Death, where is thy sting #2

I wrote this back in May when Milwaukee Journal Sentinel published an article about Melodie Wilson's road becoming a little rougher.

Melodie died yesterday. I think this is still appropriate---so here it is.
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Death used to wake me up at night. Not the typical grim reaper standing at the bedside kind of thing, rather, the stark realization that some day, no matter what, I had to die. I could put off mowing the lawn, doing taxes, just about anything---but someday, I was going to die.

This was before I was a man of faith. If you're familiar with my story, I had more than a few things that pursued me and when I finally laid them down on my knees that morning in April 2000, everything changed.

News broke yesterday about a beloved former TV anchor who is apparently in her final days on earth. Since then, I've witnessed a lot of social media talk about ''how sad this is'' and ''what a tragedy this is''. It is sad, it is a loss for the family---but she is bound for the most glorious place in existence and into the presence of God. She wins.

Let me say this right here, right now. Should I be run over by a truck on my bike commute, I want a celebration. I want laughter and hugs and high fives for where I am and what I've become. I accept the path that God has chosen for me and, frankly, am so glad that I have spent the last 9 years on the right side of God rather than the first 40 where I should have been a greasy spot on the road.

Melodie, I celebrate your life and your new life to come. I'm not sure if I will see you in 20 years or 20 minutes (which means I'd arrive first having died at breakfast). For some, funerals are awful events where we're confronted with a future we can't escape---while others are there out of respect and support---and the deep and wonderful realization that death is the passageway to eternity.

Can't sleep at night? I know what can fix that. Let me know how I can help.

Chirp. The Christian Twitter. Bad idea.

Full disclosure; I enjoy social media. I'm a blogger and am active on Twitter, LinkedIn, and Facebook. Never a trend follower, it's more learning about and realizing the power of social media.

Twitter is a micro-blogging application. Users 'tweet' messages limited to 140 characters. You 'follow' people and then receive their tweets. People who follow you receive your tweets. You only receive tweets of people you follow. It's wildly popular--possibly a social media trend that could burn out, but for now it is picking up users. The latest attributable figure I saw was 7 million but that was from February.

I was left shaking my head the other day when I saw that someone has developed Christian Chirp--the "Christian alternative to Twitter". Bad idea. This is another example of a holy huddle, a walling-off of believers so that the big, bad world doesn't encroach on us. This is living in a vacuum. And while it shouldn't matter, it makes us look like goofs.

When I was newly saved, I wanted to distance myself from my former life--so I understand the want or need to limit exposure to the things that held me hostage before--but through my experiences since then, I've come to realize that living in the Christian bubble is neither good, nor is it something Jesus had in mind for us.

A few months back I gave a talk at a men's breakfast called 'The Trouble, The Bubble, and The Rubble'. It was my story--my previous life before Christ, the 6 years of working in a Christian environment, and subsequent re-entry to 'the world' when that job ended and I was back in a normal workforce comprised of 'regular' people. My conclusion is that the Bubble isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I get the whole Amish thing and sometimes it looks pretty attractive, except that I look dumb in hats and aren't very handy with tools. But separating ourselves from others to protect ourselves is letting Jesus down when He told us to seek the nations. He told us to be in the world, not of it.

Jesus said He was sending us out "like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves." That's my game plan. I'm going to go wide-eyed and mystified into this world and take a couple hits from time to time from crap satan is going to toss at me, but I'm going to press on and demonstrate love when I can.

There will be a time for believers to be in a walled community where no evil will exist. That's then---this is now.

The kid, the single dad, and the prostitute.

It's right out of 'It's A Wonderful Life'. Remember when George Bailey and Clarence the Angel were visiting Pottersville? George got his wish to have never been born and was presented with the evidence that his seemingly insignificant role in Bedford Falls reached out and touched so many people in a positive way. Absent, all of that was gone.

Our pastor addressed the congregation Sunday with the stunning news that Jim and Shirley had left their entire estate to Eastbrook. Just like that, our debt was erased. I heard it during worship at 1st service and since I was ushering, I got to hear it at the 2nd and 3rd as well. The reaction was the same every time---a ripple washed through the crowd before we stood and applauded.

My thoughts ran to the neighborhood kid who found a great education at the academy, went on to college, and broke the cycle of poverty that trapped his family. The single dad who, broken and defeated, who wandered into church that one Sunday crossed my mind---his foundation rebuilt, relationships repaired, children fortified. The former drug addicted prostitute who reclaimed her life through the help of her new support group and rock-solid faith appeared to me.

The neighborhood kid, single dad, and former prostitute are imaginary people. They are the potential downstream receivers of the gifts given via the generosity of a couple who now understand the unimportance of money and instead are receiving treasure in heaven.

Everyone thinks it takes money to do great things. It doesn't. Jesus said, "I desire mercy, not sacrifice." You will meet people in heaven you influenced in both great and simple ways that didn't cost a dime. You play the Powerball so you can win big money and "really do some good". That's a load. Save your money--jam the dollars back in your wallet and put it in the Salvation Army kettle when you have the chance.

Here's my point. I think many of us in the congregation thought, "Wow, I would love to give millions to a church but I don't have that kind of money." You don't' need that kind of money. Jim and Shirley were known for their hearts and gifting LONG before they became known as the couple who paid off our debt.

You can't do your way into heaven. You can't give your way to eternity. What we need to do is give God the opposite of a wonderful gift---we have to give Him the absolute JUNK of our life because He is the only one who can fix it. No credit card needed.

The price was paid on the cross.

Oops, I almost did it again

I took yesterday off, staying at home doing various chores. Since I bore easily, I listened to podcasts to stay entertained as I reorganized our bulk food storage area. Bo-ring. Yesterday's podcast choice was This American Life--my favorite radio show of all time. It pushes boundaries while upending subjects for unique and unconventional views. I'm rarely disappointed.

Except yesterday. The show was a repeat I hadn't heard; Devil on My Shoulder. The show's website description is 'Stories of people who are trying to convince you that the devil is there, whispering in your ear...and stories of people who deny he's there, against some very heavy evidence.'

The first part of the show was about a church in Texas that does a Hell House; kind of a haunted house designed to scare people into faith. Various scenes of sinful lives are presented--always ending badly. The story was done by a filmmaker who had chronicled it in his indie film. A quick line in the intro mentioned him growing up in that area as a churchgoer who seemingly wasn't anymore.

Act 2 was an interview with one of the Amish kids who were in Devil's Playground, a fascinating movie about the Amish tradition of Rumspringa where Amish kids are allowed to break away from that culture to do whatever they want for a couple of years until they decide to come back to the church---or not.

My reaction wasn't about what was captured on tape or that the host, Ira Glass, gently guided the interviewees into places where they sounded like loons--it was that some personal soft spots of mine were poked and they hurt. I wasn't left shaking my head because it's so easy to portray Christians as intolerant, whacked, weird, inflexible, naive, judgemental, stupid, etc---it IS easy to do that because we can exhibit all of that behavior so very easily. I use 'we' in the very broadest of terms---from the outside 'we' is all of us even if we want to distance ourselves from the nutjobs.

My disappointment was because the show left the impression that evil in this world at the hand of satan is a concept. I'll buy in that creating a Hell House to scare people might not be the most effective evangelism tool---I'll hop on board with the fact that like the Amish, we all have to make a declaration of faith at some point.

Ira Glass, the host I like so much, has admitted he is an atheist. Since, to him, God doesn't exist, then neither would satan. Since that fallen angel doesn't exist---his posse of other doomed angels doesn't either. Kind of destroys any thought that good and evil are created and real.

So, as I loaded dry goods back onto freshly cleaned shelves yesterday--I was even more convinced that I need to exhibit more of what Jesus really, really wanted us to do. When asked one day what the great commandment is, Jesus replied that we need to love the Lord our God with all our heart and with all our soul and with all our mind.

I'm still too far from that. My minor cares, worries, and distractions place me so far from where I'd like to be---I am wasting my time getting riled up about whether or not we sound like idiots on a radio show. Getting irked at Ira Glass wasn't going to solve a thing yesterday--I needed to take care of myself first and bridge that gap.

I put down another stone I was ready to throw and put a box of pasta back on the shelf.

Fears of Tears

It's postseason football time--and my son's team is looking like they're going to make a nice run in the playoffs. This year's team is loaded with talent, finished the season undefeated, and is fun to watch.

Round 1 of the playoffs began Tuesday with a convincing win. We always head down to meet our sons as they exit the field. The first team off the field was the visitors and as they walked off I saw a lot of dejection in their faces. The last guy off was the player who did just about everything--he was all over the field and you heard his name and number on the PA all the way through the game.

And he was in tears as he left. Probably a senior, that was also probably it for his football experience. The rate of kids moving on to college level programs is low--so this might have been the culmination of all those years, all those practices, all those games.

It was so refreshing to see a young man cry. As dudes, we tend to put on masks of invincibility so that we never show emotion which could be construed as weakness. It's very wrong but it's very normal in our society. And I think it messes us up.

There are still times when my sons (17 and 16) show just the tiniest flashes of still being little boys. Innocence is stripped away earlier and earlier but when those way-too-short moments give me a little squeeze that reminds me that even though they're now both bigger than me, smarter than me, and not as dependant on me---they are our children and need us to be parents.

#88, you were a warrior that night on the field---and off it. Your true emotions showed disappointment but they also showed courage. Keep it that way.

The page 5 devotional

A new REI catalog arrived yesterday. On page 5 is the Celestron SkyScout--a camcorder like device that you point it at the nighttime sky to identify the constellation or particular star you're looking at. It'll identify over 6,000 stars, 88 constellations, 100 deep space objects and (according to the small blurb) 'more'. $199 base price.

Our little planet sits in the Milky Way galaxy which is made up of 100,000 million stars. That's in one galaxy. Then, there are millions upon millions of other galaxies. The article I read for research started using mathematical language that was beyond me, but I'm here to report there are a LOT of stars in the universe.

God knows every one of those stars by name. Every single one.

It's rare nowadays to see the night sky clearly with the enormous amount of light pollution we spew. The last time I glimpsed it was more than 10 years ago (please read my blog about that when you have a chance). One of the great pleasures of creation that we miss out on is seeing that curtain of stars above reminding us of our place. Sad.

This is another article of evidence that God is beyond awesome. He doesn't need the Celestron SkyScout--it's just His nature to know these stars---all of them. The creator of lichen, redwood trees, starfish, sandstone, puppy dogs, and everything else has all this under His loving gaze. All those stars, all that stuff.

And you. He knows you forward and backward--He knew you before time began and knows what today will bring you. And He's crazy about you. Even with what you thought, felt, and said yesterday He is crazy about you.

Today's the day to tell Him how much you appreciate that. And how you want to know Him better than yesterday.

Batteries not needed.

Stoned

A state representative is in the headlines this week as the Legislature debates booting him after a string of arrests for driving under the influence. As this story heated up he was arrested again for operating while intoxicated--the 3rd time this year. The Governor has weighed in, talk show hosts are all over this, and the story remains a hot topic.

This guy is 40, married, the father of 3---and is in a spiral. Yes, he's a danger to others while recklessly driving under a deadly combination of alcohol and prescription drugs. Yes, he has let his constituents down and cast shame on the office. For that, he needs to pay the price via the legal system and possibly by losing his position in government. He did the crime and he needs to do the time.

This guy is a wreck. We're watching him self-destruct and I can only pray that he comes to the end of his disobedience and admits he has a huge problem that he will never be able to overcome without help that comes from above. I pray that someone in his life get hold of him and be a friend who does more than buy a round or commiserate. This guy needs to hear about the only One who can fix this.

Why do I even care about this--especially since I choose to ignore most politics? Because I was this guy. I was hurtling down the tracks oblivious to everything but myself. My thing wasn't alcohol and drugs but my thing was just as destructive. My something took me within inches of destroying everything that should have been near and dear to me had I been clear-minded enough to notice.

So, I'm sensitive to people flaming out without at least being presented a way out. My pastor says it all the time, "that person needs a friend". No one is too far gone to be repaired and renewed. No one.

A crowd of Pharisees brought an adulterous woman to Jesus. The plan was to trip Him up and then stone her. What He said to them stopped them in their tracks--and it's one of the parts of the Bible quoted so often that even non-Christians know it.

But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” Again he stooped down and wrote on the ground. At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. Jesus straightened up and asked her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” “No one, sir,” she said. “Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.”

Those who are yammering and calling for this guy's head--you'll get it--he's in a world of hurt and it's not going to get better until he gets a friend.

Put down the stone and walk away.

Scars

We've all got scars, remnants from collisions with objects or events that leave a mark. Sometimes you can see them, sometimes the scars are hidden.

I have a client in the online job search industry. Needless to say, from a user standpoint, there are far more people looking for jobs than actual positions. A report last week said for every job, there are 6 people looking. That statement made me shake my head--when you're looking for work, it seems you're competing with 6,000--not 6.

There was a job fair yesterday and I was there for the setup. As I left I saw at least 200 people in the lobby and felt my scar tissue. Twice in the last 10 years I've been one of those people--out of work and wondering what was next. My last episode was in early 2008 and I clearly remember the feeling of combing the job boards, making those calls, sending those resumes---and hearing nothing.

If I'd had more time yesterday I would have tried to stick around and offer some encouragement--but I needed to get back to work. As I left I prayed for the unemployed--that they'd find comfort in their faith in the midst of crippling circumstances, that they didn't feel shame cloaking them as they went about their day as unemployed people. When you're in that situation, you just feel different--there is no way around it.

But to face these trials without faith---I can't imagine it. To not have that morning quiet time when He says to us, " For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

Do Christians suffer during unemployment? Absolutely. Does our faith help us get a better job quicker than the rest? Not really. What our faith gives us is the assurance that a plan and path has been determined for us long before time began. It gives us the tender hug that God has it figured out during times we can't come close to comprehending any of it. Faith gives us hope when we see nothing.

I've felt this before in my current job and wrote something that might help if you're searching for work---or know someone who is. http://dannyclayton.blogspot.com/2009/05/bruce-and-his-rage.html.

You think this is beautiful?

I love fall. The stunning brilliance of leaves changing is more rock-solid evidence that God is the master designer with the perfect touch. The trees in our part of the state are approaching their peak colors and they are simply breathtaking.

Someone once asked a group of us if we'd rather have the leaves this way year round---most of us said no. There's something about the first turning leaf---the slow unfolding of the palette of colors in your neighborhood. There's a tree across the street that always goes early and I wait for it every single year to signal the start of fall.

Isn't it amazing the way God placed this planet a just the right distance from the sun? While it originally didn't tilt on an axis, He did arrange for it to wobble back and forth so that we have a mix of winter-spring-summer-fall. I'd really miss the change of seasons if I lived somewhere else---and yes, I'll say now that I do enjoy winter (ask me again in February).

This is what we enjoy so you can imagine what God enjoys. All it takes for me is a couple images of a whirling galaxy to inspire. God sees that every day and knows all the stars by name. Seeing that there are hundreds of billions of galaxies, that is more cause to know God is more than some stern uncle figure in heaven watching us. He's not some just-slightly-more-advanced-than-us-super-being who kind of/sort of figured out how to hatch some science experiment here.

I guess where I'm going is that with all of the natural beauty of this world---the waterfalls, sunsets, mountain tops, forest canopies, gorges, lichen, bears, wheat fields, and....everything else---something tells me that God is saying, "Children. This is nothing compared to the wonders I've created to enjoy".

We're in that wonders category. He made us to reflect Himself and even though we don't often enough, He still loves us enough to turn those leaves and raise those mountains and crash those waves.

What a gift. What a glimpse. What a thing to be excited to experience on that day when we see Him face to face.

You can take everything away from me

My job has me deskbound 90% of the time. It's not bad, I'm rockin' the MacBook; air traffic controlling inbound ads, emails, project updates, spreadsheets, etc. I listen to a lot of radio so I hear a lot of music.

Two stations comprise 99% of my listening. One is the oddly quirky, musically courageous 88Nine based here in Milwaukee. It's a public station that plays a little bit of everything, has a kind and gentle spirit, and DJ's that obviously love what they do. In many ways, it reminds me of my beloved 105.3 The Fish.

One song has caught my attention lately--Faith, by Joseph Arthur. It's got an infectious 'hook' (the part you sing over and over in the car)--and no, it's not a remake of the George Michael song from the 80's. The hook is, "you can take everything away from me" and I sing along performing a white-guy chair dance.

Faith. Comes in little waves. I don't need to give myself away. I said faith. When it comes you have to pay. It's the pain which makes you believe.

I can find worship in just about anything. This song helps me do that. My pastor says it all the time, "You've got to be ready to lose everything". This song isn't Christian --and I know nothing about Joseph's faith. Via a little Wikipedia research it seems he's lived a hard life--maybe he's been broken enough to reach out to God---maybe not--the lyrics cry out from someone who isn't quite ready to cede control.

When I came there was nothing I could lose. So why should I pretend that there's something I could choose. When I go it'll be like no one was here. Nothing to love. And nothing left to fear.

Joseph is singing a song of determined defiance like the kid who gets knocked down and says "that didn't hurt". It happens again---and he says it again. I sing this song as celebration. God gives me just enough right now but I've got to be able to lose it all and still reach to Him.

Thinking about Joseph Arthur doesn't cause me to pity the guy--it causes me to think that he is so close to just giving it up and giving it over. Then, he could really sing that hook and have it be one of celebration.

Ready to lose it all? That's when you'll gain everything you need.

Your name is a swear word

While bouncing around a favorite blogger's site, I glimpsed that he sells 'fake band t-shirts'. The shirts are pretty cool--well designed, great colors, decent prices. The band names are interesting and could probably be real bands---I mean, who knows why Canine Doubletake is any less cool than The Beatles?

Late last century, I was in New York for a radio convention. My boss at the time and I decided to head out early one morning and walk from our hotel to Battery Park, somewhere between 4 and 5 miles. It was a blast---we marveled at the way the city morphed as neighborhoods melted into neighborhoods and the character and flavor of new areas popped up.

We were lugging jackets and water bottles and soon stopped at some hole-in-the-wall store to buy cheap backpacks. $10 later we were hauling our stuff in some Rokus brand haversacks. It became the joke--we had new Rokus backpacks. Could have bought a nice North Face or Mountain Hardwear--but we found Rokuses.

Later that day as we regaled our friends with our adventure, we showed them our cheapo backpacks, making sure to tell them---"And...they're Rokuses!" to which every single person nodded in appreciation and murmured, "Nice!" Now, Rokus was just the name slapped on these soon-to-fall-apart nylon wonders. But, because we made a big deal about the name, 100% of the people thought they were a big deal.

What's in a name? Quite a bit, I guess. In my old days, Jesus tended to be the building block of the pretty awful foul mouth language that spewed from me. Swearing was my street language, my tough-guy talk and my savior took a lot of the abuse. I'm so ashamed of how I used His name and really can't wait to apologize.

Now--when I hear His name misused, I bristle. Depending on the person or situation, I either say "easy on Jesus" or "that's my best friend". It usually stops people in their tracks. I truly try to do it with grace and humility, but that's my guy they're talking about. That's the One who stepped out of glory and into this forsaken world so He could take on things that we never, ever should have been forgiven.

Imagine your name as a swear word, an epithet. Someone breaks a dish and mutters YOUR name in disgust. Your neighbor is tired and frustrated and begins his tirade with YOUR name as the opener.

Then, imagine you hear it every single time. Every utterance, every creative combination of other vulgar words, every moment when your name is fueled by venom.

Would you feel like taking on their sins? I certainly wouldn't.

Jesus Christ.

Thank you.

Shut UP! Let me wallow.

"This is just a crappy school year". That came last night from Wyatt, my 16 year old son. He was worn out from football practice, tired from homecoming weekend, and was facing a rough draft of a paper...due today.

I attempted to insert a teaching moment but it's one he heard before. These past two years have been tough...blah blah...my current job is hard....blah blah....it's times like these....blah blah blah. You'll look back on these tough days....blah blah blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Truth be told, I'm not sure I would have listened to myself last night. When the world swirls around us and the pressure builds, someone chirping away isn't always welcome. I was offering a little wisdom borne of experience having circled this planet enough to learn that the toughest times usually produce the most growth. It's not fun or apparent but when we've got some distance in the rear view mirror we can see what has been brought to our lives.

Would I have arranged for my dream job to end in February of last year? Was the gnawing stress of finding a job in a downturn much fun? Being subjected to the humbling experience of being a total newbie in another industry wasn't something I would have chosen. Having the feeling of near incompetence for months before learning a new language and process was gut wrenching.

And--in retrospect---all things that were very, very good for me. My base knowledge has grown SO much, I have acquired experience that has totally raised my game. And, all the while, I was feeling the bumps, bruises, and battering along the way while not realizing growth was occurring.

More truth: Anything worth something costs something. What you will pick up in hard times will serve you better and farther than anything gained in golden times. I've written about the rocks in the river times when what seemed to be the worst times turned out to be the most exciting, exhilarating, joyous times we remember.

Bottom line: God's got you covered. He knows your beginning from your end and everything in between. It's not random, it's ordered---it's not chance, it's divined. You---and me---have to just trust and know that when we arrive on the other side of the stretch of unemployment, learning curve, 60 hour workweek, or paper---we'll be a little wiser for the experience.

And totally blessed in ways we couldn't have planned.

The underwear reminder

OK, I've got a mole or two. They might be the vestige of my 20's when I'd spend hours in the sun with a #4 tanning oil. I recently discovered a photo where I rival George Hamiliton for bronze-osity. Either him or a carrot.

At the urging of my wife, my visit to the dermatologist was yesterday. I was escorted to the exam room where I had to disrobe to my underwear and wait. I then realized I was sporting my only remaining pair of tighty whities---the garden variety undies that draw howls of protest from my sons for being...well....tighty whities. The rest of the underwear drawer is crammed with non-white undies--yesterday's pair was the elder statesman of my fleet. Super.

There's something about being nearly naked that produces a certain humility. Can't hide much, y'know. As I stood there waiting to be examined, my mind flitted to that moment when we'll be standing before God for that chat. Y'know, the review of what was done--or not done---during our time on earth. We've all got the appointment set and you can't cancel or reschedule.

No matter what we say or do, we all alter our truth to those around us. There are things we don't share with anyone---the tiny nicks and hurts, the thoughts and desires that shock us, the sins that are better left unsaid. We hide this stuff like I hide my tighty whities. No one knows what they can't see, right?

I wonder if that will be a moment when all of the pretense that exhausts us will be over. I think it will as no sin enters heaven. As I stand there, the realization of my shortcomings that place me so far from the gates of heaven will probably encourage me to just turn, leave, and hit the down button. However, that moment will also contain the glorious confirmation that what Jesus did for us will allow me to enter.

The exam room reminded me of things that I'd rather not have known---even so minor as underwear. Along with that was being able to visualize that time when I will have nothing left to hide because there is NOTHING hidden from God. As painful as that moment will be---it will be accompanied by the true realization of God's amazing gift through His son.

You've got 30 minutes

Humbled.

My nephew is a Sergeant in the Army and has been in Afghanistan for over a month. Technology allows him to check in with his mom (my sister) from time to time--a wonderful and welcome call no matter what time of the day or night. I occasionally see some Facebook updates from him. I was happy to see him post something about my blog in the last week.

What I later learned is that when he goes online--it takes Facebook (or any website) a good 20 minutes to load because of their slow-as-molasses Internet connection. Then, it's another stretch before he can start checking someone or something out. Because of this, he has begun to pick one person a day to check on.

There he is, almost 7,000 miles away, committed to learn about 1 person a day. That I was chosen humbled me and I have carried that with me since then. That's quality vs. quantity--the exact opposite of the rest of us when it comes to surfing. I've never counted, but I bet I'm on hundreds of sites a day.

Sgt. Rogers' dedication frames my inattention to our awesome God even more clearly. He's not half a world away, we can reach Him in a nano-second, and He doesn't need to read our Facebook or Blog to learn what we're up to. My nephew wants to know about his friends and suffers through dial-up, exhausted and grimy from his day--and he has committed to doing so.

If you're a Christian, I hope you appreciate how close, how available, and how instant the connection is. We don't need to perform any rituals, say magic words, or be in a certain place---I've encountered Him on the bike path, in the sunset, in the chortle of a chubby baby. I'm not new-aging here, those are the fingerprints of God---the staggering, amazing, mind-blowing part is that He is right here. Right now.

Hooah. And Hallelujah.

If he's an idiot, they're all idiots

Back in my radio days, we had a thing we called 'van etiquette'. When driving a station vehicle, we were to never, ever, be a knob in traffic. Since the call letters were plastered on the side of the van, bad driving reflected badly on the station.

It's like that with most things, I guess. I was bike commuting to work on Friday when another rider roared by me. Normally, it's a nice gesture to offer a quick hello---but this guy was on a cruise and said nothing. Kind of a knob move. He also was wearing his team shorts--something that readily identified him.

5 miles later, another guy blasted by with not so much as a hello. You guessed it. Same team. He was riding an unusual bike so I caught back up to him and asked him about it. He gave me a quick answer and I let him go. Now, based on my experience, 100% of the guys on that team are jerks.

If you're a Christian--and identified as such--what kind of trail are you leaving? In interactions with others, can you tend to be kind and graceful, or judgemental and jerky? Just like the two riders with their team name in huge block letters, if enough of us are idiots---all of us are idiots.

I'm certainly not suggesting we sugarcoat everything and roll over every time someone presents some kind of affront to us---but, if we're bent on reminding people of their weakness and sin, we're causing ears to slam shut and hearts to harden. Who wants anything of that?

More importantly, is the in-the-house you the same person who displays themselves in church settings? Are you the perfect picture of reverence during the service, doing all the right moves and motions while talking the talk, but your kids stare wide eyed at you from the back seat as you curse the slow driver on the way home? That's a terrible disconnection---and it affects them.

I could lead the parade of offenders some days. There are moments when I know I've blown it for us all and it hurts. Thankfully, those moments are becoming much fewer and farther between. Perhaps it comes from not being in the place where I need to 'act' like a Christian--it's because I am a follower of Christ.

Whose life is it anyway?

I'm kind of a business geek---besides 'cool' magazines, I've got subscriptions for pubs like Fortune and Forbes. The Forbes subscription was a reward for an online survey program. Along with Forbes comes a quarterly 'Forbes Life', a year old offshoot that seems to exist to remind Americans that ridiculously expensive items are still something we should care about. Inside the latest issue is an editorial about their first year---acknowledging that rolling out a publication like it--at a time like this--wasn't great timing.

"Luxury now is not about accessibility" the editorial squeaks, "...--but durability." It goes on to make the point that goods made of superior materials are well crafted---they have not only value but worth.

Really? Let's take a stroll through the new Forbes Life.

There's a chair that looks like it's from the Jetsons that goes for $17,760.
A Louis Vuitton Trunk--real price unknown, but they list up to $36,200.
A $1200 Steuben decanter.
A very ugly $2200 plaid vest.
$31,500 earrings.
An Aston-Martin for $282,500.
Some blazer found only at used-car lots, $3,455.

The question has been raised, "when this recession is over, will we return to our old money grubbing, possession coveting ways? " For the Forbes Life crowd, the answer is yes. They ducked and covered--now the storm might be over, so have the lawn care workers pick up the branches and let's get back to the life we deserve.

Jesus was hanging with the disciples and sharing that rough times were ahead, that He'd be killed. Peter, always good for opening his trap and inserting his foot, took issue with that concept. Jesus nailed him and then said what we have all forgotten. "What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul?"

I'm not saying rich people have misplaced priorities. I'm saying we ALL do. Things will never, ever fill the gaps in our souls we all have. The thrill of that new purse, bicycle, car, or house will fade away like dew on the grass and we're left sitting wondering why we still feel empty.

What fills you up? Is it something you bought---or something you learned?

There have to be at least 10 big money, big possession, big deal guys who have killed themselves since the recession started. Maybe they were crooks, maybe they couldn't stand losing the stuff they loved so much, maybe they were ashamed at what they'd become. Did they gain the whole world yet forfeit their soul?

Your soul is the single best thing you could ever invest in that has value. Endless value. Eternal value.

And it doesn't cost a thing. That price was already paid.

The Trouble, The Bubble, and the Rubble

Saturday marked a return to public speaking after nearly a year and a half out. As the morning person on a radio station, there were a number of invitations to share my story with various groups, and a lot of men's breakfasts. After The Fish left the air, I was done.

Or so I thought. I was recently invited to address a men's group in Pewaukee. My task was to create a theme that would reflect not only the testimony of what God has done in my life, but to also capture what has happened since a dream job vanished.

The Trouble, The Bubble, and The Rubble emerged. The 'trouble' was the 25 years spent adrift without direction. That used to be the majority of my talk--a wayward and sinful life built only to please myself before that amazing day in April 2000. I'd end with the feel good story of winding up at a Christian radio station. I'd wrap it up with some general motivation about discipline and we'd be done.

Except, The Fish went away and I was suddenly out of my 'bubble', the place where faith was the focus, my passion and profession. It was 6 amazing years but when it ended I was suddenly back in 'the rubble', the place where most of us live and work. Back to life, back to reality.

Having a year and half in the rearview mirror has given me valuable perspective. I knew it before, but it's in everyday life that person by person, moment by moment, you don't necessarily need a stage, a platform, or a radio station to spread the gospel. It happens when life is falling apart, when jobs are eliminated and people are in shambles. It occurs when delivering grace continually without expecting any in return.

It also happens when my old nature revisits. In the moments, minutes, afternoons, or days where life starts to revolve around myself a little too much---there are the gifts of hearing the whisper of the Holy Spirit that gives me truth far beyond what I could learn by myself.

Would I rather be back in the bubble, fairly safe and relatively shielded? Or, is the rubble the mission field where we find ways to shine when it's hard, blocked, or resisted?

I know what Jesus preferred. He was out finding us in the rubble.

Grace race

The bulk of our company's IT work is outsourced to India. They're quick, responsive, but pretty hard to understand on the phone. I've been having an awful time getting a vital computer to print and have been working with Sudhakar for days on this issue.

He's very innovative--he sets up a notebook pad on the computer in question and we message back and forth--he'll ask me to try some things on my end, watches the result, and then tries something else. I like him, he does his best to explain things clearly and I have real motivation to get this issue resolved. I figure that since we're both committed to fixing this, we might as well be a team.

It's not always like that for them. I hear a lot of complaints about how hard they are to understand with their thick Indian accents and I've heard a few of them get an earful from people who are frustrated. I wonder if it colors their opinion of Americans.

As of yesterday afternoon, the issue remained a mystery. When it was pushing 6 o'clock I needed to get some other things done so we had to end the session. Sudhakar wrote to thank me for my patience and I wrote back that he was great---innovative and creative, and it was good to work with him. He didn't say it, but I could tell that I might have been a rare voice of calm on the other end of his customer service list.

What I wrote next seemed to impact him. It was a simple, "Grace is a gift, my friend." At that point the words on the screen paused as he seemed to ponder it---then he wrote back, "Yes it is Danny".

Grace is unmerited favor. We don't deserve the break. I try to offer grace in various places and it totally blows me away when someone who expects to be yelled at or given a hard time doesn't receive what they might have had coming. When I recieve it, I'm always highly aware of the gift.

I'm a bicycle commuter. Two weeks ago I was in the downtown portion of my ride, mixed in with cars. I was alongside a van that had just dropped off someone and the driver pulled back into traffic as I was alongside her. Had she kept going she would have knocked me down. Instead, I reached over and tapped (not banged) on her side view mirror.

A block later we both came to a stoplight. She rolled her window down and called out, "I'm sorry". I smiled at her. "It's ok", I offered, "I've done it myself." Grace. She could have sat at the light staring straight ahead but she asked for forgiveness. I could have been a knob and reminded her of what she did.

I receive grace as well. On my Saturday ride, we (kind of/sort of) rolled through a stop sign causing a car to brake. The driver was totally within her rights to lay on the horn and remind us for the idiot bike riders we were at the moment. She didn't. She gave us grace.

Goes both ways. Offer earthly grace today in humble reverence for the heavenly grace we recieve every day from above.

Like golf, only sweatier

It was a throwaway line in an email.

A business contact said he'd be in the area this weekend. I shot back to look for "lycra clad" cyclists buzzing through the town he was visiting. That led to a phone call where we learned that we were both cyclists. Long story short, we agreed to meet Saturday morning for a couple hours of riding. The weather was glorious, the route was spectacular, and that's a lot of time to hang with someone. It was like a round of golf only a little sweatier.

This guy makes me laugh--a lot--and that's just on the phone. We'd never met but have worked on a large project for the past 9 months so we had a lot of business in common. The first 5 miles was talking about riding and our jobs---what he does, what I do---that sort of thing.

We were probably 15 miles into the ride when I gave the story of how I came to faith. I'd used the phrase "after I became a Christian" and he followed up to ask what I'd been before that. Nothing really. Raised going to church, I'd fallen away at 15 and spent 25 years on a very rough road.

That conversation took up the next 10 miles. At the 35th mile, he dropped the 'R' word on me--'Religious'. That word is a personal sore spot and I was pretty happy with my response--one I want to share as I think it's important.

To me, religion isn't a great thing. Religion is the transactional if-I-do-this then God-will-give-me-that thinking that traps people into believing we need to perform the right kind of moves and say the right kind of things to have God show favor to us. We can't do ourselves into a relationship with God. Jesus did the doing. Our job is to realize that, reflect that, and rejoice in that.

I know being religious is supposed to be a compliment. My aversion stems from all the religious people I've seen over the years who have been totally empty fakes, bags of wind who would say one thing and live another. My nearly tragic mistake was seeing these jokers as the face of faith and connecting God to that. BMW's are amazing automobiles, but if the guy selling them is a total sleazeball as well as the next 5 dealerships you go to, you tend to rethink your stance on that car.

Hearing 'religious' used to make me bristle and I'd usually blow it trying to combat that word. Instead, it now opens up a great line of dialogue that allows me to explain my interpretation of religious vs. faith---and why faith is better. Yes, you need a corporate structure like church to assemble as a body, but the old saying is true, "sitting in a church doesn't make you a Christian any more than sitting in a garage makes you a car."

I think I made the point with him even though things he shared led me to believe he was definitely in the COEXIST bumper sticker crowd. Maybe I planted a seed---if anything, I pray that I showed him a believer doesn't need to be a whacked out finger pointing pious nutjob.

Just a regular bike riding nutjob.

A God moment via my cat

Hang with me on this one.

The superstar in our house is Topper, a black and white cat who is from another world. He's a Wisconsin Humane Society gem worth every penny of the $100 it takes nowadays to adopt. We thought he'd be a nice addition to Jetty, our cranky old girl cat. Oops.

He is developing an eye condition that might cause him to go blind. As it is, his eyes are cloudy and his vision is impaired though he is totally unaware of it. He might not be able to spot the spider on the floor but he's very able to navigate the house to cause various sorts of trouble. He makes us laugh every single day---many times.

As I enjoy my morning quiet time at the kitchen table with coffee, Bible, and Oswald Chamber's My Utmost for His Highest, both cats circle to be fed. I throw a scoop of food in their dishes and get back to gettin' with God. Inevitably--Topper will gobble his and leave only to return and move to his sisters dish.

"No" I say. He knows it's not his and if I get up he will scoot to his dish, less than 4 feet away. Fine. Except, 3 minutes later he's back at Jetty's dish. We repeat the process...the "No", the scoot to his dish. Then, about 4 minutes later---it happens again. Not the brightest bulb.

I love this cat. He's good natured, likes to purr, is curious and playful. He follows people around, plops down in everyone's way, and has the most jarring cry ever uttered by a feline. And with the eye condition and his fairly selfish nature, a flawed creation.

Here's what Topper helped me understand about God.

He's happiest when he is getting something HE wants. He'll take what ISN'T his and when chastised, take a break and then get RIGHT back at it. In Topper's world, it's all about Topper. Yet, I love him unconditionally--smiling at his antics and being patient with his naughtiness. He is a delight to me.

Sound familiar? We're a bunch of Toppers to God. Loved beyond belief, we are disobedient and we know it. We're happy getting what we want---and then want more. We halt improper behavior but then are right back at it. And we expect God to keep filling the dish when we want it. Our cries are selfish.

God's grace to me isn't anything new but the a-ha moment He gave me recently while praying then chasing Topper from the dish was nothing short of brilliant. We are flawed but we are LOVED. We disobey but we are LOVED. We cry out for ourselves alone, but we are LOVED.

I hope I made the point--the rest of the house is still sleeping and I'm hearing someone nosing around on the counter ready to push a glass onto the floor.

The Joyful One

Quick story. As a bike commuter, I tend to ride at about the same time every day on the same exact route. Most days I see a woman heading north on the bike path as I'm heading south. She rides an old-school cruiser type bike with a big basket in the front. What stands out about her is her countenance--the look she has on her face. She is always beaming.

I ran late one day last week. Instead of finding her in the opposite direction, she was heading south, probably turned and headed home. At first, I started to pass her as I like to keep my speed up on the way in and especially that day as I was later than usual. However, after I got about 10 feet past her I had a Holy Spirit moment when I was urged to say something. I slowed way down which allowed her to catch me.

"You know what I call you?" I said, turning to look at her---smiling away. "I call you The Joyful One"

It's true. She tends to be one of the highlights of my ride. Many cyclists don't acknowledge each other (a mystery to me) but she always has a hello. Her joy gives me a couple hundred yard glow because of what pours out of her.

"Thank you!" she replied, "I love being out here."

That was it. No long discussion, no need to linger. I rode on. Now I'm not sure what that did to her--maybe nothing--but it was important to say what was in my heart and I was urged to do it. I've been trying to do that more, if there is a person who makes a difference in small things in wonderful ways, it is worth that quick mention to them. The obvious danger is insincerity but when the motivation is pure and the thought is genuine you can 't lose.

I even did it a week or so ago to a DJ in town when I wrote him on Facebook and said "you are still the best DJ in town." That took a lot---I used to think I was pretty good.

Why am I rooting for Michael Vick?

For the record, I love animals. I've experienced unlocking and enjoying 3 cats in my adult life and an amazing dog while growing up. My father in law has raised and trained over 20 Labrador retrievers---I've experienced 4 or 5 of them. If my allergies weren't so bad, there would be at least one dog wagging his tail in our house.

So why am I rooting for Michael Vick?

Michael is the former Atlanta Falcons superstar quarterback whose life unraveled when it was discovered he ran a covert dog fighting operation at his mansion. I knew of his athletic ability but what I saw of him in interviews and lifestyle, I sized him up as a punk. It wasn't just the dog fighting ring---that's bad---but he also showed heartless and callous disregard for the dogs that no longer had purpose. They were tortured and killed in awful ways.

He was busted, charged, sentenced, and sent off to prison for a couple of years. Along the way his fortune evaporated, he declared bankruptcy, and the hue and cry for his scalp was deafening. During the trial, he declared a newfound faith in Jesus Christ which was met by snickering. My old morning show partner D Steward told me that if you wanna meet Jesus, just go to any jail. Everybody's on board.

In stepped Tony Dungy, the former head coach of the Indianapolis Colts. Tony volunteered to mentor him in prison to prepare for his return to the outside world and, potentially, the NFL. I'm not privy to what happened in those meetings--but Tony is the real deal when it comes to faith.

Michael landed with the Philadelphia Eagles. The protests began. The vitriol flowed. The anger continued. I get it---people feel he hadn't been punished enough, and cruelty to animals---especially to animal lovers---is nearly unforgivable. Many are not letting up, there are websites devoted to organized protests, you can buy T-Shirts that chastise Vick, and many shake their head in disbelief when discussing the guy.

So why am I rooting for him?

It's selfish. I'm sensitive to anyone who has been broken and is attempting to reconcile their life. It could be total fabrication---but let's assume for a second that his faith is real and his declarations are true. If that's the case, then we've got to apply the words of Paul in 2nd Corinthians; Anyone who is in Christ is a new creation, the old has gone, the new has come.

What if our sins were as public as Michael's? When I take a stroll through the 10 commandments, I've broken them all. What if someone took it upon themselves to follow me around to inform the rest of the world I haven't been punished enough?

I'll save them the trouble. I know I haven't been punished enough. By every measure of how God expects of us to live with Him--I've fallen short. In my 25 years away from God, I racked up enough citations to earn myself eternal damnation. God could have punched my ticket a long time ago.

Except for that moment in April 2000. At the second I went to my knees and asked Jesus into my heart---it was done. In fact, it was done over 2000 years ago when we all nailed Him to the cross and He took it for us. All the junk I pulled---all the Michael Vick punk behavior---even you--the person who wants Michael Vick to suffer as much as his dogs did--our sin was forgiven.

Once a punk, always a punk? Maybe. Time will tell. He could wind up cratering his life again and you can say 'I told you so'. Until then--I'll go with the hope that real faith does change lives and the gratitude that my sins aren't on display to anyone except the One who forgave them.

200 yards from a lightning strike

One of my life's delights is riding bicycles. One of the blessings of my job is to be able to bike commute. Work is only 12.5 miles away and my path is 40% boulevard, 58% bike path, and 2% downtown streets. The ride home is the real treat---at the end of a stressful day it wipes away all the bad.

I'm less afraid of rain having missed a LOT of great rides because of 'scattered showers' in the forecast. Unless it's an all-day rain forecast, I head out figuring that I'll dodge the showers with good timing or an afternoon check of the real time conditions.

Except for the other night. I totally spaced checking the radar. By the time I looked, it was too late. A big storm front was right on the edge of town and was poised to sweep across my route home. Lots of yellows and oranges in the radar image.

When the worst was over I saddled up, setting off into a steady rain--it was a warm night, my commuter bike has fenders, I was in good shape. As I pedaled out of downtown it became clear that I was going to get soaked. Not a big deal--it was still in the high 70's.

As I rode north on the bike path a lightning bolt struck a television tower about a half mile away. My route was going to take me right next to that tower. That got me thinking about the wisdom of riding along the trailing edge of that storm.

My mind began to churn. What if I got struck by lightning? What would that feel like? Would my funeral be this week? No, my parents would have to fly up from Tucson. Good thing I keep good files at work. I never told anyone what music to play at my service. My busy mind raced.

I'm ready to die. That's the difference now in my life since I've become a believer and have put my total trust in God. I've often said to people, "the day, time, and manner of your departure from earth was decided long ago." Easy to say but the reality of being zapped on the way home made me start thinking.

I went through a little review. I had cut my devotions and quiet time short that morning--praying, but not long and hard as I "should" have. I reviewed my many shortcomings --not only that day, but the multitude of sin that still collects on me like lint. This really got me to the place of humility---where I knew that should I light up like a Christmas tree in 200 yards---I certainly didn't deserve a lot of heavenly reward. I humbly asked for just a bit more forgiveness. Maybe I could sneak in.

And that's where the real blessing started. I dropped my human reasoning and thought of Jesus and what HE did for me that covered my junk---junk I could never haul away. A deep appreciation washed over me as I accepted the gift---again---and got closer to the tower.

No strike. Just wet.

The ride turned more glorious than I could have imagined. I rode with my tongue out of my mouth to catch raindrops. When I turned the corner for the final 2 miles the sky opened up and it rained even harder. I laughed and smiled and gratefully accepted the gift of a warm ride on a happy day---wrapped in the knowledge that there wasn't a thing I could do---it was all Jesus and what He came to do.

My shoes are still squishy.

2, 2, 2. Is this thing on?

This is a soft relaunch of this blog. I'm not proud to report that I haven't added a single word to my great American novel---my grand plan in shuttering this blog in the first place. That's fine, it's still a project, albeit covered by a tarp in the garage.

So, I'm back to the blog. It's an outlet that I've missed as there have been so many times that I've had a thought or touch of inspiration that I really would have liked to share--but the 'closed' sign was on the front door.

If anything, the break was good in that it gave me a chance to forget about some of what I wrote. Revisiting old blogs gave me fresh eyes and I learned what I liked about some of the old pieces---and what I didn't.

#1 is to keep these shorter. Funny, even though I wrote them all---I was finding myself a little antsy reading the longer ones. So, I'll employ better editing skills. Like I did when I was in radio, I will seek to communicate in the most efficient manner. After all, in the few times I've actually heard the voice of God--He's used less than 10 words.

What happened to the blog?

I put this blog on hiatus so I wouldn't be distracted and would get the first draft of my book done. When I did that, I zapped all the posts which was a little reactionary and kind of dumb.  I'd worked hard on these blogs---so, upon further review, here are a few of my favorites that might inspire you. They were the postings that garnered the most feedback from readers.

They're all below.

Don't be a stranger. My email is in the profile.

New York

Probably 15 years ago, long before I was a Christian, I was in New York City for a couple of days by myself. I mostly just kicked around seeing which way the wind blew me---I'd hop a subway and just randomly exit at a station that had an interesting name.

At one point I was in Grand Central Station and was wandering through the corridors when I came upon a guy selling copies of Dianetics by L. Ron Hubbard. I'd seen the commercials on TV and was just vaguely aware of what it was about. At the time, having no spiritual grounding, the theme interested me so I bought a copy. Upon arriving back home to Milwaukee I began to read it.

It was really hard to understand. I kept missing the point---going back---rereading---and then getting lost again. It spoke of 'clear', the 'state' you (apparently) want to attain when you 'know' the mysteries of the faith--and how you'd feel better immediately. Even in my very advanced state of selfishness, ego, sin and narcissism, I could tell that it was a bunch of hoo-hah, and when I took the book and threw it in the garbage can---I felt better immediately.

God, spiders, and the bald eagle

Our family camping trip to Rock Island was great. It's quite an expedition---first, drive to the northern tip of Door County, hop on the car ferry to Washington Island, drive across the island to Northeastern tip where the gear is unloaded and transferred to the ferry that crosses the water to Rock Island. You're plopped at the boathouse where the trek begins to the campsites which can be quite a distance away (ask my back and legs). It's at least a quarter mile and we had a LOT of gear. We got some help from Suzanne's sister's family for the leg of the journey---and it was greatly appreciated.

I wasn't the model camper upon arrival and was crabby and tense as we set up the tent and the tarp in a less than ideal camping spot (if you ever go to Rock Island DO NOT choose site #3). I had taken this one sight unseen via the internet, and what looked great on the map was a pretty crummy site---totally open to the trail. Seriously, anyone who walked by was almost directly in our site---and that was a little disconcerting at first. Plus, since we were nearly on the beach, there was a sand. A lot of sand. Sand upon sand. Trillions of grains which all seemed to cling to our stuff, especially our shoes and feet where it would then be deposited in the tent. I don't like sand very much.

Camping requires a certain mentality which I hadn't acquired yet for this trip. Once I realized that my reality was sand, and dirt, and people able to look right into our site, I relaxed and became a better camper. I fixed a big pancake breakfast the next day and felt better, and we enjoyed the kid's pleasure at being with their cousins. We explored some of the trails and hiked a bit. One of my personal highlights was coming up off a trail towards the beach and seeing a bald eagle sitting in a tree 100 feet away. It was so beautiful and gave us a great chance to see a breathtakingly majestic bird before it flew away with a snake in its talons. (It's a bird that has large talons---for you Napoleon Dynamite fans).

Quiet time while camping is wonderful. I'd get up early---get the water going for my coffee---and then open the Bible and OC's My Utmost for His Highest whereupon I'd drink in God's word while perched on the picnic table listening to the busy red squirrels, the noisy gulls and the even noisier crows.

One day had us head up to the northern part of the island where the lighthouse stands. Our trekkers went in three different directions---some stayed at the lighthouse for the tour, some headed back to the campground---and I took the long trail back along the eastern side of the island. It was so beautiful and I was pretty much the only one on the trail. I saw, heard, felt, and was with God during every step and could see His hand in every single piece of His creation---the fallen trees returning to the earth, the lichen, the wind in the leaves, the rocks on the trail, the glistening spider webs strung between trees. Y'know, drinking in creation even can give you a little less fear of spiders. They're pretty amazing inventions and there is a spooky beauty to them (unless they're inside your pots and pans when preparing breakfast).

I knew I had fully gained camper status when, on the final day, thunder announced an approaching storm as we were preparing to break camp. Our family worked together as an amazingly efficient team---taking down the tent, gathering gear, tidying the site---and we got everything done as the rain started and we were able to retreat under our tarp while waiting out the storm. After a bit we lugged our stuff back up to the boat landing for the beginning of the journey back to civilization.

Sometimes when I daydream about chucking it all and moving somewhere else to live a quieter life---I picture myself somewhere near mountains working in a little equipment hut maintaining and storing gear. I see myself coiling ropes, hanging the tents, repairing stoves, airing out sleeping bags, cleaning and arranging the cook kit and otherwise puttering with all the stuff.

Guess what I get to do today---my final day of vacation? I'm going to be able to live that day. On our back deck is all our stuff still grimy from the trip. The sky is blue, the coffee is made, I've had wonderful quiet time and now I get to spend the day pretending to be in that mountain hut lost in the peace and quiet and my own random thoughts. I have learned that days like today---even when filled with what others could consider drudgery--are total gifts from above. God has gifted me with a day out of my daydreams---and I can't wait.

Bike snob

Back in the day I was consumed by bicycling. Riding a bike was my primary mode of transportation growing up in a small town---then I fell away, got involved when mountain bikes appeared, then got going on road cycling. I got into the racing scene late---too late from a physiological standpoint to make much impact and truth be told, I wasn't a great racer. I was what is called 'pack fodder'---the group that can usually hang in a race but never finishes in the top spots.

Even so, I was sucked into the mentality of road cycling which is a pretty snobby branch of the sport. In that world if you don't have the latest helmet, the hottest wheelset, the newest sunglasses, you're pretty much persona non grata. When coming up on other riders (always from behind because you're so much faster)---I would instantly measure the other rider to see what 'kind' they were. It got so bad that if a guy hadn't shaved his legs (the true sign of a bike snob)---then he wasn't deigned worthy.

I readily admit all of this because this was behavior that took place before I was saved. I often point out that my best cycling years directly coincided with my most selfish time. I'm not maligning serious and dedicated athletes, but when you're serious about a sport other things have to go by the wayside.

So--since I moved to our morning show 3+ years ago I stopped with our team group rides. I left the team. I stopped riding nearly altogether preferring to not ride rather than ride alone. It's only in the past month that I've climbed back on the bike for some wonderful shorter loops after I get home from work.

Cut to the point of this story. I was out for a 25 mile loop yesterday afternoon. It was a glorious day; blue sky, great temps, not too much wind. I was heading home when I crossed Good Hope Road just behind another rider.

Yes, I did the quick scan on him. Old, old bike. Milk crate bolted to the rack at the back of his bike. He was riding in sandals. Old, out-of-fashion helmet. I got in behind him as cars were behind us and I didn't want us squeezed onto the shoulder. He noticed me back there and I told him I was tagging along until the cars were clear.

He probably scanned me as well. Typical snobby rider. Expensive bike, expensive shoes, just-the-right sunglasses. I was probably the type of rider who usually blasted by him, ignoring him and leaving him to revel in the awesome power of a true road warrior.

Instead of doing that, I pulled alongside him when the road was clear. We began a conversation about riding---his bike (30+ years old). He told me he had been riding or walking to work for over 40 years. He told me about his old bike being stolen years ago but being recovered 6 years later in the same condition. I asked about his sandals remarking that he could probably put more power into the pedals with a stiffer shoe. No, he said, I really don't even wear shoes---haven't for many years. In fact, he shared, he's got his kids shoeless now. Then he told me about how he had given up all that trying to keep up with the coolness, the materialism, the stuff.

It was a great conversation, one that I would have missed had I continued on in my single minded ride. I don't know what it was that held me up yesterday---I didn't evangelize, didn't witness---it might have been a good idea as I'm pretty sure he was Jewish (I should tell you sometime about the time I was on a group ride that contained a Rabbi!).

What's the takeaway? I don't know---maybe if you're a golfer, take time to visit with that guy with the million year old bag and the non-custom clubs. If you're a Harley Rider, talk to that Vespa rider. An elite runner? Wind down your run with that guy struggling to find his next breath on the hill.

Jesus was the son of God and He took time for everyone. Was He scanned back then? I'd think so---He was homeless, probably scruffy, had no possessions outside of His cloak, yet He had the words of life for anyone ready and willing to listen. Conversations can be rich and rewarding gifts.

My jaded got faded

Over the years I have been to many, many Milwaukee Brewer opening days as part of being on the staff at my previous station. We were neck deep in all the parties---we always threw a big party attended by many and then I was at some sort of live broadcast afterwards. They were drunken affairs with people stumbling, yelling, and generally being idiots. Truth be told, we hated that day.

So, I was colored in my opinion about opening day. As this year's day approached, I copped an attitude and lumped it in with all my other former-have-to-be-there-boy-do-I-hate-this days like St. Patrick's Day, New Year's Eve, and Halloween. Amateur nights (and days) where people lose their minds by consuming way, way too much alcohol. I couldn't have physically and mentally distanced myself farther from what I thought was a collection of beer, smoke, rudeness and vomit.

But as I listened to Bob Ueker call the game as I drove home and heard him capture the absolute joy of the ballpark as the Brewers took it to the Dodgers---something melted a little in me. It sounded right. The sky was bright blue, the temperature was an astonishing 60 degrees and it seemed that good old American baseball was reclaiming its spot in our conscience.

I watched Channel 12's coverage at 5pm. I didn't see any drunken idiots standing behind the poor TV reporter trying to do a stand up----instead, I saw happy, happy baseball fans with hope in their eyes and promise in their hearts for the season. I saw an older gentleman whose eyes twinkled as he offered that "this might be the year". He waxed on about the pitching changes---the right catcher---and he was so happy. More of me melted.

Then I read the Journal Sentinel this morning and was taken to the upper deck where a little boy was with his dad. The boy brought his glove to catch a foul ball (a hopeless prospect where he was sitting)---and there was the happiness of this little guy and his dad on a day he'd remember the rest of his life. I was thawed.

I'm sure there was a large measure of people getting loaded and causing trouble---but I had to admonish myself that I had insulated myself on a pedestal where I wasn't finding the GOOD in an event. I think the world is....well, the world---and it's rife with all kinds of evil and bad----but on a day like yesterday when there was unabashed joy in the heart of a little boy in the upper deck and the hope of a retired man happy with a new catcher---I learned--AGAIN--that God gives us the flowers amongst the cracked concrete.
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Running of the bulls

The annual 'Running Of The Bulls' is receiving a lot of attention this week. Why not? It's an exciting event where numerous bulls are loosed on the streets of Pamplona, Spain where they run wild just behind humans who are trying to stay at least a step ahead of 1500 pounds of snortin' fury. So far, 7 people have been either crushed or gored---none killed yet. People do die, the last one was an American a few years back. I'm going to assume that the buzz is the fact that something so very dangerous is so very close---and the ability to escape that danger is the attraction.

I used to run with the bulls. Not in Pamplona, but on the streets of Milwaukee, or Moab, Utah or New York City or wherever it was that I was busy living my very hedonistic and disobedient life. And, just like the guys in Spain, I was pretty sure I could stay a step or two ahead of what was certain destruction. Satchel Paige once said "don't look back, something might be gaining on you." Amen. When I was steeped in my own excesses I would never acknowledge them---it was far better to just ignore them and pretend they weren't there, but this sinner knew then (as I know now) that what I do even in the recesses of my mind are fully known by God. You can't fake that funk.

So bull runners---what are you just a step ahead of and running like crazy to avoid? Is it materialism, drugs, alcohol, lust, or the inner grind that eats your soul when you talk a whole lot about being a Christian but seethe with anger over who comes in late to church---or sits in your seat?

Stay off the path inhabited by the bulls. Better yet, eliminate the bulls in your life. Find those disobedient bulls and---through prayer and petition---start working on getting rid of them so that what pursues you from behind is that friend who wants to tell you how deeply something you shared impacted them.