Tux and Lola

My family has a couple of animals that we, "rescued," this past summer. I remember when people would get an animal from the pound, but now, we're much more heroic people I suppose as we, "rescue," unwanted animals. Our Golden Retriever Sammie wasn't thrilled to meet the new family members, but, we've since all made a family pact and we all get along.

The new family members are a black and white kitten we named, "Tux," and one of the goofiest looking dogs that I have ever seen that my family is assured is a Black Labrador Retriever we've named, "Lola." Lola is not a Lab, she's a mutt, so I've decided on a compromise. I call Lola's breed, "Labracadabra." (Translated from the Latin meaning, "You magically turned a Non-Lab into a Lab in your minds.)

Tux is incorrigible. I guess that since he wears a tuxedo each day he feels that he can do whatever, whenever, and wherever he wants. The problem is that he chose the one person in the family who is not a, "cat person," to be his person. That is me. Tux wants to be where I am always. He has actually sent a nonsensical email from my laptop by pouncing on it on the dinner table. Tux talks to me all of the time even when I beg him to be quiet. Tux, as cats do, owns me. He sleeps on my head, not my choice. He even watched football with me which was our bonding time I would suppose.

Tux is fearless. I've found him atop our refrigerator just to be there. I've witnessed him intimidating our 109 pound Retriever. Tux would look at me before scratching more furninture. I even caught Tux hanging from the top of a door jamb just to do it. Tux has no fear, but, plenty of love.

Lola's a different story. We don't know her story, but, we're sure she was abused badly as a small puppy. When she came home, she was afraid of ALL men, most adults, and her own shadow. She would glue herself to my wife or the kiddo's when I came into the room. I would give her treats, pet her gently, I even shared my popcorn with her during a movie. Eventually she began to warm up to me. Lola apparently got Tux's share of fear. Once I walked her and she tried to run from a Chihuahua. She has a big bark, but not a big bite. She loves to sit with me much more easily now. She's still a fearful soul, with plenty of love.

Tux and Lola have taught me a great deal about myself and life:

-Sometimes I'm an incorrigible and fearless rascal, ready for the next adventure. God loves me still.

-Other times I'm a fearful one who doesn't trust the next moment, and God walks with me, His rod and staff comfort me.

Each morning I see Tux and Lola. Each day I feed them. Each day they receive a stroke from me. They've never bought their own food, filled their own bowl, cleaned up after themselves, nor understood from where their sustenance comes. But they see me fill the bowl, they feel my hand, and to them, I must hold a special place.

Each morning God sees me. Each day He feeds me, speaks to me, I feel His hand, He cleans up after me, and although I sometimes forget from Whom my blessings flow. I know that my cup overflows, I feel God's hand, and God has given me a special place in His heart and in His eternal home.

Say It In Six Words

In an article published in ,"The New Yorker," on February 25, 2008, author Lizzie Widdicombe began her column with these words:

"Brevity: a good thing in writing. Exploited by texters, gossip columnists, haikuists. Not associated with the biography genre. But then--- why shouldn't it be? Life expectancies rise; attention spans shrink. Six words can tell a story. That's a new book's premise, anyway. "Not Quite What I Was Planning." A compilation of teeny tiny memoirs. The forebear, it's assumed, is Hemingway. (Legend: he wrote a miniature masterpiece. "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." Slightly sappy, but a decent sixer)"

Could you write a six word memoir of your life as it is today? I thought of a few that apply to me:

-"Ran a marathon, slower than most."

-"Went to school, didn't study enough."

-"Made mistakes, alright, many many mistakes."

-"Love my family, more every day."

-"Shutting up could make life better."

-"Fried Chicken is related to manna."

scratch that...

-"Fried Chicken is Frieder than manna." (If God made it you can't really make something better can you?)

ok...

-"Fried Chicken is manna for now!"

Alright, I'll stop. When I saw the article I immediately thought of one of my favorite movies of all time, "A River Runs Through It," when a young Norman Maclean must continually rewrite his assignment for his Presbyterian father who valued words with a Scottish thrift. As I look back on the life I've lived so far, I can honestly say that there are many times that the less I said the better.

I thought about that six-word memoir and thought of a couple that can't be mentioned enough:

"I believe Jesus is the Christ."

"Our Father Who art in heaven."

"Not my will, but Yours Lord."

Feel free to add your own.

Writing with a fountain pen

Someone recently asked me at a meeting why I always carry a fountain pen with me. I hadn't ever really thought about the motivation for liking antiquated writing equipment, but, as my mind works I spent the next 27.4 hours trying to figure out why I carry a fountain pen in my shirt pocket. I don't really know, I only have a theory which is how I tend to live life. They're old school.

Old school is comfortable and easy unless you consider that I've ruined two or three expensive dress shirts with the old-school writing instrument since it tends to leak. The fountain pen is sexy, but high-maintenance. I wonder why I love my fountain pens?

I've decided that it's because they're relics from a previous day. They're familiar. I love the familiar, because it's so, well...familiar. I recently wrote an entire sermon on an old typewriter that I found just so that I could hear the sound while I wrote, and it was everything I thought it would be, except for the typos, white-out, and the confused looks of others who don't get how, "deep," it is to like the feel and sound of old office equipment. It took me back to days listening to others typing in rhythm that seem so amazingly quick and efficient.

I pulled an Atari video game system from our church garage sale a few years ago just to play the games and remember. My children told me how, "lame," the games were, but, they were like visiting an old friend. It's absolutely mind-blowing to think that I would spend time playing games that seem like absolute idiocy now.

I like to watch TV-Land on satellite television and remember old sitcoms I've seen so many times that I can quote them much to the dismay of my family. "Sit UBU sit...Good Dog...Woof Woof. Sha' lalala." If you don't get it, I can't help you.

I like paper and pen, old movies on Turner Classic Movie Channel, Mayberry, Funny movies that I've laughed at again and again, my favorite fly-rod, my lucky jeans that fit differently every time I wear them, my old hunting hat, many books read and dog-eared with notes in the margin, old country and western music, and The Dukes of Hazzard. Why? Because there's no surprises to deal with.

The problem with the statement above is that surprises sometimes must be dealt with, but, many times they should be embraced, tackled to the ground, and owned!

It's Hard Isn't It?

Living the Bible is so easy when I'm in the pulpit. It's easy from a pew. But when life hits me in the face I find that I seem more like a non-believer than one who follows Jesus. Why do Mondays happen? Why do teenagers flip the bird for no reason? Why do shyster's show up at my front door? Why do people treat children as if they didn't have gifts from God? Why? These are the questions that make living the Bible so difficult. I'll be examining this thought in the days ahead. Please read, and feel free to let me know what you think. Until then, be well and walk close to the One who loves you.

Words

Did you ever notice that God spoke the creation into being? Words are important. Have you ever thought that the best feelings and worst feelings you ever experienced were because of words? Words are important. Have you wondered what someone was saying about you to someone else? Words are important. Was there ever a time when you wished you could take words back with the knowledge that you couldn't? Words are important.

Words allow us to say things like, "Thank you." The spoken or written word also allows us the amazing blessing of making an ass of ourselves by saying, "I hate you," or, well, you can fill in your own thoughts.

I'm a user of words. I'm also an abuser of words. There's no group of which I know that meets to say, "Hello, I'm Clint, and I'm a Word Abuser."

"Hi, Clint!"

God spoke. We were spoken into existence. We heard speech to help us to learn to communicate. We speak.

Sticks and stones is a bunch of boloney, bologna, or whatever type of crappy meat you want to call it. The tongue is an amazing thing.

The tongue can say, "Here am I send me."

The tongue can also say, ".......

The Lunch and The Look...

I just left a board meeting luncheon at a private club atop a downtown bank building. It was a meeting attended by very important people wearing expensive suits and dresses to discuss important Rotary Club events. I exited the elevator, strolled through the important looking lobby with the marble floor and out the door to finish the second half of my day.

As I pulled away from the parking lot, I noticed that I needed fuel so I pulled into a nearby downtown gas station and convenience store. I walked into the store to pay the clerk for the gas that I had pumped when I encountered a strange conversation:

"All I have is $2, give me a break," the lady said as she tried to pry the hamburger she ordered from the hand of the clerk behind the counter. I'll eat a lot of things, but, I've always said the only acceptable food to eat from a convenience store/gas station is one of those nutritious and delicious fried burritos. So it was then I knew that this lady MUST be hungry.

The lady looked terrible. She was rail thin, missing teeth, hair matted, and she smelled worse than she looked. She was obviously drunk or stoned or most likely both as she was unsteady on her feet while arguing.

The lady behind the counter was wearing a nametag on her uniform that said simply, "Mo." She answered her customer, "I've told you not to come in here anymore. You ain't never got the money, and you always act like we OWE you something to eat. PAY OR GET OUT!"

"But I'll pay you the rest tomorrow. Please. Don't be a..." I'll stop there because that's when I decided to get involved. Remember as I mentioned earlier I'm important. I had important things on my schedule that afternoon and I didn't have time to listen to an argument between a gas station clerk and a, "customer."

"Just let me pay for her order and my gas and we'll all be on our way, alright Mo?"

"Mister," Mo said back, "you don't want to do that."

"Ohhhhh yeah, I do. I want to get out of here and it seems as you two are at an impasse."

"A what?" asked Mo as the other lady looked on.

"A standstill. Just let me pay for her burger and my gas and all will be well." I answered.

"The hell it will. It's your funeral though. Your total is going to be $27.93," Mo said with a smart-alecky grin on her face.

That's when things got really uncomfortable. As I reached for my wallet to pay the tab, the lady beside me, for whom I had just bought a hamburger grabbed my hand. Not violently, just to hold my hand in a way that seemed familiar to her and terrifying to me. It was at that moment I realized that my new friend misunderstood my purchase. She thought that I was buying her food as a down payment on services to be rendered later. As hard as I tried I couldn't wrest my hand from hers. Mo handed me the change and grinning ever larger said, "Have a nice day. Good luck."

I couldn't believe how amazingly strong this gaunt woman's hand was. We walked out the door hand in hand as I tried and tried to pry my hand from hers. I finally got my hand free from her and headed toward my pick-up truck then she spoke to me:

"Could you just sit with me while I eat?"

NO! My mind was screaming, NO!!!

"Please sit with me since you paid for my food."

What would Jesus do? I always hated that bracelet. I can't say I'd do the same thing now, but, for some reason I sat down on a parking bumper in front of the convenience store while the womans shaking hands opened the wrapper of her hamburger. I noticed Mo had gotten the other employees to look out the window and laugh as she ate next to her new friend. I hadn't seen an adult scarf down food like that in my life. She ate like she hadn't eaten in days, and I imagine that she hadn't. We didn't speak. I only listened to her eat that cheap food that I would only imagine made her sick later.

She finished her food after only a few minutes and I stood up to leave. She grasped my hand again and I was filled with a sense of dread I've known only a few times, and this time I hadn't done anything wrong. I turned back to her to say, "I've got to go back to work.""

Before I could say a word she looked at me with a look in her eyes that I'd never noticed.

She said, "Thank you."

It was thanksgiving with a look of humanity. Broken, defeated, hurt, and still hurting humanity. I didn't realize beforehand that she was a human being, I thought of her as a burden in the way of the rest of my day. I thought she was nothing but a bum, a whore, or worse. It was in her look that I realized she was someone's baby girl.

Life happened to her, and it happened badly. She surely made choices that led her to the place that she needed a stranger to buy a cheap meal for her so she could then get her next fix. But I knew not the road that she had trod to be where she was. Her look was one I hadn't seen before.

The look was one that I read, "thank you for feeding me and seeking nothing in return. Thank you for not hurting me or taking advantage. Thank you for seeing me as a person."

I didn't feed her to be Christian. I didn't buy her lunch to value her. I wanted her out of my way to face the rest of my self-important day. What a day. Only in her humble thanksgiving and the look of pain in her eyes did I realize that she and I were the same.

I learned more from that lady than from many professors. She is someone's little girl who sold herself to the world and it turned out badly. I am someone's child who has also sold himself to the world in many ways, clothed in a navy blue suit. We're all someone's child, we're God's child. We've all sold ourselves to the world in ways, but God loves us, redeems us, and clothes us in His grace and mercy.

I can't believe I did it, but, it's amazing what you can learn from spending a few minutes sitting in a parking lot.

Callings

Over the past 15 years I've preached hundreds of sermons, and there is one thing that irritates me more than critiques of my sermons, it is when they are quoted back to me. It is almost always appropriate when I'm reminded that my words and actions don't equate, and always so when my wife is the one reminding me.

She reminded me yesterday of words that I've spoken more than once:

"If you'll read the Bible closely you'll notice that when God calls someone, the hearers life usually becomes more confusing, complicated, challenging, but even more so, blessed."

I sat at the lunch table with my wife trying to distract myself with a cheeseburger and fries after announcing to the congregation that I love dearly that I was leaving for another ministry position. I was chewing, thinking, mourning, chewing, (it was a good burger, but I digress) when the thought leaped into my consciousness.

"I'm insane!" I blurted out to Chrissy.

"We've known that for some time haven't we honey?"

"No, seriously, I feel like I'm crazy. I just announced to a congregation that I love, and a congregation that loves us and takes care of us that we're leaving. Leaving FOR THE UNKNOWN!" I answered.

That's when it happened. She quoted my sermon. She reminded me that when God calls, we can't ignore the call, no matter how hard we try.

I think of Abram's call to leave everything familiar to him, uproot his family and head toward the land God said He would show him. Insanity!

What about Moses' call to lead a group of whining, complaining, grumbling people who would rather be enslaved than follow. Why didn't he come to his senses and refuse.

I know that the Prophets were popular for their messages. Didn't the Prophets know that no one should talk about religion and politics?

The 12 disciples come to mind when you wonder why someone would leave steady income to follow a homeless preacher.

I can't leave out Jesus' mother Mary, who upon saying to God, "May it be to me as you have said," surely dealt with judgmental family, a blaming public, and humiliating stares of those who thought she had done something wrong. Why did she say, "yes?"

And so it is as I begin the process of saying goodbye to a church family I know and love dearly that I must remember my own words. Westmont I love you, I always will, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.

Now it's time to head to the land that God will show me.