The Katie Chronicles: The Truth Must Be Told

Well, my precious niece, Katie, has returned home to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Today I put her on a jet and she flew from St. Louis to Baltimore. That's in Maryland. From there she boarded the next flight to Milwaukee. Do not ever allow Katie to be your travel agent.

But now that she has departed the comforts of my home it is time for the truth to be told. Yes, Katie has some deep and abiding secrets that must see the light of day. Perhaps it will set her free from the inner torment of her own demons (small "d.") And so, as I promised her on the trip to the airport, I am revealing her dirty laundry to the world tonight. I hope you have the stomach for it.

-Katie is hot for John Wilkes Booth. Yes, the same John Wilkes Booth that assassinated President Lincoln. I don't know anything I can say to make that better. It is what it is.


-Katie likes to break restaurant furniture. Here she holds the back of her chair from a Qdobe on Grand Avenue in St. Louis. It's a tough neighborhood but Katie is tougher. I mean, catch that look on her face. Ruthless.


Katie tells her parents that she does not have a job. She lies. Katie is a pimp. This is how she was dressed when she got off the plane from Milwaukee last Friday. Need I say more?


Being a good Catholic, Katie believe in the sprinkling form of baptism. Here she practices on her uncle Jim.


Perhaps most disturbingly Katie has an odd attraction to paper mache sumo wrestlers. The following photo speaks for itself.


In addition, though I have no photographic verification to back these claims up, I can also tell you that a she is also hot for Alec Baldwin. She enjoys throwing the occasional tooth brush into the toilet. She is quite capable of eating 8 Krispy Kreme Donuts in one morning. Vanilla Coke is flowing through her veins. She likes to date over-the-road truck drivers. She seems to have a thing for Bosnians. She gets nervous in theaters, fantasizing that her chair is about to blow up under her. Tivo is her best friend and I'm betting it will be the name of her next dog. She is easily duped and believes that the "Hollywood" nightclub in East St. Louis is actually a bumper car emporium. Basements freak her out. And finally she is incapable of lying because she is so ruthless in her telling of the truth.

And these are just a few of the reasons why her Old Uncle Ron (better known as O.U.R.) loves her so much.

Katie, thank you for coming to visit us. I had more fun hanging out with you than I've had in a looooooong time! I know that I'm so old (in your eyes) that I'm nearly dead but thanks for letting me share the time with you, a mere punk kid, and enjoy being a kid again myself for a few days. I really needed the break. It was priceless. But for the record we really should have gone and visited "The Tree." Your loss.

Now be nice to me or I'll tell the world the one thing I promised not to tell. Yes ... that one thing. (We have a mutual annihilation pact but I'm quite willing to pull the trigger first.)

Hot Dog Goodness With A Sick Sort Of Twist

I am not a cook. I can't tell a frying pan from a crock pot. But I scored BIG tonight thanks to a meal that I ate at The Iron Barley in St. Louis recently. Yum. Here's how you do it...

Split and cook your self up some good old American hot dogs...


Next butter up some open hot dog buns and then grill 'em...


Now get an appropriate scowl from your spouse ...


Ignore her skepticism and put some sliced up swiss cheese on the fried up dogs and some strawberry jam, (yes, strawberry jam) on the buns...


Stack everything where it belongs...


Add appropriate trimmings suited to your own tastes...


Feed aforementioned skeptical wife ...


Reward yourself for a job well done...


Repeat as needed.

If I Were The "House" Version Of A Pastor ...

-I would use my cane to slap at little children and then give them the children's sermon of a lifetime. They would all repent even before they knew what sin was. Their parents would scowl at me at first and then carry me out of the church on their shoulders because now their kids would never do drugs or have sex outside of marriage.

-I would use a special "Ministry X-Ray Machine" to look into peoples brains and see what they are REALLY thinking. Then I'd crack jokes about their secret sins in Sunday morning sermons. Everybody would know who I was talking about but wouldn't say it out loud because they knew I was right and that my scorn would be directed at them next.

-I would treat my staff like morons ... they are not but I would treat them that way ... and they would thank me for it later because they spontaneously realize that I am always right and my sarcastic behavior was used only to get their attention and to make them be all that they can be.

-I would come in later in the morning than everyone else. Oh. Wait. I already do that.

-I would forsake shaving and develop that 2 day growth thing so that people would think I was tougher and manlier than they are. Which I am. If "they" are all "hers."

-I would only deal with the toughest of spiritual cases where people were sure to self-destruct if I didn't ride in to their rescue. But first I would make them feel terribly guilty for being in my office. Then, after I fixed them, I'd look 50% condescendingly and 50% kindly so that they wouldn't know If I was cocky or correct.

-I would develop a "laser look" indicative of my ability to gaze directly into a persons soul reducing them to rubbery kneed individuals desperately in need of pastoral care which I would then delegate to my Associate Pastor, much to his deep gratitude. (I know what you are thinking Mike. Shut up! ;) )

-I would put a glass door on my office but keep my feet on my desk so that people would all say "he looks like he's reading the National Enquirer but he must be working or he wouldn't have a glass door on his office."

My head hurts. I'm pretty sure it's a tumor. Or a cranial tape worm. Stay tuned.

K-K-K-Katie is C-C-C-Coming!

Katie is coming! That's right, my soon-to-be "corn rowed" niece (don't ask) is coming to town this Friday and will remain until the next Wednesday. And I am SO pumped! I love Katie because she's... she's ... insane. The last time she was in town I got her addicted to Vanilla Coke. Her life has not been the same since. Life in Milwaukee maybe a vanilla existence but it isn't generally added to Coke products and so I have promised to provide her with a vanilla IV while she's here.

Kate is a student at the University of Wisconsin in Milwaukee. She's Debbie's sisters daughter. That explains a lot. She grew up wearing lederhausen (I tried to spell that 6 times so if it's wrong just get over it) and dancing to German tunes with her parents and her sister, The Amazing Teresa. I'm not sure why but I suppose it's because her last name is Voitek which is most certainly German.

Katie gave me a tour of her dorm room at UW a few years ago. It was shortly after that that I gave up cleaning all together. I figure if she can get away with it then so can I. We toured the Joan of Arc Chapel together on her campus and managed to wrangle a special tour out of the resident Joan of Arc Guru. Very cool. Surprisingly, Katie is much taller than Joan was. And yet Katie has never won a war. Such a waste.

(By the way, that's not Joan of Arc she's hugging. I think it's Bret Favre.)

I have no idea how we are are going to spend the time. We'll be sharing her with Jim and Alisha, my brother-in-law and sister-in-law. But I'm the only one who sings to her "K-K-K-Katie! Beautiful, K-K-K-Katie! You're the only G-G-G-Girl that I adore! When the M-M-M-Moon shines ... over the C-C-C-Cow shed ... I'll be waiting at the K-K-K-Kitchen door!" So I'm absolutely certain I'm her favorite. How can you beat Vanilla Coke and cow sheds? Can't be done!

Why You Don't Turn Your Back On My Family

I am not safe all by myself

Now I remember why I got married. Debbie has been gone since Sunday. Oddly, it seems like it's only been a couple of days. God gave me this woman to keep me alive. Sane. (Sort of.) Operating like a finely oiled machine.

It's not that I don't know how to take care of myself. But when she's not around things just ... I don't know. They just happen. Maybe with her here I just don't need to pay as close attention as I do when she's away. She's the one who screams "TRUCK!" when I'm driving, singing, and playing "Slug Bug" with myself. There's true value in that.

Yesterday I decided to be the good husband and take down Christmas. All alone. That means there is nobody there to hear your screams when you are de-ornamentizing and the tree falls on you. Then I decided to clean up the mess I made while I was cleaning up. The more I clean the messier it had gotten. (How DOES that happen?) So after using a dry dust mop I squirted the polishy stuff on the floor before using the special space-age mopper head to make the hard wood all shiny. And slippery too. I decided to do my best Tom Cruise-slide-across-the-floor-singer imitation. I guess I ran too fast because I slid too far. I slid into the kitchen where the floor was not nearly as slippery. After I got up it only took a little pressure to stop the bleeding on the back of my head where I fell into the edge of the cabinet counter top. I had to take another shower to get the (wee little bit) of blood out of my hair and I decided to use the shower head that is on a hose in order to really get my hair blood free. Problem is, it hurt insanely (soap in a wound kind of hurt) causing me to drop the hosed shower head. If slipped outside of the shower curtain running full blast. So I decided to dry the floor and walls with a towel wrapped around my head. Well, I didn't actually use the towel wrapped around my head. I used a different towel. You know what I mean. That's when the door bell rang. I didn't answer it. I didn't even peek. The last time my doorbell rang was Christmas morning and it was the Jehovah's Witnesses coming to read me scripture because they don't celebrate the birth of Jesus. I find that ironic. Why do they want to read me scripture if they don't celebrate the birth of Jesus?

Today has been a pretty safe day. I drove without incident. I worked out and didn't fall off the treadmill. I brought in food rather than risking using the microwave. I built a fire this evening and it even stayed in the fireplace. Well. Most of it. I had the foresight to hook up a water hose outside and purchased a fire extinguisher for inside because chimney fires and I have history. I turned the TV off and pushed my mega chair (other wise known as "My Fuzzy Buddy") over in front of the fire. I was envisioning a really awesome fire-flickering quiet time alone with God. I woke up an hour later and God had gone on back down stairs to The Man Cave where I usually meet with Him. I would have gone down to check on Him but the stairs ... well, it was dark. And Debbie's not home. Staying upstairs just seemed prudent.

(The preceding blog contains undiluted truth and is guaranteed embellishment free. And I have an empty Tylenol bottle to prove it.)

Paisley's first Christmas gift EVER!

Silent Monks

I had nothing to do with this. A friend sent it to me. I found it quite worth sharing. Enjoy...

The 10 Best Things About Having "The Amazing Elle" Spend The Night

10 - I can act her age and get away with it.

9 - Watching her explore the ornaments on the Christmas tree.

8 - Listening to her say that she doesn't want to meet my friends only to find her in their arms 30 minutes later exposing them to "The Wisdom of Elle."

7 - Her sock hat. Only she can get away with a hat like that.

6 - Hearing her tell "local reindeer" what to tell Rudolph to tell Santa that she wants for Christmas.

5 - Telling her not to put a toy (esophagus size) bell near her mouth only to have her pretend that it's a cup and offer me a drink out of it and when I take it for the faux drink she tells me with very serious eyes that I really shouldn't put it by my mouth.

4 - Singing with her at bedtime. Only Elle can stand to hear me sing. She treats me like I'm John Mayer.

3 - Staring at her bare feet in the light of the Christmas tree. How can feet look innocent?

2 - Watching her shell peanuts at the "Texas Roadhouse" for the simple joy of throwing both shell and nut on the floor. When I asked her about it she said, "Yes! It's just like home!"

1 - "The Hug."

Ms. Elle Steals The Show

Winning The Game That Matters

Can I tell you something? I stink at writing lately. I've been "going back into time" on this little web site and reading some of the stuff that God gave me to say a few years ago. I've enjoyed reliving some of those experiences. And then I read what I write today and ... phew. Stink-o. Maybe it's a dry spell. Maybe I've just run out of words. I dunno. I'm struggling. We'll have to see what the future holds. But this little post just has to be written. It isn't very eloquent. It's clumsy and sounds full of braggadocio. I don't mean it that way. I'm sorry about that. Really I am. The words just are not flowing. But it has to be written ...

I've only played in one really BIG ball game in my life. I was on the church softball team back around 1980 and we were playing for the championship of the southern baptist churches in the Chicago area. Last game. Last inning. We were up 7 - 4 over an inner city team. Looked like the suburbs were finally going to rule.

And then our one and only pitcher totally blew apart. The poor guy only had one thumb and it wasn't on his pitching hand. When he started walking people we knew we had to do something but honestly, he's the only guy we had who had thrown a strike all season. We lost the game 8 - 4. That was nearly 30 years ago and it still hurts. It's bad enough to lose a ball game. But to lose "The Mother of All Ball Games" is far worse. We had not lost a game until the championship finals. Then we crashed and burned in a way very reminiscent of most Chicago baseball.

Oh well.

That isn't what I really want to write about anyway. Not even close. You see, that game actually wasn't that big of a deal. Not in the eternal scheme of things. And it's only the eternal things that really counts.

I was on the treadmill at the gym this week when I got a text message from my youngest son. I wasn't setting any record pace so when my cell phone lit up indicating I was being looked for I didn't hesitate to pick it up and read it. It simply read he was leaving his current job and has been hired for a ministry position at his church.

That probably means a whole lot more to me than it does to you. Even those of you who know Christopher well. I mean, I raised him from a pup. And when I got this text I realized that in an extraordinary fashion God has worked a wonder in our family that I not only never dreamed he would work ... but that never even occurred to me that He might want to work. It seems that all three of our kids are now serving in a "career fashion" in ministry. I lost my balance and nearly fell off the tread mill. It isn't pride. It has nothing to do with that. It's ... shock. Brokenness. A deep sense of humble thankfulness. How did this happen? How did God reach in to our little home and move through all of the mistakes that were made by the parents and work this incredible work in the lives of our kids? I mean, all three of them were great infants/preschoolers/kids/teenagers/young adults. But ... all we did was give Him our home and try to stay out of His way. Yes, we prayed for them every day. Usually multiple times each day. We did our best to point them to Jesus and to show them integrity and faithfulness in our spiritual walk. But we just did not do that good a job.

And then the light kicked on in my brain. We really had nothing to do with it. It's God. My parents were good parents but they did not go to great lengths to make certain my brother and I were in church or taking it all too seriously. And yet we both grew up to be youth pastors and then pastors. My mom and dad would be the first to tell you that it was just "a God thing." And now I understand that. It's a God thing.

And yet it brings tears of gratefulness to my eyes. Serving God has been the greatest experience and joy of my life. I am humbled to be able to say that a lot of young men and women that walked through the youth groups God allowed me to lead are in ministry around the country these days. And that means more to me than I can possibly say.

But this. This is just off the charts. This just takes my breath away. I can't over state it. In the "ball games of life" this was the seventh game of the World Series. This was the Super Bowl. And because of God's decision, God's faithfulness, God's kindness .... we won. It's quite odd but I think that I can say if I screw up the rest of life (which I have no intention of doing) I'll be able to live with myself because ... we won our kids. They "get it." Life is about serving. Serving God by serving others. It is about loving your neighbor as you love yourself. It is about loving God with all of your heart, mind, soul, and strength.

Honestly, all I can do is kneel before my Maker and say, "Thank you." Because we truly did nothing worthy of causing this. But we'll take the win. This was the game that matters

All Question Marks and a Period

Why do you think God designed the sky to be blue? Do you suppose it was to match the ocean which He intended to be deep and pure and cleansing? Could it be that God wants us to experience His depth, purity, and cleansing every time we look up or down?

Why do you suppose God made electricity? Do you suppose it is to define "Power" by splitting the sky with lightening, filling our homes with warmth, and propelling our machinery with energy? Is it possible that God wants to teach us of His strength by splitting our sky, warming our souls, and propelling us to serve Him by serving others?

Why do you suppose God created the sneeze? Do you suppose it was to cleanse our systems of impurities, quicken our pulse rates, and alert us to the dangerous of unbreathable air? What if God wants to remind us to clean our hearts of sinful desires, cause our hearts to pound as we grow to be more like Him, and become hyper-alert to the things in our environment that make us less than Christ-like?

All of life is an illustration used by God to bring us closer to Him.

Stupid Picture Chronicles #42

If I were this guys Yorkie I might be a wondering what happens when he runs out of Sushi...

Do Not Fear

"Do Not Fear" is mentioned in the bible 365 times. Could it be that God knew every day of the year we would be afrai..... nah.

Dad

I can still smell him. To me he smelled like his job. He owned his own company, a storm door and window venture based in the suburbs of Chicago. He was a simple man by nature but complex by experience. He took his 4th grade education and turned it into a self guided career that allowed him to retire on his savings and social security at the age of 62. He had a retirement house built halfway between two ozark lakes in north central Arkansas. He purchased a speed boat and thrilled his grand children by ushering them around those huge lakes filled with cobalt blue waters. He loved to work for himself using his hands and the tools he accumulated over the years. He built things that he had no right to know how to build. I have no idea how he learned to do those things. He just did.

He was a good dad. I did not realize at the time just how good he was. It was not until I became a dad myself that I realized how hard he worked to take care of and provide for his family. I can remember him going to work, always an outdoors event for my dad, when I was a small child on mornings when it was -20 degrees. He just bundled up and went. Somedays he worked 7 day a week. Whatever it took, he did.

Because he worked on the installation of storm doors and windows he smelled like caulking, lumber, aluminum, gasoline, and in the summer, sweat. He wore tall leather boots, pinstriped overalls, and sometimes a ball cap. He never complained about how hard he worked but he never hid it either. When he needed rest we all knew it because his laughter faded to crankiness. In my younger days I remember him laughing more. He loved country music including goofy ozark style "hee haw" tunes. I hated them but it always cracked me up to see him enjoy them. He bought a huge stereo cabinet complete with turntable and radio. It was about 6 feet long and made of some sort of dark hardwood. He loved that stereo. I sometimes wonder what he would think of todays Ipod culture. I think he would miss the dressiness of the wood, the beauty of the cabinetry.

My earliest memories of my dad include sitting on his lap on Sunday mornings in Detroit while he read the cartoons to me. I'm sure I bugged him until he gave in became my reader. Dad loved to drive and had impeccable taste in cars. The first one I remember was his pink and white 1957 Chevy. He eventually traded that in for a white 1964 Chevy Impala Super Sport. He had a knack for choosing a classic.

Dad was far from perfect. He seldom said, "I love you" first. But you never doubted his love. He seldom grabbed you and hugged you but if you hugged him he always hugged you back. He took me to many White Sox games at Old Comiskey Park but never one at Wrigley Field. He just didn't do the north side. I watched dad race from his garage one day to defend a friend of mine from the neighborhood bully as the bullies father screamed for him to "scratch his eyes out." Dad stood toe to toe with the man and told him that he was going to do to him whatever his boy did to my friend. And I know that he would have had the man not pulled his son away and retreated homeward with their tails between their legs. I was never prouder of my dad than I was at that moment.

I could write forever about my dad. He has been gone nearly 10 years now. I miss him more every day. I think, perhaps, that is a thing that God has planned out in order to prepare us for the coming reunion. Today I have worn his wedding ring all day long. It is all I have left of him. Except for my memories. The memories are far more valuable than the ring.

And today he would have been 90 years old. That is unfathomable. Unbelievable. And yet true. Somehow I think that he would be more of a man at 90 than I could possibly be at any age.

Size Matters

Several of us were looking at a jigsaw puzzle of the world tonight after church. It's 32 inches wide. I made some smart remark about wondering what the "scale" was between the puzzle and the real planet earth.

Teachable moment: never wonder aloud about something like that in the presence of a proud member of The United States Air Force (AKA: Adam Page.) I received the following mathematical equation on my facebook page about an hour later.

Puzzle Diameter = 32 inches
Earths Diameter at the equator 7,926.28 miles
First convert miles to feet 7926.28 X 5280 = 41,850,758.4
Then feet to inches 41850758.4 X 12 = 502,209,100.8 is earth’s diameter in inches at the equator
So the scale of the puzzle is 32/502209100.8 OR 1/15,694,034.4ths approximately

I present this to you simply because the world needs to know it ain't no big deal.

Gratitude - An Open Letter To God

I own too much stuff. My closet is stuffed, my drawers are over full, my "toys" remain uncounted. And all of this is true after selling a house which required filling a huge dumpster to over flowing and moving four times in two years. I've donated to the trash man, the Good Will store, and numerous anonymous "dump your used clothes here" boxes on street corners.

And I still have too much stuff.

Those things have very little to do with my gratitude. They don''t even come into play when I think about what matters to me the most.

But I am the leper that often forgets to come back to You, The Healer, and say "Thank You." I am the dead guy that You brought back to life and I spend so much time dancing in joy that I forget to utter the all important words that You must long to hear...

I think that the simple words "thank you" mean a lot. They need to be said. Yet they roll off of my tongue almost without thought. They are mere courtesy designed to dismiss my debt.

Let me cut in front on you in traffic when I turn my blinker on and I wave "thank you."

Ring me up at the "Quick Mart" and toss a penny in from the "give a penny/take a penny" tray so that I don't get a pocket full of jingling change and I say "thank you."

Hold the door for me because I have my hands full of food or drinks from some fast food establishment and I say "thank you."

So how can it be that leaving the wonders of Heaven and dying in my place to save my eternal soul from ever lasting separation from You and never ending punishment is worthy of the same "thank you?" How is that not more important than letting me cut in, tossing me a nearly meaningless piece of change, or holding the door for me?

Whips. Thorns. Spit. Nails. Hammers. Wooden beams. Blood shed. And all I can come up with is "thank you?"

I owe you everything and I give you so little. The only thing deeper than my shame is my gratitude.

Habenero Shots

Ever wonder what would happen if you should stroll into Q-dobe just before closing, order up a "Naked Burrito" and then dare the two young adults to down a "shot" of Habanero salsa? (Habanero peppers are believed to be the second hottest pepper in the world and the hottest in the Americas.) I decided to find out. So after ordering up my dinner I asked them innocently what their hottest salsa was. They pointed out this bubbling cauldron of awful looking lumpy liquid. I told them that any Q-dobe employee worth cooking up my burrito would surely be able to chug a small cup full. They strolled up to the condiment area and told me, "No problem-o" And the popped the shots. The results are in the faces...


It was a VERY good night.

I got it at Jarod!

About 8 years ago I was propped up in bed late one night messing around on e-bay. I came across a Ferguson Jenkins autographed jersey. Fergie was one of my childhood heroes in the years when he pitched for the Cubs. I accidentally purchased it for $95.00. Yes, accidentally. Don't ask. Debbie didn't leave any lasting marks in my beating the next day. These small things in life matter. The old Cubs uniform top showed up a few days later commemorating Fergie's strike-out totals, career wins, and year elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame. All in his own handwriting.

The jersey occupied a lowly place in a dresser drawer for years. And then I met Jarod. He's a buddy of mine, goes to my church, and loves people. He, his wife Caitlin (pronounced "CaitLINN." She likes it when you emphasis the last syllable. Really she does.) and daughter, Lyla, have become great friends very quickly. Well I mentioned my jersey to Jarod a couple of weeks ago. He took it home with him. The guy is a total genius when it comes to woodworking. I mean G-E-N-I-U-S. And tonight he showed up at my house with this ....

Wow. I mean ... WOW. I have the coolest man-cave ever. And best of all? I got it at Jarod!

Oh, and I have to include this picture of Jarod and Adam Page. I'm pretty sure they were debating whether or not I'd notice if they hung it upside down. I tell you, I don't get no respect.


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And now a word from our non-sponsor. If you are in need of cabinet making or wood working this guy is way good. His prices are way reasonable (but remember, he does have to feed his family!) Let me know if you want him and I'll connect you.

America's Most Wanted ... Elle

Having been listed featured on "America's Most Wanted" she asked me to send her response to the authorities.