Musings of a Mad Hatter

Dogs On Call

2010-06-25T22:17:00.009-05:00

It has been months since I have done a blog entry. While my original blog has been a 'devotional' type thing, I think I am going to switch gears, although what I will write about is still devotional in nature, but more having to do with my latest interest, Easter Seals Dogs on Call, a program that uses our canine friends to assist humans in need of a friend.

Many of you know my dog Millie. She is unique by Golden Retriever standards, in that she was born with a rather calm nature. My wife thinks she is the dumbest dog we have ever owned because she took a lot longer to housebreak than all our other dogs. And you do know the smell of dog poop will linger in a woman's nostrils much longer than a man's...so I won't argue the point with Annie too much.

Still, Annie loves her, I can tell. She will be lounging comfortably on the couch in the evening with her cat Blu draped across her neck and Millie will do a 'paws-up' in her lap and just stare at her. As much as Annie badmouths her, (and it is all kidding) I know she is proud of our lil Golden and all that she has accomplished.

I have found myself giving a great deal of affection to our old girl Belle. She will be 14 on her next birthday, an unusually long time to have a golden. I could make her a therapy dog in a minute; I think she could pass the test without one error, but I want her to enjoy her retirement. I find myself looking in her eyes and getting a brief glimpse of that gift we all so admire in our dogs, but don't seem to quite understand. God knew what he was doing when he put dogs in our care...and visa versa.

I have a new job at the Alabama Dept of Rehabilitation Services. It is the most challenging and exciting position I have had in the 25 years I have been with the agency. (And today, I celebrate those 25 years to the day) Of course, with each promotion, jobs always become more laden with administrative duties, and the contact I have with people is almost entirely on a peer-professional level. Still deep in the heart of everyone who decided to get into the field of rehabilitation is the need, the desire, to reach out and provide help to a fellow human.

My new found friends, human and canine, in the Easter Seals Dogs on Call, have enable me to keep this flame burning. I truly believe that volunteerism will make a person a better professional; I have seen it happen in my own life. One feeds the other.

I joke that I am being selfish by participating with Dogs on Call, because it is fulfilling something in me, and I get more out of it than the people we visit. If it is a sin to practice this kind of selfishness, I won't repent. And I encourage others to join in with my selfish behavior and see if you don't get blessed too.

Mark

The Real Thing

2009-03-29T16:22:00.018-05:00

For we are a fragrance of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing;
to the one an aroma from death to death, to the other an aroma from life to life And who is adequate for these things?
For we are not like many, peddling the word of God, but as from sincerity, but as from God, we speak in Christ in the sight of God.
2 Cor. 2:15-17

A beautiful morning led to an inspiration…fire up the smoker! There is nothing sweeter to me than the smell of wet hickory chunks creating a wave of smoke that makes the neighbors envious. My weapon of choice on this day was lemon pepper and Cajun chicken wings, pork tenderloin and venison.

As you can see, it was downright irresistible to my dogs. Millie and Belle spent the afternoon camped out by the smoker. It reminded me of the scripture above… I will comment on that later.

Recently, I re-established contact with my first pastor and his wife (Major T and Jeanie) by email. They were the people who laid the spiritual foundation for my life. My wife Annie and I met in their small church. I actually decided on a career after spending time in their group home back in the late 70’s. They took in homeless kids in addition to their own 5 children. Many of us who had come to know the Lord in the Enterprise, Alabama area practically lived in their home. In one of my emails recently, I told them that I regretted ‘invading’ so much of their family time back then, but they never saw it that way.

Over thirty years later, they continue to serve the Lord in ways that only He knows. They established a small church on an Indian Reservation in Alaska, enduring years of primitive conditions. They didn’t have running water for a long time. Over the years, they adopted three indigenous boys from the local reservation.

Over time, I have seen much in the American church culture that doesn’t impress me. After going off to college, I became associated with a group whose founder seemed fixated on the ‘sharp people’ of this world, thinking their attractiveness would draw people to Christ. It reeked of the smell of death, if I can be so blunt.

I have concluded, that like my dogs and the sweet smell of hickory, people are drawn to the simple sincerity of the Gospel. My dear friends Major T and Jeanie were folks who were drenched with hickory, and still are. The sincerity of the Gospel is an overwhelming scent. It is what Jesus called abundant life.

The Kingdom of God runs in conflict to our human thinking many times. Jesus made this statement: "So the last shall be first, and the first last." My friends seek no recognition from man, but will be moved to the front of the line, I think. Many of the TV preachers/peddlers have had their reward in full.

One thing I noticed as I sat on the back patio taking in the hickory chips. I came in the kitchen and Annie said, “Wow, you smell good!” I was close to the smoke. The smoke permeated my clothes.

My prayer is that I smell good in the nostrils of God. But I can only get that way by getting close to Him. I am sure my dear friends in Alaska give the scent of a slow cooked lemon pepper chicken wing…

Mark

The Sound of Snow

2009-03-04T19:57:00.016-06:00

Come now, let us reason together,” says the Lord. “Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow…” Is: 1:18

Our weather man here in Alabama's Capital has a nickname. We all call him Chicken Little. He gets so excited about weather events that my dad phones me to let me know that the sky is falling…again. He gets a charge out of the guy. The local news brought on the SNOW frenzy for Sunday, the first day of March. Annie and I looked at each other and nonverbally communicated: “Yea, right….” After 30 years of marriage you can communicate this way. I hope she can’t read my mind too much however.

Like a kid, I still got up with the chickens at 5 AM Sunday morning to see if the snow had started. To my surprise, the fat flakes were coming down like parachutes over Normandy. Belle has seen snow on rare occasions in her 12 years and made an obligatory snap at a few falling flakes. Millie on the other hand, tore donuts in the backyard and snapped like a cornered turtle at the flakes as they fell.
“Get up, it’s snowing!” I exclaimed to Annie and her best buddy Blue, the cat.

"Make some coffee and I might….” she replied sleepily.
I then opened Stephen’s door, kicking baseball cleats and sweats out of the way and told him if he wanted to see some snow, he'd better get up.

The dogs and I returned to the backyard to play. I threw the Flippy-Flopper a few times and noticed Annie and Stephen standing at the French doors watching us frolic, smiling. Another one of those moments to cherish.

For any of you Yankees, by this of the year, you are sick of snow. Your prayer is for God to remove this dreadful stuff from the streets and sidewalks. But for your average southerner, it is high cotton. Of course, the first thing we men-folk do is ‘start our engines’ and see if we can spin our tires. My dad, the Pittsburgh-yankee-convert-to-Alabama-redneck knows not to get on the road in Alabama during snow events. I ignored this well founded warning and threw caution to the wind. I took to the highway in my trusty steed and just enjoyed the ride.

There is one thing I have noticed about snow when it is falling. It has a sound yet you don’t ‘hear’ it. The delicate descent pierces the ear with sound of purity. Have you ever gone off by yourself and ‘listened’ to the snow? It jars you with peace, surrounds you with a deep sigh, it sounds…. beautiful… resplendent.

Many believers have heard the scripture above since childhood. “White as snow” is synonymous, now a common and colloquial saying that serves as a figurative substitute for purity. I ‘hear’ it now as much as I see it and feel it. The peaceful sound of forgiveness, of knowing that our Father sees us not with the shame of a scarlet letter, but as a happy, peaceful, early March day filled with the whispers of snow. His presence touches all of our senses...

Mark

(Tomorrow the forecast is for sunny skies and 70 degrees.)

The Last Hunt

2009-02-08T10:18:00.001-06:00

(No Deer assumed room temperature in the writing of this blog, ladies.)

After some days Paul said to Barnabas, "Let us return and visit the brethren in every city in which we proclaimed the word of the Lord, and see how they are."
Barnabas wanted to take John, called Mark, along with them also.
But Paul kept insisting that they should not take him along who had deserted them in Pamphylia and had not gone with them to the work.
And there occurred such a sharp disagreement that they separated from one another, and Barnabas took Mark with him and sailed away to Cyprus. Acts 15:36-39

I have always been fascinated, concerned, perplexed, curious, (the list goes on and on) about missed opportunities. You know, was there something I did not do that altered my life significantly, put me out of God’s will, changed the world as we know it? (OK, a little hyperbole never hurts.) As I age, however, I don’t think about opportunities as ‘missed’, but I simply look at it as finding an alternate route in life. It is not always easy for me to think like this. I am a cause and effect person, and had years of what I call faulty theology that puts the believer at the helm; his every word, negative or positive, may change the very outcome of the universe. Sounds pretty arrogant to me now.

Jan. 31, 2009, the last day of deer season in Alabama. I didn’t hunt much this year so I figured I better log a little time in the stand so I would at least be able to tell a few lies to my macho friends. I decided to hunt in the stand just beyond the pond as it had been a fruitful location for others this season. I barely wheeled my truck through the barn gate near the gathering of cows young and old, when I spied a huge deer in the small pasture just beyond my folk’s home.

“I am just not seeing this, wow, what an opportunity," I thought. There would be no way I could slink out of my truck, load my trusty Marlin 30/30 and get off a shot. But that didn’t stop me from trying. I could not believe my luck, as I accomplished everything I needed to do, even to the point of propping my rifle on the door of my mud covered pickup.

“This is just too easy," I thought as I let out that final long breath before a trigger pull. I was right about that. The view in the crosshairs of my scope changed in the blink of an eye and I saw a white tail waving like a flag, bounding through the pasture into the hardwoods and pines.

What an opportunity alright, a missed one. I suppose it is a matter of perspective though: missed for me, great for the deer. Years ago I would have fretted over this for the rest of the day. On this day, I simply grinned, unloaded my gun, put in a few hours at the deer stand (with no luck) and began to think about the magnetic pull of our pond, as fishing has always been my passion.

It was a warm day for the end of January, and I knew the month of February brings out the big bass, gorging themselves before the spring spawn. I traded my rifle for a rod, was tempted by the hammock, but continued on my quest of conquering some form of wildlife.

What I saw next conquered me. A slight breeze hovered over the pond, rippling the water ever so slightly. The globe we inhabit rotated into a position with our friend the sun to provide a dazzling light show that no Independence Day celebration could match…as this one took place under the midday solar warmth of our mild winters in Alabama. Flickering, blazing, coins of silver skipped in synchronized beauty with the arid breeze and the olive ripples of the pond. No fish on this day... I dropped my rod, sat down on the dam and enjoyed the fireworks show. I pondered the days of my youth, days of woodsy solitude, days of simple reflection. Thankfulness to God for this present moment of peace. Opportunity found.

Is there a lesson here? I don’t know, maybe. It seems to me that Paul and Barnabas had a pure human cat fight in Acts 15. Some may say the selfishness of their own wills got involved here, causing them to miss an opportunity. Funny thing happened though. The book of Acts continues with some of the most fascinating stories of the adventures of the greatest apostle. Perhaps the lesson is that in things small and large, from a simple day in the country, to laying the groundwork for believers for centuries to come, God is always bigger than our ‘missed opportunities’. Mark, pictured with his hero, Blessings to all.

(For a companion story, read "Jeep Trails" Aug 6, 2006)

Marvel-ous

2009-01-08T20:12:00.000-06:00

"After forty years had passed, an angel appeared to him in the wilderness of Mount Sinai, in the flame of the burning thorn bush. "When Moses saw it, he marveled at the sight; and as he approached to look more closely, there came the voice of the Lord.

Acts 7:30-32

It was nice having a week off at Christmas. I had a few projects to do around the house, a few 'honey-do's and simply spent some time relaxing. My little puppy 'turned the corner' over the holidays and I feel rather ashamed for calling her the dumbest Golden we have ever had. In actuality, she is doing things now that none of our Goldens ever accomplished at such an early age (about 4 months).

She does have a tendency to get me up early, and I mean early. Over the holidays, the three of us, (me, Belle, and Millie) generally started our day at about 5:30 AM. The other humaniods and the feline didn't stir for several more hours. It actually was a nice time to putter around the kitchen, get the coffee going and start teaching Millie a new task that will make things a little easier for me each morning.

The command: 'gitdapaper'.

Our old girl, Belle, knows exactly what it means, although it is a task she never quite mastered. Our first Golden, Bonnie would hear the command 'gitdapaper' and immediately she was in the foyer, bounding through the first crack of daylight in the open door, running down the driveway, scooping up the paper and was back at the front door in a New York nanosecond. She knew that a Milkbone treat awaited after each successful mission.

.Belle loves going down the driveway, but just will not pick up the paper. So I give the command anyway and she and I have for years walked down the drive so I can be the retriever. I give her a treat just out of habit.

Millie, on the other hand, has the bloodlines of Bonnie. She attacks it with ferosity, even dragging the Sunday paper with all its ads back to the front door. Belle watches her too, and still expects her Milkbone. And it didn't take Millie long to put the paper-Milkbone-connection together.
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I recall one morning over the holidays. We were making our trek and as Millie scooped the paper and turned back to the house, I peered through the darkness at something I see everyday. It wasn't a burning bush, or the voice of the Lord. It was simply...my home.

I don't live in a McMansion, but we have a pretty nice ranch style home. I stopped dead in my tracks and smiled. I simply thanked God for the warm abode He has provided for my family, a place of refuge, a den of safety. I guess you could say I marveled.

There are things that I encounter everyday that are marvelous. But I usually don't marvel. I wonder if I spend too much time waiting to marvel at the burning bush but forget about the burning hickory in a warm fireplace.

I sometimes think that God gets great pleasure in knowing that His children marvel at the mundane. By that I mean the things we just take for granted each day. Perhaps Paul summed up it up best when he wrote to the Thessalonians:

Rejoice evermore.
Pray without ceasing.

In every thing give thanks:

for this is the will of God

in Christ Jesus concerning you.

Mark

The Shepherds

2008-12-29T18:43:00.000-06:00

In the same region there were some shepherds staying out in the fields and keeping watch over their flock by night.
And an angel of the Lord suddenly stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them; and they were terribly frightened.
But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people;
for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.
"This will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."
And suddenly there appeared with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, And on earth peace among men with whom He is pleased."
When the angels had gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds began saying to one another, "Let us go straight to Bethlehem then, and see this thing that has happened which the Lord has made known to us."
So they came in a hurry and found their way to Mary and Joseph, and the baby as He lay in the manger.
When they had seen this, they made known the statement which had been told them about this Child.
And all who heard it wondered at the things which were told them by the shepherds.

Luke 2:8-18

Growing up, I always looked forward to a certain Christmas decoration that my mom set out. By today’s standards, it would be considered a rather inexpensive manger scene (similar to the one in the picture) but my brother and I liked to play with it, rearranging the pieces much like we did with our plastic army men. I studied the characters closely. The Holy Family was handled with care. I liked the animals, I thought the kings were pretty cool, but I liked the shepherds most of all.

We treated the tiny figurienes with respect unlike the torture we raked on our diminutive plastic green warriors. A kid could buy a whole bag of these guys for less than a buck. Boredom set in after strategically placing them in battle position and then flicking them over with index finger and thumb, eliminating the battalion as a plastic fighting force. Setting them back up was tedious work.

Fire soon became the weapon of choice with our little battle ready buddies. Matches. Gasoline and matches. Firecrackers. How we didn’t set the neighborhood on fire is beyond me. We did cause a minor grass fire once lighting up a full sized, petrol soaked GI Joe in the backyard. And there was that melted candle wax that went up in flames on the kitchen stove...Gosh, all the helicopter kids of today (kids whose parents hover over them constantly) haven’t got a clue the fun they missed. Sitting on their fannies with a Wii. Please. But I digress….

Recently, my pastor, Jay Wolfe, spoke about the Nativity scene. Something he said about the shepherds struck me. “Shepherds were social and religious outcasts. They were never able to enjoy the religious festivals and weddings of the day because the flock always had to be attended. But they left the flock that night with a sense of urgency.”

I have a friend, John, who I correspond via email. On a forum that we frequent, John coincidentally penned a poingnant reference to the shepherds that caught my attention recently:

One of the curious events of the Nativity of Jesus is in the night in which He was born angels appeared not to potentates but shepherds. Not to the patriarchs, or high priests, not the most enlightened or those in a position to do something positive about His birth but to the lowest of the social strata. That the shepherds were frightened would be like saying "oil rig workers were timid" it takes something to frighten a shepherd…
…the shepherds must have had some credibility with someone literate to have made the pages of scripture. Possibly because of their lack of guile and genuine astonishment at their revelation they were believable. God it seems has a habit of concealing Himself, and of revealing Himself in obscure ways.

One of the plastic shepherds in our little Nativity was carrying a lamb like the one in this picture. But I remember one particular shepherd distinctly. He was kneeling and offering something to the infant in the manger. My young mind could never figure out what the gift was, but I remember feeling sorry for him because it was obviously not some expensive present like the Magi brought.

And from the manger to His ministry, three decades later, Jesus... sat down opposite the treasury, and began observing how the people were putting money into the treasury; and many rich people were putting in large sums.
A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which amount to a cent.
Calling His disciples to Him, He said to them, "Truly I say to you, this poor widow put in more than all the contributors to the treasury;
for they all put in out of their surplus, but she, out of her poverty, put in all she owned, all she had to live on."

Mark 12:41-44
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I really couldn’t understand my fascination with the little plastic shepherd figures then. I understand it now, more admiration than fascination, no pity but total respect. The shepherds came out of pure sacrifice, knowing that they may lose what little they had in the world. In a way, Jesus pays tribute not just to the poor widow, but to the shepherds who came to see Him out of their own sense of poverty.

The Gift of God was (and is) for all men. Not just rich kings from some far away place I have never heard of. God’s gift of love is available for Tommy in Holtville, Jake in Wetumpka, Tamisha in Montgomery, Pablo in Union Springs….
Luke 2:17-18 indicates that the shepherds had a sense of urgency... to drop what they were doing to seek Him and tell others. At times, I don’t think I have that urgency. I don't give enough. I don't sacrifice enough.
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I pray for the necessity and exigency of Him in my life.

Merry Christmas to all,

Mark

The Bonnie Slam

2008-12-07T09:12:00.000-06:00

He will yet fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy
Job 8:21

This picture is enough to restore your mouth with laughter, but there is more, believe me. Wow, eighteen years ago, baby Stephen---just a few weeks "post slap" on the fanny, Bonnie---our first Golden, and me, Mr. Chicken Legs.

Bonnie was by far our most stubborn retriever. She insisted on leading the pack on walks and would pull the leash until her tongue turned blue. Nothing would make her heel. It is funny the things you remember over the years, the inside jokes that couples share. On one walk, Bonnie spied a squirrel and took off, until she got to the end of the leash. What happened next can only be compared to the fate that awaited Barnyard Dawg in the Foghorn Leghorn cartoons when he ran out of rope. The flip in the air, with the subsequent flop on her butt was forever coined ‘the Bonnie Slam’. Any dog since who can perform this graceful move will get a rating from Annie and me, but none can top that first Bonnie Slam. It was one of those moments when you looked at your wife, you knew that she had her hand covering her nose and tears coming from her eyes in laughter.

Stephen loved this Baby Jogger. Bonnie got to the point that I simply had to tie her to it and let her pull us like a Conestoga wagon. Another sight that I am sure produced chuckles in the neighborhood, but we didn’t care. I'd like to think that this activity started Stephen’s love for athletics and exercise. Annie and I used to run road races together, trading out the pushing duties.

So now, I am teaching our new pup ‘the ropes’. She loves walking beside Belle, holding the lead in her mouth as she trots.

“You gotta go on a walk with us and see how good Millie is doing!” I pleaded with Annie. (She is usually the one pleading with me to get out and get some exercise now. Still the avid runner, she logs 5 miles a day.)

As someone who is always trying to jury-rig things, I found a large carabiner and hooked the two leashes to it. How proud I was of my invention, everything seemed to check out for a few walks and I was ready to unveil Millie’s progress on the world.

But the world is still new to Millie. I noticed a few weeks ago how cars wizzing by startled her, but within a few days, she ignored them. Oh, but a new challenge…a large Scag mower was on the horizon…Millie immediately backed up, straight between my legs. I lost the 'graceful' quick-pace of my gait and turned into a waddling duck….Belle, unfazed by the mower, continued forward at full stride. By this time, Millie was behind me and her leash was straddling the 'stride' of my sweats. I am holding the caribiner, with leashes going in opposite directions, waddling like a duck and I hear a snort.

Now because I have lived with this woman for over thirty years now, I didn’t have to turn around to see what she was doing, but I did. Hand to the nose, tears in her eyes, laughing. We have not named this move yet, but I am sure she will come up with something as creative as the Bonnie Slam.

The thing is, I didn’t mind her laughing at me one bit. In fact, it did my heart good. Stress of work and home sometimes trumps laughter and it was nice to see her let loose a good one. I just shook my head and feigned disgust with my new pupil.

I am convinced that laughter is good medicine. I have used the proverb “A merry heart doeth good like medicine” (Prov 17:22) many times in the past on my blog and I repeat it again for good measure.

The creator of Beetle Bailey, Mort Walker, once said: “Laughter is the brush that sweeps away the cobwebs of the heart.”
I read the comic strip every day, something I have done since I was a kid. I believe the man’s quote is just another way of stating the words I have highlighted in red.

God bless, and be sure to share a laugh with family and friends over the holidays!

Mark

Prov 17:22

'Goodwill' Towards Men

2008-12-02T18:44:00.000-06:00

He who profits illicitly troubles his own house…Prov.15:27

Searching the tie rack…hmm…nothing new this week. Wait…wow, a Hilfiger! OK, do I have 2 bucks in my wallet?

I have been meeting with the staff at Goodwill Industries every Wednesday for years. My agency refers people to this organization in efforts to fulfill our mission of finding employment for the disabled population of Alabama. They do a great job in this area and I am proud to be associated with them.

One of my rituals is to stop in at the Goodwill Thrift Store before or after the meeting and check the tie rack. I rarely buy a tie retail any longer; the price at Goodwill is just too tempting (2 dollars) and often I find extremely good ties with little wear. Everyone at Goodwill uses me as the male model. Right.

This article caught my eye immediately, especially after the debacle of the WalMart shopping nightmare. If you don’t want read the link, basically a Goodwill worker in Illinois,Teodora Petrova, found $7500 in a shoebox while sorting clothes. She turned it in, because it simply didn’t belong to her. Goodwill found the owner. She got a reward, and then a few days later, Goodwill gets a check from a donor who wished to remain anonymous…for $7500 to assist with their job placement efforts.

It does show that spiritual principles work. I am not talking about the "name it claim it" religion that seems so pervasive in America...'if you do this, then God must do that'....The priciples that I speak of have more to do with someone's character. If one exhibits characteristics of honesty, he usually has characteristics of charity, stability, strong mindedness...he attracts friends like him, influences those who are not like him, has families of similar characteristics. Treating people with respect and kindness works. The Golden Rule works! The result is that this person sleeps well at night. I think Ms Petrova sleeps like a baby.

Conversely, the proverb above also rings true from a spiritual standpoint. Dishonesty is usually just one of the MANY character flaws that these folks exhibit, thus their lives and the people they influence are in a constant state of a big hot mess. The guy in this proverb sleeps with one eye open, as he has created a plethora of problems due to his sordid behaviors.

The story about Goodwill made the news because it simply had a nice twist to it. Believers should not expect some instant, outward result because they simply did the 'right' thing. However, exhibiting Godly character will render a lifetime of rewards, true inward peace on earth and good will towards men. That is the real sowing and reaping of which Christ spoke.
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Merry Christmas to my friends at Goodwill Industries of Central Alabama, a caring bunch of people with hearts of gold.
Mark

Attention Wal Mart Savages!

2008-11-29T08:46:00.000-06:00

Wanting to release Jesus, Pilate appealed to them again. But they kept shouting, "Crucify him! Crucify him!"

Luke 23:20-21
It is not often that I rant on my blog. Yesterday’s incident at Wal-Mart in Long Island left me saddened and outraged as a man was trampled to death by a mob of greedy, selfish, savages who cared for nothing more than saving a few lousy bucks on a TV.

The callousness of the event astounded me; the utter disregard for this man after the event and the anger of the crowd when they were told that the store would be closing because of his death showed the depravity of man in all its glory.

The article highlights a Samsung 50-inch Plasma HDTV for $798 that seemed to be the big ticket item that everyone lusted after. Out of curiousity, I googled this item this morning. A few mouse clicks rendered prices at $797, $799, and $899 at different retailers. Let’s say the lower prices were sold out. Was saving a lousy Benji ($100) worth the price in exchange for this man’s life? A cop or a soldier wakes up each morning knowing it could be his last; it comes with the territory. But a part time Wal Mart employee?

We hear all the time that people are getting more hard hearted, more callous, more violent. Yet when I think about the Man whose birth we celebrate at this time of the year, I am reminded of the behavior of the mob surrounding His death. Even the ethically challenged Pilate tried to reason with the crowd, but they cried out, “Crucify Him!” As Jesus was asking His Father to “forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing”, the ones below the cross ignored him, casting lots for his clothes. Human depravity is not exclusive to 2008, the first Black Friday happened over two thousand years ago. Bargain shoppers at the foot of the cross.

The great debate over the nature of man has been going on for centuries. Secular Humanists tend to think that man is basically good, and people of faith believe that only God can save them from their depraved sinful state. I know some readers will disagree with me, but I line up with the latter. Horrific incidents from the crucifixion to a Wal-Mart in Long Island convince me of this.

I try to focus on inspir- ational topics, but I felt a need to vent a little. Here’s hoping that our holidays are sacred, and unlike Judas, we won’t sell Jesus out for thirty pieces of silver.

Mark

A Rabbi's Take on Forgiveness

2008-11-23T08:54:00.000-06:00

Do not say, "I'll do to him as he has done to me; I'll pay that man back for what he did."
Proverbs 24:29

That dang cell phone. It was Veteran’s Day and I was doing what I wanted to do, painting the foul poles at the baseball field at Stephen’s school. I wanted to make sure that Blue (nickname for umpire) could make the right call this spring. If he misses the call now, we will all holler our favorite umpire insult line, “You’re missing a good game out there, Blue!”

It was Stephen.
“Dad, Mom wants to know if you are going to be home in time to take her to the Shakespeare thing tonight.”
I had forgotten…my mind was on nothing more than painting the foul poles. Men have a way of doing this. If my mind is cluttered, stressed, etc, I can simply go do some kind of project and think about nothing else but the project.
“Yea, tell her I will be home in time….”

“The Shakespeare thing” was not a play, but a lecture by Rabbi Kushner, the man who wrote the bestseller, "When Bad Things Happen to Good People." As we were leaving, Stephen was laughing at me behind Mom's back, "Have a GREAAAT time, at the 'lecture', Dad!" Little did he realize I was looking forward to it.

Rabbi Harold Kushner impressed me immediately. At 73 years old, he spoke as a conversationalist. We Protestants are not used to this. We actually are used to something that should be considered rather strange. Protestant ministers go from normal conversation to air gulping, vein bulging, rooster strutting, bloviators in a nanosecond. I am not a big fan of it any longer. Our pastor speaks like a normal person, like the Rabbi. It is refreshing .

Rabbi Kushner's most passionate moment came when he told a story on forgiveness. He spoke of a woman who had a great chance to advance her studies, but would need a letter from her professor. The professor stated that he would write the letter for sexual favors. She refused, and instead of a letter of recommendation, he wrote a letter stating that she was unqualified for admission for this advanced degree.

Many years later, she told Rabbi Kushner, "I have hated this man for years for what he did to me and I cannot forgive him!" Rabbi Kushner stated quite plainly, "Do you think that this man really cares that you haven't forgiven him? After all of this time, he doesn't remember you and doesn't care; I can say this with all certainty because of the poor character he exhibited in your younger years. Furthermore, you have allowed something destructive and harmful to make abode in your mind and soul. It does not belong there and only you can clean house by granting forgiveness and moving on with your life."

In my years as a Christian, I have witnessed emotional displays at the alter, thinking this will deal with unforgiveness in one's life. Many times, I have seen others'---and my own---bitternesses simply spring back to life after the emotion wears off. Rabbi Kushner said that we hold on to things because of a sense of entitlement---this person hurt me and I am entitled to feel this way, doggone it!

I was immediately reminded of an incident years ago at work with a coworker, one that created very bad feelings, at least on my end. I actually daydreamed of taking this guy behind the building to the drainage ditch and squaring off. OK, so I have seen too many Lethal Weapon movies. Years later, he and I had lunch together with some other people. He acted like nothing ever happened, probably because in his mind, it hadn't. I was the fool who wasted my energy on all this poisonous pondering. After that day, this man and I had many more years of good fellowship until he retired.

Rabbi Kushner presented such a logical and conclusive argument for forgiveness. What I heard that night really spoke truth to me. Why would I want to keep something that makes me miserable in my home? What would be the purpose of keeping a rabid skunk for a pet? Sometimes unforgiveness is a simple decision. Get rid of it.

Hatter's Proverb:

The joy of getting older
is that you cannot
remember to hold grudges.

Mark
(Millie is finally rating a little
higher than a rabid skunk, so
I think we will keep her.)

Lil' Sis the Blogger

2008-11-21T14:13:00.000-06:00

http://abakkiriza.blogspot.com/

I wanted to give a plug for my sister's blog. LeeAnn spent most of this past summer in Africa on a mission trip and has written a diary account of her experiences. I know it was a life changing time and I am proud of her for taking time out to share the love of God with others.

Trust

2008-11-15T15:23:00.000-06:00

Now there was a man of the Pharisees named

Nicodemus, a member of the Jewish ruling council. He came to Jesus at night...John 3:1-2

The first time that I noticed my night visitor was a hole in the dog food bag that I had left out overnight. On a whim, I snuck a handful of dry morsels and placed them on the carport wall. They were gone the next morning...

I wonder why Nicodemus came to Jesus at night. Was it a matter of trust? A member of the ruling council probably had to watch his back when meeting with this spiritual enigma of the day. Or maybe he just didn't trust Jesus and needed some personal time with him to pick his brain. What develops from this night encounter is some of the most quoted words of Christ in the Bible. Almost everyone can recite John 3:16.

I caught a glimpse of my night visitor. A Tuxedo colored cat, he (I have no idea if it is a 'he' or a 'she' so I will just call it a 'he) fled at my sight. I found an
old plastic bowl and began to put out a handful of dry dog food, and found it empty each morning. One evening, I was caught red handed by Annie with the kibbles in my hand.
"What are you doing?"
"Um, I am teaching Belle a new trick out on the patio."

Annie lifted that one eyebrow she is so famous for when she knows I am stretching it.

Take a look at Belle. Do you think this old dog is ready for a new trick? I can't even lie creatively.

"Feeding that stray cat, aren't you?

Busted. She KNEW about him!

"I felt sorry for him, don't worry, I am not trying to tame him, Tux is a feral, I just don't want him to starve."

"Tux!? You have named him already? Just be sure you keep him away from MY cat!" Almost no chance the two ever crossing paths and she knew it. Blue, our indoor feline, follows Annie around the house like a newborn duckling. So I knew that I 'had her permission' to keep feeding Tux. Sorta.

The next time Nicodemus shows up is in John 7. He defends Jesus in the midst of the Pharisees and chief priests:

"Does our law condemn anyone without first hearing him to find out what he is doing?" (v.50)

Their reply is rather sarcastic in tone and it is easily inferred that they were not pleased with his rejoinder. Perhaps the patience of Christ, a deeply personal night visit, a challenging spiritual discourse...perhaps these things established a trust in Nicodemus...

The next logical move was to purchase some cheap cat food for Tux. Couldn't have him eating dog food. A trip to the local grocery store rendered a bag of food that only an alley cat would eat. It was called 'Alley Cat Crunchies'. Tux didn't mind. The bowl was always empty. He began to sit on the wall and stare at me. My goal at this point was to gain his trust. I knew it was going to take time. No telling what kind of life he had endured. Tux began to come in the yard, and seemed to have no fear of Belle, and Belle simply ignored him as she has been around cats for a while now.

We did have one dog-cat incident, but it involved our newest member, Millie. Golden Retriever number three over the years... and so far, the dumbest one we have ever owned. If what they say is true about Goldens, they end up the color of their ears. In Millie's case, it appears that she will look like a fine Kentucky bourbon. She seems to already be under the influence.

Regarding the incident...You know, puppies have tons of trust. She will run headlong at the sight of Blue, who simply ignores her, turns her backside to her and trots off. The little brain that rattles in Millie's head figured that she could do the same thing with Tux. 'Tire screeching' comes to mind when Tux slapped Millie across the nose. She no longer trusts Tux. That is a good thing.

We see Nicodemus one more time in the book of John. The last part of chapter 19, he and a man named Joseph of Arimathea, ask Pilate a favor. They ask for the body of Jesus. Nicodemus was not only willing to identify with Christ among his own religious collegues, but was not ashamed to be associated with Him before the judge of Jesus' trial...perhaps the trust had become solidified.

Tux began to show up like clockwork. His 'meow' is one of the sweetest I have ever heard. He has graduated to Meow Mix, and Purina ONE is probably next. He began to sit on the wall and allow me to pour the food in his bowl, but made no attempt to eat it until I backed away.

One morning, as I was pouring the food with my right hand, on a whim I gently stroked his back with my left. He arched with each stroke live a wave, as many cats do, indicating that it felt good. I also noticed a conflicted countenance; he did not know whether to bolt like a rocket or stay and enjoy the attention. He finally resolved it by retreating a few feet. I knew I had won his trust. But I also knew that I didn't need to push him any further. He was a survivor and needed a good dose of caution (the kind Millie now has around him) to continue his challenging existence.

Later that day, I came to another conclusion. Even if he would have clawed or bit me, I would still continue to fed him. I was not looking for obedience or love in return. I realized that if a flawed man with a built in cynical gyroscope could think this way, so much more is the love and patience of God in dealing with his children who may go through times of mistrust or confusion in their spiritual walk.

.Nicodemus and Joseph carefully wrapped the body of Jesus with strips of linen and spices, as was the custom of the Jewish burial process. John writes that Nicodemus brought 75 pounds of spices, a very large amount, traditionally used in royal burials. I believe Nicodemus had come to trust the King of Kings....

I try to find personal spiritual lessons even in the most mundane events of life, such as a stray cat showing up at our doorstep. We as a family are in a transitional time; our son Stephen will be making decisions about college soon and Annie and I will start those empty nest years. We are trusting God. I can't say that I have always acted in faith in the last few years but I do know one thing...God is patient with His children.

.Time and patience establishes trust. A feral cat trusting a less than perfect man. A religious leader trusting a Savior. God will surely be patient with me as I continue to learn to trust Him.

Mark

Excuse the long absence. Hope to be around a little more.

The Gospel According to Lewis

2007-08-08T09:13:00.000-05:00

For I determined to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ, and Him crucified... I Cor. 2:2

The fall of the year in the deep south is a special time. There is still a warmth in the air from the dog days of summer, but the humidity dissipates and the air becomes breathable again. I enjoyed the crispness of the day as I rode my bike home from school on those familiar streets in the little community of Edgewood in Columbus, Ga in 1963. First and second graders got of school thirty minutes early and the streets were always free of the traffic jam of bikes that faced me each morning. I arrived home and noticed my mom hovering over the Zenith black and white TV.
"What happened?" I asked.
The look on her face matched the answer...it was the first chink out of soft limestone of that statue of the innocence of childhood...

I recently had an opportunity to visit this little community; my son was playing a baseball game in Columbus, Ga and I slipped out of work early to make the hour trip across the Chattahoochie River to watch them play. I arrived early and decided to take a drive through my old neighborhood. I really didn’t know what to expect; it had been 44 years since I lived in this community. I figured time had taken its toll on the place, as the homes were modest in 1963 and I wondered if the whole suburb might have even been torn down and rebuilt.
I made a quick right turn off the now busy Macon Highway and eased down my old street, Juniper Avenue. Our old home was still there. And I was pleasantly surprised that the homes had been kept up quite nicely, an obvious blue collar enclave now, but one where folks seemed to take pride in the little homes. (The home below is an example of the style of homes in the neighborhood.)

Everything was smaller now. I retraced my trip to Edgewood Elementary. It definitely wasn’t ‘five miles in the snow’ but a short journey of meander- ing, narrow streets with fresh asphalt-filled potholes. My mind drifted back to my friends Lewis and Rusty Edge, our next door neighbors. (The opening picture shows Lewis next to the boy with the blue shirt, Rusty is the little guy, and I am the guy with the hip hop underwear showing. Biggy, as we called my brother, is in the red shirt.) Lewis was always on the go. In fact, his mantra then is still used as a family joke. When we had saddled up the bikes, Lewis would holler, "Let’s go-ooo!!!" The word ‘go’ was always elongated like a coyote howl. To this day when the family gathers, my brother or I will let out a "Let’ go-ooo!" when we finally are ready to hit the road for a family outing. (My brother sent a copy of the Sunday Parade magazine to me several years back. The cover article was on the Changing Face of the American Trucker. There was Lewis Edge, yuppie truck driver. I suppose his mantra made a career for him.)

As I arrived at Edgewood Elementary, I became that second grader again...the covered bike rack was still there. The little shopping center across the street where I got my ‘close on the sides, short on the top" haircut. The City Service gas station, long gone, but one of Lewis’ and my desti- nations. We used to like to drink out of the "Colored Only" water fountain because we thought the water was colored.

And then my mind drifted to my bike trip in November of 1963. It is true what folks who were alive then say, everyone remembers where they were when President Kennedy was killed. When my mom broke the news to me on that day, I felt it was my duty to get back to school and tell the third through sixth graders coming home. The looks on their faces as I met them on the road told me that they had already heard the awful news.

Yes, the innocence of my childhood took a beating that day. It would be about a year later when we were huddled around Zenith TV again, wondering then if my dad had lost his life in Vietnam.
(My first blog entry July 25, 2006. See the archives)

I wonder sometimes if the followers of Jesus had the crucifixion so etched in their souls that it caused them to have this similar experience, one that they knew exactly where they were, how they reacted, what they felt. Prior to that dark day, the disciples had heard words of faith, witnessed miracles, and felt the life changing power of Jesus. It all disappeared into a helplessness, one that even caused Peter to curse and deny that he ever knew Him.

Yet the darkest hour became the brightest moment in time. As Christians, we seem to have some need to have a ‘deeper revelation’ than this, to be on the cutting edge of what God is "doing"; we create new buzz words that are used to impress others of our great spirituality. But the work of the cross...it is the very essence of our faith; it is the very thing we need to always have etched in our souls, an event that simply grounds us deeply in our faith.

I loved the fact that Paul said that he knew nothing except Jesus and Him crucified. It must have been that meeting on the road that convinced him, an experience he never forgot. It still happens today, the simplicity of the gospel, the meeting on the road....the thing that causes us to call out with excitement to God for a remarkable journey...."Let’s go-ooo!"

Mark

Like a Duck to Water

2007-06-24T09:01:00.000-05:00

As a deer pants for the water brooks,

So my soul pants for Thee, O God.

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God;

When shall I come and appear before God?

Ps 47:1-2

We are suffering through a terrible drought in the deep south. Alabama has been hit particularly hard; my dad has been buying hay to feed his cattle well into the time of year when the pastures should be full of Bahiagrass. I took this picture of a fence line recently just show the magnitude of the parched earth in our corner of the country. Please pray for rain. We have had precious little this summer as this picture speaks for itself.

One thing I refuse to do, however, is let my plants suffer. I am not a water-waster, but I have a few spots of beauty, at least to me, in my yard that give me pleasure to look upon, and I will put the sprinkler on these areas a couple times a week. The crape myrtles and the lantana flowers in what I call the ‘island’ of my front yard are doing great, as is the little birdbath garden. My three birdbaths are gulped dry on a daily basis, by the way.

Recently, I was watering the ‘island’ and a rustle from behind startled me. I turned around and much to my delight was a couple of Mallards, a male and a female. Someone had told me recently that the Mallards in the area are drawn to the sprinklers like a ....duck to water. (Sorry)
About a week later, my neighbor was watering his yard, and a copious amount of water fell on my driveway near the birdbath garden. I was gratified to see the couple return, and they spent a good hour under the refreshing shower.

The scripture from Psalms has always been one of my favorites. It is a wonderful simile that reminds us as deer and ducks are drawn to water naturally for the very sustenance of life, we should be drawn to the living waters of Christ to keep us alive spiritually.

It is odd to me that over the course of my life as a Christian, I have sometimes done the opposite. When things get parched spiritually, instead of seeking out spiritual waters, I just let the crevice in the dry ground get larger. When the instincts of God’s creatures give me a perfect example in the natural, it should be a no brainer to apply it to my spiritual life.

Still, as I have aged as a believer, I have learned to go drink from the living water, regardless of the circumstances. In it I find life, and that life in Christ is more than emotion, shallow comfort, or temporary pain.

His sprinkler is on for all of us, get out the Slip ‘N Slide and enjoy the days of your youth, coupled with a deep satisfaction to your soul.

Please say a prayer for our state and our region, that the drought would end soon and our land will once again be teaming with life.

Mark

The Biscuit

2007-06-18T13:50:00.000-05:00

For if a man comes into your assembly with a gold ring and dressed in fine clothes, and there also comes in a poor man in dirty clothes,
and you pay special attention to the one who is wearing the fine clothes, and say, "You sit here in a good place," and you say to the poor man, "You stand over there, or sit down by my footstool,"
I have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil motives? James 2:2-4

It happened so fast that all I could say was “HOLD ON!” Yet almost in slow motion, I spied the old Dodge pickup in the rearview mirror barreling towards us with no intention of stopping as we were patiently waiting for the red light to turn.

We were on our way to Nashville to attend my niece’s high school graduation and stopped in Cullman, Alabama for lunch. The sickening sound of the front end of his dilapidated Dodge eating up the back quarter panel of my wife’s car was followed by a stream of clear-red plastic flying by the driver’s side window, which indicated to me immediately that the tail light assembly was history. So was the back quarter panel, I soon discovered.

Now Cullman is an interesting place. Mont- gomery is a very diverse city, almost 50/50 white and black. Cullman, not so diverse. Well, if you consider the fact that some of the Appalachian folks have bib overalls and some wear Wrangler boot cut jeans, you might be able to say that there is a little diversity.

Our Cullmanite was wearing overalls, and this crazy lady (my wife) was already in the 80 year old guy’s face. With the determination that only a mother can have, she was out of the car in a nanosecond, swishing her tail feathers and her finger at the same time, with a “MY SON IS IN THAT CAR! HOW COULD YOU NOT SEE THE RED LIGHT?” Her ‘son’ is a 190 lb. cinder block who was already talking to a witness and yaking on his cell phone.

And then there was me. The wheels were turning already…I was inspecting the damage, “Looks like there is about an inch of clearance between the tire and the wheel well, maybe it is drivable…I'll bet this ignorant hillbilly doesn’t have any insurance, oh well, 500 bucks on my deductible…blast it anyway, get these old geezers off the road..."

I was in no mood for this; I was already borrowing trouble, knowing that the next month or so was going to be one big hassle. There was never a thought to thank God that we were not injured, at least not then.

“I am so sorry Ma’am,” the old man drawled, “Ya see, I was comin’ out of KFC with my lunch and I done dropped my biscuit on the floorboard and I was tryin’ to git it.”

Steam was coming out of the Allie Cat’s ears. I was still lying back, bemoaning the fact that this bumpkin had ruined our weekend. Finally I spoke, “I hope you have insurance!”

“Oh, yessir, I got Nationwide, and my agent’s office is jest over the hill,” he replied. What a surprise, and a pleasant one. One of my best buddies in Montgomery is a Nationwide adjuster. I was on the phone with him as soon as the police finished up.

Our car was drivable, after the cop and I took out our knives and cut away some of the polymer bumper cover. “I’ll bet you never heard of someone rear ending another car because he dropped his biscuit on the floorboard,” I said sarcastically to the cop.

“Well, not today”, he answered with a wry grin and a deadpan delivery.

His truck was a tad newer than this one, but it looked like he lived in it. I had to take a peek inside the cab, out of curiosity to see if I could spy the errant biscuit.

The floorboard of the old farmer’s truck was, in a word, nasty. Why anyone would even want to eat a biscuit that was now covered with dirt and coondog hair was beyond me. Name the fast foods joint, and you would have noticed a crumpled up bag in the passenger's side floorboard.

A few miles down the road, after I had notified my family and friend Max, we took a breath. My wife said how thankful she was that we weren’t hurt. She had apologized to the poor old guy as we were departing, and he very humbly asked us to forgive him and was “thankful to the good Lord that y’all weren’t hurt.”

My next few weeks were rather effortless. My buddy Max was a lifesaver, he did the estimate in my driveway, arranged for a rental car, and a wonderful body shop restored my wife’s car to its former beauty. (Max told me that by swiping the back quarter panel, the man had missed the main structural bumper by mere inchs. Had he hit it, the car would have probably been totaled and we may have suffered some neck and back injuries.)

What I learned about myself was that I am not such a good guy. My own prejudices kicked in at a time of minor crises. I categorized a man who was a humble, God fearing person immediately as an old hick with no insurance who had no business on the road. He called me after we returned from Nashville to let me know that he had already filed a claim and that Nationwide would be covering all repairs for us. And he wanted me to know how sorry he was once again and was (I repeat) “thankful to the good Lord that y’all weren’t hurt.” Heap a few more coals on my head Lord, I need it.

I drove Annie’s car to work one day prior to getting it in the shop, as I didn’t want her driving around town minus left side brake lights and turn signals. A few folks noticed the car and of course I went into extraordinary detail about the biscuit on the floorboard, using my best Alabama southern drawl.

The next morning, our Assistant Commis- sioner dropped by with a greasy bag and told me to enjoy my breakfast: a good ol' southern biscuit. He had heard the story too.

Long scratched off my heart healthy diet, I decided to eat it with zealous delight, chuckled and thanked God for putting people in my life with a nifty sense of humor.

Mark
Prov 17:22

Shells

2007-05-18T18:40:00.000-05:00

Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock.

Matt 7:24-25
You have a God who hears you, the power of love behind you, the Holy Spirit within you, and all of heaven ahead of you. If you have the Shepherd, you have grace for every sin, direction for every turn, a candle for every corner, and an anchor for every storm. You have everything you need.
Max Lucado
http://www.maxlucado.com/
(Check out Max Lucado’s website, he has a simple and powerful message of hope and grace for the church today.)

I brought home some shells from our last beach trip, something I would not normally do. I felt like a kid exploring the sands of my youth, looking for a jewel of color and symmetry. Frankly, they were hard to find. I noticed something almost immediately when collecting these shells; the smaller, plainer ones were always intact, while the larger, more colorful ones were frequently broken. I began to examine the texture of these different sized shells. I found that I could easily break the larger ones with my hands as they were brittle and thin. But the small ones…wow! I could not even chip them. They were thick, hard, and tough as nails.

I gazed at the breakers, especially in spots where a large deposit of shells had gathered on the beach. I could actually see the larger more fragile shells tumbling in the foamy mixture, riding violently to the beach sand. There was no way they were going to make it to the shore intact, the churning waves saw to that. The smaller ones, almost impossible to see in the turbid tide, magically appeared on the sand, intact, none worse for the wear.

In my years as a believer, I have seen plenty of the big beautiful shells, those people who make sure the attention is drawn to themselves…but who just seem to have big chunks cracked off from a character standpoint. Yet, church folks seem to not only tolerate some of these so called leaders, they treat them like rock stars, embracing any ‘revelation’ that comes forth from their mouths. The crowd actually feeds those character flaws. I have said this before, when I see a ‘ministry’ that is named after the particular leader of that organization, I have a tendency to stay away. There is usually some chunk missing. Not always, but most of the time.

In my later years as a Christian, I have noticed many more of the smaller shells with the tough hides. They are the people who magically appear in my life. They are the saints who have weathered the waves over the years. They are those, who like the small shells, are hard to identify in the breakers. And frankly, they don’t want to be recognized. They are the people who I have written about frequently in my blog; all one has to do is take a quick review of my pasts musings to see that the small shells with the tough hides are the ones that have meant the most to me.

And I have found characters in the Bible who jump out at me but are generally overlooked. For instance, Ananias, in Acts 9, is a great man of faith, and doesn’t get a lot of airplay.

Think about it. God tells him to go to a specific street, and lay hands on one of the worst persecutors of the faith so he will receive his sight, and be filled with the Holy Spirit.

So Ananias, after a healthy bit of skepticism, says, "Yes Sir, I will go."

When he encounters Paul, he does something amazing. He addresses him as ‘brother’. (Paul later mentions him in his great defense and testimony in Acts 22 as a devout man who was well spoken of by all who lived in Damascus.) This guy was a small shell. One who magically appeared at the right time, obeyed God, fed and strengthened his new brother, and just as quickly disappeared back into the sand.

He probably had more satisfaction in being someone who was well spoken of by his neighbors, than wanting to be known as the man who healed Paul from his blindness. He was a small shell with his Godly character intact, no chunks missing in this guy!

I thank you Lord, for the 'small shells' in my life who have done big things.

Mark

A Deep and Gentle Sigh

2007-05-16T19:11:00.000-05:00

Godliness with content- ment is great gain.
1 Timothy 6:6

Continuing with the same thought…contentment. Knowing that our lives are good, pleasing to Him. Not striving, wondering, am I holy enough? Am I doing enough?Am I good enough?

At some point in life, one has to come to the conclusion that His grace is sufficient. I can do nothing to make myself presentable to God, except by clothing myself with His redemptive robes of grace.

And yes, it produces contentment. This is a word that may conjure up a meek, tame, definition, yet, personally from a spiritual perspective, it is more powerful than words like “overcomer, more than conquerors, victorious over sin”. I realize that these too are Biblical terms, but to me, these are action words, and sometimes we have a tendency to take those action words and make them into “works”.

I opened my Everyday Blessings devotional by Max Lucado today and he had this to say:

When we surrender to God the cumbersome sack of discontentment, we don’t just give up something; we gain something. God replaces it with a lightweight, tailor made, sorrow resistant attache’ of gratitude.
What will you gain with contentment? You may gain your marriage. You may gain precious hours with your children. You may gain joy.

Contentment yields a certain ease of mind, a gentle sigh, a resignation to the fact that God is the One who has done the work through the cross for us. It has taken me a while to get to the point of contentment in my life. It is a feeling of : “Here I am Lord, and this is who I am. And You still love me? Yes! You do! And I love You back.”

And that is more powerful than any realization of 'working for a living' in the Kingdom of God. I have tried that before; it was no fun. But now, sharing His grace with others is natural, peaceful, with no hint of punching that religious clock or putting on some religious hat.

Contentment. A deep and gentle sigh. It sounds pretty simple, yet for me it is very substantive and very profound.

The Hatter

How Big is Your World?

2007-05-08T18:47:00.000-05:00

...and you shall receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be My witnesses both in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and even to the remotest part of the earth.

Acts 1:8

I was visiting with old some friends recently and we were reminiscing about our college days. A certain minister came up and we remembered one of his pet sermonettes, which was meant to appeal to our youthful idealism and mobility. Looking at it now, it appears highly manipulative.

He used to say, “How many of you just want to get married, get some job, have kids, settle down in some little town like your parents and have no impact on the world for the Kingdom of God!?”

“No!” he would bellow, “God has much more for you! You are the head and not the tail! You will be overcomers all over this world!”

It was funny, thinking back on how different people reacted. Some longed for the small time life and an existence away from the frenetic college world. Others bought into the manipulation, and have told me that they have lived for years in, what would be considered by this man, a mundane existence always wondering if they had fulfilled their ‘destiny’.

Another more subtle lie was planted in the minds of young folks in my demographic, those from two parent families, Mom cooking every night, Pop working hard to provide for his family, setting the example for the kids...somehow this was second class in this man’s eyes. More than a subtle lie, it was a damnable lie.

Many years have passed since those idealistic days, and I have come to my own conclusions about my world around me. Bottom line, it is pretty small. And I like it that way. Hear me out.

A friend and I were talking recently and I asked him if he knew how much ‘geo- graphy’ Jesus covered while He was on earth. My friend told me that, taking away the trips to Egypt , it has been said that Jesus covered about a much territory as a New England state.

It is astonishing, given what we take for granted with technology and the information highway, that our Savior’s message spread from a relatively small mound of earth that became the spiritual epicenter of the Good News of the Gospel of Christ to the world!

It is a pattern that I really think we should imitate, one that is really liberating, because in actuality, many of us do leave college, find jobs, marry, have children and live in some locale.

Our ‘worlds’ may not be much larger than the one Jesus trod upon. But His influence, our influence...it is not limited in terms of geography. When Jesus said that His kingdom was not of this world, I don’t think many understood then or now.

I wonder...when Jesus told the apostles to be a witness for Him in Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria, and even the remotest part of the earth...could it mean that our influence may need to start in our own “Jerusalem”? Mine would simply be my home. My family. My friends. My job. Have we missed opportunities to share the love and grace of Christ because some manipulative preacher has planted a false idea about what is good, what is right, what is pure?

Give me my world any day. I embrace the ‘mundane existence’; I embrace it for its diminutive simplicity, as it also encompasses something of unbounded infinity, the Kingdom of God.

Finally, for anyone still reading my blog, you have noticed that my entries have become fewer and further between. With summer approaching, I may have more time to write, then again, there were a bunch of stories that I wanted to tell, and I told them. So check in from time to time. Only time will tell if I keep tapping the keyboard or move on to building ships in a bottle. Thanks so much for reading!

Mark
Prov. 17:22
Keep that heart merry!

I Was Right On Time

2007-04-23T20:21:00.000-05:00

Not that I speak from want; for I have learned to be content in whatever circum- stances I am.( Phil 4:11)

I am reading a book entitled I Was Right On Time by Buck O’Neil, a baseball player in America during the days of segregation. Before Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier, baseball was divided into two distinct groups, the Major League as we know it today and the Negro Leagues, where Buck and his friends spent most of their careers.

It is an interesting read, full of colorful characters, poignant moments, and lessons of life for all. Some of the greatest ball players ever to play the game hit, fielded, and ran the bases on segregated diamonds. One of the best hitting catchers to ever grace home plate was Josh Gibson, of the mighty Homestead Grays. My dad tells me that his dad, my grandfather, watched Gibson and the Grays ( a team in the Pittsburgh area) a number of times. The guy reminds me so much of Bo Jackson, one of my Auburn alums. Buck O’Neil states that he heard a distinctive crash from a baseball bat hitting a ball only three times in his life, from the bats of Babe Ruth, Josh Gibson, and Bo Jackson. He described that sound like a small stick of dynamite going off.

I loved the comradery that the players had in those days; I am sure it was so necessary to lean on one another to make it in a segregated world. Buck speaks of his old friends like schoolyard chums, and the nicknames! A true term of endearment when someone gives you a nickname! Turkey, Mule, Fox, Ox, Piggy, Bunny, Possum, Groundhog, Rats, Frog, Burro, Early Bird and Goose. And most had some logic behind the name, Turkey, for instance, was a player named Norman Stearns who flapped his arms when he ran. What’s worse is that one nickname wasn’t enough, the 'nickname' for a turkey is a gobbler, so they called him Gobbler too!

I must go on, the names are just too good: Sea Boy, Gunboat, Skin Down, Popsicle, Suitcase and of course Satchel. Biz, Bullet Joe, Smokey Joe, Jewbaby, Copperknee, Ankleball, and my favorite, Cool Papa Bell.

Buck, as well, is a nickname for the writer himself, John Jordan O’Neil Jr., a man who lived in relative obscurity until Ken Burns developed the nine part epic masterpiece, Baseball, for PBS. Buck emerged as a ‘graceful, charming, fatherly voice of America’s national pastime, a living link from the early days of segregated baseball to the game we know today." (From the book sleeve). Buck dedicated his book to his wife of fifty years, "a cheerful and easy-to-love lady".

I think the reason I have so much respect for this great man is in the title of his book. From page 2:
The best thing about the film, (Baseball) though, was that it gave me a chance to tell folks about th Negro leagues, about what a glorious enterprise black baseball was, and about what a wonderful thing baseball is . Back in 1981, at a reunion of us Negro league players in Ashland KY, a young fellow from Sports Illustrated asked me if I had any regrets, coming along as I did before Jackie Robinson integrated the major leagues. And this is what I told him and what I’m telling you now:

There is nothing greater for a human being than to get his body to react to all the things one does on a ballfield. It’s as good as sex; it’s as good as music. It fills you up. Waste no tears for me. I didn’t come along too early–I was right on time.

I found this to be such a tremendous statement—I was right on time. It reminded me so much of the converted Saul, or Paul as he became known. A man who learned to be content in whatever circumstances. And I, too, have concluded that the past is gone, the future is unknown, and the here and now just cannot be wasted thinking about what could have been or what might be!

The writer of the Hebrews tells us: But encourage one another day after day, as long as it is still called "Today", lest any one of you be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin. (Heb: 3:13)

If you have heard Buck O’Neil before, you know he is a man who hasn’t been hardened. It is a biblical principle he lives by, one that I think is a good one.

My life–I was right on time.... How about yours?

Steveo plants two tombstones at the plate, in one game!

Blessings,
Mark

Easter Parade

2007-04-07T17:05:00.000-05:00

And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. Matt 6:5-6

So sensible, the things Jesus preached. Like today, it seems like the pious folks of his day loved the adulation and attention of the street corner. Modern street corners are our television sets, filled with garish men and women of shallow religiousity getting their reward in full. Jesus made it clear that this type of thing was unimpressive to His Father.

I have shared this before, one of my ‘inner rooms’ is the cab of my truck. I leave for work early to beat the traffic and use this time for prayer, meditation and to hear what God is trying to get through my thick skull. There are times when I just have to find some excuse, like this morning, to just take a ride. I needed to pick up some medicine for our dog at our Vet out in the country, about a 20 minute ride. Perfect. Even burning gas at $2.69 a gallon, it is still a secret place that I cherish; Al Gore you'll just have to excuse me. It gives me time to be alone and meditate on His word, repent for my own selfishness, and reconnect with Him. I'll bet you have a strange prayer closet; I think most people do. I guess mine isn't much of a secret anymore... maybe if you will keep it between us and the Lord...

This morning I began to think and pray about how thankful I was for the life that He has given me through Christ; the sad dichotomy of it all is that it is coupled by a flawed mentality that gets embroiled in the mundane and unimportant, those things that I think are so real and crucial. I call it ground clutter. A false echo. It takes a "road trip’ to straighten me out sometimes. The scripture that seems to speak to me in such a personal way in times like this is when Jesus simply asked his disciples: "But who do you say that I am?" (Matt 16:15) It ran through my mind this morning, the same question addressed to me, "Mark, who do you say that I am?" My answer for over 30 years has been like Peter's, "Thou art the Christ, the Son of the Living God." When I come face to face with that question, things begin to change...rapidly.

I noticed some wild dogwoods lining the interstate and my mind drifted to a time in 1988, a few years after we moved to Montgomery. We had finally saved enough money for a down payment on that first home. We did it through much prayer, and also a lot of hard work. Annie and I found a neat little home nestled in one of the older neighborhoods of Montgomery, one noted for the azaleas and dogwoods.

Even though the neighbor- hood is about 10 miles away, I rarely go over there, as it is off the beaten path. But I do make an annual pilgrimage during spring to remember. The azaleas remind me of the faithfulness of God, the constant in His universe, that almost to the day every year the beautiful explosion of color breaks forth in the Dalraida neighborhood of Montgomery, AL. It is my version of the Easter Parade.

These pictures are not the best in the world, as I was driving and snapping simultaneously, but it gives you some indication of what the old stomping grounds look like. Great neighborhood to this day. The place where my son was born, the backyard that we wore out hitting and fielding grounders. Great memories.

Back to the truck...it was then that I began to realize how thankful I was for the life He had given me. But how easily I lose that focus! To get wrapped up in the minutiae and lose site of the Master. It is an intriguing mystery that you can be extremely grateful and filled with humility and introspection at the same time. I somehow think, however, that it may be the ballast that keeps my ship on even keel. And my truck between the lines.

Happy Easter to all from the Mad Hatter.

My Friends across the border in Georgia know how to do it right! Check out the photo page from Callaway Gardens .

Sand Script

2007-03-23T18:36:00.000-05:00

For the love of Christ controls us-- 2 Cor 5:14A

Ah, our yearly pilgrimage to Gulf Shores, AL for the Spring Break Baseball Tournament. And what a nice way to keep an eye on your teenage boy! My wife ‘ran into’ my son walking down the beach with his girlfriend, and in his eyes, the only thing worse would have been to run into me with my shirt off. Don't worry, ain't gonna happen-- I will leave that stunt up to some pasty guy from Minnesota with black socks and velcro strapped Pumas.

I love the beach, and wrote a blog about the beauty of what we call the Emerald Coast back in Sept. entitled Water Colors (click here and scroll down to Sept 5, 2006). People are also of great interest to me at the beach, as humans seem to drift away into a Jimmy Buffet mentality and become so approachable and friendly.

I spent a couple of mornings with some ‘snow birds’, those smart Yankees who follow the same migratory pattern annually and leave Canada, Michigan, Wisconsin, and all of those other Great Lakes states and spend their winter months and their retirement dollars in Alabama. We southerners have come a long way since the Civil War; we love Yankees…with money. Seriously, I found these folks to be intriguing and all you have to do is ask a leading question and they are more than happy to fill in the blanks. People love to talk about their lives and especially their families. And you can learn a lot about life, if you take the time to listen.

I met a mother and her two boys in the elevator one afternoon, and guessed they were from up north before they opened their mouths.
“How did ya know?” one of the boys asked.
“You guys have on wet swim suits; no respectable southerners are going in the Gulf this time of year!” I replied.
The mom laughed and said they were from St. Louis. The boys assured me that the water wasn’t that cold, at least after 20 minutes. But it’s those 20 minutes…..whew! In August, the Gulf is like a nice warm bath. In March, we leave it to the Yankees.

My mornings were consumed with long walks along the beach listening to songs on my IPOD like “Drift Away” by Dobie Gray , “Lean on Me” by Bill Withers, and “Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay" by Otis Redding. It was pure heaven watching the sunrise create those golden crinkles on the turquoise water.

One morning, I came upon some writing in the sand that caused me to stop. For some reason, I snapped a picture of what I saw carved in the sand: “Hunter Wilson Alabama 2007”. I pondered for a moment, and decided that Hunter was probably a lot like the pre teen boys from St. Louis I had met in the elevator: A young kid so impressed with his first trip to the beach that he just had to leave his mark.

It made me think. We all want to count, we all want to leave our mark, it seems to be part of our nature as humans. A kid scratching his name in the sand. A snow bird telling me about her grand kids. I have said many times “I don’t care what others think of me” but it is simply not true. We do care, and Jesus knew it. He said that the second commandment is to love your neighbor as YOURSELF. We are supposed to love ourselves? Wait...didn't He tell us to deny ourselves, take up our cross and follow Him?

For me, this quest for self worth, this leaving one’s mark, is answered through the preceding commandment, the greatest of all, when Jesus told the scribe: And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength. (Mk 12:30) It is in the security that, as I turn my heart towards Him, I count for something because HE makes it so. His follow up to denying yourself was that if you lose your life in Him, you will find it. For in the finding, you will leave your mark, for it is God who is at work in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure. (Phil 2:13).

I am still meditating on the scripture in Acts I used in writing about my friend Steve:

In Him we live and move and have our being. Acts 17:28

He makes us count for something.

Hunter Wilson, here’s believing that, as you wrote your name in the wet sand in Gulf Shores Alabama, God will write His Word in your heart, and in His Book of Life.

Mark
Prov 17:23

Interregnum

2007-03-16T23:38:00.000-05:00

Wow, what a cool word, Reader's Digest always said to increase your word power. And that is what I am going to do for a week or so, take a short interregnum. Check back soon, I am going to recharge the batteries!

Mark

Salt of the Earth

2007-03-09T21:36:00.000-06:00

You are the salt of the earth... Matt 5:13
From 1972-1974, I spent many a day hanging out in this parking lot, the student lot at Enterprise High School. A happy guy in a '63 Volkswagen, an Army brat with many friendships from Ft. Rucker and Enterprise alike. On March 1, 2007, a huge F3 tornado ravaged my adopted home town in Enterprise, Alabama and destroyed the high school that my brother, sister, and I graduated from. Many of you have seen the devastation; the event garnered national media attention and a presidential visit .

This is the sec- ond time I have revisited a severe weather incident that affected me personally. The first time was back in Nov. 2006 (See Nov. Archives, Storms of Life) when a large tornado indiscriminately demolished a skating rink and some apartments a few miles from my home. I don’t want to rehash the thoughts written in November; it was a rather introspective piece. That doesn’t mean I haven't asked why these 8 sweet young kids had to leave this world way too soon 9 days ago. But this time I have tried to focus on the goodness of God’s people throughout our state, and especially that area of the southeastern corner called ‘the Wiregrass Region". These stories are not urban legend. I have read most of them in the local papers; they speak of the soul of these fine friends of mine in Coffee County and the surrounding area. They reflect Jesus' strong analogy: You are the salt of the earth. These stories identify a people who rolled up their sleeves and didn’t wait around for someone to come rescue them.

The presidential visit was wonderful, and whatever your opinion is of George Bush, he does well on the ground with hurting people. Yet, it is left up to the local folks to put their lives back in order. Here are just a few personal stories that have helped me not to turn inward, but upward:

Botany teacher Shannon Bridges threw herself on student Hannah Jones as the tornado barreled through the high school. The girl escaped with minor injuries, but the teacher lay covered in cinder blocks. She was taken to the local hospital with six broken ribs, two collapsed lungs and multiple lacerations. She is going to make it. And so is her baby, Mrs. Bridges is 5 months pregnant. "I never knew a teacher could love like that, please tell her how much I love her," Hannah said from the hospital.

Courtney Bowden was new to Enterprise High. A 'fellow Army brat' whose father, an Army Chaplain, had just been reassigned to Ft. Rucker, Courtney was going through that tough time of readjusting to an entirely new school environment. Two boys who she didn’t know laid on top of her as the school collapsed. Brent Smith and Dylan Lewis pushed the wall off of themselves and dug Courtney out. Both boys continued the rescue efforts,despite broken bones, cuts and contusions. "I think that it is incredible that two guys who don’t know my name could save my life," Courtney stated.

Many local churches began providing assistance to the hurting long before the relief agencies arrived. This doesn’t surprise me in the least; these are believers who would rather put their faith into action and crank a chain saw instead of blaming FEMA for their woes. The local Methodist churches began feeding the victims and Red Cross volunteers immediately. The area Baptist churches formed disaster relief teams and opened the First Baptist Church as a center for homeless victims from the storm. The National Lutheran Disaster Relief Team is working with local Baptists to find homes for those left homeless by the tornado. "All of our churches, all of our denominations are coming together in this time of disaster," one Christian leader remarked.

And this from the Montgomery Advertiser (newspaper):

On Friday, Betty Sanders drove her Nissan pickup down Main Street. In the back were two large coolers filled with bottled water and soft drinks.
"I can't run a chain saw, and I can't fix roofs," said the 67-year-old Ozark resident. "I'm doing what I can. At least all these folks helping won't go thirsty -- not if I can help it."
The town is eager to show its appreciation. An Alabama Power Co. repair crew working near the high school couldn't believe the reception they have received.
"We can hardly get any work done because people keep shaking our hands and thanking us," said one lineman. "These are folks that have lost everything they own. At times like this, you realize this is more than just a job."

Fund raising started immediately all over the state of Alabama. My son’s school, sharing the Enterprise mascot name "Wildcats", challenged the students to bring some money for the relief effort. Instead of school uniforms, they could wear jeans and Tshirts with a donation. That’s all they needed to know. Almost $4000 came in one day this week. Many other schools are doing similar projects, even having contests among the freshman through senior classes. One Montgomery Television station raised over $75,000 in a day from a quickly organized telethon. Courtney, in the story above? Her former school in Muscatine, Iowa heard about her miraculous rescue, and took up a collection for Enterprise High at the school's spring concert.

Finally, in a touching tribute to help these kids return to some sense of normalcy, a high school in Panama City FL. is raising money to have the Enterprise High Jr-Sr Prom at the beach, all expenses paid. A school in Dothan, AL, has kicked in $5000 to help with the effort.

My prayers are especially with the families who lost those eight wonderful kids recently. There will be many incidents of human love and kindness that will help them heal. The thing that I can say in all confidence about the people from the Wiregrass Area is that the above examples are not some knee-jerk reactions. These acts will continue...and continue...and continue, like shaking salt out of an endless shaker.

My peeps, 1974

Enterprise High School Parking Lot

Mark

Me 'n Steve

2007-02-28T19:32:00.000-06:00

In Him we live, and move and have our being...
Acts17:28

Me 'n Steve
2007

Montgomery Alabama Early 1980's
Vocational Rehabilitation Complex
I hadn’t seen my happy friend like this before; but he had good reason.
"Mark, I don’t know what I am going to do...she is so tiny...so helpless...and I can’t do anything to make it better," Steve mumbled with tears in his eyes.
"Steve, there is only one thing we can do; we have to pray," I replied swallowing hard.

My friend Steve. Our life encounter started when I was completing a practicum requirement in graduate school and Steve became my supervisor. I liked him instantly, as did everyone who came in contact with him. A hulk of a man who could hit a golf ball a country mile, his sincere southern charm and love for others made him a people magnet.

In 1983, our paths crossed again, as we both were hired, unbeknown to each other, the same week at the Rehab complex in Montgomery. We became like Mutt and Jeff, and have shared so many crazy adventures over the years that I chuckle when I think of him. I figured out quickly what the magnet was in Steve’s life, too. The magnet was/is Christ.

It is a strangely wonderful thing God does at times...He puts the right people in your life at the right time. Prior to 1983, Annie and I had been in a church group that left us both wounded and suspicious of all things 'churchy'. Not that we left our faith, but trusting in others was difficult, to say the least. Steve was the one person in my life who restored that trust. I saw in him a simple, sincere, faith in Jesus, not phony or showy, but real, much like the scripture above: I saw Christ moving, living, having His being in my friend. I wanted it badly, and began to find Christ again through my great friendship with my dear friend.

Early 1980's
Sarah had been born dangerously premature....Steve and his wife Dori were in the fight of their lives to see the helpless baby respond...prayers were flooding heaven from the many friends that these two saints had touched over the years...Sleepless nights at Alabama’s best neo-natal unit, which happened to be right next door to our Rehab complex...Please God...save little Sarah...I could only pray in the way my friend Steve had taught me, simple and genuine...

Annie and I began to attend Steve and Dori’s church. We were drawn to the people there, believers with the character of God, not braggarts, no flashy histrionics, just practical, existent, folks doing their best to walk that Emmaus Road with Christ. The character of God became real to me; Steve’s earnest and heartfelt faith began to take root in my heart, and without saying a word or becoming ‘preachy’, he helped fill up the empty well in my parched soul.

Early 1990's
Same hospital, another baby...more tears...tears of joy, the birth of my own son, Stephen, a family name on my Dad’s side...but also a tribute to my friend Stephen A. ....He was there with me as I was there for him....What a day of rejoicing...
And Steve’s family by then...had doubled...Sarah, the pretty blond with Mom and her sweet, whimsical little sis Jordan....Our prayers had been answered...

Feb. 28, 2007
"How did my prayer sound, boy?" Steve asked. He had been asked to say a blessing for our the Legislative Breakfast this morning. A number of state legislators, our commissioner, assistant commissioners and other significant guest were in attendance. Steve and I had found a little corner in the back of the meeting hall after the invocation.

"Steve, I replied, "I told you this long ago, I have admired your sincere faith for years and it can’t help but show up wherever you are." My lifelong friend, I honor you with this story; a man's man who has imprinted the grace of Christ on my life and many others...Truly you bring life to the scripture...For in Him we live, and move, and have our being...

Oh...and that little baby Stephen turned 16 this past week...and Sarah... now a beautiful young lady who graduated from her Daddy’s and my alma mater and is touching the lives of young children as an elementary school teacher...Indeed, God is good.
Mark
Prov 17:22

Jesus the Bird Watcher

2007-02-21T19:42:00.000-06:00

Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than them? Matt 6:25

Ok, I admit it, I am a bird- watcher. But not the stereo- typical birdwatcher that Wally Cox played in the Beverly Hillbillies, P. Caspar Biddle, the head of the Beverly Hills Birdwatching Society. Still, Ellie May, that critter lovin’ beauty, did fall for him because of his love for the feathered creatures; she dropped Dash Riprock like the sorry has-been actor he was for a nerdy guy in kakhi shorts. Hurrah for everyman. (Interesting, in this picture I ran across, Donna Douglas references Prov. 3:5-6.)

I’ll give you one better, and this one will make it difficult for you to scoff. Jesus was a birdwatcher. Notice what he said above. Sounds like he gave us a directive, the sentence starts as an imperative statement, "Look the birds of the air.."

So, I have simply taken His words at face value, figuring there must be a lesson or two in there somewhere. I can't tell you how many times I will stop dead in my tracks, even for a lowly sparrow simply to observe his habits. Each species has its own ways, and I love to confirm something I have read about a certain bird. Ok, before you tune me out, this is not going to be a lesson in Ornithology, still...

We have so many species down on the farm. I have seen owls with wing spans so massive and so silent that I have been awestruck. Then there are the chickadees and wrens, tiny birds some with mighty lungs that flit about so quickly, you want to tell them to sit on a branch and rest, for goodness sake. My parents have placed bluebird boxes all over the landscape, and my little "Auburn" birds are everywhere.

Our city is full of American Robins right now. Many folks think of this bird as the gateway to Spring, actually, it sojourns the winters here in our warm climate. My dog Belle and I play a harmless game with Mr. Robin on our runs, as it takes little to entertain me when it comes to things in God’s creation. Being worm hunters, they are constantly hopping along the sidewalks in close proximity, and many give us such a look of disgust as we have interrupted their snack time. I grant Belle a little leash and tell her to "get 'em!" She and the bird race down the sidewalk until the robin decides to take flight, quickly landing on a nearby branch and then gives us it's distintive "cheerio", probably the bronx cheer in bird lingo.

Is there a point to all of this? Not sure really, as I don't even know if this is going to make sense to anyone but me. You know, we are called into personal relationship with God. I sometimes think we feel it all has to be initiated from our end. We do all these things (pray, read our bible,etc) that somehow makes us feel worthy that relationship. But He is God...

Remember when I said I will stop in my tracks and observe even the lowly sparrow? Does the sparrow even have a clue that this person, created in the image of God, has stopped everything to watch the tiny bird? Doesn't he just go on about his business? If he could "think" on my level, what would go through his mind knowing that this common of all creatures caused a human to give pause to his uniqueness?

Could this also translate into our personal relationship with God? Maybe He loves us so much that He 'stops in His tracks' when he observes us fliting and flurrying about our day. I am amazed at the pure poetry of 2Chron.16:9: For the eyes of the Lord move to and fro throughout the whole earth that He may strongly support those whose heart is completely His. In the magnitude of His love for us, that personal relationship is so much stronger on His end than on ours! Our love for Him cannot even compare to the love of a Father who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all (Rom.8:32). Jesus finishes His thought on birds by asking the rhetorical question: Are you not worth more than them?

I remember picking up one of my diminutive ruby throated friends after the poor hummer flew head long into the glass of our french door. I cradled him, fearing that it had killed him, however, I noticed life quivering in his tiny body. I stroked him gently, and as the minutes passed, I could tell that he was shaking off the blow. In short order, his instinct kicked in and he zipped out of my cupped hands like a bottle rocket. I envision our personal relationship with God is analogous to this. Always picking us up, dusting us off, and many times, we recover and flit away. Yet, it thrilled me that the little bird lived and was able to fly off.

Many of you may question my conclusions here...aren't we called to worship Him, serve Him exalt His name, you ask? Believe me, it is so clear to me how thankful I am for the gift of grace He has bestowed on me! And for the times I fall into habitual sin, failure, selfishness, I have this glimpse of Him stroking my wounded soul, always restoring to those of us who call out in need, allowing us to fly with wings as eagles.
Mark

Prov 17:22

Spiritual Treasures

2007-02-16T19:12:00.000-06:00

For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. Luke 12:34

I held this thing of beauty and could not believe my eyes. A Nokona infielder's glove for one half of the original price---but still close to a C note. "Stephen is a catcher, he doesn't need it," I thought, "but at this price...a Nokona...man!"

You baseball purists will understand the attraction to this name. Wonderful products, and they like them too, as they are wonderfully expensive. I talked myself into it, as Stephen does play third base at times and his most recent fielding glove was pretty well shot. I paid my friend, the Sporting Goods store owner, and smiled, "You got me again, dude."

"Come back and see us," he laughed.

The Nokona has stayed safely tucked away in Steveo’s catcher's bag, never seeing the red dirt of an infield, as his responsibilities behind the dish have only grown over time. But finally the Nokona got dirtied up this year. Steveo's best friend Z, had made the baseball team at a rival high school and wanted to borrow the slick little glove. I immediately told him that it would be fine with me; this young man's family has treated my son like one of their own three boys over the years. Frequent beach excursions, college football Saturdays, hunting trips, these are but a few of the acts of generosity the Jones' have blessed him with.

I was awakened the other morning by that voice that I attribute to God’s urging. It said, "Tell Stephen it is OK with you to give the glove to Z...and see what he says". I knew what the answer would be, but I went ahead with the little experiment. My son is not perfect by any means, but I have always admired his gift of generosity, (usually with my money, but that is ok) and I try to put him in situations to make decisions on his own about matters of the heart.

"Dad, I really wanted to give it to him, you know all the things his family has done for me...."

That was the answer I knew I was going to get. And I know now why I bought the thing in the first place. I am looking forward to Steveo hitting a screamer to Z and getting thrown out! We have done this with baseball equipment over the years, usually it is catcher's gear and bats that he has outgrown, but there is one thing that we have held on to, we call it "the rag". More on that later.

I share this story because it reminds me of something I read in Max Lucado's "In the Grip of Grace" recently. It has to do with generosity, and the lesson he learned from a parishioner about receiving and giving it away.

There are times, at the end of a sermon, he will offer a dollar bill to anyone who will come up and take it. The response, he says, is predictable. Some pause, shuffle their feet, a teen may start forward and then remember the peer pressure, a mother will grab a five year old, and then someone finally lightens it up and says, "I’ll take it!’ It is then that he shares an invitation to join the family of God through Christ, and applies the dollar example. What is the reluctance to the gospel? Embarrassment? Reputation? Peer pressure? As he relates: The point makes itself, Though grace is available to all, it’s accepted by few. Many choose to sit and wait while only a few choose to stand and trust.

The story doesn’t end there: Max saw a lady who had hollered, "I’ll take it!" a few weeks later:
"Do you still have the dollar?" he asked.
"No,"
"Did you spend it?"
"No, I gave it away, she answered. "When I returned to my seat a youngster asked me if he could have it, and I said, "Sure, it was a gift to me; it’s a gift to you.’"

My, isn’t that something? As simply as she received, she gave. As simply as it came, it went. The boy didn’t beg, and she didn’t struggle. How could she, who had been given a gift, not give a gift in return? She was caught in the grip of grace.

It is what I desire for my life, it is what I desire for my family, to be unattached to the things of this world, and to be caught in the grip of grace. Family and friends constantly remind me of my lead scripture in Luke regarding your treasure and your heart. Spiritual treasure is what I desire!

Oh, the rag. One of the few things that my son has held on to over the years. A baseball glove so old and worn out, it became known as the rag. His head coach in the 9-10 year old league was shagging balls with it one day. After taking it off, he shoved his hand under my nose. "Dang, David, that smells like a sour dish rag! What is that?" I demanded.

"That’s the inside of Stephen’s glove!" Coach David laughed.

The rag has long since been retired, and after baking the smell out of it in the hot Alabama sun, it now hangs on his hat rack in his room. There are some things in life that are better left with the owner, as they don’t possess much monetary value. But a quick look at this glove, and the memories of all those humid nights at the ball park, the red Alabama clay mixed with sweat (Allie-cat calls it "little boy funk") and yes, the smell of that glove, make me realize that it holds much more value than a new Nokona does anyday.

Give your Nokona away. It will create future memories for someone. But it’s also ok to hold on to the rag, as it is your bridge to all things good in the past.
Spiritual treasures indeed.
Mark
Prov. 17:22

These Guys Are My Friends

2007-02-07T23:04:00.000-06:00

"You are my friends..."
John 15:14
I watched the movie “The Ringer” the other day, and I approach- ed it with some real trepidation at first: Johnny Knoxville of “Jackass” fame? A movie about ‘fixing’ the Special Olympics? Gulp. I was amazed; the whole thing was handled with class, as the Special Olympians were neither ridiculed nor presented with the ‘tug-at-your-heart-sympathy-for-the-mentally-retarded”.

I got to thinking about my first real job in the field of Rehabilitation after I finished graduate school. I call it my basic training. I worked for the Russell Co. Day Training Center, a sheltered workshop for developmentally disabled adults in Phenix City, AL, a small town 30 miles to the east of Auburn (click here to read an interesting history of Phenix City). Please forgive the “white-outs” over the faces of my students, even though these pictures were taken around 1980, I still value confidentiality and want to protect their identity. I know it looks like something out of a 50's detective novel, but it is the only way I could edit these old pictures and share them with you. I just wish you could see their eyes. The opening picture shows a very ‘green’ hatter and some of his students at Six Flags Over Georgia on what was called “Handicap Day” back then. Since a number of the students had never been on a big bus before, I figured we would just browse by the coasters. Man, was I wrong. I had ‘em riding the Mindbender with me, a steel tube coaster that was state of the art back then. And I got paid for this “work”?

I learned so many lessons from those two years that I worked as the Training Coordinator for this workshop. That’s a fancy name for teacher, bus driver, food server, coach, and hopefully, friend. I was schooled about the unconditional love that God’s Word speaks of from my students every day back then. They did not have it in them to hate. Talk about merry hearts. It was called a workshop, but we had more fun in a day than any place I have ever worked.

Holidays were great, especially Christmas. Bill (all names are changed) did the Santa Claus thing every year and handed out the presents. And wow! The dancing! Annie (under the Santa, along with the first of many "chick co-workers" in the pic) and I would ‘chaperone’ the parties and have wonderful memories of these days. Young Damon got so excited dancing to “Car Wash” one night, he danced himself into the janitor’s closet and got tangled up with the buffer. No party was complete without Penny singing “You Ain’t Woman Enough to Take My Man” by Loretta Lynn. Funny thing, I had some students who had severe aphasia, but come Christmas time, they would chatter like chipmunks, and just as quickly go back into their quiet worlds after New Years.

I loved driving the van. Hot afternoons...stopping to say “hey” to all the mamas and daddies. Usually end up with some fresh turnip greens and cornbread, plump red ‘maters in season, and one mama would fix me up with Silver Queen corn. One student, Jimmy, (who could have been a member of the G. Pyle family) always had to ride shotgun, because it was his job to make the lights turn green. Ol' Jimmy was convinced that by pointing his finger like a gun and hollering, “PING!” he could get the light to change from red to green. So after about 40 seconds of “PING!” the light would glow green and Jimmy would turn to me and say, “I tol' you I’d get that light to go gween for you, Mawk!” After laughing too many times at this ridiculous theory of Jimmy’s, I finally explained that "THE LIGHT WAS GONNA CHANGE WHETHER YOU PINGED IT OR NOT!!" Jimmy winked at me and said, “I knowed that Mawk, I twicked you Mawk.!” The van erupted with laughter. Whose the teacher?

There was a great scene in the movie where Johnny Knoxville’s character and another character converse and the man refers to Johnny’s buds as “retards”. Johnny’s character, now deeply dedicated to his amigos, stands over the man and explodes: “DON’T EVER USE THAT WORD AGAIN, THESE GUYS ARE MY FRIENDS!” In a special feature interview, when one of the actors (with down syndrome) was asked what he thought of Johnny Knoxville playing the lead in this movie, he referred to this scene. He commented that he thought it was great, because the fans of “Jackass” may be those very ones using that word in referring to us. That scene may convince them differently. How insightful, I thought.

It is with this thought that I close. These guys were my friends. I have a little plaque that I still have on the wall in my office; and it means as much to me as anything on my "look at me" wall. It simply says, In appreciation, from your friends at Russell County Day Training Center. July 31, 1981. The use of words means something to me. That Jesus would call me His friend and that these folks echoed His sentiments causes me to swallow hard.

My work today is more administrative in nature, but I still have the opportunity as liaison counselor to visit a number of non profit Rehabilitation centers to get my “Jimmy-fix” frequently. It takes me back in time, and it brings me forward to the simple reality of God’s great love for us all.

Mark

Prov 17:22

Leadership

2007-02-06T15:14:00.000-06:00

Within minutes they were bickering over who of them would end up the greatest. But Jesus intervened: "Kings like to throw their weight around and people in authority like to give themselves fancy titles. It's not going to be that way with you. Let the senior among you become like the junior; let the leader act the part of the servant. Luke 22:24-26

I have been meditating over the whole concept of leadership lately. Our Department is about to have a new Leadership Training Institute, and having graduated from this fine program, I have been asked by some of my younger colleagues to write letters of recommendation for them. Let me say that I believe in the concept of developing leadership, but my definition of it has changed over the years, especially in relation to my spiritual life.

A quick look in my concordance revealed the word ‘leader’ once from the mouth of Christ, although I am sure there are other translations that show more. However, I found the above exchange quite revealing regarding how I should act as a believer in the whole area of leadership.

Let’s examine what is going on in segments of the church world presently. Whole movements are built around the concept of making people "leaders" for God. Sadly, many of these endeavors are merely the workings of the human flesh and accomplishes just what Jesus stated above. A friend of mine told me once to stay away from any church where the Pastor and his wife are plastered on a roadside billboard. And usually the man is not just a minister, he is an "Apostle-Prophet" and his wife shares a title of "Prophetess". Not too hard to see what Christ was talking about here ("give themselves fancy titles").

Why, there is even an online college called the Christian Leadership College (no surprise here) and the president states in his letter to the internet masses: "Our goal is that you be a leader by the time you graduate. We will do everything in our power to train you for leadership. Demonstrating leadership abilities will be a requirement for graduation to occur."

At $300 a class, a group of Department Heads who I have never heard of (but "all international leaders in their own fields") will turn me into someone who can send in a testimonial and let the ‘leader’ know that "God used you to radically change my life". Forgive my sarcasm and callousness here. I just found as many praises heaped on the leaders of this organization as I did Christ when I read through the testimonials.

It just seems so counter to what Christ preached and the example that he left us. Here are some words and incidents that run totally opposite to what some of these leadership-proponents preach:

The humble would inherit the earth.

Beware of practicing your righteousness before men.

When you give, do it in secret. Don’t let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.

When you pray do it in secret, not as the hypocrites who love to stand on the street corners.

Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven.

However you want people to treat you, so treat them.

Beware of the false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothes.

See that you tell no one. (Jesus to a leper he had healed.)

The Son of Man has no place to lay His head. (Shoots that prosperity thing in the foot)

See here, let no one know about this! (To a blind man he had healed)

He who has lost his life for my sake will find it.

Unless you become like children, you will not inherit the Kingdom of God.

It is hard for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

Whoever exalts himself will be humbled.

Whoever humbles himself will be exalted.

But the greatest among you shall be your servant.

Hardly the stuff of a leadership curriculum. Or is it? Could it be that the leadership methods offered by the secular world may have their place, but they are NOT the leadership standards offered by Christ in relation to His Kingdom? All too often the Christian world is just a sad attempt to mimic the secular world in an effort to be squishy in its appeal. The few examples above show Someone who fiercely rejected the status quo of the day, yet I wonder if I am responding in the way He desires for me now, when it comes to my spiritual life.

I will say that the need for recognition, awards, and self congratulatory pats on the back seem to be fading. Many times, like Jesus, I just want to be left alone. (That is another thing he did, got off by himself) It give me great pleasure now to say, "let no one know about this!" It is like a sneaky secret between me, another soul, and our Father.

Yes, my view of leadership has changed, but in this sense. The principles I learned in my Leadership Training at work are not bad, and they are well applied in a work setting. But when the church starts taking the same principles and applying them spiritually, it can end up smelling like bug spray. The spiritual principles of leadership that Christ speaks of are almost odd, in a sense. Things that would be the opposite direction that the Donald Trumps of the world would take to develop a leader. Yet, Jesus was the greatest leader of all time in my estimation. Look how many of us are following Him over two thousand years later.

Mark

Prov 17:22

(pictures provided by freefotos.com-cool site! Oh, and thanks for all the prayers during my recent "gall-gizzard" surgery, I am going back to work tomorrow!)

Keeper of the Bucket

2007-01-28T21:43:00.000-06:00

Train up a child in the way he should go,
Even when he is old he will not depart form it.
Prov 22:6

My parents put a love of fishing and other water sports in me from an early age. This picture shows just how serious I was about fishing at about age 4. My older cousin Keith and older brother Jeff insisted that I fish in the spring house at my cousin’s Pennsylvania farm because I would catch something big. Look at those two...tricking the poor little hatter.

About the same time, (looks like the late 1950's) my dad told me that he wanted me to be the “keeper of the minnow bucket” so they wouldn’t escape. I guarded it with full abandon. I was too young to really remember these incidents, but it has been fun laughing at these pictures over the years when we pull out the slide projector.

My sister, brother, and I were blessed to have parents who spent time with us in the great outdoors. All three of us love water sports in one form or another to this day. Besides fishing, we water skied, camped, and spent time boating in the gulf.

It has been a tradition we have kept up with our own families. Stephen and I started fishing when he was very young, and we just finished up our last weekend of deer season. Like my parents, I was cognizant not to force him into long periods of boredom in a boat or deer stand when he was younger, as I want him to maintain an interest in outdoor activities all his life.

It is my hope that I walk that same line in his spiritual life. I want him to have the revelation of grace and love that God has imparted to me; the recognition that Christ is indeed his Lord, and God does expect a certain lifestyle out of him, but also a recognition that “it was for freedom that Christ set us free.”

Phillip Yancey tells of his years in Bible college. Between the dress codes, strict dating, mandatory early devotions, the rigidity of religion, etc. he battled what he now refers to as the legalism of ungrace:

In a world of ungrace, structured shame has considerable power. But there is a cost, an incalculable cost: ungrace does not work in a relationship with God. I have come to see legalism in its pursuit of false purity as an elaborate scheme of grace avoidance. You can know the law by heart without knowing the heart of it.
What’s so Amazing About Grace

A friend told me one time that he forced his young son to go fishing with him every chance he could, thinking it would be a great time of bonding. He readily admits now to making several mistakes. He demanded that the young boy sit still in a boat for an entire day while they fished. What seemed like great fun to the dad was a tedious day filled with boredom for the son. My friend wisely warned me to avoid his mistakes, as the boy is now a young adult and never fishes with his dad.

Neither I nor Yancey are suggesting that anyone jerk their kids out of church! But it has become clear to me that church takes place many times in the cab of my pickup with my teenaged son. He asked if he could go to church camp this coming weekend. There will be several dynamic youth speakers and musicians present. Nice having him ask if he can go...instead of us demanding that he go. I think we are catching on to this grace thing.

Mark
Prov 17:22

Memories of Tommy

2007-01-20T17:23:00.000-06:00

Be devoted to one another in brotherly love, give preference to one another in honor.
Romans 12:10

The full moon was a bright as the low beam on a ‘63 Volkswagon. Tommy had talked me into my first "all night" fishing trip on Lake Jordan, a major reservoir in Central Alabama. At about 2:00 AM, I mumbled that I was tuckered out, the fishing was slow and I was going to curl up on the front platform of his bass boat.

"Yer gonna miss some good ‘spots’ (spotted bass) you sissy-wimp," he drawled in his Crenshaw County accent.
"Yea, but I will be a rested sissy-wimp come daybreak when you put me on those stripers." (hybrid striped bass)

The humid summer night blanketed me like a soft cotton sheet and I was lullabied by the gentle lapping against the fiberglass hull. My celestial comfort was suddenly and seriously disrupted. My head was wearing a four pound spotted bass, still attached to Tommy’s rod, flapping fish slime all over my face. Laughing hysterically, he shouted loud enough for the full moon to hear him, "TOLD YOU THAT YOU WAS GONNA MISS SOME GOOD FISH, YOU WIMP!" It was a trick that he had played on a few other night fishing buddies I later found out.

I realized that sleeping would be a risky endeavor now, so I grabbed my rod and caught a few spots myself, eagerly awaiting the dawn. We happened to be in a secluded slough when the sun started peeking through the trees. I love those mornings when you can see the sun on one horizon and the full moon on the other! The next site I didn’t love at all.

We started to notice some human activity in a old lake home on the bluff high above the slough; it was a scrawny woman looking at us through her sliding glass window. Suddenly and without warning, (again) the ol’ gal drops her bathrobe—and it was NOT a pretty site! I remember being in utter shock, while Tommy was laughing his tail off.
"Tommy, are you seeing what I am seeing?" I asked stupidly.
"You tol’ me you wanted me to put you on to some strippers at dawn!" he shouted.
" I think that was ‘stripers’, now fire up that Evinrude and get me the heck outta here!" I pleaded.

He had warned me one day on the Alabama River to stay clear of what he referred to as "River Gals", rough females who lived on the water's edge. I didn’t believe him, so I guess he wanted to take me to a spot on Lake Jordan to show me the truth. ( A few years later, a very drunk woman in a bikini tried to swim out to my boat and wanted a ride, because she thought I was ‘cute’. Like I said, she was VERY drunk. Her mullet-headed boyfriend, cut-off jeans and Bud in hand was laughing and hollering for her to "swim faster, he's gettin' away!" And no, she did not get a boat ride, my much smaller Evinrude outboard was full throttle as I escaped out of Saugahatchee Creek.) Back to the story:

Still laughing, Tommy manned the console and headed for the canal, a long stretch of swift moving water. Within thirty minutes of daybreak, I had three of the best fresh water fights I have ever had, three 8-10 lb stripers, working with and against the swift water, which to this day causes my heart to beat faster recalling that morning. Tommy simply laughed at me; everytime I got the fish close, it would zing the drag and head for deep water. I could tell he was having more fun watching me than fishing himself.

You could not have found two more unlikely friends. Tommy, a country boy, me, an army brat. He dropped out of high school, yet I was intimidated by his intelligence. He seemed to know it too, as my high-falutin’ Master’s degree from Auburn never impressed him, being a Bama fan. On one particular trip, his Evinrude outboard blew in the middle of the Coosa River. We had enough power to limp back to the boat ramp. Instead of taking out a loan and buying a new motor like I would have done, Tommy took the motor apart piece by piece, laid it out all over the deck of his boat and had it back together within a few weeks and we were fishing again.

He could have easily been a mechanical or electrical engineer given the educational opportunities. He always had a project going; he worked constantly on ham radios and built my first computer. He had made a good living for himself and his family working for the city of Montgomery and doing radio/computer repairs on the side.

I imagine Tommy’s greatest memory with me had to be the holy grail of bass fishing, the ten pound club. I snapped these photos after he landed an 11 pound bass from a private pond that I had permission to fish. We both whooped and hollered when he landed that fish, knowing a once in a lifetime experience had just occurred. ( I have only caught one, a ten pounder.) After the photo session, Tommy said, "You got the pictures, that’s all I need."...and released that beauty. We watched silently and smiled as she disappeared into the deep.

It is with great sorrow that my earthly friendship with Tommy has also disappeared into the deep, and I am left with only memories of my good friend. About five years ago, he was taken from this world at 39 years old by a heart attack, leaving a wife, a young son and a multitude of friends. At the visitation, his wife Marie gathered herself in Annie’s embrace, as they had their own connection over the years, and wondered allowed, "What am I going to do?"

I swallowed hard and drifted over to Tommy’s casket; dressed in his Scoutmaster’s shirt and blue jeans, I had to smile. I remembered how uncomfortable he looked at his own mama’s funeral in that ill-fitting suit that was dragged out for marrying and burying. He was comfortable, at rest and at peace. Oh how I wished for one more fishing trip...maybe someday, in heaven.

Carpe diem, my friends! Seize the Day! Don't let another day pass without contacting those Tommys in your lives!

My memories of my dear friend will always be strong, and I just felt I owed him some hardcopy. I also wanted those of you reading my blog to see what a wonderful life I have been blessed with...to have encountered friends with whom I have shared...brotherly love............Mark

Last summer at the folk's place with a trophy bluegill

Longings of a Father

2007-01-18T22:51:00.000-06:00

As they were leaving Jericho, a large crowd followed Him. And two blind men sitting by the road, hearing that Jesus was passing by, cried out, "Lord, have mercy on us, Son of David!" The crowd sternly told them to be quiet, but they cried out all the more, "Lord, Son of David, have mercy on us!" And Jesus stopped and called them, and said, "What do you want Me to do for you?" They said to Him, "Lord, we want our eyes to be opened." Moved with compassion, Jesus touched their eyes; and immediately they regained their sight and followed Him.
Matt 20:29-34

I was reading today in the Gospel of Matthew and came across this passage. The scene all takes place in 6 verses, but it was the words in red that stood out. "What do you want Me to do for you?"

I wonder sometimes...as I have gotten older my prayers don’t seem to be as specific as they were in my youthful days as a believer. Some of it is maturity; I am now smart enough to know that I can’t fool God with manipulative prayers with hidden motives. ( Hiding something from God...now that’s a laugher!) But then I read a passage like this, and think of another red letter comment: "Or what man is there among you, when his son shall ask him for a loaf, will give him a stone?" It does make me pause and think, do I think that this question is addressed to me...personally?

These passages indicate one thing to me pretty clearly. God desires for us to walk in His blessing, and that it is more than just some material prosperity message meant to tickle the ears of the greedy. These passages speak of the heart of the Father and His deep love for us. That is real blessing. Yes, I do believe He is asking me...and you, that question.

I have been meditating on the story of the prodigal son lately. In my thoughts, I have found myself thinking more about the father...a father who longed to see that son come up the dirt road, looking with antic- ipation daily, sometimes squinting his eyes, wondering if that was him...Luke says that "while he (the son) was a long way off, his father saw him, and felt compassion for him, and ran and fell on his neck, and kissed him again and again."

It is this longing that I believe our Father has for us. As we rush about with our daily lives, do we take the time to come up the dirt road and let Him ask us: "What do you want Me to do for you?" It sounds totally illogical that we would not pause to do this. Do you think He feels this way about you? I can only conclude from the words of Jesus that He does.

Jesus had such an appointment with a real prodigal in his last hours. As Phillip Yancey tells it:

In one of his last acts before His death, Jesus forgave the thief dangling on a cross, knowing full well the thief had converted out of plain fear. That thief would never study the Bible, never attend synagogue or church, and never make amends to all those he had wronged. He simply said "Jesus remember me," and Jesus promised, "Today you will be with me in paradise." It was another shocking reminder that grace does not depend on what we have done for God but rather what God has done for us.

And here in the dust and the dirt,

O here the lilies of His love appear.
George Herbert

Mark

Prov 17:22

The Technicolor Gospel

2007-01-15T19:17:00.000-06:00

Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin, yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory did not clothe himself like one of these. But if God so arrays the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He not much more do so for you, O men of little faith? Matt 6:28-30

More like, "O man of little faith" as I read this.

This whole portion of scripture, commonly called the Sermon on the Mount, is chocked full of such practicality for daily living that I frequently refer to it as my spiritual roadmap. It is unfortunate that I seem to forget my map reading skills at times.

Have you ever looked at the world around you...and it seems gray? Not the blackness that folks often describe during periods of deep depressive episodes, but just the dull, impersonal drabness that sometimes is the product of the multiplicity of things, the worries associated with life, stress at work, small nagging issues that you know will need to be addressed...The color in our lives subtly fades into gray as our focus turns away from Christ and His words and we "take back" the worries that we somehow think of as our possessions. It is an easy trap to fall in, yet I find that even during these times, our merciful God offers sometimes very simple solutions to our failings.

Pulling out of the driveway at my folks this past weekend, I glanced to my left and I noticed it. The world reeked of color again. I threw my truck in park, left the motor running and grabbed the camera. The Camilla bush adjacent to the porch was in full bloom and it drew me like a magnet. I snapped a few pics, previewed them and thought I had a couple of good shots. I realized when I got home just how special those few pictures that you see here were. I heard the words of Jesus, "Consider the lilies..." The gray that had veiled my eyes began to lift, the beautiful reds of the state flower, the deep greens of the foliage, with the Magnolia leaves in the background was a pure southern delight to behold.

I began to think about just how many years that particular bush had been blooming in the dead of winter to remind people of this message of Christ, "Consider the lilies". This picture of my sis has to be close to 30 years old, and it looks like she got the message. How tiny the tree was then! Note to LeeAnn: "What are you doing in that Alabama jersey? You followed your middle brother (me) to Auburn, not your older brother to Tuscaloosa! The bush obviously has had an impact on my mom; I noticed several freshly cut blooms in a vase in her kitchen Sunday.

I noticed things for the remainder of that day after I "stopped to smell the roses". The sunlight peeking through my deer blind; had I seen a deer, I probably would have done nothing except shoot furtive glances his way. My hike to the blind had commanded me to a stop to take in the softness of the winter feathertop wiregrass rustling quietly in the afternoon breeze.

Oh Lord, how many are Thy works! In wisdom Thou hast made them all; the earth is full of Thy possessions. (Ps 104:24)

I love the fact that Christ spoke to the masses in ways they could understand. He frequently used the commonality that we all share to draw analogies and parables. The use of nature permeates His teachings in the gospels and I guess that is why I am so drawn to the lessons of His creation around me. The sermon ends with this verse:

The result was that when Jesus had finished these words, the multitude were amazed at His teachings. (Matt 7:28)

Lord, please add one more amazed soul thirsting for Your grace-laden words into that multitude. And forgive me for substituting the glory of your technicolor creation with the banality of my world.

The greatest enemy of Christianity may be people who say they believe in Jesus but are no longer astonished and amazed. Jesus Christ came to rescue us from listlessness as well as lostness; He came to save us from flat souls as well as corrupted souls.
Mike Yaconelli
Dangerous Wonder

Mark

Prov 17:22

Tributaries

2007-01-07T16:00:00.000-06:00

...apart from me you can do nothing. John 15:5

Oh...“the after the holiday blues”... usually not a real issue with me, but this year it has smacked me around a little. We lost our beloved Pepper-kitty on Christmas Eve to an unfortunate accident. It hit Annie especially hard. A few days after Christmas, Annie and I, my sweet mother in law, and my animal loving sister spent a day visiting the local shelters and found a wonderful adult cat we named Pru, who came in our house and stole all our hearts in the matter of a few days. It has helped, but losing a pet is always a tough thing.

I love my job, but I returned to some issues that I knew I had put off until after the holidays...and now I am dealing with them. Bottom line, I really haven’t felt like writing or praying or reading. With that, I declare myself....normal. We have all been there, and I have been around long enough to know that times like this don’t last forever. It changes nothing spiritually, Christ is still Lord, He loves me with an everlasting love and I know I am repeating a line from the last entry, but I found it an astoundingly simple, yet incredibly deep statement by Phillip Yancey:

There is nothing we can do to make God love us more. There is nothing we can do to make God love us less.

Recently, I was in a training session at a work retreat at the beautiful 4H Camp in Columbiana, AL. We were sitting in a cozy hexagon shaped building, constructed with natural wood siding and tall windows in each of the six sides. I was paying attention to the speaker, but as usual, the sights of nature were distracting me. I was drawn to an eyeful outside the window I had camped out by. It had rained hard that morning, one of those severe weather days that we are apt to have in the deep south with the clash of warm and cold air during the winter months. Water was gushing in a small stream, and a number of small, run-off tributaries were feeding into the stream, much like fingers leading to the palm of your hand.

Initially, the tributaries were strong, moving swiftly toward the source, where the real vitality of the water was evident. With each glance, I noticed the weakest tributary losing its strength and finally being morphed into the source, then the next one, by the time the session was over, there was one lone stream, weak and slow, leading into the main creek.

My epiphany came quickly. John the Baptist spoke a brief seven word sentence that sums up the tiny tributaries leading to the stream. “He must increase, but I must decrease.” (Jn 3:30) I am so thrilled to know that as that little trickle called my own human efforts and emotions start to run dry, they run into “the stream of God” (Ps 65:9). It is what John refers to in the book of Revelation as the “river of the water of life”.

I don’t look at John the Baptist’s astonishing sentence as something we decide to do, but I see this as God’s urging. He is gently pulling us from those singular tributaries into what Isaiah called the “rushing stream” (Is 59:19) that is teeming with the “spring of salvation” (Is 12:3). It is wonderful that He cares for us during what we refer to as dry times; it is His desire to provide us with His holy refreshment.

Lord, thank you for drawing me to the strength of Your mighty river! Yet in it we find the quiet brooks and the winding streams on our journey. And sometimes even the receding tributaries serve to remind us that we are being pulled into Your river of life.

Mark
Prov. 17:22
Pru, who I call Prudy,
watching me write my
blog. A thankful animal
rescued from a local shelter.
I highly recommend it.

"The Last Best Word"

2006-12-30T22:17:00.000-06:00

...that being justified by His grace we might be made heirs according to the hope of eternal life. Titus 3:7

These two smiling fellers are happy, the young one because exams are over and he can now spend time in the woods in peace, and the old guy, because exams are over and he can now spend time in the woods in peace.

A week ago, as I was dropping Stephen off on his way to school, he voiced his concern that he just didn’t know if he could do well enough on two exams to make the difference in a B and a C for the semester. Knowing that he had studied long and hard, I told him that his mama and I love the "B" Stephen and the "C" Stephen just the same. "Just do your best, and ask God to give you peace, not a certain grade," I reminded him. He voiced a quiet, "Thanks Dad."

It was my weak attempt at God’s grace. Being human, I can only understand it with superficiality, a concept so filled with such depth, I could study it the rest of my days and still not fathom a tenth of His grace for us.

I have become enthralled with Phillip Yancey’s writings. He seems to write books as he experiences the title, a journey not mapped out, but each chapter is just a new path on his way to discovery. In his book, What’s So Amazing About Grace?, he grabbed me from chapter one.

He speaks of grace as "the last best word" in our heavenly lexicon. So many other words have been destroyed by the perversity of the world, watered down by the counterfeit, diluted by the disingenuous. But GRACE. It is not a word thrown around in our language like love and peace. Grace stands as that word that puts us in right standing with God through the work of the Cross of Christ. It is as George Herbert says, "And here in the dust and dirt, O here the lilies of His love appear." It is as Yancey states, "There is nothing we can do to make God love us more. There is nothing we can do to make God love us less."

Finally, I was taken with this quote from the book, a Christian counselor noted:

Many years ago I was driven to the conclusions that the two major causes of most emotional problems among evangelical Christians are these: the failure to understand, receive, and live out God’s unconditional grace and forgiveness; and the failure to give out that unconditional love, forgiveness, and grace to other people...We read, we hear, we believe a good theology of grace. But that’s not the way we live. The good news of the Gospel of grace has not penetrated the level of our emotions.

I know I write on grace frequently; I think it is because I am just cracking the surface of its profundity. It is just beginning to penetrate my emotions. I compare it to the living water that I wrote about recently. Refreshing to drink...and to offer to those around you. Help me Lord, to partake of both.

Mark
Prov 17:22

"Lights Please"

2006-12-21T23:41:00.000-06:00

And suddenly there appeared with the angel a multitude of heavenly hosts...Luke 2:13

Every town has one. And every city has several. I am talking about tacky light displays at Christmas, so overwhelmingly gaudy, the gimcrack array of lights brings Las Vegas to mind. We actually have had radio stations in Mont- gomery to run Tacky Lights Bus Tour contests. Winners load in a large bus, are treated to some holiday cheer, and feast on some of the most garish illuminations in the city. Now if you want to enjoy this time-honored activity with just the fam or friends, our local paper prints the addresses so encounters with these yule tide yard meteors can take place in the privacy of your own car.

A few years back, our office decided to have a decorations contest. I think the bus could actually make a stop and let folks have a walking tour. My assistant, Priscilla, and I add a little bit of tacky chic to our gaudery every year, usually something we have tucked away in the attic or box that we don’t care to put in the house any longer. It has been a wonderfully warm and fun activity that almost all of us join in on and some go all out in bringing a touch of the laughter and love that becomes infectious at Christmas time. My office favorite this year had to be the near life sized Dancing Santa who brought people from afar to cut a rug with Ol’ St. Nick. Our receptionist, Frances, scored muticultural Santas dancing together in harmony for all who entered our festival of lights.

If you can remember "A Charlie Brown Christmas", Charlie became disgusted with Snoopy for flashing up his doghouse. In our fun, and unlike Snoopy, many of us really do know the answer to Charlie’s question, which he shouts loudly at one point of the show: "Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about!?"
Linus answers sweetly and simply "Sure Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about." (wasn’t that original Linus voice wonderful?) "Lights please." (Luke2:8-14) What a marvelous monologue. What I find so striking about this particular piece of scripture is that it rolls off my tongue like my address and phone number. It was the first long scripture I committed to memory as part of a school Christmas pageant at Edgewood Elementary, in 1963, my second grade year.

I was brought back to this time just a few days ago. A nationally known rehabilitation facility that my agency does business with had their own Christmas pageant, complete with solos all sung a capella, original poems, scripture readings, prayers, and an original play written by one of the participants. All of the players had one thing in common. They were people with disabilities, with one common goal, hoping to improve their lives by participating this worthwhile job training program through Goodwill Industries.

My mind drifted to simpler times, and despite the fun of our decorations, like Charlie Brown, I too, still seek the real meaning of Christmas. It came to me this week in that simple pageant as I recalled my own youthful school play during those Ft Benning/Columbus, Ga. years, a place where I started my journey with Christ.

I was struck by the simplicity of the man who opened the Goodwill pageant with prayer. He sincerely thanked God for our food, even the water we drink, and how we could hold fast to Him during difficult times. It reminded me of the prayers of my youth, and now the prayers of my adulthood, as I am returning to the simplicity of the gospel of grace through Christ Jesus. My sincere wish is that each of you would seek and find that meaning, it is a simple click on "Lights please."

That’s what Christmas is all about Charlie Brown.
Merry Christmas from the Hatter home....to yours.

Mark
Prov 17:22
And no...that is NOT my home at the top of the blog. ;-)

I Need a Drink

2006-12-16T23:34:00.000-06:00

But whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst...John 4:14A

Post Hole Digger. Just the sound of that particular farm tool makes me start sweating and causes the upper trapezius muscles to tighten. Here in the south, the only PhD that impresses us has two handles and digs a deep hole. If some smarty-pants individual starts signing his name with a "PhD" after it, somebody is apt to call him a post hole digger, just to keep him humble.

I have mentioned the oppressive heat of the deep south before; nothing compares to an August day with upper 90's and humidity thick enough to see. Some call it the heat index, I call it the misery index. When you read of people dropping like flies in some of our northern cities because of a ‘heat wave’, this is just another day in paradise down here in Alabama.

Now, constructing a new fence line in this kind of heat is a different matter altogether. I remember a particular stretch of fence very well, and you will soon see why. My dad, along with my brother and I (both teenagers at the time) had loaded the pickup with creosote fence posts, a new roll of barbed wire, (called 'bobwar' in the Wiregrass) our trusty PHD and dirt tamper, fence stretcher, staples, etc and we were off for another glorious afternoon of fun in the Alabama sun.

Digging post holes is a tedious task. Summer will make the Alabama red clay hard as Elly May’s biscuits, and it usually requires a tag team effort. The muscles in your neck and shoulders feel like they are on fire. After a turn of progressing a full half a foot, I moseyed over to the truck to get a drink. We had everything on the truck to build a fence, but had forgotten the Igloo water cooler. Now my thirst jumped from moderate to full fledged dehydration. A few more turns at the PHD and I couldn’t stand it.

"Pop, I am going down to the creek bottom, I am 'bout to die!" I complained. So off I took, and finding that cool water so inviting, I got down on all fours and literally sucked in a gallon. Oh the heavenly taste of that water; if you can remember a time that you were the thirstiest in your life, and how water tasted when you were able to satisfy that desire, this was that time for me!

As I walked back up the hill through the woods, I couldn’t wait to tell my brother that relief was just down the hill. Funny thing happened on the return hike though. My lips felt like they were on fire. I mean Tabasco Sauce fire. Now I had the Hades heat of an Alabama August to deal with and what felt like a coating of nuclear- flavored Chap Stick.

"What happened to your lips, boy?" inquired my dad.
"Dunno, why?"
"Looks like someone stuck a red hot plunger on your face." my brother laughed.
"I just got a drink..."
"Where were the cows, Mark?" again my dad asked.
"Ummm...they were standing in the water a little ways.....ummm...upstream."

OK, now can you imagine how quickly the conclusion to this escapade came together? Head shaking, eye rolling, laughing...you name it. The burning just got worse as the afternoon slowly rolled by. After we returned home, I looked in the mirror ...so picture a red bullseye imbedded concentrically around your lips, you have a pretty good idea of what I looked like. I must have emptied a jar of Vasoline over the next few days; it is a wonder that I didn’t contract E coli and keel over.

It was the thirst that drove me to this. I am reminded of one of my favorite encounters of a thirsty Jesus as told in John 4, with much better results, mind you. Stopping by a well to rest, Jesus asks the Samaritan woman for water and then tells her that He can give her living water. A curious statement to pique her interest, no doubt. She eventually "gets it" and this woman who had five husbands becomes one of the first evangelists of the Gospel. There are a number of things that have struck me about this exchange.

The Jews and the Samaritans hated one another. Jesus rose above it. The hatred was so intense, that for Jesus to ask a Samaritan, and a woman to boot, to give him a drink was anathema. Yet He looked beyond the bitter divisiveness of these two groups and the obvious cultural taboos in order to share the loving truth with her.

Jesus tells her that everyone who drinks form this well will thirst again, but He could give her living water and she would never thirsts again. Still clueless, she makes a totally selfish response, "Tell me how to get this stuff so I won’t have to keep coming here to draw water." She sounds no different than me at times, actually. Christ doesn’t give up. Finally He reveals a slight personal problem of hers: A 5 time loser and now living with another man. She starts to put it together, "Sir I perceive you are a prophet." It is a testimony for us not to give up on others.

Jesus reveals that He is the Messiah, and the disciples show up, amazed the scripture says, (rather annoyed, inwardly grumbling, I think) about this whole situation. Never mind that the woman simply drops the water pot and goes into the city proclaiming that Jesus told her everything about herself and asks, "Is this not the Christ?" Like I have already stated, one of the first evangelists is a woman of bad reputation. Many Samaritans become believers because of the testimony of this woman. The disciples seem more concerned about this breach in their religious belief system, yet God chose to use a woman with a questionable background to spread the love of Christ.

Oh...it all goes back to the water, an analogy so simple, for we all know that it is the sustenance to maintain life on this planet. So Christ offers living water, the kind that will sustain us in this life and in eternity. May our spirits thirst for Him as much as our bodies crave water to maintain physical life!

I constantly check my heart to see if I am missing opportunities to share that living water with others , because they may not fit my cultural mores. Time and again, Christ gave us the roadmap to resist the rote traditions and thirst for the real living water, and unlike the stagnent pool of religion, this refreshment will never leave a sting or burn on your body or soul...or lips!

Mark
Prov 17:22

We Saw His Star: Vietnam Christmas, 1965

2006-12-10T20:18:00.000-06:00

"Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? For we saw His star in the east and have come to worship Him.
Matt 2:2

Pop and I were watching Stephen at the Troy University baseball camp last summer on a muggy June evening. I had been reading Lt. Gen. (Ret.) Hal Moore’s book, "We Were Soldiers Once...and Young", and knowing my dad was in the 1st Calvary Division with (then) Col. Moore at the same time, I was itching to hear a story.

"Did you know General Kinnard?" It was a set up question.

General Harry Kinnard was the division commanding general. West point class of 1939, he quickly rose through the ranks during WWII and became Gen. Tony McAuliffe’s operations officer during the Battle of Bastogne (the Bulge). When the Germans demanded a surrender response, Gen. McAuliffe uttered the famous one word response: "NUTS!" It was (then) Lt.Col. Kinnard who suggested the one liner. (The Germans, not well versed in American idioms, responded by asking if that meant yes or no. It was further explained by another assistant, Col. Harper: "If you don’t know what ‘Nuts" means, in plain English it is the same as ‘Go to Hell’.")

Of course my dad knew the commanding general, and began to tell me a story about riding a motorcycle down a runway, and seeing the General, he turned his collar inside out so his Capt. Bars were hidden and zoomed by. Nothing ever came of it, but I am sure the General had a clue who he was.

His favorite Kinnard story, as best as I can recall it, happened in Vietnam, during Pop’s first tour of duty in 1965. I have mentioned the huge transport helicopter he flew, simply called the CH-54 Flying Crane. The General ordered the construction of a huge wooden star, complete with lights that would be placed on top of the mountain that was already embla- zoned with the very recogniz- able 1st Calvary Division patch. I suppose he wanted to give the grunts something to remind them of home and probably to let the mountain town of An Khe know that the American forces had all intentions of celebrating Christmas in Vietnam.

The order to transport the star by helicopter came down through regular channels and the mission was assigned to my dad and another pilot. As they lowered the hook, he noticed something unusual.
"I looked down and noticed that a maintenance tent was bounding end over end across the base camp. Maintenance records were flying everywhere in the wake of the heavy rotor wash," he said laughing as he remembered this incident.
Laughing indeed, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the crew had the perfect military CYA, "they were on an assigned mission".
The short trip to the top of the mountain resulted in more chuckles for the crew. As they were lowering the star in place, my dad said he looked down again. This time he saw a dilapidated outhouse turning cartwheels down the side of the mountain. A local mountain family was, well, out of luck.

With the star safely in place, a generator kept those lights burning throughout the Christmas season. Even though the maintenance engineers and a few local mountain folks endured a bad day, I can only imagine now how many GI’s were blessed by that wooden star, placed on that mountain by a commanding general who obviously had a heart for his men.

It has been over the course of centuries now that American soldiers have been separated from their families during our holiday seasons. In my readings of military history, I am always intrigued at the ingenuity of soldiers in bringing some amount of home with them wherever they are, along with the acts of kindness that are displayed in the midst of a hellish war.

I recently saw a documentary about Thanksgiving. A WWII vet was interviewed, recalling his GI Joe days in Europe after the D-Day invasion. He reminisced about the Thanksgiving meal, and how those young dog faces were giddy, knowing that they would be served a hot meal of real turkey and dressing.
"Our C. O. sent word that he was encouraging us to bring all the homeless kids in our sector in for the meal, and feed them, in lieu of having the meal ourselves," he stated.
The scene changed, flashing a grainy black and white film, young GI’s in a mess tent, sitting side by side with a bunch of kids, beaming as the youngsters devoured the soldier’s Thanksgiving meals.

The scene returned to the old veteran. His lip began to quiver, his voice cracked, and softly voiced a simple, "it is my greatest Thanks- giving memory."

Soldiers are not politicians. Many opinions exist about America’s past and present wars, however, the men and women of our Armed Forces are told to "go" and they simply answer "Yes Sir". I have specific active duty friends who come to mind frequently, especially at this time of the year. For all who are reading, I am sure that you can think of military families in your own lives. Please take some time to pray for them over our Christmas season. If they are nearby, thank them personally and bless them with your love and support.

There may be some soldier in a far off land staring at a star, thinking of home. Take a moment this evening, stare at a few yourself and think of them...

Mark
Prov 17:22
My dad,
Ah Khe,
Vietnam
Christmas
1965
Camp
Chapel

(all pictures were sent to us as slides back in 1965, with the exception Gen Kinnard's photo)

If you would like to send send a message to the troops, the DOD has set up a message board for them to log on and read. Browsing the messages will be a be a blessing in itself! Thanks to my sister LeeAnn for sending this address to me:

America Supports You

Gifts

2006-12-03T21:07:00.000-06:00

Every good thing bestowed and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation, or shifting shadow.
James 1:17

Over the years, there have been gifts in my life from family members that have stuck with me. Some big, some small, some just acts of love. With the holiday season in full bloom, I thought I would share a few of these memories.

I am the proud owner of a vintage 1966 Philco "Eight Transistor" radio. My dad gave my brother and me matching radios upon his return from his first tour of duty in Vietnam. (My first blog, "A Defining Moment"--July Archives, describes this time, and the gift my mom gave to me.) Wow, what a plethora of goodies, topped off with those famous ceramic elephants that were big enough to use as end tables. It seemed that just about all of my Army brat’s parents had at least a few of these in their homes!

One wonders how I kept an AM radio all these years, in perfect working condition.. I can remember wearing out so many 9 volt batteries because I was fascinated with "night radio" and listened to it constantly under my pillow. Stations from all over America, fading in, fading out... I was as full of wonder as old Marconi himself. That little radio was the spark that developed a major hobby in my life, Amateur Radio. I currently hold an Extra Class license, the highest class offered by the FCC. My only "ham radio" activity now is in my truck, but at one time, I had a nice station and made contacts all over the world, both by voice and Morse Code. Here are a few of my QSL cards, a kind of a post card to confirm a contact. It all started with a little eight transistor radio! A small gift that brought me a great deal of joy; it is never too far from my side, and I turn it on occasionally to listen to the local sports talk show.

*****
Around 1986, I got a wild hare to rebuild the motorcycle of my youth. I got this little Honda when I was 14, paid for it by working a paper route, and even had it at Auburn while AllieCat and I were in school together. It had been sitting in a barn at my folks for years but I had a problem: We lived in an apartment in Montgomery at the time and I had no place to work on it.

My brother and his wife and young toddler ( A freshman at Auburn now) happened to live around the corner from us and offered to let me use their backyard for my project. Now, you must understand, I am no mechanic, and this "project" went on for much longer than I (and they, I am sure) anticipated. Never a "suggestion" for me to get this junk out of their backyard. I was going through a rough time then, and their gift of acceptance of my constant presence in their lives, along with my junky but eventually beautiful motorcycle, is one I will never forget.

****
Fast forward, Feb. 2001. Both SteveO and my birthday falls in this month. We get this cool card from my sister, letting us know that she and her husband, John are going to take us to Wrigley Field during baseball season, plane tickets, hotel, the works! We were stunned and giddy; as baseball fans, a desire for years had been to see the Cubs in this beautiful old park. We met my sister LeeAnn and her husband later that year in early September and enjoyed a great weekend in Chicago, topped off with a game between the Cubs and the Braves. Chicago Pizza....Chicago Hot Dogs...What a nice time...memories that the AllieCat, Steveo, and the Hatter will never forget!

My sister is a generous soul. Recently, Annie had a business trip to Austin, Lee's home. She and John treated Annie like a Queen, and she is still talking about how wonderfully hospitable they were.

One final note. Sadley, this pic of an eleven year old SteveO was one of the last of this type taken in America. We returned home from Chicago only to witness the horrific events of 9/11/2001. Folks just like us, getting up, going to work, never to come home. Traditional shots of kids in cockpits, a thing of the past. So many things have changed since then...It is with a sober heart that I ask readers to embrace the gifts in you lives, not necessarily the material ones, but the good and perfect ones, your family, your friends, your God. His Gift is the greatest of all.

Mark
Prov. 17:22

The Ordinary Things

2006-11-29T08:52:00.000-06:00

Gracious is the Lord, and righteous;
Yes, our God is compas- sionate.
The Lord preserves the simple;
I was brought low, and He saved me.
Return to your rest, O my soul,
For the Lord has dealt bountifully with you.
Ps 116:5-7

A prayer makes sense only if it is lived. Unless they are ‘lived’-- unless life and prayer become completely interwoven, prayers become a sort of polite madrigal which you offer to God at moments when you are giving time to Him.
Anthony Bloom
Beginning To Pray

I love this thought. This Thanksgiving, I offered the prayer of thanks at the table and it seemed like a "polite madrigal," probably sounding like most of the prayers around the country. Oh, I am not doubting my sincerity, or anyone else’s for that matter, but I have been meditating on exactly what "our many blessings", that vague offering, really is.

I pondered beyond the obvious. We pray and hear the platitudes frequently, those familiar words that sometime just sound religious. But what are we really thankful for? Maybe it is the ordinary, the common, the tangible things of life that make our Creator smile when we thank Him.

Richard Foster in his book Prayer, calls it the prayer of the ordinary: "We pray the ordinary in three ways: first, by turning ordinary experiences of life into prayer; second, by seeing God in the ordinary experiences of life; and third, by praying throughout the ordinary experiences of life."

What does all of that mean? On a personal level, it means a day filled with thanks, for the ordinary things in my life, pausing on a busy morning to notice the deep orange - red leaves on that little pear tree in the corner of my backyard. It causes me to tune out the turbid sights and sounds of the traffic on the morning commute and look for other trees with the beauty of His paintbrush. God, how beautiful is your artwork!

My evening walks. What a great time to clear the mind, and thank Him for the cool autumn air, and...my dog. She’s a sweetie. Belle is there waiting each afternoon, with much more enthusiasm than me, ready for that trot around the neighborhood. Interesting, Belle decided long ago that I was the Alpha in the family, much to Annie’s mock dismay. "Belle, you are a traitor, just have to be with the daddy, don’t you?" she will chide. Belle spends her evenings beside my recliner, knowing my hand will slip down and stroke her head, often we both drift off....(Belle's greatest trick is to bark, not to the command of "Speak", but to the DeNiro line in Taxi Driver: "YOU TALKIN' TO MEEE???"--Something Annie taught her years ago.)

And then there’s the other four legged creature. The little cat that chose us as her keepers. "Don’t feed that cat, Mark, she will never leave," Annie warned.
"Too late, Stephen fed her right before we left this morning," I replied.
"Don’t tell that lie, Dad," Stephen interrupted, laughing.
The little gray tabby that wouldn’t leave. I named her Pepper. "Great name, so original, probably only 20 million gray tabbys named Pepper in America," Annie laughed. I said an ordinary, simple prayer, "Make that cat Annie’s cat, and I thank you Lord."

Being dog folks, it has been fun learning about the behaviors of cats. Pepper seemed to gravitate to Annie immediately, as the one she knew she had to win over. So where are we a year later? Pepper on the satin throne as we call it, Pepper at the foot of the bed, Pepper with more sweet talk than I ever got. Annie’s cat. Take that Belle! And thank you Lord. The ordinary blessings of life.

It is easy to be thankful for your family, I talk about SteveO frequently, but most of my allusions to the Annie have been in a humorous tone, portraying her as the voice of sanity in a cast of nuts. She is that, but it is all those "unseen" things...those ordinary things she does that make me pause and give thanks...I see those things actually, but don’t tell her enough how I appreciate the mundane tasks that she does on a daily basis, the tons of football and baseball laundry, the lunches for the next day, more laundry, dinner, dishes, homework helper, more laundry, all after a day’s work like giving our Governor his flu shot! (OK, let me brag a little, she won't.) But which is really more important? Gov. Riley probably thinks its the flu shot, but me, I'm thankful for her dedication shown through the day to day requisites of life. Teilhard de Chardin said:

Do not forget that the value and interest of life is not so much to do conspicuous things...as to do ordinary things with the perception of their enormous value.

So many other things to be thankful for, ordinary, real, small things. I think in thanking God for the little things, it shucks it down to the cob. It goes beyond the religious talk, the pontificating, the posturing, it goes to the core, where we live, and where He meets us.

Blessings to all...

Thanks and praise to Him,

Mark

Proverbs 17:22

A merry heart doeth good like medicine;
but a broken spirit drieth the bones.

Caution: Chigger Crossing

2006-11-21T15:44:00.000-06:00

For they sow the wind, and they reap the whirlwind. Hosea 8:7A

(The Hatter on the far right, the one with the pecs and the hip-hop shorts with undies showing. Brother Jeff in the red. Yea, we grew into those ears. )

"But I am ready to go home!" I pleaded with Mom, my 12 year old attention span had gone way past its limit.

"We will go when WE are ready, understand?" was the reply.
We were visiting another Army family, one I did not particularly care for. The kids were a bunch of bohemians, intellectuals, non athletic, pasty white. I was ready to go home, find my buds and head for the woods, the ball field, or even read a book, I was that bored.
I stomped away, and figured I’d show them. Ignoring the freaky family of Einsteins and Emily Dickinsons, I found my refuge, the woods across from their house.

I have written before of the magnetic draw of the Alabama woodlands (see "JeepTrails"-Aug. Archives) and it seemed that I always ended up there for fun, relaxation and introspection. This time it was nothing more than rebellion and retribution. I wasn’t "running away", I was simply going to make it difficult for them; when it WAS time to go, I would be gone, a desperate search would ensue, I would finally appear all innocent, and joy would spread across Enterprise, Al.—the little lost boy had been found! Yeah, right.

Since I was sulking, the woods brought no joy that steamy summer afternoon. No air moving, nothing but that familiar thick humidity that always caused the sweat to form on the small of my back, I decided I'd better find a soft place to sit down.

"Ah...a nice bed of pine straw. Wow, great spot. Man, I’m gonna lay back here and look at these cool trees for a while." I folded my hands behind my head and relaxed. I didn’t read the sign.

CAUTION: CHIGGER CROSSING

Every stinking redbug in the state of Alabama must have been in that bed of pine straw. I won’t go into a long explanation of a chigger bite, you can go get a background here. It is another critter of the deep south that ranks up there with the possum on a half shell. Just what purpose they serve leaves me scratching my head. In this case, I was left scratching every part of my body from my ankles to my armpits. I will leave it to you own imagination regarding the location of ‘ground zero’, lets just say every crack, nook, and cranny on my tanned backside was a Chigger Condo.

I just kept thinking..."man, this pine straw was kinda itchy, maybe my idea wasn’t a good one, oh well, lemme head on back to the freak show."

I will say this about chiggers. They are stubborn critters. They feed off the fluid in a human’s skin cells and attach to human hair. They are so small, it would take a magnifying glass to see them. Without a quick hot shower, you are doomed to about a week of uncontrollable scratching. Think a mosquito bite is annoying? Multiply it by 10. My miserable life consisted of calamine rubdowns for about a week; my sweet Mama dabbed my spotted body in all the places a 12 year old would allow, and I took care of ground zero. I looked like a spotted pink and tan alien. I sowed the wind, and reaped the whirlwind.

************
So I fast forward almost 40 years and the scripture is still so true. The amazing thing about the Word of God, it just doesn’t change. The spiritual laws of His Kingdom are so much stronger than the natural gravitational laws of earth!

Evangelical Christians tickle me at times. And yes, I consider myself one, and I have been guilty of what I am about to say, so I can pick and jab a little. We frequently say: "The Lord told me (fill in the blank)". Sometimes it just doesn’t turn out like we thought it would, so we immediately start rebuking the devil, blaming Satan that the (fill in the blank) turned into a major cluster-blunder.

I wonder sometimes, do you possibly think that it is us who go off half-cocked sowing the wind and reaping the whirlwind? Were the chiggers a direct result of my rebellion or merely that I picked the wrong bed of pine straw? Who knows, but it would not have happened had not I made a stupid decision in the first place! The fact that I still remember it gives credence to this:

Sowing capricious calculations usually reap regrettable reverberations!

Translated into "Wiregrass Alabama" lingo: Dumb ideas bring dumb results. No need to blame Satan, sometimes we just need to say "Pardon me, Father," and chalk it up to experience. Darn those chiggers.

The "Hatter", obviously chigger free, in training to irritate his future wife with snoring rever- berations that would peel paint off a wall.

Mark

Prov. 17:22

Storms of Life

2006-11-19T12:12:00.000-06:00

When my anxious thoughts multiply within me, Thy consolations delight my soul. Psalms 94:18

Between the intermittent wipers on my windshield, the gray clouds layered on top of one another in long rows that reminded me of an Alabama plowed field anticipating Spring planting. It was the morning after a devastating F2 tornado that barreled through a busy intersection a few miles from my home, leaving its destructive path on the Montgomery landscape and a jagged rip in our emotions.

The pitiless sky, angry still, was almost taunting, reminding me of yesterday's events. Miraculously, no one was killed as a result of the tornado, in fact, over 30 children and adults walked away unscathed from a flattened skating rink/day care. This picture shows an aerial view of the skating rink; the top left corner was the space where the children were housed in the day care. As you can see, it is the only part of the building left standing.

It is a strange thing, the gentle forces of nature that drew me close to my Creator on the deer stand had turned ugly and mean; the mangled steel and splintered wood left me cold. I have to confess, after viewing the destruction, my first thoughts were, "Why God? Why do things like this happen? Why is my home spared, and these folks in the apartment complex are soaking in the rain?" I was even more sobered when the same system screamed up the east coast and took some souls from their North Carolina home. I was left with a feeling of insignificance and helplessness; I honestly don't understand these things at times.

I wonder sometimes, is God dis- appointed in my doubts, in my questions? Psalm 94 tells me that He "knows the thoughts of man, that they are a mere breath" (v.11). His omnipotent nature leads me to trust that He does not turn away when we waver, in fact, the Bible is full of great men of faith who struggled mightily with doubts and uncertainties. His lovingkindness for them, and now directed our way, remains constant.

Phillip Yancey's book, Reaching for an Invisible God, has given me a great deal of comfort in dealing with the questions of life. I highly recommend it to those who are given to a skeptical nature like mine. Here are some of his words that have stuck with me:

Things happen, some of them good, some of them bad, many of them beyond our control. In all these things, I have felt the reliable constant of a God willing to work with me and through me to produce something good. Faith, in such a process will, I’m convinced, always be rewarded, even though the "Why?" questions go unanswered.

Divine providence is a mystery that only God understands...no time-bound human, living on a rebellious planet, blind to the realities of the unseen world, has the ability to comprehend such answers.

In my case, doubt has prompted me to question many things that need questioning and also to investigate alternatives to faith, none of which measure up. I am a Christian today due to my doubts.

Over time, I have grown more comfortable with mystery rather than certainty. Faith means striking out, with no clear end in sight and perhaps even no clear view of the next step. It means following, trusting, holding out a hand to an invisible Guide.

Finally, Yancey quotes Flannery O’Conner who simply says, "When we get our spiritual house in order, we’ll be dead."

After reading these quotes, I go back to my feelings of insig- nificance, but with an assurance that God is in control, for He tells me:

For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways," declares the Lord. (Is. 55:8)

As I close, I can say with all honesty that there will always be "Why?" questions, my weak human nature cries out for answers at times. Yet as C.S. Lewis declared, "The Christian has a great advantage over other men, not by being less fallen than they, not less doomed to live in a fallen world, but by knowing that he is a fallen man in a fallen world."

"That recognition," Yancey says, "forms my starting point in undertaking a journey to know God."

Mark

Prov. 17:22

(This may not be a "merry heart" entry, but it has been what I have been meditating on...therefore, I write. Maybe next time I will ramble about the time I got covered up with chiggers as a result of my 12 year old rebellion. I itch just thinking about it! Pass the calamine lotion, please!)

The Lone Leaf

2006-11-12T17:18:00.000-06:00

Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things. Phil 4:8

It was our last Youth Hunting Day. Alabama started this activity several years back, allowing a child under 16 to hunt with an adult, one weekend before the actual deer season starts in the state. Stephen will turn 16 in the next year, and will no longer be eligible to participate in the "head start" on deer season. The intent of the regulation is a good one, fathers and their children (and some mothers, too) spend time on the deer stand and develop some lasting memories. We have done this since he was 11, but this was the last time our two pair of boots will grace a stand on Youth Day. We rarely hunt together during the regular season now, as he always wants us to split up to "increase our chances."

Morning comes early during deer season. Sleepy eyed and yawning, we go through the ritual of dressing and loading the truck like a couple of automatons. Few words are spoken, as we had already decided on the one of the many locations on my parent’s beautiful, rolling farmland. Upon leaving the truck we are guided only by our flashlights and the memory of our emplacement. Once settled in the double stand, I look at my watch and realize that we beat Mr. Sunrise by about 20 minutes, so we eat a granola bar and I lay my head down across my forearm for a brief interlude.

A stirring occurrence takes place in the darkened woods: sounds. It is the dew falling off the leaves and hitting the earthen floor that accents the blackness. The random pit-pat coming from all sides gives the impression that it is raining, then again, maybe it is raining. But it is God's creation playing another ruse. I cut my eyes skyward and notice the blue-white twinkles dancing through the leaves. A clean, clear autumn sky, nature has tricked me again, smiling. Among the pit-pats of the dew, an occasional startling smack! is heard, and I would have to wait until daylight to see the culprit.

Sunlight begins to peek through the fall colors and the pit-pat picks up dramatically. And my culprit? A rock hard hickory nut falling in a straight line trajectory and smacking the leaves with great impact. The fresh carpet of leaves—so many untouched by the boots of men or the hoofs and paws of Alabama’s abundant wildlife–a true patchwork quilt of nature, lay placidly below our feet.

The slightest rush of cool air through the trees yields a leaf shower. They remind me of the fat snowflakes that fall so rarely in Alabama, the kind that descend with such grace and beauty that one realizes only God could be responsible. Some of the leaves settle in a whirlybird motion, others a more indirect route, like the feather in the movie "Forrest Gump". My attention turns to a lone leaf, wondering when would it be "his" turn to make the journey south. "What type of path would you take, where will you be sewn in to the quilt below, wait... are you just fooling me? You are so stunning that maybe you are painted on that branch like "The Last Leaf" in O Henry’s masterpiece short story."

Thinking about nothing, thinking about everything.

You can tell the day gets busy quickly, as the sounds of the creatures multiply. The noisy cacophony of crows answering one another. Those irritating gray squirrels dancing from tree to tree, for years tricking novice hunters into thinking that a deer was nearby. We both know better now; a 200 lb buck makes less noise in the woods than a chipmunk or squirrel does. Woodpeckers drilling trees, looking for those morning treats. The gentle cluck of a turkey and a gobble, if one is lucky.

Over a mile away, we hear the low moan of a single cow somewhere in the locale of the barn. It grows louder and louder, joined by his fellow bovines, indicating that Pop is filling the breakfast troughs with cracked corn.

"Listen to that one cow," I whisper, "he sounds like an airhorn at a football game!"

Stephen immediately grins and replies, "He sounds JUST like one!"

There were no deer seen on this morning. We decided to follow our stomachs back to the house, as we knew my brother, also visiting and known for his famous breakfasts, would have something tasty. As I watched Stephen walk to the truck, I sensed his disappointment; Youth Hunting Day had ended in a successful hunt in years past. I knew his measure of success was different than mine, he would understand one day, when he had kids of his own, at least this is what I thought.

Later that night on the way home, I asked him if he had a good time, even though we had not seen a deer. His reply was a delightful surprise.

"You know Dad, I can get out on a deer stand and not have to think about anything, not about school, just sit, look, listen, and clear my mind."

Thinking about nothing, thinking about everything, both worthy of praise. I underestimate him at times. Maybe he understands Paul’s admonition to the Phillipians to "let your mind dwell on these things" better than I do.

Mark
Prov 17:22

Where's Your Center?

2006-11-06T20:33:00.000-06:00

Jesus answered and said to him, "If anyone loves Me, he will keep My word; and My Father will love him, and We will come to him and make our abode with him. John 14:23

Ah, my favorite activity, assisting Stephen with a big science review for a major test at school. Rates up there with my annual physical. Anyway, during the review, we come across Nicolaus Copernicus, who developed the theory of heliocentrism, simply put, he figured out that the sun was the center of the solar system not the earth. Before his theory in 1514, the bright folks on earth were geocentric thinkers, that is, the earth was the center of the universe. Sometimes I wonder...has our thinking changed all that much?

I find myself bogged down in the mundane activities of life more times than not, and this sticky mud actually causes me to become geocentric in my thinking; "How can I extricate myself from this mess without tracking it around the clean kitchen floor? And then, I call on my Heavenly Father to get out the spiritual life jacket once again and throw me a life line.

So this sounds like a bad thing. Not really. It is what Richard Foster in his book Prayer identifies as simple prayer, the most common kind of praying we do. Think about it; we are coming to Someone who can help! It is encouraging to remember, Christ himself encouraged us to pray for our needs in what we refer to as "The Lord’s Prayer.

I like these words from Foster:

Share your hurts, share your sorrows, share your joys–freely and openly. God listens in compassion and love, just like we do when our children come to us. When we do this we will discover something of inestimable value. We will discover that by praying we learn to pray.

At some point along the way, I wanted more in my dialogue with God than just asking and pleading. It is the relationship I desire, a contemplative understanding of His great love and grace, and to grow in that knowledge. I have a long way to go, but what is so encouraging about our walk with Christ, as Paul says, "not that I have laid hold of it yet, but I press on..." (Phil 3)

This is what Foster calls the Copernican revolution of the heart, the move away from the me centered, geocentric prayer life to a God centered existence:

In the beginning we are indeed the subject and the center of our prayers. But in God’s time and in God’s way a Copernican revolution takes place in our heart. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, there is a shift in our center of gravity. We pass from thinking of God as part of our life to the realization that we are part of His. Wondrously and mysteriously God moves from the periphery of our prayer experience to the center. A conversion of the heart takes place, a transformation of the spirit.

It is that relationship I desire, a continual need to know Him personally, to glorify Him in His lovingkindness. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I still come to Him with my petitions, it is wired in us to call out to Him in times of need. But having the times where He makes His abode in me…

I have found such comfort in the scripture from John 14:23, especially the word "abode". It speaks of a home, not a house. A kitchen with the teapot whistling, old Earl Grey awaiting, a blackberry cobbler in the oven, anticipating the soft vanilla ice cream. An abode: the warm fireplace on a cold gray day, my buckskin wool slippers on my feet and my dog at my feet. Knowing my son is nearby chatting with some chick on his phone, and my wife is opening the oven door…

I ask myself constantly, "where’s your center, who’s your center?" Life is so much better when old Copernicus comes to mind and the fulcrum of my existence doesn't revolve around me. I am opening my eyes to the great discovery, "for Thou art the Lord Most High over all the earth." (Ps 97:9)

A friend of mine introduced me to the word "cornballish". OK, this pic probably fits in that category, but still...looks pretty inviting, now doesn't it?

Mark

Prov 17:22

Chariots of Fire

2006-11-04T13:59:00.000-06:00

Then it came about as they were going along and talking, that behold there appeared a chariot of fire...
2 Kings 2:11

The picture is the Alabama Shakespeare Festival, a breathtaking theatrical venue located in our fair city, with a reputation as the finest Shakespeare theater in America. Each season features a few works by Shakespeare and a few modern plays for us Bard challenged patrons.

So, what brings me to the grounds of the Shakespeare Festival? A CAR SHOW! As one who has 2 diplomas from what many call the "Cow College" (Auburn), the joke is that an Auburn grad's cultural development is agriCULTURE. Hey, I can take it. I would much rather look at old cars than try to figure out what the heck is going on inside this beautiful building anyway. So I am going to share some pics I took at the car show; I hope some of these 'chariots of fire' bring back some memories for some of you! You should be able to click on the pics to enlarge.

My dream car. Born in the great year of 1956, my birth year, this little T Bird is a flat out
classic.

A couple of memories for my brother, Jeff: Remember this beauty under the revolving glass dome at the 1964 World's Fair? It was Ford's way of introducing the little Pony to the world.
And this Honda 90, ok, we had the scrambler versions, but look closely and you can see your buddy Underwood riding this beast all over Ft Rucker!

And Pop and Mom, here's your old Ford, the only thing missing was the black and red checked interior!

I put a model of this Lincoln together when I was a kid. Jeff and I probably destroyed it with M-80 firecrackers at some point in our childhood.

Pop, I remember a blue wagon like this one...am I right?

Proud smiling Chevys

Wonder is this is what the Chariot of Fire looked like that took Elijah up in a whirlwind?OK, OK, but church folks have argued over sillier things...

Mark

Prov 17:22

The BIG One

2006-10-29T18:12:00.000-06:00

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

2006-10-26T17:59:00.000-05:00

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

2006-10-19T22:21:00.000-05:00

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

2006-10-12T18:43:00.000-05:00

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

2006-10-07T13:00:00.000-05:00

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

2006-10-03T22:35:00.000-05:00

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

2006-10-01T20:51:00.000-05:00

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

Rest

2006-09-22T13:34:00.000-05:00

Return to your rest, O my soul,
For the Lord has dealt bountifully with you.
Ps. 116:7

Well friends and neighbors, my computer decided that it was time to take a rest. The Doctor of Data is dropping by this weekend to try and breathe life into Mr. Dell. Hope to be back to posting in about a week, so stay tuned. Think I'll recharge my batteries too. Find something to laugh at, and laugh heartily.

Mark
Prov. 17:22

Sign of the Times?

2006-09-18T19:52:00.000-05:00

The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them.

The cow will feed with the bear, their young will lie down together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox.

Isaiah 11:6-7

Not being any kind of expert on prophecy, I still had to wonder if Belle and Pepper (get it? "Bell-Pepper") might know something I don't know. Pepper-kitty 'chose' us about a year ago (who do you think fed her first?) and these two girls have been fast friends ever since. Belle, our 8 year old Golden and I have a date about every day after work, a neighborhood squirrel trail that keeps us both happy and healthy. I would highly recommend a pet to anyone, especially a homeless critter like Pep. Blessings!

Mark
Prov. 17:22
They do make my heart merry!

Snakes Alive!

2006-09-17T15:25:00.000-05:00

Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.
Hebrews 12:1-2

He threw his hand up quickly and I knew what that meant. Snake!
"Get my rifle, Mark," Bill said calmly as he climbed down off the tractor. I was following him on his 4-wheeler as we were coming out of the bottom pasture and up the sandy road. Bill dealt with the deadly serpent with a couple of quick shots to the head.

Bill is one of those rare individuals who can do just about anything he sets his mind to. Smart as a whip, he is a humble country man who I liked from the minute I met him. We have become fast friends and spend a good deal of time together during hunting season. He has been a great role model for SteveO, and I count it a real blessing to have him involved in his young life. My Mom attends church with his family, the type of folks who are the backbone of the goodness of the South. His work ethic shames me, as he will just show up at my folks' place with yard tools just to "keep busy". He can operate a chain saw and a pole saw like you use a knife and fork. While Bill was busy plowing the fields recently, I was busy taking pictures of the river. Ok, I did do some work. Last year, while planting our food plots I could barely lift a hammer, as I was recovering from a surgery. This year, I was hauling 50 lb bags of seed and fertilizer. At one point, I picked up a seed bag, threw it over my shoulder and began to thank God for my recovery and the great health that I now experience! Another "pray without ceasing" moment.

If you don’t like snakes don’t click on these links. We have a couple of rattlers in Alabama, the Eastern Diamondback and the Timber. The one Bill made short order of was a Timber Rattler, which I don’t see as often in the wild. As we always do, I was about to cut off the rattles as a souvenir, but decided to stomp the serpent’s head a few times to make sure he was dead. (A snake tends to "reflex" for a good while after he has assumed room temperature.) So I gave him two heels to the head, which looked like an IHOP pancake by then, and on the third stomp, he STRIKES at me! Bill chuckles as I start doing the Texas Two-step. Tells me he actually cut the head off of on of these jokers and the BODY struck at him!

We threw that mean, nasty thing on the bushog so I can show SteveO a Timber. He kept a safe distance from him, and told me that he doesn’t need to know what one looks like, if it crawls on its belly, it is going meet its demise. You might be thinking that we are upsetting the ecosystem, but I am more concerned with upsetting our nervous system. A friend of mine was bitten by a Diamondback and he had permanent nerve damage for the rest of his life, and suffered from depression and fibromyalgia. Human life over animal life all day long. No sympathy for the serpent.

*********************
These encumbrances in life. What a pain. Distractions, irritations, pesky problems that steal our time to "pray-talk" with our Master. Sin that so easily entangles us; our selfish acts that keep us from the eddy pool, that special place of fellowship with God. When we think we’ve licked ‘em, by stomping on their head, they reach up and strike at us again. I guess we will always be dealing with the distractions of life, as we all have bills to pay, stress to deal with, and discouragement to tackle. These things are constant.

The other constant, however, is His love for us and the need we have to worship Him and thank Him for the blessing in our lives. Although He loved them both, Jesus sure gave us a good example of this concept by comparing Mary to Martha. He is telling me to stomp those encumbrances with my feet by spending time at His feet!

The tempted, the anxious, the fearful, the discouraged may all find new hope and good cheer that our Heavenly Father is faithful. He will ever be true to His pledged word. The hard-pressed sons of the covenant may be sure that He will never remove His loving-kindness from them nor suffer His faithfulness to fail.

A.W. Tozer
The Knowledge of the Holy

Mark
Prov 17:22