Thursday, October 6, 2005

There's nothing I appreciate more than a good night's sleep, maybe because sleep is something I don't get a lot of. Frankly, if the bed is decent, I don't care too much about the surroundings. A night's sleep is a night's sleep and the whole time I'm asleep I don't know where I am anyway, right? So much for my philosophy of sleep. Apparently, some nights' sleep are a big deal to some people, especially if it means sleeping in the historic Lincoln bedroom in the White House. There's been a lot of, shall we say, discussion about major contributions to Presidential campaigns and those who have given a lot, being given the privilege to spend the night at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue; or as one senator called it, Motel 1600. I guess if any place to sleep is special, being in the White House, just down the hall and the President and the First Lady, that would be it. People come away from that experience, even rich and powerful people who have seen and done it all, really impressed by being in that historic, powerful place for just a night. I've never stayed at the White House, but wait until you hear where I just came from!

Wednesday, October 5, 2005

I had the cutest little guy join me on my hike. I was out in the country exploring the trail that wound along the creek. First I just saw this little flash of black and white fur toddling along through the grass, not far from me. He was heading in the same direction I was. I told you he was cute; he was all black except for a nice white stripe all the way down his back, a big bushy tail, a cute little almost kitten-like face. I had been joined by a skunk! Two problems: one little spray and nobody would get near me for the next week. Secondly, it was daytime and skunks are nocturnal animals. If they're out in the daytime it can mean they have rabies! So, what did I do? Go pet him because he was so cute? No! Try to scare him off? I'm not suicidal! I did the only thing a guy with any brains would do, I walked quickly in the other direction and I didn't have to bury my clothes!

Monday, October 3, 2005

We had been shopping for the place where God wants us to build the radio studio that we desperately needed. And we were looking at a possible location - this big barn of a room with a high ceiling and it was totally bare. Well, I saw a big, bare room, but not Kasey. No, no, no. He's a carpenter and he started talking about this wall here and that partition there; the control room in that corner where the doors would be, and how we could soundproof the floor. It was amazing! He was seeing all kinds of things in that room that I sure couldn't see! But, then, that's the great thing about carpenters!

Friday, September 30, 2005

Our plane was racing down the runway, preparing to take off from Nashville. I was so exhausted, I was already drifting off into la-la land. Then came those jolts as the front wheels left the ground. The team member who was with me said, "Have you ever felt anything like that before?" I said, "No." And I dozed off. I wouldn't sleep for long; the flight attendant suddenly was announcing that we had blown a rear tire on takeoff and we were heading back to Nashville. For the next 45 minutes or so, we were circling the area, burning up as much fuel as possible for what could be a crash landing. I called my wife from the plane. I asked her to get people praying. My team member joined me in committing this whole situation to the Lord. The flight attendants went into emergency mode to begin to prepare us for the landing. They demonstrated how to brace for the landing. They had us pull out our emergency instruction card from the pocket in front of us - something they had asked us to do before we took off - something hardly anyone did. But as the attendant began her briefing she prefaced it with a simple exhortation, "This time I want you to really listen." Believe me, we really did.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Sometimes you see hitchhikers by the side of the road. What are they usually holding? A sign, usually crudely lettered, and it doesn't have the name of the car they want to ride in on it. It has the name of a place on it; the place they want to go. On Indian reservations, hitchhiking is a way of life. I asked one of our Native American friends recently about her hitchhiking experiences. She told me she asked only one question before she got in a car. She didn't care about the make of the car, the driver's IQ, or where the driver was from. She only had one question, "Where are you headed?"

Monday, September 26, 2005

How did we know it was a stupid question? Our family was in Alaska some years ago and we asked some of the folks there what seemed like a reasonable question, "Where can we go to see a moose?" The only moose we'll ever see in New Jersey are those guys at the lodge hall. You know? Most folks just laughed at our question. Turns out seeing a moose is really no big deal in Alaska. In fact, some people we talked to had hit one recently! So, they're everywhere. Sure. While I was busy speaking, my wife and kids drove all over the countryside looking for some moose. Nada. Maybe people hit them all! They even went to the Moose Sanctuary and they saw no moose there; frustrating, tired of looking, and pretty sure those moose were only in pictures in the tourist brochures. One morning we walked out of the house where we were staying, we piled in the car, and we started driving down the driveway. Suddenly, one of the kids shouted, "Moose!" And sure enough, there were three members of the antler gang right there at the bottom of our own driveway! What we'd been looking for all that time was right in front of us.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Jerry and I were best friends in high school, and then we didn't see each other for several years. But we were able to get together again when we found out that he and his wife had moved to an apartment in New York City. He was training to become a 747 pilot for a major airline. My wife and I went in to have dinner at their apartment, and we realized that Jerry and Gail were making the big bucks. They had an exclusive apartment, expensive furniture and a brand new Cadillac. Jerry took us down to the high-security garage to show the Caddy to us with a lot of pride. A couple months later, they drove out to our little apartment in a New Jersey suburb. We didn't live in a fancy neighborhood, but you know, it wasn't a bad neighborhood. Jerry had to park his Cadillac where we parked our un-Cadillac - on the street. We prepared a nice dinner, but Jerry couldn't enjoy it. He couldn't enjoy the conversation we tried to have after dinner. The whole time he was really nervous. Every five minutes or so he would leave the conversation, go over to the window, and check on his Cadillac! I assured him it would be OK, but no, no. He spent the whole night worrying about losing his expensive car. At first, I though Jerry owned a Cadillac. It turned out that a Cadillac owned Jerry!

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

People in the real estate business will tell you that three things really matter when it comes to the value of any property: location, location, and location. Apparently, the President's White House team believes that, too. After Bill Clinton's re-election, "Newsweek" described the efforts of various officials to get the best office spaces at the White House. It happens with every administration. The article was named, interestingly enough, "The Geography of Power." What makes an office at the White House a good office? Well, if you had a choice about your office, you'd probably want the one with windows and plenty of space. But that's not what matters most in the White House office scramble. It's how close are you to the Oval Office! You must be near the President! The way they put it is this: "proximity is power." Yes, it is.

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

We lived in the same town for over 25 years, so I could almost drive our town blindfolded. And sometimes I acted like it. Then one day, I suddenly realized how casual I was cruising the streets close to home - too casual, really. When I'm in an unfamiliar situation; both hands on the wheel, all eyes and ears. I'm intent. I'm focused. But, hey, these streets? I've driven these a thousand times, so I just sort of would go on automatic pilot, and frankly sometimes I didn't pay much attention. For some reason, one of those National Safety Council factoids popped on the screen in my brain: the vast majority of accidents take place within a few miles of home. Interesting - it's when you feel the safest that you're really in the greatest danger of all.

Friday, September 16, 2005

For a long time, I've been fascinated with the story of the Titanic. The sinking of that seemingly "unsinkable" ship after a collision with an iceberg is filled with human drama that has inspired endless movies, books, and documentaries. Finding the Titanic at the bottom of the Atlantic fueled greater interest - and greater information - than ever before. Some of the drama of those discoveries has been within our reach as the Titanic artifacts exhibit has been on display in some of America's leading museums. You can see many personal items recovered from the Titanic's debris field along with displays that recreate the feeling of being a passenger on that doomed ship. When I went in, I was given a boarding pass with the name of a real person who had been aboard that awful night. At the end of the exhibit, there's this big wall with the names of everyone aboard - first class, second class, third class, crew. Every person is either on the list that says "saved" or "lost." I looked hard for my name - and I discovered that I was one of the few crewmen who was "saved."

A pastor I know, who I had told about my experience there, well, he went to see the exhibit for himself. But he told me about it. He looked me in the eye and said very soberly, "Except I was lost."