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.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Pick a superpower, any superpower
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!
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!
Friday, January 21, 2011
Name withheld by request
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Watching the gas station signs
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.
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.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
What's this guy doing anyway?
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.
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.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Palin Highlights Human Differences
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.
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.
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Of Buggywhips and Typewriters
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.
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.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Slow Fade...
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
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
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Cardioectomy
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?
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?
Friday, October 24, 2008
Yo hablo Inglés
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.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Crying at Wal-Mart
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Full Moon Fever
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.
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.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Empty
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."
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."
Monday, June 16, 2008
Anni-Birthday
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'.....
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'.....
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Mercy Refused
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Lost
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.
Friday, April 04, 2008
The Battles
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.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Authentic
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."
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Puppy Love
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.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Easy to Miss
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.
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.
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