A sock hat + a duffle bag (does not) = DUCK!

It's easy to over use the phrase "We live in strange times." But the truth is ... we live in strange times.

During our morning worship service this morning things were going quite well. The "felt" presence of God was in the building. The worship (aka: singing) was vibrant and moving. The crowd was sizable. The pre-message video actually received a round of applause. And the pastor, well he was just "off the hook." The guy was on fire! He was bringing fresh bread!

Okay, he was me. And I'm probably over stating the pastor part just a little bit.

But about mid-sermon the door of the worship center opened and a man walked in. He was dressed strangely A bit like a homeless person, wearing some odd sort of a sock hat and carrying a duffel bag of sorts. I never got a good look at it. He walked to about the fifth pew from the rear and made himself at home on the aisle of the far right side of the church.

You know, when you are speaking the Word of God you really should pay close attention to what you are saying. I mean, you should be listening hard to hear the Voice of The Holy Spirit. You should be sticking to your notes unless prompted by God to do otherwise. You should NOT be looking at the oddities of those in the congregation.

But a duffle bag? Or a back pack?

I admit that it got my attention. It's only been slightly over a year since a friend of mine was murdered in the pulpit as he spoke on a Sunday morning by a man who came in late. It is, admittedly, hard to forget about that. Since that event we have established a "Security Team" that operates invisibly. We don't talk about them around church at all. But there are ways I can cause them to swing into action without anybody knowing that I have done so. It was obvious that the team was already paying attention. That told me that my job was to NOT pay attention to the man. My job was to go about the task of speaking God's Word.

He seemed to listen closely to everything I said. He fidgeted a little bit but so do the deacons. That's not exactly a sign of anything. It took me all of sixty seconds to realize that this was God's place and God's deal. And at that point I intentionally stopped looking at him and focused on "hearing" and "speaking." And yes, for those who have already asked, I did close my eyes when I led in prayer before the end of the service.

You know what was amazing? Following the message we began singing. This unknown man raised his hands toward the heavens, closed his eyes, and sang full throttle. He was obviously lost in the moment. Worshipping God. Seeking His presence. I felt really stupid.

It's a shame when you have a stranger visit your church, even a "strange stranger," and you don't know whether to turn them in or to welcome them with open arms. I think the truth is that we have a directive from our Father to forget the former and do the latter. After you've done all you can do it is imperative that you lean on your Heavenly Father for protection and trust those you've put in charge of security to do their jobs. Yes, we have an obligation to make our church as safe as we can. But when a person of question enters and one of your first thoughts is "I'm glad my wife isn't here this morning because I don't want her to see what might happen" ... something is just wrong.

I was sitting with eight guys in my small group this evening and every one of us admitted to feeling the same feelings and thinking the same thoughts when we first saw our friend. There were even tears shed because we have become to quick to judge and jump to conclusions. It's a tough spot we've been put in in our churches. And we just can't allow ourselves to forget our church motto ... "Love God. Love People. Pretty Simple."

If we forget that ... we've given the enemy too much ground and we've already lost a big part of the battle. We live in a dangerous world and we are, to an extent, targets. Easy targets. We don't anticipate, want, or even expect violence. And we'll do all we can to prevent it and act quickly if it should occur. But the mission goes on. And we learned today to do our best and lean into Jesus for the rest.

Because, yes, we live in strange times.

With apologies to Humphrey Bogart ...

With apologies to Humphrey Bogart "“Of all the donut shops in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”

Supper with the family tonight ended at a donut shop. Elle, as usual, took the opportunity to scour the room for interesting elements. We were all at a table and she ended up at the counter. On a stool. Looking for all the world as though she was a weary traveler who just stopped in for "a cup of joe." I hope she left a tip.

We love these Thursday evening family gatherings. We love them so much that we spend twice as much time in the car going to and from them as we do actually at them. We don't mind at all. That says a lot about the people we are spending time with. Tonight it poured rain all the way to the restaurant and the traffic was hideous. But one wet slobbery smile from Paisley, one neck crunching hug from Elle, and an hour of wise cracks from those we have become accustomed to calling "The Adults," and all of the traffic faded from memory.

(Scott and Amanda, if you are reading this, I know it stinks that you can't come. But you are always mentioned, and are always loved. We don't let 300 miles keep you from our hearts.)

Okay, enough gratuitous sentimentality. I am a dad and a grandfather so every now and then I have the right to indulge myself. We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog ...

Stupid Picture Chronicles #46

Proof that dinosaurs played basketball.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #45

One has to wonder ... (Notice that the door is nailed shut from the OUTSIDE ... as if to keep "something" in. I don't even want to know.)

Thirty-Seconds-O-Fun

So I'm riding my motorcycle today and stopped in a parking lot. Parking lots are suppose to be safe. Right? That's where you park your vehicle and turn it off. Thus the name "parking" lot. I guess some guy didn't get the memo because before I could stop he backed his car into me, tore the rear turn signal off the bike and knocked me down. The way he hit me caused the bikes tires to slide to the left which made me fall to the right. That was the side he was on. So I had the fun-filled few seconds of trying to turn in a direction that would allow me to see him. My view was blocked because I had this helmet on (helmets save lives but not if somebody runs over you with their Goodyears) and I didn't know if he was still moving. He was. I was able to right myself just in time to see him stop, look at me, and squeal his tires on his way out of the lot. All I saw was an old black Buick. No video camera coverage. Only one eye witness who really thought she should call somebody or take me to the hospital but all I had to show for the 30 seconds-o-fun was a scraped up knee and a busted tail light. I avoid emergency rooms unless I my spleen is hanging out or something.

It's amazing how quickly life can go all wonky. It was a beautiful day. I was on the bike for only the second time this year. The breeze felt great. The sun was positively gorgeous. And then you are lying on asphalt trying to figure out if there is a front tire coming at you with your name on it. Cap it off with a not-so-nice person who decides to make an early departure and you've got the makings for a true spoiler ending.

Fortunately he straightened his tire out and I live to blog again.

I'm trying for the life of me (pun intended) to figure out some sort of cosmic meaning in all of this. You know. "Live every moment like it's your last." "Start seeing motorcycles." "It just wasn't my time yet." I"m afraid that stuff doesn't work for me. Bottom line is some loser almost ran over me just because he didn't look before he backed up and his stereo was playing so loudly he couldn't hear the bikes engine. Ya see, it just doesn't take that much to kill ya.

If it helps, I was sitting in St. Charles at a Penn Station sub shop tonight with two of my kids and their families. I'd packed away a sausage sandwich (I thought about eating chicken but what with life being so tentative and all I decided to go with the high fat/high calorie entree. Did a full order of fries too.) And I was just watching and listening. Feeling a little reflective I suppose. Not deeply so. Just ... enjoying the moment. Elle was sitting across from me. She and Paisley had both spent the day at the zoo. So I was just listening to my kids and their spouses talk. Watching my wife hold Paisley. Toying with the straw wrapper. And there was a tap on my knee. The one with the fresh scratch on it. I slid back and looked down and Elle had crawled under the table and made her way over to me. She wanted to be in my lap. I pulled her up and instead of sitting on my legs she continued to face me, wrapped her arms around my neck and hugged me really, really tightly.

Nobody knew it. They were all talking, eating, and enjoying. But I had my very own "moment." No tears, sighs, or deep reflections. Just ... the realization that life is very good, very precious, and entirely too unpredictable. It was a significant hug. I couldn't have asked for it because then it wouldn't have counted. I couldn't have paid for it because that would make it cheap and superficial. She couldn't have really known that I needed it because I didn't even know myself. But when it came it was from her heart and it pierced mine.

It made me glad not to be flat.

Nearly Archless ...

I don't know why I like this picture. I just do. The arch takes on a different life in the dreariness. It was that kind of night...

A Lake. A Chair. A Snowman

The visit with my son Scott last week was, as always, a relaxing and fun time. Scott and Amanda have one of those homes that is just great to visit. It's homey. It's warm. It's friendly. I love being there and I love hanging out with them. I couldn't possibly be more proud of the two of them. I believe they are living life in the center of God's plan. Scott is a youth pastor and Amanda works at a not-for-profit that helps find housing for homeless women. Can you think of more quality ways to spend your days? When we visit the days often revolve around food. That's one of the perks of living in Chicagoland. You have a plethora of places to please your palate. (I'm on a "P" roll ... don't stop me now!) So we gain weight, maybe shop for a while, watch some movies, sleep, and then start the process all over again.

Hey. It works for us.

But every now and then you come across something that just defies understanding. Scott and I were driving along a road in the Crystal Lake area when he pointed out a frozen pond alongside the highway. Not that there is anything unusual about a frozen lake twenty miles from the Wisconsin border in March. But this one had a couple of things that made it ... different. Here ... look for yourself. (Click on the picture to blow it up. You'll see much better.)
Yes, that is a folding chair and that is a snow man. And they are maybe 50 or 75 feet apart. And the mind wonders .... why? Why would anybody build a snowman on a frozen lake and then sit on a chair and stare at it from a great distance? Or was he perhaps shooting at it? Or was he waiting to see if it would fall through the ice (which doesn't seem terribly bright.) Or was that his wife who turned around to look at Crystal Lake and was turned into a pillar of salt. Hey, it's as solid of a possibility as anything else I've got.

Sometimes life just jumps up and gets weird. Sometimes circumstances just make you say, "Huh?"

Scott has a very good friend named Adam. They work together. Adam is the worship leader with their youth group. Last night, totally out of the blue, his father passed away. His heart simply stopped beating. He was in his mid-fifties and taught school somewhere in the Tulsa area. There is a lot of pain in that family and a lot of people who can't think of much more to say than, "Huh?"

A very little girl who is not even a year old and is the daughter of my friends was just diagnosed at Mayo Clinic this week. Without going into detail she has a genetic condition that causes her great pain in her leg. The doctors don't really know what to do. When you've stumped the doctors at Mayo Clinic you've done a pretty impressive thing. The little girl could conceivably lose her leg. And her parents are left wondering whether or not to have more children because there is a 50/50 chance that child could have the same condition. At this point all they know to say is, "Huh?"

Life does that. I could give you a ton more examples but I think maybe you have some of your own.

It's amazing what a chair, a snowman, and a frozen lake will bring to your mind. Life is unpredictable. We only think we have tamed it. At any moment you and I could be left saying, "Huh?"

The extraordinarily good news is that God is never shocked. "Huh?" is not in His vocabulary. And in the face of our "Huhs?" the very best thing that we can do is to tie ourselves off to Him and hold on tight. He has every answer. He understands every situation. He is never surprised, never left speechless, and never cursed by the unpredictable. How can anybody stay sane without Him?

Because without Him we are simply a snowman waiting to melt. On a less than frozen lake. Staring at an empty chair.

Let me tell you the good news. The chair isn't empty. Actually the chair we face is a throne. And the Son of God sits on it. And that is a very, very good place for us to be. I suggest you hold on tight. Your lake might be melting. You might feel a bit like a snowman facing rising temperatures yourself. What to do? Simple.

Keep. Your. Eyes. On. The. Throne.

Ballistic

Today I went ballistic. Seriously. I did. I shot guns for the first time since I was like ... I dunno ... maybe ten years old? My dad had this .22 caliber semi-automatic rifle. It's got a cool scope and everything. So he took my brother and I to a dump in Arkansas and taught us to shoot cans. Might have nailed a rat or two, I really can't remember. Fast forward about 35 years. I was visiting him one day long after he retired and a year or so before he passed away. His rifle was sitting in his family room. When I asked why it was there he told me a lame story about how his dog woke him up a night or so earlier barking at two men standing in his yard near his garage. So he decided that he needed a 9mm hand gun rather than a rifle. In order to facilitate that purchase he was selling his rifle to a local police officer for the tidy sum of $100.

Unacceptable. Totally unacceptable.

I gave him $100 and bought my own family heirloom. With it I received the remains of his original two boxes of .22 caliber ammunition. Dad never even shot two complete boxes of bullets with the gun. At the moment I don't have a "Firearms Owners I.D." card. So the gun is stored at a friends until I get around to getting my application turned in and approved.

But today I found myself at a shooting range with one of my sons and a friend. We took our pent-up rage out on paper targets. The net result?

I killed Barney. Don't feel badly for him. He provoked me.

It was a good day.

Mr. Ed Part Deux

Okay, well my last few blogs have been so serious that I decided to do something different today. Got to lighten up, don't ya know. So I decided to go looking for a horse who was good at tight-rope walking. It took most of the day but I found one.

5 Guys

There are 5 guys in my life that hold extraordinary places of influence, honor, and importance. And I also just flat out like them. A sentence or two about each and a paragraph about one.

There is Christopher. But he goes by Topher. He's my youngest child and one of the greatest joys of my life. He's intelligent, strong, and impassioned by that which he believes in. I want to spend more time with him and intend on making that happen. He lives with his pregnant wife, Laura (and she will love that this is the way I have defined her. Love you, Bella!,) attends Missouri Baptist University, and works at his church. He's one of the funniest and most joy-filled people that I know. He's far more of a man than I was at his age.

There is Scott. He's my middle kid but doesn't act like a middle kid. He's confident, purposeful, ultra-dependable, responsible, and incredibly gifted. He's also a Cub fan which makes us joined at our misguided brains. He lives in Chicago so I spend a huge amount of time missing him. He shares his condo with his wife, Amanda, serves as the Director of Student Ministries at Willow Creek McHenry County, and to my great joy calls me as he drives home about 3 times per week. He redefines "wise and mature" at the ripe old age of 27. He also has an incredibly razor sharp sense of humor. You learn this at your own risk.

There is Jim. He is my brother-in-law who, after graduating from Marquette University in Milwaukee, came to live with our family for a year or so somewhere around 2001. Jim's one of my best friends. I'm more the age of a potential dad to him but he cuts me slack and treats me like a brother. When he lived in our home along with Chris and Scott (and my non-male daughter, Kelli) the place became like the center of the universe to me. I could sit for hours and just listen to the banter. They were some of the most fun days I've ever lived through. Jim lives in the Tower Grove neighborhood of St. Louis with his wife, Alisha. He just quit a long time job that had begun to suck his soul dry and now is beginning as a manager of a Starbucks. His dream is to be a meteorologist or a full fledged servant in his church. I think he'd make a great mid-way barker at a carnival.

And then there is Joe. Joe is my son-in-law, having married my only daughter, the aforementioned Kelli. And this is where I choose to write the longer paragraph. When I gave him my daughter I knew he was a special guy. No doubt about it. In the seven years that they have been married he has loved her, provided for her and done the things that all husbands should do. And then he kicked it into overdrive. He cherishes her. He adores her. Together they have created two daughters, "The Amazing Elle" and "The Spectacular Paisley." And he's the best dad they could ever dream of having. Elle totally lights up when he sits and plays with her. But that's just a part of the story. Joe is a man with great gifts. He has played in two bands since he came to grace my home with his presence. The first was my favorite if only for their name, "Fish Mouth Revenue." How can you not love a band with a name like that? He's a first rate song writer, a gifted guitar player, and a much better vocalist than I could ever dream of being (but then, so is Shaquille O'neal.) Joe's going through some interesting times right now. And here is more evidence that he is a truly amazing man. He took an entire evening to sit with his in-laws (that's Debbie and I) and explain to us the situation he's recently dealt with. Just because he wanted us to know. Just because he knows we care about him and will pray for him. Just because he understands the concept of "family." How many guys would do that? As a youth pastor and a Sr. Pastor I've worked with thousands of men and I can assure you that the answer to that question is VERY few. I am grateful for Joe. I am grateful for his integrity. His faithfulness to my daughter and especially to his God. His pure devotion to his children. And I am so proud to call him my son. (Okay, "in-law." But, as my daughters-in-law will tell you, I don't really use that "in-law" part much. Don't care for it. Never have.) In the last couple of weeks I have watched Joe teach a lesson on "Character In Action" through his life style. Will he make it big as a musician or a song writer? I have no idea. But he's already made it big as a man. And in this world, this culture, this century ... very few of us pull that off. (Hey Joe ... I'm your cheerleader. You've already hit it out of the park in my eyes. Keep swinging and let's see how far God lets you drill the next fastball that comes your way!)

Oh yeah. The 5th guy? My brother. I saved him for last because, well, that's another blog for another day...

Tears Validating Tears

God's grace is always enough. It is never in short supply and He never withholds it. Sometimes He seems to withhold His "felt presence" but grace is always just a request away. And so it was as we visited our friends in Dallas over these past few days.

It was good to be with our friend. More than good. It was therapeutic. I didn't realize how much Debbie and I still grieve the loss of Lynda until the trip to visit her husband and son approached. It turned palpable. But as we arrived at Love Field last Thursday night Dave met us and drug us to his home. He has a great place in the absolute middle of nowhere. As his daughter-in-law said the first time she visited there, "My goodness. They'd never find my body." You see, Texas is big. And at night it's dark. Once you leave the city proper it's all cows and natural gas facilities and an endless array of boot superstores.

And then there is Dave's. He has a beautiful home. He has a pool in his backyard and a lake in his front yard, thus bringing to naught the perception that Texas is a dusty, dry state. That isn't true, at least in his yard. His home is beautiful and his hospitality not only matches but exceeds it.

It was just good to see Dave. Good to know that he's going to make it. Good to know that he's moving toward being okay once again. As the Apostle Paul said, not that he has achieved it but he's doing his best to forget the past and strain toward the future. And thus, I am proud of him. He's handling his pain and loss much better than I think I would.

And so we spent our weekend watching the Olympics on one of his many large screen TV's, eating fine food from great restaurants (when I wasn't robbing his M&M bag,) and talking. We agreed on a myriad of things. Life is good. Death sucks. Dallas had more snow than usual this winter. Death sucks. Chocolate is always appropriate. Death sucks. A good church can be hard to find after you suffer a life changing event. Death sucks. Always insist on owning the mineral rights before purchasing property. Death sucks. There is nothing better than a hard fought hockey game even if your team loses. Death sucks.

Are you picking up a theme here? If not let me help you.

Death sucks.

Indeed it does. But 2nd Corinthians 5: 1 dispenses infinite wisdom when it proclaims "Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands." And while that might ease the pain it does not erase it. Jesus hated death. He felt it's searing sting as we see Him shedding tears at the entire debacle of death when his good friend Lazarus passed away. True, Jesus knew that He was about to bring him back from the dead. But I have to believe that, in part, his tears fell because He understood the agony that ever person was to feel when one they love dies

Jesus. Knew. The. Pain.

And He cried. And so I can cry. His tears validate my tears. I'm glad that I have a God who can relate to my pain.

Because ... death sucks.

The Taste of Salt

Sometimes you just don't know how to feel. I mean, feelings can be deceptive anyway. You can't trust them. They will tell you one thing tonight and another thing in the morning. So I try to not put too much stock in them. On the other hand, feelings are real. They are one of many windows into the soul. And while it is easy to give them too much credit there is also a danger in ignoring them altogether. They are often trying to tell you something. Finding the balance is tough.

Tomorrow we are flying down to the Lone Star State to visit our most excellent friend, Dave. Over the last decades we have had great times flying down mountains on waxed boards together, shooting fireworks at neighboring roofs (don't ask,) grilling steaks in the backyard (he likes his to resemble what a cow would look like after a fire at the stockyards. Extra crispy. Sick man.) We raised our kids and tormented our wives together. Good times.

You might remember that Dave's bride, Lynda, was called home to heaven last May. It was a crushing blow to all of us, and of course, especially Dave to lose her. Not that we really lost her. She's at "home." With Jesus. And if we know where she is how can she really be lost? But she is lost to us. It feels that way. (There is that word again.) We can't see her smile which was ever present. We can't hear her laugh which was totally infectious. We can't find her ... and to the senses of earth she feels lost.

This will be our first visit to their home without her around. We are so anxious to see Dave. He has visited us here at our place since her home-going. But we have not been there. So we are excited to get to see him. But a hollowness is already settling into our souls as we consider the depth of the loss we anticipate feeling. This is the same loss that Dave has lived with every day since May. We need to feel it. He doesn't need to be the only one to bear it. The four of us were too close for too long to allow that. As I have said, we raised our kids together. But who walks into pain voluntarily with a smile? The smile of the reunion is greatly tempered by the dread of the empty chair.

Death does that to a heart. It takes joy and crushes it into a million pieces until it taunts your memories as a mocking demon. It brings a steely taste to your mouth. I have conducted too many funerals in my life and I suspect I'll do more before my own rolls around. Personally, I'm tired of them. This is exactly why God went to such great lengths to eliminate death. This is why He sent His Son to the cross. He knew about the sting. He knew about the hopelessness. And so Jesus came. And He stared death in the eye smacked it around, crushed it's head, and walked away the victor. And we will too if we trust Him. There will come a day ... I fully believe this ... that the four of us will ski down the highest mountain we can imagine and not one of us will fall. We will carve long, wide turns in deep powder. We will laugh and play and slide to a stop together, breathing in the beauty of the New Heaven and the New Earth. It's coming. I can't see it yet. But I know it is out there. There is great joy in anticipation of this magnitude. It is a joy that cannot be equaled on earth. The joy of knowing that the death of a friend will be overcome by the power of a resurrection. And it isn't a dream. It isn't wishful thinking. It is real. We will on that day taste the flavor of the best steaks grilled to perfection.

But for now we will go to our friend. He has cried. And we must taste the salt of his tears. It is what friends do.

Thumbs

Over a nice dinner tonight with our friends Eric and Stephanie we, as usual, engaged in deep conversation. Tonights topic centered around what we would miss most if we had no thumbs. Intriguing to say the least. Here's our best efforts ...

(Please note that this was a group effort. Except for #1 ... the last one. That was all Eric's. He tested it and wanted you to know.)

-Certainly no hitch-hiking.
-Picking your nose would become totally one dimensional. Boring. No way to flick a booger.
-Just try eating a hot dog with everything on it. Better get a bib.
-Squeezing ketchup bottles? Not happening.
-Use the space bar? Forget about it.
-I dare you to try flipping a coin.
-"Rat Pack" impersonations are impossible if you can't snap your fingers.
-Got a Tee Time? Might as well cancel. You ain't swinging nothing thumblessly.
-You're gonna need some help brushing your teeth.
-And the number 1 thing that would go wrong without thumbs ... I believe this gem was Eric's ... and I'll put this as politely as possible. Gentlemen ... you might as well leave the seat down. (Apologies to all of you I just offended. Leave a comment and I'll give you Eric's cell phone number.)

Be Thou My Vision

The 8th century was a long time ago. I mean a SERIOUSLY long time ago. But there was this guy named Dallan Forgaill who wrote a song that doesn't get much airplay anymore. It should. Read it for yourself. (The capital's are Dallan's. The parenthasis are mine. He out wrote me using much less words than I did.)

BE THOU MY VISION, OH LORD OF MY HEART (God ... would you please be my eyes today? I have so much sin in me that the way I see things is skewed. Let me see life, the world, myself, and people the way you do.)

'NAUGHT BE ALL ELSE TO ME, SAVE THAT THOU ART, (Please do not let anything else in me matter compared to you! Not my wants and desires, not my opinions and thoughts. Nothing.)

THOU MY BEST THOUGHT, BY DAY OR BY NIGHT, (God, nothing enters my mind that is worth anything at all compared with my moments of meditation upon You.)

WAKING OR SLEEPING, THY PRESENCE MY LIGHT. (It matters not what my condition. If I am awake You are my light. If I am asleep You are my light. It is all You, oh God!)

BE THOU MY WISDOM, AND THOU MY TRUE WORD; (My best ideas are foolishness next to your most simple idea's, Father. Every word You speak is greater than my greatest utterance.)

I EVER WITH THEE AND THOU WITH ME, LORD. (What can seperate us? Nothing. Nothing! Because You, oh Lord, will not let it!)

THOU MY GREAT FATHER, I THY TRUE SON; (Our relationship is real. It is deep. It is everlasting. You are my Father. I am Your son. Legally. Eternally. Really.)

THOU IN ME DWELLING, AND I WITH THEE ONE. (When I feel empty You are still inside of me. My feelings mean nothing. It is all about fact. And the fact is that You are in me. We are so closely intertwined that we are one!)

BE THOU MY BATTLE SHIELD, SWORD FOR THE FIGHT; (When evil attacks, Father, You alone shield me. And I can counter attack because You are my Sword in this spiritual battle.)

BE THOU MY DIGNITY, THOU MY DELIGHT; (I have no dignity on my own. You give me worth and integrity. And that makes me delight in You all the more!)

THOU MY SOUL'S SHELTER, THOU MY HIGH TOWER; (In You do I hide, my God. You shelter me from life's storms. I need not worry about anything sneaking up on my or anybody bigger than I am picking on me because You are the biggest, tallest tower around. I can trust You!)

RAISE THOU ME HEAVENWARD, O POWER OF MY POWER. (I get spunky and feel powerful sometimes. But when I wise up I realize that You are the power that powers my power! Pick me up, Abba! Hold me in Your arms! Lift me high toward heaven!)

RICHES I HEED NOT, NOR MAN'S EMPTY PRAISE, (Money has come to mean nothing to me. Stuff is simply ... stuff. I pay no attention to them. The same is true of the words men speak of me when they are being kind. I pay no attention to it. I live to hear Your voice, oh Abba.)

THOU MINE INHERITANCE, NOW AND ALWAYS, (You give me all that is Yours. You love me. I am never broke. I am never hopeless or helpless. My Father is always rich.)

THOU AND THOU ONLY, FIRST IN MY HEART, (You have no competition with me, oh God. You have won my heart. The fight is over. The contest has been decided. I forsake all others for You alone.)

HIGH KING OF HEAVEN, MY TREASURE THOU ART. (You are the pearl of great price. You are the treasure above all treasures. No diamond, no gold, no check or money order, no power-ball victory can come close to being Your's and having You!)

HIGH KING OF HEAVEN, MY VICTORY WON, (It's over! I marched under the banner of my King and I ... WE ... won! The dragon has been slain. Yes, his tail still swishes sometimes but he's down for the count. The victory is won!)

MY I REACH HEAVEN'S JOYS, O BRIGHT HEAVEN'S SUN! (I may have won and I may reign with You on high but right now my body and my soul are right here on earth. It's still muddy and foggy and polluted. It is still dangerous. Please, Abba, bring me home! Let me enter Your presence soon!)

HEART OF MY OWN HEART, WHATEVER BEFALL, (My heart beats to the rhythm of Yours. Your heart defines my heart. No matter what! Forever! You, oh God, are the very heart of me!)

STILL BE MY VISION, O RULER OF ALL. (The enemies darts still come blazing at me, Father. I walk with You and the victory is assured. But battles still rage. The enemy has not conceded. And so even if his fiery darts should pierce my heart, oh great God, keep my vision on You. For You are ruler of all that is!)

Reality In The Sand (with apologies in advance)

Once upon a time I dreamed I was walking along the beach with Jesus.
Many moments from my life darted through my mind.
In each moment I noticed footprints in the sand.
Usually there were two sets of footprints,
other moments there was a single set of footprints.
"That's weird," I thought in my dream.

And this troubled me greatly (not to mention hacking me off) because I noticed
that during the hardest moments of my life,
when I was despairing due to
pain, sadness or spiritual warfare,
I could see merely the single set of footprints.

So I said to Jesus,
"Whoa. Hold on just one Damascus Road minute. You promised me Jesus,
that if I stayed with you,
you would stick around all of the time.
And yet I have observed that during
the most trying difficult, painful, horrible times of my life
there has consistently been one
single pair of footprints on the beach.
And behind those footprints I noticed a smoothly graded place.
I mean isn't that a little weird. Kind of like I was being followed by a slithering monster.
Was that a demon chasing me Jesus while you went off to hang out with Billy Graham?
Why in the world, when I really, really needed you,
did you run away and leave me on this stinken beach all alone?
Come on! What gives?"

That is when I am pretty sure
I heard Jesus quietly reply in His still, small, voice,
"You know those times when you only saw your own footprints
with the demon chasing after you?
Oh, my child. Those were not your footprints. They were mine.
And there was no demon chasing you, my son. You read too many weird books.
That smooth place is where I drug you kicking and screaming behind me
Way to go. This would have been a lot easier if we had done it my way."

To which I replied to my Lord, " .... Oh. Never mind."

32 Reasons (in no particular order) Why I Love My Valentine Of 32 Years

(My "on-line" Valentines Day Card. Take THAT Hallmark ....)

32. Home made Pazookies
31. She falls asleep in 30 seconds and then I can listen to anything I want on the ipod.
30. Speaking of sleeping ... she goes deep and doesn't surface even if I do that trampoline thing on my side. No worries mate.
29. She actually drives better than I do but she doesn't rub it in.
28. She understands when I HAVE to have mexican.
27. Kelli
26. Scott
25. Chris
24. She won't let me have a dog. (Yes, that's a good thing. I tend to lose them.)
23. She knocks before coming into my man cave if the door is closed even though she knows I won't be mad if she doesn't.
22. She is addicted to the same TV shows that I'm addicted to.
21. I don't fold clothes well and she doesn't yell at me for it.
20. Home made Chicken Enchiladas. 'Nuff said.
19. She knows I talk too much and to too many people and she's okay with it.
18. She doesn't pretend to like baseball. (Nothing worse than a faker.)
17. She reminds me to take my "old man medicines."
16. She waits to watch "House" until I'm other-wise-occupied.
15. She ALWAYS knows where I left my glasses.
14. She actually BOUGHT me my motorcycle. (Better yet ... as a surprise!)
13. She keeps cookie dough in the refrigerator at all times.
12. She thinks Ernie Banks is FDIC insured and doesn't pretend to understand why he's not.
11. She loves her dad. Never fall in love with a woman that doesn't love her dad.
10. She leaves the seat up. (Not really but nobody is perfect.)
09. I am the only man I know allowed to eat potato chips in bed.
08. She took care of my elderly mom when I could not.
07. She remembers what I forgot and forgot what I remember. (Resulting in a remarkable decrease in arguments.)
06. She gets dressed very quietly in the morning because she leaves before I do. (She's a "morning person" but I love her anyway.)
05. She knows just the right times to "come share my chair." (I have a truly large chair.)
04. She doesn't think I've ever preached a bad sermon.
03. She went out of her comfort zone and learned to ski with me.
02. She knows where "her place" is on my shoulder and loves to bury her head in it.
01. She loves God with all of her heart, mind, soul, and strength. And she loves me ... her neighbor ... like she loves herself.

Happy Valentines Day, Debbie. I love you.

Long Live Eutychus ... Again!

Eutychus. It's a name that, to the best of my knowledge, has only been used once. (Take note Chris and Laura. It's under used and available.) It seems that he was this guy written about in the book of Acts. Chapter 20. Verses 7 - 12. Paul was preaching (not so unusual) up in this 3rd floor room. The lamps were lit. The windows were open. The place was full of people. I guess it got warm and Eutyhcus sought fresh air from a perch on a window sill. Problem is, Paul kept on preaching. Midnight came and midnight went. He preached on. In his deep slumber poor Eutychus lost his balance and fell out of the window. As fate would have it he fell "out" rather than "in." Three floors down.

Splat.

Paul ran downstairs and found him dead on the sidewalk. Vegas odds would have it that Paul would have said, "Serves you right." and gone back to his preaching. It seems to me that he stepped out of character when he stretched himself out on the corpse, hugged him, and then called the life back into that increasingly cold lump of clay. Then they all went back upstairs to celebrate the resurrection of Eutychus with communion and, you guessed it, more sermonizing from Paul. He spoke about the great acts of faith until after dawn. Paul might have been full of compassion, he might have exercised grace, but he didn't learn his lesson.

I spoke on the story of Eutychus at Towerview last Sunday. The sermon was aptly titled, "Boring You To Death." And I just can't get him out of my mind. Several people seem to have the same problem. But they have thrown an odd slant onto it by sending a link to a newspaper article to me. I'll give the credit to a friend, Brant Dixon, because he was first. Here is a brief summary of the article as copied from Yahoo.com...

"Melbourne, Feb 8 (ANI): Boredom can actually kill you, a new study has revealed.

To reach the conclusion, researchers at University College London looked at data from 7524 civil servants, aged between 35 and 55, interviewed between 1985 and 1988 about their levels of boredom. They then found out whether they had died by April last year. Those who reported feeling a great deal of boredom were 37 per cent more likely to have died by the end of the study, the researchers found."

There's more but I think you get the drift. So what is the moral of the story? Well, I think those of us who stand up to teach God's Word have an obligation to NOT bore people with it. Grant it, Eutychus was probably in an oxygen deprived room and it was after midnight. But still. When God instructed me to speak on this subject He brought the phrase to mind, "Let my people go!" I have been a little long winded lately.

I'm reforming.

So for all of you Eutychus wannabees out there, that's good news. But let's not forget the obvious. Only YOU can make certain that you are living in the flow of the Spirit in a way that brings life and energy to your daily routine ... much less to your Sunday worship experience. We haven't heard the last of Eutychus around Towerview. Pastor's don't preach on his story very often. But he's captured my attention and my imagination. Fortunately we have sealed windows and they are only three feet off of the ground. But it is still wise for those who spend much of our lives "doing church" to remember ...

boredom kills.

So let's get it right.

Friends

In the beginning there was Dave. All of the friends that came before Dave really did not count. I was too young, as were they. We did not know what friendship was about. Dave lived 4 houses to my right as I was navigating the first part of my teenage years. He looked more like me than my brother did and so everybody assumed that we were brothers. We kind of were. Brothers of the heart. We would play catch for hours and never get tired. When my real brother would beat me up (which was not an infrequent occurance) Dave would run home and hide. He said he was afraid that my brother would mistake the two of us and beat him up instead of me. That made sense at the time and I never held it against him. Dave was in my wedding years later. The last time I saw him was when he came by my apartment to introduce me to his fiancee. There was no way on the planet that Dave should have been marrying this girl. He was either in to her for big money or it was going to be a "sympathy marriage." I never saw or heard from him again.

Next came Kling. Kling was short for "Klingensmith" which was his last name. His first name was John but I don't remember anybody ever calling him that. Kling and I went to college together. He was about 5 years older than I and served as a helicopter mechanic in Vietnam. Together we went to Trinity Christian College. Our team mascot was the "Trolls." If you picture a troll in your head and add 50 pounds to him you will know exactly what Kling looked like. Beard and all. He liked to have fun. His on-campus job was in the maintenance department. That gave him keys to everything students are not supposed to have keys to. One chilly morning the campus woke up to the smell of a nice fire in the chapel fireplace. That was not unusual. What WAS unusual was that the smoke was billowing from a toilet which had been cemented to the chimney of the administration building. I remember knowing instantly who had done it. Everybody suspected but nobody could confirm anything. Kling and I went to a local restaurant one day to grab a bite before evening classes. He chose the New Brunswick Stew. One thing about Kling is that he had cornered the market on Oshkosh over-alls. It was pretty much all he ever wore. Well, Kling did not finish his stew on this particular evening and I watched as he poured the remainder of it into his bib pocket. I was not shocked. I knew Kling. I figure he wanted it for a late night dorm snack. I WAS shocked when we went to pay for our meal. He stood at the glass counter with the cash register on it ... and began heaving the big deep heaves of a man about to regurgitate. He leaned down until his head almost touched the glass and made unmistakable "hurling" noises... while he unbuttoned his bib pocket and allowed the remaining stew to flow out. The he stood up, wiped his mouth, dropped a five on the counter and strolled out the door. Kling was in my wedding too. That was the last time I saw him. I heard he lives in Utah someplace.

I have a history of making interesting friends.

Most of them come, stay for a while, and then go.

Grace was a dainty woman in her sixties and she made chainsaws. Hoss was a TWA pilot who could not stand on a chair to change a light bulb because of his fear of heights. Mike was a messianic jew who swore at 5,000 teenages because one of them threw a light bulb into the street from the window of a hotel room on the 20th floor. He was not sure which one did it so he swore at them all.

I think you get the picture.

My favorite friends are the ones that stick around. For years. Many years. Oh, they might move a thousand miles away but they are still around in that surprise phone call one evening kind of way. They manage to find their way by my house every now and then and they always have a spare bedroom available when I am in their town. Some of them live nearby. We try not to take each other for granted but I know that we do. Otherwise we would hug more often and linger a little longer across the table from each other. It is part of life to do that. We don't mean to. It's just that our busy lives are constantly hounding us to get up and get something done. If you are reading this you are probably one of those friends or maybe a stranger that just dropped in to see what is going on. (Not much.) And if you are one of those friends ... you know it. I am tempted here to start listing names but if I did I would miss somebody very important to me for sure. And I do not want to do that. Never.

There are at least two tests of real friendship. One is found in what you do today. The other is found in whether or not you will still be around tomorrow. It works both ways and so I am equally responsible. I am not listing those tests in hopes that you will measure yourself. I am listing them so that I can remember to do well in grading the guy I call "me." It hurts when a friend lets me down. It hurts much worse when I let a friend down. I can forgive the friend much more easily than I can forgive myself.

And by the way, if you are a current friend and you do something really weird ... I already know it. I just didn't mention it because ... well ... a real friend wouldn't tell on you. But if you dump me ... you are toast in my next blog.

Paisley Rae

I was watching her tonight. She is so little. Not as little as she was. But still. Little. Her name is Paisley and she is my daughter's daughter. She cannot talk yet but if she could ... and when she does ... she will call me "grandpa." And I will glow a bit brighter on the inside.

Her eyes shine. Perhaps "sparkle" is a better word. They are deep and they are blue and they radiate life. When she smiles the angels tap their feet because they hear the music of God. I do believe that. She has these perfect cheeks. Not too chubby and not too skinny. Perfect. And so her smiles are perfect as well.

I don't think she knows who I am. Not yet. I am anxious for her to figure it out. I'm pretty sure she doesn't know who she is either. If she is looking away from me and I call her name she does not respond. So she has yet to learn that she is Paisley. What goes on in that little mind? I know that she is thinking about more than food, drink, sleep, or mommy and daddy. (Though those certainly take up a large share of her mental RAM.) Perhaps I am early but I think she is just waiting in there. Observing. Taking the temperature of the world around her. She is figuring out who is who and how we all fit together. She'll get it. There is no rush. The gears are turning and the spark plugs are firing and it will all come together in it's time.

I take much into consideration when gazing upon this little girl. Paisley is very young. I am rapidly approaching old. Her skin is silky smooth. I have to use a razor to keep mine manageable. Her hair will last longer than mine and will be lovely and thick and perhaps have a curl or two. Mine ... not so much. She is full of energy and will only get more with the passing of time. I find myself considering a second career as a mall walker. Paisley has never done anything wrong on purpose. I have not been able to say that for a very long time. On the other hand I have dry pants and do not drool (much.) Still, I think she wins the majority of these contests hands-down.

There is much speculation but for now I know this. I love that little girl. Perhaps she is not yet use to me holding her. I don't think we have found our particular "niche" yet. I forgot just how tiny a human being can be and so she intimidates me a bit. She feels that. And I remind her just how big a human being can get and how we can accidentally crunch something without meaning to and so I just may intimidate her as well. But there is a wonderful middle ground that we keep tripping over. It is in that smile that I told you about. Oh, how I love that smile. She is my Paisley and in her the world swirls and spins and the colors of the rainbow play in the centrifugal forces and they bring her very name into being ... into motion. She is Paisley.

And I love her so very, very much.

My Son Is Going To Be A Dad

Oh the stories I could (and do) tell. His name is Christopher and he was the last child born to my wife and I. We never planned on ... never anticipated ... having three children. Three means you are out numbered. You are in a hole always playing catch-up.

But one day it occurred to us that something in our little world was just not right. We were a happy family of four. But as we sat around the dinner table it was as though someone was not home yet. I know that makes no sense. But it is the honest truth. Kelli and Scott were, and continue to be, the joy of our lives. But when Christopher showed up I felt like I could close and lock the door. All was well.

Many years have transpired since that day. Twenty-four to be exact. I remember the last night I lived in our house with Christopher. He was not moving out. I was. Cleveland, Ohio was on my agenda. Christopher had considered moving with us but a job and a girl had convinced him otherwise. (Not in that order.) I woke up in the middle of the night, acutely aware that this would be the last time I would sleep with one of my kids officially residing with me under our roof. I got up, crept outside of his closed door, lay my hands upon it, and I prayed. I asked God to bless him. To keep him safe. To provide him with reason and purpose, direction and a holy filling. And then I headed to the shores of Lake Erie. By the time I moved back into the area Christopher had taken a bride and a lovely bride she is. They had moved to the far side of the city. We see each other often and I love that. But I'll never forget laying my hands on that door and praying.

And now Christopher is doing some praying of his own. We were sharing dinner as a family last Saturday evening at my daughter Kelli's house. It was casual. Clearly there was no agenda. When it was time for the food to be served Christopher asked the blessing. He thanked God for family, food, and his pregnant wife, Laura.

His pregnant wife ... Laura.

My eyes snapped open. Everybody had their eyes open except for Christopher. We stared at him. We stared at each other. Christopher said "Amen" and the hugs and tears came. My youngest son is going to be a dad. And he's going to be a great one. So many things just scream out to be said about this momentous event. They will have to wait. There is plenty of time.

For now? My son is going to be a dad. And I could not possibly be happier.

To Slam or not To Slam ... that is The Question

There is this guy who really ticked me off a while back. Don't worry. If you are reading this you are most certainly not him. I don't think he can read. But I mean he REALLY made me angry. A guy I thought was a friend who turned on me when he deemed it financially beneficial for him to do so. You know the type. Making brownie points with someone who wasn't terribly appreciative of some ministry decisions I had made. He has since learned that he was wrong. Not my problem. And he finds himself "out in the cold" so to speak. Perhaps literally.

Soooo ... today he made a connection and said some things that made it way too easy for me to ... well ... slam him. Have I mentioned that I'm taking Prednisone this week? Yeah, it's a poor choice prescription from a doctor that's try to fix my 3 month old ear/dizzy/disoriented/vertigo problem. Seems that one of the side effects of this "miracle drug" is it assists you on walking the thin line between good decisions and bad decisions. I mean like ... between being merciful and being merciless. Just call me "Ming."

I was merciless with my former friend. I slammed him ... total verbal body slams three consecutive times. I was referring to him and he kept believing I was referring to the person he was upset with. I don't even know WHO he is upset with. I have a pretty solid guess though. (Amusingly, I think he's upset with the guy who was upset with me. Ahhh ... sweet justice.) But he never even figured out that, in reality, he was the one I was talking about.

So here's the lesson learned by one pastor who has been spending too much time out on the ledge this week. If you are going to slam someone just go ahead and tell them that they are your target. At least you get the satisfaction of getting your point across. It remains to be seen if that will make you feel better or worse. (And we all know that life is about making me feel better. Right?) Or better yet, show grace and don't slam them at all. That's "the Jesus thing" to do. Seriously.

I'll sleep well tonight but I'll kick myself in the morning.

No More Dr. Buttfeel

I officially fired Dr. Buttfeel this week. It was a mercy firing. I was having mercy on myself. I replaced him with a female doctor from St. Johns. She listened to my heart. She looked up my nose and in my ears and mouth. She hit my knee. She asked me how I'm feeling and I told her my Dr. Buttfeel saga. That's when she did it.

She prescribed Prednisone. She thinks I have messed up tubes behind my ears that can become unmessed up with steroids. I don't know anything about that but I can hardly wait to get to the gym on Monday. By then with the help of steroids I should be able to throw the "bicep machine" through the wall. This will bring me joy.

But there are problems with Prednisone.

I'm going to eat my arm. I'm not even slightly sleepy. My insides are trying to crawl out through my pores.

In the meantime, of course, Debbie is sleeping like she just took a nearly lethal dose of Tylenol PM. And we are sleeping in the same room for the first night in four nights because she was wrestling with a nasty bout of food poisoning. And though I love her I didn't want to wake up to find myself fraught with vomit. (I hereby trademark that phrase. If you use it you have to send me $20.)

As I said, my new doctor is a woman. She probably hates men. She didn't like my lab numbers. That's because they are all nearly perfect. I think she wanted me to be dying of something so that she can heal me and I'll be forever in her debt. Literal debt. Maybe she'll be satisfied when I owe her for stitching my new arm back on.

Should have stuck with good old Buttfeel.

The World's Upside Down

I spent the evening quietly, my bride by my side, cruising the channels and watching the world go by. And as the night comes to a close I have to wonder which crises is bigger. The Haitian earthquake or Conan O'brien leaving "The Tonight Show."

Yes, I know. I'm not really serious. We are all very aware of what the major headline is. Albert Pujols is not sure he'll retire a Cardinal. He as much as said so on the evening news tonight. He could easily wind up in Yankee Pinstripes. Or ... Cubbie blue. Oh yeah. Oh yeah.

Again, I jest. There is no getting away from the main issue of the day. Hours upon hours have been devoted to it. It's obvious. Ted Kennedy's senate seat went to a Republican last night. Oops. That's not it either.

How can I keep forgetting? The Holiday-Inn just announced the availability of "Human Bed Warmers." No, I'm not kidding. Nothing can eclipse a story of that magnitude.

Did I mention that they had a tornado in L.A. this week?

I can't help but wonder if any broken and desperate survivor still buried under the rubble that use to be Port Au Prince is aware of the magnitude of events that they missed this week....

Stupid Picture Chronicles #44

Am I the only one who sees a problem with their corporate slogan?

Stupid Picture Chronicles #43

The couch was coughing. The table had a temperature. The lamp had a lump. So we didn't buy any living furniture. We prefer sitting on inanimate objects. Silly us.

The Katie Chronicles: The Truth Must Be Told

Well, my precious niece, Katie, has returned home to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Today I put her on a jet and she flew from St. Louis to Baltimore. That's in Maryland. From there she boarded the next flight to Milwaukee. Do not ever allow Katie to be your travel agent.

But now that she has departed the comforts of my home it is time for the truth to be told. Yes, Katie has some deep and abiding secrets that must see the light of day. Perhaps it will set her free from the inner torment of her own demons (small "d.") And so, as I promised her on the trip to the airport, I am revealing her dirty laundry to the world tonight. I hope you have the stomach for it.

-Katie is hot for John Wilkes Booth. Yes, the same John Wilkes Booth that assassinated President Lincoln. I don't know anything I can say to make that better. It is what it is.


-Katie likes to break restaurant furniture. Here she holds the back of her chair from a Qdobe on Grand Avenue in St. Louis. It's a tough neighborhood but Katie is tougher. I mean, catch that look on her face. Ruthless.


Katie tells her parents that she does not have a job. She lies. Katie is a pimp. This is how she was dressed when she got off the plane from Milwaukee last Friday. Need I say more?


Being a good Catholic, Katie believe in the sprinkling form of baptism. Here she practices on her uncle Jim.


Perhaps most disturbingly Katie has an odd attraction to paper mache sumo wrestlers. The following photo speaks for itself.


In addition, though I have no photographic verification to back these claims up, I can also tell you that a she is also hot for Alec Baldwin. She enjoys throwing the occasional tooth brush into the toilet. She is quite capable of eating 8 Krispy Kreme Donuts in one morning. Vanilla Coke is flowing through her veins. She likes to date over-the-road truck drivers. She seems to have a thing for Bosnians. She gets nervous in theaters, fantasizing that her chair is about to blow up under her. Tivo is her best friend and I'm betting it will be the name of her next dog. She is easily duped and believes that the "Hollywood" nightclub in East St. Louis is actually a bumper car emporium. Basements freak her out. And finally she is incapable of lying because she is so ruthless in her telling of the truth.

And these are just a few of the reasons why her Old Uncle Ron (better known as O.U.R.) loves her so much.

Katie, thank you for coming to visit us. I had more fun hanging out with you than I've had in a looooooong time! I know that I'm so old (in your eyes) that I'm nearly dead but thanks for letting me share the time with you, a mere punk kid, and enjoy being a kid again myself for a few days. I really needed the break. It was priceless. But for the record we really should have gone and visited "The Tree." Your loss.

Now be nice to me or I'll tell the world the one thing I promised not to tell. Yes ... that one thing. (We have a mutual annihilation pact but I'm quite willing to pull the trigger first.)

Hot Dog Goodness With A Sick Sort Of Twist

I am not a cook. I can't tell a frying pan from a crock pot. But I scored BIG tonight thanks to a meal that I ate at The Iron Barley in St. Louis recently. Yum. Here's how you do it...

Split and cook your self up some good old American hot dogs...


Next butter up some open hot dog buns and then grill 'em...


Now get an appropriate scowl from your spouse ...


Ignore her skepticism and put some sliced up swiss cheese on the fried up dogs and some strawberry jam, (yes, strawberry jam) on the buns...


Stack everything where it belongs...


Add appropriate trimmings suited to your own tastes...


Feed aforementioned skeptical wife ...


Reward yourself for a job well done...


Repeat as needed.

If I Were The "House" Version Of A Pastor ...

-I would use my cane to slap at little children and then give them the children's sermon of a lifetime. They would all repent even before they knew what sin was. Their parents would scowl at me at first and then carry me out of the church on their shoulders because now their kids would never do drugs or have sex outside of marriage.

-I would use a special "Ministry X-Ray Machine" to look into peoples brains and see what they are REALLY thinking. Then I'd crack jokes about their secret sins in Sunday morning sermons. Everybody would know who I was talking about but wouldn't say it out loud because they knew I was right and that my scorn would be directed at them next.

-I would treat my staff like morons ... they are not but I would treat them that way ... and they would thank me for it later because they spontaneously realize that I am always right and my sarcastic behavior was used only to get their attention and to make them be all that they can be.

-I would come in later in the morning than everyone else. Oh. Wait. I already do that.

-I would forsake shaving and develop that 2 day growth thing so that people would think I was tougher and manlier than they are. Which I am. If "they" are all "hers."

-I would only deal with the toughest of spiritual cases where people were sure to self-destruct if I didn't ride in to their rescue. But first I would make them feel terribly guilty for being in my office. Then, after I fixed them, I'd look 50% condescendingly and 50% kindly so that they wouldn't know If I was cocky or correct.

-I would develop a "laser look" indicative of my ability to gaze directly into a persons soul reducing them to rubbery kneed individuals desperately in need of pastoral care which I would then delegate to my Associate Pastor, much to his deep gratitude. (I know what you are thinking Mike. Shut up! ;) )

-I would put a glass door on my office but keep my feet on my desk so that people would all say "he looks like he's reading the National Enquirer but he must be working or he wouldn't have a glass door on his office."

My head hurts. I'm pretty sure it's a tumor. Or a cranial tape worm. Stay tuned.

K-K-K-Katie is C-C-C-Coming!

Katie is coming! That's right, my soon-to-be "corn rowed" niece (don't ask) is coming to town this Friday and will remain until the next Wednesday. And I am SO pumped! I love Katie because she's... she's ... insane. The last time she was in town I got her addicted to Vanilla Coke. Her life has not been the same since. Life in Milwaukee maybe a vanilla existence but it isn't generally added to Coke products and so I have promised to provide her with a vanilla IV while she's here.

Kate is a student at the University of Wisconsin in Milwaukee. She's Debbie's sisters daughter. That explains a lot. She grew up wearing lederhausen (I tried to spell that 6 times so if it's wrong just get over it) and dancing to German tunes with her parents and her sister, The Amazing Teresa. I'm not sure why but I suppose it's because her last name is Voitek which is most certainly German.

Katie gave me a tour of her dorm room at UW a few years ago. It was shortly after that that I gave up cleaning all together. I figure if she can get away with it then so can I. We toured the Joan of Arc Chapel together on her campus and managed to wrangle a special tour out of the resident Joan of Arc Guru. Very cool. Surprisingly, Katie is much taller than Joan was. And yet Katie has never won a war. Such a waste.

(By the way, that's not Joan of Arc she's hugging. I think it's Bret Favre.)

I have no idea how we are are going to spend the time. We'll be sharing her with Jim and Alisha, my brother-in-law and sister-in-law. But I'm the only one who sings to her "K-K-K-Katie! Beautiful, K-K-K-Katie! You're the only G-G-G-Girl that I adore! When the M-M-M-Moon shines ... over the C-C-C-Cow shed ... I'll be waiting at the K-K-K-Kitchen door!" So I'm absolutely certain I'm her favorite. How can you beat Vanilla Coke and cow sheds? Can't be done!

Why You Don't Turn Your Back On My Family

I am not safe all by myself

Now I remember why I got married. Debbie has been gone since Sunday. Oddly, it seems like it's only been a couple of days. God gave me this woman to keep me alive. Sane. (Sort of.) Operating like a finely oiled machine.

It's not that I don't know how to take care of myself. But when she's not around things just ... I don't know. They just happen. Maybe with her here I just don't need to pay as close attention as I do when she's away. She's the one who screams "TRUCK!" when I'm driving, singing, and playing "Slug Bug" with myself. There's true value in that.

Yesterday I decided to be the good husband and take down Christmas. All alone. That means there is nobody there to hear your screams when you are de-ornamentizing and the tree falls on you. Then I decided to clean up the mess I made while I was cleaning up. The more I clean the messier it had gotten. (How DOES that happen?) So after using a dry dust mop I squirted the polishy stuff on the floor before using the special space-age mopper head to make the hard wood all shiny. And slippery too. I decided to do my best Tom Cruise-slide-across-the-floor-singer imitation. I guess I ran too fast because I slid too far. I slid into the kitchen where the floor was not nearly as slippery. After I got up it only took a little pressure to stop the bleeding on the back of my head where I fell into the edge of the cabinet counter top. I had to take another shower to get the (wee little bit) of blood out of my hair and I decided to use the shower head that is on a hose in order to really get my hair blood free. Problem is, it hurt insanely (soap in a wound kind of hurt) causing me to drop the hosed shower head. If slipped outside of the shower curtain running full blast. So I decided to dry the floor and walls with a towel wrapped around my head. Well, I didn't actually use the towel wrapped around my head. I used a different towel. You know what I mean. That's when the door bell rang. I didn't answer it. I didn't even peek. The last time my doorbell rang was Christmas morning and it was the Jehovah's Witnesses coming to read me scripture because they don't celebrate the birth of Jesus. I find that ironic. Why do they want to read me scripture if they don't celebrate the birth of Jesus?

Today has been a pretty safe day. I drove without incident. I worked out and didn't fall off the treadmill. I brought in food rather than risking using the microwave. I built a fire this evening and it even stayed in the fireplace. Well. Most of it. I had the foresight to hook up a water hose outside and purchased a fire extinguisher for inside because chimney fires and I have history. I turned the TV off and pushed my mega chair (other wise known as "My Fuzzy Buddy") over in front of the fire. I was envisioning a really awesome fire-flickering quiet time alone with God. I woke up an hour later and God had gone on back down stairs to The Man Cave where I usually meet with Him. I would have gone down to check on Him but the stairs ... well, it was dark. And Debbie's not home. Staying upstairs just seemed prudent.

(The preceding blog contains undiluted truth and is guaranteed embellishment free. And I have an empty Tylenol bottle to prove it.)

Paisley's first Christmas gift EVER!

Silent Monks

I had nothing to do with this. A friend sent it to me. I found it quite worth sharing. Enjoy...

The 10 Best Things About Having "The Amazing Elle" Spend The Night

10 - I can act her age and get away with it.

9 - Watching her explore the ornaments on the Christmas tree.

8 - Listening to her say that she doesn't want to meet my friends only to find her in their arms 30 minutes later exposing them to "The Wisdom of Elle."

7 - Her sock hat. Only she can get away with a hat like that.

6 - Hearing her tell "local reindeer" what to tell Rudolph to tell Santa that she wants for Christmas.

5 - Telling her not to put a toy (esophagus size) bell near her mouth only to have her pretend that it's a cup and offer me a drink out of it and when I take it for the faux drink she tells me with very serious eyes that I really shouldn't put it by my mouth.

4 - Singing with her at bedtime. Only Elle can stand to hear me sing. She treats me like I'm John Mayer.

3 - Staring at her bare feet in the light of the Christmas tree. How can feet look innocent?

2 - Watching her shell peanuts at the "Texas Roadhouse" for the simple joy of throwing both shell and nut on the floor. When I asked her about it she said, "Yes! It's just like home!"

1 - "The Hug."

Ms. Elle Steals The Show

Winning The Game That Matters

Can I tell you something? I stink at writing lately. I've been "going back into time" on this little web site and reading some of the stuff that God gave me to say a few years ago. I've enjoyed reliving some of those experiences. And then I read what I write today and ... phew. Stink-o. Maybe it's a dry spell. Maybe I've just run out of words. I dunno. I'm struggling. We'll have to see what the future holds. But this little post just has to be written. It isn't very eloquent. It's clumsy and sounds full of braggadocio. I don't mean it that way. I'm sorry about that. Really I am. The words just are not flowing. But it has to be written ...

I've only played in one really BIG ball game in my life. I was on the church softball team back around 1980 and we were playing for the championship of the southern baptist churches in the Chicago area. Last game. Last inning. We were up 7 - 4 over an inner city team. Looked like the suburbs were finally going to rule.

And then our one and only pitcher totally blew apart. The poor guy only had one thumb and it wasn't on his pitching hand. When he started walking people we knew we had to do something but honestly, he's the only guy we had who had thrown a strike all season. We lost the game 8 - 4. That was nearly 30 years ago and it still hurts. It's bad enough to lose a ball game. But to lose "The Mother of All Ball Games" is far worse. We had not lost a game until the championship finals. Then we crashed and burned in a way very reminiscent of most Chicago baseball.

Oh well.

That isn't what I really want to write about anyway. Not even close. You see, that game actually wasn't that big of a deal. Not in the eternal scheme of things. And it's only the eternal things that really counts.

I was on the treadmill at the gym this week when I got a text message from my youngest son. I wasn't setting any record pace so when my cell phone lit up indicating I was being looked for I didn't hesitate to pick it up and read it. It simply read he was leaving his current job and has been hired for a ministry position at his church.

That probably means a whole lot more to me than it does to you. Even those of you who know Christopher well. I mean, I raised him from a pup. And when I got this text I realized that in an extraordinary fashion God has worked a wonder in our family that I not only never dreamed he would work ... but that never even occurred to me that He might want to work. It seems that all three of our kids are now serving in a "career fashion" in ministry. I lost my balance and nearly fell off the tread mill. It isn't pride. It has nothing to do with that. It's ... shock. Brokenness. A deep sense of humble thankfulness. How did this happen? How did God reach in to our little home and move through all of the mistakes that were made by the parents and work this incredible work in the lives of our kids? I mean, all three of them were great infants/preschoolers/kids/teenagers/young adults. But ... all we did was give Him our home and try to stay out of His way. Yes, we prayed for them every day. Usually multiple times each day. We did our best to point them to Jesus and to show them integrity and faithfulness in our spiritual walk. But we just did not do that good a job.

And then the light kicked on in my brain. We really had nothing to do with it. It's God. My parents were good parents but they did not go to great lengths to make certain my brother and I were in church or taking it all too seriously. And yet we both grew up to be youth pastors and then pastors. My mom and dad would be the first to tell you that it was just "a God thing." And now I understand that. It's a God thing.

And yet it brings tears of gratefulness to my eyes. Serving God has been the greatest experience and joy of my life. I am humbled to be able to say that a lot of young men and women that walked through the youth groups God allowed me to lead are in ministry around the country these days. And that means more to me than I can possibly say.

But this. This is just off the charts. This just takes my breath away. I can't over state it. In the "ball games of life" this was the seventh game of the World Series. This was the Super Bowl. And because of God's decision, God's faithfulness, God's kindness .... we won. It's quite odd but I think that I can say if I screw up the rest of life (which I have no intention of doing) I'll be able to live with myself because ... we won our kids. They "get it." Life is about serving. Serving God by serving others. It is about loving your neighbor as you love yourself. It is about loving God with all of your heart, mind, soul, and strength.

Honestly, all I can do is kneel before my Maker and say, "Thank you." Because we truly did nothing worthy of causing this. But we'll take the win. This was the game that matters