After Kicking The Tires ...

After "kicking the tires" of the claims I mentioned a few days ago, what do you think?

1. I am deeply loved of God.
2. I am fully pleasing to God.
3. I am totally accepted by God.

Do you buy into that? Are you skeptical about God's love for you? Do you feel like a failure? Is there a deep and abiding sense within you that you are constantly letting God down and, thus, He is holding you at arms length?

Consider.

The Apostle Paul was a man who made it his passion and calling to kill as many Christian's as possible. Oh, he believed in God. He just didn't buy the "Jesus stuff." He actually thought "Christians" were working contrary to the God of the Old Testament. And so he took it upon himself to stop those propagating this nonsense. And then God interrupted Paul. He stepped in one day, knocked Paul off of his horse as he was on his way to kill more Christ-followers, He blinded him and sent him on into the city to chill a while. And then God gave him the incredible privilege of spreading the gospel of Jesus to the Gentiles (all of the "non-Jews.) God chose Paul against all common sense and all odds.

Later on Paul penned the following words...

"I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen." (Ephesians 3: 16 - 21)

"Love that surpasses knowledge." Hmm. And yet Paul said he wants us to be able to comprehend how wide, long, high and deep God's love is. Paul understood because he was guilty of murdering God's kids and God loves him anyway. If God loves Paul so completely ... do you really think He doesn't love you?

Paul said he prays that God will strengthen us out of His (God's) glorious riches with power through His Spirit in our inner being. He wants us to be strong and He wants to use is to do good in this world. God has a vast army of angels. God has believers that have stood the test of time. God has been known to speak through a donkey (Numbers 22: 21 - 31.) So if God can use anybody and anything He chooses and He has so much to choose from ... why would He use you? The answer is simple. He is pleased with you. No, you are not pleasing to God because you are so good or have never failed Him. Give me a break. We all know better than that. You are pleasing to God because (and IF) you have trusted His Son as your Savior. You see, it actually was God's will to crush His Son and set you free. Incomprehensible, but true. (Isaiah 53: 10) Your mess ups are all on Jesus. Your "junk" was transferred from your account to the account of Jesus Christ. God purchased you back from sin with the blood of His Son. And since He owns you He can feel any way He wants to about you. And He chooses to be pleased with you. Believe it or not. I Peter 2: 9 - 10 says it rather well. "But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once you were not a people, but now you are the people of God; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy." Rather than arguing with God you might consider looking upward and saying "Thank You."

Paul said that God is able to do immeasurably more in us that we could ever imagine to ask Him to do because of His power at work within us. God's power ... at work ... in ... you. You. He accepts you as worthy. I have no idea why. I only know that His Word says He does.

Loved by God. Pleasing to God. Accepted by God. It's true.

Kick the tires as hard as you want. You can't break them. They are paid for. And so are you.

It's True...

Some years ago a guy named Robert McGee wrote a book called "Search For Significance." It was quite ground breaking. They turned it into an entire study. (Don't they always? And who ARE "they" anyway?) The whole thing was good but God reminded me today of three facts taught in "Search" that will change your life if you buy into them. And if you don't? Well, you life will turn into a spiritual train wreck.

So it would be not so nice of me to withhold them from you. Here they are. Simple but life giving.

1. I am deeply loved of God.
2. I am fully pleasing to God.
3. I am totally accepted by God.

Give that some thought. Kick the tires on it for a while. Do you buy it?

Tomorrow ... we'll talk.

Un-In-Spired

Writing is more than a pass time or a hobby. It's like life to me. When I write it often takes on human form in my head. I'm not sure how that works.

But it's like this.

When I was a youth pastor I took something like 50 week long trips with teens. That's nearly a year on the road. There were mission trips, Centrifuge trips, choir trips, all sorts of trips. And every one of them, in my brain, took on a life of their own. For some reason, to me, those trips were not static events that simply took place in life. They actually feel like living breathing things that are out there someplace. Lives were changed. Eternity was changed. Only God Himself knows how deeply and how far reaching those changes are. But to me, the trips themselves took on life.

And that's what writing is. To me.

I've been about this blogging thing since my son-in-law, Joe, introduced me to the concept way back around 2002. This is like nearly the 600th post. (Thanks, Joe!) I just love to write. And it too takes on life. You are reading this blog and that means that in some weird way my writing reaches beyond myself and touches someone else. You. And approximately 70 other souls per day. Thanks for dropping by.

Rarely, but every now and then, I seem to lose the ability to formulate anything inspiring in my brain. All things that matter go on sabbatical. Even humor goes AWOL. This is one of those times. I've been trying to figure out why. I think it's a bunch of things that all clumped together. The thrill (sic) of moving 4 times in 20 months tends to dilute the humor in life. It's nice not to be living out of Tupperware anymore but my garage is full of unopened boxes. So it's a trade off. Even more seriously, the deaths of 3 close friends this year as rather taken the wind out of my sails. I find myself thinking about the brevity of life a lot lately. Not the fear of death. Not even the fear of the process of dying. My thoughts just seem to gravitate to the reality that all of this ... THIS ... can end without even a moments notice. I don't like that thought. It isn't so much my own departure from this earthly soil that has my attention but ... yours. People that I know and love. I didn't get an opportunity to say good-bye to any of my 3 friends and they were just ... gone. That stinks. And I wonder when it ends. Then I realize that it doesn't. I've been contemplating going to visit my parents graves sometimes soon. I have not been there since my mom died in 2004. Five years. And it's a six hour drive. I keep putting it off because, quite honestly, I don't want to go. It doesn't seem prudent at the moment. So I wait.

Anyway, I say all of that just to say this. I am currently a really terrible blogger. Sorry about that. Thanks for sticking with me and checking back here every now and then. I'll get my act together soon. Maybe even tomorrow. But in the meantime I just really stink at writing.

As a friend of mine use to say ... sucks to be me. :)

John And Kate Plus Five

Okay, I know this is warped. But I saw it when it aired on Conan and I've been watching it on their web site ever since and every time I do I start ... like ... laughing and rolling and crying and falling out of my chair. This is not an editorial on divorce or child abandonment. It's just humor. Oh, and if there is a booze commercial before the video I'm not in favor of that either. SO DON'T SEND ME MEAN EMAILS! :)

The Hand of God

It has been said that God works in mysterious ways His wonders to perform. I'm a believer. I have written a few times over the last weeks about the death of our friend, Lynda. It's tough to lose a friend. It hurts when God calls a long time "pal" home. We all know that we are suppose to celebrate for them. And we want to. We really do. But sometimes the pain is so real that we forget to be happy for the one who no longer has any pain. Sure, it's selfish. But it's also true, honest, and real.

When Lynda passed away her husband Dave, who is my equally good friend, asked me to not only conduct but to totally PLAN her funeral service. The friendship that the four of us shared was always a little warped. In a good way. We always knew that with Dave and Lynda we could laugh at the misfortunes of life. Humor was abundant. Along with chocolate. And steaks. It's just that kind of friendship. And the loss of 1/4th of this equation makes it all the more difficult to fathom the fact that things will never be quite the same.

Oh, that and the fact that she stiffed me for Debbie's birthday present. She decided to have Debbie's bible rebound for her as it was falling apart. Ephesians was literally taking a plunge to the floor. So I got it to a re-binder, paid for it, and Lynda was going to pay me back. But God called her on home and she skipped out on me. (Please know that I'm saying this with a HUGE smile on my face knowing that in at least one way she got the last laugh on me! I'm honored to be a part of this process between her and Debbie. And when I arrive in heaven ... you betcha ... she owes me!)

But God did a couple of really weird things to drive home the point to Dave, Debbie and I that HE was the one sending for Lynda. She did not die by accident, chance, or fate. God dialed her up. He sent for her. And as He so often does He left His fingerprints all over this event for us to see and learn from.

For instance ...

Since I planned the entire service I determined that all music would be from prerecorded CD. No live music. Lynda loved contemporary Christian music. And so I chose two songs. (Dave later added a third.) The songs I chose were "I Will Rise" a very new song by Chris Tomlin and a very old hymn, "Come Ye Sinners," performed by Jami Smith. I had never heard either song performed live by anybody. Yet I felt strongly that they were the songs to be sung at my friends funeral service.

And then God's Hand left their fingerprints.

The day after her funeral, at our church, a young man who had just returned from college in Alabama picked-up his guitar and sang a solo just before I spoke. The song? "I Will Rise." I talked to him later. He had just found out the day before that he was singing and he just selected that song on that morning. He didn't know the music and had never played it before. He just felt that it was what God wanted him to sing. Yeah ... I'd say so.

That was the day Dave flew back to his home near Fort Worth. He didn't get to attend church until the following Sunday. He emailed me the next day and mentioned that at their service they celebrated "The Lord's Supper." As the elements were being served several men stood up and performed an acoustic version of "Come Ye Sinners." Dave said he chocked back tears and then "smiled at Lynda" knowing that she was getting a kick out of it. That was the first time Dave had heard the song since his wife's funeral and the first time he had heard it performed at church ever.

So what do you think? Two songs that we had never heard performed live but that I chose for my friends memorial service are suddenly "front and center" at the very next worship services that the three of us attend? In two different churches in two different states 600 miles apart. Chance? Coincidence? The Hand of God? I can't think of a third option. As for me I believe my Father, "Abba," was wrapping His Holy Hands around the hearts of three hurting people and, in so doing, was reminding us that "precious in the eyes of the Lord are the death of His saints." (Psalm 116: 15)

The Peace Train (VBS Style)

I guess there was too much beef on the peace train.

Too pooped to write

Yeah. I don't mean to complain so don't take it that way. But it seems that moving is serious work. And it's seriously hot. And I'm totally ready to have it all over with. ONE. MORE. DAY.

And I was just thinking. Crunching some numbers. Just for curiosities sake. It doesn't really matter. But I just finished living 593 days in apartments. Hey, I wasn't living in a refrigerator box under a bridge. I had the refrigerator ... not the box. I had balconies. I had flushing toilets and nice showers. Two of the apartments had absolutely killer views. There is absolutely no hardship in any of that.

And here's the deal.

About 80% of everything I own has been stored away during those 593 days. I thought all of that stuff was important. Sometimes I've missed an item or two. But over all I've realized that life has continued on quite splendidly without it all. I mean there's some nice stuff there. A leather sofa. A huge heavy wooden entertainment center. Gigantic wooden dressers that my clothes usually go in. I've been living out of tupperware for 593 days and it really hasn't hurt me at all. All of my baseball memorabilia has been in storage. And honestly, it's been okay.

Yesterday I set-up our bed and a few other items into our new house and we've been living there. Tonight is our second night in the new place. The amazing 47 inch LCD flat screen that my wonderful friends at Towerview Baptist gave us for my birthday (can you believe that? WOW. I am totally humbled by their love. And I totally do NOT deserve it.) is up and running. I haven't connect the blue ray player yet just because I haven't had time. But we've been living in a rather sparsely furnished home since yesterday. And can I tell you ... no big deal. I could, I have, done without the stuff. And it hasn't hurt me at all.

I owe God an apology. And I'll gladly make it in a public setting like the world wide web. God, I'm sorry I have placed such value on my things. Thank you for the lessons that you have taught me in 593 unique days. I don't understand all of them. Some of the greatest frustrations have come because I have wanted to make absolutely certain that I'm learning the lesson You are teaching. Please don't let me miss it. My heart realizes in a new way that there is a new home waiting for me and I'll never have to pack another box or store another item. You are the Decorator. The Designer. Please put it together any way that brings you pleasure. And in the meantime, thank you for reminding me that You, my precious Father, are enough.

If you want me to live in a tent, I will live in a tent. I just want to live close to You.

MOOOOO-ving

Today we began our move from apartment living into home ownership again. So I'm just wondering. I've moved five times in the last twenty months. Each time it has been either over 95 degrees or below zero.

What's with that?

Curve Ball Shy

I was 15 year old and playing sandlot ball. My next door neighbor came home early. He was a steel worker, walking the sky high beams of the growing Sears Tower in Chicago's loop. He watched for a few minutes and then offered to pitch for both teams. Jack was a big guy in his mid-thirties. I'm sure he went gentle on us concerning speed. I'm sure he made certain not to hit any of us. But when I came up to bat I fouled off a couple of pitches. He never threw anything but strikes. The next pitch was moving a little and I was able (for probably the first and last time in my life) to time my swing just right, sending the ball soaring to dead center field. I watched my own fly ball as it left the ball park, crossed the street and landed ... on the fly ... in the back yard of some guys house. I remember floating around the bases knowing that this one swing would lift me into the baseball hall of fame in our little neighborhood of guys. I also knew that my days playing here had probably ended. I was getting too old, too big, to keep playing in our neighborhood ballpark.

The next time up Jack struck me out on three pitches.

But the reward of the day came later that evening when I saw my neighbor sitting on his front doorstep. I walked over and sat down next to him, silently hoping he wasn't going to kill me. Instead he said the nicest thing anybody ever said about any athletic ability I ever had (which was not much.) He looked straight at me and said, "You killed the most wicked curveball I ever threw."

Honestly, I had no idea. I never really noticed a wicked curve. I just saw a ball coming and I did my best to put my bat where I thought the ball would go. In reality I probably put the bat where I never meant to put it and just got very lucky. Dead serious about that.

I've faced a thousand curve balls since that day. None of them came in the form of a baseball. They have all come in the form of the incidents of life that I never expected. A suicide. An accident. An argument. A moral failure on the part of a person I trust. A murder. A job change. A confession. A run away. An offer. A rejection. A death. Ad nauseam.

I've been thinking about curve balls this week. You know what makes them so wicked? The fast balls that precede them. If you always expect a curve you will be ready for it when it comes. But when you see fast ball after fast ball after fast ball, well, a curve ball catches you off balance and you swing like a drunk with a thousand pound bat. Fast balls are nice. They are predictable. You know where they come from and where they are going. You know what to do with them.

Then comes the curve. You swing so hard that you look positively cartoonish as you corkscrew yourself into the ground. You end up laying in the dust, wondering where the ball went. Then the catcher pulls it out of his mitt, laughs at you, spits in the dirt, and throws it back to the pitcher. And it's time to get ready for the next pitch. There is always another pitch. And you must always be ready.

We are still trying to brush the dust off this week. It's been a long 2009 when it comes to curve balls. There have been plenty of fast balls too. And we've turned on them pretty well, planting a few across the street behind the houses. But we've yet to truly connect on a curve ball. Honestly, the thought of another one leaves me queazy. I'm a little "curve ball shy." Wondering when it's going to come and from where it will originate.

I am not use to playing in the dust. I can't say as how I like it. I know the final score of the game even though we are still playing. I think I need a pinch hitter.

Jesus. You're up.

Free Floating Thoughts

It's been such an insane weekend. I've tried to turn my brain off with minimal success. One of my greatest downfalls is that I think too much. So I talked to God for a while today. Actually, I talked to God for a long while today. And I decided to tell Him what brings me great joy in life. It came as no surprise to me that each and every "thing" ... was a person. Unexpected death will make you think. It will keep you up late nights. It will wake you up early mornings. Honestly, I am getting tired of sleeping four hours per night. And there isn't a switch to it that I've been able to find. So if you have to think, I figure you would be wise to think about the joys. Otherwise the sadness will overwhelm you and send you tumbling into a dark and seemingly bottomless hole.

So. The list I gave to God was very long. I'm going to share the top 10 with you in no particular order. And my one rule? No sentences. Just a name followed by solitary words that, to me, defines that person. You will notice that this list is a family list. If you are not on it ... no worries. You were very likely on the list I gave to God. And one other thing ... each person could have twenty more things on their list. These are just the top ones that I can remember sitting here in the darkness of a late night living room.

Debbie - Solid. Dependable. Dedicated. Passionate. Wise. Loving. Emotional. Trustworthy. Mine.
Kelli - Stable. Committed. Caring. Focused. Overwhelmed. Capable. Intuitive. Charming.
Joe - Talented. Funny. Inspired. Able. Happy. Carefree.
Elle - Hugs. Arms. Whispers. Laughter. Smiles. Joy.
Scott - Energetic. Mature. Visionary. Trustworthy. Loyal. Creative. Reliable.
Amanda - Sweetness. Able. Strong. Friend. Focused. Athletic.
Christopher - Amazing. Mature. Growing. Hilarious. Fresh. Unsuspecting.
Laura - Real. Brilliant. Caring. Sacrificial. Honest. Thinker.
Jim - Smart. Brother. Independent. Creative. Seeking. Survivor. Fun. Fun. Fun.
Alisha - Caring. Committed. Loyal. Capable. Deep. Creative.

Family ... I love you. This past week has reminded me to tell you that more often. So if you see me staring off into space a bit more frequently over the next few weeks I trust you will understand. If I call you or text you more than usual it's because I want you to know that you are my life. Next to my relationship with my God you are the reasons that I want to continue to walk the planet.

How Fragile We Are

Sometimes, no matter what you say, your words just sound stupid in your own ears. Raw emotions leave you feeling like a frayed rope that has been torn from its anchor. Fragments of memories spin through your mind like falling leaves in a summer storm.

We lost another friend this week. Thus far 2009 has been "The Year of Loss."

Fred Winters.

Woody Foreman.

Lynda Edelen.

Our friend of a quarter of a century succumbed early this morning to complications following cancer surgery. How do I tell you about this friend? I think ... by stories. Glimpses of a life lived with gusto and passion.

When I think of Lynda I think of ...

-A ski trip to Wisconsin. Convinced by her husband, Dave, to attempt one of the more difficult trails with him, she climbed on the lift. Debbie and I waved goodbye and headed to our van, too chicken to attempt the descent with them. In about 10 minutes Dave skied up ... alone. We looked at him. His glance held no hint of humor. He quietly said, "Not a word." We looked up the mini-mountain to see Lynda walking down the slope carrying her skis. It was a moment. It was also a silent trip back to the hotel!

-Dad gummit!

-Driving all day with our kids for a round trip White Sox/Rangers double header in Chicago during the last year of Old Comiskey Park. Being glad that Dave loved to drive and Lynda loved to keep him awake.

-Ten consecutive 4th of July celebrations at their home. Launching highly illegal bottle rockets into the sky to impress our kids only to have one sail into the neighbors roof. Oddly enough, they purchased that house and moved into it a few years later. I think it was a "guilt purchase."

-Hoppin mad!

-Another ski trip to another mini-midwestern mountain. Sharing a bed and breakfast with them and sitting in their room watching the winter olympics. Lynda had back pains and Dave used a little massager on her as she lay on the floor. I fell off the couch laughing as she gasped, "If I knew it was going to feel this good I would have started moaning sooner!" That became a running joke for years.

-Teaching teenagers to "foot wrestle" during "JPL" in the late 1980's ... and losing to her. (You grab each others hands and try to stomp on each others feet while dancing out of the way of their feet trying to do the same to yours.)

=Sitting in a lawn chair and watching Lynda and Debbie dig two feet of snow out of their driveway while I nursed my broken arm in a sling. An arm I broke ... you got it ... skiing with them.

-Watching her host my son Scott's (approximately) 4th birthday party in our home because Debbie was sick in bed with mono. That's what friends do.

-Listening to Lynda and Debbie talk on the phone every Sunday for the last few years. Each conversation lasted about two hours and ended as I heard my wife say, "I love you, Lynda."

-Conspiring with her every Christmas and birthday as she worked to find Debbie the perfect present.

-Emails that always included a minimum of three "Ha!'s" as she laughed at the events that life was throwing her way. Even the events that start with a "C" and rhyme with "Lancer." She never complained about it. Never showed fear of it. Always treated it like a side light to be dealt with but not mastered by.

The stories do not stop there. There are so many more. I did her grandmothers funeral. I did the funerals of her in-laws. At her request I did the funeral for a 10 year old little girl named "Anna" that lived next door to her and died way too young. And now on Saturday I will do her funeral. Honestly, I do not know what to say. Like every good pastor I have a well stocked and often used file of funeral sermons. But they will stay in their digital file cabinet this weekend. You see, I have to talk about my friend. And someway, somehow, I have to help my other dear friend, her husband Dave, find hope in the midst of pain. I cannot for the life of me figure out how to do that. When his future consists of coming home after work to their dream home, decorated by his bride, with food in the cabinets that she purchased. How do you get through that? For that matter, how do you help someone else get through that?

Lynda lived life with passion. Joy was her friend. She knew her cancer was very serious and very dangerous and yet she seldom spoke of it. It was, for her, an obstacle to be navigated around. It turns out it was an iceberg to be sailed into. Which reminds me that in our last email we talked about a cruise that she, Dave, Debbie and I had talked about taking in 2010. But there will be no ship. No ocean. No cruise.

In one of the last emails she sent me she said, " I don't feel happy right now. Hate that. I like to live my life in my happy place but can't seem to find it these days. Have you seen it??????????????? Not on the GPS currently. " Tonight I know that Lynda has found her happy place. She is home. How do I know that with confidence?

Two nights ago, when we believed that all was well and she would be home by the weekend, Debbie and I went to bed. In the middle of the night she had a dream. She was in her class room with her students. Lynda walked in. She invaded Debbie's dream. Debbie was surprised in the dream to see her. Even in the dream she knew she was out of place. She said, "Lynda!" And Lynda said, "I'm okay. I'm in the arms of Jesus." Debbie told me the story the next morning. I assured her that Lynda was fine, the doctors said the danger was passed and it was just her own brain playing out its fear. Two hours later Dave called me with the horrible news. The unexpected truth ... that had occurred in the middle of the night. Just about the time Debbie was having her dream.

A gift from God. A last visit by a dear sister who just stopped by on her way to heaven. I don't really have any answers about how that works. But I believe it. So does Debbie. So does Dave. Don't bother trying to tell us otherwise. It will be fruitless.

Tonight she is okay. She is in the arms of Jesus.

But I'm not at all sure that the rest of us are doing that well. How fragile we are.

Lynda being "pick pocketed" by The Amazing Elle

Everybody Deserves To Be Loved

What is it about being at 30,000 + feet that makes me want to write?

Debbie and I are on the final leg of a journey that took us from our “love hovel” in the St. Louis ‘burbs to visit her dad and step-mother-in-law in the Richmond ‘burbs. We are truly “burben.” It’s been a great trip. One of the memorable ones. The weather was good three out of four days. Debbie’s step-mom is winning a battle with breast cancer. She was tired but doing well. Hey, if ever you have a right to tiredness it’s after a round of chemo therapy.

But that’s not really the point.

Somewhere along the way in the last few years I’ve begun to question “love.” I don’t doubt its existence or that I have experienced it frequently on my earthly journey. Still, I seem to have traversed a period where things in general have been ... harsh. There has been plenty of frustration. A fair amount of angry people. And over-all I’ve just seen a lot of things that I don’t really want to see. Ever. Not again. “Good” can turn “mean” in an instant. “Trusting” can turn “accusing.” Friendship can fade. What you once believed to be solid can prove itself sponge. I’ve found my motives called into question so many times that I’ve begun to question them myself. The Hand of God has been frequently visible but His voice has often been quiet. Less than a whisper. More like a memory. A very desired memory.

If you are reading this and thinking I am talking about you the odds are tremendously high that I am not. So relax. Read or don’t. My job is to write.

The point of this trip we are wrapping up is love. Hopefully it has been love in a pure form. I hope we have given it freely though it has come at a cost. Nothing is free in the world of commerce. Still, if I have learned anything over these trying episodes it is to always err on the side of love. Even if nobody believes that is what you are doing. Love anyway. Even if they attack your motivations. Love anyway. And so when weighing financial considerations against the desire to love without reservation ... indeed without “counting the cost” ... we voted on love. My in-laws are probably reading this and I wish they were not but I have to write it anyway.

Everybody deserves to feel loved. I do not know where I was sitting or what I was doing when it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps I (we) needed to show them that they are a loved and cherished part of our family. They have been to my home multiple times since I have been to theirs. I am ashamed to admit that. But I do admit it. I have not done a good job of showing love. Honestly, what better time to show someone that you care deeply for them than when they are sick? What better time to break your habitual absence than when they might just be in need of a hug? There is an answer to that question. It is not rhetorical. The appropriate answer is “at every opportunity.”

When it comes to love, I fear that I have not been very opportunistic. I have no plea but guilt. No excuse but ignorance. I have made an art form out of speaking before I think, acting before I consider, and living to draw attention to the wrong thing. I have forgotten that humor can coexist with gentleness, fun with kindness, and that I most often receive when I am focused on giving.

And for the fact that it took chemo therapy to remind me of that, I do nothing but repent.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #32

Today I ...

-Woke up at 9:15 (EDT). Sweet!
-Realized I was in Richmond, Virginia and had a sudden craving for tobacco. Odd. I've never used any in my entire life. I resisted. I won. (Thanks to "The Patch.")
-Got a wasp stuck up the sleeve of my t-shirt and got stung 4 times resulting in numb fingers and a shoulder playing the "1812 Overture."
-Mowed my father-in-law's HUGE yard (we are talking acres here) with his nifty zero-turn-radius mower. Had a blast.
-Found a concrete slab with the hand print and initials of my son and my brother-in-law left there when my son was about ... 10 years old. I had "A Moment."
-Found out that Lama's really do spit. No joke. They do.
-Had another encounter with a wasp as I was putting the mower away. He got me twice on the leg before I even knew he was there. Today's score? Wasps - 6. Ron - 0. Not acceptable. I have numb toes and a swollen calf. (Not the animal kind. The leg kind.)
-Ate steak and 8 deviled eggs. Marveled at how "ate" and "8" sound the same and yet have totally different meanings.
-Talked to my real estate agent in Illinois who told me that I sounded oddly relaxed and that I must be having a nice vacation. Suddenly realized that I was.
-Drove 2 kids that I don't know around my father-in-laws property on a golf cart. I found that ball I lost back in 1987. Not really.
-Drove Bud The Dog around the grounds on the golf cart until he fell off. He looked at me like I had pushed him. I had not.
-Taught same two unknown children to salute the flag.
-Watched 15 minutes of Nascar and craved tobacco again. Currently looking for another "patch."
-Missed Costco.
-Threw a steak to "Bud the Dog" which never even came close to hitting the ground. Bud is "a dogs dog." If only he could kill wasps.
-Vacuumed a gazebo.
-Sat with my brother-in-law and made fun of our wives without their ever knowing. Until they read this blog. (If I do not blog again in a couple of days ... print this and take it to the Hanover County, Virginia Sheriffs Police.)
-Sweat.
-Prayed.
-Thought about how much I will miss Towerview Baptist Church tomorrow.
-Left in my rental car for an hour and no once noticed. I was pleased.
-Blogged.
-Said "good night, planet earth."

My brother-in-law fishes for bass

My brother-in-law fishes for bass. BIG bass.

That is all.

Stealing Sky Malls and Lusting After Waffles

I like to blog from way up in the air. Yeah, they just told me that my laptop is hovering 39,000 feet above … uh … well, they didn’t tell me where. Must be close to Indiana by now. The clouds are thin but the world is invisible. How many places can you go where the world is invisible? Last night I lay in my bed toying with the idea of sleep. I was in that sweet spot where the tension of the day had faded into the “who gives a darn” of the night. I thought about closing my eyes when a huge gust of wind hit my outside wall , coinciding with a clap of thunder that would make applauding angels jealous. We are talking loud here. But that puny little 70 mph gust can’t compare with the 500 + mph with which my current vehicle is rushing across the continent. We left St. Louis 45 minutes late but not to worry. We’ll land on time. The nice man in the big chair with the blue suit and plastic wings on his chest says so. I believe him. When I boarded I almost asked him if this was the plane that lands in the Hudson or the Chesapeake. I thought better of it. Sounds rather terroristic to me. Some things are best left unsaid.

It took me 53 years to learn that truth.

A young lady who lives far away from where she will sleep tonight just handed me .75 oz. of peanuts. HONEY ROASTED peanuts. This is what separates us from the rest of the world. Some dream of peanuts on the ground and ask “why?” I eat them in the air and ask “Why not?”

I have also pilfered three copes of Sky Mall” from the seat backs in front of me. The little sticker on them says it’s appropriate to take one and they will replace it. I read the sticker three times, which entitles me to three magazines. One for Topher. One for Scott. One for Jim. They will thank me. But they will not really order anything. That’s because they are married. When you are married you are allowed to read Sky Mall but you are not allowed to purchase anything in it. It’s a shame really. They have truly good stuff. Like real motorized “bumper boats” for your pool. No matter that they don’t have pools. Just owning your own bumper boat would be a great reward in itself. It’s alright if you don’t understand. But if you don’t … I’m betting you are a girl.

Baltimore is calling. Enterprise is waiting. Washington D.C. is in the way. Richmond is open late. I wonder if they have a Waffle House?

My Stuff

I was just crunching numbers in my head and realized that I've spent the last 19 months living in 3 different apartments. That's not a really big deal. Then it occurred to me, I have not lived on the ground in 19 months. That gave me an entirely new perspective on the issue. I've lived on the 9Th floor facing a huge lake. I've lived on the 3rd floor facing a huge lake. And I now live on the 3rd floor facing what will eventually be a corn field. I've noticed some coyote's prowling about in that field lately. Thank God they aren't dingo's. Lot's of kids in the neighborhood. I wonder if the lack of altitude will affect me. Maybe the nose bleeds will stop and the heart palpitations. Okay, I'm kidding about all of that. Calm down.

If God were to say to me, "Hey Ron! I want you to live in an apartment for the rest of your life!" I could easily say, "Okie dokie. No problem, God!" I mean, I don't live in a grass hut, a mud and cardboard shack, or a tenement slum. All of my apartments have been nice. No complaints. Well, there were some amazing snow storms coming in off that big old lake but you've already heard those stories. Did I mention that it got down to -14 degrees on that lake shore this past winter? I did? Never mind then.

Then I remember "my stuff." Throughout these months most of my "stuff" has been in the house it took me a year to sell or in the basement of some of my bestest friends, Bob and Cindy. And occasionally, when reaching for my undies or socks in my Tupperware type dresser, I remember my real dresser. It's all wood and shiny and really, really heavy. And I go, "Hey! I miss my stuff!" Then I feel a little bit guilty. I think about my hammock and they way it feels when it's tied between two trees and I go, "Hey! I miss my stuff!" And I feel even guiltier. I miss my bricks. I don't expect you to understand that but I have these bricks that are really important, memory-filled bricks. One is from Old Comiskey Park where the White Sox use to play. My dad use to take me to ball games behind that brick. We walked under it together but we didn't know it at the time. One is from the outfield wall at Wrigley Field. One is my "paver brick" that's got my name on it and the date of the first time I took my kids to Wrigley Field. It's a replica of the real one that's on a patio there at the ball park. My kids bought it for me. Very cool. There's just lots of "stuff" and I think when I open the boxes again in a few weeks it will be a little bit like Christmas morning. I'm sure I've got "stuff" that I've even forgotten that I own.

Which brings me to the fact that I bought a house. Did I mention that? I did. It's a "Villa" which means I share a wall with a neighbor. She is a solider in the United States Air Force. She has a 2 year old little boy. I think he and I are going to be best friends. She has a gun so I'll probably be very polite around them. Anyway, It's like a condo only I have to mow my own lawn and shovel my own driveway. I really, really like it. From the outside it looks rather small but when you open the front door and go in, it's like ... WHAM! It opens up really quickly. It's actually bigger than the house that we raised our kids in. I have no idea why we bought a house so large except that the price was right and we prayed and God kept pointing at it like He was saying, "Hey, buy this one! I saved it for you!" In reality I actually believe that He did exactly that. More about that in a later blog. The house has one of my favorite things ... a wood burning fire place. And a finished basement. And a special hidden away room with no windows that I'm going to turn into a secret office that nobody knows about. Not even Debbie. I mean, she'll know I'm in there doing who knows what but it will be SO off-limits to her. It's going to be my "Man Cave." Pictures will never be published so don't wait around.

So that's my confession for the day. I miss my stuff. I can live without it. But it will be neat to have it again. After living a little sparsely for nearly 2 years most of it might wind up on e-bay. Bid high. I'll have a mortgage soon.

The Guggenheim for (nearly) 3 year olds

My Friend Mike

I have a friend named Mike. We've been buds for a very long time. Maybe like, oh, 30 years. When we met I was a youth pastor in Clarendon Hills, IL. Mike worked for the Illinois Baptist State Association. He worked for the part of that organization that helped youth pastors be better at what they do. And I am sure he did a great job of it. Yet I don't recall anything that Mike ever taught me about youth pastoring. We just didn't talk about it much. In retrospect I realize that his agenda was higher than the one he was paid to carry out. Mike did something much more important than teaching me strategies and procedures.

Mike loved me.

I hold this odd distinction in the wonderful world of ministry. I've been a pastor of one sort or another all of my adult life. I actually began this journey of servant hood at the not-so-ripe age of 19. The first pastor I "worked for" got mad at me when I quit. He thought it was a personal insult. But the reason I quit was because, well, he was nuts. I think the poor guy was way over-medicated on something. At times we would be the only people in the building and he wouldn't speak to me. Then he started accusing me of saying things very controversial about him at meetings I was not even at. So it was time to leave. After I left, the church fired him. He refused to leave their "parsonage." As a matter-of-fact, he started a new mission in it. I call that "loony." They had to get a court order to make him vacate.

My next pastor ... well, my next pastor got caught with his secretary. (That wouldn't happen these days because somewhere along the way they began calling them "Administrative Assistants." So it's impossible to get caught with your "secretary.") The guy who took his place got mad at me when I resigned a few years later. (That made two out of three pastors who became angry at me when I quit. No biggie. Later on I found out that sometimes they actually encourage you to quit. It's a weird phenomenon but one I learned to live with.) He became so angry that he went and got the latest copy of the church history and then he got a sharpie and then he crossed my name out every where it appeared. I served there for four years and today they have no record that I ever existed. This man had a PhD. For stupid people like me that means he had a doctorate. He was brilliant and I was stupid. Yet he "got even with me" by striking my name from all historical records. I thought that was rather immature but what do I know? (These days I sit "in the big chair" in our church. I like my youth pastor. My Administrative Assistant is safe. I don't keep sharpies in my desk. All is well.)

But I think you are picking up a pattern here, are you not? I have a history of relationships with people I do ministry with becoming a bit dysfunctional. And that's why it meant so much to me that Mike decided to love me. We did a lot of things together. He, five other youth pastors, and I pulled a cross once from Marion, Illinois to Springfield, Illinois. We did it to draw attention to the fact that Jesus loves people. Each evening we stopped at a church or a school and held youth oriented services, complete with a band and a speaker. Lots of kids showed up. It was March and I remember it being very, very cold outside. But inside the deeper parts of me it was tremendously warm. There's just nothing like serving with brothers. Some years later Mike resigned his position and he asked me to take over the leadership of our state associations huge two day youth event held between Christmas and New Years. I asked him why in the world he would want ME to do that. Plenty of other people had better qualifications. His answer left me humbled with a dry mouth and a spinning head. Mike said, "I'm asking you to do it because I know you don't want to. Everybody else wants to. I want somebody who has the sole motivation of serving Jesus." I had to say "yes" after that. I will never forget that twenty-six kids got saved at that event.

After that Mike and I kept in touch as often as possible. Sometimes we could meet in person, sometimes merely by telephone. But we never lost touch. He came to town last week and called me up to ask me to meet him for lunch. I would have walked the twenty miles to that restaurant if necessary. I knew what Mike's motivation for wanting to meet with me was. He wanted to check on me. He wanted to love me. No way I was missing that lunch date.

Mike is a full fledged Jew. He wears the little beanie on his head but these days it's covered by an Australian bush hat. With Mike there is no reason to ask why. You just accept it as it is and laugh. You see, Mike is a renegade. He's unique. Only he hears the drums that ring in his hears. He has been that way as long as I've known him and I'm pretty certain he will never change. I surely hope not. He spent several years as the Rabbi of a Messianic Jewish synagogue. When we talk about those days his eyes light up with passion. And today Mike lives a life of wonderful retirement. He and his wife own a place just southwest of Colorado Springs. His gaze became distant as he told me how his living room window is a perfect frame for "Pikes Peak." In his free time he rides his mountain bike and climbs 14,000 foot mountains. Did I mention that he's 71 years old? He's got me by 18 years and I have to stop and catch my breath when I climb a mere 14 feet to my apartment perch on the third floor.

It's nice to be loved. It's even better when you know that the person loving you doesn't have to. He's doing it simply because he's a rabbi with a passionate heart for Jesus and Jesus kids. I could write stories about Mike all night but I think I'll just say this. He's my friend and I'm very glad.

Elle Sings The Oldies