Attention Span

All spelled out for you

2012-01-23T13:16:00.001-05:00

All week in schools across Van Wert County and all over the region, dozens of students have stood with sweaty palms and quivering stomachs awaiting their word. Yes it’s spelling bee time again. A time where ordinary middle school-aged kids memorize the spelling of rare and obtuse words in hopes they have memorized the words that will become their word when the day of the bee comes along.
As a good student in school, I enjoyed the challenge of the spelling bee -- and the competition. As a fifth grader, I wanted to show up the older kids. As a sixth and seventh grader, I wanted to uphold my reputation. Then as an eighth grader, I wanted to get it all over with. Can you guess which year I didn’t win?
Full disclosure: I won the spelling bee for my age group at my school three times out of four years. I never won the county spelling bee, but I had three good showings. That fourth year I must have blocked from my memory. I only remember missing a word during the school competition and the expression on the pronouncer’s face when the three-time defending champion blew the spelling of an easy word. I always lost on easy words, not the ones that nobody should be able to spell. I lost one year by misspelling a three-letter word and another year it was a four-letter word. (No, not any of those words that you just thought of.)
I remember sitting alone in my bedroom with a small booklet containing the official word list of the spelling bee. These books were put out by the national sponsor of the event. The cover was orange with cartoonish bees all over it. Inside, the words were listed in columns and in groups of ten. The book itself was divided into three sections: Easy, Intermediate, and Advanced. Let me tell you right now that the words in that Advanced section are all made up. That’s my theory anyway. At one time the sponsor made up a whole new section of words like smaragdine, hydrophyte, maculature, xanthosis, and chiaroscurist. Yes, those are spelling bee words. Those are winning words from the national competition over the years. The winning word is not the word the second place speller missed. The winning word is the word the winner spells after he or she has correctly spelled the word the other kid messed up. When we played H-O-R-S-E with a basketball on the playground, we would call this “proving it.” In a spelling bee, the winning round only serves to prolong the agony. After all, isn’t it silly to think that in round after round of spelling that anyone would have to “prove it” by spelling another word for no apparent reason?
Anyway, I learned the Easy spelling bee words without a lot of difficulty. There were a few tricky ones, but that section wasn’t too bad. My goal was to learn all of the words in the Intermediate section. There were some toughies there. Each year I could spell roughly 80 percent of that section, and I stood a chance at getting lucky on the remaining 20 percent. Close enough.
In a twist of fate, I began my career I was a radio broadcaster where the spelling of a word doesn’t really matter. You just have to pronounce it correctly. Now, as a newspaper editor, I have to become a walking Spell Check. But in newspapers, we can pronounce it wrong provided we spell it correctly. I’ve made the trip from one end of the spectrum to another.
But does good spelling really matter? In an age where texting and online communication seem to have a unique shorthand language that defies everything I learned in the spelling bee book, people laugh at the need to spell correctly. As a writer, I have never needed to spell chiaroscurist (aside from earlier in this column), but if I do it will be spelled correctly. It is important. Just don’t ask me how to pronounce it.

Which day is the proper day?

2012-01-06T15:48:00.001-05:00

We’re just starting to exit one of the most awkward times of year. We all have a task to do, but there is no consensus as to when it should be done. As a result the end comes, not in one huge wave of silence, but in a slow fade.
I thought of this the other day as I watched crews take down the Christmas decorations in downtown Van Wert. It was after New Year’s Day, but then again, these were not private decorations. Workers were on the municipality’s schedule. But what about the rest of us? When should the tree come down? The lights on the house? The giant inflatable Santas? What is proper etiquette?
There are some people who will take down the tree on Dec. 26. Maybe it’s getting dried-out or it’s just in the way, so the decorations hit the storage boxes the morning after the big day and the tree is in flames by noon. Even folks with artificial trees can be in the Day After Club. It is more understandable years ago to get it out of the way, but the majority of people still have Christmas celebrations after Dec. 25 has been marked off the calendar. Why not leave the centerpiece of the interior decorations up until after you’ve finished the last of the leftovers from the last Christmas dinner?
On the other side of the coin, there are certain houses that leave decorations up far too long. You know who you are. Drive by a few houses on a warm April evening and check to see if any of them still have strands of icicle lights tacked to the roofline. They probably won’t be on, but they will be there just the same. Of course there are a few people who leave lights up year-round, calling them Valentine’s Day lights or July 4th lights, or Labor Day lights or Halloween lights. These people are special cases who have probably invented a way to change the color of the lights from green and blue to pink and red for February and then swapping hues for each successive holiday. These people have their own issues. We’ll leave them alone. But somewhere in the middle of the Day After Club and the Up Until April Fellowship is the proper answer.
As I did my research, I discovered some traditions of which I was unaware. Who knew that it all had to do with that long Christmas carol that is the holiday equivalent to “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall?” That’s right. “The Twelve Days of Christmas” was the original guide for un-hauling out the holly. Today most people do not understand what the 12 days of Christmas are. While there is debate over some of the customs and about how to count days, for the most part, the days begin Dec. 26 (the First Day of Christmas) and conclude with Jan. 6 (the Twelfth Day of Christmas, or Epiphany). In any case, Twelfth Night, which is actually the evening of Jan. 5 is when Christmas decorations are to be taken down, according to custom. To top it off, if you leave your decorations up after Twelfth Night, the tradition states that you will have bad luck. I guess the bad luck could be having dozens of motorists driving by your lighted home and laughing at you. My research mentioned things like crops failing, spring not returning, and “mischief in the house.”
This being January 6, if you haven’t cleared out the stockings and the mistletoe and the “Dear Santa, I can explain...” coffee mug, it looks like you are in for a period of mischief in the house. My suggestion is to “fall back” a few hours for Christmas Saving Time and get it done. Hurry. The neighbors are laughing at you.

Christmas Music Overload

2011-12-08T14:16:00.001-05:00

By this time of December, either you've haven't heard enough Christmas music for your liking or you've heard plenty more Christmas music than you want to hear. It's the curse of the holiday -- how much music is enough and how much is too much.

Musical performers will all record Christmas music. They have to. It's the law. Alright, it may not be the law, but they all do it. The reason singers record Christmas music is that they realize that if they have one hit that strikes a Christmas chord with the general public, their careers will never die. Artists can make their career based on one record, and with a Christmas record, it will be dragged out and played every year. Brenda Lee has "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree," Bobby Helms has "Jingle Bell Rock," and Elmo & Patsy have "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer." Each have become as much a part of Christmas as stockings, trees, and one-horse open sleighs.

But in the glut of Christmas music, many songs get lost along the way. Realize that there are only a handful of accepted Christmas carols and then a separate group of Christmas songs. In all, there are really not many songs that keep getting repeated on those 24-hour Christmas radio stations. If you listen for an afternoon, you'll already have figured that out! However, many other recordings are treated with as much respect as the box with all the broken ornaments and non-working Christmas lights. Because I have a background in radio broadcasting and music, I may have heard of a few Christmas recordings that you may have never heard. Allow me to peruse my personal collection of Christmas music and share a few with you.

"Merry Chirstmas from The Brady Bunch" - What could be cuter than the lovable television family warbling carols? Well, plenty. The real actors performed the songs on the album, meaning it sounded only slightly different than any group of kids in the early 1970s singing Christmas carols. Mighty forgettable. (Note: There was also a "Partridge Family Christmas Card" album, but good taste overtook me and I didn't pick that one up!)

Twisted Sister - "A Twisted Christmas" - Imagine the hard-hitting rock and roll chords of the 80's hit "We're Not Gonna Take It." Now imagine those same three chords with the lyrics of Christmas carols instead the cries of teen angst. You've got "Twisted Christmas." It's the album that makes it possible to bang your head to "O Come All Ye Faithful."

"Christmas Day with Colonel Sanders" - I, as a lover of truly terrible music, was overjoyed at the thought of Col. Harlan Sanders crooning holiday classics coated with 11 herbs and spices, but alas the album was a mix of hymns and carols sung by real musicians like Al Hirt, Jim Reeves, Ed Ames, and other household names from over half a century ago. So I passed on the album and got the bucket of chicken instead.

The Singing Mailmen of Miami - "Mail Early and Have a Merry Christmas" - I'll admit, this may be my personal favorite. I stumbled across this in the record library stacks of a radio station I worked for. It was the late 80s, but the recording dated back to the 60s. There was an actual group of postal workers known as The Singing Mailmen of Miami who sang for charity purposes. This album was Christmas-themed, but also served as public service announcements for the post office. One tune sounded like "Jingle Bells" but the lyrics were about remembering to use zip codes to make mail deliveries quicker. Another cited the benefits of mailing cards and packages early during the holiday season. The Singing Mailmen of Miami were always good for a useful holiday tip.

My Christmas wish for you is that you do not overdose on sappy Christmas songs this year, and that the music you enjoy is always at your disposal. But, if you want to jam to the Singing Mailmen of Miami, let me know. We can play it LOUD!

My traditional words of wisdom

2011-11-17T16:21:00.001-05:00

What do July 4th fireworks, Opening Day for the Cincinnati Reds, and my grandma's date pudding have in common? All three are strongly associated with tradition. The tradition holds that we celebrate the birth of our nation with colorful explosions in the sky on the night of the fourth, unless it's raining too badly. The tradition used to be that the first Major League Baseball game of the season would be held in Cincinnati. And it is highly traditional for my grandma's special mixture of dates, brown sugar, and around three ka-jillion calories to be served each Thanksgiving.

We have traditions to cover pretty much every annual event. I think the reasons they become traditions is because we are too lazy to change them. Or else we just don't want to fight about it. In fact, I think if enough research would be done, I could find that the word tradition is rooted from some Greek word meaning "we can't change this or people will burn down the city." Nothing is as protected as something we call a tradition. If it's just something that comes up every year, we can change it however you like. But smack of label reading 'tradition' on it, and it will never be allowed to change. Think of that time as a kid when you made a funny face and your mother told you to stop making that face or else your face would get stuck just like that. That's what has happened with some of our traditions. They just stuck like that.

Traditions are cherished because so many people fear change. I'm not sure why that is. Maybe change requires so much effort. Maybe it makes us unsure of our place in the world. Nah. Change forces us to do something different. People are creatures of habit. For some reason, many people enjoy the consistency (some might call it a rut) of having a set pattern to life. I've never been one of those people. While I like familiarity, I enjoy the challenge of doing something different. But others try to keep such a little amount of change that they make the Amish look hip and modern. That's fine for them, but just don't try to require me to live by the same code.

Don't get me wrong. I understand the value of tradition. We are approaching a time of year when tradition almost rules our lives. My reference to Grandma's date pudding, for example. It is on the table every Thanksgiving and Christmas. Only a couple of people actually eat it these days. I can't do it. It is so sweet and rich that my teeth begin to rot and fall out while the fork is on the way to my mouth. But somehow it is comforting to see that glass bowl of dark brown sugary stuff topped with Cool Whip sitting there beside the gravy. It's almost like Grandma is still with us for the family celebrations. And that's the value of tradition -- to remember the people and events that helped shape who we are today. But some traditions are just empty reminders instead of living history.

Maybe the best thing we can do with tradition is to actually figure out why each is important or trivial. Or better still, create new traditions that actually have meaning, at least for the time being. Have you ever purposefully started a tradition? I have. And I have known others who have done the same. One family began the tradition of working each Thanksgiving at a soup kitchen to feed those in need rather than gorge themselves on turkey and stuffing. Another family now takes the money they would normally spend on presents for one another and uses it to give to the needy at Christmas. The tradition I began gives us a chance to concentrate on the meaning of the holiday rather than the means we celebrate it by these days. That ties into the value once again of remembering that which has shaped us. Not that a few dozen plates of pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes and gravy, and date pudding wouldn't change my shape for the worse, mind you! But when one of those traditions comes up in the next six weeks or so, maybe you can cherish the comfort of reliving some of the traditions which have made you who you are. Or just maybe, you can ignore it in favor of something more meaningful that will make you even better.

A great discovery -- count on it!

2011-11-10T15:16:00.000-05:00

As I was sorting through the list of possible topics to write about -- Veterans Day, 11/11/11, elections, Joe Paterno, and other newsworthy and noteworthy items -- I found the news item I've been hoping for my whole life. Are you ready? A university professor of nutrition at Kansas State University has lost 27 pounds in two months by eating... junk food! Yes, my snack-loving friends, you read that right. This professor of nutrition (mentioning that again for emphasis) lost 27 pounds in two months with a diet that included every three hours eating a Twinkie or a Little Debbie snack cake or a small bag of Doritos. Are you with me on this? A little junk food doesn't hurt.

Professor Mark Haub won't be pushing his 'convenience store diet' in a book or appearing on daytime television talk shows anytime soon. But his premise actually is simple. If you want to lose weight, consume less calories than you burn. It doesn't have to be fresh asparagus or specially-harvested, flavor-optional seaweed. The nutritional information that restaurants are being pressured to provide really are irrelevant if your goal is weight loss. It's all about the calories.

If there are two subjects that I have a lot of knowledge about, they are diets and junk food. I've had weight issues since elementary school, my weight going up and down depending upon my lifestyle and habits. And I've had jobs where much of my time is spent on the road, so I've learned the finer points of dining on Zingers and Rolos. But I have always contended that chocolate was not a poison causing instant mounds of fat to appear at the first taste. It's the total amount.

I checked on the aforementioned Hostess Twinkie. In one filled sponge cake treat, there are 27 grams of carbohydrates, 4.5 grams of fat (2.5 grams of those are saturated fat), 20 mg of cholesterol, 220 mg of sodium, and 1 gram of protein. But if Prof. Haub's idea is accurate, all that is irrelevant to weight loss. What you need to know is that in one Twinkie there are 150 calories. You should be able to figure out that there are 300 calories in two Twinkies. That is key because those stinkin' things are usually sold in packs of two. Let me remind you that a medium-sized apple is about 95 calories, a banana has about 105, and a can of Dole pineapple chunks packed in juice contains about 315 calories.

But if you protest, thinking something is wrong here and that junk food will make us less healthy, the good professor points out that after his 'diet' his good cholesterol had gone up 20 percent, his bad cholesterol had gone down 20 percent and his triglycerides were reduced 39 percent. In other words, he was actually healthier after the two-month junk food binge! Well, it was not all junk food. About one-third of his diet was normal food, including some green vegetables and a protein shake each day. Still Professor Haub isn't recommending other people try this experiment. In fact, he is not really sure what to make of the results. It's not often a 41-year-old man with a trash can full of empty Little Debbie cake wrappers can drop his body fat index from 33 to 25 percent. But he appears to be sticking by his guns that dieting is simply a matter of eating fewer calories than you use. Who'da thunk it?

If you can see large amounts of turkey and dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, green bean casserole, and pumpkin pie in your future, but you don't want to get pudgy heading into Christmas candy season, remember the key is cutting down the number of calories you take in. Stop before you hit the 15th helping of that so-called 'good-for-me food.' And don't fear the Twinkie.

Milestones ahead

2011-11-03T16:13:00.002-04:00

I've always been fascinated with milestones. Perhaps it is the geographer in me, wanting to know how far it is to the next landmark. Milestones date back to Great Roman Empire at least. The Romans, probably wanting to brag about the size of their empire, set out to measure the distance from one end to another, and many shorter distances in between.
Where I grew up along U.S. 30 in Indiana, there was a green sign we always passed which indicated the mileage to the next two decent-sized cities down the road. As a sports fan, my first instinct was that someone had posted football scores along the side of the road (New Haven 10, Fort Wayne 14), but my parents filled me in on what they were for. Since that time, I've studied milestones. When I lived in Cumberland, Maryland (the beginning of the Cumberland Road which later became the National Road), I got to see the first milestone which dated back 150 years. It was the first in a long series of markers which helped early American travelers figure out how far it was to the nearest Stuckey's.
I'm thinking about milestones because my household is coming up to a number of them. My daughter turned 10 years old earlier this week. It's a milestone that really doesn't seem to be that special on the surface. Nothing really changes at 10, although at 10 it seems that everything changes daily! So her age is now double digits, even though she truly believes she is somewhere in her mid-twenties.
My oldest boy turns 20 next month. Now 20 is one of those ages that should be a milestone, but really isn't. Absolutely nothing changes except a 20-year-old is no longer a teenager. Because he is away at college, I've had a hard time considering him a teenager the past year and a half anyway. His big landmark is next year, but unless he plans on taking up a drinking habit, not much will change there either.
My middle child will turn 18 this spring. Now that's a landmark! Well, maybe not so much the birthday itself, but it seems that a lot of things start to change right around the time of the 18th birthday. High school turns to college. Childhood turns to adulthood. If only I could get the car insurance rates to change from "Have you thought about borrowing the money?" to something actually affordable!
And as for me, next month I will officially hit middle age. My 50th birthday is coming up. Um, 50 is halfway, right? So in honor of hitting middle age, I would like to have a mid-life crisis. This would be a welcome substitute for all my other assorted crises. The thing is that so-called experts claim that a mid-life crisis is a reaction to depression over uncontrollable changing circumstances in a person's life. I'm not in the market for depression or uncontrollable things. However, I have always wanted a flashy red sports car.
Years ago, I knew a man who hit close to 50 and went out and bought a shiny red two-seater sports car. He even got the little sloped cap too. You know the kind. It's guaranteed to make a sane person look like he's living on Fantasy Island. But he really enjoyed the car and seemed to avoid all the other pitfalls of a mid-life crisis.
Me, I can't afford a sports car. I'm not going to drown my life with alcohol because I really don't like it well enough to pay all that money for it. Can't afford a Harley. And an affair with my secretary is out of the questions for many reasons, the least of which is that I don't have a secretary! So I guess I'm going to have to hit this milestone head-on with some vitamins in one hand and some Geritol in the other.
With milestones along the road, you know how far you have to go. With life's milestones, you only get a reminder of where you've been. Whatever the second half of my life turns out to be, I know that I have made it down the first 50 years of roadway. I may have four bald tires and one bald head, but I'm fueled up and ready for the trip! But I'd rather avoid anymore milestones for a few years!

Only a few voices speak to me

2011-10-28T09:15:00.000-04:00

He was supposed to call at 11, but it was 20 minutes before that and the phone was ringing. The caller ID display said it was from “Enberg, Barbara,” so I readied my recorder and answered the phone.

“Hi, is this Ed?”

“Yes, speaking.”

“Oh good, this is Dick Enberg.”

“Uh, yeah... I recognize your voice.”

That was an understatement. The voice was crystal clear. This was the play-by-play voice I remembered from NCAA basketball, from eight different Super Bowl broadcasts, the World Series. He was the host of the game show, Sports Challenge, which I loved to watch as a kid. I talked to him for about 15 minutes, and listened as he regaled me with stories of traveling with Al McGuire and Billy Packer during the college basketball season, and his enduring friendship with the former Marquette coach. It was a very nice conversation with a charming gentleman.

I'm not generally affected by celebrities. I've met more than my fair share. In this job, I've interviewed all sorts of folks, including a big chunk of the performers who have played here in town. I have finished many interviews thinking the artist I've just talked to is a very nice, bright person, but it didn't really register with me that this person was a celebrity.

That was how my talk with Mr. Enberg was as well. Almost. You see, the voice of Dick Enberg took me back to my youth. The voice that brought NFL football games to me. The voice that described college basketball games during my high school and college days. The voice that helped my enjoy Major League Baseball games. That voice! It was a little like being young again.

The last time I had felt like that was when I had a chance to do a phone interview with impressionist Rich Little. Growing up, Rich Little was my favorite performer. Talking to him was not so much getting to know a celebrity, but letting him take me back to a simpler time. He even did a couple of impressions while telling me stories, and when the interview was over, Mr. Little just kept going. He was obviously having a good time talking, and I was lapping it all up. I was 13 again and was a private audience with my favorite entertainer.

I've tried to think of other celebrities that have had a similar effect on me, but for the life of me I can't come up with another one. No other performers, no other announcers, no politicians. Nobody. Earlier today, I did go through a bunch of old voicemail messages on my phone here at The Times Bulletin and found one from country performer Charlie Daniels. I remember my interview with Mr. Daniels. He was entertaining, funny, and all I ever wanted from an interview. I even had a few of his records back in the 70s. (Kids, if you don't know what a “record” is, go ask your grandparents.) But talking to Charlie Daniels was not like talking to Dick Enberg or Rich Little. Maybe if he'd launched into a chorus of “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” it would have been different, although, I have always been amused by the concept of me having a voicemail message from Charlie Daniels somewhere in the phone system.

I have tried thinking of other people who could have the same kind of effect on me, but I can't really come up with any. Of course, as with Dick Enberg, I probably wouldn't realize it until I heard the voice. Well, I'm sure Howard Cosell's voice would do the same thing, but considering he has been dead for more than 15 years, hearing his voice would probably have a quite different effect on me!

I've heard it said the voices of the past are heard in old photographs and other such memorabilia. As it turns out, voices of the past are also heard in voices of the past.

Making the right costume choice

2011-10-25T17:06:00.000-04:00

If I may, I would like to direct my words of pseudo-wisdom this week to those who are deciding on a Halloween costume for next weekend's festivities. You're asking yourself, “Ed, what should I dress as for Halloween?” Well, ask no more! Let's start with you adults. What costume will make you the hit of this year's party?

For guys, it doesn't really matter. Nobody really pays much attention to your costume anyway. Unless you are extremely trendy and topical and choose to come as a Gaddafi zombie, you'll just fade into the wallpaper anyway. So wear something comfortable and enjoy! (Now if you do go as a Gaddafi zombie, I'll expect you to send me a buck or two to pay for your inspiration) For adult ladies, sadly unless the title of your costume begins with the word “naughty” you probably won't be noticed either. For some reason, the past few years have seen the increase in adults dressing for the day, but the only requirement for ladies seems to be to show more skin. At least that's what I've been told.

But really, Halloween costumes are all about kids. Since kids are down to the last minute for costume choice, I feel it's my duty to offer tips that will help kids win prizes at costume contests and charm extra candy bars out of those crabby old people. First tip: If there is a group of trick-or-treaters traveling together, have a theme. Dress as M&Ms, but different colors. Maybe one of you can be purple or striped or moldy or something unique, but make sure you have a theme. My wife and I dressed three kids in themed costumes for as long as the oldest would continue to dress up. We did a Wizard of Oz theme, a rodeo theme, etc. Don't laugh. We won costume contests repeatedly.

Second tip: Wear something that adults will recognize. This is important because if the grown-ups don't know who you are supposed to be, all that effort to get the right look will be mostly wasted. When I was a youngster, I had the perfect costume but nobody knew it. I had a leash and harness that was all stiff so it looked like you were walking an invisible dog. At that time, there was a cartoon called Goober and the Ghost Chasers in which one of the characters walked a dog that often turned invisible. So I found a pair of khaki shorts and a khaki jacket, the proper hat and sunglasses to go with my invisible dog prop, and I had THE perfect costume. Everyone would surely be impressed. Except I forgot that everyone else was not spending Saturday morning watching Goober and the Ghost Chasers. So mostly, people just kind of looked at me sideways and moved on. So kids, before you dress like your favorite minor character on a Nickelodeon cartoon show, don't blame me if the candy sack is a little light this year.

Third tip: Dress as something that everybody else ignores. What I mean is that if you enter a costume contest, it seems there are always categories for the event. Some of these categories were set up decades ago when everyone thought it was cool to dress like Matt Dillon or the Lone Ranger, but now if you enter the Cowboys category, you'll have almost no competition! We capitalized on this one year when two of our kids and our dog all dressed as clowns. Nobody else went clown. The family earned first, second, and third. (I don't remember which prize the dog won.) So don't overlook the classic costume choices that adults will look at and remember when they wore similar get-ups. But avoid the sheet-over-your-head ghost look. Nobody is impressed that you can cut two holes in a sheet.

Hot Dog Etiquette

2011-10-14T16:27:00.001-04:00

In the news business, we see a lot of odd stories come across the desk (or computer monitor). For instance, this past weekend, golfer Tiger Woods was putting in a tournament when a man (I am resisting the urge to simply call him an idiot) tossed a hot dog onto the green. A hot dog. The bozo then laid down and waited to be arrested (which he promptly was). The frankfurter was retrieved and disposed of, and Woods went on to miss the easy putt. (So I guess the guy had money on another golfer?) End of story, right? Of course not. Soon, there came a press release from a group known as the National Hot Dog & Sausage Council (website www.hot-dog.org). The president of these fine folks issued a statement reading in part, “The use of an iconic food in an act of violence against an iconic golfer like Tiger Woods is reprehensible -- and a violation of hot dog etiquette.”

Hot dog etiquette? Really? I laughed it off, but then noticed near the bottom of the press release, “For more information about hot dog etiquette, see www.hot-dog.org.” Well, that was an invitation I couldn't refuse. So after a few minutes poking around the site of the National Hot Dog & Sausage Council (www.hot-dog.org), I finally hit upon the page entitled, “Hot Dog Etiquette.” As I scanned the list, wondering who came up with these and where was the line about tossing wieners at golfers (or any professional athlete), I realized that a small section of the worldwide web was being wasted. Let me include a few rules of hot dog etiquette:

Don't use ketchup on your hot dog after the age of 18. Mustard, relish, onions, cheese and chili are acceptable.

Condiments remaining on the fingers after eating a hot dog should be licked away, not washed.

Eat hot dogs on buns with your hands. Utensils should not touch hot dogs on buns.

I could continue, but I'll spare you. The list goes as far as laying out the order that condiments should be put on the dog, but no mention is made of chucking franks at putting millionaires. But hurling hot dogs was not the only area not covered by the definitive essay on hot dog etiquette from the National Hot Dog & Sausage Council (www.hot-dog.org). So, allow me to fill in a few items that were not included from the frank folk.

The proper way to cook a hot dog is with a stick, roasting the frankfurter over an open fire. Don't boil them like they were some tubular lobster. And do not put them in the microwave. There should be at least a little black on the outside from the flames.

The only time hot dogs that were not cooked over an open fire should be eaten is at a sporting event. Baseball, football, basketball... let's face it, the hot dog was made to be sold as a concession.

Hot dogs should be made from real meat, not the stuff you cut off and feed to the family dog. I've tasted hot dogs made from parts of the chicken I don't even want to think about consuming again.

The hot dog bun should not be so large that it distorts the hot dog-to-bread ratio. Too much bread dilutes the hot dog taste.

The entire hot dog should be eaten. If you are reasonably close to adulthood and have not had gastric bypass surgery, you should be able to eat an entire regulation-size wiener. Do not eat half and throw the rest away.

Use any condiment you desire on your hot dog unless the smell is so strong it sends the person sitting next to you at the ball game into sneezing convulsions.

There. I figure my contributions to hot dog etiquette are as good as any of those from the National Hot Dog & Sausage Council (www.hot-dog.org). Oh wait, one more:

There should be absolutely no throwing of hot dogs by idiots desiring a bed in a cell, even if you're rooting for another golfer.

Hearing it from both sides

2011-09-23T11:38:00.001-04:00

As a married man and as a parent, I know something about selective listening. But as someone who has spent way too many years in the communications business, I'm continually surprised by the number of people who only hear what they want to hear... or what they don't want to hear. Many liberals only read news from liberal media sources and conservatives only frequent conservative sources. That way their opinions won't be challenged. The trouble is, we should be seeking out the other side of the story to test what we believe and what we hear. If we refuse, we do not know nearly as much as we think we do.

Some items of information are more easily believed. Many WANT to believe that there is a conspiracy against them, or that somehow someone else is getting something for free that they aren't getting. So if a person hears that Jack got a free hot dog at the concession stand or cheated to get his new job, chances are good that person will believe it. It's the fuel that feeds gossip and misunderstanding. Usually it begins with someone overhearing Jack say something about buying so many hot dogs that he should have been given one free, then the story gets twisted like in the kids game, telephone.

Or it could be a story that was made up by someone, then repeated by many “well-meaning” people, swearing to its authenticity. Please understand that when someone tells you, “I heard from someone that...” whatever that person is going to tell you is almost always untrue. That's the way gossip works. One person listens selectively (if at all) then starts spouting off what they believe, then as the old saying goes, “A lie can be halfway around the world before the truth has got its boots on.”

Gossip and falsehoods are nothing new to our society, but with the so-called Information Superhighway at your service, sometimes the information you get is nothing but gossip and falsehoods. Yes, even the forwarded emails sent to you by your trusted friends could be (and probably are) nothing more than rehashed garbage. For example, no soft drink company is printing a can with the words “Under God” left out of the Pledge of Allegiance, and no one survived the World Trade Center collapse by surfing or sliding down with the debris 80 stories. Several websites have been set up to correct the false campaigns waged against people and companies that are passed along by people who decided to listen to the nonsense. The most popular one is www.snopes.com. Please make a note of that one before you forward anything to your entire address book. It's a chance for us all to help truth get its boots on.

The same problem exists in other media. Sometimes, a reporter, anxious to highlight something that will get people's attention, will focus so hard on one side of a story that the other side gets ignored entirely. In all the hoopla after this week's execution of Troy Davis for the 1991 shooting of a police officer, many reports shouted that seven of nine witnesses had recanted their testimony, but almost no news source told the whole story that only two of the witnesses actually claimed Davis was not the shooter and that Davis himself kept them from testifying before the court. Oh, and there were 34 witnesses, not just nine. As a reporter, I know there is the easy way to write a story -- repeat the information others give you -- and the tougher way which involves investigating what others claim. Please understand that I'm not saying one thing or another about the death penalty or anything else, I'm just pointing out that we all need to examine both sides of the story before we claim anything as truth. If we do not, we're cheating ourselves and silencing the truth.

Must-hear albums?

2011-09-23T11:27:00.000-04:00

Critics can be funny people. And by “funny” I mean “completely out of touch with humanity.” That point was driven home for me this week when I stumbled across “1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die.” This book is a list of one critic's most important musical releases since 1955. Of course, I was stuck on the title. Are there really 1001 albums I really MUST hear? I am a music lover, so I've listened to well over 1001 albums in my life, but there weren't that many of them that I considered worthy of everyone's attention before death. And I'm still not sure WHY I have to hear them all. Is it so I have a more rounded musical experience? Is it so I'll look cool at parties? Is it so some of these albums will sell more copies and funnel money back to the guy who wrote the book?

Then I looked through the list. There are some great albums on there. In the 50's section, there are picks from Elvis Presley, Buddy Holly & the Crickets, Frank Sinatra, and Billie Holliday. The Beatles, Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix and the Who made the 60's section with the Doors, Steely Dan and Stevie Wonder in with the 70's, and so forth. But what really got me scratching my noggin were some of the other albums listed as “MUST BE HEARD” by the author. Like the album “Don't Stand Me Down” by Dexy's Midnight Runners. You remember the tune “Come on Eileen” right? That band. (Sorry if the tune is stuck in your head now.) Why in the name of all that is good would I need to listen to an entire album from a forgettable 80's one-hit wonder band? And “Come On Eileen” isn't even on that album! There are plenty more questionable selections for a “must hear” list from every decade. A “must hear” list wouldn't include albums from the Electric Prunes, Quicksilver Messenger Service, or Haircut One Hundred. Not even if I had to struggle to come up with 1001 albums, would I pull out Blue Cheer or the Incredible Bongo Band!

So, you're surely asking yourself, what albums are the ones I MUST hear? First of all, there are no albums you absolutely must hear, but if you want a list of albums that would give you a well-rounded musical background, maybe I can help. I've taken care to introduce my kids to some music from before they were born, and this might be a good opportunity to work through some of those. With that in mind, here are some albums you should probably listen to if you want knowledge about popular music.

From the 50's - Chuck Berry “After School Session” (or any early Chuck Berry record). I like Elvis as much as the next guy, but Chuck Berry is the real King of Rock and Roll. That signature guitar riff is what it's all about. Also toss in any album by Hank Williams (Senior), Ray Charles “The Genius of Ray Charles,” Miles Davis “Birth of the Cool,” and Elvis' “Elvis Presley.”

From the 60's - Beatles “Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.” This is the obvious choice from the psychedelic era because it influenced so many artists. (Almost as many as Chuck Berry!) Add to that the Beach Boys “Pet Sounds,” B.B. King “Live at the Regal,” Johnny Cash “Live at Folsum Prison,” and Bob Dylan “Freewheelin' Bob Dylan.”

From the 70's - Bruce Springsteen’s “Born To Run.” The New Jersey sound that The Boss and his band brought to America was incredibly different than anything else on the radio at the time, but became commonplace soon afterward. Then throw in David Bowie “Changesbowie,” Boston “Boston,” Willie Nelson “Red Headed Stranger,” and the soundtrack to “Saturday Night Fever.”

From the 80's - Prince & the Revolution “Purple Rain.” This was the mid-1980s. The music was a remix of a watered-down Jimi Hendrix sound with a dance groove. Then check out Michael Jackson “Thriller,” Stevie Ray Vaughn “Texas Flood,” George Strait “Does Fort Worth Ever Cross Your Mind,” and Van Halen “1984.”

From the 90's - Nirvana “Nevermind.” The commercially-successful beginning of grunge rock came from this Seattle band's landmark album. From there, try U2 “Actung Baby,” TLC “CrazySexyCool,” Alanis Morissette “Jagged Little Pill,” and Garth Brooks “No Fences.”

These are not necessarily the best albums, but the ones that will fill out your musical knowledge. Now, go and educate yourself. But if you feel the need to argue my selections, email me. But I'm not budging on the Dexy's Midnight Runners album. Deal with it.

Weather: The Great Equalizer

2011-08-11T17:19:00.001-04:00

Mark Twain is credited with saying, "Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it." Some people over the years have found that sentence humorous, probably because Twain is associated with it. But it is either an obvious statement or a foolish one. It's obvious we don't do anything that will either make it rain or make the rain stop, unless some sinister accusations about the Russians are actually true. And it's obvious that we are constantly doing things because of the weather. We add another layer of clothes and a coat. We peel off as many clothes as we legally dare. We build houses to keep ourselves out of the elements. We invent and build artificial cooling machines and artificial heating machines. We put up an umbrella, install windshield wipers, build drains, plow snow, put on snow tires, but that's about all we can do. When it comes to weather, we're pretty much all in the same boat because weather is The Great Equalizer.

For a couple of weeks, much of the midwest was stuck in a heat wave. Highs in the 90s, heat index values (whatever they are) in the 100s and 110s... nasty stuff. But we couldn't cool it off. Why? We can't do anything about it. Same in the winter when the snow keeps falling. We can't do anything about it. Same in the spring when the rain never seems to stop. We can't do anything about it. It's obvious. We just try to make ourselves comfortable.

As far as everyone talking about the weather, again this is obvious. We talk about the weather because it is something we all have in common. If it's raining we can used the tired old question, "Is it wet enough for you?" when we feel the urge to converse. We all have to deal with it. Now of course the weather here is not often the same as in the more southern states or the more northern ones either. And we make special note of that. Does this happen to you? When my friends or family take a trip south during the cold winter months, they seem to be required by law to call me and tell me the temperature where they are staying. Almost always it's 70 or more degrees hotter than the frozen tundra I'm walking around in. So I have to chuckle and sound envious even if it's 45 and fairly comfortable here in the thawed tundra.

Weather also immediately makes us wish conditions were different. Now, Thursday was just a banner day in Van Wert County with the puffy clouds, the blue sky, Mr. Sun playing hide-and-seek in the sky, and a nice breeze. It was a day to file away and remember on those days when no one wants to venture outside. But mostly, any day's weather makes people wish for something different. If it's dry, we want wet. If it's wet, we want dry. If it's 50 degrees, we want 75. If it's winter, we want summer. You get the idea. But I'm sure that even on that banner weather day, had I looked more extensively, I would have found someone whining that it was too hot and someone else whining that it was too cold, and a third person praying for rain.

And don't blame the weatherman! People complain that forecasters are never right yet get to keep their jobs. Of course most of the rest of us aren't asked to predict the future either. And persons coming up with sales projections or trying to get a handle on the stock market aren't that accurate either. In truth, it's amazing that meteorologists can predict storms, severe weather, heat, and cold as accurately as they do. Maybe we should all stop whining about them and appreciate the advanced warning we get. We're all in this together. And until we can actually cause rain to start or stop or get the temperature to everyone's ideal, we can't do anything about the weather. Except talk.

Have Another Drink!

2011-07-29T11:08:00.000-04:00

After waxing nostalgic last week... alright, I told stories of a long-forgotten era like an old man, about refreshing beverages. But since that time, my memory banks have been overflowing with all the drinks of yesterday and today that have graced my refrigerator and my cupboards in days gone by.

In the cupboard was that jar of Tang. You remember, it was what the astronauts drank! Well, eventually the astronauts drank it. At first the stuff mostly sat on grocery shelves until it got packed into John Glenn's space capsule. I'm not sure how Glenn mixed the little freeze-dried orange granules with water to make an imitation orange juice drink, but apparently he did. Then anyone in the 1960s who wanted to be hip or groovy or whatever we were back then would drink Tang for breakfast. Fewer people remember Tang's less-popular family member -- grape flavored Tang. To be honest, I like the grape hundreds of times better than the orange. And just to reveal how odd I was, my favorite way to drink Tang was not ice cold, but hot. Dad could drink his hot coffee while I would drink hot grape Tang. And, no, I didn't take cream or sugar.

I did drink a lot of soft drinks when I was young, and being a chubby, young boy, I was required to drink “diet” soft drinks. My drink of choice, because it was a lot cheaper, was Diet Rite Cola. Diet Rite was the no-calorie version of RC Cola. We bought them in the 8-pack of 16 ounce returnable bottles. That was back when bottle recycling was enforced with a nickel or dime deposit for each bottle. If you paid a nickel a bottle, or 40 cents a pack, the bottles usually made it back for recycling (which may have just been running them through a car wash and refilling them, I really don't remember.) But anyway, Diet Rite is still around as Diet Rite Pure Zero and it comes in flavors as appetizing as Green Apple Splatter, which sounds more like a summertime apple-throwing fight at the orchard than a refreshing beverage.

The other popular diet drink was Tab (or TaB as it appeared on the can). Tab was Coca-Cola's answer to Diet Rite, and eventually when the FDA decided which artificial sweeteners wouldn't kill you as quickly, Tab gave way to Diet Coke. Tab's ugly cousin was Fresca, but aside from a line in the movie “Caddyshack” when Ted Knight offers the kid a Fresca, I really can't remember anything about the stuff. I think it was supposed to be lemon-lime or something. Plenty of lemon-lime all over the market then, too, with 7-Up and Sprite and Mountain Dew. I wonder who was the person who first mixed the lemon and the lime? Probably some Polynesian who never got credit, I'm guessing.

The obscure soft drink I used to love in the early 80s was called Rondo. It was a lemony-limey-citrusy soda too, but it didn't have as much carbonation. That meant you could drink it faster, and presumably, burp less. The commercials were of a guy grass-skiing, which is pretty much what you think it is -- a guy skiing with no snow and no water, just a hill with long grass. My friends and I drank a few hundred gallons of this in college before it disappeared. Come to think of it, I haven't seen anyone grass skiing lately either.

When I think about all the beverages over the years, my head starts to spin. I drank Crystal Pepsi. Remember that clear Pepsi that no one drank because it tasted like Pepsi but didn't look right? I also tried the Pepsi Blue, but it reminded me too much of Ty-D-Bol. I've drank my Ovaltine and my Quik, but always opted for liquid chocolate for my milk whenever possible. There has been Hi-C and “How 'bout a nice Hawaiian Punch,” and about three ka-jillion other drinks. But the king of them all was the worst of them all. Jolt Cola was said to have “all the sugar and twice the caffeine,” so this morning radio DJ who couldn't stand waking up in the morning became quickly dependent upon his morning bottle of Jolt.

Now, certainly I could have been drinking water all this time instead of these artificially-made chemical concoctions, but what kind of memories would I have then?

How about a cool drink?

2011-07-20T21:28:00.006-04:00

I don't need to remind you that it's still hot outside. It's summer. It's supposed to be hot, although not quite this hot yet. But it's not unusual to see triple-digit temperatures in the summer, and because of that we've learned the best ways to cool off. Besides looking for an air-conditioner or a swimming pool, most of those ways revolved around finding something cold to drink.

Water is the typical choice these days. Stay hydrated. We drank water back a few decades ago, but we didn't pay a buck and a half for a small bottle of it. For fun, try to imagine your grandfather being asked to pay any amount of money for a bottle of water. Go ahead. Is your grandfather slamming his hands on the counter and yelling words we can't print too? Yeah, kind of funny, isn't it? Anyway, if you're going to pay money for something cool to drink, why not try something with flavor? Lemonade? Iced tea?

Personally, I still have a soft spot for Kool-Aid. Even the "off-brand" versions made for some good cool refreshment. I will note that the best Kool-Aid flavor is black cherry. Sure most of the other flavors are good (except for blue stuff), but black cherry is the Cadillac of Kool-Aid flavors.
In spite of common wisdom, I drink a lot of carbonated sodas ('pop' to us real Americans). But these things supposedly make you more thirsty. So you can look for some alternative. When I was a kid, I remember sometimes getting a cold bottle of Choc-ola from the vending machine. If you are unfamiliar with Choc-ola (or it's cousin Yoo-hoo), it is an imitation of chocolate milk. It was fantastic to seven-year-old tastebuds. And I wasn't the only one who thought so. All us kids were into Choc-ola for cool refreshment. Years later, as high school students, two friends and I were on a trip with our baseball team somewhere around Cincinnati. We stopped at a gas station that sold Choc-ola! We were ecstatic! It had been close to a decade (half our lives) since we had downed a cold Choc-ola! The three of us each purchased a frosty bottle and took it outside. Once they were open, we stood facing each other, gripping our glass bottles of nostalgic goodness. At the nod of a head, we all tipped back our heads and took a gulp. Approximately 1.5 seconds later, all three of us turned away from each other and spit the mouthful on the asphalt parking lot! It was not the chocolately good drink of our childhood. It was some imitation milk product with chocolate flavoring. So not every option is a good option.

My kids have grown up with sports drinks like Gatorade. Playing sports almost requires commitment to Gatorade. For years, my boys would emerge from the dugout between innings, look my direction, and tip an imaginary drink to his lips twice. This of course is the international sign for "I'm very thirsty, Father. Please go purchase a sports beverage for me so that my thirst might be quenched. Oh, and make it the blue kind."

Ice cream drinks are good for cooling off. Even the ones with coffee in them. However, coffee should never be truly classified as a drink consumed while cold, so I'm taking them right out of the discussion. Still shakes and sodas and root beer floats and the like can really hit the hot spot on a sweltering day. But the best coolant and thirst quencher is a slush. A Hawaiian ice is pretty much in the same category -- you're drinking ice! You can test me on this one. A slush will cool you faster than any other drink. But drink it slowly or you'll be holding your head in pain for about an hour, and that's no better than simply sweating through the heat.

So best of luck cooling off this weekend. And remember my advice: Don't pay for water, black cherry is the best Kool-Aid, Choc-ola is not as good as you remember, and don't down your slush too quickly. Now drink responsibly.

Hair I am again

2011-07-12T16:58:00.000-04:00

“Give me a head with hair. Long beautiful hair. Shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen...” - The Cowsills

Let me preface this my saying that I am in the post-follicular stage of my life. Yes, I am bald. In a world where hair turns heads, I am left on the sideline. Now of course, it does have it's advantages. I don't spend a lot of time and money trying to make it look good with combs, sprays, dyes and various appliances. It is an easier way to go about things.

Back in 1964, the traditional world gasped when four mop-topped men from Liverpool, England invaded this country making it fashionable to grow hair longer. (Look at the pictures of the Beatles today and you wonder what all the fuss was about.) When the Cowsills and company tried to push for hair that made grown men look like Cousin Itt from the Addams Family, fashion gladly opened its arms to the trend. Since that time, men’s hair has been shorter, longer... whatever. But only a few brave pioneers went without. Yul Brynner brought bald to the movies. Telly Savalas brought bald (and lollipops for grown-ups) to television. But after that, the list of hairless heroes is really pretty sparse.

For women, the trend goes the other way. Rebellion for men was to grow hair longer, while women wanting to protest their oppressed lifestyle began to cut their hair shorter. Soon we were faced with females with crew cuts, and eventually Sinead O'Connor, the Irish singer-songwriter, who found she could get more attention for herself by shaving her head (and by ripping up pictures of the Pope on live television). But the point is, the world is attracted, enthralled, and overstimulated by hair.

As a boy, my hair was blond. That color lasted until kindergarten when for unknown reasons my hair darkened to a dark brown. And it was thick. Very thick. The barber always had to “thin” my hair to get it to lay down correctly. Oh what I wouldn't give to have some of those thinnings back now! In high school, I began to experiment with facial hair. Except for baseball season, I had a full beard throughout my senior year. And hair down to my collar. It was that way through college and into the work world. I shaved my beard for the first time after high school about six years after graduation. Then I started growing it longer. I can remember fashioning a crude ponytail for it one morning when it was particularly unruly.

Then something happened shortly after I got married. (Not that it's my wife's fault. I'm sure it's just coincidence.) My hair started to thin even when I wasn't in a barber's chair. After a few years of trying every hairstyle imaginable to make me look a little hairier, I gave up and got it all cut short. Then gradually over the course of time, what hair remained got shorter and shorter until one day while shaving my face, I decided not to stop at the top of the ears. By that time, a ka-jillion other guys with the same situation decided to do the same thing too -- shave the head and grow a goatee. So now, ironically, I look like a ka-jillion other guys (only infinitely more handsome). The crowd of people with long hair has become the crowd of people with shiny heads. It's like the circle of life for hair.

I will also add that I have rejected the school of thought to “grow what you can” or to trim hair down so there is a semi-circle around my dome. Bless you, sir, if that's you. I just have too many memories snickering at people wearing toupees, or having the “toilet seat” haircut, or the long locks in the back with nothing on top a la Hulk Hogan. And don't get me started on the comb-over. But in the end, it's all superficial anyway. True beauty is not found in a do like Fabio or a cut like Farrah or Jennifer or whoever-is-in-style-today. Hair is window dressing. True beauty is in one's character. But hair does keep you warmer in the winter. And for now, I'm glad it's summer.

In praise of sugar

2011-06-30T18:47:00.001-04:00

I stumbled across a website last week that predicted something that almost broke my heart. The site, called 24/7 Wall St., looked into its crystal ball and predicted the demise of ten brands in the upcoming year. While I recognized a few, the one that lept from the page was the prognostication that the cereal Kellogg's Corn Pops would be discontinued! NO! Citing figures that Corn Pops sales have dropped 18 percent and that the price of corn is making the stuff too expensive, the financial gurus claimed it would be cut by the cereal-maker in 2012. As a lover of cold cereal, I was more than a little distressed by this. I refuse to believe it, but if it did happen, I would still lay the blame on the trend of the late 70s when the word "sugar" was removed from cereal names. Hey, it was Kellogg's Sugar Pops. for years before the word police hushed all the sugar talk and pointed to corn. Sugar became a bad thing at that point when previously it was a selling point.

In 1949, Post put out a product called Sugar Crisp. With it, was a mascot who represented the cereal. He was simply named Sugar Bear. And Sugar Bear was on the cereal boxes and in the commercials. When the name was changed to Super Sugar Crisp in the 60s (because un-super sugar is nowhere near as wonderful as super sugar), Sugar Bear used to sing, "Can't get enough of Super Sugar Crisp." But when the sugar-haters got their way, these sugar-coated puffs of wheat became Super Golden Crisp, and eventually the 'super' was dropped (since super golden isn't all that special). Interestingly, the bear is still in some of the advertising and is still named Sugar Bear. Sugar is good enough for animals, but not for the breakfast table, I guess.

But I'll be honest. When the cereal was called Sugar Crisp, it was 50 percent sugar! That's right, half of it was sugar. It still is 50 percent sugar, as is it's Kellogg's cousin, Honey Smacks. Yes, Honey Smacks used to be Sugar Smacks. Kellogg's and Post need to keep up with one another, you know.

It's a shame that sugar takes such a bad rap. Sure, you don't want to overdose on sugar, but it isn't to be completely avoided. Over the past couple of years, the southern favorite sweet tea has become popular all over the country, even up here in Yankee states. What's so special about sweet tea? Well, there are all kinds of answers, but the correct response is obvious. SUGAR!

Sugar is a carbohydrate, and our bodies need carbohydrates. Sugar is tasty, and as Mary Poppins tried to tell everyone, just a spoonful of the white granular stuff will indeed help the icky-tasting medicine go down. There is a point to using real sugar. Meanwhile, how many sugar substitutes have been blacklisted by well-meaning agencies as being bad for you? I remember cyclamates. I've read about dulcin and P-4000, neither of which could be sold after 1950. And there are all sorts of claims about the problems with saccharin and aspartame and neotame and other stuff that I can't spell. If I'm going to eat something with warning labels, it might as well be the real thing.

So, with an eye on the traditional Independence Day picnic, I won't be sprinkling anything out of a pink, blue or yellow packet onto fresh fruit. I refuse to have a slice of sugar-free pie. And I may just take a black marker to a box of Corn Pops and label the thing correctly.

Criminal Masterminds Aplenty

2011-06-24T15:57:00.000-04:00

Back when I was a radio star (meaning: I had at least two fans), I used to do a feature called Stupid Criminal of the Week. During that time, I would highlight the exploits of someone who didn't think that big effort at crime all the way through. You know, like the bank robber who wrote the holdup note on the back of one of his own deposit slips with his name and address printed right there, or the guy who broke into a home and fell asleep on the couch. People like that. They were the highlight of my week.

This was back in the 1980s, when information wasn't nearly as plentiful as now when the Information Superhighway opened for business. So, these stories were occasional, cute and out-of-the-ordinary. Then, I started finding more and more, and most weeks there was not only a winner, but a runner-up, and sometimes an honorable mention in the contest to take the weekly prize. Soon, the award became the Stupid Criminal of the Day. Today, there is information flying around in digital form at breakneck speed, and it is hard to keep up with some of the lame-brained moves of certain people on the other side of the law. So I thought I'd make you feel a little better about yourself today.

There's the guy around Buffalo, New York who was riding around on the Interstate with the upper half of his body sticking out of the sunroof of the car. (I'm assuming he wasn't driving, although the account really doesn't rule that out.) Anyway, when the state police trooper pulled up behind the car and turned on the flashing lights, the dude in the sunroof found he had another problem. He had a bag of pot that he didn't want to be caught holding, so he decided to ditch the drugs by throwing it over his shoulder as the car was pulling over. The baggie of marijuana flew through the air and landed on the hood of the state police cruiser. He was charged with possession of drugs and not wearing a seatbelt. A more intelligent criminal would have kept his upper torso and head inside the car.

Or how about the three guys (note: it took three persons to be this stupid) who walked into a doughnut shop with knifes and hatchets and wanted the money from the store. It didn't take long for one of the trio of geniuses to notice a paper bag with a lump inside sitting in one of the workers' opened purses. The three grabbed the bag and took off, figuring they had just made off with the day's receipts from the cash drawer which was ready to be taken to the bank. Sometime later, they opened the bag to see how much dough they had stolen only to find that it was really dough. Fried dough. Doughnuts, to be precise. Apparently one of the workers was going to take a few crullers home at the end of the day, but the robbers grabbed the goods instead of the loot. Always check your order before you leave -- that works for robberies and for getting food from a drive-through window.

That reminded me of a case where a guy walked into a doughnut shop (doughnut shops obviously attract all kinds of people) and slipped the clerk a note that said he had a gun and a bomb and would use both if he didn't get the cash. Then the robber reached over the counter and grabbed the cash register and took off running out of the shop... only it wasn't the cash register. Mr. Holdup had grabbed a large adding machine that had no cash drawer. Instead of a drawer full of money, he had an outdated piece of office equipment. Sheer brilliance.

Police officers have always told me that criminals are not the smartest bunch in the world, which is fine by them because that quality makes them easier to catch. And with some of these idiots, it's like shooting fish in a barrel.

Live in concert

2011-06-20T15:55:00.001-04:00

I'm one of those people who really likes to have a tune playing in the background or the foreground while I work or drive or eat, so music is important to me. It's been that way as long as I remember. I grew up with a limited variety -- mostly whatever was on WOWO radio, but by the time music hit the FM band (that's right, kids, AM used to be the place for music!) there was a little more variety than just “safe” pop songs and the so-called beautiful music versions of “safe” pop songs. In subsequent years I discovered at least 153 different varieties of rock music, as well as country, jazz, blues, big band, electronic, bluegrass, reggae, and a few other genres that escape me at the moment. And for the most part, I can appreciate most any type of music. The orchestral majesty of classical music can truly inspire. The rhythmic poetry of rap can actually get me moving. And the sound of a mariachi band can really make me hungry. Yes, it usually comes back to food!

But I was thinking about all this as I looked through the upcoming performance schedule at the Niswonger Performing Arts Center. This city is blessed to have so many chances to hear good music. Besides the impressive list of talent that will be showing up at that magnificent venue, we are also treated to other shows. Visionary Promotions put on a string of great shows over the past couple of years with some lesser-known, but just-as-talented performers. Local and regional bands take to various stages around the area. It's a wonderful thing to have a musical soundtrack while remaining in this area.

I was reading on the Internet of the memories of some locals who were thinking back on some of the concerts they had seen right here in Van Wert. In 1966, the Kingsmen (”Louie Louie”) and Freddy “Boom Boom” Cannon (Palisades Park) each held shows at the Junior Fair Building at the Van Wert County Fairgrounds. That one stunned me. I realize that the music industry has changed a great deal in the past 40-plus years, but that still seems like quite the coup for this little town. I think the modern equivalent might be having a Ke$ha concert (Adults, have a kid explain Ke$ha to you) at the Junior Fair Building. Just can't see it happening!

There have also been plenty of great shows as part of the Van Wert County Fair over the years. I am half-amused and half-saddened when I hear people give their suggestions of who they want to see at the fair. Usually the acts are far too pricey or far too pickey to play in front of the local grandstand, but somehow that thought never occurs to these helpful suggestors. I would like to see the Rolling Stones without having to drive three hours too, but I can't see Mick and the boys playing the fair. Besides, at their ages, the Stones would probably have to wear some sort of air filtration system to keep the racetrack dust from bringing them to their knees.

I've attended some great concerts over the years. It started with a Pat Benatar show in Fort Wayne in late 70s, and moved through all sorts of shows, including the good and the bad. My wife of 22 years (today) once refused to attend a John Mellencamp show with me because she wanted to change into “concert clothes,” whatever that means. While I can say I saw Bruce Springsteen, George Strait and Michael Jackson in large arena shows, I also sat through Air Supply and the immensely forgettable Jack Wagner. (The latter two I was actually paid to attend. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)

These days, I like seeing musicians of all types sharing their craft with an audience. Be it a Southern Gospel quartet or a guy with a guitar and a fistful of songs, there's nothing like live music. So I encourage local folks to take advantage of the numerous shows around the area this year, even if the music isn't usually your taste. Unless it's Jack Wagner. Then you have my permission to go home and sing yourself to sleep.

An embarrassing job, but someone's gotta do it

2011-06-13T10:43:00.000-04:00

As the father of three, it has been my privilege, nay my honor, to in fact fulfill the duties of parenthood. Offering instruction and correction, providing for them, hauling them to various and sundry sporting events and activities -- yes, the previous two decades or so have been packed full of trying to live up to what a father should be. One area where I think I could have been better was in the necessary realm of embarrassing my kids in front of their friends. I just haven't done enough.

I wasn't the parent at the little league games screaming at my boys to “just hit the ball” or the one dragging out baby photos when my son started bringing dates home. I haven't attended school dances only to join in when “Solja Boy” gets played. Quite frankly, I'm a failure in this area. But I have a new hero.

His name is Dale Price. Dale found out this year that his 16-year-old son's bus route had changed at the beginning of the school year, and that each school day, his boy would ride past the house once again. So Dale took action. He decided he would stand outside the house and wave at the bus when it went by. Every day. Oh, but not just that. That wouldn't be embarrassing enough. This is the part that makes Dale my new hero. For each of the 170 days his son rode the bus to school, Dale dressed for the occasion. On the second day, he stood outside in a San Diego Chargers helmet and jersey waving to the bus. On the third day, he donned an Anakin Skywalker helmet. The next day it was swim trunks and a snorkel. You're starting to get the picture now, right? For 170 days, Dale didn't reuse a costume, taking on identities as varied as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz to Ariel of The Little Mermaid. He wore bunny costumes, cowboy gear, an orange prison jumpsuit, and even a lampshade, all in the name of embarrassing his teenage son. Bravo, Sir Dale! Bravo!

I was also amazed that Dale spent less than $50 for the costumes and props. Most were borrowed. He pointed out that it's amazing what your neighbors have in their closets. I'd rather not ask. You can see pictures from each day of the odyssey at waveatthebus.blogspot.com if you need some ideas for possibly creating some red faces in your own family.

Have you seen the Toyota commercial where the cool kid is next to the unfortunate kid at a stoplight? The poor embarrassed boy tells his friend, “They've been singing the same song for the last three hours!” Cut to Mom and Dad loudly indulging in another chorus of “Angel of the Morning” as the boy continues to cringe. That's some fine work, right there.

But let's be realistic: Some kids are embarrassed just by the mere existence of parents. They like to think of themselves as independent agents -- in their 20s with their own place and lifestyle, not as dependent on people who are, well, OLD! And the thought that these parents were once kids too, engaged in stuff that would get them in trouble, well, that is almost too much to bear.

I think I have been relatively unembarrassing for my kids. Now, they may well argue that point. I am who I am, but I have resisted the urge to purposely find ways to cause them to slink down in their seats. Perhaps that means I have fallen down in my parental duties. I would have likely been mortified if my friends had to listen to my Dad sing, “I'm an Old Cowhand (From the Rio Grande)” as we rode along, but he was usually considerate along those lines.

And I have a hunch that Dale's 16-year-old son has come to appreciate his Dad over the past 170 mornings on the bus. Not everyone's parent cares enough to do something, no matter how foolish, for him every school day for a year. And I'm sure the kids on the bus got more than a good chuckle seeing Dale dressed as a pirate or a house painter or a superhero each day. I'm betting the kid got a few chuckles himself as well. So maybe embarrassment isn't such a horrible thing for a teenager. And so perhaps I'll accompany my daughter to her first day of fourth grade next year wearing a hula skirt, singing, “I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts.” Do you think she'll mind?

Celebrating June. All of it.

2011-06-02T18:31:00.001-04:00

It's June. Finally. We've lived through five months of this year, turned the corner and turned up the air conditioning. That's right, June. It's the month when summer begins officially (June 20) and unofficially (whenever school lets out). But June is more than just the month when we joyfully finally put those winter coats and hats away half-expecting to have to retrieve them again in a week or so. (This is the midwest, after all!) But there are actual celebrations this month that we certainly should not miss.

According to the never-wrong Internet, June is National Safety Month. Celebrating National Safety Month must surely be boring. I mean, surely we should all be wearing a helmet. No wind blowing through your hair (or in my case, my scalp), put on a helmet and observe all safety instructions. That means check out the warnings on that new hair dryer you just bought so you'll know not to use it while sleeping or while in the shower. If you wish you can try to figure out why someone would think about using a DRYER while they are getting WET. I'll just skip National Safety Month. And I know that's probably a bad idea because June is also Hernia Awareness Month, and maybe if I had been more safety-minded, I wouldn't have that hernia! I'll just wrap myself in bubble wrap. At least that way I'll have something to do since there will always be more bubbles to pop!

June is also National Scleroderma Awareness Month. I'm guessing this is the first time for this celebration or else Headquarters hasn't done much of a job making me aware of scleroderma up to this time. For the record, I looked it up and scleroderma is a chronic connective tissue disease. There. Now we're both somewhat aware.

This month is also National Camping Month and Great Outdoors Month. Now, there's cooperation! Someone was thinking ahead to get them both the same month. Unless of course your idea of camping is using sheets with a thread count of less than 450. Then you're on your own.

Other grand celebrations set for June include National Headache Awareness Week (June 5-11). Personally, when I have a headache, I'm pretty much aware of it. Also National Mosquito Control Awareness Week comes up June 26 - July 1, and if it helps the fight, I'm in! I'm thinking no-pest strips instead of crepe paper streamers. June 21 is Baby Boomers Recognition Day and National Daylight Appreciation Day. Both parties are sure to be long ones since that day is the longest day of the year. Hope the refreshments hold out! The month finishes with National Prevention of Eye Injuries Awareness Week (June 27 - July 4). My nomination for a party activity is to practice the Three Stooges Eye Gouge Block -- you know, place your flattened hand edgewise along your nose so the two-fingered eye poke cannot reach your pupils. That of course ties right in with the National Safety Month Celebration which is already going on. My other suggestion is to somehow use a recording of Ralphie's mother from A Christmas Story saying, "You'll shoot your eye out with that thing!" I'm still working on how to fit that in.

But my two favorite parties this month will be the ones celebrating National Accordion Awareness Month and Goat Trauma Awareness Month. Two two, like all the others I've mentioned, are legitimate observances according to various places on the world wide web. I found out about the accordion month designation by stumbling across the website www.ladyofspain.com, named for the most popular song ever played on the accordion (which is a little bit like being the tallest cockroach). At that site I found this impressive claim: "A blue-ribbon panel of experts recently named the accordion as the instrument most likely to put a smile on your face." Somebody needs to repossess those blue ribbons.

The other observance was found at the website belonging to the Childhood Goat Trauma Foundation. That group is hosting a whirlwind tour of several U.S. cities with special programs dealing with avoiding goat trauma and what to do if you are a victim of goat trauma at someplace like a petting zoo. The website states "Counselors will be on hand to help anyone who has already been a victim." I never considered being a goat trauma counselor for a career choice, but I guess there's a call for them.

It's June. Enjoy yourself, however you choose to celebrate.

A 500-mile common thread

2011-05-26T14:21:00.001-04:00

Where has the year gone? It's the end of May already. Perhaps at least a month of 2011 washed away in the rains without me noticing. But now that May has arrived and has almost departed, I can take a little reflection time.

For as long as I can remember, the Indianapolis 500 has been a part of my month of May. Is it mere coincidence that The Greatest Spectacle in Racing is celebrating its 100th anniversary the same year as I celebrate my 50th? Well, yes, probably it is. But I'm going to ignore that fact. You see, I grew up in Indiana, and the Indy 500 was "our race." So when Jim Nabors sings "Back Home Again in Indiana" on the Sunday before Memorial Day, it's kind of like a family reunion.

One of my earliest childhood memories is rooting for Parnelli Jones to win the 1967 race. I was thrilled because I heard my driver was ahead so much of the race. My parents had to explain that Parnelli had car problems in the last five laps and did not win. My next favorite driver, Al Unser, took up the slack for me, winning in both 1970 and 1971. How did I get these drivers as my favorites? I'm not sure. I'm thinking I probably just liked the name Parnelli, and since I had a cousin named Al, that was probably the determining factor. Childhood decisions don't require a lengthy thought process.

The race in 1973 was a mess. I remember listening to the race when it finally was run on Tuesday after two rainy days. Art Pollard was killed earlier in the month in a crash, then at the start of the race on Sunday, a huge fiery crash almost killed driver Salt Walther. The images of his legs sticking out of the bare remnants of what had been a race car are still burned in my mind.

The next year, my parents took me to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway for the first time. The cars, the colors, the crowd, the pageantry -- and this was just for qualifications! I saw many things I had never seen before, and in the stands I saw things I probably shouldn't have seen. But life goes on. I made the trip to the brickyard whenever I could after that, even getting free reign to the media center as a college student since one of my professors was a long-time announcer for the race network.

Twenty-five years after I first visited the speedway, I took my own boys to the track for the first time. After sitting around watching the track dry for close to three hours, my elementary-aged sons finally got their first taste of real racing. We were sitting near the pits when the first two cars went out to warm up. The boys had seemed fairly disinterested up to that point. About 45 seconds after the cars had pulled out, I got their attention, pointed to the north, and said, "Boys, watch this." Five seconds later the two cars came screaming by at around 210 mph making a terrific noise and almost blurring my vision as I tried to watch. I looked at my boys to see them jumping up and down, cheering and screaming in utter excitement. I understood exactly how they felt as I smiled.

I think most people have something that warms the heart, reminding them that there is a common thread in our lives from childhood to adulthood, from innocence to cynicism. It could be a love of baseball or the familiarity of an old building or an often-played song. Family traditions and favorite places keep a sense of home in our lives. For me, it's a 2.5 mile oval track in Speedway, Indiana and a race that brings me "back home again" no matter where I am. Our family won't be attending this year, but you can bet we'll be sharing the race experience. And the common thread of my life will continue to run much farther than 500 miles, all the way to the next generation. I hope each of you have a thread to share that leads you back home again.

Wind opinion up in the air

2011-05-24T16:15:00.002-04:00

One of the things about having my job is that I tend to have a lot of information about almost every local subject either in my head or scattered somewhere on my desk. I have to learn new things, then translate the information and retell the story. In the past couple of years, I have had a crash course in wind energy and wind turbines. My editor and I joke that we've had to learn more about wind energy than most people in the state, and that's probably not far from the truth.

But being in the news media, everything I write is to be done without bias. Sometimes that is tough to do. After all, I have opinions just like everyone else. Lock 12 Van Wert County residents in a room and ask them a question, and you're sure to come out with no less than 15-20 different opinions. That's the way we're wired. But with wind energy, being impartial is easy for me because I'm really still up in the air on the whole thing.

I hear objections to having a couple hundred wind turbines in the county from time to time. Actually, they aren't as frequent as they used to be. But I've heard some of the typical complaints which sound more like the usual “Not In My Back Yard” (NIMBY) arguments. “They might catch on fire!” Or “Birds will get killed by spinning blades” or “They'll be noisy or cause shadows” or whatever convenient excuses come to mind. While I can sympathize to some extent, I really don't pay much attention to NIMBY objections. Since I bought my house in the 90s, I now have a couple of large hog farms, a dairy farm, and electrical plant, and who knows what else -- all within a couple of miles. I know about NIMBY. We just have to deal with that.

I also hear real objections, like whether or not wind energy is going to be a real answer for the electrical needs of the country. Since wind energy can't be stored, a wind farm can't take the place of a coal-burning power plant. So it's not a final answer. I'm not sure it's money well-spent by the government, but at least we're seeing the results around here. Usually I have to drive to a far-off state to see what bridge or useless museum my tax money has purchased.

But you know, the objection I hear the most is that some people think they are ugly. I don't get that. Apparently other people don't either since there seem to be plenty of cars pulled to the side of Paulding County roads with eyes glued to the tall white towers. I've taken the drive numerous times with my kids, counting the number of completed turbines and looking at the sites where one or two vertical pieces are in place -- stumps, I call them. The blades reach high in the sky above us as we drive along, looking like overgrown white mosquitoes at times, or as my wife observed, like a fighter jet flying sideways when viewed from one angle. I could sit and watch them for hours, much in the same way I could stare at a campfire. It just sucks you in. Ugly is just not a word that comes to mind when I see them.

“Well, that's because you don't have to look at them all day, idiot!” (I'm sure someone just said that as they read... hope they don't mind me cleaning up their language!) Actually I don't have to look at them, but I can. Even though the turbines completed thus far are all in Paulding County, I can see about a half-dozen from my backyard. At night, the red lights atop the nacelle (the part the blades appear to be attached) shine brightly, blinking in unison at me. Even though the closest turbine is more than five miles away, they are still part of my landscape... part of my backyard.

Will these turbines and the ones still to be erected in Van Wert County always be pleasing to my eyes? Hard to say. There could come a time when they become as outdated as the farmhouse windmills that are just now starting to vanish from the countryside. But for now, they are bringing in a much-needed economic boost. And for that we should be thankful.

Deciphering the dress code

2011-05-13T13:08:00.001-04:00

Today, it's a polo shirt and a pair of khaki pants. Yesterday I dressed up a bit more with dress slacks and a button-up shirt. The day before that, I wore jeans. Consistency is not a hallmark of my wardrobe. But let's face it, you have to be prepared for anything. This is especially true for me, where my week often includes attending a banquet and taking pictures of farm animals.

Dress codes have always mystified me. Granted, I don't keep a wide variety of clothing in my makeshift closet, but I don't think I could fit in everywhere. There's something called “smart casual” (as opposed to “dumb casual, I suppose) which includes a blazer or sports jacket. Now to me, a blazer suggests perhaps becoming a TV anchorman, but not really casual. And “informal” includes “business attire” which requires a business suit and a tie. Maybe my rural midwestern upbringing has messed me up, but how does anything involving the wearing of a suit and tie fit into “informal” wear?

I started thinking about all this when I ran across a story about a Swiss bank and its dress code. The bank is UBS and the dress code is 44 pages long. OK, not exactly. Until January it was 44 pages long. Then the bank officials got tired of being made fun of by people all across the world, so they decided to whittle it down to a small booklet. It seemed that the bank wanted to control how all of their employees looked and smelled right down to the color of their underwear (skin-tone). And having run my own business, I do understand that looking “professional” means something very different to certain employees. But these folks were getting pickier than the father of a teenage girl.

How we dress has certainly changed over the years. When I was a child, few men would even think about attending church without a necktie. (That could be why fewer men attended services.) Women wouldn't dream of wearing slacks to sit in the pews. We were taught to dress out of respect to God. Of course for many, they dressed to attract attention with their new clothes, but you get the idea. Now many churches stress the condition of the heart rather than the condition of the wardrobe.

In business, the dress code depends on the type of outlet. In factories, safety equipment is the main concern, but elsewhere these codes dictate how people dress. I worked in radio for ten years back in the 1980s. Now you would think if there was one business where it wouldn't matter what you wear it would be radio, right? PEOPLE CAN'T SEE YOU. However, there was usually a business office attached to the studio complex at radio stations, so management always wanted these young disc jockeys to look “professional” if they were on the job during any business hours. Which meant that if I worked from 4 p.m. until midnight, I would have to dress appropriately because someone might see me during that one hour that my schedule overlapped with the business folks.

At some point my laundry didn't get finished, and I faced having to go to work with no clean dress pants. Rather than wearing dirty pants, I slipped on a pair of jeans with my dress shirt and put on a tie. I was a little nervous going into work in jeans, but I soon found that no one noticed my jeans because everyone was impressed I had worn a tie. I got more compliments on my attire that day than in the previous six months combined. So when I was in management, I passed this little trick onto other young men with a limited number of dress pants. No one ever noticed the jeans. It worked every time.

So perhaps the secret to proper dress is not skin-tone underwear, but delivering a good focus -- a tie, a beautiful hat, or whatever is kicking around in your closet. Make sure it's tasteful to more than just people your own age, then strut your stuff with pride. Just be careful around the farm animals.

Tornado Watch-ing

2011-05-09T15:14:00.001-04:00

For a second straight week, Van Wert County survived a tornado warning this week. Sirens blared, half-dressed people ran instinctively to shelter, and all over the region there were people nibbling on fingernails or in all-out panic mode. Tornadoes scare people. I get that, especially in Van Wert County. That November day in 2002 was one of the few days I had my entire family in the basement. I even joined them there for a minute after I saw the high winds suddenly switch the direction they were pushing the trees. But for the most part, if there's a tornado watch, I go out and try to watch.

I've been caught out in many storms, but I've never actually seen a tornado. My wife would love to be a storm chaser and watch these giant funnels. Ironically the day a tornado hit our neighbor's house, our whole family was away. We saw nothing but the aftermath. The one time we had a reserved ringside seat, and we were ten miles away. Figures.

I do have a healthy respect for tornadoes. I know people who were directly involved in the F-4 that rumbled through here almost a decade ago, and suffered great loss. I watched news accounts on the Internet and on television of places like Tuscaloosa, Alabama and Ringgold, Georgia, which were blasted by twisters on Wednesday. For years I've heard the stories of chickens having their feathers stripped away, stalks of corn being driven through tree trunks, and personal items being carried hundreds of miles by the tornadic winds. The destructive power boggles the mind.

When I was a child growing up in Indiana, I had a few brushes with tornadoes, or at least the effects of tornadoes -- both physical and emotional. One storm tore through a town of a couple hundred people, ripping the roof off the gymnasium of the old school building. I still remember riding in the car past the permanently retracted roof, and further down the path of the tornado, staring at trees that were freshly bent at a 45 degree angle. Those trees continued to lean for years afterward.

I also remember the panic that overtook my aunt when I was very small. The story was always that a tornado headed at you sounded like a freight train. We were discussing that during a particularly bad storm back in the 60s. We had gathered at my grandmother's house because she had a basement and we did not. My aunt was particularly nervous that night, having heard that tornadoes sound like freight trains and hearing the mighty winds blowing outside. Suddenly, she heard that sound that made her scream, certain that destruction was seconds away. What was the sound? A freight train sound? Sort of. It was a train whistle. I remember she almost had to be pulled off the ceiling and reminded that tornadoes don't have train whistles!

People today will, at times, become unnecessarily panicked over the threat of a tornado. Some of that panic can be avoided with a little education. A little study of twisters can tell you what sorts of things to expect when a storm threatens. You should know that a tornado watch just means that the conditions could allow tornadoes to form and a warning means there is a rotating storm somewhere. Information during a storm also can reassure a person when it isn't necessary to grab Toto and run to the storm cellar with Auntie Em. With the Internet, weather radios, and even television, it is possible to find out most everything that is happening as it happens.

But perhaps the greatest education one needs is basic geography. I'm continually amused by people who cannot seem to grasp that a storm traveling east from, say, Willshire, is not endangering Grover Hill or Scott. Now I could chalk it up to people not being able to read a map or knowing which direction is east, or it could be that storm panic has set in and no amount of information can penetrate the brain until a meteorologist shows up at the front door giving the All Clear signal.

So my tornado season advice is simple: (1) Respect storms, but don't let your mind glaze over in panic, (2) Gather information from as many reliable sources as possible, (3) Learn the basic geography of places in the region, especially to the south and west, and (4) If you hear a train whistle, it's just a train.

The Thrill Is Gone

2011-05-09T15:07:00.000-04:00

Blues singer B.B. King sang, “The Thrill Is Gone” about a relationship that took a nose dive. In the song, B.B.'s lady apparently did something wrong, and now the relationship wasn't the same as it used to be. While I can't be as brief as Mr. King with this one, I think the thrill wears off far too quickly in many things, and I'm not even talking about relationships.

It was 50 years ago yesterday that Americans first entered space. Alan Shepard climbed inside his Mercury-Redstone rocket dubbed Freedom 7 and took a 15-minute sub-orbital flight that made people in this country take notice of space flight. That is, if they hadn't noticed Yuri Gagarin become the first person in space just three weeks earlier. But in 1961 and for that entire decade, people were aware of space flight. Sometimes they were skeptical. Sometimes they were proud. But when there was a scheduled liftoff, people paid attention.

The drama continued through the Apollo missions, then the launch of the first space shuttle in 1981. Then after a while the shuttle launches became routine. We didn't gather to watch as before. On a January day in 1986, a radio announcer complained that he had to stop his show so the station could carry yet another broadcast of a space shuttle liftoff. After all, no one really listened to those anymore. He changed his tune about 73 seconds after liftoff when the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded, killing seven astronauts and stunning this nation and the world.

But after a couple more successful missions the disinterest was back. The thrill was gone. Even the 2003 Columbia disaster didn't keep interest in the shuttle missions. Let's face it, if we weren't down to the last two shuttle missions, the apathy over a space shuttle launch would be deafening. Even the thrill of sending human beings into space can't keep us riveted anymore. And for as long as it has been, we can't truly describe what it was like when the entire country would put life on pause while the countdown marched toward liftoff. The newness, even for those of us who remember, has worn off.

I was thinking about all this while driving around, flipping through the stations on my radio. When I stumbled across an old Beatles song, I realized that a majority of people today don't have a true appreciation for the uniqueness of the music of that Liverpool quartet. The sound was new and different -- unlike tunes that had been revolving on turntables up until that time. Today, introducing someone to the early sound of the Beatles is not that impressive because all kinds of music sounds like that now. Someone growing up in this century cannot truly appreciate what a shock it was when the opening guitar riff of The Kinks' “You Really Got Me” hit the radio or the psychedelic guitar of Jimi Hendrix's “Purple Haze” or the folk-rock guitar and nasal vocals of Bob Dylan's “Like a Rolling Stone.” It's not necessarily that the thrill is gone. Some of us still remember that thrill and realize how groundbreaking these records were. It's just that the thrill can't be brought back.

One of my favorite firsts was the first time my son laughed at something he saw. He was a fairly quiet baby, not speaking until after his first birthday. But one night as I held him on the couch with the television on, I heard him start to laugh. Not just a giggle to himself, but he was laughing at the show on TV. I turned to see what had tickled my baby's funny bone and smiled. He was watching an old Three Stooges film. I couldn't have been prouder. My son had good taste in comedy.

It's a shame that various thrills can't be bottled or framed or pickled or whatever else preserves something. First date, first job, first baby, first kiss, (you can continue that line of thinking on your own time) -- they all have their own unique place in our hearts and memories. But the feeling can't really be shared or recaptured. So I believe that we should truly enjoy those firsts that come our way. That even goes for the firsts we might rather never experience. Each new day is a gift and an experience. And maybe, just maybe, each new day will bring an ever-so-brief thrill that will help you remember all the thrills that have gone before.

History in the buff

2011-04-22T12:05:00.001-04:00

I've always been a history buff. I've always been that way, preferring to spend time reading and studying the past over dealing with more contemporary subjects. In college, I took nearly as many history classes as I did classes in my declared minor. Frankly, history fascinated me more than marketing. But even I knew that high-paying jobs in history are mighty scarce. (Little did I realize that I naturally have an aversion to jobs that pay highly anyway!) So I took a different route, but still kept an eye on the past and what I could learn.

My eyes have especially been drawn to history over the past two weeks, as the nation remembered the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War. The bombing of Fort Sumter in South Carolina was really kind of pathetic as far as battles go. The fort, located on a man-made island in the middle of the entrance to Charleston Harbor, was commanded by U.S. Major Robert Anderson, who tried his best to hold the island from Confederate forces demanding the evacuation of the garrison. The Union men were outgunned and outmanned and were severely low on supplies.

The firing by the rebels began at 4:30 a.m. on April 12, 1861. After 34 hours, Anderson agreed to surrender. The number of casualties? Zero. Nine were wounded, four of those on the Confederate side. The bloodiest part of the battle was the surrender ceremonies when a gun exploded killing two Union soldiers. The first casualties of the American Civil War came not as the result of a battle, but a ceremony.

The characters always seem larger-than-life in history. That's probably because the same-size-as-life characters didn't make the history books while the volumes are full of George Washingtons and Teddy Roosevelts and Platos and Napoleons. And since history is written by the winners, we can probably assume that for every favorable story there is likely another tale told from the opposite camp. But that's what makes history fun.

I know a man in town who will have nothing to do with the Internet or computers, claiming proudly that he lives in the past. I've told him on more than one occasion that there is more history on the Internet than he will ever dig up in person. For instance, I found a site called simply, historybuff.com where copies of historic newspapers are viewable for free. The idea is that you can see how newspapers reported the famous events of history. I pulled up a copy of the New York Herald from April 13, 1861 to read the account of the bombing of Fort Sumter. Included are a map of the Charleston area, descriptions of the fort (”a modern truncated pentagonal fort, built upon an artificial island at the mouth of Charleston Harbor, three and three-eights miles from the city of Charleston”), and copies of letters sent between Maj. Anderson of the Union and Gen. P.G.T. Beauregard of the Confederates. Fascinating stuff.

There are advantages to being a history lover nowadays. Research is fast and easy with the Internet. Books on various subjects from the past are published seemingly every day. (There may be more books written on Lincoln's assassination than Stephen King has sold in his lifetime.) And there is a group of television channels supposedly dedicated to history. I say 'supposedly' because it seems the programmers define 'history' rather broadly. The Thursday night lineup on the History Channel consisted of a show where men hunt for alligators in a swamp, a program about a taxidermy shop in Alaska, and a reality show where contestants compete to determine the best shot using various firearms and weapons. I'm sure they're all wonderful shows, but that's not history.

The writer George Santayana is credited with penning the words, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” If he's right and my memory holds up, I should be set for the rest of my life.

The April 15th holiday

2011-04-15T15:11:00.000-04:00

It's April 15. Why am I not running around like an idiot trying to make sure my taxes are all figured, packaged, and stuffed into a postal worker's sack? Is it because I got around at the beginning of February and got the nonsense out of the way early? Sadly, no. Mostly it's because we procrastinating American taxpayers were blessed with an extra weekend to mop things up. This year (and this year only), taxes only need to be postmarked by Monday, April 18. We should probably celebrate, as that's the most mercy I've seen ever from the Internal Revenue Service.

I had to look up the reason for the delay, as nothing much seemed like a good excuse to push back the day when the I.R.S. agents all begin to salivate. It turns out that the District of Columbia is celebrating Emancipation Day today. The holiday commemorates the end of slavery and is usually observed on April 16. However as we all know, you can never correctly celebrate a holiday on a Saturday. So it's been moved to Friday, and we all get an extra weekend of trying to find more deductions. I'm assuming that the residents of D.C. are today proudly remembering the emancipation of slaves in some solemn way. I'm sure it's as classy as the way we remember the former chief executives of the country -- with a President's Day mattress sale.

Actually, I'm not in a panic because the taxes are done, thanks to a professional. I gave up long ago trying to do them for fear that I wasn't properly completing Schedule 666 or whatever needs to accompany all my W-2s, 1099s, 1040s, and Form E-I-E-I-Os that I have to stuff into those envelopes. It's just way too complicated unless you file the form with the EZ at the end of it. I think everyone seems to like it that way, and by everybody, I mean the I.R.S. and every accountant and tax service in the nation. The rest of us could stand a break from the complicated machinations of the tax code.

There are movements to replace the current system with a flat tax of say, 17 percent of all income. No deductions or exemptions. No complicated tax forms. Just three or four lines and a place for a signature. That sounds like a good idea on the surface. I'm sure there are catches I haven't thought of yet. What we sometimes forget is the tax code has become complicated because we as a nation have looked to reward certain behavior. Want to encourage charitable giving? Offer a tax deduction! Want everyone to learn the tango? Give a deduction for tango lessons. You get the idea.

Think of what a huge change that would be, though. Dismantling the current tax system would be almost like making gravity optional. Or even like celebrating holidays on Saturday -- we're talking massive change! I'm all for change, but I do want some kind of plan as to what the change is going to be. Change for change's sake is usually a stupid idea. Just when we start thinking things can't get any worse, we realize we were wrong and that we have no business trying to do the job of a psychic.

The government isn't good at change though, unless you count raising taxes. Cutting things isn't a strong point for those chaps. They can't stand to make people mad. (Something about wanting votes or some such nonsense.) Truthfully, most people are in favor of government cuts as long as the cuts have nothing to do with them. “Don't touch my pension!” or “Don't cut funds for my subsidy!” or “Don't you dare cut funding for my precious snail darters!” Some day we'll have to get over that or else we'll all have to learn the hard way. We're already $14 trillion in the hole. That's something that could stand changing.

And so, those of you who can't change the habit of waiting until the last minute to plaster a stamp on the envelope and sending Uncle Sam more money to play with, take a deep confident breath, knowing you have a couple of extra days. Happy Emancipation Day.

Candy-coated memories

2011-04-08T15:17:00.001-04:00

In just over two weeks, we will be celebrating Easter Sunday, or Resurrection Sunday as some call it. During these last few days before the holiday, I seem to notice, more than other times, all the candy. It's in stores, at gas stations, in vending machines... it's everywhere. The holiday just makes it more prevalent with the chocolate rabbits and jellybeans and marshmallow critters, and candy eggs of all types. And this year my wife decided to give up sweets for Lent, so we haven't seen many of the goodies sitting around the house in bright anticipation of a colored basket filled with plastic grass.

I like candy. Always have. One look at my waist size should tell you that. But candy has changed over the years. Sure, the price has changed. I remember the ten-cent candy bars suddenly costing 15 cents. Now, I really don't know if there is a standard price. I haven't spotted a 50-cent bar in a few years, that I know.

But beyond that, it seems like we've lost a lot of the old candy and it's been replaced by, well, not a whole lot. However, candy makers seem to cling to their franchise names. Let's take the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Everyone is at least familiar with the standard two-per-pack round beauties with chocolate outside and peanut butter inside. At last count these gems were also made in miniature cups, in oversized cups, with dark chocolate, with white chocolate, a version with more peanut butter, a version with more chocolate, a version with the peanut butter on the outside and chocolate inside, a cup with caramel added, a cup with marshmallow added, a cup with honey roasted peanut butter, a cup with hazelnut cream, a thicker, darker chocolate cup, and the double crunch cup with a peanut and nougat filling. That doesn't count the special crunchy cookie cup which was a layered cup with crushed cookies and peanut butter that hasn't been made in a decade, or the Elvis-inspired peanut butter and banana creme from a few years ago. Oh, and the peanut butter and banana version was available in standard, miniature, and big cup size. Of course the big cups are also available with white chocolate, with peanuts, mixed nuts, and with a nut and caramel combination. And now, they've introduced the Minis, which are smaller than miniatures and unwrapped (which is good for folks like me who hate wasting time wrapping those little suckers).

Then, you have the other candy bars that the Reese's name has gone on. Certainly you've seen the Fast Break Bar or the Peanut Butter Squares or the Nutrageous or another dozen or so that have hit the shelves. And that doesn't even count the peanut butter eggs or rabbits at this time of year!

So instead of inventing a new candy bar, a familiar name goes on the wrapper every time they stuff something new into an M & M. And in the meantime, some candy bars go missing. As a middle schooler, I remember selling candy bars at a school concession stand. The big favorite among the kids was a Marathon bar. As I recall (I was not a fan of these), it was a thin, stretched-out bar which I believe was chocolate covering some sort of shoe leather. The kids who liked it claimed it was caramel. All I know is, we sold a ton of those at a quarter a pop. And now, the Marathon bar isn't even being sold by nostalgic candy makers who specialize in old candy bars.

And why is it that many of the flavors you get in those Valentine's Day boxes of chocolates don't come in bars? Ever have a candy bar with that orange cream inside? Me either. Even the vanilla creams and maple creams are hard to find. The closest I can get is a Bun candy bar with the maple cream and peanuts. Those used to be made in Fort Wayne, but now the brand belongs to another candy company. It's also about half the size it used to be. Or I'm twice as hungry. I can't be sure.

Once, the bunny drops his bundle of chocolatey goodness on the 24th, I'll see if this year's crop of candy is as good as it used to be. And if by chance my basket contains a Chunky or a Bounty or a Sugar Daddy, I'll let you know.

Wrecked trains and opera

2011-03-03T18:28:00.001-05:00

Believe me, I ain't highbrow. I am truly closer to Dr. Pepper and Velveeta than I am to wine and cheese. So news from the world of opera regularly escapes my notice. But imagine my surprise when I read the review of the newest opera to grace the stage in merry old England. The subject matter was not new -- a rags-to-riches tale that ends in tragedy. The main character was definitely new in opera circles. Anna Nicole Smith.

You remember her, right? The rather, um, buxom woman who married millionaire J. Howard Marshall who was a mere 62 years older that Smith. Besides her physical attributes and the marriage to the 89-year-old Marshall, Smith is best remembered from her reality show where she usually appeared mentally altered by some unknown substance or substances. The suspicions about her drug use were more or less confirmed when Smith died of a drug overdose in 1999.

Anyway, some opera writer who is always in the market for a little controversy (and a little publicity) has Anna Nicole - the Opera running in London, and the initial reviews were actually mostly good. After all, operas don't have happy endings, do they? (I'm really asking. I don't have season tickets to the Met.) So a tragic star with a tragic end makes for a good story, opera-wise. Of course, when the subject of your opera is a former Playboy Playmate of the Year (so I'm told), then the presentation itself may just steam up a pair of opera glasses. But controversy sells tickets, and opera's creator seems to be a man who enjoys money.

And what a surprise to me that this guy is not only capitalizing on the trainwreck that was Anna Nicole Smith, but he also was a co-creator of an opera in the early 1990s about former Cincinnati mayor and talk show host, Jerry Springer! No word on whether or not members of the upper crust in the theater began chanting, "Jer-ry, Jer-ry, Jer-ry!' during the libretto.

With this trend already setting the opera world on it's collective ear, I think the high class crowd may be ready for my idea -- Charlie Sheen - the Opera. Picture the 'Two and a Half Men' co-star setting his views on curing oneself from alcoholism and his need to stop pretending he isn't a total rock star all to music. Not just any music, my friends. Opera. Imagine the operatic version of Sheen and his two female co-leads running amok through scene after scene of parties, strippers and car chases. (I'm not exactly sure how to stage the chase scenes just yet.) Imagine the delight of the audience as the many rants that have been a part of nearly every television interview show over the past two weeks are turned to melodic interpretations of classical themes. (Either that or have him sing 'Smoke on the Water.' Be patient with me. I'm still developing this idea.)

But as the creator of an opera about Charlie Sheen, the problem comes at the end. How does the story end? Where am I going to find a fat lady in Sheen's life to do some singing? And does the trainwreck that is Charlie Sheen end in total disaster or in redemption? I guess I'll have to keep my television on and find out.

Any questions?

2011-02-24T17:03:00.002-05:00

In the mid-1960s, a 24-year-old leader of the Free Speech Movement named Jack Weinberg uttered the famous phrase, "Don't trust anyone over 30!" The quote became a theme for the decade among those young adults who suspected that the powers-that-be were manipulating things in order to keep their power. Weinberg later admitted that he didn't really believe that sentiment, but that he was trying to get rid of a reporter who was asking him questions. The point for many of his generation -- the hippies, mostly -- was to avoid blind acceptance of whatever was being taught. "Question authority," is attributed to Weinberg's fellow radical Timothy Leary, but the lesson was the same -- don't just accept what people tell you, even if those people are important.

Over the past couple of weeks, I've seen plenty of images that have disturbed me. The protests in far-off places like Egypt, Libya, and even Wisconsin have displayed some of the worst human behavior. Mob rule isn't pretty, no matter how you slice it. And when people get in an unruly group, well let's just say they don't usually end up on their best behavior. Mostly, they simply accept what has been told to them and behave like those around them.

I watched a video of a woman yelling at someone she perceives to be a Tea Party member, calling him -- get this -- uneducated and "emoral." Now I'm hardly uneducated. I have a Master's for crying out loud, but I've never heard of the word "emoral" nor would I think about calling someone that when I don't know them at all. I've seen video of journalists who were attacked because they are Americans and America is the reason the world isn't perfect. I've listened to people complain that all union members are thugs. Now none of these people would fit into the 'genius' category, obviously. But could they really be that stupid? My theory: They merely accept what they hear.

If I were some kind of tyrant or an organization leader or anyone with a shred of power, I'll admit it would be tempting to require blind allegiance from my followers. That way I wouldn't have to put up with those who don't trust me because I'm over 30 or those who want to question me because I have authority. It's easy when no one challenges you.

But as a follower, shouldn't I at least be keeping an eye on those who are supposedly in charge of me? I realize that is probably tough at most jobs or at school, but whatever happened to checking to see if what someone says is actually true? Those of us who spend a great deal of time on the Internet realize that some sources simply cannot be trusted. And, when it comes down to it, even those we claim to trust may not be all that trustworthy. Yet I've been given false information by people who didn't bother to verify what they heard (or often misheard). If a speaker on the radio declares something as fact, why shouldn't I question him? If some television preacher states that something is true, why should I believe him without verifying what he says? If my doctor diagnoses me with something serious, shouldn't I seek out a second opinion?

The sad fact is that no one bothers to verify or even question assertions because it takes actual work to do so. Too many of us are too lazy or too busy to seek out the real truth. It's easier to accept what the television talking head or the preacher or the union leader or the lady down the street says. So the mistruths and outright lies flourish right beside real truth. We'll trust anyone whether they are over 30 or not. And the result is too often name-calling, violence, hatred, and foolishness. If this trend continues, and people continue to accept and act upon whatever somebody told them to be true, I fear for this country. I guess that makes me an old hippie.

Grammy Report: Music Lives!

2011-02-18T10:41:00.000-05:00

I've always loved music. Not only was it the noise in the background in all my memories of my high school and college years, it was a point of common ground among friends.

“Isn't that new K.C. & the Sunshine Band song horrible?”

“Yeah, almost as bad as 'Funkytown' or whatever it's called!”

“Right on!” (or whatever silly expression we used back then.)

I can still remember certain points in my life just by hearing a specific song. That's probably true for a lot of people. For me, it's a little more intense since I spent ten years of my life playing songs on various radio stations across the country. I've heard a lot of songs so often that I can no longer stand even the opening guitar riff. That's rock, pop, country, and the dreaded oldies -- it spans many formats. As a result, I gave up much of my musical interests due to overexposure and a lack of new music that really interested me.

Over the past few years, I have regained my interest, and now consider myself somewhat fluent in current music even though my friends and I don't sit around and talk about how horrible the latest Katy Perry song is. I actively seek out new music these days, aided by the advanced technology of satellite radio and the Internet. So, as I sat down to watch last weekend's Grammy Awards, I didn't have to keep asking my children why Eminem wasn't red with a big M on his chest or why Usher was on stage instead of showing people to their seats. I knew the cast of characters, and I knew most of the music. For the most part the show kept me entertained, at least as much as an awards show can entertain.

I did notice that there is still a kind of reverence shown to some of the, um... more EXPERIENCED musicians. The show began with a tribute to the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin, and later Mick Jagger paid tribute to the King of Rock 'N Soul, Solomon Burke. Ironically Jagger, who wore what could best be described as “skinny jeans” to perform, was only three years younger than the recently-deceased Burke. Make whatever you want out of that.

The biggest disappointment for me was another antique, the incomparable Bob Dylan, who sang with a voice that was really incomparable. All I can gather is that years of singing through his nose has left Dylan without a singing voice, and what could have been an incredible musical performance turned into an unbearable performance. I guess we're all getting older.

Oh, and there was an obvious plea for attention by a popular singer who arrived at the theater in a translucent egg carried by shirtless men in gold lame shorts only to emerge on stage to debut her new single. I'm sure she would appreciate me mentioning her name since she went to that much trouble to draw attention to herself. Oh well.

But I've seen the proof that music is still alive and well. I've seen the Internet buzz generated by Grammy performances by great performers like Mumford & Sons, Esperanza Spalding and Florence and the Machine. Sure, music has grown and changed in the past few decades, but I still love it. Music has power over feelings and emotions. Nothing can turn my day around like just the right song. And nothing can turn my stomach faster than the wrong song. Power is power. Right on.

Pick a superpower, any superpower

2011-02-14T14:20:00.001-05:00

Most every person in my generation remembers tying a towel to our shoulders or safety-pinning a small blanket there and running at breakneck speed with arms outstretched pretending to be a superhero. Actually, that's probably any generation, so don't try to deny that you had Superman pajamas or some other such outfit. Superheroes are characters with superhuman powers. That's the key. Very few children want to be a superhero because of the high-fashion, skin-tight outfit. We wanted the super powers. Many of us still do.

I stumbled across a survey from Marist Poll which asked people what superpower they would like to have. The choices were: flying, time travel, invisibility, teleporting, and mind-reading. So, which one would you like? I'll give you a moment to process through all these.

It turns out that there was a tie for the most-desired super power. The results showed 28 percent wanted the ability to read minds and 28 percent wanted to be able to travel through time. Flying scored 16 percent of the respondents, teleportation got 11 percent, and invisibility came in at 10 percent.

There were also 8 percent who said they were 'unsure' about the whole matter. I worry about some of the people who choose 'unsure' on a poll that is so obviously not based in reality. Come on, folks! Play along! I promise you won't be stuck as invisible for the rest of your life! I remember seeing the results of one of those telephone polls once. People voted by phone and each call cost 50 cents. The question was something like, “Do you think O.J. Simpson is guilty?” and sure enough, five percent of the people voted that they didn't know. Think about that a second. Those folks paid 50 cents a call to share the fact that they didn't have a clear cut opinion! Maybe if you don't have an opinion, you shouldn't participate in the poll -- especially if it costs you half a dollar.

Anyway, I find it a little surprising that the old Superman standby of flying only appealed to 16 percent. Maybe there are many people afraid of heights (not that I can imagine a superhero that can't rescue anyone for fear of falling). Another 11 percent chose teleportation instead, since after all, it takes a lot less time, and you don't have to worry about being dressed for the weather. Can you imagine how cold it would have been flying around this week in some spandex jumpsuit? Snapping your fingers to get there sounds much more appealing in this type of weather.

The invisibility thing surprised me too. I thought it would be more popular. I guess the point of being invisible is to be able to sneak up on people or watch them without being discovered. Of course, if you're invisible you also have to learn how to be very, very quiet or else the jig is up. The other disadvantage to invisibility is that unless you have an invisible spandex jumper (which are probably available online somewhere if you look hard enough), you have to be naked to be invisible. Then we're back to being out on a cold February day again. Being frostbitten would probably take the fun out of being invisible, but that's just a guess on my part.

Of the two winners in the poll, time travel should be popular because how many times have we said something like, “I wish I knew then what I know now.”? With time travel you can! Plus you can go back in time and see the important historical happenings. My own worry would be that I would do something that would cause a 'Back to the Future” type wrinkle in time and louse up my own birth or something. Can a person be time-clumsy? If so, I'm doomed.

Reading minds is really the safe answer. We get to find out what we're not supposed to know, and no one is the wiser. It's like looking at the answers in the back of the book or being in on an inside joke. That, and we'd get to call people liars and they wouldn't know how we figured it out.

As for me, I guess reading minds would be my choice, although there were plenty of super powers left out of the survey. What about super strength like Superman or the Incredible Hulk? Or maybe super speed like the Flash? Or the ability to talk to sea life like Aquaman? Wait. Scratch that last one. I don't really need to chat with my fish dinner. How about the ability to heal almost instantly like Wolverine? Shoot, at this point I'd settle for the super ability to do my own taxes. Now, THAT'S a power I could use!

Name withheld by request

2011-01-21T13:29:00.000-05:00

It's a jungle out there.

When I say that, I mean what seemingly everyone else in the media has said: There is a lack of civility among many in this country. Granted, it may not be as blatant as in past centuries, but name-calling seems to be old hat for commentators, politicians, and others who generally have a camera or a microphone in front of their faces.

I love a good debate, and I've always lived by the maxim that if one side stoops to insults, that side has lost. After all, insults are usually what fly when you've run out of important things to say. But it seems many people don't abide with that maxim. Perhaps it's because they've run out of important things to say themselves.

Mostly folks like to point fingers at who is causing the level of discourse to take a nose dive. Some blame talk radio. Some blame selected politicians. Some blame television commentators or even entire networks. I think I have the real culprit in mind. The Internet.

Please understand that the world wide web is not responsible for things resembling hate-speech. It's the speaker's fault and the speaker's responsibility to tone down the rhetoric. But the anonymity offered by the Internet takes away the inhibition of many who might behave if everyone knew his or her identity. It's like lobbing grenades while traveling incognito.

Back where I grew up, the local newspaper did not require those who wrote letters to the editor to sign them. That way, person A could write about the terrible service they received at the local gas station and not have to worry about having the clerk let the air out of her tires on her next visit. Or person B could scream and whine about his neighbor's trashy lawn and not need to hire a guard to keep the litter off his property. The signature for those letters would be “Name Withheld By Request.” As a reader, if you read the editorial page to see some juicy letters, you skipped the ones with names at the bottom and went straight to those from Name Withheld By Request.” Those anonymous letters were always full of a mixture of anger, guile, hatred, and likely a little too much alcohol. But they were written because “nobody will ever know who wrote it anyway.”

I'm glad we don't print those letters here at The Times Bulletin. We still get them, mind you, but they are filed inside a large green plastic bag. Usually they aren't even read. If you aren't adult enough to put your name on your opinion, I guess that opinion isn't worth anyone's time.

I've spend a lot of time on the Internet over the past dozen years or so, on forums, chat rooms, blogs and the like. What could be a legitimate, healthy face-to-face debate often becomes more heated and vengeful when the participants are hiding behind Internet screen names or handle. Think about it: If I am “Ed Gebert” there are expectations for civil behavior since people can track me down, but if I am “ihateeveryone238” no one expects anything from me. I am a character, a persona, a mysterious identity.

And trust me, those hiding behind screen names usually are the ones dragging down civility in online conversations. Not everyone with screen names is doing that, but if the debate is in the mud, chances are it's shutupanddie66 who started it.

But I can't blame everything on Internet anonymity. I knew a guy online who was always an obstinate jerk whenever he took part in a discussion. One day I met him in person, and he turned out to be the exact same in real life. There's something to be said for consistency, I suppose.

But for all the talk of being civil, there are always going to be arguments. I heard a fellow today complain that people at a local coffee shop were up in arms about the latest go-round of whether to allow beer to be sold on city property. He seemed to be shocked that people were upset with one another about the whole affair. Meanwhile, I was thinking to myself that this certain coffee shop has seen plenty of arguments over coffee in the years since 1922. A former professor of mine told me he learned about many of life's weightier questions while listening to the patrons at a bar in Willshire.

But do we have to be so nasty about it? Do the people who disagree with me have to be such idiotic, brainwashed low-lifes?

Whoops. I guess I lost that one.

Watching the gas station signs

2011-01-18T15:55:00.001-05:00

Is there anything more watched than the price of gasoline? With each bump in the price for a gallon of the stuff, whining and wailing starts to reach deafening levels. With each drop in cost, cars start to burn rubber to get to the pumps to fill up before the cycle begins again. Of course it helps that stations light up signs with giant numerals to tell us how much we can expect to pay. If other businesses had to advertise in this way, we'd all be complaining about the price of milk or lawn mowers or teeth cleaning.

Within the past two weeks, we've watched unleaded clear the $3 a gallon barrier here in Van Wert County. It's the first time since 2008 we've seen that price. Back then, though, we were relieved at $3 a gallon since we had narrowly avoided $4 a gallon weeks earlier. I've been amused at the reports in the media of people reconsidering their travel plans because the price of gas has gone up. Somehow, the increase of gas prices from $2.99 to $3.19 doesn't seem to alarm me.

Thinking about this, my car gets around 20 mpg. So a 20 cent per gallon rise in the cost of gas equals about a penny a mile more. That makes a trip to Columbus and back of approximately 200 miles now cost around two dollars more. Now, who in their right mind would cancel a fun trip (or a trip to visit family who may or may not be fun) because it costs an extra two bucks? Yet I've read and listened to people say that now with $3 a gallon gas, they'll change their driving habits and not take long trips! If you are indeed strapped for cash (and probably wouldn't be making a fun trip to Columbus in the first place), that's one thing. But it costs $2 for a soft drink at most restaurants these days! Do you think I'm changing for two dollars? I don't think so.

I've often said that the more times a person tells a story about how little something used to cost, the older they truly are. But I'm going to risk that maxim to tell you this story of my childhood:

At that time in the late 1960s, gasoline was selling at every service station (that's automotive service, not just selling doughnuts and potato chips) for 29.9 cents per gallon. I'm pausing here so everyone can collective say, “Wow, he really IS old!”

Anyway, I was riding in the backseat with my chin resting on the front seat one day when my dad pulled into a service station. He looked at the pumps and shouted, “34.9? I'll NEVER pay that for gas!”

Ironically, he was probably right since the price of gas started rising soon afterward, and he never did get to pay just 34.9 again.

Now I realize that was a different era. Hey, my first car didn't get miles per gallon. It was more like gallons per mile. But we all knew where we needed to drive, and if there was going to be any scrimping and saving, it wasn't going to be on driving.

I've also heard so-called “experts” say that gas will be $3.75 by spring and over $5 by 2012. Those people may be right, or they may not. Inflation alone means we'll probably hit that benchmark someday. But the truth is, I'm not sure I even know how to drive less anymore. I can't take the bus. I can't take the train. I can't really car pool since much of my work time has me going to one destination or another -- alone. But if those giant lighted numerals clear $5.00, I'll have to find a solution, won't I?

I just hope I won't go driving out of a station, declaring that I'll never pay that price for gas. I'm afraid I may be right.

What's this guy doing anyway?

2011-01-16T17:06:00.002-05:00

A few years ago, this blog was full of updated thoughts about life, faith, and dealing with them both. Then... silence. Nothing. For the better part of three years, there was basically nothing of any consequence posted here. Now, there have been a couple of odd posts that seem a little different? What gives?

It's nothing to be alarmed about. Life continues to get in the way of some things. I'm not sunning myself on a gorgeous beach today. I'm not running a marathon. I'm not touring the southland in a traveling minstrel show. I'm sitting at home by the fire, avoiding the cold outside. It's a rare time of relaxation for me.

But I'm back here, hoping again to be able to share some thoughts and revelations -- perhaps as much for me as for anyone who happens to read. Almost half a decade ago, I took a job with a local newspaper as a reporter. I get to use my writing skills, but unfortunately, they are usually used to describe school board meetings, grand openings and criminal court proceedings.

Moreover, sometime after that, my ability to minister to people well was severely hampered by the need to be ministered to. It's a long story, but let's just call it a case of writer's block.

Lately I've been able to write a weekly column for the newspaper, and I've been posting a few here. Don't look for a lot of applied spiritual truth in those. Maybe you'll have to do the application yourself.

But I'm at the point where God is filling me up again, giving me ideas and thoughts that are going to have to come out on a page. The trick may be finding time to put them all together. But when they do, they'll be here. So I won't be posting 5-6 times a week, but I'm hoping that when I do it'll be worth a read for you. I know it will be worthwhile for me.

Palin Highlights Human Differences

2011-01-13T17:43:00.002-05:00

Perhaps you've read the headline above and think you know what this column is about. You're probably wrong.

Sure, Sarah Palin's name has been all over the media for the past week because of all the accusations made against her. But I'd much rather leave that to our editorialist to take on. Somebody in the office once declared that there is nobody in America who either doesn't love Palin or hate Palin. I proved that statement wrong. As with most everyone, I disagree with some of her opinions and actions, and I agree with others. She's just a human being, like everyone else you run into.

For me, that was never more obvious than the night last week when my wife and I watched back-to-back episodes of "Sarah Palin's Alaska" on one of those satellite channels. (I can't tell them apart. I watch something on Animal Planet the other night that didn't have a single animal in it. No wonder I'm confused!)

The Alaska series has finished its run now, but it featured eight one-hour episodes plus a "greatest clips" compilation assembled for those who just don't have eight hours to kill. In it, Palin is more travel guide than public figure, taking viewers on an exploratory trip of America's Last Frontier. And that frontier is a beautiful place. Majestic mountains, crystal-clear waters, and acres of trees, with very few people standing in the way.

The series is a reality show of sorts. The stars are Todd and Sarah Palin and all the kids, the grandchild, various other relatives and friends, and other assorted Alaskan folk, and I'm sure some people didn't even think about watching the show because the Palins are front and center. But as I watched, I picked up on something. The Alaskan culture depicted on the series is at once both very familiar and incredibly foreign to me. I don't know much about salmon fishing, logging or dog mushing, but the blue-collar work ethic I understand. Still, as I sat with my wife and watched, I was as much entertained by the Alaskan lifestyle as I was looking at the bears play in the river.

One of the episodes featured a visit by Kate Gosselin, of (John and) "Kate Plus Eight" fame. The nine of them were coming to go camping and fishing for a weekend with the Palins. However, it turned out to be a real (excuse the expression) fish-out-of-water situation. Gosselin was no more prepared for Alaska than Beverly Hills was prepared for Jed Clampett and his kin. She whined about the rain, the cold, the bugs, the surroundings, the food, and most anything else she could think of. As her eight kids ran around having the time of their collective lives, Mama Gosselin looked for her first opportunity to get out of the Alaskan wilderness.

It was apparent just how few people from outside Alaska would be comfortable there. It's different. They stand around and cut up a catch of fish in one part of the show, including Palin's daughter Willow who is spending her 16th birthday in "fish camp." It's not exactly the Sweet Sixteen party many girls dream of. I mean, who lives like that in the year 2011? But as I marveled at the Alaskan way of life, I was reminded that the Midwestern way of life is just as mysterious and unknown to many others. East coast and west coast dwellers often refer to this part of the world as "flyover country" as if there was nothing of importance in Ohio, Indiana, or countless other states in between New York and Los Angeles. They have no knowledge of corn fields, of counties with only 30,000 residents, or of cities where murders are rare instead of a daily occurrence. And many don't want any knowledge of those things either. We are like a documentary on rural Midwestern life that nobody wants to watch.

Maybe we're too quick to dismiss things -- cultures, people, ideas -- that are different than ourselves. Perhaps we find ourselves judging others as harshly as they judge us. While I'm not booking a six-month Alaskan camping vacation, or planning to turn in my keyboard for a salmon boat in Alaska's Bristol Bay, I'm pretty sure I have no business looking down my nose at those who live in that environment. And no matter what you think of Sarah Palin's politics, you should be able to see that the state she formerly governed is not a backward culture. It's just a different culture. As much as I hate being judged for the area I live, I have to be sure I'm not doing the same thing. I may not want to live in a big-city high-rise or in a tent in sub-zero weather, but I won't be talking down those who do. And just maybe the same thing should apply to people who have different opinions, different levels of education, different income tax brackets, different musical tastes, and different personal habits. We're just human beings, after all.

Of Buggywhips and Typewriters

2011-01-06T21:43:00.001-05:00

Surfing across the Internet this week, I encountered a handful of articles about obsolete products. Actually the products are not obsolete yet, but probably soon will be. One simply listed items that babies born in 2011 will never know. Usually I skip these types of articles since I feel old enough already, thank you. But this time I read through, each author coincidentally coming up with the same dozen or so products.
I'm not always on the cutting edge of technology. In fact, most times I struggle to keep up with the latest trends. Twice in my life I have found myself decades ahead of all you common folk.
The first time, I was just a youngster with a record player. Alright, it was a turntable for those of us serious about our music. But a new medium was arising that was threatening to eliminate the vinyl 45s and LPs. It was the 8-track tape. I resisted, watching as my friends jumped to tapes. You see, I had my eye on something newer, more accessible, and with more uses. I jumped straight to cassettes. I jumped so soon, there were no pre-recorded cassettes in the stores. I was forced to join... the Columbia Record and Tape Club to get my music. Sometimes behind ahead of the curve has its cost.
The other time was the fax machine. Let's face it, the only time a fax machine was really needed was to transmit a signature. There was no way I was buying a hulking machine just for that. In my lifetime, I have sent maybe two faxes. And someone else did the faxing. I just stood back and shook my head.
But what about the current products that will soon go the way of the buggywhip? What do the experts have pegged for extinction? Encyclopedias are one item. Wikipedia and all sorts of Internet reference pages can easily take the place of the 26-volume Encyclopedia Brittanica. That's sad. My uncle sold encyclopedias for years and years. It was his ultimate reference. Now instead of finding the right volume, it's about five to ten seconds of keyboard work and the answer is there.
The same goes for phone books and yellow pages, at least according to these experts. Now, I can still find a phone number faster with the white pages, but usually it takes me a few minutes just to find the book.
Also on the list is the network evening news. I had to check last night just to see if this was still on. I watched about five minutes of the CBS version which once made Walter Cronkite a national treasure. Last night it looked more like a promo for the network's morning lineup. Seriously, do people with more than three channels still watch the network news?
Other things newborns will never get to remember include paper road maps (or the thrill of trying to re-fold one properly), movie rental stores, cameras that use film, and home land-line telephones.
These kids won't understand about calling long distance since few people today have to pay more to talk to someone far away. They won't wear watches, since the time will be prominent on whatever the latest electronic device is. They won't comprehend travel agents since there are many dot coms to book all your travel needs. They will never catch onto the manual typewriter, where you have to reach up to return the carriage every time the bell rings.
Indeed, the very thing you are holding -- a newspaper -- will be different than the physical paper we have grown up with. While some papers, along with books, magazines, and catalogs, will still exist on a limited basis, many will do their reading from a screen, without the need for a paperboy or a trip to the mailbox.
Yes, times are changing. Life in the mid-21st Century will go on without dial-up Internet service, VHS tapes, and Kodachrome film. While that may be a blow to my personal memory banks, it is sure to be a boon to culture in general. And when my grandkids come scurrying up to my chair, asking for me to tell them about the olden days when we had telephones connected with wires and recording devices with long reels of brown tape, I can scoot back in my chair and regale them with tales of the Good Ol' Days. And just like I did when my grandmother told me about having to hitch up the wagon to go to town, they'll sit and listen, thanking their creator they don't have to live in such prehistoric times.

Slow Fade...

2010-07-12T15:08:00.001-04:00

Be careful little eyes what you see
It's the second glance that ties your hands as darkness pulls the strings
Be careful little feet where you go
For it's the little feet behind you that are sure to follow

It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
It's a slow fade, it's a slow fade

Be careful little ears what you hear
When flattery leads to compromise, the end is always near
Be careful little lips what you say
For empty words and promises lead broken hearts astray

It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day

The journey from your mind to your hands
Is shorter than you're thinking
Be careful if you think you stand
You just might be sinking

It's a slow fade when you give yourself away
It's a slow fade when black and white have turned to gray
Thoughts invade, choices are made, a price will be paid
When you give yourself away
People never crumble in a day
Daddies never crumble in a day
Families never crumble in a day

Oh be careful little eyes what see
Oh be careful little eyes what you see
For the Father up above is looking down in love
Oh be careful little eyes what you see

Cardioectomy

2008-11-06T20:25:00.002-05:00

During the ten years I spent working for various radio stations, I saw these scene numerous times. After all, radio stations try to bribe people to listen. They offer money, prizes, and all sorts of excitement just ot keep people listening or to get them to show up at a radio station event. Often those events brought out some real gems.

I had been at this new car dealership for about an hour and a half with free hot dogs, drinks and balloons for the kids. The guy at the grill had gone through all the hot dogs on hand and since the appearance was almost over, he didn't go out to get any more. Then a man walked up to me at the radio station van. He wasn't shabbily dressed or anything, but he smelled like he hadn't bathed in a few days.

The man said, "I wanted to get a couple of hot dogs."

"Sorry, but we're all out," I explained.

"But you said on the radio that if I came down here you'd have free hot dogs, and I want mine!" he countered.

"Um, if you listened, you know I said 'while supplies last' when I was talking about the hot dogs. We had a whole bunch during the last hour and a half, but now we're all out. Sorry about that."

It was at point the man started shouting at me about me telling him lies and him wanted what I promised him. Eventually he stormed off.

That scene happened for a hot dog, for a t-shirt, and for an album or cassette (it's been a few years ago). I was yelled at for giving someone the wrong size free t-shirt, for giving away a tape the person already had. Some people really appreciated the free gifts. Others felt cheated by receiving something for free.

I realized back then that being given something for free didn't mean a person would appreciate the effort. It would be easy even for me to complain about a free gift. I've received birthday and Christmas gifts that I didn't like, maybe because it was the wrong color or it just didn't suit me. I probably wasn't very appreciative that someone gave something to me as a present.

I was having a discussion last week about this very phenomenon. Do most people appreciate a gift received? What about a benefit received from a church or a service organization? What about from the government?

Our church typically collects money in a fund and then gives it to people we know are in need, whether they are part of our congregation or not. There are plenty of stories of people needing $300 desperately, then our check for exactly that amount is enclosed in a card. God works miracles through us, and the recipient understands that and is truly grateful. From my understanding of Scripture, that's one of the things a church is supposed to do.

While debating whether or not a government should be giving things away, I tried to play things out in my mind. I've got to admit, I've rarely seen any appreciation for a government check. I've seen plenty of people angry when the check was a day late, though. It seems like a "regular gift" can quickly deteriorate into an expected right.

In my area there are many people out of work. Around one in ten people in this county are jobless, many recently losing positions due to plant closings or other issues. While not every displaced worker does this, a large majority of them plan to remain on unemployment as long as possible. They are not even considering looking for another job until the unemployment checks have all but dried up.

"I've got 18 months of benefits coming? I'll look for work in about 18 months... not before."

They do not appreciate the benefits. They consider them something they deserve. Some of those folks are simply getting what they paid in... for a while. But they want to get paid for doing nothing. Again, not everyone, but more than I would have thought.

I know farmers who own ground they do not farm. The government pays them not to use that land in some sort of federal program. They get paid for doing nothing, much like a welfare payment. Is that right? Does it fit with a Christian worldview?

My observations lead me to believe that this isn't how Christ would have us operate. The New Testament tells us that every person who is able should work. The church takes care of the widows and orphans. I think there is an important distinction there. When the church (or for that matter a private, secular social agency) provides, there is more appreciation from the recipient. Their heart is in it. When the checks come from a faceless entity, it's too easy to feel entitled to them rather than thankful for them.

But I'm not simply griping about people who get free benefits. Some of those government benefits come from me. Now I realistically don't feel any too wonderful about giving that money when I don't have a choice in the matter. The Lord loves a cheerful giver, right? And I have no problem giving. But when it is simply taken from me, my heart isn't in it.

With all that, I wonder if the current way our government does things is more like giving us all a cardioectomy -- taking our hearts out of the whole process. I don't want my gift taken forcibly and the recipient feels like it's not a gift, but an entitlement. No heart.

I want those who need taken care of to be taken care of. But by the same token I don't want them like the guy demanding a free hot dog or the guy complaining that his t-shirt is too big. Maybe that's foolish on my part. But I do know that I want my heart to be in every gift and sacrifice I make for someone else. Anything else is simply going through the motions.

Thoughts?

Yo hablo Inglés

2008-10-24T09:43:00.002-04:00

I do remember 1977. Not every bit of it, of course. But I have my selective memory retention intact. The Late 70’s Memory File was reopened this morning when I heard my two teenage sons speaking Spanish. The younger boy was hurriedly running through various Spanish words and phrases in preparation for what I can only assume was a test of some sort in Spanish class. My older son, who completed two years of Spanish, was busy peppering his brother with more foreign terms, probably only serving to confuse the whole situation. Mixed in with the dialogue was the giggling of my first-grade daughter who just thought the boys sounded pretty silly.

With this odd mix of United Nations and slumber party running through my ears, I thought back to 1977. I was a freshman in high school taking Spanish I under the tutelage of Mrs. Kaye-Smith. We had the technologically-superior classroom, with trays of headphones that descended from the ceiling at the press of a button so we could learn our second language with the help of a state-of-the-art reel-to-reel tape recording.

I thought back to what I learned during those sessions. I learned basic words and phrases. I learned to conjugate verbs. And I learned how to create feedback in a pair of headphones.

I began to think to myself that I really should learn a second language. Spanish would be the most obvious choice since I already had a head start — a year of Spanish! Maybe I could pick up one of those “Muzzy” videos or a set of CDs for the car or even some computer software. My heart started to pick up the pace as I realized that I could certainly build on that year of headphone-enriched language skills. All it would take to be fluent in Spanish would be taking the time to study and memorize and learn and practice and…

Then I remembered 2008. “I don’t have time to do all that!” I reminded myself. “It’s all I can do to find time to mow the lawn and buy gas before the price changes.”

Sadly, that’s the way yet another brilliant inspiration ended. There in the driver’s seat of my car, my future as a bilingual quickly died. I could probably pull it off but it would mean dedication, sacrifice, and well, work. The ability to speak Spanish just isn’t a big enough reward for me to use up my spare time to achieve the goal.

It didn’t stop there. Oh, no. Once my mind starts filing through the memory banks, it apparently can’t stop. I was reminded of many other goals, promises, vows, and New Year’s resolutions that had suffered the same fate as my mastery of the Spanish language. Whatever happened to the closet I was going to build? What about starting that online business? And what happened to the whole exercise every day and get myself in shape promise?

I know most people have encountered the same experience. You set that goal of walking or running a mile every day, and the first five days go incredibly well. Then on Day Six it’s raining pretty hard and the decision has to be made. The real decision happens on Day Seven after missing a day and wondering if it’s all worth starting again.

I know people who set goals and try to stick to them. Read the Bible every day. Take self-defense classes. Stop smoking. Learn Spanish. Some people succeed. My dad gave up smoking cold turkey, an accomplishment I attribute mostly to his stubborn streak.

Many of the rest of us fall flat after some initial success. I think it comes down to, as one of my old coaches used to say, “How bad you want it.” If I see the goal as important enough, I’ll buckle down, make the sacrifice, put in the effort, and eventually succeed. If I am not convinced that achieving the goal is that big of a deal, I might as well wear a t-shirt that reads, “Quitter” across the front.

Others don't even try, not out of an inability to do something, but either a fear of failing or an overwhelming laziness. I have talked to many, many people about their need to read the Bible. I am convinced that it is the major way God communicates His truth to us. Yet far too many Christians refuse to make it a habit.

"I don't read very well."

"I don't like to read."

"I don't have time to read."

"I fall asleep when I read."

I've heard 'em all. But no matter the excuse, no matter the reasoning behind the failure to crack open the Good Book, it comes down to the question of how badly we want to do it. And, truth be told, far too many Christians don't see a real value in reading and studying Scripture. If we did believe it was important and we would get something out of it, WE WOULD ALL BE DOING IT!

As I drove this morning with the echoes of conjugated Spanish verbs still ringing in my ears, I understood that my mastery of Spanish will never go much beyond a Mexican restaurant menu. I don't value that skill enough to pull away from my fears or my limitations or my laziness. What we value, we will try to accomplish. And with God's strength, we can accomplish anything. Even reading, studying, and finding joy in a centuries-old Book.

Crying at Wal-Mart

2008-10-18T08:30:00.002-04:00

My daughter loves to have slumber parties. Being a six-year-old girl, it kind of goes with the territory I realize, but this really seems to be exciting for her. These attempts at sleepovers haven't always gone well. We have had to call the parents of a none-too-happy girl to come pick up their crying and homesick daughter on a couple of occasions. But usually everything goes smoothly.

Earlier this spring my daughter wanted to have the mother of all slumber parties. We eventually talked her into scaling it back to just four other girls from the original invitation list of the entire county. The girls mostly all got along well and were typical talking, giggling six-year-old girls.

The whole scene was working very well. The potential problem we had to watch for was from little Rachel. Two days before the sleepover Rachel found out that her mommy and daddy were separating and that daddy was moving out of the house. Her mother told us that Rachel had naturally been upset, but she was so looking forward to the sleepover that she was fairly certain she would be alright with all the other girls.

Everything was moving along well. My brave wife, bless her heart, decided we needed to pick up a few things. So we loaded up the truck and took the whole gaggle of giggling six-year old girls to Wal-Mart. It was a high time for the soon-to-be kindergarten graduates, let me tell you. They were involved in picking out shoes that the boys would like them to wear, and choosing entire ensembles, and basically acting like they were ten years older than they were. Six going on sixteen times five. My wife was browsing through the aisles and I was mostly trying to keep the whole herd in the same general area until the shopping stopped.

Then I heard it. I didn't see how it started, but I saw what was happening. It was little Rachel, eyes awash in tears, wailing and sobbing. My wife, her motherly instinct taking over, immediately swept Rachel up in her arms, asking, "Honey, what's wrong? What's wrong?"

The sobbing continued for a minute or two, maybe. Then finally little Rachel was able to form words. Those words sent a chill down my spine.

"I want my daddy back!"

I looked at this tiny girl, her body shaking and convulsing with tears. I looked at my wife, her eyes had started to well up. I had to turn away. The tears were running down my cheeks, one after another. With the drama being played out in front of the other girls, including my own daughter, I didn't want to break down. I wanted to be strong for them somehow. I couldn't.

I turned and walked quickly up and down the shoe aisle, rubbing my hands across my face as if to try to push the tears back into the ducts. My heart was breaking for this little girl. In the teary eyes of little Rachel, I saw my own daughter. "What would it be like for her if my wife and I separated?" I thought to myself. "Would it be my own little girl sobbing and crying her heart out at Wal-Mart?"

My daughter greeted me when I got home last night with so much love. "Oh, Daddy, I haven't seen you all day!" she told me. We had some special cuddling time on the couch. She colored me a picture. She chose me to tuck her in. She said, "I love you very much, Daddy."

I love you too, darling.

Full Moon Fever

2008-10-15T22:13:00.002-04:00

I'm inside tonight. It's raining. But for the past two nights it's been hard to escape the great outdoors. For me it was the call of the full moon.

Two nights ago I looked up and noticed that giant orb of reflected light. Before I went to bed around midnight, I had to go outside for a while. In the place I live there aren't a lot of artificial lights. There is a lot of farmground surrounding me, and at this time of the year the crops are all cut. The land is flat, the trees are few, and that night it was brighter than twilight from only the light of the full moon hovering overhead.

It's a odd look at midnight with the bright light of the full moon illuminating the lawn. Things are easy to detect when a normal night hides them well. Light in the darkness.

Last night was mostly cloudy. But I knew where that moon was. Clouds blew slowly across the sky, but the clouds were of different densities and didn't control every inch of the sky. From time to time I could make out the arc of the moon as it stood silently, waiting for the clouds to pass. Soon it would be covered in clouds again -- thick, purplish-black clouds that gave no hint of the light coming from behind them.

But even when the full moon was blocked, some of the thinner clouds were reflecting the light. With a bit of study, I could figure out exactly where the moon was by concentrating on where the light was brightest. Even when I couldn't see the moon, I saw light.

I am a servant of the Light. But there are plenty of times when I simply cannot see the Light. For one reason or another, He has hidden himself from me, wanting me to continue to seek and lean upon Him. But I cannot see the Light.

Yet even when the Light is hidden behind the darkest clouds, I still see light. The reflection of His light is apparent in so many places. The people around me. My family. An answered prayer. A word of encouragement. A dark night lit by a full moon.

Like last night, not even the darkest of clouds hides all of the Light. But sometimes I have to study the situation and concentrate on the Light to see the Light.

In these days when the clouds seem much more abundant than clear skies, I am so grateful that He cannot be completely hidden.

Empty

2008-10-09T22:09:00.003-04:00

I haven't visited here much lately. Sorry if there's anyone around still checking in on me. I plan to do better once again.

You see, the thing is, Attention Span has always been a great outlet for me to pull some thoughts together that have inspired and encouraged me. I like to use Attention Span to help fill others with what God has filled me with.

Funny thing happened to me... I hit the spiritual "empty" point. I had nothing much to give. I started a few blog posts, but didn't finish many. There just wasn't much inside.

As a pastor, that kept me from being what God wanted me to be. Preaching was difficult. My daily life was also. Life was pulling me down, and I wasn't leaning on Him as I should.

God is merciful. But I do get reminders not to start thinking I don't need to lean on Him. I'm not that strong, and I realize that.

At this point, God is beginning to fill me again. My life isn't perfect... far from it. I still have major issues to deal with at church, at work, and at home -- especially in my Christian walk. I guess maybe I had many of those issues before but didn't want to admit it.

I have been incredibly blessed. My wife is wonderful. Having her by my side means so much. There was a time I took her for granted. Not anymore.

My children are constant challenges, especially with two teenagers, but they bring me so much joy. I am really enjoying watching them mature (albeit slowly) each and every day.

My calling as a pastor is both a blessing and a curse sometimes. Often I feel like Solomon, realizing I need wisdom to care for God's people.

I have many other blessings too. We have so much. I've found friends both old and new. We have the support of family. And God is granting direction. It's still a little fuzzy, but it's coming. I'll be patient.

More than anything, God is filling me, slowly but surely.

"Lord, pull me to You. I am weak, but You are strong. Fill me and use me to Your glory. And thank You for the strength You have provided... strength that I could count on when I had no other way to stand. Thank You for being so patient with me. Amen."

Anni-Birthday

2008-06-16T23:48:00.002-04:00

I haven't posted as often as I would like, but I had to make a brief stop tonight. Tomorrow my wife and I celebrate our 19th wedding anniversary as well as my wife's 39th birthday. It's her Anni-Birthday and it's always a special time.

I have often wondered what I did to deserve a wife like I have. The truth is, I could do nothing to merit the affection of this wonderful woman. She amazes me each and every day. She has such a never-say-quit attitude that I have found her doing things I didn't think she'd ever do. Yesterday she was helping me change the headlight in her car, getting grease all over her hands and her cute little face. She was something to behold.

Words cannot describe how I feel about her. She married me on her 20th birthday, without getting the chance to live life as a single person. I know that many times she wishes she could have experienced being out on her own, but personally I'm glad God worked out the timing the way he did. I was in a sad state before I met her, and I'd be nothing without her today.

A lot of things have changed in our relationship over the years. Just over the past year, we've been through a lot. I truly admire her courage and her sacrificial attitude. I marvel at her willingness to beat the problems she has been given. And I am ever so grateful that she is by my side as my wife.

As we begin our 20th year of married life tomorrow, I have little idea what the next 12 months will hold. I sincerely hope the ride is less eventful than the past 12 months have been. There are all kinds of options open to us. But whatever God brings into our lives, I want her there beside me for the rest of our lives.

I love you, darlin'.....

Mercy Refused

2008-05-29T22:22:00.004-04:00

Please forgive my absence over the past few weeks. I'd like to tell you that I've been traveling hither and yon bringing joy and excitement to one and all, but in truth I've simply been working too much.

As part of my work, I find myself in courtrooms from time to time. No, I'm not in trouble or going through a divorce. But I do get to see a variety of people at crisis points of their lives. Some are sorry for what they've done and some are not. For a few, a court date is simply an inconvenience while for others it's a chance to get out of the cell and see some new surroundings. But with all the differences, the process is almost always the same and the variety of personalities all end up facing the justice they'd rather avoid.

This week I saw something different... truly different.

She didn't look like all the rest, but she didn't look out of place either. 26 years old. College graduate. Facing four felony counts. And she was smiling, even joking with her attorney a couple of times. When the hearing began, I didn't think too much about her attitude. The charges against her were read -- theft, complicity to commit theft, complicity to commit theft, engaging in a pattern of corrupt behavior. Obviously, this young woman had some problems.

The typical process involves a plea bargain. The prosecution agrees to reduce the charges against a defendant in exchange for a guilty plea. It saves the county money because the expense of a jury trial is saved. The defendant usually gets a lighter sentence since the charge against him is less serious. I've seen the whole parade go by dozens of times.

This week the parade took a detour.

During the hearing, it was revealed that this young woman had conspired with another person to steal big-screen televisions out of the local Wal-Mart, then either sell them or return them to another Wal-Mart and collect the money. The lady helped her partner twice to sneak out televisions. Then she stole one on her own. Then the police showed up and the whole thing fell apart. She was charged with four felonies, three counts less serious and one count -- engaging in a pattern of corrupt behavior -- much more serious.

As usual, the prosecution offered a deal. They would dismiss the most serious charge which carried with it a possible 8-year prison sentence if she would simply plead guilty to the three lesser charges and face a possible three years in prison. But this woman refused the deal, and decided to plead guilty to all four charges! Her attorney tried to talk her out of it, but she was determined to plead guilty to all four counts and face a maximum 11 years total and up to $22,000 in fines!

I don't know why this young woman wanted to do this. The difference between 3 years in prison and 11 years in prison is staggering. As I sat in the courtroom, I wondered about her motives. Was she trying to punish herself? Was she trying to make a point about the justice system? Was she just being stubborn? Was she reflecting a recent more awakening in her life? Did she think she'd get a lighter sentence by going through this act?

I couldn't decide. But whatever it was that made her refuse the mercy offered to her, she appeared to be at peace about it all. She was happy facing the full consequences of her actions, and not just getting away with a lesser punishment. Despite the urgings of her lawyer and even the prosecution, she wanted to face all four charges head on.

I think I can really admire her for that. I'm not really sure, as I don't really know her motivation. Still it seems somehow honorable to take full responsibility for one's actions.

But as my mind continued to wander, and I continued to wonder, I realize what I had just witnessed. This woman had refused mercy. That's very unusual in most settings, but not in the realm of Christian witness.

I've known countless people who have refused the mercy offered to them. I've talked to many who seem content facing the consequences for their life of sin, thinking it somehow wrong if they accepted the grace of Christ. There was the old man who saw no reason to accept Christ at his age because it wouldn't seen fair to live as a sinner for almost 90 years, then slip into heaven after one little prayer. There was the lady who realized her sinfulness but wouldn't dream of asking for mercy. She didn't think she was worth it.

I find it odd that refusing mercy is so easily understood when it involves Jesus Christ, but stands out so when it happens in any other walk of life. Perhaps it is a pride issue. Maybe that old man simply didn't want to give up control of his life. Maybe the other lady didn't want to seem hypocritical to others. Could it be that they felt the need to take responsibility for their own actions and didn't want to be obligated to Someone else?

I don't know what will happen with the 26-year-old television thief. I hope she has refused mercy because she feels the moral obligation to take her punishment, and I hope that mercy will still be given by the judge. I'll know in about six weeks. But more than that, I wish that refusing the grace and mercy offered through Christ Jesus wasn't so easy for so many to do.

Lost

2008-04-09T20:37:00.003-04:00

After we got home from church on Sunday, the TV was on the NFL Network. Now I realize that this isn't exactly football season, but around here it's always football season. The program was a countdown of the top ten biggest mistakes in the history of the NFL. Now I don't for a minute believe these were the ten biggest foul-ups, but they were certainly high profile.

But none were more high profile than Jim Marshall's wrong way run. Marshall, an all-pro defensive lineman for the Minnesota Vikings, had a stellar career. He was a big part of one of the most feared defensive lines in the NFL -- the Purple People Eaters. However, even with all the accolades for his accomplishments, Jim Marshall is still remembered by many for his wrong way run.

The Vikings were playing the San Francisco 49ers when the 49er runner fumbled the ball. Marshall, quick as a cat, scooped up the pigskin and headed for the end zone. The only problem was that Marshall didn't turn around, he simply ran. His teammates were yelling at him from the sideline to turn around, but Marshall thought they were just cheering them on. When he reached the end zone, he tossed the ball into the stands thinking he had just scored a touchdown for the Vikings. Unfortunately for Marshall, he had just scored a safety -- 2 points -- for the 49ers. Eventually, as the pictures above show, one of the 49er offensive players caught up to Marshall to give him the bad/good news.

The announcer on the television program spoke about how Marshall was seen as a superman in the league up until that day. Then he said, "But on that one play, Superman was just a man who was lost."

Those words struck me as odd. Remember we had just been at the church for Sunday services. This Sunday we had an unexpected visitor. I'll call her Eve.

Eve hadn't expected to visit our church that Sunday either. She had received a call from her 24-year-old son from a county jail about 30 minutes from our church. After she took her son his heart medication, Eve got back in the car for the 30 minute drive home. But somewhere along the line, Eve got mixed up and went in almost exactly the opposite direction as she should have. Finally, feeling exhausted and desperate, she saw a church with a bunch of cars in the parking lot and a few people milling about, so she pulled in to ask directions.

She was quickly brought in for a restroom stop and a cup of coffee. It was (coincidentally or providentially) our coffee and donut time, and a lady from our congregation sought me out to see if I could give Eve directions back home. I did, then turned to get the service started.

We were about ten minutes into the service before I realized that Eve was sitting in the back pew, right beside the lady who had asked me to give directions. She stayed there listening as I preached about not being able to understand God's plan sometimes, and how God's love doesn't fail even though tragedy befalls us.

Eve asked to talk to me after the service. She was truly lost. Her husband had died just three months ago. Now she was all alone, away from a man who almost never left her side. Her head wasn't quite right. She was a bit confused. She was lost.

She asked me to find a pastor for her in her hometown so she could talk to someone once her nerves settled down a bit. She told me she had wanted to sit down with a pastor but didn't know who to talk to. Then after Eve composed herself, she and a couple from church left for home. The couple wanted to be sure Eve would make it, so the woman rode with Eve while her husband followed. On the way home, Eve made two wrong turns due to her muddled mind. Finally she made it home. But she's still lost.

If a superman can get lost, a woman mourning the love of her life can certainly get lost. Please pray for all of the lost -- especially Eve.

The Battles

2008-04-04T20:33:00.003-04:00

I just got done watching a classic basketball game on ESPN Classic. It was 25 years ago and I

was in college, marveling at the incredible run of North Carolina State. My friends and I were huge basketball fans, especially at our own school, but once the Ball State Cardinals were done for the season, we turned to the bigger schools and the NCAA tournament.

In 1983, the Wolfpack were decent, but they were nowhere near the best team in the land. That was Houston. The Cougars went by Phi Slamma Jamma becasue they slam dunked the ball so often in an era where dunking was not an every-second occurrance.

State clawed their way through the Atlantic Coast Conference, actually made the NCAA tournament field and methodically began picking off teams they were not supposed to beat. The team's colorful coach, Jim Valvano, took his team all the way to the championship game against the number one team in the land -- Houston.

The Wolfpack took the opening tip and scored immediately with a slam dunk -- usually not their forte. For the rest of the first half, the underdogs kept the Cougars at bay, piling up an eight-point lead at halftime. But Houston came out smoking in the second half and soon asserted control. But the 'Pack wouldn't quit, and with less than a minute left, the score was tied and State had the ball. Playing for the last shot, the Wolfpack almost frittered away the entire remaining time with Dereck Whittenberg picking up the ball near half-court with less than five seconds remaining and heaving a desperation shot at the basket. The shot fell about a foot short, but it didn't fall all the way to the floor. Lorenzo Charles grabbed the ball as it was passing in front of the rim, turned and slammed it through with two seconds left. The Houston players were so stunned that no one thought to call time out. The game was over, and Valvano was running wildly around the floor looking for someone to hug.

I remember so much about that game, even though it happened 25 years ago. It's the stuff of legend. Two years later, Villanova did something similar when they upset Georgetown to win in 1985 and I remember some of the same things. But it's not just wild upsets. In 1979 it was Magic vs. Bird as Michigan State took out Indiana State. In 1982, Fred Brown made a pass to the wrong team as his Georgetown Hoyas were coming down to take the winning shot. These are a part of my memory.

Yet I find it interesting that I can remember vividly the 1979, 1982, 1983, and 1985 NCAA Championship Games but I couldn't tell you much of anything about 1980, 1981, 1984 or 1986. I'm not exactly sure why, but I think it has something to do with the game itself. Watching the back-and-forth struggles and battling for supremacy make things memorable. There may have been high drama during the years I can't remember off-hand, but for some reason it hasn't stuck with me.

I remember other battles from sports. Billy Buckner lets a grounder go through his legs. Dwight Clark makes "The Catch." The "Do You Believe In Miracles" USA hockey gold medal game, The "Thrilla in Manilla", Boise State's Statue of Liberty touchdown win... the battles make memories.

I think it's the same way with life. The episodes in our lives that make the most impact on us are the ones that involve battles. There's something about fighting through adversity that makes an impression on the ol' memory bank. That struggle you find yourself in will affect you. You'll remember the hard times, but you will also remember the victory that was won. Some may seem like hollow victories or even complete losses, but if you are still alive and kicking afterward, there is victory to be found. After all, God has preserved you for this moment, for this time. Your victory may be found in how He helped you through, in how you learned from tragedy or from your mistakes.

There are some who would want life to be easy, without battles. I think that sort of life wouldn't teach us much of anything. We wouldn't learn how God strengthens us. We would see how He upholds us. Our character wouldn't grow. Neither would our perseverence. We wouldn't be all that God wants us to be.

It's the battles that make us better. It's the battles that draw us closer to God. It's the battles that make memories because battles with God lead to the ultimate victory.

Authentic

2008-04-03T22:37:00.000-04:00

Likewise, unless I level with God -- about bitterness over an unanswered
prayer, grief over an unforgiving spirit, a baffling sense of God's absence --
that relationship, too, will go nowhere. I may continue going to church, singing hymns and praise choruses, even addressing God politely in formal prayers, but I will never break through the intimacy barrier. "'We must lay before Him what is in us, not what ought to be in us," wrote C. S. Lewis. To put it another way, we must trust God with what God already knows. -- Philip Yancey from the book, Prayer: Does It Make Any Difference?

I've been working through the old Bill Hybels book, "Too Busy Not To Pray" and teaching a study on Sundays. Last Sunday we talked about authenticity in prayer. It's a topic that on the surface isn't one that strikes a chord of guilt with me. When I'm praying, I don't think I'm being dishonest or secretive about my feelings. After all, it's God. How am I going to fool Him? Or to paraphrase Yancey's paraphrase, "Why wouldn't I trust God with what God already knows?"

I realize that many people can develop the habit of going through the motions. Rehearsed prayers, standard blessings, perfuctory psalms... boy am I glad I don't have any issues like repeating prayers over and over again with no real meaning seeping through. Thank God I'm not like other men.

Too pharisaic?

OK, so I'm not always authentic. My mind can slip into daydreams if I'm not careful. I can resort to the same old prayer requests without thinking.

But the biggest problem for me with authenticity is not taking it to God in the first place. It's easy to fake authenticity if I just avoid a sensative topic in prayer, or even avoid the prayer altogether. It's tempting to keep certain select areas of my life away from the Almighty. But it's not like He doesn't already know.

He also knows about my bitterness, my hurts, my fears. And while that may sound intimidating, I'm glad He knows. Someone needs to know. And because He does, I can be, well authentic with Him in prayer. I can pour my heart out to Him. In fact, our relationship gets deeper as I continue to confide in Him. What's more, our relationship takes a step back when I stonewall Him or ignore Him.

"Lord, You know me and my heart. Continue to draw me to You, unafraid to be open with You."

Puppy Love

2008-03-27T21:57:00.005-04:00

Here she is... the newest edition to the family. Her name is Maggie. She is a Beaglier. That's cute-dog-speak for a cross between a beagle and a cavalier King Charles spaniel. She's been in the family for about 48 hours now, and my wife is in love.

Maggie is what you might call an impulse buy. OK, she is an impulse buy. We had been discussing adopting a golden retriever who needed a home. Then, while killing time during our daughter's dance lesson, we stopped by the pet shop. Guess who was there? Our daughter was mighty surprised at what happened during her class!

The idea of cross breeds is kind of strange. They call them "hybrid breeds" and they come in all shapes and sizes. Want a schnoodle? A puggle? Just mix 'em and go.

Q: What do you get when you cross an insomniac, an agnostic, and a dyslexic? A: Someone who stays up all night wondering if there is a Dog.

Q: What do you get if you cross an artist with a policeman? A: A brush with the law.

Q: What do you get when you cross a chicken and a pit bull? A: Just the pit bull.

Q: What do you get when you cross one dog breed with another? A: Apparently you end up with a hybrid breed with some of the characteristics of both breeds. Our beaglier has some of the coloration of a beagle and the facial expressions of a cavalier. We've already noticed that she follows her nose around like a beagle or any other hound.

The other side of the coin is that the hybrids end up with possible weaknesses from both breeds. Every breed of dog is succeptible to certain problems. Big dogs have heart troubles. Some terriers have weak livers. Check the list for a hybrid breed and it includes the weaknesses of both mom and dad's families. Not that every cross breed will have every weakness, but one side's weaknesses aren't cancelled out by the other side. There just aren't breeds with super-strong livers to counterbalance those with weak ones.

Into every relationship, each side brings its own set of baggage. With our relation with the Almighty, we bring in sin while God brings in perfection. Our sin is never fully counteracted in this lifetime. We continue to struggle with our sin nature. Yet, God brings to us the ability to overcome that nature. But we refuse to allow Him far too often.

Yet this hybrid of our sinfulness and God's forgiveness is infinitely lovable by the One who loves with an infinite love.

Easy to Miss

2008-03-24T22:55:00.004-04:00

Every year at Christmas time, I marvel at how easy it is to miss the real importance of the holiday. We become bogged down with shopping, baking, wrapping, travel plans, and the like and we lose sight of Advent. We have plenty of reminders like Christmas carols and songs, TV specials, traditional events and men in red suits on streetcorners. Still the meaning of the holiday is so easy to miss, even for a Christian. We become lost in tradition or busyness or anything which pulls our minds and our hearts out of God-mode.

I really hadn't considered the same effect on Easter, but it may be even more apparent here once you start to think about it. My Holy Week wasn't exceptionally holy, and I'm really quite sad about that. We had a short vacation on Friday and Saturday planned to coordinate with the only Spring Break our kids get from school. Earlier in the week I had the funeral of the two-and-a-half-month-old baby. We had a pizza party after worship on Palm Sunday and a carry-in breakfast between services on Easter. Plus I had two services on Easter to plan. Where did it all go?

I missed it.

I've blogged before about some of the Holy Week activities when I was a kid. Our church had services all week. Maunday Thursday was the Love Feast with footwashing and communion. It was special.

There are no Easter carols leading up to the big day. Sure, an occasional bunny appears on TV commercials and the store aisles fill up with bag after tempting bag of candy. But it would be easy to miss Easter altogether, let alone the meaning of the season. Unless I set aside specific time, Easter can fly right on past for the most part. The possibilities are lost. The clock is unable to be pushed back. I wait for next year like a deranged Cubs fan.

Fortunately, the Resurrection is celebrated every Sunday. That's the reason we gather on the first day of the week instead of the Sabbath, you know. Each and every Sunday is a celebration of the conquering of death. On every First Day we recognize that Christ provided the perfect sacrifice for us, and that the tomb that Sunday morning was empty. Our holiday is not annual, but weekly.

That way it's not so easy to miss.

Out of the Closet

2008-03-19T15:15:00.002-04:00

Looks like all that talk about communism and nature was just a front. Mikhail Gorbachev has come out of the closet by confirming his Christianity. Read about it here. At least that's what he says. And to back it up, the former Soviet leader spent a half-hour in prayer at Assisi.

I'll take this at face value for the time being because I have no real reason not to. But what was it like for Gorby to deny Christ repeatedly for years? I write this in the midst of Holy Week, remembering Peter's threefold denial and subsequent glance at the Master he claimed to have never met.

I understand lying. Sad to say, I've lied myself on too many occasions. Those moments have been dominated by my own selfishness and fear of getting caught doing something wrong. I cannot, however, think of a time when I lied because I did something right. But I'm sure it may have happened.

The idea of a closet believer is so foreign to what I am used to. We are told that Nicodemus came to Jesus at night for a sermon because he was a secret believer. Pilate's wife was said to be a Christian. But my experience is with the closet heathen. You know the type: Talks about his love for the Bible, yet needs the table of contents to find any book except Psalms; Brags about her church, but doesn't seem to know many of the people beyond the occasional last name. You get the picture.

While I find it refreshing that Gorby has come out of the closet, I wonder how he was able to live with himself after all those denials. Peter got a face-to-face "Feed my lambs" experience with Jesus. Gorby got some prayer time at St. Francis' old stomping grounds.

At the same time, I wonder about the closet heathen. Would it be better for the rest of us if they would simply stop the charade? Or do we simply hope and pray (and pray, and pray) that somewhere along the line they listen to what they profess to believe?

If it's simply a matter of heart, we all have to fight off temptation and selfish desires. I just wonder if the closet heathen has fooled himself.

After the Funeral

2008-03-18T23:34:00.003-04:00

Thanks to everyone who prayed and sent words of encouragement. The funeral went well, or at least as well as a funeral for a two and a half month old baby can go. Lots of emotion. Hopefully some lessons learned.

I was surprisingly calm except for when my wife came to the funeral home. It did bring back a rush of memories of 17 years ago. Like I told the baby's mom, we never forget. Oddly enough, had my son lived, he'd be the same age as the mother of the two and a half month old baby. I guess I'm getting old.

I talked about not having answers, but having confidence in the afterlife. I spoke about a lack of understanding, but confidence in Christ as the way to the afterlife. And I spoke about God not guaranteeing a lack of trouble, but promising help through the trouble.

Please continue to remember mom and dad and the family, especially over the next few weeks. Thanks so much. And maybe I can get back to a couple of Holy Week posts this week.

What to say, what to say...

2008-03-16T22:43:00.003-04:00

I have a funeral to preach on Tuesday. This evening my wife asked me what I was going to say. I told her that I didn't know yet. She seemed surprised, but I'm not sure why. I don't know if I'll know what I said after the service is over.

The loss of a child is so different in each situation, but so similar. I've been reading poems and stories and although each honors a different child, a common thread runs through everyone -- an incredible grief. It's a grief that doesn't just go away. It's part of a hurt that pitches a tent and sets up permanent residence in a heart.

I wrote about my experience burying a child. It's here in this post. I just reread it, and I invite you to read it again or for the first time. I'll wait.

Not that long ago, I told my wife that sometimes I felt ashamed because I didn't think of our little boy every day. Unlike her, my life has gone on for short bursts without being dragged down by the memories. But not for too long.

You see, it seems like God is always placing people in my path who have a child in NICU or have lost a baby or have lost a grandchild far too soon. It's almost a little freaky. Last month, on the anniversary of my son's funeral, I was speaking with the mother of a sick little boy in NICU who shares my birthday. That mother shares my son's birthday. You can't make this stuff up.

I've mentioned to a few people that I wish I could remember more about my son's funeral, especially with this service coming up in 36 hours. All I remember is my wife and I taking pictures of our dead son in the casket, bringing him to the cemetary in what looked like an ice cooler, and a whole heap of crying. The minister traveled two hours to perform the service, and I don't remember a word he said. But I do remember he was there.

Maybe most of the burden for the family and friends (not to mention the pastor) is just being there. I believe God will give me some insightful words Tuesday morning, but I don't know if they will be memorable or even make a difference to anyone for the next week.

And in a strange way, I feel the love of God reaching out to me in all of this. I still feel the grief 17 years later, although it's not the same intensity. I have the comfort of knowing that I will see him again, without the tubes and wired that accompanied our first meeting. But I also have the prayers and well wishes of many people who realize that I have a tough job to do. My friends at the racing bulletin board, TrackForum, managed to find me even though I didn't try to burden them. (Hi, guys and gals!)

Then there is the bond that my wife and I share in all this. This death has brought back the experience that we shared so long ago and still share today.

I have few memories of this three-month boy who just died so suddenly, but the one that shines out is the last time the baby's mother brought them to church for Sunday worship. The baby's great aunt had been holding him through the pastor's long-winded sermon, but she had to come to the piano to play the final song for the service. So she walked with the sleeping baby in her arms and approached my wife from behind. My wife was suprised to see Great Aunt reaching out to her with that little baby in her arms, asking her to hold the baby while she played the piano. The expression on my wife's face was priceless. She's a little baby-crazy anyway, and the look of sheer joy on her face was something to behold! That tiny little boy had brought my wife an incredible amount of happiness.

And that's the story of his life. He brought happiness for almost three months. The mention of his name will continue to bring an odd mixture of happiness and sorrow for years to come, but the fact that he made grown-ups and children alike smile is a part of his legacy.

Some give joy their entire lives. This little boy was one of those people.

Prayers please

2008-03-14T14:54:00.004-04:00

A teenage mother from my church is in need of prayer today. She and her boyfriend were staying with her brother and sister-in-law. The brother has a 2-year-old son. The teenage mother has a 1-year-old and a 3-month-old.

This morning, the brother stuck his head in the baby's room to check on him. The little one was on his stomach, against the side of the crib as usual. But he wasn't breathing. The brother turned him over to see that he was blue. 911 was called, but the baby was gone.

I could go through the litany of things that have happened to this family over the past year, but that's not really the issue. Pray that God will hold them through this horrible time. And pray for me, that God will give me strength and big load of wisdom for this.

The View From Atop a Donkey's Back

2008-03-13T23:13:00.003-04:00

What did He see that Sunday as He rode on the back of a donkey's colt up the steep grade into the city of Jerusalem -- a city which meant so much to Him. What did He notice through the tears?

The Palm Sunday passage is such a bittersweet portion of Scripture. Jesus, being hailed as king by the peasants, yet being despised and laughed at by the Roman soldiers. What did He see in the eyes of those hypocrites asking Him to silence the crowd? Did it please Him to hear the sound of "Hosanna!" in His ears, all the while knowing that the shouts would turn to cries of "Crucify!" in just a matter of days?

The words of the gospels seem so poignant at that moment where Jesus breaks out into tears, crying over the lost people that He wishes to protect under the shelter of His wings. It seems that the rest of the happenings of that ride are almost inconsequential to Him. He is broken-hearted over the lost. He knows He will save some. He wants to save all.

My mind often travels back to the post I wrote about the show, "The Moment of Truth" a few days ago. There's that question featured in the photo, "Do you really care about the starving children in Africa?" I don't know how the contestant answered that question, but I would have to believe that there is a better-than-average chance she had to honestly say "no." It's trendy to say you care, but mustering up a lot of love and concern over some people you'll never meet and have precious little in common with... well, it's tough for the average Joe or Jo.

But the same issue plagues the Church. Do we really care about the lost? Do we ache for them? Do we actually love them? Or do we look at them as folks who are happy in their hedonism or forget 'em? If we're brutally honest with ourselves, we are probably closer to the latter than the former. Sad, aren't we?

Jesus wasn't like that. He looked out upon that city and saw the prostitutes, the godless, the hypocrites, the homosexuals, the rich, the powerful, the stubborn, the self-absorbed, the drunks, and the average Joes. His reaction? Deep sorrow for their loss.

What is your reaction? What is the reaction of the person in the pew behind you? In front of you? Beside you? Do we see people without Christ the way He saw them? If no, then why not?

Climb on the back of the donkey -- not for the cheers of adulation, but so we can see better the faces of those we struggle to care about.

"Lord, help me to see others the same way You saw them on that Sunday morning, and the way You still see them today."

Heart Condition

2008-03-09T22:25:00.004-04:00

"Only he who is helpless can truly pray." - Ole Hallesby

Interesting quote, don't you think? Prayer is one of those topics that we as Christians like to give lip service to, pledge to do better, swear how important it is, and regularly regret how little we do it. I think part of the reason is that we wonder if we're doing anything more than talking to the air. After all, God already knows whatever it is we're going to tell Him. So it's hard to get charged up about rattling off a grocery list of prayer requests, no matter how much in need those people on the list truly are.

Over and over again, the topic comes back to me with a big, flapping, red flag attached to it. The words on the flag are pretty simple: Prayer isn't so much the words, but the attitude.

Jesus talked about the Pharisees who loved to be the ones called upon to make the big public prayer. They'd even do the prayers when nobody asked them to do it. They liked to be heard. They said all the right things. They were smooth as silk, and people looked up to them for their incredible prowess at public prayer. "Surely, that's a spiritual dude," the passersby must have said.

By Jesus talked down those showy prayers and the ones praying those prayers. Why? Probably because it was performance. I've done a little theatre work, and I realize that when I'm reciting my lines or even when I ad lib in character when I've forgotten what I was supposed to say, those words aren't real. Sure the words exist, but they don't really reflect what's in my heart. The words are uttered to keep the performance going. The show must go on, you know.

So all the recited prayers in the world don't seem to make a dent in our souls unless there is a true heart condition -- a point where what is said matches what is believed. On top of that, any prayer that does not come from the heart seems to me to be an almost useless exercise. Sure there are days that my heart doesn't seem to be in everything I pray, but if I am detached from what I say or simply praying out of obligation with no feeling whatsoever, I have to wonder what the point is.

Let's get back to Mr. Hallesby's thought. Helplessness. Do I really see myself as helpless when I pray? Am I fully leaning upon the everlasting arms? I'm not sure I can honestly answer that question because I'm not really sure. But what I do know for sure is that unless my heart is in my prayer, I feel nothing from it. I can use all the beautiful, poetic, psalmistic words my mind can recall, but as Paul might say, without my heart in it I am like a clanging cymbal.

I hate being helpless. I love to be able to do things myself. Down deep my manhood is bruised when I have to ask for help to do something that some other guy could do by himself. That same feeling hits me when I go to God for all those things I know I cannot do. Sick children I cannot heal. The pain of grief I cannot take away. Temptation I cannot extinguish. And my heart should reflect that in my prayer life.

So prayer actually begins, not with a list of concerns or a journal, but with a heart condition. Understanding my own helplessness puts me in the right frame of mind to go to God. I go not as a person saying all the right words, but as a person who acknowledges his own inability to do anything right.

"Apart from me, you can do nothing." - Jesus Christ.

Fall Forward

2008-03-08T10:53:00.006-05:00

Daylight Saving Time begins tonight. It's the Spring Forward portion of our annual ritual, which means we will all lose an hour of sleep tonight -- like I needed one more thing to lose sleep over! Actually the hardest part about DST is remembering how to set the clocks. It's not just a matter of grabbing the big hand and running it clockwise one revolution. Oh no. It's holding the set button while pushing the seek button three times while repeating, "There's no place like home," or something like that. I'll have to look that one up.

Anyway, I have no real problem with DST. Usually I like it, although it's really kind of strange to still have daylight in July at 10 p.m. But I can adjust.

I live in an area near the great state of Indiana. I like Hoosiers. I was born and raised in the state. But you see Hoosiers are just recently a part of the whole DST world. Until last year, the state ignored the clock-switching tradition. As a result, there are plenty of people there with a vile hatred for DST. I mean hatred. Almost violent hatred.

I know a few of these people. They carry on like Satan himself has taken over the government -- at least the clock-setting portion of it. Cows won't give milk on time. It's too dark in the morning. The earth may fall off its axis. All pretty typical from some of the anti-DST hardliners. To hear them talk, that one hour is the one thing they hold precious in life.

Of course I've seen the same attitude in the church as well. Hymns vs. choruses. King James vs. New International. Pews vs. chairs. Some folks miss the point of why we gather on Sunday mornings. It's not to proclaim the truth that doesn't change in the traditional way that doesn't change. It's to worship God and to proclaim Him and His gospel to the world. And though it may bring a tear to the eye of the traditionalist, the time-honored traditions of the past 150 years is probably not the best or most effective way to proclaim Him. The truth doesn't change. Just the delivery method.

So as you and I move clocks tonight, let us remember that the responsibility of reaching others for Christ and helping people grow in Him is not a matter of making them learn and worship exactly the way our grandparents did, but of bringing them into His Kingdom. They, as we, are to conform to the image of Christ, not to the image of the churchgoer.

Tomorrow, we'll just do it one hour earlier.

I'm Favred

2008-03-06T21:47:00.002-05:00

As a Chicago Bears fan, I can't say I was all teary-eyed when I heard earlier this week about the retirement of Brett Favre from professional football. I always enjoyed beating the Packers. Favre stole too many of those games away with some bizarre lucky play. Of course he gave a few away by throwing foolish interceptions as well, so it's probably even.

Everyone always seemed to glow about Favre, not necessarily because of the games he won or the touchdowns he threw. It always seemed to be about the way he played the game. He was the Pete Rose of football -- the guy who played with all his heart and soul.

But at the press conference where #4 announced he was calling it quits, he didn't look like he was a kid playing a game. He didn't look like he couldn't wait to run out on the field and let a few 50-yard bombs fly. He looked tired. And to back it up, Favre said he was tired. Mentally. Physically. Tired.

So after 17 seasons in the pros, 4 in college and most of his life growing up, Brett Favre is too tired to devote himself to playing football anymore.

I can relate. I'm tired too. The main difference is that there was no danger of me taking the field to rifle a few throws at acrobatic receivers. But I understand some of what Favre is going through. I've had plenty of Monday mornings where I didn't feel strong enough to start work on another Sunday service or any other administrative work of the church. There have been plenty of Monday mornings that I haven't felt good enough to head out to my secular job. Tuesday mornings too. And Wednesdays. And... well, you get the idea. So why do I go?

I suppose it's a sense of duty and commitment at my secular job, and a sense of calling for the pastorate. But I'm still tired. I'm tired of trying to run the ministries of the church with only a handful of people willing to do the work. I'm tired of doing the same old nonsense day after day at my secular job. I'm tired of the hardships and the setbacks and the disappointments.

But I go on. But it's not my own strength. I ran out of that years ago.

I can pretend that I'm superhuman, but I'm not. My strength is in the Lord. And when I try to convince myself that I am strong, something will usually happen to remind me just how strong I am not. But fortunately, I am weak but He is strong.

And so on those mornings (and afternoons and evenings) when I don't feel ready to try to round up a volunteer at the church or perform the same old tasks at work, and like Brett Favre, I feel like calling it quits for a while, I lean upon the Lord and accept the strength He gives me. Like after waking up from a good night's sleep, I head off refreshed and ready to go on.

Tonight I'm ready for a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, with God's strength, I'll head off to work again to do what he has called me to do. And luckily for football fans everywhere, I won't be chucking the pigskin around. Besides, you don't want to see me in those tight football pants.

The Moment of Truth or The Biggest Loser

2008-03-05T16:46:00.002-05:00

I watched the first episode along with the rest of my family. The idea seemed intriguing. A guinea pig willingly gets hooked up to a lie detector so he has to reveal embarassing things about himself just to try and win a million bucks. Now, that's television!

So we tuned into the debut of The Moment of Truth to watch the fun. But the funny thing is, it wasn't especially fun. It was more like driving by an accident along the highway and straining my neck to see the dented sheet metal and blood-soaked windshield.

The premise is fairly simple. Contestants are hooked up and asked questions that they have previously answered. If they don't set off the lie detector, they win cash and the audience applauds. It starts simple, like asking the pro athlete if he thinks he's better looking than his friends or if he's peeked at other men in the shower room. Embarassing, but hardly fascinating.

Eventually the stakes are raised. "Have you ever touched a female client inappropriately since you've been married?" "Do you really care about the starving children in Africa?" "Have you ever gambled away one of your children's college fund?" These questions are asked in front of the contestant's spouse, friends and parents to heighten the tension, not to mention the pain.

From what I've heard, last week's show featured a blonde lady who was bound and determined to win that cash, no matter the consequences. By the end of the hour she revealed that she had stolen money from work, she had been sexually unfaithful to her husband and that she thought she should have been married to her former boyfriend. Amazingly after each revelation and confirmation by the lie detector, the studio audience clapped, celebrating the woman's theft, unfaithfulness and all-around poor character. And with every answer, the woman's husband buried his face deeper and deeper into his hands.

Promos for this week's show promise a contestant having a nervous breakdown on-camera from the pressure of revealing the "truth" in front of her family. Just keep telling yourself, "It's entertainment. It's entertainment."

Why would someone put themselves through all this? Better still, why would someone put their loved ones through something like this? Money? Maybe. But I'm thinking these people are looking for their 15 minutes of fame. Attention. That's the name of the game. It's the same reason that Jerry Springer was able to find guests all those years. People crave attention. Even being known as "that chick who embarassed her husband and ruined her marriage" is better than not being known at all.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, whenever I try to think of the title of the show, "The Moment of Truth" I always think of "The Biggest Loser." Nobody is losing any weight on "The Moment of Truth." Perhaps it's my age and the effects of acquiring an addled mind. Or perhaps subconsciously I associate these attention-seeking attention with losers.

My wife has an almost-violent reaction to "The Moment of Truth." She often says that no amount of money is worth the damage some of these people cause by revealing their secrets on television. I understand that point of view, although I also wonder why people need to keep the secrets or harbor feelings that would hurt others in the first place. But to purposely expose and embarass a wife or husband or parent or anyone is beyond appropriate. Maybe these folks are the biggest losers.

But I remember how I felt after I watched that one episode. Maybe it's not the contestants on "The Moment of Truth" that are the biggest losers.

"Lord help me from judging others unfairly, especially when my own behavior is less than what you want from me on far too many occasions. Let me not revel in the pains of others or take cheap enjoyment in the presentation of hurtful behavior."

A Weekend of Music

2008-03-02T18:57:00.002-05:00

It's been an interesting musical weekend. On Friday night, I attended a concert consisting of one man and his guitar, occasionally set aside for a piano. No background singer. No bass player. No fanfare. Just a one man band in the midst of an elegant theatre.

Livingston Taylor is an interesting guy. That's him at the right. He will play a poignant piece, or a medley of interpretations from "Oklahoma" and follow it all up with a quirky comedic number. Much of his banter between songs reminded me more of an odd college professor than a tender-hearted poet. His humorous asides seemed so out of place at times, but then again here is a guy who played a beautiful number on the piano about pitch, yaw and the Wright Brothers followed by a quick tune about the upcoming intermission which would probably end about the time the CD sales in the lobby slowed down.

He's not exactly a well-known performer. In many circles, he's simply a footnote to his famous brother, James Taylor. But that sells Livingston short. At times during the show I found myself wearing a goofy contented smile, just wrapped up in the sound of a man and an instrument.

The atmosphere was different on Saturday night. My wife and I sat in a somewhat smoky bar and grill listening to an oldies rock and blues band. This wasn't just any oldies rock and blues band. This band is fronted by my mother-in-law. I realize that may sound strange to many, but it's old hat to me. Hey, I've known my mother-in-law longer than I've known my wife!

Besides, the band is good. My mother-in-law is a good singer too. They play every weekend at clubs and fairs around that area and have a pretty good following. I haven't spend an evening in a bar for a while, so it was an interesting change of pace. Of course I knew most of the songs Saturday night where the evening before it was rare that I had heard the tune before the performance.

Then this morning during our worship service, we had a guest performer. A high school junior, this boy did two numbers on the piano and two other tunes on the accordian. Yes, I said the accordian. I'm not a big accordian freak, to say the least. Weird Al Yankovic, Lawrence Welk, assorted polka kings... what other use does this squeezable "concert in a box" possibly have?

The kid did well. He explained that he learned the accordian because his grandmother played it, so I could at least understand his attachment. He did a fine job too, playing His Eye Is On the Sparrow and How Great Thou Art. I'll admit though that I enjoyed his two piano numbers much more. Maybe it's because the accordian seems a little cheesy to me. I'm sure it's difficult to master, but overall the presentation of music on most other instruments is much more enjoyable to me. Then again, I'm not a big polka fan.

Music has always been a big part of my life. The ten years of my life spent working in radio found me immersed in music of all styles and helped form my rather ecclectic musical taste today. It also burned me out on a lot of overplayed pop and rock songs from the 80s. At times these days I retreat to some types of talk radio or classic radio programs to cleanse the palate, as it were.

Still I find it easiest to slip into a mode of worship with music. I sing, but I can't play any instrument worthy of public performance. I wish I could. There is something about being able to journey to a place where worship flows freely, or for that matter, where non-religious thoughts flow freely.

I don't have to mention just how divisive music can be also. You've heard the stories of churches splitting over the whole "hymns vs. choruses" war. But even in the secular marketplace there is a gap between die-hard country fans and hard-core rockers, even though there are similarities between the genres. Mostly I think it's a matter of what reaches the soul. I'm thankful that in one weekend my soul can be touched by a guy and a guitar, my mother-in-law singing rock and roll and a high school kid with an accordian. Thank you Lord for my easy-to-reach soul.

Stepping Over the Edge

2008-02-29T13:30:00.002-05:00

Apparently Luke Timothy Johnson has officially stepped over the edge. The professor at Emory University has made it known that he knows better than Scripture. In arguing for same-sex marriage, he stated:

I think it is important to state clearly that we do, in fact, reject the straightforward commands of Scripture, and appeal instead to another authority when we declare that same-sex unions can be holy and good. And what exactly is that authority? We appeal explicitly to the weight of our own experience and the experience thousands of others have witnessed to, which tells us that to claim our own sexual orientation is in fact to accept the way in which God has created us.

Pretty straightforward and honest, eh? The clear teachings of Scripture are jettisoned for our own experience.

Now I could spend another 47 posts arguing that we are all created with sin nature and that nature takes on various forms which would include homosexuality, but that's a discussion for another day.

What I want to call attention to instead is that a respected teacher at a respected school has said that at least on this one issue, we should chuck the Bible out the window and accept what we think as authoritative instead.

Are our feelings and experiences authoritative? Can we believe them as truth? I've had plenty of feelings which were no more than wishes and hopes. I've had a number of experiences which I thought was real but others with me said didn't happen. The Mormons believe in the Book of Mormon as divine because of a felt experience, despite the disagreements with the Old and New Testaments. How is it that because someone has a sexual attraction or preference for the same gender, that this means it is of God? I know people who have been greedy since they were greedy little kids.

The point being that the authority of Scripture is a standard. Make an exception once and you then have no reason not to make more exceptions. I have no problem with the study of scripture and textual criticism so that we can find out what the earthly authors of these books really meant to say. But to know what it says and reject that truth in favor of subjectivism steps over the edge.

A tip of the ol' ballcap to Dunker Journal.

Change - Fear or Fear Not?

2008-02-28T23:08:00.001-05:00

OK, so I made a few changes around here. There are probably a few more changes on the way, but I have time. Still tweaking the blogrolls too. A lot of folks have given up blogging while others have picked it up again. I can't blame them. After all, look at my blogging record over the past year!

Change is just natural, unless you're talking about the church. There change is something to be fought against, feared, resisted at all costs. Well, not everybody feels that way about change in the church but there are days when I'm hard pressed to find the exceptions to the rule.

In the church, change is difficult because the truth we hold to is unchanging. In the eyes of many the unchanging Truth is too closely tied to the way things have always been done. As a result, even the most minor of changes is viewed with suspicion.

So would someone please explain to me how the country can get swept up in Obama-mania when the man's buzzword is "change"???

What I've been able to ascertain is that Obama is talking about changing some nebulous concept of what people perceive to be wrong with this country or our government. He cries for change and the listener picks that certain change he has always felt was needed and somehow the two ideas meld. Hey, I'd love a little change too, but I have my doubts if my ideas of what needs changed and Obama's ideas are very similar.

Still Obama has tapped into the positive aspect of change. There are things we think need to be changed. Can we tap into that thought process in the church? I don't mean that everyone comes up with an idea of what needs to be changed then argues about what is important and what isn't. What I mean is that we need to see the real point, the real (forgive the Warren-ism) purpose of what we are to do as a church and as individual believers. Then we can truly determine the best way to get there.

The truth is that unless we are truly reaching people for Christ and bringing people farther along in their walk with Christ, we are failing in our mission. And no matter how much we love singing The Old Rugged Cross and holding potlucks, if that is keeping us from doing what we are supposed to be doing, we need to rethink our efforts. You know... change.

But we love sharing beef and noodles and singing 200-year-old hymns. It's how we came to know Christ. Why shouldn't others come to know Him the same way?

Change. The world has changed. Culture has changed. Music has changed. Isn't it natural that the way we express our worship to the Unchanging One would change too?

But our natural instinct is not to change. And in the process, we lose touch with the world. How are we supposed to reach the world for Christ if we lose that contact?

Somewhere along the line we need to need to get back to Romans 12:1-2. We need to be transformed by the renewing of our minds. Then we can tell God's will from our own selfish desires, and with God's help, separate the chaff of empty tradition from the wheat of truth.

The new banner picture and color scheme are just window dressing for the actual content of this blog. The good looking suit and chants of "Change" are only slick politics alleviating the need for revealing Obama's specific policies until after the election. The music styles, carpet color and building architecture are only the shell of church. We must rediscover the Truth of the church's mission and seek to obey.

Lazy

2008-02-25T22:43:00.002-05:00

I caught myself the other day. I was driving my wife’s car. Like many two-car families around the country, my wife has the nicer, newer, better-smelling car of the family. Hers is fairly new-to-us. We bought it back in October as a long-awaited replacement for the family minivan.

I drive a full-size car from the early 1990s with over 150,000 miles, squeaky brakes, and a missing armrest, but it does have a strong heater. There has to be a saving grace.

My wife’s car has all sorts of bells and whistles and she loves it. Of course I don’t mind driving it either. There are all kinds of gadgets to play with, but the one that has captured me is the controls for the radio that are built into the steering wheel. On the right side is the all-important volume control. On the left is the channel selector and preset scan. I can thoroughly frustrate any radio listener just by letting my fingers dance along the underside of the wheel. Is the kids’ music too loud for my 46-year-old years? Tap, tap, tap. There. Am I tired of artists who make percussion sounds with their mouths? Boom.

But most of the time I’m in my car with my Sirius Satellite Radio and my manual volume controls. That’s always been good enough for me.

Then as I was tooling along in my sedan one day, there was that song I heard playing softly in the background behind the hum of the tires on wet pavement and the whistle of wind through the gap between the door frame and the window. I thought to myself that I should crank that tune up louder and relive some of the old glory days. Since I had been driving my wife’s car the day before, my right index finger instinctively began searching for the volume up button. But alas, I was piloting the 15-year-old gas hog without the magic of fingertip steering wheel control. So mentally I nixed the idea of turning up the volume and feeling 18 again and continued to listen to the song, straining to hear it through the noise of the road.

That was when I caught myself. I had actually written off doing something because I didn’t want to exert enough energy to lean over and manually twist a knob! I spent a minute or two tossing this whole event around in my mind, still seated comfortably in the drivers seat. I measured the distance between the place my finger was tapping and the knob awaiting adjustment. Nine inches. I couldn’t convince myself to lean forward and reach out my hand that extra nine inches! How spoiled had I become in my wife’s car! Am I really that lazy?

The simple answer I came to was, yes, I am that lazy. But I don’t think I’m alone in all this. I think the physics of the whole situation dictates that if a person is resting, he wants to stay resting, just as I can’t seem to pull myself out of the La-Z-Boy when I’m nice and comfortable. I believe that comfort is a strong pull on our actions.

I think this principle applies to the church as well. In many cases church members may seem to fear change. Or is it the larger issue? Is it that we are too lazy to change? Are we afraid of losing our cushy pew so we refuse to consider doing things differently?

We're going through a period in our church where we have to consider certain changes. The cosmetic changes we seem to be able to handle. We deal with more contemporary music and surface changes fine. But can we allow ourselves to be pulled off the recliner and make the real changes in our lives and in our hearts? That still remains to be seen.

Changing the window dressing is a bit stressful. Rebuilding the window is a full-blown ordeal. We have to make a real commitment. We have to actually change and not just go through the motions. When we realize what we should be doing for Christ and even what we want to be doing for Christ, will we actually put forth the effort to reach out an additional nine inches and act?

Or will we be content in our laziness, straining to hear God's voice above the noise of the world but too comfortable to act?

Snow

2008-02-12T11:06:00.000-05:00

It's snowing here. It's not a blizzard by any means, but it's coming down lightly. Sometimes I can't even see the flakes. But they are there, slowly but surely covering the ground. What yesterday was a disaster of frozen mud and brown grass is now a pure white. I really didn't notice the transformation. It happened while I wasn't paying close attention.

Isn't it funny that major changes can take place without any notice to the process? It works that way with lives sometimes. A hardened heart is slowly softened without fanfare or winter storm warning. An unrepentant attitude is eventually convicted. An unforgiving mindset slowly comes to peace.

Thank you, Lord, for those unheralded changes that make an impact just as the new-fallen snow turns a filthy backyard into a glistening white paradise.

Betrayed

2008-02-11T15:33:00.000-05:00

Thinking about the whole Passion story today. It's good to have 40-plus days to focus on this portion of Scripture because there's just so much going on.

I played Judas in an after-high-school production of "Godspell," and one of the most emotionally-wrenching parts of that performance for me was figuring out what was going through Judas' mind at that time. At age 18, I had only given cursory study to the reasons behind the betrayal. All I could really figure out that would help me in my performance was that Judas must have had some sort of "don't do it" reflex going on in his head even while he was advancing toward the Master. Yet at the same time, Judas was determined to do what he was going to do. What an odd mix.

The way our performance was staged, I re-entered the auditorium as Judas from the rear doors and had to walk down the house steps, up the stage stairs at stage left, then walk all the way across the stage to where the actor playing Jesus was standing with the rest of the cast. My re-entrance was punctuated by my slamming of the door to the auditorium, which really got the attention of the audience. A spotlight hit me as I began that long walk to the stage through the silent auditorium.

My facial expression was the best I could do to represent this contradictory mix of motivations working in Judas. Tears were in my eyes, and I could feel one slide down my cheek each night. My expression was a combination of fear, determination, love, hatred, emptiness and anger. I don't know if I was biblically correct in my portrayal, but it made for good drama.

But the emotions I ignored in all this preparation were the emotions of Jesus. The actor portraying Jesus and I never lost eye contact during this long obstacle-strewn walk toward the betrayal scene. I'm not sure I could describe the look in his eyes because I was so focused on myself, but what struck me was the portrayal of peace. Jesus knew what was coming, knew it was necessary, and was at peace with His Father about doing it. The Bible tells us He even went out to meet His betrayer.

Of course, the backstory is that Jesus and Judas had spent the last three years together. Jesus trusted him with everything, and in the end Judas betrayed that trust. I wonder what would have happened had the relationship between Jesus and Judas continued after this point. (Yes, I realize that messes up the whole salvation timeline, but bear with me a minute.)

Could Jesus have trusted Judas again? Could that relationship ever have been the same again?

We do get a peek at how Jesus handles these relationship issues in the whole episode with Peter, which runs through the narrative next. "Jesus? Never heard of him." declared Peter, not once, but three times.

"Peter, are you standing with me or against me?"

"Against you. Against you. Against you," came the reply.

Then we see the dynamic between these two after the resurrection. There is restoration. There is forgiveness. Maybe that's the key in figuring out what Jesus felt about Judas. At the same time, maybe that's the key in dealing with those who betray us.

"Lord, when betrayals happen, give me the grace and strength to continue to forgive, to work at restoration, and to learn to trust once more."

Now or Never

2008-02-10T16:12:00.000-05:00

Aint no use in complainin'
When you got a job to do
Spent my evenings down at the drive-in
And that's when I met you
Standin' on your mama's porch
You told me that you'd wait forever
Oh and when you held my hand
I knew that it was now or never
Those were the best days of my life

I was listening to an old Bryan Adams song on the radio the other day. The one above. I've heard this song somewhere around 277,518 times before, but this time the lyrics hit me a little differently. This time I remembered that moment of "now or never."

I should clarify that I've had more than one "now or never" moment. I remember that moment with my wife -- before she was my wife, of course. We weren't standing on her mama's porch. We were actually standing outside her cousin's house where she was staying. It wasn't really the end of a "real" date. We had just hung out together and watched TV at her mama's house. Then I took her to her cousin's place. We stood awkwardly outside my Ponitac Grand Am. I knew it was now or never. But I hesitated and did a lot of stammering.

Meanwhile, my future wife realized it was now or never and I was blowing it. So she leaned over, kissed me, said good night and went in the house. I avoided the "never" only because my darling was good enough to bail me out.

I guess I must have been a real loser with the ladies because I remember a few other "now or never" moments where I choked also. There were a couple of girls were I didn't avoid the "never" aspect. Of course I remember another where I was ready for the "now" but that seemed to be about as long as the relationship lasted.

As long as I've been a Christian, I've been taught that a person can reject Christ all his life, but accept Him on his deathbed. For many that doesn't seem quite fair. That "now or never" moment can be a "now or later" marathon up until that last breath. But to be truthful, I'm not sure why that is considered unfair.

I don't know about you, but God has forgiven me for the same sin around 277,518 times. It wasn't a "now or never" deal, and it's a mighty good thing it wasn't.

Jesus said we are to forgive our brother 70 times 7 times (translation: more than 277,518), even if it's the same sin. Personally, that's what seems unfair to me. Why should I put up with my brother cheating me more than a quarter of a million times? I might further wonder why I would give him the opportunity to cheat me that many times. But forgive? Repeatedly? Shouldn't I give him a "now or never" to change his ways?

In the church we also have this attitude of "now or never" with some of our brothers, especially new believers. How dare they still listen to that evil rock and roll music instead of a steady diet of Gaither cassettes! How dare they continue to smoke those evil cigarettes after Christ has washed them whiter than snow! Shouldn't these people immediately conform to the ways of Christ, or more accurately to the ways of the church?

The only "now or never" moment for us with God seems to be at the time of that final breath. Unfair? Thankfully no.

Perhaps the church will be able to follow this teaching of Christ someday.

Class Ring

2008-02-06T23:41:00.000-05:00

My 16-year-old son has had a mighty busy month. At one point, during a seven-day period, Mr. 16 received his drivers license, had his first real date, and got his class ring. Now his mother and I have our own thoughts about our oldest getting so much freedom so quickly, but the boy is in heaven with all the instant maturity.

The drivers license speaks for itself. Not that he has access to a new Ferrari or anything, but four wheels and a big front seat is a quick ticket to adulthood. Unfortunately for him, it's also a quick ticket to more responsibility. We're working on that.

The date caught his parents off guard. Mr. 16 has always been one of the "quiet ones" in social situations. I know he has an eye for the young ladies, but he lacks the nerve to do something about it. Or so we thought. To my mind that's all pretty stupid because he's a fine looking young man -- certainly better looking than his father was at age 16. He's just starting to come out of his social shell, but he still prefers to be at home or alone. I figure that'll end pretty soon.

His first date was pretty informal. It was a school dance after a basketball game. They met at the game and he drove her home afterward. (She lives less than a mile from the school. Not a lot of time to fake running out of gas or getting lost in our town of less than 1,000 people.)

But the third segment is a bit different. His mother ordered his class ring a couple of weeks ago. It showed up about three weeks before we expected it, and my son is trying to learn to adjust to wearing one. I think he likes it, but I remember when I tried to make that adjustment as a 16-year-old with a big chunk of gold and cubic zirconium on my third finger. I was forever beating the underside on desks and tables, forgetting that I was wearing jewelry.

When my son's ring was delivered, my wife told me to get my old class ring out of a case on her dresser. Frankly, I was a little surprised it was still around and in an obvious location. When I picked it up, I was immediately struck by how heavy it was. This was no skimpy little ring. Size 12. 14 karat gold. Big chunky blue zircon with a starburst on the top. High school name around the stone.

I put it on and tried to wear it for a day, but couldn't quite do it. I did have to put it on my pinkie for fear that it would never come off my ring finger, so that may have had something to do with it. Truth be told, I didn't wear it much while I was in high school. It spent most of three years swinging on a gold chain wrapped around the neck of my girlfriend, or dangling from her finger with the help of a big wad of yarn to keep it in place. It was my ring, but it was rarely on my own hand.

I started to think about the purpose of the class ring. Wedding rings are a symbol that you belong to another. I wear a wedding ring that isn't nearly as clunky as the old class ring, and it doesn't get beat around like that chunk of gold. But my wedding ring does signify my commitment to my beautiful wife in a love with no end. A few years ago I looked at my wedding ring and noticed that it has cracked and was actually broken. Talk about some bad symbolism for my marriage!

Rings have been used for centuries to show the relationship of belonging to another. Even biblical references mention rings and the symbolism involved. True, rings are also simply used for ornamentation, but often there is a deeper meaning.

The class ring doesn't exactly fit that mold. It signifies that one belongs to a group -- a group united around a particular year and a particular school. It's not that we belong to another as much as that we are part of a group. That holds true unless it's your significant other's class ring you are displaying, of course.

My 16-year-old's class ring signifies that he is a part of a class of around 70 youth who will share a graduation ceremony and a lot of class reunions. It shows that he is a part of something bigger than himself. Yet that ring is unique. It not only has the name of his school and his graduation year, it also has his name and insignias that display his love of music and baseball. No other ring is just like it. Color, design, size, and material set it apart despite its significance as defining the wearer as part of a particular group.

That class ring is a lot like my faith. It defines me as part of a group -- the family of God. My faith also is quite unique. I am not gifted like others. I share a church affiliation with a group of people, but we are all distinct individuals, for better or for worse. Although I am marked as a disciple of Christ, my faith shows me as someone who isn't a mirror image of everyone else in the church.

Most times I think non-Christians don't understand that concept. Christians are pigeonholed and broadbrushed as intolerant, hypocritical, prudish, snobs. I know a few believers like that, but not many. We are all different. Most Christians certainly understand that.

Or do we?

It's amazing how we Christians believe that we must all share more than just core beliefs. For many there is no room for differences in music, in ways to evangelize or to serve, or even translations of Scripture. It's sad that it is frowned upon to celebrate and utilize our own diversity at times.

But more than that, it's a shame that many choose not to wear their faith. Like my class ring, safely tucked away in a jewelry case, the faith of many people is taken out only for special occasions like Sunday mornings or Easter or spending a day in a surgical waiting room.

Of course the best use of faith is to share it, kind of like letting your class ring swing from a gold chain around the neck of someone else.

One more thought about class rings... a year or two after my high school graduation I knew a man who bought other people's class rings. He would carefully examine the ring of someone who had grown tired of the piece, determine its precious metal content and weight, then make an offer to the owner. Most times, the owner was more than willing to take around $100 for a piece of jewelry he no longer wanted.

After the seller left the store, the man would take a pair of pliers and grip the class ring between its jaws. Squeezing the pliers, the stone would pop out of the ring and the gold or silver would be crushed into an unwearable shape. The man would then take the shapeless metal to market and sell it. He told me that he never crushed the ring in front of the seller because it was too upsetting. But he always crushed it as soon as possible so the seller couldn't change his mind and try to get the ring back.

Without the stone and shape, the class ring held no symbolism. It was a lump of metal. Period. It wasn't the metal that made it special. It was the uniqueness and the sense of belonging to another or to a group.

My faith is useless unless I do something with it. It is a gift meant to be used by me as a unique person who is part of a group of fellow believers.

From my 6-year-old

2008-02-01T09:10:00.000-05:00

My daughter brought this down to me this morning. She's been singing it off and on for the past few weeks.

My chans ar gon
av bin sat fre
my god my saverr
hase rassa me
and like a flad
hase mese gras
anindeg love
amaseg gras

OK, the spelling isn't perfect, but the thought is there. It's the chorus from Chris Tomlin's Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone).

My chains are gone
I've been set free,
My God, my Savior
Has ransomed me.
And like a flood
His mercy rains
Unending love
Amazing grace.

Indeed. Amazing grace that saved the wretch that I still am too often.

Happy Belated Blogiversary To Me...

2008-01-30T20:49:00.000-05:00

Hello. 'member me?

Yes, rev-ed is still alive and mostly well. Thank you to all who dropped me a line to check on me and left comments here. I'm sorry it's been so long. I have had plenty to write about, but haven't always had the time, the guts, or the nerve.

I've learned a lot over the past eight months, and God has used the good and the bad to shape me more and more into the image of Christ. And for that I am grateful.

I'm still the same guy as I was last year at this time, but I think I'm a bit more sensitive to the world around me and more appreciative of what I have now.

My intentions are to activate this blog again. There's a lot bottled up inside that I need to get into written form. All I have to do is push the family away from the keyboard long enough to get a post finished, right? Will do.

In the meantime, I'll wish myself a happy belated 3rd Blogiversary. Hope you'll have a chance to check back here from time to time.

Six Years

2007-09-11T14:37:00.000-04:00

It was such a beautiful day. The sky was blue. The temperature was perfect. It was one of those days that I was glad to be working outside for the day.

On that Tuesday, I was helping out with my family business at a large outdoor retail market. There were shoppers everywhere, just arriving for a day of fun. It was a bit like being removed from reality, transported to this little island where the outside world couldn’t penetrate.

Sometime before 9:30, word began to circulate among the vendors at the market. A plane had hit the World Trade Center. Then came word that both towers had been hit. One fell. Then the other. A third plane had reportedly hit the Pentagon and authorities were tracking a fourth plane which had turned back toward the east coast.

Those of us with radios turned them up to near full volume. We crowded around the small clock radios, stopping to exchange information with other vendors who were listening to the coverage on another station. We had no television, so all we knew was what the voices on the radio described to us.

But what really struck me about that day was the reaction of the shoppers. They came from at least a dozen states to this shopper’s paradise, and by and large, no one wanted any intrusion from the real world. Occasionally someone would ask what it was everybody was listening to and talking about. When told, they were usually nonchalant about the whole mess. Almost nobody knew where the World Trade Center actually was. One woman mentioned that her son was stationed at the Pentagon, followed by, “Oh, well. That’s interesting.” Most were too busy being wrapped up in their own little world that they couldn’t be bothered with anything that didn’t fit their day’s agenda.

It was so odd living in Sept. 11, 2001 while talking to people who were still living in Sept. 10. People were hesitant to believe what I knew to be true. Or worse yet, they didn’t want to be bothered with the truth.

Of course, that's pretty much an everyday occurrence when it comes to thoughts about God. Any possible thought that might upset the fragile apple cart of a worldview gets thrown to the side of the road. They think, "I don't care if you say you can prove it, you can't prove it to me!" Many people won't consider the claims of Christ because that would mean the need to change not only their lifestyle, but also their entire belief system. So Christ is rejected for disturbing the comfortable.

It's easy to pick on those who won't hear the saving message of Jesus Christ, but I think there are just as many, if not more people who consider themselves to be Christian, but don't want to be bothered with the truth. Many people grow up in a church setting under the teaching of well-meaning but woefully incorrect pastors. Many adopt what they like from Christianity and sprinkle in a little Eastern religion or a little humanism and a lot of pragmatism. Too many in the church today don't want to hear the truth because it makes them uncomfortable.

I am reminded of people I have met who will go to war about what type of music "God likes" but won't consider attending a Bible study. Just because we keep hymnals and Bibles in the same rack on the back of the pews doesn't mean they hold the same theological value.

Mostly though, I think we all tend to get so wrapped up in our own little world, with our own little issues and our own little crises, that we remove ourselves from reality. We neglect the poor and needy in our midst. We give our money so we don't have to volunteer our time. Anything so that the real world doesn't crash in on our private island.

The Church must wake up to the reality of what we are living in. We must be as committed to the One who called Himself "the Truth" as well as the Way and the Life. We have to pull back from our own selfishness so that we can see our neighbors as Jesus sees them.

Hands Tied

2007-08-17T08:24:00.000-04:00

Is there anything worse than being unable to help in a situation?

I hate the expression, "Well, all we can do now is pray" on a number of levels. First of all, it makes it sound like prayer is only a last resort answer. Second, it means that we've too much confidence in our own abilities up until that point. But third, it means that we have to sit there with that helpless feeling, wondering what God will do or what someone else will do.

When Paul wrote, "For when I am weak, then I am strong," he was making a point about relying on God. That's a hard lesson to learn. I never feel weaker than when I am weak. Maybe it's the control freak in me. Maybe it's the societal upbringing to "be a man" and "do something." I'm really not sure. But I do know that being in the midst of a situation where I have no real power is really a killer.

Over the last ten years, I've known plenty of people who have watched their spouses die. Cancer, diabetes, and other killers rendered both victim and caregiver as unwilling participants -- like being strapped into a roller coaster, not knowing if there is an end to the ride. I don't envy any of those people. That was a horrible experience for each of them.

It's more complicated when other people are involved. There are many parents who raise their kids properly, but during the teenage years those kids reject the values of their family -- even the God of their family. No matter how many times they talk, the words hit a brick wall. Then comes the feelings of guilt and anger, even when it's unwarranted. I have my own set of fears about the years ahead of me when my kids hit that 18th birthday.

I am in the midst of a situation where pretty much all I can do is pray. And I feel weak. Prayer does help. But like a dog returning to his vomit (one of the most disgusting biblical references around) I seem to find myself returning to weakness. Worry. Sadness. Helplessness. Like having my hands tied.

God has been very good to me, and I know that he will see me through. My faith in Him is unshaken. But there's this lingering doubt that He won't take care of the situation in the way I want. Control issues.

"Lord, give me your strength in the midst of my weakness. Help me to understand that my hands just might be tied so I don't do something stupid and will rely on You instead. Chip away at my pride and my desires to handle it all myself. Place my unsteady feet on the Rock."

Cutting Them Down to Size

2007-08-07T22:54:00.000-04:00

I didn't really want to look at it, but it was there as I was loading the groceries on the conveyor belt. Sometimes I get a chuckle out of supermarket tabloids, but the stuff that focuses on the stars really kinda irritates me. And this one, with the headline, "Cellulite of the Stars," was way too over the top for me.

You see the cover at right. It featured multiple close-up shots of people (I'm assuming they were all women) wearing their bathing suits. But the pics weren't about the bathing suits. The pics were about the disfigured legs, etc. of the "pretty people."

The posterior parade listed some names I frankly didn't recognize. Others were familiar, probably because they were well past the normal age of perfect physical fitness. But either way, the celebrity cellulite carried an air of vengeance. You see, the article didn't seem to be presenting these pictures with an attitude of "Aw, poor Farrah (or whoever it was), isn't it a shame that she seems to have gained a little weight in her thighs?"

No. This was a full-blown "HA HA HA HA HA! Look at the fat on that former supermodel! What a pig! She's not fooling me!"

I realize that the paparazzi probably camped out under a sand dune at the beach, just waiting for celebrities to bend over and display their pockmarks and saddlebags. There is no sympathy for the high and mighty. We enjoy seeing the rich become poor. We crave the chance to watch the pretty people (or at least the ones prettier than us) become ugly. Skinny people turn fat? Fantastic! Young people become old? Perfect!

The old saying is that misery loves company. I think it's more like miserable people want others to be more miserable than them. I heard a poll once that found that most workers would agree to a paycut to only $100 a day if their co-workers would get only $80 a day. After all, we're more valuable than everybody else. Right?

I wonder if that doesn't play into some folks attitude toward witnessing. It's not so important to present Christ's love if it means that somebody less worthy than ourselves will go to heaven. Scholars think that was a bit of the problem in Corinth where the church would come together for the Lord's Supper, but the rich would have these huge meals and not share with the poorer folks in the congregation. Paul told them that their assemblies were doing more harm than good. The rich were so involved in themselves, they missed the entire point.

I've talked to "Christians" who typically look down on people who smoke, or drink, or are on welfare, or speak with an accent, or anything else that makes them different. I've known church members who have no problem sending money for missions overseas but wouldn't dream of helping the couple next door to the church pay the electric bill. My friends, that should not be.

The problem is that our natural state is like those who are pouring over the National Enquirer to see whose thighs have taken on excess baggage. We think way too much of ourselves and we love to think way too little of others -- especially those who intimidate us with their money or their power or their bikini-perfect bodies. We have to stop being so fixated on cutting others down to size and instead focus on bringing others to Christ. Poor and rich, fat and skinny, old and young are all just temporal issues. Saved or unsaved is eternal.

Lard - The Healthy Choice

2007-07-23T15:52:00.000-04:00

I can't look at this real poster without laughing. Really.

I remember shopping at the local grocery store when I was growing up, noticing a meat tray with a large white lump, wrapped with cellophane and labelled plainly, "Lard." I always thought it looked pretty disgusting, but frying a couple of eggs in it was pretty good. Lard has been a part of American life for years. I had to explain to my 15-year-old what lard was. He almost got sick. Can't say as I blame him.

Needless to say, this fine smiling family at the left are likely not showing off their pearly whites because of the big hunk of lard they fried up their last 63 meals in. That's just what the Lard Information Council wants you to think. And after working at the Lard Information Council for a few years, maybe you come to believe it too.

I read a letter to the editor in a newspaper last week from a guy who is convinced that the microchip he's heard is going to be put in his license plate (or his drivers license -- I really couldn't understand what he was saying completely) is actually the [Cue dramatic music stab] MARK OF THE BEAST. [Kill music] Eschatological debates aside, how he considered a chip in his license plate to be a 666 on his hand or forehead was really beyond me. But he was convinced.

His letter spoke of giving up driving his truck for riding a horse everywhere, and of placing his license plate in a microwave oven (don't ask me why... microchip, microwave maybe?), and being a danger to any law enforcement officer who tried to pull him over (I'm guessing in his truck, not his horse). He really appeared to be a little light in the common sense department and was overfed on good conspiracy theories.

I wonder about those who jump to believe the worst without information. Many in the church have fallen for strange things like this. All it takes is for TBN to carry a "prophecy" from a televangelist and the gullible in the pews fall for it hook, line and sinker. Anybody else remember the hole drilled into hell and the audible screams which were supposedly heard? What about any of the other theories tossed onto the public consciousness that church folk gobble up? Proctor & Gamble and their "satanic logo"? Madelyn Murray O'Hair threatening religious broadcasting years after her death? Yet too many of the faithful jump to believe without fully investigating what is being said. It's the same feeling I get watching prophecy teachers pick out possible Antichrists and trying the latest bomb in the Middle East to half of a verse in Revelation.

Jesus said, "I am the Way, the TRUTH, and the Life." (emphasis obviously mine). Why are we so quick to believe what is presented before determining whether or not it is true?

PG?

2007-07-20T03:45:00.000-04:00

A tip of the ol' ball cap to Reformissionary for the link. The program says that Attention Span was saddled with the PG rating for the use of the words, "pain" (9 times), "dead" (2 times), and "porn" (once). I wonder what Paul's letter to the Romans would be rated...

Oh well, as any movie executive can tell you, PG is better than G because everyone assumes that a G rating constitutes material only for children.

A Lousy Protector

2007-07-20T02:55:00.000-04:00

They would have been married for exactly 30 years this week. But that's not the way it turned out. She died about six months ago after a four-year battle with cancer.

During that struggle, he did everything he could for her. He sought out experimental treatments, smarter doctors, more advanced technology and any other option he could think of to take care of his wife and chase this horrid disease away from her for good. But it didn't work. After every operation, after every round of chemotherapy or radiation, the cancer always came back. He couldn't keep it away from her.

With all her heart, the girl wanted to be a cheerleader. In the months preceeding her big move to junior high, she would practice at every opportunity. Mom would help her practice, encourage her, and videotape her so she could learn from her mistakes. She had provided her daughter with dance lessons and gymnastics to help give her the necessary skills to become a cheerleader. But after tryouts were over and the cheerleading squad was chosen, her name wasn't on the list. The girl's heart was broken, and there was nothing her mother could do to lessen the pain. She had given all she could to help her daughter's dream come true, and it wasn't enough. Now, in the fallout of not achieving her dream, Mom still couldn't protect her daughter from the pain.

Like the two true-life examples above, I am also a lousy protector. No matter how I try, I cannot erase pain, nor can I prevent it. And because of that, I often wonder what in the world I'm doing.

My wife is hurting right now. She was deserted by a person she thought was a close friend. Personally, I had been leary of this friendship, but I wasn't going to stand in the way. I thought it would turn out badly, and I warned my wife of what I thought would happen.

I was wrong and right all at once. It didn't happen the way I thought it would, but it doesn't matter now. The friendship is gone. My wife is hurt. I can do nothing about it.

It's the middle of the night as I type this. I can't sleep, knowing that my beloved is in emotional pain and I'm helpless to make her feel any better at all. There have been many times that I have caused her pain personally. Somehow those times are easier for me to take. I can easily blame myself and try to make things right. But this is different. I can't rightfully say that I haven't added to my wife's pain this time out either. In trying to help and in trying to understand, I probably just make things worse. I am a lousy protector.

But it occurred to me that the old stereotype of the husband and father being the protector of the family is somewhat off-base. I know that the man trying to keep cancer from his ailing wife and the mother trying to head off her daughter's bitter disappointment are never going to succeed if the cancer is too far along and the daughter just isn't good enough to be a cheerleader. And I've realized that I cannot keep my wife from hurt when she is depending on a friend who isn't dependable.

While I try to do my best to protect my wife and my kids from every possible disappointment and danger, bad things continue to happen. Ah, but it seems that my job isn't necessarily to keep my family safe from all harm. After all, the sinful world is going to bite us all. Instead my job is a bit different.

In all of my studies in Scripture, theology, and the like, I've noticed that the best people still aren't completely protected from harm or from wrong. Noah was laughed at, David was mocked by his own wife, and Paul was beaten more often than a second-place racehorse. Even Jesus was not shielded from harm.

It's the same with us. I noted that Amy (of humble musing fame) posted a nice refutation of Word of Faith theology the other day. I've done my own railings against this false teaching as well. You see, God doesn't keep us from all harm any more than He kept His own Son away from all harm. So is God a lousy protector too?

Perhaps. But only because that's not His emphasis. While He can prevent hardship and pain, He seems to prefer helping us through it. He didn't keep David from the Valley of the Shadow of Death, He walked beside Him so that David would fear no evil. He did not make Paul an instant hit with the Pharisees, He strengthened him in the struggle.

So it's probably not my main function to keep my wife away from all pain. That's good because I'm failing miserably there. But I have an important calling -- to help her through that pain and disappointment, just as the husband was there to comfort his afflicted wife and the mother was there to dry her daughter's tears. That's a tough calling because it doesn't seem like I'm making any progress. It seems like my words of understanding just fall to the ground like cement blocks crushing her toes. But I keep trying, following the example of my heavenly Father.

I am certainly a lousy protector, but I want to be a better comforter.

All I Need to Know I Learned in t-ball

2007-07-15T13:42:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was the end of the season for my daughter. This was her first season of America's Pasttime -- the low-stress variety, or as it is commonly known, t-ball.

I should explain that where we play, t-ball isn't really "t-ball." For us, it's more like Coaches Pitch baseball. Precious little attention is paid to runs or errors. Even outs are a little superfluous at times.

Picture a five-year-old girl with a batting helmet that is one size too big, standing with a bat, trying to hit the spongy white ball tossed toward her by her coach. In truth, at times it becomes more of a test for the coach to hit the kid's bat than for the batter to struggle to make contact with the ball. If after 6 or 12 or 185 pitches the coach is unable to strike the child's bat, then and only then is the tee pulled out to hold the ball while the batter then attempts to hit the now-stationary baseball. And after pointing the child in the right direction and offering an encouraging word or two, the coach then watches the batter swing and miss about half a dozen more times before the ball is accidentally hit onto the field of play. Then everyone yells, "RUN!" and the batter drops the bat and runs -- often to first base, but sometimes it takes a few times to get the batter to the right base. Then the next batter steps in...

It's actually fun for the kids and mostly for the parents as well. There aren't many "little league parents" who think their kid is being scouted by the Dodgers or anything. But it's hard for those of us who had already "graduated" out of t-ball to get used to players who like to leap on the ball and tackle it rather than catch it, pick it up and throw it.

That's why I have a special respect for t-ball coaches. These poor souls are either the sweetest, most patient people on earth, or they are incredibly stupid to sign up for this. At one game, I happened to be walking toward the concession stand as I passed the other team's dugout. I heard the opposing coach actually telling her players, "We don't wear our baseball mitts on our face!" I never would have thought to tell them that, but I don't have the expertise that these coaches have.

But the people I learn the most from are the t-ball players themselves. I watched one day as a player tried to pull a bat through the chain link fence. He tugged and tugged, placing hit foot against the fence to brace himself and get a little more leverage. It still wouldn't move. Then the coach showed him that he had to pull it out from the other side of the fence. The player learned that the bat is bigger at one end than at the other. Sometimes we all miss the obvious stuff.

But these five, six, and seven-year-olds look at the game differently. And who is to say they aren't right?

Here are the top ten lessons I learned this season from t-ball players:

1) You always hit the ball harder and better if you warm up by hitting the ground in front of you with the bat repeatedly before the pitcher pitches. You get bonus points for hitting home plate with the bat as many times as you can also.

2) The pink bat works better. I don't know why. It just does.

3) The ball itself has little to do with the actual game.

4) The best part about playing the infield is that there are all kinds of cool rocks to look at.

5) The best part about playing the outfield is that there is lots of grass to pick and throw in the air.

6) Batting helmets are amazing inventions. You can hit yourself in the helmet with a bat over and over and over again and never feel a thing!

7) When running from one base to another, keep at least one hand on your helmet at all times. If your helmet falls off, you lose.

8) If the batter hits it to the outfield, the job of the outfielder is to recruit four or five other kids and race to the ball. Then you jump on the ball. After a two-minute wrestling match for control of the ball, the winner either throws it further into the outfield or runs with the ball to the nearest base and steps on it. (The base, not the ball.)

9) If a batter is having a tough time hitting the ball, it is perfectly acceptable for fielders to lay down on the ground, throw rocks into the outfield, or draw pictures in the infield dirt.

10) A trip to the restroom is always more important than anything else you might be doing on the baseball field.

Oh yeah, and one more:

11) We don't wear our mitts on our faces.

Hey, you never know when that advice will come in handy.

Just like that, she was gone

2007-07-10T23:12:00.000-04:00

Sandy (not her real name) was driving along a busy two-lane highway. Her eight-month-old daughter was strapped in her car seat in the passenger seat of her Grand Am. Her two-year-old daughter was strapped in her car seat in the back seat, right behind the driver's seat. Sandy was busy talking on her cell phone. When she was finished with the call, Sandy closed her cell phone and leaned down to place it on the console between the two front seats.

When she looked up again at the road, Sandy discovered that she had run off the right side of the pavement and was headed for a ditch lined with utility poles. She jerked the wheel hard to the left. The Grand Am moved back onto the highway, but it didn't stay in the right lane. It fishtailed as Sandy tried desperately to get the car back in the right lane. She had to do it fast. Headed her way in the other lane was an 18-wheeler.

Sandy tried to beat the truck, but the rear of the Grand Am lingered in the left lane too long. The left rear of the car ran right under the back wheels of the semi trailer. The car bounced off a Sunfire before sliding off the left side of the road. The Grand Am stopped with its nose just off the pavement and the rear of the car in a side ditch. Or rather, what was left of the rear of the car.

Sandy's two-year-old daughter was seated in the spot that went under the wheels of the semi. The girl was killed instantly. Both Sandy and the eight-month-old in the front seat were treated and released from the local hospital. But the two-year-old was gone. Just like that.

I was at the scene of the accident. I wasn't a witness. I got there as the ambulances continue to pull up to the area. The scene was a mess. I was kept back away from Sandy and the Grand Am, although there were pieces of Grand Am all around me. The bumper was on one side of the highway and the fender was on the other. One wheel and a chunk of axle littered the roadway, along with a laundry basket, a couple of nondescript toys and the sheels of a baby stroller.

The driver of the Sunfire told me that he had tried to help Sandy, but she was hysterical immediately after the crash. He knew the child was dead, and wasn't sure what he could do. He had his own children in the car with him. They were on their way to put money down on a trailer so they could move. His kids, 8 and 5, were fairly calm seated in the back seat. They had just stopped a few miles up the road to get each of them something to drink. The kids continued to sip from their bottles.

I watched the ambulance crews as they surrounded the Grand Am. I knew the child was dead as well -- one of the state troopers had told me that much. As I watched, I saw an EMT carry a small bundle wrapped in a blue blanket into the back of the ambulance. I knew what I was seeing. Sandy and the baby were also wheeled to the squad truck. The vehicle didn't move for almost ten minutes before leaving for the hospital.

As I was turning away to leave, I had taken only a few steps when I heard a shriek. I wheeled around and saw a lady who looked to be in her late 50s with a look of abject horror on her face. She was walking quickly toward the wreckage of the Grand Am. Suddenly she cried out, "My daughter!" as she neared the policemen standing near the wrecked car. I couldn't hear what the officers said to her, but almost instantly she hit the ground, her voice coming out as an eerie wail that will haunt me for quite some time. She was on her hands and knees, trying to lovingly caress the blanket which, less than 30 minutes earlier, had been lying across the lap of her granddaughter. I couldn't watch any more and turned to go, breathing yet another prayer for this family.

I have spoken twice with a man in Tennessee. His company owns the semi involved in the accident. He told me he is a former state trooper in that state and has seen his share of tragedy, but in his voice I can hear a note of sorrow that he has not felt before. "My trucks have an almost perfect safety record," he told me. "This kind of thing doesn't happen to us." He is grieving in a way that only he understands.

Please pray for Sandy and her family. I know nothing about her circumstances, aside from knowing that she must be feeling something that I wouldn't wish upon the most evil of people.

In all of this, I am reminded of how temporary this life really is. Sandy's two-year-old girl was alive and vital. Then, just like that, she was gone.

"Thank you, Lord, for the gift of life -- here on earth, and eternal life spent with You."

No Suit of Armor

2007-07-08T22:10:00.000-04:00

Pretty cool, huh? Probably not the most comfortable outfit available, but you have to admit it's a head-turner.

No, I don't have one. Really, I don't have much use for one. But it's funny how my five-year-old daughter reminded me of how some people treat their religious works as if they made some sort of inpenitrable barrier.

My darling princess was doing one of the things she does most (and best), namely pulling out toys to share with us, then leaving them lay all over the house. This time she pulled out pieces of an old Halloween costume. I think one of the boys dressed up as a crusader or a member of The Lord's Army or something like that. So as my wife and I lay in bed, Girlie-girl brings in the breastplate and the small arm shield from the armor set. She laid the breastplate on my wife's chest and handed me the shield and told me to put it on my arm. Well, this big ol' man doesn't fit well into armholes made for small children. I tried to explain this to the Princess, but that was about the time she was ready to move on to the next toy. So I was left to contemplate the armor.

I'll be honest -- nothing much got contemplated. But this morning it hit me.

Do you know someone who places his or her confidence in his or her church membership? What about overconfidence in baptism or in being board president or a Sunday School teacher? I've seen plenty of these people. They always seem to think that they are immune from temptation, or at least from committing any really bad sins. After all, they are the "real" Christians.

These are the people who seem to think that God puts them into a suit of armor. Nothing bad can happen when you're wearing a suit of armor.

The trouble is, God doesn't give us a suit of armor. He gives us a shield. We're not protected from all attacks of temptation no matter what. We're provided a way out of temptation that we have to look for and use.

I know people who have no concern over their own sinfulness. "God will forgive," they say as they go on their merry sinful way. The hypocrisy drips from their chiding of the "real sinners" they see along the way.

Yet when Paul took the Corinthians to task in 1 Corinthians 10, he pointed out that God provides a way out of temptation. He did not say that we will never be tempted. We are given a shield, not a suit of armor. We must be aware of where we are easily tempted. If you are drawn toward Internet porn, you shouldn't be sitting alone with your computer. If you crave the partying lifestyle, you shouldn't be hanging out in bars, even if you think it's a great place to witness.

Temptation will sneak up on us. We must be aware of our situation. We know God will give us the way out -- the shield -- but we must use it. That's always my sticking point. I see the temptation coming. I know I have the shield. I just more-than-occasionally refuse to use it. And I'm betting you're the same way.

Sure, a suit of armor would be easier, but God puts the responsibility on our shoulders. And the shield on our arm.

Pulled Back to the Blogosphere

2007-07-01T17:53:00.000-04:00

Well after a two+ month hiatus, I'm back to get going again. I've been trying to get back here for a couple of weeks now, but I'll use the tag by Douglas at Crossword Bebop on the Eight Random Facts meme as an excuse to break the cobwebs off the keyboard.

Here are the rules for the meme, which I may or may not follow:
1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each participant posts eight random facts about themselves.
3. Tagees should write a blogpost of eight random facts about themselves.
4. At the end of the post, eight more bloggers are tagged (named and shamed).
5. Go to their blog, leave a comment telling them they're tagged (cut and run).

I'll decide if there's anyone around who still remembers me that I can tag later.

As for the facts, I'll try eight random facts that have to do with my last two+ months away from Attention Span (and the rest of the 'sphere as well).

In the last two months or more:

Uno. I have put in countless extra hours at my third job. Sometime late last year I decided to take a third job that would just entail two Saturdays a month. Well, it's summertime, and it's entailing a lot more than that while others take their vacations.

Dos. The fam and I went on an impromptu vacation. Just got back, actually. It wasn't really impromptu in that we knew we were going on vacation for a week. What was impromtu was the schedule. We left with only the barest plan and no hotel reservations. It was great.

Tres. I saw Weird Al Yankovic in concert. This was part of the aforementioned vacation. I love a good parody, and The Weird One has plenty.

Quatro. I met the governor of Ohio. Actually this is the second Ohio governor I have met. Nice guy, but he appeared to be a politician just like the others. Maybe I'm just too cynical.

Cinco. I have watched thirteen ka-jillion baseball games. Only eleven ka-jillion have been in the last two months. Oldest boy is playing on two teams, plus the school team this past spring. Middle child is on a summer team after playing for the school team in the spring. And yes, the little Princess is playing her first year of t-ball. (I have some thoughts on that whole sport I'll try to dig out soon.)

Seis. I watched yet another edition of the Indianapolis 500 live and in person. Got soaking wet both times the rains hit. Saw Indycars doing 80 mph+ while hydroplaning -- up close!!

Siete. I have lapsed back into my summer doldrums at church. Something about seeing attendance plunge and involvement evaporate for about three months a year tends to make me wonder why I spend the time to prepare a sermon every Sunday. Then I remember that it's not about the multitudes, but about presenting the Word of God to those who show up.

Ocho. I have fallen in love with my wife all over again. We celebrated our 18th anniversary the day after I officiated at another wedding. Her beautiful smile and sparkling eyes catch my attention every time. And spending a week away with her (and the kids) reminds me of how much I love her.

OK, enough of the mushy stuff. I'm tagging you for this meme. That's right, you. Quit looking around. You're up, big stuff. If you're reading this, you can do your own version. So don't wait for a cute little message at your own blog. You don't need it. Get to work. Don't make me send you to your room!!!

And I promise, I'll be posting again... soon.

Church Discipline

2007-04-10T08:59:00.000-04:00

To be honest, I was never one of those bratty kids sitting in the back pew at church. I've seen them before -- laughing and giggling at the most inopportune times, punching each other, wriggling like they're about to start an old-fashioned wrestling match. The back row boys at my church aren't bad. They pay attention as well as many of the adults. But I've watched the unwatched children (often offspring of the pastors, elders and deacons) as they distracted half the congregation with their antics.

I was reading through an old newspaper account dating back to 1877. The article was about the opening of a new church in the community. Surely it must have been a grand event -- so grand that the newspaper editor thought it would be a good idea for a reporter to write up a story about the crowd and the services on opening Sunday. Allow me to present to you my favorite line -- the last line of the piece:

In the back seats were a number of boys who created much annoyance by
giggling, laughing, and throwing paper, etc., during the time of prayer. If such
acts are again indulged in, arrests should be made and punishment follow.

Yup, you read that right. "Arrests should be made..." Yikes! Now, that's church discipline! I have to really stretch my imagination to envision police officers hauling out pre-teen boys for shooting spitwads and snickering during a prayer. Yet at the same time, I understand the sentiment. When I'm the guy behind the pulpit, I can see everyone's facial expressions, their level of being awake, and the things that distract them. I am consistently amazed by the attention span of the kids vs. the attention span of the adults. With some adults, they might as well be 13 years old.

When I sat in the pews every Sunday, I can't say I was never distracted. Occasionally there was a cute baby in front of me. Often I sat with my own young boys, who used the time to draw cars and robots all over the church bulletin. But I tried to not let my mind wander from the true purpose of the hour.

Only once in ten years have I had a snorer during my sermon. Of course it was an adult -- a visitor, no less! He had come with a buddy who was a rare attender as an adult. It appeared the pair had spent the evening with plenty of alcohol, and now the urge to sleep was just too strong. And to be truthful, that didn't bother me too much. But the snoring was loud. Nobody could pay attention, not even me.

So I decided to preach while strolling the aisles. A sudden burst of my loud voice near the snorer's ears did little to quell the noise. Finally, his buddy got the hint and gently nudged him until the snoring stopped. The sleepy-eyed guest looked around to see if anyone had noticed he had been asleep. A few giggles and stares surely clued him into what had happened. I'm sure his friend probably filled him in riding home after the service.

That visitor never visited again at our church. It's a shame, really. Although had he lit up a smoke during the sermon, the end result would likely have been the same.

We expect certain behavior during a service. Not necessarily silence. Not necessarily loud shouts. But what we expect is an attitude of not wallowing in one's self. The attention is to be God's. When a person isn't paying any attention in a service, it's not an insult to me, it's an insult to God. Sure, there are distractions, but for those who are busy making out a grocery list or reading a newsletter or staring out the window with no interest in the service, you're stealing time away from your Creator. And when your actions distract others, that's inconsiderate.

At our church there are plenty of infants. And I like that. When a child gets too fussy, parents are usually very good about taking them out to quiet them down. Still, even a happy one-year-old is a distraction for the two or three rows behind him. But at the same time, last Sunday, I had just finished saying that Jesus had won the victory when a small, one-year-old voice chimed in out of the quiet, "Yay!"

"That's right!" I told the crowd. "If that doesn't deserve a 'Yay!' then what does?" It took the person who can often be a distraction to pull our focus back where it belongs.

Perhaps they shouldn't be arresting those boys in the back pew after all.

It's Over

2007-04-09T16:06:00.000-04:00

Well, it's over -- Easter, that is. I've always been much more of an "Easter guy" than a "Christmas guy". Maybe I just like candy more than toys, I don't know. But it seems to me that there is so much more to the Lenten season, so many layers, so much emotion.

I've always looked forward to Easter, and Holy Week in particular. This year I knew I'd end up having a tough time. My secular jobs were running hot and heavy, and of course there are all kinds of demands put upon pastors at this time of year. On top of that, baseball season has begun in the house, and none of the kids can drive himself to practice just yet. (One more year!) Somehow I knew this Holy Week wouldn't be the same.

It wasn't. I didn't have the devotional time I wanted. It was hard enough to find time when my mind was unfogged so I could do my sermon study. While the significant events of the week passed, I struggled to catch up.

Perhaps knowing my week would turn out this way, I implored my congregation on Palm Sunday not to let the week slip by without realizing the significance. Now, it's gone.

There are times when being a bi-vocational (or in my case, tri-vocational) pastor really stinks.

Still, I am blessed in knowing that it's not over. Sure the Easter candy is all on sale at the Big Box Store, but the message of Easter is eternal.

In December, I always seem to hear Elvis Presley sing, "If Everyday was Like Christmas." In the song, the king laments the lack of Christmas spirit during the rest of the year as if in December everyone is actually acting out of love instead of greed or obligation. It's really beyond idealistic drivel.

Yet the "Easter spirit" is actually alive and well 365 1/4 days a year. The Gospel message is timeless.

On the radio this morning, I heard a man arguing increduously that Christians must be idiots to believe that a man could rise from the dead because there was no natural way it could happen. He was missing the point. Christ's resurrection wasn't natural. It was miraculous. If it weren't, why would we celebrate? Why would we care?

The miracle of the Resurrection isn't seasonal. Thank God.

Time for a Quiz

2007-03-01T21:10:00.000-05:00

Just tossing this out for you... a fun fact I stumbled across in a book I was reading.

Please name the country whose people had the world's highest standard of living in the year 1776.

OK, you've waited long enough. I'm not sure what I would have guessed if the question had been posed to me in that form. I ran into this fact in David McCullough's book, 1776, right out of the blue. I suppose I would have guess England, since back in those days, the Brits were the biggest superpower in the world. France would have been a second choice. I'm not sure any other country would have even popped into my mind, let alone the correct answer.

So do you know the right answer yet? The country whose peopole had the highest standard of living in the year 1776 was the world's youngest country. That's right. The United States of America. Before the ink was even dry on the Declaration of Independence, the former colonists were better off than any other country on earth.

McCullough noted that as British soldiers came upon cities and villages abandoned in the wake of Revolutionary War battles, they were astounded at the luxuries the Americans had accumulated. He pointed out that the fact that the rebels were so well off, that the redcoats considered them crazy for declaring independence from the king who allowed them to get this rich. They had a pretty good point.

Personally, I think this blows a lot of so-called patriotic thinking out of the water. I've heard so often that God has blessed America because of our religious foundations or that we have championed the cause of justice and helping the poor. As it turns out, Americans were rich before there even was an America, per se.

Too often we have this bizarre idea that God's Seal of Approval is the awarding of riches. Rich people must be more loved by God, right? He wouldn't let his favorites wallow in poverty, would he? Any good scan of Scripture would poke holes in that theory. Sure, God can boost the bank accounts of people as a blessing, but that's not the only way He blesses. Riches equal responsibility. And, yes, there are many people who cannot handle too many responsibilities.

Remember Solomon? Richest guy for miles. Wives and concubines out the ying-yang (if that's physically possible). What did all his wealth do for him? It brought him down. What was it Jesus said about the odds of a rich man entering heaven? Something about camels strolling through small sewing devices, right?

Not that I'm against wealth. I'm against the boastful attitude that wealth somehow is equated with goodness. I'm defiant against the "God has blessed the USA because we're so stinkin' religious" mindset.

Paul berated the Corinthians for taking on the values of the world. Has America done the same thing? Has the American Church emphasized the seeking of blessings to validate a materialistic lifestyle? Are our hearts bursting with pride as we sing the Star Spangled Banner, thinking that God's blessings have proven that the Founding Fathers surely must have been almost-flawless Christian thinkers?

It seems to me that Americans have been blessed and challenged since before 1776. It's not that we're so great in our governmental style or our general religiousity, it's that we've had more opportunity to accumulate materials. We need to come back to the point where we, as Paul said, know nothing but Christ and Him crucified.

What Lies Beneath

2007-02-28T14:11:00.000-05:00

It's not really spring, but you'd have to be blind not to notice the changes outside the big picture window. Two weeks ago, we were in the midst of a blizzard -- 12 inches of white flakes and 40 mph winds. Since then we had another 3 inch storm blow through, but more recently it's been drizzling rain and above-freezing temperatures. So when I peer out the window today, I see some older, dirtier piles of slushy snow sitting amid bare ground covered with dormant grass. It's a slight hint of green and grey and brown emerging from beneath the once-beautiful-but-now-icky snow.

The more of that sandy brownish-green that appears, the greater the reminder that even when the snow is white and pretty, underneath is something completely different. The snow is only a covering over what is actually a grassy lawn. Even two weeks ago, while a blizzard was raging, there was something different lying beneath to drifts of snow.

Recently I talked to a guy about my age. Steve grew up wanting to enter the priesthood. From an early age, Steve took a great interest in his local church and in the priest's responsibilities. He was an altar boy and volunteered to do other work around the church, sure that this was God's call for his life. He grew to greatly respect the priest, Father Phil. In many ways, Father Phil would be a role model for Steve's life.

Steve wasn't sure what to think when Father Phil began touching the teenage boy inappropriately. The night a couple of years later when Steve claims that the priest spiked his drink and sexually assaulted him, he said he abandoned his thoughts of becoming a priest. It was a number of years later that he finally approached the local diocese, prepared to tell his story. It was many years afterward when the priest was finally removed from service.

I have no way of knowing whether Steve's version of the story is completely accurate, but I'm fairly sure he believes it to be true. And I know that Steve has been called some mighty hateful things by supposed Christians, despite his claims being called credible by the diocese. Some of those hurling insults and accusations against Steve are demonstrating loyalty, but they seem to be missing the possibility that the priest they are so staunchly defending could be guilty.

Steve claims that Father Phil has been leading a dual life. Those who have sent Steve nasty letters and spoke badly about him don't look fully at the idea that a priest is a man, complete with temptations and failings. They claim to know that nothing lies beneath the surface which would contradict their perception of a holy, loving man of the cloth. What is even more interesting, one letter spoke of the possibility that Steve was right, but that author was willing to forgive the priest yet seemed only bitter and hateful toward the one who reported the incident. Forgiveness for one. No forgiveness for the other.

I've known clergymen who have fallen. When one friend was accused of sexual contact with young boys, my mind reacted in much the same way as those defending Father Phil -- the kid must be lying! It turns out he wasn't lying. My friend was living a dual life.

Another clergyman was accused of a sexual crime, and I knew that man couldn't be guilty. He wasn't guilty. But that doesn't mean there was no dual life. That's the thing about priests and pastors -- we're fallen human beings. There is always something which lies beneath the covering.

I'm not a Roman Catholic, but I do understand some of the confusion that Steve related to me. He spoke about trusting the church to do the right thing. He didn't report the incident to the police, choosing instead to trust the church, only to be left as more hated than the one he claims to be the criminal. He trusted the institution of men.

As a pastor, I fully realize the danger of someone with an ax to grind, making up a story, pointing a finger and damaging my reputation, my life, and the reputation of my Savior. And I try to give these fallen clergy members the benefit of the doubt. But I've know too many who have fallen hard. The pastor running off with his secretary, the female pastor running off with a parishoner while the pastor's husband was hospitalized, the youth pastor who made a habit of seducing the babysitter... it's a familiar story.

Maybe the lesson here is remembering what lies beneath. The Apostle Paul claimed to be chief of sinners. Why would we think today's pastors and priests are better? Our faith is to be placed in Christ, not in Christ's servants.

I feel sadness for everybody still involved in this sorted affair. Steve says he has moved on, yet he is still active in support groups. Father Phil's whereabouts are unknown to me, but he isn't currently working as a priest (although he hasn't been disqualified from such work).

The Jig Is Up

2007-02-26T11:51:00.000-05:00

Apparently, the director of the motion picture, "Titanic" is on to us.

Caught red-handed.

Guess I'll be out of a job before Friday...

Oh, a tip of the ol' ballcap to Dunker Journal.

The Trouble with Statistics

2007-02-26T10:01:00.000-05:00

First, a quick apology for my absence for the past four weeks. There are times when a person has four jobs when there just isn't much time. And at my house, there isn't a whole lot of spare computer time either, so that has complicated the past month or so. Hopefully, I'm through that avalanche -- at least for the time being.

As most of you know, I pastor a small church. We'll usually have 50-60 people on Sunday mornings. Sometimes more, every once in a while, less. That's been the size of that church for over 100 years, with the given ups and downs over the years.

As a pastor, I feel a bit of pressure to see those attendance numbers go up a bit. And I think those numbers should go up, but it seems the rate of new people becoming more and more active in the church is only enough to replace the rate of older people who can't be there as much or the sick among us. We're not the same old 50 people sitting there every week. That would be waaaayyyy too easy. But I do keep an eye on attendance statistics. I don't live or die by them, but I keep hoping to see a nice jump, reflecting some of the spiritual changes I see in many of the people attending.

January showed a nice uptick. February was looking very good too. Instead of a 52 February average as we've had for the past two years, we were averaging 57 through the first three weeks and carrying a good bit of momentum.

On Saturday, the area was being bombarded by weather warnings. We were told to expect 1/2 to 3/4 of an inch of ice, knocking down trees and power lines Saturday night and making Sunday morning traveling impossible. The storm was supposed to start around 9 p.m. Saturday night and last through noon the next day. Now I'm not from Missouri, but when it comes to weather predictions I tend to be a "show me first, then I'll believe it" kind of guy. I have seen far too many warnings for storms that have never showed up. So I told a few of the congregation that I was out with early on Saturday that I would wait to see if this supposed ice storm was as advertised before I called off Sunday services.

The storm began Saturday evening, but after an hour or two of light freezing rain, the temperature started to rise. Soon, freezing rain had turned to rain and ice had turned to watery slush on the roads and sidewalks. No real driving hazard.

When I awoke early Sunday morning to survey the situation, I found no situation. It was chilly. It was wet. It wasn't icy at all. A quick drive down my road confirmed that there was no reason to cancel services.

Now, at that point I realized that many from the congregation were not going to go out to the car and drive to church because they had gone to bed expecting an icy wonderland and a day away from traveling. There would be few in the pews, I was certain. And for a brief instant, I thought to myself, "Oh well, there goes the Tuesday average!"

The day played out as I expected. We had only a few families brave the country roads to come to services. As a result, instead of having a February attendance average of 57 (if I had called off services), we finished the month averaging 51 per Sunday... just a bit below normal... again.

Let me say upfront that I'm not the kind of guy who will let church statistics determine whether or not the congregation will gather for worship on Sunday morning. That's tacky and worldly all at the same time. Yet I also understand the temptation to do just that by a pastor who has been told to get the attendance figures up to par.

I've always felt that statistical trends in a small church have been vastly overrated. Most months, if a family of four can't get the car started and has to miss a Sunday, the church's monthly average attendance drops by one. At my church, that would be a two percent drop because somebody forgot to turn off the headlights on the Buick. Conversely, that same family coming three times a month instead of once a month shows up as a four percent increase. Among many church statisticians, that means proper attendance growth.

Perhaps Mark Twain was right when he classified statistics as the worst of three classifications of lies. Put me down for favoring "proper use and context of statistics" and not "live and die by the numbers," please.

Ten Minutes

2007-01-29T11:48:00.000-05:00

I heard on the radio the other day that the average stay for a visitor at the Grand Canyon is ten minutes long. That's it. Just ten minutes. You know, look over the edge, take a few pictures, say "That shore is big!" a few times, and then get back in the car. Ten minutes.

I've never been to the Grand Canyon personally, so I can't tell you this from first-hand experience, but I would think I'd stay a bit longer than that. I don't know if I'd ride the mule down inside, but there has to be more than just ten minutes worth of awe. Then again, I realize how many times I overlook the awe that is all around me.

We had a blizzard yesterday, so today it's easy to see the awe-someness in great drifts of snow, arrayed in all kinds of geometric patterns. It's amazing to see bare ground in one place next to a drift more than five feet high. It's kind of our own miniature Not-So-Grand Canyon in the backyard. But in another couple of weeks, when the snow has melted and the ground is all muddy, I doubt I'll consider the backyard nearly so awesome.

I want to consider God as awesome even in the not-so-awesome times. He is no less incredible than He was when he created the conditions for the Grand Canyon to be dug, than He was is an otherwise-lackluster August day. He is no less incredible during the mundane, reptitious workday than He is at the birth of a baby or the healing of a sick man.

God is worth more than ten minutes.

Clean

2007-01-27T11:51:00.000-05:00

I've mentioned previously that our upstairs bathroom (the only full bath in the house) is in the midst of renovations. That means no tub, no shower. Only the dreaded sponge bath, which as we all know, is only mildly effective when a person is used to a nice, hot, long shower. So since Monday morning, we've had to "make do" in our hygiene.

We got the go-ahead yesterday to use the tub -- provided we wiped it out well afterwards. So last night, my wife got to try it out. Problem. The hot water wasn't anywhere near what a normal person would continue HOT! I could feel just a slight difference between all-hot and all-cold. But my darling was bound and determined to have a bath and told me, "You'll just have to haul the hot water up to the tub in buckets!"

"I will?" I replied. But she had her heart set on a bath, so I did as I was told. After six trips, hauling the big blue bucket of piping hot water up the stairs to the little bathroom, already crowded with ladders, lights, tools and assorted equipment, and poured it in the new tub. Finally, my wife turned on the cold to make it bearable and she had her first real bath in a week.

Coming downstairs afterwards, she exclaimed, "Oh, it feels so good to be clean!!!" It really made her evening.

So this morning, I had the house to myself. Remembering how my wife felt last night, I decided I'd try a bath too. I shaved, shampooed what's left of my hair (mostly beard) and started filling the buckets for my own cleanliness experience.

Let me tell you, after a week of Mr. Sponge and Mr. Washcloth, there's nothing like the feeling of being clean. Sure it was a lot of work, but it was well worth it.

I don't remember the "conversion experience" that some people have had when coming to Christ. I gradually grew into my faith over the past, well, 45 years now. But I have a little better idea of the illustration of Christ washing us whiter than snow, and what that means to us.

I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.

Thank you, Lord for washing me clean.

On Divided Loyalties

2007-01-26T09:46:00.000-05:00

Full disclosure: I'm a Bears fan. I have been since I was old enough to figure out what that odd-shaped pigskin was used for. My dad and I would watch every Sunday as the Bears would, quite often, plod their way to a season with a few less wins than losses. There were bright spots, like watching the Kansas Comet, Gale Sayers run, or watching Dick Butkus clothesline runners with barely any trace of human compassion.

I got a treat in the mid 1980s as the team from Chicago put together the greatest team of characters the league has ever seen. Oh, and they could play as a team like something no one had ever seen. But after Walter Payton and the rest of that group of players shuffled off with their Super Bowl rings, I have watched the team return to mediocrity. There have been good years, but they have ended in disappointment.

The other part of my disclosure is that I'm also a Colts fan. I was raised a Hoosier, and truth be told, I still don't live far from the state of my birth. Maybe that plays into it, but I root for the Colts mostly because they are fun to watch. When Peyton Manning is rolling, it is amazing to watch. Similarly, I've been treated to some great, but disappointing years rooting for Indianapolis.

As most of you with media access know, the Super Bowl this year features the Bears against the Colts. My two favorite teams playing against one another for all the marbles. So who am I rooting for? The Bears, of course. When it comes to sports teams, I am first and foremost a Bears fan. No question about it. Will I be disappointed if the Colts win? You bet. And I don't know if it will make it better if they lose to the Colts or if they would lose to the Patriots -- I guess I'll find out soon enough, if it happens. But I know that I'm a Bears fan first, a Colts fan second.

I was listening to a radio interview this morning with an American Muslim. He was talking about a survey an organization had done, asking Muslims if they considered themselves: a Muslim first, an American first, or equally Muslim and American. The survey showed that 70 percent of those responding considered themselves to be Muslim first. 28 percent said that they were American and Muslim equally, leaving 2 percent to be American first.

In my heart, I thought, "Good for them. You should be Muslim first." After all, isn't that what religion is? Shouldn't it transcend political separations?

Much of the rest of the discussion centered on how so many Muslims don't know what their religion is all about, how they can't explain or answer questions about their religion to non-believers, and how they don't bother to read their revered holy book. And as I heard those complaints about Muslims, I was immediately reminded of times when I've said the same thing about people of my own faith. Face it, most Christians don't know what Christianity is all about, they can't explain their faith, and they let their holy Book sit on a shelf and get dusty. The sinful human condition shows itself equally, eh?

Then I also considered the poll question for Christians. Do I consider myself a Christian first, an American first or both equally? Now there was no question for me. I've made my views know on this blog for two years. I'm a Christian first, and I've written at length about how Christianity and Americanism are not the same, nor are they to be equal in a believer's life. That doesn't mean that as a Bears fan that I can't rootand yell and scream for the Colts to beat the Patriots. When my country and my religious beliefs don't conflict, then I am in good shape. But when the Colts and Bears square off and there can be only one winner, I am a Bears fan.

When your country and your faith disagree, what do you do? You live by faith, obeying the laws of the country provided they do not conflict with that faith. When they do conflict, you have no choice. Our loyalties to Christ cannot be divided. We are not of this world, our citizenship is in heaven, and we await a Savior from there.

Go Bears!

Secret Sin

2007-01-24T21:28:00.000-05:00

I found this in a small town newspaper. It's the story of Marcia, a 72-year-old retired schoolteacher from a town in Ohio. While doing a little job hunting about 100 miles away near Anderson, Indiana, Marcia was seen driving on the wrong side of the road, doing 20 miles per hour. When a sheriff's deputy got behind her to see if she was drunk, Marcia hit the gas. The chase was on.

After a chase which reached 110 miles per hour, Marcia was finally stopped, but she refused to get out of the car. She later said that she didn't believe the deputy (and eventually all four deputies) were really law enforcement officers. She was tossed in jail on a number of charges.

The last line of the article was a quote from Marcia. She told the Indiana newspaper, "Oh, no, I'd never want [my relatives] to find out about this. They've never been arrested and I've never been arrested." Telling that to a newspaper reporter 100 miles away is all well and good. But I also saw the article reprinted in Marcia's hometown newspaper. That's right. All of Marcia's relatives, all of those who Marcia wanted to keep this from, they all got to read about it in their hometown newspaper. So did this former elementary teacher's former students. There's no hiding the truth anymore.

I wish my life was as pure and sinfree as I can appear. But it's not. And before Christ, there are no secrets. My deep, dark secrets are known. My sins are not hidden.

Yet, if I but ask, He forgives. Marcia will probably have a bit more problem with her family than that.

Mess

2007-01-23T14:24:00.000-05:00

As I type, the house is a mess. Not just any mess, mind you... it's the mess that comes with remodeling. This time it's the upstairs bathroom that is getting the facelift (and body-lift as well). New shower/tub. New sink and vanity. New commode. New walls. I'm not sure what else, but it'll look completely different. Right now it just looks completely trashed.

We've done a lot of remodeling since we moved here about nine years ago. The house wasn't really what we wanted, but for the price we couldn't refuse. So now we're trying to make it in our own image. But after remodels on the downstairs bath, the hall, the kitchen, the dining room and the upstairs bedrooms, we're kind of used to the smell of paint and sawdust. Still, the place is a mess. A tan canvas tarp is covering the route from the front door to the soon-to-be-new bathroom. On our front porch sits a toilet. Yes, a powder blue commode. Right beside it is the old tub, sitting on a stack of cracked and slightly mildewed pieces of wall board. The construction guys will be hauling it all away. Soon. I hope.

Sometimes I feel like my life is like this house. Piles of trash here and there, and I've gotten used to it all. Maybe you've felt that way too. It's amazing how much of a mess we tolerate. I've been in houses where the residents think nothing of leaving last week's trash lying on the floor or in an unused chair. Once the initial shock wears off, it just seems to make sense to leave it there. After all, cleaning up would require some work and a bit of effort. And cleaning up a life is something we just don't have the strength to do. Which is why from time to time, I have to call in the Almighty with a powerwasher.

I wish the house could be back to normal, but for now, we live in a mess. We have no shower for the time being, so don't get too close. And don't use the powder blue fixture on the front porch.

The God Who Offends

2007-01-22T15:18:00.000-05:00

It's always a little disheartening to hear it, but at the same time I've grown to expect it.

Yesterday afternoon began Football Day here at the old homestead. My middle child is a BIG Colts fan, and I am an EVEN BIGGER Bears fan. We both made it through the day with something extra to smile about. (Don't stop by the house on Feb. 4 looking for peace and quiet though!)

Anyway, after the Colts win last night, both the owner and the coach took the time to thank God for the win. Perhaps they didn't phrase it very well, but I've heard a couple of comments from people who didn't like the thought of God entering into the whole arena of professional football.

Not that I think God is pulling strings, forcing a scenario to play out where a Colt defender intercepts a Tom Brady pass and causing the Colts to win. But, as I pointed out in a general forum, God gives us the talents, the abilities and the opportunities among other things. I think he deserves thanks for that.

One man, who is neither a Colts fan nor a Patriots fan, said that he was happy for the Colts until he heard all those "God wanted us to win" remarks. Now he's rooting against the Colts. Another simply said that he could "do without all the God talk" in the post-game report.

The first man is vehemently anti-theist. Don't you dare bring up any possibility of a Supreme Being in his presence or he goes off, like he did late last night. The second man isn't so much opposed to God as he is interested in doing whatever he wants whenever he wants. But each was offended by the idea of God's involvement in the world.

Usually I just shake my head and chuckle at the offense taken by some at the suggestion of deity. I understand that quite often the louder the protests, the closer that person is to finally accepting what he is shouting to deny. Still I wonder, why the offense?

What is it about the idea of "God" that gets some people so riled up? Is it the fear of having someone hold us accountable? Is it the feeling that God isn't running this world the way we would do it? Is it an emptiness from a fear of believing?

God doesn't make everyone happy. He makes some people smokin' mad. But why the mention of "someone" who doesn't exist would create such anger is beyond me.

And for those who feel God doesn't exist because the world isn't perfect (or up to our standards) miss the point of who God is and why Jesus came to die for us in the first place. Maybe missing the point is what really offends.

Very Early Spring Cleaning

2007-01-18T18:42:00.000-05:00

Earlier this week, I started looking through my old bookmarks to see what I could delete. When I got to the folders with a lot of Christian blogs, I decided to go through and make another visit to make sure the blogger was still blogging. It also gave me the chance to remind myself why I had bookmarked them in the first place. I'll probably have to redo my blogroll soon.

I was a little surprised how many blogs I came to that had been abandoned. Some had final posts of explanation, while others lamented that they hadn't been posting much but would be soon. And while I can't say I'll miss them all, there are a few that I really wonder what happened.

Of course I understand the fact that lives change, time constraints are placed upon us, and all the while we feel like we're cheating someone with our lack of attention. I've said for the last two years that this blog wasn't going to make me it's slave, and I think I've stuck to that. But at the same time, I know there are areas of my life which could use more attention. So when I click a link to a blog I used to read and find a blank page, I feel some sense of happiness for someone who decided to devote more time to something or Someone else.

At the same time, I know there are many who just grew tired of the fad. It was cute to have a blog for a while, but soon it became more trouble than it was worth. Guilt over the gaps between posts would sink in, then a feeling of desperation or failure would hit. And no blog is worth that, right?

I've been getting on my congregation about the way we do ministry -- as individuals and as a church. With so many demands on our time, carving out an hour or two for actual ministry is tough to do. And in a small church, if only a couple of people make the time, so many needed things are left undone.

At our church, we have to learn to think outside of the traditions and habits we've developed. Offerings are way up and Sunday School attendance is plummeting to new depths. It's like we can give our money, but keep your grubby mitts off my time.

I'm trying to do some weeding out of my own life. There are a ton of things on my plate and a few more side dishes which need to be crammed in there. So I'm trying to do a little Spring Cleaning -- tossing out what really isn't productive time. Blogging stays because I know God is using that to speak to us. Well, mostly me. And I don't feel like I should shut Him off.

TV is going by the wayside. Outside of football games (GO BEARS!) I rarely have time for it anymore. And most of it isn't worth the trouble. In December I discovered that the satellite receiver wasn't working. I called the fine folks at Direct TV for advice on how to fix it, and they wanted to send a repairman to collect $75 to fix it for me. I declined semi-politely and told them semi-politely that I would try to fix it myself first. Well, for three weeks, the TV sat dark except for my daughter's Strawberry Shortcake DVDs. Until the one day I started checking cables only to find that one cable had come disconnected from the set. Fixing the problem took approximately 1.84 seconds. But once I got it up and running, I realized how much I had enjoyed the silence. Maybe God used a pulled cable to get something across to me.

I realize the same thing could be happening at my church. We hold tightly to something because we are used to it, not because it is effective ministry. Giving up a ladies missionary group or a particular hymnal is a big deal if someone has invested a lot into it... sorta like as much as I have in a satellite dish and TV.

The Bible tells us that as fruitful disciples (which are the only kind of disciples to be), from time to time, God will clean our vines to make us even more fruitful. But when it happens, do we sit and mourn the grapes we lost, or do we look forward to the new fruit?

I'd hate to forget my own party...

2007-01-14T23:38:00.000-05:00

Cake with shamrocks for everyone!

OK, I took this shot from someone else's blogiversary. But it's my party, and I'll do what I want.

And the winner is...

2007-01-10T21:27:00.000-05:00

As I was driving to work yesterday morning, I heard an interview with actor Harry Shearer who was talking about the entertainment industry's infatuation with awards. He joked about the people who get all worked up about the little trophies, but at the same time admitted that it was easy to get caught up in the meaningless awards. His claim was that most awards were, essentially, bought and paid for by movie studios and production houses and their publicists. The statuettes don't really mean anything when it comes to acting or entertaining. It's all a sham.

Certainly that's just one man's opinion. Okay, it's probably the opinion of a whole lot of people -- mostly those without trophies on the mantle at home. But the glitter and glamour of winning an award draws on the egos of entertainers and the hopes and dreams of the entertained.

I recently heard that for an overwhelming majority of young people, the main goals in their lives are to become rich (first choice) and famous (second choice). They either want to hold aloft the trophy checkbook/lifestyle or the trophy popularity rating. It's all about me.

When I got to work yesterday, I found out that my main task for the day was to look back over my work for the past year and pick out my best to submit for awards. I've got to admit that I felt funny about the whole process. First, I really didn't remember doing any work that would stand out in any kind of statewide competition. Second, I really didn't want to bother reliving the past year. But third, something inside me kept nudging me, saying, "Wouldn't that be great to win?"

The more I looked over my work for 2006, the more I remembered. I really did do a pretty good job on many of the projects I took on during the year. Maybe I really am worthy of a trophy, or a plaque, or whatever they hand out.

Then came the realization that the acclaim of man isn't really worth the trouble. Granted, I try to do my best in whatever I do (although my wife may argue that point), but I'm not really seeking fame and fortune for myself. Isn't that weird?

I'm uncomfortable in the role of celebrity. I'm don't like celebrating myself. Maybe it's because I know myself too well and realize that the celebration would be pretty hypocritical. Or maybe it's simply a matter of wanting to focus on anything besides me. Sure, I enjoy being told that something I did was enjoyed by someone else, but not to make me more important or popular. I delight in a job well done.

I've always been curious about John the Baptist, who told his disciples that once Jesus arrived on the scene that "He must become greater, and I must become less." Today's celebrity culture would have laughed at the Baptist derisively and chucked tomatoes and stale locusts at him. But John knew that it wasn't about winning earthly awards or the acclaim of man. It's not about the earthly awards, it's the heavenly rewards that matter.

I hope I never lose that perspective, and I thank God for it. But I know the temptation is only amplified through the worldly culture surrounding me and you.

My Guilty Pleasure

2007-01-08T23:27:00.000-05:00

I just received my copy in the mail today. Got it off ebay. If you don't remember the original TV series that inspired the Naked Gun movies, you're not alone. There were only six episodes made. The show was cancelled after just four airing -- mostly because you had to pay attention to the show to understand the jokes or know what was going on. I saw them all and videotaped them. I've since lost the VHS cassette, but finally will get to watch the DVD. Tomorrow.

Nothing spiritual. Nothing "godly". Just stupid jokes and belly laughs. And I love it.

I remember watching "Airplane!" in the theatre for the first time. My best friend and I drove way too fast to get there in time for the opening. Actually we were about 90 seconds late. But we both walked out of the theatre with abdominal pain from laughing so hard.

Sometimes an escape from reality really takes the stress away, don't you think?

I'll pass on the "resolutions", thanks anyway

2007-01-04T21:57:00.000-05:00

I'm not a big "New Year's" guy. Frankly, it always just struck me as the day to throw out the old calendar and put up the new one. Big whoop. But among those looking for an excuse for a party, New Year's ranks right up there because it's fairly simple. Just wait until midnight, scream, blow funny horns, kiss someone near you, and sing that Aunt Langenzine song that nobody understands. Sorry. Not my idea of a good time. Still, I watched the ball drop and kissed my wife. Happy New Year.

The other enduring (not endearing) tradition which keeps rearing it's ugly head is the New Years Resolutions. These trite promises are made to be broken, usually right after you've signed up for the gym membership or shelled out a couple of hundred dollars on stop smoking patches.

I don't make resolutions. Long ago I figured out the whole game and decided to decline my turn. Still with a fresh year ahead, I decided to go about this a different way. Instead of resolutions that are bound to fail, I set up a list of goals for the coming year for myself, my ministry and for my church. These are some of the things I/we will be working on during 2007:

First of all comes prayer. I want more depth out of my own prayer life, and more desire out of the church's prayer life. It's way to easy to just go through the motions.

Our church services need to appeal more to "visual" learners. We are technologically challenged, so this may be tough. Still I have a few ideas to involve the eyes in our worship times.

We need to make time for God. We set aside an hour or two a week to watch American Idol. Why is it so hard to set aside a little time for reading the Bible or serious prayer?

Our church needs to escape the small church mentality which holds it back. "We're too small to be able to do something like that" just ain't gonna cut it anymore. It's a lack of faith, at best. At worst, it's laziness.

We need to care more about doing God's will than our own survival. 'Nuff said.

There are probably another half-dozen or so on the list, but you get the idea. Our theme for the year is taken from James 1 and it's simply, "Listen, consider, act." We have to take time to listen to God and we can't do that if we're not willing to pick up a Bible or hit our knees. We have to consider that what God wants from us may not be what we're hoping for, and there may be some big ramifications in that. And finally, we have to stop thinking about things and act.

Here's hoping that we can hit our goals, or at least make reasonable progress on all counts.

Thank God For Change

2007-01-03T22:29:00.000-05:00

One of the side stories going on in my life these past few weeks/months has been the developing problems with my Dodge Ram pickup. After it's second major breakdown in two weeks, I needed a car, so I ended up borrowing my 93-year-old grandma's Buick LeSabre. Like an idiot, I didn't pull the satellite radio hookup out of the pickup, so I'm now driving a vehicle with a cassette player. No CDs. No satellite radio. Just run-of-the-mill radio and cassettes.

The problem is that most of my cassettes, um, make that all of my cassettes, are many years ancient. I gladly pulled out a dozen or so of my old favorites to play while driving around, and I packed them into the glove compartment. Each time I pulled out an old gem, I would check the recording date I had scribbled on each case. Then I would chuckle quietly to myself as I read. 1989. 1986. 1982!

Some of those tapes still hold up well, but others, well, not so well. But they took me back to a time long ago. When I was different.

The Fabulous Thunderbirds - I was a year or so out of college, working as a radio DJ. My friends and I were into the Texas-rock sound.

Restless Heart - I was about to get married, working as a country DJ for the first time in my life. I didn't even know much about country before I took the job playing it. One song reminded me of my days in high school, cruising the one-stoplight town, looking for ways to pass the time.

Shooting Star - Wow! Living in the college dorm, I was craving more music on a student's budget, so a dozen or so of us taped each other's albums to save us all a bunch of money. The album was frequently heard seeping out of the cracked doors of the dorm rooms on my floor.

Weird Al Yankovic - It's funny that I listened to Al back in the day, and now my boys are listening to him.

Twenty-five years of changes in me. Some good. Well, I guess most all of them are good. God has done a good work in me -- not that He's finished yet.

I know a woman who absolutely hates change. Maybe hates isn't the word. Maybe it's fear. But it manifests itself in hatred and dread. Somewhere in her mind, something tells her that any kind of change is bad -- even change which is supposed to make things better and easier. She seems to take comfort in the "sameness" of life.

There are many churches who are very litergical in nature. By that, I don't just mean "high church" but predictable church. Just carve the order of service into the wood on the altar, already. Only the hymns are rotated each week.

I know there are people who are comforted by that. The whole "God is always there" idea. But I'm not one of those people, and I don't really think we are called to be. Not that there's anything wrong with a constant order of service. It's just that God seems to use change so well.

In His earthly walk, Jesus wasn't all too predictable. Even the Twelve didn't understand where He was going and why. He talked to foreign women. He hung out with tax collectors. He chewed out the religious figures. He called a guy out of a tomb after four days. Las Vegas oddsmakers would have lost a bundle taking action on this Guy.

In my life, God has used the unlikely things of life to change me. The loss of a job. The loss of a son. Lonliness. Rejection. He's always pulling the silver lining from the dark cloud, even if all I can see is the storm that surrounds me. And in the change, He makes me better.

So why do so many people fight change, especially in the church? Could it be the familiar makes us comfortable enough that we don't think we need to take up our own cross every day? Do we honestly think that people are the same as they were 150 years ago? Sure, we're still sinners, but we dress differently, we act differently, we talk differently, and we communicate differently. Why wouldn't we worship differently?

I guess that maybe I'm just wondering how we as the church decide that our traditions are on a par with Scripture. Depending on who I'm talking to, I can hear people saying that a church isn't a proper church without:

altar calls
pews
hymns by Fanny Crosby
an organ
a choir
a Sunday evening service

Even some newer churches have taken their own liturgy and their own traditions and elevated them to "must-do" status. Frankly, I'm sick of the whole lot of it. I understand the thinking that goes into abandoning the church when I hear these modern-day Pharisees pass judgment. But I still don't agree with that thinking. The church is too precious to be left to those folks.

As I read the Bible, I keep reading about being transformed by the renewal of my mind, about being conformed to the image of Christ, about being sanctified. And I wonder again why we would fear change.

Some of my old attitudes just don't play anymore. Like the old Petra tape in the basement that's too tangled and twisted to fit into the tape deck, those old things don't work in me anymore.

Thank God for change.

God Bless Us All, Everyone

2006-12-24T17:55:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas, my friends. I have had many thoughts about the season of Christ's birth, unfortunately my time has been severely limited here at the ol' blog. But I'll get a little break after the holiday and get a few of them launched into cyberspace. I promise. Really.

I'm also considering some exciting things for this place in the new year. Stay tuned.

I pray that the celebration of Christ's birth will remind you of the love that God has continually shown to us.

The Real Miracle

2006-12-02T11:41:00.000-05:00

I stopped over at Gayla's blog Saturday when I had a few moments. I've missed reading some of the wonderful blogs during my time of extreme multi-employment. But anyway, Gayla was musing over a lot of tough questions and the like. The post is sure worth a read, but if you want the short version, she eventually got to the question of faith, miracles and healing. I had to share in her comments what God had impressed upon me. Then I figured I'd better do it here on the home court blog as well.

In the comment thread, Carol mentioned one of my favorite Old Testament lessons, about Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. Those three had the correct understanding of faith -- that God will see us through on HIS terms. It's His will that matters, not our own. So they could stand before the king and say, "God can deliver, and even if He doesn't deliver like you think, He'll still deliver" Whether it's in the fire, from the fire or through the fire, God delivers.

I was reminded of something odd that God had shown me. While reading through the Bible, I've always been struck by the fact that when Jesus healed and when the apostles healed, the healings were never temporary or partial. Yet at the same time, God provides all kinds of temporary relief while delivering us through the fire.

At our church, a young woman was told she had a tumor on her kidney. We gathered around her and prayed, and we prayed individually for God to heal her. The next week she found out that it wasn't a tumor, but simply an odd-shaped kidney. Her family was talking about this being a miracle. Of course the skeptics would simply call it a misdiagnosis.

But I saw something else. I saw how this woman was uplifted and carried along knowing that the congregation was praying for her and knowing that God was seeing her through. And maybe, just maybe, that was the real miracle in all of this... learning to lean on Him.

Why is it so hard to lean? Why must we fool ourselves into thinking we can stand strong on our own? It is indeed a miracle -- overcoming our own self-importance -- to lean upon Him. It's just a shame that we need to be severely depleted before we understand our own weakness.

Jesus loves me, this I know
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong,
They are weak
And so are we
But He is strong.

Payday

2006-12-01T20:04:00.000-05:00

I know what you're thinking.

"It's been awfully quiet around Attention Span lately... what's going on?"

Let me explain.

For the last three weeks, I've been busy. I know, I know, we're all busy, but these few weeks have been especially so for me, and by extension, for my wife and kids. You see, I've been training for another job. It's just a job as a substitute, but I have to go through all the red tape and jump the hoops like I was going to do this every day. So for a little more than two weeks, I have spent the first half of my day in training, full-time. After that, I would leave the training site (which was at least 45 minutes away) and go to my other full-time job, where I was part of a team working on a special project, not to mention the normal work I do. And, oh yeah, did I mention that neither one of these two jobs is my pastoral job?

Yeah, I've been a three job guy for about three weeks. It has slowed up considerably now. The special project is done. The major portion of my training is done. All in time for December and the hustle and bustle of a church during the Christmas season.

Thanksgiving week was especially trying because that week my training site was about 90 minutes away. Three extra hours on the road were just three hours a night I could have slept. But the neatest thing happened.

Thanksgiving.

I was annoyed at first that my five days of training would be extended because of missing the Thursday of Thanksgiving. I told myself that it would really be a pain to get out of the groove of making the drive, training, driving back, working my other job, getting home late and waving at my kids on the way to bed. But by Wednesday, I was dragging. Scratch that. I was all-but-unconscious. When I fell onto the mattress Wednesday night, it was all I could do to lift my head to get it onto the pillow.

Then I remembered. Tomorrow I didn't have to rise early. It was Thanksgiving. And among all the other things I was thankful for, a day of relaxing with family was high on the list indeed. I'm not sure how I would have made it otherwise.

Anyway, for two weeks I worked two jobs (not counting being a pastor), and somewhere along the line I figured out that since I was working two full-time jobs, that I would be getting paid for two full-time jobs! Lack of sleep probably delayed this realization, but it wasn't too far into the process that reality hit me. I found out that on December 1 I would get my check for all the training hours I put in. Coincidentally, December 1 is also the day checks arrive for my other weekday job.

I started thinking about getting two paychecks on one day. The waiting was hard, but I kept going. I knew there were Christmas presents to buy and a couple of unexpected bills that needed to be paid. No matter what I did, I couldn't get the checks earlier -- I had to wait.

Today is December 1. Payday. Two checks, baby! Was it all worth it? I'm not sure. Money isn't a big motivator for me, but knowing I had use for the cash made the waiting that much harder.

During my so-called spare time this week, I've been contemplating Advent. To me, Advent has always been about the waiting. Sure, there are plenty of other aspects to the season, but waiting is a central theme. Waiting for Messiah. Waiting for Christmas. Even waiting to watch the Advent candles burn down to a nub. There is so much waiting going on, it makes a check-out line at the department store seem so apropos.

The waiting is harder when I realize how much I need what I'm waiting for. I need that little baby in swaddling clothes. He is the only hope for me. I know what being away from God is like. I know what neglecting Him is like. I truly need Emmanuel. Yet today, I don't need to wait. You see, today is payday. Not just two payroll checks, but access to what I need.