I've Been Bad

-Debbie is preparing to leave town for a long weekend in Wisconsin. I have made plans. 'Nuff said.

-I scared the Orkin Man today. He was at my neighbors. I told him about my snake-in-the-house. He didn't like my story. I pointed out a hole in the ground. He walked away. Said he doesn't do snakes.

-I didn't have a quiet time today. Well. That's not exactly true. I did have. But I fell asleep. Totally fell asleep on God. I don't think He was mad but I feel naughty.

-I watched one of those crime scene shows tonight. When the bad guy did what he did I realized that there are people that I'd enjoy doing that to.

-I ignored a voice mail that I got three days ago and I didn't feel guilty about it.

-I got my dad's old rifle back from a friend who has been keeping it for me since I moved to Ohio in 2007. It's stored directly under me right now as I lay here in bed. It's all scoped up and with enough ammunition to change the map of Europe.

I tell you ... I'm a wild man on a rampage.

Sometimes Screaming Like A Little Girl Is Appropriate

I hate spinach. I detest humidity. I cannot stand the opera. But today I found something that I hate worse than all of those put together.

I hate finding a snake in my house.

I had been sitting in my "man cave" putting the finishing touches on my Sunday morning sermon when Debbie came home. She wanted some help in her office area so I made my way into the main part of our downstairs. Our home has a finished walk-out basement with wooden floors. Our backyard borders a creek that is surrounded by trees and brush. It's a nice setting. I was helping her print something when I glanced down the hall toward her sewing room and an unfinished storage room. There was a long twig on the floor. I didn't have my glasses on but I thought I saw it move. Twigs generally do not move. So I walked over to see this marvel and the twig turned and looked at me. Then it stuck its tongue out at me.

Oh.

I resisted the desire to scream like a little girl and wet myself. That was for the best because Debbie needed to scream. If we had both screamed, well, we might just have sold the house for five bucks and moved to Ireland where there are no snakes. She handed me a small oval trash can and suggested I put it over the snake. I knew it was too small and I didn't want to scare it and give it a reason to run (slither) and then we'd live for who knows how long wondering where it was. I thought about "manning up" and just grabbing the snake and taking it outside. Then I realized that I had no earthly idea what kind of snake this was (still not quite sure) and I'm not exactly adept at snake handling. I'm not that kind of Baptist. But this snake must die. Now. So I ran into the grandkids playroom where I knew there was an empty box. By the time I got back (like .... 10 seconds?) she had put the trash can over half of the snake.

Let me just take a moment to say ... Impressive. She might have screamed but she didn't run away! She actually went after the sucker. She did it while screaming but she did it. I put the box over the trash can and the remainder of the snake, pressed really hard on it and slid it to the patio door. Then I slid it onto a rug and out the door. Next I introduced the snake to the neighbors shovel that was sitting outside. His final resting place is in the creek from whence he came.

We are walking carefully tonight. Yes, I did look under the covers before I climbed into bed where I am currently pounding on my laptop while my half-a-snake-trapping wife snoozes beside me. (I "high 5'd" her before bed time and told her that, while it wasn't fun, we do have the satisfaction of knowing that the score is Ron & Debbie 1 - Snakes 0.) The next time I have a free day a tube of high grade caulking and I will be making a close inspection of the entire outside of the house. And I suspect a good friend who works for Orkin will be hearing from me as well. If that doesn't work I'll be burning the entire lawn and setting up a machine gun nest with a clear line of fire all the way to the creek.

There was a reason I never went to see "Snakes On A Plane."

House Fly's And God

Do you ever wish that God had a web site? I know that the Bible is not kidding when it says that He is with us always. He dwells in us. We can go to Him anytime with anything. He loves us and He cares about all of the issues of our lives. I buy into that 100%. The problem is not in whether or not God is really present in me and available to me. The problem is in our (my) ability to hear Him when He speaks. And not simply hear Him but understand His Heart. I want to know more than the syllables He would speak into my soul. I want so deeply to understand His intent ... I want to "get" everything He wants me to "get." I don't want to drop the ball on Him. Not even one time. It just isn't acceptable. God is much more forgiving of me than I am of myself. When I blow it He still loves me and forgiveness is total. I, on the other hand, want to smack myself around the block a few times and punish myself for getting it wrong. Even if I didn't mean to get it wrong. (Don't misunderstand. I am perfectly capable of disobeying on purpose. But I want to disobey on purpose less and less these days. I really do want to please Him.)

I was just surfing through Sprint.com a few minutes ago. I wanted to check out a few things on my cell phone package. It's a pretty easily navigable web site. Lot's of drop-down menu's. Your personal information is available at the click-of-a-mouse once you've punched in the appropriate password and user name. It took less than five minutes to find out everything that I wanted to know, log out, and move on to the next on-line task.

And it all just reminds me of the way I spent my day today. I've been feeling a little spiritually malnourished lately. Pastor's tend to feed other's several times each week. It's part of the calling. It is as it should be. But the very nature of what we do makes it difficult to get spiritually fed yourself. When others are teaching God's Word, so are you. So you can't exactly sit under their teaching and "eat." If you are not careful it won't take long until you realize you've allowed your spiritual reserves to run a bit low. I try to be diligent to defeat this by listening to tons of sermons on podcasts, video casts, and I read more books than I could begin to list. But still, I've been feeling the need for more. If I'm going to feed others I have to be certain to eat enough myself.

It's kind of like when you get on an airplane and the flight attendants are doing their thing, telling you what to do in case of an emergency. At one point they tell you that in the unlikely event of cabin depressurization, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling above. Put one over your face, pull on the rubber tubing and air will flow. Then they make it a point of saying that if you are traveling with a small child you should put YOUR oxygen mask on before putting theirs on them. That is quite counter-intuitive for parents. We want to take care of the kids, make sure they are breathing, and then we'll take care of ourselves. But the truth is, before you can get their mask on you might well pass out from lack of oxygen and then everybody is in trouble. You have to have air before you can give air.

A teacher has to be faithful to learn before he can teach others or he will soon run out of, well, not just stuff to teach but the spiritual energy with which to teach it.

So I've decided to dedicate one day each week for a while to seeking God through prayer, bible study, silence, and solitude. I don't know how long I'll do that but for now I believe it is what God is telling me to do. I want to feed others well. So I have to eat. I work hard to get my regular office duties/outreach/in-reach/sermon preparation/bible study preparation/visits/ meetings/ counseling sessions/ etc. into four days so that I can dedicate one to being totally available to whatever God wants to say to me.

That is what I did today. It's been a while since I've given myself this assignment and you know what? It's harder than I remembered. MUCH harder. It's hard in the getting still. It's hard in the getting quiet. It's hard in the knowing what God wants to feed me from His Word. It's hard in the knowing what devotional materials will do me the most good. In the middle of the silence a mere house fly can tear my mind from the creator of the universe. What a shame to have to choose between a house fly and God only to find that God loses.

With God there is no web address. There are no drop-down menus. There are no pass words or user names. There are no "company representatives" to click a button and "chat" with if you need help. (Wouldn't it be cool to punch "chat" and get some clarification from Peter or maybe one of the Archangels? You don't suppose God would outsource ... nah ...) It would be a whole lot easier if there were. But there is just you ... and God. And He has the upper hand. The room can get small. The silence can get stifling. The words on the page can begin to look like a size 3 font. But you do what you have to do. Because not to do it ... unacceptable.

Eat or die.

10 Things That I Think Makes Me Abnormal

1 - My "sleep number" is usually 100. Unless I'm really, really tired. Then I slip down as low as 80. I've never met another 100 before.

2 - I really don't care for breakfast or lunch but I can mow down an entire bag of "Baked BBQ Lays" in minutes.

3 - I would rather have a really good double cheeseburger (extra gooey) than a really good steak.

4 - God seems to speak to me most clearly when i'm walking. Not like ... to the garage. I mean walking like hiking.

5 - The older I get the less I like mornings. I have noticed that, in most people, the older they get the earlier they rise.

6 - I would much rather drive at night than in the daytime.

7 - I am not a fan of Christmas.

8 - I find no satisfaction in the mowing of a lawn. I find frustration. It's the same every time and it never stays done.

9 - When I can't sleep at night because my mind is too busy I think about being a truck driver getting in the cab to make a long haul. If that doesn't work I think about cruising underneath a hurricane in my own submarine. Yes, really.

10 - Every time I go into Wal-Mart everybody I see looks like they are from Arkansas. Even me. Seriously, I checked a mirror.

BONUS #11 - The one time in life that I feel most complete and in sync is when I am doing my pastor thing behind a podium.

Snippets that need to be snipped

-I would like to take the opportunity to thank the Chicago Cubs for folding in April this year. It will save me a lot of heart ache when September arrives.

-I would like to thank the Cleveland Cavaliers for giving my "Great North Coast" friends something to cheer for. Cleveland is not a horrible city. It isn't a world class city but neither is St. Louis. That's reserved for the greats like Chicago, New York, Los Angeles, etc. It is a city with a reputation to over come. Honestly, it pretty much did it to itself. When you dump cars in your biggest tourist attraction, Lake Erie, because you can't figure out what else to do with them, well it's going to come back and bite you sooner or later. So my Cleveland friends need something to cheer for. The Cav's are top seed and could well get the ring. I'm pulling for them!

-Debbie did her best to choke to death on pudding this evening. It had a few stray apples in it. She managed to lodge one in her trachea. Fortunately, she dislodged it before I could get in the room and make it worse.

-A wonderful young 7 year old called me this evening and asked if I would baptize him this Sunday. ABSOLUTELY! It made my day!

-My "cough from &%^$*" has returned and so I'm sucking up the codeine cough syrup again. It makes me feel like I'm on drugs. Oh. Wait. I am.

-I'm trying to devise a great vacation plan for my lovely bride and I for late this summer or early fall. I promised she would either dip her toes back in an ocean, set her feet on the top of a mountain, or walk the streets of a new (to her) city before the year is out. I have no idea at all where to take her. Ever since I orchestrated "The Great Debbie Woods Mystery Ramble, 2005" we have decided on our vacation destinations together. Maybe it's time for another mystery ramble. Mail suggestions to www.churchaintforsissies@yahoo.com. I won't give you credit if I choose your suggestion (I want it for myself!) but you'll have the personal satisfaction of a job well done. Isn't that worth something?

-"Five Guys" is building a restaurant 1.5 miles from my home. I must increase my work-out regime to prepare for the onslaught of calories.

-My niece Katie asked me to go spelunking with her this summer. I am SO in. I think she may want to get me alone so she can kill me. It's a risk I'm wiling to take. Do bats eat human flesh?

His Eye is on the sparrow. Mine wasn't.

I mowed a sparrow last week. I've got this steep hill that runs from the side of my house into the backyard. I had the old Lawn Boy on full throttle and set for "self-propelled." She was just knocking down blades of grass and having a great time. My job? Just guide her along. Just drive. But you know how it is. I was doing what I always do when I'm driving. I was texting with Oprah. And that's why I missed seeing it. I'm pretty certain it was alive before I got there. I"m 100% certain it was not alive when I left. It was just kind of ... laying there. Both halves.

Bird decapitation. What a horrible way to go. Quick but horrible. Fortunately I don't rake because that would have been just ... gross.

Okay, so there is no spiritual application to this little essay. I mean, you can dwell on whether or not God gets out His eraser and reduces the number of sparrows by one when something like this happens. I prefer to think He uses a heavenly spread sheet that updates itself automatically. In reality I think He just ... knows.

But the bottom line is that I have a gnarly mower, a messy lawn, and a not even slightly guilty conscience. And the sparrow population is down.

Be glad it wasn't a Bald Eagle. Pretty sure the government wild life people would not be as forgiving as God is.

FYI:

Not this kind of Sparrow.


This kind of Sparrow.

I use to talk good but I got over it

I've lost my voice. I've looked behind the couch. In the garage. Under the bed. No voice. It's gone. It first turned up missing the day before Easter when I had to do a lot of yelling (the good kind) at our church at an Easter Egg Hunt. But it came back. It's gone back and forth a few times since then. But after speaking yesterday morning it really went away. It faded back into range a bit for the evening service but afterward it went AWOL and hasn't been seen since.

So today I got up with specific directions to call my doctor. I do not like doctors. If my spleen is hanging out I agree it's probably time to go but my spleen is fine thank you. Still, I enjoy marriage and after living alone in Cleveland for all too long I've learned that I'm not the "single sort." So when my wife tells me to call the doctor I reach for the phone.

Here's an interesting question. When you have no voice ... and I do mean NO voice ... how do you tell the nice lady on the phone at the doctor's office what's wrong? It was an interesting conversation. It went something like ...

Doctor's Office - Hello.
Me - (gravely exhale)
D.O. - Hello?
Me - (hack/cough/whisper)
D.O. - Is anybody there?
Me - (sigh)
D.O. - Look. If you need something please tell me because I don't have time for ... games.
Me - (deep breath)
D.O. - Last chance wise guy.
Me - (mustering up all my strength to keep from coughing) I hhhaaaave nnnO vooweece.
D.O. - You Hab no Boice?
Me - (sigh) (long drink of water) Right. I have no voice.

It was not pretty. After a long struggle I convinced them that my throat doesn't hurt, I don't have a fever, I do have a cough, I do not have the ability to talk. So it's no big deal. If it's still like this in a week I'll call you back.

Nope. They weren't buying it. Either they want to actually meet their real live, heavy breathing, obscene phone caller or they were telling me the truth when they said I need to get there ASAP. Seems that something similar is going around and if you don't get treated quickly it can last 8 - 12 weeks.

Aww, crap. That's not what I want to hear. So tomorrow I get to go see my doctor who, it seems, just got back from Haiti. That's cool of her. Unless she's raised her rates to pay for her trip. When I get there I suppose either the police will be waiting or they'll stick one of those awful cotton stick down my throat, swab it around, and tell me I'm days from death.

So this may be my last blog. If it is, I hope you've enjoyed our time together. If it's not please ... a cake ... with a file baked inside of it ... would be greatly appreciated.

We Are Proof

37 years ago tonight I took her out on a date. Our first date. The first of hundreds. She was a cute little blonde girl. She still is. She had been dating this guy that wasn't really working out too well. That's another story. My mistake is that I told her previous boyfriend that I would never date her because "she is too immature." That was on a Sunday night. On Wednesday night she slapped me. She slapped me right in church. And she told me that was for calling her immature. I figure she had just proven my point. However, I do like me some spunk. So the next night, Thursday, I invited her out on a date for Saturday night. April 14, 1973.

She said yes.

For her "Yes" she got a bad movie and greasy pizza. I mean seriously greasy. I chose the place because ... well ... because I was her youth pastor. It wasn't a paying gig and I was just a teenager myself so no serious laws were being violated. This particular pizza restaurant did not serve alcohol and I thought, as her youth pastor turned date, that might be a good selling point toward getting her to hang out with me for a while. Turned out not only didn't they serve booze, they also didn't serve good pizza. They did serve grease. Enough to run down the sleeve of her white blouse. Somehow she decided the evening was not an entire waste and neither of us ever dated anybody else ever again. (Unless she's lying to me. And I don't think she's got lying in her.)

While the date ended life together was just beginning. During those 37 years we have produced 3 children (who themselves have produced for us approximately 2.4 grandchildren,) we have shared 4 dogs, way too many fish, a couple of renegade birds, more rented apartments than I can count, 2 purchased houses, and among others, a bright orange Pinto that almost killed me. (It was a wedding gift from her parents. I'm pretty sure it was their attempt at getting their little girl back.) We have served 6 churches, discipled hundreds if not thousands of kids, learned to argue and make-up, and murdered a couple of hamsters.

I take her to better pizza places now too.

I love her more today than I ever have in our lives. We are proof to anybody who is interested in asking that a man and a woman really can love each other even if they are fighting. We are proof that both of us can be wrong at the same time. We are proof that a beautiful girl and an ugly guy can have great looking kids. We are proof that the smarter spouse should balance the check book and the dumber spouse should mow the lawn. We are proof that gentle touch is better than anything to a hurting heart. We are proof that a morning person does not have to murder a night person. We are proof that the guy can be the better driver even though the girl has never had a ticket (though this one is still being hotly contested.) We are proof that passion is best expressed through selfless caring than in any other form. We are proof that best friends can get married and make it work. We are proof that an act of violence may be a great way to begin a relationship.

We are going to find out that we are proof of things that we don't even know we are proof of yet. 37 years isn't long enough to have it all figured it out. But it is long enough to know that neither of us would trade our worst day together for our best day apart.



We even plan on going to space together to celebrate our 50th year of marriage in just 18 more years!

Raising the level of risk...

I was enjoying one of my favorite television stations a few minutes ago. I'm a "Weather Channel" addict. I'm not sure why. It's just that when I turn over there I usually know what I'm going to get. I'm going to get the weather. No surprises. No big shock. The Weather Channel exists to forecast the weather. But today they decided to mess with my mind. They were doing this special program about what would happen if a major tornado struck at the heart of downtown St. Louis during a Cardinal's game. Oh boy, it was not pretty. Now to know me is to understand that I'm a Cub fan. But not even a Cub fan wants a tornado to hit Busch Stadium during a ball game. Not even if the Mets are in town. I mean, come on. It's baseball. We love it and we love to argue about it. But at the end of the day we all go to sleep on the same planet and enjoy the same gentle breezes. Nobody would wish that kind of carnage on anybody. As a matter-of-fact if I knew a tornado was moving toward the ball park during a crowded Cardinals / Mets game I would most certainly make the phone call to report it and try to divert utter disaster.

So why is it that we live right here in the wonderful St Louis metropolitan area and another type of horror is taking place every day and yet we do so little? I mean, I hate to sound like "a preacher" or something but I have neighbors who really are rushing headlong into disaster and all too often I find a good excuse to ignore it, turn my head, and occupy myself with other things. Have you thought about what would happen if somebody you see every day at work or at Starbucks or maybe even over the backyard fence were to suddenly meet up with their own disaster and enter eternity without knowing Jesus? The thought of what it would be like for them is unimaginable! We are quite happy to take a meal over after they have been sick or have had surgery. We might mow their lawn when they are on vacation. Possibly could feed their pets too. But so many of them stand on the verge of losing everything. E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. Forever.

I'm not writing this to make you feel lousy. I'm writing this to remind myself that God has given me an opportunity today that I will never have again. And I need to take a risk. I need to step up to the plate and gently, lovingly, offer to share what I know with them. God loves them. He loves them just as much as He loves me. And I am convinced that He loves me a lot. So please, take the chance. Odds are strong that they won't mind. You don't have to drop everything on them at once. Just start loving them toward the Kingdom. I am fully convinced that God will tell you when it is time to take each step in the process.

Hey, just a Saturday night thought.

Paisley's First Crawl ... She gets by with a little help from her friends

This is how people in our family tell you they are pregnant...

Can't wait to meet you,

Because He Loves Us

How can your heart not be moved? How can your life not be impacted? When I think of the sacrifice made by Jesus on this most incredible day all I can do is shake my head and say, "No way. No way." To think that God in the flesh would, of His own free will, walk this dirty, grimy planet is hard enough. But to think of Him walking voluntarily all the way to the cross is just more than my mind can conceive of. Only God could come up with a plan like that. It was a plan to redeem the human race. To purchase us back from the horrible consequences of sin. He didn't take a short cut and He didn't chicken out. He did it. He hung on that cross, heart broken, bruised, beaten, flesh torn, nails in His hands and feet. And He did it all on purpose.

Because He loves us.

Only God.

I don't know what your response is to that kind of love today. But how can we even consider doing anything short of saying, "Jesus, I'll follow You anywhere. I'll do anything You ask me to do. I'm Your man, Jesus. Put me in the game. Point the direction and I'll walk in it. Put somebody in my path and I will love them like You have loved me. No holds barred. Say the word."

Good Friday is more than simply "good." It is life changing. Life saving. It means literally everything to the Christ-follower.

I hope you are planning on stepping onto a church campus this coming Sunday. Celebrate Easter the way it should be celebrated. And one more thing. Pray. Take some time today and tomorrow and ask God to show up and bring Himself glory this coming Sunday. You might even say a humble, "Thanks, God, for all You've done." He knows your heart but He loves to hear your words.

All of this. For one reason. Because He loves us.

Congratulations, Master Sergeant Page

Today I got to do something really cool. I got to honor a great friend. His name is Adam and he is in the United States Air Force. Adam was being promoted to the rank of Master Sergeant. This is a VERY big deal. And I was thrilled to be asked by his wife to attend the ceremony where he would be "pinned" with his new stripe. And so at 3:30 this afternoon I found myself in a large room at Scott Air Force Base surrounded by many men and women wearing either camo's or dress blues. Impressive.

They have this odd tradition in the USAF. When it's your turn to get "pinned" you step forward, have your picture taken with somebody that out-ranks ... Okay, not God but certainly Elijah. (He's the only other biblical figure I can think of who "flew away.") They read a brief bio about you including your hopes, dreams, and aspirations. And then you take a step forward and two people you have selected "pin you" by placing your new insignia on your sleeves (with a sticky substance on it's back) and then they stick it to you by POUNDING you on the arm. Some of the guys that got pinned also got rocked pretty hard. But Adam is a great family man and also a very, very smart man. He chose his petite wife and two small daughters to pin him. So while everybody "oooh'd and aaaah'd" Adam barely felt the brutal attack. And, at the same time, he honored his family. (Nice job, Adam! It's a double-win for you!)

It was all very moving and a great tribute to the men and women that protect our country. Adam does far more than that. He's a husband who loves his wife deeply. It shows. He's a father that would die for his kids. Again ... it shows. He's a friend that would sacrifice for those he loves. And I'm very honored to be one of those friends, as well as his pastor. Which brings me to the best part of Adam. He unashamedly loves his Lord, Jesus Christ. I've heard his testimony of faith. It rocked my world.

Congratulations, Adam. I'm proud of you. Proud to be your friend. Proud to be your pastor. And I'm very grateful for you and your friends that make the Air Force what it is today. Rock solid.

Carry-on, Sarge.

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.