But today it just hurts ...

It does not happen frequently but every now and then something happens and I just don't know how to respond. Today is one of those days. Today I shouldn't even be writing but I have to. I have to let this out. I have to say what I have to say.

I have had a particular friend on my mind for about a week. Memories of days spent together and events co-organized have been flittering around my brain like a butterfly on crack. They wouldn't land or go away. So today I decided to call my friend. He lives in the high country on a mountain in a far away state. I've always been more than a little jealous of that. The perfect place, the perfect climate, the perfect situation. We only get to see each other about once a year and the anniversary of our last visit had come and gone. So I dialed the number.

His wife answered. I greeted her and, after showing showing appropriate respectfulness, I asked if my friend was available.

The silence lasted so long that I honestly thought my phone had dropped the signal. She found her voice and told me that her husband had divorced her just over a year ago. Very shortly after our last meeting. The week after their 49th wedding anniversary. It was my turn for silence. Okay, understand that this is not just another blog posting for me. This is real, bloody, and not at all fun to write. I feel like a truck just drove through my heart and left a gaping wound big enough for the next disaster. This is a friendship of more than thirty years. And I had no idea ... absolutely no idea ... that this was coming. The last time we met we sat together in a booth at a St. Louis Bread Company and we reminisced, dreamed, and talked about our individual realities.

And not one word was said about what was really going on in his life. Not. One. Word.

This man knows all of my dirty laundry. We've worked together, prayed together, sweat together. We were part of a team that pulled a cross from Marion, Illinois to Springfield, Illinois to draw attention to the love of Jesus for every man. Each evening we (and five other friends) held a youth rally at a local church or high school auditorium where we shared the love of Christ. We worked together for over a decade on a yearly youth event that had a typical attendance of about 5,000 teenagers. Hundreds came to Christ over those years.

And now I wonder ... was any of it real? Was he just churning out another day at the office? Was I just a part of making his life successful? I do not know. I will never know. I want to talk to him. I will talk to him. But I can't just yet. I don't know what to say. I don't have words. I only have this gaping hole where, earlier this morning, I thought there existed a life-long friendship.

I am somewhat of an idealist. For a long time I really believed that the older you get the more friends you accumulate along the way. As you tack on the years I just assumed that your base of deep friendships grows. Gets wider. A natural result of shared experiences and heart felt commitment to what matters in life. To what is true. And I have been reminded today of a painful lesson. My assumption was not accurate. At the very least you can't count on it being accurate. Sometimes the base shrinks. Sometimes you count on someone and they choose to dive head-long over a moral and ethical cliff. They, in their woundedness, are not to be shot. They are to be prayed for, loved, and yet held accountable. I'm not at all sure where the balance is in that process. This is way too fresh to even begin to think about that.

The bible has a lot to say about "finishing well." It has a lot to say about being very careful that we don't help others only to be disqualified ourselves at the finish line. I don't know that I can help my friend. I have great reason to doubt that our conversation will go well. I suspect (and I deeply, most sincerely hope I am wrong,) that it will at best be a sham. And I am trying today to wrap my head around the fact that I cannot fix that.

But here is what I can do.

I can finish well. I can commit myself in a fresh way to my call. I can say to those who count on me that I will be worthy of their trust or die trying. I can do no less. There may be those whom I have disappointed or let down in the past. Those who have questioned my motivations or actions over 55 years of living surely exist. To those I say "I am sorry." I say, "I am not perfect." Maybe you are right. Maybe you are wrong. I must answer to my God. But I can also say that I am in hot pursuit of following the only truly Holy One and I will not give up. The finish line may come today, it may come in decades, or any moment in between. But I will cross it and I will live for that moment of hearing from The One I do count on the most as He says ... "Nice job. Welcome home, son. I think you'll like the place I've got ready for you."

But today it just hurts.

Why I Am Crazy About Paisley

This face ... this face could melt the heart of a grandfather. If he was not so strong and burly. This face could actually cause a grandfather to dole out an extra afternoon treat. If he was not so wise to the ways of women folk.

Okay. I admit it. We ate gold fish crackers till we nearly puked. And then I took a nap while she stayed up and watched cartoons.

I. COULD. NOT. HELP. IT.

Our Little Man

Debbie and I spent the evening with Christopher, Laura, and Judah. Oh, and Sydney the dog. It was just a wonderfully great night. So relaxed, laid back, and just comfortable. I got to watch MY son hold HIS son. I crawled across the living room floor shortly before we left to where Chris was holding his infant son. He was trying to wake him up so that he would eat and they could (hopefully) go to bed and get some sleep. They are both so very sleep deprived. But when I got over to Chris he asked me if I wanted to hold Judah. I said no. No, I didn't. What I wanted was to watch the two of them. And as I watched them I realized something again. It had occurred to me on the day of Judah's birth, one week ago tomorrow. On that day it hit me square in the middle of whatever part of my brain entertains creative thoughts. Here it is ...

Now ... finally ... Christopher knows how much I love him. Because I love him as much as he loves Judah. It takes the love of a father to understand the love of a father.

I am so proud of Christopher and Laura. Not because they made a baby. Nearly any man and woman could do that. No, I am proud of them because they are already, just six days into this thing called "parenthood", totally sold out to the one that they call "Our Little Man."

It takes something totally sacrificial to be a real parent. It takes a willingness to put yourself and all of your needs on the back burner for the sake of the little life God has used you to create. That is an amazing thought. Through creating a child, God allows us to participate in the act of creation with Him! God is good!

And Christopher and Laura are pretty amazing themselves.

Judah's first story time

Welcome to the world, Judah Barrett Woods! Last Friday the trumpets of heaven blew announcing the entrance on planet earth of my very first grandson! That makes me want to shout all sorts of things. I have noticed that words come to mind in a particular sequence. Words that did not come to mind with the birth of The Amazing Elle and The Precious Paisley. But Joyful Judah has worked his magic on my mind. As a result I'm finding words formulating themselves in the following order ...

Play - ball!
This - is - a - hammer.
Walk - it - off!
Don't - tell - your - mother - but - let's ... (add secret male activity here.)

There is much more for me to teach you. But let me tell you your very first story! I suspect that it is true. Here is how it goes.

Once upon a time,
in a land far away,
a handsome, independent,
self-assured Prince
happened upon a frog as he sat,
contemplating ecological issues
on the shores of an unpolluted pond
in a verdant meadow near his castle.
The frog hopped into lap of the prince.
and said: handsome Prince,
I was once a gorgeous Princess,
until an evil witch cast a spell upon me.
One kiss from you, however,
and I will turn back
into the stunning, young princess that I am
and then, my sweet, we can marry
and setup housekeeping in your castle
with my mother,
where you can work to pay our mortgage,
buy me new clothes, deliver me "carry - out" every night,
and forever
feel grateful and happy doing so.
That night,
as the prince dined sumptuously
on a repast of lightly sautéed frog legs
seasoned in a white wine
and onion cream sauce,
he chuckled and thought to himself:
I don't think so.
And they all lived happily ever after.

I'm hear for you, Judah! I love you!

Grandpa

WWJM?

So what's the deal with grass? It is a well documented fact that I hate, hate, HATE mowing it. And today I had to. I realized the truth of that statement when I got out my machete to go to the mail box. So. It was not nearly as hot today as it was when I mowed after dark last week. (Mowing after dark did not help. I still finished dehydrated, exhausted, but with less of a tan.) I got the job done but found myself in a bit of a conversation with God while decimating His handiwork. In a nutshell ...

If God made the earth as a perfect place ... Eden ... was grass originally suppose to grow? Because that requires mowing. Mowing, in turn, makes earth less than perfect. Perhaps grass was intended to stay one height forever. But that would eliminate ultimate-Frisbee and pick-up football games 'cause those wear grass down. This is, perhaps, the ultimate theological dilemma, dwarfing free will vs. election

Mowing pollutes the atmosphere therefore it cannot be a "God thing." Ticking off my neighbors by not mowing is clearly a stumbling block to others so not mowing cannot be a "God thing."

I suppose the best thing I can do at this point is sell out my theological genius and make a profit out of this thing. So as of tomorrow I'll be offering wrist bands emblazoned with "WWJM?" "What Would Jesus Mow?" You can get yours for just $9.95 plus all applicable taxes, shipping, and a 15% gratuity for the orphans in the sweat shop that I am building to mass produce them. Don't worry. I'm building the sweat shop in the good old US of A. I would never out source such an important piece of modern culture.

That's just the kind of guy I am.

A laugh and a hug

I started blogging in 2002. This little site was set-up by my favorite son-in-law, Joe. I've enjoyed it so very much. Writing, to me, is therapy. I've blogged through healthy times and not so healthy times. I've blogged after winning victories and suffering defeats. I've blogged from jets flying cross country, from the ranch home where I raised my children, from behind frozen windows in suburban Cleveland, from an office desk, and propped up in bed. And I've loved every minute of it.

Two weeks ago I posted my 800th blog. That's a lot of words. And then I ran out. It's not that I find writing a chore. Not at all. Many times I've vented on this little space. Many times I've shared cute pictures, amazing stories of God's faithfulness, and plenty of anecdotes about the best grandchildren in the world. (Mine are better than yours.)

I've watched my "hits' (the visits to this site) plummet from about 2,000 a month to around 800. And I understand why. I don't write as much anymore so why should anyone really check back? And yet about 30 people a day drop by to see what's new. Thanks for that. The "regulars" are from California and Maine. Ohio and Texas. And mainly Missouri and Illinois. There's maybe 18 or 20 other states scattered in but they seem to have neither rhyme nor reason. I have no idea who keeps reading from Maine. It must be really cold up there.

I think the the older I get the more careful I've become about what I write. I think that going from being a youth pastor of 33 years (youth pastor's are suppose to be able to say anything ... they are my favorite people) to "putting on the big pants" and taking over as a lead pastor has caused me to think twice about what I am saying. When you are the Sr. Pastor you are suppose to know what you are talking about each and every time you open your mouth. And the truth is ... I don't. I mean, ask my family. When I am around them I tend to put my brain on "auto pilot" and say whatever comes to mind. And trust me ... they let me know that it isn't always pretty. Those who love you the most are generally your harshest critics. Last week I actually called one of my daughters-in-law by the name of my other daughters-in-law. She told me I was semi-senile. I told her she was fat. But she's due to have a child in 5 days and so she is suppose to be large. I asked her which way I was leaning (since I'm only "semi" senile.) She told me that I'm teetering. That cracked me up. But it also made me think.

So anyway. I said all of that just to say that I came really close to pulling the plug on "Lost In The Woods" yesterday. I mean, nothing lasts forever. Right? My finger hovered over the "delete blog" button for a few seconds. And I couldn't do it. It felt like I was shooting an old friend. And that's just not something you do. But God's been working on me for a couple of years now. I'm not sure what He's doing. I'm not sure where the road goes. God doesn't pave His roads with yellow bricks so that you can see them far in advance. He's more of a "take the next step and wait for instructions" kind of God. So I"m taking a lot of next steps these days. And I'm spending a lot of time waiting for instructions. But I've got as many minutes as He chooses to give me and I plan on giving them all back to Him. That means He can lead where ever He wants to and I'm willing to listen and obey. I wish I could say that I'm comfortable with that. But it's been a very long time since I've been comfortable. That's probably a God thing too.

Thanks for stopping by. Sorry I couldn't make you laugh or at least bring a smile to your face. Wait. Wait. I'll tell you a joke. It's the one my oldest granddaughter, The Amazing Elle, dropped on me unexpectedly a couple of weeks ago when she said ....

Q: What do you call a dog with no legs?"

I don't know, Elle. What do you call a dog with no legs?

A: I doesn't matter, Grandpa. He's not coming anyway.

I laughed. I hugged her. Sometimes that's the medicine we all need. A laugh. A hug. It's a winning combination.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #49

How much for how many?

800

Congratulations to me! This is my 800th blog. I'm certain that I am the only person that cares but somehow I feel like I deserve a celebration. Therefore I have an appointment with a pizza that I plan on conquering. Did I mention that I'm on vacation? Well, I'm on vacation.

Yea, me!

Happy 800th blog, Ron! (Well, thank you! Thank you very much!)

Surviving the World

So a couple of weeks ago I broke this tooth. Below the gum line. You know you are in for a good time with the dentist when you do that. I went to visit him last week and he began his torture. They draw it out for as long as possible. He got about half finished rebuilding the fang. That meant I had to go back today. And he did something really cool. I have these three HUGE canker sores where he shot me last week. And today? Today he needed to shoot me in the same places to numb the same areas. That, my friend, means that you get a shot IN the canker sore. Good times! He asked me if I wanted to wait a couple of weeks and come back when it was all healed up. Riiiiight. I put the head phones on and said, "drill me, doc."

That really wasn't the best idea I've had all day.

So now he's almost done. Friday he installs this nice shiny new cap and I dance off into the sunset. I requested one of those diamond studded caps but he told me no. Geez. And here I thought it was actually MY mouth and I got to make the decisions. El-wrong-o.

Then I went and got the oil changed on Emma the Mustang. And she had a bad belt. So Emma got a new belt. Oh, and they lied to me about checking the air pressure on the tires and I caught them so that's one for the good guys.

After that I went and visited one of my friends from church who keeled over and fell out of her pew yesterday morning during church. (Hi Arlene!) She just went ... BAM! Fortunately there were two guys sitting near her and they knew what to do. One was a fireman and one is in the air force and, when over seas, serves as a medic. So she was sitting in the right place. She was pretty much not breathing when she hit the floor but they brought her back. Today all she remembers are these two good looking guys kneeling over her. So for her it's all good. It looks like she's going to be just fine. We'll know more soon. But you know what is truly weird? When I got to the hospital to check on her (we canceled the remainder of the service) there were FOUR people in the ER that had passed out at local churches during their morning worship services yesterday. What are the odds? (I would like to point out that I was not speaking when her lights went out so you can't hang this one on me.)

So that was the high lights of today. And as I type them I realize that there is actually no reason to tell you about them on the world wide web. I mean, it was just a day. I didn't get to help change anybodies eternity. I didn't come up with the cure for any major world ... or even local ... problems. I barely even ate because the inside of my mouth feels like a Mexican drug cartel has been taking target practice in it.

I guess tonight a truth has occurred to me. Some days you change the world. Some days you survive it.

Who dis be?

I got worked over today. Not by a hustler or a con man. By God. He does that every now and then. I've learned to just let Him do what He wants to do because He's going to do it anyway. "Resistance is FU-tile..." I was simply enjoying some time in my man cave. The weather was decaying rapidly (a daily occurrence lately) and the radar was on the mini-flat screen on my desk doing it's "loop" thing. "Meteorological Armageddon" was only moments away.

Then He spoke. No, it wasn't audible. I'm not Moses, ya know. My bushes weren't burning. It was just one of those "still quiet voice" things. But it was clear. And He said ... "Who would you be if all of the titles you hold were suddenly gone?" At my deepest core God looks at me and ask "Who dis be?"

What?

What if I was no longer the husband of Debbie? The father of Kelli, Scott, and Chris? The father-in-law of Joe, Amanda, and Laura? The grandfather of Elle, Paisley, and Judah? The brother of Jim? The pastor of Towerview Baptist Church? The friend of 2 or 3 people? If all of those titles and others were stripped away ... who would I be?

That question makes my brain hurt. The first thing I feel when I think of losing those relationships is fear. I think that is appropriate. I love the people in my life and I love thinking that in some small way I might matter to them. FDR told us that all we have to fear is fear itself. I respectfully submit that he missed that one. I think that he was trying to pump the country up. But that's a crazy idea. There is a lot to fear. Forget Bin Laden. Pay no attention to the drug cartels. The threat is much nearer to home. The thought of losing those relationships causes me to feel fear. And it occurs to me, that fear cannot be held. You can't touch it as you can touch your own face or a prized possession. You can only feel it. Tangibility is not part of its package. So fear doesn't really count. It's there but it isn't. I know that is confusing but trust me on this. The same can be said of sadness, depression, and all other emotions including the positive ones. And the question I was being asked is "Who would I BE if ..." Be. Be.

It occurs to me that if all of my physical relationships were to be swept away I would only have one title left. "Child of God." Or perhaps, "Friend of God." I like them both. And they are both accurate. They came to me by way of a gift. That makes them all the more precious.

Then "The Still Small Voice" pointed out one other truth. Someday ... if only for a brief moment ... all of those relationships will be gone. I doubt that my wife and I "expire" at the same moment. Unless, of course, we pull a "Thelma and Louise." That's not likely since she would, no doubt, make me be Thelma and I hate that name. But even if we did leave this earthly soil at the same moment, every man (or woman) crosses the line from time to timelessness all alone. You are naked. Stripped of all titles and possessions. And at that moment all you have is ... God.

And so this is what I learned today. At my very core my relationship with God is the most vital of all possessions. It is the only thing that will never cease, never fade, never fail. My other titles? Very worthwhile. Also very temporary.

But Jesus? Jesus lasts. And coming face to Face with Him will be enough. Does that take the fear away? I guess I'm one of those, "Oh ye of little faith" guys, because no it does not. Not totally. It tempers it. But it does not erase it. You can call me a weenie but deep inside you know I'm right. My titles will fail. But God is working on my biography. And my biography will last forever.

God Works Through Dummies Too

Every now and then God just decides He's going to do something and even the dumbest of us (me) can't screw it up. Today is a perfect example.

I arrived in our outer office area about 20 minutes before morning bible study today. A friend, Diana, gave me the names of a few individuals who had visited within the last month that she did not think I had. She was right. I thanked her and dropped them on my desk, making a mental note to spend time making some contacts in the coming week. I spent the rest of the hour studying and going over the "talk" I was about to give to the church congregation.

Fast forward about 90 minutes.

Our morning worship service had come to its completion. As usual we "sang our way out." I had gathered up my stuff and was walking toward the rear entrance to the worship center when I noticed her. She was standing between rows of pews and looked a bit disturbed. I felt a clear prompting from God to go and introduce myself. We shook hands and I asked her how she was doing. Tears filled her eyes as she told me that the mornings message had been exactly what she needed. She referred to some "issues in life" that were working her over, yet did not go into any detail. After a few brief minutes of talking I asked if I could pray with her. She replied, "Yes, please." So I prayed a very typical prayer that God would cover her with grace and love, providing for her needs and walking her through her troubled areas. After the big "Amen" I gave her my card and told her to feel free to contact me if she needed to. I turned to walk away but got no more than a few steps when "that prompting" came again. It was just clear that God was not done. He was sending me back to talk some more. He wanted me to be more specific. Don't ask me how I knew. But once you receive a "prompting" from God you tend to remember what it feels like.

I turned and walked back to my new friend. She was picking up her belongings and I interrupted her seeking permission to ask her one more thing. She told me to feel free. And so I asked her what God's Spirit was telling me to ask her. "Has there ever been a time in your life when you have prayed and told God that you wanted to give Him all of yourself? You know, a time when you admitted that you have fallen short in many ways of his perfection and you want to ask Jesus to pay for your sin, forgive you, bring you into His family, and give you eternal life?" She looked down and said, "No, I don't think I have ever done that. I have prayed a lot of prayers. But I have never asked Him that before."

"Would you like to do that now?"

"Yes. I really would."

I prayed, thanking God for this holy moment and asking Him to please hear the prayer of my new friend. I squeezed her hands and asked her to tell God what ever she wanted to.

She prayed out loud. She told God that she was sorry she had messed things up and she wanted to be forgiven. She wanted to be one of His kids. She was willing to live her life doing what He wants her to do from now on. She got quiet. I whispered, "Amen."

And then I hugged her. I told her that we had a lot to talk about and that we needed to do begin that process this week. I told her about baptism and what it means. And then I realized that I really needed to pair her up with a woman from our church. I looked around and there was only one woman left in the worship center (besides my new friend.) I called her over. I told her about what had transpired over the last ten minutes and asked if she would be willing to get in touch with this new believer this week. She looked at our friend, beaming from ear to ear. She hugged her, called her by name, and said that she certainly would.

Hmmm. Strange. I asked her if she new this new Christian. She looked at me like I had three eyes and said, "Of course I know who she is. I gave you her name and address when you came in the office this morning." You see, the friend I called over was Diana. The Diana that had met me earlier in the morning giving me visitors information. I didn't remember any of the names on the card. Honestly, I didn't even remember at that moment that it was Diana who had given them to me.

Isn't that just like God? The morning had come full circle. A new child was born into The Kingdom and he used the least likely guy in the room to do it. The one with no clue as to what He was doing.

I just love it when God works through dummies.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #48

Okay, maybe this isn't a stupid picture. Because it's pretty much true. At least for me.

Reflections on my independence

I love the 4th of July. Independence Day. I mean, if you live in America you love it. Right? It's a given. Fireworks, sparklers, boom-boom, steaks on the grill. The whole nine yards. What's not to love?

But can I be honest for a second? I mean gut-level-I-think-I-must-be-a-jerk honest?

Our Independence Day does not effect me like it should. I should stop and think about what has been sacrificed for me in order for me to enjoy the life of freedom that I have and that should be enough to leave me in a puddle.

And it does not work that way.

You see ... I am spoiled. I have never lived in anything but freedom. Nobody has ever asked to see "my papers" at any border except the few times I have crossed over into Canada. I have been in most states any my license plates have never been looked upon with scorn. I have never been slapped down because of my color, my race, my nationality. It's never once happened to me.

I am enormously glad that this is true. I am grateful. I hope that I will be able to make this statement until the day I die. But I recognize that my lack of personal sacrifice and persecution causes me to simply not fully comprehend my freedom ... much less what others paid for it. My father fought for 4 long years in world war two. He was in a "half-track" with the 2nd Armored Division. "Hell on Wheels." He slept in this track or in ditches. He fought in snow and blistering heat, battling his way across north Africa and then Europe. He compiled memories that he could not talk about. Ever. He was at D-Day +3 on a beach in France named "Omaha." He took part in the Battle of the Bulge. As a result of his war time experiences he could never fully enjoy 4th of July fireworks. The "rockets red glare" and "bombs bursting in air" remained too real to him till the day he died. Dad? He could appreciate freedom in a way that I'll never fully understand.

My blessing is a curse. I am blessed to have never pulled a trigger in anger. I am blessed to have never had a trigger pulled on me in anger. I am blessed by the sacrifices of millions who have gone before me or are serving to keep me free right now. Some of my best friends are numbered among them. I have friends serving on military bases right now. I have friends risking it all on foreign soil right now. And they understand fully what I cannot. They understand the great price that has been and is being paid so that I might live on in my cursed semi-ignorance.

And to those men and women, past and present, I say from the bottom of my spoiled heart ... thank you.

385 In Dog Years

When I was born this house, the Barbagallo House," in Kimmswick, Missouri, was already 105 years old. I take comfort in that. Because I am now 385 years old in dog years. That's 55 in human years. VERY hard to believe. Staring down the barrel at 60? Not possible. Many people have expressed kindness to me today. I am grateful for the multitude of friends that God has given me. A few have been obstinate, reminding me that death is looming. Well, to them I only have one thing to say. I'll probably get to heaven before you will. And when I get there? When I get there I'm going to go mess up your room. That's IF you have a room. Uh-huh. Better think that through. Nothing worse than getting "short sheeted" in The New Jerusalem!

I've been asked what I've learned in 55 years of life. I've tried to boil it down to a few bullet points. For you young'ens ... read and learn.

-Never laugh at old guys. It's like laughing at your tomorrow. And the truth is, you might turn out uglier than the old guy you are laughing at.

-The more you learn the more you forget. It's inevitable. You can only retain so much. But as you increase in age the information you gather tends to be much more important than what you gathered in your younger days. Which means you forget what is least important. Unfortunately, you forget the very part that younger people remember. Because it isn't as important to you. This makes you an easy target for laughter or jokes. Don't let it bother you. Retain what is important and let the laughers laugh. By the time they understand you'll be dead which simply means they can't whine to you and, with any luck, will be in heaven messing up their room.

-Your relationship with God is far more important than anything else. That makes a great sermon point. But forget about that. It's just a simple fact. When your life begins to boil down to what is important NOTHING will top that. So pay attention early. You won't have to spend so much time "cramming for finals" later on.

-Right after your relationship with God you might want to consider cultivating, watering, fertilizing, feeding, your relationship with your family. Do you realize how precious ... how important they are? Who knew you from day one? Who else will be with you on your last day (hopefully?) And honestly, who else would you rather be with? Family. I have many great friends. I'd like to have many more. I'm in the market. But if my phone rings and ANY member of my family is on the other end ... family by blood or family by marriage ... you betcha I'm answering that call. I would move mountains for my family. I would rearrange cluttered schedules. I would walk across hot coals. I would die for my daughters-in-law and my son-in-law as quickly as I would my own kids. They ARE my own kids. Every Thursday night I drive two hours to spend one hour with two of my three kids and their families. MY families. Why? Because it's worth every minute of it. And not just because they might be choosing my nursing home someday. I will do it because, well, because I love them with a deep and impassioned love.

-You don't really have to change your oil every 3,000 miles. Every 5,000 will be fine unless you drive in really dirty places or you stop every block and let your engine idle. I'm not a mechanic. I've just owned a lot of cars. If I'm wrong about this remember ... never take car advice from a pastor.

-Don't take yourself so stinken seriously. You spend much time wondering what people are thinking of you? Let me give you the true answer. THEY ARE NOT THINKING OF YOU. They are thinking of themselves. So please God first and then please those you love and then please yourself. And if others give you grief for it ... laugh at them. No, not to their face because that would be rude and it might get you punched in the nose. But do laugh at them. Certainly don't pay them any undue attention.

-Everybody has an opinion. You want to make somebody angry? Make a decision. You'll hack someone off every time. Get use to it. It's an irrevocable law of the universe.

-Okay, just one last thing. I could go on all night writing this stuff but you are already bored and my 55 year old fingers are tired. So here's the last one. That person who lays next to you at night? You know. Your wife. Or your husband. They are gold. Always, always, always give them the benefit of the doubt. Always put them before yourself. Always make certain that, before they go to sleep or drive away in a car, they know you LOVE THEM. And then tell them one more time just to make sure. Contrary to popular opinion, they cannot be replaced.

"The Birthday Flag" flys at our house in my honor today. (Thank you, honey!)

Vacation update...

When you get these seats at the Brewers/Twins game at Milwaukee's Miller Park...

This is the inevitable result...

To my kids. Thanks for letting me be the dad.

I suppose the typical Father's Day blog would find a person writing to his father. Or perhaps about his father. Tonight I am blowing away all trends. I have something important that I need to say.

Kelli. From the moment they lay you in my arms in the deliver room I was a changed man. I fell into your deeply piercing eyes and my life has never been the same. With your first breath my life was altered for all eternity. You have brought things out of me that no other person could have ever brought out. I was so thrilled to have a daughter. A daughter. Those words rang in my ears when the nurse first spoke them to me. They ring to this day. I could write so much about the in-between days but I would much rather fast forward to today. You were the first one to make me a father. You were the first one to choose a mate. You were the first one to make me a grandfather. And I am so proud of you. But those are not the only reasons why. I watch you live your life, love your family, serve your God, and I can not think of one thing that I would change. You are everything that I dreamed you would be. Everything I prayed you would be. It thrills me to know that you serve God as a ministry leader in your church. But that is not what thrills me the most. It is simply who you ARE. At your core. You are a woman of integrity and honor. You are purposeful. You are loyal. Dedicated. Incredibly resourceful. Independent. Shockingly beautiful. I could go on. But let me say to you one more time what I have told you many times before. If I could have talked to God and designed my own daughter she would look exactly like you. I love you with every fiber of my being and am honored that for all eternity I will be your father. Kelli, you are wise beyond your years and gifted beyond you ability to have learned all you know on your own. God has His Hand on you. And I cannot wait to watch what He does with your life. I love you, Kelli, far more than I love my own life.

Scott. You came into my life wearing a little yellow sock hat. It quickly morphed into a blue Cubs cap. How many baseball beatings have we taken together? More than I can count. Watching you grow up in our home brought me joy I had never known. My first son. Somebody to play catch with. Somebody to teach the letters "ESPN" to. You use to cry and scream when I would get on a bus or into a van to leave on a youth trip. You just wanted your dad. Those moments ripped my heart out. But I walked on and did what God told me to do. Now I understand a little bit about why He wanted me to demonstrate that faithfulness before you. It would not be long until you would be the one climbing on a bus. You would be the one leading the charge of teenagers in a well planned attack on the gates of Hades. I remember the days we "shared a wall." I was a pastor on one side and you were the youth pastor on the other. Those were some of the best moments of my life. The day came when you sat in your room, on your bed, and stared at the walls and the memories they contained. You didn't know I was watching from a distance. You walked outside where your mother and I were waiting to pray for you as you drove off of our drive way for the last time as a resident of our home. I will forever remember you wrapping your arms around my neck and saying, "I never thought they would say yes!" I have to tell you, Scott. I knew from the first moment you began filling out applications that they would say "yes." Because I knew you were called. Scott, I am incredibly proud of you. Of the man you have become. I love you and all you ever have to do is make the call and I am on the road, heading to wherever you are. You are my son in whom I am well pleased.

Chris. I scarcely know how to say to you how much you mean to me. You completed God's gift of children to your mom and I. When you first showed up we realized that we were now complete. Until you came it always felt as though someone was missing. You were that someone. God designed you specifically to be the final puzzle piece to our family. Oh how I loved raising you! Oh the challenges you sent my way! You always did things your own way. I often had to express my displeasure (while stifling a belly laugh) but I can now be honest with you. Almost every time I found out what you had been up to deep in my heart and soul I was thinking, "This is one amazing kid. Magnificently creative. Totally independent upon his own wit and skills. Raising him is going to be a BLAST!" And none of that was wrong. And I look at you today, Christopher, and I stand thrilled and humbled by the man that I see. Overnight you went from "the learner" to "the teacher." How did you do that? I should not be surprised. It is typical Christopher. I have no idea what your future holds, my son. But I know this. It is brighter than the brightest sun. You have grown a heart after God and He is going to use you beyond your wildest dreams. Maybe it won't always be fun or easy. Maybe it will sometimes hurt. But it will be a ride that you will never regret taking. Thank you for calling me "dad." When my phone rings and I see your picture on the screen my heart smiles. And I never know what I am going to hear! I love you so deeply, Christopher. Remain faithful. I will be here for you whether you need me or not!

It is Father's Day. And I am one blessed Father.

10 Years

Ten years ago today life changed forever. I remember the moment as though it just happened. For me, on a personal level, it is a line drawn through the history of my life. On the other side was a naive joy that I totally took for granted. This side of the line contains the things that go along with age and maturity. They are over-rated. They are also unavoidable.

Ten years ago today I was attending Centrifuge with a hundred or so of my closest friends at Union University in Jackson, Tennessee. It was around 9:30AM. I had finished breakfast with multiple tables of teens. And then I had made my way to a pay phone in a university hallway. I had a daily phone call to make.

My dad was sick. He was eighty years old and seemed to be increasingly in poor health. I dialed the number and my mother answered the phone. She quickly told me of how my father had become disoriented the night before, had fallen, hit his head on a night stand, and was now in the hospital. Dad was dealing with what had proved to be a very slow growing liver cancer. He had battled it for over a decade. Lately he was on chemo. It was not fun to watch. Dad was always a man of great strength, both of physical stature and character.

After talking to my mother I called my father's hospital room. He was thinking and talking clearly though he sounded weak. He told me what had happened to the best of his recollection. I assured him that I had plenty of adults to take care of the kids at camp and I would be leaving to come to his bedside on that very day. Dad's response was simple and yet strong. He said, "No son. You stay there and you do a good job." As always I obeyed my dad.

I didn't know it at the time but dad was just over a week away from death. As I thought about that today I realized how blessed I had been. I was 44 years old and, while I had conducted many funeral services, dad was the first person I had lost that I was truly close to.

Ten years. It's very hard to believe. I miss him more than I can say. I still remember his phone number and have an uncanny urge to dial it every now and then. My tower of strength was falling. My hero was coming to the end of his fight. I don't understand it but I miss him more today than I did that first year he was gone.

I hope I have done what dad told me to do. I hoped I have stayed the course. I hope I have done a good job. He may be gone but he's my dad. And I still want to make him smile.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #47

Ya'll drive careful now! Ya hear!
Rush hour in Highland, Illinois.

The Great Donut Harvest Of '10

It works. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Planting Donut Seeds ... Memories in Sugar

Tonight Elle and I planted Donut seeds. Yes, you read that correctly. Donut seeds. We've already reaped a crop of four donuts and I expect more in the morning. What? You find this hard to believe? See for yourself...

I gotta get me one of these...

Click on the video for a better/wider view.

If I Ruled The World - Part 2 (today's rants)

- Everybody has to drive the Popular Street Bridge in downtown St. Louis for a month. Survivors will be allowed back into the general population.


- Skimping on carbonation in fountain soda wins you 3/4 of a normal ration of oxygen per day. Hey ... if it doesn't burn going down it doesn't count.

- Forcing people to pay to park in a garage connected to a hospital results in hospital administrators paying to park at the grocery store, shopping mall and , oh what the heck, stop lights.

- Throwing your "butts" out of your car window gets your butt thrown out of your car window. (I don't really need to explain this, do I?)

- Not paying your employees enough to work at your restaurant (thus forcing them to rely on my tip to put diapers on the baby) will result in your giving them your restaurant. Fair 'nuff.

OH PLEASE let me be in charge...

Tonights Guest Blogger; Mrs. Laura Woods. My daughter-in-law.

I read my daughter-in-law's blog tonight and there is simply no way I can top it. So I am introducing her as my guest blogger for the evening. And I think this just may be my favorite picture of my granddaughter, Elle. Enjoy ...
**************************
This is my niece Elle. She turned 4 last week. This is her new “bell bike” as she likes to say. Not because it has Belle from the movie on it, but because it has a bell she can ring to tell other bikers that she is also now biking. At least that’s what she told me.

Elle is so happy. She helps me remember the amazing joyful imaginative newness of being 4. You can’t keep her down. Not to say she doesn’t have her moments, as does any 4 year old. But then she just ends up right back here. With the wind in her tassels and the sun on her cheeks just waiting to pop out some freckles.

I kind of love her. A lotta bit. As if you couldn’t tell. She’s gonna make a great older cousin to help Judah get in all kinds of mischief.

i.can’t.wait.

If I Ruled The World

- You spill oil in the gulf? You suck it up. You can't suck it up? We give your gas away for free.

-Ribs once a week. It's the law.

- Tailgating would automatically trigger the backward facing Stinger Missile in the trunk of the car in front of you.

- Those headlights that are like ... bluish and retina melting? 20 years in Leavenworth.

- You break your leg celebrating your own game winning grand slam? Walk it off. You can't walk it off? After you heal you spend the rest of your career with 6th grader as your "pinch runner." Oh, and you split your salary with him/her 50/50.

- You don't mow your lawn on a weekly basis? Your neighbors get to mow it for you and then put all of your stuff in a "garage sale." All proceeds go to off-set the loss your presence on the block causes to their property value. Oh. And they get to tattoo a bright red "M" on your forehead (for "Mow-ron.")

- You serve cold french fries at your fast food restaurant? You go door to door in Idaho for a year and explain why you did it. In your underwear.

- You text and drive? Automatic hour in the boxing ring with Oprah. Only your hands are duck taped behind your back and she is on Meth. Oh, and your in your underwear.

- Sagging pants? You lose 'em. Yeah, you get a skirt instead. And if your skirt sags you get leotards. Red ones with runs in them. And NO underwear.

- Full body scanners at every airport. You don't want to use them? Go Greyhound.

Oh, how I wish I ruled the world. I'm just getting started ...

Getting Ripped For Heaven

I didn't want to do it. I did it anyway. Sometimes it feels right and good. Sometimes it hurts. I was pretty certain that today was going to fall into the latter category. But I threw my gym bag in the car, dropped the top, and drove to the gym anyway. Why? Well. Because I was suppose to. Because I'm eating relatively little in order to drop a few pounds and it isn't working. Because I pay them $29 a month and I should take advantage of it. Because I told Debbie that I was going to and I thought it would just be a shame if she collected on my life insurance too early.

So I got there, scanned my membership card, changed clothes and went to make myself sweaty and miserable. I hit about 10 weight machines and climbed onto some aerobic equipment. This is the part I hate. Because it is boring. There are 6 or 7 flat screen TV's on the wall. You can plug your head phones into a little gizmo on your machine and tune in any of the TV's you want. There is a room called "The Cardio Cinema" where you can watch a full length, huge screen, surround sound movie in the dark while working out. And I still get bored.

There is something wrong with me. I already know. No need to point it out.

When I was finished I changed again, slid into the hot tub and the pool. Rough life, huh?

It was in the shower of all places when it hit me. The gym I go to is a Golds Gym. You've probably seen their logo. It's the figure of a bulked up guy holding a bar with dumb bells on each end. The weights are so heavy the bar is bowing. The guy isn't bowing. He's bulging. I stood there with soap in my eyes and I whispered out loud ... "No way. It ain't gonna happen." I've been going to one gym or another since I was in my early 30's. I use to run. I use to lift more than I do now. I've used every kind of aerobic machine you've ever heard of. And after all of these years I finally understood the truth.

No matter what I do ... I am NEVER going to look like that guy. No way. No how. I am always going to look normal. Why? I was never willing to give all that it would have taken to bulk up like that. Honestly, I wasn't there for that purpose. I'm still not. I'm just trying to make sure I leave an old corpse rather than a middle aged one. I'm just trying to make sure I'll be able to actually LIFT my grandchildren rather than just look at them and have them push me around in a chair that has big wheels. Some of the men walking around the work out area really do look like the God's Gym guy. I look more like today's version of Chevy Chase. (Sorry, Chevy.) But more and more ... I'm good with that.

For me, First Timothy 4: 8 puts it all in perspective. It says, "For physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come." I want to bulk up on godliness. I want to be all that God wants me to be. One prayer that I have prayed for decades is, "God, do whatever you want to do in my life today to make me the man You want me to be." When God began answering that prayer ... I stopped praying it. Because I found out that it hurt. A lot. But lately I've been praying it again. I guess I've just realized that, hey, if I turn back now .... well, I've run about 5/8ths (6/8ths?) of a marathon and then I sat down on the curb and ate some ice cream. Who would do that? Am I really that stupid? Sometimes, yeah. I am. But I'm trying to break myself of it.

Usually when I get in the shower I just get wet and soap gets in my eyes and then I have a good Herbal Essence cry. Today I got more than I bargained for. I got a reminder of what I am not. And I got a reminder of what I am.

And honestly? I wouldn't trade. Cause in heaven ... baby I want to be ripped.

A picture of love

They were an aging couple when I spotted them. They were older than I am but younger than I will be in 15 years. They were going up the escalator and I was going down. They were entering the hospital and I was leaving. They could have been anybody. As a matter-of-fact, they WERE anybody. I would not recognize them now if they walked into my living room. And yet there was something different about them. She was on the step above him and she talked on the cell phone. I imagined she was talking to a close friend that was a nurse or a medical expert of some sort. I think she needed advice. She looked straight ahead but her body was turned toward the left. And he, a step below, leaned into her chest. His eyes were closed, his head buried into her. Standing on a lower step allowed a minimum of hunkering down on his part in order to fit perfectly into this place of comfort.

You know how escalators are. You go up. They go down. They go up. You go down. You see people across from you for a moment and never again. But this couple remained in my mind as I walked through the parking garage. It was easily in excess of 100 degrees down there. You could taste the air. It was dark and heavy. But all of those feelings and sensations escaped me as the scene on the moving stairs played itself out in my brain again and again. He was sick. She was well. She was bringing him to a specialist at this world renown hospital. He was tired of fighting. She was resolved to get him help. All of his senses were geared toward just getting there and sitting down. All of hers were geared, laser-like, toward getting her husband back. He was not giving up but he was clinging to her for direction and she had become his hope.

Maybe I am wrong about all of that. I don't think so. But this much I know. I was looking at a picture of love. Love is something that is tough to define. But when you see it... you know it. It was not in their walk because they were not walking. It was not in their speech because they were not talking to each other. It was in their posture. It was in their faces... one resolved... one resigned. One defending... one depending. But mainly I felt it. It's waves rippled out from this couple like the sound of a gentle murmer spoken in hushed tones. It was the sound of a crises shared and a solution sought. I had no place in their world. I will never know how their appointment went. I will always wonder what news they received. But I learned from them today. They taught me two lessons. Lean. Support. And of course they taught me a third.... love. no matter what.

Mouse Wars ... part deux

Several years ago I went through "The Great Laundry Room Wars." I think it was 2002. Mice had staged a well planned attack on my laundry room. Given time and tactics I repelled their aggressive maneuvers and rodent tranquility ruled in my home once again. I thought it was over. And then ...

I thought I would be pro-active on my snake-in-the-house issue. It only seems smart. At the recommendation of a friend I bought some "sticky strips" and placed them in the location where my little slithery friend showed-up. It only made sense that if one snake was there and another snake showed up, perhaps he would go there too. The strips looked like this after I placed them ...


We then left for our daughters house to celebrate Debbie's birthday. (Happy birthday, honey!) When we came home I went downstairs to check my traps. No snakes. That's the good news. The bad news? I found ...


He was just a baby mouse. Poor thing. Because the operative word is ... "was."

At least I now know what the snake was after. Tomorrow I set regular (cheaper!) mouse traps around. No more mice = no more snakes. Failing that ... I'm off to purchase a nice snake killing dog. Breed suggestions are appreciated.

Head Med's Rock

Another month. Another attempt at a "Head Med." It's getting a bit old but compared to most I don't really have anything to complain about. Since our trip last October ... OCTOBER ... to L.A. I've been rocking back and forth with weird head symptoms. Nobody is quite certain that there's a connection but I had a head cold when we took the flight west. On the third day of the trip as I was driving through the lovely L.A. traffic my head went all wonky. The lanes started .... moving. No, it wasn't an earthquake. It was a headquake. I signed the keys to the rental over to Debbie (sad) for the rest of the week. The operative theory is that the cold went to my ears and did fluidy kinds of things and that they are still going on. But nobody is sure.

And then there's the fun of coughing and losing my voice. What good is a pastor that can't talk? I think the back row at church is actually placing bets on my sermons. You know ... will he be able to talk by the time he's done? So far, yes. But there's no guarantees.

So today I went back to my new doctor. She listened to my story (again) looked at me like I was a quack and gave me a prescription ... nose spray.

My nose is fine, thank you. Well, as fine as it's ever been. I felt like screaming, "IT'S MY EARS, DARN IT!" But, as you may remember, I lost my last doctor due to a verbal flaw on my part. I don't want to lose this one too. So I guess I'll spray this stuff up my nose and see if my throat and ears get better.

In the meantime, if you see me coming in my car, pray it isn't a moment of dis-equilibrium. I'm clueless as to what the active ingredient is but I've got to tell you, the codeine in the cough syrup ROCKS.

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.