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Monday, August 11, 2008

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When we were involved in building a new headquarters for our ministry, I have to confess that was new ground for me. I've been involved in building people my whole life, but not buildings. It became very clear that there is a specific order in which you have to do things. Obviously, you don't just start by having the carpenters show up and start putting up the building. There has to be a foundation laid first. But wait - you can't lay the foundation or start building until you have the detailed plans for the building. Yes, it takes contractors, carpenters, electricians, plumbers, pavers, and heating and air conditioning people. But first, the architect! Without his design, it would be just a mass confusion at the construction site. But thankfully, we had a gifted architect lay out a detailed plan, and things are working well because everyone is going by the plan.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

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Not long after the Gulf War, an Air Force chaplain planted this mental picture in my head I've never forgotten. He told me what he considered to be the ultimate example of loneliness. The chaplain said, "To me, lonely is a fighter pilot in his F-16, on a night mission over enemy territory. The only light is this eerie glow from his instrument panel - and his instruments indicate that his plane has just been "painted" as a target for an Iraqi SAM missile. The only sound he hears in that ultimately lonely moment is this song playing in his headset - God Bless the USA.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

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I was going through a basement closet and I found some buried treasure. Actually, it was a little suitcase filled with the love letters that my wife and I had exchanged over two years of our courtship and engagement - and no you can't see them. It was pretty moving for me, though, to read them again after so many years. As I relived our early romance through those letters, I had an idea, why not put some of these in a scrapbook and give them as a gift to my wife. Small problem: how am I going to do this and keep it a surprise? Well, I set up a partition in the back half of our basement. I moved some big furniture around to further obstruct the view, and I made myself a secret "No Trespassing" workshop! Finally, one day I presented my wife with this book entitled "Chronicles of a Lifetime Love." She had no idea what I'd been working on for her - I did all the work on it, out of her sight!

Monday, August 4, 2008

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We were tooling across the backside of the Navajo reservation in this borrowed station wagon. Actually, some friends had loaned it to us so we could take some of our reservation team sightseeing. We could have gone back on the main road, but the back roads were shorter. So, I checked my gas tank before we set out through these long, unpopulated stretches: three-quarters of a tank - plenty of gas. We went about 30 miles and the car started sputtering to a stop - really in the middle of nowhere - true nowhere! We spent several nervous hours hoping and praying for a way back until this dear Navajo man stopped for us and he drove 60 miles round trip to bring us back some gas. It turned out that our gas gauge was broken. It sure looked like we were almost running on full, but we were running on empty.

Thursday, July 31, 2008

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It's amazing how nasty things can get when it comes to settling whose land a certain piece of ground is. We have some friends who have an interest in just such a controversial decision and the stakes are actually pretty high. The judge has to decide who really owns this particular property and then how it should be handled. There's a lot of rumors in the air; a lot of intrigue. Before the legal proceedings start, the judge has suddenly recused himself from that case. In other words, he's stepped down on this one because for some reason - maybe a conflict of interest - he's basically saying, "I don't think I should be the one to judge this one."

Friday, July 25, 2008

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It happened over 40 years ago, but it's one of those events I'll never really forget. It happened in Chicago where I grew up, and it was the most devastating tragedy most of us would remember from that time. It was December 1, 1958, and a fire broke out at the foot of a stairway in the Our Lady of the Angels School. That fire raged out of control very quickly, and it cut off any normal escape routes. Ninety grade school children died in that fire. But there's one I remember vividly from a news account that I read at the time and I still haven't forgotten. This little boy was in a second story window - they had a photo of him. The boy's father was down below, yelling to him to jump into his arms. That boy could see the fire racing toward him from behind, but he refused to jump. Then, in one awful moment, the boy disappeared. He was one of those victims.

Monday, July 21, 2008

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I grew up on the south side of Chicago, and honestly we did not have a lot of sheep running around. So I listened with fascination the other day when I heard my father-in-law tell about being the shepherd for his family's flock of sheep. He was just a boy, the only child, and Mom and Dad left the sheep pretty much with him, and he was with them a lot. One day he and his parents were watching the flock and he said, "Would you like me to call one of them out?" Right, kid. Like one sheep is going to know it's him you want? So Mom and Dad kind of laughed. The little shepherd asked them to pick a sheep they wanted called out, and then he made a little bleating sound and the selected sheep proceeded to leave the flock and come right to him. Mom and Dad were still skeptical. So he said, "OK, pick another sheep. " And they did. Another bleat, and Mr. Sheep answered the call. And no one else could get that kind of response. That little exercise was repeated several times, until there was no denying the amazing fact: those sheep had such a personal relationship with their shepherd that his was the only voice they followed.

Friday, July 18, 2008

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A couple of times this week I ordered out for lunch and it came on a paper plate. Guess what I did with the paper plate when I finished my lunch? No, I didn't wash it; I didn't save it for later. In fact, I've never done that with a paper plate. Now, look we've never had a lot of money, but I've never in my whole life saved a paper plate. I throw it away, of course, like you probably do. And I don't feel any great sense of loss or regret, "Oh, I can't believe I lost my paper plate." No, it doesn't bother me. But we have these other plates at our house, we keep them in a cabinet in our dining room and we save them for special occasions. We wash those when we use them, because it says "fine china" on those. At least that's what my wife wrote with a magic marker on the back. It's the best we've got. And when we're done, we put those plates away very carefully. In fact, if you drop them you're out of the family. What's the difference? Paper plates are cheap, practically worthless, right? You throw them away. Now, fine china on the other hand is expensive; it's too valuable to throw away. Do you know which one most people feel like today?

Thursday, July 17, 2008

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Not all the drama of the Olympics takes place during the Olympics. Some of it unfolds in the weeks and months leading up to the games. Like the Olympic torch, for example. In the spirit of the ancient Olympics in Greece, the Olympic torch is carried by runners over thousands of miles until it's finally carried into the opening ceremonies to light the official torch of the Olympic Games. Each year it's a journey of many, many miles. It can be as much as 15,000-20,000 miles. And that's quite a torch run. One person doesn't do that all. I mean, not even I can do that - even though I'm in such great shape! Every Olympic year there are a lot of runners who each carry the torch for a fraction of the journey and then they hand it off to the next runner. We've seen that. In the case of some Olympic Games a few years ago, Coca Cola selected 2,500 of the 10,000 torch bearers that were needed. They accepted nominations from anyone that you might know who you thought was "worthy to carry the torch."

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

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OK, backpacks are basically a good thing. They make it possible for you to carry some essentials while you keep your hands free, right? But backpacks are not always a good thing, especially when you forget you're wearing one! I've seen a lot of the dangerous side of backpacks, especially in airports and airplanes. You see, you get used to your body ending at a certain point, and you navigate through a crowd knowing where the "oops, I bumped you" point is. Now you add a backpack and suddenly you have enlarged what is commonly known as your space, but you continue to navigate crowds and narrow places as if you had the same old parameters. So you got to turn around and "aahh," you clobber someone behind you or next to you! I mean, its one thing to carry your load, it's another thing to hit someone else with it!

Friday, July 11, 2008

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When my airplane flight is over, it's not really over. You see, there's that closing chapter of a trip that you get to spend at baggage claim. At my home airport they have these big carousels where suitcases are dumped out and where they circle until their owners claim them. Now, my bags seem to have a knack for waiting until almost all the other bags are out, for some reason. So I just keep watching those suitcases of all shapes and sizes and conditions appear, and waiting for one I like - no, no, no. I mean, one I recognize. But there always seem to be some phantom bags there. They just keep circling and circling and circling. And since the luggage carousel is all I really have to look at, the show gets pretty boring! Yep, there goes that baggage again!

Thursday, July 10, 2008

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OK, so I fought it for a while and I lived in denial for a while. At least I have faced reality now; I have bitten the bullet. I finally broke down and got glasses - mostly for reading. I had been the 20/20 kid my whole life. I just couldn't face the fact that the world was getting blurrier and blurrier. I just thought my arms were getting shorter. But finally I couldn't hold my reading material far enough from my eyes to make things stop blurring. So, hello, glasses! And what a difference! All those little words that were fuzzing out on me suddenly look big and clear! Including what I'm looking at right now! It's amazing how clear things start to look when you're seeing them through corrective glasses!

Tuesday, July 8, 2008

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A while back, some of my ministry friends decided they would accept what some might call a challenge to your manhood. They signed up for a rigorous, two-week stress camping program that is called, euphemistically, Character Building. It is - if you make it. They usually just refer to this program in descriptive shorthand - the wilderness. For two weeks, my friend Jim climbed mountains, navigated some serious whitewater, hiked for hours at a time with a heavy backpack, ate off the land, and even endured the final exam of a solo in the wilderness where you are totally on your own for a couple of days. Well, Jim's outlook on life was different after that experience. Whenever some major stress or intimidating problem would come up, he would just smile and say the words that were on one of his favorite shirts, "I can handle it. I've been to the wilderness."

Monday, July 7, 2008

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Once upon a time, there was a heifer named Muffet. She lived on a little dairy farm in the Ozarks. So did my wife - who wasn't my wife then. She was the farmer's young daughter then, and she tells me that Muffet had a harder life than some of the other heifers, but it was her own fault. See, Muffet was a stubborn heifer. Would she stay inside the fence that was there for her protection? Oh no! She found ways to crawl through that fence. Which meant Muffet got a yoke attached to her head - basically a sturdy Y-shaped branch that made it impossible for her to get her head outside that fence. Now, it was a nuisance; a nuisance made necessary by Muffet's stubbornness. Other times, they would try to get Muffet to move, and without serious coercion, she would just plant her feet. Then there was the time she refused to stand still to be milked, and she started to charge toward the door. My wife's Mom - whose job it was to keep the cows inside that little shed - quickly slammed the shovel across the door to keep her in. Well, Muffet ran into the shovel and lost part of the cap on one of her horns. They tell me that from that day on, she went right in and stood there quietly for milking.

Thursday, July 3, 2008

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I had spoken in a church that has two morning services, and I went into that little room off the sanctuary where you meet to pray with the church leaders. But the people who were there when I went in weren't praying, they were playing - their trombones, that is. Actually, they were warming up to play in the brass section of the church's worship band. Now, there were some very interesting sounds coming from that room, in fact. I was almost afraid to go in, but I did. And I got involved in a conversation with the men behind the music. One of them had just made a minor goof in what he was practicing. Of course, how would I know - Mr. Music Dork? But that led to George telling me why he would much rather play with a band than play a solo. He said, "You know, it's so much easier when the band is there to support you." When I asked him what he meant by "support you," he said, "Well, the rest of the band sort of carries you along, and they cover up your mistakes!"

Monday, July 1, 2008

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Not long ago I was in downtown Oklahoma City, and had the privilege to visit the scene of the Oklahoma City bombing back in April 1995. I don't think any of us will ever forget the images of the day that that Federal Office Building was destroyed by a terrorist bomb. The images of that devastated building and of the frantic rescue efforts there, of a baby in a fireman's arms. It was a day of heart-wrenching tragedy and it was a day of incredible heroism, too. Literally, an entire city dropped everything to respond in whatever way that they could to this life-or-death situation. The job was clear that day: rescue the dying whatever it takes.

Monday, June 30, 2008

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My father-in-law gave my wife and her sister Grandma and Granddad's little farm house in the mountains, and so we had to do some restoring on that little special spot. And since we were able to be there only occasionally, my wife decided to plant accordingly. She said, "I'm planting perennials." Now I'm sort of horticulturally challenged, so my wife had to explain a little further. See, I grew up a city boy, and cement doesn't grow much of anything, as you know. As I'm beginning to understand better now, you can actually plant annuals or perennials. Annuals will bloom for a little while - let's say, geraniums - and then they'll be gone. Unless you replant geraniums next year, which is extra work, and hard to do when you're not there. Nope. We need perennials. So my wife planted things like crepe myrtle (that's actually the name of a plant, not some long-lost aunt), she planted azaleas, she planted honeysuckle. Now as you might guess from their name, those perennials are not going to die on you; the perennials will always be there for you! And that's what we need!

Friday, June 27, 2008

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A while back I heard a comedy routine that suggested some humorous ways to finish this sentence: "You know you're having a bad day when..." Well, I heard on the news about a man who might be a finalist for the "baddest day of the year" award, and there's nothing humorous about what happened to him. You may remember an Avianca Airlines plane that crashed on Long Island a few years ago. It was a flight from Colombia to New York. Well, this particular Colombian man was seriously injured in the crash. That is a bad day - that's a really bad day. They rushed him to the hospital where it was determined that they would have to do abdominal surgery. And when the surgeons opened him up, they found little plastic bags in his stomach full of cocaine. He was a drug courier, and he had ingested those little bags of cocaine to smuggle them into the country. So after he crashed and then was operated on, he was arrested. Now who would have ever thought he would be found out? He was.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

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If you're going to be a great coach in sports, you generally need to be a great motivator. The team rises to the level of the coach's motivation. Now, when your team is an entire nation that is under heavy attack, the coach had better be one incredible motivator. The nation was Great Britain. The time was the beginning of WWII, when the team seemed like it was losing badly and the coach was the Prime Minister Winston Churchill. He may have been the most inspiring leader of the 20th Century as he motivated his nation to make tremendous sacrifices and win a seemingly unwinnable victory. In those early days of the war, he desperately needed the cooperation of the leaders of Britain's coal industry. Their extra sacrificial efforts would be critical to keeping the war effort going. The way he did it was masterful. Churchill asked those industry and union leaders to picture the parade at the end of the war. Look at the proud British sailors who kept the sea lanes open, and the soldiers who valiantly fought the land war, and the airmen who heroically won the battle in the skies, followed by the coal miners of Britain whose work made those victories possible. Churchill said, "They will not be in military uniform, but they will have won a place in the victory parade."

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

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Let's see, there was Gilligan, the Skipper, too, the movie star, the millionaire and his wife, you know, the cast of that eternally rerunning sitcom, Gilligan's Island. You probably remember the story, they boarded the S.S. Minnow that day to take a what? A "Three hour tour." Little did they know a storm would come up and they would end up shipwrecked on some desert island, and they'd have to stay there trapped forever in rerunland. When they boarded that day, they had no idea how far they were going to go, or how long they were going to stay. Some three-hour tour!

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