Feels Like 45

There is an old cliche suggesting "everyone has a song within them." The reference implies all of us have at least one song waiting inside of us to get out (to be written). If that is true, I likely used mine up a while back.

Over a decade ago, I entered a song-writing contest on a local radio station and my song was chosen as one of the top two songs. The song contest challenged listeners to write a "country" song that had to include a laundry list of country song items (a dog, a truck, a lost love, jail time etc.). I entered the contest simply because after hearing the on- air DJ read some of the entries he had received, I concluded frankly, that they stunk! Stepping out of the shower, I said to my wife, "I can write a better song than that!" "Okay, prove it!" was her reply.

The contest ended at noon that day, so I quickly grabbed a guitar and pounded out a song in about 20 minutes. Since the contest ended in a matter of only a couple hours, I merely faxed the lyric sheet over to the station never expecting to hear from them. The next day they called and announced my song was a winner. For me, that was like putting a lit match to gasoline. Within a few months, I had written a couple handfuls of songs, most of which I scarcely even remember today. But one of the lyrics from some of those songs has stayed with me.

The lyric reflected a conversation a son has with his dad about getting old. At one point in the lyric, the father reflects about getting older saying, "the number may be 60, but it feels like 45."

When I wrote that line I was on the low side of 30 something and had little thought for getting "old." Today, I turned the corner on "half-way-to-90" as I celebrate my 45th birthday. Facing my own lyric, I'm wondering if this (45) is what I'm really going to feel like when I'm 60. But then again, is there any possible way I can feel 45 when I am 45? Shouldn't I feel like a low 30-something?

Doing the math, I don't know that I can say I feel "30" today. There has been a lot of road traveled and some hard life lessons learned in the past 15 years that in many ways make me feel (thankfully) older than 30. However, I still have a considerable amount of energy and believe I am in good health (ahh you see...there is a true sign of aging, when we begin conversing about our health!). I've heard the cliches "Your only as old as you feel" and "age is relative, one is only as old as they behave." Those things withstanding, to be honest today, I really don't know how old I feel.

Overall, I'm simply happy to be alive and living life as the Creator has given it to me to live. Less concerned about the time on the clock or the days on the calendar, I simply want to live each day to the fullest and give God all the glory He deserves.

If the day comes for me to see my 60th year, perhaps I will stop and reflect and determine that in some ways, I do feel 45. If so, I will count that day blessed because as for today, being 45 is a good thing no matter what age it feels!

"The glory of young men is their strength,
gray hair the splendor of the old."
Proverbs 20:29

Feed Me, Seymour

Audrey II: [singing] Feed me, Seymour / Feed me all night long - That's right, boy! - Go to it, Feed me Seymour / Feed me all night long / Cause if you feed me, Seymour / I can grow up big and strong.

The above is one of the more colorful lines from the stage and film dark comedy "Little Shop of Horrors." The line is spoken by Audrey II, a carnivorous plant with an increasingly sizeable personality and appetite.

Seymour is a clumsy employee of Mushnik's Flower Shop down on skid row, where he daydreams of an unrequited love for Audrey, his coworker. After consistently no business in the shop, Mr. Mushnik, the shop's owner, decides to close the business. Seymour and Audrey tell Mushnik they think putting something interesting, strange, and new in the window will attract business he is seeking. Seymour discovers the perfect plant for the job: a flytrap-type plant he calls Audrey II. The plant immediately attracts business but after the store closes for business hours, the plant begins to wilt and Mr. Mushnik orders Seymour to do something about it.

That night, Seymour discovers what it is that makes Audrey II the unique plant she is: a diet of blood. Seymour feeds the plant his own blood, and as a result, Audrey II gets bigger and bigger. Seymour becomes incapable of sustaining Audrey II's need. Urging him to kill people and feed them to her, the talking plant becomes more and more insistent. Audrey II promises Seymour great things that will bring him business, luxuries, and everything he's ever wanted including Audrey, the love of his life.

Seymour, fed up with the insistent feeding of Audrey II, decides to marry Audrey and leave town. Audrey II catches him trying to leave and demands even more food. Seymour finally refuses to give anymore of himself, but chooses to get some meat for the plant while making his escape. While he's gone, Audrey II calls Audrey over to him and tries in turn to eat her. Seymour reappears in the nick of time to save his beloved Audrey. After an executive from a plant company offers to distribute Audrey IIs worldwide, Seymour realizes Audrey II's plan is to have plants like her all over the world. Seymour survives an attack by Audrey II and does her in by electrocution.

Seymour and Audrey get married and live happily ever after, but all fades to black with a view of another Audrey II sprouting up in the garden.

"Cause if you feed me, Seymour, I can grow up big and strong" reminds me of life in most American churches. A consumerist dynamic exists among so many churchgoers who make demands of church staff with the expectation they are to "be fed" so they can grow up "big and strong." Little consideration is given to the personal responsibility of "growing in the Lord."

Not nearly as sinister as in "Little Shop," among some in the church there is an occasional "demand" for services rendered. When this happens, it makes me wonder what would result if ministers oriented themselves more toward assisting people to "feed themselves." A foundational key to spiritual formation is not only realizing one's own spiritual "hunger" but then also having enough concern about that hunger to do something about it. Too often, staff ministers propagate the very cultural frustrations by willingly "spoon feeding" Christians rather than working with them to understand the responsibility to feeding themselves. The old cliche may apply, "Give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish and he'll eat for a lifetime."

If Seymour had simply insisted on Audrey II to feel herself, the issue of the carnivorous plant would have been easily solved... but then again, the plot wouldn't have been too entertaining either!

Sometimes my ministry frustrates folks. People come wanting "answers" and when they leave our time together, they complain about only having more "questions." But... in time, I hear back from them that they have found out a "new thing" about themselves or their circumstance. I credit that to the Spirit alive within them and being open to the wisdom of the Lord. If all I did was provide answers, would the same level of discovery be realized? I'm not confident it would.

Feed those who can't feed themselves, but grow those who are capable to finding nourishment on their own and help develop their appetite for the spiritual meat they need to grow into "full-bodied" followers of Christ.

"In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers,
you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God's word all over again.
You need milk, not solid food!
Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant,
is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness.
But solid food is for the mature,
who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish
good from evil."
Heb. 5:12-14

Curiosity Factor

Memories from my childhood often flood back to me when I'm out riding. Not memories of myself riding , but memories of seeing others riding and wishing it was me. Years, if not decades, of pining away for what it must be like to fire up a bike, slip on a helmet (always) and click through the gears elluded me. Now I am the one who is blessed with the opportunity. Now, it is the other people (usually guys) checking out the bike with a longing sort of look in their eye.

Every motorcyclist deals with it -- the Curiosity Factor. Riding a motorcycle is like wearing a big sign that reads: Spontaneously Talk To Me, I LOVE Strangers. Other people who ride motorcycles generally, for some strange reason, want you to know they themselves ride as well. So they often begin spontaneous conversations with something like, "Hey, how do you like your bike?" You respond with "Great..." and then they pause, in anticipation of your next question... "You ride?" If you don't ask, it appears downright rude, as if we have some kind of unwritten code of motorcycle brotherhood. So you obligatorily ask... and we're off to the races... tales of "how I used to ride" or "Yeah, but not a bike like that one..." Yada, yada, yada...

As it was in my childhood, there is just something about the whole experience of motorcycling that seems attractive beyond words and for some little guys (and some not so "little" guys) they can't seem to get enough of it until they "touch" it. There have been far too many (for my own comfort) occasions when I've come back to my bike after being away from it in a public place and I've found "greasy kid prints" somewhere on my blessed machine. Among riders, there is a code of ethic (in that same unwritten book that if someone asks about your bike, you are obligated to ask if they ride) that you don't touch another person's bike unless they offer or you ask if you can. People lean up against a stranger's car and think nothing of it, but one doesn't touch a stranger's bike. Ever! And if you do choose to touch it, the owner knows about it. It's motorcycle "Touch-dar" (similar to radar)... we leave our bikes and we can "feel" if someone else has touched it. It is a sixth-sense kind of thing. If you don't ride, I don't expect you to understand it, if you do ride, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Today, though the winter temperatures hovered only near 40 degrees, it was just too nice a day to keep the bike in the garage. I found an excuse to ride to a store about 20 miles away and bundled up for the ride. As usual, there was beauty, fun and fascination in the same route I've traveled countless times. Arriving at the store (one of the large warehouse variety), it seemed I was in for a heavily "curious" day.

Parking close to the entrance (motorcyclists are always inventing new places to park) under a large porte-cache, I had two head bobs (guys silently acknowledging your presence, so their girlfriend/wife doesn't hear -- which would likely bring up the continuing argument of wanting a bike under her protest) and I received a verbal walk-by "nice bike." That's fairly typical.

You know, I feel most sorry for the guys who just look at you with those longing "puppy dog" eyes. They don't need to say anything because I know that look all too well. It is the "My Wife Won't Let Me Have a Bike" look. If I've seen it once, I've seen it a million times. It is just downright sad to see a grown man pout as you walk by in your leathers with helmet (always) in hand. It makes me all the more thankful for my sweet wife who puts up with this two-wheeled obsession.

Appreciating the usual acknowledgments and after making it into the store, while standing in the customer service line for a moment I should have seen the little guy coming. He must have been no more than five years old, still holding on to that unabashed childish curiosity we're born with. Walking right up to me gawking look in his eye, he decided he just had to touch my helmet! Before I knew it, I had ketchup coated, post-hotdog hands all over my face shield. Amazed his parents hadn't held him off at the pass, I gently rebuffed the little guy and looked for his parent's intercession. Once again, I chalked it up to the Curiosity Factor.

"Napkin, please!"

Continuing my shopping (while on a bike spending is necessarily curtailed by limited cargo space -- always a good thing), the checkout clerk just had to ask what kind of bike I ride. Breaking the code, I simply told him. I didn't bother to ask if he rode. After all, he was busy and the lines were long enough as it was. If a "bike" conversation had ensued, we could be there for who knows how long!

"Customers waiting!"

Returning to my bike, "Touch-dar" indicating no intruders, a store employee standing outside for a smoke said in her nicotine laced voice, "I kept an eye on it for you." "Thanks!" was my reply. "Is that thing fast?" she inquired. "Yep. Pretty fast," came my reply.

Pulling my gloves on as the bike continued to rewarm itself in the now rapidly cooling evening air, the puffing store employee finished her smoke and made her way toward me. Breaking into my physical airspace, she patted me on the shoulder on her way by. No more words spoken, just an apparent social nuance -- an expression of concern perhaps -- that I'd be okay out there. Another symptom of the Curiosity Factor, I presume. I don't normally get touched by store employees, but when you're a motorcyclist, I guess that's okay.

All of this to say, there are times I wish my faith in Jesus Christ drew the same kind of attention that riding motorcycles does. Not that I love little kids putting their grimy hands on my helmet, or touching my bike or that, frankly, I even enjoy conversing with every single stranger who speaks to me about riding, but if my faith generated the same levels of the Curiosity Factor that riding does, wouldn't my faith take on a whole new meaning and expression?

If more people knew how great motorcycling really is, there would simply be more riders and fewer people who wished they were. If more people knew how great life in Jesus Christ really is, maybe there would be more followers and fewer who have no idea what they are missing!

"In the same way, let your light shine before men..."
Matt. 5:16

To Love

Love is a curious thing. It can strike with such strong and convincing blows we are nearly knocked unconscious at first sight. Yet on other occasions, love creeps in like the first hint of light before the dawn. Slowly but steadily it rises, invading the immediate space until finally it crests in the horizon. With each perceivable advance it moves and soon warmth surrounds everything that was once cold and dark. Love is a powerful thing.

Love is a fascinating thing. At what point do we learn to love? The moment our first child was born I remember looking into my child's eyes for the very first time. A moment engraved forever in memory. An instant connection, a moment in all time, acknowledgment of father for child and child for father. It was love, to be sure. It still feels like yesterday. Closing my eyes as my fingers stroke these keys, I go back to that precise moment, every detail perfectly retrievable. Love is a powerful thing.

Love is a wonderful thing. To love or to be loved... which is the greater? The altruist responds of course, "To love." But to be truly loved is amazing and transcends words. This is certainly why lovers are temporarily content to simply sit and be close. No words need be spoken. Even touch is unnecessary. Simply being near and getting to "be" together is enough and yet, at the same time it is not. It is never enough when one is truly loved. Love is a powerful thing.

Love is perfect. Yet, we are not. How it is we ever come to love in the first place? To experience the love of another and to express love ourselves is something of a mystery. It is as if we glance by love, as dipping a finger into the icing of a wonderful cake, but not able to cut a full slice and eat. Love, in its fullest sense remains illusive and ambiguous. Will I ever love as I am designed to love? Will anyone ever receive greater love as a result of my expression of it?

How then shall we love? Will our love improve? "We love because he [God] first loved us" (1 John 4:19). If love is to improve -- if we are to better learn to receive it and to better dispense it -- we must love the One who first loved us.

Lord, please teach us to love!

"God is love. Whoever live in love lives in God, and God in him."
1 John 4:16

Little Friends

The older I become (sometime in the very near future I cross the threshold of "half way to 90"), the more I value friendship. Writing frequently about my need to improve my skills in being a friend, I've come to realize benefit in patiently investing in the lives of people both much older than me and much younger. One of my latest friends has a corner on the "much younger" market.

Nicknamed by his family as "Little Man," and aptly descriptive I would say because he is very much like a little man, he and I have really hit it off. I had the pleasure of being the very first to ever buy and feed him ice cream, a pleasure we have yet to determine by whom was enjoyed more, by me or by him (I've since been blessed to do it a second time and as soon as the weather heats up, we're going to plan on number three!).

Though only a few weeks beyond his first birthday, we already have a cool little friendship. Nearly everytime he sees me, he waves or gives me a little "high five." It is the coolest experience ever! I just get a ton of joy every time I see him and he already makes me long for the potential of grandkids (that is a tough line to cross, knowing you're old enough to officially qualify for "grandpadom"). The first time I hear him verbalize "Mr. Christopher" I may just melt quicker than the ice cream! What a day that will be!

Yesterday, Little Man was visiting in our offices and sharing lunch with his parents and a few others. After our usual greeting (wave and high five this time), I was privileged to hear him say the word "Cracker." This was the first word I've ever heard him speak other than the usual baby talk. Though it didn't sound exactly like "Cracker," it did sound like something else... which I proceeded to mimic, ill advisedly I might add. He quickly looked up at me as with a glance of confusion. His mom pronounced the word as it should be, I pronounced it the way I heard it. The dissonance was clearly seen on his face.

It was the glance he gave me with his little blue eyes that gave me pause. It seemed he was trying to figure out who to "imitate" -- the "ice cream guy" or my trusted mother. "Little Man" taught me a good lesson yesterday. Even at one year of age, he is watching and learning and... imitating. Mr. Christopher can offer him much more than merely the taste of ice cream. That is always a sobering point.

For a friend with whom I spend relatively so little time, I really can't afford to take any chances with compromised influence. So my resolution is simply this: to watch every opportunity for positive Christ-like influence and to be the very best friend possible. And... to buy him ice cream every opportunity I get!

Overflow

If you are a car owner (or car payment maker at least), do you know without looking, how much gas is in the tank of that vehicle? Though completely obvious, it does stands to reason that even the most exotic vehicles in the world are worth nothing more than mere appearances if they aren't filled with fuel. Fuel puts the "o" in the "go."

Do you give much consideration to what "drives" your life? What is your primary motivation to merely get out of bed in the morning? Or what is the incentive to do more than you have ever done before or to go farther than you have previously ever gone? Effectively, what is the "fuel" that drives you? The variety of responses to those questions are likely as numerous as the number of people asked.

What if the amount of "fuel" currently in your tank was directly proportionate to the amount of "fuel" you have previously expended? In other words, if you emptied your tank completely during the day, then the amount of fuel in your tank the next morning would subsequently be full. Would you willfully "burn all the fuel" every day or would you leave some in the tank?

The scenario is strictly hypothetical (and perhaps even a stretch), but the words of Jesus have me wondering. "Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you" (Luke 6:37-38).

Intent on avoiding any sense of consumerism which so frequently plagues spirituality these days, I do find it curious to wonder if most Christians seriously take Jesus at His word. Do those who claim to follow Christ exercise the fullest "measure" of their energy or giftedness in each day? And if they do expend themselves to the fullest, do they find themselves "filled beyond capacity" when the day is done or as they rise the next day? Or is it more likely that Christ-followers play life a little more conservatively and tend to leave "spiritual fuel" in the tank at the end of the day, not fully confident it will be re-supplied?

If we "give" in the pattern of living the way Jesus suggests, it is my confidence we will never lack for the internal drive to give more. Of course, this doesn't preclude the need for rest, but as a matter of principle it seems better to "empty the tank" every day we're given to "drive."

What is your take on the matter? I'd enjoy hearing your thoughts...

Time Frame

Until recently, having lived my entire life on the "left coast," one of the inherent things I've missed in life is a profound sense of "history" and "tradition" in the places I've previously called home. This may be in part to the relative newness of my dwelling places. The house in which I grew up was a "new build" on land that immediately before was occupied by dairy cows (yes, every time it rained for several years thereafter, the ground smelled ferociously like cows, but one benefit was we grew some amazing grass in those lawns!).

Every home my wife and I have owned together (the current house being our fourth) has never been more than 10 years old on the day we moved in (and 3 of the 4 have been only 4 years old or less). So for me, finding architectural heritage older than say50 years (which isn't all that old by most standards, especially in Europe) simply fascinates me.

A few evenings ago, my family and I were pleased to attend a theater production starring our friend's son. Held at a local high school campus which I had not previously visited, I was immediately struck by a sense of history and tradition in the place. From the moment I walked into the building, history was encompassed in trophy cases lining the walls like a museum with years and years of tradition displayed on the shelves. The architecture, the colors, the sounds, even the smell... it was like a scene from the movie Dead Poet's Society when Robin William's character encourages his students, while standing in front of a similar trophy case, to "hear the voices of those who've gone before. Listen... listen..." It was an almost surreal moment, striking me with reflective regard for time.

The elementary school I attended was brand new my first year and the junior high I attended was only three years old when I entered it. The high school from which I graduated was four years old when I arrived and I graduated in the seventh graduating class. When it comes to school heritage and tradition, I find my experiences brief. My older daughter's current high school is now only four years old (do you see a pattern developing here) and she is blessed with the pleasure of helping build a history and participate in creating school traditions.

Entering the auditorium the other night was like stepping into Riddel High from the movie Grease. Though very well maintained and clean, the event could have easily been set in 1960. What a wonderful thing it must be to hear the "voices" of decades of stage productions gone before. To "feel" the presence of countless numbers of nervous students getting ready to take the stage for the first curtain of their high school acting career. It was a really great moment... until I looked up high on the right wall of the auditorium.

In place of the old mid-twentieth century wall clock was a new glowing red LED digital clock. Almost haphazardly hung in place of the old analog standard, whose former numerical locations are still clearly evidenced on the neutral brick wall due to an apparent lack of attention to cosmetic detailing, the red lights of the new clock look down like vulturous eyes seeking their next victim.

Not nearly as innocent as the digital clock setting sentry on the nightstand beside one's bed, keeping faithful watch and gauging the night's slumber, this new vicar of vestigial time looms almost condemning, marking not only hours and minutes, but seconds as well! At first, it was not bothersome to me. But as I occasionally glanced its way, the rolling of the seconds seemed perilous and altogether unnecessary. Is their any occurrence within the confines of a high school auditorium necessitating such minute incremental chronological measurement? Ah well, perhaps the first hand holding of a boy and girl during a pep rally or the duration of a speech at the district debate competition, but surely not for a stage production of Beauty and the Beast!

We are so accustomed, in this digital age, to thinking of time in such a precise manner we have embraced it as "normal." However, it might more appropriately inform our understanding of time to appreciate the fact that our concept of measuring time is relatively young. The concept of measuring seconds did not appear until the early 1700's and for most of history prior to that, time was measured by the created order of things like seasons, moon phases or the rising and the setting of the sun. Why must we be so exacting about time? It may have something to do with our need for control. Philip D. Kenneson makes some interesting observations in this regard in his book entitled "Life on the Vine."

The new clock, in that very old auditorium, bothered me. Not merely from an aesthetic point of view (being completely out of context with the rest of the room's decor), but more from the perspective of function. Rather than friend, that clock, with its incessant silent ticking of the seconds became more foe than friend. While watching the first act, my mind began wandering to thoughts of finitude and frailty while counterpunched by the plot of the play as the Beast races against time hoping to woo the love the Beauty before the rose contained in the glass globe drops its final petal and the Beast's time of redemption expires forevermore.

At intermission, my wife asked how long I thought the second act might be. My response was less than committed... "Maybe 2o minutes, or it could be 40 or 45... I don't know, but does it really matter?" She, of course, had no idea of the philosophical debate going on in my head with the digital vulture from high on the auditorium wall.

For those who are counting, the second act lasted approximately 40 minutes and 16 seconds. I thoroughly enjoyed the artistry and talent of our friend's son in his leading role. As we stood in ovation, whistling praises for a final bow, I gave a scornful scowl to the new sentinel of time in that high school auditorium. Thinking to myself, "You will not be my master and I will not be your beast." Time, if understood correctly, will be a friend and that alone can be a thing of beauty.

"But do not forget this one thing, dear friends:
With the Lord a day is like a thousand years,
and a thousand years are like a day."
2 Pet. 3:8

Words...

I love words. For as long as I can remember I've been fascinated simply by words. I suppose I am even a bit sentimental about words. The same paperback Webster dictionary I purchased my Freshman year of college sits by my office desk and is referenced several times per week. Though worn nearly to the point of disrepair, I can't seem to purchase a replacement. That dictionary and I have seen both the best and the worst of times. I've used it to write at the highest heights and the lowest of lows. In a strange way, it is like a dear friend.

Synonyms alone can hold my attention for an unreasonable amount of time. How many various ways can one express effectively the same thought or phrase repeatedly and never use the same word twice? I used to play games like this with words for hours on end (for those who find that weird, I once had a friend who mentally typed every word they heard, so categorically, I don't think I'm that strange). Short of being completely obsessive about it, I do frequently look for new words or new expressions or a clever turn of a phrase.

Years ago my wife began reminding me that if people don't understand the words used, the effectiveness of communication is lost. Occasionally, she still reminds me. I will admit when I was in college, my crew of friends in the college of Communications made sport of articulated verbosity. I confess, there was a time when I derived a certain amount of ego-feed from flaunting words around. That sport was challenged in graduate school as I was introduced to a diminutive book by Helmet Thielicke entitled, "A Little Exercise for Young Theologians." This little book, of relatively few words, decisively put an end to my grammatical expressions of self aggrandizement. Clearly, I struggle evermore with other means.

Still, I love words. For me, words are like paint to canvas. The proper word paints more clearly the picture I visualize in my mind's eye. If I struggle to find the adequate word to express my mind, I tend to "freeze up" until the appropriate word is located. It seems strange to be so "visual" about something typically so "auditory," but apparently this is the way my brain functions.

A sobering reality about words is that as precisely articulate or picturesque as they may be, without significant thought or sincerity, they are merely confined to a limited existence. Without care, words are simply words. Without depth of character, wisdom and humility, even the most eloquent of human orators and writers produce nothing more than empty speech regardless of how articulate they may be. Even the "right" word irresponsibly or inappropriately spoken is a loss, not a gain.

Though a difficult discipline, I am attempting to find my way into fewer words. Some of the wisest people for whom I have the deepest respect speak relatively little. Conversely, some for whom respect comes with certain difficulty seem to grow quite passionate of their own words.

Words are wonderfully fascinating, but it is not word choice or extensive vocabulary which ultimately impress. It is character, moral fiber and love which speak volumes beyond words.

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels,
but have not love,
I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal."
1 Cor. 13:1

Waiting On Patience

A funny thing about "middle age" is that you've lived long enough to gain a little perspective on things and you've lived long enough to remember back when things weren't the way they are now.

A case in point would be that I remember life before microwave ovens. There was a time when reheating leftovers was something of a chore. A famished after-school kid really had to want to eat badly enough to warm up the oven, wait on the food to get warm and then finally eat it. By the time that task was accomplished, it was nearly dinner time anyway! I usually settled for a bowl of cereal or cold pizza after school!

How about life before cellular phones? Instead of having someone "call with directions" (guide us in by cell phone), we actually had to draw maps to new places we had not previously traveled. Merely obtaining an address wasn't enough (this was also before the days of computerized mapping programs or personal GPS devices), you actually had to know where you were going! Getting lost was an adventure I don't miss much and carrying around a large map book isn't high on my nostalgia list either.

One of the favorite past times for my daughters while we're riding around in the car is to shoot pictures of each other on their cell phones. What a funny world we live in where your phone is also your camera. Do you remember the days of Detective Dick Tracy and his cool two-way wrist watch? Now everyone has even more in the palm of their hand (but they don't wear the cool yellow Fedora). My girls fire off dozens upon dozens of potos in a matter of a few minutes, laughing themselves silly all the while. The photos they like, they keep. The ones they don't like get instantly deleted.

When I start talking to them about the "Photomat" store or how we used to have to wait for days (or sometimes weeks or even months because we hadn't finished an entire roll of film and taken it in for developing), they just roll their eyes at my antiquated diatribe. It just makes me feel old when they do that.

They just don't get it, nor should I expect them to get it! They aren't middle aged. They can't remember life without microwaves, or cellphones or any number of new things. I didn't get it when my parents told me their "back in the day" tales either. It is a generational phenomenon that will roll on as long as there is time. I can only imagine what technologically awaits my grandchildren and I can't wait to watch them roll their eyes at my girl's stories, either!

The thing I have to wonder about most is the loss of patience in the wake of it all. With each new technological development, we seem to be moving deeper and deeper into instant gratification and farther and farther away from patience. These days, I've actually found myself standing in front of the microwave oven urging it to "hurry up!" I will let photos backup on the digital camera because I don't want to take the time to download them. It is silly, really. Maybe it is generational backlash of never developing a roll of film before I squeezed that 27th frame out of a 26 exposure roll? I don't know. But I do need to figure some stuff out.

What I do know is that I need to learn a little patience. "Back in the day" we didn't seem to move as fast. If you wanted to get somewhere, you took the time to look it up on a map. And there was a sense of adventure and subsequent accomplishment when you actually arrived. There was also a sense of anticipation when you picked up those developed photos and then laughed because the shot brought back the fun of the moment already beginning to slip away days, weeks or months ago into a fading memory. And cold pizza? Well, reheated slowly in a conventional oven might just actually taste a little bit better than a "nuked" slice with instantly "rubberized" crust.

While I enjoy new technology as much as anyone, I'm finding a need for balance. I'm learning to wait on patience. I only hope I can teach my daughters a little of it along the way. Maybe it would be good to reheat the pizza in the old oven once in a while? Then we could take a picture and instantly remember how good it was!

"And we pray this in order that you may live a life worthy of the Lord
and may please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work,
growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might
so that you may have great endurance and patience..."
Col. 1:10-11

The Science of Not Knowing

It must take a particular personality type that enables one to become a TV weatherperson. It must take the type of individual whom does not have a particular necessity to be "right" about many things. There are certainly those persons who find themselves always needing to be right or they simply don't either feel confident about themselves or don't feel comfortable with others. TV weatherpersons must not struggle with either one of these needs.

As the current "ice storm" headed toward the Dallas metroplex, the TV weather forecasters kept warning of the impending "doom" of "inches of ice" that would be "cutting off life as we know it." As the "Extra Edition" corner barkers of old once heralded the latest breaking headlines, today's TV weatherpersons can whip up an entire metropolitan area into a frenzy with their probable forecasts and "live action coverage." The media frenzy is rather ridiculous, actually.

Saturday afternoon I allegedly "took my life in my hands" as I ventured out to the local Walmart. Though there was a fair amount of rain falling and pooling on the ground, the dangerous weather forecasted was nowhere to be found! Walking through the Walmart grocery section, it was clear the shelves had experienced a run on "non-perishable items." (I had heard one of the weatherpersons go so far as to suggest people "stock up because we just don't know how bad this storm will be"). I had to wonder if there must be some collusion to this whole thing.

I appreciate the "science of not knowing" (there was a time when I was actually considering a career in meteorology), but what the media does with the weather is tantamount to deception. It seams sensationalism (media hype) gets the best of the weather forecasters and the viewing public. It is reasonable that if a local station can hook our attention at "continuing coverage" we will be more apt to patronize their advertisers. Business is understandable, but giving undue concern to viewers is not.

Last night, countless Dallas churches cancelled worship services for this morning on the basis of these TV forecasts only to awaken to nothing more than rain soaked streets. My home church held both of the regularly scheduled worship services as well as the scheduled Bible classes. Because we had only about 50% of our regular attendance present, it became evident many visitors came to our church today because their church was "embarrassingly closed" (I was told one guest actually used this terminology). While warning the public of potentially dangerous weather is of certain benefit, it is quite unnecessary to unduly alarm them. People are not ignorant. Most can discern danger and can assess their own ability to navigate dangerous conditions.

Isn't it strange how so many can feed on another's anxiety? When other people around us "spin" into anxiety, it will serve everyone well to simply stay calm, assess the situation and then act accordingly. Why is it that so many are reticent to merely admitting they don't have a solid answer? Forcing an answer causes anxiety that is often unnecessary.

A considerable number of people missed meaningful Christian fellowship this morning and at my home faith community, a lot of people missed a really good sermon on the value of Sabbath rest. If more people had remained less anxious and had the weatherpersons simply reported the facts and admitted their science of not knowing, perhaps it would have gone better for the masses (literally).

As I record these words, the TV weatherman just announced it will be a hazardous commute in the morning due to the ice on the road. Heading to bed, I guess I'll just have to wait and see how accurate is this "science of not knowing."

"Don't be anxious about anything,
but in everything, by prayer and petition,
with thanksgiving,
present your requests to God."
Phil. 4:6

Always Faithful...

That North Texas has been in a drought is no secret. Some area lakes are below 50% capacity and our community has been in a Stage 3 water conservation mode since Spring 2006. We've needed rain desperately and many with whom I am acquainted have been in diligent prayer for it. And... the rain is falling. In fact, we've seen more than 3" fall since the beginning of the year.

Currently, for over 24 hours now, the rain has fallen. Some of the urban lakes and ponds in our neighborhood are above capacity and others are showing much improvement. For the rain I am thankful, but for the manner in which it has come, I give praise.

When the ground is as thirsty as our soil has been over the past year or so, it is easy for rains like this to erode soil at a rapid pace. This rain has come at such a consistent, yet steadily moderate pace, the soil has been able to "drink" without getting "choked" and effectively "throwing up." The forecast tonight calls for more rain, mixed with freezing rain and sleet for the next 36 hours and the thermometer on the back porch is hovering at 33 degrees. Another degree or two and we'll be in for a transportation nightmare with frozen ice on the roads, but nonetheless, it is weather we've been desperately needing.

Why the Creator graces some areas with just the right amount in just the right manner is amazing to me while other natural events can wipe out major portions of a state or country (Hurricanes Rita and Katrina, the East Asian Tsunami, et. al.). That mystery is beyond my comprehension, but for now, I'm rejoicing in a steady nourishing of our parched land.

"He performs wonders that cannot be fathomed,
miracles that cannot be counted.
He bestows rain on the earth;
he sends water upon the countryside."
Job 5:9-10

Painful Gluttony

At the moment of this writing, I'm finding myself too full to go to bed. Dining earlier this evening with friends at a locally popular Brazilian Steak House (one of those Churrascaria restaurants) caused a realization that if more of the "seven deadly sins" were immediately painful, we as human beings might be less inclined to pursue them.

If you've not had the occasion to dine at one of these fine establishments, the basic principle is to indulge. Your evening begins with an explanation from your waiter that you are here for gastronomic pleasure. "Please do not be in a hurry this evening," he began. "Tonight you are here to enjoy our fine food as you are our guests. If your meal takes three hours, that is how long it takes. It is to be expected," he continues.

Did you know that an adult human being is much like any common mammal? If there is food available, we will likely continue eating until we make ourselves sick! And so we did...

First it was the amazing salad bar. More choices than any human ought to have to make. A lobster bisque that would knock your socks off and fried provolone cheese that tastes more like candy than cheese. After TWO trips to the salad bar... then we flipped over our little "red light, green light" coaster/"bring on the meat" indicators and the gaucho waiters inundated us with every possible iteration of beef, pork, lamb, chicken, sausage and MORE beef... it just keeps coming and coming and coming... "O forgive me... and yes, I'll have more fillet please!" I didn't know "crack cocaine" was now available in medium rare!

When you've finally hit your limit (I "pulled over" and coasted on "red" for a while and then gave another good run at two more plates of meat) then all those at the table slowly grind (pardon the chewing pun) to a halt. Another waiter comes and scrapes all the fallen scraps from the table (if you haven't picked them off the table cloth by the time they arrive). It is simply amazing any of us can speak, let alone belt out a few good laughs. Of course, the humor runs around the theme of movies featuring gluttony and explosive consumption.

And then the moment of truth arrives. Almost as if there is one last opportunity at some sense of redemption. Just when the thought crosses your mind that, "we're done".. out comes the dessert tray. "Ah... wouldn't a nice light piece of Key Lime pie be good?" we query hoping for even the slightest affirmation from a fellow sinner... Consolation: At least for this course we shared!

After paying for this gruesome indulgence, we find ourselves barely able to walk to our cars. Not really wanting the night to end, it becomes someones brilliant idea (okay, I confess it might have been me) to stop by S'bucks for only a "tall" this time. When will the madness cease?!? If you're wondering... of course I ordered one. It's S'Bucks!

Now, I'm finding it is difficult to type these words... I believe my stomach has expanded even into the ends of my fingers. They do look heavier, plumper... like one of those tasty Brazilian sausages! Maybe it was the saltiness of the Sea Salt seasoned strip steak? Or maybe the bacon wrapped Fillet Mignon? It couldn't have been the Parmesan Chicken (I passed on that), maybe it was the pork tenderloin?

So now... though I loved the food and enjoy the friendships at the table even more... I'm physically miserable. It is later than I care to stay up tonight given my schedule in the morning, and I can't move out of this chair! Is anyone willing to forklift me into bed?

If gluttony is this painful, I think I'll have to pass on the next opportunity to sin!

Cheers!

Never Underestimate the Underdog

How many times have we seen it? After this year's Boise State vs. Oklahoma bowl game (of the century, I might add) you'd think we'd grow weary of the "upsets. " But tonight's rump-roasting of the Ohio State Buckeyes by the Florida Gators in the BCS "Championship" game once again proves one should never underestimate the power of the underdog.

Though completely different in amazement than the Boise State victory, Florida's 41-14 manhandling of the previously undefeated THE Ohio State University team and this year's Heisman Trophy winner once again pleads for a (real) BCS National Championship Playoff.

Boise State is STILL undefeated. Should they be ranked college football's #1 team of 2006?

If in life you are feeling the "underdog," be sure to leave enough room for the victory. The Lord once looked defeated and He came back in a powerful way and no one believing in His victory was ever the same again.

Who is your underdog?

Beyond Bodies

Running on the treadmill this morning, I didn't see the man go down only a few feet from me. Being so engrossed with my own workout, I completely missed what was going on around me. Within a few seconds, several others gathered around him offering him any assistance they could. At this point, my limited experience would have been no help at all. Feeling my own heart pounding in my chest as I ran, I had to wonder if, or when, that might be me. It is ironic how we work so hard at staying physically fit and can still collapse doing the very thing that is intended to keep us from doing so (I think of athletes like Jim Fixx, Pete Maravich or Sergei Grinikov, a 28 year-old double Olympic gold medalist, who collapsed and died suddenly while training).

As it turned out, the gentleman in the gym today likely only overheated. Following a visit with the paramedics and some time on an oxygen bottle, he was eventually walking under his own power though clearly a little woozy. I'm reminded to pray for him even as I write this entry. "May it go well with him and with his Creator." I'll likely see him again in a day or two.

Still reflecting on the Body Worlds exhibition (see yesterday's blog), I've been giving some consideration to just how temporal is this physical body of ours. So limited by the forces of nature is our flesh that, to transcend it would be a marvelous thing. I've heard many "near death" testimonies speak of being "released from the body" and that experience of this release being a marvelous thing. How would life perspectives change were we to concentrate less on the flesh and more on the spiritual essence of our being? While not advocating the neglect of the flesh, I do believe our flesh receives far more attention than does our spiritual self.

For many years I've lived with a nagging sense there is so much more to experience beyond the boundaries of this fleshly existence but I simply too infrequently pursue that experience with any real devoted diligence. Don't get me wrong, I'm very much about praying, meditating and the pursuit of the spiritual life (not merely for the sake of experience but for becoming more of what the Creator intends for me to be in the following of Jesus Christ). But I'm finding the desire to pursue the spiritual existence with the same (if not increased) diligence with which I have pursued my flesh. There simply has to be so much more to be known in the spiritual world and finding something of it is filled with fascinating question and wonder.

The other day some amazing photos taken from the Hubble Space telescope came across my electronic desktop. These photos brought physical imagery to some of my notions that there is much more to experience beyond this life. Though simply physical representations of what the human eye can't see unaided, but now can be seen with the benefit of the Hubble, imagine what spiritual wonders await us that exist but remain "unknown" because of our lack of "vision" to see it in the here and now. If the beauty of the spiritual "unknown" is as magnificent as the physical "unknown" that is now seen in these pictures, then there is much to "see" and "know" in the spiritual.

For a glimpse at these physical wonders... click here or here and imagine what more is "out there" that we have yet to see and know. For a glimpse into the spiritual wonders... find a renewed dedication to the pursuit of what it means to "be" created in His image and imagine what will be.

Happy imagining...

"No eye has seen,
no ear has heard,
no mind has conceived
what God has prepared for those who love him --
but God has revealed it to us by his Spirit."
1 Cor. 1:9-10

On Being a Plastic (Some)Body

Spending the last week and a half out of the office on vacation has been a blessing to my body, soul and spirit. Though a few more days would really be ideal, there is more work stacking up than I care to tackle when I return. So tomorrow brings back the routine of daily life.

As with any "in town" vacation, I try to always maximize the local "culture." This week, my daughter's and I (my wife's vacation days don't correspond with mine this year) caught a couple amazing cultural exhibits. Yesterday brought us the largest single collection of VanGogh's work in over 40 years. "Sheaves of Wheat" was an amazing experience [more here]. Such incredible work from a master who's own internal pain and mental anguish was channeled into amazing beauty. His appreciation for the human spirit, back-breaking work and the beauty of both in the natural landscape is striking and memorable. Paint-to-canvas-to-eye-to-heart is an amazing transference for the attendee of this exhibition. I will carry the images in my heart and mind's eye for many years to come.

Today, we experienced an entirely different form of beauty, the likes of which we rarely, if ever, see with the human eye. Gunther Von Hagens' "Body World" [more here]is currently running at the Dallas Museum of Natural Science. Real "formerly living" human bodies are displayed in varying states of being through a process known as "plastination." While a little bit "creepy" it is entirely fascinating and full of wonder. To physically observe the actual inner workings of a human body is altogether amazing and astonishing. Within minutes the viewer must confess we are "fearfully and wonderfully made" (Ps. 139).

The exhibition has generated its fair share of criticism and has endured certain levels of suspicion in the press and among some in the religious community. After attending, the remaining effect for me is to revere the body "beautiful" and to stand in amazement at how intensely complex we are. And yet, as Von Hagens intends to project through the process of plastination, we must "close the distance between life and death." After viewing the exhibition, I'm further convicted that this distance between living and dying is not far at all. We are but a "mist" (James 4:14) that appears for a little while and then vanishes away (unless we donate our bodies for plastination, I suppose). But this causes me to further consider what part of me vanishes and what part of me remains.

One of the strongest impressions left with me today was that so little of my existence is physical. Ironically, we as human beings invest countless dollars in making our physical being "all it can be." We feed it, pamper it, indulge it, work it, spa it, massage it, lift it, nip it, tuck it, reduce it, tan it... and it is still only a relatively small portion of who we actually are. Seeing all these "formerly living" bodies in various states of display (some quite graphic and explicitly anatomically revealed, I might add) reminds me that though amazing in its creation, the human body still is merely "dust" and will return to dust eventually. The real essence of who we are as human beings can never be reduced to "plastination" and remains long beyond the body regardless of what preservation methods are used. (Incidentally, how different is viewing a Von Hagens' plastinated body than viewing a mummified body from ancient Egypt? The difference may only be in the quality of preservation).

It is interesting how often humans try the same techniques with their spiritual being that they do with their physical bodies. We, in effect, attempt to "plastinate" by not allowing people to see the real "inner" us. We wear spiritual facades and reply in what almost sound like pre-recorded sound bytes to avoid true spiritual detection. Perhaps there is room for an exhibition entitled "Spirit Worlds" wherein observers paying a premium price (Body Worlds ain't cheap) could see the real "insides" of who we are -- our motives, our inner thoughts, our lusty tendencies and our spiritual greatness. Now, you want to talk about "creepy?" Would you attend such an exhibition or would it simply be too much?

Displayed in "Body Worlds" are the "vessels" of people who cared well for their bodies and those who obviously abused them (one display clearly shows that the damage of smoking remains long after the spirit has "left the house"). To be welcomed into these volunteer's physical "temples" (1 Cor. 6:19) and to see what was/is on the inside of them is an amazing experience. But would it be as glorious could we get on the inside of who they really were/are spiritually? This question has followed me since the moment I left the exhibition hall.

Glory to the Creator and blessed be the Name of the One who has secured eternity in the lives of those who believe in Him (John 3:16). For He has made us acceptable in the presence of the One who made it all and makes it bearable to spiritually step into tomorrow.