A fascinating "meme"....

For those who don't know better, a "meme" is something which you do, and then ask your friends to do as well. It usually is something informative about that person, or their interests (or something less-than-spiritual, on occasion...)

So here's Dr. Benton Quest's meme:
~
Step One – pull out a book on the book shelf.
Step Two – go to page 123.
Step Three – read and write out the 5th sentence.
Step Four – tag 5 more people.
~

I'll admit it; I cheated. I pulled about 8 books off the shelf looking for a page-123, sentence-#5 item that didn't say something stupid like, "And then Jim ran out the door" or "And this is what we find, time and again."

This is from my one of my favorite emergent writers, Renee Altson, from stumbling toward faith: my longing to heal from the evil that God allowed. Powerhouse stuff, as Renee's always is:

whenever you try to regulate Godliness you come up with something a lot less than God.

A close runner-up is James Bryant Smith's Embracing The Love of God, one of the books from the Renovare' movement. This is page 123, 5th sentence:

Doesn't God have something better to do than go around finding people tires?

Both are definite teasers to read the books in their entirety...

Anyway, I'm going to tag Michael, Erin, Penni, Hope, and Black Peter.

If anyone wants to chime in with a great page-123-5th-sentence from the book of their choice, feel free to comment. (Also, if you want to be rigorously honest, how many of you found a really, really cool line on sentence 3-4 or 5-8 that you would have loved to have used instead?)

But do we hear it?...

I can't believe I haven't posted on here for three weeks. It kind of indicates a spiritual slump I've been in, for a while. But this has been on my mind for a while, and it just kind of kicked me to write about it. We start with a wee bit o' familiar Scripture...

"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him." (John 3:16-17, NIV)

John 3:16. Yeah, that verse.

We see it all the time, don't we? People at football games hold up "JOHN 3:16" posters so national TV will see it. You see it in the most unbelievable places (I'm including a few images for fun...). And I'll bet at least a half-dozen people reading this will read the first 4 words, think, "Oh, yeah, John 3:16," and skip right over the words. Yeah, we know it.

But do we hear it? Do we really take the time and the care to HEAR these words, and believe that they apply to US, today?

There is an idea in Christianity (and has been, for a while, actually) that we are unlovable by God, except through Jesus Christ. That without Christ, we are unbearable to God in our sinfulness. That the only way God can bear to see us is "clothed in Christ." Sad to say, I've heard an awful lot of preaching done on that very theme - even by some Lutheran pastors, who ought to know better.

But look at the first five words of that first verse, will you?...

God loved the world. AND, please note, God loved the world BEFORE he sent Jesus to it. It is, in fact, because of God's love for the world that God SENT Jesus to save it. In fact, throughout the Bible are messages that God loves the world. We are "fearfully (awesomely) and wonderfully made."

Now if you're at all like me, there is a tiny voice inside the back of your head that says, "Yeah, that may be true for them, but not for me..."

Yes, even for you. And me.

A wise friend of mine used to say, "Look around carefully, and realize that God's grace is available to everyone in the room..." And that made perfect sense to me. Of course, I'd heard that a thousand times.

And then he'd pause a bit and say, "...and like it or not - believe it or not - YOU are IN THE ROOM...."

I'm not sure what's crazier - that God loves us all with an unending love, despite our best efforts to deny it - or that we continue to struggle with accepting that love.

Thank you, God of mercy, for the gift of your love today. Help me, and each of us, to hear it, and believe it, today. Amen.

Time for a dose of rigorous honesty...

For years, I have felt increasingly out of touch with American culture, even as I have felt guilty about being infected by it, to some degree. It started with the wrench in values that said that you weren't having fun going to the prom unless you arrived in a $160-an-hour limousine. It spread to the concept that killing a human being in high-school to steal their Starter jacket or designer sneakers somehow became acceptable. (We won't even talk about the acceptability of $175 tennis shoes...)

It accelerated when we bought the lie that "we are what we drive" - so it made perfect sense for a four-foot-ten woman who weighed 96 pounds to be driving a Chevy Suburban to work - alone - "because it makes me feel safe." Or that somehow Hummers and Expeditions and Land Rovers (not to mention Ram or F150 pickups with enough horsepower to pull a hundred-year-old tree-stump out of the ground) were suddenly de rigueur for the commute through the wilderness of our downtown parking garages...

And suddenly you couldn't be caught dead buying a house without a Corian kitchen countertop. And then, in no time at all, anyone who "settled" for Corian instead of marble or granite may just as well have stuck down self-adhesive carpet tiles in the foyer, too. The idea of a $50,000 SUV parked in front of a $400,000 house with a $60,000 kitchen seemed, well, completely acceptable to some folks...

But I was absolutely astonished - hell, beyond astonished - to hear the May 6th announcement that Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac were providing special mortgage availability for what they called "jumbo mortgages ... for people who wanted to obtain mortgages up to $729,000!!

When the hell did it become necessary to ensure that people could get government help to buy a three-quarter-million dollar house??

I realize that I and my family, however, are also part of the problem. I myself labor under the weight of stupid, stupid consumer debt. My sister and brother-in-law were sold a mortgage they could just barely support, long-term. They were encouraged to take an adjustable-rate mortgage, even though the initial payment was at the absolute outside edge of what they could afford - let alone any rate adjustment in 2-1/2 years. Common sense would have said they couldn't do it - but everyone else was, and "it'll all work out..."

Then my sister got injured, and her cost-conscious employer ushered her out de' do' - saying goodbye to 18 years of service and the income they desperately needed to stay afloat, not to mention her very affordable health-care benefits. Now their monthly drug co-pays are just as much as their car payment - if not more - and my sister's replacement job only pays 2/3 what her old job did. Gas has gone up 50% in two years... and people are wondering why we in middle America are in trouble?

I'm tired of a war that should never have started, taking lives and draining resources from a country that so desperately needs to be building infrastructure of our own, not blowing up others'. I'm sick to death of the daily butcher's bill; of personal liberties and rights guaranteed in the Bill of Rights being trampled in the name of "national security." Such a damn waste...

I'm tired of the majority of Republicans chanting about the "defense of marriage" against those scheming homosexuals and their "agenda" - when the people who are helping to destroy marriage are the straight white Christians who can't stay married, not the gays who would choose to be married if they could. And I'm even more tired of everyone pointing at that one issue as the primary reason for the "downfall of America" - when in fact the fault is laying at the feet of almost every single person who is pointing the finger...

One person, I think, is closer to the truth than others.

Thomas Friedman's editorial in the online New York Times on May 4th addresses an awful lot of the hows, and whys, of our current political and economic mess. He captures much of what I've been feeling for years - and just so the NYT doesn't archive this piece of wisdom, I include the text of it here, with all due credit to Friedman and the Times.

Who Will Tell the People?
By Thomas L. Friedman
published May 4th in the online New York Times

Traveling the country these past five months while writing a book, I’ve had my own opportunity to take the pulse, far from the campaign crowds. My own totally unscientific polling has left me feeling that if there is one overwhelming hunger in our country today it’s this: People want to do nation-building. They really do. But they want to do nation-building in America.

They are not only tired of nation-building in Iraq and in Afghanistan, with so little to show for it. They sense something deeper — that we’re just not that strong anymore. We’re borrowing money to shore up our banks from city-states called Dubai and Singapore. Our generals regularly tell us that Iran is subverting our efforts in Iraq, but they do nothing about it because we have no leverage — as long as our forces are pinned down in Baghdad and our economy is pinned to Middle East oil.

Our president’s latest energy initiative was to go to Saudi Arabia and beg King Abdullah to give us a little relief on gasoline prices. I guess there was some justice in that. When you, the president, after 9/11, tell the country to go shopping instead of buckling down to break our addiction to oil, it ends with you, the president, shopping the world for discount gasoline.

We are not as powerful as we used to be because over the past three decades, the Asian values of our parents’ generation — work hard, study, save, invest, live within your means — have given way to sub-prime values: "You can have the American dream — a house — with no money down and no payments for two years."

That’s why Donald Rumsfeld’s infamous defense of why he did not originally send more troops to Iraq is the mantra of our times: "You go to war with the army you have." Hey, you march into the future with the country you have — not the one that you need, not the one you want, not the best you could have.

A few weeks ago, my wife and I flew from New York’s Kennedy Airport to Singapore. In J.F.K.’s waiting lounge we could barely find a place to sit. Eighteen hours later, we landed at Singapore’s ultramodern airport, with free Internet portals and children’s play zones throughout. We felt, as we have before, like we had just flown from the Flintstones to the Jetsons. If all Americans could compare Berlin’s luxurious central train station today with the grimy, decrepit Penn Station in New York City, they would swear we were the ones who lost World War II.

How could this be? We are a great power. How could we be borrowing money from Singapore? Maybe it’s because Singapore is investing billions of dollars, from its own savings, into infrastructure and scientific research to attract the world’s best talent — including Americans.

And us? Harvard’s president, Drew Faust, just told a Senate hearing that cutbacks in government research funds were resulting in “downsized labs, layoffs of post-docs, slipping morale and more conservative science that shies away from the big research questions.” Today, she added, “China, India, Singapore ... have adopted biomedical research and the building of biotechnology clusters as national goals. Suddenly, those who train in America have significant options elsewhere.”

Much nonsense has been written about how Hillary Clinton is “toughening up” Barack Obama so he’ll be tough enough to withstand Republican attacks. Sorry, we don’t need a president who is tough enough to withstand the lies of his opponents. We need a president who is tough enough to tell the truth to the American people. Any one of the candidates can answer the Red Phone at 3 a.m. in the White House bedroom. I’m voting for the one who can talk straight to the American people on national TV — at 8 p.m. — from the White House East Room.

Who will tell the people? We are not who we think we are. We are living on borrowed time and borrowed dimes. We still have all the potential for greatness, but only if we get back to work on our country.

I don’t know if Barack Obama can lead that, but the notion that the idealism he has inspired in so many young people doesn’t matter is dead wrong. “Of course, hope alone is not enough,” says Tim Shriver, chairman of Special Olympics, “but it’s not trivial. It’s not trivial to inspire people to want to get up and do something with someone else.”

It is especially not trivial now, because millions of Americans are dying to be enlisted — enlisted to fix education, enlisted to research renewable energy, enlisted to repair our infrastructure, enlisted to help others. Look at the kids lining up to join Teach for America. They want our country to matter again. They want it to be about building wealth and dignity — big profits and big purposes. When we just do one, we are less than the sum of our parts. When we do both, said Shriver, “no one can touch us.”

Hold on, indeed

I saw it first on Erin's blog. Then I followed the link to Patchouli's. Both postings crushed my soul, it seems.

Suicide. Not one, but two.

Each time I hear of someone who has taken their own life, I am swept back to April 8, 1990. Palm Sunday. I'd spent the night advising a youth-group overnighter, and got the call from my then-wife that my dear friend Skip Bevens was missing.

And then, when I got home, I got the call that he'd been found.

I vaguely remember the rest. How it seemed impossible to even imagine. How it seemed that the phone suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. Going downtown, to what was then the Toledo Safety Building. The numbness. How everything just went gray, at least in my mind. I remember the memorial service, when the family who had rejected him were wondering why he would do this. I remember the priest trying to talk about mental illness, and part of my mind denying that my friend was "crazy" and hoping at the same time that he was - that this was not some conscious act of saying "Screw you!" to the world. To his friends and loved ones.

To me.

I remembered how we had parted, a week and a half earlier. It had not been a happy encounter; in retrospect, it looked like the straw that broke the camel's back. All I knew was that everyone - everyone - had gotten a suicide letter. Everyone, that is, except me.

In this wave of emotional recollection, I have to share with you the wise words of my friend Erin. These are the words I wish I had written:

Today is the day to check in with those you know. Do you know someone who just hasn't been themselves lately? Call them. Go out for coffee. Be ready to listen. Has someone just dropped out of the picture? Find them. Today is the 30th of the month, and thousands face foreclosure of their homes tomorrow. Is someone you know facing homelessness? Invite them home. If you are afraid that someone you know might harm themselves, make a call to get them help.

Pray. Listen. If God brings someone to your mind and heart, make a call. If you can't reach them, call again. And again.

If you are reading this, and you have been thinking of taking your life, hold on. Call someone. Email me. Just hold on.

Amen, and amen, Erin. You preach it, sister.

This says it all

From anj, via bobbie - taken from a sermon by a pastor named Peter Hiett, this is an addition to the "Things I Now Know To Be True" list:

So I’m convinced your deepest problem is not the cigarettes you smoke or the alcohol you drink in secret. It’s not the slander you speak and the gossip you cherish. It’s not the pornography you pleasure yourself with when no one’s looking. It’s not the baby you aborted; it’s not that you betrayed your brother, cheated on your bride, lied about the whole thing, and retaliated with murder [King Herod]. It’s not even that you slaughtered the Lamb and killed the Messiah. Your deepest problem is that somewhere deep down inside, you believe Jesus the Messiah rose from the dead just to kick your ass, when, in fact, He rose from the dead so you would believe all is forgiven. It is finished! Justice is accomplished. And the Father is pleading, "Come home, come home, come home!"

(NB: I found this image of God's welcome on Google Images a while ago. I'm sorry I can't properly give credit for it - but it's how I trust Heaven will be...)

Like ten miles of rough road

It has been a bit of a rough patch, lately - not so much any huge crisis like a car crash, but a bunch of niggling problems that have just been wearing - as a friend used to say, "like riding bareback for ten miles o' rough road." I'm grateful to say, I'm still sunny-side-up, suckin' air and sober, though a bit out of touch with my sisters and brothers in the digital domain...

First, for those of you who are dying to know, I managed to have a great time at the AMA Supercross races in Detroit. It was an expensive day - I'd already bought the tickets, but between lunch at a local eatery and then snacks and dinner at Ford Field we'd been pretty well raped... But the races brought some dramatic changes in the standings, and yes, I found it exciting. The crowds were pretty well behaved, and at one point on the way home, I even caught myself using the words "lap times" in a sentence. It's something Chris loves, and I find interesting and enjoyable, so it was a "win-win" day.

The trip was kind of marred at the end by hitting a monstrous pothole on the north side of Toledo on I-75. The tire held together for about 5 miles until (fortunately) we got through downtown and on the southeast side where there were some shoulders. But when it failed, it blew out big time, and we just barely got the car off on the shoulder to change it in the rain. The rim was dented beyond repair, the tire was totaled, and both right hub caps went on to Glory. The next morning we found that the right rear wheel also had a good-sized dent in the rim. So I found two used wheels ($50 total); hopefully we'll be able to save the rear tire and only replace the front ($82). So in short, I guess I should have shut up about the food at Ford Field, and concentrated bitching about the roads in the Toledo hinterlands...

Sunday and Monday, I had nosebleeds so bad I had to go to the doctor's Monday morning to get them cauterized. I haven't had nosebleeds like that since I had sinus surgery in 2001, and it was pretty scary. Immediately after that, I came down with some kind of respiratory gunk that just lodged itself in my sinuses and chest, and still hasn't let go. You know it's bad when they get out the albuterol nebulizer to help your breathing get better. Fortunately, Chris is a sound sleeper, and my barking-like-a-basset-hound didn't impair his sleep too much.

And we have had two continuous weeks of the most unGodly fubars at work - days when you get to the end, and think, "Could I just hose my brain out, and start fresh?" I don't know, but I'm getting less resilient to these weekly bobsled rides from Hell. It's not nearly as challenging, or rewarding, as it once was. But it's a sucky time to be job-hunting, especially in northwest Ohio. Thank you, Mr. President - and your oil/banking/military-industrial-complex bastard friends, of course...

The invitations to church remain unaddressed. We were still assessing the damages last week, and this last weekend, I was still feeling too puny to go much of anywhere. Perhaps this weekend, perhaps...

But spring is officially here...there is green and "buddage," as my sister calls it. The first trumpet of spring in Ohio is forsythia, whose yellow explosions give us hope that winter is gone.

Broadening horizons

Three enjoyable places I never would have imagined myself attending, a year ago:

First: Last Friday and Saturday, as part of the Weak Signals Radio Control Expo - one of the largest trade shows for RC craft in the US, held in Toledo each year - I was with Chris to attend the Electric Tournament of Champions (ETOC). ETOC is devoted to ultralight (6 ounce, total weight) electric-powered stunt RC planes and showcased some of the best stunt RC pilots showing off their stuff. The elimination rounds were Friday, and the finals were Saturday night at Waite High School.

Each "pilot" had to perform a series of required maneuvers, followed by a freestyle performance where they could "strut their stuff,"followed by a runoff for the top 3 competitors. Frankly, I didn't think I could ever get into this kind of thing - but seeing some of the previous year's competition on YouTube got me interested. Here's the video of the winner of ETOC 2008:


SECOND: We went downtown Saturday for the actual Weak Signals RC Expo, which took over the entire Seagate Center (Toledo's convention center) for the weekend. Imagine every conceivable vendor for remote-control airplanes, with a few RC boat and car vendors for good measure, crammed into a medium sized convention center - a virtual dreamland for the kid inside every man. From tiny ultralight RC planes that would fit in your palm to 30%-scale trainers with 20-foot wingspans powered by chainsaw motors, and every geegaw to fit every one of 'em, it was a wonderland.

The day started out as every good day downtown should - at Tony Packo's by the ballpark. Nothing fancy - just Packo's special hotdogs, and chili-cheese fries. Then four hours of wandering around Seagate Center, reminding me of an old smart-aleck comment about sunburning the roof of my mouth (since it was hanging open so much!). My feet and knees gave out long before my desire to see stuff did.

We went out to Central Catholic High School where a local RC flying club was having an "open flying" session - anyone could fly electric-powered airplanes under a certain weight. We were fresh out of cash, and they only TOOK cash, so we had to pass on that - but in the process, I learned a really disturbing thing about Chris.

He's one of those "White Castle fanatics."

Ewww.

Yes, indeed - we were going down Cherry St. just off downtown, and he saw the familiar building, and (to put it mildly) freaked out. "OH, my GOD, there's a White Castle here!!!" My reaction was basically, yeah, so what? The only time I have ever eaten White Castle was during a drunken weekend at Ohio State University back in the late 1970's - and I swore I'd never do it again. But, I saw the look on Chris' face, and I just started humming "What I Did For Love" from A Chorus Line and pulled in. And didn't even gag. And he was happy - and that made me happy, I guess.

Chris started working an afternoon a weekend at the local Hobbytown outlet, and he's back in his favorite element - talking and selling RC planes. It's definitely meant we have to re-arrange our schedule some - but it brings him joy, and doesn't inconvenience me much, so that's a good thing.

THIRD: the big deal, however, is this weekend:
The AMA Monster Energy SuperCross motorcycle races will bring their latest races to Detroit's Ford Field this Saturday, and we will be there.

Yes, you heard me. Motocross racing. Me. Detroit. All day Saturday.

I hardly believe it myself.

But I have watched half-a-dozen races with Chris, and strange to say, I've really gotten into it a bit. Chris used to run motocross bikes (a KTM, if you know about these things), some on tracks and some cross-country (enduro). So he got me watching, and now I am even starting to pick up the lingo.

I've drawn the line at fishing, though. I've told him - you want to go fishing, I will not ever stand in your way. But I'll be the one waving from the front porch - fishing holds NO charm for me WHATsoever. I told him I'll support him in whatever he wants to do - but I ain't GOING to all of it, and especially not fishing.

Even I have my limits.

"Country club" Christianity

I am continually astounded by the brilliance of the people surrounding me in the blogosphere. Not as in Steven-Hawking brilliant, but by people who have seen the truth and are not afraid to speak it. Like my Canadian brother-of-the-heart who goes by the unlikely pseudonym [rhymes with kerouac].

Whenever I am at risk of standing in lines, I've been reading his book, Today At The Mission, which is selections from his first year's blogging over here, and came across this clearly-prophetic post. The whole thing is brilliant, but this passage speaks to my heart in a way that hurts:

There are churches in our city that have no problem raising a million dollars for a new building (complete with paved parking lots, air conditioning and broadloom) but can't seem to spare a fig for the dying and the damned on our downtown streets. The exact phrase my friend used to describe these churches was "Christian country clubs."

And none of this would be an issue if it weren't for God saying this: "Wherefore Jesus also, that he might sanctify the people with his blood, suffered without the gate." In all of Christian history, thought and practice their can be no holier place than the cross. Yet the cross was not found in the Temple, nor in Jerusalem, the very City of God. It was found outside the city, in the wild and desolate place of Golgotha, the place of anguish, of humiliation and shame.

He puts in words what has bothered me about so much of suburban Christianity for so long. I've used that "Christian country club" phrase too - so much so that I stopped bothering, because that's all I saw.

I've been invited to a round half-dozen churches lately - and I've been resisting going to any of them. Part of them is pure sloth - Chris works until midnight or later on Saturdays, and Sunday just doesn't sound like fun to leap up and go. But it's also the idea that a considerable chunk of what the institutional church does would definitely fit the term "incompatible with Christian teachings." And I just don't want to be bothered, to be honest. (Now, to be fair, there is still a significant majority of the church whose actions mirror Christ's words. I just haven't run into them much...)

It's like having been burned in love - there is a significant desire not to commit again, for fear of getting burned again. The last time the church burned me, it hurt for a long, long time. I'm just not going to make that kind of commitment until I'm sure - really, really sure - that it's the real McCoy. And if that's cowardice, then so be it. To paraphrase what Gandalf said so succinctly in The Two Towers, one who has been escorted to the door will not willingly go back in a second time...

Thinking about financial meltdowns...

I see the Wall Street meltdown from a couple different perspectives...

I was a newbie public accounting auditor, doing mortgage audits of places like First Federal Savings & Loan, Home Federal Savings & Loan, First Federal of Delta and a whole bunch of other S&Ls in northwest Ohio that overstretched themselves and collapsed in the early 80's.

As a newbie, I got assigned to the fun stuff - checking mortgage documentation. We were looking at internal controls that said "Is there a certified signed property valuation for the loan?" when the question should have been "Is there a property valuation that was worth more than a fart in a windstorm?" The loans were 100% documented from a compliance standpoint - but the worth of the documentation itself was nil, plus or minus 10%. This sounds very familiar to where we are now. Just substitute the words "market valuation" and you're set.

Another view...my sister and brother-in-law are owners of a condo purchased with a low-ball-rate ARM. It's not an extravagant thing - you could buy 3 of these with some of the monster properties surrounding us out here in the genteel country south and west of Toledo. It's nice, but there are no granite countertops, no sixty-thousand dollar kitchens or Hummers in the garage. It's just a nice home for a person who can't climb stairs and another who (after 30 years of cutting grass) is tired of dealing with a yard.

They were approved at the upper bleeding maximum edge of their ability to pay - with an adjustable rate mortgage that was (unknown to them, or me, at the time) almost certain to go up way beyond their ability to pay when the adjustment period came due. The people who wrote that loan put the shells in the chambers, cocked the gun, and pointed it at my family's head, knowing that the gun would almost certainly go off in 3 years. If my sister and bro-in-law are culpable, those who originated the loan and those who refinanced it are equally culpable. Just because they wanted this house was no reason to sell it to them, or finance it for them. Just because you can say "yes" doesn't mean that you should...

Of course, no one could have foreseen my sister's disability or Jeff's down-grade from year-round worker to seasonal status. But even at their most financially productive, with the other debt they were carrying, it was madness to approve the loan they got. And I'm a little resentful that the organization wants the bailout, rather than the little people who were sold an exploding pig in a poke.

I know what the S&L buyout cost the nation 20 years ago - and there is no way in hell it's not going to cost exponentially more this time than last. And this from an economy that's already suckin' dry from our overseas adventures.

To my mind, the only reason the oil companies haven't been stampeded together and broken-up like in the last antitrust wars is because we are so addicted to fuel. The nation - myself included - is so addicted to the "right" to independent and at-will travel that no one will risk threatening the supply of our drug - even though people (just like addicts) are now having to make decision between their fuel (read: drug-of-choice) and food, health-care, even housing.

I just wish I had an answer. But I also know the old answers won't do anymore, either...

Forgive me, br'er Cobb, for cross-posting this from your comments onto my own blog - but your post brought up several ideas that have also been percolating in my mind.

Percolating thoughts

Saturday was birthday #51.

A time of celebration, a time of joy, a time of reflection - all at once.

It is a much different time in my life - love life is an A-plus, health is C-minus, up from D-plus, finances are still somewhere between C-minus and D-plus, family still struggling physically and financially. Definitely a "mixed bag," you might say.

I have been both celebrating items of gratitude, and bouts of "regretting the past and wishing to shut the door on it." Now that I have someone to spend time and money with, I sure could use some of the "wasted days and wasted nights" and some of the untold piles of dollars I have lost (or missed out on) over the years. There have been days when the weight of the "if onlys" have been pretty immense, to be honest.

And yes, before you say it - I know. I really do. If I hadn't done everything I had done, taken every step and mis-step I've taken up to this point, I wouldn't be here. If I hadn't moved to Toledo, I might not have been in a position to find love in the first place. If I hadn't had the job from Hell, I wouldn't have had the chance to move here and help out my family. If I hadn't had all those drinks, I wouldn't have found the blessed fellowship I now participate in.

Here's an interesting one - if I had come out sooner in life, I might well have engaged in behavior that would have earned me one of the millions of funerals that have happened over the twenty-five years. I might be dealing with a much more lethal disease than diabetes (though I am not for a minute minimizing the effects of that one, either).

So, every time I bring up what "woulda/ coulda/ shoulda" happened, I have to admit this:

I should be dead.
I should be in jail.
I should be in an institution somewhere.
I qualfied for each, time and time again.

Rascall Flats said it best, especially to the love of my life - but for the One who loves me, as well:

Every long lost dream
Led me to where You are
Others who broke my heart
They were like northern stars
Pointing me on my way
Into Your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to You.

Soli Deo gratias. To God alone be the glory.

Oh, and just so you know I haven't lost my sense of humor entirely, here is the very best blogger's birthday cake I've seen (double-click on it to see it bigger):








Topics yet to come:
- prayer as a tool to healing the past;
- "simple church" a la [rwk];
- the feel good movie of 2008; and
- two places I never expected to be in the next two weeks.

Keep comin' back...

The Monday after...

Erin posted this simple post Friday. Her follow-up post today says everything I want to say about the Monday after Easter - only better, and more clearly.

As Gamble Rogers' infamous character Agamemnon Jones would say, "If you find that someone has already made your point, and made it clearer, better, or sharper....then shut up."

((((Erin))))

The strangers and aliens among us

"Do not mistreat or oppress an alien; you yourselves know how it feels to be aliens, because you were aliens in Egypt." (Exodus 23:9)
><>

It's Good Friday, and any good devotional writer would have his face, and his pen, turned toward Golgotha, and the cross. But somehow, my heart is pulling me in another direction...


Good Friday. Easter Vigil. Easter Sunday. "The Three Days." Along with Christmas, this is one of the two most sacred and revered Christian feast days on the calendar. Crucifixion, death, silence, resurrection and celebration. The very pinnacle of the Christian story. In virtually every Christian pulpit, the focus will be on the cross and everything it stands for.

But in my mind's eye, I'm standing in my home congregation in Kansas on Easter Sunday morning. In the huge, glass-walled space outside the sanctuary, I'm standing by the glass wall of the sanctuary near the top of the entry stairs, and I'm looking down the stairs at the faces coming in. There are the church members and their families - confident, well-dressed, and assured that no matter what special effects or special music or liturgical dance or procession or whatever, they will know the basic shape of the service they are about to experience. They've grown up with it all their lives, or at least for a long, long time. This is familiar, joyous territory for them.

But then, there are the others. They come in the door somewhat tentatively, looking about. Not quite sure where to go, they follow the crush of members up the stairs into the lobby (which everyone keeps calling a "narthex," for some reason). There are incredible images of color, powerful sounds of celebration - all of which seem completely unfamiliar to them. Not sure where to go or what to do, they go into the sanctuary, and take a seat near the back, so they won't be noticed if they do something wrong or say something out of place.

They are the outsiders. The non-Christian or non-practicing Christian visitors who swell the ranks of almost every Christian church on Easter weekend. And on this Good Friday I'd like us as a community of faith to start praying for them.

Some of them are there because they have to be; their parents or siblings or spouses or partners have dragged them to the "just this once, please" service. Some of them are there because they believe Christian folk are supposed to have a corner on what's right in the world, and there isn't much going right in their world right now. And some of them have heard just enough of the story of this Jesus person to want to be there - to see what all the big deal is about.

All this talk about "the Lamb of God" and "the King of Kings" and the organ music and the fanfares and shouting "He is risen, indeed!" makes them feel like they have landed in a different land, like the children landing in Narnia for the first time. They haven't been there throughout Lent, so they haven't understood the times of preparation and transformation that many congregations go through. The liturgical colors, the significance of the white linen, the lyrics of the hymns, none of it makes sense to them. And all this strangeness will leave them feeling tense, ill at ease, and adrift in a place with a slightly different language and an entirely different landscape.

How do I know this? Because I was "one of them," once upon a time. And that's how I felt.

And that's why, today, I'm going to ask you to do four powerful things.

First, pray for your church's visitors, all weekend long. Whatever draws them to your place of worship, literally pray them off the streets and in the doors.

Second, look for them, and be aware of them, in each of your services. Their first urge (as mine was) will be to not get noticed, to not draw attention. But look for the strangers among you with your heart, and they will not be hard to find.

Third, realize that your visitors very well may have no clue what's going on around them, this weekend. If you see someone fumbling with a hymnal or wondering whether to stand up or sit down, give 'em a hand. They will be grateful.

Lastly - welcome and encourage your guests whenever you see them. A friend of mine says that when dealing with visitors or guests, "Our primary purpose is to show them that we don't bite; that they are safe here among us." Perhaps that is near the heart of what a welcoming community does - they smooth the road, light the pathway and make things a little more comfortable for those that don't know the way.

Our sanctuaries and fellowships halls will fill this weekend. Not everyone will come in as friends, and many will feel as strangers. With our help, and our prayers, and our loving actions, perhaps they will leave feeling that they might just be able to come back and find a place among us. That they might find a home. That they might know we are Christians - by our love, and by our welcome.

I know I did.
><>

He who was seated on the throne said, "I am making everything new!"
(Revelation 21:5, NIV)





(Shameless plug: the images used on this post, from Atonement Lutheran Church in Overland Park, KS, have been lifted from the archives of my brother and friend, Timothy Bredow of Kansas City. He is a talented photographer, father, and all-around great guy. Go check his stuff out at his KCinFocus flikr site. Tim, I love you, but I get a very un-Christian case of envy looking at your stuff, bro. Your photography captures what one songwriter called "the rhythm and rhyme of the poem of your life." Thank you for allowing your images to bless these meager words.)

The part that remains

For at least a dozen years, I have been telling a story that I remember from thirty years ago. I remembered it from before I ever called myself a Christian; before I came to belief in God; before I could even pretend to have faith.

I don't remember the details any more, and I've been asking questions of folks involved, and no one seems to remember them either. All I can tell you is that sometime in the late 1970's, two churches on Glendale Avenue in Toledo were torched on the same night, just about a week before Christmas. My memory is foggy, but I thought one congregation was east of Byrne Rd., and one was near Green Valley. One congregation's fellowship hall burned down; one church was a complete loss. Thousands of dollars of Christmas presents for needy kids were lost in the two conflagrations.

The memorable part, for me, was a TV news broadcast that occurred the day after the fire. One of the pastors was being interviewed by a TV news reporter about the effects of the fire, as they were standing in front of the wreckage of the church. The reporter asked, "How does it feel to know that your church has been destroyed, less than a week before Christmas?"

Unbelievably, the pastor smiled, and replied, "Oh, no - it's not as bad as that."

With a stunned look, the reporter glanced over his right shoulder at the still-smoking remains of the sanctuary, and then back to the pastor. The pastor, however, kept on smiling and said, "No, you don't understand...they destroyed the building, not the church. The church is what remains after your sanctuary has burned to the ground. "

I can't tell you why or how that idea stuck with me, but it has, for three decades.

The reason that story comes to mind is that probably dozens of Christian bloggers I know have published items in the last several months talking about searching for church communities and what "communities of faith" might/could look like. There are lots of people who are searching for what Michael W. Smith would call "their place in this world," and right now, I'm one of them, again/still.

I know that one thing that I believe true "faith communities" don't do is what my friend Natalie would call "worshiping the barn instead of the Savior." There are some congregations of which I've been a member who were more concerned with getting coffee stains on the narthex or sanctuary carpet than with welcoming strangers into the presence of faithful friends. In fact, those experiences have led me to believe that the more reverence a congregation puts on its building, the less impressed I am with 'em.

Which brings me back to the fire.

What I remembered, too, is that I've been a witness to several congregations whose buildings have been destroyed since that weekend. Living in Kansas, there are lots of stories of tornado damage - including one year-old building that was picked up whole by a tornado, and dropped exactly one foot off of its footings. The amazing part in all these stories was that "the part that remains" became only more enthused, more servant-oriented, and more engaged in the community. They took care of each other, but they took care of the community, too. I know that doesn't always happen; sometimes "the barn" is the last thing holding a shaky community together, and when the building goes, so does the church.

I do remember being a part of a church back in the mid-90's that had a problem. They had a long-standing dream of building a pipe-organ for their sanctuary - the choir loft had been designed especially for it when it was built years before, in fact. And the education wing needed upgrades, and an elevator. And they'd raised most of the money for the organ, and the worst-needed upgrades.

But then voices were raised that the pipe organ was an extravagance, and we'd be "worshiping the damn organ, eventually." There were lots of good arguments, pro and con - but it split the congregation, split the women's circles, you name it. Longtime friends were not speaking to each other over this thing - it was pretty bad.

One of the pro-organ people cornered me after worship one day, and asked me what I thought they should do. I hadn't learned a lot of tact and diplomacy at that point, and I didn't want to get involved, to be honest. But the poor soul kept pestering me, and so finally, I blurted out, "You wanna know what I think you should do? You wanna know what I think would solve all these problems?"

"Yes, of course I do! Tell me!"

"I think you should burn the damn sanctuary down."

"What?!?"

"YOU heard me! You people are so damned spoiled, you have no idea what a real problem IS! You've got most of a half-million dollars raised for your building - and you can't agree on how to spend it. Aww, poor babies! What a damn tragedy that is! You're so blinded by your riches, you can't SEE your blessings, and you're setting brother against brother and friend against friend over this thing. So just burn down the damn sanctuary - and then you'll know what real problems are!"

Needless to say, no one ever bothered me about the topic again.

So when I'm visiting your church, don't bother telling me about your beautiful building, or your wonderful sound system. Tell me about your prayer team; tell me about your community outreach. Tell me about how you are serving "the least of these" in according with Matthew 25. Tell me how you are building the kingdom of God, one soul at a time. That's the stuff I want to hear about.

But if you start talking about your beautiful barn/mauseleum, I might just suggest that you burn it down.

An unplanned sabbatical

It has been a long, long time, my virtual friends. My apologies for being absent so long.

Two things I have been learning these days are (1) how undisciplined I can be and (2) how good I still am at living completely out-of-balance. As friends of mine in recovery often say, "I recognize 'balance' in my life - usually as I'm swinging past it from one extreme to the other..."

But for now, let's focus on the good stuff:

Chris, the very special man in my life, has only been getting, well, more special. To be honest, I cannot imagine how I lived without him in my life before September 30th. And I have been asking myself how I managed to survive as many years as I did without someone like him in my life. The answers, as usual, have been interesting...

One is, I have had a number of deep and wonderful friendships in my life - closer-than-friend, closer to soul-sister or brother-of-the-heart than anything else. Whether on the next block or across the country, they have at least partly filled the gap where a "significant other" would have been - for companionship, social connections, and deep rumination on all manner of topics. They have, in many ways, prepared me for this time.

And the other thing - perhaps not as significant, but certainly a measurable force - is that I never completely let go of the hope that there might be a someone with whom I might find that soul-mate bond I'd been searching for all these years. I despaired of that hope, time and time again - but a tiny ember of that flame kept on through it all, evidently. Enough of an ember, anyway, that when the right person came along, he clicked like a key in a lock.

And we are good for each other. He has me up and exercising at least 1/2 hour a day 3-4 days a week, and eating better when we are together (for the most part, that is). Chris' job has him on a 3-11 shift, which means later-than-usual nights for me, and it's been very tough to get up and get enthused about work after those late nights (hence the discipline failure, repeatedly). But even our schedule has forced us to be flexible and tolerant of each other's needs. For a while, he had Sundays and Thursdays off - and I was off to Van Wert for DeMolay stuff on Thursday nights, so that felt kind of like a cheat (since the 2-hour-each-way drive made sure I didn't get home until after 11:30 most weeks). But we've managed to work around our schedules, and it's been good.

Work has been somewhat calmer - although the wreckage of the last 4 months is somewhat coming home to roost, and this next weekend and week should be, well, pretty insane trying to catch up. I still have several big hurdles yet to come, and the ever-present threat of down-sizing (especially in THIS sucky economy) continues to add to the stress-levels. But so far, at least, the day-to-day screamining-meemies level of craziness seems to have come down considerably. "We ain't where we wanna be, but thank you Jesus, we ain't where we used to be..."

It has been more challenging to try to schedule housework and laundry and recovery meetings and DeMolay and anything else (including blogging) into the few short hours between when I get off work and when Chris comes home. So some of those tasks (especially housework and blogging) have gotten embarrassingly out-of-hand. I keep trying to get caught up on some things, and then others tend to push their ways into the schedule instead. There are days when I would like to have a work-free, solo day to get caught up on all this stuff of earth, as Rich Mullins would call it, but I keep reminding myself that I had 12 years to get caught up as a solo man, and that never happened, so why I think I'm going to find more time to do it now that I'm in a relationship is a mystery...

It's hard to remember that it's not been quite six months since I met Chris; not quite 3 months since he landed in Ohio. Lots of changes continue - but for the most part, they seem to be good ones. He can't wait for a reasonably warm, calm day to share with me the first flights of his new RC airplane; I continue to share with him the wealth of storytelling tapes and CDs I've collected over the years, including a rare recording of the 1988 Minnesota Public Radio program Good Evening (hosted by Noah Adams) broadcast from the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough, TN. We have laughed over the likes of Gamble Rogers, Don Davis' classic telling of "The Southern Bells," and Bill Harley's classic "How Coyote Put the Stars in the Sky."

In short, it is good in a deep way that I never would have imagined possible a year ago.

My sister continues to struggle with her health, and her job; my brother-in-law remains unemployed. Both struggle daily with the motivation to keep on keepin' on, and I understand that completely - believe me. We still have way too much month left at the end of our money, and I have more and more questions about whether we will be able to stay in this condo by summer's end. But for today, we are here, we are fed and warm, and we are (as my old friend Bob L. would say) sunny-side-up, suckin' air and sober.

New love has a way of focusing me on my gifts, rather than what I lack. So today, I celebrate.

Flashbacks and thanks

They said to the woman, "We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this man really is the Savior of the world." (John 4:42, NIV)

Sunday's Gospel reading was the story of Jesus meeting a Samaritan woman of questionable background at the well.

Two years ago, after visiting Fourth Presbyterian Church and hearing Pastor James Buchanan preach on "the woman at the well," I went home wanting to startle people out of their sensibilities. In 2008, it's getting hard to remember the power of prejudice and cultural barriers. Less than 45 years ago, many white men wouldn't drink out of a drinking fountain if a black man had "tainted it" by drinking from it first. We can't imagine the extreme prejudice that existed between Jews and Samaritans back in Jesus' day.

To kind of bring that truth to light, I went home that afternoon and literally re-wrote the John 4 story as if Jesus were speaking to a Muslim gay waiter in the Boystown neighborhood in modern-day Chicago. I posted the story here, entitled "Just How Shocking Is The Gospel."

Evidently, it worked.

I never had more hits on my blog than I did then. I had a rash of comments - some startlingly angry, some quite supportive. Only one or two were actually of the "fag-lover" category, thankfully. But it sparked an awful lot of discussion. A year later, I followed a Sitemeter link from that post to a women's bible-study blog at a very conservative Bible college in Indiana. I've had responses from all over the world.

This last weekend, a number of people (including my dear friend Michael and the esteemed Maggi Dawn!) have brought fresh attention to the post. It's been fascinating to see where they all have come from.

I continue to be blessed that this writing still blesses others - or at least makes them think! That, in the end, was the whole purpose. Soli Deo gloria.

Getting back on the bicycle

I have been struggling, since getting to Ohio, with a number of things. One of the things I struggled with that never really ever floated to the top was the idea of finding a new "church home." In fact, to be honest, I struggled with it from the time I left my real "church home" in Kansas in 2003.

In seminary, we were always going where we were told for church. This visitation, this "ministry in context" site, this special project. Seminary was a place where I started falling in love with most of the theology of Martin Luther, even as I was falling out of love with the traditional ELCA Lutheran church. I saw worship as rote performance, worship as theatre and showmanship, but somehow had missed sincerity and humility in all the places I'd tried going.

I know it's a sad commentary for a man who intended to spend the rest of his life in church on Sunday morning - but except for Christmas and Easter, I've been hard-pressed to get fired up about going to church. In a way, I've felt the pull of demanding work and demanding family, and Sunday morning was the one morning I didn't have to be anything for anyone. No demands, no nothing. It felt pretty good.

And, to be honest, it seemed that the whole "committed to serve" thing that I had for the church just kind of flamed-out when I had to drop out of seminary. So many times, becoming a member of a church means becoming fresh meat for the church activity meat-grinder. Sunday mornings - sometimes all morning. Choir, Sunday school teacher, church council, prayer team leader - as a dear professor of mine once said, "The church is an addictive institution, and their drug of choice is over-commitment and overwork..." I have to admit a certain fear of being sucked back into the co-dependent "they need you there, Steve" syndrome.

And, to be honest, I haven't wanted to deal with finding a church that I can attend with my significant other and feel welcome. It's a tragic thing to say, but I really didn't want to be bothered with the struggle. Call it being conflict-averse, call it avoiding church closets, I don't know. Any more, my feelings about church has been a take-off on the old cigarette commercial: "I'd rather switch than fight."

Two things have kicked my church-aversion in the pants. One was the incredible richness of worship at the GCN conference at the beginning of January. I was completely overwhelmed by the power of the worship, and sense of being "a part of" that it brought me. Deep inside, I'd missed that sense - even though the blossoming relationship I'm in has brought a great deal of that back for me.

The other thing happened on Wednesday. I was at the Budapest Restaurant in Toledo Wednesday night, at a "145th anniversary" party for a friend. He turned 70 late last year, celebrated 45 years as a Catholic priest in December, and passed his 30th sobriety anniversary on Tuesday. So he invited all his friends to dinner on his dime to celebrate all 3 anniversaries. And after that, I went to an AA meeting downtown at a GLBT-friendly Episcopal church.

As we were walking up to the church, one of my fellow AA's said, "What's happening at the church tonight? Why's it so busy on a Wednesday night?" And that's when it hit me.

It's Ash Wednesday - that's why. The start of Lent. The beginning of the countdown to the Three Days and Easter. The church would be busy on Ash Wednesday, wouldn't they?...

And for the second year in a row, I wasn't in church on Ash Wednesday.

How the hell did that happen? How did I manage to ignore the ads, the big push to sell pazckis (Polish pastries sold before Lent, pronounced "poonschki," for reasons not readily apparent), and all the other signs of Mardi Gras and impending fasting?

How did it turn out to be Ash Wednesday, and I'm not there?

The enormity of it about blew me away. Something just cracked - just enough to let the idea of going back to church back into my head. And when I talked about it with a friend, he said, "Well, it's a lot like riding a bicycle - once you get back on, you'll remember how to ride..."

So we're going to try, this Sunday. There's a "church for people who don't like to go to church" not far from us. So I think Chris and I will try there, first. We won't go in waving the rainbow flag or anything - but we'll see what happens. And I'm trying to focus on what we heard so much at Christmas: "the reason for the season." The central reason why people should go to church, rather than all the other BS reasons we often come up with.

I know we'll have to deal with a bunch of Christians when we go. My hope is, we'll find some followers of Christ too.

Room at the table for everyone

Jesus started off with 12 people. Twelve misfits, following a Messiah who said impossible things like "love your neighbor" and "blessed are the meek" and "I am come that you might have life - and have it abundantly!" We know what they did...

This weekend, I watched what the Spirit of God did with two hundred eighty-five gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered Christians. In the mix were at least a half-dozen gay pastors who have been thrown out of mainline churches, and about a dozen gay music directors and worship leaders (although some would say "gay music directors" is repetitious...).

Imagine Christians who have been shunned by the rest of the Church world, who still have a heart for Jesus Christ - persecuted, shut out, rejected, ignored. And then take 285 voices who can't say enough about Jesus - and just imagine what it would sound like worshiping with them. Every session began with GLBT people worshiping - in some cases, participating in worship for the first time since they had been asked to leave their church. Worshiping out of every tradition - Roman Catholic, Orthodox, Protestant of every variety, and no tradition at all.

And, oh my God, the music...

The theme of the conference was set to the tune of the praise song "How Great Is Our God." But this was not a group of Johnny-One-Notes - we sang praise music, the great hymns, even Taize' chant. Songs that I hadn't sung since my days as a worship team leader at Faith Lutheran in 2001 poured out of me. Sunday's worship set included the wonderful Taize' song Ubi Caritas, How Great Is Our God, Amazing Grace, I Love You Lord, Holy Holy Holy, How Great Thou Art, I Am A Friend of God, Beautiful Savior, and wrapping up with an amazingly synthesized pipe organ belting out A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.

As the last note of that mighty hymn floated away, one of the liturgists (a young Southern guy who is well-known in the group as a deeply devout Catholic) came up to pray. Surveying the crowd, he smiled and said, "If anyone doubts the inclusiveness of this organization, just think that this ol' Catholic boy is coming up here to pray after singing Martin Luther's hymn!"

It was electrifying.

And the speakers...we managed to miss JR Finney Friday morning, but Kelly Fryer's presentation Saturday morning was incredible. Kelly, a former Lutheran pastor who resigned before the church removed her, wrote the Christian beginner's book No Experience Necessary and a wonderful little volume for the Lutheran (ELCA) Church called Reclaiming The "L" Word - Renewing the Church from It's Lutheran Core. (The humor of the author of Reclaiming the "L" Word having to resign because of the other L-word was not lost on the crowd...). She poured affirming Scripture over the conference - telling each of us, "There is nothing more that you need for ministry; no permission slip, no special blessing! You have already received everything needed....ministry isn't a "right" than an institution can give you (or take away from you)!"


Jay Bakker, pastor of Revolution Church NYC and son of Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker, shared the incredibly powerful witness of a straight man with a heart for the amazing unconditional love of Christ. His message of affirmation, and his memories of his mom (Tammy Faye, who died this last year, had a great heart for the GLBT community). But more than that, he gently addressed several of the so-called "clobber" passages that the church uses to try to exclude us, and pointed us back, every time, to the Cross.

That was the message, time and time again. Look to the Cross, no matter what the world, or the Church, or anyone tells us. The same Savior who welcomed the good thief into Paradise welcomes us, as well. The world needs what we have to offer, regardless whether the Church wants it or not. There is a place at the Table for us, our partners, and our families - we only have to step up and claim it. As my partner and I left the conference, arm in arm, the chorus of one praise song kept echoing in my ears...

I am a friend of God
He calls me "Friend"...

Tidings of comfort and joy

It's a tiny chip of white Corelle (yes - the dinner-plate stuff), etched by a laser - the finished size is about an inch square, and about as thick as a communion wafer (if that). A casual bump could snap it in two. A delicate ornament, hanging on our Christmas tree, reminding me of what really is important on this blessed holiday.

There are no presents under the tree; the third year it's been that way, in fact. Sister Sue is still barely functioning, physically, a year after being disabled. Sister Sandy is in the process of moving from the dear-God-it-finally-sold house to the dream-house in the country. And I am still trying to help out and dig out, myself. So all the "gifts" in my life are gifts without wrapping...

Home. A place to lay one's head. Heat, food, light. A warm bed, a hot shower. So many people have forgotten what an incredible gift these things are. Thanks to ever-growing lists of foreclosures and evictions, an awful lot of people are being reminded how crucial a home is - even if it IS a royal pain, sometimes.

Health. That's been more of a challenge this year than in years previous. Sue's continuing agonies with her back and her knees have reminded me not only how glad I am that mine are still OK, but how blessed I am to be mobile. No wheelchair or walker for me, yet - for which I am grateful. The diabetic care needs to take a notch-up this next year - but there are other things which will probably help that...

Family. Sue and Sandy and their husbands, and Sue's in-laws, completed the family circle this year. We are not all in the best of health, we are not all in the best ways financially or materially - but we are all here, alive and at least partially well. That is a great gift, all by itself. So many friends have lost loved ones in the last couple months, I find myself very grateful for this gift today.

Love. I haven't written much about this here, but when my friend Ted and I had dinner last week, he asked about work and family and health, and then said, "...And what about your love life?" Well, The Guy and I have been in constant, daily contact for more than 3 months now, aided and abetted by video instant messaging, two visits of mine to Springfield, MO and one visit by him here to northwest Ohio. We've found much that we have in common - and much about the other that fascinates each of us. We have found how much fun it is not to be alone, to be cared for by another - and it is, as the old song says, "a good feelin' to know..." And then it happened.

(I posted this elsewhere, so forgive me if this sounds familiar...)

The house Chris and his housemate owned, which has been on the market for seven months...sold. "Under contract," as they say. And the questions began, for Chris. What's holding him there, what would he do? What would WE do?

That's when he asked me...what I thought of him moving to Toledo.

I was blown away. After all, I moved to Toledo because I felt I had to, for my sister and brother in law. I don't think I would have come here otherwise. But there he was, in my arms, saying he was ready to move to Northwest Ohio...for me. Just for me.

Holy capoley, Batman.

My mind, which tends to run to the negative, saw all the reasons why it probably wouldn't work. But arrayed against all the nay-saying voices was the fact that this man wanted to be with me. And I wanted to be with him. Not just for a weekend. And not to "move in together," at least not yet. But I sure didn't want this to continue to be a long-distance relationship (it's expensive, to be honest).

The second movie we saw together was Transformers (which is just a fun piece of film, to be honest). When Sam and Megan (the two teen protagonists) encounter the Autobots for the first time, they are faced with a beat-up, driverless Camaro whose door swings open to invite them in...

Sam: It wants us to get in the car!...

Megan: And go WHERE?!?....

Sam: Fifty years from now, when you're looking back at your life, don't you want to be able to say you had the guts to 'get in the car'?...

What a revelation.

It was the same feeling I had when, years earlier, I heard Robin Williams talking about "seizing the day" and "sucking the marrow out of life" in Dead Poets Society. Yes - of course I want to "get in the car." Even if I have no idea where it's going...

And so it begins.

We found him an apartment; he has been looking for a job long-distance. This Thursday, I will take a two day journey to Springfield, MO (in between the Evil Empire's demands), and I will meet his parents for the first time. And then we will pick up the loaded Budget rent-a-truck and his Ford pickup, and head for Toledo.

Part of me is terrified - afraid of the weight of my past relational failures. Part of me keeps going over why this won't work. But a large part of me is singing hosanna's and torch songs and can't wait and is willing to leap tall buildings...and ride Greyhound buses... to make it work.

Perhaps this is the greatest gift I have received this year - the ability to even consider myself worthy of this affection, this companionship - this love. All I can do, for today, is trust God, do the best I can to be ready for what's coming...

...and be willing to get in the car.

Merry Christmas to all of you. You who share this journey with me continue to be an amazing blessing, wherever and however things go.

The Music of Christmas

For me, there are lots of Christmas albums which are part of my holiday listening. But there are two or three Christmas CDs which really seem to share the heart of the amazing message of Christmas.

When Steven Curtis Chapman's "The Music of Christmas" came out in 1995, I fell in love with it instantly. My faith revolves so firmly around the Incarnation - Emmanuel, God with us - that this album just anchored itself in my heart instantly. There is nothing that will cure Grinch-yness like hearing br'er Chapman's voice proclaiming God's presence, here in the real world.

And the blessing and absurdity of Christ's birth comes through in his song "This Baby:"

"This baby made the angels sing,
And this baby made a new star shine in the sky
This baby had come to change the world
This baby was God’s own son,
this baby was like no other one
This baby was God with us -
This baby was Jesus!"

Then there is the song by the group 4Him from "The Season of Love" CD, with the chorus which captures the seeming insanity of the Incarnation:

"Now I'm not one to second guess
what angels have to say -
But this is such a strange way
to save the world..."

But for me, the essence of Christmas is captured in a beautiful ballad by Chapman, reminding us of just how real this Jesus really is, all year long:

One of us is cryin’
as our hopes and dreams are led away in chains,
And we’re left all alone -
One of us is dyin’
as our love is slowly lowered in the grave,
Oh and we’re left all alone -
But for all of us who journey
through the dark abyss of loneliness
There comes a great announcement,
We are never alone -
For the maker of each heart that breaks,
the giver of each breath we take
Has come to earth
and given hope it’s birth

CHORUS
And our God is with us - Emmanuel
He's come to save us - Emmanuel
And we will never face life alone
Now that God has made Himself known
As Father and Friend,
With us through the end - Emmanuel!
(Steven Curtis Chapman, "Our God Is With Us")
><>

And then, of course, there is the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin - and I'm telling you, no church choir has EVER proclaimed the birth of Christ like she does:


So much of this season will focus on shopping, gifts, Christmas cards, parties - the busyness and the business of a holiday. But thank you, God, for men and women of talent, who by their words and music point me back to the manger, back to Bethlehem... back to Jesus - God with us. Right here, with us. Amen.

Farewell to The Leader of The Band

The leader of the band is tired
And his eyes are growing old
But his blood runs through my instrument
And his song is in my soul --
My life has been a poor attempt
To imitate the man
Im just a living legacy
To the leader of the band
I am the living legacy
To the leader of the band.
(Dan Fogelberg, "Leader of the Band")

The "leader of the band" was his dad, but Dan Fogelberg's song about their relationship and the bond they shared in music touched an awful lot of people (as so many of his songs did). So it was a real sadness to read that Fogelberg had died of prostate cancer Sunday, at age 56.

He was a marvelous composer, writer, and musician. His classic songs ("Longer," "Another Old Lang Syne," "Part of the Plan") helped shape my musical landscape.

His songs reminded us of the power of love, and to say "I love you" to the people who need it, and his illness and death remind us men that prostate cancer screening is something we ALL should be doing, anytime after 30 but especially after 50.

My bet is that the music in heaven is a little sweeter, this day...

Update: for some of my readers who never were familiar with Fogelberg's music, some YouTube links. For anyone with a father, anyone who struggles with their place in the world, and anyone in love (especially Make Love Stay), these are required listening...

Leader of The Band
Part of the Plan
Same Old Lang Syne
Make Love Stay
Longer