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.
--

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.

Earning Christian merit badges

I emceed an event a couple weeks ago. One of the blessings of that event was that my pastor, Marc Erickson of Eastbrook, was the keynote speaker. During the course of the evening I mentioned that I was saved 7 1/2 years ago and had found Eastbrook ten days after that marvelous moment. Afterwards I was walking to my car when I encountered someone I knew from church who had attended the event. "Oh Danny", she said "I didn't know you were such a new believer!" I shuddered slightly when she said that.

It was worse a few years ago. I'd be speaking to someone about my story and they'd make a similar remark. I don't understand why such a fuss is made as to how 'long' someone has been a believer. 2 Corinthians 5:17 doesn't say 'if anyone is in Christ he is a new creation---not as good as 'older' new creations---the old has gone (but not as far gone as mature believers)---the new has come'. No---it makes no distinction on longevity of faith and the surety of salvation. If you're in, you're in. Now, you can blow it---but that's another blog.

That might be a personal soft spot for me, but I really urge everyone to reserve comments like that---and I'll tell you why. Some of the most died-in-the-wool, believers-for-years kinds of people can tend to be the ones who do the most damage to the faith and the faithful. They can be the condemners, the robbers-of-joy, the people who say one thing and then do the other. Scrubbed clean from weekly sin at church, they've got some pretty choice words for someone who delays them in traffic----or didn't cut their lawn.

My point is that Christianity isn't like scouting. You don't earn merit badges along the way with 5, 10, and 15 year service awards. YES, you certainly build up treasure in heaven, but you also aren't any more saved than the guy who gave his life to Christ at the rally down on 27th street last Friday night. The best example is the thief on the cross who, in the last hours of his life, had an eternity changing exchange with his savior Jesus Christ who granted him a place in heaven along with you, me, and the 'new' believer who finally, finally gave it up, gave it over, and gave it away.

Dear Christian-guy-I-met-in-college

Dear Christian-guy-I-met-in-college,

I seriously doubt you remember the weekend you came and hung out in our dorm room at Central Michigan University---I mean, I barely do---but clarity of thinking wasn't my top priority back then. You might have been the cousin of one of my roommates, maybe you knew someone down the hall---whatever the case, you and I wound up on Saturday afternoon talking about faith.

I was somewhat freshly removed from distancing myself as far from religion as possible after having the dysfunctional church I grew up in nearly tear our family apart---and the last thing I felt like getting involved in was that again. Plus, it was fun to tweak Christianity and point out the flaws.

You hung tough. You gave clear and wonderful examples of love, forgiveness, and the basic message of salvation. You didn't get into it with me---something you certainly could have because I'm quite certain I was being a jerk---but you very simply were Jesus-like, something I'm not sure I ever witnessed before.

Ever wonder if those seeds you plant with people ever take? Yours did....at least, it helped a little. Yes, I continued on my own personal highway to Hell (accompanied by AC/DC at full volume)---but what you said and what you were that day never really escaped me. Thanks Christian-guy-I-met-in-college.

Sincerely,
Danny

BFB. Big, freakin', baby.

I'm on vacation this week and am catching up on a boatload of projects that fall to the wayside during my busy weeks. Why am I blogging on vacation? That's another story. The first thing on the list yesterday was to put the yard to bed for the winter. Leaves had burrowed under shrubs and the gutters needed to be blown out one more time.

Unfortunately, it wasn't going to get out of the 30's yesterday---so it wasn't like I was enjoying a beautiful fall day. I'm Norwegian and I've always believed that I have a gift of being able to withstand cold temperatures. I don't like cold, but I can withstand it. The trouble is I think way too much about preparing for the weather. If I was on one of my ancestor's Viking ships, I'd be the one with the extra layer of wool.

So, having to spend a couple hours outside yesterday didn't thrill me. I threw on a base layer , a midweight fleece, then a fleece vest (gotta keep the midsection warm, you know!). I always have a beanie (the shaved dome loses way too much heat)---jeans, gloves, smartwool socks and construction boots completed the ensemble. I was ready.

You guessed it. 30 minutes into the project the vest was off and I was warm. I kind of knew that was going to happen, but what occurred next is really what I want to share about---after 35 minutes I was comfortable and happy doing the project that I had not really been looking forward to because of the weather. I was facing the weather and enjoying it. I had immersed myself in a condition and was finding that I could easily tolerate it to the point that I liked it. In fact, there was a moment when I stood on my driveway and put my face to the north wind and enjoyed the cold.

If you're new to faith or searching for something better that is beyond yourself, you're probably wondering about getting plugged into a church. It's very possible that the very reason you're not involved in church is because you were subjected to 'religion' the wrong way during your younger years, and the last thing you feel like enduring is more hypocrisy and doubletalk.

So you avoid church. Too many weirdos, too much singing, not enough singing, too many hands in the air, not enough hands in the air. You visited once and didn't find it welcoming so you didn't go back----to any of the churches you visited. It became easier to just not go. After all, do you really need church if you think you have the Lord?

Yeah, you do. And you need to subject yourself to what you think might be a little less than pleasant so you can discover that the GOOD of the church is far, far better than what you thought was the BAD of the church. Sit in the back---if you can find room. Leave right away---but come back the following week. Pretty soon you might find that sitting one section over suits you better. Then, the person you've sat in front of for two weeks taps you on the shoulder and mentions they saw you at the gym. You see that IT dude from work---he's a Christian (it makes sense, he's always patient and kind with your seemingly endless questions)---and you strike up a conversation. He mentions a class in between services you'd like and you actually go with him. You meet more people. Yeah, some are goofs---cause you're there----but it's actually pretty cool.

Y'know what you've done? You've faced the cold weather and you stood at the end of the driveway and celebrated it. It wasn't bad, it wasn't what you thought, and it added a layer on your Christian walk.

My experience was a little different----I had gone from darkness to light when I dropped to my knees---and I was hungry to get plugged in. But I'm an usher now and I see lots of folks who walk in with a slightly detached look who are praying that no one looks at or talks to them. They are beginning to stick a toe in the pool and need to just jump in to get that shock out of their system. It might take 'em a year or two, but they'll get there.

And so should you.

The God particle

Yeah, that title caught my eye as well.

The March National Geographic arrived last week. The cover story is Inside Animal Minds, and there's a great shot of a border collie tipping her head to one side---her undoubtedly cold and wet nose ready for a kiss.

What caught my eye was the small print at the bottom of the cover---nestled in with Mega-projects in Iceland and The Pacific's Ancient Mariners were five words that got my attention; Search for the God Particle.

Upon arriving at page 90, I found a picture of what is called the Large Hadron Collider. It's a gigantic contraption built 300 feet below the surface of the border region of France and Switzerland. It's a circular tunnel 17 miles in circumference. It is expensive---the figures are murky, but best estimates put it between five and ten billion dollars. Billion with a B.

Still with me? Good, but hold on tight because this is going to be a bumpy ride.

It's a particle accelerator. The purpose is to make beams of particles race in opposite directions to later collide at nearly the speed of light. The scientists are interested in what comes from the collisions---the author of the article summed it up "The purpose of the LHC is simple but ambitious: to crack the code of the physical world; to figure out what the universe if made of."

Physicists hope to find what is sometimes called the God Particle. It's more commonly called the Higgs Bosun (named for the guy who theorized this 40 years ago). This is where it got a little wobbly for me and I started to feel like I was in 5th grade. The article began to appear to be written in some sort of language I couldn't understand. Forrest Gump's voice broke through my consciousness and said "I am not a smart man".

As near as I can determine---they figure the Higgs Bosun is the type of energy that was the initial source of what some call The Big Bang. They really want to find out how it was that all matter in the universe---that had no dimension at all at one time---grew to what we now know.

I respect most science---I like that God created smart people who research, discover, explore, and question. We've been given great gifts with our minds---we've created art and culture and beautiful things. Yes, we've also messed it up in a number of areas but humankind needs to receive some props for when we do it right. The human being is a pretty nice little creation and it must please God to see some of the wonderful things that we've done with our gifts.

But I'll tell you this---I don't think we're supposed to be able to figure a lot of this stuff out. I occasionally wonder just how He did it---made everything just.......be here. I don't engage in the new earth/old earth debate--I've got my opinion, but it's not a subject that we will ever really all be together on---so I usually just trust that the first week of heaven will be filled with all sorts of introductory lectures on all this stuff we used to get so worked up about and against. I believe that so much will be revealed to us upon arrival---that, besides the immense feeling of joy, we'll conclude that a lot of what we argued, fretted, protested, hollered, prayed, screamed, cried, stammered, and used precious time about wasn't anything that we needed to be doing.

In my 2nd year at Midwest Bible College, we'd enter some pretty interesting debates. The class was made up of a wide variety of people and we were never at a loss for lively conversation. The rulebook was the Bible, but many times Dr. Bowen would utter a phrase that was music to my ears (and anyone else who has shuddered when some Christians would harangue unfairly to make a point)----"we just don't have enough information about that".

No, I'm not advocating ending all funding for research and exploration---let's keep throwing spacecraft up above the earth as I believe that we were made with curious and intelligent minds. But let's not get all worked up about figuring out how this was done----and let's concentrate more on doing what Jesus really wanted us to do. To love each other.

Discover the God particle in you. It's there. It's what makes you genuinely concerned with your coworker or neighbor. It's what makes you hold your tongue when taken to task unfairly and unjustly, instead turning that cheek and loving your accuser. It's realizing that you are not fooling anyone by sitting in church on Sunday with only your body present---but not your heart and soul which is a million miles away thinking all the wrong things. You can write a check for a million bucks and plop it in the collection plate---but if your God particle is not at work inside you---it's like you put in a wooden nickel. In fact, the God particle equipped person who put in the only penny they will be far more blessed because their particle was sparking and crackling and not being still.

I don't have five to ten billion dollars to make my own particle accelerator. What I have is my daily devotional time, my fellowship with other believers, my prayer life, my church life---and the knowledge that on the day I asked---the God particle was placed in my heart.

Popsicle people

I written and spoken about my former fear of death--how I could put off mowing the lawn, doing the taxes, the laundry, yard work---but one thing that could never be avoided was the fact the we all have a 100% mortality rate. That's what woke me up in the middle of the night--and kept me awake. That changed with a changed life and it's so much better this way. So, I'm empathetic when I hear of people who are absolutely freaked about having to die.

My favorite radio show of all time is This American Life on NPR. The host, Ira Glass, is a quirky and curious guy who runs a show just as quirky and curious as he is---Ira has a jerky, staccato delivery that the everyone on the show as picked up as well--and the show never disappoints.

Just this morning on the way to church I caught part of an episode about a man who was in charge of a number of people who were cryonically frozen in order to be brought back to life some day by someone who could either cure what killed them--or is an expert defroster from the future.

Cryonics is "the low-temperature preservation of humans and other animals that can no longer be sustained by contemporary medicine until resuscitation may be possible in the future." My first exposure to this was the legend of Walt Disney who supposedly had his head frozen for future regeneration (I guess in the future he thought he would be conveyed in ways other than his body).

To want to be frozen for future thaw must mean you have no confidence in heaven, right? This is a decent world and all, but really---would you want to come back after seeing glory? I've often wondered what it was like for Lazarus--he had 4 days of heaven--and then came back to life when Jesus tossed 3 words at him. The Laz had just gone from seeing and hearing things that are far beyond human comprehension--and *poof*--he's back in the land of sickness and strife---and yard work.

I didn't hear the whole story on the radio show so don't know if anyone explored the faith of these folks signing up to be frozen (spoiler alert; the guy winds up letting them all thaw)---so I'll have to go and listen to the show on the website (you can download it for a fee, but I'm too cheap to do that).

Isn't it sad? Isn't it disheartening to consider the loss of joy these people had during their earthly life by thinking this is it? Where are you with death? Freaked or fine? Hey, I'd love to see Sawyer and Wyatt make me a grandfather, but if God calls me home this week as I rake and wake the lawn after a long winter---then so be it.

If you're someone who dreads death and lies awake thinking about it---I urge you to get with a Christian friend and learn the basics of faith--and salvation. Once you're there, it's a wonderful place to be---cause this earth sometimes isn't. But heaven.....oh, can't wait.

Juno

We finally saw Juno this weekend and liked it a lot. Suzanne and I debated about whether or not the boys should see it, but after researching it we decided the positives outweighed the negatives.

If you're not familiar with the movie, Juno MacGuff is a bright and sassy 16 year old who winds up pregnant. She explores a gamut of options--from terminating the pregnancy to her ultimate decision to deliver the baby and place it with an couple seeking to adopt a child. There's a twist, but I'll not spoil it for you in case you haven't seen it yet. I had it on my Netflix queue for a long time before it finally showed up in our mail. We wanted to see it in theatres but didn't make it.

OK, there's the teen sex part. For some parents, that's reason enough not to see this film and I can respect that. Bare legs is about it--but it's quite plain what is happening. However, get over that bump in the road and this film is more than just 90 minutes of wit and clever dialogue from Ellen Page (nominated for Best Actress for this role)---this is a conversation starter.

I know of a fair amount of youth pastors who have used this film as a door to a larger conversation with their youth groups. For that, this is a great film. I found the language a little jarring in sections (and this is coming from a recovering foul mouth)--and Juno is just a little too flip and casual with people she doesn't know (blame her parents)--and the twist at the end is a sock in the gut.

We're glad we saw this movie as a family.

#1. It shows the consequences of what is considered a casual act.

#2. It demonstrates that out of a potentially lousy situation, good things can spring forth. I especially liked it when Juno's stepmother said, "Someone's going to get a special blessing from Jesus in this garbage dump of a situation."

#3. It portrayed a ragged, patched-up family grounded more in love than hate. When Juno drops the bomb, she's not harangued---the family closes ranks and deals with it. She keeps a stiff upper lip even though she's a near social pariah at high school.

Oh, I've screwed up in life. I know I disappointed my family growing up--but they never abandoned me. Think of the people you know who couldn't bear to bring bad news to 'loved' ones because their fear of the repercussion. When our kids can't approach us with bad news because they know our response will be a meltdown--then we've failed. Don't get me wrong, we've got to parent correctly IN THE FIRST PLACE so that they have learned to make wise decisions.

God is ready to forgive and see what we do after that happens. Are we?

15 minutes, that's how quick it happens

15 minutes. That's how long it takes.

When my sons were younger, I used to take them to a playground not far from our house. They were five and 3 1/2 and would run and jump and swing and pretend...and then do it again. One night when I was standing off to the side watching them, another dad appeared alongside me.

"My boys were that young about 15 minutes ago." He said, motioning to where his two sons were playing catch with a baseball. They were teenagers.

That moment impacted me greatly and caused me to really appreciate every moment with my precious gifts--even the bad ones. Suzanne and I would drink in their lives, we'd enjoy the little things they did, the wonders they witnessed, the mileposts they crossed. As their innocence was slowly stripped away as the world impinged, we treasured the smallest bits of little-boy-ness that remained. I'm still glad to say that at 16 and 14, there is a little tiny bit of that left.

Last night I was working on the computer in a room that has a view of our neighbor's back yard. Adam, the dad next door, was working on a big project moving a bunch of firewood to the back of his lot. He had some help. Justin, who is probably 3 or 4, was wearing a full fireman costume---vest, fireman hat, boots---and was marching behind his dad as the logs were transported. I could see him talking to his dad. Soon after that, Luke--his little brother, also appeared. He mostly just toddled around the yard not far from his brother, but definitely part of the 'boy' work that was going on.

And, for a second--I saw my boys at that age. It was as if I was transported back to a time when my boys were 'helping' me---seriously and eagerly---and a little bit of my heart just went THUNK.

And I realized, again, the guy at the park was right. My boys were that young 15 minutes ago.

The magazine that never gets read

I subscribe to a major Christian magazine and I don't know why. Actually, I do--it was during a magazine fundraiser at my son's school and I knew I'd made a $12 mistake when I signed up. There's nothing wrong with this publication--it's nicely done, beautifully laid out, and looks good on the coffee table.

And that's where it sits, unopened for the most part. Yeah, I thumb through it, but my eyes glaze over when I see a point-counterpoint between Complementarians and Egalitarians. Huh? I'm equally somnolent when How to Pick a President appears. What?

Jesus urges us to have faith like a child. That's not to say we stop seeking greater knowledge or to be content knowing only the basics of God's nature---He wants us to seek Him. But when we complicate it by getting caught up in the minutiae that only serves to divide us, we should hear the alarm bells in our heads. How many times have you gotten into a theological debate over something that, in all honesty, isn't a salvation issue?

I've got plenty of folks in my life who I could argue with over communion, baptism, who is or isn't a saint, and the like. Until I stopped doing all that hoo-hah, I missed a lot of rich interaction.
I ran into someone this past weekend at a gathering at some friends---I'd sat at her table during a Young Life event a couple months back but she was across the table and we couldn't talk. So, I reintroduced myself and we chatted for a bit. Turns out, she's a bit lapsed in her faith for a number of reasons. She's a little irked at God for some things He hasn't done in her life. Apparently, a friend of hers 'got religion' and went off the deep end some years back.

I listened and then as tactfully as I could urged her to just get back to the basics of her faith. I encouraged her to open up a direct line to God instead of relying on middlemen who she distrusts. Find that faith like a child again. Start with a little quiet time in the morning--believing that she has an audience with THE ONE.

I'm not sure what she thought of our encounter, but I'm glad it happened. In fact, I'm going to find a copy of My Utmost for His Highest and get it to her to serve as a little devotional day-starter.

Faith like a child. Keeping it simple. Works every time.

90 versus 90

I started reading The First 90 Days; Critical Success Strategies for New Leaders at All Levels a week ago. Written by a Harvard business professor, it's a well written and insightful primer on how to successfully plan and navigate the first 90 days of any new job when you're the dude---you're the person who needs to make things happen and make things change.

I got through 3 chapters before it went back to the library and have spent the time since then trying to figure out why it wasn't the book for me. I'm in a new job, in a new industry, and want to do well. The company I'm with has huge growth opportunities and I can see myself transitioning to any number of interesting branches of our operation. So why wasn't I compelled to finish this book that would map out my plan to rise through the ranks and make the guys on the senior management floor put me on a fast track to corporate stardom?

I got the answer yesterday as I drove to an appointment. I was listening to Lake Effect on WUWM and a replay of an interview with Tim Russert, the amazingly gifted and talented newsman for NBC who died last week. He had stopped in their studios during the book tour for Big Russ and Me; Father and Son, Lessons of Life, the book about Tim's father who was a World War 2 veteran who returned from the conflict nursing wounds from a fiery B24 crash, worked two jobs, raised 4 kids, and never really talked about his experiences. Big Russ was of the Greatest Generation; our parents who just didn't emote and prattle on like we do about every bump in the road we encounter.

Tim would sit and talk with his dad and ask him questions. "Dad, it must have been terrible to be in that plane crash". His dad would tell him that the guys that died were the ones who had it tough. For every question Tim had, Big Russ would point to someone who had it tougher--or didn't have it at all.

Tim concluded that his dad fulfilled what he set out to do. He helped win the war and he came home to raise his family. That was it. No 90 day plan, no working the machine to climb within corporate ranks. He worked two jobs so that he could provide his kids with the education he didn't have---and a path to a great life via opportunities that weren't available to him. THAT was his job.

It dawned on me that my role in my life at this time is not to relentlessly pursue professional success. Again, don't get me wrong---I will do well in this new job and I will become good at it---I want to be a big part of the success of my company, but I'm not going to do it at the cost of what is my real life; being a strong husband, father, and follower of Christ. My role is to continue what I've been doing --to show my sons how to operate when circumstances don't quite go the way you'd like. I got tossed out of work and they were able to see the way I approached it; Bible and devotions in the morning and a logical and systematic approach to securing a job after that.

They're watching me now as I struggle to figure out the intricacies of a new job with many, many moving parts. They grew up watching me operate in a field I'd been working in since I was 15--now they are able to see me have to adapt and learn and suffer some indignities. I want them to take my experience and apply it to themselves. Life isn't always smooth sailing--but when you trust in God and start your day that way, anything you encounter that day will be handled appropriately.

I picture a time when I'm gone and they're grown men. Their families are vacationing together. There will be that moment when it's just the two of them sitting in chairs watching a sunset on a lake as their wives and children are at the beach playing. It's a private brothers-only conversation and they're talking about their upbringing. I hope they recognize that what I did and the way I did it was for their good---that they might not have grown up in the huge houses their friends did, that they weren't given cars on their 16th birthday, that they didn't have things handed to them. What I hope they realize is that their dad and mom were dedicated to building their foundation on the right stuff and that all we did was done with love even though it might not have seemed like it at the time.

The first 90 days? I guess I skipped it. I really am more concerned with the first 90 years.

What cheap sandals taught me

My son Wyatt is taking a course this summer designed to sharpen his writing skills. It's tough when you're 14 and you'd rather be at the pool. One of his writing assignments was to explain how the cost of the Iraq war is affecting the economy of the United States. Sunday night, he asked me to look over his paper.

Uh oh.

In the course of reviewing it, I attempted to explain how complex the economy is---and I'm pretty sure that I was sounding to him like Charlie Brown's teacher after a while. He was doing a lot of nodding---but I was pretty passionate so he might have been paying a little bit of attention.

My main point was that our society can't (or won't) be content with what we have. Simple houses aren't enough, we've got to have McMansions. Basic transportation isn't enough, we've got to have a Yukon Denali XL351Qi. A TV with only a 32" screen? Ha! Gotta have 57" and it better be HD with a sound system that Marcus theaters envies.

So the banks are only too happy to lend us the money as that increases their profits. The loans are shaky but the commissions are too good. The big bosses are grinding the workers to squeeze out productivity---but when that doesn't work we ship the work to China because it's cheaper, margins increase, and Wall Street rewards them. The stock price hiccups and workers pay the price when the workforce is pared.

You get the point---cause I'm sure I'm doing the Charlie Brown teacher voice here---our society has totally bought into the consumer driven culture that built our great country.....that, by the way, is unraveling as we're throwing anything (and anyone) overboard to help lighten the load so the ship doesn't sink. Why did we fall into this need to make ourselves feel better by demanding granite on our countertops instead of a really nice formica? We can't even wedge our cars in our 3 car garages because we have so much stuff.

You know who really got all this? The apostle Paul. He's the former enemy of Christians who had his moment on the road that changed his life. He went from being a guy with everything to being chained in a dungeon where in the rare instances he was given the use of his arm---still cranked out beauty and truth when he wrote Timothy. It's a desperately tender letter. Earlier, he wrote of having just enough---which, by the way, is what God will provide if we only could learn to be satisfied with that.

Phillipians is in my biblical hall of fame---it totally rocks. In the 4th chapter, Paul lays it out, "I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

I used to be an outdoor gear addict. I had to have gear for every single condition---and I bought it all. Gore Tex jackets, Windstopper pants, Sorel boots, Merrell approach shoes---you name it, I have it. I even have Julbo Glacier glasses for crying out loud---the kind that guys wear when they're climbing Mount Everest. I would lust after sandals-----sandals! Ooh, love those new Dozers---I really need those. And I'd buy 'em faster than you could say Zappos.com.

Well, I'm down to one pair of sandals now--they're not fancy, they're not the latest fashion---you won't see Brad Pitt wearing them. I didn't even buy them, Suzanne got them on sale somewhere and I remember grudgingly accepting them when they came home. You know what, they're fine. They do the trick---when I want to go light and sockless and be able to kick them off and feel my toes in grass---they're perfect. I'm content with them.

Those simple sandals are my reminders of simplicity and contentment. The homeless guy who stepped into my life had nowhere to lay his head, he had a cloak and undergarment, probably a bag to carry some stuff. And sandals. Sandals I will forever be unworthy to untie.

Isn't that amazing?

He knew me when

Suzanne and I attended a pig roast/barn dance last night. I'm not sure what the guy does who owns the 80 acre spread we were at; but whatever it is, it pays really, really well. The driveway along was over half a mile long---and eventually came to a magnificent house--and after another quarter mile, the state of the art horse facility. This wasn't a barn---this was a facility. It was all neat as a pin and could have been set somewhere in Kentucky.

The family is about as down to earth as you can be---and it's always a little reassuring to interact with wealthy folks who are real. I've been at events where I couldn't wait to leave--but this wasn't like that. Plus, I did know a fair amount of people there--mostly people who Suzanne teaches with.

As we stood around in clusters, I saw a guy I thought I knew from years ago. I tried to not get caught staring, but finally had to ask the hostess what his name was---and sure enough, it was Tom. He and I were Spinning instructors years ago---back when my life was in turmoil and I was far from the guy I (like to think I) am today. I sidled up to him---and it was like old times.
Except, it wasn't like old times as I knew him before I went to my knees on that beautiful day in April of 2000. The Danny he knew was the nice-guy-on-the-surface but scoundrel within.

Ever have those moments when you run into someone who knew you before you were a Christian? You know that they're thinking of you as the BC (Before Christ) person you were--and you are bursting to tell them you're not. It's tough because you can't blurt out your testimony in the first 30 seconds---that's weird and ineffective---but it kills you that the 'old' impression is what they're working off.

By then, the pig was ready for eatin' and everyone was making for the tables. Tom and I sat together and I waited for a good time to share my conversion story as best I could. It's hard when the band is playing and the music is loud and you're trying to yell over the music about the wonderful moment that the Holy Spirit leaped into your heart and your life changed.

I think he heard most of what I was trying to say. More importantly, he shared his story of the amazing things that had happened in his life through getting involved with a church outside his normal place of worship that got him---for the first time---to actually crack the bible and get at the scripture. It was a great thing to hear. Here I was more concerned about him knowing I was a changed man--and he had a wonderful story to share as well.

So---it was one of those nights where I found myself still a little too worried about what the surface impression of me is (because of what I was)---and not enough of the inner peace that comes about when you really believe 2 Corinthians 5:17 where Paul writes, "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!"

Maybe I'm the only one who feels a little weird when seeing someone from the BC times but I don't think so.

Who TP'd our house?

I was hanging out with someone who recently had to inform his department that a downsizing was imminent. I could tell it greatly affected him---and having gone through a couple downsizings myself in the last 8 years, I offered some of my perspective.

Each time, my wife and I looked at each other and agreed that it was a bummer. Losing a job is pretty traumatic and it rocks your world. The first time I went through it we had 8 and 6 year old boys tumbling around the house as we sat and talked. I pointed to them. "Y'know, honey. If one of the boys got sick....like, seriously sick....that would be a problem. This (job loss) is an inconvenience." It was the same when Salem Communications decided to sell their Milwaukee station in February of this year and had to fire everyone. I was in inconvenience land.

I know some of you know what I'm talking about. You're dealing with serious illnesses that have totally changed what is important---and has made some of the small things just that. Small things. When your world is test results and suffering, the fact that the garbage didn't get put out isn't the earth-shattering event that we can tend to make it.

I've got a friend who, in the past year, has lost her job and had her husband die---and she's still out of work. I called her the other day and found her in the middle of painting a room---upbeat and cheerful. Her motor is driven by the Holy Spirit and it's running pure and clean. It's not perfect, but she presses on.

We got going this morning at 445am, Suzanne off to the gym, me to quiet time and writing. Upon opening the window shades, we discovered that our house had been TP'd---and they did a really good job. While I'm not quite sure if that's a good thing or a diss, it was a beautiful day, I'm feeling good, life isn't bad---and our boys are healthy.

They better be, they're the ones who are going to be taking down all that toilet paper.

Did he just call me religious?

I'm an active user of LinkedIn, a kind of web-based Facebook for business people. I was quite involved with it while seeking my career transition, but I still enjoy using it to connect with people---it's got some powerful tools.

Basically, you stick your resume on it---the usual, professional background, achievements, etc. There's also personal information like interests and groups you belong to, education and so forth. If you've glimpsed at my profile, it's no secret I'm a Christian.

Recently a business contact of mine discovered LinkedIn and took a look at my profile. "Wow," he said "You're really religious."

Ouch.

I knew what he meant but I still cringe when I hear people describe me that way. To me, religion is the process---the do-this, do-that, say-this, say-that trap that we fall into that makes us forget all about the r-e-l-a-t-i-o-n-s-h-i-p that is between us and God. To me, religion is the middle device that usually messes things up.

I think it's because I had religion growing up---and it didn't work. I knew 'religious' people and they were empty shells. Religious institutions were just that---buildings. They weren't magical places where God would visit because they had long aisles, marble columns, and stain-glass windows.

When my business contact said that, I had a brief conversation with him that contained a lot of what I just wrote. I shared my reluctance to use that word and did the quick relationship explanation of what makes me....me. Simply put, I'm a guy with faith. I love that word....faith. Do a BibleGateway.com search on Faith and you'll find over 400 usages in the Bible. Religion gets 6.

Faith might sometimes get a bad rap as it's this ethereal fluttery word that kind of implies a childlike innocent almost-naive hope in something we can't see.

And that's what is so great about faith.

Bugs 1

The emerald ash borer has invaded our neck of the woods. It's a beetle that somehow found its way from Asia and it's a destructive little bugger with 740 million trees in the crosshairs. Why do you do this, little beetle? Why would you have been put on earth in order to gut trees just enough so that they die? Doesn't seem right.

I wonder if that's a question that gets answered in heaven---right behind, 'why are there wood ticks?' It's not just bugs either, I'm sure there are a zillion questions that you would love to ask God, maybe ones that you've cried out in frustration, pain, sorrow---and even anger toward Him. The injustice and ugliness that we all encounter are enough for many people to utter that very human question 'if God is so loving, why does He allow all this?'. I don't hear it so much from believing people, rather those who have trouble with this stuff and tend to figure somebody's got to be at fault.

My morning devotion is Oswald Chamber's My Utmost For His Highest. Yesterday, he wrote about our purpose vs. God's purpose and how they don't match up all the time.

If we are in fellowship and oneness with God and recognize that He is taking us into His purposes, then we will no longer strive to find out what His purposes are. As we grow in the Christian life, it becomes simpler to us, because we are less inclined to say, "I wonder why God allowed this or that?" And we begin to see that the compelling purpose of God lies behind everything in life, and that God is divinely shaping us into oneness with that purpose. A Christian is someone who trusts in the knowledge and the wisdom of God, not in his own abilities.

I think we'll arrive in heaven and bag all those questions. I'm constantly reminded how weak and very human I am, so I can't begin to get my little mind around what it will be like to be in His presence. I'm not going to raise my hand to ask questions.

Just to praise.

Bugs 2

I'm not on a bug kick. This is just odd timing.

My son Wyatt and I were hanging in the backyard last night when he discovered a really freaky looking bug with a huge appendage with a nasty looking stinger. He called me over. Purple wings, lots of legs, that wicked stinger....it was pretty menacing. I've seen a lot of bugs, this wasn't anything I recognized.

It somehow was trapped in a cup. It didn't fly away when I carried it out farther into the yard. I set it in the grass where it flopped around. It wasn't a termite (great), it wasn't an emerald ash borer (cause it wasn't green)---Wyatt, being 15, offered the opinion that it was some sort of crossbred wasp.

"Should I step on it?" I asked Wyatt. I figured doing that would eliminate the threat of it becoming enraged and seeking us out with that stinger--invading our house, terrorizing the neighbors, wreaking havoc on our fair city......y'know---those things you think of when you see scary bugs.

"Nah."

Good idea. There was no reason to kill it just because it looked scary. If it was a Monarch butterfly our initial reaction wouldn't have been to step on it like this purple winged whatever. I got it back into the cup and waved it in the air whereupon it buzzed off into the night. I couldn't help but wonder if that was a little lesson for me---especially in light of yesterday's blog about God's purpose wrapped in a healthy dose of mystery.

Ever hear the story about the little girl who picked a handful of dandelions for her mother? She presented them proudly whereupon her mother informed her they were weeds. The little girl burst into tears. To her, they were beautiful flowers presented with love.

The purple-winged big-butted hybrid-wasp-creature flew off into the night---it's very likely that some bird will enjoy it today as a tasty snack. At least it went that way, rather than at the bottom of my sandal.

'The' talk

My youngest heads off to high school in less than a month. This is the start of Suzanne and I seeing less and less of him during the day---and he'll be surrounded by others more and more. He's not at the middle school down the street anymore---he's going to be in a big high school. This is the weekend I'm going to give him 'the talk'.

No, not that talk. He got the birds and the bees in school. This talk will be the same one his older brother got two years ago before he entered high school. It's the talk where I give him my testimony---brutal and honest and designed to show that his dad was a very flawed guy who was saved by God's grace in order to become what he is today.

I did it with Sawyer (my oldest) two years ago for a couple reasons. One was because I was speaking to more and more men's groups and knew that my story would trickle back to him somehow and I didn't want him caught flat-footed. The other was to show that this world will seek to seduce him and the enemy will use any tool to trip him up. It worked with me. I fell hard and paid the price.

I know this talk will hit Wyatt harder. My hope lies in the fact that he is the most loyal person I know. The kid is rock solid when it comes to people in his circle and I pray that loyalty will not break in the midst of hearing some pretty shocking stuff.

There are different schools of thought about this. Some parents will disagree with me saying that you never share everything about your past--but I'm a fan of the testimony. I love to hear how God reaches down and plucks us out of some of the most mucky muck. I can't tell you how many guys reached out to me after my talks and shared that they went through something remarkably similar---or even worse.

There's a line in Jesus Freak by DC Talk that gets me every time.

Separated, I cut myself clean from a past that comes back in my darkest of dreams. Been apprehended by a spiritual force. And a grace that replaced all the me Ive divorced

A past that come back in my darkest of dreams. Wow. That's a powerful line. I hope that I never forget what it was like before I went to my knees. I'm sickened by it, troubled by it, ashamed of it. And then I remember what line of scripture I shared with my oldest son after I gave him my testimony. It comes from a guy with a pretty gruesome testimony himself---old Saul who became Paul wrote this in 2nd Corinthians 5.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come.

Toss some prayer my way if you can. I'd appreciate it.

God is not a goalie

I'm not a big what-if thinker, but I still sometimes do a little bit of it. I much prefer what is. But things will happen from time to time that give me a moment to ask...what if?

My son called me at work the other day to report that his wheel had come off his bike while he was riding. He was jumping a curb and the thing just let go. Being a bike geek, I knew what happened---the quick release was undone and eventually the wheel worked itself off. You really have to work at it nowadays, there are these things called lawyer tabs on most bike forks that make sure wheels don't fall off easily. I did the what-if. It's not pretty what could have happened---especially if he hadn't been on grass, hadn't been away from traffic, etc. Scary.

My comfort came in knowing he was protected by God in this. I'm not real sure about the whole guardian angel thing---it's not in scripture, it's more of a 5th century invention---but when angels intercede (Job 33, Daniel 10)---they do it under the marching orders of God. I received an email from a friend this morning with the news that her husband and 4 year old daughter were broadsided on the way to the store yesterday. The other driver was going at a pretty good clip and hit the side of the car with the little girl. The injuries were relatively minor.

I hope you give thanks to God for the things that He protected you from that you were totally unaware of. That could drive people batty thinking that no matter what they do, they're inches away from harm or peril--but I tend to think that God is so amazing that it's no big deal to Him to prevent this stuff from happening.

It's not like God is a goalie preventing Satan from scoring---trying His best, leaping high in the air making plays to save the day then settling in and wondering when the next shot is coming. God and the evil one aren't on the same level---the evil one is a fallen angel and God is....God. Some people tend to think of Satan as an evil equivalent--it's not like that. God is going to drop kick him into a lake of fire in the end and I will ask to see that replay over and over.

He's at work in your life---right now, right here.

GodisgreatGodisgoodletusthankHimforourfood

GodisgreatGodisgoodletusthankHimforourfood

AMEN.

That used to be the extent of prayer in my life. I'd rattle that off at dinner as a kid and occasionally would dash through the Lord's prayer in church but those words and phrases weren't heading heavenward, they were empty and would fall to the ground.

Now, prayer is a BIG deal in my life and I still find myself not taking advantage of the ultimate high speed connection. I do my morning quiet time and get to praying about things, and my busy mind starts bouncing out of control with thoughts and concerns about very earthly things. I find I have to regain control and not think about work or the basement or the creak in the right pedal of my commuter bicycle.

God wants the communication with us. He's always ready and willing and very able to hear us when our heart is right. And, He answers those prayers. I remember Pastor Walter Harvey of Parklawn Assembly of God saying, "God's answer to prayer is Yes, No, or Not Now". I believe that---and I also am pretty good at realizing that when He says No, it's for the perfect reason. I might not realize why it's a no---but that'll be explained to me some day.

We get frustrated when our prayers aren't answered to our satisfaction. When that happens, I always ask, "Lord--help me understand why" or "Lord, please reveal the reason to me". IF I stay at it, the answer will come. Sometimes---no, most times---it's not at that instant. It might be on the way to work or later that day---or later that year. What I need to do is trust.

There's my challenge. Trust.

As nice as life has been for me since my fall-to-the-knees-moment in 2000, it's far from perfect. I've lost jobs twice, I've weathered financial storms along with the rest of the country, I've had those close to me battle through serious illness---yet, I've been delivered to where I'm at in a nice little house with a brand new job and a sweet and loving family.

Then why was the gray twirling ribbon of doubt twisting in my soul from time to time? That's the only way to describe what I'd encounter when I'd feel that little tug of unrest---this little gray twirling ribbon. I'd put it to God many times...."Lord, what is it? What is the source of this little pocket of unrest?"

You know what I discovered? I was busier asking the question than listening for the answer. The answer was ALWAYS there but I was so wrapped up in feeling the unrest that I only wanted to complain about it to God---who was ready to answer me---if I'd only shut up long enough to hear Him.

Finally, I did. It was pure and simple and sure and sweet. The answer was about trust and deliverance. In an instant I knew that when this is all said and done, when we are 100 years down the road, when I've exchanged this earthly body for my heavenly one (please, let me finally be over 6 feet tall)---God will have delivered me through all this muck and mire of the world. And I'll look back and know He was taking care of me the whole time.

I wasn't trusting fully. I was still thinking that there were things I needed to do. Big mistake. Yes, there are things I need to do as a walking, talking, praying Christian--but He's got the big stuff covered and He will have HIS will be done. My job is to trust.

And to pray.

And not worry about that pedal.

Strangers on the road

"I can't find a hotel anywhere in Milwaukee" my buddy reported in an email a week ago, "what's going on there this weekend?"


The Harley Davidson 105th Anniversary is taking over this town this weekend---and even if Brian would have checked 6 months ago, I'm not sure he would have found something. This town is wall to wall with the roar of bikes---and each day gets crazier. He was stuck--it was to be a father-daughter trip to Milwaukee to hang out for the weekend, and there was no room at the inn.

I offered for them to stay at our place. It would be cramped, we're off in a million different directions this weekend, but the door would have been open. It meant that we would have needed to perform a better than usual cleaning of the house---and between football practices and school starting this week, Suzanne having to rebuild her renovated classroom before Tuesday, and me doing the 8 to 5 downtown--it would have been a crunch.

I'm always struck by Biblical hospitality. There was no such thing as a reservation. Someone would arrive unexpectedly and accommodations would be offered on the spot. Remember when Abraham's servant showed up at Nahor scouting for a wife for Isaac? He barely got the camels watered before he was making plans to stay for the night. My favorite is the stranger on the road to Emmaus. Two guys, just walking along, are joined by Jesus whom they were prevented from recognizing. They walked a long way, it was getting dark, and they offered a place to stay to this near total stranger (a very amazing and wonderful stranger).

Don't you wish it was still like that? I understand why it can't be---the world is too nutty for us to grab folks off the road and have them curl up on the sleeper sofa. But I also know that there are households who are constantly offering guest room, sofa, and floor space to travelers. Perhaps it's his missionary background, but I do think that my pastor has guests in his home more often than not.

Maybe the Super 8 living room isn't open as much as it should be, but I still see examples of hospitality to strangers every single day. A new bus driver blew the route the other morning and was way too early---stranding a bunch of riders. One driver offered to take everyone downtown. I've seen people chase windblown items for others, escort lost motorists back to the proper routes, and stop and translate for people who struggle with our language.

Brian and daughter are headed to the Dells this weekend instead. We'll go to the high school football game tonight, perform regular cleaning and housework tomorrow, and look for other opportunities through the weekend to help out if we can.

Just call ahead, ok? I'm sure there's underwear on the floor I've missed.

The past

"Separated, I cut myself clean from a past that comes back in my darkest of dreams."

That's a line from Jesus Freak by DC Talk. It's a brilliant song on many fronts---I like the raw musical edge, I love the arrangement---but I'm truly drawn to the line....'a past that comes back in my darkest of dreams'. It makes me shudder.


My past makes me shudder. I know I was washed clean 8 years ago but I haven't forgotten my prior self and I don't want to. I don't torture myself over what I was, I believe---like Paul said--if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has gone, the new has come. Still, it pokes through sometimes. I can't do a thing about the memories, what unnerves me are the (thankfully rare) times when some of that old self manifests itself.

Suzanne and I were trying to get to Wyatt's football scrimmage the other night. The freeway was absolutely at a standstill---nearly gridlocked---so I bailed and fought the city streets which weren't much better. The 4:15pm start time edged closer and closer and we seemed farther and farther away as I hit every red light and got behind every grandma. I wasn't pleasant to be with.

We finally got to the football field and I drove right by the perfect parking spot. I swore. A bad one. Nothing about the Lord---but it was one of the big three. I immediately felt deflated. Profanity used to be my second language and I have been happy with the way it has disappeared from my mouth---but there it was floating in the air. I dropped Suzanne off at the gate and went to find a parking place (being chivalrous was a pathetic attempt to mend a fence at the moment).

As I look back on that 30 minute period I was able to gain an appreciation for the rage that is in our world. For a while, I was angry, frustrated, and unable to control my emotion. Things settled back down and as we drove home Suzanne quietly said, "That wasn't a reason to be upset." She was right.

I rarely get there but it happens and it frightens me that somewhere inside me still lives some of that beast that used to roam so freely. Was it truly defeated? Am I carrying a remnant that lies dormant and will wake and wreck? Am I that guy in Alien that has the thing pop out of his stomach? Yuck.

Since then I've had other inconveniences that haven't pushed me to that point, so I hope that it was one of those weak human moments. I'm a total flesh bag---better than before but not perfect yet. That's what the walk is for, it's headed somewhere. Away from some things and toward others.

Are you digging me? Cause I sure am.

We hold a 'talkback' after performances of Going Home, the play I have a small part in with Morningstar Productions. It's a chance for the audience to give us some feedback, ask specific questions of the writer of the play (who does an amazing job as the Mom in the production), and express their opinions about this moving and emotional piece of work.

The other night someone asked about our levels of acting experience. As they went around the room I heard an impressive background of prior work and degrees in fine arts and theater.

Then it got to me.

"Total faker", I said to laughter.

It's true. In my previous life I was a chameleon. I had the ability to transform myself into whatever conditions warranted--and play out whatever role I needed to be. Thankfully, most of that disappeared when the Holy Spirit zapped into my heart that day in April of 2000.

Since I'm a big bag of flesh, I still find myself grappling with the temptation to fake it at times. When my automatic learned response to situations kicks in I have to take that important moment to just clear that junk away from my brain---and be the simple dumbstruck follower of Christ.

When I relinquish control of the situation and let the Holy Spirit be my guide, I can look out the window and enjoy the drive. I don't have to be anything except a simple grateful person who wants the light to shine OUT of me much more than having the light shine ON me.

In the play, I have the 2nd smallest part. I am far from the star---and I love that. Just like life, my tiny role contributes to the great work. It's the same with you. Your life might be hidden in a cubicle or out on a tractor in the middle of nowhere, but when the attention turns to you---what shines OUT of you is what is most important.

Death in a nursing home?

I'm having dinner tonight with a former missionary who was in the field with my pastor back in the day in Somalia. If you've seen Blackhawk Down, you've seen the kind of country they were in while doing medical missions. I've heard a few of the stories and they are mind-blowing.

He visits the area a couple times a year to plug into the men of my church. He's an elegant and gentle man who never fails to encourage us---a real delight when he is introduced at church with the invitation to connect with the guys. I saw his datebook and he's jammed with appointments. He's a golfer---and probably could be doing anything BUT spreading himself thin making trips north from his home in Florida. By all rights, he should be retired---golfing daily and shooting in the low 70's and then watching the sun set from a deck---but he's a tireless worker who just keeps going and going.

I've never been a retirement-focused person---that's not the destination for me. I always figured that if retirement was the only thing you thought and planned for---you'd arrive there wondering what the fuss was all about and why you squandered so much time thinking about it, plus (especially with me), we'd be old and creaky.

I'm not saying don't plan for it---that's a bad idea. But if the destination is greater than the journey, your intentions need a tune-up. We're in an era where retirees are having 2nd and 3rd careers and that's a lot more attractive to me than sitting on the deck and watching the squirrels eat your bird feed and waiting for the rerun of Murder She Wrote on cable.

I was in a morning bible study once with Marc Erickson and he said something that struck me so profoundly---I think about it all the time. I can't even recall the conversation, but at some point Marc said, "I'm not going to die in a nursing home." I chewed on that for weeks. What he meant was that he'd probably drop over on his umpteenth mission to Lebanon or Israel or back in Somalia---or, he'd be taken doing what he was set here on earth for; proclaiming the gospel. Marc is the kind of guy that if his car was pulled over at a checkpoint by extremists threatening death for Christians---his choice would be clear.

I started this blog by calling my dinner companion a former missionary. That was incorrect, he's a missionary now and will always be. We all should be. We're either heading toward God--or away--no matter what our state of age or employment is.

I don't want to die in a nursing home either.

Bruce and his rage

I knew Tuesday's job expo was going to be packed and it didn't surprise me when it became gridlocked 20 minutes after the start. There are a lot of people looking for work. Companies are downsizing, closing, and casting off employees. It's rough out there.

In the past 8 years, I've been out of work twice, once for 8 months, most recently for almost 4. I know the creeping worry one encounters when phone calls aren't returned, resumes disappear into black holes, and the doors remain closed and locked. There were times when I'd be driving somewhere and all of a sudden I'd look in the rear view mirror at myself and say "I don't have a job".

Bruce came by the JobNoggin.com booth about an hour into the expo. I asked if he'd seen the site and he told me he didn't have a computer. How about the library? No, it's always too crowded, was his reply. I asked him what kind of work he was looking for and he looked at me with a mixture of anger and frustration I haven't seen in a long, long time. No one calls back, there aren't any jobs anymore.

He was in manufacturing for 27 years. He sweated and toiled for companies and had been tossed on the scrap heap to fend for himself. It wasn't going well. He was scraping by on $9 an hour and was suffering the indignity of looking for work that, as he told it, didn't exist.

I know frustration and desperation but Bruce had the added component of a burning anger borne of rage against the machine that had let him down. For every suggestion I had, he had an angry answer. Still, he was there and he was looking. He hadn't got to the point where he stopped. Along with his resume, he brought a lot of anger to the expo.

I don't scare easily any more---but Bruce chilled me. This was the kind of rage that leads people to lash out in violence and perform horrific things. As I stood with him and looked over his messy resume that explained his professional life, I caught the faint scent of what it was like when I was out of work and the sound of the mail truck dropping off mail was the highlight of my day.

"What am I supposed to do?" he asked me.

"You keep going" I said. "You keep going and you pray".

That caught him. For a second he looked at me with different eyes but just as quickly his hard shell returned and he sniffed dismissively. I know what he was thinking---God has abandoned me and this idiot wants me to pray? Easy for him to say, he's got a job. Things were busy at that point and Bruce drifted away. I made my way around the booths and began scouting for him as well. Each time I bumped into him, I tipped him to positions he might be interested in. "Yeah, I talked to them" he'd say, "they say they'll call back...but they won't." "Bruce" I said, "I'm praying for you. I have been since we talked. There's work out there."

He looked at me like I was nuts--some religious nut giving him a quick pat on the back and an offer of prayer. Maybe he'd heard it all before, but I wasn't going to do that. He's been on my mind and in my prayers since then.

Oh, the hurt and rage in this world. We're not going to escape it, are we? We're going to hear it, feel it, see it, and experience it---but we are going to MEET IT with the knowledge that we are sustained in ways beyond our understanding on this side of heaven. For those of us who hit choppy waters, we've got that GPS (God Positioning Spirit) unit that can reorient us to the right direction even in the midst of the most violent storm.

If your boat is in a storm right now and you're exhausted and bailing and scared and angry--remember that He won't forsake you. It might seem that way, but it's never going to happen. The book of the Bible that Jesus quoted from the most is Deuteronomy and it's worth reading the 31st chapter today. Yes, God was speaking to the Israelites about a different matter---but the message is the same.

He will never forsake you.

It's season season. Going through 'one of those times'? It's a season.

I've really come to appreciate the seasons of life that we encounter. Not winter, spring, summer, and fall---but more the times when the conditions of our lives dictate that we enjoy, endure, suffer, or otherwise go through what God has designed for us.

When I did a morning show on the radio, it meant that I got up at 2am. I did that for 5 years and all the time I knew it was a season---I wouldn't be doing it forever (unfortunately, I would have liked to have enjoyed that season a little longer than I did, but it wasn't up to me). What exacted a toll on my body and our family life was tough then, but I look back on that season and miss it greatly.

When our sons were young, it was a season of little sleep, acute awareness of potential toddling destruction, and the delight of awakening young minds. It was hard, but when I look back on those days it is with great fondness.

My two bouts, or seasons, of unemployment were both worrisome and wonderful. It wasn't great but with the perspective gained by placing my trust in God I can look back on that time as one of growth and delight in what came out of it.

Transitioning out of radio and into a different field of media was/is quite awkward and painful at times. I'm used to being semi-decent at what I do and as I flailed/flail about in my new role gaining a little more knowledge and experience every day, I know that I will look back on this time as a season of growth.

I was at a seminar once where Carl Perkins spoke. Carl's most famous work was 'Blue Suede Shoes' but his career was far more than that. He was a pioneer of rockabilly---someone who blended the fledgling genre of rock and roll with country--and he had an amazing career. He was speaking to musicians and they hung on every word. He concluded by speaking of rivers. Rivers can be wide or narrow, fast or slow---but what gives a river character are the rocks in that river. With no rocks, the rivers run fast and the water is unbroken. But when the rocks are present---music is made. He asked the crowd to celebrate the rocks that have been placed in their lives---because they make the music.

God places circumstances in our lives that we don't ask for. Conditions aren't ideal, we're not prepared---but we get through these seasons with His guidance. Celebrate the seasons that we encounter---they color our lives, they temper our spirit, they give us perspective. Not all seasons are wonderful but all seasons are engineered by God.

And He'll explain it all someday.

Catch a wave

It doesn't happen as much anymore, but I fall into bus stop syndrome (BSS) with prayer at times. BSS is where you begin to pray---and expect the answer to show up when you expect it.

I'd make my coffee, read my scripture, go over my devotions, and then get to prayer. Then, I'd get edgy and open my eyes and look up the road looking for that bus (God) which is supposed to be on time and when I expect it. I'm mean, I'm here...I'm doing prayer...where the heck is everyone?

Well, He's there but He's quite aware of my little BSS heart. Prayer isn't Santa's lap where we clamber up and recite all the things we want because we've been good. Prayer is that better-than-DSL connection that is always available, always ready, and always a good thing....and I find myself not appreciating it fully.

Here's another metaphor. I don't surf, but I know how it works. Surfers paddle out to the waves---looking and hoping and expecting the right one to roll in. I think prayer is like surfing---we have to get out in the water and find the wave we'll surf. After we arrive back at the beach we need to get out there again.

I'll get to prayer and go through the motions. That's wave #1. When I refocus and get back out for the 2nd wave, that's when I start to get going. My prayer is less me, it's more intercessory where I'm praying for something besides a winning lottery number or flatter abs. When I get out to the 3rd wave, I'm in the groove. By then I've dropped all BSS and I'm really getting to direct and honest communication with God.

The rest of the waves are amazing. Bigger than I expected, more full and powerful and found only by getting back out and really getting serious about my prayer surfing.

The danger is my wandering mind. Wave 4 might produce a good blog concept and I'm apt to end it---exit the beach---and head to the computer. I have to fight that. I want to get to the spot where the wind is whistling where my hair was, I'm feeling the force and energy of the waves, and my patience and discipline pays off.

Make sense?

Happy Trails to you

I like to think I have a little cowboy in me. When my grandfather immigrated to the United States from Norway at 16, he did what all Scandinavians did---he went west. He and some of his brothers homesteaded in Montana where the family ranch remains. My dad grew up in the small town of Malta, Montana and spent his summers out on the ranch doing all the stuff cowboys do---riding, branding, haying, and spitting.

I love the painting above. It's called 'Cowboy Revival'. When I look at it, I wonder about the 3 riders. Did they come upon that revival tent and are they headed in? Or, are they skeptical about what is happening inside and are going to watch before making their decision? They're not in motion, they're just sitting---definitely within earshot of the music and preaching inside. It's raining and they would probably appreciate something a bit drier.

I see a lot as usher at church. There are the get-there-early-to-prepare-for-worship-folks, I see the joy of friends greeting each other. I see people just barely making it in time for the gathering song---and the harried parents toting babies, car seats, and diaper bags coming in well after the service has started. There's always a great collision at Eastbrook as it's a place where people hang out after the service and chat with friends, one service has ended and another is starting and there are currents of people heading both directions.

Then I see the people who aren't quite sure about it all. They don't want to be noticed, they want to glide in and sit near the back for the quick exit. If they come in late when it's crowded, I seat them and I can tell that they're uncomfortable if I put them in with others in a row. After service, they're out the door in a flash. I can relate to them.

Before I was saved, I was like a cat over a sink in church. I knew I didn't belong, I was there because I got dragged along by a girlfriend or it was Christmas or Easter. As a week-old Christian, I went along with a friend to church and KNEW in ten minutes that it was the place I'd been longing for.

If you're out in the rain, come inside the tent. Sit at the back, it's not a big deal. If you have to leave afterwards--that's cool---just come back again. Sooner or later, you'll see someone who will give you a nod or ask you how you're doing. You'll see people like you--and people who are very different from you.

If you're looking for the perfect tent though---you won't find it. They're all a bit leaky at times and someone will rub you the wrong way. They're gloriously imperfect shelters from the rain and it's time to spur the horse and head toward the music, the lights, and what is coming from the front.

Light and darkness

I recently overheard someone say, "it's really hard to be a Christian nowadays." Many of the people nearby nodded their heads in agreement.

With all due respect, I must disagree. I think it's never been easier because of the razor sharp contrasts between what we experience in the world and what we know God expects. Maybe those are the rough edges that led to that statement, but for me---it clarifies and crystallizes in a powerful and easy to understand way.

By easy, I don't mean we aren't encountering our share of nicks and bruises, slights and affronts. There are plenty of those things. I mean the difference between good and evil nowadays makes it very easy for me to pick my path.

Some people describe their coming to faith like the slow unfolding of a flower. Not me, I had a road to Damascus experience not unlike a 2 x 4 upside the head. It's what I needed as I was far too lost to learn subtly. Lost in darkness, messed up beyond belief, I cried out and received--in less than an instant--an indwelling spirit that helped guide me out of that pit.

So, as I come across the crap on TV at night when I am sorting laundry---or the junk on the Internet while surfing--or during my search up and down the radio dial for something intelligent---I am presented with the constant reminder of what my life was---what the world is---and why the choice is so very, very clear.

There's a lot of talk about voting early this election. I already did--8 years ago with my knees. I'm just waiting for that final inauguration.

You loved a funeral?

I think it's dangerous to describe worship like it's some sort of entertainment event. I used to fall into that; measuring the impact of the music, the strength of the words spoken in the sermon, the energy of the congregation. Therefore, I hesitate slightly when I tell you that I attended the most amazing funeral this weekend.

It was 2 1/2 hours that could have gone 2 1/2 days as far as I was concerned. Tears, laughter, joy---and crushing grief. Ed's best friend, James T. Harris alternated between joy and sorrow as he guided us all along a path of celebration and remembrance. I absorbed a message delivered by our pastor that is first-ballot hall of fame. Ed's two sons spoke truth and love in the midst of tragedy. A parade of friends offered remembrances, each one as good as the next.

How do we get one of those?

I think I know. Ed loved and got loved back. While he is in the midst of a chorus of 'Well done good and faithful servant'---his family is grappling with their life after which will never be the same. They're at the epicenter of depths of grief, something we all go through when someone passes---but I know that they're buoyed by the knowledge that he is in the ultimate destination.

The real grief is in households where someone wakes up today after a different kind of funeral this weekend. The kind where the digging out of the junk of the deceased discovers deeper and deeper pockets of junk and filth and brokenness. No doubt, there was a scramble to even find a place to hold a funeral---certainly not at a church where the deceased was even known. No, these funerals are awkward, strange, uncomfortable, and people can't wait to get out of there and back to their lives of quiet desperation. Please, don't confront us with the inevitable.

Ed's funeral made us face that inevitable day---and for the joyous in the crowd, we can agree that we can hardly wait. Gonna take a little work---gonna take a little planning---but step number one is pretty easy.

Love.

The tomb

There's a large locker room at work that I'm able to use on my bike commuting days. It's nice, a leftover from the time when the newspaper presses ran right at our building. There are hundreds of lockers and showers happy to provide hot water--something that feels great after a ride to work in wind chills hovering in the mid teens.

I was given locker 6258---a good one. I can store my cycling clothes, there's a little shelf for my helmet, and a hook where I hang my wind shell. I noticed a couple weeks ago that I could probably mount another hook or two---if I could get into one of the lockers on either side of me. I emailed the building guy who gave me the combination of the 'empty' locker next to mine.

It wasn't empty. It was full of someone's stuff. As best as I can figure, the guy last used the locker in 1993. There are clothes, papers, some pictures, business cards, a comb. It was like finding a tomb. A shiver went up my back as I poked around. It was like the guy disappeared. Did he die? Was he fired? Why did he leave all his stuff? He obviously didn't need or want any of that stuff.

Stuff. We all have stuff. George Carlin had a great bit about our stuff---how we get stuff, want more stuff, need a place to store our stuff. He was so right.

Hopefully, we get to the point where our stuff doesn't matter. A tornado descends on our subdivision, a flood encroaches, a disease strikes. All of sudden, that stuff doesn't matter any more. As I think of our basement full of our stuff---I wonder what the reaction would be if someone went through my stuff some day. Old pictures of mountain biking trips, a manual from a long dead video camera, hard drives and DVD burners from long gone computers. Stuff. Junk. What's the difference?

I want to glean my stuff---it needs to go away. What I want to remain is substance. What I want to remain is impact. What I want to remain is legacy.

He who has the most toys doesn't win. Far from it.

My F word. Failure.

He drank himself to death. I'd seen him a couple months ago and his eyes were yellow--a sign of a deteriorating liver. There was a little talk about how sick he was and that he didn't have long. I didn't know him well--but enough so that I could have a conversation--and when I heard his illness was terminal, I made a mental note to get with him.

My goal was to hopefully erase some of the fear he probably had with leaving this world and heading to the next. I knew he was connected with a church and probably receiving counseling or guidance, so if he truly believed the message of salvation--he was good.

I obtained his number Thursday. I made plans to call on Friday.

On Friday, the guy who gave me his number emailed me. "He died this morning."

I failed. I had months to reach out to this guy and I let all my busyness get in the way. I had felt the urging of the Holy Spirit and I didn't act on it. I spent most of the day just slowing shaking my head, feeling disappointed, and being mad at myself.

The takeaway? For me, it means a whole lot more immediate action when I hear the whisper. I was trying to fit things into my schedule, my convenience, my life. Look what that accomplished.

A moment in the yard

It shouldn't be a surprise, but I am continually amazed at creation; from black holes to butterfly wings. There isn't a speck of anything on this planet that isn't beyond the understanding and design of God. Even ticks and mosquitos--a big mystery to me but part of His plan. Believe me, I plan on asking some day.

As our half of the hemisphere begins to tip away from the sun ushering in winter--even those of us who hate the cold have got to appreciate the delicate balance we enjoy on this planet that is just far enough from the sun. And if it helps, cold keeps those creepy crawlers at bay. A business acquaintance of mine just moved to Florida to escape the cold while admitting she hates spiders. Florida's great, but they grow big bugs there. She really didn't want to hear that.

I was doing what I hope is the last batch of yardwork for the fall yesterday, I hauled our now quite soft pumpkins and gourds to the back of our property where there is a small strip of thicker trees. As I plopped them on the ground, I took a look around at the now bare branches and noticed raw beauty. We have a woodpile that was assembled almost 15 years ago when we moved in and took down some willow trees--it used to be a jungle gym/fort for two little boys who are now more interested in Facebook and text messaging. It is slowly setting into the ground.

I planted three evergreen trees back there when the boys were little---they might have come up to my hip. Now, they tower into the sky. In the midst of stark weather and naked branches, God has given us trees that don't lose color. I stood between them for a bit before I headed back to our modest ranch house. As I walked toward the house, I gave thanks.

As we all shuffled off to bed last night---I thought of the evergreens again. My boys, now taller than me, were small like those trees---toddling and jabbering in diapers and innocence. Now, because of my wife and I feeding, watering, and watching over them---they hold the potential to tower into the sky as well as examples of fine young men.

Lord, thanks for including us in Your creation. We don't notice it enough---we wreck it---pollute it---complain about it. Yet You've given us everything we need just like You said You would. Thanks---thanks for the evergreens.

And the ticks.

The biggest sale of the season/year/weekend/lifetime

The GPS unit lists at $250---but on Black Friday after all the deals, discounts, and doorbusting, it was $80. $500 suits for $179? A laptop with wireless N, 4 gigs of RAM, and a monstrous hard drive only $499? Gotta get me some of that.

No. I don't. And I didn't venture out on Black Friday, the retailers traditional day where they finally get into the black ink (money making). This really is make or break for many stores--so they battle for bigger deals and open early---crazy early.

You probably saw the incident where a crowd trampled a security guard to death at a Wal-Mart. A pregnant woman lost her baby when she was run over by the throngs bursting through the doors in search of something, anything on sale.

I fall into this all the time but I've learned to fight it. I don't need another laptop, HD radio, mulching mower or food processor. I want all these things, but I don't need them---we have two computers, my table radio works just fine, the Toro is dusty but works great and we have knives to chop stuff up. It might be the austerity brought on by reduced income and two boys in private high school---or it might just be a touch of maturity that has gotten into me---or it might be me thinking about Paul chained up in prison requesting a cloak.

There he is, Paul--once Saul---approaching the end of his life. He's no longer under cushy house arrest in Rome--he's in a dungeon where he spends his days praying and thinking and writing just...one....more.....letter. All he wants is what he has. He has nothing and he has everything.

You know people who have everything and really have nothing, don't you? They can shop til this drop and still not find what they're looking for until the receive the most amazing gift ever---salvation.

And it's always free.

One night in Moab makes a hard man humble

A recent National Geographic had a cover article about darkness and why we need it. We've created so much light pollution that our skies are obscured and we only see a portion of what is above us in the night sky.

It's probably been 15 years since I glimpsed the Milky Way. I was in Moab, Utah visiting my parents who were working at Arches National Park. A group of us were mountain biking and I'd drive up to the campground to see my folks at night--it's about 18 miles from the tiny town to where my mom and dad were campground hosts.

It's really in the middle of nowhere. At one point, I pulled over to the side of the road and got out into total darkness. I looked heavenward and saw the unmistakable curtain of stars. Immediately, my little self-important world that encompassed the 10 feet around me was wrenched into sharp contrast to the unending space above me. I felt pretty small.

And pretty scared. As I stood there at the side of the road the darkness totally overwhelmed me and I imagined all sorts of creatures approaching, from wolves and wildebeests to one-armed psychopaths carrying axes. I got back in the vehicle and drove away.

Back then, darkness ruled my life and I reaped what I sowed. Stuff bugged me then, things scared me. I was pursued by the things of the world and if I stayed a step ahead of it all--I'd be OK. Eventually it caught up and trampled me. Good.

Oh, how I would love to be back in Utah. I'd drive out to the middle of nowhere and spend hours staring at the sky. No wolves, no wildebeests, no one-armed axe wielders. Just me and that creation yawning above me. I'd celebrate God who created it all and knows the name of every single star. I'd be put in my proper place---and Him in His. It would be awesome.

Stupid darkness. It has no power unless we allow it. If you are allowing it in your life, I urge you to flip the switch that will allow pure light to leap inside you and shine out of every pore of your body. Then you can stand in the darkness and know that you're so fully protected that you can enjoy what whirls above you in the night sky---cause the One who arranged that little show for you has you in the palm of His hand.

Black Holes and Butterfly Wings

German astronomers announced this week there is a whopper of a black hole in the middle of the Milky Way. It's 27,000 light years away, 4 million times larger than our sun, and has 28 suns orbiting it.

And it is spooking at least one radio reporter.

I caught the story on BBC's World Update. An astronomer involved with the project was explaining the 16 year study. It was fascinating. Using two telescopes in Chile, they were able to ascertain that this big ol' black hole is out there and gobbling stuff.

"Is it coming for us?" asked Dan Damon, the radio host.

I laughed out loud. The astronomer did too and assured him that, no, it's way too far away. The interview ended but not before the host summed it up and added "I find it rather nerve wracking."

I can imagine what he's thinking. Black holes consume space material---stars, comets, asteroids---anything that comes near it disappears with the efficiency of a Dyson vacuum cleaner. I'm sure he pictures it sucking us in as well--ending earth, his life, and all we know.

BBC guy found a new bogeyman. You know the bogeyman, right? He's the creature who pursues us and lurks in the darkness. Except, if you are a believer in God and have salvation in your heart---the bogeyman shouldn't scare you. BBC guy will wake up a night and think about the black hole---and while I don't know him, I'm going to assume he is not a man of faith.

When I wasn't a man of faith, my middle-of-the-night wakeups were awful. The junk in my life paraded across my ceiling and it usually ended when I came to the realization that I had to die someday. That freaked me out.

My old Fish Morning Show partner, Margo, has a saying that sums it up. I'll paraphrase, it's basically 'Let there be no rest until that rest is in God'. It's usually directed at someone who has a trail of bogeymen. She's right. When you are pursued by bogeymen, peace doesn't come easily--if at all.

God created black holes and butterfly wings---both, quite spectacularly. He knows what He's doing. Hang in there BBC guy. Find your rest in God and you'll wake up much more rested in the morning.

Psycho Killer, Qu'est-ce que c'est?

I sat on this blog for the better part of the day as I thought it was a little gloomy and the point of writing is to encourage you--not discourage. But the subject hasn't left my mind and I am just going to publish and see what you think.
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I'm still trying to wrap my brain around this guy in California who flipped out and killed 10 people including himself. Fresh from a divorce, unemployed, desperate---rage and evil drove him to commit an act that, according to his neighbors and acquaintances, was totally unexpected. Companies, institutions, economies--and now people are failing in spectacular fashion.


In the end, it seemed that all Bruce Pardo had was neighbors and acquaintances---no friends. The owner of the coffee shop he'd frequent was interviewed as were the next door neighbors, a former roommate, and some high school classmates. As police and news reporters unwind his history no one is coming forward as a friend.


My pastor touches on this often. "(He/She) needs a friend." Imagine the impact of a friend for Bruce as his life began to crumble. I can't comment on the marriage, perhaps it was doomed from the start---even more reason to have a friend who could ask, "are you sure?" When Bruce felt the need to buy the Hummer and the Escalade--a strong buddy could have helped steer him back to reality---and common sense.


I know it's much more complex than this--I'm oversimplifying the issue--but my point is that this guy was alone. It appears he lived and died that way. We can't be super-people, sniffing out the troubled and the angry---swooping in to fix the mess. But, out of the 300 million + people in this country, wasn't someone involved enough in his life to pick up the phone or stop by the house just to listen?

The tension is building in our country--we all need to be better friends.

Don't choke the dinner guest

I'm still a little riled about an after dinner conversation last night with a dear family friend. First off, this guy is way, way smarter than I am. He's a Doctor of something-or-other involved with Politics and Religion and a professor at a fairly prestigious University in England. Raised in this area, he's lived overseas for much of his life and has developed the usual slightly jaundiced eye towards America. Can't say I blame him all that much for that.

We got into it when he opined that 'the Evangelicals' in America have sorely missed their responsibility for social justice; ending hunger, war, disease, etc. Long story, but he believes that politics and religion mix. I couldn't be farther from that opinion. For the record, he's a nominal Catholic, I'm born-again non-denominational.

I don't want my pastor to tell me how to vote---the church is NOT a place to dictate political policy. I can understand why my friend believes this--it's his whole being. He is so far up the ivory tower he needs oxygen. It's quite easy to pontificate at lectures in England and seminars in Italy and in the pages of books.

I flummoxed him when I asked what was going to matter to him in 200 years. He looked at me and shook his head. I chased him around on it for a bit and he finally sputtered, "Well, I hope that I'm...." He never finished the sentence.

He isn't sure.

I am.

Christians aren't going to 'be' a political party. We're not going to form something that is going to rid the world of hunger, war, strife, and disease. We can't. The problem is too big and frankly, in my humble opinion, we don't have the time. The clock is ticking.

So in the meantime we need to do it one-by-one, person-to-person, case-by-case. I'm talking about the neighbor, the co-worker, the son or daughter, the people we come in contact with who are broken and hurting and in need of the gospel message. They don't need religion, they need to hear about Jesus Christ in the right way---not with screaming and yelling and condemning and finger wagging.

Stroll up and down the cable channels and you'll see examples galore of ways to push people AWAY from faith. Walk up and down the streets of New Orleans and you'll find examples galore of people who were touched by people being the hands and feet of Christ.

For every narrow minded Pharisee howling about an company offering benefits to the gay couples there is that humble and quiet servant who is knitting a prayer shawl and extending a kind hand and word.

Politics? I happily ignore it all.

Religion? No thanks.

Faith? I'll take it.

Rapids, Snakes, Broken bones. I loved it.

I was poking through my journal the other day and discovered it was a year ago this week that we discovered we'd be losing our jobs at The Fish. It's been quite a year since then. A bout of unemployment, a career transition, and a new economic reality have made these last 12 months a time that I would just as soon forget.

Or would I?

I'm not a fan of canoeing---especially going through rapids. Too unpredictable and the consequences (dumping in the river) aren't very enjoyable. I look at these last 12 months as shooting the rapids. Life is like that river---one minute you're paddling along nicely enjoying the water and admiring the scenery---then the sound of roaring rapids reaches your ears and you know you're in for a bumpy--and possibly--wet ride.

Years back when I was on an Outward Bound expedition, our little band of smelly backpackers reached the river for our canoe portion. We loaded up and paddled on. My partner and I probably made the first set of rapids just fine, but we dumped our canoe soon after. A bunch of us did, in fact, one guy broke his tailbone slamming into a rock. Later, we dumped again and we came close to drowning (that's another story for another time). This wasn't long after the guides told us not to get too close to the branches overhanging the river as cottonmouth water moccasins could occasionally drop into the canoes. Fun.

Crappy experience, right? Yes---but it's one of my sharper memories of that trip. I remember that feeling of the canoe going over and that water soaking me. But what I remember more clearly is our response to that semi-crisis. We banded together. We helped each other. We got through it.

I've written about this before but it bears repeating. We hit bumpy roads and rocky times but these things are no surprise to the one who ordains our comings and goings. It's not breaking news to God when we hit these patches. He's got it figured out. We need to take these rattles and shakes and falls and collisions as a hard-to-understand but wonderful-to-behold path that He has placed us on.

Jesus knew it. It's a hair out of context, but in John 16:33 He says, "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."

We're in the rapids right now. If we're going to get wet, let's get wet. Someone will be there to help.

And, if anything---getting in that river cleaned a little of the trail grime off us. We were a lot less stinky after the river.

Just enough

I'm writing with a wool blanket slung over my shoulders. It's just after 6am and our set-back thermostat has finally decided to raise the temperature past the 60 degree overnight mark. The first 90 minutes of my day has been a trifle chilly.

I've been up since 430am. A ratty little sore throat started Thursday night crawled into Friday and is still bugging me this morning. The accompanying fever was knocked back a bit by some Ibuprofen---I've got coffee in me--and I'm fresh out of my morning quiet time.

And I'm buoyed by overwhelming gratitude at having just enough.

In nature, forest fires are destructive but necessary. Perhaps the blaze we're attempting to control is needed to finally deliver the message to our society that stuff ain't it. We've become so greedy and needy that we'll do just about anything to soothe our personal pains with the bigger car/house/boat/vacation/vice. And it doesn't work.

This came to me the other night after dinner. There was homework to be done, laundry to be folded, dishes to be washed---yet we stayed at the table and talked about everything under the sun. It was one of those wonderful family moments that are rare and need to be cherished. As our boys discussed everything in particular and nothing in general---all with laughter, Suzanne and I met eyes and exchanged one of those special parental looks. Immediately, tears came to my eyes.

I had just enough. There, in our little kitchen in our little house with the setback thermostat that would shut off heat overnight---I had joy you can't buy. I still had to do laundry, empty wastebaskets, and see to-do lists that weren't complete. But in the midst of God's plan for me was the realization that I was enjoying a great and wonderful gift.

Just enough.

Let's get back there. Let's get back to the place where simple outweighs extravagance, where genuine counts more than manufactured, where a sunset is prettier than a flat screen TV. Let's get back to where just enough is everything we need.

Another funeral, more joy.

Patty's funeral is today. I can't get away so I attended the wake last night. Packed. I had to park a couple blocks away and found the funeral home jammed to the gills with mourners queued in a line that snaked like one at Disneyworld.

Class of '79, a year younger than me. 4 kids. A great husband. A long battle with cancer. A triumphant release into heaven. Couldn't ask for more.

Or could we?

Sure. Why couldn't she have become a grandmother and enjoyed retirement with Dave at the lake? Why does there need to be that gaping hole in the family that won't be patched? Why did Patty fall victim to disease when any number of scoundrels walk the planet?

I think it goes to our very subtle, very human lack of trust in what God is up to with our lives. We'd like to peek at the end of the story and make sure that it's a happy ending where evil is defeated and good things happen to people. We really don't know what He is up to in all this. But how many times have we read that unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground it won't produce more seeds to begin new life.

The lines had to untangle at 6pm for the prayer service last night. We all wedged ourselves into the reception area where a pastor spoke honesty, truth, and love about Patty. It wasn't one of those "oh, she's looking down on us" or "I'm sure Grandpa is golfing in heaven right now" kinds of make-you-feel-better-but-you-know-it's-not-true time fillers---this was real and true and painful and joyous.

This was the joyous kind of experience to have at the end of an otherwise too-short earthly life. I tell you this--I'd rather have one of these at 48 than one where I live to be 90 and have 15 people I barely knew show up and then vamoose as soon as it's over. I've been to 3 funerals in the past year---66% have been joyous.

OK, I'll admit something. I peeked at the end of the story. We win.

Death where is thy sting?

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.

The most successful social network of all time

The explosion of what is called social media fascinates me. You've heard of Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, MySpace---they're all social media vehicles, little technological introducers and connectors. Interesting stuff and quite the darling nowadays. You can't open a paper or see a newscast without some mention of social media--and with the coverage social media receives, you'd think that everyone is involved.

As much as I enjoy today's social networking, I have to say that I'm a fan of the old school---meeting, talking, and being with real people. A friend approached me at church recently and asked how I was. He was aware of the tender state my industry is in and the cutbacks and layoffs my company has endured. Then, he did the beauty of all social network activities---at least for Christians---he grabbed me, bowed his head, and prayed for me on the spot. So many times we hear, "our thoughts and prayers are with them" and most of the time that is a throwaway phrase. Not that morning.

Let's give some props this week to the most successful social network of all time. The one founded by that one guy who enlisted 12 friends to get it all going. They lost some members along the way, but it doubled, tripled, and quadrupled in size. The founder left but stayed in contact---it ran into many, many threats, it was distorted and ran off the tracks a couple times, it was highjacked and threatened, it split into different versions--but lo and behold after all these years, we still celebrate the founding and the triumph of a network that isn't a flash in the pan, isn't going to be yesterday's flirtation, and will be around long after the last tweet has Twittered.

This coming Easter weekend is THE weekend, folks. It ain't braggin' if you can do it---and He did it.

Woot!