MEMORIAL DAY

It’s Memorial Day and I’m still dragging a bit. It was the day of our annual Ribs BBQ that I started and usually do the cooking. But not knowing how I might feel and having already made arrangements for someone else to get the grill going. I decided not to go. I could have made it. The diarrhea has stopped, but my stomach is still touchy. I’m careful what I eat. However, I did want some ribs. Gail brought me some after the event. I was going to just save them for another day, but the smell overwhelmed me and I nibbled on one.

I am at least getting my apartment cleaned up. All I have left are floors. I need to vacuum then wash the kitchen and bathroom. There’s always tomorrow. That seems to have become my motto as of late.

I don’t know how many of you watched American Idol this year? I watched it the first couple of years and then lost interest. I am not sure how I got hooked again this year, but somehow I did. It was still in the selections stage. Some people find that phase the most entertaining, but I just want to get to the real talent. I thought the talent was amazing and believed the judges did a great job with the top 24 before the heavy whittling got going. I have emotional interest invested. I liked Scotty McCreary and Lauren Alaina and enjoyed watching them progress through the way-to-many steps.

I’m biased, I admit. Scotties a throwback to older times. He reminds me of Johnny Cash. I’m not a huge Country fan, but I liked Johnny. I loved Scotties deep voice. I also loved what appeared to be his genuine faith in Christ. Who knows, he might even tempt me to listen to more Country music. There is an online debate about whether Scottie will sell any records (the measure of success). I doubt it helped Scottie that I found one opinion site loaded with wonderful comments from the 50 and up crowd. It seems many seniors are big fans. That might be his death knell. We are the wrong target group.

It’s interesting to be in the group that no longer has any significant contribution to make. It makes me laugh. I love to sit back and watch younger people try to redo everything we did instead of learn from our mistakes. However, they may as well mess up on their own. I did and now I’m unwanted and out on the trash heap. But I’m laughing. I hope they will find humor when it is their turn to be thrown out with the trash. It’s not so bad. No one bugs me any more.

GOD OWES ME

I was blown away today. Still wondering if I was going to be well enough handle our annual Memorial Day BBQ, I spent the morning making calls (between runs to the restroom) to make sure things were in control. One of the people I talked to was Rocky (Maintenance Man). I asked if he would do the BBQing for me. He agreed and said he would come by later to talk to me.

His timing could not have been worse, or maybe better, I’m not sure which. Lulu was here to get the materials to make her world famous BBQ sauce. She makes everything complicated and then wonders why her life is so complicated. Duh! Next year I will go back to buying the sauce. It will be cheaper anyway.

She begged me the past two years to make the sauce. Maria had always used prepared sauce, but this year she is visiting her sister in Mexico. I (mistakenly) thought this would make asking her easier. Well, it worked in that regard. All she was asked to do was precook the pork ribs, make the sauce, and put them in the fridge to marinate over night. When she arrived she launched into the story of her life’s troubles, how exhausted she is and how was she ever going to get the time to do everything she had to do. I tried to get her back on track and told her I could get someone else. No, I’ve planned to do this. It is not going to be problem (Right!). But I don’t know if I can be here on Monday, she said. That’s not a problem, because when you put the precooked and marinated ribs in the fridge your job is over. But I really need to understand the whole picture so I know where I fit into the whole proves. You told me you would not be here on Monday and you do not have to fit in anywhere after the ribs are in the fridge. Go in the kitchen. Do what you do. Put it all in the fridge. Lock the door and leave. I don’t know why she doesn’t trust me with the key. Will she open it for you at the time you want? Yes. Then why do you need the key? She thinks I’m not trustworthy. I have managed restaurants and… yes, yes, I know you are capable and trustworthy. If is just her policy. And she has worked out a way for you to get your job done.

Fortunately at that time Rocky arrived. That line of questioning was stopped and the two of them launched into their life stories of troubles and I had to try and bring two back to the point. Rockies issues are way more complicated than Lulu’s — if they are true. He never tells the whole story the same way twice. He is angry with the law and courts for what he perceives as a gross injustice being done to a totally innocent man. Exhausting. And unbelievable.

I listened and tried to get him back on track. What set my blood to boiling what his quote of Matt: 18:22 “If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer.” He interpreted it to mean and God must answer his prayer because he promised and he has asked and does not want to go to jail for his DUI or Reckless Driving or the combination (neither of which he says he really did) and God owes him. If he doesn’t answer his prayer then God is not who He claims to be. I hate it when God is blamed for the consequences we must pay. You did it. Not God. His story is so bizarre no one really believes in his innocence.

I was ready to scream and jump out of my chair and tear his brain out, but Lulu was there, I simply encouraged him to take the passage in context and remember that the Bible also says “There is no God.” You can prove anything out of context.

He launched into a recitation of similar verses, which proved to him that God had no choice, but to deliver. I told him you are turning God into your personal genie. Yes, because he must do what I ask because I have prayed. Exhausting!

I had to run to the restroom at that point. They were both gone when I returned. Now if only my blood will stop boiling.

BEEN SICK - May still be!

I’m sorry I haven’t posted for a few days. I went down on Tuesday afternoon. The doctor has called it an intestinal infection most likely from something I ate. Tuesday night was the worst night of my life. (Have you ever noticed that the worse of everything you have ever experienced is the one you are currently experiencing.) I felt better Wednesday afternoon after seeing the doctor. I originally suspected my heart. It wasn’t. However having the runs at both ends at the same time and have one or the other or even both every 10-15 minutes sure ruins your sleep (ha, who am I kidding — what sleep). About the time I think it is going away, it starts up again. It’s 5:00 am, not my usual rising time, and I am up again with a bad stomach. My shoulders, eyes and mind say go to bed. My stomach and rear end says sit on the toilet. I sense it will come again so I decided to try and write a tried note to let you know what is happening.

Both the doctor and nurse said I should go on the BRAT diet to settle my stomach. I had never heard of it before. It is banana, applesauce, white rice and dry toast. Sounds awful. But is helps. I just think I’m over it quicker that I am. I could only do it on Wednesday and not I need to go shopping. My neck is sore from laying my head down and I also want to see my chiropractor. If I don’t do it today, it will not happen until Tuesday.

Are you fed up with my complaining by now? Me too. Let me briefly change the subject, at least until my stomach says run.

How’s this for a headline. Seismologists Tried for Manslaughter for Not Predicting Earthquake. “Earthquake prediction can be a grave, and faulty science, and in the case of Italian seismologists who are being tried for the manslaughter of the people who died in the 2009 L'Aquila quake, it can have legal consequences. The group of seven, including six seismologists and a government official, reportedly didn't alert the public ahead of time of the risk of the L'Aquila earthquake, which occurred on April 6 of that year, killing around 300 people, according to the U.S. Geological Survey. But most scientists would agree it's not their fault they couldn't predict the wrath of Mother Nature/”

This goes right along with my theory that everything that happens in life is someone’s fault and they must pay. There are no accidents anymore. Some one always is the cause and we must find out how to pin it on someone. This better not be the start of a whole new line of litigation. If it is, brace yourself for a class action suite against our own government for the massive number of exceptionally destruction tornados this year. Has anyone heard if the people of Japan have sued the seismologists in Japan over the tsunami?

DISASTERS

It’s a small, small world. All the natural disasters we have experienced since last fall strike a number of our residents on a personal level. We may all live together, but we come from far-flung destinations across the USA.

We were reminded that a few people knew individuals who lost their lives in the twin towers when the two airplanes flew into them. There are two ladies who lived just outside New York City at the time of that tragedy. During the anniversary last fall they retold the story of their friends and emotions. We were all devastated, but their connection was personal.

During one of the eastern snowstorms a resident was stuck in Chicago when flights were canceled. She was changing planes and her flight was canceled during her layover. She did not know anyone in Chicago. She was frightened and alone. She finally got home, but the extra layover was hard on her.

I have a brother and several former high school buddy’s who still live in Nebraska and dealt with the deluge of snow this winter. My 84-year-old brother has lived in the same house for over 30 years. He is one of the few in his neighborhood with a snowplow. Because he has this mechanical assistance to deal with snow he takes care of clearing the sidewalks of several of his neighbors. They are old people you know. He should not be out there himself; I don’t care how young he thinks he is,

When the tsunami hit Japan one resident of Japanese decent had family near the disaster. After hours of trying, she finally reached them and learned they were all safe.

The tornado in Joplin, MO seemed far removed. It is another great tragedy. The destruction is shocking. But at coffee I began talking with Forrest. He is an old Midwest farmer from a family of farmers. He can spin the most fascinating yarns about life near the turn of the century. He lived through the Oklahoma dust bowl when his family survived as squatters and ate what little they could find. He still has family from Oklahoma to Missouri and all places in between. He has a nephew in the very hospital that was destroyed in Joplin. He was released only the day before the tornado. He would have been there himself as he usually gets there a week before Memorial Day for a big family reunion. He’s the family patriarch now and makes the drive there 2-3 times years. Forrest is 95 and still going strong.

I have friends and former students around the world. I track world events in Africa, Latin America, Europe and especially Canada. It’s a small world. If we think about it we might all be surprised about whom we know and where they are in relation to all these disasters.

Because the world is so small, we are often deeply touched by the natural disasters and political turmoil everywhere. I know people who have been in Arab countries. Frankly, I’m glad they are retired or home. Because of the connections we have, the world is now our village.

I understand the trauma of Harold Camping’s disappointment that God did not do as he had hoped and expected. Many try to form God into their own image and turn Him into a celestial genie. Scripture does say the world will come to an end. And there are certainly many signs as there have been for many years. The prophets say we age getting closer. I believe that. Each day we live we are getting closer to the end. All these disasters are a sign. But it all seems much more eminent when these things happen to us. I have very bad news. God’s plans do not revolve around us.

THE END DID NOT COME

I’ve got the news on right now. They have promised an update on the end of the world. I thought no one was suppose to know neither the day nor the hour. I hope it didn’t happen as I am sitting here writing my blog again.

It is the end of our nearest grocery store. The owner has sold the Red Apple and they have a big sign saying everything is now on sale at 20% off. I don’t usually shop there, as the selection is too small. As much as I complain about over selection in the world, there are those few products that I really want and Red Apple didn’t have all of them.

20% off sounds like a good deal. It wasn’t. Nothing is on sale and I usually shop for sale items. It may not be true but I have been hoodwinked into thinking “on sale” means a better deal (silly me). Since I now do all the grocery shopping I do know what some of my favorites cost. Even with 20% off there were better deals at my regular Safeway store.

Red Apple sold out to Grocery Outlet. If you are not familiar with these brands just know that prices are usually very good at Grocery Outlet. So a store that I may frequent more often is coming in. I suspect it will take a few months to change it over, but Grocery Outlet is not known as a particularly attractive store. Functional is the word, and that is the only word. I have always had my doubts about fresh items and even some frozen items. But if you are you watching the expiration dates the cereals and canned goods are great. They have a mix of brand names and others. Stay away from Fred’s Soups. Yuck!

Thinking of coming to an end, stores continue to close in old town (our section). I hate to see that as the area if really cool. Businesses that come and survive seem to be offices not seemingly dependent upon walk in traffic. I can’t explain this, but for some reason beauty shops flourish. I just spotted a new one the other day that I have never counted. That brings the count to eleven plus one barber, two nail shops (where you can now get pictures of your family and friends applied to your nails. What happens if you break one?) There are also four massage parlors – the legit type. I do wish there were some zoning laws that required that businesses to maintain the old look when rebuilding. The new construction is changing the character of the neighbor. I don’t mind that that they are new. I lived in an old house and it sucked.

I am now waiting for Lester Holt to explain what happened to dooms day. NOTHING. Absolutely nothing. I didn’t miss a thing as reported by NBC. Of course these predictions appear from time to time. I have no idea what they even use for calculations. I prefer to go on with my life instead. Way back in 1975 I wrote a script for Canada’s Tri-District Conference based on Matt. 24:4, Mark 13:5, and Luke 21:10 which all in context tell us not to worry as we are to expect threats of wars, wars, earthquakes, floods, tornadoes, hurricanes, landslides, tsunamis and more. I like what Matthew says in The Message. “This is routine history; this is no sign of the end.”

I used three announcers reading current news of disasters and wars that were all hitting the news in the month before the event. As the news reports were read the screen flashed a collage of slides of these various events (no video available then). Frankly, the news sounded like it was written this past month or two. These things are part of history. One does not have to like it, but it is true. Disasters happen.

Well, I guess I'm going to have to do my laundry and clean my apartment after all. I really didn't want to do it.

THE GREAT DEBATE

SORRY! I usually blog more during the week, but since Tuesday my time seems to have been consumed by religious debates. So if that does not interest you, come back tomorrow. I have got to get off this topic soon.

It started at Tuesday afternoon’s Bible Study. The question was innocent and had nothing to do with the prepared material. No problem. We have a go with the flow philosophy. I usually like these discussions or debates. But this was one of my least favorite topics.

The pastor of the church many of us attend comes from an Assembly of God background. Historically, they have believed that “tongues” are THE sign of the Holy Spirit on one’s life. Before I committed to attending I asked the pastor about his stand on the issue. He took a stand I could accept and live with. It is a private prayer language and while he would accept it publically, he does not believe it is the end all to end all and definitely not THE proof of a Spirit led life.

So the Tuesday statement was “I do not understand tongues. What are they all about.”? Good question and it took the next two hours. I thought it would end there. But after the pastor left, the questions came directed to me and continue to this day.

Please forgive me, but this is going to be sacrilegious. I grew up in an AG church that was adamant about what steps needed to be taken to be a child of God — and they were extremely pushy about it. At age 12 I made the obligatory walk to the front to “accept Christ.” This was done to please my father at one of the hell fire and brimstone tent revivals we always attended. At the alter call, he looked down at me and I knew what he wanted. I went forward I cried and the more I cried the happier those around me became. While I cried because I was frightened the bi-product was my conversion was settled for those alter workers. I thought it would be over. But no, the next step was to be filled with the Holy Spirit by speaking in tongues. Frankly I was terrified. I also developed a plan.

I decided to memorize a number of “tongue” type phrases from the many people in the church and on the day I built up my courage I would go forward and “speak.” I was 13 when it worked. I was fully in and fully accepted. That also meant I was fully left alone. I was happy. They were happy. I guess everyone was happy.

I do accept that the gift of speaking in tongues is real. I do not have that gift. My father did and he often woke me up praying in the kitchen at 5:00 in the morning before he went to work. In fact, I used a fair amount of my speech from his prayers.

On the other side I have seen a great deal of confusion over the issue and heard many people turn and run from churches where they have heard this phenomena. In my opinion it frightens people away from the church.

The passage in I Corinthians 14 18-25 helped the confusion to grow.

1 Corinthians 14:18-25 (New International Version)

18 I thank God that I speak in tongues more than all of you. 19 But in the church I would rather speak five intelligible words to instruct others than ten thousand words in a tongue.

20 Brothers and sisters, stop thinking like children. In regard to evil be infants, but in your thinking be adults. 21 In the Law it is written:

“With other tongues and through the lips of foreigners 
I will speak to this people, but even then they will not listen to me, says the Lord.”

22 Tongues, then, are a sign, not for believers but for unbelievers; prophecy, however, is not for unbelievers but for believers. 23 So if the whole church comes together and everyone speaks in tongues, and inquirers or unbelievers come in, will they not say that you are out of your mind? 24 But if an unbeliever or an inquirer comes in while everyone is prophesying, they are convicted of sin and are brought under judgment by all, 25 as the secrets of their hearts are laid bare. So they will fall down and worship God, exclaiming, “God is really among you!”

The underlined portion seems to be the point of confusion. On the one hand tongues seems to be for unbelievers, but if they come in will they no say you are out of your mind. Seems reasonable, as I have heard that said many times. It looks and sounds bazaar. But then it is for the unbeliever. Right? This entire chapter is about respectful worship and while Paul says he speaks in tongues, he wants to be understood.

It seems commentators interpret that passage based on their biases. Maybe not, but…! One says it should never be done in public, as it will offend the unbeliever. Makes sense to me since I have seen and heard of that very thing. On the other hand, if it is not done in public, how will it benefit the unbeliever? Whew! The conclusion to the passage is that everything should be done decently and in order. So what is decently and in order when it comes to tongues?

I do not know the absolutely correct answer to this problem, but I prefer to understand everything being said in church. I also accept tongues for use as a private prayer language. Maybe it is jealousy on my part since I do not have that gift. But I never wanted that gift. I like that I can teach and administrate. I’m satisfied.

This will not end the debate, and I will continue to be around for the arguments and confusion. After all, I do need to get my 2¢ worth in even if I’m wrong.

FIRST SURGERIES

Some morning coffee conversations are fascinating. Today was one of those days. It was about the experiences of first surgeries. Once you get to be our age it seems that everyone has a story.

Mine came when I was seventeen. A year before the surgery I was talked into helping three other guys lift a VW bug and place it between two trees. It seemed funny at the time. We were at a weekend retreat and the director had a VW bug. Need I say more? However, the out come of my action was a hernia. The following January I was scheduled for surgery to repair the damage.

Now keep in mind that I was only seventeen and everything about my body was an embarrassment. I had to turn my head and look away when they sent in the young intern to shave my pubic hair. I asked to do it myself and I was told this was procedure. Yeah, right! The next morning I was prepped for surgery and wheeled into the operating room. The prelim shot was to make me relax. On arrival there were several people their doing their thing, whatever their thing was. When I saw all the young good-looking nurses I wanted to die from embarrassment. I knew it would not be long before long before I was stretched out like a raw slab of meat for the whole world to concentrate on my nether region. At least I was now covered.

The utensils and knives were wheeled along my left side and after a few minutes, the scurrying around stopped. I looked from side to side, raise my head to see below my feet and tipped my head back to look above my head. There was no one there. Where did they go? Why am I here alone?

It felt like and eternity before anyone returned. It was a lone nurse. I couldn’t quite get twisted to see what she was doing and I was getting more and more drowsy. Eventually I said, hello. She responded and came to my side to ask if I was comfortable. No, I was nervous. Where did everyone go? Oh, they didn’t tell you? No! Well there was an over night snowstorm and the doctor is still stuck in his driveway. He should be here in 30 minutes. WHAT! Continuing the conversation with the lone nurse I learned she was the sister of a buddy from high school. Yes, I turned completely red and hoped I would never see her again.

The best story came from Gale. Shortly after she was married she went in to have gallstones removed. She had never been in the hospital before and was a nervous wreck. The doctor informed her there would be pain, but she would come though just fine. She got ready and crawled into the bed. After the nurses were done taking her temperature, getting her blood pressure and giving her the first set of pills, she was alone with her roommate.

The roommate shared all that Gail might expect. She was told that most people die having gallstone surgery. She went on and on in very great detail about the pain before the death. By the time she was done, Gail was in tears. Her wailing brought the nurses running. Gale cried I’m going to die. No you’re not. However nothing they said would console her. The doctor was called. Gale explained what happened and he demanded she be moved to another room. There was no other room. Her bed was wheeled into the hall and she was left there crying softly with traffic passing and staring.

The surgery went fine. She was returned to her room and her husband sat with her waiting for her to wake up. When she started to recover she was weeping and saying, I died. He husband is trying to convince her that she was alive but she kept repeating the story of her death. He kissed her on the lips and asked if she felt that. She said, felt what? He kissed her again and she thought a cloud had brushed her mouth.

She was given morphine for the pain and she was loopy because of the drug. The doctor came in later and saw her reaching into the air and moving her hands around pinching the air at various places. He asked was she was doing. Popping the balloons. Where are they? There’s a blue one, up higher is a yellow one, the green one is here (got it), and the purple one is getting lower. The doctor ordered the morphine to be reduced. Nothing was clear to Gail until the next day when her husband asked if she thought she was still dead. She said she was in far too much pain to be dead.

NOT MINE

I loved this letter from a pastor friend. I’m going to turn my column over to him for the day. I will have my usual snide remarks the end.

“Too bad you couldn't have been with me yesterday. I had the Mennonite funeral in Elmira. I don't know if you have ever been to Elmira or St. Jacobs. They are just a few miles apart and both are tourist attractions--BIG TIME! People come from all over to see the Amish people in their buggies and colorless dress. The town is always full of tourist year round winter and summer. It was really different to be there and be a part of the normal things going on there. It was a fairly large funeral and 3/4 were old order Mennonite. We sang 3 hymns and I was told that a man who is used to leading singing in the Mennonite church would lead the hymns. When I met him before the service, he was in a black suit with a Nehru collar, and no tie. He said that he wouldn't get up and lead because that is not part of their culture. So he sat among the pallbearers and led out--his voice only--no piano, guitars or drums. Then they all joined in and it was absolutely awesome! They all sang in parts and all with no accompaniment. It would almost bring tears to your eyes.

It was surreal to look out on all these Mennonite ladies with their black bonnets; only a handful had white covers on. The men were all in black with no adornments. After the service we progressed through town out to the Mennonite cemetery on the edge of town. There is a large plain white meetinghouse with no windows, and closed doors. We drove through the horse parking lot with poles to hitch your horse, and then out into the old order section of the graveyard with all it's plain white rectangular gravestones, with names carved on them. Everyone is the same so that no one stands out. I led the graveside service with all these people around me. They all stood there speechless after my closing prayer and the casket was lowered down into the wooden box in the grave. Some come forward and look down into the hole, all with no expression or comments. Then they stand and talk to each other--no hugging or contact, just conversation. I felt like I was in a movie! There were just 8 people from non-Mennonite churches dressed as city people would. Then we went back to the funeral home and had a really nice lunch

Today I feel really wacked out. It took more out of me than I had expected. I think it was just the pressure of being so out of my element, and hoping I didn't do anything or say anything to disgrace myself. They don't like any pictures in the funeral home, or any flowers. There were 3 bouquets though which were likely from the non-Mennonites. Also a lady at from the city church set up some pictures. The deceased had lived with her and her family for 24 years. He left the old order and worked for farmers. His job came to an end and he was attending the significantly more American culture Church--actually his health gave out. He must have been late 60's at that time. So the lady from our church took him in and he became a definite part of their family. You could see that they were more in mourning that any of his relatives. We think that he was "shunned" because he left the old order church. In spite of that they turned out in good numbers. So she put up some pictures of him at their family activities. After putting it up she heard that pictures were offensive, and so were flowers. She also had a basket of flowers. One of the deceased's nephews said, "I don't care what they say I am putting in a basket of flowers for Uncle David. So she just left what she had there. Guess they just had to adjust. I didn't see any of them looking at the pictures.”

Old Order Mennonites traditions do not mix with mine. I will never say they cannot know God doing it their way. They have some pieces that I greatly admire. The churches in which I was raised and the early churches I served were extremely musical. The congregations sang. I love the beauty of congregational singing without accompaniment. Today’s music approach is to put a band up front to lead us. I have transitioned to virtually ever style of music the church has adopted. That comes with 35 years of youth work. I have accepted it all because I believe the message is in the words. But I watch congregations barely singing but being entertained by the band. A few people worship and most watch. I miss the beauty of participation.

I have always struggled with the concept of shunning. Old Oder Mennonites have a formal way to reject people. We believe we are more polite and kind about rejection. We simply ignore those we reject. We do not talk to them, accept them or include them. Which is which? I am sad when one who does not know Christ dies. I also I do not know what decisions are made in those last days of life when they know their end on earth is coming. I will not judge. But whatever their situation, I want to celebrate their life and the privilege I had of knowing them. Death is sad, but I will never understand not wanting to even look at a photo of one you loved. It is the images created through the gifts God gave His creatures that add to the beauty of His work.

OLDER AMERICANS

I went to an Older Americans Conference today. Unfortunately when I put the notice in the newsletter I called it the Old American’s Conference. The laughter and/or hatred should die down in a few days.

I went two years ago, skipped last year and came back for the free lunch. Monica’s Bakery was providing the sandwiches and I wanted to know what their food was like. They have a neighborhood bakery. Everyone says Monica is very expensive. I got an extended lesson on how the business is run and what she does and what Mr. Monica does. All I wanted to know what the food tasted like. Actually it was very good. This small little bakery provided over 600 sandwiches and they all seemed fresh and terrific. No complaints.

There was a fancy dancy cupcake bakery I expected to bring their specialty. I was excited about their presences, as they seem to be at every Farmers Market and decorate their product to the hilt and have unique flavors. You may know the kind. A perfect looking cupcake with twisted and swirled icing stacked an inch high. You can’t walk by them without noticing. I justified eating one as it felt like I was having a sugar low. Well, it felt that way — I think.

They had six different flavors and of course I wanted to try them all. But the big disappointment was that they were those tiny single bite cupcakes that wouldn’t budge my sugar level even a notch. Shucks.

The keynote speaker was a Dr. Dan Diamond who is part of a first responders team that rushes into disaster areas. His team was in Haiti and New Orleans. What a dynamic speaker and the stories of how his team operates were fascinating. While he is a surgeon, he primarily manages the organization to get temporary clinics up and running before the big equipment arrives. They haul in the tents, cots, and medical supplies and are operating within a couple of hours of arrival. Pre-check begins within seconds of nurses being on the ground and setting up a table.

To me the point of visiting the booths was to collect more pens and some candy to give to the grand kids. Yes, I will? You mean you really think I will eat it all? I can’t believe our lack of confidence. This year many booths had free drawings for some very nice prizes. I really wanted to win the Kendall reader. I doubted I would but I prayed I would. I really thought God liked me enough to be sure I won. Humph! I’m joking. Don’t strike me down!

Right now I’m listening to American Idol more than watching it. Really enjoyed the duet with Scotty and James. I’m not a heavy medal fan, but James has a remarkable voice. He is the first heavy metal singer that seems to sing notes rather than just scream. I always thought the final would be between these two guys. But no — it won’t. When I turned on my computer the one eliminated tonight was already announced. James is gone and it’s Scotty and the two girls for the finals. Since one of the girls is also a country singer, she and Scotty might cancel the vote from each other. It does matter. Both guys will definitely have music careers. In my expert opinion based on what I think, the girls are not memorable. They say those who do not win actually have more freedom to negotiate contracts. Oh well. I haven’t bought music in at least 30 years. What do I know about music?

FUN FOR ME

I spend a few hours with a pastor friend today and had the opportunity to do something I really enjoy. I think I had forgotten how much fun it was for me to do a visual review of a church to see if we can find an economical way to enhance curb appeal and interior sanctuary appearance.

We schedule the meeting for today a week ago so I took several photos of the streets around the church and the entrance the Sunday before. I attend a very small, but inclusive church that is growing. They have a very significant ministry to people with addictions. I love this about the church. They are the first evangelical church I have ever visited with a container for smokers out the front door.

They have asked their church leaders to park away from the church so visitors can park close. The theory is good for larger churches, but when a small church does that it has a dramatically different affect. If you are out looking to eat at a new restaurant what do you look for first? A full parking lot, right! We interpret that to mean the food is good. Well, when a visitor pulls up to our church it looks like no one is home. There is not a single car parked near enough to even assume they are at the church. Park close and have every home bring every car they have. Jam the streets. It will look like it is on the inside. The way the streets look now, the church looks closed.

The next concern really is curb appeal. What do you want people to think or see when they drive past? It’s the same with our homes. We want them to look attractive and inviting. The paint on the church is nice. The small lawn is well cared for and shrubbery is neatly trimmed. The sidewalks are smooth and there is a concrete ramp for wheelchairs. But the front still looks dull. The entrance is small and set bank in an alcove about 24’ deep with no light above the door. While the rest of the church is bright, the dark purple doors are foreboding.

But with the magic of Photoshop showed how a lighter color on the door would enhance the entrance and added flower boxes on the top rails could provide very nice color. In regard to parking I added cars to the street on a Google World view of the church area so he could see the difference. The pictures sold him on all these things. Wish I had this technology 30 years ago when I was doing this.

This type of evaluation is best done with medium to small churches that are older. Our building only holds 110 people. Two services are on Sunday morning and one Saturday night. At the moment we are only crowed in the third service. So we went inside and figured out how to add another 19-20 chairs. This may seem small, but it adds 20% more searing. There is a children’s church beginning when they arrive and the band that has played for all three churches on a weekend so leave after the music set of the second morning service. This combination takes about 25 people out of the sanctuary. I assume this is boring to most, but I have always been fascinated with how one can make cheap changes for appearance. Like I always used to tell pastors. This will do nothing to improve the ministry of your church, but it may seem less threatening to enter.

Along the lines of eliminating threat we are hosting a Christmas Craft Fair with the primary intent of helping the vendors make money. Not very spiritual is it? But the church is beautiful at Christmas, the music will be live and the baked goods will fill your nostrils with such temptation you may even have to take something home. The side benefit is that it may eliminate some fear of entering a church. If not, I sure hope I make some money. I did last year.

TONE MATTERS

It’s time to address an issue with a coupe of friends at my Bible study. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy the group. The people are great. They do get off track at times, and today was no exception.

It is important to use the right tone, the right body language and facial expression that compliment the words you are saying. Words alone are not enough. It’s the total package. Today the combination of getting off track and using the wrong tone, body language and facial expression totally consumed what would normally have been the Bible Study.

Personally, I think getting off track at time helps us get to know one another. But this did not do that. It created tension and defensiveness.

At the beginning we take prayer requests. Three were shared. Then Chas asked the pastor what the church policy was on prayer. His tone was harsh, his head was cocked to the side and he had a frown on his face. These are things I would encourage an actor to do to challenge someone. That is exactly what happened with the pastor. He became defensive trying to defend his position and not offend the rest of the group. It did not help that Chas had an alternative motive. The pastor took the question with the tone used as a challenge to what he was doing and how he was doing it. He did not understand why the challenge was coming.

It seems Rocky is upset because the pastor has not called to ask how he is. Understand that Rocky has attended the church exactly four times. The last time he spoke to the pastor he told him he was feeling better and was going on vacation. Rocky did go and came home only to face a battery of tests and confusing diagnoses. He never called the pastor but began complaining around here that the pastor did not care about him. He is angry that the pastor has not called to check on him.

This resolution took 55 minutes of our 1.25 hours of Bible study. I did everything I could t come to his aid. The pastor and his wife tried to explain their schedules, and how impossible it is to keep track of the needs of 400 people who call the church their church. This is a seniors Bible study. They all remember the days when pastors visited every home in the church and called on the sick and seemed to respond to every whim of every member. No one seems to remember that most churches were very small. This side tracked briefly into another miss stated comment about the need for a prayer chain.

The pastor and his wife were backed up against the wall and digging a hole seemingly unable to get the group to accept their answer. I tried to explain the cultural shift, how pastor’s schedules have changed with the number of people under their care. Both he and I are rapidly searching our minds for answers that will appease. Finally James 5:14 came to mind: “Is any sick among you? Let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord.” Scriptures do not lay this responsibility on the shoulders of the pastor. It is on the one who wants prayer.

Any who attend a large church understand pastors cannot keep track of everyone in their congregation. Frankly, no one can. People tend to hold others to “unstated expectations.” We have told no one about what we expect, but we are angry when they do not meet our expectations. People have ideas about how things should be done and expect others to follow their internal guidelines. To my knowledge, one can read minds. We do not and cannot live up to others unstated expectations. It is even more difficult when those expectations are unrealistic. Most of the problems around here come from unstated expectations. So I just want to be clear. Just do what I am thinking and everything will be fine.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY

HAPPY MOTHER DAYS! On this special Hallmark day I thought I would take the time to honor the mothers of my life.

There is first of all, my birth mother. The mother I surprised by coming along nine years after what she believed would be her last child. She is the woman that held me, cuddled me, wiped my nose and my ass. She was the one who kissed my boo-boos and/or smeared them with iodine or Mercurochrome. Either way they left big red splotches all over my body – mostly knees and elbows. One always knew when a classmate had been hurt because of the red spots.

She was the one I ran home to when a bee stung the top of my head while I was drawing in kindergarten. She was the one I cried for when the rocks dug into my skin from a fall on the school playground. She was the one who made my meals, cleaned our house and my room, and worked a part time job so I would have school clothes. She was the one who put me first in life.

My mother was a descent cook. I always tell the story of the one item she would often cook until it was good and dead. Green Beans. She would get up early in the morning and cook them all day for the supper meal. I kept telling the story because it got a laugh. It, however, was not how the bulk of our meals were prepared. I loved her chicken (sometimes rabbit without me knowing) and meatloaf. Dad was meat and potatoes physical laborer all is life and she cooked for him.

In my teen years, she was usually sitting in her rocker in the dark waiting up until I got home. Naturally I resented it. Truthfully it was a sign of her deep love.

I cannot ignore the genuine issues she faced and laid on her family, but when I see them in light of her own history, they make sense. She had fears of abandonment. It goes back to her childhood in Kentucky when her two older and favorite brothers and their horses were killed when hit by a train in a blinding snowstorm. She had a strong need to hang on to everyone she loved. She did not want any of her adult children to move far from her. She needed to be near the grandkids. In that regard, I was a failure. I never lived near her.

My spiritual mother in my teens was the mother of my best friend. Mrs. Pugh talked about God and growing up and trusting and having faith. While I decided to follow God countless times in high school, it was Mrs. Pugh who helped me understand what it meant to follow Christ.

My own wife was the greatest mother. She did all that my mother did but added being courteous, polite, hospitable, and gracious. She was a terrific cook. I followed in my dad’s footsteps as a meat and potatoes man, but she stretched my taste buds to wonderful and unique meals. My wife was a mother and a lady. She was the perfect hostess a great housekeeper and the woman who extended “our” ministry to one of hospitality. She kept track of my schedule for the home and where the kids needed to be. She ran them back and forth to swim practice and got them to meets when I was away. I loved her so deeply I never had a negative word to ever say about her. She was and remains, the love of my life.

Mrs. Rose was the pastor’s wife of my wife’s youth. They followed to her college town and eventually joined the college as the Dean of Students and the Dean of Men. She got us both through one of the toughest times of our life. She was our counselor and model of hospitality. There was always coffee tea and sweets every time we visited and we did that often as college stud students, and again as a young married couple and finally when we moved back to the city so I could join the college staff.

It is a joy to observe my daughter as the mother of my three grand kids. She is firm, yet loving. She is more of a taxi driver than my wife ever was. She manages her home, her children, and her job and mammoth transportation since they live in a rural place that requires driving to everywhere they go. She also manages to get three soccer players (her kids) to three different games at different locations and different times during the season, plus everything else they do. She seems to keep this all in her head. I swear she could manage a staff of dozens and keep them all on track.

And finally my expression of love and appreciation to my son-in-laws mother whom now the wonderful mother to my daughter. She accepts her as one of her own and is the only grandmother my grand kids will ever know. I am eternally grateful to her.

Today I bless the mothers of this world and take to mind Exodus 20:12 “Honor your father and mother so that you'll live a long time in the land that God, your God, is giving you.” This is the only command with a promise, and why not — we owe them our lives.

WHAT TO BUY?

We are all aware of the power of advertizing even if we claim not to be influenced by the money thrown at the project. I have no problem buying generic for non-edible items, but I have more hesitation when I am going to put it in my mouth. I once bought “Fred’s Split Pea” soup at Grocery Outlet. The price was terrific so I thought it was worth a try. I like split pea soup and enjoy a couple of different brands – both well known. But, of course, they cost way more than Fred’s. On, this was not a recent purchase. I did this went I had enough to buy Campbell’s.

I have no idea what Fred’s complete recipe is, but I can tell you it tasted like it was mixed in mud and I know mud. I ate mud when I was young. But Fred’s mud was bland and had added sand. I am not a picky eater but could not get even one bite down. Fred is no longer in my list of great food buys. No, I do not mean Fred Myers

I know this is ancient history, but there were several things my mother did not prepare me to handle when I left for college. She made sure I had laundry detergent, toothpaste, deodorant, soap and several other essential products for beginning life on my own. What she did not do was discuss how one selects these products is you didn’t keep the empty package or write the name down before disposal. As I ran out of the initial supplies I walked to a nearby grocery store to buy replacements. I had not idea what to buy. When I faced this mammoth aisle of laundry detergent I was overwhelmed. I could see the different prices, but had no idea what was good. I am grateful for TV as I ultimately chose Tide because it made clothes whiter than white and who wouldn’t want that. I bought Peposodent toothpaste because I wanted to wonder where the yellow went when I brushed my teeth with ——— (fill in the blank).

TV told me all I needed to know about what products to buy. I bought what I saw advertised. Maybe it came from the radio, newspaper or a magazine, I’m not sure. I do know I never bought an item I never heard of and my friends and I did not sit around discussing the value of various products compared to any others.

It took awhile to get over this. There was a time I wanted to buy my wife a portable dishwasher. Maytag was the brand I knew and therefore wanted. A salesman at Eaton’s (Canadian department store) gave me a lesson in brands. He took me through their mammoth dishwasher selection and showed me a number of brands made by Maytag. He told me to ignore the outer trappings and design, look on the inside. Yes, there were several identical on the inside and on closer inspection the dials and buttons on every one of them were placed in exactly the same place. They had different face designs, but the faces were completely interchangeable.

My wife and I toured a pretzel factory in Pennsylvania and noticed that at the end of the line the same pretzels were being packaged in different brand bags. All were for sale in their gift shop. There was a large price different between the brands that I have just seen come from the same ovens. I was told Andersons were just the baker. Anderson’s was one of the largest pretzel bakeries in the world yet there was no Anderson pretzels sold anywhere. They were sold everywhere — just under different names. There was over a $2.00 price difference amongst the various bags.

No house brands of grocery stores are made them. They taste test various options and choose the best and then suddenly Starbucks make their house brand coffee. What a devious trick.

I did some taste testing for Western Family foods several years back. I was shocked at how many Western Family brands were sitting right next to the company that packages their house brand. Guess which one was always cheaper. The deceptive little devils! Had I known this as a student I would had saved a pile of money.

FOOD

“Me think I doth protest too much.” It may not be a protest so much as it is likely an overstatement. I don’t remember making any comments or even hinting that I needed or wanted anything. The first comment I did make was that I had just returned from the grocery store where I got milk and some eggs and that I had needed those items for five days. So Gail says, why didn’t you tell me? I would have gotten you some. And I said, because you will not let me pay for the items if I ask you to pick them up. It’s true you know.

On Tuesday there were two very large bags of groceries outside my door. I may have commented that I was going to the food bank the next day but I didn’t ask for anything. Going to the food bank before I go grocery shopping is not unusual. That is my normal routine. Again, today there was more food in two smaller bags when I returned from the store. I don’t know why. And finally, Chas just arrived with some Rockfish. I’ve never had Rockfish so I hope it doesn’t break my teeth.

I feel like I’ve become someone’s charity case. Just because I wear sweatshirts that are ragged, and running shoes that look like they survived the war in Afghanistan, and the same pair a pants until they say, “Behold, he stinkth,” it seems like an over reaction.

I am not belittling the group of “givers” but I can manage. I am not destitute nor do I lack sustenance. If anyone doubts that, they need only look at my girth to think otherwise. I am personally preparing for the seven lean years by filling the granaries in preparation. I may not survive the long term but I have much on which to subsist for a very long time.

Actually I appreciate everyone’s kindness. All the gifts allow me to put more toward my medical bills. I have only two left. One bill will be paid off by August and I will only have the hospital bill left. That will be completed in early 2012. I’m looking up. The sun is shining, birds are singing “lose weight,” and the world is smiling. I have a good life, Bless His Holy Name.

James 16:17 Do not err, my beloved brethren. Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning. KJV (That’s how I memorized it years and years and years (got it yet?) years ago).

GET ORGANIZED

Coffee hours yak and snack session this morning focused the “Hoarders” TV show. If you haven’t seen it — don’t, unless you have a strong stomach. Each of us was trying to out gross the other with the description of a particularly disgusting episode. There are so many wonderfully disgusting shows to choose from. I liked the flat dead cat story but the winning (if you can have a winner in this mess) was the body of the woman’s daughter found under a pile of — who knows what. She thought her daughter has just left. The whole place was disgusting.

That conversation gravitated toward each of our own apartments. I know there are 3-4 hoarders somewhere in this complex. I know of one in this building and another wanna be. The garbage is piling up, but you can still walk around. Of the group gathered this morning I felt like I had the closest thing to a pigsty. Its not filthy, but neither is Better Homes and Gardens knocking at my door to photograph my apartment.

I am a piler. I have always been a piler. My piles are mostly paper, but since I now live along I have moved on to also piling clothes. I hate filing. I can find things in my piles. I never can find what I need in files. I never file them correctly. Go ahead jump on me. I’ve attended more seminars on time management than I can remember or sand pebbles on the beach. Well, maybe not that many. I may have even taught a few. If so, I hope I mentioned they should do as I say, not as I do. I probably didn’t. After all, I was the authority of the moment. Why mess that up with a confession.

I really hate that I pile things. My living room area has several specific places for piling. Naturally on my desk, I don’t really have a desk but there is space on each side of my computer. When that gets full I move to the top of my printer. Paid bills go on top of my tower hard drive (yes, I am not with the times. I have old technology). That is already four places. The area that is the most-messy is to the right of my computer. I have kind of thrown things there. I have a piled high TV table to the left of my computer. I don’t know what is really there. I haven’t looked in a long time. Usually there is a TV table in front of my chair. That is sort of like my dining room table. It’s handy. But instead of a nice small table clothe and a centerpiece I have another pile that I must stack higher when I eat there. Well, the last and final stacking place is an old TV stand that sits next to my recliner. My drafting board is right behind my chair and I got it to put my art supplies on when I am working. But because it is by the chair, it gets all kinds of weird things. A pill bottle I need to take in the middle of the day, some nail clippers, dental floss (when I cleaned up the area today I found five packs). Also coffees cups and drink glasses, a saucer or two from something I ate. Oh, there is one more place — my sofa. It only gets clothes unless of course I have a box or two on the floor when I vacuum. I was wrong. There seems to be eight places. That’s more than I thought.

So the Hoarders talk this morning got me thinking that it was time to eliminate some more things — to de-clutter the clutter. Both TV trays are nearly empty. Most of that was garbage. I rolled the TV stand into the hall and put a sign on it “Free- just roll it away.” It is gone already. There was a bookcase behind the TV stand and I have consolidated things there or dumped them. It already looks better and I have not even started with the desk. Getting rid of the TV stand gives me a lot more room. Either that or someone pushed the walls out when I wasn’t looking.

Let me leave this one thought. Ask not how to organize — ask if you are willing. I am, I am, I am! At least for today.

LIVE THEATER — MIDDLE-EAST THEATER

My life has been restored. Once again I am enjoying live community theater. I just returned from a community production of “The Sound Of Music.” This is a very small theater with the smallest stage I have ever seen (except in a few church were “The Portrait Players” preformed. That’s the group I wrote for and directed in the late 70’s. Great memories. One of the members of the cast and crew is a friend of a resident here. She can get us free tickets. That’s the best.

But what do I come home to — the death of Ben Laden. It was everywhere, almost all channels (except the shopping channels – go figure) and all over the web. I was watching TV and searching the web at the same time. I still don’t tweet. I’m leaving that to the birds. You go away for a couple of hours and the whole world changes. Wow! That was my first response.

Second, I wanted to know how it was done. That information was sketchy. I found out who did it (not the person, but the group) and how he was killed. When I heard how long they had been tracking him with great suspicions I was curious as to why it took so long. I was not alone in any of these questions.

The longer I watched and learned the more aware I was that there would be retaliation. Honestly, that tended to crush my emotions. Nations arguing fighting and killing seems to be happening all the time. We want to get even. A predominate comment on the news is “justice is served.” Has justice been served?

Brace yourselves, the conflict has just been heightened and the speed may be greater for retaliation. They will try to get even. Please don’t misunderstand. There is a purpose for war. It seems to be sanctioned in Scripture. I’m not sure I understand that completely. There was a time I was so disgusted reading the Old Testament’s report of God telling the people of Israel to completely destroy the people: men, women and children and all their live stock, that I closed it for a lengthy time. Who can know the mind of God? It did not make sense to me. Now here comes my confession. Please keep it a secret. I have for most of my life.

I was in Canada for much of the Vietnam War. Honesty, I did not go to escape the draft. Yes, that was a bi-product of living in Regina. I went to Canada as a lark to be there with buddy. He was going and I wanted out of Omaha. I wanted to see the world, enjoy the snowy mountains — ha, like that happened. I moved to Regina, the flattest place in the world. A bump in the road was called a mountain. I expected to see kids trying to slide down that bump in the winter. Under that definition I moved from the mountains of Nebraska. The state is in the same flat grain belt as Saskatchewan. I guess it just gets flatter moving northward. Anyway, the side benefit of the move was that I decided I would stay in Canada if called to Vietnam. I kept up with the draft board and trembled when one of my USA buddy’s packed his things and moved back to Montana to demands of the draft board. I believed I could not do that. I planned to stay if necessary. However, I was never called. Then married a Canadian and began may ministry of Canada. I loved Canada and still do.

I am thankful for those who defend our countries and see the need for the military and support our boys. My emotional makeup would not let me go.

Now we enter that next phase of middle-east conflict. It will be a waiting period. We wait for their response to our response to the damage of 9/11. I am playing the same game with a resident of “The Home.” She made a comment, I challenged the comment, and since she is never wrong I await her strong and nastier defense. Like countries, like people! I don’t think it ever ends.