Lessons Learned

My Pop was a great teacher. He was patient, much more patient than his pupil. On beautiful afternoons, or early evenings, he would come knock on the door. Since he lived next door, there was no need to call. He would say..."Let's go." I would rise from the couch, or from a book, and walk through his yard to the boat dock. My job was to reach down and untie the boat. He would hold the boat steady while I stepped inside, and we would take off. The feeling of the breeze, as he opened up the engine was sooooooo exhilarating. To my knowledge, I only lost one hat in the water due to a flip-off from the wind, and I always imagined a huge catfish wearing a Clemson hat, as it scavenged the bottom of Lyman Lake...searching for food, and running from my Pop, as he sought to catch him. We would find our spot, about 30 feet offshore, and we would cast around brush piles, seeking bream, bass, and crappie. He taught me to cast, be still, and how to respect God's creation. My Pop was the subject of my first published work, a poem in a publication honoring aspiring writers in high school. Thinking of him, during my seventh grade English class, inspired the following:

My grandfather,
lays on the cold, wet ground
working at his trade.
His grimy, greasy hands are bleeding.
Life's toils are a struggle to endure.

Grandfather and I fish together.
This makes life a breeze.
Even though I sometimes cast into a tree,
he still enjoys my company.

Grandfather knows,
how I feel when the wind,
stirs through the trees and
causes the boat to rock.

This seventh grader grew older, and graduated from high school, and college, and was pursuing a Masters degree in 1998. Pop began to fall more often, became less stable, and had difficulty doing usually simple tasks. The hands that once held greasy wrenches, now did not seem to work as he wanted. Several visits with his primary MD gave him no answers, and he was sent to a specialist. He was given terrible news. Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), often referred to as "Lou Gehrig's disease," a progressive neurodegenerative disease that affects nerve cells in the brain and the spinal cord. Motor neurons reach from the brain to the spinal cord and from the spinal cord to the muscles throughout the body. The progressive degeneration of the motor neurons in ALS eventually lead to their death. When the motor neurons die, the ability of the brain to initiate and control muscle movement is lost. With voluntary muscle action progressively affected, patients in the later stages of the disease may become totally paralyzed. Yet, through it all, for the vast majority of people, their minds remain unaffected.

He eventually was unable to walk, go to the restroom, and make decisions that his body would follow. During one of my last visits, he said..."Richard, I waited too long. If I knew how bad I would become, I would have rolled myself and this wheelchair off the dock, and ended it right then."

Eventually, he could not swallow food, and the slow process of starvation began. Two years prior, we had moved to Lyman, about 15 minutes away, and I used this, and my school obligations, as an excuse not to be there at the time he needed me most. I was noticeably absent, as it was difficult for me to see him as he slowly died. His brain was still working, but he was enslaved inside a tomblike, unresponsive body.

I preached his funeral, a day filled with memories, emotion, and guilt. This guilt has stayed close and reminds me often of my failure to the one who never failed me.

Last week I received a phone call concerning the health of a dear elderly friend. MaMa Hammett has been riddled with crippling arthritis for years, and had battled lung and breathing issues, as well. Her granddaughter explained that she had lost a lot of weight, slept often, refused to eat, and seemed to be non-responsive a great deal of her waking hours.

I was able to line up time for a short trip to the upstate for a visit. After a conversation with MaMa's daughter and granddaughter, I entered the room. She turned with a little help, and I knelt beside her bed. Seventy pounds of bone and ache was lying before me, and I reached out for her hand. "I traveled all this way, just to see you, and it was worth every mile", remembering the miles that I did not travel for my Pop. Her eyes were not clear, her breathing was erratic, and the smell of impending death surrounded the steel grey hospital bed. She said, "I am so glad that you came".

She wanted to sit up for a little while, and I cupped my arm under her legs, and secured the other behind her back. With little effort, she was in the chair. Fatigue and gravity set in quickly, as she began to slip and slouch, almost molding into the creases of the lift chair. Her daughter came in and wedged her up, so that she could come face to face with her enemy. The bottle of Ensure was now thrust upon her, with the straw extended. She tried to drink, and did quite well, as half the bottle was gone in about 10 minutes. She wanted to lie down, but needed to wait at least ten minutes after finishing the chalky substance. She looked at me, and said..."Please pray to Jesus that I will not have to finish this stuff." A cry for help, a flag of surrender being flown from the tired body of a saint, and a time for ministry was present. As her daughter left the room, I found a straw, and drank from the bottle until only a half a sip remained. After use, the straw slid up my shirt sleeve, preventing detection. Placing the ensure back into MaMa's hand, I winked at eyes that were still heavy with pain, but were now more perky with excitement. Her daughter re-entered, and MaMa finished off the bottle with little effort. She took a deep breath, reached for my hand, and looked into my eyes. Sighing, she said words that will forever remain in the soul of the Naked Preacher. Squeezing my hand, she smiled, and said...."Thank you, Jesus."


Leaving her that day, I was sure that we would never see each other again on this Earth. As I reached to turn off the light, I felt the breeze from Lyman Lake rush through my hair. On my back, I felt the hand of a master mechanic, a fisherman extraordinare, and a lover of God. As MaMa whispered, I heard my Pop instead say the following words..."Thanks for coming Son, I love You."

Seventh grade has long past and I am now forced to revisit the poem of my grandfather. As life has moved like a bream caught by a hook, tossing and turning, and putting up a great fight...I now write again about him. Our lives are poems with rhythm and rhyme, and they are filled with dashes of intense colors and dark blacks. It is interesting that by embracing death, I was truly able to embrace life. Through intense failure, I have experienced joyful success, and have become reconnected with my ability to minister. May I learn that to express the Divinity of Christ, I must embrace the frailty of my humanity, and somehow learn to love without fear....one sip at a time.

Just Curious

I have a date when I return to the land of red, white, and blue. As soon as my land legs return, Sarah, Douglas, and I are going to see Curious George. As I realized that we were expecting Douglas, I began buying books, and a huge George doll. Now it occupies a place of importance in his room, a place that changes each moment George goes flying, from an olympic sized slam from Douglas.

Like George, I too am a curious little monkey. I have no man with a big yellow hat to bail me out, so I am asking these Korean questions, not really anticipating answers.

1-Why are there so many gas stations in Korea? I have only seen two people pumping gas since I have been here. Is there a magic time between 2am and 3am that this takes place? I am befuddled.

2- Why are there lines on the roads in Korea? People seem to pass whenever it is deemed needed. This is most scary on a curve, at night, with no lights.

3-Why is hamburger steak not hamburger steak? It is some kind of processed patty of a weird combination of seafood, vegetables and sawdust.

4-What is up with the coffee here. Is there some problem with having good, old fashioned, drip brewed coffee? Is there a sanction against Africa, or is Juan Valdez considered public enemy number one? I have had 2 good cups of coffee since I arrived, as what is served up is like the stuff available at a vending machine, in a hospital, in 1986.

5-What is the deal with oranges? I like oranges. Clemson Football in 1981, made me a lifetime Orange fan! Oddly, everytime I turn around, someone is giving me an orange. Never refuse and orange, as it is insulting. My skin has an orange tint, and I fart vitamin C tablets, but I always take the orange. Last night, I was at a graduation ceremony. For some reason, it was delayed. Quicker than a Baptist woman can whip up a casserole...there were bowls of oranges at every pew, in the church, where the service was held. I would expect oranges in Florida, California, but not Korea.

6-Should Buddhists let people walk around while they worship? It is odd to buy a ticket, walk through a temple, gawk inside while folks are banging a gourd, reciting prayers, and burning incense. Imagine if this Sunday, someone walks into your service during the morning sermon, and starts checking things out. They do not sit down, just look at the windows, doors, and people. After gawking and snapping a few pictures, someone asks them if they would like to stay for a while and worship. "No, Thanks", they reply, "just a little curious."

Various Snapshots from South Korea

Wonderful, happy children

Tomb of an Ancient King--Choi said, "He had a Big Belly."

This is not a public urinal---OOPS

Long hike up to the Green Tea Mountain

Green Tea--Everywhere!

Sharing Christ with the Little Ones

San Ming Choi---Ph.D

Choi's Youngest Daughter

What a nice family--The 2 college aged kids are not pictured

A Walk with The Father

Aunt Bea to Godzilla in 1.8 seconds

On our adventure to Gyeongju (pronounced G'young-Jew"), the historical city of S. Korea, I had an encounter with a dear lady. We pulled up to this row of restaurants located near a large waterwheel protruding from the side of the mountain. Here, a vendor rented bikes and go-carts, and from the brochure, in the snowy season, he rents sleds. So, we begin to walk toward the row of restaurants, and this dear lady was standing in front of her establishment. She said several things in Korean, in a nice, soothing, Aunt Bea "Come on In, Sugar," tone. One of the restaurants directly past her was a chicken joint. Koreans do not specialize in chicken, and I wanted to take a quick peek inside. As we walked past Aunt Bea, she went ballistic. I am guessing at this point, but I think her one minute diatribe went something like this:

"Hey, you dumb American. Why would you want to eat at that Chicken shack. You only think that is chicken. One good thing, you will not get the bird flu there..let me tell ya'..you dumb redneck, that is cat they serve there. Oh, did I tell you how high the food is there? It costs a lot to get someone to skin a cat. You see, those kittens have claws, and rumor is that they hurt. So, You need to get your lard butt in my little business and have some salad, and fish. You are in Korea now there is no Colonel here, and Bojangles don't dance in Gyeongju...so get in my place. No sweet tea, but I have some barley water that will make every thing go down smooth. No apple pie with vanilla ice cream, but I will offer you a nice, juicy orange.We have a good product at a good price, and we even have chairs for your wide load to park in. So, get in here and eat!!" So, the chicken place was closed, and the other places did not seem appealing, so we ate at Aunt Bea's spot. It was traditional Korean food, with Rice, Kimchi, and a bunch of sides.

I had a great bowl of hot and spicy soup. It made my nose run, which is always a good sign. After leaving, she said Kahmsahmnaydah.."Thank-You", but my country boy ears heard, "Ya'll come back now..you here."

Sign of the Times--From South Korea

NASCAR, American Idol, and Nouwen

A great day today in Korea. Two worship services, time to sleep, and now only one week until I am hopping a flight for home.

Last week, I shared with you my initial experience with Deacon Kim, the fast-driving, enthusiastic, stick shift destroying, mini-van driver who almost made me puke on the way to my 3 week home. Today, as I entered worship service at the nursing home, I heard a strong, but gentle voice. Yes, you guessed it, our Deacon is a true renaissance man, an artist with RPM's and with baritone tunes. He played the guitar with great conviction, and the love of Christ shone through in his countenance.

Each day, he serves in the nursing home, transporting patients, cleaning them, cleaning up after them, looking at delivered product for quality, and usually with a smile, and laugh. In what most consider mundane, he has found ministry. As he tends to the "least of these" that our Lord spoke of. He is, in effect, providing love to the Body of Christ. As he cleans the food from the mouth of a 85 year old stroke victim, he is touching the face of Christ. Bandaging the wound on the eye of a delusional man, it is as Christ himself is saying, "I am still here, and I can still heal, and I am the balm that you need.

Henri Nouwen came to America in the 1950's as a ship chaplain, and eventually became a man of great education and influence. He served as professor of psychology and pastoral care at Notre Dame, Harvard, and Yale. He spent the last years of his life among the community of L'Arche Daybreak in Ontario. He abandoned the prestige and comfort of the educated world, to live among people with severe developmental disabilities. These were people who had no knowledge of his writings, nor could they even read. They could do little for themselves, and could barely utter a word. But, these are the people who, for Nouwen, embodied Christ's call to live in a community where all of our wounds, frailties, and weaknesses, become a means where we are more closely connected to the wounds of the crucified Lord.

Life is funny, I am the naked preacher, that flies into town with a message to share, a little wisdom from the mind and heart of one educated in a college and proud holder of a Masters degree. I am well read, and love to debate the dynamic ideas of philosophy and religion. I love to have conversations about the pauline/non pauline authorship of Hebrews, and even dabble in discussing the 3 main views of the Book of Revelation. In these brief weeks, I have two chances to share the message that God has given.

But Deacon Kim has a lifetime, and I am moved to say that he uses the same reckless abandon that he drives with, in his love of Christ and service to others. I was not needed at all in the nursing home, as they have a closeness to Christ, that I long for. Perhaps I can take some driving lessons from the good Deacon, and singing lessons, and most importantly, serving lessons.

And Jesus said...As you have done it unto the least of these, You have done it unto Me.

Reflections from Korea

"I raise this cup to your health, my friend"

This is a post week one reflection of my time here in Korea. Notice the interplay between bad and good.

Bad

1-Plane Trip

2-TV

3-No Sports on TV-I actually watched Korean ice dancing. Oh the horror!!

4-No distinct breakfast foods=Kimchi and rice at 8am

5-Raw fish and beef

6-No good coffee

7-Lack of conversations of depth in english

8-Being much larger than everyone

9-Taking shoes off before entering rooms

10-being away from family

11-preaching with translator--lack of cultural knowledge to meet psycho-spiritual need.

Good

Choi and family have been more than gracious to me. I have been lavished with Christian love, and I only hope that I one day can return the favor!!

1-Plane trip when it ends

2-Refamiliarization with music--Jackson Browne, Golden Earring, Rich Mullins, Andrew Peterson

3-Watching sports scores on internet at 9am

4-No heartburn yet

5-learning to adapt--eating soups and fruits and veggies

6-green tea

7-time for contemplation

8-desire to change outward appearance

9-warm feeling of feet on heated floors and having the biggest shoes outside door

10-realizing how cool my family really is!!

11-dependant on working together with someone else to accomplish a sermon. Usually I suffer from the "Lone Ranger" syndrome.

So, the Lord taketh away and he giveth in return. Scripture in reverse, but it still makes perfect sense.

Tea with a monk, well fancy that!

Two days ago, Choi and I were in a traditional tea shop, after the trip to the pottery excavation site. I glanced over to my left and saw a Monk. No, not a Martin Luther, kind of monk, but a buddhist kind of monk. Sarah is usually the one that always watches, but I was now wearing her hat of noseyness. I watched him, out of the corner of my eye, as Choi and I talked. He seemed a lot like me, a little heavy, not much hair, and in deep thought. Not much difference between me and the monk, except his really cool clothes, and he lives in Korea, right behind the tea shop. I think I would like being a monk, as I would spend less money on clothing, would spend a lot of time focusing on Spiritual matters, and would have no sex. Well...on second thought!! Maybe I could be the tea shop owner instead.

Look what I found

Two days ago, Choi and I visited a site of great importance to Korea. In 1981, archeologists were digging in an area Gangjin, and excavated pottery dating back to the 1200's. Continuing to dig, they found many more pieces, and gave historians a wealth of materials to research and discover.

The pottery was made with a 24 stage process, and took 70 days to make.

I am thinking, what lies beneath the surface layer that I show daily? The stuff underneath has taken much longer than 70 days to create, and layer upon layer has been tossed over the treasure that is within. Perhaps, I will find the courage to give the effort it takes to keep digging. This blogging process has taken off many layers, but I do think that this is just the beginning. Care to join me...I have an extra pick axe and brush.

Hey, that looks like a good spot, Let's start right there......

Korean Octegenarian Variey Show

Yesterday, mid afternoon, there was a variety show at the nursing home. The band was actually good, as they sang classic Korean love songs, and were accompanied by traditional folk dancers. The elderly patients sat on the floor with their legs crossed, and wide eyedly observed the events. Most of them clapped, and sang in tune and rhythm for the full 2 hours. Near the end of the show, one of the female performers, asked a man on the front row to dance. He, in his 80's, got up and shook his groove thing for 2 whole songs. He looked absolutely absurd, but danced anyway.

I had one of those little whispers in my soul that gently said...

You see, this is life, we are all idiots, yet when we seize the opportunities before us to let go, become childlike, have no regard for what others think...beauty appears.

As he finished, his peers all laughed and clapped. He sat down, and his friend patted him on the back and offered him an orange. I know, it sounds odd, but that is what happened.

The emcee asked me if I would sing, I thought for a brief eternity and replied, I am very sorry, but my cold would not allow it.

I had the chance to live....and declined.

A small world after all

As I opened the door to Choi's home, it played the above titled tune. Little did I realize how true it would become. I duck as I enter most rooms, reminding me of our initial lodging at the beach. I hit my head every other day for the first three months. Somehow, I have not done it here, as of yet. The picture below is snapped from eye-level.

To brush my teeth, I kneel beside the toilet, as the mirror is aimed straight for my nether region. So kneeling down, I decided to try the toothpaste of Korea. In the U.S., we are left with a tingly fresh sensation after spending time with toothpaste on our teeth and gums. Here however, I thought I had just been commissioned to eat the Christmas tree. You see, the flavor was pine. Guess what?....Colgate is now considered a blessing.The shower head is another adventure, as water always shoots on my...nether regions. But, it (the shower head) is on a hose and I can move it around for maximum usage.I celebrated a traditional Korean meal yesterday with managers of nursing home facilities in the region. My friend Choi is a pastor, who runs a 45 patient nursing home. I wish you all could meet him. In my opinion, he is the most Christlike person that I have ever encountered. That is a pretty fair compliment...don't you think. Well, I knelt down and crossed my legs Indian style, an effort not tried since 1998. I looked at the table and saw at least 50 dishes. It reminded me of a homecoming service, or dinner at Grandma Ruby's, except for the choices that I had. Many raw fish dishes, with one of my favorites directly in front of me. Calamari, WOW! The only problem is that this octopus was not cooked, it was however cut up, but still squirming. I tried to find other options, but the raw chicken egg was not appetizing either. I tried some raw beef and the octopus, and they waged war all afternoon in my stomach. I think the octopus won because when you kill a cow it stops moving.

At the conclusion of the meal, I saw a fish head left in the bowl of soup with a small eye looking up at me. See, he said...it could be worse.

Going South...Korea that is!

Friday was a blur, at best. I awoke at 3:45am, and went back to sleep for a few hours around 4:30am. Little did I realize, just how much those extra two hours would be worth in the currency of world travel. We arrived at the airport in Atlanta around 10am, and after goodbyes, I began this journey to South Korea. The plane boarded around 11:30am, and I took my seat...or should I say, the seat took me. The seats on Korean air are much smaller than 1998, or my love handles are on the non frequent flier program. I was able to fit in the seat, but being on the aisle beside the food service area, I was constantly in the way. I explained my situation to the stewardess, and she redirected me to a spot beside a window, with an empty seat on my left. May I say, my privates certainly appreciated that fine gesture of Southern hospitality. The flight was over 16 hours long, and I slept for 30 minutes.

After arriving in Korea, I went through Customs, and had my passport inspected, then I exchanged some dinero for a few won. I left the area to search for my ride. The time was 5:15pm in Korea, but my body was saying it was 3:15am. Guess what? My ride was not there. After an anxious, getting closer to Jesus, 2 hours, he arrived. My friend had sent his son to pick me up, but the bus had been delayed. So...I was really tired, and really worried. I was overjoyed to see Y Hyun, and we made our way to the bus. He is a very nice and helpful young man, as I am sure he had many other things he had rather be doing than ushering me back to his home. We took a 1 hour bus ride to the train station in Seoul, and there we jumped on a train for 3.5 hours to a much smaller town.

There, at 11:30pm, I met Choi's wife and a staff member of his nursing home. He had a lot of "Good Old Boy" in him, as he drove that minivan at MACH 3. If I had seen tobacco in his cheek, I wiuld have sworn that he was channeling the spirit of Earnhardt. I was in the back seat, and getting sicker by the second. The roads to Suncheon are very curvy and steep, I cracked the window, to keep from giving them an unfriendly "Hi ya'll", in the floorboard. We arrived at my friend, Choi's home at 1am. I hit the bed around 2am, and rose at 6:30am for my preaching at 2 worship services.

Today has been a refamiliarization with this culture. The food is manageable, and in fact, I like most of it. The people are most gracious, and love God. This afternoon, I took a long nap, and read some. Tomorrow, I will recap the sermons, and some of the experiences...many of which have to be filtered through my wife first. Please keep praying! All is well, and I hope that each of you realize what a great gift that you are to me.

Kahmsahmnaydah---Thank You very much.

Trolls

I went into the chiropractor's office yesterday, and a little girl was sitting in the waiting area. She was slender, short, and had a sqinchy head with eyes too close to her nose. I really did not pay her too much attention, at first, and then our eyes met. She looked straight at me, and said, "You are............ Fat Albert", to which I wanted to say many things that were non pastoral. Yes, I am toting quite a few extra lbs. , but I am not fat...just well rounded!




She totally hacked me off, but I decided not to let her ruin my week. The past week has been splendid, almost fairy tale like. I am leaving for Korea on Friday, and the troll will not steal my joy. That little vermin, may she have bad teeth, acne throughout her teenage years, and her period always begin on the evening of an important swim party, may she be flat chested and suffer from chronic hallitosis. Fat Albert says, "Hey Hey Hey...you little troll", but other than those things...I am totally over it!!

This week has been a blur of giant yells from the usually whispering God. I go to buy a blazer for the trip. They usually do not carry sizes for big boned individuals. The salesperson then said, "Just a few days ago, this large size showed up. We never have one this size." Guess what..it fit!
It was 160.00, then half price...then 40% off that!! Hey...Hey...Hey!!

Then I looked at some casual shoes. Two pair felt like butter on my footsies. I wondered why there were no prices on these sweet leather jobbies for my feet. They were roughly, 150.00 a pair. I had a coronary, but my wife calmed me down and said that I really needed them. I bought them, and two days later a card comes from a family member with over 300.00 inside.
Hey...Hey...Hey!!

Then I received a card from some dear friends...containing 5 twenty dollar bills. Sunday at worship, someone shook my hand, and left me with 100.00 more dollars. Three other folks have given me twenty dollar bills.

Now please understand, money is not a big deal, but I am doing without three weeks of pay to go on this trip. So, ....the green is good for us!

My friend even let me borrow his Ipod for the trip. He is a cool guy. This was such a nice gesture! I now think that I have a slight man crush on him...just kidding, Jim!! But thanks, and I will promise not to erase your Michael Jackson, and Air Supply.

I have laughed all week long at work, a place where joy and smiles are an endangered species. Tomorrow is my last day at work until March, and I am, in an odd way, minutely sad.

I ask that you each pray for me, as I launch into these three weeks of culture shock. Pray for me, as I ask God many questions, and be still enough and courageous enough to hear the answers. Please pray for the family, as I am away. May they see that they cannot possibly live without me, and conversely, may I come to the same realization.

Pray for my back, (hence the Chiro), my urinary tract, (hence the kidney stones), and my food allergies, (hence the benedryl in the carry-on). Pray for the times of sharing the story of Christ. Sometimes it is so easy to share, and at times fear grips the song from my mouth. Christ, the one who forgives, restores, and reconciles people to himself....even Fat Albert and the troll.

Cardboard Heroes

In 1979, I became a member of the baseball card collecting community. My dad took me to a baseball card show and I looked around each booth...wide eyed. He had given me 20.00 to buy whatever I wanted. After thumbing through many cards, I settled on a Jim Rice 1977 Topps Card, and to keep him from being lonely, I picked up a Catfish Hunter and a Thurman Munson. As I left the Days Inn, my heroes were placed in my shirt pocket, just above my heart.



In 1985, Jay Pearson and I began buying cards by the box. We would go up to George Souther's gas station in Little Chicago, SC and buy boxes of unopened Topps, Fleer, and Donruss cards. We would rush home and find our lucky spots in the floor. You see, there is a magical art in picking just the right box. The picker must touch each box and wait for "the feeling". This feeling is hard to describe, as it varies for each person. For me, it is a warmth that permeates the body. It is a magnetic, or perhaps static electrical charge that is a sign from GOD. He says, "This is the box, you must get it, and take it home, and open it in your sacred space, and cherish the treasures forever."I opened up a pack, and saw a name that sounded cool. Of course people wanted Nolan Ryan, Don Mattingly, Darryl Strawberry, and Dwight Gooden. For some reason, I liked the way that the name, KIRBY PUCKETT, sounded. So, I began to collect all his cards. Very soon, Mr. Puckett became a great player. He was a great hitter and fielder. He won several batting titles, and won a few World Series. More than just a name, I became a fan of the way that he played. He always played the game with joy and enthusiasm. He was built like a fire hydrant, but could run fast, jump high, and smoke a baseball to all parts of the field.



So, over 600 different Kirby cards later, I finally secured a treasure. His 1984 fleer update card topped out at over 300.00 in appraisal. This was my favorite card for years, until I possessed 2 autograph cards. I picked up several great magazines, and all star ballots. I still have many of these keepsakes, and will one day tell my son stories of the Spark Plug player from the projects of Chicago, that had the city of Minneapolis and myself, watching his games, studying the boxscores, and cheering him on to greatness.




After retiring, Puckett had several issues with the law, each revolving around sex and battery of women. I was crushed. The good guy had become an enigma. It seems that he hit women, with the same ferocity as he hit a baseball. A few years ago, he was charged with grabbing a woman and pulling her into a bathroom stall. She fought him, and escaped. Just who is this Puckett...anyway? A hero...or a villain?Last night, Kirby Puckett died from complications from a stroke, at the age of 45. He is the second youngest Hall of Fame member to die, just a few years behind Lou Gehrig. Many people on TV and radio were discussing the Life and career of Puckett today. Some only talked about baseball,(10 time all-star in 12 seasons) while others dwelt on the off the field issues. Very few painted a picture of balanced texture, color, and depth.I wonder about what will be said about me when I die. I am not famous, but if my biggest error, my darkest moment of the soul, was in the paper, and on CNN for all the world to gawk and analyze. Would people remember the good, or the bad in me? I pray that people will remember me as one who was real. I think of Puckett making a catch over the wall, smacking a double off the Green Monster in Boston, or torching the Braves in 1991 (most consider this the greatest Series in the modern era) but for some reason....I never recall the strikeouts.

The Joy of Vocabulary

Douglas has been sick this afternoon with a virus. It all began during the last minute of the Clemson-Duke basketball game. I had just emailed a friend about all the free throws that Clemson had missed, and my son turned into Linda Blair, from The Exorcist. Not literally, but he began to vomit with great ferocity and trajectory. Using my hand as a barf holder, we ran into the shower, as Sarah squeamishly cleaned up. By the way, raisins do not look scrumptious the second time around.

An hour and a half later...it happened again. Thankfully, it was not as bad that time. After getting out of the shower, I taught Douglas a new phrase. He can say it perfectly, and at this moment, he is marching around the den, proudly saying ..."Blowing Chunks!"

Leaving on a jet plane

(e-Ticket Issue Date/Place)
: 11JAN06/KAL SELRS


Conj.Ticket NO.
-
Fare Amount
1249.00 dollars
Equiv. Fare Paid
1,232,800 Won


So...It looks like I am going to Korea!! I leave from Atlanta on Feb 10 and return on Feb 28.

Arte Johnson and the voice of God

Laugh-In was a great show in the late 60's and early 70's that featured fast paced comedy skits, stand up routines, quick jokes and a look at the counter culture. It was cutting edge for the times, as it dealt with issues such as drug use, sex, politics, and homosexuality. I remember being over at my aunt and uncles house, and the older folks watching it and laughing uncontrollably. I was a little too young to watch such bawdy humor, so I was sent to do something else, while they watched Goldie Hawn gyrate with temp tattoos on her body to funky music.

Since then I have watched some of the reruns on cable, and I must admit...it is funny. One of my favorite characters is played by Arte Johnson. He played a short, puckish, German soldier, and at the oddest of times would utter the words,"Verrrrry Interrressting!"

Over the past few months, I have had a longing. Sometimes these things sneak up slowly, like a kid trying to scare the beejesus out of his mother, but they are longings still. I have a blog friend that is leaving in a month to be involved in ministry in an AIDS clinic in Capetown, South Africa. She has eyes, and a heart that are not American, but Christian. She has courage to leave comfort, and capitalism, and Peanut M&M's to love on those who are in need.


I had a trip outside the U.S., last year. Well, it seems like last year, but actually it was eight years ago. Images are in my heart, and mind, and on my computer that speak to the Bigness of God and the smallness of America, although we seem to act as if we are God's favorite child. I have had vivid dreams of this place, and feel, sometimes that God has a rope around me...pulling gently, but pulling still.

Last Wednesday, on my Birthday, Sarah and I went out for dinner. We live on the coast, and have a plethora of choices in dining. We really enjoy The Melting Pot, a fondue restaurant, so off we drove. We had a great conversation about life and the place that God has us in now, and how we feel about it. I had told her that I loved a great deal about where we live, but feel unchallenged. Things just seem to be a little too easy...not stretching enough. Hmmm....an obese man concerned with stretching. Now that is funny!

We talked about ministry oversees, and other possibilities, as we dunked our bread into the cheese pot. I was reminded of a traditional meal in Korea, as the families would sit on the floor and eat and talk about what was on their minds. Sarah said that Korea would be a great place for me, but she was unsure how she would adapt to the culture. We decided that maybe one day we could serve a small church in a town with a college or University, so that I could preach and also teach students and hopefully inspire them to THINK. So, just when we thought we had it all figured out......

Last night, I looked at the images above and read the blog of my friend that is leaving her M&M's behind for Africa. She was standing in front of a Pic of Adonirum Judson, Baptist missionary, with the following quote:

"How do Christians discharge this trust committed to them? They let three fourths of the world sleep the sleep of death, ignorant of the simple truth that a Savior died for them. Content if they can be useful in the little circle of their acquaintances, they quietly sit and see whole nations perish for lack of knowledge."

I asked myself, there in front of my computer, a golf cart away from the Ocean, as my wife slept, and my son broke something..."Is there something else I should be doing?" Then more importantly, I asked God,"What is it you have in mind?"

Immediately,I heard a familiar...Ding, you know it...the email ding. Some emails talk to you, but ours just dings. So, I clicked from the blog of the future African Queen to see the following email:

Hello, Richard, my loving friend!
It has passed long time since I sent an e-mail.
How have you been these days?
How about your wife and son?
Your mother, Carol.
Richard!
I have missed you with all my heart.
Could you come to Korea in January or February this year?
I want to talk with you many things that we can't talked.
I can pay for you the fare of your trip to Korea.
If you can't with your family I hope only you will come here.
I have worked in the nursing home and in the church(English Service), and have taught in some colleges.
I hope you will send a good message to me.
In JESUS CHRIST!
from Sang Choi in KOREA.

Verrrry Innterrresting. I have tried to email over the past 3 years, but he never got it. His English is broken and we cannot communicate well by phone. So, I replied to the email with a quick,"Did you get this", thinking/hoping that he wouldn't. But, a reply awaited me this morning at 7am.

Hi, Richard!
I have received your mail, but I don't know your answer in detail.
Last year I asked your job in Korea.
Then one professor who I have known had searched an English teacher in the urgent situation. Now just I want you (or with your family)will stay and travel with me for some weeks in Korea. And I want to discuss if possible you may work in Korea.
When you came to Korea 7 years ago, just only you stayed in my house. I had not traveled with you. So I am very sorry that I had not been with you then.
Your Answer! O.K?

What is God doing here??

Pray for us as we seek him, and discuss what this may mean. I looked for a picture of Arte Johnson for this blog, and on the side of the page was an ad for Teaching English in Korea. Too much excitement in 2 days for a Doubter like me. As I sip my pomegranate tea, and get ready to watch football, my mind races. My hands are cold, my brain hurts, but my Spirit dances with excitement.

Verrry Innnteresssting, Indeed!

Update...

Email from the Southern Coast to Southern Korea

Choi,
I will be able to visit with you in Korea for a 2 week period. I would need to do this before the end of March if you are planning on this being a project for this year. I have to officiate a wedding on March 25, 2006. My family will not be attending, as my son is in school and Sarah is very involved here, in ministry and as Mom.
Obligations here will not allow me to be away longer than two weeks. I would love to explore needs there, but it looks as if it would be difficult to relocate at this time. I will be able to explain more at a later time. I look forward to the chance to spend time with you and your family. My passport does not expire until December of 2007. Please email with info as you are able, so that I can line up all that is necessary here. I am pleased with our reconnection and am excited to see you and to visit your country again.
Richard

Stay tuned for additional info...

Almost Superman

In the life that was childhood, I spent a great deal of time imagining and dreaming. Outside the front door of my Grandparent's house was a set of concrete steps, painted green that became a forum for self expression and fantasy. Seven steps separated the common man from immortality, as each step corresponded with a superhero. The ascention to Superhero deity progressed slowly, gradually and with a price of fear. I would step up, and then jump off...this was the event that caused a change in my genetic makeup and turned me into a member of the Marvel gang or the Justice League. My uncle, Donnie, seventeen years younger that my father, and five years older than me, introduced me to comics. These little books of illustrated battles of good and evil interested me and caused a young mind to wander, explore, and long for a new identity.

The 7 steps began with an easy jump...and I became AquaMan. A decent hero, but talking to fish is not really that great in the realm of superheros. Step two entailed a sex change, and I became WonderWoman, who in retrospect was pretty hot. I wonder how the world would be different if women really had a lasso of truth. I shudder at the thought of such. Step three was The Hulk, in need of anger management classes. The steps seemed to be much more daunting in height once I reached step four. That one was Captain America, I always loved his outfit and how he could sling the shield like a frisbee. Step five was Batman, it was always odd that Robin did not make the list, but he was a little wimpy.Step six was my favorite, Spiderman, and it made my spidey senses tingle, as I looked at the ground rush up to meet me, as gravity did what gravity does.


The last step was the grandest, and the most challenging. For what seemed like years, I always stopped at Spiderman. Partly because He was my favorite, but truly because the last step made me soil my underoos. It was made of simply concrete, but for the Man of Steel, it had a high level of Kryptonite.

Fears paralyze me, rendering me incapable of moving, progressing, and becoming the Hero that I was made to be. Fears of Inadequacy, failure, and being found out to be a fraud, keep me from taking a leap that will forever transform Clark into the Caped One with a red S on display for a gawking world to see.

Over the holiday break, we went back to my grandmother's house. Grandpa died in 1999, and my uncle is married and lives elsewhere. Generations may come and go, but as the picture below states...God's mercy endures forever. The hand reaches and helps us to become divine. We can face our fears, bite our tongues and realize that joy is possible, when He holds us and helps us in the great journey of our becoming.....like Christ, the God/Man.

This little guy, who seems to be a confused member of The Village People (hmmm...Indian or Construction hunk??), is me. The picture is a little ragged, but it was in my father's wallet when he died. I enjoy seeing it, because I know how proud I am of my son, and I can see that he felt the same way. My dad was 23 when I came along, and here he is probably 25.

The little fellow is beginning to grow, and learn how to do things. As a seven year old, here I am with my dad. He is holding me up, keeping me steady, balanced, preventing me from cracking my skull on the pavement. The Christmas of 1977 was cold and windy, and right before this picture was taken, he pulled a fresh white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the snot from my nose. Such is a vital part of being a dad, but I am not too sure about the gloves that he equipped me with, as the number on the bike, the gloves on the hands, and the hair on the head shouldn't always match! My father died 8 years later, at the age of 35. This ended the part of my life that can best be described as "The Life that was", as everything since then has been filtered through 1983. In an odd way, this is the year that I stopped dreaming, and began to fear, to rush, to push. I set goals for myself, that all centered around when I would be 35. I had to have my Doctorate degree, write my book, and start my family by the age of 35. Deep, or perhaps just below the surface, I feared that I too would die at the same young age.

I spoke with an acquaintance turned friend the other day. He is a neat guy, a man's man, but what I love the most about him is that he does not take himself too serious. He has the face and head of Charlie Brown, but with the goatee of Charlie Chan. After reading these soul ramblings, and hearing me open up a little bit, he shared some great encouragement. Upon finding out that my birthday is January 4th, he said,"Look, you have almost made it, you have beat it, you have won!" After he finished, in a warp speed back to my teenage years, I heard Barry Manilow sing.."Looks like We've made It!". Two unlikely teammates, Mr. Chan and Mr. Manilow said the same thing!!



Now when I look at this picture, I see that it can be interpreted two different ways. For 24 years, my dad has been holding me back, keeping me still, stopping progress. But, now that I am 36, he is pushing me off, saying, "Keep it steady", and allowing me to pedal freely.

If I fall, so be it, but....pedal I will!

Hey world, how do you like my gloves?

Pretty spiffy, huh.

Happy 36th birthday to me, and thanks to Christ, Mr. Barry Manilow and Mr. Charlie Chan, I can take off the training wheels. I am Free!

Shoes Go A' Flying

Exodus 3:1-5

Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian; he led his flock beyond the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God.

2-There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a bush; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consumed.

3-Then Moses said, I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up.

4-When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, Moses, Moses! And he said, Here I am.

5-Then he said, Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.

6-He said further, I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.

Now, I am no Moses, although I often lead others, as we are part of God's Chosen wilderness wandering troop, but during Christmas I walked on Holy Ground. We made a visit to my last living grandparent, who is now in her eighties. She lives beside the house that I grew up in, but ultimately left in 1995. Walking back into her yard, I was overwhelmed with memories. Take off your shoes...this is a Holy moment...You are about to be overwhelmed, but not consumned. I did not hear God speak audibly, but he was yelling within me. I took a deeeeeeeep breath, wiped my left eye, and walked around before going inside.Over the next several days, I am going to unpackage these thoughts, emotions, and memories with keyboard strokes. Words such as: Steps, dock, roof, lake, yard, fence, bike, concrete, and fish may be empty to you, but for me...they are "buffet style, unbuckle my pants" filling.The Life that was, is, and is yet to be...this was my greatest gift during this Christmas season.

Merry Christmas

Welcome to Our World-by Chris Rice

Tears are falling, hearts are breaking

How we need to hear from God
You've been promised, we've been waiting
Welcome Holy Child
Welcome Holy Child


Hope that you don't mind our manger
How I wish we would have known
But long-awaited Holy Stranger
Make Yourself at home
Please make Yourself at home


Bring Your peace into our violence
Bid our hungry souls be filled
Word now breaking Heaven's silence
Welcome to our world
Welcome to our world


Fragile finger sent to heal us
Tender brow prepared for thorn
Tiny heart whose blood will save us
Unto us is born
Unto us is born


So wrap our injured flesh around You
Breathe our air and walk our sod
Rob our sin and make us holy
Perfect Son of God
Perfect Son of God


Welcome to our world

On the knee of Santa

Sitting on the knee of the Saintly One many years ago, I fumbled over my fears and shyness and asked for a gift. I needed the Fisher Price Farm set, and from what I had been told, If I asked the Jolly fellow sitting in the big chair...he would probably deliver. After a few "Ho...Ho..Ho's" and belly jiggles, he looked at me directly in the eyes. As I noticed his bushy black eyebrows, he then leaned closer and whispered to me, "Have you been a good boy this year?"
Without missing a beat, I looked upward, put my hand on his and replied..."Yes, Santa...I have been real good." I jumped down from his lap, and he gave me a candy cane. I ran to my mother, still beaming. What a moment for a red headed little fellow. Simple...Pure...magical....dreamlike...Santa was my friend.

A few weeks later, he delivered the Farm set. I played with it for a brief time, until I realized that the grain silo could also be used as a urinal. Thus ended the possibility for grain storage for the winter, the little people of the village died, and the set was chunked into the trash.

Years later, three plus decades to be precise, I wonder about what I should ask Santa for this year. If his knee could hold me, and if I could answer his loaded question about my behavior without blinking, just what do I want him to bring. I think I would be better served offering a prayer to God instead.

1-The willingness for me to listen more and talk less.
2-The ability to use humor in a non-abusive manner.
3-The ears to hear the pain of others.
4-The courage to see myself as "who I really am."
5-The eyes to see needs around me and the heart to care.
6-The energy to exercise and take care of my body.
7-The courage to move into areas that God leads, even if it seems scary as hell.
8-The comfort to say,"I don't know, or I can't."
9-The guts to say, "No" when the need arises.
10-The vision to see Christ, at work.
11- The heart that breaks when I see suffering.
12- A heart that is thankful.
13- Whirled Peas
14- The diligence to work on this writing interest, even when I don't care to.
15-The desire to stay in touch with family, and being fully present during conversations.
16-The ability to be a true friend, a great husband, and a Super hero Dad.
15- A silo with non cardboard walls that holds urine.
16- The wisdom to push when needed and wait when I am impatient.
17- The ability to begin to heal over the loss of my dad, and start to believe that I am finally beginning to truly live.
18-The self assurance to see myself, as God sees me.
19-The hands to reach out and touch someone...even a male, if they need realness.
20-The knowledge to understand that this list will never, ever, ever end.

Father Christmas....I have been good all year! Would I lie to you?

Shhhhhhhh!

December marked the beginning of our yearly ritual. My sister and I would get our sleeping bags and lay them across my King sized bed, and burrow down inside to keep warm. She was cocooned in a green sleeping bag that was redeemed by sending Kellogs box tops back to Battle Creek, along with 9.99. Tony the Tiger, Dig'em (the Sugar Smacks Frog), and Snap, Crackle and Pop were her devoted bedmates for quite a while. My sleeping bag had been bought for a summer camp experience, which I hated, and was plain blue with a plaid lining. She and I would laugh and cut up until time for bed each night. I do not really know who came up with this idea, but I assume that it was me. Usually, I am the one that has the better ideas!


This seemed like a rather boring event, but it was here that I began to develop the gift. In the darkness of a room with yellow shag carpet, and wood grain paneled walls, the gift of storytelling was born. Each Sunday, from the pulpit, I tell a story or two, but on the night before Christmas, my sister asked me to tell her a story.

Thinking about what she might like, and how I may be able to make her laugh, I began a story about a king. The ruler of the kingdom of diphtheria was a gracious and funny man named King Souvlaki. He had a difficult time ruling the kingdom of diphtheria, because people were afflicted with the disease of no laughter. Eventually, the curse was broken because the townspeople could not pronounce the kings name, and he would become so upset that he would yell and scream in a loud voice. It was out of his despair, and aggravation, that the people would laugh at his silly behavior.

Near the end of the story...We both heard a "Squeak"...then another and another. The story ended abruptly, as we were sure that Santa was downstairs. "Is that Him", she asked. "Shhhh..Go to sleep, Santa is here!" was my reply.I could feel my heart racing, as I thought of my sister finding out the Truth about Santa. We both said our quick goodnights and the world of dreams quickly overtook us.

Ten steps lead from the upper level to the basement of our Lake house. That morning, after waking our parents (they sure looked tired), we bounded down and looked under the tree. After playing with many different toys, opening the stockings, and looking at the half eaten cookie on Santa's plate, we heard a "Squeak". My dad had a puppet that was my sisters, and was playing with it. The frog puppet had a tongue that would fly out and make a squeaking sound. We told our parents about hearing that noise during the night. They looked at each other, smiled and laughed. "Santa must have stepped on it when he was going for the cookies and milk", my mom replied convincingly.

Sometimes truth is greater than fiction. May we all be warmed by Truth this Christmas season.

Thanks Mom!!

Today I spoke to a great friend who is in Scotland, working on his Ph.D. He is one of my favorite people, because of his sharp mind, quick wit, and anti-establishment spirit. We talk 2 or 3 times a year, I wish it was more often, but he is too busy writing poetry and listening to Van Morrison. To be honest, I am jealous, as I would love his life of books, writing, travel, and nice hair.
His mother died last year, and each time we speak, conversation turns in that direction.

From my last post, you see that I usually give my mom a hard time, and ask if she would be interested in seconds. Nakedness, or intimacy, does not come easy for me, as I hide a great deal of my "heartbeat" behind the mask of laughter. As I reach below my chin and yank upward to remove the rubber characature away from my face...listen as I tell you what my Mom has done RIGHT!!

1-Have sex with my dad..(sorry--Mask is back on)
2-Sit up with her son when he was sick
3-Teach her son to read
4-Beat her son when he needed it
5-let her son watch Sesame Street, Captain Kangaroo, and Mr. Rogers
6-Pushed Academics
7-Played Cards with her son
8-Prayed for her son
9-Equipped her son to be independant
10-Introduced her son to Christ
11-Told her son when he was full of it.
12-Active in PTA
13-Active in Church
14-Let her son drink coffee at young age
15-Taught her son to ride a bike
16-Taught her son to drive a car
17-Provided love and stability always for her son
18-kept family together after death of my dad
19-embraced my friends
20-made a house a home
21-Encouraged and Supportive Always
22-Loves my wife
23-Adores my son

The following article by Isaac Bailey, a local news writer, says a lot about my mom:

MOTHERS ARE BEST GIFT OF ALL

A mother. So important she can't be adequately described.
Because she cooks and cleans and hugs and kisses and reads and debates and studies for her doctorate in education or her master's in child rearing and holds the family up when it wants to fall down.
A mother. She is stay-at-home and out-in-the-work-world and step and divorced and married and adoptive and single and foster and even childless, because she would give her right arm and left eye if God would bring her little one back or grant her the ability to get pregnant - just once - to become ...A mother.
She wonders and worries. She's patient and impatient and everything in between. Because she loads the dishwasher and washing machine and dryer or hangs clothes on the backyard clothesline, then folds, then scrubs the toilet and repacks the toy box and vacuums and tries not to forget it's time to begin preparing dinner all while finding five minutes here to read a book to little Johnny or two minutes there giving in to the screams for attention from Little Susie ... knowing she'll have to start all over again in the morning and the next and the next, without receiving the $131,471 salary.com says she'd receive if she were paid for all she does.
A mother.
She's beautiful, radiant, but doubts she is. Because her breasts don't hang quite right. Because her backside hangs more than ever. Because she doesn't have time to jog five miles a day. Because her husband's eyes no longer light up as they did on the first date. Because the women on TV keep getting younger and thinner and prettier. Because she's told she's too fat. Because she's told glamour has long pulled away from her station.
A mother.
She's strong but wonders: ``What's it all for? Will they grow into well-adjusted adults because of or in spite of me?'' Because sometimes she feels tired, sometimes can't listen to another ``Mom, I need'' without wanting to scream.
Because sometimes people stare with judgment when Little Johnny and Susie sometimes act like brats in public.
A mother.
But she loves it, wouldn't trade the world for it, because though it doesn't always bring her happiness, it always brings her joy.
Because somewhere deep within she realizes - and she knows everyone else knows even when they are reluctant to admit it - that there's no greater gift than ... a mother.

Because the American Poet in Scotland shares his hurt over the death of his mother...I appreciate mine more.

Thanks mom...for everything.

For the One who has everything

Christmas Eve of 1990, I glanced under the Christmas tree and noticed three boxes that were exactly alike. Each one had an attached name tag that meant the unknown treasure inside belonged to myself, and my siblings. Mom had each of us open the gift at the same time, which in retrospect, was not a good sign. As we tore thorough the wrapping with joyful glee and a hint of apprehension....we completed the task and awkwardly stopped. We each held forth a sweatshirt, but not just any sweatshirt, but one that had a picture of a cocker spaniel emblazoned on the front. A great gift for my sister, but a lousy gift for red blooded macho men such as Jay and I . Where could we wear these tokens of my mother's love? Absosmurfly nowhere!! Mom felt terrible, as she realized that we did not share her love for our puppy, and wish to display our emotions proudly for all the world to see.

Bad Gifts...there are loads of them out there. Examples are: Golfball Monogrammer, steak brander with logo of your favorite collegiate team, argyle socks, and any type of appliance for cooking, cleaning to be given to your wife. The only thing worse would be to give her a treadmill, a year long membership to Weight Watchers, or a girdle. Mistle toe would not help the love life in any of these situations.

So... Imagine how the wise men felt. What do you give someone who has it all. What if we were to draw names this Christmas, and instead of your lazy uncle Jack (that never works, and belches at the table, and has an opinion about everything and exhibits ignorance in each) you draw the name of Jesus.

What on Earth do you give him? Probably not a trivial pursuit game, or the latest U2 album, or a Honey Baked Ham, definately not kosher.

Perhaps we should give him something broken, worthless, and beautiful. Ourselves...that is the only gift worthy to give a King...our subjection, honor, worship.

Now...I need to go find a refrigerator box...and some Mickey Mouse wrapping paper.

Ambiguously Clear

Today has been one of those odd, off kilter, never quite feel at home in my skin, days. I came home from work and flipped through the channels on the Boob Tube and saw Jerry Springer. I usually do not watch this show, as I save my brain cells for things that are important, such as South Park, The Daily Show, and Sports. However the title of this episode of Springer made me wonder if I was really alive. The title was..."I was a Lap-Dancer for the CIA. " In high school, when I was taking the assessment to determine my potential career paths, or areas of interest...I would have loved to have had the option of Lap Dancer for the CIA. I guess the teachers felt that I was not equipped for this important task for my country. Great...now I have guilt over my lack of...er..patrioitism.I seem to notice oddities. Instead of half-full or half empty, I seem to see the finger print on the side of the glass. In Wal-Mart today, I saw a fiber optic Christmas toilet seat cover and I tilted my head. One...who thought of this? Two...who would buy it? I guess those ladies that wear those festive holiday sweaters. I don't know about you, but nothing makes me festive like a toilet seat cover that lights up or a lady with a reindeer bouncing across her chest. Whatever makes 'em happy...I guess.Last week when we were unpacking our Christmas stash. Our son pulled out his Fisher Price Nativity set and placed it on our table. He placed each part, as he wished them to be, and left them as a reminder of the activity of God. After our halls were decked, and our eggs were nogged, we glanced down and were amazed. Neatly arranged was a worship scene from the heart of a child. I wonder, if you see yourself here...as I do? The lamb is in the picture, but seems to be a little out of place, a little timid, a little afraid or unsure of this babe in the manger. Today, I am that Lamb, as I am in the area of worship, but still feeling unworthy. There are sooo many struggles that grasp and choke, that take my focus off Christ. I wish that I could remain focused, but I am often miserable. I preach faith, hope, and love..but I practice doubt, fear and hate. As I struggle with my worthiness, I am reminded of the love that Christ has for me. In his shepherding, He leaves the 99 to come and get me. He wraps me up and leads me back to the fold. As he places me in the pen with the unlocked gate, he says...I am the One that makes you worthy. It is not what you do...you are wearing my brand, my name is upon you. I have bought you, so rest here for a little while.

Vocation and Dreams

A friend of mine recently wrote about the struggle in finding vocation or calling in life. Today, I have been cranking that idea around in my cranium, and as usual, memories come. I have no recollection of what I wanted to be when I was young, but I am sure that "A Naked Preacher" was not what I was working toward.My sister is almost seven years younger than me, and it was always interesting watching her grow and seeing her become who she is now. At a young age, she had her life planned out. She had chosen the job that would make a big difference in the World. Most young ladies aspire to be a teacher, or a nurse, or something of the like, but not my little sister. She had the hopes and dreams of becoming a .......

Solid Gold Dancer. She would put on her leotard and leggings, and dance through the den with great vigor, style and precision. She enrolled in gymnastics, and just as things were looking up for her to be there, shaking her bootie beside Adrian Zmed, or Dionne Warwick...the show was cancelled. The music faded, and we no longer heard.

Solid Gold - Filling up my life with music

Solid Gold - Putting rhythm in my soul

There's song that's unreeling

To fit the way that I'm feeling

My head keeps spinning to music; spinning to gold.

I've come to discover that music's a lover.

It's heat keeps me warm when I'm cold.

The beat starts to bend me.

The melodies send me.

And everything melts into gold

...and sadly her dreams died. Now, she is a mother to two beautiful children, who keep her dancing faster than she ever did in the eighties. She is also a great wife and a wonderful daughter. I could not ask for a better sister (unless I could borrow money a little more often). I love you, and am so proud of you. So, her initial dreams have not come true, but I feel that she wouldn't trade her life now for the chance to dance. Perhaps God didn't have a beef with disco music, maybe he was weaving a solid gold dream for a girl in a leotard and leggings. And the neatest part of all is that her daughter is enrolled in dance classes.To stop dreaming, hoping, and believing is to stop living. In the words of the prophet, Steven Tyler, "Dream On!"

Unexpected

As a young boy, I fell in love for the first time, and it was one of those sweaty, dirty, bouncy, affairs. Not too surprisingly, it still goes on. My dad walked me into the backyard, and told me to look up. There was a basketball pole and hoop, stretching forever skyward, and my interest was piqued. I learned the fine art of dribbling, shooting, pretending, and dodging. The pole was cemented in and the base was not level at the ground. If the shot was made just right, and I was standing just wrong...I would get nutted. The ball would bounce right up into my groinal region, and after much pulsation and tears, I would pick myself up and shoot again. It was here that I learned to shoot a sky-hook. Dad was 6'4 and I needed a shot that he couldn't block. The red dirt around the goal became my stomping ground, and eventually around age 10, I beat my dad pretty easily. Unexpectedly, he died in 1983, at the age of 35. That evening I watched my favorite player, Dr. J defeat "Mr. Sky Hook" Kareem Abdul Jabbar in the NBA finals. In high school we played thousands of games of 21 or HORSE or 2 on 2, and I was the star. The perfect afternoon consisted of rigging a Jam box out the back door, blasting some Journey or Prince, and shooting hoops. Many times I would go in the house, remove my socks, and spend lots of time scrubbing off my clay mired legs. I played on the goal on the hill, beside the well until we moved from there in the early 90's.

Today, I went into work and my day did not go as expected. One of our Truck Unloaders died from a heart attack last night. He was 41 years old. He left a wife and 2 kids, ages 4 and 9. I was pretty shaken today, not because he and I were good friends(we were not), but because of the thoughts that dashed about in my mind. I guess because he was young, and left two kids and a wife, 1983 came running backward and knocked on my soul. I thought of my Mom and her strength, and my sister and her love for my father, and the face of the 12 year old redhead hoop star and hurt flooded me. Unexpected emotion on a Wednesday, usually reserved for Sunday.

I left work and walked to the Toy Department. I picked up a large box and some football cards. After paying, I loaded the box in my car, sticking out of the trunk, and headed for home. My night has been immersed in grace and memories...if I didn't know better I can see clay on my feet and hear someone say...look at the rim...follow through...Good Shot Son!

Awe and Wonder

Today, we began the advent season during worship. The sermon focused on Christ being our hope in a world that often seems stagnant, lifeless, and dark. At the conclusion of the service, I lit the candle on the Advent wreath and said, "Christ is the Word made flesh; God dwelling among us, living, moving, and breathing." My son, who is not yet four, seeing the candle light up, in a loud whisper, said,"Wow!" In this sacred moment, a lady in her early eighties dabbed a tear from her left eye, someone coughed, and a father swelled up with pride. Perhaps...maybe...possibly...a little child shall lead them.May we keep our sense of childlike awe and wonder...as we see our Father continue to do amazing things.