We Were So Close

For those who know me well, my love for music can not be hidden. If I don't think anyone is around (and sometimes even when I don't care if someone is around) , you'll catch me singing some lyric from somewhere because I seem to "always" have a song playing in my head. I have a love for everything from Classical to (even) HipHop. Jazz, country, opera can all move me in deeply meaningful ways. I simply love music. Period.

One of the things that always fascinates me about music and its creation are the titles of the songs. Last night on American Idol, one contestant sang a song known as "Geek In Pink." As I listened to the lyric, it was obvious to me where the name for the song originated. But what about those Jazz, Classical and "inbetweeners" that have really cool names like "Take 5" or "Birdland" or "Catharsis," where do those titles originate. There are no lyrics to give us clues!

Today, I came across a CD that I have always loved but had not listened to in years. David Foster's "The Symphony Sessions" is a wonderful collection of acoustic piano pieces with an accompanying symphony orchestra. Each cut on the CD is rich in musical quality. The writing, the orchestration, the performances and production are all of superb quality.

There is one song on this 1988 release (the tenth and final track) that always holds me in check. A lilting melody with a simple piano lead line, it is entitled "We Were So Close." I have no idea why it is called such, but even after hearing it countless times for nearly 20 years now, it still moves me to the depths of my musical soul. Surely something or someone quite powerful inspired its writing. It would be great if you could hear it, but then again, it might not move you as it does me. If you want to try click here.

There have been many occasions (and I'm not exaggerating) when I've literally been moved to tears by this simple 4 minute 12 second piano solo. There are no background instruments, no vocals, just David Foster and one beautiful piano.

I'm listening now, even as I write these lines, and the song just simply takes me to a beautiful place. A place where God and those I love are so incredibly "close" and it makes me wonder if it isn't something I have experienced in the past, but perhaps is something for which I have to look forward to happening.

I have known the Lord as what I would describe as "close." I feel as though I'm close now. But I do long, one day, to be "so close." I have loved people in ways that I would call "close," but I long to love them "so close" so that one day they will be able to say, "We were so close."

"Dear friends, now we are children of God,
and what we will be has not yet been made known.
But we know that when he appears, we shall be like him,
for we shall see him as he is."
(1 John 3:2)

Is there a song that moves you so deeply that you can hardly describe how you feel when you hear it?

If so, I'd like to know.

Old Legs

The 2007 church softball league opened last night with every HOCC team winning except one. That team likely would have won, but they were playing an HOCC team! So, there you go!

With four full teams being fielded this year, there are scores of opportunity for the men of the church to fellowship and get hurt together (I've been injured more playing softball than any other athletic venture I've participated in - why they call that thing a "soft" ball, I'll never know)!

Last night, one HOCC team was a little short on their roster so another brother and I willingly "volunteered" to play on that team immediately following our victory in the 7:00 game. Running breathlessly off the first field (we ran a little over time), we hurriedly changed jerseys and ran out just as the second inning was starting.

Feeling well warmed up and (finally) "in the groove" (I was only 1 for 4 in the first game) I was ready to play and had a fairly good outing hitting 3 for 4 and contributing some defensively. It was fun to be on the field again. The last game I played was back in June of 2006, when I completely dislocated my right thumb sliding into third and had to have our shortstop "relocate" it in the dugout (I highly recommend always having a trained chiropractor on your team -- the benefits are priceless!!!). Needless to say, the rust was thick on me (especially with the bat), but I'm anticipating the timing to improve.

Next to playing in a band, their may not be any more fun a bunch of guys can have together than playing as a team on the ball field. Though we are all clearly a step (or two or three) slower than we were "back in the day," we still have a great time. And winning is always a lot better than losing! We won the second game 19 - 15.

The "fun" took on a slightly different tone this morning as I attempted to get out of bed. My old legs barely wanted to work and throughout the day today, my upper thighs and hamstrings have been singing a song much different than the rest of my physical being. Even considering myself in relatively good shape, last night was an extension of what my muscles are used to doing.

All this reminds me of something Jesus once told His disciples. Jesus had been praying in the Garden of Gethsemane and He had asked His followers to stay awake with Him. Though they were willing to do so, their bodies wouldn't cooperate. Jesus said, "The spirit is willing, but the body is weak" (Mark 14:38). The spirit of the apostles wanted to go the distance with Jesus, but their bodies had not been trained for that level of experience. They kept falling asleep on the Savior of the world!

If my old legs are any indication of where my spiritual body is, I'd say I have some catching up to do with regard to what I really want to achieve in Christ. While it may not hurt while on the field, the next morning is tough and will require a whole new level of training. I suppose the same can be said of our spiritual selves as well!

Lord, please help these "old legs."

The Time Has Come

Jesus makes a powerful announcement in Mark 1:15 when He declares, "The time has come." Those words changed everything. Nothing that was the same would ever be the same again. Four little words and all of history would become "his story" as prophecy fulfilled, Savior of the world.

Simon Peter, Andrew, James and John were simple fishermen. They were not the elite of the intellectual community. They weren't upper-crust social climbers either. They were just simple, ordinary, unschooled men (Acts 4:13). Rough handed, big armed net-haulers who worked a hard long day for a good day's wage. Likely honest, but rough around the edges, Jesus would call these four guys to the forefront of His scene because the time had come.

I often wonder if they really had any clue as to what they were getting into. "Fishers of men?" What was that supposed to mean, anyway? And would they be able to earn a living fishing for men? They had to be wondering to themselves... how did they know this Jesus could feed five thousand with five loaves and two fish? Who could know something like that?

Do you ever wonder if they even knew each other prior to being called? Both parties, the "Simon and Andrew Fishing Company" and the "Zebedee and Sons Fishing Company" must have had some awareness of each other as they worked the waters of the Sea of Galilee. But what might make it even more amazing that they would team up in this new fishing expedition (for men) is that they were likely competitors! Could they have even initially handled such a thing? Arch-rivals don't always make the best teammates! Jesus calls together the most unlikely of guys because "the time had come."

But this is what makes Jesus' proclamation so real, so authentic. "The time has come" for a lot of amazing things to happen. Not the least of which is people whom you would least likely expect to see together, teaming up and doing amazing things because "the kingdom of heaven is near. Repent and believe the good news."

God has an amazing way of bringing really unlikely combinations of people together to do amazing things. The time has come for those of us who follow Jesus to put away our comforts and participate in the authentic community Jesus has awaiting for us. Sometimes the people Jesus leads us to may not be anything like us, or they may even be our competitor, but Jesus has away of making that all come out for the good. It must be true, because "the time has come."

Life Exposed

As if the tragic life (and subsequently tragic death) of Anna Nicole Smith has not been enough fodder for the media circus so far this year, we are now made to wade through the locks of Britney Spears' latest exploits. Another apparently tragic life in the making is being media-exposed and thrust into our awareness through virtually all forms of human communication. TV, radio, internet, phone, text messaging, even around the water-cooler, one can hardly get away from it even with considerable effort to do so. Can you imagine living your life in such a way that even when you cut your hair, it makes worldwide headlines? That is a level of exposure I'm fairly certain no clear-thinking human being would want to have to endure.

On occasion, the media can be so incredibly invasive into the lives of real-live human beings. Eager to get the scoop and beat the ratings over the next channel or magizine, the media Piranha will devour without hesitancy and frequently without just cause. Surely you've noticed that retractions take up little column space and are often hidden behind the next day's headline.

This is not to say that Ms. Smith and Ms. Spears (both surnames I share in my family background by the way) are not somewhat responsible for the "circus" that is their story. There are many celebrities that never "enjoy" these levels of exposure and will continuously put forth considerable effort to keep it that way.

What is interestingly contrasting to me is how all human beings on earth are equally known and equally live exposed lives. Our exposure is not to the media however, but to the Creator. Things both Smith and Spears have done that the press may never discover or disclose are known by the One who created them both. He knows the hearts of all men and women and what mankind will value as "newsworthy" and celebrities will use as means for self-promotion, God likely sees as shameful and sad.

Isn't it interesting to consider God knows every "scoop" on us, but He will never use it to exploit, demean or malign us? Instead, God uses the "dirt on us" to call us back to Himself and to encourage us to live a life of holiness by His grace through Jesus Christ.

I celebrate that my entire life is exposed to God and I am happy I can trust His use of the information. I know my "secret sins" will not make the primetime airwaves and that makes me quite thankful and moved to pray for those who's lives are so portrayed.

What are your thoughts on the matter?

O Love That Would Not Let Me Go

Truth is I've never been the kind who likes being pinned down. I didn't care much for wrestling in Jr. High (it was a mandatory physical discipline in P.E. back in my day). While I really didn't much like the thought of a guy in tights being that close to me, I really didn't like the thought of somebody laying on top of me and pinning me to the floor against my will. I remember my matches didn't last too long because I just didn't like being all tied down. I'd rather lose the match than get all tangled up for a couple minutes that felt like an eternity!

I guess some might suggest I'm a bit of a "free spirit." I've always gravitated to less structured things. Growing up I was encouraged to play "legitimate" music in bands and orchestra (clarinet mostly), but I really loved the guitar and gravitated toward blues and jazz music because of the freedom of improvisation and the woeful expressions of those genres.

Solitary sports (other than wrestling, no doubt) have tended to draw my interest. Surfing I've enjoyed since I was a little buddy. I loved just being in a "soul session" dropping into wave after wave alone, even in a line-up with a hundred other people, just being in the water on the back of a board is an amazing experience. The solitude of the mighty ocean, the power of a wave and the rush of motion is an incredible joy that is difficult to fashion into words.

Now living so far from the ocean, I find my "soul sessions" out on the back of a motorcycle or on the driving range hitting golf balls. Just me alone... and the rush of instant speed gratification awaiting each twist of the throttle or the contrasting quiet click of a well hit (and sometimes not-so-well-hit) ball. There is a serenity to both of these contexts, decibels notwithstanding.

Given a wardrobe of choice... I'm less comfortable in the constriction of a necktie and will choose a T-shirt and jeans on most occasions. One of my most favorite combinations is a sweatshirt, shorts and flipflops... ahh, the perfect uniform for a "sixty-something" degree day!

So as I see it, life is best lived untied, untucked and unconstricted. But as comfortable as that may be for me in many circumstances in my life, it isn't the way I've come to know the love of God. There is something about God's love that is inescapable but is not threatening to freedom.

Recently I reacquainted myself with an old hymn from the mid-19th century that speaks of a "love that would not let me go." It is a poetic lyric speaking of the everlasting quality of God's infinite love.

O Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
that in thine ocean depths
its flow may richer, fuller be.

To be in the "ocean's depth" of God's love is to surrender completely to it. Not to wrestle away from it, but to "rest my weary soul" in God's love. God's love is a profoundly captivating place of spiritual and emotional residence. To return the very life God has given as a "re-gifting" of what He has already freely given to me seems scarcely proportionate, yet completely appropriate an expression of thanks for a love that graciously "pins me to the floor."

There have been occaisions in my life when I've tried to wiggle out from under "a love that would not let me go" and I've found that is not a blessed place at all. Realizing I can never get out from under His mighty love, I choose now merely to surrender, to quit resisting it, and to find comfort in its Divine constriction so as to find His love in me "richer and fuller be."

"And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love,
may have power, together with all the saints,
to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ,
and to know this love that surpasses knowledge --
that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God."
Eph. 3:17b-19

How do you feel about God's love that will never let you go?

Face

Have you ever been given a word of advice but you've never really received it? It may have come through a trusted friend who ventured into the realm of "danger" with you by offering some unsolicited admonishment or suggestion or perhaps it came more innocuously by way of something you read. But either way, you heard a "message in it for me" but perhaps chose to not act on the word.

There have been a few occasions in my spiritual walk where I have found myself being "prompted" by something, or more appropriately Someone, but I've not moved on it as quickly as I likely should have. It is something akin to what Jack Deere writes in his book "Surprised By The Voice of God" as the "internal voice." An inaudible, but yet fully clarified "voice" of something (again more appropriately Someone), calls to the listener and awaits a response.

Camping out in Psalm 27 this week, I've wondered if David had a similar experience.

"Hear my voice when I call, O LORD;
be merciful to me and answer me.
My heart says of you, "Seek his face!"
Your face, LORD, I will seek.
Do not hide your face from me,
do not turn your servant away in anger;
you have been my helper.
Do not reject me or forsake me,
O God my Savior."
Ps. 27:7-9

There are times I know, beyond any reasonable doubt, that God is calling me "closer." My heart has said, "seek His face" and I know cognitively I have been invited, but I hesitate and resist the movement closer to His face. Most often, the hesitancy rests in me and my laziness or perhaps my fear of what I will see of myself in His awesome reflective countenance.

As for David though, I love His pursuit of the "face of God." He pleads that God not "hide his face from him." What an incredible testimony to the depths of their mutual relationship. His face I will seek!

I long to be more like David and act on the "invitation" of the Lord, don't you? My heart says, "Seek His face" and that is precisely what I long to do.

How about you? How many invitations from God to "seek His face" have you let pass? What do you do to follow through on those incredible invitations? What amazing experiences await those who do, indeed, "seek His face?"

If you don't mind sharing, I'd like to know what you think...

The Fear of Listening

Among the greatest fears in the human experience is (apparently) the fear of standing before other human beings and publically speaking. For some, even the thought of standing before a group and opening one's mouth to speak is incomprehensible. There seems to be a magic number of persons in an audience that moves a speaker from functional to mute. For some that number is as few as only a "few," and a paralysis so severe overwhelmingly grips them that nothing more than muted groans emerge. I (perhaps unfortunately at times) have never been one of those people fearful to speak in public.

My first "stage oration" came at the tender age of five. At the Kindergarten fall performance for Lockhaven Christian School, I announced to a crowd of what might as well have been 10,000 people (it was likely less than 300), "Meow, I'm in the Kindergarten class!" (Yes, I was dressed as a kitty cat and had a stunning terrycloth covered, tail, a furry wig and mascaraed whiskers to help sell the line). Likely incriminating pictures exist somewhere in this world.

I've never feared the stage before (how much stage presentation is offered a four-year-old anyway) or since. Public speaking has come as naturally to me as breath, and sometimes even more naturally, as I've literally at times found my words outlasting my physical breath (a frustration that occasionally strikes public speakers).

Many are the opportunities for those who are comfortable with public speech (or find themselves wanting to be more comfortable) to increase their skills and expertise. High school and college courses, business courses, Toastmasters, speaking clubs, etc. offer countless opportunities to become a better orator. While there is certainly nothing wrong with wanting to develop one's speaking abilities, it is a curious thought that our culture may excel more at speaking than we do listening. Have you ever heard of a "listening" course? Perhaps buried deep within the course catalogue for a degree in counseling, but listening is not typically highly valued in this culture.

While researchers have identified people's fear of speaking, I've not seen much study on people's fear of listening. There certainly is a fear in listening and it may be the very reason so few of us are any good at it. It takes certain levels of talent to be a good speaker, but equally is this true of being a good listener. But more than talent, being a good listener requires dedication and attention to humility and self-denial and this is where fear enters the picture.

Living within a culture emphasizing autonomy and self-interest, it is difficult to find good listeners because there is little apparent reason to be a good listener. Most people would rather talk than listen, even when they are deathly afraid of speaking in public. In crowds of less than a "few," most would rather be heard than to hear from someone else. So we reject our fears and "rattle off" because the fear of speaking is perceived as being less than the fear of listening.

painful life situation, because that might mean their situation is more difficult than ours and then to whom would we complain? We don't want to hear of And why should we listen to one another? Do we really want to hear about someone else'sanothers problems because, frankly, we have problems of our own we are trying to figure out. Finally, we don't really want to listen to a rebuke or exhortation because that would require that we possibly change something about ourselves. Change hurts and we don't want to hurt because we already have "problems" of our own. So we remain in a self-induced fear cycle and speaking wins over hearing virtually every time.

Take a close listen to your next conversation or to the conversation of others and observe if you can find a good listener in the group. If so, stay near that person for the one who can listen will prove to be a good servant to all. Not only will you likely need their ear at some time, but you may learn something from them as well.

The reality is that if we are ever going to live in the authentic spiritual communities for which we were created, we are going to have to learn how be better listeners. We're going to have to get over our fear of the implications of listening and open our ears to the world we see around us.

Once we are given ears to hear the needs of others around us, we will not hear another's words as threat or problem, but we will embrace them as opportunities to live in authentic community with one another and be the blessing we are intended to be.

"Pay attention and listen to the sayings of the wise;
apply your heart to what I teach,
for it is pleasing when you keep them in your heart
and have all of them ready on your lips."
Prov. 22:17-18

Artist in Finding

One of the most wonderful things about the kingdom of God is the occasional encounter with new people. Not new people to the world, though greeting newly arrived children in this world is a blessed event, but "finding" new people who have been on this earth as long (or longer) than you have but your paths just haven't previously crossed. Today I had one of those encounters.

A local Dallas artist was recommended to me for some work I am currently involved with and today I had the honor of meeting him for the first time. Being complete and total strangers, we had the typical "unknowns" to deal with prior to our meeting. I can't speak for him, but when I have a "scheduled meeting" with a complete stranger, my pulse always quickens and my blood pressure rises just a little before meeting them. From the moment I met David, I felt at ease and had that "sense" we'd known each other a long time.

The ease was not in previously knowing each other, but was in being previously "known" by the One who has saved us. There is such an incredible commonality for those who are devoted followers of Christ Jesus. It doesn't matter whether we've known each other before, the fact that we are "known" by Christ makes us brothers. Those bonds can form quickly if Jesus precedes the relationship. Today it felt He certainly did precede the introduction.

With the security of another of my friends joining us, we immediately began talking about our individual faith journeys and how God is currently moving in our lives. The conversation was filled with much energy and excitement for what God has done for each of us. I sat in wonder as each of us shared a little of how God has rescued us from our past and is being faithful in delivering our future.

A fellow musician (he plays bass), we hit it off quickly and felt comfortable enough to share lunch at a local cafe. It was a really cool day and maybe the beginning of a mutually blessed friendship. Only God knows what is around the next corner (if there even is a next corner), but as for today, I'm thankful for my new friend, a true artist in finding.

If you are interested in David's work, check it out here.

"By this all men will know you are my disciples,
if you love one another."
John 13:35

Belly Laughs

The old cliche goes, "Laughter is the best medicine" and to a large extend I believe it. Next to prayer, meditation on God's word and the counsel and comfort of good friends, there can be little better comfort.

God certainly has a well developed sense of humor (where else would our humor come from were it not from the Creator?). Issac (his name means "he laughs") brought great joy to his parents Sarah and Abraham in that he was born to them well past their child-bearing years and for the rest of his life, his name carried the laughter of that blessing from the Lord.

Recently, a friend sent me a video of a child laughing that was just priceless. The "trigger" for the child is a simple sound an adult male (I assume to be his Daddy) makes out of the view of the camera. The child's anticipation of the impending noise and his subsequent laugh is part of the fun. He knows it is coming and only the slightest noise will set him off (I'm smiling just writing about it). Click here if you want to see it and laugh with us.

I truly want to be the kind of spirit that even in the midst of trouble or pain can anticipate laughter will come. A Psalm of Moses includes this line: "Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days" (Ps. 90:14). Only God's unfailing love can be a sure provider for genuine joy.

Thoughts of raising our daughters came back to me seeing this video. I recalled my wife and I playing this same game with them, provoking them to deep belly laughs. The belly laugh is "one of a kind" and yet shared by children all over the world. It comes from way down deep in the gut and then bursts out of faces filled with glee. There are few better sights in the world!

Today, I'm thankful God has given us the gift of laughter. As with many things in this world, children seem to do some things better than we adults do. Laughter may be one of those things. Perhaps this is another indicator of something Jesus said about being like children...

"And he said: 'I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like
little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven."
Matthew 18:3

Outgrown Expectation?

At $2.5 million per 30 second spot, I wonder what the Monday morning after the Super Bowl is like for all the companies and organizations who choose to place advertising on what is arguably the largest viewed sporting event in the world. Let that number sink in on you... $2.5 million per 30 second spot (that's roughly $83,333. per second). That is a bunch of money spent in an amazingly short amount of time!

The general feedback I've heard regarding the commercials this year was that they were "not so good" or even "boring." I recall a few years ago, there was nearly as much hype for the commercials as there was for the game itself. In looking for entertainment "value" in this year's commercials, I'd have to agree with the general consensus, the commercials simply weren't that good. Was the money well spent?

With technology being what it is today, I'm sure there are electronic reports on the desks of many business executives this morning providing statistics on how many TV's stayed tuned into the commercial breaks or how many broke away. In a matter of weeks these companies and organizations will realize the true "value" in advertising and will be able to measure increases in participation or sales. Then, I suppose, the whole truth will be told.

"Was $83,333. per second worth the expense? Has the national audience outgrown the expectations for Super Bowl commercials? That would be fascinating to know.

Any time I even begin wondering if following Christ is "worth" the effort it takes to continue advancing in one's faith walk toward the image of the Savior, I remember the price that was paid for my redemption. Paul reminded the Corinthian Christians of the same thing when he was instructing them about morality. He said, "You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body" (1 Cor. 6:19-20).

The divine "price" of our redemption far exceeds $83,333. per second. To honor God is the only appropriate response I can give to the amazing grace we have received through an amazing price and that, for followers of Christ, is the truth.

That being said, "Did your favored team win?"

Mine did.

Checking Our Balance

Some people I know never balance their checkbooks. They run financially off monthly statements or view their accounts on line, but never run a full balance sheet of their accounts. I on the other hand, want to know. In years past I would obsess over even a few cents if the account didn't balance. Today (my wife now balances our account a discipline which she took over years ago likely because she got tired of my stress), I can tolerate being even a few dollars off, but I still want to know "how much" is in there, even when we're not living with a specific budget concern.

What it is about the "balance" of my checking account that provokes me to want to know what it is with pinpoint accuracy, I don't know. With the advent of on-line banking, it is certainly easier to attain necessary information, but the ready availability of that information could drive me to nearly obsessive tendency if I allowed it.

A close friend of mine often chides me for necessarily having to balance my checkbook before writing my weekly tithe check. We laugh about it, but for some reason it makes things "right" in my little world to know how much is in there before I contribute. (Yeah, I know... If I was really "with it" I'd utilize online giving - but I appreciate the "worship" of writing a check. Call it habit, call if old fashioned I guess -- maybe it is one of the virtues of being "half-way-to-ninety."

If we consider our lives as living "checking accounts," I wonder would we be aware of our balance? What if we considered the number of our God-given days (Ps. 139) as a balance sheet and then spent the minutes, hours, days and years as we would write checks or swipe debit cards. How generous would I be?

By this point in my life, would I have more money than I know what to do with? In a spiritual sense, by having too much money in my account, I would actually be "in debt" -- guilty of taking much grace, mercy and love but not being willing to spend it on others. Spiritually in debt.

While we may be concerned about the "bottom line" of our financial accounts, perhaps we would do well to give the same level of concern to our spiritual accounts as well. Instead of going online, I'm going to spend more time with the Lord and see if I can find the "bottom line" on my life account.

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