Kissin The Horse

There is nothing in the world quite like the smell of a good horse barn in the spring! The horse hair ... the saddle leather ... the hay ... the ... well, you know. That other stuff. Mmmmmmm. Tonight I feel a little bit like Roy Rogers. I don't really have anything important to say but I'd like to encourage you to get out there and kiss the horse of your choice! This beauty belongs to the Hancock family. We only shared a few precious moments and yet ... it was as though our souls blended. We whinnied together!

Watching my son's youth group serve the poor in the inner city. Hockey on the glass. My daughter-in-law's birthday. Supper with The Amazing Elle and her mommy. Falling asleep every night next to my bride. Loving and serving God's people. Kissin the horse. A week doesn't get any better than this my friend ...

How A Day Works

Today was a day. I thought I'd tell you about it. But I decided to show you instead. So. Here it is ...



It began at this little quick mart. It's not the one I usually use on the way to the office but it served the purpose today. Caffeine was needed!


So I drove on to church all super charged with sugary syrupy goodness! I decided NOT to drive through this mans field.


The next stop was the building that holds the part of the body of Christ in Belleville called "Towerview." It's a pretty cool place!


When I arrived I came across the awesome maintenance worker we call "Caroline." We call her that because it's her name. She's the best!


Then came Connie and Mike. Connie is "Administrative Assistant Extraordinaire!" She also bears watching as she is quite capable of getting not only even but ahead anytime you try to trick her. Mike is the best youth pastor in Belleville. No doubt. Hands down. He loves his kids and they love him!


Then I went to Belleville Memorial Hospital to visit somebody who wasn't there. Brain cramp on my part. She wasn't checking in until tomorrow. Surgery on Tuesday. Oh well. I tried.


So I got back into "Emma The Mustang" and drove about 35 miles to visit a couple of my friends who have not been well. But first ... Walgreens. Because I had a head ache and they had Tylenol. I took its picture but, come on. You know what Walgreens looks like.




Then it was on to the Browns home where I spent some time catching up with Chris and Ashley. As you may know Ashley has been battling Leukemia for the second time. She's kicking it's butt. I am amazed by this woman. She's going to turn 20 soon and has been through more than most 80 year olds. And Chris? Two months ago he had a car accident and spent weeks in a coma. Well, as you can see ... he's doing very well. This is one amazing family. They are precious to me and I love 'em!


On the way home I was still fighting that head ache and so more caffeine was in order. This time it was from the #1 vanilla coke joint on the planet ... "Hit 'N Run. Ahhhhh .. It worked!



So I dropped Emma's top and drove home with the breeze in my face. I couldn't resist reaching over the window with my camera and taking my own picture through the windshield. At 65 mph. Upside down. I'm such an amazing driver/photographer.


Before climbing the stairs to the "love hovel" I share with my bride I had to take a picture of our new lake. It's not exactly Lake Erie. But it does mark the spot we currently call "home."


And then? Getting ready to watch a little "24" by warming up with the news, sports and weather. They tell me I'm the last person watching "24." That's okay. When I grow up ... I'm gonna BE Jack Bauer.

So there ya go. That was Monday. It wasn't a home run. But it wasn't a strike-out either. And there was more than I can really tell you about. I don't talk about meetings with people without their permission. So some of it just stays between us and Jesus. But I got to love people. I got to try my best to be Jesus with skin on. All in all ... it was a day ...

prayer and PRAYER

How often do you pray? That's a tough question because there is prayer and then there is PRAYER. You know the difference. Prayer is that undercurrent of conversation with God that you probably engage in on and off all day long. It is definite in its direction. I mean you know your utterances are directed upward. PRAYER is when you put everything else aside and direct all of your energies into talking to (or hopefully, "with") God.

If you are like me you pray all of the time. And once or twice each day you PRAY. Okay, I admit it. Sometimes a day goes by and I don't PRAY at all. It's rare but it happens.

Maybe the real issue isn't how often you PRAY. Maybe the real issue is how often you pray. Don't misunderstand, I believe in getting into a private place and being alone with God. But sometimes I wonder if the frequent quiet and subdued conversation uttered heavenward isn't more indicative of the condition of my heart than my intentional and planned time totally separated from the world and alone with God. I'm almost never really and truly alone and separated from the world. My cell phone isn't turned off. Text messages, emails, and phone calls can almost always get through. That's a shame but I'm just getting real and being honest.

I know that when it comes to my kids it was really important to me recently when, during a day of personal grief and crises they made specific time in their day to get in touch and make sure I was alright. I deeply appreciated that and it was huge in helping me get through that event. All three of them did that. One of them even got in the car and made the long drive out to spend some face time with me. Huge. Absolutely huge. But on most days a simple quick text message, email, note on facebook, or phone call reminds me of the depth of our relationship.

And honestly ... I just love that.

I'm not God but I am a dad. And I am passionate about my kids. And the touches mean everything. And I am God's kid and for some reason he is passionate about me. For some reason my "touches" seem to mean everything to Him. I guess I'm just trying to figure some prayer things out lately. I want to give God what He needs from me. Actually, I find it astounding that God would "need" anything from me. But somehow He seems to. I seem to feel His pleasure when I stay in touch. Sometimes for sixty seconds. Sometimes for sixty minutes. And I love it when He derives pleasure from something I do. It's ... beyond description.

I admit it. I'm a sucker for my Father.

Never Google Yourself

I googled my name tonight and found out that I (or perhaps those who share my name?) ...

Sell racing products. I'm too old for puppy love but I have a 20 year old girlfriend while cavorting with an 18 year old waitress. I offer legal services in criminal defense as a Texas attorney. I'm an expert at architectural glass products, music, and art. I am a securities litigations expert in L.A. I pitched and fielded for Detroit, both New York teams, as well as Montreal. I seem to have an alcohol addiction and I also dabble in crack.

And I died in Iraq. The trail goes cold after that.

I offer a sincere salute and thank you to the last Ronald Woods on the list.

A Word From Cindy Winters

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13 RaNdoM THoUghtS aND wOrdS tHAt coMe tO MInD tONiGht

- +25 degrees in a St. Louis March feels colder than -14 did in a Cleveland January.
- Hazy
- Worth it?
- 2.8 year olds should sleep later.
- 2.8 year olds should let their grandfather sleep later.
- Soul sad
- Chocolate chips are meaningful in the redemption of joy process.
- Twitter makes no sense.
- Listless
- MAD, MAD, MAD
- I just learned that Sears Tower no longer exists. It is about to become "The Willis Tower." My childhood was wasted.
- I do not want tomorrow to come. Let us fast forward directly to Saturday.
- Next week I hit "reset" on life.

A time machine would be nice

If I had a time machine I would be a hero. There is so much I would do. I remember the entire "Back To The Future" dilemma about whether or not you should go back in time and change any events ... if you could ... because it would have profound effects on everything that happens afterward. Kind of like the old, "If a butterfly flaps its wings in Europe the movement of air, slight as it may be, will eventually have an effect on the weather in America." Yeah, well. I suppose that might be true. And changing an event that happened 200 years ago just might somehow mean that things would be different now. Like ... maybe I would never be born. I can live with that. (Joke intended ... wait for it ... wait for it ...) But I've never been one to think everything through before I take the plunge on something. That's one of my fatal flaws. I try to adhere to the biblical admonition to "count the cost" and I know it's always the right thing to do. But I still eat fudge, drink sugary drinks, fail to faithfully work-out, skip meals, over-indulge in subsequent meals, and I occasionally run with scissors just because I can.

My wife would say that I'm slightly impulsive though not as much as I use to be. And she would also say that I'm totally distracted, living life in rhythm with the glittery things that crowd in on my peripheral vision.

Guilty as charged.

What would I change? Well, off the top of my head Hitler would trip and fall into a blast furnace at a not-so-ripe young age. Scratch one holocaust. Michael Jackson would stay 10 years old forever because ... well, just because. The Cubs would have won the World Series in 1969, 1983 and most certainly 2008. I'm not being greedy but I could be because it's my time machine. Oh heck, throw in 2005 too. Sorry White Sox. I love you but I'm feeling the power and I have my allegiances. The first "Gulf War" would have been enough. 9/11 would have been thwarted when the box cutters turned out to be toys purchased at the Dollar General Store and the terrorists would have been turned over to the whatever union airplane pilots join. I'm not trying to be funny here. I think that would be just and fair.

But I think that one of the first buttons I would push would change the events of last Sunday morning at 1st Baptist Church, Maryville. FBC never has its choir remain on the platform after the music is over but I think I would have had chairs up on that platform. It would have been filled with a men's choir. And the men ... the men would have been known as "The Over Caffeinated Men Of The Illinois State Police Tactical Unit." I know it's a long name. I don't mind that. And honestly, I believe in a sovereign God. I believe that God called Pastor Fred home. And I believe the shooters gun jammed because Fred was the only one that God was calling at that time and place. But I'm just dreaming. And I have a time machine. And it has a button.

And yeah ... I would push it.

A time to cry

What do you say when you don't even have words to speak in the solitude of your own mind? What do you do when you know you should be able to fix something that is broken and yet reality says that it just cannot be fixed? Not by you. Not by me. What then?

A friend of mine died today. Okay, that is not really accurate. A friend of mine was murdered today. He was guilty of standing in a pulpit and telling people about the love and forgiveness of God. That's something that I do twice every Sunday. He was not walking down an alley or hanging in the shadows of high rise slums. He was in a middle class church in a middle class suburb talking to middle class people.

And a man shot him to death with a .45 caliber hand gun. The first bullet blew his bible into confetti like rubble. One of the next two took his life. And now a lovely young woman has no husband. Two charming and beautiful daughters have no father. A vibrant and growing church has no pastor. And the world is a much poorer place.

Why?

Because evil exists. Because it knows no boundaries. Actually, I think it knows the boundaries, it just delights in crossing them. A mad man in a state of rage trying to create a nuclear weapon to annihilate a city. A lunatic in a high school executing kids in random fashion. The face of evil in a place of worship attacking something that it can never be ... holy.

Evil.

The last time I spoke to my friend was when I called him with a difficult problem. I had to make a decision on whether to remain in the ministry I was serving in or move to the church I now serve. I sat alone by the lake in my car and asked God to bring a name to my mind. Somebody that I could call and find the voice of wisdom. My Father instantly brought my friends name to mind. I dialed his number and reached his Administrative Assistant. I told her who I was and what I needed. She told me that my friend was in a meeting but to hold on for a few seconds. In less than a minute he was on the line, interrupting his schedule, putting his meeting on hold, and giving me as much time as I needed to present my dilemma and ask my questions. And then he gave me stellar, Spirit - led advice. Time has proven that he was right. I told him that I owed him lunch. I never got the opportunity to pay up.

Evil got in the way. I know that we win. Someday. By the might of God as His own Son bled out at the cross.

But tonight ... tonight is a time to cry.

(late night addition .. a friend reminded me that I wrote this post <--(Click there ... the link works but won't change colors) about FBCM when I joined it. It seems like an eternity ago...

Thanks, Denise!

My friend, Denise, read the last blog post and created this awesome "wordle" on http://www.wordle.net/ for me. Thanks, Neeser!

Vanilla Fudge

I am in no mood to blog but there are some words I just want to say without having to put a sentence around them ...

-Vanilla fudge
-Chalice
-Carnie
-Epistemological
-Sabbath
-Dogs of corn
-over it
-slippery slope
-not legally binding
-puppy dumpings

They all fit together into one story but it isn't ready to be told just yet.

Wait for it ... wait for it ....

What a man won't do for rubber pants

Well, faithful readers, you remember the sad saga of the waders that had a blow-out a few weeks back? Since that chilly and damp day my inclinations have been to prevent a further similar incident. And tomorrow there is a young man who desires to follow Jesus in biblical baptism. YIPPEE!!! Seriously. I absolutely love baptizing God's new kids.

But this time I would like to do so without wetting myself.

Debbie and I have been providing room and board to The Amazing Elle for the last few days. Kelli has been ill. And while I am very sorry about Kelli's tummy troubles I certainly enjoyed my granddaughter. Well, today was the day to take her home. And they live just a few miles from the world famous .... please, maestro, my I have a drum roll ... THE BASS PRO SHOP!

I've heard about this place for years. Never had much of a hankerin (entering my red neck mode) to go there. I use to fish a bit with my dad when I was a kid. He would take my brother and I and we would camp out on the stinky shores of the Illinois River at Starved Rock State Park in northern Illinois. I think dad did it because, well, a dad is suppose to do that. And we went because a kid is suppose to. We'd catch carp and throw them back or give them to people along the river bank that eyed our catch with a weirdly fascinating hunger for bottom-feeding fish. That's pretty much been my exposure to fishing. I hated putting the worm on the hook and I prayed that no fish would bite because I didn't want to have to take them off the line ... and re bait. Ugh. But I know a lot of people that fish and hunt and buy guns and generally have love affairs with aluminum (canoe's) and canvas (tents.) Me? No thanks.

And then I went to the Bass Pro Shop. And I have only one thing to say about that.

IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY AND RIGHTEOUS PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME EVER GO BACK!!!!!

Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to announce that the recession is officially over. I could barely find a place to park outside this Disney World for Bambi-Killers. Debbie ran ahead while The Amazing Elle and I pushed our way through the very cold wind toward the front door. That's when trouble first hit. Free handfuls of kettle corn. We grabbed some and ran before they changed their minds. And then ... this is hard ... then they had this huge swimming pool kind of thing set up. And there were bass in it. Big bass. And all around the pool were little fishing poles. Kid sized fishing poles. It was an opportunity for kids to learn the art of de-bassing our planet at the place whose name throws fear into all bass world wide. Al Gore, where are you?

And guess who wanted to fish. Yup.

I delayed her as we went into the store in search of the sacred waders. Are you aware that you can actually spend in excess of FOUR HUNDRED DOLLARS for rubber pants? I'm dead serious! I stared in wonder ... pants sticker shock ... swearing that my next stop would be Wal-Mart for a pair of speedo's. That's when a nice teenage girl asked if she could help me. I told her that I needed some waders that would not require that I sell my churches property in order to pay for them because all I wanted to do was stay dry while I baptize people. She immediately pointed to a table with large boxes of rubber waders ... a mere $39.99. She told me that they sell a lot of those for baptisms. SOLD!

Debbie, Elle and I then weaved our way d-i-r-e-c-t-l-y to the check-out line. And when I say "weaved" that's exactly what I mean. There were more people per square foot in there than in a homeless shelter for bankers. That's when Elle reminded me about "fishen." I pointed out the stuffed twelve foot tall grizzly bear at the front door. No matter. It's time for fishen. Grandpa promised.

Oh geez.

Okay, so I asked Debbie to pay for the waders while Elle and I went "fishen." We walked outside with zipped up coats and freezing fingers. It was free day for kids. This was good. So we picked up a pole and made our way to the pool of frenzied Bass. Odd. There was no bait on the hook. They weren't even real hooks. Just bent ... wires or something. But I remembered that Debbie told me when she was a kid she caught a fish once on a paper clip with no bait. Hey, I'm gullible. Whatever. We threw our hook into the pool along with about twenty other kids and their parents.

Poor Elle. Not even a nibble. And yet people kept pulling out these HUGE Bass. What the ... How in the ... I couldn't figure it out. We froze for about 20 minutes when I noticed Debbie standing next to us. Ahhhh ... my excuse! My asthmatic wife cannot be allowed to stand in the cold. I explained to Elle that sometimes you catch the fish and sometimes the fish catches you. She gave me a puzzled look and propped her pole up against the wall. We returned to the wonderful heater of our Trail Blazer.

It was not until tonight that Debbie mentioned that Bass that they had tied to that one line.

What?

Yeah. You know, the one they kept catching. The one that they kept on a pole that they were passing around from kid to kid and then pulling out with a net. That fish.

Uhhhh. I knew that. Really I did. I just didn't want to spoil things for Elle. It's all about the illusion. You know. Pretending to ... uh ... catch fish.

I'm never going back to the Bass Pro Shop again for all eternity.

Ms. Elle

My granddaughter, Elle Parker, is visiting us this weekend while her daddy tours with his band (The Fundamental Elements) and her mommy fights a bout of the "turning tummy syndrome." I'm having the time of my life with her. I could write a gazillion stories or I could just sum up a busy day by saying that it ended like this ...

I'm not very good ....

I'm not very good at this home buying stuff. No, really. I'm not.

This afternoon Debbie and I went to see a real estate agent after she got off of work. We had an appointment to view a home that is up for "short sale." That means something like ... the owner is about to get foreclosed on and so they have set a (supposedly) ridiculously low sale price in order to unload it before it's too late. Of course the bank has to agree to the ridiculously low price. So the number really doesn't mean anything. It was just pulled out of a hat in hopes of luring a perspective buyer. I can't blame them. I would do the same thing.

But here's the deal. The house was nice. It was pretty big. It was only about 3 years old. Honestly it is way more house than we need. The only time we would even conceivably use all of the space is if all of our kids showed up at once and wanted to stay with us. Seeing as how that has never happened in the course of human history, it isn't all that likely to happen in the future.

But it might.

Still. That's not my point. The family that owned the house left before we got there and they were obviously in the middle of packing things up. Boxes were strewn everywhere. Furniture sat at odd angles. The kids bedrooms were about the only places that were not all torn up. Yet. That's coming too.

So I'm suppose to be looking at this house and thinking about what a great deal it just might be. That's the way it works. Somebody else's pain is my gain. Instead I'm walking through the house and I'm thinking ... "These poor people. A family is having their guts torn out here. They are losing their home. This isn't right. This place was there dream home just slightly over a year ago. And now they are trying desperately to get out from under it before it drags their credit rating even deeper into the muck and more."

I want to help those people. I can't. I mean, maybe it would help them if I bought their home. But I really deeply believe in waiting for God to "bump me" and tell me when to do what. And He hasn't "bumped me" yet. Maybe He will tomorrow. But not yet. And so I'm suppose to be sleeping and dreaming of a nice beautiful home in the suburbs again. I mean, our apartment is nice ... but it's still an apartment. And God has blessed us with the ability to buy a home. Hey, it's a buyers market. It's the mother-of-all buyers markets. Still, I'm waiting for God. And instead of dreaming ... I'm wondering what it's like to sleep in that house right now. Tonight. It must be so sad. It must really, really hurt.

I told you. I'm not very good at this home buying stuff.

News Radio and God

'Twas a dark evening. Chilly to the point of being cold. The car heater was taking its time transforming the inside of my car from winter to summer. I punched the button to turn the stereo on. KMOX from St. Lois came loud and clear through the speakers. Nothing there caught my attention. I punched the next three buttons with similar results. I punched the fourth button. There was a little static in the background but it was overshadowed by the voices in the foreground. I was tuned to "News Radio SSSSSSeventy Eight" in Chicago.

Hmmmm.

That's about 275 miles as the crow flies. I was getting the traffic report on the Kennedy Expressway. It wasn't pretty. And yet it was fascinating. Call me weird but I've always gotten a bit of a kick out of listening to live radio from far away stations. Just knowing that those voices are traveling through towns, over highways and rail road tracks, across lakes ... it's cool. Way out there is a guy or a girl sitting in a nicely appointed, warm studio, talking into a wired microphone. Is it snowing there? Is it colder than it is here? Does he have a pizza sitting on the console in front of him? It's just ... interesting.

I punched the next button. There was more static this time but the voices were clear and audible. That would be WTAM News Radio broadcasting from downtown Cleveland, Ohio. It was my hometown "talk radio station" for about a year and a quarter. I didn't really like it but it was local and it told me when the traffic was screwy. So it earned a programmed spot on button #6. Tonight I listened to my favorite Cleveland weather person, Betsy Kling, tell me to watch out if I "live on the Lake because old man Erie is throwing some snow our way." I appreciated the tip. I might be 600 miles away but that doesn't mean I don't have to worry about lake effect snow.

Oh, wait. Yes it does. It means exactly that. But I digress.

One cold winters night in late 2007 I was driving home from some non-memorable restaurant and I turned on the radio. I hit "seek" in order to find something worth listening to in my new hometown. I quickly came across some guy speaking french. At first I was amazed at the power of those Paris radio stations. Then I realized that Canada was only 31 miles off shore. It turned out the station was in Montreal or Toronto or some place that I think probably houses men with pointy mustaches wearing berets and women who drink great wine and ride bicycles to the store to pick up bread. I think I've watched too many movies.

I sat at my desk today and thought about God. I opened my bible and read the entire book of Zephaniah. Don't be impressed. It's only 3 chapters long. But as I read it God kept pointing things out to me. Things about His fathomless love. Things about His certain judgement. Things about the depths of His care for His children. Things about what happens to people who reject Him. As I listened I knew that God was speaking to me. He was encouraging me to walk straight toward Him. Do not waver. Do not stray off the path He had laid out for me. Sometimes when God speaks it is as though there is static all around me. He can be hard to hear. Sometimes His voice rings through very clearly. Sometimes it feels as though He is a million miles away. Sometimes it feels as though I am sitting on His lap. But always ... always ... when I hear His voice, I learn. Sometimes it is about difficult traffic that is all around me. Sometimes it is about the cold and frozen conditions that plague my attempt to stay near the warmth of His fire. Sometimes I have to "turn the dial" in order to find Him. He might speak through Zephaniah. He might speak through another book in the bible. Sometimes He speaks through a friend, a circumstance, a dream, the voice of my wife, or the still and quiet voice of His Spirit. But when He speaks it is obvious that it is Him.

Radio's and God. I never realized that they had so much in common. Both are always available. Both always want your attention. Both always require that you tune your ears and/or heart. But only one, the voice of God, will speak words of eternal love and eternal life.

Is it dark tonight? Are you cold? Is your personal space full of "static?" Do not be deceived. The voices are there waiting to be heard. Be careful what you tune your soul in to. You might simply hear french women on bicycles seeking bread. Or you might hear the voice of God seeking to save that which is lost ....

God is BIG and I play on His team.

We serve a really strange God. Strange in that He is not at all like us. Strange like "Wow!" Not strange like "weird." Sometimes it's a blow-out in the baptistry waders. Sometimes it's a little more serious. Sometimes He needs you to be in a particular place and He will go to great lengths to make it happen.

I went with debbie to her pulmonologist appointment today. You know, the lung doctor. Asthma has been beating her up lately. So she got checked out, got some new meds to help her over the hump, and then we moved on. First we visited with a family from our church who had a family member in surgery for a very serious work-related burn. The surgery went well, we prayed with them, and took our leave. I tried to visit a family having a baby in that hospital but I could not find them. And then I made a phone call to see if I could visit another woman in another hospital but she was going to be taking tests all afternoon. So those two things were not going to work. And so we made our way to Clayton. A friend of ours from Nashville was in town after having completed a speaking engagement. We were to pick her up at her daughters house and go grab a bite to eat together. On the way there I noticed a "joint" alongside the road named "Carl's Deli." Looked interesting. I made a mental note of it. We grabbed Sandy and agreed that Carls would cook our lunch. So I punched it into "Sophie the GPS" and off we went. I was in the middle of the worlds best pastrami sandwich when my "not-an-iphone" rang. It was my brother-in-law, Jim. I stepped outside to take the call. I was leaning against the glass window of Carls, looking inside at the people eating as he told me that he was admitting his wife, my sister-in-law, to St. Mary's hospital at that very moment. He wondered if we could come by. He ... they ... were having a very, very hard day. Alisha was in a lot of pain and Jim was hurting with her and frustrated by other events of life that he had been dealing with.

As he spoke I ran a mental list of hospitals through my brain. I knew I had been to St. Mary's before but not often and it had been years. Then I realized that it was in Clayton. I asked Jim if that was right and he confirmed that it was. I told him that we were in Clayton and that I was pretty certain that we were close. As I spoke I slowly turned to face the street. Cars and busses whizzed by. As they parted I focused on the sign across the street. The sign naming the building behind it. The building close enough for me to hit with a baseball. The building named ... "St. Mary's Hospital."

I didn't know what time Debbie's doctors appointment would end.

I didn't know that I would only be able to visit one of three people in local hospitals.

I didn't know my friend, Sandy, was still going to be in town today until she emailed me this morning.

I didn't know I was going to find time to pick her up and take her to lunch.

I didn't know Carl's Deli existed.

I didn't know Alisha was not well.

I didn't know Jim was going to call.

And yet all of those things fell perfectly into line at exactly the right moment to allow my "not an iphone" to ring as I ate my sandwich literally yards from the building where Debbie and I would be needed.

God is strange. God is big. And I am very, very glad He has allowed me to be on His team.

A Blow-out of Epic Proportions

I think that what I like best about being a pastor is the dignity ... the honor ... the never ending respect the position offers. Take this weekend for example.

Yesterday I had the wonderful opportunity of performing the marriage ceremony for a lovely young couple, Christie and Nick. Nick recently became a Christian. He is in the air force. He leaves for Afghanistan this week. And so he decided to marry his very-worthy sweet heart before he left. Yesterday ... Valentines Day ... was the appointed moment. It was a very small and very fun wedding! And this morning I had the privilege of baptizing them both. That's how we were kicking-off the worship service. And then I was going to speak on the scripture from Acts, "In Him we live and move and have our being." In order to illustrate the point I went to Wal-Mart and bought six gold fish last night. You see, gold fish live and move and have their being in water. I thought that the parallels were obvious. The gold fish were twelve cents each. Well, we all know how these particular water creatures are famous for expiring early. That's why I purchased six. I was hoping that at least one would make it until morning. When I woke up today five were still swimming. By the time I arrived at Towerview four were still with us. I was getting worried. I placed them on a roman-esque pillar next to the acrylic pulpit in the worship center and went to prepare for Nick and Christy's baptism.

I wore a suit this morning and so I took the coat off, kicked off my shoes, removed my cell phone from my belt, and dropped my watch in my coat pocket. I picked-up the fishing waders that we pastor types use to keep us dry so that we can get back into the worship center quickly. They were tough to get on. Really tough. It had been a while since they had baptized anybody at Towerview. The feet didn't want to bend. Odd. But I managed. I put on the white baptismal robe, prayed with Nick, and it was time to Rock 'N Roll.

I stepped into the water. No problem. I took another step down. Hmmmm. Water immediately soaked the sock on my left foot. This did not bode well. By the time I made it all of the way into the baptistery I felt water up to my calf. When Nick and Christie arrived at my side I was wet up to my knees. The inflow showed no sign of slowing down. I baptized Nick first. This airman is a big guy! He's all beef. Not an ounce of fat on him. He's in "one of those" units. A couple of fly boys in the church told me that he knew 20 ways to kill me. Well, yeah. I don't doubt that. But let's remember that it was THIS little preacher boy that pinned him under water.

BOO-YAH!

And then I baptized his new bride, Christie. She's a petite little thing and as sweet as St. Louis style Gooey Butter Cake. (Christie, that's a good thing, if you are reading this! Tell Nick not to get mad ....) But the point of concern was that by the time I brought her up out of the water I was nearly as wet as she was. And the reason was obvious. One entire foot of the waders was flopping back and forth, held on by one little piece of rubberized cloth. I was soaked from toes to belly button.

You know, when you baptize a person they just bounce up and virtually trot up the steps to waiting towels. But when you are wearing the waders and they are full of water? Well, it's one step ... wait for the drain ... one step ... wait for the drain. You get the picture? By the time I got to the top I was pretty much drenched. I asked for a towel and they gave me all they had. Two paper towels. That wasn't quite what I had in mind.

So at this point I did what any pastor worth his Sunday School Diploma would do. I entered the worship center. Dripping water with every step. Shoeless. A shorted-out lapel microphone in my pocket. Hey, my dignity was never worth too much anyway. As I approached the pulpit I looked down at my gold fish and it occurred to me. It is in the water that they live and move and have their being. And for this one morning ... the same was true of me. I WAS the sermon illustration! That's when I heard it. Laughter. From the throne. It was coming from The Great Laugher of Laughs. I can't help believing that the Father was elbowing The One who sits at His Right Hand. I can almost hear Him say, "Hey. Watch this. Belleville. Towerview. The worship center. This is gonna be so cool!"

The laughter must have rolled. And yea ... I had to join in.

Maybe

Maybe it was to teach me.
Maybe it was to instruct me.
Maybe it was to inform me.
Maybe it was to train me.

I just do not know.

Maybe it was to correct me.
Maybe it was to rebuke me.
Maybe it was to chastise me.
Maybe it was to reform me.

I just do not know.

Maybe it was to empower me.
Maybe it was to embolden me.
Maybe it was to arm me.
Maybe it was to equip me.

I just do not know.

Maybe it was to remind me.
Maybe it was to rekindle me.
Maybe it was to prompt me.
Maybe it was to persuade me.

I just do not know

Maybe it was to rest me.
Maybe it was to recharge me.
Maybe it was to unwind me.
Maybe it was to stop me.

I just do not know.

Maybe it was to break me.
Maybe it was to crush me.
Maybe it was to penetrate me.
Maybe it was to shake me.

I just do not know.

Maybe it was to befuddle me.
Maybe it was to perplex me.
Maybe it was to disorient me.
Maybe it was to bewilder me.

I just do not know.

And I do not have to know.

Deep must rest in deep.

Nurse! Scalpel!

So i almost performed surgery today. All I needed was a blue gown, some cool gloves, a nifty hat, and ... well ... I suppose a PhD from a prestigious medical school.

The day began with a flurry of hospital calls. In both cases wonderful little ladies had been sent for medical care for various reasons. It was my job to check on them, not to fix 'em.

After the first visit I hopped in Emma the Mustang and tooled on over to the next hospital, St. Elizabeth's. I had never been there before. I didn't have a lousy little quarter for the parking meters so I had to park in the high rise parking garage. I found myself entering the building onto the second floor. A quick check with the nice people at the information desk revealed that my victim ... er ... parishioner ... was on the third floor. Hey, I can do the math. One floor up. No problem. Except that after I punched the button on the elevator nothing happened. NOTHING. An orderly passed by and I asked if there were any stairs nearby. She pointed down the hall toward a glowing "EXIT" sign. I made my way over, went through the door, and ascended up the staircase.

That's where things went wrong. REALLY wrong.

I opened the door to the third floor and walked directly into a group of masked men scrubbing for surgery. They appeared very serious about their mission, what with all of the foaming and rubbing and the orange-ish glow on their hands and arms. And their I stood, under their gaze. My little "CLERGY" badge pinned neatly to my chest. Feeling very, very tiny.

I don't think they were impressed. I know I wasn't. I quietly ... slowly ... excused myself and stepped back into the stairway.

Ahhhhh ... I love the smell of chlorhexidine in the morning...

My close brush with imaginary death at the hands of Lake Erie... and I don't even fish

I thought I was all finished writing about Lake Erie. It's nearly 600 miles away and what else could I possibly have to say about it? And then several hundred people decided to talk a walk on it to catch some fish yesterday. I lived on that lake all of one winter and the better part of another and never ... not once time ... did I ever see anybody EVER walk out on it. Not for fish, not for fun, not for a stroll to Canada. Maybe people around Cleveland are just smarter but it didn't happen. I was actually a little shocked yesterday to learn from Fox News that people ... a virtual "city of people" ... had been out there to the west of my former home for a couple of weeks. Fishing. Searching for the elusive Walleye.

When the lake freezes it doesn't usually become just a flat piece of ice. It becomes "ice dunes." Under currents and pressure from ice floes blown about by the wind causes the bits of ice to wreck into each other and it becomes like one giant car wreck. I've seen some of them easily reach five feet high. And it appears that the tops can be razor sharp. Evidently that's not the case to the west. In order to walk out on the lake where I lived you would have to have had a total lobotomy. Of course, some people DO have total lobotomies. So I suppose it's possible.

But would you do it for a fish? All of this took place just to the west of Port Clinton, Ohio. That is where some of the people stuck out there on ATV's and snow mobiles traveled to in their successful search for uncracked ice to cross back over to the mainland. Port Clinton is also where my favorite fish joint is. Jolly Rogers. Best certified Lake Erie Perch I ever found. And you can get it for under $10. That's about $6,990 less than your typical funeral.

Dumb, dumb, dumb.

I was talking about that event tonight with some people at church. They had expressed interest in my Erie experiences and I was telling them about the joys of living 9 floors above the water in the dead of winter. That's when I remembered a particular evening that I had filed to the back of my brain. Probably due to embarrassment due to stupidity. I had not lived in Ohio very long. Debbie was still in Illinois. It was a VERY cold night with a VERY strong wind out of the north and a VERY large dump of snow was blowing in off of the lake. You could not hear the waves because there weren't any. It was all ice. I walked out onto my balcony wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. It felt good just to experience the raw power of God's raging storm. After just a few moments I went back inside, face frozen and, evidently, brain frost bitten as well. I grabbed Tess the Laptop, sat on the floor, and leaned against the double sliding glass doors to my balcony. All of the lights were off. When the lake is covered in ice it stays every light outside. Erie can be very eerie. I opened my electronic journaling program and began to write a letter to God. That's how I journal. I write and He reads. A lot was going on. I was missing my wife. I was a little lonely. Okay, I was VERY lonely. It was late. I was dumping on God. I probably wrote for the better part of 30 minutes. I just looked it up and read it. At least I think I read the correct one. Doesn't really matter. But when I finished writing on that cold winters night I closed my laptop and went to stand up only to find that I was FROZEN to the glass of the balcony door. Well, my shirt was frozen to it. The condensation had turned to ice, invaded my flannel and I was glued to the door. To add insult to injury the shirt was stuck to my back. I was, in a very real way, frozen 90 feet above Lake Erie on a stormy night in the dead of winter. Honestly, it was not hard to get unstuck. The back is strong but I didn't want to tear the shirt and so I pulled it off and then gently peeled it away from the glass.

So that was my dumb Lake Erie story. It's pretty boring compared to those who walk out ON that thing in the dead of winter just to pull in a few fish that you can buy on shore for just a few bucks. My life was never at risk. My dignity was bruised. My flesh was stinging. But the Coast Guard was not needed and I didn't loose anybodies ATV.

I really need to up my level of risk.
(Erie from space 3 days ago)