Hey Sam, "Watch me poop on the preacher!"

Last Sunday was a usual warm, muggy day here in Myrtle Beach. At 8 am, we were already miserably oppressed by the high humidity and absence of any recognizable breeze. Over one hundred folks slowly made their way, out to the covered area, on the longest fishing pier on the east coast. Two college kids stood up before the gathered assembly, and began to lead in the offertory special. Then, with ten seconds left in the song, just before my time to
"dare to speak on behalf of God", I was pooped upon. Several pigeons were perched above, and I did not heed my wife's warning to watch out. Something warm and oatmealesque plopped into my perfectly coiffed hair. "See Sam...Told you I could Do it."

Luckily Sarah is always prepared. Miraculously, I was able to get her to stop laughing long enough to use a "wet wipe" from her purse to get me cleaned up. While reading the scripture, I dared think...yep...this must be the secret to the Christian life, learning to dodge the poop, or at least knowing the one who is able to clean us up. Sounds like the Gospel to me!


Later that evening I saw two Hasidic Jews walking down ocean boulevard in the midst of bikinis, many piercings and a roaring dinosaur at Ripleys, and I acted as if it was normal....whatever that means.

Snapshots of a Soul

Today, the sermon seemed to be a bit off kilter, as I reflected on the things that I learned from my dad. I love this picture, as my largest male influence pulled me deeply into a spot...most safe.

It is hard to explain what this one does to me. My dad taught me to be faithful in the simple things. He was a model of consistency, and a bedrock of stability. He had a great, infectious laugh, and loved life. His death taught me that God moved in mysterious ways, and that the life should be squeezed out of each second. (See T-Shirt post about 6 posts prior)


Now that I am raising a little man, I am obligated to teach him about life. He will learn much on his own, from his mom, or from others, but I play a major role in his development. So what will I teach him?

1- To root for the Cubs and Red Sox

2-Cheer for the Clemson Tigers and Dallas Cowboys

3-Love and Respect all people, ideas, and cultures

4-Play hard, without the fear of losing

5-Laugh until he wants to puke

6- Search for God in unexpected places

7- Embrace his heritage

8-Shoot a Hook Shot

9-Throw a Curve Ball

10- Each breath is bathed with grace....that should bewilder and amaze.

11- Read books that challenge and stretch the mind

12- Trust God, even when he is noticeably absent

13-See the potential lying just beneath the surface

14-To realize how liberating it is to say, "I'm Sorry."

15-To look for a mate that will help him become a better man.

16-Music history....Sam Cooke, Marvin Gaye, Jimi Hendrix, The Stones, The Beatles, Prince, and countless others

17-Prayer is more listening than asking God for stuff

18- We fail God, each other, and ourselves, often.

19- God forgives, and we should follow suit.


Having a father and being a father...a gracious gift indeed!

Superstar Dreams

Born to be Wild

Douglas at Bike week in the new used convertible.

The Theology of Homer Formby

Famous theologians from the past and present have had a heavy influence in my spiritual development. I have walked to the well almost grudgingly, but after kneeling and drinking, I walked away refreshed and renewed. Augustine, Calvin, Zwingli, Luther, Knox, Wesley, Barth, and Tillich have molded and shaped my mind, and heart. I recently became influenced by the thinking of Homer Formby. He does not speak of substitutionary atonement, nor does he have five possible ideas of Christology, Sotieriology, or Ecclesiology. In fact, he does not write at all. I am unsure of his own salvation, possible he has no relationship with God. Yet, he has influenced me, and made me reconsider the importance of a certain aspect of ministry.

Homer Formby was a restorer. He had his name attached to a line of wood products a few years back, and craftsmen would buy the products off the shelves of Roses, Otasco, Lowes, K-Mart and Wal-Mart. Afterwards, they would take a beat up, abused, weathered piece of furniture, and with skill and loving care...they would restore it to "like new" condition.

What could we, as the people of God, truly become, if we were restorers? Usually when someone messes up, blows it, misses the mark...we turn our backs on them. We make them hurt more, shun them, and add another scar to skin that already aches with pain.

Early in my Christian life and ministry, I was a shunner, a church discipline advocator, and a Pharisee with a long flowing robe. The bible was a rule book for playing the game of religion, and as pastor, I had the right to referee and scorekeep. However, after several years of ministry, I became involved in a sin that had me firmly in grasp. I no longer ran, I reveled in my new found sin. As a Pastor it is so hard to find the time to renew spiritually and to find someone that you can share your deep darkness. We are so concernied about staying in the "good graces" of our people and being perceived as holy that we cease to be real. So we do what we do in secret and never "get real" with the depth of our own need.

Someone finally earned my trust, and I spilled my soul, halfheartedly wanting to be told that I should leave the ministry and pursue another career and calling. She was an older lady, uneducated by books, but lead by the Spirit of Christ. She was hunched over with arthritis, and shuffled about with the aid of a walker. She had no teeth to speak of, and her hair was white as snow. She said, "Richard, you say that Christ forgives us, but Do you believe it? To be a real preacher you should believe what you say, and if it is not true, then you shouldn't say it." She prayed with me, and encouraged me, and loved me. She, lead by the Spirit of Christ, took a broken minister, and with a lot of skill, love, and care restored me to the treasure that I was created to be.

Two weeks ago, I went back to the place of my sin and struggle and preached her funeral. I had some fear that I would see people that would condemn, or whisper, or ignore me. Standing before her family, I told the story of restoration and redemption. Her concern helped keep me in the business of sharing and caring and I am eternally grateful.

Andrew Peterson, writer/musician says it best.

Now and then these feet just take to wandering
Now and then I prop them up at home
Sometimes I think about the consequences
Sometimes I don't.

Well, I realize that falling down ain't graceful
But I thank the Lord that falling's full of grace
Sometimes I take my eyes off Jesus
And you know that's all it takes

Well I wish that I could say that at the close of every day
I was happy with the way that I'm behaving
'Cause Job, he chased and answer
The wise men chased the Child
Jacob chased her 14 years and he Captured Rachel's smile
Moses chased the Promised Land
Joseph chased a dream
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me

Well, they say a race can only have one winner
And you know you've got to pull out front to win
God knows the only time I'm winning
Is when I'm chasing Him

Well I wish that I could say that at the close of every day
I was happy with the way that I'm behaving
'Cause Samson chased a woman
and he chased the Philistines
I'm not quite sure what Jonah chased
But I know he caught the sea
Cain, he chased the harvest
While Abel chased the beasts
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me

And Jesus chased the moneymen
And he chased his Father's will
He chased my sin to Calvary
And he caught it on that hill
Saul, he chased the Christians
Till his blindness made him see
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me


Are you broken? Have you fallen? Do you need grace and restoration? I have been redeemed and restored, and am available for you. All you have to do is reach out.

Free Flowing

My son peed on me tonight. He is working on potty training, and while in the shower, he let it fly. Gravity and velocity combined and found a landing point, my right foot. It warmed my heart(not really) but it did remind me just how far we have come. Douglas just turned four, and I am so blessed to be his father.

A few hours before his birth, while Sarah was not yet angry at my ability to impregnate, I wrote these few words:

March 23, 2002.

4:39 a.m.

Perhaps a brilliant mind he will have,

or the skills to cure cancer, or dementia, or AIDS.

Maybe the ability to design castles or kingdoms,

or planes or cars.

Could it be that he will speak with a dazzling splendor

and an eloquence that has not yet been experienced.

Perhaps a voice; angelic but strong.

Choirs from London and Carnegie

would vie for this gifted tenor.

But even better, he could have mustard seed sized faith

that is able to move mountains.

Such a faith will give him a blessed hope,

founded upon Christ...the Redeemer.

That is enough to make any father...overjoyed.

4:44 am

Four years later, I remain unsure what Douglas Richard Jenkins will become. Perhaps a sharpshooter...for in the shower, his aim sure is true.

Douglas and His Day

6 Days old

One year

Pancakes with Mom

Yummy Popcorn

Just like Daddy

Like my Icing Lips?

Curious George...For ME?

Bye Bye three...hello four!!

The Maturation Process: Sweet to Sweeeeeeet!

The Hunt

As little folks, we were subjected to family tradition and revelry centered around Easter. Mom would take Amy and I to Hamrick's and buy us our new Sunday duds, and get us ready for the big day. As you may notice in the picture above, I am somewhat torn between, my two careers of contortionist, and televangelist. The clothes would get better,as the years rolled by and our hair would be styled just so, and afterwards we would have a big meal..and hunt eggs.



The eggs were hid in various places, with the best being in the shrubs, gutters, or trees. Dad even found a way to get those plastic eggs to fit between the links of the chain link fence.



This year, we hid 1800 eggs for the kids to find at Apache Campground, and the task was accomplished in 2.3 seconds.



Other folks came hunting too, as we served Communion to almost 600 people yesterday. The sunrise brought 350 people to gather and remember the Son rising from the tomb. I was awed and humbled to have the chance to say repeatedly, "The blood of Christ given for You, Happy Easter."

Easter is a great time of festivity and focus. I hope that you were moved, hunted, and found.

"You Can't go Home again", was written by Thomas Wolfe, and is an idea that is often acknowledged and quoted. Home, in my formative years was the Upstate of South Carolina, in a small community with the landscape dotted with peach trees. During picking season, I would help the Souther family get those peaches ready for market. My jobs were varied, as sometimes I would sit on the tractor with a legal pad, and add a line beside each pickers name as they filled a basket. Other times, I would level each box out, place the lid on top, and then load it on the truck. I even had the chance to go to the market, and be involved in the selling process.I was not the best peach worker, but it was a fun, and fuzzy experience.I also recall spending many Sunday's inside a church, sitting on a hard wooden pew. One Sunday would be spent at the Pentecostal church with my grandparents. This was a place filled with jumping up and down, enthusiastic singing, speaking in tongues, and all people praying at once. Beginning with a soft whisper, these group prayers had a distinct ebb and flow, and were displays of laughter, tears, yelling and joy.The next Sunday, I would be in the Baptist church, on a hard wooden pew. We would sit quietly, sing with a little fervor, and rarely show emotion. I recall grasping the back of the pew in front of me, as I stood and sang all the verses of "Just as I am", waiting on someone to go down front and grasp the preachers hand and accept Jesus. To be honest, I prayed that someone would hurry down, so that I could go home and watch Roger Staubach, Tony Dorsett, Tony Hill, Tom Landry, and the rest of my Dallas Cowboys. On Saturday, I would look in the TV Guide to see what time the Cowboys game kicked off. If it was at 1pm, I prayed and prayed that church would not last too long. Those pews got awfully hard sometimes, but I think that if they were places of comfort, we would sleep during preaching. Unthinkable...for the naked Preacher now....but an embraceable idea way back then.In Korea, one afternoon, I decided to go for a little stroll. I am not one for strolling, or as Sarah puts it, "Tromping Around". I put on my warm jacket, and grabbed the ipod in a sock (long story), and took to the hills. I walked up the mountain, and looked at the trees and rocks, and actually enjoyed myself. After walking back down, I passed my friend's house and ventured into the flat part of the land. After a few brief minutes I noticed some peach trees planted on a small section of land, and right in the middle of them...was a pew. As I sat there, with the cold breeze blowing, in my memory, I looked to my left and saw my Aunt Bernice sitting there. On the second row, was Jay Pearson with many young guys sitting beside him. The Choir had on the green robes, and Jerry Baskin anchored the bass section, Doug Jones was the Tenor supreme, and Diane Thomas was the Soprano that could crack glass(or at least crack me up). I heard Preacher Turner pronounce the W in the word "sword", smiled and instinctively began to sing a hymn. Dallas was not playing today, so I sang a few verses of the following:

I've wandered far away from God,

Now I'm coming home;

The paths of sin too long I've trod,

Lord, I'm coming home.

Coming home, coming home,

Nevermore to roam,

Open wide Thine arms of love,

Lord, I'm coming home.

I've wasted many precious years,

Now I'm coming home;

I now repent with bitter tears,

Lord, I'm coming home.

I'm tired of sin and straying, Lord,

Now I'm coming home;

I'll trust Thy love,believe Thy Word,

Lord, I'm coming home.

So, I guess you can go home again...I only wish I could give Thomas Wolfe a hard pew, and a super juicy peach, and perhaps, he would reconsider.

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.