Special Blog Edition: "EMUS CATULI!"

Due to the celebratory nature of this day ... the day when the Cubs once again secured their place in post season play ... the editor (that would be me) has removed the title banner (I Wasted Time and Now Doth Time Waste Me) of this blog from the picture posted above. Why? Because time is not being wasted. True, the Rockwell painting shows sad Cubs fans but that is simply to remind ourselves that the team consists of mere mortals. They only play like supermen. Are they going to win it all? Of course they are. But let us restrain ourselves. Let us remember from whence we came. Let us not count unhatched eggs. Let us remember ... Steve Bartman. The black cat of 1969. You get the idea.

And yet ...

100 years. EMUS CATULI!

Relax

I'm so glad that I paid attention to the stock market this week. It was not at all dissimilar to riding the latest "Puke 'em Up" roller coaster at the amusement park of your choice. Down 500 points. Up 400 points. Down ... up ... up ... down ... you get the point. I only paid attention because the media has to have a way of keeping your attention so that they will get paid. That means they have to get hysterical over, well, anything. If they are hysterical they know I'll watch. Kind of like when the reporter on some cable news network got blown over and rolled through a bush while filming in the midst of hurricane Ike. He was a real brainiac. But I did watch so I suppose he got the job done. The bottom line is that in spite of all the hysterics the stock market is up 40 points in the last month, 18% over the last 5 years and 44% over the last 10 years. And for this I'm suppose to be hysterical?

I say all that just to say this.

In heaven ... nothing has changed. I just asked. God quietly assured me that He is still in control. He's in control on the days when I'm down and He's in control on the days when I'm up. He's in control no matter what the latest politicians stump speech may indicate. Hurricanes wreak their havoc on the coast. Tornado's tear through the heartland. Earth quakes bounce people all over the west coast. Lots of stuff goes wrong. Lots of stuff goes right.

And every time, every moment, no matter what I feel like ... God is still my God. He never wavers, trembles, breaks a sweat, or gets surprised. He is ... well ... God.

So go to bed tonight. Turn ALL of the lights off. There is nothing hiding under your bed that He doesn't know about. He is in charge. And He loves you.

I just thought maybe you needed to be reminded. I know I did.

Every Four Years ...

Eight years ago my father passed away. I really loved him. He was strong and self-confident and all of those things that men are suppose to be. And then he was no more. Sometime after the last eulogy was read, the last song was sung, and the casket was lowered into the ground I went to his house and cleaned it out. It was an act of total stupidity. I rejected the offer of my wife and a close friend and I did it myself. That isn't exactly true. I sorted through their stuff and filled two dumpsters with family memories. And then I hired teenagers from McDonald's to help me load the rented truck and bring the furniture to my mom's new apartment one half of a mile from my house.

Cleaning out their home was brutal. I paid an enormous emotional price.

Four years ago today I buried my mom. We placed her earthly remains next to dad's in the Arkansas cemetery. And it was time to clean out another dwelling. My amazing wife did most of the work this time. She grabbed a few friends and did the sorting and tossing out of memories. I only had to deal with the major furniture. That was hard enough. I really loved my mom just like I did my dad. I still miss them both more than I can say. Last week I was back in the town we all lived in when my mom died. I drove past her old apartment and just parked the car for a minute. Remembering.

And last week my house sold. And so next week I will be going back one more time and cleaning out a place of memories. Blessedly, nobody had to die this time. But this is the place where we raised our children into the awesome adults that they are today. Every room has an abundance of memories. And the garage? The garage is filled full to overflowing with their stuff. Souvenirs ranging from preschool to college. Pictures of wonderful times. Items that hung on my refrigerator door for years.

I have learned sometimes that it is best to simply turn your brain off. Put it in neutral. Let it run out of gas. Do anything but allow it to roam freely. Sometimes it is best to refuse to look backward and simply focus on the task at hand. Or dream about joys coming up in future days. Onward and upward.

I don't know what life will look like four years from now. Given my recent history this concerns me. I have never been the sad type. My life has been more defined by joy and exuberance for living than by gloom. But geez. This cycle has to be broken. Three times in a row is more than enough. I have often noticed an odd symmetry to life but this is ridiculous. And so I am giving my family and friends ample notice. The year 2012 will be joy-filled. Dying will not be tolerated. Those who relocate far away will be scorned. I don't want so much as a fender bender in a car or a pet that has to be put to sleep. I want more grandkids by then and I want them bouncing on my knee and slobbering up my face with their kisses. I want hugs and holding hands and loud laughter bouncing off the rafters. I will be 57 years old. My hair will be even more gray than it is now and I will be celebrating every one that is left on my head. It WILL be a GREAT year.

But for now? One more house. One more dumpster. One more time.

Hurricanes are not suppose to come to Ohio

Who knew? We were in church Sunday night when the lights started blinking. We heard the wind. But we are a hardy bunch up here. Wind is not unusual 1 1/2 blocks from Lake Erie. We finished our bible study, had our monthly business meeting, and drove home. Debbie was experiencing some asthma issues and so I walked her up to our apartment and then left to go grab some supper and bring it home.

I stepped outside onto the 3rd floor catwalk.

HOLY STINKEN COW! The wind had more than doubled in the five minutes I was in the building. I'm guessing it was blowing way faster than the speed limit on the local expressways. I had to lean in to it in order to continue forward progress. And weirdest of all? It was barely raining. There was just this like ... driving mist. Totally odd. When I got into the Trail Blazer it was rocking in the wind. I pulled out onto Lake Road and the trees were dancing. The farther inland I got the slower the wind blew. After a tour through the Arby's drive-in I returned to hurricane-ville by the lake. To the east of us and to the west of us the communities lost power. We never did. This was a grace as it would have been a very difficult thing for Debbie to fight asthma through an un-air conditioned night. Blessedly we didn't have to find out just how tough. Some of them are still powerless. And a young boy was killed nearby trying to get home on his bike before the storm hit. A tree fell on him. How totally tragic.

But aren't hurricanes suppose to, you know, be by the ocean? I don't remember them drifting up into the upper midwest before. Must be global warming. Or maybe it's because it's an election year. Could be the economic crises.

Whatever it is I wish it would quit. I don't like Ike.

It's our year

Sure it was a no-hitter. I mean, Carlos Zambrano beating the Astro's tonight. No hits. But did you also know ...

-This was the first Cubs no-hitter by a pitcher who's last name begins with a "Z?"

-This was the first Cubs no-hitter at a "neutral site" ball park?

-This was the first Cubs no-hitter that W-stinken-GN didn't show outside of Chicago? Thanks so much to whoever made that decision.

- This was the first Cubs no-hitter since I moved to Cleveland, moved to St. Louis, moved to the western suburbs of Chicago, got married, had children, graduated from college, graduated from high school, and started shaving.

- This was the first Cubs no-hitter since a gallon of gas cost TWENTY NINE CENTS PER GALLON.

I'd say it's about time.

Supper With Elle

From a grateful Dad and former home owner

I have to make a choice. I can write about two things tonight. Both are very important to me. Four days ago my house sold after a year on the market. Today my daughter turns a lovely 28 years old. I have to write about the one that means the most to me.

She was all pink and slimy. Her eyes were like saucers except that they pierced deeply into my soul. In ninety seconds I went from being a man who never wanted children to a man who would die for one. It took her a heartbeat to win my soul. That was 10,220 days (you may adjust for leap years yourself) ago and absolutely nothing has changed. I have gone through the observation phase of the birth process three times. And three times I have fallen to unfathomable depths of love that I never thought possible.

Kelli was the first and today, from a distance of nearly 600 miles, I have silently celebrated every hour. How do you say "thank you" to God for someone so life improving, so heart changing, so soul inspiring, as any of my three kids? How do you wrap your mind around the truth that God allows us ... mortal human beings ... to participate with Him in the process of creation? God created my kids through love. The love of my wife and I for each other. And now we see the reflection of that love in each of them as they have chosen their mates very well.

And so to my kids on this night I say a grateful thank you. Thanks for being who you are. Thanks for loving your parents. Thanks for the unmitigated joy of watching you grow up. Thanks for making our houses into homes. Tomorrow I will fly back to St. Louis to that newly sold house. I'll fix the minor things that need repairing before inspectors descend upon it. But my mind won't be on wiring or termites. My mind will be on memories. Laughter. Games of "HORSE" in the driveway. Dates making their way through the front door and out again. Some rejected. Some accepted into the family. Christmas mornings. Pizza dinners. An occasional disagreement. Some of them louder than others. But I will remember that it's just a house. Houses all come down eventually. Memories? They last forever when you make them treasures and not anchors.

Kelli. Scott. Chris. Here's to the treasures. And Debbie? Nice job...

10 Reason's Why I'm In A Blogging Slump

10- Uh.
9- Um.
8- Well.
7- (scratching head)
6- (looking around the room)
5- Because ...
4- (sweating)
3- (sigh)
2-
1-

Sleep = Good

What better time to blog than when you've slept 2.5 hours out of the last 36? This mini-essay is an experiment. I want to see how many brain cells I've killed off.

Debbie and I made a dash to Bethalto Sunday afternoon after morning worship service. 575 miles. A decent drive. We slept in our own house on our own air mattress. The place is haunted. No, seriously. It's haunted. About half of the furniture is gone and what remains likes to tell stories. It is impossible to sit on a chair or at a table without recalling the multitude of great times that took place on that spot. Even the garage tells stories. And don't even think about going into the (former) kids rooms!

But I had not checked on the house or the yard since June. I was shocked when I pulled in the drive. It was dark but not so dark as to prohibit seeing the carnage that three months had taken. The shrubs had extended over the sidewalk. The driveway had mega-weeds sprouting through the cracks. And the 4 trees in the backyard had grown to the point where their branches came within one foot of the ground. Seriously, I had trimmed them in June and had walked under them and could not touch those same branches that I now nearly tripped over.

And so a long hard day was spent trimming and dragging, trimming and dragging. You know. Trim the growth and drag it to the street. And it was a lovely 93 degrees. The humidity reached the "ocean" range on the old humidity scale. If I didn't lose a few pounds there is simply no justice.

But there were fun times like last night. We had a great evening at the home of our forever friends, Bob and Cindy Dude. Kelli and Joe were there, The Amazing Elle was in attendance, and Jim and Alisha also showed up. Debbie and i were the last ones out the door and arrived home around midnight. I saw 1AM before finally falling asleep. And I woke up at 3:30AM with the realization that Debbie was moving around. She hadn't fallen asleep. So I did that "husband comfort" thing, telling her that all was well. She fell asleep. I was awake. Somewhere around 4:30AM she woke up and told me that a light had just flashed through the living room window. (We were sleeping in the living room.) Then she fell back asleep. I ... didn't. I checked the yard. Nothing. I went back to the air mattress, listening for foreign noises. You see, nobody has lived in the house since April when Christopher moved to Kelli and Joe's. So the house is a target. That's obvious. At 4:45AM a police car with flashing lights drove down the street. Now I was not only awake but in hyper-mode. At 5:15AM a garbage truck came along with a flashing light on the back on his truck. That had to be checked-out. And at 5:45AM my neighbor across the street started up his truck and flipped on his headlight. He had backed into his drive and my room light up almost violently. At 6:45AM my alarm went off. We drove away at 7:30AM. I think Debbie slept for 3 hours. So she had to do most of the driving on the drive home today. We got back 45 minutes before I had to teach Wednesday evening bible study.

Okay, there it is! Tomorrow morning I'll reread this and if it actually makes sense I'll know that I am a genius that can survive on virtually no sleep after sweating off my entire entire body weight.

This .. is a test ...

I guess we really do get forgiven ...

A blog by my good friend and "birthday buddy" Kristi has got me thinking about Moses. I don't spend a lot of time thinking about him. He's been gone a long time. We didn't exactly cross paths or anything like that. Still, he does take up a lot of bible space and so I am very familiar with his ways and the events of his life. He did some really good things. Screwed-up a few times too. Case in point ...

Moses screwed-up so badly that God banned him from the promise land. He gave him this simple direction. In the presence of the Israelites speak to the rock and command it to bring forth water. Pretty simple, huh? But when the time came and the people were gathered together Moses struck the rock twice with his staff instead of speaking to it. He also to credit for the pouring forth of water by asking "Must we bring you water out of this rock?" referring to himself and his brother, Aaron. In short, he simply disobeyed God. And God takes obedience very seriously.

You didn't know that? Shame on you.

So God told Moses that he was not going to get to enter the promise land. He could see it. He just couldn't enter it. And sure enough Moses died never having gotten to enter that much anticipated country.

Fast forward a couple thousand years. We find ourselves on "The Mount of Transfiguration." Jesus took a trio of his disciples there. Peter, James and John. Suddenly Jesus was "transfigured" and began speaking with two heavenly guests. Who were those guests, you ask? Well, One was Elijah. The other was ... Moses.

Hmmm. The "Mount of Transfiguration" was located in "the promise land." And Moses was there. In other words ... he made it. He got in. Once Moses died and entered the presence of God the guilt was erased. The penalty was obviously lifted. He got to see what he was not allowed to enter while walking around the planet in his regular old flesh and blood body.

I really am glad to know that. I fail God more often than you know. And I am not going to start giving you a laundry list of my own personal screw-ups now. God knows. I know. That's quite enough, thank you. And Moses is my own personal poster boy for forgiveness. Because of the gift God gives us in allowing us a glimpse of Moses showing up where he was not suppose to be able to show up we can actually buy in to the truth that when Jesus died for us He paid for EVERYTHING. I'm off the hook. I'm free. I'm forgiven. The curse is lifted.

Death is not to be feared. Death is freeing. It is in death that we finally ... at long last ... find ourselves home. Home. Forgiven at home. I don't have a death wish. I have a lot to live for. But a big part of me ... can't wait.

(Note: If I die anytime soon please know that I did not write this as a premonition! I'm driving carefully, looking both ways before I cross the street, and going inside during thunderstorms. Maybe God knows something but He sure hasn't told me! So you can read this at my funeral but as you do ... shake your head sadly at my total cluelessness!)

What good is a lake if it doesn't spit at you every now and then?

I finished my daily tasks and decided to take a lakeside walk this afternoon. The lake was kicking up its heels a little bit. It was really cool to watch it as the breakers slammed into the concrete covered by steel dock at our apartment complex. After a few minutes I grabbed my cell phone and called for Debbie to come down. Well, being the adventurous soul that she is, it wasn't good enough to stand at a safely dry distance and watch. So we lay ourselves down on the wide sidewalk. I grabbed my camera and switched it to video. What you see above is the final result. It's a couple of minutes long but ends very in a very worthwhile manner with my darling wife getting quite wet. Every husband should have a day that ends as happily as mine did!

My Fuzzy Buddy

It's sad watching an old friend die slowly. (I mean, I don't really want them to die quickly either.) Some are just suppose to last forever. But, alas, I don't think she's going to make it. She's not yet "critical" but she's moving in that direction.

No, no. Debbie is fine. The kids are great. It's ... "The Date Chair."

I'm sitting in (on?) her as I write this. I purchased her years ago from a wholesale place in East Alton, Illinois. I had never been in the store before but found myself walking through it one day and came across her. It was love at first sit. I went and got Debbie, knowing that she would share my love. She didn't. I walked away broken hearted. A week later I went back ... you know ... just to visit. I sat in her again. It was a perfect moment. The angels sang. Then I noticed a flaw in her fuzzy arms. I pointed it out to the salesman. He sighed and knocked another $50 off of the price.

SOLD!

I loaded her into the back of my mini-van, drove to the old "TR's" restaurant and phoned in an order to be delivered to the back parking lot. Kelli was there and she delivered with Tammy Iskarous. I was lounging on my new fuzzy buddy, van hatch open, shoes off. The bagel just made it all the more perfect.

Eventually Debbie forgave me and wanted to sit in her too. I had to share. But she was really mine. Always was. Always will be. She became officially known as "The Date Chair" when the kids started bringing their dates home and discovered that she was big enough and long enough (she's a "chaise lounge") for them to sit next to without dad (that's me) going nuclear. This chair survived Kelli and Joe's dating extravaganza. She saw Scott and Amanda fall in love from close up. Christopher and Laura have camped out on her through many an evening. One of my favorite memories is of Amanda and Laura sitting side by side in her singing the theme song to "The OC." Ahhhh. Those were awesome days. The Date Chair never met Bear but she survived Bailey. I often lay in her (the chair, not the dog) in the nearly fetal position with my head on her thick fuzzy arms while Bailey lay next to me, resting her little Beagle brains on my leg. It was the best moments I ever spent with Bailey. We bonded there.

And now she's not doing so well. She made the trek to Cleveland with me a few months ago. I noticed her creaking as Danny Dingeldein and I moved her upstairs. And now as I sit in her I realize that she isn't so fuzzy anymore. I lay my head on her arms but she no longer caresses my cheek. Perhaps worst of all there are patches ... little areas ... where her fuzz is gone. Completely worn off by the very love she offered.

I don't know how long she'll last. And there is no point in calling the chair doctor. (Is there a chair doctor?) No, her condition is terminal. She isn't going to make it. I believe that 5115 lake Road is going to be her last stand. But I'm not giving up on her. I'm not throwing her out the door early. Like the true lover she is I'll sit with her till the very last moment. She'll be my fuzzy buddy until her little cushions no longer beckon me to rest ... until her cushy arms are nothing but fabric covering 2X4's. Until she is pronounced "deceased" by a stronger heart than mine. And then I don't know what I'll do. Perhaps I'll have friends come and remove her while I'm out pretending that all is well. Tricking myself into believing that it's just another evening. And when I get home and gaze through tear filled eyes at the place where she brought me so much joy ... I'll lift a cold can of Vernor's in her honor ... and toast the days gone by.

Then I'll probably go chair shopping. (Hey. You can only take this grief over a chair thing so far!)

Scott, Elle & Bailey in The Date Chair

The Christmas Story House

We've waited until we really needed something to do before pulling this one out of our hat. Friday's are our designated "Discover Cleveland" day. Last week you may have read that we drove all of the way to Toledo for peaches. Okay, we got that one wrong. So today we made up for it. We went to "The Christmas Story House" in the inner city. If you have any holiday spirit in you at all you've seen "The Christmas Story." It was filmed in 1983 and is the story of Ralphie and his family as they live their lives out around the Christmas holiday. The house where it was filmed is still standing. A couple of years ago it was in a state of total disrepair and for sale on ebay. It sold for $150,000. I think the guy who bought it was from the west coast and was not really terribly happy when he came out and actually set eyes on the place. (Lesson: Never buy a house on ebay.) But he's done okay for himself, rehabbing it and charging $7.50 per person to tour it. I'm sure it takes a lot of tourists to cover the purchase price of the house (20,000 to be exact,) not to mention the rehab tab. But people come by the bus loads. So I'm not too worried about him.

We finished off the evening by heading over to Blockbuster and renting the movie. Had to verify its authenticity, don't ya know.

And in case you are wondering ... no, Debbie would not let me buy a "leg lamp" at the gift shop. Not that I didn't try...

10 Summer Olympic Events I Would Like To See

Hey, we all love the olympics. The sportsmanship. The competition. The medals. But it's all gotten so predictable. We only watch these sports every four years. So I say it's time to revamp the events. Out with the old, in with the new. Let men prove themselves to be men. Let women show once and for all what they are made of. In the spirit of the original games I humbly submit the following "upgraded" events. LET THE GAMES BEGIN!

10 - Asphalt volleyball
9 - Parking lot diving
8 - Beach bob sledding
7 - 100 Meter Reader Dash
6 - Cherry Bomb Badminton
5 - Chain Link Fencing
4 - Waterford Crystal Basketball
3 - Real Horse Gymnastics
2 - Inverted Aquatics
1 - I-Beam Pole Vaulting

-195 miles

Today I found a fruit stand selling "Red Haven Peaches" five miles from my apartment. I refused to purchase any.

Should have settled for a banana

All we wanted was some peaches. Freshly picked "Red Haven Peaches." 'Tis the season. So this morning Debbie asked somebody she volunteers with at "Meals on Wheels" for advice. The kindly woman wrote up directions to her favorite fruit stand and "nearby" "Lake Erie Fresh Perch And Walleye Restaurant." Peaches and Perch. (Peaches and Perches?) Sounded good to me. But It looked like a rather long trek. And the directions were ... less than stellar. But we decide to scrap our previously agreed upon plans and "go for it." So we dropped the top on "Emma the Mustang" and headed west. We followed the directions meticulously.

We gave up when we got to Toledo. That's near Michigan.

No, I am not kidding. We drove 200 miles (round trip) for peaches and Perch(es). But we would not be defeated. On the way home we actually found the restaurant AND the fruit stand. They were both in the GPS data base. Who would have thunk it?

We purchased 19 peaches. I crunched the numbers. With gas we paid roughly $1.83 per peach. Neither of us have eaten one yet. I think we feel a certain reverence toward them.

Just Wondering

So today I was sitting on the beach gazing out over lovely Lake Erie. I was sitting with my wife, which is a very fine choice of people to sit with. A boat went by. Quickly. And I asked myself ...

"Self? Why don't fish die in propellers?"

If I understand the purpose and function of a propeller (and it is entirely possible that I do not) the propeller spins it's little curved blades. In so doing it pulls water IN from behind the propeller and forces it out the front of the propeller. Right? Seems right to me.

Well, fish live in the water. This part I am certain of. So if fish live in the water and the water is FORCED through the blades of a propeller ... why do you never see hacked up fish floating up all bloody behind a boat?

Anybody? Class? Anybody?

In Good Hands

My "Leadership Summit" experience last week went in a direction that I did not expect. I know Willow Creek and I was certain that the Summit would be first rate. I was not disappointed. But what really impressed me, what was really off the charts, came out of left field.

I spent the nights in the Chicago suburbs with Scott and Amanda. If you don't know my family, Scott is my son and Amanda is his amazing wife. They own a killer condo and I camped out in their spare bedroom. (I was nearly licked to death by their new dog, Wrigley. He's a great pooch and, yes, he's named after what you think he is named after.) And so each day I rode the half hour from their home to the church with Scott and his friends. His ... youth pastor ... friends.

I spent 33 years doing youth ministry. That's a long time. If I were a Marine I could retire by now. And I probably would be less tired than I am. I know youth ministry. I know it quite well. I don't mean that in a "Yea, me!" kind of way. But when you do something for over three decades you either figure it out or you don't make it. I made it. So I must, in some meaningful way, understand it.

So there I was, spending the entire days with this group of twenty-somethings. Guys half my age. Guys that work with kids because it's God's calling on their lives. Let me tell you something about these guys.

They are insane. They are hilarious. They are brilliant. They are passionate. They know God. They love God. They love kids. They know how to connect the two (God and kids.) They are dedicated to the point of driving themselves to exhaustion at times. They kept me silently shaking my head and thinking, "I can't believe these men and women." I do believe that watching them and interacting with them had a greater impact on me than what I viewed and heard from the stage. And I came away saying, "If this is the norm among youth ministers today, the young people of the church are in very, very good hands." Please understand, these guys are the cream of the crop or this church would not have hired them. But I don't believe that they are anything but fully representative of the young men and women that serve God in youth ministry throughout our land every day.

I left youth ministry because it was time. And somewhere deep inside of myself I wondered if the roof would cave in on the whole thing when I walked out the door for the last time. It did not. It will not. I am proud of these guys. I felt like a grandpa (which I most assuredly am) when I was with them and it did not bother me at all. Because I realized that it was the men and women that I worked with over the years in youth ministry that blazed a trail so that these "young en's" could be who they are and do what they do.

Excuse me just a second while I say something that I need to say. Something to men and women who probably do not know that this blog exists. But it needs to be in print somewhere. So I'm saying it here...

Jim. Mike. Roger. Ron. Carly. Ronn. Ed. Clint. Kling. Ed. Jeff. Vicky. Randy. Gary. It was a great ride. And we won THOUSANDS. We left it in good hands. Hands that are at least as capable as ours and hands that have far more tools than we ever dreamed of. Come to think of it ... seems to me that was how it was left to us.

Huh. Full circle. Just like it should be.

Carry-on.

My son, Scott

Tara

Adam

Kellen

Scott & Scott

Descending from the Summit

Sometimes all you can say is "wow." That pretty much describes the Leadership Summit. I'm so glad that I went. I'm so glad that it is over with. There were just so many moments that stand-out. I can't even begin to explain. So settle for this ... a couple of pictures of how things work at this particular church. You see, they have this ... uh ... video system ...


And they have this little worship center ...



But tonight it's back to home and reality. Debbie is still in St. Louis and won't fly back until tomorrow night. This place is way too quiet when she's away. So I opened the balcony door and the roar of a wind blown Great Lake fills the rooms. Both of them. The smell is fresh with the Canadian air dropping in from the north. It sounds poetic or even romantic. But I would trade the rhythm of the waves and the smell of the water for the happiness of her smile.

Yeah. I'm still in love with her.

It's still strange to me but after speaking twice today and leading a church "business meeting" I find myself tired. How can you get tired speaking about the God that you love? I suppose it's just the pouring out of the passion that causes it. Whatever it is, it is real. I'm not sleepy. I'm just tired. And I really hated missing the family events this weekend. I know, guys don't go to showers. (I'm forever grateful for that fact.) But I love the "hang-out time" and, while I'm totally glad it occurs, it makes eating a Whopper with extra ketchup over an Olympics broadcast pale in comparison. We have this really amazing family and there are a handful of us that don't live nearby. Scott and Amanda in Chicago. Kristi in Dallas. Debbie and I in Cleveland. That's what you call "scattered." But we all went in these directions at the call of God. And that, my friend, makes all the difference in the world.

Reaching the Summit

Today I attended day one of the Willow Creek Leadership Summit. I've attended quite a few Willow conferences before but this one was more than mildly amazing. The conference is about the obvious. Leadership. The auditorium at Willow seats around 7,000 and was full. But the truly stunning fact is that this conference is beamed live to cities all around the country. Many leaders, both church staff and corporate leaders, attend this once a year event. And the total registration reached ... 100,000 people. Watching. Live.

Can you believe that?

What an incredible opportunity. God has created this training event based upon the faithfulness of one church. Today's speakers included their Sr. Pastor, Bill Hybles, as well as the founder and CEO of "Teach for America, " the President and founder of " International Justice Mission," and the former CEO of "Medtronics" who is now a professor in the Harvard Business School. Folks, that's not a bad line-up for one day. All of these are believers in Jesus Christ who have made a major impact in our world.

Tomorrow's speakers include former Richard Nixon advisor, Charles Colson, the Vice Chairman and CEO of "Best Buy," and the founder of "Life Church.com." Again, not a bad group of leaders to sit at the feet of for a day.

But I think that the most striking moment of the day for me came as a young woman, a worship leader at Willow Creek, sat on a stool and sang "I Saw What I Saw." The leader of the International Justice Mission had just shared stories of rescuing children stolen from their neighborhoods and sold into prostitution in third world countries. It was a heart breaking moment punctuated by the joy of knowing that believers were making a difference by prevailing against the gates of hell. And then Helena sang. The lyrics to this soul searing song are ...

"I saw what I saw and I can't forget it
I heard what I heard and I can't go back
I know what I know and I can't deny it

Something on the road, cut me to the soul

Your pain has changed me
your dream inspires
your face a memory
your hope a fire
your courage asks me what I'm afraid of
(what I am made of)
and what I know of love

we've done what we've done and we can't erase it
we are what we are and it's more than enough
we have what we have but it's no substitution

Something on the road, touched my very soul

I say what I say with no hesitation
I have what I have and I'm giving it up
I do what I do with deep conviction

Something on the road, changed my world"

You can see Sara Groves sing a video of this song at http://www.artistdirect.com/nad/window/media/page/video/0,,4707180,00.html?aff=lyricsmania.com

I suggest you watch it. I don't think my heart is that hard to "touch." I don't think I'm that calloused. And I know that you will not have had the benefit of having heard the amazing story that I heard today. But somehow ... it reached deeply.