My experience at my part-time job has inspired me to start a new blog. This one is called Dirty Movies (http://www.dirtymoviecritic.blogspot.com/). The purpose of this blog isn't so much as to rate current movie releases as it is to describe how filthy the movie-goers leave the auditorium.
The first post is dated 2010, so you'll have to click on 2007 (and eventually 2008) to view the reviews of each movie. Check it out and let me know what you think.
Old Photos
(I don't know how to post photos here so I hope you can follow along.)
This past weekend I was looking through some of my old photographs. There was my baby picture that my grandfather had managed to mount and frame inside an old cough syrup bottle. I'm still not sure how he managed that unless he was really good at cutting and glueing glass. They hadn't invented Super Glue back then.
There were the annual school photos, including the obligatory cute pose with me resting my chin in my palms and trying to force a smile. There was a picture of me in my tux standing in front of my first car on the day of my senior prom. I went stag. Another picture showed me with this girl from church. She had a beehive hairdoo. Everyone in church weas trying to hook us up because she was a 'good Christian girl', but I was more interested in her bad sister. The beehive girl became a hair stylist, the bad sister dropped out of school - I don't remember either of their names. My senior picture was the worst photo ever taken of me, where I had this awful haircut intended to imitate the Beatles - except mine was too thin and limp and cropped too high. Looked more like a bowl cut.
In a lot of these photos I was smiling and seemed to be enjoying myself. Those must have been happy times, growing up with no cares except my shyness when it came to girls. The thing is - I don't remember having those pictures taken. I mean, aren't photos supposed to remind us of something?
What I couldn't find are pictures of things I actually remember; like the expression on my face when I found out Santa Claus wasn't real and that my parents had been lying to me about Santa and the Easter Bunny, and Bloody Bones (a monster that came after naughty children). There was no picture from the day my dog, Buster, was hit by a car. There was no picture of my embarrassment when my parents dropped my younger brother and I off at my older brothers home and they had to cancel their plans to take in a movie. I didn't expect my brother to pay our way, even though kids could get a ticket, box of popcorn and a small Coke for twenty-five cents back then. I felt guilty for years about ruining their plans.
I wish I had a picture of the time my mother admonished me for asking for some toy they couldn't afford to buy me. She told me that my dad worked hard to provide for a roof over our heads and the food we ate; and that he could have bought the cheap, one-ply scratchy toilet paper rather than the two-ply soft kind, so we should learn to be thankful for what we did have. That was the day that a light-bulb went off and I realized that it wasn't all Happy Days and that adults didn't have fun because they were always worried about how they were going to take care of their kids.
There was no picture of me sneaking into the living room when I was seven to check on my grandfather where he lay in his coffin. It was spooky having a dead guy in the room next to mine. Papa was 92, and he died while working in the garden. Neither was there a picture of a bunch of us kids freaking out the evening of his funeral when we thought we saw an image of a skull in the lampshade in Papa's bedroom.
I wish I had a picture of that lion I saw in the sky one afternoon while shelling butterbeans on the back porch with my mother and Papa. Actually it was just the face of a lion, like that one on the MGM logo. I would have shrugged it off as the imaginations of a bored child with sore fingers, but my mother would years later confirm that we really saw a lion - in living color - in the sky that afternoon. She said it was Jesus. I think it was Asland.
I'd like to have had a super telephoto lens and have captured the UFO that a group of us soldiers saw high in the sky over Fort Bragg one night. The UFO was flanked by two aircraft. They had the typical red and green colored lights on each wing but the UFO was bright white. It played with the aircraft for awhile, then it sped away at almost warp speed. You could see the two aircraft try to catch up to the UFO but there was no contest. The government disavowed any knowledge of a UFO or military flights above Fort Bragg that night but about 40 of us know what we saw.
Although I don't have pictures of any of my children being born, I was there when they were. It's probably for the better; other people probably wouldn't be too impressed by the slimy, red-flushed babies with mouths opened in their first of many screams; and my wives wouldn't be too keen on people seeing them in such vulnerable and awkward positions.
I have pictures of my wedding days in a box somewhere, but I seldom take those out to look at. What I don't have are the photos where we argued and said things that led to the point where we realized our marriage was over. In retrospect, I don't want to relive those memories. I wish I had did pictures of the moments we fell in love. If I had those perhaps I wouldn't have memories of the divorces.
Still, why do we have pictures of things we can't remember; or where we have to describe what's going on to people who wondered why we wasted film on that picture? We ought to have the presence of mind to take photos of the life-changing moments that shaped our history and our legacy. Forgotten and forced smiles are a sad substitution for our moments of victory, or our shame, our guilt, our love or our moments of growth.
This past weekend I was looking through some of my old photographs. There was my baby picture that my grandfather had managed to mount and frame inside an old cough syrup bottle. I'm still not sure how he managed that unless he was really good at cutting and glueing glass. They hadn't invented Super Glue back then.
There were the annual school photos, including the obligatory cute pose with me resting my chin in my palms and trying to force a smile. There was a picture of me in my tux standing in front of my first car on the day of my senior prom. I went stag. Another picture showed me with this girl from church. She had a beehive hairdoo. Everyone in church weas trying to hook us up because she was a 'good Christian girl', but I was more interested in her bad sister. The beehive girl became a hair stylist, the bad sister dropped out of school - I don't remember either of their names. My senior picture was the worst photo ever taken of me, where I had this awful haircut intended to imitate the Beatles - except mine was too thin and limp and cropped too high. Looked more like a bowl cut.
In a lot of these photos I was smiling and seemed to be enjoying myself. Those must have been happy times, growing up with no cares except my shyness when it came to girls. The thing is - I don't remember having those pictures taken. I mean, aren't photos supposed to remind us of something?
What I couldn't find are pictures of things I actually remember; like the expression on my face when I found out Santa Claus wasn't real and that my parents had been lying to me about Santa and the Easter Bunny, and Bloody Bones (a monster that came after naughty children). There was no picture from the day my dog, Buster, was hit by a car. There was no picture of my embarrassment when my parents dropped my younger brother and I off at my older brothers home and they had to cancel their plans to take in a movie. I didn't expect my brother to pay our way, even though kids could get a ticket, box of popcorn and a small Coke for twenty-five cents back then. I felt guilty for years about ruining their plans.
I wish I had a picture of the time my mother admonished me for asking for some toy they couldn't afford to buy me. She told me that my dad worked hard to provide for a roof over our heads and the food we ate; and that he could have bought the cheap, one-ply scratchy toilet paper rather than the two-ply soft kind, so we should learn to be thankful for what we did have. That was the day that a light-bulb went off and I realized that it wasn't all Happy Days and that adults didn't have fun because they were always worried about how they were going to take care of their kids.
There was no picture of me sneaking into the living room when I was seven to check on my grandfather where he lay in his coffin. It was spooky having a dead guy in the room next to mine. Papa was 92, and he died while working in the garden. Neither was there a picture of a bunch of us kids freaking out the evening of his funeral when we thought we saw an image of a skull in the lampshade in Papa's bedroom.
I wish I had a picture of that lion I saw in the sky one afternoon while shelling butterbeans on the back porch with my mother and Papa. Actually it was just the face of a lion, like that one on the MGM logo. I would have shrugged it off as the imaginations of a bored child with sore fingers, but my mother would years later confirm that we really saw a lion - in living color - in the sky that afternoon. She said it was Jesus. I think it was Asland.
I'd like to have had a super telephoto lens and have captured the UFO that a group of us soldiers saw high in the sky over Fort Bragg one night. The UFO was flanked by two aircraft. They had the typical red and green colored lights on each wing but the UFO was bright white. It played with the aircraft for awhile, then it sped away at almost warp speed. You could see the two aircraft try to catch up to the UFO but there was no contest. The government disavowed any knowledge of a UFO or military flights above Fort Bragg that night but about 40 of us know what we saw.
Although I don't have pictures of any of my children being born, I was there when they were. It's probably for the better; other people probably wouldn't be too impressed by the slimy, red-flushed babies with mouths opened in their first of many screams; and my wives wouldn't be too keen on people seeing them in such vulnerable and awkward positions.
I have pictures of my wedding days in a box somewhere, but I seldom take those out to look at. What I don't have are the photos where we argued and said things that led to the point where we realized our marriage was over. In retrospect, I don't want to relive those memories. I wish I had did pictures of the moments we fell in love. If I had those perhaps I wouldn't have memories of the divorces.
Still, why do we have pictures of things we can't remember; or where we have to describe what's going on to people who wondered why we wasted film on that picture? We ought to have the presence of mind to take photos of the life-changing moments that shaped our history and our legacy. Forgotten and forced smiles are a sad substitution for our moments of victory, or our shame, our guilt, our love or our moments of growth.
OK, Who's Been Talking?
The day's not over yet, but so far I've received 43 emails concerning the size of my penis and how the world would be happier if it were larger. So would I, but how did all these people find out about me? I'm not on par with the likes of Magic Johnson or a rock star, heck I' m not even on par with some priests. I don't work out in health clubs, don't go skinny-dipping in Golden Pond (it's a brown puddle now), nor do I hang out in parks and flash female joggers. I have neither wife nor girlfriend nor prostitute with a memory long enough (excuse the pun) to remember the last time it was used for anything more than relieving my bladder - so who snuck a spy cam into my bathroom?
You have to understand, 43 emails doesn't sound like many, but I get these every day. It's really starting to affect my self-image. By now people in Russia know about my inadequacies and are emailing me in Cyrillic. Darrel Vinson even claimed that the reason I'm not successful is because of my small size. "Good day Larry -Its the size of one's penis that determines success. Darrel Vinsonhttp://jumt.parloe.com/?qkoe". (I wouldn't click on that link if I were you. )
People I've never met are concerned I'm not pleasing a woman I don't even have. Some of them want to sell me creams and others offer pills. They all offer guarantees that their products work or my money back, but what if I have to send before and after pictures to prove my claim? And if their products worked, why hasn't 60 Minutes done a special report on the subject? I would think that there are millions of guys who aren't satisfied with the size of their ding-dong (or ding-ding in my case). This would be great news. Sales would rocket, stocks would soar more than one to three inches in length and 1 and a half inches in girth.
I checked with Snopes to see if these emails are a scam, but Snopes doesn't have any information. I did a search on Ask.com and got a whole slew of commercial sites but practically nothing from a medical perspective. Still, I'm a bit skeptical. Politicians make promises all the time they can't keep, so do those cosmetic companies and beer brewers and car manufacturers. They all promise I'll look sexier wearing, drinking, or sitting in their products.
I think I'm going to put off ordering any of those creams or pills until I actually have a purpose for using them. It would be a shame to grow a massive phallus but have no one to show it off to. I'll bet those same people who are so concerned about my size now won't say a word once it's dragging the ground. I wish they'd just leave me alone so I can sort through the other 700 emails from people who know how broke or uneducated I am.
You have to understand, 43 emails doesn't sound like many, but I get these every day. It's really starting to affect my self-image. By now people in Russia know about my inadequacies and are emailing me in Cyrillic. Darrel Vinson even claimed that the reason I'm not successful is because of my small size. "Good day Larry -Its the size of one's penis that determines success. Darrel Vinsonhttp://jumt.parloe.com/?qkoe". (I wouldn't click on that link if I were you. )
People I've never met are concerned I'm not pleasing a woman I don't even have. Some of them want to sell me creams and others offer pills. They all offer guarantees that their products work or my money back, but what if I have to send before and after pictures to prove my claim? And if their products worked, why hasn't 60 Minutes done a special report on the subject? I would think that there are millions of guys who aren't satisfied with the size of their ding-dong (or ding-ding in my case). This would be great news. Sales would rocket, stocks would soar more than one to three inches in length and 1 and a half inches in girth.
I checked with Snopes to see if these emails are a scam, but Snopes doesn't have any information. I did a search on Ask.com and got a whole slew of commercial sites but practically nothing from a medical perspective. Still, I'm a bit skeptical. Politicians make promises all the time they can't keep, so do those cosmetic companies and beer brewers and car manufacturers. They all promise I'll look sexier wearing, drinking, or sitting in their products.
I think I'm going to put off ordering any of those creams or pills until I actually have a purpose for using them. It would be a shame to grow a massive phallus but have no one to show it off to. I'll bet those same people who are so concerned about my size now won't say a word once it's dragging the ground. I wish they'd just leave me alone so I can sort through the other 700 emails from people who know how broke or uneducated I am.
Time To Revise Victory Over Debt
I recently received my annual social security statement and I think it's time that I revised my book, "Victory Over Debt" (copies of which are still available for $30.00 - a shameless plug, but I need the money).
I've worked almost continuously since my 16th birthday paying into my social security savings account. According to my statement, if I were to retire at age 66, I would receive about $1388 per month; only $1040 per month if I begin collecting at age 62; and as much as $1837 per month if I'll wait until I'm 70 to retire.
Although the Social Security Administration promises I'll earn about $1388 per month in retirement, consider this: If every baby boomer, 75 million of us, were to be paid only $1,000 per month in social security benefits, that would equal $75 billion per month. This is equal to one Hurricane Katrina or the Iraq War - but it would occur every month!
According to common retirement planning guidelines, we need to invest enough money in extra-social security accounts to pay us the difference between what we're currently earning and what social security would pay. If I'm earning $30K per year on my job now, and my social security pays $16.6K, then my investments in 401K/IRAs need to produce the difference of $13.4K annually. For me at this point, I'd need to invest 80% of my salary to generate this much income. What most of us in the middle class don't realize is that the 401K program wasn't designed for people like us; it was designed for rich CEOs who needed a way to protect their income from taxes. If we earn less than $180K per year, our 401ks and IRAs and social security combined are going to allow us to live the lifestyle we imagined for our retirement.
To make matters worse, my social security statement informed me that by 2017, they would be paying out more in benefits than they collect in taxes. By 2041 the Social Security Trust Fund would be exhausted and benefits would have to be reduced by at least 25%. In other research I learned that currently Social Security is in debt $10 Trillion, and that Medicare is in debt $62 Trillion! People talk about our national debt being over $7 trillion - that number is dwarfed by our entitlement programs.
In 2004, two economists, Kent Smetters and Jagadeesh Gokhale estimated that our government's obligations in entitlement programs to Americans equalled $72 trillion. This is greater than all the stocks on the global market (equals $36 trillion), and all the bonds on the global market (equals $31 trillion).
Another depressing fact is that in 2006, our trade deficit was $243 billion dollars. That means that we consumed $243 billion more than we produced. Want more? Although America enjoys the highest standard of living in the world, it's only because we're the greatest debtor nation in the world. In 2004, 44% of our national Treasury debt was owed to foreigners. I thought America was in trouble because we were loaning money to everyone else - but that's not the case! We're not only exporting jobs, we're exporting debt. And to make matters even worse, our government can't fix the problems because debt is a global problem.
We've entered into a time where the middle class is shrinking in our country. In the past we've had a few rich people at the top, a few poor people at the bottom, and the majority of our citizens in the middle. This is a healthy economy, and it's shaped like a diamond. With the shrinking middle class, we now reseamble an hour-glass. The rich are getting richer, and the poor are getting poorer. The problem is not something that throwing money at poverty is going to fix, according to millionaire Robert Kiyosaki and billionaire Donald Trump. The problem as they see it is that we're financially illiterate. We've not been taught how money works.
Depending on where you fall on the economic scale, you've learned different messages. If you fall in the poor category, you've been taught to rely on the government and entitlement programs. If you're in the middle class, you've been taught to work hard, live below your means, invest in 401ks and other investments in order not to lose, and you'll be able to play golf all you want when you retire. But if you're in the rich class you've been taught one thing - invest to win.
Trickle down economics works to a degree, but rich people have gotten richer because they understand how to invest. The rich invest in assets - things of real and lasting value. When asset prices increase, it makes assets more expensive, thus out of the reach of the poor and middle class. Rich people don't tie most of their money to stocks or bonds because these are subject to more volatility than hard assets like gold or real estate. If we had invested $1,000 into savings 10 years ago, that savings would only be worth $500 now because of inflation. If we'd invested $1,000 into four ounces of gold, it would be worth $2,500 today.
Donald Trump has said, "We could ask the rich to pay for everything, but would it solve the problem?" The answer is "No." We could require the government to raise taxes to pay our debt and fund entitlement programs, but the government is too slow and unwilling to do more than print more money and shove the responsibility for our unmanageable system onto future generations; or we can do what Trump and Kiyosaki suggest, and that's to learn to become rich so that we can take advantage of the tax laws, and determine whether we're going to be counted among the rich or the poor. I'm opting for the rich.
So, it's time to pull up my files from Victory Over Debt, update the information there and see if I can't sell enough to get me out of debt:) And perhaps enough to invest to win. The alternative is not only depressing, it's stupid.
I've worked almost continuously since my 16th birthday paying into my social security savings account. According to my statement, if I were to retire at age 66, I would receive about $1388 per month; only $1040 per month if I begin collecting at age 62; and as much as $1837 per month if I'll wait until I'm 70 to retire.
Although the Social Security Administration promises I'll earn about $1388 per month in retirement, consider this: If every baby boomer, 75 million of us, were to be paid only $1,000 per month in social security benefits, that would equal $75 billion per month. This is equal to one Hurricane Katrina or the Iraq War - but it would occur every month!
According to common retirement planning guidelines, we need to invest enough money in extra-social security accounts to pay us the difference between what we're currently earning and what social security would pay. If I'm earning $30K per year on my job now, and my social security pays $16.6K, then my investments in 401K/IRAs need to produce the difference of $13.4K annually. For me at this point, I'd need to invest 80% of my salary to generate this much income. What most of us in the middle class don't realize is that the 401K program wasn't designed for people like us; it was designed for rich CEOs who needed a way to protect their income from taxes. If we earn less than $180K per year, our 401ks and IRAs and social security combined are going to allow us to live the lifestyle we imagined for our retirement.
To make matters worse, my social security statement informed me that by 2017, they would be paying out more in benefits than they collect in taxes. By 2041 the Social Security Trust Fund would be exhausted and benefits would have to be reduced by at least 25%. In other research I learned that currently Social Security is in debt $10 Trillion, and that Medicare is in debt $62 Trillion! People talk about our national debt being over $7 trillion - that number is dwarfed by our entitlement programs.
In 2004, two economists, Kent Smetters and Jagadeesh Gokhale estimated that our government's obligations in entitlement programs to Americans equalled $72 trillion. This is greater than all the stocks on the global market (equals $36 trillion), and all the bonds on the global market (equals $31 trillion).
Another depressing fact is that in 2006, our trade deficit was $243 billion dollars. That means that we consumed $243 billion more than we produced. Want more? Although America enjoys the highest standard of living in the world, it's only because we're the greatest debtor nation in the world. In 2004, 44% of our national Treasury debt was owed to foreigners. I thought America was in trouble because we were loaning money to everyone else - but that's not the case! We're not only exporting jobs, we're exporting debt. And to make matters even worse, our government can't fix the problems because debt is a global problem.
We've entered into a time where the middle class is shrinking in our country. In the past we've had a few rich people at the top, a few poor people at the bottom, and the majority of our citizens in the middle. This is a healthy economy, and it's shaped like a diamond. With the shrinking middle class, we now reseamble an hour-glass. The rich are getting richer, and the poor are getting poorer. The problem is not something that throwing money at poverty is going to fix, according to millionaire Robert Kiyosaki and billionaire Donald Trump. The problem as they see it is that we're financially illiterate. We've not been taught how money works.
Depending on where you fall on the economic scale, you've learned different messages. If you fall in the poor category, you've been taught to rely on the government and entitlement programs. If you're in the middle class, you've been taught to work hard, live below your means, invest in 401ks and other investments in order not to lose, and you'll be able to play golf all you want when you retire. But if you're in the rich class you've been taught one thing - invest to win.
Trickle down economics works to a degree, but rich people have gotten richer because they understand how to invest. The rich invest in assets - things of real and lasting value. When asset prices increase, it makes assets more expensive, thus out of the reach of the poor and middle class. Rich people don't tie most of their money to stocks or bonds because these are subject to more volatility than hard assets like gold or real estate. If we had invested $1,000 into savings 10 years ago, that savings would only be worth $500 now because of inflation. If we'd invested $1,000 into four ounces of gold, it would be worth $2,500 today.
Donald Trump has said, "We could ask the rich to pay for everything, but would it solve the problem?" The answer is "No." We could require the government to raise taxes to pay our debt and fund entitlement programs, but the government is too slow and unwilling to do more than print more money and shove the responsibility for our unmanageable system onto future generations; or we can do what Trump and Kiyosaki suggest, and that's to learn to become rich so that we can take advantage of the tax laws, and determine whether we're going to be counted among the rich or the poor. I'm opting for the rich.
So, it's time to pull up my files from Victory Over Debt, update the information there and see if I can't sell enough to get me out of debt:) And perhaps enough to invest to win. The alternative is not only depressing, it's stupid.
Magic Fades
I remember back to that day in the second grade, shortly before Christmas, when a group of my classmates were telling each other what we wanted for Christmas. When it was my turn, I proudly proclaimed "Santa's bringing me a Lincoln Logs fort!" Hubert, an overweight bully, snorted, "Huh! You still believe in Santa Clause? What a baby!" Glancing around at the others, I quickly surmised that they were on Hubert's side. I might have been a slow student, but I wasn't stupid, so I immediately went into damage control and said, "Not me! My brother still believes, but I know Santa's not real....Everybody knows that." In a moment, my dream of Lincoln Logs, BB guns, and a bicycle evaporated, only to be replaced by the knowledge that my parents had lied to me about something so big! I mean, we're not talking about the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny here, we were talking about the Big Man himself! What? No Santa? Might as well be no Jesus either!
Eighteen months earlier, on the last day of my first year in the first grade, we were having a class party to celebrate the end of the school year. There were four of us boys - Mike, Red, Walter, and myself, who were not being promoted to the second grade the following year. In my case, the teacher wrote on my final report card that my mind was not on my studies and that I didn't even know my ABCs yet. I was bummed out, and dreaded having to show my mother that report card. While I was in the corner having a pity party with my other three failing friends, the rest of the class was whooping it up. They got so loud that the teacher said something that gave me hope, if only for a few minutes. She said, "If you children don't hold the noise down, I'm going to take your passing grade and give it to one of the boys who failed." Well, as you can imagine, the four of us perked up! We hoped that the class would continue to raise a ruckus so that we could get a get-out-of-the-first-grade-free card. I didn't care who she took it from, but I wanted one for myself. Regretfully, the class continue to raise hell, but no pass was coming our way.
Trudging home that day, I realized that those report cards had been prepared before the last day of school. What was already written down might as well have been in stone, because the teacher never had the intention, nor the authority, to take a passing grade from one student and give to another. That day I learned that teachers lie.
The summer after I finally did pass the first grade, my brother and I were outside working in our family garden. It was our job to follow our father, who was tilling a plot to plant potatoes and peanuts, and pick up any rocks or clumps of weeds that would prevent the seeds from growing. Bending down to pick up something white that didn't belong in the garden, I discovered a sea shell - some sort of mullusk shell - but I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that here was a sea shell and we were a couple hundred miles from the nearest ocean. Taking the shell to my father, I asked him what it was. My dad replied that it was left in our garden during the Great Flood of Noah's time. I thought it was cool to have a shell several thousand years old, but as there appeared to be a lot of them, I tossed it away and got back to work.
It was many years later that the subject of sea shells came up again. My brothers and our wives were sitting around the table talking to my mother about the house we grew up in, and the shameful condition the new owners had allowed it to become now. In place of our garden was a mass of weeds and half-grown trees, a snake-infested mess. I recalled finding those sea shells and mentioned the day when my our father told us where they came from. My mother, like Hubert, snorted and said, "Them shells came from oyster shuckings, and we threw them out there to help fertilize the garden." Now I had grown up by now, and I knew that anything that was thousands of years old should have been buried deeper than what a tiller could uncover, but it never dawned on me that my father would lie to me. Sure, he and Mama lied about Santa Claus, but about something from the Bible? What the hell!
Then, there was that afternoon we were sitting on our back porch shelling butter beans, and up in the sky there appeared the face of a lion - not a resemblance in the clouds, but a real live, technicolor face, of a lion roaring - just like that mascot for MGM. My grandfather was the first to see it and pointed it out. I looked up and there it was - big as day! My mother saw it too - or at least she said she did. I'm wondering now if I wasn't somehow hypnotized by some sort of auto-suggestion, into believing that a cloud was really a lion? A few years before she passed, Mama confirmed that it really happened, but how am I to really know? I mean, she lied about something important as Santa Claus!
I realized then that I'm a pretty gullible person. As a child, it was easy to believe in fairies and ghosts, animals that could talk, and aliens that possessed super powers. Eventually, over time, all those supernatural things were nothing more than stories to make children behave. There was no Santa, no Super Man, no "Do-Over-Life" card. And the people that I trusted the most? They are the ones who led me to believe in magic, even though they didn't believe themselves.
Maybe it was their way of paying back their parents when they found out for themselves that magic is nothing more than lies and misdirection. Perhaps they believed in the Almost Golden Rule - Do unto others what you've had done to you. In a real way, it's made me a cynical person. If my parents and teachers lie, what about those preachers? What if they're selling snake-oil to gullible people like myself just to pad their pockets ?
Faced with reality, I vowed not to lie to my kids. I taught them that Jesus was real and Santa was make-believe; Easter eggs come from Wal-Mart, not from a rabbit; comic book heros are a waste of time; and not to put too much faith in what their teachers say - especially if they are Liberals.
The thing is - I miss that time when you could lie in bed on Christmas Eve and swear you could hear reindeer on the roof. I miss having a teacher ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and telling me I could do anything I want if I worked hard enough for it. I miss pretending I'm John Wayne or Roy Rogers or James Bond. But some things I'm still not convinced aren't real: those monsters that hide in your closet, ET, and Elvis is alive.
Eighteen months earlier, on the last day of my first year in the first grade, we were having a class party to celebrate the end of the school year. There were four of us boys - Mike, Red, Walter, and myself, who were not being promoted to the second grade the following year. In my case, the teacher wrote on my final report card that my mind was not on my studies and that I didn't even know my ABCs yet. I was bummed out, and dreaded having to show my mother that report card. While I was in the corner having a pity party with my other three failing friends, the rest of the class was whooping it up. They got so loud that the teacher said something that gave me hope, if only for a few minutes. She said, "If you children don't hold the noise down, I'm going to take your passing grade and give it to one of the boys who failed." Well, as you can imagine, the four of us perked up! We hoped that the class would continue to raise a ruckus so that we could get a get-out-of-the-first-grade-free card. I didn't care who she took it from, but I wanted one for myself. Regretfully, the class continue to raise hell, but no pass was coming our way.
Trudging home that day, I realized that those report cards had been prepared before the last day of school. What was already written down might as well have been in stone, because the teacher never had the intention, nor the authority, to take a passing grade from one student and give to another. That day I learned that teachers lie.
The summer after I finally did pass the first grade, my brother and I were outside working in our family garden. It was our job to follow our father, who was tilling a plot to plant potatoes and peanuts, and pick up any rocks or clumps of weeds that would prevent the seeds from growing. Bending down to pick up something white that didn't belong in the garden, I discovered a sea shell - some sort of mullusk shell - but I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that here was a sea shell and we were a couple hundred miles from the nearest ocean. Taking the shell to my father, I asked him what it was. My dad replied that it was left in our garden during the Great Flood of Noah's time. I thought it was cool to have a shell several thousand years old, but as there appeared to be a lot of them, I tossed it away and got back to work.
It was many years later that the subject of sea shells came up again. My brothers and our wives were sitting around the table talking to my mother about the house we grew up in, and the shameful condition the new owners had allowed it to become now. In place of our garden was a mass of weeds and half-grown trees, a snake-infested mess. I recalled finding those sea shells and mentioned the day when my our father told us where they came from. My mother, like Hubert, snorted and said, "Them shells came from oyster shuckings, and we threw them out there to help fertilize the garden." Now I had grown up by now, and I knew that anything that was thousands of years old should have been buried deeper than what a tiller could uncover, but it never dawned on me that my father would lie to me. Sure, he and Mama lied about Santa Claus, but about something from the Bible? What the hell!
Then, there was that afternoon we were sitting on our back porch shelling butter beans, and up in the sky there appeared the face of a lion - not a resemblance in the clouds, but a real live, technicolor face, of a lion roaring - just like that mascot for MGM. My grandfather was the first to see it and pointed it out. I looked up and there it was - big as day! My mother saw it too - or at least she said she did. I'm wondering now if I wasn't somehow hypnotized by some sort of auto-suggestion, into believing that a cloud was really a lion? A few years before she passed, Mama confirmed that it really happened, but how am I to really know? I mean, she lied about something important as Santa Claus!
I realized then that I'm a pretty gullible person. As a child, it was easy to believe in fairies and ghosts, animals that could talk, and aliens that possessed super powers. Eventually, over time, all those supernatural things were nothing more than stories to make children behave. There was no Santa, no Super Man, no "Do-Over-Life" card. And the people that I trusted the most? They are the ones who led me to believe in magic, even though they didn't believe themselves.
Maybe it was their way of paying back their parents when they found out for themselves that magic is nothing more than lies and misdirection. Perhaps they believed in the Almost Golden Rule - Do unto others what you've had done to you. In a real way, it's made me a cynical person. If my parents and teachers lie, what about those preachers? What if they're selling snake-oil to gullible people like myself just to pad their pockets ?
Faced with reality, I vowed not to lie to my kids. I taught them that Jesus was real and Santa was make-believe; Easter eggs come from Wal-Mart, not from a rabbit; comic book heros are a waste of time; and not to put too much faith in what their teachers say - especially if they are Liberals.
The thing is - I miss that time when you could lie in bed on Christmas Eve and swear you could hear reindeer on the roof. I miss having a teacher ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and telling me I could do anything I want if I worked hard enough for it. I miss pretending I'm John Wayne or Roy Rogers or James Bond. But some things I'm still not convinced aren't real: those monsters that hide in your closet, ET, and Elvis is alive.
The Worst That Could Happen
I'm one of those 'what if' persons. What if I'd accepted that scholarship to West Point when I was in Army basic training; what if I'd not reenlisted for Fort Gordon, Georgia a week before getting that job offer from Gulf Oil Company? What if I'd taken that radio job on the top of the Zugspitz in Bavaria? What if I'd listened to my mother and not married my first wife?
I spent July 4th at a movie (Room 1408 - it was ok) and at the lake in Creedmoor. Just sat in the car with the windows rolled down, reading Subterranean by James Rollins; occasionally looking out over the lake and watching two teenagers paddle a boat along the shoreline. I could remember back to when I was their age, when something like paddling a boat wouldn't have caused my knee joints to snap, crackle and pop. For a moment, I envied their youth and vitality...well, I still do envy them this morning. But the point is, I wish what every middle aged and senior citizen wishes - to be young again, but to know what I now know. What if I could turn back the hands of time, without losing memory of all I've learned during my 55 years?
My daughter, Laura, reminds me that if I'd changed anything prior to her birth, she might not be here today - but I don't believe any of us are here by accident, so she would have been born whether I was her father or not. Certainly, I'd like a chance to undo the mistakes I've made in life; but I don't want to forget them. Without the mistakes, I can't appreciate the blessings.
Take last week. I used a week of vacation, not because I planned on going anywhere, but because I didn't have enough money to buy gas to get to work every day. Instead of working on my job, I worked around my house. The more I cleaned, the more I realized I needed to spend more time taking care of what I have. It was nice having the house to myself. My daughter and grandson were spending a couple weeks in Georgia. I put on an audio version of Randy Alcorn's "Heaven" and listened as he described the place I'm going to spend a lot more time than I will spend on this earth. Kind of put things in perspective - sure I was temporarily out of funds, but I'm not poor; there was food in the frig and cabinets, and work to keep me occupied. The only thing I didn't drag up the energy to work on was Sea Tree.
Sea Tree has been on my mind every day since I first dreamed about it. I'm always coming up with something new to include in the book - far too many to fit inside one book. I will admit that I've asked myself the question, "What if I write this story and no one bothers to read it?" Any money I might make on selling the book is less important to me than knowing I created something that other people could appreciate. I believe we're all here to create something. And it's human nature to want our creations to be appreciated by others. Hopefully that appreciation will be accompanied by an influx of dollars, but just as important is to hear someone say that they were moved or changed by my creation. I suspect God wants to feel appreciated too. I mean, look around and see everything that He has done - even the things we can't see - like how our bodies were designed to heal themselves! What if He did all this work and no one was moved or changed by His sunsets, or the love of a faithful dog, or gave Him credit for creating the plant that provides the cure to a disease?
I believe we were all created to create something with our lives. We spend most of our lives trying to make a living and spend very little creating. What if I write Sea Tree and it bombs? The worst that could happen is that I end up just like I am now. But what if I write it and it changes my life? Now what if everyone follows their dream and succeeds? That's more like the world God created us to dominate.
I spent July 4th at a movie (Room 1408 - it was ok) and at the lake in Creedmoor. Just sat in the car with the windows rolled down, reading Subterranean by James Rollins; occasionally looking out over the lake and watching two teenagers paddle a boat along the shoreline. I could remember back to when I was their age, when something like paddling a boat wouldn't have caused my knee joints to snap, crackle and pop. For a moment, I envied their youth and vitality...well, I still do envy them this morning. But the point is, I wish what every middle aged and senior citizen wishes - to be young again, but to know what I now know. What if I could turn back the hands of time, without losing memory of all I've learned during my 55 years?
My daughter, Laura, reminds me that if I'd changed anything prior to her birth, she might not be here today - but I don't believe any of us are here by accident, so she would have been born whether I was her father or not. Certainly, I'd like a chance to undo the mistakes I've made in life; but I don't want to forget them. Without the mistakes, I can't appreciate the blessings.
Take last week. I used a week of vacation, not because I planned on going anywhere, but because I didn't have enough money to buy gas to get to work every day. Instead of working on my job, I worked around my house. The more I cleaned, the more I realized I needed to spend more time taking care of what I have. It was nice having the house to myself. My daughter and grandson were spending a couple weeks in Georgia. I put on an audio version of Randy Alcorn's "Heaven" and listened as he described the place I'm going to spend a lot more time than I will spend on this earth. Kind of put things in perspective - sure I was temporarily out of funds, but I'm not poor; there was food in the frig and cabinets, and work to keep me occupied. The only thing I didn't drag up the energy to work on was Sea Tree.
Sea Tree has been on my mind every day since I first dreamed about it. I'm always coming up with something new to include in the book - far too many to fit inside one book. I will admit that I've asked myself the question, "What if I write this story and no one bothers to read it?" Any money I might make on selling the book is less important to me than knowing I created something that other people could appreciate. I believe we're all here to create something. And it's human nature to want our creations to be appreciated by others. Hopefully that appreciation will be accompanied by an influx of dollars, but just as important is to hear someone say that they were moved or changed by my creation. I suspect God wants to feel appreciated too. I mean, look around and see everything that He has done - even the things we can't see - like how our bodies were designed to heal themselves! What if He did all this work and no one was moved or changed by His sunsets, or the love of a faithful dog, or gave Him credit for creating the plant that provides the cure to a disease?
I believe we were all created to create something with our lives. We spend most of our lives trying to make a living and spend very little creating. What if I write Sea Tree and it bombs? The worst that could happen is that I end up just like I am now. But what if I write it and it changes my life? Now what if everyone follows their dream and succeeds? That's more like the world God created us to dominate.
Summer Vacation
Well, I'm off work next week. When I requested the time off, we had intended to rent a cottage at the beach....but the money we expected to rent it with didn't show up - so I'm staying home and, hopefully, get some things done around the house. I have good intentions - painting, rearrange the living room, clean out the garage, maybe even sit down and work on Sea Tree - but who knows what will happen next week.
There's lots I need to do: Check with the VA about the arthritis in my shoulder; look for a part-time job, maybe visit some of the guys I used to work with in the Guard. Maybe I'll even get in some time playing Battle Field 2 at Game Frog.
But chances are I won't get most of those things done because other things will pop up and I'll be lazy. Before I know it, my week of vacation will be over and I'll be back at work planning my next one.
Last night I watched a program on INSP interviewing one of my favorite authors, Randy Alcorn. He was discussing his book, "Heaven" - an excellent book, especially for those who don't think the Bible has much to say about Heaven. Randy talked a bit about Hell, and about how Hell is hell because we're going to be totally on our own there - no company for our misery. He also talked about how God had wired us to communicate, fellowship, to desire to be around other people - but that won't be possible in Hell. That was enough to scare the hell out of me, even if I am a wallflower at social events; and even though I do enjoy having my house to myself for a week - no coworkers, no grandson getting into things he doesn't need to be messing with, no daughter sleeping the week away except to eat and go back to sleep - it's not really her fault - it's the cancer's; but it's nice being alone for awhile. But not for eternity! I mean, if Hell is half as bad as we're told it is, we're going to want to complainto someone - but there's no one to listen. They're all in their own private hells.
Of course, it's a good thing that I'm not going there. I don't know what the New Earth is going to look like, but I'm sure it will seem like a vacation compared to this world we're living in now. Wonder what job I'll have when I get there and how many years vacation we'll get each millenium?
This is my last post before going on vacation. Hopefully I'll have something worth writing about when I get back.
There's lots I need to do: Check with the VA about the arthritis in my shoulder; look for a part-time job, maybe visit some of the guys I used to work with in the Guard. Maybe I'll even get in some time playing Battle Field 2 at Game Frog.
But chances are I won't get most of those things done because other things will pop up and I'll be lazy. Before I know it, my week of vacation will be over and I'll be back at work planning my next one.
Last night I watched a program on INSP interviewing one of my favorite authors, Randy Alcorn. He was discussing his book, "Heaven" - an excellent book, especially for those who don't think the Bible has much to say about Heaven. Randy talked a bit about Hell, and about how Hell is hell because we're going to be totally on our own there - no company for our misery. He also talked about how God had wired us to communicate, fellowship, to desire to be around other people - but that won't be possible in Hell. That was enough to scare the hell out of me, even if I am a wallflower at social events; and even though I do enjoy having my house to myself for a week - no coworkers, no grandson getting into things he doesn't need to be messing with, no daughter sleeping the week away except to eat and go back to sleep - it's not really her fault - it's the cancer's; but it's nice being alone for awhile. But not for eternity! I mean, if Hell is half as bad as we're told it is, we're going to want to complainto someone - but there's no one to listen. They're all in their own private hells.
Of course, it's a good thing that I'm not going there. I don't know what the New Earth is going to look like, but I'm sure it will seem like a vacation compared to this world we're living in now. Wonder what job I'll have when I get there and how many years vacation we'll get each millenium?
This is my last post before going on vacation. Hopefully I'll have something worth writing about when I get back.
Alan Keyes
I've respected Alan Keyes since he ran in the Republican primary for the 2000 elections. Unfortunately, then the country wasn't ready for a moral genius.....and still isn't. I've never heard anyone debate as well Keyes, or anyone who can get to the heart of the matter quicker than he does. Take this quote from his Crisis of the Republic report:
"Unfortunately, most of our political leaders in both parties operate on a paradigm of politics that has no place for the common good. They have accepted an understanding of political life that is all about the competition for power, the deal making that divides up the public pie so that more voters slop up the goodies at your trough than at the other guy's. Though skilled at building coalitions, they have become utterly incompetent at the work of building, serving and preserving a community. That involves remembering what goes into making us a nation, and assuring that we are all willing to work together to provide for and strengthen it.....
The skillful manipulation that now brings too many of our representatives and officials to power, actually makes them utterly unfit to deal with this crisis. The divisions created and aggravated by their manipulation may in fact be its proximate cause. We desperately need leaders who understand and practice the politics of principle, the politics that challenge us to remember our paramount goal as a free people, which is not to get what we want now, but to preserve the knowledge and practice of liberty for those who will come after us."
http://www.renewamerica.us/columns/keyes/070608
I hope he runs - Keyes will get my vote!
"Unfortunately, most of our political leaders in both parties operate on a paradigm of politics that has no place for the common good. They have accepted an understanding of political life that is all about the competition for power, the deal making that divides up the public pie so that more voters slop up the goodies at your trough than at the other guy's. Though skilled at building coalitions, they have become utterly incompetent at the work of building, serving and preserving a community. That involves remembering what goes into making us a nation, and assuring that we are all willing to work together to provide for and strengthen it.....
The skillful manipulation that now brings too many of our representatives and officials to power, actually makes them utterly unfit to deal with this crisis. The divisions created and aggravated by their manipulation may in fact be its proximate cause. We desperately need leaders who understand and practice the politics of principle, the politics that challenge us to remember our paramount goal as a free people, which is not to get what we want now, but to preserve the knowledge and practice of liberty for those who will come after us."
http://www.renewamerica.us/columns/keyes/070608
I hope he runs - Keyes will get my vote!
The Pastor of Last Resorts
If you live in the Bible-belt of the South and you can't find a pastor who's willing to marry a Catholic and a Jew, or a Protestant and a Hindu - call my pastor. If you want to stop off at the pub after work, drink a beer, and discuss politics with someone who actually understands the system, he's your man. If you're looking for someone who will tell you you're an asshole, but he loves you anyway - that's my pastor.
You won't find him hanging out with other pastors or handing out religious tracts on Main Street; in fact, he hates religion, appreciates art, good food, enjoys R-rated movies, listens to blue-grass, and derives more satisfaction from his contractor business than he does teaching the Word on Sunday morning. He's more interested in building relationships and working together to make a difference in our community than he is in scaring the Hell out of sinners.
It's been my experience that no matter who he comes into contact with, he's worldly enough to carry on an intelligent conversation with them. He's widely read, connected to what's happening in the post-Church era, and he's got opinions on everything. He doesn't spend a lot of time trying to grow the church. His wife did come up with an idea for a bumper sticker - "Follow my ass to The Carpenter's Shop", but you'd have to have been there that Sunday morning to learn why we all need to be more like asses to appreciate the statement.
I tried to add a link to his blog, but it wouldn't save -so here it is: www.jchalmers.blogspot.com. Beware - if you're religious, you're going to be offended....but if you're Christian, you're going to understand.
You won't find him hanging out with other pastors or handing out religious tracts on Main Street; in fact, he hates religion, appreciates art, good food, enjoys R-rated movies, listens to blue-grass, and derives more satisfaction from his contractor business than he does teaching the Word on Sunday morning. He's more interested in building relationships and working together to make a difference in our community than he is in scaring the Hell out of sinners.
It's been my experience that no matter who he comes into contact with, he's worldly enough to carry on an intelligent conversation with them. He's widely read, connected to what's happening in the post-Church era, and he's got opinions on everything. He doesn't spend a lot of time trying to grow the church. His wife did come up with an idea for a bumper sticker - "Follow my ass to The Carpenter's Shop", but you'd have to have been there that Sunday morning to learn why we all need to be more like asses to appreciate the statement.
I tried to add a link to his blog, but it wouldn't save -so here it is: www.jchalmers.blogspot.com. Beware - if you're religious, you're going to be offended....but if you're Christian, you're going to understand.
5 is Good, More is Better
What do you do when your email inbox is flooded with forwarded messages containing prayers of blessings for you and for your friends? If you'll just send this on to five people, plus the person that sent it to you, pretty soon you'll have hundreds of people praying for you. Sounds like voodoo to me....but I've been guilty - especially when the message content is successful at pulling on your emotional strings.
I'm sure God must think we're a bunch of idiots. Who are we to presume that we can pull His strings and elicit blessings for the people we care about? Does God have nothing better to do than to pass out blessings to every responder who hits the "Forward" button? What about all the people in the world who don't have access to a computer and the Internet - should He punish them by withholding blessings? Are we worried that He's going to run out of blessings, so we'd better get as many as we can while they last?
The truth is, we know that God is not a respector of persons. He's not going to favor my friends over someone else's, so we're just wasting our time trying to manipulate Him. God is the ultimate cat - He won't be herded. And I've just discovered more free time because I'm not going to forward generic emails any longer.
I'm sure God must think we're a bunch of idiots. Who are we to presume that we can pull His strings and elicit blessings for the people we care about? Does God have nothing better to do than to pass out blessings to every responder who hits the "Forward" button? What about all the people in the world who don't have access to a computer and the Internet - should He punish them by withholding blessings? Are we worried that He's going to run out of blessings, so we'd better get as many as we can while they last?
The truth is, we know that God is not a respector of persons. He's not going to favor my friends over someone else's, so we're just wasting our time trying to manipulate Him. God is the ultimate cat - He won't be herded. And I've just discovered more free time because I'm not going to forward generic emails any longer.
Dreams and Day Dreams
Despite what the networks claim, the TV volume rises significantly during commercials - either that or they're so annoying it's hard to sleep through one. It was just such a commercial - a screaming car salesman touting another year-end closeout - that woke the man. The last thing he remembered watching before falling asleep was "1000 Places To See Before You Die". He never did see #243.
The clock on the wall read 11:30. It's past his bedtime. Pushing the off button on the remote, the man attempts to rise from the couch. He falls back once, tries again and falls back another time. On the third attempt, he grips the sofa arm and twists sideways so that he's using his strong leg to help lift him. Bones pop and crack as he stumbles upright. With stooped shoulders, he eases himself erect, careful not to pull a back muscle; and shuffles to his bedroom.
The man turns on the light on the nightstand and goes into the bathroom. Too tired to stand, he sits to pee; his face in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. The man sits that way for a long time, staring at the four or five books he keeps in a small bookrack from which he does most of his 'studying'. There's a Bible, a paperback copy of Real Live Preacher.com, two Readers Digest Condensed Books, and a puzzle magazine. None are appealing tonight. Still he sits and stares and tries to focus on something. Eventually, his legs numb for sitting so long, the man rises, flushes, and goes to the sink to wash his hands and brush his teeth.
The face in the mirror is old. Older than his years. It's puffy, with creases at the corner of his eyes and bags under them; jowls hang loose. He realizes that he looks like his dad looked when he was old.
His eyes wander down to the paunch. He's 50 pounds overweight. It's almost funny, because when he was young, he was so skinny he almost didn't make it into the Army. Now his pants were too tight and even his underwear leaves red marks where they stretched to accomodate his girth. "This sucks." the man thinks as he tosses them into the laundry hamper.
Shuffling to the bedroom, he sits on the side of the bed, staring at the floor. "I'm getting old." he thinks to himself. "But I'm still a kid, just trapped in an old man's body." Where did the time go? He thinks back to all the things he wanted to do while younger: Fly a plane, soar in a hot air baloon, drive a stock car, play center field, squeeze the trigger on a 50 cal. sniper rifle and see his target drop....man-stuff. Now his arthritis made a roller coaster ride impossible. He couldn't even tuck use his left arm to tuck his shirt into his pants. Sometimes the pain is so intense that he turns pale and can't breathe. And when he does sleep, he tosses and turns all night because neither shoulder could bear his weight for long.
Staring at his feet, his mind drifts from thoughts of work to his kids to his loneliness to regrets over unachieved goals. The man realizes that instead of living a dream, he's spent his years day dreaming. He's always waiting for a certain something to happen so that he could enjoy this or that. He's spent years dreaming about how he would spend lottery winnings; and every time the jackpot changed, so did the dreams. He's spent his whole life waiting for something to happen, but he can't think of a single thing that he's done to make anything he wants to happen.
Finally he rolls over onto his side, reaches up and turns off the lamp. His left shoulder already hurts too much to sleep on that side, so he rolls over, fluffs his pillow and closes his eyes to sleep. A single tear runs down his cheek and wets his pillow.
The man dreams. In his dreams, there is no pain. He's viral, strong, and courageous. He's Jack Bauer on steroids. Tonight he dreams about a valley. He's back in uniform, although he's missing his jacket. In all of his dreams the man is missing a piece of clothing. Sometimes he's entirely nude and spends the entire dream trying to cover up and find his clothes. Those are dreams he wants to wake up from. But tonight he's just missing his jacket. Although he understands he's retired, he's glad to be back in the Army. The men look up to him. He's their platoon sergeant and he knows his job.
In his dream, the man wanders amongst his men - greeting them, sending them off for weapons or equipment; confident and organized. His commander asks where his jacket is and the man's response is that he doesn't have time to recover his jacket. Without knowing what is about to happen, the sergeant senses it's about to happen. "Everybody! Get up, and grab your gear. Get ready to move out!' he yells.
About that time a sentry comes running into camp. "Here they come!" he shouts. "It's a wave of them, and they've already killed two villages!". Soldiers jump into action. The sergeant is calm and looks in the direction from which the sentry came. His eyes focus and he's able to zoom through the valley, over the trees, and miles away to the approaching hoard. The Sergeant understands that he's the only one with telescoping vision, but that's OK. It just comes with experience. He sees the hoard as they stream into the valley. They number so strong that they pile on top of one another, forming a huge wave of destruction. Running on top of the human wave are snipers, using bows and arrows rather than rifles, but deadly none the less.
"Move out!" the Sergeant shouts to his men. The men run to trucks in an attempt to outrun the enemy. The trucks pull away slowly, but the wave moves faster. Now the sergeant can see a brown frothing wave that looks like water, only it's solid. Snipers on the crest of the wave are picking off the civilians his troops were sent to protect. Grabbing a weapon, the Sergeant stands his ground and begins to pick the snipers off one at at time, one shot, one kill. The rifle runs out of ammo, and he pulls his .45 and empties the pistol into the center of the wave. It falters for a second, just enough time for the sergeant to turn and run for cover. He's weaponless, except for a knife; still he's unafraid. There's an urgency, but no terror. He never fears in his dreams.
Now the crest of the wave towers over him as he runs. He's in the shadow of the wave of his enemies when he spots a building, some sort of warehouse. It's the only cover, though he knows it's not enough to protect him. Rounding the corner, he grabs one of his soldiers who was unable to escape on the trucks, and tosses him inside the warehouse. "Get behind that wall!" he shouts to his man. Together, they duck behind the wall as the solid flood washes over and around his protection.
Several enemies wash inside. The Sergeant slices and jumps and slashes, taking out many of his enemies. Still they come. He grabs a weapon from a fallen enemy and turns it on them. When that runs dry, he uses it for a club. It's better than bullets. No matter how many of his enemies surround him, he bashes them and beats them back, taking out score after score of his enemies. And while he's fighting for his life, his mind realizes that he's getting stronger by the moment. Soon he's fighting hand to hand and pushing the enemy back of of the warehouse. In short order he's fighting them outside. The wave turns on him, but he's up to the task. He's stronger, quicker, and more important, he's the good guy who always wins. The wave eventually collapses and disappears as quickly as it came; and the Sergeant stands in the middle of the valley, dirty, bleeding, but not even breathing hard. His unit returns to mop up, though they find no enemy alive. They crowd around their sergeant and congratulate him over his victory. But the Sergeant shrugs off their gratitude; afterall, that's why he was recalled to the service to begin with. Now it's time to think about whether he should go back to his retired status and his old job, or maybe he'll just hang around here until they force him to leave. This is a lot more fun than going to work every day. Besides, he could always use more retired pay when he's too old to be a warrior any longer.
These are the dreams the man hates to awaken from. They are more vibrant, more spiritual, more real, than his waking hours. In his dreams, he always wins, always gets the beautiful woman, always knows his purpose and his abilities. If he could just figure out why he's missing an item of clothing (or all of them), he'd never want to wake up. He much prefers his dreams to his daydreams.
The alarm doesn't sound. It doesn't need to. It's 6:05 AM and the man's eyes open. He realizes that he's just been dreaming and that it's time to get ready for work. He rolls off the bed, stumbles to the bathroom, and sits down to pee. He puts his face in his hands and rests his elbows on his knees while he stares at the floor and tries to plan his day. Once his legs become numb, he knows it's time to get up, flush the toilet, brush his teeth, and jump into the shower. He shaves in the shower so he won't have to look at his face in the mirror. This way, at least he can pretend he's as young on the outside as he is on the inside. Today his battle is not with a frothing brown wave of enemy soldiers, but with other motorists rushing into j.o.b.s and flicking each other off when one cuts in front of them. Too bad there's no 50 cal. mounted in his grill.
The clock on the wall read 11:30. It's past his bedtime. Pushing the off button on the remote, the man attempts to rise from the couch. He falls back once, tries again and falls back another time. On the third attempt, he grips the sofa arm and twists sideways so that he's using his strong leg to help lift him. Bones pop and crack as he stumbles upright. With stooped shoulders, he eases himself erect, careful not to pull a back muscle; and shuffles to his bedroom.
The man turns on the light on the nightstand and goes into the bathroom. Too tired to stand, he sits to pee; his face in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. The man sits that way for a long time, staring at the four or five books he keeps in a small bookrack from which he does most of his 'studying'. There's a Bible, a paperback copy of Real Live Preacher.com, two Readers Digest Condensed Books, and a puzzle magazine. None are appealing tonight. Still he sits and stares and tries to focus on something. Eventually, his legs numb for sitting so long, the man rises, flushes, and goes to the sink to wash his hands and brush his teeth.
The face in the mirror is old. Older than his years. It's puffy, with creases at the corner of his eyes and bags under them; jowls hang loose. He realizes that he looks like his dad looked when he was old.
His eyes wander down to the paunch. He's 50 pounds overweight. It's almost funny, because when he was young, he was so skinny he almost didn't make it into the Army. Now his pants were too tight and even his underwear leaves red marks where they stretched to accomodate his girth. "This sucks." the man thinks as he tosses them into the laundry hamper.
Shuffling to the bedroom, he sits on the side of the bed, staring at the floor. "I'm getting old." he thinks to himself. "But I'm still a kid, just trapped in an old man's body." Where did the time go? He thinks back to all the things he wanted to do while younger: Fly a plane, soar in a hot air baloon, drive a stock car, play center field, squeeze the trigger on a 50 cal. sniper rifle and see his target drop....man-stuff. Now his arthritis made a roller coaster ride impossible. He couldn't even tuck use his left arm to tuck his shirt into his pants. Sometimes the pain is so intense that he turns pale and can't breathe. And when he does sleep, he tosses and turns all night because neither shoulder could bear his weight for long.
Staring at his feet, his mind drifts from thoughts of work to his kids to his loneliness to regrets over unachieved goals. The man realizes that instead of living a dream, he's spent his years day dreaming. He's always waiting for a certain something to happen so that he could enjoy this or that. He's spent years dreaming about how he would spend lottery winnings; and every time the jackpot changed, so did the dreams. He's spent his whole life waiting for something to happen, but he can't think of a single thing that he's done to make anything he wants to happen.
Finally he rolls over onto his side, reaches up and turns off the lamp. His left shoulder already hurts too much to sleep on that side, so he rolls over, fluffs his pillow and closes his eyes to sleep. A single tear runs down his cheek and wets his pillow.
The man dreams. In his dreams, there is no pain. He's viral, strong, and courageous. He's Jack Bauer on steroids. Tonight he dreams about a valley. He's back in uniform, although he's missing his jacket. In all of his dreams the man is missing a piece of clothing. Sometimes he's entirely nude and spends the entire dream trying to cover up and find his clothes. Those are dreams he wants to wake up from. But tonight he's just missing his jacket. Although he understands he's retired, he's glad to be back in the Army. The men look up to him. He's their platoon sergeant and he knows his job.
In his dream, the man wanders amongst his men - greeting them, sending them off for weapons or equipment; confident and organized. His commander asks where his jacket is and the man's response is that he doesn't have time to recover his jacket. Without knowing what is about to happen, the sergeant senses it's about to happen. "Everybody! Get up, and grab your gear. Get ready to move out!' he yells.
About that time a sentry comes running into camp. "Here they come!" he shouts. "It's a wave of them, and they've already killed two villages!". Soldiers jump into action. The sergeant is calm and looks in the direction from which the sentry came. His eyes focus and he's able to zoom through the valley, over the trees, and miles away to the approaching hoard. The Sergeant understands that he's the only one with telescoping vision, but that's OK. It just comes with experience. He sees the hoard as they stream into the valley. They number so strong that they pile on top of one another, forming a huge wave of destruction. Running on top of the human wave are snipers, using bows and arrows rather than rifles, but deadly none the less.
"Move out!" the Sergeant shouts to his men. The men run to trucks in an attempt to outrun the enemy. The trucks pull away slowly, but the wave moves faster. Now the sergeant can see a brown frothing wave that looks like water, only it's solid. Snipers on the crest of the wave are picking off the civilians his troops were sent to protect. Grabbing a weapon, the Sergeant stands his ground and begins to pick the snipers off one at at time, one shot, one kill. The rifle runs out of ammo, and he pulls his .45 and empties the pistol into the center of the wave. It falters for a second, just enough time for the sergeant to turn and run for cover. He's weaponless, except for a knife; still he's unafraid. There's an urgency, but no terror. He never fears in his dreams.
Now the crest of the wave towers over him as he runs. He's in the shadow of the wave of his enemies when he spots a building, some sort of warehouse. It's the only cover, though he knows it's not enough to protect him. Rounding the corner, he grabs one of his soldiers who was unable to escape on the trucks, and tosses him inside the warehouse. "Get behind that wall!" he shouts to his man. Together, they duck behind the wall as the solid flood washes over and around his protection.
Several enemies wash inside. The Sergeant slices and jumps and slashes, taking out many of his enemies. Still they come. He grabs a weapon from a fallen enemy and turns it on them. When that runs dry, he uses it for a club. It's better than bullets. No matter how many of his enemies surround him, he bashes them and beats them back, taking out score after score of his enemies. And while he's fighting for his life, his mind realizes that he's getting stronger by the moment. Soon he's fighting hand to hand and pushing the enemy back of of the warehouse. In short order he's fighting them outside. The wave turns on him, but he's up to the task. He's stronger, quicker, and more important, he's the good guy who always wins. The wave eventually collapses and disappears as quickly as it came; and the Sergeant stands in the middle of the valley, dirty, bleeding, but not even breathing hard. His unit returns to mop up, though they find no enemy alive. They crowd around their sergeant and congratulate him over his victory. But the Sergeant shrugs off their gratitude; afterall, that's why he was recalled to the service to begin with. Now it's time to think about whether he should go back to his retired status and his old job, or maybe he'll just hang around here until they force him to leave. This is a lot more fun than going to work every day. Besides, he could always use more retired pay when he's too old to be a warrior any longer.
These are the dreams the man hates to awaken from. They are more vibrant, more spiritual, more real, than his waking hours. In his dreams, he always wins, always gets the beautiful woman, always knows his purpose and his abilities. If he could just figure out why he's missing an item of clothing (or all of them), he'd never want to wake up. He much prefers his dreams to his daydreams.
The alarm doesn't sound. It doesn't need to. It's 6:05 AM and the man's eyes open. He realizes that he's just been dreaming and that it's time to get ready for work. He rolls off the bed, stumbles to the bathroom, and sits down to pee. He puts his face in his hands and rests his elbows on his knees while he stares at the floor and tries to plan his day. Once his legs become numb, he knows it's time to get up, flush the toilet, brush his teeth, and jump into the shower. He shaves in the shower so he won't have to look at his face in the mirror. This way, at least he can pretend he's as young on the outside as he is on the inside. Today his battle is not with a frothing brown wave of enemy soldiers, but with other motorists rushing into j.o.b.s and flicking each other off when one cuts in front of them. Too bad there's no 50 cal. mounted in his grill.
Church Signs
This past Sunday I tried to explain how most Christians don't know what the real Gospel is ; and I used some church signs to prove that we've been sending the wrong message. There's a Baptist church just out of Garner that posts the number of persons saved and baptized the previous Sunday. One church sign reads, "You will suffer." another reads, "No Catholic priests serve in our children's ministry." Still another sign reads, "If you've been waiting for a sign - this is it!"; and yet another "Go to church!" Then there's that very familiar one - "Jesus Saves".
Now imagine that you're among the unchurched and you're driving by reading these signs. What attracts you to "You will suffer"? Do you really want to be another notch in the belt of that Baptist church that keeps count of the number of people they've rescued? And what about that Jesus Saves sign? You know some Christians and they're no better off than you are. What does Jesus save them from? Divorce, disease, or addictions? Maybe what that sign really means is that Jesus saves money on car insurance with Geico. Lord knows He's been commercialized enough!
It's no wonder people aren't flocking to beat down our church doors. We don't seem to walk our talk and others see right through us. So what is this Good News that we have to share with the lost?
Jimmy asked that question the other week, and received the typical answers about how Jesus was born of a virgin, lived a perfect and sinless life, was crucified and died and rose again so that we can be saved. That's true. The sign, "Jesus saves" is the truth. But it's a worthless truth because the world is so chaotic that it seems to be out of control - not under the control of an omniscient, omnipotent Creator. When someone has to beg for food and sleep under bridges at night, they have little hope for more than surviving another day. They don't want an eternity of more of the same. And that's the sad part, because eternity doesn't have to be that way.
There are three types of people that need to hear the gospel. First, are those who've never heard it. Second - those who have become numbed and distracted by Satan and can't comprehend the Gospel. And third - those in the Church who've been taught the wrong gospel. What's the wrong gospel?
Take Mike Murdoch - a televangelist, who every time you tune into his show, he promises you'll be blessed if you'll obey God and send in a $58 seed this week. A month ago it was $144 - a one-time faith offering. Next week it will be another figure that God has given him. That's the prosperity gospel. Then there's the late Jerry Falwell's gospel of a just and holy God who is coming back soon with a flaming sword. On the other extreme is Joel Osteen with a gospel of self-worth. What each of these men preach is true, but that's not the gospel that Jesus preached. Jesus' first official words were, "Repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is near."
Jesus didn't go around preaching about rebirth and salvation. He didn't preach prosperity. He didn't preach that there were many paths that all lead back to Him. Jesus preached the Kingdom of Heaven. That was His only message, His purpose for coming to Earth. And that is the message the Church needs to start preaching.
I'm not sure that I even understand the Kingdom gospel myself, because I've been brought up in religion. We've been taught that our job is to preach salvation through Jesus to everyone we meet - but that's not what Jesus told us to preach. He told us to be witnesses for the Kingdom. People should witness us being different than everyone else.
Our (Christians) problem is not Satan or sin - for Jesus took care of that at the cross. It's not power, for if we needed power, God would have sent power instead of His Son. Our problem is ignorance. Scripture says that for lack of knowledge, His people perish. Jesus said that He was the Gatekeeper, and that those who belonged to Him, recognized His voice and entered into His fold. What the Church has focussed on is the Gate, not what's on the other side.
It's like John Z coming up with a great new recipe for a meal at his restaurant. He wants people to come and try it for himself, so he advertises something like this: "We're proud to offer a wonderful new pasta dish that is to die for! You're going to love it! And when you come to our restaurant, I want you to notice how beautiful our door is. Observe the degree of detail and artistry in every corner of the door. There is no other door like it anywhere in the world! You're going to be impressed by our door!"
Christians have focussed on getting to the door, but have been reluctant to see what's on the other side. Jesus came to get us on the other side of the door so that we can experience the Kingdom God promised us. To make matters more confusing, the gospel is not Heaven. We've really been told little about Heaven. But Jesus did speak a lot about the Kingdom. "The Kingdom of God is like....."
To understand what the real Good News is - we've got to go all the way back to the beginning, when God said, "Let us create man in our own image and let them have dominion over the Earth." It was God's plan and purpose to extend His Heavenly spiritual kingdom to a visible physical realm. He wanted spiritual offspring to dominate (steward) this physical world, so He created us with spirit, soul, and physical body. Our job is to mimic on the physical world, what God does in Heaven. But we know the story - Adam and Eve sinned and gave up our inheritance to Satan. The world we were supposed to dominate began to dominate us. Consider plants - plants were intended to be used by man; but now plants like tobacco, the opium flower, and grapes dominate the lives of millions of humans.
Jesus, the second Adam, came to restore God's original plan by reclaiming what Adam lost. He lived a life that personified God's plan for how man should live. We weren't created to be servants of God, but children. Scripture says that we are kingly priests - and that's what God intended for mankind. We have His authority to rule the earth - not one another but in cooperation with one another. Through Jesus, we have a restored relationship with God - we are now saints and brothers of Christ. We are princes - Christ is King - and the King rules His kingdom through us - guided by the Holy Spirit who lives within each believer. God desired from the beginning to live with us and Jesus restored the Spirit that walked with Adam in the Garden so that He walks with us today.
Jesus didn't come to establish a religion, but to restore a relationship. Religion is hard work, but Jesus said that His yoke was light.
Jesus taught that "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for their's is the Kingdom of Heaven." He said that we're all in spiritual poverty - but God hasn't given up on His original plan. "Blessed are the meek." We've been beat down by a fallen world and imprisoned by religion into believing we're slugs undeserving of grace and mercy. "Blessed are the lonely." Deep inside, we know that there has to be more to our existence than a life of trials and failures. We're blessed, because Jesus came to do something about our circumstances!
If we really understand what has transpired, we might be more effective witnesses. We have the authority to reclaim what Satan stole from us. We have the power to affect people's lives - which is why I'm so excited about Up To The Table. When we meet someone who's hungry, we ought to be able to meet that need because we're able to tap into God's economy - if we will learn how His economy works. If someone needs a coat, we ought to provide him one. If we're having trouble in our marital relationships, we have access to God's counsel through His word and prayer. Everywhere we go, we take God with us. Every time we encounter difficulty, we have the power to change our circumstances by listening to His Spirit and doing what He tells us to do.
Imagine what a relief that is. In a way, Joel Osteen is pretty close. We're important to God, His children, no less. This earth is our eternal home, and we are ambassadors for our Father in Heaven. We have the power we need to change our circumstances. We have a restored relationship with a Father who values us so much that He never gave up on His original purpose of extending His Kingdom through man.
The Good News of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is that we now have the Holy Spirit walking with us just as Adam enjoyed; and that He will help us to exercise our office as kingly priests and to enjoy the privileges of being citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven. I'm still trying to absorb this knowledge.
Now imagine that you're among the unchurched and you're driving by reading these signs. What attracts you to "You will suffer"? Do you really want to be another notch in the belt of that Baptist church that keeps count of the number of people they've rescued? And what about that Jesus Saves sign? You know some Christians and they're no better off than you are. What does Jesus save them from? Divorce, disease, or addictions? Maybe what that sign really means is that Jesus saves money on car insurance with Geico. Lord knows He's been commercialized enough!
It's no wonder people aren't flocking to beat down our church doors. We don't seem to walk our talk and others see right through us. So what is this Good News that we have to share with the lost?
Jimmy asked that question the other week, and received the typical answers about how Jesus was born of a virgin, lived a perfect and sinless life, was crucified and died and rose again so that we can be saved. That's true. The sign, "Jesus saves" is the truth. But it's a worthless truth because the world is so chaotic that it seems to be out of control - not under the control of an omniscient, omnipotent Creator. When someone has to beg for food and sleep under bridges at night, they have little hope for more than surviving another day. They don't want an eternity of more of the same. And that's the sad part, because eternity doesn't have to be that way.
There are three types of people that need to hear the gospel. First, are those who've never heard it. Second - those who have become numbed and distracted by Satan and can't comprehend the Gospel. And third - those in the Church who've been taught the wrong gospel. What's the wrong gospel?
Take Mike Murdoch - a televangelist, who every time you tune into his show, he promises you'll be blessed if you'll obey God and send in a $58 seed this week. A month ago it was $144 - a one-time faith offering. Next week it will be another figure that God has given him. That's the prosperity gospel. Then there's the late Jerry Falwell's gospel of a just and holy God who is coming back soon with a flaming sword. On the other extreme is Joel Osteen with a gospel of self-worth. What each of these men preach is true, but that's not the gospel that Jesus preached. Jesus' first official words were, "Repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is near."
Jesus didn't go around preaching about rebirth and salvation. He didn't preach prosperity. He didn't preach that there were many paths that all lead back to Him. Jesus preached the Kingdom of Heaven. That was His only message, His purpose for coming to Earth. And that is the message the Church needs to start preaching.
I'm not sure that I even understand the Kingdom gospel myself, because I've been brought up in religion. We've been taught that our job is to preach salvation through Jesus to everyone we meet - but that's not what Jesus told us to preach. He told us to be witnesses for the Kingdom. People should witness us being different than everyone else.
Our (Christians) problem is not Satan or sin - for Jesus took care of that at the cross. It's not power, for if we needed power, God would have sent power instead of His Son. Our problem is ignorance. Scripture says that for lack of knowledge, His people perish. Jesus said that He was the Gatekeeper, and that those who belonged to Him, recognized His voice and entered into His fold. What the Church has focussed on is the Gate, not what's on the other side.
It's like John Z coming up with a great new recipe for a meal at his restaurant. He wants people to come and try it for himself, so he advertises something like this: "We're proud to offer a wonderful new pasta dish that is to die for! You're going to love it! And when you come to our restaurant, I want you to notice how beautiful our door is. Observe the degree of detail and artistry in every corner of the door. There is no other door like it anywhere in the world! You're going to be impressed by our door!"
Christians have focussed on getting to the door, but have been reluctant to see what's on the other side. Jesus came to get us on the other side of the door so that we can experience the Kingdom God promised us. To make matters more confusing, the gospel is not Heaven. We've really been told little about Heaven. But Jesus did speak a lot about the Kingdom. "The Kingdom of God is like....."
To understand what the real Good News is - we've got to go all the way back to the beginning, when God said, "Let us create man in our own image and let them have dominion over the Earth." It was God's plan and purpose to extend His Heavenly spiritual kingdom to a visible physical realm. He wanted spiritual offspring to dominate (steward) this physical world, so He created us with spirit, soul, and physical body. Our job is to mimic on the physical world, what God does in Heaven. But we know the story - Adam and Eve sinned and gave up our inheritance to Satan. The world we were supposed to dominate began to dominate us. Consider plants - plants were intended to be used by man; but now plants like tobacco, the opium flower, and grapes dominate the lives of millions of humans.
Jesus, the second Adam, came to restore God's original plan by reclaiming what Adam lost. He lived a life that personified God's plan for how man should live. We weren't created to be servants of God, but children. Scripture says that we are kingly priests - and that's what God intended for mankind. We have His authority to rule the earth - not one another but in cooperation with one another. Through Jesus, we have a restored relationship with God - we are now saints and brothers of Christ. We are princes - Christ is King - and the King rules His kingdom through us - guided by the Holy Spirit who lives within each believer. God desired from the beginning to live with us and Jesus restored the Spirit that walked with Adam in the Garden so that He walks with us today.
Jesus didn't come to establish a religion, but to restore a relationship. Religion is hard work, but Jesus said that His yoke was light.
Jesus taught that "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for their's is the Kingdom of Heaven." He said that we're all in spiritual poverty - but God hasn't given up on His original plan. "Blessed are the meek." We've been beat down by a fallen world and imprisoned by religion into believing we're slugs undeserving of grace and mercy. "Blessed are the lonely." Deep inside, we know that there has to be more to our existence than a life of trials and failures. We're blessed, because Jesus came to do something about our circumstances!
If we really understand what has transpired, we might be more effective witnesses. We have the authority to reclaim what Satan stole from us. We have the power to affect people's lives - which is why I'm so excited about Up To The Table. When we meet someone who's hungry, we ought to be able to meet that need because we're able to tap into God's economy - if we will learn how His economy works. If someone needs a coat, we ought to provide him one. If we're having trouble in our marital relationships, we have access to God's counsel through His word and prayer. Everywhere we go, we take God with us. Every time we encounter difficulty, we have the power to change our circumstances by listening to His Spirit and doing what He tells us to do.
Imagine what a relief that is. In a way, Joel Osteen is pretty close. We're important to God, His children, no less. This earth is our eternal home, and we are ambassadors for our Father in Heaven. We have the power we need to change our circumstances. We have a restored relationship with a Father who values us so much that He never gave up on His original purpose of extending His Kingdom through man.
The Good News of the Gospel of Jesus Christ is that we now have the Holy Spirit walking with us just as Adam enjoyed; and that He will help us to exercise our office as kingly priests and to enjoy the privileges of being citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven. I'm still trying to absorb this knowledge.
I Had A Dream
Sunday morning between 5:50 and 6:10 AM, I had a dream. I know, because that's when I woke up and looked at the clock, waiting for my alarm to go off.
In my dream, it was Spring, the Sunday after Mother's Day; beautiful, like this past weekend. The Carpenter's Shop was again meeting outdoors on Sunday mornings, only this time it was not at the pastor's home but behind an old church building at the intersection of a residential community. We must have met early because the church allowed us to use their grounds and to pull folding chairs from their basement to sit on.
On this morning, Laura and I pulled into the parking lot. I carried a cooler of soft drinks and water in the back of my car, and while I went around back to open the car, Laura went over to say hello to Katy and Russ. Shelly brought over some pans that were left over from our last cookout, and we began to talk waiting for our other members to show up.
It wasn't long before one of our infrequent visitors showed up; and I thought that I'd better go get more chairs from inside the church since our crowd was almost doubled with the new arrivals. A large family can do that to our small congregation. The visiting family had brought along Chris Kisgen, a former member of our praise band. Chris had a violin with him - although I didn't know that he knew how to play one.
When I came back with the first load of chairs, we had more new arrivals; but these were people I'd never met. A couple of guys helped me bring out more chairs, and still more people were showing up. Tired and thirsy, I thought about getting a soda from my cooler, but realized that there weren't going to be enough drinks for everyone who'd already shown up. So I pulled out a dollar bill and inserted it in the soda machine located outside the back of the church. I reached in and pulled out my soda, turned around, and there was a line of people waiting their turn to buy sodas. The man directly behind me was Hispanic. We smiled in greeting, then I walked over to find Jimmy or Shelley to see if they knew where all these people were coming from.
As I rounded the corner of the church, I saw maybe a hundred people milling around waiting for the worship service to start. My first thought was that there were nowhere near enough chairs for all these people. Most of us were going to have to stand. I began walking towards Jimmy when I thought I recognized Freddie Watkins and his wife; but upon getting closer I realized that though they looked like the Watkins', these too were strangers. In fact, a lot of the people that I saw looked vaguely familiar but as I looked closer they were all indeed strangers. And the crowd continued to swell.
There were so many people, I was having a hard time finding any of The Carpenter Shop crowd (if we can be considered a crowd). While looking around for someone I recognized, I heard a violin tuning up. Turning around, I saw Chris Kisgen and behind him were six to eight guys, each carrying a stringed instrument. The leader was a tall, stern fellow who appeared to be one who expected perfection from his musicians. Of course, being built the way I am, my next thought was that I hope these guys don't expect us to be able to take up much of a collection from The Carpenter's Shop gang. I hoped they were doing this as a ministry, but it bothered me that we couldn't support ministries because of our small crowd. I guess I wasn't counting on the visitors chipping in - it's just the way I dream.
I listen for awhile until the ensemble is tuned and then Chris begins to play the most beautiful melody on his violin. The strings come in and I'm listening to the equivalent of the Philharmonic Orchestra! These guys are awesome and the music sounds as though we're inside a perfectly balanced accoustical music hall.
Turning, I see a large group of Hispanics standing at the back along the treeline. A group of Caucasian men stand near the string band. We listen and then people begin to sing along to "I Need Thee Every Hour". And as I listen, I realize that the singing is just as beautiful as the music! In fact, it's the most beautiful choir that I've ever heard.
"I need Thee every hour
Most precious Lord;
No tender voice like thine,
can peace afford."
The voices rise, and I wander around to the front of the church and witness now two or three hundred people, lining the sidewalk four to five deep, singing:
"I need Thee, O I need Thee
Every hour I need Thee"
And I think, "This is powerful! People can hear us for blocks! We're going to wake the neighborhood!" "Fantastic!"
"O bless me now my Savior -
I come to Thee"
Everyone is singing, and still more people are coming. We're now lining the sidewalk from the corner, up the hill in front of the church and out of sight over the hill. On the opposite side of the intersection, people have begun filling a vacant lot. These people knew to bring their own chairs - but everyone was standing and singing,
"I need thee every hour,
Most gracious Lord;
No tender voice like thine
Can peace afford.
I need Thee, O I need thee;
Every hour I need Thee!
O bless me now, my Savior-
-I come to Thee."
The singing fades, but the instruments continue to play. The leader of the group quotes a verse of scripture and a new song begins, one I've never heard of but apparently we all knew it in my dream. It too is beautiful. "I think to myself, where did all these people come from? How did they know to be here?" A voice answers and says, "They're here because they heard about The Carpenter's Shop".
"Really?", I think. "Just for what we're doing?" "Yes" was the reply. I'm looking around at hundreds of people, and get this impression that some of these people are here because they heard about us and wanted to be part of what we're doing. Others had heard and just wanted to be part of the experience. Still others didn't know what had drawn them here, but they wanted to be where God was moving and today He was here in front of a church that wouldn't open it's doors to TCS. And I wondered, "Who's showing up at the other churches in town today? Everyone is here!"
The music was so beautiful and so powerful that I didn't have time to worry about enough drinks, or enough chairs, or whether Jimmy was going to be able to deliver a sermon equal to the praise these people were giving. I just wanted to be part of it, so I burrowed my way through the crowd to the front row. Beneath my feet, the sidewalk was crumbled and grass grew in the cracks. Across the way, the houses were older and less affluent. The people around me were wearing the best they had - some in suits, others casual. And we smiled at one another. They didn't know me and I didn't know them, but I knew that these were brothers and sisters I'd spend eternity with.
I remember that I didn't feel special to be part of The Carpenter's Shop; I felt special to be there that day and to be part of what God was doing. For miles, our voices carried; and passing cars stopped and people got out and joined us. And the last thing I remember is a teenager approaching down the street and calling out to me, "Hey, do you know where I can get a seat?" I yell back, "You'd better bring your own!" And I woke up and looked at the clock and read 6:10. It was one of those dreams you don't want to awaken from.
This dream was the most spiritual experience I've had in more than a year. I got up, showered, got dressed and headed off to Rex Hospital to meet Laura for her cat scan. From the time I backed out of the garage until I was two miles from the hospital, I remember nothing of the trip. In twenty minutes I'd driven from Butner to Raleigh and must not have encountered the first red light. All during that time I'd replay that song, "I Need Thee Every Hour". It was my worship yesterday morning.
A lot of the symbology in that dream hasn't been lost on me. The lack of a church home, the emptiness of a church building, strangers united for a common purpose, the way six or eight musicians could sound like an entire orchestra; my focus on the trivial when something much bigger is going on......
And wouldn't you know it? When I get to church, we end up talking about some of the same things I'd dreamed! The Lord truly does work in mysterious ways. I'm truly looking forwards to the time He draws crowds to TCS because of what we're doing for Him.
In my dream, it was Spring, the Sunday after Mother's Day; beautiful, like this past weekend. The Carpenter's Shop was again meeting outdoors on Sunday mornings, only this time it was not at the pastor's home but behind an old church building at the intersection of a residential community. We must have met early because the church allowed us to use their grounds and to pull folding chairs from their basement to sit on.
On this morning, Laura and I pulled into the parking lot. I carried a cooler of soft drinks and water in the back of my car, and while I went around back to open the car, Laura went over to say hello to Katy and Russ. Shelly brought over some pans that were left over from our last cookout, and we began to talk waiting for our other members to show up.
It wasn't long before one of our infrequent visitors showed up; and I thought that I'd better go get more chairs from inside the church since our crowd was almost doubled with the new arrivals. A large family can do that to our small congregation. The visiting family had brought along Chris Kisgen, a former member of our praise band. Chris had a violin with him - although I didn't know that he knew how to play one.
When I came back with the first load of chairs, we had more new arrivals; but these were people I'd never met. A couple of guys helped me bring out more chairs, and still more people were showing up. Tired and thirsy, I thought about getting a soda from my cooler, but realized that there weren't going to be enough drinks for everyone who'd already shown up. So I pulled out a dollar bill and inserted it in the soda machine located outside the back of the church. I reached in and pulled out my soda, turned around, and there was a line of people waiting their turn to buy sodas. The man directly behind me was Hispanic. We smiled in greeting, then I walked over to find Jimmy or Shelley to see if they knew where all these people were coming from.
As I rounded the corner of the church, I saw maybe a hundred people milling around waiting for the worship service to start. My first thought was that there were nowhere near enough chairs for all these people. Most of us were going to have to stand. I began walking towards Jimmy when I thought I recognized Freddie Watkins and his wife; but upon getting closer I realized that though they looked like the Watkins', these too were strangers. In fact, a lot of the people that I saw looked vaguely familiar but as I looked closer they were all indeed strangers. And the crowd continued to swell.
There were so many people, I was having a hard time finding any of The Carpenter Shop crowd (if we can be considered a crowd). While looking around for someone I recognized, I heard a violin tuning up. Turning around, I saw Chris Kisgen and behind him were six to eight guys, each carrying a stringed instrument. The leader was a tall, stern fellow who appeared to be one who expected perfection from his musicians. Of course, being built the way I am, my next thought was that I hope these guys don't expect us to be able to take up much of a collection from The Carpenter's Shop gang. I hoped they were doing this as a ministry, but it bothered me that we couldn't support ministries because of our small crowd. I guess I wasn't counting on the visitors chipping in - it's just the way I dream.
I listen for awhile until the ensemble is tuned and then Chris begins to play the most beautiful melody on his violin. The strings come in and I'm listening to the equivalent of the Philharmonic Orchestra! These guys are awesome and the music sounds as though we're inside a perfectly balanced accoustical music hall.
Turning, I see a large group of Hispanics standing at the back along the treeline. A group of Caucasian men stand near the string band. We listen and then people begin to sing along to "I Need Thee Every Hour". And as I listen, I realize that the singing is just as beautiful as the music! In fact, it's the most beautiful choir that I've ever heard.
"I need Thee every hour
Most precious Lord;
No tender voice like thine,
can peace afford."
The voices rise, and I wander around to the front of the church and witness now two or three hundred people, lining the sidewalk four to five deep, singing:
"I need Thee, O I need Thee
Every hour I need Thee"
And I think, "This is powerful! People can hear us for blocks! We're going to wake the neighborhood!" "Fantastic!"
"O bless me now my Savior -
I come to Thee"
Everyone is singing, and still more people are coming. We're now lining the sidewalk from the corner, up the hill in front of the church and out of sight over the hill. On the opposite side of the intersection, people have begun filling a vacant lot. These people knew to bring their own chairs - but everyone was standing and singing,
"I need thee every hour,
Most gracious Lord;
No tender voice like thine
Can peace afford.
I need Thee, O I need thee;
Every hour I need Thee!
O bless me now, my Savior-
-I come to Thee."
The singing fades, but the instruments continue to play. The leader of the group quotes a verse of scripture and a new song begins, one I've never heard of but apparently we all knew it in my dream. It too is beautiful. "I think to myself, where did all these people come from? How did they know to be here?" A voice answers and says, "They're here because they heard about The Carpenter's Shop".
"Really?", I think. "Just for what we're doing?" "Yes" was the reply. I'm looking around at hundreds of people, and get this impression that some of these people are here because they heard about us and wanted to be part of what we're doing. Others had heard and just wanted to be part of the experience. Still others didn't know what had drawn them here, but they wanted to be where God was moving and today He was here in front of a church that wouldn't open it's doors to TCS. And I wondered, "Who's showing up at the other churches in town today? Everyone is here!"
The music was so beautiful and so powerful that I didn't have time to worry about enough drinks, or enough chairs, or whether Jimmy was going to be able to deliver a sermon equal to the praise these people were giving. I just wanted to be part of it, so I burrowed my way through the crowd to the front row. Beneath my feet, the sidewalk was crumbled and grass grew in the cracks. Across the way, the houses were older and less affluent. The people around me were wearing the best they had - some in suits, others casual. And we smiled at one another. They didn't know me and I didn't know them, but I knew that these were brothers and sisters I'd spend eternity with.
I remember that I didn't feel special to be part of The Carpenter's Shop; I felt special to be there that day and to be part of what God was doing. For miles, our voices carried; and passing cars stopped and people got out and joined us. And the last thing I remember is a teenager approaching down the street and calling out to me, "Hey, do you know where I can get a seat?" I yell back, "You'd better bring your own!" And I woke up and looked at the clock and read 6:10. It was one of those dreams you don't want to awaken from.
This dream was the most spiritual experience I've had in more than a year. I got up, showered, got dressed and headed off to Rex Hospital to meet Laura for her cat scan. From the time I backed out of the garage until I was two miles from the hospital, I remember nothing of the trip. In twenty minutes I'd driven from Butner to Raleigh and must not have encountered the first red light. All during that time I'd replay that song, "I Need Thee Every Hour". It was my worship yesterday morning.
A lot of the symbology in that dream hasn't been lost on me. The lack of a church home, the emptiness of a church building, strangers united for a common purpose, the way six or eight musicians could sound like an entire orchestra; my focus on the trivial when something much bigger is going on......
And wouldn't you know it? When I get to church, we end up talking about some of the same things I'd dreamed! The Lord truly does work in mysterious ways. I'm truly looking forwards to the time He draws crowds to TCS because of what we're doing for Him.
Two Doors
I read somewhere that there are only two doors in our lives. One is marked "Security", the other is marked "Freedom". If we choose the door marked Security, we lose both.
I've chosen the Security door most of my life, and guess what? I have neither freedom nor security. Amazing how that works!
So I was sitting around the other day worrying about how I was going to juggle all the balls in my life at this time and I heard God say (yes - He spoke to me), "Worrying is a waste of time - get busy and do something!" Well, I thought I was busy juggling, but that doesn't count.
And for the past couple of days, my mind has been filled with ideas for Sea Tree, ways to make more money, and ideas for Up To The Table - a non-profit focussed on getting healty foods to the poor and hungry.
I'm too young for a rocker and too old to let any more time get away while I play it safe and let life happen to me. I'll take what's behind door number two Bob!
I've chosen the Security door most of my life, and guess what? I have neither freedom nor security. Amazing how that works!
So I was sitting around the other day worrying about how I was going to juggle all the balls in my life at this time and I heard God say (yes - He spoke to me), "Worrying is a waste of time - get busy and do something!" Well, I thought I was busy juggling, but that doesn't count.
And for the past couple of days, my mind has been filled with ideas for Sea Tree, ways to make more money, and ideas for Up To The Table - a non-profit focussed on getting healty foods to the poor and hungry.
I'm too young for a rocker and too old to let any more time get away while I play it safe and let life happen to me. I'll take what's behind door number two Bob!
Day dreaming...
I was working this week on a farm in north Granville County. It is almost in Virginia. This part of the county is moving toward the mountains of western Virginia, the land lifts and falls as it ambles its way toward higher ground. The farm is covered in hardwoods. Huge oaks, maple and hickory dominate the landscape along with beautiful ornamentals planted 20 years ago.
The farm was purchased in the early eighties by a business man looking for a haven. For more than twenty years he has patiently built and planted, molding the contours of earth and wood together. Fences are well maintained and set with a flair for space and color. Weaving across the pastures as a seam follows fabric, traveling along each fold as the pleats of a ladies skirt. The foundation on his home was laid 18 years ago and the structure was completed 18 months ago. Each piece of the house was crafted by the owner, from siding to window frames, stair treads to mouldings, flooring to cabinetry. It is clear the owner has a love for wood and stone, earth and sky.
Needless to say, the owner is a private man, not given to showiness. He is not a braggart nor a snob. He has built a place of peace and beauty. The land is peaceful, it speaks to you to come and sit-a-while. The owner is not perfect, I would not call him and peaceful soul, nor would I call him bad. He is an enigma who wraps himself in the beauty of his farm and home.
The weather the last few days has been gorgeous, The sky yesterday was a deep sky blue, the clouds puffy and white, the air warm with a cool chill on the edges, the sun not burning, but warming. A perfect day and place to day dream. I always dream BIG. Nothing small nor trite makes its way into my day dreams, only the large and out of reach. Hope is always the foundation, looking to tomorrow for what may be. It is captivating, but sometimes not useful.
God wants us to live in the now, with hope in HIM for the future. Hope, He knows the way. Hope, He has the answers. Hope, he will make the dreams come true. Hope His will is in some of those day dreams. Hope, that regardless, he cares for me.
The farm was purchased in the early eighties by a business man looking for a haven. For more than twenty years he has patiently built and planted, molding the contours of earth and wood together. Fences are well maintained and set with a flair for space and color. Weaving across the pastures as a seam follows fabric, traveling along each fold as the pleats of a ladies skirt. The foundation on his home was laid 18 years ago and the structure was completed 18 months ago. Each piece of the house was crafted by the owner, from siding to window frames, stair treads to mouldings, flooring to cabinetry. It is clear the owner has a love for wood and stone, earth and sky.
Needless to say, the owner is a private man, not given to showiness. He is not a braggart nor a snob. He has built a place of peace and beauty. The land is peaceful, it speaks to you to come and sit-a-while. The owner is not perfect, I would not call him and peaceful soul, nor would I call him bad. He is an enigma who wraps himself in the beauty of his farm and home.
The weather the last few days has been gorgeous, The sky yesterday was a deep sky blue, the clouds puffy and white, the air warm with a cool chill on the edges, the sun not burning, but warming. A perfect day and place to day dream. I always dream BIG. Nothing small nor trite makes its way into my day dreams, only the large and out of reach. Hope is always the foundation, looking to tomorrow for what may be. It is captivating, but sometimes not useful.
God wants us to live in the now, with hope in HIM for the future. Hope, He knows the way. Hope, He has the answers. Hope, he will make the dreams come true. Hope His will is in some of those day dreams. Hope, that regardless, he cares for me.
Selfish Pride
Pride can be very selfish. One of the main characters in Sea Tree is a minister (not my real pastor). The minister's wife is dying of cancer. Of course, members of the congregation as well as friends and family are dropping by to check on her.
At this point, I'm undecided whether I want this to be about the wife or about the minister - but it goes along these lines: Being disabled, or helpless in a situation, can cause one to become depressed. It's also possible for someone to be both depressed and prideful at the same time.
I think back to my dad and how he never asked for nor accepted something from someone that he didn't earn with his own labor. But finally he grew older and one day - I'll never forget this day - he came by my apartment and asked if he could borrow some money so he could put gas in his car. This was a dad who always had an extra $100 to give to his sons when he visited - and we were more than willing to accept his generosity. But he'd never asked us for anything. Even when my car was totalled, my dad never asked me to pay the remaining payments. He'd co-signed for the loan and it was his name he was protecting. To this day I don't remember how much he paid for my car; but he turned around and helped me get another one.
I remember that I didn't have much money that day, but I wasn't going to deny my dad this one request. I gave him $20, watched him blush as he humbly accepted what I had and he promised to pay me back that Friday when he got paid again; and I held back my tears until he backed out of the driveway. It broke my heart that my dad had to beg for money. He was sending his entire paycheck from the lumber yard home to my mother back in North Carolina. They'd separated for a period while he was going through male menopause. Yet it warmed my heart that he allowed me to return a small favor. True to his word, my father showed up Friday with that $20 and despite my protests that he keep the money, placed two $10 bills in my hand.
I remember more recently visiting my mother in a nursing home and asking her if I could do anything or get something for her. She'd ask for small things, and I was always happy to be able to get them for her. Back to my story and my quandry about whether this should be about him or about his wife..... Sometimes pride manifests itself as an unwillingness to impose on someone. Here's this minister with all these friends who want to help, but they can't do what he really wants them to do so he always turns down any offers to help. He's used to ministering to others and isn't comfortable when the tables are turned. When my fiance was in the latter stages of her cancer, those who knew and loved her would have gladly healed her if they had the power to heal. Some would willingly change places with her if they could. Love is like that, and we're lucky if someone loves us that much. I know when I'm not feeling well I don't want anyone bothering me. When people ask how I'm doing, I'll lie and say OK; and when they ask if they can do anything for me I'll say no - but I think to myself "Yeah, you could leave me alone!"
So how does my minister friend in the story respond to the kindness of others? Should he allow them to do whatever they can - even if it won't change the circumstances? Isn't it better to allow his congregation to minister to him (or his wife)? I would imagine that denying someone the right to minister to him would make them as miserable as he is. At the same time, by allowing them to do something simple - like running an errand or bringing his wife a milkshake or sitting by her bed and reading to her would bring happiness to the person who wants to help.
My real pastor encourages us to focus on building relationships and friendships. These relationships are often give and take - just like life. I suspect that my pastor in the story will learn to become a friend as well as a pastor.
At this point, I'm undecided whether I want this to be about the wife or about the minister - but it goes along these lines: Being disabled, or helpless in a situation, can cause one to become depressed. It's also possible for someone to be both depressed and prideful at the same time.
I think back to my dad and how he never asked for nor accepted something from someone that he didn't earn with his own labor. But finally he grew older and one day - I'll never forget this day - he came by my apartment and asked if he could borrow some money so he could put gas in his car. This was a dad who always had an extra $100 to give to his sons when he visited - and we were more than willing to accept his generosity. But he'd never asked us for anything. Even when my car was totalled, my dad never asked me to pay the remaining payments. He'd co-signed for the loan and it was his name he was protecting. To this day I don't remember how much he paid for my car; but he turned around and helped me get another one.
I remember that I didn't have much money that day, but I wasn't going to deny my dad this one request. I gave him $20, watched him blush as he humbly accepted what I had and he promised to pay me back that Friday when he got paid again; and I held back my tears until he backed out of the driveway. It broke my heart that my dad had to beg for money. He was sending his entire paycheck from the lumber yard home to my mother back in North Carolina. They'd separated for a period while he was going through male menopause. Yet it warmed my heart that he allowed me to return a small favor. True to his word, my father showed up Friday with that $20 and despite my protests that he keep the money, placed two $10 bills in my hand.
I remember more recently visiting my mother in a nursing home and asking her if I could do anything or get something for her. She'd ask for small things, and I was always happy to be able to get them for her. Back to my story and my quandry about whether this should be about him or about his wife..... Sometimes pride manifests itself as an unwillingness to impose on someone. Here's this minister with all these friends who want to help, but they can't do what he really wants them to do so he always turns down any offers to help. He's used to ministering to others and isn't comfortable when the tables are turned. When my fiance was in the latter stages of her cancer, those who knew and loved her would have gladly healed her if they had the power to heal. Some would willingly change places with her if they could. Love is like that, and we're lucky if someone loves us that much. I know when I'm not feeling well I don't want anyone bothering me. When people ask how I'm doing, I'll lie and say OK; and when they ask if they can do anything for me I'll say no - but I think to myself "Yeah, you could leave me alone!"
So how does my minister friend in the story respond to the kindness of others? Should he allow them to do whatever they can - even if it won't change the circumstances? Isn't it better to allow his congregation to minister to him (or his wife)? I would imagine that denying someone the right to minister to him would make them as miserable as he is. At the same time, by allowing them to do something simple - like running an errand or bringing his wife a milkshake or sitting by her bed and reading to her would bring happiness to the person who wants to help.
My real pastor encourages us to focus on building relationships and friendships. These relationships are often give and take - just like life. I suspect that my pastor in the story will learn to become a friend as well as a pastor.
Blogs and Forums
One of my distractions from working on my novel is my involvement in online forums. Some are Christian forums, others are secular but we find a way of sneaking our faith in those too. Our faith is part of our makeup, so why pretend to be what we're not?
One of the forums I visit was created to bash the Amway business. Former distributors and people who've never been in the business come there to complain about how they were misled by the leadership. Lots of whining and complaining - years after they left the business! You'd think they'd have something else to occupy their time. When I question why they are so passionate about their hatred for Amway, they ask me why I'm not? I fell for the same spiel they did, yet I only found their blog while trying to find a former friend from the business. I really haven't given much thought to that part of my life in quite awhile.
There's a religion thread on that blog where people compare the Diamonds to Pharisees. They condemn the prosperity doctrine while forgetting they got into the business to make money. If you try to defend the business or hold people accountable, they turn on you like rabid dogs. Here's my take. When I'm swindled by a used car salesman, I don't buy from that dealership again. When I get food poisoning at a restaurant, I never eat there again. I might tell my friends and family how I was cheated or turn down an invitation by co-workers to do lunch at that restaurant again, but I don't campaign against those businesses nor do I ridicule my friends for doing business there. They have just as much right to get ripped off and throw up as I did.
Since these businesses are still around, it's apparent that not everyone has had my experiences. My reality isn't their reality. There's no sense dwelling on the past - I just chalk it up as lessons learned and carry on. Perhaps I simply lack passion about MLM - good or bad. The only two things I might be passionate about are my time with my daughter and my dislike for liberals and the lies they tell. Maybe I need to become passionate about my story. If I did, I wouldn't have time for all these blogs and forums.
One of the forums I visit was created to bash the Amway business. Former distributors and people who've never been in the business come there to complain about how they were misled by the leadership. Lots of whining and complaining - years after they left the business! You'd think they'd have something else to occupy their time. When I question why they are so passionate about their hatred for Amway, they ask me why I'm not? I fell for the same spiel they did, yet I only found their blog while trying to find a former friend from the business. I really haven't given much thought to that part of my life in quite awhile.
There's a religion thread on that blog where people compare the Diamonds to Pharisees. They condemn the prosperity doctrine while forgetting they got into the business to make money. If you try to defend the business or hold people accountable, they turn on you like rabid dogs. Here's my take. When I'm swindled by a used car salesman, I don't buy from that dealership again. When I get food poisoning at a restaurant, I never eat there again. I might tell my friends and family how I was cheated or turn down an invitation by co-workers to do lunch at that restaurant again, but I don't campaign against those businesses nor do I ridicule my friends for doing business there. They have just as much right to get ripped off and throw up as I did.
Since these businesses are still around, it's apparent that not everyone has had my experiences. My reality isn't their reality. There's no sense dwelling on the past - I just chalk it up as lessons learned and carry on. Perhaps I simply lack passion about MLM - good or bad. The only two things I might be passionate about are my time with my daughter and my dislike for liberals and the lies they tell. Maybe I need to become passionate about my story. If I did, I wouldn't have time for all these blogs and forums.
Distractions Along the Journey
I've had this novel in my mind for over a couple years now...even have the first couple chapters already typed. The problem is, I don't know how it's going to end. I suspect it will turn into a trilogy or maybe even a Never Ending Story. The characters are there and I'm always coming up with scenes and rabbit trails to chase, but lack the discipline to just sit down, start typing and see where it all goes.
The last year has been nothing but distractions: a daughter with cancer; a son who's been laid off from work; another daughter who is a couple years away from college and a life that may take her far from her dad; a grandson who needs a father; debts to be paid; transportation problems; even hiccups in my walk of faith. Along the way, I've begun to wonder if I really have something worth saying. But the dream's still there so I guess it will eventually come to pass. I can only do what I can control.
I wish I could take credit for this, but Allen Asbury said this in a performance when he started his professional music career: "A basketball in my hands is worth about $20. A basketball in the hands of Michael Jordan is worth about $33 million. A tennis racket in my hand is worthless, but in the hands of Pete Sampras, it's worth plenty. Five loaves and two fishes in my hands will make a couple of fish sandwiches; in God's hands they will feed thousands. A rod in my hand may hold off wild animals; a rod in the hand of Moses can part a mighty sea. A few nails in my hand might make a nice birdhouse; nails in Jesus' hands provide salvation for everyone." It all depends on who's hands the instrument is in. All my hopes, dreams, fears, plans and goals are fragile in my own hands, but in the Lord's hands they produce peace, joy, and patience in an otherwise chaotic life.
I've assessed my talents and my pitiful strength lies in the tips of my fingers poised over a computer keyboard. I hope to use them to produce something that will move people somehow, whether it's to laughter, or to tears, from hopelessness to faith. I don't know where the story is going, but I'm blessed to have friends and family who pray for me, who loan me cars when mine is dead; feed me healthy meals when I'm subsisting on chips and dip; who take my grandson to school because his mom is sick and I'm late for work; who allow my youngest daughter to stay over on teacher workdays so I don't have to take off work. You know who you are - and I thank God for you.
The last year has been nothing but distractions: a daughter with cancer; a son who's been laid off from work; another daughter who is a couple years away from college and a life that may take her far from her dad; a grandson who needs a father; debts to be paid; transportation problems; even hiccups in my walk of faith. Along the way, I've begun to wonder if I really have something worth saying. But the dream's still there so I guess it will eventually come to pass. I can only do what I can control.
I wish I could take credit for this, but Allen Asbury said this in a performance when he started his professional music career: "A basketball in my hands is worth about $20. A basketball in the hands of Michael Jordan is worth about $33 million. A tennis racket in my hand is worthless, but in the hands of Pete Sampras, it's worth plenty. Five loaves and two fishes in my hands will make a couple of fish sandwiches; in God's hands they will feed thousands. A rod in my hand may hold off wild animals; a rod in the hand of Moses can part a mighty sea. A few nails in my hand might make a nice birdhouse; nails in Jesus' hands provide salvation for everyone." It all depends on who's hands the instrument is in. All my hopes, dreams, fears, plans and goals are fragile in my own hands, but in the Lord's hands they produce peace, joy, and patience in an otherwise chaotic life.
I've assessed my talents and my pitiful strength lies in the tips of my fingers poised over a computer keyboard. I hope to use them to produce something that will move people somehow, whether it's to laughter, or to tears, from hopelessness to faith. I don't know where the story is going, but I'm blessed to have friends and family who pray for me, who loan me cars when mine is dead; feed me healthy meals when I'm subsisting on chips and dip; who take my grandson to school because his mom is sick and I'm late for work; who allow my youngest daughter to stay over on teacher workdays so I don't have to take off work. You know who you are - and I thank God for you.
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