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.