April 19th

A day is God's blank canvas given to each of us. Some mornings we roll out of bed with an excitement for what's in store. Other mornings we are annoyingly roused from a half-sleep after tossing and turning in our beds all night, only to reluctantly place a foot on the floor to start the day. For many of us a day is a block on the calendar that we quickly mark-off as we head toward a vacation or a much anticipated event. But some days are indelibly etched on our hearts and memories as a day that significantly changed us. Even though we spend a lot of time making plans to avoid catastrophe or financial ruin, an event can ferociously sail out of nowhere, over the high walls of our supposed security, and land violently like a mortar shell into the midst of our routines. For me, that day was April 19th.

On April 19, 1975 I received Christ as my Savior. My life forever took a turn toward God and ultimately in becoming a minister. My son was also saved on the same day, some 25 years later. The event that swept me off my feet in a way like no other was the day I learned my mother had died--April 19, 1997.

No matter how much we scheme, plan, manipulate or finance our little world, God has a way of showing us Who's boss. Whenever that fateful day comes around on the calendar each year, I am reminded of just how fragile my life is--the value of every single second given to me. The Bible says, "For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away" (James 4:14).

I searched and list here a few of the numerous, significant events that also transpired on April 19th:

1995--Oklahoma City bombing on the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building by Timothy McVeigh
1993--The Branch Davidian Compound near Waco, Texas, is destroyed in a fire after 51-day stand-off; 76 people die, including 24 British nationals and 20 children
1971--Charles Manson sentenced to death (later commuted to life) for the Sharon Tate murder
1948--ABC-TV network begins
1943--Jews attack Nazi occupation forces at Warsaw Ghetto
1861--Lincoln orders blockade of Confederate ports (Civil War)
1775--Revolution begins-Lexington Common, shot "heard round the world"
1770--Captain James Cook 1st sees Australia

For The Rest Of My Days

I didn't grow up saying, "Mama, I wanna be a worship leader." In the home where I was raised, my parents ran as fast as they could from anything religious. My mother always said she didn't want anything to do with church. She was raised in a staunch holiness home where her mother was the spiritual leader and her father was indifferent. In my dad's case, his family was filled with non-believers. It was once said about his grandfather, who died in Australia in 1920, that even though he didn't profess Christ publicly, he lived his life as if he had. Needless to say, I was the product of two people who didn't make Christ the center of their lives and thus, their home.

My mom's mother took me to church when I stayed over for the weekend. My biggest memory was when she bought me new shoes one Saturday at Thom Mcan. Then, the next morning, she dropped me off in a Sunday school class. I was terrified because the room was filled with strangers. As soon as the cookies and fruit punch appeared, everything became tolerable. In the church service, the mono-toned preacher with his long, drawn-out prayers and sermon bored me to tears. The colorful, stained-glass windows portraying Bible stories were intriguing. But for a kid, it didn't connect regarding a relationship with Christ. The truth that did connect with me was how Grandma prayed. She prayed for our salvation (one day her prayers would be answered for each person in my immediate family). So fervent were her petitions at the dinner table, she shed tears of gratefulness as she thanked God for our food and His many blessings. We all giggled as our heads were bowed, but today I am so blessed to be a product of her faithfulness to God.

I was 14 when God invaded my life. All of the backyard Bible classes I attended during the summer in my neighborhood, my grandmother's faithfulness-- the sum-total of my spiritual experience up to then--clicked on like a light when I finally saw the reality of Christ. That glorious day when Christ came into my life was April 19, 1975 at 9:05 PM. I brought the news home to my parents, who's apparent reaction was, "Now what are we gonna do with this kid?" Their reluctance to be positive about my transformation began to turn the corner when, over time, my actions matched my testimony. I remember feeling such a connection to church and it's importance to my spiritual growth. I knew that God was calling me to serve Him in a special way.

When I first began to follow Christ I visited Calvary Chapel, Costa Mesa on Saturday nights and was mesmerized and inspired to be like the musicians who sang and played on the stage. I never aspired to be like the music guy at Grandma's church who flailed his arms and led songs that seemed really out of date. Calvary Chapel was doing material in the style I heard on the radio. I wanted to do that.

35 years have passed. A worship revolution stormed the church and has made a way for guys like me to fulfill our calling as worship leaders. It's amazing to see so many churches writing and arranging their own songs--putting together stellar bands. The future is bright. Now I realize that people probably look at me as one of those religious guys I saw at Grandma's church as a kid. God forbid! I hope you don't misunderstand me when I say that I never, ever want to be religious. I don't want to be the guy who, when he prays, changes his accent and uses words that are never used in normal conversation (if I ever seem to be heading in that direction, please stop me and remind me what I said here!). My goal is to lead people to the throne of grace where Christ meets us without condemnation--where fear is not welcome and faith is nurtured. I want to help connect these spiritual possibilities to the lives of everyday people, young and old. If I can lead people there--in a relevant way-- and God's anointing is present, I don't know a better way to spend the rest of my days on this earth.

All-Consuming Tech-Lust

I've been itching to get a new cell phone. It's not that I need one--it's just that the new Android phones look so cool and...the flesh is so weak. I have had a Blackberry Storm since November, '08, and had a BB Pearl before that. If you are into email and a really good, solid phone that keeps tickin' after way too many trips to the blacktop, Blackberry is great. Verizon tells me it's time for my two year upgrade and, like I said before, my hankerin' for a new gadget has got me checking out all my options.

What happened to the days when we had to keep a dime in the bottom corner of our bill fold just in case of an emergency? (That's right, kiddos, a dime for a payphone!). Didn't we manage to survive without cell phones? I can remember the rotary phones that we had as a kid. The only phone my family had for years was hanging on a wall in the kitchen . The cord was stretched into a tangled mess from constant finger-twirling, and could never be straightened out in a million years. The length of the cord dictated our distance from the wall...as well as our privacy. Then, in the 80's, some brilliant soon-to-be millionaire figured out how to apply wireless technology to home-phones and we left those pesky cords in the dust. Now, every kindergartner has his own cell phone number, accountant, lawyer, masseuse and maid.

Once we adapt to new technology it's hard to go backward. I like my phone, my laptop, wireless internet, satellite TV and radio. It would be like sticking your hand in a lion's cage if you tried to take my stuff away. Our tech toys become an integral part in everyday life once we start benefiting from their genius. My problem is when a toy becomes uninteresting and too familiar-- that's when I start hankerin' for a new fix.

The Blackberry has proven to be a good, reliable friend. My biggest complaint is when it freezes up or gives me a low-memory message. In the hunt for a new one, I, as a loyal customer, will probably hold-out for another Blackberry. But if Verizon ever gets the Apple contract from AT&T, I will drop it like a hot potato and snag an iPhone. I bet, even then, my tech lust won't be abated. I'm learning that most of the time we don't do the consuming, the products consume us.

They'll Change Your Life!

Whenever my dad sees a couple in a store, carrying a child or pushing them in a grocery cart, he almost always stops them in their tracks to make the same comment, "Kids will change your life!" Even though some of those bewildered parents look back over their shoulder at the old guy walking away and wonder who that bearded man was, my dad doesn't give a flyin' flip--partly because he is 83 and mostly because he knows what he's talking about. He raised 3 boys and was married for just short of 50 years before my mom, without warning, passed away 13 years ago.

Getting married and having kids are both an exercise in ignorance. Kind of like eating sausage: if we knew too much about the ingredients and how it was made, we probably wouldn't partake. Marriage and parenting not only demands more from us than we originally thought but also gives us so much in return.

Brenda and I were married at Christmastime in 1985. We were so poor, the homeless felt sorry for us. We started out living in a one bedroom apartment and within a few months we found a charming little house to rent who's owners knew Brenda since childhood. We had made the decision that we wanted kids and, vavoom, after 4 months of marriage, Josh was on the way. So many people thought we were crazy for starting so soon--especially since I was a freshman at Mobile College and we barely had a nickel to our name. Nevertheless, we blissfully took the challenge that was to become a lifetime commitment. Josh was born just a year and a month after our wedding day. We had to adjust our schedule to his as he demanded to eat, be washed, changed and paid attention to, all on his time--and he certainly took no consideration for our needs. We were all too happy to have Josh in our lives. A year and a month later, Betsy joyfully came into our lives.

Raising children is a blinding endeavor involving thousands of hours of minutiae. Their growing needs constantly shift our living patterns and challenge our patience. From the first step our children take on their own to the independence of riding a bike and staying over night at a friend's house, they are slowly moving away from us. All of the baths, meals, clothes washing, playing, naps, kisses, bruises and cuts, living and learning are such a blur until you come come to a clearing and realize your kids have graduated from high school.

We just saw Toy Story 3 and related to the mom who looked at the recently vacated room of her son who was going away to college. She pondered the memories that hung like crayon drawings on the walls of their lives over the past 17 years and simply inhaled, lifted her shoulders and exhaled in silent lament. We spend our young years teaching our kids to live on their own and before we know it, we are on trial because it is our burden to let them go. Even though our kids left home 2 years ago to live on their own, we are still their mom and dad and forever will be looking out for their well being, albeit from a distance.

As Josh marries Amber in a few weeks, just like Betsy married Adam last year, Brenda and I will look forward to one day seeing our grandchildren being born into homes that, we are confident, will be full of love and nurture, just like ours has been. Kids will change your life and bring blessings that two ignorant newlyweds could never imagine.

Free For the Taking

I got tired of cutting away the weeds from around the broken-down lawn mower in my backyard. This has been happening for the past three seasons since my new mower has taken it's place. Isn't it funny how patient we can be with clutter and junk that piles up around us? In the case of the mower, and a derelict grill for that matter, it was time to find a proper site for burial.

Cable and satellite TV is littered (pun intended) with shows about clutter. From the fairly innocent pack-rat who has trouble throwing out uncle Ted's clown figurine collection to the mentally/ emotionally challenged person who has to make a trail through the head-high collection of trash that fills their homes, junk seems to be an American obsession. My two favorite shows on TV revolve around junk (or treasure--depending on how much money you can squeeze out of it!). Pawn Stars (sorry, but that's what it's called) is about a pawn shop and the days in the life of the owners and family members. It is crazy the kind of money that folks can get for simple items that I would have no trouble tossing away. The other show is about antique dealers who scavenge people's old barns and out buildings for hidden treasure called American Pickers. There is always a market for what we consider castaway items. For several years I have used Ebay to unload items that have some sort of marketability on the internet. Once I sold a collection of old magazines, for instance, that brought in enough money, less the expenses, to take my wife out for a nice steak dinner.

So, last Saturday, after I circled the dead lawn mower for the last time, I had a bright idea. I wheeled the poor thing out to the curb along with the old grill and made a sign that said, "Please take us! FREE!" As soon as I hammered the sign into the ground and turned around to go back into the house, a truck slowed down to read the sign. I hurriedly made my way to the door and quickly closed it behind me because I wouldn't want to seem vulnerable at that point. Sure enough, the driver snatched up the grill and whisked it away to a new home. It wasn't an hour later that another thrifty, young man saw the sad looking lawn mower and tucked it away in the back of his truck. Now, the sign was left standing alone, evidence of good, responsible recycling in action!

The backyard is finally rid of it's clutter. To make room in our closet, I think my wife has her eye on setting both pairs of my beloved Croc sandals out on the curb for a stranger to nab. At least we have a sign ready to let the neighborhood know they are free for the taking.

Words

When in a book store, my first move is toward the discount section. I have discovered treasure there at times. Two days ago, while visiting Books-A-Million, I found a cool little book called Why Do We Say It? for 7 bucks. In it there are a series of stories behind hundreds of words, expressions and cliches we use on a daily basis. Most of us have no idea where the words or phrases we are saying come from because of the unusual, convoluted history leading back to their origins. This book, by the way, is probably best qualified as "good bathroom reading".

Nevertheless, my interest in etymology is piqued as I peruse the pages of this little yellow book of facts. For instance, the word "budget" comes from the French word meaning briefcase or leather bag that held the financial papers for the House of Commons in England. "Sour Grapes" comes from an old fable where a fox can't get to the highest grapes on the vine and walks away saying, "Well, they're sour grapes, anyway!" The word, "idiot" hasn't always meant a mentally challenged person. Originally in Greek the term meant a private citizen who held no public office. It morphed over time into the meaning of one who couldn't take part in public affairs (Wow, that's exactly how some elected officials treat us common-folk after they are voted into office...like we're idiots!).

Mixing metaphors is something that is quite common. Taking two or three pithy statements and merging them can bring about embarrassing consequences. We are oblivious to the origin of a saying and look silly when someone brings the resultant error to our attention. I have actually heard someone say, "He kicked a gift horse in the teeth." In the movie Back To the Future, Biff eviscerates a common phrase when speaking to Marty McFly, "Why don't you make like a tree, and get outta here!"

The English language can be so complex with it's multiple rules and laws, making it almost impossible to get through even this blog without the spell/ grammar check lighting up and pointing it's skinny, judgmental finger at my writing inadequacies. I choose to simply ignore the intimidation, make the changes and move on. The next time I use a metaphor, an expression or even a simple word, my little yellow book will remind me that there is probably a deep back-story behind it. I am best served to heed Abraham Lincoln's advice when he said,

Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt.

Gatlinburg

Brenda and I are in the midst of a much-needed diversion to the Smoky Mountains. We have a nice little hotel in the heart of Gatlinburg, TN...walking distance from a plethora of t-shirt shops, caramel corn and funnel cakes. For those who have never heard of this little vacation spot in the hills of east Tennessee, it is "state fair meets beautiful mountains"...a veritable playground of the middle-class and the unknown. Since the oil spill in the Gulf, we were thinking that the vacationers would re-route their plans from the beach to the mountains. At this point it seems Brenda and I won't be trampled by crowds...yet.

Our favorite spot here is a little preserved pioneer community called Cade's Cove, just over the hill from Gatlinburg. Sometime in the 1930s the government roped off this little valley protecting it from the ravages of progress. Going to the Cove is taking a trip back in time to the days when mountain people with English, Irish and Scottish roots populated Appalachia. Their handiwork is evident in the cabins, smokehouses, churches and mercantiles, necessary for survival in this then remote part of the world. The roads around the community are maintained as modern connections between homesteads and community buildings. The speed limit is so slow, grandma could probably keep up with her walker. But as soon as you get to a site, you must park your car and walk to it. In many cases, you can walk into the cabins and see the rough-hewn and hammered markings on the wood from more than a century ago. I love to put some cool music on in the car, creating a soundtrack that accompanies our trip around the pioneer community.

The other indulgence that we never miss while in Gatlinburg is visiting the many outlet malls that are strewn across the valley. It's not like they don't exist where we live. We just love to zig-zag in and out of each store until we tire and need to duck into a shady corner, regain our strength and start again. I have to say that I get relaxation from it all.

When families come here, they know that they can afford to splurge a little. It's not like the rich and famous who take trips to Europe or Hawaii with their families. Those are the mega-vacations that most of us dream of and will probably never see. We can fill up the car with the kids and grandma, drive a couple of hours and spend a few days in this blue collar paradise. The reason folks flock here is because we can pretty much afford it. I hope that there will always be an affordable getaway here. The economy, as it has been and looks like it will continue to be for a while, is such that many families are taking "stay-cations" instead of vacations. I prefer to play it cheap and spend a few days in the Smokies amidst the sweet-scent of frying funnel cakes and the sweaty tourist who, just like me, are looking to recover our sanity before going back to our work-a-day worlds.