In Protest of Excessive Pillowing

Upon reading this post, some might call me petty.

This may be true, but in fairness, married males are somewhat timid when speaking about home furnishings. Not only are we aware that all our sense of taste is in our mouths, we have a kind of, "You take the house and I'll take the barn/workshop/basement man-cave" kind of attitude.

But now I feel I must speak in representation of males who are lurking in miserable silence.

Somebody has to say something!

I'm talking about excessive pillowing.

"What's that," you ask?

It's the current trend of placing huge, overstuffed decorative pillows all over couches and chairs (not to mention stylish bedspreads) which make it hard to even sit upright on said couches and chairs.

Now we men know it is incorrect to hurl pillows on the floor. We have been taught so. There is no room to place them on end tables or other chairs, which are themselves over-pillowed.

If we scoot the pillows between us and our wives who sit on the other end of the couch, that's another kind of misery. I have no desire to look at my lovely wife from the nose up because there is a pile of three huge pillows between us.

As an example--here is a photo of me sitting comfortably upright on the couch, with remote in hand. Notice the huge, stuffed pillow discarded on the right:

Here is another photo of myself with remote, now unable to sit upright (or even appear to be awake) with a huge stuffed pillow behind me:

YES, I was AWAKE...the camera just caught me with my eyes closed!

Now I ask you, wives, which husband would you rather look at? Need I say more?

I beg you, women of the world! Lose the big, fashionable pillows!!

Make them into pet beds!

Throw them into the back of your husband's car so he can crank the seat back and take a "power nap" (when you're browsing at Hobby Lobby).

Tie them tightly together, hang them from the ceiling and practice self-defense moves on them.

Just lose them!

Men all over America will be grateful.

Thank you for your time.

Tis the Season to be Floored!

What do you do when a bunch of people put a roof on your house?

Not a group of professional contractors that you have hired.

Not a group that asks you to pay for materials (as they had every right to do).

But a group of financial contributors and Christian godly men who hear your roof is bad...and put an entire new roof on.

First, you're floored.

Then they actually come and in two days clear the old shingles off--and replace them with aluminum liners for valleys and trouble spots, high-quality shingles and a new vent on the peak.

In short, roofing far better than you had before.

Then you're even more floored, astonished...amazed.

How do you thank people like this?

How can you say "Thanks" enough?

For doing something I could never pay for without a giant loan?

All I can think of to say is, "MAY THE LORD REWARD YOU FOR WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!"

'Tis the Season to be Boring

Julie and I were at TJ Maxx recently. It's her favorite store on earth.

"Let's go to TJ Maxx!" she says.

And I say, "Okay."

That's what good husbands are supposed to say.

There isn't a whole lot for men to look at in T.J. Maxx. But there are clothes and a table of those "gifts for men" that you hope you"ll never actually receive.

They should rename it the "out of ideas and low on money" table. The stuff there takes the title for least actually used, least overall quality and shortest-lasting desirability. Stuff like those little flying helicopters (guaranteed to enthrall for seven minutes!) and snowball throwers.

That's right, snowball throwers. It's a kind of narrow paddle that will help you pack a good snowball and then you can throw it from the paddle.

Hope I see that under my Christmas tree!

Hanging near the checkout line was another item for men--the facial hair trimmer. They didn't actually declare it was for men on the package, but we all know who grows all the ugly facial hair!

That facial hair trimmer sent a little shiver up my spine.

All that little trimmer would have to do is pull just a little bit on those nose hairs--and you would hear horrifically shrill screaming from our bathroom.

No, thanks. I think I'll just stick with the ol' scissors.

On the way out of TJ Maxx, Julie asked, "Do you want anything?"

"No," I said.

Sometimes I even walk out of WalMart (my favorite store) without buying anything. I used to think buying nothing at WalMart was a physical impossibility. I mean, anything you really need you can buy at WalMart, right?

But I often find that, looking at everything, I want nothing.

Not the old me, let me tell you!

I used to want everything. And if they brought it out in another color, I'd want that too!

Most of the time now, when my family asks me what I want for Christmas, I really don't know.

Maybe it's age. "Stuff" has lost most of it's shine. We older people have seen it all before.

But I think it's really Jesus.

When I'm close to Jesus, I don't really care if I have the latest stuff.

Internet phone? Maybe someday. Hot car? All I see are payments. High-class clothes? Coffee stains.

Jesus satisfies me so well--in my soul, where it counts--that I find myself more and more content.

And that's a good feeling.

But it makes me boring at Christmas.

Sorry.

'Tis the Season to be Blessing...

As Christmas approaches (yes, it is CHRISTMAS, not "The Holiday Season"), I've been thinking about blessing people.

But before we talk about that...

A lot of people are ticked off that Christmas stuff has overtaken another beautiful holiday, "Thanksgiving."

You know--that ancient and now-almost-forgotten holiday that was recognized so we could thank God for all he gives us. As Paul preached through the Holy Spirit, "...because he himself gives all men life and breath and everything else" (Acts 17:25).

The invasion of Thanksgiving by Christmas advertising and decorating used to tick me off too. But now I understand. So many of us are so poor now (or stuff is so expensive, take your pick) that we have to start buying REALLY early so we can afford to give presents to those we love...

And those we like...

And those we secretly wish didn't live so close...

(Just KIDDING!)

But back to Christmas...

A lot of people, at least in retail and in restaurants, will be using those tragic words, "Happy Holidays!" (Can anything be more empty and meaningless than that?)

And, in an attempt to give a Christian, uplifting response, we will say one of the following:

"Merry Christmas" (if you're a Christian, I hope you have the guts to say that).

Or, "God bless you."

...what does that MEAN, anyway?

I tried to look up the word "bless" from several sources. The Amplified Bible puts it this way: "Blessed (happy, to be envied, and spiritually prosperous--with life-joy and satisfaction in God's favor and salvation, regardless of their outward conditions) Matthew 4:3."

Wow. That's a mouthful.

Also, in verse 4, "Blessed [with a happiness produced by the experience of God's favor and especially conditioned by the revelation of His matchless grace]".

The American College Dictionary puts it this way: "Bless: to request of God the bestowal of divine favor upon; to protect or guard from evil."

A "blessing" seems to be almost a physical thing!

Take Esau in his famous rivalry with his brother Jacob for their father Isaac's blessing.

(Now hang on with me here--I'm going somewhere with this!)

When Jacob deceived Isaac and "stole God's blessing," Esau said this to Isaac when he found out: "Do you have only one blessing, my father? Bless me too, my father!' Then Esau wept aloud" (Genesis 27:38).

Isaac's blessing was more than good wishes; it was a statement of God's continuing substantial help!

A blessing is something real. A blessing can be "taken to the bank"--so to speak.

 

So, when you say, "God bless you," something substantial is happening for that person--because God loves you and you belong to Jesus! Isn't that something?

 

We need to say it that way.

 

We need to say it with intent.

 

So, bless people's socks off this Christmas season!

 

Here's some other ways to bless:

 

Do a favor for your parents or a friend...without them having to ask.

 

Stop rolling your eyes at the Salvation Army bell ringer and put some money in his bucket.

 

Help at a homeless shelter or community meal.

 

Leave a healthy tip when you eat out. 

 

Did you know that waitresses actually hate working the Sunday lunch shift? This is because--and I can hardly believe it--Christians are lousy tippers! Yes! I have read this from two sources! Some actually leave those little evangelism cards from the Christian bookstores as their tip! 

 

Oh, the shame!

 

The recognized tip in a restaurant now is at least 15 percent. These people need the money, because their tip is a major part of their pay. Many waitresses are single mothers. They have heating bills, too.

 

Let's get real; if you can't afford at least a 15 percent tip for your meal, you can't afford to eat out.

 

Wait for next week.

 

And if you're so mathematically challenged that you can't figure 15 percent in your head (like me) then guesstimate it in their favor.

 

[My cell phone actually has a tip calculator! Yeah! Does your phone have a tip calculator? I didn't think so! *insert superior smirk here*]

 

Back to the point...let's bless people's socks off--until they begin to say:

 

"I just love those Christians! They're the best tippers in the world!"

 

"I just love those Christians! They're always 'blessing' me, and for some reason things go better!"

 

"I just love those Christians! They're always helping people out!"

 

Wouldn't that be nice?

 

"I tell you the truth, whatever you did for the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me" (Jesus in Matthew 25:40). 



High School, Middle Earth and the Irish Whistle

How many of you are looking forward with fidgety anticipation for the release of "The Hobbit" in December?

Well, I am!

I was in love with J.R.R. Tolkien's novels, "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy ever since I stumbled upon them by chance in my high school library. I spent the following three weeks utterly absorbed, looking forward to study halls and reading the books in class when I could get away with it (the road to college scholarships)!

I enjoyed escaping into the world of Middle Earth.

This was especially pleasant since my South Bend high school was a virtual prison filled with rules that could have filled the Indiana University Law Library. I still shovel food in my mouth like an animal because of the 20 minute lunches there. Hard to enjoy meals that way!

 Not only that, but every young punk exulting in his godlike strength spent all his time pushing around and verbally humiliating anyone smaller than themselves.

Yeah, that was me.

I had reason to escape.

But back to the novels: I loved the noble wood elves, slightly less noble dwarves, danger from horrible orcs and worse, wizards both good and bad...and the secret love of many men, polished engraved swords!

(Yeah, they make 'em!)

Now the books still enable me to escape my present (and now far better) existence into Middle Earth; a world where things are still made by hand, love and loyalty between men is considered normal and women can be beautiful without showing skin.

I escape often.

This brings me to the movies. When "The Fellowship of the Ring", directed by Peter Jackson, was released, my family and I entered the theater with a mix of dread and hope. Would they butcher the movie as they did  the animated version? Would they make it campy? Slip in modern gags? Worst of all, would they make Frodo cute?

Soon our mouths were open in awe as we watched the classic version unfold.

And the movie did well by me, let me tell you. I bought each of the DVDs as they came out. Then I  discovered the extended versions and had to buy those, too. They got me every time.

And they'll certainly get me with "The Hobbit " also, which I hear is going to be made in three parts, using material from the appendixes to the trilogy!

Oh, yeah!

Sometimes people tell me, "I don't really get into dwarves and elves and stuff."

I don't know why, but it makes me sad.

I loved the movies so much, and Howard Shore's magnificent soundtrack, that when I bought my first Irish Whistle, the first tune I learned to play was "Many Meetings," which fans would recognize as the hobbit's theme.

This first whistle was made so badly that my cat actually begged me to stop playing by crawling up into my lap and mewing loudly. My family loved it.

But now my whistles (and hopefully skill) have improved, and the cat, who is now sleeping peacefully beside me (she's always sleeping when she's not murdering chipmunks) gave up convincing me to stop.

And...guess what? "The Hobbit" producers have released pictures of the actors playing in the film, and I saw this picture of Bofur!

SEE? See what he's holding? An Irish Whistle!!

I'm so happy! More new music to play!

Thank you Jesus!

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows" (James 1:17).

Election Day and the End of the World

Wow, has it been this long since I've posted?

I have shame.

I apologize to my tens of faithful readers for being so inconstant in writing up my moderately-valuable insights.

I'll try to do better...I promise!

Now, to business:

This is ELECTION DAY, and I am SO glad it's almost over!

No more nasty political ads, no more caricatures of people's character, no more accusations of lying and misuse of statistics, no more people going off on each other about which candidate they support (yeah, I've done some of that...more shame).

Yet as serious as I've found myself, some people are even serious-er. I've read some pretty surprising things about the election. One site I visited (I don't remember which) predicted riots in the country if Obama is re-elected, and riots in the city if Romney is elected! What followed this amazing prediction was survival advice for people to prepare for the coming riots.

Really? Are things THAT bad?

After all, we're not Syria...yet!

Still, whoever gets elected, it seems more and more people are sensing that: First, Americas best days are over, and second--we are nearing "The End of the World as We Know It."

No kidding--that's actually the title of a book I have been reading. The author is James Wesley Rawles and he is the founder of survivalblog.com. His book describes how you can prepare for, yes, "the end of the world as we know it" (TEOTWAWKI).

(Do you have that rock song running through your mind yet)? 

Here is what Mr. Rawles writes: "The scenario I described is just one of dozens that could cause The End of The World as We Know It (TEOTWAWKI) in the near future.
"But for what other reasons should you prepare? Here are just a few terrifying possibilities (in no particular order):

• Hyperinflationary depression
• Deflationary depression
• Terrorist nuclear, biological, or chemical warfare
• A third World War
• An oil embargo on the First World Nations
• Martial Law
• Invasion
• Climate Change
• Major volcanic and/or earthquake events
• Major asteroid or comet strike"

 Apparently Mr. Rawles didn't think of super storms or monster hurricanes.

Mr. Rawles says (and he's convincing) that the networks we use to provide heat, electricity, sanitation, phone service and water are actually quite fragile and will easily break down in such a crisis (Superstorm Sandy, for instance).

Mr. Rawles does not go with the "head for the woods with a backpack on your back and a good rifle in your hands" [my words] sort of survival. He says that wild game would be decimated within weeks and that action has no provision for sickness, injury, the need for shelter--or humans with rifles and itchy fingers running into each other all over the woods (way past scary).

Instead, Mr. Rawles calls for planning, preparing and equipping a "retreat" sort of refuge with two or three other families. Actually, Mr. Rawles is a Christian and recommends stocking a huge amount of extra food and supplies for giving to friends, relatives and church families who come to you for help (bravo, James)!

There's only one problem. Following the extensive directions in Mr. Rawles well-written book would require thousands and thousands of dollars--money most of us don't have. And you would need the kind of mechanical know-how only factory maintenance men possess. And the time spent preparing such a place would be equal a part-time job at the least.

And you would still have to, in the end, shoot desperate people who wanted to take it from you.

Lots of people.

However you take Mr. Rawles words, many other people are also predicting some sort of TEOTWAWKI.

Including Jesus Christ.

Jesus said this as recorded in Luke 21: "Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be great earthquakes, famines and pestilences in various places, and fearful events and great signs from heaven.

"There will be signs in the sun, moon and stars. On the earth, nations will be in anguish and perplexity at the roaring and tossing of the sea. Men will faint from terror, apprehensive of what is coming on the world, for the heavenly bodies will be shaken.

But Jesus also said this: "At that time they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory. When these things begin to take place, stand up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near."

The redemption Jesus is talking about is the rapture! That's the term (it means "joyous ecstasy") Christians use to describe the coming of the risen Jesus to receive his people to himself in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Hmmm, that's not exactly bad news, is it?

If you're ready.

Jesus said (still in Luke 21), "Be careful, or your hearts will be weighed down with dissipation [wasting your life on pleasure] drunkenness and the anxieties of life, and that day will close on you unexpectedly like a trap [finding you not ready]. For it will come upon all those who live on the face of the whole earth. Be always on the watch, and pray that you may be able to escape all that is about to happen, and that you may be able to stand before the Son of Man."

So, whatever happens in the coming years (we hear you, Mr. Rawles) we know that worldwide TEOTWAWKI will be missed by Jesus' followers. And since God dresses the lilies of the field and feeds all the sparrows (Matthew 6) he can and will take care of us in the meantime.

And that should make all God's kids feel better.

The Return of the Silver Bullet!

The Silver Bullet is BACK!!

Yes, already, my now-favorite automobile mechanics have put the old Silver Bullet back on the road! My raging 1.8 liters of raw power has again been unleashed!

And not only that, but my mechanics will take time payments, which is the only thing that makes it possible for me to fix my car at all! Otherwise, I'd just have to drive until it stops and leave it in a ditch and walk until I buy a four-year old moped for transportation.

Someone once wondered if I had named the Silver Bullet after the famous Coors beer can. Of course, as a pastor, I could never name my car after a beer can! One does have to learn the unwritten rules of church (which Jesus himself would have ignored) if one wants to succeed as a pastor.

Actually, I named it the Silver Bullet partly because it's nowhere near a fast car, so it's kind of a parody of it's actual acceleration (or lack thereof). But also because this is a small, low car, so if anything bigger than a buzzard hit it, it would actually look like a beer can.

That someone had run over.

 And backed over again to see what he had hit.

I mean, this car is low! It's so low that getting into it is a controlled fall. And to get out, I must (first step) put my left hand on the bottom door frame to (second step) lever my feet out, and (third step) bend double and stand like homo erectus.

Believe me, those huge SUVs look really huge when I look at them from the seat of the Silver Bullet! And when I saw a semi truck is coming toward me in my lane (as happened a few months ago) I got to see my entire life pass before my eyes (it was so boring I almost fell asleep).

So why do I drive something that small? And old?

Two reasons: First, I hate spending money on gas. I like to spend my money on exciting things like new undershirts. Also I get this little thrill of victory when I fill my tank and notice that the previous driver at that pump has put half my yearly income into their gas tank.

I once told a group of guys who were whining over the price of gas, "Get a four banger!"

You could almost see my popularity bottom out.

Second, it's my personal victory over Detroit. I like to drive cars until they expend their last breath. Then I turn toward Detroit, shake my puny fist and shout, "I WIN!!"

So many people are paying so much for cars. They shine and gleam and have the "new car smell," and we are captivated and buy and then have one (or even two) huge car payments. And then we are bound and have no money left for more important things--like helping people out and giving to the Lord and to the poor who have nothing, as Jesus commanded us to do.

I find that as I get older, Jesus is continually freeing me from the need to have stuff. You know, the stuff we buy and didn't need but must pay for and keep clean and maintain and find a place for and then rent space in a storage building because our basement is already full of stuff that we used to think was so important but now we hardly ever even look at.

Stuff is one of the best weapons the enemy of our souls uses to distract us from seeking and loving Jesus.

May the Lord continually set you--and me, free!

"The poor are always ruled over by the rich, so don't borrow and put yourself under their power." Proverbs 22:7 in "The Message" version.

"A generous man will himself be blessed, for he shares his food with the poor." Proverbs 22:9, New International Version.

"Come, you who are blessed by my Father...for I was hungry and you gave me something to eat..." Jesus in Matthew 25.

Laugh Out Loud Section

Church sign in Warsaw this morning: "Be sure to come early for a great back seat!"

The Peace-full Car Breakdown

My car is broke.

This is a sad thing.

The ol' Silver Bullet (that's what I named my car because a car has to have a name) began to make noise about a week ago.

Front end noise. Serious noise. The kind of noise that says, "Pay attention, buddy, because you don't want to get stuck somewhere in upper Fort Wayne with your front wheels pointing in opposite directions."

You know what it feels like when your car begins to go down. It's like, "Oh, NO! What's this gonna cost and how am I gonna pay for this and how am I gonna get to work and back and everywhere-bloomin'-else I have to get to every 24 hours of this week!"

I'm used to having the Silver Bullet ready and waiting. It's kind of an addiction. Keys in my pocket and the Silver Bullet waiting. Like a stallion ready for battle.

And now...not.

Also my poor son, who works full time in Warsaw but is officially a "temp" (the recognized employer's term for, "It's possible you may have a future, but probably not") has to give up his wheels. That's because they are officially my wheels because he's still a temp and could be for eternity. So in this space-time continuum of not-reliable employment, he can't commit to car payments. He's stuck.

Therefore I have to take him to work at Warsaw and pick him up until the Silver Bullet is fixed, so I can use "his" car.  

But in spite of all the coming frustration, nail biting and mind-numbing miles, I've noticed a change.

I'm not all stressed!

In my past, when a car broke down, there would be the stressing. I try to hide it, but I'm a big stress junkie. I worry. But this time I didn't.

Because I know God will work it out.

He always has. He always does. He always will.

Lack of stress...this feels nice!

Thank you Jesus, for changing me inside! Please keep it up!

"And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work" (Paul to the Corinthian Christians in 2 Cor. 9:10, emphasis mine).

Our Blissful Anniversary Day

Below is a photo of my sweet wife Julie, taken on the Nickel Plate Trail that we walked this morning to celebrate our anniversary. What a great way to celebrate 35 years together!

What a lovely lady!

It was a great morning...even though, unfortunately, our water heater quit this morning.

And--this afternoon after our blissful walk,  the plumber told us it was irreparable.

Surprise!

So, the water heater we bought with a six year warranty lasted about...wait for it...six years!

THANKS, water heater people!

So now my long-suffering wife is feverishly negotiating to have a new water heater installed.

Happy Anniversary!

But we WILL have a good evening, for these reasons:

We still have love.

It's only money.

We'll watch the Amazing Race on computer tonight.

"He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favor from the Lord." Proverbs 18:22

Feeling Odd in Colorado

I was a real oddball in Colorado, let me tell you.

It happened on the Herman Gulch hiking trail.

I always try to witness for Christ on hiking trails. This is because I feel closer to God in his beautiful creation, and because people actually talk to each other on hiking trails!

It's true!

Say hello on the street, and people react as if you carry airborne Ebola.

Say hello on the trail, and people smile as I say, "How far is it to the top? This is so nice! I love your dogs!!"

So, I tried to witness on the hiking trail.

I said to two young women, "Praise God for his beautiful creation!"

They blinked at each other.

I know what they were thinking: "Oh, NO! We've connected with a God nut! He's gonna try to make us kneel and pray on the trail and the rocks will make our knees hurt! And he'll probably try to sell us special Bibles and crosses and DVDs and retirement plans at Christian resorts!"

I walked on, mildly deflated.

Another group of five young people met me at the very top of Herman Gulch trail.  (You can see a photograph of me in the blog below, taken after these kind people gave me oxygen and CPR and called a chopper to airlift me out).

I said to them, "I love these mountains! You  know, I first really believed in God when I first saw the Rocky Mountains. I thought, 'Man didn't make those mountains and man ain't movin' em.'"

Silence.

One girl, sitting on a nearby rock, looked at her friends and they looked back.

The girl was thinking, "What planet did this guy fall off of--and how can we transport him back? I hope he doesn't keep talking or I'll have to drown myself in this icy mountain lake!"

I walked away, really deflated.

Thank God for gatherings of believers!

In Breckenridge (which is a ski town somewhere at stratospheric level in the mountains) there was this little white storefront church.

It didn't look like a church.

I almost missed it.

But I noticed a sign that said, "The Bridge."

That sounds like the title for a church, I thought.

So I looked at the bulletin board. And it was!

So, that Sunday morning, I walked down from the condo my sister and her husband had rented, found a Starbucks (eureka!!) then went to church.

The group of about 25 believers had a praise team (including an electric violin!), a social time with donuts and coffee and a very young, curly-haired pastor named "Pastor Jimmy" (I never did hear his last name). They were mostly young people (everybody's young in Colorado!) in their suitably scruffy attire.

It was such a great thing to sing praises, hear "Pastor Jimmy" preach from the book of Revelation, and mingle with these believers!

It took the label "Oddball" off my chest.

I felt OK again!

Here is a photo I took inside the little church on my cell phone:

Don't ya just love it?

It's been a long time since I was actually hungry for the Word of God.

Here I was filled.

Thanks, Pastor Jimmy!

On to Colorado!

Somehow I managed to put two trips into one vacation.

Call it "creating a diverse adventure."

But, more accurately, you would call it "lack of planning."

The first trip was to the Knobstone Trail in Southern Indiana. You can read that tragic story in my last entry below. The second was to see my sister Susie in Denver, Colorado.

Susie had graciously given me airline tickets to fly to Denver to see her for six days. She understands that when I accept a trip to Colorado it includes some serious day hiking also.

A new adventure!

So, full of hope and anticipation of a better experience, I begged a ride from a good friend down to Indianapolis International Airport early Thursday morning. I was to hop on a plane at 6 am. I needed a ride because one of our cars was down and both my kids work.

Full of joy, I rode with my friend to Indy and waved him off--sure this was going to be the good part of vacation. As my friend drove away, I walked with fresh, innocent eyes to the Frontier Airlines desk and presented my e-ticket.

The woman looked at my ticket and said, "This ticket is for Friday."

I looked at my ticket.

I looked at the woman.

I looked at my ticket.

This could not be denied. Somehow, in my anticipation, in my eagerness, I had convinced myself that I was leaving Thursday.

But I wasn't leaving until Friday.

How was it possible for me to have done this?

And my friend had driven off.

And I had no car.

And I was 24 hours early for my flight! That's 24 hours!

The woman, now looking at me with pitying eyes, said, "We'll get you on a flight for today. But it might cost you an extra $50."

I breathed with relief. After all, this is a vacation, I thought. I have some extra cash. I'll just think of this as a vacation expense.

So the kindly Frontier woman made a phone call. She talked to the unseen person on the other end. She waited, then talked some more. She talked and talked on my behalf.

Then she looked at me and said, "I'm sorry, but to get you on a flight today will cost $295."

I sank into despair. I was too proud to call my friend back to Indianapolis--he had just pulled a trailer halfway across the nation, for crying out loud! I couldn't call my family because one of our cars was down.

What was I gonna do?

Suddenly the kindly Frontier woman handed me coupons.

"These are for 'distressed passengers,'" she said. "The hotel shuttle can pick you up at the airport."

Well, I certainly am a "distressed passenger," I thought. These prices aren't too bad. I can catch up on my sleep, read a little, then it will be time to go.

Wrong.

I slept as long as I could. I had not brought a good book, I found. I sat around. Walked around. Watched senseless cable television.

Staying at a hotel is fun when you have a purpose there. But when you're there because you're stupid and are waiting 24 hours for a flight--not so much.

I called my wife a lot!

"Hey, how ya DOIN'!" I asked my wife. "What's going ON?"

"You should call your friend at Indianapolis," my long-suffering wife said. "He'd love to see you."

So I did. Several times. No return call.

"He's busy," I moaned to my wife. "He's away somewhere. So....whatcha doin now?"

It's not like I could walk and visit some shops or a bookstore. This hotel was almost in the airport. All I could see from my window was car rental garages and airplane hangars.

Then, the final blow.

That afternoon, they kicked me out of the hotel.

Not because of my behavior. Because the room rate is from 3 pm to 3 pm, check out time.

I engaged in a few moments of hatred toward the hotel.

Then, at about 4:30, I went back to the airport. To wait 12 more hours.

In the airport. All night.

I gave myself up to despair. One of the airport guys showed me a good bench to sleep on. I  bought a really good book (because I would be reading for a really long time).

I can do this, I thought with sinking heart. I can make this work.

Unhappily, I sat down.

Then my Indianapolis friend called.

"NORM!!" I said! "It's so good to HEAR from you! HEY, how ya been DOIN'?"

You can guess the rest. My good pal Norm would not allow me to stay at the airport--he picked me up and gave me a good, soft bed for the night, then took me back in the morning.

I can't really think of a moral to this story except:

1.. Don't be stupid with your airline ticket dates.

2. Treat all your friends REALLY well, because you might need them later!

3. God loves me because he made this work out. 

4. He loves you too.

End note:

This is a photo of me at the top of Herman Gulch Trail in Colorado at 12,000 feet:

 

 

 



Braving the Knobstone Trail

Well,  my hike is over. And I wanted to reassure my tens of readers that I'm alive.

As I sit here by the computer while my wife paints a British-style subway sign for our wall, I'll try to recount the details.

My friend and I planned to go backpacking for about 26 miles on the Knobstone Trail in Southern Indiana. We had two and a half days...how hard can that be?

So, Sunday night we rushed down to the trail in two vehicles, leaving clean water at two trail heads (because of the recent drought) and a car at the beginning and end of our hike. By the time we returned to our beginning point darkness was falling. And in the darkness I managed to assemble my little nylon pup tent wrong.

So it collapsed.

Not a good beginning.

But, forever optimistic, I tried again and got it almost right. Night fell with a cool fog, the chirping of innocent crickets, and the urge to sleep.

Good luck.

The thing about sleeping on the ground is that ground is HARD! I had a foam sleeping pad that backpackers carry, but it was a thin, cheap one, not the quality, self-inflating one my partner had. So as he snored softly and peacefully in his tent, I did the kind of thing you do with hot dogs on a barbecue. You know, turn and turn and turn them so they cook nicely on all sides.

I turned and turned and turned on my foam pad. When I found comfort, I drifted off. Until the pressure on my hip bone and shoulder got bad. Then I woke up and turned over. Often. All through the night.

I think I got about two and a half hours of actual sleep. But in the morning, I felt energized after a delicious instant oatmeal breakfast cooked on my new MSR Pocket Rocket Stove. I felt ready to hike. The deep woods was calling us! Adventure!

It felt so good to be walking in the deep woods. Nothing but trees in every direction, and not even the sound of traffic. The birds were singing, the daylight brightly shining.

There was one problem.

My backpack.

How could I have possibly checked every single item in this pack for weight, and still come up with this kind of load?

My completed pack weighed about 30-35 pounds, but after the first ten hills it felt like 900 pounds dragging me toward the earth. Does moisture in the air collect in backpacks and make them heavier?

And my partner...he was a man of steel! He just walked and walked and walked at this amazing rate of speed, never seeming to actually have to breathe. His backpack didn't bother him! I think he could have carried a mule without noticing.

I began to wonder if I'd made a bit of a mistake.

After about five hours of hiking we hit our first major snag. At the Rutherford section of the trail, we crossed this dirt road and were met with a sign that said this part of the Knobstone Trail was being logged and we weren't allowed in and don't even try it because if you do you'll be met by a conservation officer who will order you to leave in a harsh, critical tone of voice.

My buddy and I looked at each other. We had no car. Someone probably traveled this road about every two weeks. Or three.

"We have to try it," we agreed. "We don't have a car."

So we tried it, climbing this huge hill (I think the hills were gaining altitude--possibly a seismic thrust from deep within the earth).

The former trail was a wreck. Bulldozer treads had removed every trace of the trail, chain saws had slaughtered trees--including the trees with white blazes that showed we were actually on the trail and not in Alabama. The ground itself was rutted and filled with roots that turned your ankle every third step. After fruitlessly looking for blazes for most of an hour, we surrendered and labored back to the road.

And stood there.

Suddenly, we heard a motor. And saw an older guy on a four-wheeler putting down the road toward us. He had all the time in the world. He didn't have to walk 26 miles in less than three days. With a cursed 900 pound pack.

Seeing him approach, I longed to offer him my wages for the next ten years if he would just sell me that four wheeler. My partner would be okay, right?

But grasping at my last shreds of inner strength, I refrained.

Then the guy offered us hope!

"There's a detour about 300 yards down the trail," he said. "It's the Knobstone Trail--they changed it because of the logging. There's a mailbox right across the road from it."

We found the detour, rejoicing.

But the joy was short-lived.

Through this was an actual detour for the Knobstone Trail, it was so little traveled that it was hard to detect any path. And the white blazes were few. Another enterprising soul--may he be blessed forever--made up for most of that by thing pink and black ribbons to trees.

This should have solved our problems, but there weren't enough white blazes or ribbons. Many times we would travel only about 20 steps before we had to stop, scan all the trees, backtrack a few steps,  and suddenly see a ribbon. Then do it again. And again.

Not only that, but the makers of this alternate trail apparently hadn't had time to construct switchbacks. A switchback, for those who don't know, is a zigzag trail that allows you to climb a hill at several 25 degree angles instead of one 95 degree almost-vertical angle. So I climbed.

With a cursed, life-sucking 900 pound pack.

Finally we broke back onto the original, much clearer trail. And hiked up more hills. And more. And more. 

And came to Highway 56.

We'd traveled an whole 7 miles. All day.

I told my friend, "I can't do much more of this."

Which left us with a problem. Again, no car. And we were at a section of highway that was so low we couldn't even pick up a cellphone signal. There was a white pickup by the side of the highway, but nobody was in it, so I guessed it was broken down.

Now, sometimes backpackers find themselves in a pickle like this, and what they do is flag down a car and catch a ride. I forget what the term for this is. Perhaps "will to survive" might be it.

But after some lame attempts at hitchhiking, at which nobody even appeared to consider stopping, we gave it up.

Suddenly I turned my head at just the right second and noticed a young man with a shotgun walking out of the trees to the pickup.

"HEY!" I yelled without even thinking. "Can you HELP US?"

And he did!

You may consider that this hunter, returning to his truck at just the right time, was a coincidence.

But I know he came because God loves me.

We climbed into the truck and he gave us an eight-mile lift to the Leota Trailhead.

Now before you say it, I know I didn't walk those eight miles.

My partner could have, munching on sassafras roots for sustenance. Carrying a mule.

But I will remind you that hitching a ride is a well-known, accepted, absolutely common backpacker practice, and also that we no longer had time to hike the remainder of the trail.

We pitched camp near the trail head that night.

With me turning like a hot dog.

And my partner softly snoring.

Finally the morning! Facing another countless series of hills with my cursed, life-sucking 900 pound pack.

Suddenly, another idea! My partner had told me about how people on the Appalachian Trail had done some "slack packing" --that is, leaving your pack behind, walking without it, and picking it up later.

Weren't we right here at a trail head? To finish the hike this very day?

So I announced that I was going to stuff energy bars in my pocket, carry a water bottle and "slack pack" that day.

I felt SO good!

I removed all my valuables from the pack--cellphone, car keys, Garmin hand-held GPS. Irish whistle and wallet. Then I stowed the life-sucking, cursed 900 pound abomination behind a tree.

Freedom!

I was no longer gravitationally challenged! I felt light as air.

And in this manner I managed to keep up with my partner's unbelievable pace (he was still carrying his pack) for the final five miles.

VICTORY!!

I am such an outdoorsman!

I felt that way too, until we drove back to the Leota trail head and found my pack gone. With the new MSR  Pocket Rocket stove I'd purchased for the trip. And my new Kelty sleeping bag.

Maybe next year I'll camp out in my back yard.

A Manly Endeavor

This past Monday I was standing in the grocery store aisle.

And standing.

And standing.

I was there to pick out food for a backpacking trip with a friend through 22 or 28 miles (we haven't decided yet) of the Knobstone Trail.

The Knobstone Trail is a 56 mile trail that winds up and down the hills of Southern Indiana. The southern 11 miles are closed off right now because summer storms blew so many trees across the trail. But that doesn't matter because 22 (or 28) miles of walking and camping in this savage wilderness, carrying every piece of gear on our laboring, straining backs, is enough for now.

In case you don't yet appreciate the incredible difficulty of this trek, here are some photos of the Knobstone Trail:

 

 

Okay, maybe the hills aren't that high (these are Alpine photos) but they can seem that high when you're climbing them!

And because of the incredible effort and personal risk in doing so, I had to have the best food to fuel my courageous endeavor.

So I stood in the grocery store...and thought.

And studied packages of rice, noodle mixes and instant soup. Cooking time. Weight (measured in my hand). And directions.

It's a good thing nobody was with me. I would have driven them utterly insane.

Also, there are socks. I have to study socks. Because when you're hiking, socks are important.

Everybody says so.

I have been looking a lot at socks.

Did you know that you can spend $20 for a pair of 100% merino wool hiking socks?

One single pair.

Just to keep your feet warm and blister-free in your hiking boots.

And sweaty. When I wear wool socks, they make my feet sweat.

This hike is going to last three days. I may just stick with a few pairs of cotton socks.

Then there's packing the backpack. Separating 64 bucks worth of food, a little from each package, into plastic zip bags for the trip. Coffee pouches. Powdered "french vanilla" creamer (no cream on the hot trail)! Tortillas. Peanut butter containers. Ramen noodles (the hiker's friend)!

And putting every piece of gear--lightweight stove, fuel, water bottles, mini tent, sleeping bag, wet-weather clothing, adventure journal, a really good pen, food, Irish whistle--in exactly the right place so the pack is balanced. And the gear findable.

By now my entire family thinks I'm crazy. Oh, they don't say so, but they're all wondering why I'm arranging all this gear so I can do a three-day sufferfest through the hills of Indiana.

But, like all true mountaineers say, "If you have to ask why, you wouldn't understand."
[insert manly posturing here]

They'll see...when my buddy and I get out on the trail, with nothing visible but nature and a faint path before you, it's all worthwhile. We won't be hungry, thirsty, cold or extremely wet--because we packed carefully.

We can pack this way for heaven.

Because heaven is as real as the chair you're sitting on. And we who believe in Jesus will be with him there--forever.

Jesus said we could pack stuff to take along. Good deeds. Money to feed the starving poor. Visits to patients in hospitals. Help to widows and orphans. Jail visits. Time praying for others--and with others. Souls won to Christ. All kinds of good stuff.

Jesus said each deed we pack for heaven will be rewarded by him forever.

Are you packing for heaven?

"His master [Jesus] replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!'" 
(Matthew 25:21, see also Mt. 25:40)

The Curse of the Cursed TV

I went to visit a woman in the hospital recently.

It would have been a very good visit, except she had the television on.

The cursed TV seems to attract my eyes like a magnet. I look away, only to find myself staring again a moment later. It's like magic, a kind of bondage. I try to break free and actually talk to the person I'm talking to, and I fail. (Women seem to do much better at this than men; they multitask better. I refuse to believe that means they're smarter--though it's possible)!

So, here I was at the hospital, talking to this dear woman I consider practically a sister, and repeatedly found myself staring at these guys in a shark cage while big sharks tried to eat them.

OK, I'll admit that was pretty heady stuff, but that wasn't why I was there!

What is it about television, anyway?

I look back in time, and see a group of men scratching themselves by the fire, and one of them begs the other, "Tell us a story!"

That's how it started. We all love to hear a story.

And now, thousands of years later, we men sit around a TV scratching ourselves, and say, "Tell us a story!"

Which would be okay, except for two things: How bad television is now, and how much time we waste.

We know all about the bad. I remember when comedies were actually funny ("I Love Lucy," "Andy Griffith," "The Jackie Gleason Show") and drama was intelligent and didn't depend on gun play, disgusting autopsies and explosions to keep you interested.

Now we have reality show players who "form alliances," betray each other and engage in drama as if they really don't know only one person is going to win.

But really, I'm actually glad television is so bad now (though I still gripe, don't get me wrong).

Television's lameness makes me less inclined to watch and more free to do other things. Except on those nights when I'm really exhausted (that's about every third night).

Sometimes I can even walk away from a television set! Though that took years of therapy.

I like this because I have wasted hundreds and hundreds of hours in front of a TV.

And I think one day Jesus might ask me why. And I won't have much of an answer.

Perhaps we should all spend less time watching people's pretend lives on television and live our real lives ourselves. Perhaps we should cheer less for sports teams who don't even know us and play ball with people who do. Perhaps we should use more of that TV time to read the Word, get to know Jesus together, talk with each other and laugh.

Maybe I should try that.

Since "Amazing Race" is between seasons anyway.

"So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of the Lord Jesus Christ" (I Cor. 10:31).

In Which my Ankle Resigns Without Notice

I love to hike.

I loved the idea ever since I discovered the famous novel, "The Lord of the Rings". After reading about Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee journeying across Middle Earth--well, it's something I have to do!

(And the movie--how I long for New Zealand!)

So I naturally dream of backpacking (that's where you carry all your gear on your back and venture far from roads). Something about being far from traffic, the conversation of neighbors in the "primitive camping" area, and children screaming hysterically because they can't eat the marshmallows first, attracts me.

But it's not only that. It's the silence of the woods. The wind sighing through 100 trees at the same time. And the ever-so-slightly scary feeling of being miles from any road or access to an ambulance.

I love it.

A preacher friend and I are planning a 24 mile hike along the Knobstone Trail in Southern Indiana.

And because I'll hiking with all my gear, far from a road, I want to be in the best physical shape possible. That means I have been working out--hard. Because the more agony now, the less agony on the trail, if you know what I mean.

So last week I was working out feverishly. My heart was pumping like a car engine when you floor it. My lungs were screaming, "Kill us! Just kill us now!" It was all good, proper and right.

Then the tendons in my right ankle resigned. That's right. They just quit. No notice. No severance pay. No referrals to better tendons that can replace them.

[Insert howl of raging frustration]

Because without those tendons in great shape, I can't carry gear on my back. I can't even walk, really, except to and from a sissy automobile.

Panicking, in great internal distress, I rushed to the doctor.

"My ankle will be all right before the hike, won't it?" I pleaded. "After all, I have three weeks [this in a hopeful, whiny tone]."

My doctor said, "Rest your ankle for two weeks. Keep it elevated, take ibuprofin and put it on ice."

Uh, doctor--that's not a promise that my ankle will be all right in three weeks...

And not only that, the now-mandatory rest to heal my ankle almost guarantees I will be in hyper-pathetic shape by the time the hike occurs.

(Remember the children's story about the little locomotive that puffs, "I think I can I think I can..." all the way up the hill? Now multiply that by each of the 10,000 hills on the Knobstone Trail).

I'll be wishing I was dead! Longing for death. Dreaming of it!

I can just hear myself, lying in a heap by the side of the trail--hungry wolves lurking, telling my hiking partner, "Leave me! Just leave me here! Save yourself!"

So this, I guess, is a good time to remember that God is in control. That he can heal, and it's time to trust him. So that's what I'm going to do. I know that I can make this hike with his help.

Pray for me!

Loudmouth Preacher Blows Off

This morning I drove into a church parking lot for pastor's prayer.

Each Tuesday morning many of the pastors in our town meet and pray for each other, the salvation of multitudes in our area (still waiting for that one) and the salvation of our nation (definitely not seeing that yet--but we aren't giving up)!

And as I drove into the parking lot, I maneuvered my car exactly equidistant from each of the white lines in my parking space.

That's pretty funny.

Here I am, driving the only car in the entire lot (except the host pastor's) and I have to make sure I'm exactly lined up between the white lines. I mean--I could have parked it sideways or across four parking spaces and who would have cared? At most there would have been 9 more cars and we had the whole parking lot.

Ever avoid the "handicapped" space in an empty parking lot? I have.

Funny how we try so hard to be good.

Funny how little we make it.

I was at my favorite hangout in North Manchester, Zooks, and a preacher friend called me. We've been close for years and meet about every two weeks for Chinese food (love the stuff).


Luckily I was alone.

As I talked to this friend I drifted into a "preacher rant" and started complaining about people--until the moment God "opened my eyes."  (If you are a Bible reader, you'll find moments when God hides things from somebody, then-- "He opened their eyes...").

This was one of those moments.

God let me hear myself, in the middle of Zooks, complaining about people. Worse yet, I'd spent the weekend with my parents, whose hearing isn't so good, so I was TALKING MUCH LOUDER AS I COMPLAINED ABOUT PEOPLE IN THE MIDDLE OF A RESTAURANT!!

I can just see the headlines: "Loudmouth Preacher Blows Off About People in Public; Congregation Shakes Heads in Disappointment."

I'm glad nobody was around to write that one!

I tried to "fix" it, of course--backpedaling with compliments, but it was far, far too late.

I try so hard to be good, and then I blow it.

Aren't you glad Jesus didn't just come for "good" people, but for people like me--and you?

Jesus said, "I have come to call not those who think they are righteous, but those who know they are sinners" (Matthew 9:13 NLT).

Whew! Thanks, Jesus!

A Dialogue in the Conflicted Mind of Kelly Beutler

A dialogue between Kelly Beutler and Jesus Christ as he watches Olympic Beach Volleyball:

Kelly: Wow! Those perfectly fit women are hardly wearing anything!

Jesus Christ: Those women are hardly wearing anything.

Kelly: Yeah, Jesus, but...look! Those girls are wearing shirts!

Jesus: They aren't wearing any pants.

Kelly (every cell in his body straining to watch): I can't be watching this.

Jesus: You can't be watching this.

Kelly (stalling for time): Well...I'll leave the room and come back...

Jesus: You don't need to come back.

Kelly: But I might miss something good!

Jesus: It's not that important.

Kelly (still stalling): Yeah, but look at their technique! Their skill!

Jesus: You know this is wrong. I said so.

Kelly (to himself):  Well, it's not like Jesus is really here.

Jesus: I'm really here.

Kelly: Ohhhh kaaaayyyyy, I'll leave and watch again tomorrow. Maybe that skiing shooting kinda thing will be on.

Jesus (sighing): Kelly, that's a WINTER sport.

Gorwing Up

I remember when I was 15 years old.

(Stop LAUGHING!! I can remember that far back!)

Anyway--I was 15 years old, and every single cell in my body was stretching toward adulthood. Yearning for it. Straining like an overextended bungee cord.

I wanted to drive.

That was the main thing. I knew 15 wouldn't make me financially independent, free from parental authority or suddenly rich. But I also knew that I could do that magic thing called "driving!"

I couldn't wait.

But I had to. I waited and waited and waited.

No matter how much I wished it, 16 would not come for a year.

Now I am 57, and I've stopped growing up. One could even say I'm growing down. You know...the fatigue where there used to be energy, the mysterious bumps and age spots breaking out on my face (when I was a teenager, it was forests of zits...now it's age spots. Hoo boy)!


And of course, the expanding waist line.

I am planning a short backpacking trip, so I dug my big plastic gear container out of the basement clutter, huffed it upstairs and dumped it on the carpet. One of the things I did was try my two backpacks on.

Yep, backpacks never lie. They have big, solid straps and buckles. They're made not to slip, and they don't!

So my horrifically accurate backpack straps showed me now much weight I have gained.

Mercilessly.

To be fair, I have gained muscle in my shoulders and chest too...but somehow that doesn't make it any better.

I don't want to grow down; I want to grow up--spiritually.

You know, those dreams you have as a Christian: "I'm gonna pray four hours every day and have ecstatic experiences with God!" Or, "I'm gonna fast every week until I have a breakthrough!" Or, "I'm gonna memorize the entire book of First John because it's so neat!"

Growing up. I tried to do some of those things (well, all of them). And it was always a bust.

Result: Living life very disappointed in myself.

But God showed me recently that I can't grow up. None of us can.

John the Baptist, when told that "everybody" was going to Jesus instead of him, said, "A man can receive only what is given him from heaven" (John 3:27). Not more.

Just like the 15 year old who wants to be 16 so he can drive, there's no way to rush that process.

None of us can physically grow up faster. And our spiritual lives are much the same.

I don't mean we should abandon the spiritual disciplines, like reading the Bible and praying. Even 10 year olds have to brush their teeth, comb their hair, eat right and exercise.

I mean we should stop stressing about how far we've come in the Christian life. Or more accurately, how far we haven't come yet.

I see Christians who are beating themselves up. Because they aren't preachers. Or they don't share their faith enough. Or read the entire Bible every year.

And God yawns. Then he says, "You're 12. Why are you trying to be 35?"

As God showed me this, it brought me tremendous peace.

I thought, "I don't have to grow up! I can just be a kid and love Jesus!"

Because we're all kids.

You know about Jesus and kids, right?  Mothers were bringing their toddlers so Jesus could hold them and bless them. The disciples got mad about this waste of time. So they began shooing those women off. Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it" (Mark 10:14-15).

Did Jesus really mean that? Maybe we Christians need to think about this more. Because I certainly have been guilty of thinking I need to kick it in gear, grow up and earn more points for God. After all, that's what makes us valuable to him, right?

Yet when I think of the times in my life when I had major spiritual growth, they were all God's idea...in fact, I was hardly conscious of trying at all. God moved in my heart and I responded. It was as simple as that.

Let's all stop trying to grow up. Instead, let's love Jesus like crazy and live that joy every day.

Gas Station Poverty

Were you ever too smart for your own good?

We all are...sometimes. Me more than others.

I was doing yard work Saturday and, knowing the heat would make my jeans feel like 10 kilos, decided to lighten them up. So I kept only my cellphone (necessary--like a heart pacemaker) and my keys.

And then I decided to mow the lawn. I found I was out of gas, of course. So, jumping into my little Saturn (the Silver Bullet) I went to the little Roann gas station with my red gas can. And found that I had no wallet. I had left it on the dresser. To lighten my jeans up.

So, at the pump, with the gas can ready, I have nothing to pay with. No cash, no card, nothing but my good looks. Which, even when I was younger, weren't worth much.

Happily I had my cell phone (necessary as a pacemaker). So I called Paul and asked him to bring my wallet. After I did so, a man on a moped pulled up.

I said, "You go first. I didn't bring my wallet and have to wait for it."

He said, "Here's some money. Get your gas," and handed me a ten dollar bill before I could refuse it.

I said, "No, my son is coming with some money. But thanks anyway," handing the money back.

He said, "No, it's okay, just get your gas!" 

Now, just to remind you, gas isn't cheap any more. It would take almost ten bucks to fill my little gas can. And this guy is begging me to take it!

As we talked a couple pulled up in a Jeep. I said, "You go ahead, I don't have any money, but my son is bringing some."

The young driver said, "Do you need money for gas?"

I said, "No, thanks, my son will be here soon with some money."

Now I have two people at the Roann gas station begging to give me money!

Partly to get away from these unbelievably friendly people, I walked to the road and began looking out for Paul's car.

The guy in the Jeep pulled up beside me on his way out. "Can I take you somewhere?"

Suddenly--with actual relief in the face of all this aid, I saw Paul's green Taurus.

"No, there's Paul's car!  He's coming now!" I said. "God bless you!"

I don't know if those two guys were Christians. I hope they were--they sure acted like it.

This taught me one thing: When a man filled with hate shoots up a movie theatre, remember there are good people in the world, and love still happens, and God is still on his throne.

Praise God!!

"When the foundations [of society and good] are being destroyed, what can the righteous do?
The Lord is in his holy temple; the Lord is on his heavenly throne."  Psalm 11:3-4

"What's Happening to People?"

The same wonder seems to be with everyone: How could a man booby-trap his apartment, weigh himself down with weapons, and go into a crowded movie theatre with the sole purpose of killing as many people as he can?
People he doesn't even know--that he could have no reasonable grudge against?

What's happening to people, anyway?


I'm a preacher and we're supposed to have all the awnsers (an urban myth). But I do have some that I can share with you in the hope that it will help.

The downward path of our society is easily traceable. One writer on this tragedy spoke of recent mass killings and said, "I'm 60 and nothing like this has happened in my or my parents' generation."

I agree.

We have been nervous about terrorists here since 9/11--but America seems to be creating its own terrorists!

Gangs in Chicago are killing so many, including children, that the mayor had to make an appeal to values (I appreciate the effort, but I doubt it did any good). Like the chaos in Mexico, these crimes are financed by the drugs Americans casually use.

Crimes against women, including rape and murder, continue to climb as a pornography industry worth billions continues to twist what men see as normal sexual behavior.

Where did all this come from? The Colorado shooter said he wanted to be "the Joker." Are movies the problem?

The body count in action movies soars as movie makers look for ever more lurid thrills to bring in millions. "Action heroes," seemingly without natural fear (or personality either!) march across screens with guns blazing. Movies and television shows (which frequently feature autopsies) portray psychotic killers with absolutely no human compassion or regret.  These killers seem to be having fun--they play "games" with police--and show no fear when captured.


The Batman movies are so dark that one actor, playing the Joker, committed suicide.

Is is possible for movies to be too dark? I believe it is.

But can movies really cause us to kill? I remember attending a Clint Eastwood double feature with a friend when I was a teenager. When I left the theatre, I was ready to fight somebody. The feeling lasted for about five minutes. Then I was normal me again.

People blame guns and the ease of buying assault rifles and pistols with high-capacity magazines. This certainly makes it easier to kill...but does it make people kill?

Other people blame poverty, the lack of opportunity to build a decent life. But this shooter--and others--have had every educational and social door open to them.

And the Colorado shooter still chose to be "the Joker."

There must be a deeper reason, right? Most people seem to know that. The phrase I hear most often is, "What's happening to people?"

As a Christian, I am not asking that question. In fact, many Christians who have what Charles Colson called "a Christian worldview" are not asking.

We know.

God makes it clear in the scriptures that as we near the time of Jesus' return, the restraints that hold people back from savagery will dissolve.
The apostle Paul prophesied about this in a letter to his protege Timothy. He wrote, "But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days [before Jesus' return]. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God, having a form of godliness [they show up at church sometimes] but deny it's power [to change their lives]. Have nothing to do with them" (2 Timothy 3:1-5, emphasis mine).

Many overlook that fact that Paul wasn't talking about his own time! Most people would consider Paul's time--the time of ancient Rome--pretty brutal. But Paul was talking about a later time, when the love of God is rejected by this world.

Paul also warned, "for the time will come when men will not put up with sound doctrine [the teachings of Christianity]. Instead, so suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear" (2 Timothy 4:3).

Many now teach that "good" and "evil" are relative terms, and that one person has no right to tell another what is "evil." This politically correct thinking paves the way for people to create their own morality--as sick as that might be.

Jesus said, as he talked about the last days before his return to earth (the event we call "the rapture"),
"Because of the increase in wickedness, the love of most [for God, for people] will grow cold, but he who stands firm [loving Jesus] to the end will be saved" (Matthew 24:13).

How can you possibly love people when you have no connection with the God who is love?

The apostle John in a vision given him by Jesus, saw the end result: "When the Lamb [the crucified and risen Christ] opened the second seal I heard the second living creature say, 'Come!' Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make men slay each other. To him was given a large sword" (Revelation 6:6, emphasis mine).

Is it possible that this horseman is already beginning his ride?

I believe it is.

What can we do?

First, make sure your life is connected with Jesus Christ. Jesus said, "I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father but by me" (John 14:6).

Second, remember that as this nation rejects God's help, God will pull back until we call on him. Only when we call on God will he come to our aid and heal this country (2 Chronicles 7:14). Until then, we can expect to be "on our own" as people nurse grudges to the point of mass murder. And there's not enough security in the world to stop that.

Third, develop what Charles Colson called "a Christian worldview." Read your Bible and understand how God deals with nations that reject him, and those that embrace him.

Last, pray for the victims of this tragedy. Your prayers can give them peace beyond their understanding and reassure them they they will be united with Christian loved ones again--in a place called "the kingdom of God." In that place there will "...be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away" (Revelation 21:4).

E-Withdrawal

Work started out well yesterday, but it didn't take me long to hit a snag.

No e-mail.

The church where I work is located in some kind of internet "dead zone." High-speed Internet is not available. At all. At any price.

And our dial-up Internet server was down. This is a problem, because unlike many, I do not have a smart phone with  internet access. I have a dumb phone. [The three of you who read my earlier blog, "Cell Phone Ministry," already know this.]

Being a natural survivor, I adapted. I went to the library, and, using a keyboard that had apparently been danced on by a herd of monkeys, did my e-mail.

Then, walking out of the library, I noticed my cell phone wasn't working. (No, I didn't drop it into macaroni water again!)

No e-mail--and now no cell phone? 

My breath came harder, in short gasps. I began to sweat. I noticed my heart beating faster.

Not e-mail and cell phone at once! I'm cut off! I'm out of contact!

What if a tree falls on me? How will I let anyone know?

I tried the phone again. This screen kept coming up with "Service Unavailable" messages.

Uh oh. I was a little late paying the bill this month. Did they drop me that fast? Do I have to pay unimaginable money for late dues and reconnection fees? As it turned out, no.

I went into the cellphone office and as soon as I cleared the doorway, our likable cell phone lady said,  "We have a tower down." Whew! Not the bill, at least.

Then she said, "It may not be up for 48 hours."

I asked, "Do you have oxygen here?"

48 HOURS? No instant communication for 48 hours?  Preachers depend on their cellphones! I am constantly texting and receiving messages and making phone calls! What would I do for 48 hours?

Build a woodshed? Canoe down the Mississippi?

It is amazing how we get addicted to our pace. We simply can't slow down. And resting...forget it! We pare excess minutes off our schedules until our lives run at ruthless efficiency.

And now, no e-contact! What would I do? One of my favorite things is multitasking!

For example, I like to:

• Eat and do computer work.
• Drive and eat--and switch CDs while doing both.
• Talk and watch TV and answer texts and sharpen my pocket knife--and eat.
• Read incoming texts and drive (ok, I'll stop!!)
• Drive and talk on my cell phone (well, yeah!)
• Drive to pastoral calls--and eat.

I like to stay busy. Really busy. It makes me feel like a pastor!

But I find I may be going too far with it. I'm seeing bad side effects:

• It's much harder for me to sit still and read a book.
• Staying home an entire day is next to impossible.
• Sitting on our deck and watching leaves blow in the wind lasts 15 minutes.
• Listening to slow talkers makes me twitch. I don't want them to talk. I want them to report!
• Driving behind very slow drivers makes me wail, rend my garments and throw ashes on my head.
• And the really bad one--my patience with people gets thin.

I notice Jesus was never in a hurry. He was crowded. He was busy. But he always had plenty of time.

Jesus never said to his disciples, "If we really push it we can heal three more people today!"

Or, "If Lazarus could just hurry this dinner I could do a little preaching before dark! He acts like he was dead or something!"

Something happened with Jesus that we all need to look at. It's found in Mark 6:30-31. "The apostles gathered around Jesus and reported to him all they had done and taught. Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, 'Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.'"

Jesus told us to rest!

And if Jesus said to do it, it's okay, right?

Sometimes we get an exaggerated sense of our own importance. We think people can't do without us.

You'd be surprised what they can do without you.

About 9 years ago, I got my lesson. I had a mild heart attack. It was caused by a blood clot at a minor blockage in my artery. The nitro drip almost instantly melted it. But I was in the hospital three days for observation.


Funny thing--my day timer was right beside my bed on the little hospital table. And what was written in it, all those appointments and reminders...didn't mean a thing.

And--surprise! The church people did just fine without me!

(Even finer than I wanted them to...without me.)

What would happen if we just rested--a little every day? I don't mean tearing through the woods on a four wheeler or roaring through waves on a jet ski. Not even watching TV with its 40 commercials per hour or an action movie with 40 killings per hour. Just resting.

Talking. Listening. Reading. Watching leaves.

Why don't you try it? If you will, I will.

And if someone tries to make us feel guilty about it, we'll say, "Jesus said I could!"

P.S. Today, those cell phone towers are still down. And it's okay--if I concentrate on breathing deeply.

Tires and Underwear

I bought a new tire today.

Exciting, huh?

Somewhere in my dim past one of the tires on my Saturn S1 Coupe (picture an enclosed skate board with a motor) developed a bump. So I replaced that. Now, the other tire needed replacing.

 Badly.

It was so bald I could see my reflection in it. Being nervous about a flat tire and having to ride around on one of those embarassing "donut" spares for two days, I had it changed.

The thing about buying tires, it isn't very exciting. It's like buying underwear. No matter how colorful it is in the package, nobody's going to see it.

So, why do we replace underwear and tires? Because it feels good.

It feels good to know your tire is thicker than bubble gum and won't blow on the first sharp stone in an intersection.

It feels good to have underwear that doesn't....well, never mind!

Doing the right thing is kind of like that.

Recently my Dad bought us a deck. Unexpectedly. He just said, "I'm going to buy you a deck. Get an estimate for me." We were thrilled! Because I never thought we would be able to afford a deck. The ancient concrete patio, which unfortunately now slanted a bit toward the river, would have to be enough. But now we were getting a deck!

So I found a contractor and had a deck built. It's great!

After the deck was completed, my Dad asked about the building permit.

Building permit?  You need building permits for decks?

So I got ahold of  the contractor who built the deck for us. He said, "I never heard of anybody getting a building permit for a deck in Wabash County."

But it's the law, see.

And with my tender, hypersensitive conscience that's just this side of paranoid, I couldn't rest with that. I asked the contractor to get a permit and I would pay for it. He said it would  be about $25. Hmm. Not too bad for honesty and a clear conscience.

Which brings me to my point. As Christians, we try to do the right thing. It isn't very exciting. Nobody's going to see. It doesn't attract attention--except the unwanted kind: "You're worrying about that?"

We do it for the same reason we buy new tires and underwear.

Because, in the end, it feels good.

Jesus said, "You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?" (Matthew 5:13)


Do the right thing. In the end you'll be glad you did.

If You Think It's Hot Here...

It seems like everywhere  I go, I talk about the heat.

Even when I don't even want to, I talk about it. And if I'm not talking about it, someone else is. And soon I'm joining in.

This heat is so bad, the television news just told me that 30 people have died from it this summer.

But as miserable as it is, I've seen worse.

I used to work in an aluminum foundry. On hot summers any part of that foundry was miserable.

Heat from the mold line would fill the entire building. Even with all the doors open it was about 10 degrees hotter than outside.

To combat the heat, the company would provide us with huge coolers of iced Gatorade, and we would guzzle it with determined intensity every single break. We must have used hundreds of paper cups in a single day.

On one especially hot summer (not so hot as this one) a very snide, critical, self-assured man looked at me across the finish line and said, "If it's this hot in hell, I'm gonna start going to Sunday school!"

Bad idea.

I only had this one chance to speak to this very un-Christian man, and I took it.

I said, "Actually, hell is more like the inside of that furnace over there."

Silence. I could tell my words had hit their mark.

Because this man knew who I was and who I stood for--Jesus Christ.

Many people now don't believe hell is a real place. They think it's a myth, something invented by some ugly, sour old monk in the Middle Ages.

Actually, God came up with it. Yes, our loving God!

Jesus said that on the great day of judgment, he will tell some, "Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels." (Matthew 25:40, emphasis mine).

Hell wasn't even prepared for people! It was prepared by God to punish Satan and those angels who followed him into evil. These spiritual beings had complete knowledge of God and his incredible love, yet they still rebelled--and dragged many people down with them.

Hell is not just for murderers. Hell is for everyone who follows Satan into rejecting, dismissing and laughing at Jesus Christ.

God doesn't want us to go to hell. He sent Jesus to save us from hell.

When Jesus willingly went to a cross to take God's anger over sin, God's anger was finished! God proved it by raising Jesus from the dead.

Since that time, anyone, no matter how evil they have been, can come to Jesus for mercy and instantly receive eternal life. Jesus said in John 3:16-18, "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, so that whoever believes in him shall not perish [in hell], but have eternal life. For God did not send his son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him. Whoever believes in him is not condemned, but whoever does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of God's one and only Son" (emphasis mine).

Jesus is the Way God provided to save us from the evil we have done. Apart from Jesus, there is no way to avoid the punishment we all deserve--hell.

When I think of this summer's oppressive heat, I can't help thinking that there is a far worse place. And every single Christian needs to make every effort to warn people against going there.

We need to take this seriously. Because Jesus did.

Cell Phone Ministry

I love my cellphone.
I think they're the best toys (or tools--you choose) that were ever invented for modern man.

Now I know that among my tens of readers, about 80 percent (that's an estimated 2.1 of you) will be saying, "Yeah!"

The other 20 percent (an estimated 1.9 of you) will be saying, "What are you talking about! I hate the blamed things; they're a nuisance!"

However, as that 1.9 percent probably aren't reading this, I can safely continue.

I too was once flabbergasted by the idea of cell phones. When they first came out, I remember telling my longsuffering wife, "That's so stupid! Why would anyone want to carry a phone around wherever they go?"

My longsuffering wife agreed. She always agrees.

Unless I'm wrong.

Which is another painful story.

But something changed my mind about cell phones. I had been doing my preachur thing in North Manchester and drove back to my home in Roann. Just as I was about the open the back door, Julie
(my longsuffering wife) met me.

"There's been a crisis," she said. "They called for you."

So I had to crank the car right around and drive straight back to North Manchester.

That same week I was asking about cell phones.

I was really proud of my first cell phone. I could keep it in my back pocket! It only protruded about two inches above my pocket, not including the (extendable!) antennae.

Boy was I slick.

But what I really liked was being in touch with so many people, and being always reachable for someone who needed me. That is why cell phones are the pastor's insurance policy. Nobody can say, "We were trying to reach you and we couldn't get you [insert whining tone]."

We can reply, "I had my cell phone! I was just a phone call away!"

As time passed, texting came along.

I swore by all the planets, my life and my momma's prosperity that I would never text.

Then one night my daughter sent me a text. I don't know what I was doing, but I was just bored or adventurous enough to answer with a short text.

And I thought..."That was fun!"

And it all began. Now I have a "texting phone" because I need to text faster as people are texting me and I am texting them. It's not a smart phone--it's still a dumb phone.

But it's a texting phone!

Boy am I slick.

I'm not sure why we like to text sometimes even more than we like to talk on the phone.

"News flash!! [insert dramatic news soundtrack] Cell phone technology is improving so fast, that now we are able--on some phones--to talk into the phone, and our words are printed and sent out as text! So, soon--if technology continues to improve--we might actually be able to talk on the phone  [gasps of amazement and glee]!"

I think we like texting because it allows us to be a bit more clever than speaking...and it keeps us from being ensnared in twenty minute phone conversations when we really only have a single message to deliver. (I can see how this appeals to men!)

Which brings me to the purpose of this post (yes, there is a purpose)!

I am discovering what I call "cell phone ministry."

When having devotions, as many of you have experienced, someone's name comes to you. That is the person the Holy Spirit especially wants you to pray for. Those are the people I like to flash a quick text to: "Praying for you." Or, "Jesus LOVES you."

Think about it. You're depressed, or stressed or hurting. Maybe thinking no one really gives a hoot, in spite of what they said at church. The enemy of your soul is building on that.

"Nobody gives a rip!" he says. "You might as well give up on those church people."

The devil loves lines like that.

And then your cell phone beeps and you see this message: "Praying for you."

See what I mean?

Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 1:3-4, "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God."

You have a cell phone. Use it!