The BIG One

And Jesus said to them, "Follow Me and I will make you become fishers of men."
Mark 1:17

This is one of those "heaven on earth" spots where I have enjoyed many fine rendezvous with my family and friends...and my Creator. This tranquil inlet of liquid peace was created on my folks' farm about 10 years ago; since that time, countless "blood pressure lowering" memories can be brought to mind with a slight smile and a sigh.

My Dad and I were in the boat one day and watched a huge fox squirrel scurry down a hardwood headfirst and dip his mouth in the pond for a cool drink. He did this several times to our delight, and the short fishing excursion ended with my Dad landing a 7 pound bass, which we promptly released so he could grow into a 10 pounder.

I have fished seriously for over 20 years. I went through the whole boat and motor thing, fishing big lakes and rivers, but have just settled on puddle-jumping with a Jon boat. I find I can always catch fish and it is a whole lot easier (we have two little boats ready to go on the shore at anytime).

Now anyone in my family will tell you that I am the best fisherman in the bunch. I am not bragging here, it is just a fact. Maybe it is due to the fact that I will take any opportunity to wet a hook. I have caught and released a number of largemouths in the 8 lb range and have one 10 lb fish to my name, the ‘holy grail" of bass fishing. During holidays when the men are fixing fence lines, I will disappear to the pond, and "sacrifice" for the family to make sure we will have enough fish fillets in the freezer for the next fish fry.

I love to bass fish with a plastic worm and can easily tell the difference in the bait being dragged over an underwater branch and the live "tap-tap" of a fish. It is a skill that does take some time to develop, and I have set the hook in many a log in my day, a common occurrence to a neophyte angler. It is this particular hazard that causes many kids to want to throw the rod and reel in the water and quit.

Not my niece, Katie. She and I are alike in one distinct way. We both like to get off by ourselves and recharge our batteries. Several years back, she started fishing with me during family holidays and I began to teach her the fine art of fishing with plastic baits. She has a competitive nature that won’t quit, and soaked it all in, for one reason: to "out-fish" Uncle Mark. She went through those tedious and frustrating times of hanging that barb on trees both underwater and above, as she learned how to cast, and the repetitious statement, "Uncle Mark, I’m hung again!" was heard on many a trip. This has never been a real problem for me, it just comes with the territory, I am not attached to my fishing gear, so I easily break it off and rig her another one.

On a steamy July morning two holiday gatherings ago, we were just about follow our stomachs and head to the bank for some breakfast. I heard the familiar, "Uncle Mark, I’m hung again," so I turned the trolling motor off and looked around. She was hung alright. At that moment, the sight that bass fishermen wait for all their lives shot before our eyes. The open mouth of a Florida strain largemouth broke the water, one whose mouth was the circumference of a Chicago softball!

My first thoughts were: "Please God, help her land this fish!" I had been secretly praying for this moment for years, wanting her to share in one of those lifetime memories that I have tucked away in my heart, that I can bring to mind with a dreamy sigh. I had wanted her to "out-fish Uncle Mark" for years! My second thoughts weren’t nearly as positive. From experience, I knew by the gear she had in her hand (an ultralite spinning combo, with 8 lb test), that the mighty fish had a distinct advantage. I also realized that quick maneuvering of the little boat would help the situation immensely, by keeping her line free from the motor, etc. So we began a five minute fight that seemed like an hour and finally got the tired old warrior to the side of the boat. I gripped her firmly by the mouth and lifted her securely to the sounds of Katie’s squeals and my shouts.

We decided to keep this fish, as Pop had wanted a "wall hanger" for a while, so we took the short trip back to the big house and woke the family up. It was like a high five session after a touchdown. One of those special moments that neither she nor I will ever forget. The beauty officially weighed in at 8lbs 8 ounces. I actually was able to get her picture published in Alabama Fish and Game Magazine, which was a hoot that next Christmas, as we looked at this little city girl, postured next to Mable the Cable Girl, holding her 25 lb flathead catfish. The gorgeous mount now hangs on Pop’s wall in his study, and a quick glace brings back a lifetime memory.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Now, my trophy fish was much bigger than hers, and the memory is even more precious. This trip was an evening fishing trip, and Annie was my partner. This fish was actually an 11 year old boy, our son Stephen (The pic is him at age 2, with his first fish). Sitting between his Momma and I on our couch, as we opened the Bible, he opened his heart to the tugging that had been going on for a couple of weeks by the Holy Spirit. Christ became alive to him that night as we prayed together, and he was baptized one day before his 12th birthday by our Pastor a few weeks later.

OK...there is a slight fib in this story, as fishermen are apt to do. You see, Annie and I didn’t catch him at all. We were just the bait. God caught him, as it is written in Eph. 1: "just as HE chose us in Him before the foundation of the world". There are so many stories in the Bible involving fish. One actually has a fish catching a man! (Jonah). My favorite has to be when Jesus told four rough old fishermen to drop their nets and follow Him (Mark 1:16-20). The results were immediate; two of them even left their dear old daddy to fend for himself. If my one task on earth was to drop my net and let Him use me to point my son towards that path of eternity with Him, I can die a happy man. I have a feeling though, there will be other fish stories to tell...both the swimmin’ kind...and the eternal kind.

I dedicate this blog to my dear buddy Mac S., who entered into God's presence last week. An avid outdoorsman, Mac taught me a great deal about hunting and fishing, but more importantly, he was a fine Christian gentleman who reeked of Kingdom optimism. Save a few big ones for me, dear brother!

Mark
Prov 17:22

Amigos

A friend loves at all times...
Prov 17:17a





I am known as a cut-up at work. No day escapes me without laughter, usually loud, infectious and corporate. If you have read my blog, you know that Prov 17:22 is a scripture that I have written in my heart as deeply as John 3:16.

The guy with the bug eyes is partly responsible for my behavior. His name is Mike, my former pastor from my college days, and he is really one of the best improv comics I have ever been around.

This past weekend, a group of us from those days gathered in Tennessee for the wedding of one of the fine gentlemen shown above. It took us all about 10 minutes for things to degrade into a pure state of lunacy; lengthy for us, because we haven’t seen each other in several years and we had to go through the formalities of decorum for at least that long.

There is something good and secure about old friends. Our link to one another is eternal. We have the same Father. Thanks guys for a great weekend, and ladies, we will spare you the embarrassment of being linked with this crew on the WWW.



For our Message Board buddies:
(l-r) Miltie, Hatter, Dilly





Mark
Prov 17:22
A merry heart doeth good
like medicine...

In the Year of Jamboree

Ps 133:1 Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brothers to dwell together in unity!



"It was amazing Dad. We got to the church and the Carver players were waiting for us out front. They shook our hands and took us to our seats. Our teams were all mixed in together as we ate. These guys were so hilarious, we had so much fun!"

Thus a whole paragraph of words from SteveO, earlier this football season, instead of the usual caveman grunt that his Mama and I hear on a daily basis. I could sense his excitement over an event that would have an impact on many young men’s lives over the course of a week, an event that should have been covered by our local sports page, but they seemed too busy telling us about Terrell Owens or some other earth shattering event in the wide world of sports.

A little background. Simply put, Montgomery is a rather polarized city in many ways. Blacks and whites are generally separated by geography, schools, and churches. We do fellowship around our jobs and find many friendships in work and social settings, however, my city is compartmentalized by the east and the west sides.

My boy attends Trinity Presbyterian School, a private prep school with a strong Christian philosophy. I make no apologies for our choice, although you would not call our student body diverse by any means. Over on the west side is one of four large public high schools in Montgomery, Carver High, a large, urban school that is as black as ours is white. A few years back, Larry Ware, former tailback at the University of Georgia, took over a floundering program and instilled principles of hard work and discipline and turned Carver football around.

Our Coach Ragsdale and Coach Ware began working together a few years back. They developed a pre season football jamboree, since we are different classifications, we don’t play each other in the regular season. The boys get some "real time" football, rookie referees are instructed by the vets, and coaches catch a glimpse of their teams prior to the start of the season. This year’s jamboree involved Trinity, Carver, and Greene County High, another predominantly black school. Each team played the opposing two teams for two quarters, totaling six quarters for the night.

A new wrinkle was added this year between Trinity and Carver, an evening meal sponsored by the Carver family and a local church across the street from their school. The opening quote from SteveO describes the event in part. He further chattered on about a Carver mom who wanted the Trinity boy’s autographs on a napkin, along with their number so she could spot them on Thursday night. SteveO said his teammates made up some silly nicknames beside their real names and kept her in stitches.









Coach Rags and staff have built a perennial football powerhouse with a fairly recent state championship thrown in to boot, but he will not be happy if he reads this story and there is a resume’ of Trinity football accomplishments. I will say that he, our A.D. Coach Tuley, and the whole football coaching staff are Christ centered men who see a much bigger picture for our boys than winning football games. Recently, for example, the offensive line coach had all his boys meet him for Sunday service. I could write an entire blog on things that Coach Rags, Coach Whittle (SteveO’s baseball coach) and others have done behind the scene to build that all important character into our boy’s lives, but I don’t want to suffer the consequences. They are humble servants who are embarrassed by the limelight and I am bordering on a meeting in the parking lot for an attitude adjustment now. Just kidding....I hope.

Back to the Jamboree: Coach Rags, Coach Ware, players, and staffs meet for an opening prayer and it is time for Trinity and Carver to get it on. Hard hitting football, southern style, with opposing players offering a hand after a hard stick. Carver then takes on Greene County for two quarters and Carver is done for the night. We finish the night with Greene County and the two teams assemble at the fifty yard line after the final two quarters. Coach Rags has another captive audience of teenage boys and uses the time wisely to share God’s love. (We do this after every home game, win or lose; we invite the opposing team to the middle of the field for devotion and prayer.)

Suddenly, from the visitor’s stands, the young men from Carver, sans shoulder pads and jerseys, come running. They stayed around for the final two quarters so they could join the group on the field. Three teams joined in unity through the love of football, now joined in devotion and prayer with a coach whose love for Christ is the epicenter of his life.

It happened because coaches from two very different schools decided to do something positive for our city. It happened because of men who see a picture brighter than some dull newsprint snapshot. Beyond the wins and losses on the field, they believe for a colorful landscape portrait, a patchwork of black and white boys, who now covered in dirt, sweat, and grass stains, will grow into young men and be covered in the infectious love of Christ for another generation of gridiron greats.






Mark
Prov 17:22

I dedicate this blog to Coach Sham, (2nd picture of the blog) Stephen's defensive position coach, who lost his Mom this week. Our family loves you Coach, and our prayers are with you.

Follow Ups

I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.
Revelation 22:13

OK, a couple of follow ups. First, from my blog dated 9/13/06 entitled "The Enforcer". It had to do with "my" hummingbirds, one in particular, the tough guy, guarding the feeders with great ebullience, chasing the others away at every opportunity. I wrote:

The spiritual analogy here is quite easy to see; like that dominant hummingbird and his feeders, the love of God, through Christ Jesus our Lord, keeps us, protects us, and is possessive of us over a host of enemies. Knowing He cares for us like this breathes life into Mike Yaconelli’s term "God’s annoying love".

The above picture was taken yesterday, its the same tough guy, believe me, I have enjoyed their prescence in my backyard for many years and know their habits. All the other birds have started their migration, yet he remains. First to arrive, last to leave. A friend sent this poignant promise to me recently:

I trust in God's unfailing love forever and ever.
Ps 52:8b

Fits nicely, eh?

My next follow up has to do with the major pruning I did on our lantana garden from the blog dated 9/9/06 called:

"Broken is Good". I stated:

It appears to me that being a broken man, being a broken woman, is EXACTLY where He wants us to be. Ps. 51:17: The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; A broken and contrite heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise. Think about your "heros" in the Bible. Now find one who wasn’t flawed, some with MAJOR flaws! Did these flaws prevent God from using them? No!

Continuing, I wrote:

I can predict with a great deal of certainty, that with a little love and Miracle Grow, I will have a pretty garden in about a month.


Here they are today, just starting to show some flowers. We seem to trust our Father more in times when we are flourishing, but I think He wants us to experience Him even more when we are bare stalks. He’ll bring us back, just like the little lantana blooms.

I will close with this beautiful and graceful passage from Psalm 96: 11-12:

Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice;
Let the sea roar, and all it contains;
Let the fields exult, and all that is in it.
Then all the trees of the forest will sing for joy.

On my walk today, the last line of this passage came alive, as I noticed a beautiful old oak swaying in the wind. I was taken back to past years, remembering one of those saints in my life who "propped up my arms", Rev (Col) E.L. Shirey, Head Chaplain at Ft Rucker. I can still remember his booming, yet loving voice at the Post Chapel growing up. After he retired from the Army, he continued to preach the gospel until the Lord called him home. I had the privilege to hear him frequently at the church Annie and I attended in Enterprise, AL, somewhere around 1976-77.

During this time, I was also privileged to witness an incident that was ineradicably etched in my heart. A young girl, around 10, told him that her heart got "all jumpy" when she heard him speak. Chaplain Shirey told her that it was the Holy Spirit drawing her near to God. Like most kids, the concept of the "Holy Ghost" is either vague or scary. Her perplexed look gave him the right words for a child.

"Karen, he asked, "Can you see the wind?’
"No sir", she replied, lip quivering.
"Now picture in your mind a huge oak tree and the breeze blowing through the branches and the leaves. You still can’t see the wind, but you can see what it is doing. That is what the Holy Spirit is doing in your heart", he explained.

Her face brightened and at the same time tears streamed down her little cheeks. I watched that old saint, who had ministered to so many grizzled servicemen over the years, gently point that little girl toward the spiritual road of an eternal journey with Christ. It was a pretty darn good explanation to me, too, by the way.

In my modest world, the chorus from the trees will also include harmonies from a tiny bird and some tender blooms. He shows Himself to me in many ways, I just need to take the time and see it with my eyes—and my heart.

Mark
Prov 17:22






Follow up: 10/30/06 Look at em now!

Long Toss

So Moses said to Joshua, "Choose men for us and go out, fight against Amalek. Tomorrow I will station myself on the top of the hill with the staff of God in my hand."
Joshua did as Moses told him, and fought against Amalek; and Moses, Aaron, and Hur went up to the top of the hill.
So it came about when Moses held his hand up, that Israel prevailed, and when he let his hand down, Amalek prevailed.
But Moses' hands were heavy. Then they took a stone and put it under him, and he sat on it; and Aaron and Hur supported his hands, one on one side and one on the other. Thus his hands were steady until the sun set.
So Joshua overwhelmed Amalek and his people with the edge of the sword.
Exodus 17:9-13

Years ago in beautiful Turner Field, home of the Atlanta Braves, we watched Greg Maddox and Eddie Perez take the field early for a friendly ‘game’ of long toss. Maddox was not scheduled to take the bump that night, so he and Perez came out early to get their throwing reps in. Long toss, an arm strengthening drill, has long been used by pitchers and catchers in America’s Pastime. This night, Perez lined up on the right field foul line midway between first and the outfield wall. Maddox walked out behind second base in center field. As they began throwing, Maddox retreated a few steps at a time, until he was eventually very near the left field line.

The throws these two pros were making were simply amazing. Perez would position his catcher’s mitt at his chest, plant his legs, basically saying, "Come on Greg, hit the spot!" Maddox would throw a frozen rope (well, maybe with a little arch) and hit Perez in the chest. The early crowd began to cheer each throw, as dads and kids alike sat and dreamed.

Living with a catcher, the same drill has been routine at our house for years. There is one problem, however, SteveO and I are going in opposite directions. He is getting stronger and I am getting weaker. My right arm is shot, and I cannot make the length of our front yard anymore, much less the length of our neighbor’s on either side. He makes this "three front yard" throw with ease, I can only look on with the amazement of when I watched Greg Maddox.

Well, still being a tad smarter than a 15 year old , I figured out a way to keep the old long toss game going. One bucket full of 30 or so baseballs on his end, an empty bucket on my end. I catch, drop in the bucket, when his bucket is empty, we swap places. I do the same thing that Perez does, place a catcher’s mitt over my chest and dare him to hit the mitt from about three driveways apart. Game is still alive. Dad and son are still playing. His arm is getting conditioned.

I guess I call this innovation and accommodation. It is the thing I see everyday where I work, seeing people with disabilities take full advantage of the American Dream. We even have a Rehab Engineer on staff who can go into a business and carve out a work setting to fit the furniture, work setting, etc to the person’s disability.

We had an awards luncheon recently. An Iraq Vet got an award as "Employee of the Year" (A mortar blast caused massive head trauma, resulting in loss of function on his right side and other major challenges). With the help of several agencies, he went to work with a computer/ IT company and told them in the interview he was not interested in being hired as a PR move, he wanted to work. After he finished the acceptance speech, I noticed Allie wiping her eyes. It was difficult to tell through my own mist, but I think the whole crowd was in the same shape.

Innovation and accommodation. It looks like the thing that Aaron and Hur did for Moses as that young Army Ranger Joshua and company took care of business. I can look back in life and vividly remember those caring souls who God moved in my path to hold up my arms.

Dear reader, you are remembering them too. Have you thanked them lately? Have you "paid it forward"? Have you thanked Him for His personal touch in your life through others? I am asking myself these questions...

SteveO and I are still doing something we started when he was four years old, as Ray Kinsella said to his dad in Field of Dreams, "Hey....Dad? You wanna have a catch?" John Kinsella replied simply, "I’d like that."

Mark
Prov.17:22
A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.

The Nearness of God

But as for me, the nearness of God is my good;
I have made the Lord God my refuge,
That I may tell of all Thy works.
Ps. 73:28

This has always been a favorite scripture of mine. It has meant much more to me lately, as I have discovered something that was there all the time, or should I say He was there all the time. I've also discovered that I have my own self to blame for not experiencing a closeness to God at times in my life. His encompassing love and grace has always been there; however it has been my tendency to get entangled in the distractions and worries of the world, which have kept me from experiencing His wonderous friendship.

Oh, these entanglements start out in our lives first as a piece of thread, develop into string, then rope, and eventually barbed wire. Unfortunately, I tend to get to the barbed wire stage much too often, and then like a little kid, I come running and pleading with God to be unwrapped and cleaned up.

I have been meditating on this scripture, and some of my readings have only confirmed the ever- presence of God in our lives. Here are some jewels:

Living by the gospel of grace leads us into what Teilhard de Chardin called the divine milieu–a God-filled, Christ-soaked universe. A world charged with the grandeur of God. How do we live in the presence of the living God? In wonder, amazed by the traces of God all around us.
–Brennan Manning

God is over all things, under all things, outside all, within but not enclosed, without but not excluded, above but not raised up; below but not depressed; wholly above, presiding; wholly beneath, sustaining; wholly within, filling.
–Hildebert of Lavardin

God is present, near [man], next to him, and this God sees him and knows him through and through. At this point faith begins, and while it may go on to include a thousand other wonderful truths, these all refer back to the truth that God is, and God is here.
–A. W. Tozer (Read the 10/04/06 devotional on worship)

What a joy to know that the nearness of God is my good and I can rejoice by telling of His works in my life! I close with a quote from a colorful character in American history, and I believe in his words; they speak of the love of life that we can all share with youthful enthusiasm, knowing He is always there!

A man does not grow old because he has lived a certain number of years. A man grows old when he deserts his ideal. The years may wrinkle his skin, but deserting his ideal wrinkles his soul. Preoccupations, fears, doubts, and despair are the enemies which slowly bow us toward the earth and turn us into dust before death. You will remain young as long as you are open to what is beautiful, good, and great; receptive to the messages of other men and women, of nature, and of God. If one day you should become bitter, pessimistic, and gnawed by despair, may God have mercy on your old man’s soul.
–Gen Douglas MacArthur
How blessed is the one whom thou dost choose,
And bring near to Thee, to dwell in Thy courts.
We will be satisfied with the goodness of Thy house,
Thy holy temple.
Ps65: 4

His house isn’t just a building on Sunday morning. It is that dwelling place all around us, we just need to realize it.
Mark
Prov17:22

A Sense of Justice

Mark 6:11
And if any place will not welcome you or listen to you,
shake the dust off your feet when you leave,
as a testimony against them."

Micah 6:8
He has showed you, O man, what is good.
And what does the LORD require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.

The Deep South, Early 1960's

"Ok, here's the deal. YOU boys can stay here tonight, but he can't. Now, do you want the rooms or not?" The words must have struck the young pilots like an RPG...

The big mama shown above is an H-37, located at the Ft Rucker Army Aviation Museum. Several Christmases ago, we loaded up and made a visit to the museum with Grandpa and the grandkids. It was an amazing trip; my Dad recognized a number of these helicopters by serial numbers and told us where and when he had flown the particular aircraft. Recently, he shared a couple of stories that related directly to this husky transport helicopter, one recollection spoke to me of his sense of justice, his understanding of right and wrong, that exists in his life to this day.

This particular helicopter had a given name of "Mojave", however, it was commonly referred to as simply the H-37. Some government bureaucrats had given all the Army helicopters Native American Tribal names but the only one that stuck in my mind was the Chinook. The 37 was the last of the piston driven engine-type aircraft and with those two huge Pratt & Whitney 2100 hp pistons engines right beside your ears, my Dad said it was the main culprit for his hearing loss over the years. My Mom says he has "selective" hearing loss, a trait that the AllieCat says I possess, so it must be a Y chromosome thing, as I have only had one ride in a helicopter in my entire life.

From what I have read on the 37, it was a gas guzzler and the engines required a ton of maintenance. My Dad reflected recently of a time when he and his co-pilot, Capt. Rothman, a Jewish guy from NYC, had to set the aircraft down in "a place in time in America". They landed in a farmer's field as one of those big motors gave up the ghost. It was one of those Forest Gump moments: Meridian, Mississippi, where three young civil rights workers had been murdered and buried in an earthen dam by the hands of the local Klansmen. My Dad and Capt. Rothman waited the week out while the Army flew in a new engine for the 37. All week, they noticed the locals tailing them, and when returning the rental car upon the repair of the helicopter, they reported some minor damage to the car, dented hubcaps.
"Oh", the clerk laughed, "the Klan's been tailing y'all all week, they've been dentin' the hubcaps on rentals so they could keep up with you government men." The tone of this story was kind of "we took it all in stride"; the tone of the next one was not.

A group of pilots were ferrying a few 37's cross country and landed in the deep south for the night. Apparently, the Army had agreements with these podunk airports for refueling and it was time to feed these hungry beasts and let them rest for the evening. The pilots were in similar sorts and began to look for a place to stay. The opening dialog to this bog entry was common all over the South at the time. The words of "Jim Crow" the hotel clerk that pierced my Dad’s ears were due to the fact that Capt. Lemon, the one who couldn't stay in the hotel, happened to be black.
"So what did you do?" I asked rhetorically over the cell phone. I knew I was about to push a hot button.

"What do you think we did? Captain Lemon was an officer, United Stated Army! College educated...married to a college graduate, they had three kids just like our family...we told the clerk to STUFF IT and kept driving until we found a place that would take ALL of us!"
It is this sense of justice and fair play that I have witnessed time and again over the course of my Dad’s life.

It was obviously passed on to his grandson; the only fight I ever recall SteveO having was in the second grade at a Friday night football game. He put a fifth grader on his butt for bullying and rough-housing a sweet little classmate of his. Years later, I was browsing his school yearbook, and then a seventh grader, the little girl had written a note, "Stephen, I’ll never forget what you did for me..." Both are now sophomores, good friends and officers in FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes).

None of these stories are great, life changing events, but an aggregate of these episodes create an effectual existence. A little second grader remembered. I imagine Capt Rothman appreciated having a friend that week, seeing how one of the dead boys buried in that earthen dam was a Jewish kid from NYC, and I think Capt Lemon really did believe what was drilled into us growing up; the Army had one color, O.D. Green.

I love the scripture from Micah...What does the Lord require of you? The requirements from God’s Word are pretty straightforward. They become even clearer when your Dad and your Son have been some pretty good role models.

Help me apply these lessons of fair play in my life Lord; convict me when I fail to stand for what is right; walk with me on the path of Your righteousness, and I thank you for the life changing encounters on the road.

Mark

Prov 17:22