20 Years Ago This Weekend

The following is an entry from my personal journal about an event that unfolded in the life of my family twenty years ago this weekend.  I think God is still chuckling...

Labor Day Weekend 1993

It was Thursday, September 2, 1993.  I had a problem.  I had promised my oldest son, Scott, that this would be the year that I would take him to Wrigley Field in Chicago to see the Cubs play in their home environment.  Scott was born in the suburbs of Chicago and even though we moved away when he was just 4 months old, he considered himself a true Chicagoan.  More importantly he was for now and forever more, a Cubs fan.  He had seen the Cubs plenty of times in our local ball park, Busch Stadium in St. Louis.  But there is just something about Wrigley Field.

Well, the problem was that there were precious few Cubs games left at Wrigley Field in the 1993 season.  The kids were back in school.  We were ready to celebrate Labor Day weekend by kicking back and vegetating.  I talked with God on Thursday and asked Him what to do.  There were plenty of reasons not to go to Chicago.  Most of them had to do with laziness on my part.  I could find a million excuses...all of them good.  But none of them were good enough when God reminded me that Fathers are suppose to keep their promises.  Not only that but Scott's view of his Heavenly Father would be shaped, in part, by his view of his earthly father.  If I proved myself untrustworthy wouldn't he have reason to believe that his Heavenly Father might let him down also?  I had to go to Chicago.

Friday morning dawned and we were in the old blue van early.  We didn't have tickets and we thought we would get to Chicago and buy cheap seats, maybe arrive early enough to watch batting practice and let the kids spend some souvenir money.  We arrived in Joliet at 11:00 a.m.  Game time was 2:20.  Plenty of time!  We didn't really need gas but I figured we might as well buy it here so we wouldn't have to stop in the city.  As usual, nothing went as planned.  When we got back into the van to head on to Wrigley Field it wouldn't start.  It just sat there.  A mechanic was summoned from a local Amoco station.  Closer inspection revealed that we needed a new alternator.  Not to worry, a quick tow across the street, $280.00 worth of repairs, and we would be on our way in an hour.  Right.

Three hours later the van was repaired.  It was 2:00 p.m. on the Friday before Labor Day.  The game was set to begin in 20 minutes and we still had 40 miles to travel on one of traffics busiest Fridays in Chicago.  Debbie and I consulted briefly and decided that we had to go on.  The decision was made to get to the ball park as quickly as possible, buy the cheapest seats possible, and try to salvage a tough situation.

As I drove I had a talk with my Father.  You know the one.  The one that said fathers always keep their promises.  I wanted to know why He has sent us all this way, in obedience, only to allow the van to break down so close to our goal.  Did He get a kick out of seeing Scott's spirit crushed?  Did I misunderstand Him?  Was this a frivolous trip.  Would He rather we had spent our time back at home, sacked out in front of the tube?  I just didn't get it.  The more I asked the less I heard from the creator.

We arrived at Wrigley Field in the middle of the 2nd inning.  I was carrying Christopher by now because he had one of his famous stomach aches.  It was easier to carry him than to listen to him complain!  This was turning out to be a really swell day.

When I reached the ticket window I heard myself telling the man "Give me the 5 best seats you have left."  Debbie looked on in horror as the man asked, "Would you like box seats?" and I responded with a weak "Yes.".  She handed me $85.00 in stunned silence.  I paid the man.  (Today it would take more than $85.00 to buy a families lunch at Wrigley!)

We entered the gate without a clue concerning where we should go.  I just walked toward daylight in the closest tunnel I could find.  We emerged into the sunshine directly behind home plate.  As Scott stepped  out of the shadows a pitch was delivered to Sammy Sosa, the current Cub batter.  Scott’s first view of Wrigley Field was a blur.  A ferocious swing, the crack of the bat, and the ensuing flight of the ball over the left field fence.  His mouth hung open (so did mine) as one of his hero's trotted around the bases.  By now I had managed to find an usher and present our tickets to her, expecting to be pointed up and out to seats similar to those we usually occupied at Busch Stadium.  Instead she said, "Follow me, sir."  Shock turned to disbelief.  She was going closer to the field.  As a matter-of-fact she was walking toward the visiting Mets dugout.  She didn't stop until she reached the front row.  She pointed to our seats and walked away.  The five of us looked at each other not knowing what to do.  Eventually we made our way down the aisle, Scott and Kelli on the front row and Debbie, Chris and I directly behind them in the second.

I honestly didn't know what to do.  I thought somebody had made a mistake.  They had to have given us the wrong tickets.  I turned to the man next to me and asked him if tickets in this section were always available on game day.  He turned rather pale.  Making a quick recovery he asked if I would mind telling him what I had paid for my tickets.  I explained that I had just purchased them 5 minutes earlier at the ticket window.  Clutching his chest he told me that he had bought his two months earlier from a ticket broker ... at $85.00 per ticket.  I didn't know what to say!  Trying to make him feel better I told him that we had missed the first inning.  His response left me trembling.  "It's a good thing you were late," he said.  As he pointed to the seat Scott was sitting in he said, "Last inning Ryne Sandberg hit a rocket into that seat.  If he had been sitting there then he would, at best, be on his way to the hospital right now.  As a matter-of-fact, a photographer was sitting next to it.  He got so shook up he left."

I had to bite my lip for a second before I could relay this information to Debbie.  It seems that our Father had known best after all.  Not only did He save us some of the best seats in Wrigley Field, but He slowed us down just enough to insure our safety.  God is good.  All the time.

Oh yeah, the Cubs won.

(Father, thank you for loving my children.  I did not know that anyone could love them more than I do but somehow you manage it.  Scott knows where those tickets came from.  All of the children do.  When I have enough courage to obey you exciting things happen.  Usually it involves situations that make my pulse beat faster and my "fight or flight" impulses scream!  But always, just before the unexpected disaster, whether it is a baseball to the head or the unexpected repair bill, you show yourself strong and loving.  And you meet my needs.  Thanks.)

Charcoal Grill Theology

So I did something while pastoring in Ohio that I had never done before and have never done since.  Never thought I would do it.  Didn't think I was capable of doing it.  Turns out I am.

I got a phone call from a church member asking me to go and visit his next door neighbor in the hospital.  The guy is in his 80's and he's dying of leukemia.  But he doesn't know that.  And they wouldn't let me tell him.  They warned me that he's mean.  He's angry.  He's bitter.  He hates God and he hates pastors.  (I always get the choice assignments.)  As I drove to the hospital I prayed and asked God for two things.  I asked that this man would have the evil fingers of the father of lies pried from his heart before it is too late.  And I prayed that God would please give me a good parking place because I can never find a place to park at this hospital.

I pulled into the parking lot and the very first spot was open.  No handicap sign.  No pregnant mom sign.  It was mine.  That's what you call a good day.

I got to the ER and found him in a room with his grandson in-law sitting with him.  He looked as horrible as someone can possibly look.  He was coughing up and choking on his own blood.  He was laying on his side and I sat down by his head, facing him.  I introduced myself simply as Ron.  He tried to talk but mainly choked.  He finally asked who I was and why I was there.  I told him that I am a pastor and that I'm concerned about him.  That's when he began using words on me that are generally not used outside of a Hells Angels Initiation Meeting.  Then he began blaspheming God.  Okay, attack me and that's fine.  Go off on the one who gave His life for me and that's an entirely different story.  I tried to talk reasonably to him.  There was no talking.  Just cursing and vile insults.  His grandson in-law had already told me that he is personally a believer at a conservative fundamental church.  During one of the vilest of moments the grandson stepped out.  I had pretty much had enough and this was the moment I was waiting for.

I got down low, directly in the face of this man.  His teeth were coated with blood.  He drooled blood.  Blood was on his hospital gown.  He coughed it up constantly and tried to spit it into a cup on his bed.  I sensed evil in the room.  Cold, sulfur-filled evil.  I could smell the blood on his breath as I stared into his bloodshot eyes.

"You know, I don't want a thing from you.  I don't want your money.  My church doesn't want you to attend.  We don't need or want anything you have.  I'm only here for one reason.  You've already told me that I cannot pray for you.  Well, I am going to anyway, but not until after I leave."

He stared at me with angry eyes.

"You want to know why I am here?"

(Blink)

"Have you ever seen a charcoal grill?"

"Yeah."  (hack.  cough.  spit.)

"Well, I am here to tell you that you do not have to pray with me.  You don't have to do anything with me.  You can hate me and I don't even care.  I won't lose a moments sleep over it. But when I leave here you can silently ask God to forgive you for your evil acts and to save you because of the death of Jesus on the cross.  He will hear you and He will save you.  But if you choose not to do that ... very soon now you will be stuck like a hunk of meat on a weber grill for the rest of a very long time.  Do you understand that?"

Wide eyes but absolutely no response.

"Have a nice eternity."

I walked out of his room.

And now I am shocked by what I said.  I am shocked at the ease with which I said it.  And I am totally stunned that I have absolutely no regrets about one word that came out of my mouth.

I enjoyed my parking space.

 But I was wrong.  I lost sleep over him.

The 9th Street IPhone Symphony

I sat at the long row of wooden tables with my "Partner in BBQ" on the sidewalks of St. Louis a couple of Friday's ago.  We have declared the sixth day of each week in the summer of '13 to be our "Great Barbeque Hunt Friday's." On those days you will finds us at a new restaurant sampling the sweet and savory sauces that increasingly runs through our veins.  On this day we were at Bogarts in the Soulard neighborhood.  And we were IMpressed.  Yes, we were wowed enough to capitalize the IM in IMpressed.  English teachers ... hush up.

As Debbie and I devoured our pulled pork our phones both began chirping an irregular tone.  And then, instantaneously, the entire row of tables seemed alive with the exact same tone.  You would know it if you heard it ... it is a tone peculiar to the iphone.  Evidently iphone owners feel a singular call to Bogarts. (Or perhaps, a "cingular" call?)  Up and down the sidewalk iphones chirped.  Across the street iphones chirped.  In passing cars iphones chirped.  And so there we were.  Roughly 30 strangers all looking bewildered as our phones mimicked each other.  And as one we all reached for those magical tools to see what the fuss was about.  It seems an "Amber Alert" had been issued for the immediate area we were in and a message had been dispatched to cell phones in our location.

Now friends, that is a great idea.  Kudo's to the phone companies and law enforcement for getting one right.  I never heard any more and I do not know if the missing person was found or not.  But I will not soon forget the iphone symphony on 9th Street.

I'm one of those guys who believes that God speaks to His kids.  It only makes sense.  The Bible talks about it.  It's happened throughout history.  God never announced that He was shutting-up.  The Bible actually talks about "the still, small voice of God."  Add to that the fact that I have experienced the inaudible whisper of God many times in many ways and you might correctly assume that I'm convinced.  God speaks.  Today.  To His children.  And if you are His, He will speak to you.  I believe that.  But you have to be "His kid."  You have to have His Spirit living inside of you.  And that happens when you decide to trust Christ as the Savior of your soul and the Director of your destiny.  And when the Spirit moves into you ... you are "activated."  You have been equipped.  You now have "spiritual ears" and are capable of two-way communication with God.  And when it happens ... it's a beautiful thing.  Nothing is better than hearing God's voice.  Because when God speaks it means there is hope.

There were a few people at those tables on 9th Street that had no idea what was going on.  Those people did not have iphones.  They had never heard that tone and they didn't recognize it as being important.  But those who had been equipped ... those who had the iphones ... they knew.  How great would it be if all believers were that prepared and knew what it was like to hear God's voice.  So many live in denial.  So many live in spiritual sadness, wanting to have an intimate relationship with God but not understanding that He is indeed available for them now.  Today.  He is speaking to them and they do not recognize it as Him.

This is a subject that is so dear to my heart I could talk about it all day.  Hearing God ... intimacy with The Almighty ... it is our for the taking.  For free!  You may not agree (I've had long discussions with those who do not and who got rather ... huffy ... with me because I do) so let me say without any sarcasm or malice in any way.  If you do not agree with me ... that is alright!  Enjoy the silence!  And I will enjoy The Voice!

The IPhone Symphony reminded me of something.  It's in the words of an old song.  It goes, "And He walks with me, and He TALKS with me!  And He tells me I am His own.  And the VOICE I hear, falling on my ear, none other has ever known!"

I just thought you might want to know.

A Honk And A Whisper

HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!

It was 2AM and I was sleeping like a dead man.  Debbie was out of town and, as is my habit, I had positioned myself in a sprawl to take up as much of our king-size bed as possible.  I believe in streeeetching out and enjoying myself when the whole thing is mine.   Last Sunday night was no exception.

HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!

I barely heard it in the deepest levels of my sleep.  It incorporated itself into the dream I was living in.  I can’t remember the dream anymore.  But the HONK was there.  I fought my way up a level of sleep.  And then two levels.

HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!

I recall blinking my eyes rapidly, trying to figure out where I was … who I was … and why it sounded like a submarine was blaring its warning signal that it was about to submerge in my bedroom.  The feel of the soft feather-filled comforter brought me back to reality.  I sat up, looking around.  Still unable to process that incessant…

HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!

Then I knew.  Emma the Mustang.  She was alone in the garage tonight.  Maury the Maroon Trail Blazer was away with Debbie.  Why would Emma’s alarm be going off in my own garage unless … I pulled a Superman, jumped out of bed “in a single bound” and sprinted to the garage.  Emma was all alone, her head lights flashing and horn roaring.  I went back to my bedroom to get my keys off the dresser.  No keys.  Just a lonely wallet.  I ran to the dining room.  Not on the table.  The kitchen.  Same result.  Back to the bedroom.  Not on the floor.  Also not under the bed, in the tub, in my “man-cave,” and not in the refrigerator.  (Yes, I looked.)  The horn was still doing what horns do best.  The keys were doing what keys do best.  Hiding.  They must be …..

Oh, geez.  Not in my jeans.  Please, Lord.  Not in my jeans.  I ripped open the lid on the washing machine and …

HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!

… reached in, searching for my wet, newly laundered blue jeans.  Found ‘em.  Quick.  The pocket.  The left pocket.

HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…..  my soggy keys fell out onto the floor.  I grabbed them, prayed they would work, and pushed the panic button.

HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!  HONK!

Not good.  I ran back to the garage, opened the car door, slid the key into the ignition and started Emma up.  And at last … peace.  Quiet.  Solitude.  I fell forward and leaned on the steering wheel, considering falling back to sleep right there.  And then taking a deep breath.  A breath that smelled like … EXHAUST!  Quick!  Turn the key off!  Turn the key off NOW!  And I fell back onto the wheel.  My right hand grabbed for the garage door opener and pressed down until I heard the door kick to life.  Surprisingly, my neighbors were not marching up the street with flaming torches in their hands ready to beat the noisy offender to a bloody pulp with clubs and tire irons.

As I leaned upon the steering wheel at 2:15AM and felt the breeze from outside wash over me, a voice spoke.  A quiet voice.  A voice of stillness.

“You know, Ron, your life has been a lot like that horn lately.  You are paying attention to every screaming voice, every squeaky wheel.  You are so busy searching for the elusive key to the quiet that you have forgotten that the quiet resides INSIDE of you.  You are turned outward all day long, living in the rough and tumble world, dealing with issues, trying to help people solve their problems.  Trying to move the flock that I have given you closer to me.  You have forgotten that you have to turn inward into the stillness.  I reside in you.  I want to sit with you in the peace.  I want to enjoy you in the solitude.  The key is to stop.  Just stop.  Sit down with me, lean into me, and let’s be together.”

I looked around the garage.  I was alone.  The inaudible voice was one I have come to know.  It’s the voice of the Spirit of God.  Oh, how I love to hear from Him!  There is peace in that voice.  Promise in that voice.  Joy in that voice.

And so I am trying again.  I’m not trying harder.  I’m trying easier.  I’m doing all I can to simply “stop doing” several times a day.  And I’m trying to “fall inward.”  I’m trying to look upward.  I’m trying to listen in stillness.

To enjoy.  To be enjoyed.  By my creator, my Lord, my King.  That is what my life is made for.

Odd, isn’t it?  It took a loud HONK at 2AM to remind me to listen to a quiet WHISPER at 2:15.  That is the way my God works.  And I love Him for it.

I've Been Google-Ized!

Today I was driving along, minding my own business and not causing harm to anything, when what should appear out my window but … The Google Car!  You know the one.  This is the vehicle that takes the pictures for Google “street view” on Google Maps.

You have to understand, I have been waiting months … YEARS … for this opportunity.  I have always heard about people doing weird things when the Google Car comes by.  They have photographically documented naked people, dead people, crimes being committed, and a guy in a horse head mask.  That's just for starters.  Never wanting to disappoint my fans (both of you) I have put together a grand scheme to out prank all of them.  A plan for the ages!

But here’s the problem.  Nobody tells you where the car is or when it is coming down your street.  This is unfortunate.  In order to actually get yourself into the official Google Street View pictures you have to be extremely lucky.  And I was not.  I noticed the car as I was pulling out of my street and onto the highway this morning.  I chased it down and it looked like this …

 

So I turned in behind it, though I was a car or two back.  I hurried toward the intersection and got this close …

 

And finally, I chased it into a cul-de-sac!  I had it trapped!  Sadly, it was a short cul-de-sac and, though  I had it trapped, I had no time to get out of the car and execute my plan …

 

All I could do was wave...

This makes me sadder than you know.  All of the potential was there and I had absolutely no time to pull it off.  I do not know how often the Google Car comes around but the chances of my finding it next time … not good.

My opportunity for fame and fortune, not to mention an appearance on the Jimmy Fallon, has slipped through my fingers.  I had hoped one day to be as famous as The Colonel.  You know.  The Kentucky Fried Chicken Guy.  His picture is actually visible from space on Google Maps.  KFC put him out in a field knowing that eventually Google would take pictures and they were right.  His is the first ad to be visible from space …

 

 

So there it is, sports fans.  I have been Google-ized.  That's not too bad even though my plan was to Ron-ize Google.  I came up a bit short on this one.

 

So.

 

Space has eyes, guys.  Do you feel like somebody always has you in His view?  Kind of like  you are always being watched.  Every moment.  Like ... constantly?  Don't freak out about Google.  And don't go all conspiracy-theory on me.  There are bigger eyes than that.  2 Chronicles 16: 9a says, " The eyes of the Lord search the whole earth in order to strengthen those whose hearts are fully committed to him..."  God is watching and that is a good thing.  He's cheering for us,  urging us on.  Exhorting us to be all that we can be.  And He isn't just cheering ... He's watching.  Like a father at his son's little league game, God is even nearer than the stands and He is on your side.

 

And so I suggest that you do your best.  Don't get caught doing the crime.  It breaks God's heart when He sees you dishonoring yourself by "living in the mud."  I want to bring joy to His heart today.  I want Him to catch me serving, loving, and honoring.  I'm not performing for the (Google) camera.  I'm performing for the eyes of my "Dad."

 

 

And that's a can't lose opportunity.



Other Than That We Had A Really Good Afternoon...

Life is good.  Some  things are gooder than others.  Awesome barbeque is way up on my list of reasons to get up in the morning.  And thus we were off on an adventure last Friday.  You might call it "Ron and Debbie's Most Excellent Adventure Gone Bad."  The target of our journey?  Pappy's Barbeque in St. Louis.  World famous (not really, but they think they are.)  Incredibly delicious (true, if you eat the ribs.)  Worth the hour long wait (uhhhhhh ... no.  I can only think of a few things in life worth an hour long wait.  But then I'm not known as "Captain Impatience" for nothing.)

After we annihilated our barbeque we returned to Emma the Mustang, pulled out of the parking lot, and began the return trip across the river to our Illinois homestead.  We drove down Olive Blvd. and a "pop... pop, pop, pop" interrupted our conversation.  The neighborhood was not dangerous but Debbie asked me "gun fire?"  I honestly couldn't say that it wasn't.  It had that same semi-distorted sound that you get outdoors when you are near, but not at, a shooting range.  Another mile down the road we heard it again.  So it could not be gunfire.  It had to be car related.  Emma was running smoothly.  Nothing seemed to be amiss.

I steered the Mustang onto the interstate and realized we were in the heart of traffic fleeing the city at the beginning of the Memorial Day weekend.  "POP...POP, POP, POP!"  Our wheels were back on Illinois turf having just run out of runway on the Martin Luther King bridge.  "POP..."  you get the idea.  And then ... whoa.  All of the instruments on my dash went gonzo.  The speedometer, tachometer, and all of those lesser gauges were alternately burying themselves at maximum power or falling to a terminal zero.  And every time it went to zero I lost all power from the engine.  That would last a couple of seconds and the next "POP" would restore power.  We were on a sports car teeter-totter.

Emma The Mustang 

And did I mention that we were in heavy traffic in East St. Louis?  Because that played prominently in my thinking.  This went on for perhaps ten minutes with no reprieve.  I was just coaxing it along knowing that this really wasn't a good place to stop and, hey, that truck coming up behind me is certainly going faster than my 35mph.  The convertible top was down and it was getting hot. And something smelled hot.  As casually as I could I mentioned to Debbie that she might want to unbuckle her seatbelt and be ready to jump out if the car burst into flames.  At the moment that scenario did not seem so far fetched.

And finally the power from the engine got so weak that I did the only thing I could do, making a bit of an impromptu exit across two lanes of traffic and onto St. Clair Avenue.  The car kept running.  It began to idle normally.  (People watched from a distance.) I considered turning it off and letting it cool down but in exchange for that opportunity other things might heat up.  (People watched from a LESSER distance.)  That seemed like a bad deal.  I eyed the entrance ramp back on to I-64.  I know Debbie was trying to figure out what I was doing (so was I) as I dropped Emma into gear and dove back into traffic.  Forty-five breathless minutes later, after numerous exits and attempts to get out of the busy rush of homeward bound vehicles, we turned into our driveway.  I backed out again and parked in front of our house.  We got out and I hit the button to lock the doors.  It didn't work.  I hit the horn.  Nothing.  I turned the ignition.  Dead as a hair brush.  Oh, wow.  I thought about how close I had come to turning the engine off on that East St. Louis exit ramp.  Kind of glad I didn't do that.

Before I went into the house I glanced under the hood.  Did I mention I got a "C-" in Auto Shop back in high school?  And that was for simply working on a lawn mower engine.  After confirming the engine was still there, "hmmm"ing a few times and grabbing the occasional engine part so Debbie would be impressed, I went into the house.

I spent the first part of the weekend trying to figure out which mechanic to use on my sure to be thousands-of-dollars repair.  I mentioned to God that I really appreciated Him having bailed us out on the drive home and I would do my best to follow His lead on the upcoming repair.  And then Sunday came and I walked out to Emma, opened the door with a key, popped the hood and look underneath.  It took my trained eye (sic) all of five seconds to notice ... the positive battery cable was off.

What?

I put the cable back on.  I hit the button the remote on my keychain.  The door locked.  I hit the "panic button."  The horn worked.  I started the car.  I drove for half an hour.

Perfect.  Perfect.

I have no idea how the battery cable came off.  That doesn't just happen.  But it did.  And it was bouncing around hitting the battery terminal every time it swung back and forth.  When it hit the terminal the battery would pop and the car would start, restoring power.  When it would swing away from the terminal there was not enough power from the alternator to keep things going and the engine would actually die (or lose all power while coming very close to dying.  Hey... I'm not a mechanic. I'm guessing here. Remember?)  All of this trouble for a loose bolt and a popped cable.

I've been thinking about all of that this week.  No real harm was done.  Unless you count our adrenal system which is still trashed.  Debbie wakes up in the middle of the night screaming "Give me more power, Scotty!"  But in talking this through with God He has pointed something out.  The same thing happens to my life that happened to my car.  Sometimes I come "unplugged" from God.  He still loves me.  I'm still saved.  Heaven is still on my itinerary.  But I lose all power.  And then I swing back and "POP!" I get back in my groove.  For a day or two.  And then along comes another swing to the left and I come unplugged again.  No power.

How very sad.  God created me to run on a steady diet of direction and energy that He provides for me when I stay closely connected to Him.  But sometimes I forget and I think I am doing it all myself.  I think I'm really smart.  And I think I'm really in control.  And all of the good things that I see God do ... I think they are getting done because I'm so very good at what I do and at just being who I am.

How silly.  How stupid.  I cannot do anything of eternal worth unless empowered by the Spirit planted in me by my Father.  I am reminded of what Paul said to the "foolish Galatians" in Galatians 3.  "How foolish can you be? After starting your Christian lives in the Spirit, why are you now trying to become perfect by your own human effort?  Have you experienced so much for nothing? Surely it was not in vain, was it?"

Oh, foolish Ron.  Get it together.  You've been on this journey with Jesus for a long, long, time.  Do you really think you are running on your own power?  You might want to rethink that, big fella...  Or, as Dr.  Phil says, "How's that working for ya?"

Not so good.

Loving 'Em All

I'm still learning.

I began my foray into my  "Love 'Em All" plan days ago.  The idea was to write every day about an encounter I manufactured during the day to bless or restore someone, loving them while lifting myself out of a bit of an emotional slump.  It sounded like a good idea at the time.  But today I hear the electronic voice of reason screaming in my ear, "ABORT!  ABORT!  ABORT!"

It's not hard finding people to love and bless.  It is very hard to write in a way that is non-embarrassing to them.  Most, though not all, of the people I've tripped over and worked to bless are people I know.  That means they may well read this blog.  And if I bless them only to hurt them, well, that's not a good idea.  Know what I mean?

So I am continuing my "Love 'Em All" journey but I won't be writing about it unless it's a unique opportunity and will not cause anyone pain.

Just thought you might want to know.  The lesson is ... love well.  But keep it to yourself.  Most of the time.

Love 'Em All ... (Day 6 & 7)

This is HARD!  Not the loving people part.  It is hard keeping on your toes looking for people whose situation you can "speak in to."  It is very difficult to remember step by step, moment by moment, that loving someone is not necessarily a BIG thing.  It's just  doing what needs to be done when you see the opportunity.  Like ...

Day six ... Today I held a door.  Yup.  I held a door open for someone who obviously needed it.  That's pretty much a small thing.  I was at a "quick mart" kind of place.  I parked my car and walked to the door.  As I reached for the handle I noticed a woman behind me walking from the gas pumps.  She was at least 30 feet away.  I mean, really she was barely in front of her car.  Her purse was slung over her shoulder.  He other hand held a cane which she leaned on heavily at each step.  But she was a long way off.  I just noticed her.  No bells and whistles.  No Voice of God booming from the clouds.  She was just there and I was just going through the door and in the process of letting it close behind me when it occured to me ... a good guy would hold the door.  Jesus would hold the door.  That last one cinched it.  If Jesus would do it then I want to do it.  I took the short step back to the door and held it open.  She kept coming.  Then I noticed the lottery tickets in her hand.  aww geez.  If I hold the door for her rather than getting in line myself she will get in line ahead of me.  She will take the cashiers time as she scans every ticket and then she will want to buy more.  All I wanted was to fill a quick cup with ice and caffienated goodness and be on my way.  I was actually in somewhat of a hurry.   But once you realize Jesus would do something, good luck talking yourself out of doing it.  I mean, if you have a soul.  The lady finally reached the sidewalk, hoisted herself up on it, stepped in front of me, walked through the door, got in line ... and never said a word.  No "thank you."  No smile.  Not even a grunt.  Nothing.  Okay.  I walked toward the cold drink dispenser, grabbed what I wanted, and waited in line behind her while she paid for her gas, scanned her tickets, bought new tickets, and grabbed a carton of cigerettes for good measure.  And I felt so very good about myself later as I left the store.  Uh-uh.  Actually, no I didn't.  I felt irritated.  Irritated at her for not even acknowledging my self-sacrificing ways.  But mainly I felt irritated at myself for feeling irritated.  I have to either get completely ON this train or get OFF it altogether.

I'm staying on.

Day Day seven ... Today I stunk at this.  I'm chalking it up as a swing and a miss.  Yes, pastor's strike out too.

Love 'Em All ... (day 3 & 4 & 5)

It has been kind of busy around my little life these past few days.  I have not had the time to sit at a keyboard and record what God has been doing or what He has been letting me do.  So this is "Catch-Up-Tuesday."  Today you get three stories for the price of one.  Congratulations.  You should feel special.

Saturday was an easy day to find someone to bless.  It was my Debbie's birthday.  She hasn't made a secret of it.  It was her "double nickel birthday."  Fifty-five.  It is very odd to think of her as being that age.  I understand and accept my own aging better than I understand and accept hers.  In my eyes she is still the beautiful teenage girl that I fell in love with and stole away from her father.  Every time I look at her I see that girl.  Even today.  And it was only appropriate that I honor her in every way possible on this occasion.  And so we began "The Party" on Friday night with our small-group meeting at our house.  Debbie had already been the lucky recipient of a mega-stand for the hammock I gave her some years ago.  In those days we actually had trees to hang it between.  Our current treeless home requires something a bit more man-made.  And then at small-group she hit the jackpot, being served a huge "Oreo Blizzard Cake" from D.Q.  It lasted all of 15 minutes before she led the group in devouring it.  On Saturday morning we had a special picnic for Towerview's  military personnel.  And when that concluded I told her to get in the car because I was about to make her very uncomfortable.  You see, Debbie HATES to shop for herself.  And so I told her, "I just filled my wallet with money and now we are going shopping for YOU."  (I didn't tell her it was all one dollar bills.  Kidding...)  It was painful to watch her walk around the stores wanting to enjoy herself but all the while knowing she would rather use the money for someone else.  That was not a choice I had given her!  And she came home with quite a haul, making her husband proud.  And finally came the part of the day I think she enjoyed the most.  We drove to St. Charles and caught up with our son and grandson.  (Laura already had plans.)  She chose the restaurant, "Christy's," a little "joint" that serves up some of the best burgers in town, complete with "pub cheese" and crinkle-cut fries.  Her smile was complete as little Judah smiled at her and at least tried to say, "Happy Birthday, Grandma!"

Day three.  Mission accomplished!

Sunday was ... Sunday.  Let us just say that on Sunday's I try to lift up an entire church.  Sometimes it goes well.  Sometimes not!  But at the end of the day, as we were in the middle of bible study with the SMALLEST crowd we've had since moving to Towerview, the door opened and a young man stuck his head in.  "Is this for members only?"  I assured him that it was not.  He and his wife came into our sanctuary and joined us for a bible study on "The Keys To The Kingdom" out of the book of Matthew.  We always have fun studying the bible together at The Tower.  Tonight was no exception. When we were finished I sought out our guests and invited them to be our guests as Debbie and I were going out to grab a bite to eat.  (Have you noticed our lives are built around food?) They hesitated.  This couple was very, very young.  Barely adults.  He is in the Air Force.  I assured them that the meal was our treat and we would just love to get to know them.  And so they joined us at McAllister's and we spent a great hour getting to know our new friends.  I'm hoping that they got as much pleasure out of the evening as we did.  They assured us that they would be back on Sunday morning.  I gave them my phone number and email address in case they needed anything throughout the week.  They have only been living in our town for a month and are still feeling their way around.  But it was nice to see a spark in their eyes as they got in their car to return to their little home near the base.

Day four.  Mission accomplished!

And then there was yesterday.  Monday.  I'm involved in a sensitive situation and so I really cannot say much about it.  But God gave me the opportunity to sit with a teenager that is deeply troubled.  We didn't engage in serious talk.  I barely know her.  She barely knows me.  That makes it easy to intimidate a kid.  We did not pray together.  But she was all alone and feeling very destitute.  And so we did the one thing that I could think of that would lift her spirits and bring her a bit of enjoyment.  This is really deep ... truly therapeutic.  Are you ready?  We played cards.  Yep.  She had a deck of cards and she wanted to play that old kid game "War."  And so "War" it was.  Right up  until they told her that she had to eat lunch.  Now maybe a nicer guy would have gone easier on her.  But I decimated her.  Look, it was just a card game.  She gave me a hug and was laughing when she left the room.  So hey ... we were far better off than we were before we shuffled the cards.  And that, my friend, is a part of blessing and restoring someone.

Day five.  Mission accomplished!

Love 'Em All ... (day 2) A Prayer Of Faith

Today I got to love someone in a most unexpected way.  Those are the best moments in life.  You feel the passion rise up in you and you can't help but give your all to a person in need.

Today's moment of "loving 'em all" took place on the telephone.  No face contact ... just the raw voice of a mom hurting for her young daughter.  A daughter who had made bad choices and was paying a steep price.  She finds herself incarcerated ... held against her will.  But it is ultimately for her own good and the good of those around her.  Unless you have had the awful experience of watching one of your own children pay difficult and painful consequences for their actions you will not understand.  This mother's pain ran deep.  Her tears flowed freely.  Her sobs came in uncontrolled rolls.

My job was a job of encouragement.  I had the honor of walking with her as we reviewed the possibilities of how her child's actions COULD have ended.  Compared to some of those, the reality she was experiencing was tame.  For thirty minutes we talked, she cried, we both bled.  And then came the sacred moment.  I had the honor of praying for this mother, her daughter, and their family.  I made it a prayer of asking and a prayer of faith.  I held mom up.  I held dad up.  I held the young lady up.  I held up those who were trying to get her to see truth.  And then we worshipped ... simply thanking God for not dropping us when things get difficult.  When the prayers ended, so did the tears.  There was momentary peace.

I hope it lasts.

You don't need to know my friend to pray.  Please do.

L.E.A. (Love 'Em All) --- Day One ... A Celebration of Joy

Today was a celebration of Joy.  Quite literally.  Joy Darden was a deacon at Towerview, the church God has called me to pastor.  I never got to serve with Joy.  He was in failing health by the time I got here.  I got to know him during his occasional appearances at church when he was well enough to come and my visits to his home to check up on him.  He was a delightful man with a great sense of humor and a love for God.

And today I conducted his funeral service.

"Doing a funeral" is one of those things that pastors usually find intimidating at first.  What do you say?  How do you comfort the deeply grieving?  Honestly, I never had that problem.  My first funeral was in 1981.  Our suburban Chicago church was without a pastor and I, the lowly youth minister, was asked to bury a church leaders father.  Sadly, the deceased did not know Christ.  Those funerals are the worst.  There truly isn't any good news to give.  You do your best, tell the truth about Jesus, and pray that God works in a desperate situation.

The key to doing a funeral is quite simple.  Love the family enough to hurt with them.  Taste the salt in their tears when they cry.  And then tell them that while crying is appropriate for now, God is going to turn their mourning into laughter.  You may get an immediate grin but don't be fooled ... the tears will be right back.  The grief is to new ... to thick.

And so today I got to "love 'em all" by loving Joy's family.  I got to stand before a couple of hundred people and tell them the very best news that has ever been told.  God loves us!  He sent Jesus to fix the problem between us!  It's all going to be alright!  We sang.  We read scripture.  Joy's son told us about the amazing man his father was.  I spoke for about 15 minutes and told them what God says about death.  And then we went to a cemetery and left our friend there.

When I finish a funeral service, I have to tell you, I feel like I have done something that matters.  I feel like God's Hand rested on my shoulder and directed me throughout the ordeal.  I feel that the words of gratitude from the family for simply being there with them and for sharing the Great Hope are words that they really do mean.  And that changes my day.

It's odd but doing a funeral is part of dumping my slump.  I don't suppose it is because somebody died.  It is because I got to tell his family that he actually still lives.  I got to give "the Lazarus news."  I got to play the role of the angel outside the tomb of Christ after the stone was rolled away when he uttered those amazing, history changing, world shaking words ... "He is not here!  He has RISEN!"

Dump The Slump

You ever been in a slump?  One of those major league just can't shake it kind of funks where no matter what you do or what you try when you come out the other end your are still "slumped."  Well, I'm in one.  And I've been wrestling with it for a couple of months now.  Or maybe for a lot of months.  It isn't a lack of love for God or a disdain for people.  Nobody has wronged me, neglected me, or called me names.  I've just done what we all do at occasional points in our life ... I've wandered in to a  bit of a barren place.

And I'm tired of it.

So I am going to take responsibility to get out of it.

I've tried listening to more encouraging sermons and reading books of joy and inspiration.  They just gave me a head ache or made my eyes tired.  God did not work there.  I tried holding myself to a more rigid schedule of responsibility and righteousness.  And now I'm tired of being rigid and responsible.  Yes, you heard me correctly.  I am tired of being responsible.  My dad use to take me out in one of his cars (dad knew how to tell a classic when they first came off the line and that was the car he bought.  57 Chevy.  64 Impala SS.  Those were the earliest I remember.)  And sometimes on a hilly highway outside of our suburban enclave he would press the pedal down really hard because ... "son, sometimes you have to burn the carbon out."  I always thought that was true.  Now I know dad was just fighting off a slump in the way he knew how.  My dad was not a spiritual giant but I think maybe he was on to something here.

So I'm going to blow the carbon out.

And I'm going to make myself accountable to myself by posting it right here.  For the next thirty days starting today I am going go on a "Love 'Em All" bender.  Each day I'm going to find a way to love somebody in a way they don't expect or I am going to treat every person I come across as though I have an opportunity to restore and encourage them.  Then I am going to write about it (keeping them anonymous) right here.  NOT for bragging purposes or to inflate my own sense or importance, righteousness, or worth.  I am already worth the life of Jesus to my Heavenly Father so there is no need to do that.  I'm doing it because a slump is a lot like a grave and I don't want to be in one yet.  And I"m writing about it here because if I fail I will do it publicly ... and that thought will force me to go at this full-throttle.  And who knows ... maybe you need to join me on this 30 day journey.  Consider this your invitation to come along.  Let's see what God has planned and how much damage we can do our enemy while illuminating the Kingdom of God on earth.

I'm 57 and someday I'm going to reverse that and be 75.  But I think I want to do some more living first ...

It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time

I suppose this falls under the category "it sounded like a good idea at the time."  Having just arrived home from a journey to Richmond, Virginia, to help my father-in-law celebrate his 80th birthday, and after completing our Easter services at church and visiting with my family throughout the afternoon on Sunday, I began preparing for my wife's return from her father's yesterday evening.  That should not take too long.  There is only one of me.  Only one to leave dirty laundry laying around.  Only one to jam empty foam cups into the trash can.  Only one to forget to turn off lights.  Only one to pull every chair out from the table, kick every rug into an unmanageable heap, and lose the remote controls that run our little kingdom.  Before I tackled any of those jobs I went ahead and broke the garage door opener.  Because ... you know ... it had been working for a long time.  It needed a break.  (Play on words totally intentional.)   And besides, I had already broken the garbage disposal before Debbie left.

I straightened up as best I could and then paused to consider what I could do that would really say a heart-felt, "Welcome Home!"  I remembered that our Trailblazer had spent a rainy few days on the long-term parking lot at the airport while I was gone.  It really looked like it too.  It was dirty before we left.  Now it was dirty, wet, and covered with what I can only assume was jet exhaust.  Think of the brownie points I could rack up  if she had a clean car to go to work in on Tuesday morning.  Besides, it was past time for my mid-day caffeine dump.  So I hit the road, grabbed a cold 32 ounces at the local quick mart, and headed off to the car wash emporium.

After depositing nine dollars into the little robotic kiosk and making the appropriate selection from the video screen I drove forward until the offensive "HOOOOONK"  sounded, indicating that I should stop right there and not move forward one more inch and if I did horrible things would happen to me and the generations to come after me.  I slipped it into park, reclined my seat, and waited for the show to begin.  (It's no accident that a car wash and a ticket to a movie theatre are roughly the same.)  The first part is always best.  This huge metal want goes over the car shooting multi-colored soap foam all over the place.  I love to watch it splat against the windshield, melting all the bug guts away.

But.  It wasn't to be.  The soap sprayed as far as the windshield and stopped.  Huh?  The "The Octopus Monsters" began working their way down the side of my car.  They spin and spin and spin awesome little cloth thingys (technical term) up and down the car getting it all clean and spiffy.  But, no.  Not this time.  The Octo-Monsters came as far as the side rear view mirrors and then went back to where they had come from.  But they didn't stop there either.  They looped around in front of the car and ... stopped.  I mean, they didn't stop spinning.  They just stopped moving around the car.  And they sat there.  And I sat there.  I raised my seat.  I glared at them menacingly.  Still, they just sat there.  And then the man made rain opened up.  Water was shooting all over the place.  It was torrential.  But my little friendly monsters just sat there spinning their tentacles.  They were laughing at me.  I swear they were.

This went on for maybe five minutes.  I prayed.  That didn't work.  (I guess I used all my pent-up prayer power on Easter.)  I yelled at the machine.  Yes, I was reduced to yelling at an inanimate object.  I turned around and for the first time in my life there was no car in line behind me.  There is ALWAYS a car back there.  And he's always impatient.  And I always feel guilty for getting the long nine dollar wash instead of the quicker seven dollar wash.  But today ... he's not there.

I think that's when it occurred to me that my life could end right here and nobody would know until maybe Memorial Day.  ("Hey.  Anybody know what happened to dad?"  "I saw him on Easter.  He was fine."  "Well, it's June.  Should we be worried?"  "Nah.  He'll be fine.  He's just 'pulling a Bailey.'") On the next nice holiday they would find my decimated, decaying remains right here under the steering wheel.  This isn't the way I dreamed I would go out...

In a flash of insight I grabbed my smart phone and googled, "Moto Mart."  And I clicked "Locations."  There it was!  The phone number!  I quickly touched the link and after a ring or two a cheery voice came on the line.  "Greenmount Moto Mart!  Can I help you?"

"Yes!  Thank God!  I'm stuck in your car wash!"

Click.

Yes.  I swear they hung up on me.  Why in the world would they hang up on me?

I hit the link again.  "Greenmount Moto Mart!  Can I help you?"

"Why did you hang up on me?  I"m stuck in your car wash."

"Well, sure you are.  And happy April Fools to you too!"

Click.  Aww geez.  It's April 1st.  And I'm stuck in a car wash.  And nobody believes me.  And God isn't answering prayer today.

One more time.  I hit the link.  "Greenmount Moto Mart!  Can I help you?"

"Listen carefully.  I know it is April Fools day.  But I am not fooling you.  I.  AM.  STUCK.  IN.  YOUR.  CAR.  WASH."

"Are you serious?"

"YES!"

"Uhhh.  That's never happened before."

"Well, it's happening now."

"I'll be right out."

Another two minutes passed before Ms. Cheery looked down the car wash at me from the far end.  It was obvious that this problem was above her pay grade.  It took ten minutes and two more employees to turn the water off and force Octo-Monster away from my car.  As I drove out Mary Poppins was waiting for me.

"If you will just go around to the front we will run you through again!"

"I want my nine dollars back."

"Are you sure?  Your car is still dirty."

"I'm sure."

"Oh.  Okay."

There is much to be said for a dirty car.  It is a badge of courage of sorts.  It says, "I've been down the road and I won."

And I think I'll leave it just like it is.

   

Why I Am Glad I Got Strep Throat

As a kid I was a marked man.  Every year... EVERY YEAR ... I had multiple bouts with the evil scourge called Strep Throat.  For me it was a right of passage.  If I hadn't had strep for a while it must not be winter yet.  The doctor kept threatening to take my tonsils out but, ever the weanie, I prayed him out of his lunatic ravings that would have put me under the knife.  (Today I'm 57 years old and I've still never had surgery.  Don't you tell me that prayer doesn't work!)  One year the bacteria was sweeping through our elementary school.  The administration announced that every student would be given a strep test.  I dutifully waited in line for my time to open up and say "AHHHHH!"  Most kids gagged when they jammed the Q-Tip down their throat.  I was use to it, frequently asking if they didn't want to recheck me, going a little deeper down my esophagus.  I tell you, I would have made a heck of a sword swallower.   The next day the intercom system screeched out the names of those who had the offending germ and should report to the office immediately.  You got it.  My name was called.  I nearly danced in to the principals office and reported, "You screwed up.  I don't have a sore throat!"  He glowered down from his perch behind his desk and reported, "You, Mr. Woods, are the one who started all of this mess.  YOU are the CARRIER!"



After I completed my anti-biotic drenched time off I came back to class far less cocky and far more humble.

And now about every 5 years or so I still get strep.  It's no fun.  I don't know about your version of strep my mine makes the walls appear to move (high fever), makes me feel like throwing up, mimics what it must be like to have a flame thrower turned loose on your throat, and actually, makes me less aware of what I'm saying and doing.  Yes, really.  I get a bit loopy.

This year I begrudgingly took my wife-mandated flu shot and lo and behold, I did not get sick.  Usually if I take a flu shot it's an iron clad promise that I will most certainly fall to some strain of the virus before spring.  This year has been perfect.  PERFECT.  I was congratulating myself.  Patting myself on the back.  It's nice to win one.

BOOM.

Tuesday morning happened.  I woke up with a scratchy throat.  It grabbed my attention because my daughter Kelli and her husband Joe were both in a life and death struggle with confirmed strep.  (Okay, that was probably a bit sensationalistic.  But they were sick.)  I was actually on the road driving to Cardinal Glennon Children's Hospital to visit a very ill new born when the battle in my brain started.  (You really shouldn't go.  You might be sick.  This could be the onset of strep.  Oh, stop it.  Don't be a weenie.  It's just sinus drainage.  You just want a free day off.  Wait just a second, bub.  For you this is just a big "maybe I'm getting a bug."  For this child ... it's life and death.)  I listened to that last voice, turned around, and went home.  I called the child's dad and he was greatly pleased that I was not risking his sons life with my bacteria coated messiah complex.  So.  I sat on the couch.  All day.  ALL DAY.  It didn't seem like a biggie until about 7PM.  And then OH-MY-GOSH.  My body just quit functioning.  I was trying to keep up with phone calls concerning one of my deacon's who had been rushed to the hospital with a heart attack but I wasn't thinking straight.  By 9PM I was in bed and not at all sleepy.  The rest of the night was a thick memory of blanket on/blanket off/shaking hard enough to mix a gallon of paint/sweat soaked pillow cases/Sprite/where's that sweat shirt/I think it's time for meds/hey the sun is coming up/i didn't die/I DIDN'T DIE!  (Thanks, Joe, for reminding me that strep throat is not just cause for euthanasia.)

And now here I sit.  It's noon on day two.  My strep events generally take 4 to 5 days.  My brain is semi-working again so maybe this will be an abbreviated version.  But as I talked to God this morning something floated to the top of my crusty brain....

I felt so good all winter.  I've taken 2 trips and all have been great.  Not even a head ache.  And, to my shame, I had barely even noticed.   As I sit here my back is reminding my front how lucky it is not to have an aching spine.  My head is better but it's still sloshy enough to be dangerous if it had to address a crowd. I have to really concentrate on my phone conversations and I still find myself saying things that just aren't pertinent to the subject.  My ears sound like that noise you are left with as you reach cruising altitude on a jet.  All "whistley."  (I claim copyright on the word "whistley!")  So I'm still wonky.  But this is a GOOD thing!  Because as I come out of it I will work to make certain that the predominate condition of my heart will be thankfulness for an *almost* perfect winter.  And I never would have done that had I stayed well.

Lord, you make the rain to fall on the just and the unjust alike.  You cause famine and drought as it pleases you, and yes, God fearing farmers sometimes go bankrupt.  All good gifts come down from our Father above.  And so I accept this little battle with Strep Throat as being from you.  Thank you for giving it to me.  I will learn from it.  And right now I will say "thank you, Father."  Thank you for every day of health and strength you have (and will) give me.  YOU are the best!