Twenty-Four Years And Counting ... A Salute To One Of My Best Friends

Twenty-four years ago I encountered a stress inducing day. However, my stress was not the only thing that was induced. My wife was induced as well. She was nine months pregnant and scheduled to give birth to our third ... and last ... child. He was pre-named Christopher Tyler and the birth was a cake walk. I don't remember any of the pain whatsoever. It was a little messy though. And gross. But he was worth it.

Christopher put us through some interesting days. He was that wonderful flavor in life that you can't quite identify but you know it when it's missing. I could expose you to a long litany of things that he did that brought him close to going home to heaven earlier than planned but .... Oh what the heck ...

There was the time he got detention for telling his teacher to "put a sock in it."

Or the time he got in trouble in school and the principal made him draw a picture of himself saying "I'm sorry" and then take it home to get his mom to sign it and bring it back to him the next day. So Chris promptly went home, got in trouble and was grounded to his room. While there he faked drawing an "I'm sorry" picture for his mom. He presented it to her, totally melting her heart. He ... in his infinite wisdom ... asked her to autograph it for memories sake. She did with tears of grateful joy running down her cheeks. The next day he turned the signed picture in to the principal. He got away with it for several day until the principal, a friend of mine, mentioned "The Incident" to me. I had been out of town and was fairly sure I would have heard about this story. So I asked Debbie about it. Lights began flashing in her eyes and sirens began going off in her ears. He paid a dear price for that one.

How about the time he had his friends duck tape him to a stop sign to see what drivers would do when they came by? The first car? Yep. The police.

Or the time he and a friend made a cardboard cat with tin foil eyes and tied a string to it, leaving it laying in the middle of the street in front of our house. When the first car came by they pulled the string, jerking the cat to attention as the car came to a screeching and panicked halt. That car? Yep. A squad car.

Did I mention the time he went to work at a local golf course and ran over the golf pro with a golf cart? He informed us of the incident rather casually that evening. The golf pro was taken to the hospital after golfers lifted the cart off of him. He spent at least one night in the hospital. I'm not certain but I think he went into vinyl repair shortly thereafter.

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

Now let me tell you the most remarkable part of the story. God was working in Christopher's life from day one. Chris never puts up with "boring." He has a desire to blaze trails and do things his own way. (Did I tell you about the time he and his friends went "stag" to their high school homecoming ... in the back of a dump truck?) Today this twenty-four year old man is one of the most talented, creative, gifted, passionate people that I know. He is deeply in love with his "cutting edge" church and is learning more and more every day about his "cutting edge" God. And His Lord has honored that. Christopher is simply living out life the very same way that God built life into him. You see, God took all of these stories (as John said about Jesus at the end of his gospel, "Were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contains the books that would be written.") and molded him into one of my best and most trusted friends. I love the spark in his eyes, the fire in his belly, the laughter that echoes from his mouth to my ears. We do things differently sometimes but that's because I've gotten old and crotchety and, honestly, his ways are almost always more fun. Chris use to learn from me. I think that, these days, more often than not I learn from him.

Christopher, you aren't the kind of person to read many blogs. But should you stumble across this one I just want to say, "Thank you for bringing great joy to your father's heart. I love you, son. ...Dad"

My Eye Is On The Sparrow

Today was a day of great experimentation. I joined friends after church for a nice lunch of Vietnamese food. I read the menu and understood nothing. NOTHING. I could not pronounce a word. Fortunately, each entree had a number next to it and a list of the items in the dish. Even more fortunately, Connie, my Administrative Assistant had already ordered, received her food, and it looked edible. she was still sitting upright in her chair. I do take these things into consideration when placing my order. So I joined Connie and ordered #41.

It arrived quite a few minutes later. (They flew to Vietnam to get it.) It looked ... wrong. The first clue was that it was in a bowl and Connie's meal was in a dish. The second clue was that it had long clear noodles in it that looked like "tape worms." I guess that's okay. You eat it and it should be able to eat you back. The first bite told me something was severely wrong. It tasted like ... napalm. Fire. My tongue turned a lovely hue of blistered. (Yes, blistered is now officially a color.) They asked me if I liked it and I smiled and nodded a "yes" through tear filled eyes. I ate for about 5 minutes and then the manager came out with a plate, took my bowl, and told me they had given me the wrong meal.

Oh.

This meal didn't look like Connie's either. There weren't any tape worms in it but I'm pretty sure I saw various parts of a sparrow. Like, oh, the claw? The beak? They tell me I'm wrong but I know a sparrow when I see it. God's not the only one who has His eye on them. And the meat had the distinct taste of bird. Don't ask me how I know this. I've lived a long full 53 years on this planet. This was a sparrow. And I ate my share. They offered to box up the rest but I knew I'd be compelled to bury it out in the yard someplace and so I just said a polite "no thank you," paid my bill and left.

Tonight some wonderful college students invited Debbie and I to supper after church. We went to a place called "White Cottage." That sounds so homey after eating lunch in Vietnam. I ordered the biggest, juiciest bacon cheeseburger I could find. I never ever eat bacon. But I wanted the pigs of the planet to know that I was not forsaking them in favor of fowl. I had them throw in an order of waffle fries for good measure. The conversation was great (i.e. insane.) The food had no beaks or claws. Just cow parts and fried vegetables grown underground. You know. American food.

My tummy is happy tonight. And a happy tummy makes for a happy me.

Do you suppose...

Do you suppose Jesus ever wished He had been born 2,000 years later? LIke maybe for the pizza?
Do you suppose the name "American Idol" bothers God?
Do you suppose Moses would wet himself if I could take him for a ride in my Mustang "top down?"
Do you suppose Noah had to put fish on board too?
Do you suppose my new book on "Facebook Evangelism" will make any money?
Do you suppose God ever messes with our heads "just 'cause He can?" (I would if I were Him.)
Do you suppose Uriah kicked David's butt when they met up in heaven? And if so, who did Bathsheeba cheer for?
Do you suppose God snickered when He thought up circumcision? 'Cause, honestly, it's not all that funny.
Do you suppose God made the world "middle aged" just to throw us off track with built in fossils?
Do you suppose I'd get more sleep if I'd stop getting up to blog after Debbie dozes off?

Elle gets her pie

I Am Barabbas - by Mark Batterson

I am reprinting some words penned by author Mark Batterson in his blog yesterday. I could not possibly say it any better than he does.

This thought keeps going through my mind today: I am Barabbas.

Imagine what that Friday must have been like for him. He was sitting in a jail cell awaiting his execution. He knew it was the last day of his life. It was the end. There was no hope. Then he hears the crowd chanting his name and the next thing he knows he's a free man. The charges are dropped. His life that was almost over starts over. And a sinless man named Jesus literally takes his place. He expected to die. He deserved to die. But his execution, in the sovereign plan of God, was scheduled on the same day Jesus was arrested.

If ever there was a picture of II Corinthians 5:21 this is it: "God made him who knew no sin to become sin for us."

I am Barabbas.

Why Good Friday is so very good

"Good Friday." What a strange name for the day that witnessed the execution of the Son of God. The beatings. The whipping. The mockery. The cross. The nails. The hammer. The spear. The tomb. The tears. The screaming. The horror. The clouds. The earthquake. And it goes on and on and on and on.

Evil seeming to win. Holiness seeming to face ultimate defeat. Joy nowhere to be found. Utter loss.

And then ... and then Sunday. Sunrise. Gleaming brightness of the resurrected Lord. Victory. Life. Eternity. Promise. Joy ever lasting.

Today you might be experiencing a "not so good Friday." Your life might be characterized by darkness these days. Pain might be your driving motivation. You might think that your future is to bleak to contemplate. Read these next words and allow them to penetrate deeply into your heart ...

IT DOES NOT HAVE TO BE THAT WAY! JESUS WINS! DEATH LOSES! BE PATIENT! VICTORY IS SURE! THE SNAKE IS DEAD ... BUT HIS TAIL STILL SWISHES! And today, if you know Jesus but seem to be facing more than you can bear let me assure you ... it's just the swishing of the snakes tail.

We win. Because of Good Friday. Because of Jesus. We win. We really do.

We really, really do.

Top 10 Subdivisions You Don't Want To Live In

Since we have begun our home search in earnest I have noticed that all of the subdivisions in our area (meaning in America) have certain things in common. Cool and trendy names. They all want to be called "Hunter Glenn," "Cambridge Estates," or perhaps, "Providence Commons." Who wouldn't want to live there?

All of that started me thinking. That's what I do. I think. it's a common thread that runs through the course of my life. And as I thought I realized why nobody ever asks me to name their neighborhoods. It is probably because I believe in truth in advertising. And so, with that thought in mind, I give you the top 10 subdivision names you probably don't want to move into.

10 - Foundations Crack

9 - Septic Runnoff

8 - Cellar Mold

7 - Stagnant Waters

6 - Rats Landing

5 - Mine Subsidence

4 - Sinkhole Estates (sister subdivision to Mine Subsidence)

3 - Cesspool Commons

2 - Crackhouse Courts

And the number 1 subdivision you certainly don't want to live in ...

1 - Squatters Rights

What's The Deal With That?

For the last year I've been following the adventures of a pastor's son who has been sailing around the world on a 29 foot sailboat. I have been living vicariously through him. Together we have caught tuna, fought off renegade waves, and met the natives on various Pacific islands. We've never met but we've had a blast together!

Then today I mentioned to my son that this particular guy was in Bermuda at the moment before finishing his global circumnavigation. He's taking a well deserved rest and then will sail on home. That's when my son said, "Huh. That's odd. I know him. And I just saw him here at church about an hour ago."

Huh? What's the deal with that?

Why I Miss Ohio

Yep. You heard me say it. There is something that I definitely miss about the Buckeye state. The land we call "Ohio." The only state so friendly that it says "hi" in the middle. See if you can follow me on this.

It started before I moved there. Debbie and I were driving with a real estate agent, looking for the house we never purchased. He pulled up to a stop sign. I looked at the house on the corner. Nice place. I especially liked the trees. Then I looked at the base of the tree. And I found ... CREATIVITY! I am not much of a botanical kind of guy but even I know that good flowers require good dirt. Evidently the guys dirt wasn't too good. So he imported "the right stuff." But gosh, you know how much work it is to move dirt around. And so the homeowner simply carried bags of good black dirt to the base of the tree, lay them down, split them open, and planted the flowers directly in the bag. it worked. The flowers were still growing there when I moved away 14 months later.

Then there was the Hicks family. I really love them! They are a tremendous couple and have great kids. And when I visited their home I found ... CREATIVITY! They have a tombstone in their garage. It was there when they bought the house, a little concrete cross stuck in a neatly hidden little closet door in their garage. Nobody was quite sure who was buried where and so they did the logical thing. They left it there. I can't argue with that logic. Besides, it makes them rather unique. Tom and Patty are the best! (Hi guys!)

Oh, and there were these two guys that had an apartment next to mine on the 9th floor. They were graduate students working on an internship at a local corporation. I came home from work one day, stepped off the elevator and found one of them throwing their clothes down the garbage chute. I just watched for a second. And then it hit me. I had found ... CREATIVITY! The guys roommate was downstairs catching the laundry and hauling it into the complexes laundromat. I didn't ask how they were going to get it all back upstairs. I was afraid it might have something to do with rocket propellent or trebuchets. (I so want my own trebuchet....)

But after all of that I do believe that this wins the award. I came across it tonight while surfing the news on the web. It seems that a gentlemen in the town of Newark, Ohio, about 100 miles south of where I lived, decided that he needed new transportation. He could not afford a new car. But it was important to him that he be able to access the local watering holes and it was too far to walk. And as I read about his plight I found ... CREATIVITY! I mean, who else would think of taking a bar stool and attaching a briggs and stratton engine to it? Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you ... the world first motorized bar stool!

Unfortunately our friend was driving his stool AFTER drinking. And he wrecked it. And in the process he hurt himself. And so ... he called 911. The operator asked him what his emergency was and he said, "I wrecked my bar stool." The police went to the scene. You guessed it. He was treated for his injuries and arrested for drinking and driving as well as driving without a license. And the bar stool? It will go up to 40 mph. The police didn't impound it. Perhaps that's the weirdest part of all.

You gotta love creativity.

Kissin The Horse

There is nothing in the world quite like the smell of a good horse barn in the spring! The horse hair ... the saddle leather ... the hay ... the ... well, you know. That other stuff. Mmmmmmm. Tonight I feel a little bit like Roy Rogers. I don't really have anything important to say but I'd like to encourage you to get out there and kiss the horse of your choice! This beauty belongs to the Hancock family. We only shared a few precious moments and yet ... it was as though our souls blended. We whinnied together!

Watching my son's youth group serve the poor in the inner city. Hockey on the glass. My daughter-in-law's birthday. Supper with The Amazing Elle and her mommy. Falling asleep every night next to my bride. Loving and serving God's people. Kissin the horse. A week doesn't get any better than this my friend ...

How A Day Works

Today was a day. I thought I'd tell you about it. But I decided to show you instead. So. Here it is ...



It began at this little quick mart. It's not the one I usually use on the way to the office but it served the purpose today. Caffeine was needed!


So I drove on to church all super charged with sugary syrupy goodness! I decided NOT to drive through this mans field.


The next stop was the building that holds the part of the body of Christ in Belleville called "Towerview." It's a pretty cool place!


When I arrived I came across the awesome maintenance worker we call "Caroline." We call her that because it's her name. She's the best!


Then came Connie and Mike. Connie is "Administrative Assistant Extraordinaire!" She also bears watching as she is quite capable of getting not only even but ahead anytime you try to trick her. Mike is the best youth pastor in Belleville. No doubt. Hands down. He loves his kids and they love him!


Then I went to Belleville Memorial Hospital to visit somebody who wasn't there. Brain cramp on my part. She wasn't checking in until tomorrow. Surgery on Tuesday. Oh well. I tried.


So I got back into "Emma The Mustang" and drove about 35 miles to visit a couple of my friends who have not been well. But first ... Walgreens. Because I had a head ache and they had Tylenol. I took its picture but, come on. You know what Walgreens looks like.




Then it was on to the Browns home where I spent some time catching up with Chris and Ashley. As you may know Ashley has been battling Leukemia for the second time. She's kicking it's butt. I am amazed by this woman. She's going to turn 20 soon and has been through more than most 80 year olds. And Chris? Two months ago he had a car accident and spent weeks in a coma. Well, as you can see ... he's doing very well. This is one amazing family. They are precious to me and I love 'em!


On the way home I was still fighting that head ache and so more caffeine was in order. This time it was from the #1 vanilla coke joint on the planet ... "Hit 'N Run. Ahhhhh .. It worked!



So I dropped Emma's top and drove home with the breeze in my face. I couldn't resist reaching over the window with my camera and taking my own picture through the windshield. At 65 mph. Upside down. I'm such an amazing driver/photographer.


Before climbing the stairs to the "love hovel" I share with my bride I had to take a picture of our new lake. It's not exactly Lake Erie. But it does mark the spot we currently call "home."


And then? Getting ready to watch a little "24" by warming up with the news, sports and weather. They tell me I'm the last person watching "24." That's okay. When I grow up ... I'm gonna BE Jack Bauer.

So there ya go. That was Monday. It wasn't a home run. But it wasn't a strike-out either. And there was more than I can really tell you about. I don't talk about meetings with people without their permission. So some of it just stays between us and Jesus. But I got to love people. I got to try my best to be Jesus with skin on. All in all ... it was a day ...

prayer and PRAYER

How often do you pray? That's a tough question because there is prayer and then there is PRAYER. You know the difference. Prayer is that undercurrent of conversation with God that you probably engage in on and off all day long. It is definite in its direction. I mean you know your utterances are directed upward. PRAYER is when you put everything else aside and direct all of your energies into talking to (or hopefully, "with") God.

If you are like me you pray all of the time. And once or twice each day you PRAY. Okay, I admit it. Sometimes a day goes by and I don't PRAY at all. It's rare but it happens.

Maybe the real issue isn't how often you PRAY. Maybe the real issue is how often you pray. Don't misunderstand, I believe in getting into a private place and being alone with God. But sometimes I wonder if the frequent quiet and subdued conversation uttered heavenward isn't more indicative of the condition of my heart than my intentional and planned time totally separated from the world and alone with God. I'm almost never really and truly alone and separated from the world. My cell phone isn't turned off. Text messages, emails, and phone calls can almost always get through. That's a shame but I'm just getting real and being honest.

I know that when it comes to my kids it was really important to me recently when, during a day of personal grief and crises they made specific time in their day to get in touch and make sure I was alright. I deeply appreciated that and it was huge in helping me get through that event. All three of them did that. One of them even got in the car and made the long drive out to spend some face time with me. Huge. Absolutely huge. But on most days a simple quick text message, email, note on facebook, or phone call reminds me of the depth of our relationship.

And honestly ... I just love that.

I'm not God but I am a dad. And I am passionate about my kids. And the touches mean everything. And I am God's kid and for some reason he is passionate about me. For some reason my "touches" seem to mean everything to Him. I guess I'm just trying to figure some prayer things out lately. I want to give God what He needs from me. Actually, I find it astounding that God would "need" anything from me. But somehow He seems to. I seem to feel His pleasure when I stay in touch. Sometimes for sixty seconds. Sometimes for sixty minutes. And I love it when He derives pleasure from something I do. It's ... beyond description.

I admit it. I'm a sucker for my Father.

Never Google Yourself

I googled my name tonight and found out that I (or perhaps those who share my name?) ...

Sell racing products. I'm too old for puppy love but I have a 20 year old girlfriend while cavorting with an 18 year old waitress. I offer legal services in criminal defense as a Texas attorney. I'm an expert at architectural glass products, music, and art. I am a securities litigations expert in L.A. I pitched and fielded for Detroit, both New York teams, as well as Montreal. I seem to have an alcohol addiction and I also dabble in crack.

And I died in Iraq. The trail goes cold after that.

I offer a sincere salute and thank you to the last Ronald Woods on the list.

A Word From Cindy Winters

Watch CBS Videos Online

Strength Personified As Only God Can Give

http://www.kmov.com/video/topvideo-index.html?nvid=341567&shu=1

13 RaNdoM THoUghtS aND wOrdS tHAt coMe tO MInD tONiGht

- +25 degrees in a St. Louis March feels colder than -14 did in a Cleveland January.
- Hazy
- Worth it?
- 2.8 year olds should sleep later.
- 2.8 year olds should let their grandfather sleep later.
- Soul sad
- Chocolate chips are meaningful in the redemption of joy process.
- Twitter makes no sense.
- Listless
- MAD, MAD, MAD
- I just learned that Sears Tower no longer exists. It is about to become "The Willis Tower." My childhood was wasted.
- I do not want tomorrow to come. Let us fast forward directly to Saturday.
- Next week I hit "reset" on life.

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.