God speaks to you it is not required that you tell the world what He said. Unless He tells you to. And He has not told me to do that. And this is between my God and I. That's about the best I can do. I hope that is enough.

I know that I have caused pain in some people that I hold very dear here in northeast Ohio. I can't possibly spell out how sorry I am about that. Yet it is not something that I can fix. I am constrained by the love of God. Compelled by His grace to obey His every Word. No, I am not perfect at that. But I am better than I use to be. If I disobey God in this situation then I invalidate everything that I have tried to teach here since I arrived. "Walking-out" what I have taught requires that I "walk away." Rather odd.

We will be here with our church family near Cleveland through the morning worship service on January 25th.

On February 1st we will join our new family at Towerview Baptist Church in Belleville, Illinois. Anytime God opens a new chapter of life it is exciting. And that is exactly what I feel. It's such a paradox. Possibly hurting people in one place in order to obey God and hopefully bless people in another. Closing one chapter and beginning another. I never expected this chapter to be so short. But when you "sign-on" to serve King Jesus you relinquish the right to make many of your own decisions. The options are clear. Obey or disobey.

I choose to obey.

Words For Today (by Rainer Maria Rilke)

"All-loving Father, sometimes we have walked under starless skies that dripped darkness like drenching rain. We despaired of starshine or moonlight or sunrise. The sullen blackness gloomed above us as if it would last forever. And out of the dark there spoke no soothing voice to mend our broken hearts. We would gladly have welcomed some wild thunder peal to break the torturing stillness of that over-brooding night.

"But Thy winsome whisper of eternal love spoke more sweetly to our bruised and bleeding souls than any winds that breathe across Aeolian harps. It was Thy 'still small voice' that spoke to us. We were listening and we heard. We looked and saw Thy face radiant with the light of love. And when we heard Thy voice and saw Thy face, new life came back to us as life comes back to withered blooms that drink the summer rain."

Oh yeah. Now I remember...

Now I remember. Snow. It's that white stuff. And, contrary to public opinion, IT'S A BLAST!

It began for us as we were arriving back via SWA today. Our skilled and highly professional pilot told us that we were 50 miles west of Cleveland ... and would be for a while. Seems like circling out there in nowheresville was a good idea because the airport had suddenly and without notice become iced in. Okay. In that situation I'm all about circling. I like sledding as much as the next guy but not with twin jet engines strapped to me.

We finally landed and were "fetched" by a friend and his daughter. (Thanks Jim! Thanks Taryn!) I wasn't paying much attention because Jim was driving and he's a stud. (Thanks Jim!) Then, after getting dropped at our apartment I was sent for food (Thanks Debbie!) That's when I repented of all the lousy things I said about our Trail Blazer back when gas was about $4 per gallon. (Thanks Trail Blazer!) 4 wheel drive rocks!

So we've got about a foot. Maybe a bit more. And my lake ... my lake looks like a rerun of "Ice Road Truckers." And it's downhill from here. The picture below was taken without flash because, well, it's 11 PM and like daylight outside (Cleveland daylight isn't like most of the worlds daylight. It's ... darker.) Oh, and my garage is the last before you get to it. Hey... (Thanks brakes!)

Oh, one more thing. The red dot down on the bottom of the picture? It was a UFO. Strayed onto my balcony. I squashed it like a bug. The world owes me.

A Truly Bad Idea

Life Is What Makes You Old

Do you ever just feel plain old ... old? I am talking about the kind of old that has nothing much to do with years or chronological things. I am talking the kind of old where you suddenly think ... I really HAVE seen it all. There really ISN'T anything new under the sun. I am not certain when that happened to me. I sat today and I made a list ... an actually written list ... of the oddest, most bizarre, least likely to happen things that I have witnessed in my lifetime. And mixed in with it I included the oddest, most bizarre, least likely things that I have had to do in my lifetime. It is quite a list. I wish I could share it with you. I cannot. You might be on it. But here are a few just to make you smile or frown or whatever you feel appropriate.

I've pulled people out of caskets. Not dead people. Live people. People who wanted to crawl into the casket of a dead loved one.

I've tackled a person who was trying to commit suicide by jumping from a high place.

I've confronted people who have had the ability to fire me. More than once. And no, none of them fired me.

I have spoken to 6,000 people at once.

I have spoken to less than 10 people in a talk prepared just a diligently as the talk for 6,000.

I've flown on a plane where I was the only passenger.

I carry in my brain the confessions of people who, if the confession was made public, would be sent to prison.

I held the hand of a person as they prayed to receive Christ as Savior only to watch them lapse into a coma minutes later that they never woke up from.

I've changed a dentists socks. (Don't ask.)

Speaking of dentists I've had all of my wisdom teeth pulled ... twice. (Again. Don't ask.)

I watched one of my former "volunteer youth staff members" drop to a knee and let a girl throw up in his hands because we were in a very nice church sanctuary and there was no place else for her to throw up. (I never shook his hand again.)

I have traveled (by car, van, or bus) the equivalent of around the world at the equator 3 times while on youth trips and mission trips.

I have baptized (by total immersion) a man while he sat in his wheel chair.

I have had my life threatened (by 2 very large men) in the slum of a southern city while helping a dad chase down his run-away daughter.

My final words to my last living parent was an intentional lie to make her not worry, feel better, and go to sleep. My lie accomplished its purpose. She died the next day and I was not there.

I have been "dog bit for Jesus" twice in as many months. The last bite was while I was praying with a woman whose husband lay dying in another room of their home. Their dog bit me while I was talking to the One that made the dog. I did not stop praying. He eventually let go. (The dog. Not God.)

I have patrolled East St. Louis in a State Police Cruiser from 10 PM until 8 AM. I wore a bullet proof vest, knew where the shotgun was and was authorized to use if if necessary.

I have held a baby that had been dead for less than 2 hours.

I have observed part of an embalming.

I have been chased by dogs in a nursing home.

I have prayed over people while anointing them with oil only to watch them fully recover. I have prayed over people while anointing them with oil only to watch them die.

I have stood on the top of a 12,000 foot mountain during a snowstorm accompanied by lightening and thunder.

Martin Luther (the theologian who lived in the 1483 - 1546) once said, "If you young fellows were wise, the devil couldn't do anything to you, but since you aren't wise, you need us who are old." I kind of understand his sentiment. I get his point. He died at the age of 63. That's not really old but I suppose it was in his day. I am that age minus 10. But after compiling my list today ... I've been feeling very old indeed. This probably was not a good way to prepare a merry heart for the celebration of New Years.

When I die I'm instructing my wife to publish my entire list. Tonight I have a headache and, after speaking twice today, I am rather tired. So keep checking back. You never know how quickly the thing might wind up in print. A "tell all" blog. Starring ... You?

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

A High Definition Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the hotel
The hallways were empty, the rooms didn't sell
The TVs were flat screen and the pictures were clear
The hot tub was bubbling lending holiday cheer

When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But Otis Spunkmeyer cookies from the desk clerk so dear
All warm and quite chewy with chocolate to spare
The odor, quite wondrous, did waft through the air

I locked my door and dead bolted it tight
Shoving the "never disturb" sign on the knob to the right
The lights were turned off and the TV dimmed low
If HE should show up I don't want him to know

That I am awake though I'm missing my tree
My stocking is stored at a friends house for free
The fireplace in the lobby holds a chimney that's fake
And HE can't get down it, HIS neck HE would break

So tomorrow I'll get up and I know what I'll do
I'll unbolt the flat screen, remove every screw
It'll fit in my car with the seats pushed way back
I'll wrap it in pillows, it's screen I won't crack

And Santa will thank me for this saving grace
If HE should pass by us it would be a disgrace
I must take the flat screen, you see it's my duty
And thus I'll make off with this pirated booty

In Jesus name I pray ... Amen

What's With "Non Pariels?"

I'm sitting here munching on some holiday candy provided by one of those school things. You know the type. Some kid guilts you into buying something to support his club and you wind up paying like $15.00 for a 4 ounce bag of chocolate. They are pretty good. All decorated with red, green, and white sprinkles. Decent chocolate too. These are called "Non Pariels." Which makes me wonder. "Non?" What's missing? What did they leave out? Other than the fact that I paid $15 ... did I get ripped off of a special ingredient? Can you buy "Pariels?" You know, Non Pariels wiithout the "non?" Wait. How can you leave out the "non?" Isn't that the same thing as leaving out something that isn't even there? Which would make it "Non Non Pariels."

I must go lay down now.

It Ain't About The Grinch

It ain't about the Grinch. He's in reruns. It ain't about the bearded dude with the sleigh. He's a nice thought though. It ain't about the tree. The plastic ones never go away and the real ones go away all over your carpet way too soon. It ain't about the presents. You will never have enough to satisfy. And God knows it ain't about me. I hear a chorus of "amens" on that count!

And I am so glad.

If it's not about Jesus ... well then, it's not about anything. So I thought I'd just stake my claim right here on the world wide web. I'll have more to say about it later. Probably even today. But for now ...

It's about Jesus. Make a note of it.

59 - 14 ... we win!

I woke up this morning, shook the stupid out of my head (my way of saying "got rid of the cob webs") and logged on to check the weather. I had already glanced out the balcony door and saw what I expected. Clouds. (Somebody at church told me yesterday that they had checked and the last time Cleveland had 7 straight sunny days was 1993. True? Who would lie at church?) The lake was calm. But the WKYC web site told me that the temperature was 59. Then I slid over to the KSDK web site from St. Louis. I always check it in the morning and look at the arch web cam. I like to see the sun gleaming off of it. That's when I noticed that the temperature there was 14 and everybody had a snow day. No school.

What?

59 in Cleveland and 14 in St. Louis? And they had ice? We had mere rain? What's the deal with that?

Did I mention that the last time there was 7 consecutive days of sunshine in Cleveland was 1993? I did? Sorry. It's messing with my head.

Well, it's all begun to balance out. It's now 24 and there's light snow predicted for tomorrow. The lake is going crazy again. Nice. This is how it's suppose to be.

Here's my Top Ten Things About Cloudy Days In Cleveland ...

10 ...nothing
9 ... nothing
8 ... nothing
7 ... nothing
6 ... nothing
5 ... nothing
4 ... nothing
3 ... nothing
2 ... nothing
1 ... My sun glasses don't get dirty.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #29

"WEAR YOUR SEATBELT OR GET FLORIDA JAMMED THROUGH YOUR NECK!"

Okay, I confess. I stole this picture from a friends face book site. She was driving across Florida and came across it. I found it too good to pass up.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #28

I'm not entirely sure that this qualifies as a "stupid picture." Maybe it just qualifies as a "stupid slogan?"

Good News ... Bad News ... A Season of Paradox (Hint: God Wins!)

The economy stinks. It is the Christmas season. "The Big Three" automakers want to get bailed out financially. Santa Clause is coming to town. Soldiers are still in harms way in Iraq, Afghanistan, and who knows where else. The night ... it is silent. Somebody just got their throat slashed on one network. Billy Graham is speaking to me from the past on another reminding me about what is important. I have paid $4.29 per gallon and $1.49 per gallon for gas all in this calendar year. I just read about a guy who walked on water. The governor of the state I grew up in has been accused of trying to sell a senate seat. On some Sunday's empty seats are rather hard to find in my church. The police think they just found the tragic remains of a little girl who has been missing for a while. I sometimes feel lost but God promises me He's got His eye on me.

Our world has never been a place of greater paradox than it is right now. It seems as though everybody wants to be happy but we are afraid to be. Surely "the other shoe" is about to drop. And with it all of our hopes, dreams, aspirations, and yes, our joy, will be snuffed out with it. You feel it in your bones, don't you.

Can I just say one thing about that?

WRONG.

I cannot say it emphatically enough. WRONG, WRONG, WRONG! Yes, the world is in a mess. Does that really surprise anybody? No, we do not know what tomorrow's headlines will bring. But have we ever known?

No, we have not.

There is but one thing to rest on. Tie yourself off to. Invest yourself 100% in.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life." I didn't say it. God did. And because He said it, because He acted on it, you and I can live with joy, confidence and well founded hope. IF ... and this is a very big "if" ... if you "know Him." If you trust Jesus with your life and your eternity.

He's bigger than the stock market. More dependable than a government bail-out. Longer lasting than any nuclear threat. You can count on Him.

I strongly suggest that you do!

Tis The Season

This mini-essay is a "thank you" to my brother-in-law and sister-in-law, Jim and Alisha. They were the brain children (though Alisha would emphasis that it was totally Jim) for the center piece of our Christmas decor this year.

It didn't seem wise to buy a Christmas tree, ornaments, lights, and such when we have all of those things in storage. We won't need two of everything next year. It also didn't seem appropriate (to me) not to have any visible way to acknowledge Christmas in our home. I do believe that my bride was just fine simply knowing that it is the Christmas season. I need something to look at.

So, while walking through our local Wal-Mart recently I made a spur of the moment decision. What I really mean is that I participated in the age old ritual of "impulse buying." No tree. No ornaments. No lights. None of those really help in celebrating the birth of Jesus anyway. And neither will my purchase. But it does make me smile. Thanks for the idea, Jim!

Only because Jen is a new friend and I don't want to hurt her feelings ... yet ...

Okay, I hate this kind of stuff. But I made a new blogger friend and she asked me to. So here goes. I've got nothing else to blog about today anyway. She's MAKING ME tell you 4 things about myself that nobody knows. Problem is, I've been around too long and I don't hide much. So it's a challenge ...

Uh...

Okay, I want to have a submarine. No, I don't just want to ride in a submarine. I want my own. And it has to be a really good one because I don't swim. But I think cruising the ocean, sneaking up on entire countries, would be an incredibly cool way to spend a year or so.

And, uh. Well. I hate stop lights with a blazing passion. I mean my tolerance level is zero. Z-E-R-O. I'll do nearly anything to eek through even on the slimmest margin of yellow. Oddly enough I have never once been stopped for this much less ticketed. Oh, I'll gladly cut through parking lots to avoid them too. But only when my wife isn't in the car.

I'm only on three? Sheesh. Let's see. I hate morning so badly that I have this black sort of mesh Nike t-shirt that I keep beside my bed. If I manage to wake up before the sun rises I throw it over my eyes so as to fool my brain into thinking that it's still dark after the day light. Yes, really. And it works. Don't you judge me...

And finally. I count things. Anything. For no reason. I don't know why. I just do. People. Cars. Days on the calender. I can't help it. Things need to be counted. Somebody has to keep track of things and so I just do it. But sixty seconds after counting something I couldn't tell you what the total was. Because the total doesn't matter. It only matters that they were counted.

Four. So there. Feel very honored, Jen.

Oh, drat. I've got a number 5. I cannot STAND the thought that I might have hurt some persons feelings. (That's why I'm dong this list thing in the first place ...) I have to find them and fix it NOW. Even if I'm innocent. Because, in my mind, I'm guilty until proven innocent!

This confession thing might get addicting...

A Guest Blogger ... My Niece Tanya

My niece wrote today in honor of my father. He would have been 89 years old today. I miss him more than I can say. But Tanya says it pretty well ...

I am thinking about my Grandpa today. I think about him allot, he is on my mind at the oddest times. When I am watching Foxnews and I wonder if I could have convinced him to watch it with me, probably not. He was a die hard democrat as far as I remember. I think of him when I see a large American flag and I remember how he loved to fly his flag in his front yard and he never let it get torn or worn out.
He loved the flag because it stood for what he was willing to die for. He was a true American hero. I wonder what he would have thought about 9-11? He probably would have had a few choice words to say.
He believed in God, family and our country. He loved to play with us grand kids. I remember playing chinese checkers with him when we would visit his house for the holidays. I loved going to my grandparents home while my parents went on youth trips, for 2 weeks during the summer. I remember Grandpa taking us fishing on his boat and the time he made me believe that I was steering it straight into the shore. He was laughing in the back of boat as he steered it from the engine. I remember singing "She'll be coming around the Mountain" in the front of his ole red truck while grandpa pulled the boat around the hills to the lake. I will never forget his smell, although most times it is a smell I hate....cigarettes. But now when I get around someone who smokes that same brand I take in a deep breath and think of him, my Grandpa.

Each time I see a simple wooden swing hanging from a tree, I think of the one he built for us in his back yard in Tinley Garden.

You see, he was a simple man and maybe a little rough around the edges. When us granddaughters (the first two grandbabies) came around he was a instant "softy." This tall slender man who fought in WWII and refused to discuss it became a warm lap for us to crawl into. He loved us and there was not any doubt. I wish he had lived longer.
He would have loved to watch his 5 great-grandaughters grow. They too would have crawled up into his lap and been loved without any conditions. I miss him today and each day. He may have lived to be a old man but he still left too early.

I've Been Stolen

I woke this morning and walked through our concrete apartment, climbed into a hot shower, and heard my wife banging on the door. She was shouting something about hockey purchases and the Internet. It takes a lot to pry me from a hot shower but that worked. Seems she was on the phone with the company that holds our sole credit card. They wanted to know if we really were in the UK buying hockey tickets and hockey equipment. And for some reason she felt it necessary to ask me in the shower if I had been in the UK overnight doing those deeds.

Doubtful.

I assured her that I had been by her side all night long. And thus ... our security ... our personal credit card number ... had been hacked. Compromised. Stolen. Whatever you want to call it. Nice, huh? Like the good company they are the people down at Chase canceled our card, promised to have a new one in our hands by Monday, and agreed to not charge us for any fraudulent purchases. Cool. I can finish showering now.

I"ve heard of "identity theft" before. But who would want to be me? If I were going to steal someone's identity ... it wouldn't be MINE. I'm a lowly pastor! I live in a rented concrete apartment! My 401(K) isn't even a 201(K) anymore! I cheer for teams that habitually lose!

I mean, come on. Would you want to be me? As I sit here in my "fuzzy buddy" (formerly known as "The Date Chair") I'm wearing mesh shorts and a Toledo Mud Hens t-shirt. Does that sound stylish to you? I think not. The only flat-screen I own is on my back door. Oops. Wait. I sold my house. I don't even own that flat screen anymore! I'm drinking Coke out of a can because I'm too lazy to pour it into a glass which would just require washing anyway.

I repeat. Would YOU want to be ME?

Somebody in the UK really needs to get a life. And I hope the seats I bought them are behind a steel beam in the nose bleed section.

Smudges

I have smudges on my laptop screen. Little smudges. Couldn't figure out where they came from. I got to work this morning and almost wiped them off because, I mean, they are just .... there.

Then I remembered.

"The Amazing Elle" (aka: the worlds most awesome granddaughter) was sitting on my lap on Thanksgiving and she wanted to see pictures. I asked her which pictures she had in mind. She told me "mountain pictures." She was talking about the pictures that I took at Christopher and Laura's wedding in Beaver Creek, Colorado back in October.

No problem. Elle wants to look at pictures with grandpa? Elle will certainly get to look at pictures with grandpa! I pulled them up and we reminisced. Well, we reminisced as much as a 53 year old can with a 2 year old. Hey, it worked for us.

When Elle looks at pictures she points. She touches. Usually, nobody touches my laptop screen and walks away without twisted fingers. "Tess" the laptop is under a direct "order of protection" issued by yours truly. But Elle? She can touch. Not a problem.

And touch she did. Over and over. Evidence indicates that she touched about a dozen times. And now that I'm sitting here 600 miles away from her ... well ... those smudges are more precious than they were when she put them there. They are her. It's her fingerprints. Her DNA. And for a grandfather they are warmth and love and hugs. They are joy and laughter and giggles.

And they aren't going anywhere.

Thanks, God

Yesterday Debbie and I drove 610 miles without a problem. Everything worked great. The sun was shining for most of the trip. We were warm alone together. When we finished driving I stepped out of our way too big SUV and said, "Thanks, God."

I woke up this morning in a dark room and wondered for about 6 seconds where I was. Then I walked upstairs and sat with my granddaughter, The Amazing Elle, as we ate warm cinnamon rolls that her mother, my daughter, had prepared. We smiled at each other. She giggled. She wiped her hands on my shirt sleeve. Only she and I saw it and I laughed. As she walked away to play my gaze followed her and I said, "Thanks, God."

I talked with my lovely daughter and her husband, a man who loves His Lord and loves his wife. I watched the two of them look at each other with the eyes of two who have shared life for years and find themselves more deeply in love than they were on the day they married and more deeply in respect than they ever thought possible. I watched them "do life" for a few minutes when they didn't really know I was paying attention. And I realized how they were both in the very middle of realizing their greatest dreams. I closed my eyes and silently mouthed, "Thanks, God."

I sat with family and some friends that I have probably not seen in a year. We ate the traditional thanksgiving meal. Some of us ate too much of it. I was in that group. I turned down desert and then realized how dumb that was and I accepted an amazing gift of sugary delight. And it was very good. As I sampled each delicious bite I thought about our unseen guest and I said, "Thanks, God."

I met my sons and their wives in two separate places, enjoyed two separate conversations, drank a Coke and took a drive with one, then ate an evening meal and laughed about life with the other. As I watched them go their ways I had to marvel at them men and the couples that they are and with great joy I said, "thanks, God."

I lay on my daughters floor with Elle and we put puzzles together. I messed up on purpose and she fixed my mistakes. Then she put a stethoscope in her ears and talked into the piece you put over your heart. We played a game we had played last night. She said, "Everybody say YABBI!" And I shouted "YABBI!" We did it for five minutes and it wasn't long enough. Her eyes twinkled and I breathlessly fell into them as I inwardly shouted, "thanks, God."

And now the day ends. And it is quiet. Elle is asleep. Kelli is surfing her Facebook account. Debbie is watching David Letterman's mom on TV. Joe had to run out and do a quick "video shoot" for this Sunday's church service. And I sit here. And I realize how rich I am. And I can't wait for tomorrow. And I have to say it one more time.

Thanks, God.

The Squeaky Blog Gets The Sun

You mean all I had to do was complain?

Shunned By(e) The Sun

The sun is missing in action. No, seriously. It's gone. I have not seen it in 25 days ... and that was in St. Louis. I don't know how long it was absent here in Cleveland before that mini-trip. It is safe to say that it was days at a bare minimum. Perhaps weeks. It had been long enough that I remember flying above the clouds just as we began descending into Cleveland. I actually looked at the blue sky and whispered a subdued, "Goodbye." I knew it was going to be a while. Which means that it had been a while. My logic is good so don't question me!

Let's just go back to our original presupposition. The sun is missing in action.

And that makes me a cruel man. "How cruel does it make you" you ask? Glad you asked. I'll explain. Try to keep up.

I have bookmarked in my favorite places, web cams from around the country. A serious boatload of places. I am addicted to webcams. Call me nosy, curious, or anything you want but I do love me some web cams. Here is a partial list of my favorites ...

-Niagara Falls
-Seattle's "Space Needle"
-Sears Tower
-Wrigley Field
-The shipping port on Lake Superior in Duluth, Mn.
-The "Wailing Wall" in Jerusalem
-The Great Pyramids in Egypt
-The 3 mile marker on I-270 (why? why not?)
-The Alamo (Remember? The alamo?)
-Dealey Plaza in Dallas Texas (where JFK was assassinated)
-Times Square
-Mt. St. Helens
-The U.S. Capital
-The Eisenhower Tunnel under the Continental Divide in Colorado

I think you get the idea. We are talking web cam mania here.

And lately I have been using my web cam addiction to make myself feel better. You know, about the missing sun. I click on a web cam and silently pray ... this is hard to admit ... I silently pray ... (sigh) give me a second to compose myself here ...




Okay, I silently pray that IT IS CLOUDY EVERYWHERE!

I feel so much better now that I got it out. Thank you for listening.

You see, I don't want to be sun deprived all by myself. If I am miserable then the rest of the world should be miserable too. If I am pasty white then you should be pasty white.

Isn't that awful? And yet, to paraphrase an old song ... "If de-sunning you is wrong I don't wanna be right!"

God, forgive me.

Allergic To Night Time

This makes absolutely no sense at whatsoever.

All day long I feel fine. Healthy. Whole.

Nighttime comes. The sun sets. It starts.

Drip. Drip. Sneeze. Drip.

What's with that? I blow my nose. My head aches.

Drip. Drip. Sneeze. Drip.

It's been this way for a couple of weeks now. Nothing in our apartment changes from daytime till night. Actually, we don't even have the heat running. Seriously. We don't pay the bill. It's included in our rent. But the huge building we are in has us all sandwiched between apartments up, down, right, left. I guess everybody around us keeps us toasty warm. It's in the 20's outside. But it isn't the heating system. NOTHING changes.

Except for my head.

Drip. Drip. Sneeze. Drip.

I do believe I am allergic to night time.

Snain and Slipper Socks

I'm not ready. Thanksgiving is around the corner. Christmas is just over the horizon. People are already turning on multi-colored lights and I actually saw a Christmas tree in a picture window this week. And I'm simply not ready for it all.

Wal-Mart is ready. They have been ready since August. They are drooling and salivating, sharpening their tearing-teeth and shoring up their grinders. They know I have to come in the door.

I think I refuse.

I'm not scrooge. I don't "bah, humbug" well. But after months of CNN and Fox News telling me that the financial world is coming to an end I just go nuts when I think about the bulls-eyes being painted on my head. The first news story is that the "great collapse" is upon us. The second news story is delayed so that they can squeeze in a "Visa" commercial. Ya can't have it both ways, people.

Okay, so that's how I feel about it. My Christmas tree ... the plastic one ... is in storage again this year. The ornaments are in a box someplace. Again. But I look at it this way. I live on the third floor. There are three parts to The Trinity. So it's a godly thing. My apartment number is 310. Again, three parts in the Trinity, one God, zero people living at the north pole ... if you know what I mean. So it's a godly thing too. I also believe that there is a secret message in my cars license plate but I'd have to go out on the balcony and strain visually into the darkness to see for sure. The wind is a nice steady 40 mph and it's "snaining." That's snow-mixed-with-rain. Snain. And I don't really want to know badly enough to get snained on. So you will have to trust me on that one. Debbie is watching "TLC" on the tube right now. T = Trinity. L = Lord. C = Christmas. I translate that to mean that Christmas is about the Lord ... all three parts. The Trinity. So for the time being I'm just going to drink another can of Vernor's and wait. Wal-Mart will be open twenty-four hours a day soon so why should I rush?

Besides, by then they'll have all of their slipper socks on clearance. I'll buy a case. Bingo-bango. I'm done.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #27

This road was brought to you courtesy of Ontario, Canada.

Whatever you do ... do NOT back up ...

Ahhhh. This is why I love her...

If you read my daughters blog you may have already seen this. If not ... it seems that Elle missed her nap yesterday. This was the result at suppertime.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #26

I don't know what it means but it can't be good.

Trained professionals only ... do NOT try this at home ...

Lessons from 39,000 feet

According to the Southwest Airlines web site I have flown 18 times in the last year. I was surprised to hear that. My time in the air approaches 1.5 days. I would rather have spent that time on some beach or perhaps on a mountain top but it didn't work out that way. Nope. It's 36 hours in the clouds for me.

I have learned some things in those 1.5 days. "What have you learned?" you ask? Well. Let me reveal my #1 lesson.

I have learned that sometimes airplanes don't hold together as well as you might expect. Care for an example? I thought you'd never ask. In September I was sitting in the very back seat of a jet flying from somewhere to somewhere. I was in the window seat. And then the window was in my seat. Seriously. The inside window of the 737 fell off and landed in my lap. This was rather unexpected. I held it up, looked it over and decided it might make a good souvenir. I was eyeing my backpack when the flight attendant happened by. She asked me why I was holding the window. How do you reply to that? I told her that it fell into my lap. She failed to see the humor in the situation and told me to put it back. I could see my opportunity for extra peanuts on this flight rapidly deteriorating and so I put the window back up to the fuselage opening and slammed it with a closed fist. It popped back into place. I am pretty certain I saved the entire crew and all of the passengers from certain death. Depressurization is an ugly thing. And yet I didn't even get a "thank you." Just a scowl. The peanuts never did come by.

Well. That's how I spent part of my time in the air. Remind me someday and I'll tell you about the time I was the only passenger on the plane. Stellar.

I'm annoyed!

One of the Cleveland news broadcasts did a bit today on what Oxford University has called "the most annoying phrases" in the English language. They are ...

1. At the end of the day

2. Fairly unique

3. I personally

4. At this moment in time

5. With all due respect

6. Absolutely

7. It's a nightmare

8. Shouldn't of

9. 24/7

10. It's not rocket science

While those are good, I think I can do better. Here's what drives me up a tree ...

1. Here's what drives me up a tree (I had a friend who drove up a tree once. It didn't work so well. He's dead now.)

2. That's what she said (Only because I didn't say it more quickly than the person who said it)

3. Whattya gonna do? (Smack you if you say that again.)

4. As you all know (NO I DON'T! I DON'T KNOW MUCH OF ANYTHING! STOP ASSUMING I'M BRILLIANT JUST BECAUSE I'M A GOOD FAKER!)

5. La La Land (I live there. I like it there. Stop belittling it.)

6. Later! (Later what?)

7. Hush hush (I wish people would be quiet about hushing up.)

8. In a funk (See note on # 5)

9. To hot to handle (Then get out of the way and let me deal with it)

10 On the same wavelength (Get off my wavelength. It's mine. Get your own.)

Special Bonus Saying ...

11 I'm just sayin ... (I've used this one and I repent. I use it when I'm actually not sure what I just said. I use it a lot.)

Stupid Picture Chronicles #25

Debbie noticed this from the expressway in New York state. I looped back for the picture. We didn't have field trips like this when I was a kid...

Stupid Picture Chronicles #24

Please boys and girls! In case you don't know, there is great danger in getting out of your car, climbing the railing, and jumping over Niagara Falls!