Mess

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

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

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...

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Abundance

We celebrated Thanksgiving as a church family on Sunday. No turkey, but we had a couple of flocks of chickens, fried up to perfection. Then there was the rest of the feast, assembled on a few tables. Crock pot after crock pot. Cheese tray after cheese tray. And need I mention, pie after pie. Yes, it was delicious. All left for home without hunger pangs, or for that matter, without need for any other meal that day.

After the majority of people had left, a group of us stayed around to clean up. One of the weiredest times at the church is after a big potluck or church meal. What food is left is generally divided up between the bunch of us who stay. That usually feeds our families that day or the next. But I'm always amazed at how much is left. On Sunday, I brought home what amounted to about a bucket and a half of chicken and nearly two dozen dinner rolls. We finally finished off the leftovers on Tuesday.

I'm reminded of twelve men with baskets, picking up leftovers from a crowd of 5000 men, plus their wives and kids after Jesus said a prayer over a few dinner rolls and a couple of little fish. "Where did all this come from?" had to be repeating through their heads. Jesus had provided a live example of the generosity of God, right in their midst.

He gives us the same reminder today, and every day. Enjoy the turkey and all the trimmings. And when you make that last turkey sandwich or suck the last of the cranberry sauce from the spoon, I hope the same "Where did all this come from?" question keeps running through your mind. And I hope you realize the live example of God's generosity in your midst.

Happy Thanksgiving.

The Vet

He wasn't much different than any other young man. Drafted at the tender age of nineteen, he was taught how to fix and maintain airplanes. Then he and nine companions were shipped to England and were formed into a crew of a B-17 bomber. The missions they were given were incredibly risky, but thirty times they set out and thirty times they returned. Then came mission number 31.

Dale remembers most of what happened on that August afternoon, and considering it happened 62 years ago, that's quite a memory. But it's not a happy memory. These men he called his brothers were with him over Nazi Germany as they made one more bombing run. Catching enemy anti-aircraft fire was nothing new for them. Dale told me that the plane once returned with 256 holes in it, but not one scratch was found on any of the crew. On mission number 31, they weren't so lucky.

Something struck the plane's gas tank at 30,000 feet. Although there was extra protection around the tank, somehow a shell made it through. A wing was blown off the plane, and the crew began to bail out. Two men didn't make it out in time.

Dale and the navigator ended up coming down near one another, and as Dale looked down he could see that his close friend was being attacked by German civilians. When he landed, he tried to run, but Dale was beaten also. The navigator was killed before Nazi soldiers broke up the melee. Dale lay unconscious with a broken skull.

Dale spent almost a year in Nazi POW camps. He saw horrible things, but worse yet, Dale also lived through some horrible things. Sixty men were loaded on a small boxcar to be shipped from one POW camp to another, but Allied shelling forced the train to stop. The Nazis ran for cover, but the POWs were left, locked in the boxcar, hoping that a bomb wouldn't fall on them. They survived the shelling, but remained locked in the dark car for fourteen days with one one bucket of dehydrated cabbage soup to eat, and another bucket to use as a toilet. Two of the sixty didn't make it out of the boxcar alive.

On another transfer from camp to camp, the Nazis forced the prisoners to march for twelve days through woods, again with almost nothing to eat. Guard dogs nipped at the heels of those who couldn't go fast enough. Dale slipped away on one occasion, only to be tracked down by German police dogs the next morning, while hiding in a haystack. One other time, Dale took two others along also, but the dogs tracked them down again.

Since the Germans had little food for themselves near the end of the war, that meant there was next to nothing to give the prisoners to eat. More dehydrated cabbage soup. Dale was down to 100 pounds by the time General Patton came riding into camp, liberating the prisoners. Just down the road was Dachau, the concentration camp, where Dale saw just how brutal the Nazi regime really was.

Dale kept track of the six other crew members who made it through the war. One man died only a year after the German surrender, likely from complications of disease contracted in a POW camp. The rest died one at a time, the final two within the past year. That leaves Dale as the last member of the crew.

For more than sixty years, Dale was been affected by post-traumatic stress syndrome. Only lately has he had the opportunity for counseling which has helped him greatly. "Now the tears roll, but I don't mind talking about it," he said.

At age 83, Dale is one of a number of young men and women who suffered greatly in service to their country. When I talked to Dale today, tears were plentiful. I didn't want him to cry, but that was the only way he could talk. It was as if pure emotion kept leaping from his body, even when the words were quiet and few.

I have to admit that I admire Dale for the courage he showed back in 1944 and the courage he shows in 2006. He knows his time remaining is short, but he's coming to terms with it all.

Although he was drafted, Dale was proud to serve his country. For all his efforts, he has twelve medals, including a couple of purple hearts. He doesn't wear them, or even get them out to look at them. He told me, "If I'd put 'em all on, I'd look like Eisenhower!"

I don't have the courage to stand up for my country like Dale did. Luckily at my age I really don't have to. Mostly it's because I wonder if democracy is worth dying for, especially when I have spent the last month or two watching how incredibly ugly the American political system can get.

I have no real desire to give my life for Lord either, but if asked to do so, I surely would. I'm not going to go out and volunteer for the Martyr Squad, but being a pastor, if God becomes forbidden, I know I'll have a bullseye on my forehead. That's OK.

To all those who have served your country, I offer congratulations. For all those who have served my country, I offer my thanks.

Happy Veterans Day.

Christian Carnival CXLVII - The Election Hangover Edition

Hello, my fellow citizens!

This edition of the Christian Carnival is being published right after Election Day here in the United States. For many of you, that wouldn't make a whole lot of difference, but for your humble host it means that I'm mighty tired. I was at the local Board of Elections last night and was doing all manner of other things political all day long. That is part of the reason this post is going up a bit late.

But that's also the reason why this Christian Carnival has been dubbed "The Election Hangover Edition." So don't go looking for snappy banter or wise observations in this post -- go visit the contributor's blogs, as most of them got more sleep than I did last night!

Since there is a campaign-ish theme this week, I've divided up the posts into three categories.

First up are the campaign signs. Too small to be billboards, too large to wear on your lapel, these signs are typically driven into the ground to give the candidate a cheap form of advertising and the landowner a chance to display his or her opinions and affiliations. But the problem with campaign signs is that you don't get much in-depth information -- just a pithy message to remember. Here are a few pithy posts with a messages worth remembering.


Penitens from A Penitent Blogger kicks things off this week, and despite the title it's not as political as you would think. Instead we have a reflection on our need to get out of our "ruts" to bring people to Christ in Beat the Bushes.

At Everyday Liturgy, Dan provides a discussion of Scott McKnight's book Jesus Creed and the daily liturgical implications of the book in the post, Jesus Creed.

GodBlogCon finished up this weekend with bloggers from coast to coast gathering for a good time and, perhaps, some learning. Andrew McKnight from Mere Orthodoxy has this observation, Somehow politics don’t depress Mr. Hewitt. Jack Yoest presents Montaigne's Advice from Hugh Hewitt via Mere Orthodoxy posted at Reasoned Audacity.

Overcoming the Dark Side of Leadership is the entry from Richard at dokeo kago grapho soi kratistos theophilos where he discusses the present need for persistent prayer.

Stephen Blankenship presents The Struggle of Love posted at S.R. Blankenship.

Cell Phone Devotionals! Mick from the Romans 15:4 Project tells us all about them.

A few thoughts about Job and his sacrifices at veracity-theway.

Next we find the campaign commercial. Dreaded by many as one-sided, shallow and simply annoying, the political ad is often overlooked because of its misuse by mud-slinging office-seekers. But 30 seconds worth of audio and video, properly used, can give a fuller and better explanation of an position or an opinion. These posts are more than simply devotionals and are well worth your thoughtful consideration.





In Baseball Rules and Bible Study, Henry Neufeld Uses baseball rules and their application as a metaphor for Bible study at the Participatory Bible Study Blog.

Meanwhile at Light Along the Journey, John notes that we all face choices, in all kinds of circumstances. In The Choice in Suffering, he explores one of the most important choices we all face.

Diane at Crossroads asks, Is Christianity like the rest of American society going over to right-brained theology and leaving the left-brained behind? Her post is entitled, Left-brained, Right-brained or Hare-brained?

servant presents How To Double Your Christian Business Or Ministry With One Hour Of Work posted at The Christian Billboard.

Dr. Platypus shares a Litany of the Saints.

Barbara from Tidbits and Treasures says that to those of us who live in the West, we consider the cross on a chain a piece of jewelry. But, to those Christians in the Muslim countries, it symbolizes the persecution and martyrdom they have had to endure for centuries. Read Non-Western Christians and the Cross.

What I Learned Teaching Sunday School is one of the better blog names I've heard for a while. Nancy shares with us this week about Christian Love -- A Choice, not a Feeling.

NCN presents Kids and Money: Chores and Allowance posted at No Credit Needed.

More on Ted Haggard from David Ker, who presents If anyone is caught in sin posted at Lingamish.

Dave from Every Thought Captive says that many bloggers are sure they know what the fallout from the Ted Haggard story will be. How do they know already? Read The Haggard Fallout.

Martin from Sun and Shield writes, "My entry for this week is "Why I Plan to Vote," in which I respond to a post in the previous Christian Carnival. I attempt to argue, from scripture and Christian principles, that Christians generally have a duty to vote responsibly. I don't deal with any particular issues, parties, or candidates."

In the same vein, Chris of Welcome to the Fallout presents A disappointed conservative-libertarian muses about pulling the lever in Four More Years?

Finally we come to the campaign literature. Think of them as the political equivalent of detailed tracts, passed out to try to convert people to the candidate's way of thinking. A more detailed explanation is available through this medium, and it is best when addressing a series of issues or one very complicated matter. These posts deal with more than one topic or are a bit more complex, but worth the effort.



Let's begin with a complicated matter indeed -- courtship. As many Christian families pursue a courtship model for their young adults, are we trying to make something messy and wonderful, namely love and marriage, into a set of legalistic and authoritarian rules that we can follow to ensure that our children achieve the "right outcome," namely a good and God-honoring marriage? Sherry at Intellectuelle take that one on in What Is Courtship and Does Anyone Know How To Do It Right?

And while we're on the subject of relationships, William Meisheid presents True Relationships (aka Friendships) posted at Beyond The Rim... .

Vynette Holliday sets out to disprove not only the divinity of Christ, but the doctine of the Trinity. Personally, I think her argument is dead wrong. See what you think about The Messiah of the Prophets : Part 1 posted at The Race is Run.

Mark Olson shares his notes on the first session of a Genesis Bible Study in Reflections on Genesis: Chapter 1 posted at Pseudo-Polymath.

JCHFleetguy of Brain Cramps for God has three angles to the Ted Haggard situation in Overview: Three Posts Coming.

Michael from Chasing the Wind has some thoughts on five exhortations from the book of Hebrews on living the Christian life in Exercise Confidence.

Allow me to toss in two late posts. (Think of them as absentee ballots, OK?) The first one I had read earlier at Parableman, and I'm glad Jeremy wanted to submit it. What doubles the effect of this post is the discussion in the comment section of Christians Reaching Out to Neo-Pagans.

And finally, The Idolatry of Political Christianity is submitted by Jordan at the Acton Institute Powerblog. The post takes on the urge to tie Christianity to a political ideology and is worth your time to check out.


And that will do it for #147. Thank you to all your submitters (and you know who you are). It's rather a shame no one wanted to submit a post on election this week. Oh, well.

I wish you all an additional term in office.

Christian Carnival - Election Hangover Edition - Coming Soon!

I love hosting the Christian Carnival. It gives me a chance to be creative and have some fun. However, I didn't think too much when I agreed on the date I would host. It was election day, and I spent much of the day working at the local election board. And I've had it.

As a result, the Carnival won't be posted until Wednesday sometime (think P.M., not A.M.). I've got to get some sleep and try to digest the lousy food I snacked on all night.

My apologies to those who just can't wait to see this week's edition. Just think of it as being like waiting for the late election returns to come in from the remote sections of the country.

Thank you.

The Slumber Party Affair

It was going to be a big night on so many levels. It was my daughter's fifth birthday party, complete with six friends, a dozen or so relatives, a few zillion presents and a cake in the shape of a princess' castle. (That's the cake above.) And the girl was so excited, she was literally bouncing. Every two minutes she asked when the party was going to start. And every two minutes either Mama or Dad would grab a hold of her, stop her from bouncing, and tell her, "In a little while, dear."

But it wasn't simply the cake and the presents and the houseful of people that had my darling daughter doing her impression of an NBA basketball. It was the fact that her best friend, Katie, was going to sleep over after the party.

Up until now, my little girl has had "sleepovers" but only with older kids -- her brothers or family friends. This was going to be the real thing. A fellow five-year-old would sleep over. And the prospect of the whole affair kept my daughter in vertical motion all day long.

After all the friends and relatives had been herded back to their respective vehicles, my daughter and Katie settled into the evening routine. First there was playing to do, then a change in pajamas, then settling into sleeping bags to watch a movie.


But around the halfway mark of the movie, Katie started getting that teary look in her eyes. Of course she had never spent the night away from home before, and now it looked like she wasn't going to break her record. Soon we had to call Katie's mom to come pick her up.

My daughter was crushed. While Katie was sitting on the floor waiting for her ride, my little girl was clinging to my wife, tears rolling down her cheeks. When Katie's mom arrived, the tears were coming in loud sobs. She cried so hard that her nose started to bleed a little and her stomach was approaching full evacuation mode. It took another hour until she was calm enough to fall asleep.

We explained to our little girl that Katie wasn't going home to be mean, but because she was scared without her mommy around. But my daughter's feelings had been hurt. She was disappointed in her friend, and felt rejected. She woke up the next day feeling fine, but she still feels badly about the whole slumber party affair.

My girl is going to have to learn that people are going disappoint her. I know I've been let down by a whole host of folks. For that matter, I've been the one disappointing others on far too many occasions. We sinful people tend to let people down.

I remember the disappointment in the Christian community when Amy Grant divorced her husband to marry Vince Gill. I know all about similar disappointments in several others from Jim Bakker to Sandi Patty. And I hear that same feeling of being let down every time a pastor has to leave a church because he can't fulfill the whole monogamy thing.

I hate it when I let people down. Too often I don't follow through on my promises. I become a lousy witness because of my own thoughtlessness. And I don't even want to get into all the times I disappoint my wife or my kids.

I wonder what it was like for Simon Peter when he saw Jesus roasting a little fish on the shore. He jumped off the boat, he was so excited to see the risen Savior. But still there was that whole business of denial. He had let his Master down after he had sworn up and down that it would never happen.

How often I too let my Savior down. I wonder if the tears roll down his cheek after I rebel against Him and try to satisfy my own selfish desires. Well, maybe there are no tears, but I've let Him down anyway.

Thankfully, my Savior never lets me down. Even when He crosses me up and delivers something I don't expect, my disappointment is rooted in my own selfishness. I have no business being disappointed in Him, for He knows what He is doing. It's just that sometimes I don't. And I sit there, bawling my eyes out, thinking He has let me down, not realizing that my lack of faith has let Him down.

Oh, to be able to praise Him in times of despair and uncertainty, like Paul and Silas singing praise choruses in the Philippi Detention Center... to be able to work past my tears and appreciate all that I have been given.

100

Jennifer had this on her blog, and since I haven't stolen anything from her in quite some time, I thought this would be a good opportunity.

Which of these 100 things have you done? I've marked the ones I've done in RED.
01. Bought everyone in the bar a drink
02. Swam with wild dolphins
03. Climbed a mountain
04. Taken a Ferrari for a test drive
05. Been inside the Great Pyramid
06. Held a tarantula
07. Taken a candlelit bath with someone (At least I think there were candles.)
08. Said “I love you’ and meant it!
09. Hugged a tree (But I didn't mean it!)
10. Bungee jumped
11. Visited Paris
12. Watched a lightning storm at sea
13. Stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise
14. Seen the Northern Lights (At my house!)
15. Gone to a huge sports game (Regular season, but it was the Super Bowl Champs!)
16. Walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa (How about leaned after climbing stairs?)
17. Grown and eaten your own vegetables
18. Touched an iceberg
19. Slept under the stars
20. Changed a baby’s diaper (Oh, yeah. More than I care to remember.)
21. Taken a trip in a hot air balloon (It wasn't a long trip, but it was about 7 miles.)
22. Watched a meteor shower (And was a little disappointed in it.)
23. Gotten drunk on champagne
24. Given more than you can afford to charity (No, I can always afford to give more.)
25. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope
26. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment (While working as a radio announcer giving the agricultural weather report. My boss wasn't happy.)
27. Had a food fight
28. Bet on a winning horse
29. Asked out a stranger (I went on a date with a stranger. Doesn't that count?)
30. Had a snowball fight
31. Screamed as loudly as you possibly can
32. Held a lamb
33. Seen a total eclipse
34. Ridden a roller coaster
35. Hit a home run (But it's been an awfully long time ago!)
36. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking
37. Adopted an accent for an entire day
38. Actually felt happy about your life, even for just a moment
39. Visited all 50 states
40. Taken care of someone who was drunk
41. Danced with a stranger in a foreign country
42. Watched wild whales
43. Stolen a sign (I actually didn't steal it, but I had it in my possession for about a year.)
44. Backpacked in Europe
45. Taken a road-trip
46. Gone rock climbing
47. Lost over 20 pounds (Shoot, I've lost 20 pounds most every year of my life. Gained even more!)
48. Midnight walk on the beach
49. Gone sky diving (We chickened out back in college.)
50. Taken a train through Europe
51. Been heartbroken longer than you were actually in love
52. In a restaurant, sat at a stranger’s table, and had a meal with them
53. Milked a cow
54. Alphabetized your CDs (That's the way they are supposed to be!)
55. Sung karaoke
56. Lounged around in bed all day
57. Gone scuba diving
58. Kissed in the rain (Not as romantic as it looks in the movies.)
59. Gone to a drive-in theatre
60. Started a business
61. Taken a martial arts class
62. Been in a movie (Just a couple of "student" productions.)
63. Crashed a party
64. Gone without food for 5 days (ARE YOU KIDDING ME??)
65. Gotten a tattoo
66. Got flowers for no reason (Gave flowers for no reason. All the time.)
67. Performed on stage (That's been a few years ago too.)
68. Been to Las Vegas
69. Recorded music
70. Eaten shark
71. Buried one/both of your parents (both)
72. Been on a cruise ship
73. Spoken more than one language fluently
74. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over (Of course losing my job had something to do with it!)
75. Been to the Statue of Liberty
76. Had plastic surgery
77. Survived an accident that you shouldn’t have survived
78. Wrote articles for a large publication (Not a really large one, but lots of small ones!)
79. Piloted an airplane
80. Petted a stingray
81. Broken someone’s heart (Not to my knowledge.)
82. Broken a bone
83. Eaten sushi
84. Had your picture in the newspaper (Yes, but not as often as my kids.)
85. Parasailed
86. Skipped all your school reunions
87. Shaved your head (Not yet, but as soon as my wife's back is turned it'll happen.)
88. Caused a car accident
89. Pretended to be "sick" (Pretended to be sicker than I actually was.)
90. Surfed in the ocean
91. Saved someone's life
92. Fainted (No, but I've been knocked out.)
93. Been in the room while someone is giving birth (Four times)
94. Hitchhiked (Not exactly, but I've been given rides by strangers on the highway.)
95. Adopted a child (Been adopted.)
96. Been caught daydreaming (Huh?)
97. Been to the Grand Canyon
98. Called off a wedding engagement
99. Donated your blood (I did last month for the first time in about 15 years.)
100. Become a follower of Jesus Christ (Best decision I ever made.)

Throughout this exercise, I was reminded of just how precious life is, and of how many incredible experiences we have along the way. I can kind of understand why some get so wrapped up in the earthly life that they put the thoughts of an afterlife in the back of their minds. God has given us so much on this ol' sin-soaked earth. Just imagine what we'll be able to compare notes about in heaven!

Drug Test

In what could be one of my foolish decisions, I've taken on yet another part time job. This one is supposed to demand my attention only a couple of times a month, so I'm taking the chance that I'll be able to fit everything into one lifetime.

My new job requires that I undergo a drug screen. So last week, I studied and studied and went to take my drug test. What struck me was the procedures that had to be followed for it to be officially done right.

After I did the initial paperwork, on which every medical facility is fueled, I was led back to the testing area by a medical professional. In the room was a woman who was having some hair snipped from the back of her head. It could have been some kind of medical test, or maybe she just needed a trim, I don't know. I was pretty sure that I didn't have enough hair on my own head for any testing, so I was going to have to do it the old fashioned way.

My coat was taken and laid back in a corner. I was asked to empty my pockets and place the contents into a small lockable cabinet. Feeling lighter, stepped back to the nurse who then instructed me to rinse my hands without using soap. Then she gave me the choice of which cup I would like to use. Seeing no difference in the two, I closed my eyes and picked the one that my hand hit first. The nurse unwrapped it and showed me that there were no cracks in it. From her mannerisms, I was half expecting some sleight of hand. Maybe pull a dove out of the specimin cup. But no. She handed my the cup and began the test.

No number 2 pencils needed for this one.

Emerging from the restroom, I presented the now-full cup to the nurse and prepared to get my things out of the locker. But no. I had to stand there and watch her "grade my test", so to speak. She explained how it worked, as if I was going to test the next guy who walked in, carefully showing me every last detail.

Finally, the little boxes turned blue. Knowing that it wasn't a pregnancy test, I was now assured that I was drug-free. (Three hours of my time and about $20 worth of gas spent to find that one out.)

As I strapped into the pickup for the drive home, I considered all the extraneous activity surrounding the test. I knew full well that the reason why the procedure had to be followed was because there have been so many people who have tried to cheat. Although I hate to think about it, some folks have apparently tried to sneak in a "clean" sample while giving the impression it was their own. The thought makes me want to wash out my pockets.

Why do people cheat? Because they know that a test will show the truth about what they've been putting into their bodies. They fully understand that when the light of truth is shown on their lives (or specimins, as the case may be), the nasty stuff will show up as bright as day.

I think most people understand that any real examination of their lives will show some problems. Sure, there are some who try to redefine certain actions as good and right, and a few of those have fooled themselves into believing it. But most everyone understands the lack of perfection in their lives. If there would be a test to show the presence of sin, they know the squares won't show up the right color.

The solution isn't to try to cover up the impurities or to justify the presence of nasty stuff by pointing to everyone else. The solution is to use someone else's sample.

"Thank you, Lord Jesus, for allowing me to use your perfect record instead of my own tainted life."

The Emo Illustration

I was walking across a bridge one day, and I saw a man standing on the edge, about to jump off. So I ran over and said "Stop! don't do it!"
"Why shouldn't I?" he said. I said,
"Well, there's so much to live for!"
He said, "Like what?"
I said, "Well...are you religious or atheist?"
He said, "Religious."
I said, "Me too! Are you christian or buddhist?"
He said, "Christian."
I said, "Me too! Are you catholic or protestant?"
He said, "Protestant."
I said, "Me too! Are you episcopalian or baptist?"
He said, "Baptist!"
I said,"Wow! Me too! Are you baptist church of god or baptist church of the lord?"
He said, "Baptist church of god!"
I said, "Me too! Are you original baptist church of god, or are you reformed baptist church of god?"
He said,"Reformed Baptist church of god!"
I said, "Me too! Are you reformed baptist church of god, reformation of 1879, or reformed baptist church of god, reformation of 1915?"
He said, "Reformed baptist church of god, reformation of 1915!"
I said, "Die, heretic scum", and pushed him off. -- Emo Phillips

I was just called a heretic tonight over something I wrote at my Bible study blog a few months ago. Apparently I wasn't Calvinist enough. The commenter has something like 15 blogs, all taking on one heresy or another. One was entitled, Arminian Heresy, and once I saw that I didn't worry too much about what he thought.

Not that there is no such thing as heresy. Another of his blogs was about the heresies of the Watchtower Organization. Another was about Mormonism. But it seemed that, like Emo above, he wanted every last belief to be exactly as he saw it... or else.

I think there are some essential beliefs, but there are also doctrines that really don't qualify as "dealbreakers" so far as I can see. I may believe in 5-point Calvinism or 0-point Calvinism or Calvinism by a field goal on Monday Night Football, but it seems to me that crying heresy because someone else doesn't match all five TULIP points is a bit over the top.

My denomination is one of the few that doesn't draw a lot of doctrinal lines past the basics. I really like that. I have my own opinions about baptism, but if a brother has a different belief, I'm not out to push him off a bridge, yelling, "Die, heretic scum!" For that matter, I'm not about to push a Jehovah's Witness off that bridge with the same shout either, yet I cannot consider his beliefs to be either correct or orthodox.

Of course the trend lately in the church is to go the other way... to whittle down the list of essentials to the point where it's basically just using the term "God" and everything is OK. I think that's foolish nonsense, but by the same token I'm not about to disassociate someone based on doctrinal beliefs. I'm not going to compromise my own understanding either, but it's the anti-Christ-like (if you'll pardon the expression) shout of "HERESY!" which really makes me feel sad for those who settle on one understand without thinking that God can be much more than we can take in.

All the commenter said was "HERESY!" No explanation of what or why or where or when or any other word starting with a "w". No, "Come let us reason together" or anything like it. Just a war whoop and a condemnation hurled over the wall.

I think most people I deal with understand what I believe and why. I think most also realize that I'm not going to push them off a bridge due to denominational differences. But they know that I'm open to talking about all those matters.

At least I think that's what they understand.

"Lord, help me to stand for you in an uncompromising way, yet still show the love as You showed it."

Revisiting... Walking Through the Graveyard

I was thinking about this post and decided to "dig it up" and run it again. When I do this kind of thing, I become aware of some of the common themes in my writing. It all kind of ties together sometimes. I hope you enjoy this post from about 18 months ago.

I found myself in my old hometown yesterday. I don't get there much anymore and usually when I get there I'm in too big of a hurry to look around. But yesterday I had a little time and an urge to look around. Eventually I found myself in the cemetery of this town of a thousand residents. I remember walking around there as a kid, sometimes as part of a geneology project and other times just looking around. Yesterday though, became a kind of walk through my childhood. I visited the graves of many people whom I may or may not see in heaven, but I remember them in life. I saw the grave of my elementary and middle school principal. Across the path was my grandfather's burial site and the grave of my aunt who died at the age of five months.

As I walked, I became aware of so many people who had passed to the back burner of my mind. The guy who ran the meat packing store. The lady who worked at the bank. My uncle's dad. One of my good friends from elementary school. A lady who used to drive my bus. Plenty of other relatives, including some I never really met.

As I walked, I realized there was one grave I'd never visited but had to be out there somewhere. She was my first "girlfriend." (We were in kindergarten -- how "in love" could we be?) We were good friends all through school. I had a crush on her on and off for years. She was a big encouragement to me, helping me to develop some confidence. During our senior year, we each took short trips to visit some colleges. I went with three other guys and we had fun over the next three days, seeing four different campuses in addition to downtown Indianapolis at night. She started off for a campus visit with a friend in a VW beetle about the color of a yellow tennis ball. The two of them drove about 30 minutes to the Interstate, then as they tried to merge into traffic an 18-wheeler all but crushed the beetle. My friend was taken to the hospital in a coma.

I visited her in the hospital many times. We were encouraged to talk to her, as the nurses kept saying that she heard what we said. When I went off to college about nine months later, she was still on my mind but I stopped visiting. I felt like my presence was causing her mother so much pain, hearing about the things her daughter should be doing. I kept praying.

She finally died in 2001, shortly after the Twin Towers fell. She had been in a coma for 22 years. Her parents had cared for her the entire time. She had spent some time in various hospitals but eventually was brought home where she was cared for by her loving parents year after year. When I saw her again in the casket, I would have never recognized her. She looked nothing like her old pictures.

While pacing around the cemetery yesterday, I finally found her grave. There was a beautiful stone with her senior picture etched into it. On the reverse was a beautiful quote from St. Francis. Then I looked to the right and saw another stone with the same last name. It was for her parents. Her father was still alive, but I had forgotten that her mother has passed away almost a year later. She had given so much of her life to care for her daughter that her health was horrible and her heart was broken. As I looked at the stones together I thought to myself, "This is the way we were taught to live." We're called not to live selfishly, but to live to love God completely and to love others as ourselves. My friend's mother had not wasted her life caring for 22 years for a daughter in a coma. She had followed scriptural instructions of caring for her daughter.

I often wonder what my friend was going through in those 22 years. Would she have preferred death? Should it matter if she did? Is it God's decision to take life or ours? I pray that God was able to do some incredible things for her during that time. I am positive he did not desert her.

A friend asked me about the Terri Schiavo case. He wanted to know why people wanted her to be starved to death, or why they wanted her dead, period. My best guess is that we see ourselves in the face of the less fortunate. In our limited understanding, all we see is a body driven by very little mind. We see that someone like Terri is not in control of anything; she is at the mercy of others. When many people see themselves in that situation, their reaction is fear. They fear living in a debilitated state. They fear not having control. They fear it so much that death seems preferable. And what an interesting choice that becomes for the non-believer. They would rather take the uncertainty of death over the observed certainty of living a life out of their control. Isn't that an amazing statement about the incredibly strong drive of self? But if a decision to remove a feeding tube becomes a personal fight to be able to retain control of one's life, it ceases to be about life itself. . . only about self.

I don't pretend to know everyone's motivations for their opinions. I only present what I've seen in observing some people. My conclusions aren't meant to broad-brush, but to help me understand this whole case better. I certainly feel for my friend's mother and father. At the same time I also have great admiration for them. I also greatly admire Henri Nouwen, who gave up his university teaching position to care for people who couldn't care for themselves. Yet I also understand the pull of selfishness, in not wanting to give our lives to serve others. Still I know what the Bible tells us to do for other people and I know how dangerous selfish desires can be to my relationship with my Creator and Savior.

God has allowed this stuff to perkolate in my mind since I first drove into the graveyard yesterday. And I think I am even more grateful for the gift of life, yet more aware that my life is not my own. I have been bought with a price. My undying praise and thanks to the One who bought me, and thanks as well for continuing to shape me into His image.

Horsin' Around

Well, it's been a number of months, but we're equine owners again! He's been with us for a month now, so it looks like he's staying. This is our new addition to the family. His name is "Mister". Actually his name is long and complicated and doesn't even contain the word "Mister", but that's what my wife has decided to call him. And since she'll be doing most of the work, she gets to name him.

Faithful readers (also known as people with too much time on their hands) will remember that we lost our little grey Welsh pony back in March after spending eight years with him. This month, my wife culminated her horse shopping experience by picking up this quarter horse for more than a few quarters.

Mister is bigger than Cracker Jack was. He is a different color. He also has a much different temperment. Where Cracker was more like a dog, following us around the pasture, Mister is a real handful on the ground. He is much more interested in the green grass surrounding him than in anything I have to tell him.

Then again, Mister loves to be ridden. He just hates to be led around. He wants to be put to good use -- whether walking my daughter around the yard or galloping down the fence row with my wife urging him to go faster. In his mind, it's: "Carrying someone on my back is good, being led around is bad".

I'm just kinda thinking here, but isn't it interesting that most people would reverse those twp things. We would prefer to be led from place to place, being shown what to do, rather than carrying the load ourselves. It's much easier to have someone lay out all the instructions than to take up our cross or be an example to others.

Horses are working animals. People (the smarter of the two) depend upon horses to do specific tasks. Horses are effective tools when they are being used by a good horseman.

We too are to be effective tools. We are to be used my God (again, the smarter of the two) to do specific tasks, which Scripture says have been laid out for us to do since before the foundation of the world was laid.

Maybe horses are actually the smart ones.

The Devil's Sharpest Tool

It seems like the Devil's best tool against us gazes at us from our mirrors each day.

When it comes to a Christian walk, I am my own worst enemy.

Is there anything that we do (aside from our pure worship of God) that isn't deeply rooted in selfishness? Go ahead. Think of something you do that doesn't involve indulging yourself. I'll wait.

Find something? I couldn't.

The more we are fixated on self, the further from God we become.

I don't think I'm being cynical when I say that most of the supposed "good deeds" we do are rooted in selfishness. Yes, even the time spent helping someone, or being nice to someone who isn't all that nice. Dropping coins in the kettle for the Salvation Army or giving blood can also be outgrowths of our own selfishness.

Maybe it's just me, but I know plenty of people who are nice to someone just for the good feeling of helping someone else. They give gifts for the tax deduction or donate clothes because they are too lazy to have a garage sale. That's not selfless. That's just the opposite. "That good feeling inside" is the motivator. The deduction is the motivator. The laziness and a need to clean out the closet is the motivator. It's not the fact that someone else is helped. Can those two things be separated? Sure. It's your motive.

If I am driving somewhere and I see a vehicle in trouble, I will usually stop and try to help. I do this despite the fact that I am nowhere near a mechanical genius. The reason I stop is because I developed that habit in early adulthood. Back then, my car was a not-so-gently-used vehicle, and I often found myself on the side of a road in need of assistance. I figured that if I saw someone who could use my help, then I should help. After all, the roles could very easily be reversed the next week!

So my pure motives for stopping are not so pure.

How many generous donations to universities or hospitals or charities come with strings attached? Why are wings of buildings or stadiums or awards named after individuals? Because quite often putting that name on the building is a stipulation of the gift. That generosity isn't so pure either.

Let's face it, even in our Christian walk we are tempted to be selfish. At Attention Span I've often detailed situations where churches are split apart because of a power struggle between groups of people. There's the woman who sings a special song in worship to draw attention to herself, instead of deflecting the praise to God. There is the man who serves on the board so faithfully because of the power it gives him. There are the Sunday School teachers who teach because they like to be looked up to. There are the pew fillers who show up for services so they look pious to other people.

Selfishness is like a pair of handcuffs which keep us from being very effective. The Devil makes sure our wrists are bound each day.

Of course, Christ has the key to the cuffs.

"Lord, help me to die to self every single day... in my work, in my family, and especially in my relationship with You."

In Appreciation

I don't know how anyone can be a head coach. Sure, I understand the love of the game. I understand about working with young players and molding them to be better men and women. But for every coach, there is an entire herd of people who could do a better job of coaching -- just ask them!

I remember my Grandpa. He was a big Dodger fan, and a big fan of the local high school basketball team. But he wasn't a big fan of the coaches. You may not realize this, but my Grandpa could outcoach the legendary Tommy Lasorda AND call the shots better than a high school basketball coach with more than 700 career victories. He told me so.

"What is that coach doing? I can coach better than that!"

I couldn't tell you how many times I heard him say that. And my Grandpa wasn't unique. Every coach has his or her detractors. Lose and game, and people immediately start asking for your replacement. One mistake and some folks will never let you forget it. Two mistakes and you're the most worthless person walking God's green earth.

If the team finishes the season 4-12, the coach should be canned. Never mind that half the players are hurt and the other half have no experience. Forget that pesky little detail that the players aren't really very good. Fire the coach!

Of course, a few coaches reach untouchable status over time. But even the untouchable coaches have had to deal with the occasional moron who thought themselves to be much brighter than they actually were.

A coach with a mediocre team is never appreciated. A coach with a great team usually doesn't get any credit for the team's success. And pity the poor coach who ends the season 4-12. Or worse.

And don't even get me started on how unappreciated the referees and umpires are. Somebody's got to make the calls. But, oh the abuse those poor people take!

There are many times when I don't feel especially appreciated. In my secular job, I could make 10,000 decisions flawlessly, but when I make that inevitable mistake... well, let's just say that people immediately and repeatedly let me know all about it.

As a husband, I know I am sometimes taken for granted -- just as I sometimes take my wife for granted. Man, I hate it when I'm just as guilty as she is.

Maybe the role in life where I feel the most appreciated is as a pastor. I know that people in my congregation will specifically seek me out to tell me that they appreciate a sermon or a visit or a prayer. And I'll admit that even though I am not a pastor so that people will appreciate what I do, it makes me feel good. It makes me feel like God is using what I am doing. God can work though this twisted and bloated mess of flesh and bone and sin that I am.

Wouldn't it be a good idea if we all told someone how much we appreciate what that person does? It would be great to feel that rush of encouraging another person. Even if that person doesn't seem to appreciate the effort, we could still give that encouragement. Isn't it odd that we would think we should be shown some appreciation for showing someone else some appreciation?

Or maybe it's just all about learning how to be selfless. I want to be able to do my best or to do what is right without the need for approval. I should be able to give money to a good ministry without wondering how to get a proper receipt for a tax credit. I should be able to volunteer my time without wondering what I'll be getting back in return.

If I donate money to my local PBS station during the pledge drive (which lasts around 360 days each year), the station will send me a gift of appreciation. Maybe it's a DVD or a CD of whatever concert the pledge drive is interrupting. Maybe it's a stuffed Barney toy. Whatever. If I truly appreciate what that PBS station is broadcasting, why would I need a gift to show appreciation for my own appreciation?

One last thought: If we really want to show our appreciation, shouldn't we start with our Creator? Like it or not, everything we have comes from Him. I certainly appreciate that.

Bitterness

He sat there with a sad, yet nervous expression on his face. I understood the emotions, you see, Randy is a pastor.

Randy was talking with the editor of the local newspaper. He arranged the meeting because of calls which had been made to the newspaper's staff. Apparently some people at Randy's church are very, very bitter.

The editor told Randy that on two recent occasions, he had received calls suggesting that the paper send a reporter to see and expose the horrible things going on at Cross Church. What horrible things, you ask? The callers apparently wouldn't say, nor would they leave a name.

Most papers these days won't print a letter to the editor if the author doesn't have the guts to sign it. That policy makes sense, really. After all, if you won't stand by your words enough to put your name to them, what real value do they have? I know all about the idea of protecting identities, as most of us do on the web, but a public forum isn't for people wearing disguises.

Anyway, the editor reported that he had received a third call over the weekend. This anonymous caller suggested that there was a situation at Cross Church that was just like the situation at another local church. The "other church" the caller referenced had just fired a youth pastor who had been having sexual relationships with two girls from his youth group. That call startled the editor, but it really startled Randy. And if you think it startled Randy, you can only imagine what it did to Randy's youth pastor!

There is no youth pastor seducing underage girls at Cross Church. There is no scandal worthy of a newspaper expose at Cross Church. So why the phone calls?

There are a group of mostly older church folks who don't like the fact that Cross Church has added a contemporary service. That's it. Oh, the horror! A handful of people are becoming quite a handful, and it looks like at least two have taken to insinuating that the church is scandal-plagued because the church is offering a service without The Old Rugged Cross played on a pipe organ. It's not as if Cross Church isn't still offering the traditional hymn/pass the plate/long sermon/closing hymn service. The complainers still have their service untouched. They object to (1) having a second service, and/or (2) the worship style.

Friends, that's just bitterness that has taken these "fine upstanding, mature saints" and turned them into nasty, vindictive, lying embarassments to God.

I've known plenty of people who have changed churches due to pastoral failings or disagreements of buildings or gossip within the congregation or any number of other reasons. Of those people, some are sincerely praying for their former church, their former pastor, and former fellow parishoners. Then there are others whose live is filled with bitterness.

Plenty of people have been burned by the church -- or more correctly, it's people. Still, through the hurt, they are not burdened by the bitter feelings or the desire for vengeance. They are able to look down from their own crosses at those who have caused the pain to say, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do."

Then there are those who are more concerned with their own power and position within the congregation than anything else. Some are protective of such trivial things as the order of service. Others will fight to the spiritual death to keep pews in the sanctuary instead of folding or stacking chairs. And, of course, there are plenty who will enforce their own rules of who should be in "their" church and who should not. God help the person who visits that church with the faint odor of cigarettes or with a reputation that doesn't measure up to these bitter, misguided churchgoers.

That's a big problem in the church today -- more people are too concerned about their religion and yet are completely unconcerned with their faith. I wish the anonymous phone callers would take a time out from their cardiac arrest over the presence of a tamborine in the sanctuary and realize that. But I'm not holding out much hope.

Mark of the Beast

Time was running close. The kids program at church was less than an hour away, and I still had to pick up my oldest boy from high school football practice. My wife and daughter had been working all day in preparation for the new horse, coming this weekend. Handing me two empty feed bags, my beloved asked me to take them to the burn barrels where we get rid of some of our trash.

It was a short walk to the back of the yard, right along a ditch. In the eight years we've lived here, I've taken that walk countless times. Today it was different.

Earlier this week, I had cleaned out the barrels and got rid of a bunch of trash. When I reached the trash cans, I couldn't see the bottom of the cans or the thin layer of goo on the bottom. What I saw when I glanced at the can was what appeared to be a cat. I knew that our one outdoor cat was up by the house, so I was a bit confused. Then I took a closer look. It was mostly black. But there was this troublesome white pattern on its back.

This was not a cat. This was Pepe LePew's younger cousin. A real life skunk.

Now I'm a country boy. I've happened upon all kinds of wild animals in my life. But I've never stumbled across a live skunk in the wild. I've stumbled across plenty of dead skunks. Those are usually pretty easy to notice from half a mile away. But this one was not lying between the dotted yellow lines on the crown of the asphault. This one was looking up at me with tiny black eyes, as shocked seeing me as I was seeing it.

What did I do? I ran. I'm not ashamed to say it.

I wasn't afraid of old Stinky leaping out of the barrel, onto my neck and ripping out my jugular. I was pretty sure the skunk wasn't going to jump on my leg and chew it to bits. But I was afraid that Mr. LePew was going to turn and fire, and that I would be forced to call off Wednesday night kids church because of fumes.

The two bags I was carrying ended up on the ground. I ended up doing my best Carl Lewis impression and made it back to the house without so much as a bit of body odor. I avoided what I knew I had to avoid. I've had dogs who met up with skunks who didn't turn and run. I've tried to kill that smell with tomato juice and countless other home stench remedies. My fear was not a physical attack. My fear was being a marked man. That smell doesn't go away easily.

Whenever I hear someone hypothesizing about the "mark of the beast", I usually either turn away or I catch myself daydreaming about something else. Because from what I read in Revelation, the mark of the beast is contrasted with the mark of the lamb. I've never heard anyone boldly predict what the mark of the lamb may be. Perhaps because the mark of the lamb (and most likely the mark of the beast as well) are not visible marks, but invisible signs of our personal choice of what to do with Jesus Christ.

I've been "marked" by Jesus, yet there are still times when it seems like the smell has worn off, to coin a phrase. I just don't smell enough like Christ. One day last week, a person really inflated my ego, telling me that I appeared to act a lot like Christ. Later that afternoon, I said something I shouldn't have said in an offhanded way, and the person I said it to expressed surprise that those words had come from my mouth. I had "blown my witness" in the blink of an eye. It was like the "smell" of Christ had been doused with some kind of super-charged Odor-Eaters.

I want to bear the marks of Jesus Christ. Yet I find that it only takes an instant for me to take on the marks making me resemble the rest of the world. It's not often that I'm swift enough to avoid being sprayed by the stench of sinfulness. Skunks I can outrun. Sin is another matter.

Lord, give me Your strength. Change my heart so that my life will be marked by You.

Wind Chasing

"Meaningless! Meaningless!"
says the Teacher.
"Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless."

What does man gain from all his labor
at which he toils under the sun?

Generations come and generations go,
but the earth remains forever.

The sun rises and the sun sets,
and hurries back to where it rises.

The wind blows to the south
and turns to the north;
round and round it goes,
ever returning on its course.

All streams flow into the sea,
yet the sea is never full.
To the place the streams come from,
there they return again.

All things are wearisome,
more than one can say.
The eye never has enough of seeing,
nor the ear its fill of hearing.

What has been will be again,
what has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.

Is there anything of which one can say,
"Look! This is something new"?
It was here already, long ago;
it was here before our time.

There is no remembrance of men of old,
and even those who are yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow.

I, the Teacher, was king over Israel in Jerusalem. I devoted myself to study and to explore by wisdom all that is done under heaven. What a heavy burden God has laid on men! I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind.
Ecclesiastes 1:2-14

I often find myself wondering about the way I spend my time. I'm pretty sure I don't make the best use of my time. And I'm not even sure that spending time wondering about the way I spend my time is a great way to spend my time. But now I'm confused. But I'll continue.

A lot of bloggers eventually write a few posts about whether it blogging is a good use of one's time. This post is not one of those posts. Instead I'm thinking more about the other things in my life. Not the stuff that actually has some sort of value, but the stupid things I do. The picture to the right is not of me. It's actually some woman setting the world's record for... get this... underwater ironing. That's what I said. Read it again if you like. Un-der-wa-ter-i-ron-ing. This dear lady is at a depth of around 100 meters in scuba gear, with a folding ironing board, an iron and a mental deficiency.

Let's think about this for just a moment. (Again, it's probably not the best use of my time or your time, but humor me.) She is ironing. Underwater. Generally, that's not the best way to iron. When I actually iron something, I usually start with a mostly-dry item of clothing. I'm assuming the iron isn't plugged in somewhere, as I don't see a long orange extension cord, or any signs that the diver is being electricuted. Then, it appears that the diver is actually ironing -- a t-shirt! As I've told more than one person, if you're ironing t-shirts, you need to get yourself a hobby.

Putting it all together, it's ridiculous to think that a woman is actually diving the depth of a football field into the ocean to iron a t-shirt in the most ineffective way imaginable. It's perhaps even more ridiculous that a photographer bothered to dive down 100 meters to take a picture of this woman!

As easy as it is to make fun of Miss Underwater Ironer, I realize that I'm no better. I'm not as hard on myself as Solomon was. I don't buy into the whole "everything is meaningless" argument. The two days I spent wandering around the county fair this weekend was time spent with family and friends. The time blogging helps me explore my relationship with God. My time reading blogs does the same thing.

But there's the hour or two in front of the television set. Or playing a computer game. Or surfing You Tube to see what silliness has been documented for the whole DSL-Connection-or-faster-world to see. Am I making the best use of my time? Obviously not. Most of the time I'm doing my share of wind chasing.

Why is it that time-wasters are able to climb up the ladder of priority in my life? (and I'm assuming yours also). True, I'm not ironing t-shirts underwater, but by the same token, I don't know how to scuba dive. Shoot, I barely know how to iron!

I wonder where the right mix is. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy," I've always heard. Of course, I've always heard that from people who don't want to work! I wonder just how much of my life I've wasted, chasing the wind.

Paul wrote that whatever we do, we are to do it to the best of our ability as though we are doing it for God. I'm not quite sure Paul was thinking about underwater ironing when he wrote that, but is there a place for diversion? Is diversion like so many other things in life -- good in moderation, bad in overindulgence?

All I know is that I don't make the best use of my time, and I don't believe God is always pleased with the way I spend my waking hours. That is something I must be praying about.

Family Tradition

I am very proud of my daddy's name
although his kinda music and mine ain't exactly the same
stop and think it over put yourself in my position
if i get stoned and sing all night long
it's a family tradition

Don't ask me Hank, why do you drink?
(Hank) why do you roll smoke?
Why must you live out the songs that you wrote?
If I'm down in a Honky-Tonk
Some ol' slicks tryin to give me corrections
I'll say leave me alone, I'm singin all night long
it's a family tradition.
(From Family Tradition by Hank Williams, Jr.)

Ol' Hank loves to pass off his rowdy ways on upholding the ways of his daddy. But I've been thinking about traditions lately, and I wonder how many are simply excuses, rationalizations and justifications.

I talked about tradition with a couple of different people yesterday. One man is carrying on the family tradition of making root beer and selling it at county fairs. His grandparents started doing it in 1939. His aunt got into the act in 1948. He helped out after his grandfather passed away in 1962, but didn't launch fully into the tradition until 1976. He's still making and selling the stuff, thirty years later, proudly carrying on the tradition begun by his grandfather almost 70 years before.

Another lady is county fair nut enthusiast. At the age of 77, she still is at the fair every hour that the grounds are open to the public. Why? Her family used to work there when she grew up. She and her sisters would open the gates in the morning, sell tickets for the amusements all day, then close the gates at night. "It was our fair," she told me. "It's still our fair. I just can't leave." Now that seems silly to most of us, but her family tradition has her latched to a parcel of land for seven straight days every year. And she loves every minute of it.

I also saw someone yesterday with a different family tradition. Actually, calling it a family tradition isn't exactly accurate. This boy, whom I will call James, never had a father and lost his mother at an early age. For most of his 16 years, James has been shuffled from temporary home to foster home to orphanage. His tradition is that there is no family, no one worth trusting. And sadly, James' tradition is that he can do as he wishes. If he does something wrong, the worst that will happen is a move to another foster home or shelter.

Back in March, James moved into another foster home. This one was working out well, and James told the couple that he wanted to stay with them. The next day he attacked his foster mother with a knife, stabbing her multiple times and even slashing the couple's 13-year-old daughter, who got away to call for help. The woman survived, and James is off to prison for 18 years.

As my wife and I talked about James, we wondered if James had been blessed with a good, stable family if he would have turned out the way he did. We'll never know, of course, but it sure seems like he would have had a better chance.

I cringe when I see parent of young kids out in public, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other, and obscenities written on their t-shirts. I see WAY too many of these, and I wonder what chance those kids have. Surely I'll see those kids in twenty years, talking and acting in the same fashion as their parents. Family tradition, right?

And then I thought about the one power that can break the tradition.

I was blessed incredibly with a great family while growing up. I was adopted as an infant, so I realize that my present life could be startlingly different than it is today. I accepted Christ early in life, so there was no huge turnaround story. It wasn't hard to accept Christ publically -- that was what was expected of me. Family tradition, if you will.

What was actually hard was doing more than walk the aisle to the altar. The hard part was putting feet to my faith and living out what I believe. That's still the hard part, you know?

But back to James... what was going to take him out of a childhood full of violence and crime? Sure the love of a mother and father can be big influences. But I know plenty of kids who have gone bad while growing up in a lovely home environment.

Let's face it. There is only one Way out. Whether He's pulling me away from daily temptations or whether he's pulling the violent kid toward a life of obedience to Christ, there is only one Way.

Family traditions aren't broken easily.