Stupid Picture Chronicles #47

Ya'll drive careful now! Ya hear!
Rush hour in Highland, Illinois.

The Great Donut Harvest Of '10

It works. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Planting Donut Seeds ... Memories in Sugar

Tonight Elle and I planted Donut seeds. Yes, you read that correctly. Donut seeds. We've already reaped a crop of four donuts and I expect more in the morning. What? You find this hard to believe? See for yourself...

I gotta get me one of these...

Click on the video for a better/wider view.

If I Ruled The World - Part 2 (today's rants)

- Everybody has to drive the Popular Street Bridge in downtown St. Louis for a month. Survivors will be allowed back into the general population.


- Skimping on carbonation in fountain soda wins you 3/4 of a normal ration of oxygen per day. Hey ... if it doesn't burn going down it doesn't count.

- Forcing people to pay to park in a garage connected to a hospital results in hospital administrators paying to park at the grocery store, shopping mall and , oh what the heck, stop lights.

- Throwing your "butts" out of your car window gets your butt thrown out of your car window. (I don't really need to explain this, do I?)

- Not paying your employees enough to work at your restaurant (thus forcing them to rely on my tip to put diapers on the baby) will result in your giving them your restaurant. Fair 'nuff.

OH PLEASE let me be in charge...

Tonights Guest Blogger; Mrs. Laura Woods. My daughter-in-law.

I read my daughter-in-law's blog tonight and there is simply no way I can top it. So I am introducing her as my guest blogger for the evening. And I think this just may be my favorite picture of my granddaughter, Elle. Enjoy ...
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This is my niece Elle. She turned 4 last week. This is her new “bell bike” as she likes to say. Not because it has Belle from the movie on it, but because it has a bell she can ring to tell other bikers that she is also now biking. At least that’s what she told me.

Elle is so happy. She helps me remember the amazing joyful imaginative newness of being 4. You can’t keep her down. Not to say she doesn’t have her moments, as does any 4 year old. But then she just ends up right back here. With the wind in her tassels and the sun on her cheeks just waiting to pop out some freckles.

I kind of love her. A lotta bit. As if you couldn’t tell. She’s gonna make a great older cousin to help Judah get in all kinds of mischief.

i.can’t.wait.

If I Ruled The World

- You spill oil in the gulf? You suck it up. You can't suck it up? We give your gas away for free.

-Ribs once a week. It's the law.

- Tailgating would automatically trigger the backward facing Stinger Missile in the trunk of the car in front of you.

- Those headlights that are like ... bluish and retina melting? 20 years in Leavenworth.

- You break your leg celebrating your own game winning grand slam? Walk it off. You can't walk it off? After you heal you spend the rest of your career with 6th grader as your "pinch runner." Oh, and you split your salary with him/her 50/50.

- You don't mow your lawn on a weekly basis? Your neighbors get to mow it for you and then put all of your stuff in a "garage sale." All proceeds go to off-set the loss your presence on the block causes to their property value. Oh. And they get to tattoo a bright red "M" on your forehead (for "Mow-ron.")

- You serve cold french fries at your fast food restaurant? You go door to door in Idaho for a year and explain why you did it. In your underwear.

- You text and drive? Automatic hour in the boxing ring with Oprah. Only your hands are duck taped behind your back and she is on Meth. Oh, and your in your underwear.

- Sagging pants? You lose 'em. Yeah, you get a skirt instead. And if your skirt sags you get leotards. Red ones with runs in them. And NO underwear.

- Full body scanners at every airport. You don't want to use them? Go Greyhound.

Oh, how I wish I ruled the world. I'm just getting started ...

Getting Ripped For Heaven

I didn't want to do it. I did it anyway. Sometimes it feels right and good. Sometimes it hurts. I was pretty certain that today was going to fall into the latter category. But I threw my gym bag in the car, dropped the top, and drove to the gym anyway. Why? Well. Because I was suppose to. Because I'm eating relatively little in order to drop a few pounds and it isn't working. Because I pay them $29 a month and I should take advantage of it. Because I told Debbie that I was going to and I thought it would just be a shame if she collected on my life insurance too early.

So I got there, scanned my membership card, changed clothes and went to make myself sweaty and miserable. I hit about 10 weight machines and climbed onto some aerobic equipment. This is the part I hate. Because it is boring. There are 6 or 7 flat screen TV's on the wall. You can plug your head phones into a little gizmo on your machine and tune in any of the TV's you want. There is a room called "The Cardio Cinema" where you can watch a full length, huge screen, surround sound movie in the dark while working out. And I still get bored.

There is something wrong with me. I already know. No need to point it out.

When I was finished I changed again, slid into the hot tub and the pool. Rough life, huh?

It was in the shower of all places when it hit me. The gym I go to is a Golds Gym. You've probably seen their logo. It's the figure of a bulked up guy holding a bar with dumb bells on each end. The weights are so heavy the bar is bowing. The guy isn't bowing. He's bulging. I stood there with soap in my eyes and I whispered out loud ... "No way. It ain't gonna happen." I've been going to one gym or another since I was in my early 30's. I use to run. I use to lift more than I do now. I've used every kind of aerobic machine you've ever heard of. And after all of these years I finally understood the truth.

No matter what I do ... I am NEVER going to look like that guy. No way. No how. I am always going to look normal. Why? I was never willing to give all that it would have taken to bulk up like that. Honestly, I wasn't there for that purpose. I'm still not. I'm just trying to make sure I leave an old corpse rather than a middle aged one. I'm just trying to make sure I'll be able to actually LIFT my grandchildren rather than just look at them and have them push me around in a chair that has big wheels. Some of the men walking around the work out area really do look like the God's Gym guy. I look more like today's version of Chevy Chase. (Sorry, Chevy.) But more and more ... I'm good with that.

For me, First Timothy 4: 8 puts it all in perspective. It says, "For physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come." I want to bulk up on godliness. I want to be all that God wants me to be. One prayer that I have prayed for decades is, "God, do whatever you want to do in my life today to make me the man You want me to be." When God began answering that prayer ... I stopped praying it. Because I found out that it hurt. A lot. But lately I've been praying it again. I guess I've just realized that, hey, if I turn back now .... well, I've run about 5/8ths (6/8ths?) of a marathon and then I sat down on the curb and ate some ice cream. Who would do that? Am I really that stupid? Sometimes, yeah. I am. But I'm trying to break myself of it.

Usually when I get in the shower I just get wet and soap gets in my eyes and then I have a good Herbal Essence cry. Today I got more than I bargained for. I got a reminder of what I am not. And I got a reminder of what I am.

And honestly? I wouldn't trade. Cause in heaven ... baby I want to be ripped.

A picture of love

They were an aging couple when I spotted them. They were older than I am but younger than I will be in 15 years. They were going up the escalator and I was going down. They were entering the hospital and I was leaving. They could have been anybody. As a matter-of-fact, they WERE anybody. I would not recognize them now if they walked into my living room. And yet there was something different about them. She was on the step above him and she talked on the cell phone. I imagined she was talking to a close friend that was a nurse or a medical expert of some sort. I think she needed advice. She looked straight ahead but her body was turned toward the left. And he, a step below, leaned into her chest. His eyes were closed, his head buried into her. Standing on a lower step allowed a minimum of hunkering down on his part in order to fit perfectly into this place of comfort.

You know how escalators are. You go up. They go down. They go up. You go down. You see people across from you for a moment and never again. But this couple remained in my mind as I walked through the parking garage. It was easily in excess of 100 degrees down there. You could taste the air. It was dark and heavy. But all of those feelings and sensations escaped me as the scene on the moving stairs played itself out in my brain again and again. He was sick. She was well. She was bringing him to a specialist at this world renown hospital. He was tired of fighting. She was resolved to get him help. All of his senses were geared toward just getting there and sitting down. All of hers were geared, laser-like, toward getting her husband back. He was not giving up but he was clinging to her for direction and she had become his hope.

Maybe I am wrong about all of that. I don't think so. But this much I know. I was looking at a picture of love. Love is something that is tough to define. But when you see it... you know it. It was not in their walk because they were not walking. It was not in their speech because they were not talking to each other. It was in their posture. It was in their faces... one resolved... one resigned. One defending... one depending. But mainly I felt it. It's waves rippled out from this couple like the sound of a gentle murmer spoken in hushed tones. It was the sound of a crises shared and a solution sought. I had no place in their world. I will never know how their appointment went. I will always wonder what news they received. But I learned from them today. They taught me two lessons. Lean. Support. And of course they taught me a third.... love. no matter what.

Mouse Wars ... part deux

Several years ago I went through "The Great Laundry Room Wars." I think it was 2002. Mice had staged a well planned attack on my laundry room. Given time and tactics I repelled their aggressive maneuvers and rodent tranquility ruled in my home once again. I thought it was over. And then ...

I thought I would be pro-active on my snake-in-the-house issue. It only seems smart. At the recommendation of a friend I bought some "sticky strips" and placed them in the location where my little slithery friend showed-up. It only made sense that if one snake was there and another snake showed up, perhaps he would go there too. The strips looked like this after I placed them ...


We then left for our daughters house to celebrate Debbie's birthday. (Happy birthday, honey!) When we came home I went downstairs to check my traps. No snakes. That's the good news. The bad news? I found ...


He was just a baby mouse. Poor thing. Because the operative word is ... "was."

At least I now know what the snake was after. Tomorrow I set regular (cheaper!) mouse traps around. No more mice = no more snakes. Failing that ... I'm off to purchase a nice snake killing dog. Breed suggestions are appreciated.

Head Med's Rock

Another month. Another attempt at a "Head Med." It's getting a bit old but compared to most I don't really have anything to complain about. Since our trip last October ... OCTOBER ... to L.A. I've been rocking back and forth with weird head symptoms. Nobody is quite certain that there's a connection but I had a head cold when we took the flight west. On the third day of the trip as I was driving through the lovely L.A. traffic my head went all wonky. The lanes started .... moving. No, it wasn't an earthquake. It was a headquake. I signed the keys to the rental over to Debbie (sad) for the rest of the week. The operative theory is that the cold went to my ears and did fluidy kinds of things and that they are still going on. But nobody is sure.

And then there's the fun of coughing and losing my voice. What good is a pastor that can't talk? I think the back row at church is actually placing bets on my sermons. You know ... will he be able to talk by the time he's done? So far, yes. But there's no guarantees.

So today I went back to my new doctor. She listened to my story (again) looked at me like I was a quack and gave me a prescription ... nose spray.

My nose is fine, thank you. Well, as fine as it's ever been. I felt like screaming, "IT'S MY EARS, DARN IT!" But, as you may remember, I lost my last doctor due to a verbal flaw on my part. I don't want to lose this one too. So I guess I'll spray this stuff up my nose and see if my throat and ears get better.

In the meantime, if you see me coming in my car, pray it isn't a moment of dis-equilibrium. I'm clueless as to what the active ingredient is but I've got to tell you, the codeine in the cough syrup ROCKS.

I've Been Bad

-Debbie is preparing to leave town for a long weekend in Wisconsin. I have made plans. 'Nuff said.

-I scared the Orkin Man today. He was at my neighbors. I told him about my snake-in-the-house. He didn't like my story. I pointed out a hole in the ground. He walked away. Said he doesn't do snakes.

-I didn't have a quiet time today. Well. That's not exactly true. I did have. But I fell asleep. Totally fell asleep on God. I don't think He was mad but I feel naughty.

-I watched one of those crime scene shows tonight. When the bad guy did what he did I realized that there are people that I'd enjoy doing that to.

-I ignored a voice mail that I got three days ago and I didn't feel guilty about it.

-I got my dad's old rifle back from a friend who has been keeping it for me since I moved to Ohio in 2007. It's stored directly under me right now as I lay here in bed. It's all scoped up and with enough ammunition to change the map of Europe.

I tell you ... I'm a wild man on a rampage.

Sometimes Screaming Like A Little Girl Is Appropriate

I hate spinach. I detest humidity. I cannot stand the opera. But today I found something that I hate worse than all of those put together.

I hate finding a snake in my house.

I had been sitting in my "man cave" putting the finishing touches on my Sunday morning sermon when Debbie came home. She wanted some help in her office area so I made my way into the main part of our downstairs. Our home has a finished walk-out basement with wooden floors. Our backyard borders a creek that is surrounded by trees and brush. It's a nice setting. I was helping her print something when I glanced down the hall toward her sewing room and an unfinished storage room. There was a long twig on the floor. I didn't have my glasses on but I thought I saw it move. Twigs generally do not move. So I walked over to see this marvel and the twig turned and looked at me. Then it stuck its tongue out at me.

Oh.

I resisted the desire to scream like a little girl and wet myself. That was for the best because Debbie needed to scream. If we had both screamed, well, we might just have sold the house for five bucks and moved to Ireland where there are no snakes. She handed me a small oval trash can and suggested I put it over the snake. I knew it was too small and I didn't want to scare it and give it a reason to run (slither) and then we'd live for who knows how long wondering where it was. I thought about "manning up" and just grabbing the snake and taking it outside. Then I realized that I had no earthly idea what kind of snake this was (still not quite sure) and I'm not exactly adept at snake handling. I'm not that kind of Baptist. But this snake must die. Now. So I ran into the grandkids playroom where I knew there was an empty box. By the time I got back (like .... 10 seconds?) she had put the trash can over half of the snake.

Let me just take a moment to say ... Impressive. She might have screamed but she didn't run away! She actually went after the sucker. She did it while screaming but she did it. I put the box over the trash can and the remainder of the snake, pressed really hard on it and slid it to the patio door. Then I slid it onto a rug and out the door. Next I introduced the snake to the neighbors shovel that was sitting outside. His final resting place is in the creek from whence he came.

We are walking carefully tonight. Yes, I did look under the covers before I climbed into bed where I am currently pounding on my laptop while my half-a-snake-trapping wife snoozes beside me. (I "high 5'd" her before bed time and told her that, while it wasn't fun, we do have the satisfaction of knowing that the score is Ron & Debbie 1 - Snakes 0.) The next time I have a free day a tube of high grade caulking and I will be making a close inspection of the entire outside of the house. And I suspect a good friend who works for Orkin will be hearing from me as well. If that doesn't work I'll be burning the entire lawn and setting up a machine gun nest with a clear line of fire all the way to the creek.

There was a reason I never went to see "Snakes On A Plane."

House Fly's And God

Do you ever wish that God had a web site? I know that the Bible is not kidding when it says that He is with us always. He dwells in us. We can go to Him anytime with anything. He loves us and He cares about all of the issues of our lives. I buy into that 100%. The problem is not in whether or not God is really present in me and available to me. The problem is in our (my) ability to hear Him when He speaks. And not simply hear Him but understand His Heart. I want to know more than the syllables He would speak into my soul. I want so deeply to understand His intent ... I want to "get" everything He wants me to "get." I don't want to drop the ball on Him. Not even one time. It just isn't acceptable. God is much more forgiving of me than I am of myself. When I blow it He still loves me and forgiveness is total. I, on the other hand, want to smack myself around the block a few times and punish myself for getting it wrong. Even if I didn't mean to get it wrong. (Don't misunderstand. I am perfectly capable of disobeying on purpose. But I want to disobey on purpose less and less these days. I really do want to please Him.)

I was just surfing through Sprint.com a few minutes ago. I wanted to check out a few things on my cell phone package. It's a pretty easily navigable web site. Lot's of drop-down menu's. Your personal information is available at the click-of-a-mouse once you've punched in the appropriate password and user name. It took less than five minutes to find out everything that I wanted to know, log out, and move on to the next on-line task.

And it all just reminds me of the way I spent my day today. I've been feeling a little spiritually malnourished lately. Pastor's tend to feed other's several times each week. It's part of the calling. It is as it should be. But the very nature of what we do makes it difficult to get spiritually fed yourself. When others are teaching God's Word, so are you. So you can't exactly sit under their teaching and "eat." If you are not careful it won't take long until you realize you've allowed your spiritual reserves to run a bit low. I try to be diligent to defeat this by listening to tons of sermons on podcasts, video casts, and I read more books than I could begin to list. But still, I've been feeling the need for more. If I'm going to feed others I have to be certain to eat enough myself.

It's kind of like when you get on an airplane and the flight attendants are doing their thing, telling you what to do in case of an emergency. At one point they tell you that in the unlikely event of cabin depressurization, oxygen masks will drop from the ceiling above. Put one over your face, pull on the rubber tubing and air will flow. Then they make it a point of saying that if you are traveling with a small child you should put YOUR oxygen mask on before putting theirs on them. That is quite counter-intuitive for parents. We want to take care of the kids, make sure they are breathing, and then we'll take care of ourselves. But the truth is, before you can get their mask on you might well pass out from lack of oxygen and then everybody is in trouble. You have to have air before you can give air.

A teacher has to be faithful to learn before he can teach others or he will soon run out of, well, not just stuff to teach but the spiritual energy with which to teach it.

So I've decided to dedicate one day each week for a while to seeking God through prayer, bible study, silence, and solitude. I don't know how long I'll do that but for now I believe it is what God is telling me to do. I want to feed others well. So I have to eat. I work hard to get my regular office duties/outreach/in-reach/sermon preparation/bible study preparation/visits/ meetings/ counseling sessions/ etc. into four days so that I can dedicate one to being totally available to whatever God wants to say to me.

That is what I did today. It's been a while since I've given myself this assignment and you know what? It's harder than I remembered. MUCH harder. It's hard in the getting still. It's hard in the getting quiet. It's hard in the knowing what God wants to feed me from His Word. It's hard in the knowing what devotional materials will do me the most good. In the middle of the silence a mere house fly can tear my mind from the creator of the universe. What a shame to have to choose between a house fly and God only to find that God loses.

With God there is no web address. There are no drop-down menus. There are no pass words or user names. There are no "company representatives" to click a button and "chat" with if you need help. (Wouldn't it be cool to punch "chat" and get some clarification from Peter or maybe one of the Archangels? You don't suppose God would outsource ... nah ...) It would be a whole lot easier if there were. But there is just you ... and God. And He has the upper hand. The room can get small. The silence can get stifling. The words on the page can begin to look like a size 3 font. But you do what you have to do. Because not to do it ... unacceptable.

Eat or die.

10 Things That I Think Makes Me Abnormal

1 - My "sleep number" is usually 100. Unless I'm really, really tired. Then I slip down as low as 80. I've never met another 100 before.

2 - I really don't care for breakfast or lunch but I can mow down an entire bag of "Baked BBQ Lays" in minutes.

3 - I would rather have a really good double cheeseburger (extra gooey) than a really good steak.

4 - God seems to speak to me most clearly when i'm walking. Not like ... to the garage. I mean walking like hiking.

5 - The older I get the less I like mornings. I have noticed that, in most people, the older they get the earlier they rise.

6 - I would much rather drive at night than in the daytime.

7 - I am not a fan of Christmas.

8 - I find no satisfaction in the mowing of a lawn. I find frustration. It's the same every time and it never stays done.

9 - When I can't sleep at night because my mind is too busy I think about being a truck driver getting in the cab to make a long haul. If that doesn't work I think about cruising underneath a hurricane in my own submarine. Yes, really.

10 - Every time I go into Wal-Mart everybody I see looks like they are from Arkansas. Even me. Seriously, I checked a mirror.

BONUS #11 - The one time in life that I feel most complete and in sync is when I am doing my pastor thing behind a podium.

Snippets that need to be snipped

-I would like to take the opportunity to thank the Chicago Cubs for folding in April this year. It will save me a lot of heart ache when September arrives.

-I would like to thank the Cleveland Cavaliers for giving my "Great North Coast" friends something to cheer for. Cleveland is not a horrible city. It isn't a world class city but neither is St. Louis. That's reserved for the greats like Chicago, New York, Los Angeles, etc. It is a city with a reputation to over come. Honestly, it pretty much did it to itself. When you dump cars in your biggest tourist attraction, Lake Erie, because you can't figure out what else to do with them, well it's going to come back and bite you sooner or later. So my Cleveland friends need something to cheer for. The Cav's are top seed and could well get the ring. I'm pulling for them!

-Debbie did her best to choke to death on pudding this evening. It had a few stray apples in it. She managed to lodge one in her trachea. Fortunately, she dislodged it before I could get in the room and make it worse.

-A wonderful young 7 year old called me this evening and asked if I would baptize him this Sunday. ABSOLUTELY! It made my day!

-My "cough from &%^$*" has returned and so I'm sucking up the codeine cough syrup again. It makes me feel like I'm on drugs. Oh. Wait. I am.

-I'm trying to devise a great vacation plan for my lovely bride and I for late this summer or early fall. I promised she would either dip her toes back in an ocean, set her feet on the top of a mountain, or walk the streets of a new (to her) city before the year is out. I have no idea at all where to take her. Ever since I orchestrated "The Great Debbie Woods Mystery Ramble, 2005" we have decided on our vacation destinations together. Maybe it's time for another mystery ramble. Mail suggestions to www.churchaintforsissies@yahoo.com. I won't give you credit if I choose your suggestion (I want it for myself!) but you'll have the personal satisfaction of a job well done. Isn't that worth something?

-"Five Guys" is building a restaurant 1.5 miles from my home. I must increase my work-out regime to prepare for the onslaught of calories.

-My niece Katie asked me to go spelunking with her this summer. I am SO in. I think she may want to get me alone so she can kill me. It's a risk I'm wiling to take. Do bats eat human flesh?

His Eye is on the sparrow. Mine wasn't.

I mowed a sparrow last week. I've got this steep hill that runs from the side of my house into the backyard. I had the old Lawn Boy on full throttle and set for "self-propelled." She was just knocking down blades of grass and having a great time. My job? Just guide her along. Just drive. But you know how it is. I was doing what I always do when I'm driving. I was texting with Oprah. And that's why I missed seeing it. I'm pretty certain it was alive before I got there. I"m 100% certain it was not alive when I left. It was just kind of ... laying there. Both halves.

Bird decapitation. What a horrible way to go. Quick but horrible. Fortunately I don't rake because that would have been just ... gross.

Okay, so there is no spiritual application to this little essay. I mean, you can dwell on whether or not God gets out His eraser and reduces the number of sparrows by one when something like this happens. I prefer to think He uses a heavenly spread sheet that updates itself automatically. In reality I think He just ... knows.

But the bottom line is that I have a gnarly mower, a messy lawn, and a not even slightly guilty conscience. And the sparrow population is down.

Be glad it wasn't a Bald Eagle. Pretty sure the government wild life people would not be as forgiving as God is.

FYI:

Not this kind of Sparrow.


This kind of Sparrow.

I use to talk good but I got over it

I've lost my voice. I've looked behind the couch. In the garage. Under the bed. No voice. It's gone. It first turned up missing the day before Easter when I had to do a lot of yelling (the good kind) at our church at an Easter Egg Hunt. But it came back. It's gone back and forth a few times since then. But after speaking yesterday morning it really went away. It faded back into range a bit for the evening service but afterward it went AWOL and hasn't been seen since.

So today I got up with specific directions to call my doctor. I do not like doctors. If my spleen is hanging out I agree it's probably time to go but my spleen is fine thank you. Still, I enjoy marriage and after living alone in Cleveland for all too long I've learned that I'm not the "single sort." So when my wife tells me to call the doctor I reach for the phone.

Here's an interesting question. When you have no voice ... and I do mean NO voice ... how do you tell the nice lady on the phone at the doctor's office what's wrong? It was an interesting conversation. It went something like ...

Doctor's Office - Hello.
Me - (gravely exhale)
D.O. - Hello?
Me - (hack/cough/whisper)
D.O. - Is anybody there?
Me - (sigh)
D.O. - Look. If you need something please tell me because I don't have time for ... games.
Me - (deep breath)
D.O. - Last chance wise guy.
Me - (mustering up all my strength to keep from coughing) I hhhaaaave nnnO vooweece.
D.O. - You Hab no Boice?
Me - (sigh) (long drink of water) Right. I have no voice.

It was not pretty. After a long struggle I convinced them that my throat doesn't hurt, I don't have a fever, I do have a cough, I do not have the ability to talk. So it's no big deal. If it's still like this in a week I'll call you back.

Nope. They weren't buying it. Either they want to actually meet their real live, heavy breathing, obscene phone caller or they were telling me the truth when they said I need to get there ASAP. Seems that something similar is going around and if you don't get treated quickly it can last 8 - 12 weeks.

Aww, crap. That's not what I want to hear. So tomorrow I get to go see my doctor who, it seems, just got back from Haiti. That's cool of her. Unless she's raised her rates to pay for her trip. When I get there I suppose either the police will be waiting or they'll stick one of those awful cotton stick down my throat, swab it around, and tell me I'm days from death.

So this may be my last blog. If it is, I hope you've enjoyed our time together. If it's not please ... a cake ... with a file baked inside of it ... would be greatly appreciated.

We Are Proof

37 years ago tonight I took her out on a date. Our first date. The first of hundreds. She was a cute little blonde girl. She still is. She had been dating this guy that wasn't really working out too well. That's another story. My mistake is that I told her previous boyfriend that I would never date her because "she is too immature." That was on a Sunday night. On Wednesday night she slapped me. She slapped me right in church. And she told me that was for calling her immature. I figure she had just proven my point. However, I do like me some spunk. So the next night, Thursday, I invited her out on a date for Saturday night. April 14, 1973.

She said yes.

For her "Yes" she got a bad movie and greasy pizza. I mean seriously greasy. I chose the place because ... well ... because I was her youth pastor. It wasn't a paying gig and I was just a teenager myself so no serious laws were being violated. This particular pizza restaurant did not serve alcohol and I thought, as her youth pastor turned date, that might be a good selling point toward getting her to hang out with me for a while. Turned out not only didn't they serve booze, they also didn't serve good pizza. They did serve grease. Enough to run down the sleeve of her white blouse. Somehow she decided the evening was not an entire waste and neither of us ever dated anybody else ever again. (Unless she's lying to me. And I don't think she's got lying in her.)

While the date ended life together was just beginning. During those 37 years we have produced 3 children (who themselves have produced for us approximately 2.4 grandchildren,) we have shared 4 dogs, way too many fish, a couple of renegade birds, more rented apartments than I can count, 2 purchased houses, and among others, a bright orange Pinto that almost killed me. (It was a wedding gift from her parents. I'm pretty sure it was their attempt at getting their little girl back.) We have served 6 churches, discipled hundreds if not thousands of kids, learned to argue and make-up, and murdered a couple of hamsters.

I take her to better pizza places now too.

I love her more today than I ever have in our lives. We are proof to anybody who is interested in asking that a man and a woman really can love each other even if they are fighting. We are proof that both of us can be wrong at the same time. We are proof that a beautiful girl and an ugly guy can have great looking kids. We are proof that the smarter spouse should balance the check book and the dumber spouse should mow the lawn. We are proof that gentle touch is better than anything to a hurting heart. We are proof that a morning person does not have to murder a night person. We are proof that the guy can be the better driver even though the girl has never had a ticket (though this one is still being hotly contested.) We are proof that passion is best expressed through selfless caring than in any other form. We are proof that best friends can get married and make it work. We are proof that an act of violence may be a great way to begin a relationship.

We are going to find out that we are proof of things that we don't even know we are proof of yet. 37 years isn't long enough to have it all figured it out. But it is long enough to know that neither of us would trade our worst day together for our best day apart.



We even plan on going to space together to celebrate our 50th year of marriage in just 18 more years!

Raising the level of risk...

I was enjoying one of my favorite television stations a few minutes ago. I'm a "Weather Channel" addict. I'm not sure why. It's just that when I turn over there I usually know what I'm going to get. I'm going to get the weather. No surprises. No big shock. The Weather Channel exists to forecast the weather. But today they decided to mess with my mind. They were doing this special program about what would happen if a major tornado struck at the heart of downtown St. Louis during a Cardinal's game. Oh boy, it was not pretty. Now to know me is to understand that I'm a Cub fan. But not even a Cub fan wants a tornado to hit Busch Stadium during a ball game. Not even if the Mets are in town. I mean, come on. It's baseball. We love it and we love to argue about it. But at the end of the day we all go to sleep on the same planet and enjoy the same gentle breezes. Nobody would wish that kind of carnage on anybody. As a matter-of-fact if I knew a tornado was moving toward the ball park during a crowded Cardinals / Mets game I would most certainly make the phone call to report it and try to divert utter disaster.

So why is it that we live right here in the wonderful St Louis metropolitan area and another type of horror is taking place every day and yet we do so little? I mean, I hate to sound like "a preacher" or something but I have neighbors who really are rushing headlong into disaster and all too often I find a good excuse to ignore it, turn my head, and occupy myself with other things. Have you thought about what would happen if somebody you see every day at work or at Starbucks or maybe even over the backyard fence were to suddenly meet up with their own disaster and enter eternity without knowing Jesus? The thought of what it would be like for them is unimaginable! We are quite happy to take a meal over after they have been sick or have had surgery. We might mow their lawn when they are on vacation. Possibly could feed their pets too. But so many of them stand on the verge of losing everything. E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. Forever.

I'm not writing this to make you feel lousy. I'm writing this to remind myself that God has given me an opportunity today that I will never have again. And I need to take a risk. I need to step up to the plate and gently, lovingly, offer to share what I know with them. God loves them. He loves them just as much as He loves me. And I am convinced that He loves me a lot. So please, take the chance. Odds are strong that they won't mind. You don't have to drop everything on them at once. Just start loving them toward the Kingdom. I am fully convinced that God will tell you when it is time to take each step in the process.

Hey, just a Saturday night thought.