Hitting His Target....................."

“We cannot merely pray to You, O God, to end war; for we know that You have made the world in a way that man must find his own path to peace within himself and with his neighbor. We cannot merely pray to You, O God, to end starvation; for You have already given us the resources with which to feed the entire world if we would only use them wisely. We cannot merely pray to You, O God, too root out prejudice; for You have already given us eyes with which to see the good in all men if we would only use them rightly. We cannot merely pray to You, O God, to end despair; for You have already given us the power to clear away slums and to give hope if we would only use our power justly. We cannot merely pray to You, O God, to end disease; for You have already give us great minds with which to search out cures and healing if we would only use them constructively. Therefore we pray to You instead, O God, for strength, determination, and willpower to do instead of just to pray, to become instead of merely to wish.”….Jack Reimer, Likrat Shabbat


These words are taped inside the cover of one of my older Bibles. This one is a Dake, and is the Pentecostal clone of a Baptist one forged by Scofield. Whether one simply created his in response to the other man’s work, I have no idea; but it remains that they are duplicates other than the notes provided alongside Scripture correspond to the denominational views of each. They are great study Bibles as long as the reader remembers the added features are still just one fellow’s opinion. My termination of using mine on a regular basis had nothing to do with my evaluation of Dake’s efforts. Old age merely demanded something published in larger print. Nonetheless, I return from time to time, revisiting my own scribbles and various quotes planted within its pages; and, in such manner, rediscovered the above......

Those who have long heard me opine on the subject of faith versus works indeed might just question my committing such declaration to my treasure chest. To my knowledge, however, I’ve never suggested prayer to be a substitute for both physically and spiritually wading into the urgency of the mess before us. What I have stated (and yet believe to be true) concerns that which I find missing, even in this awesome composition: a plea for God’s direction. Here am I, Lord. What would you have me do? Not in the sense of thinking ourselves some worthy benefactor. Not to the degree of doing nothing until some audible voice from on high screams “Nineveh! Go to Nineveh!” Better, though, to attempt His leading than blindly rush into the deluge void of counsel. Better to feed one than to throw crumbs into the abyss……

Clutter................................."

For the last twenty years or so I’ve bought my automobiles from a fellow who salvages wrecked vehicles. Toyota products. Mostly Corollas. Average price six to seven thou, although I did pay a bit more for the Camry. All came to me with little mileage on them and were traded in for another when such logistics finally required “giving up the ghost”. Minor maintenance, for the most part, is all I’ve ever needed; but the best part of the relationship is with the guy who runs the place. He operates with a couple of younger partners out of an old barn long ago converted into a garage. To get there takes a twenty-five minute drive into rural Kentucky and the visit is much like dropping in on Mayberry minus Barney. A cup of coffee and conversation while you wait on the oil-change. Honest mechanics who treat you nice and share some laughter…………….

Yesterday I beat the entire crew into work. When the “old” man did arrive and began to occupy himself with putting life back into the dormant facility, I poked my nose, at one point, into a back stall where they do the painting. There sat an old Chevy from the late sixties, rear tire flat, sprayed with gray primer, and hood completely opened so as to remind me how far we’ve come. Indeed, it appeared as if someone had simply gutted that compartment area, leaving nothing but the engine, itself. No hoses running to a multitude of contraptions. No air-conditioning unit. No windshield fluid container. Nothing but that which was necessary to make the axles turn, to accomplish what the product was designed to do. You could actually climb in there with a wrench and locate any part of its anatomy you had reason to attack. It brought to mind two things……………

First, a few years back I was privileged, via my brother’s clout, to be able to board a modern submarine and descend into its depths. My last tour in Spain had given me ample opportunity to experience temporary duty on three different types of these boats and memory held their interior as being quite cramped for space. Picture hamsters navigating those tunnels that their owners provide, throw a box of dominoes into their living quarters and you might be close to sub duty as I recall it. My expectation was that, thirty-five years down the road, our knowledge of miniature computers would have given birth to more freedom. Not so. I discovered there to be even less room now than before. Evidently such discovery only provided area for installation of that much more gadgets. Believe me: claustrophobics would not enjoy the experience……………

Secondly, then, I thought of the Church. Not the current trend to inflate the sanctuary, but what we’ve done with the Gospel, itself. I sat last night in a scheduled one-hour meeting and listened to one man open in prayer, lead us in a song of worship, then teach/preach for fifty-five minutes on the need to find our identity in God. By his theology, the Bible has already pronounced us to be a finished work of the Almighty, destined to be healthy, wealthy, and walking on water. All we have to do, as believers, is to stand on our faith as He makes us what He has called us to be. As he spoke of gifts and promises and the necessity to transform our minds to God’s thinking, it occurred to me that what we really need is to “empty the box” and just get back to the essentials: Christ “in” me. The Holy Ghost. He IS the power source. Everything else is my attempt to super-size………

Four in One..........................."

My buddy, Jim, and I had a bit of conversation the other day concerning one of the Church’s basic tenets: the Trinity. Actually, his post referred to some who might not fully recognize the humanity of Christ in the Crucifixion and thereby take for granted the price that was paid. My own comment on the matter suggested that until we attempt an investigation into the claim of His having been both mortal and divine, what we tend to do is lean one way or the other. If we can’t “explain” it and haven’t somehow experienced it, then how can we express faith in that which tends to confuse us? When Peter admonished the Body to sanctify God in their hearts and “be ready to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear”, is “I believe” enough of a reply?...............

Our assistant pastor’s last service was Sunday and he left us with an exhortation to strive for the kingdom. In his message, he referred to a fellow within our congregation who authored a book on the Trinity; and then, in the same breath, praised the writer for his ambition while noting the ludicrousness of his attacking the topic. Should the truth that we will never be able to completely conquer the subject deter the guy in the pew? Personally, I think it important only to attach the apostle’s last three words above to any Biblical exploration we make into the deep. Plus, what we hold in our mind must bear fruit in our life. In other words, simply because we’ve got a verse to back up our theory doesn’t mean we’ve solved the mystery. It will, indeed, always remain bigger than whatever box we put it in…………

I love the Leonard Ravenhill observation that no matter how colossal a man’s intellect, he is no greater than his prayer life. Even better, he says to those who would demand the necessity of maintaining such commodity in order to experience Christian life: “No! Not so! You need to maintain your Christian life in order to pray!” Debatable, I suppose; but, at the least, there does appear to be a reciprocal existence between the two. Jesus stated that eternal life begins with “knowing” both Him and the Father. I’m of the opinion that knowing myself is part of that relationship and, somewhere in the intertwining, it is possible to taste of all that He is. I can meet Him and experience Him as he walked among men, as He now sits within the Holy of Holies at the right hand of God. And it is Trinity that makes it so…………….

Jim spoke of each persona of the holy triad being a mask or face of the same being and how our tendency is to “anthropomorphize” or apply our own understanding of ourself to each. It is my own contention, however, that once we have been submerged into a co-existence with the supernatural reality of that flow from on high, there is no way to assign humanistic form to it. It is, in fact, the unexplainable that draws us back to the well again and again. It is that connection that both generates our inquisitive thirst and, at the same time, feeds it, providing foundation within the Word and a discipline that corrects us in love. “No man”, Jesus said, “can come unto Me except the Father which has sent me draw him”. Reduce that Force in any way whatsoever and all you have left is religion……………….

To Tell the Old, Old Story................."

McKenna will turn six this August. She lives in Winchester, about seventy-five miles down the road, but has spent this last week with us. Her love for Mamaw is obvious. Her relationship with me has been an on-again off-again affair that depends on her mood. The last few days, however, she had taken to frequently approaching me with a hug, several times even crawling up into my lap to snuggle. The question for me now is: will yesterday’s altercation affect any future display of such emotion? We’ve been trying to teach her to swim and that amounted to her perched on a ladder with me standing maybe three or four feet away. A jump, a splash, a bit of dog-paddling, and then one big desperate reach for me was the extent of it. She reveled in repeating it over and over; but Papaw would soon tire, making it necessary to re-attach the “floaties”. Such apparatus was reliable and gave her independence. She didn’t seem to mind returning to them. The came Friday afternoon………….

She and the boys wanted another crack at the pool, but the weather had considerably cooled the water and I elected to “sit this one out”. McKenna agreed, but asked if she could utilize a small, inflated ring rather than the two arm-bands. It was a snug fit. Why not? I struck a bargain and settled down in a chair with no idea her earlier “success” had gone to her head. When, only ten minutes later, she stood before me “ring-less” and begging to lie on a flat, rubber, lounging raft, I told her no and tried to explain why that was not a good idea. Her “okay” was loud and clear. Cody and Elijah caught my attention, I turned my head, and then looked down to discover her stretched out exactly where she had consented not to go! Sternly I dressed her down. Almost in tears, her lower lip raised, her chin quivering, she stood there in utter disbelief that Papaw was so angry. Only one way out of this one. I called her to me, told her I loved her, secured a vow for future obedience, emptied my pockets, and went into the chilly liquid with her………..

There is a thread that runs from His throne and weaves its way through the heart of each and every believer. By it, we might touch the hem of His garment and follow Him as we go. There is a Reality we might experience, an assurance we might know, an IV line through which we might receive all that He is. We never fully comprehend it. We are not always willing for His fullness to transcend it and flood our soul. Yet, once re-connection of that which was lost in the Garden has been completed, it remains a sure place to which we might return again and again, its flow determined by our decreasing that He might increase. In the midst of all that we are and all that is, we can know the Voice of our conscience, the Mind of Christ. I cannot give this truth unto my grandchildren, but I can do my best to live it before them. I can be there when they need me, share with them that which He has shared with me. The decision, one day, will be theirs to make, hopefully through a relationship witnessed along the way………….

Beating Around the Bush.................."

My personal, political outlook has been out-lined many times on this site. In the Navy and overseas with little regard down through the years concerning the world around me, it was not until my thirties that I finally took part in a national presidential election. At what exact point I jumped into the mess is not in my recollection. What I do recall is finding myself disappointed no matter who moved into the White House and somewhere along the way it just became fruitless for me. Reagan proved to be the final straw. It would be at least sixteen years before a silly compromise with my wife would find me once more pulling a lever, this time for Bush. Why, I don’t know. The Church, at least in my circles, was ready to confirm his sainthood; but three decades within the fellowship of Christendom long ago taught me that quoting Scripture doesn’t necessarily mean you can be trusted. My choice, therefore, came merely out of a lack of both what I saw in and heard from the other guy; and once it was made, I simply hoped we could get back to a unified America whichever way it went……….

We didn’t. For the longest time it seemed to me that this nation was poised on the brink of another civil war. Kerry’s loss did nothing but escalate the venomous wrath of multitudes. The Commander-in-Chief might still be in possession of the Oval Office, but half of those whom he served continued to openly display their wrath concerning his victory. With festering resentment, we walked into four more annual State of the Union Addresses delivered by the man from Texas; and only recently did it occur to me that perhaps we had finally reached a plateau. While there’s still plenty of negativism in the air, it’s quite apparent the Bible thumpers’ praise has dwindled and, if it were at all possible for G.W. to throw his hat into the ring for another run, his chances of once again gaining the keys to the kingdom are probably nil. I, personally, hold no grudges, no regrets. There are questions that bother me about our continued presence in Iraq, but I'm old enough to remember Viet Nam. Will I vote next time out? That remains to be seen. Beth only went with me to the Detention Center once……….

In response to my last post, however, my good friend, Jim, who is rather passionate in stating his displeasure with the present administration, provided me with a form letter to send to the President. It would help, he suggested, with my own confession as to feeling help-“less” about current events in the Mid East. No doubt I should have better stated my position. I take no quarrel with Israel’s right to protect her borders. It seems to me, in fact, (and I freely admit to being no authority on the subject) that, in allowing Hezbollah to so openly infest such area, Lebanon had to know sooner or later violence would erupt. To my way of thinking, it’s a great tragedy that in the past decade some twenty million children have been killed, disabled, orphaned, and left homeless by an average of thirty individual wars and conflicts of some sort being waged upon this planet. I’m not sure if that includes those blown into bits by some suicide bomber’s idea of revenge, but I was reminded this evening that even Clinton bombed Iraq and warned of terrorists being armed with WMD……….

My weakness, as expressed, did not refer to my inability to do anything about present global circumstances. We live in a troubled world; and, mostly, it’s troubled because we live in it. We each must follow our own heart; and yet, therein, is often the problem, for the Word asserts our heart is: “deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. Who can know it?” The only cure for that condition is His heart; and sadly, not all men will receive it…………..

Sorting It Out........................"

I don’t know where others have been the last few days, but I’ve been mostly glued to my television set. The violence being waged in the Middle East is nothing new, of course, and I wonder if the substance of it hasn’t reached a place where many simply view it with a sense of “here we go again”. It seems to make little difference which network one chooses. There’s always to be found either a biased approach on the event or an attempt to turn others’ misery into theatrics profitable for personal promotion. Within the bulk of it, however, I find enough to feed my thoughts. Sometimes it leads to indigestion. It’s not that hard, you know, to put it all in Biblical perspective and find the stage not only set, but the presentation, itself, already in progress: World War III, Take One. Wait a minute! I have grandchildren who are not that far from being old enough to serve! I have kids whose lives can and will be affected by this! Peace, though, is where I always find it: in a prayer closet lost in a flow of His presence……..

Strange, to me, how a daily dose of this planet’s humanity in action, filtered through the news media, has reduced our concern for carnage to a mere acknowledgement as we knock down a cup of coffee before rushing off to work. Our interest is usually only in proportion to exactly how much the tragedy or event affects our own existence, how well or how badly it plays into our opinion of something. No doubt most of us watch, unconsciously thinking to ourselves that there’s little we could do, as individuals, to change anything. What’s done is done. Always there are those who turn into Monday morning quarterbacks, providing their own diagnostic data of the aftermath complete with a solution to the problem. That’s when the phone rings, the baby cries, the boss walks in and it’s time to go to work; and, occupied with the “now” that’s here, it’s easy to forget about what’s going on “over there”. What is has always been. Until my own space is violated, it’s just another day at the office……..

I do not claim to be guiltless. And, yet, I’m not so sure the conviction isn’t generated by a feeling of being helpless. It’s all just too much for me. What’s more: I’m not so sure that I, myself, am not a part of the whole mess. Humanity remains humanity; and it seems to me that we can’t escape the truth that we’re all in this together. Somehow, some way, there is this “broken link” situated somewhere within the depths of all we are that calls us, not only to each other, but also to that One who created us. It is to that spot I attempt to retreat as often as possible. It is an oasis in the middle of chaos, a place where all this noise in my head is brought to naught. In the middle of a mud-puddle, I find Eden. It brings to me, in the depths of my soul, healing I desperately need and an assurance of His reality in the scheme of things. Some might see it as merely a “mental escape”; and, indeed, it may be. But it’s not my imagination. Too often He has proven to me otherwise……………

Bridging the Gulf........................."

There were but two of us trying to bring witness at the Youth Detention Center yesterday. Another group had cancelled, for some reason; I grabbed the invitation, without hesitation, to substitute; and then my own bunch evaporated unexpectedly. It was an afternoon service and perhaps that was part of the reason the kids seemed so lethargic. Big Bob flowed in his delivery and I sensed the Holy Ghost no less in mine. Even with a couple of songs spaced between orations, however, it was easy to tell: seed wasn’t just falling on stony ground; it was bouncing off a brick wall. Other than one young girl seated in the rear of the room who had notably received something during last week’s worship, no more than a few boys scattered up front now listened with any real involvement. I learned long ago, though, that success, in terms of the Spirit accomplishing His will, depended on two things: (a) my surrendering unto His presence that He, not me, goes forth; and (b) the intended “target” also surrendering unto His presence that He might enter in……………

Within my own congregation Sunday morning, the pastor turned the pulpit over to the fellow who’s in charge of our evangelistic outreach. During the course of his sermon, he suggested that “ministry” was limited to life within the church, while our “mission” began at the end of the driveway leading off the assembly’s property. I would beg to disagree. To my own way of thinking, the former ought to always be the mechanics of the latter; and I might also add there is as great a need for the process to focus on those “saints” who fill our hallowed halls, every bit as much as on the “heathen” beyond our walls. One does not have to be without Christ to be hurting. One does not, for that matter, have to be without Christ to be “hard-headed”. Indeed, when the Bible speaks of having the conscience seared, it refers to those who yet have a doctrine, but who have, nonetheless, departed “from the faith”. We could debate, I suppose, whether or not that means an abandonment of what the Word says; but whose interpretation would we use to represent absolute truth?.....................

It was interesting to read of Willow Creek’s attempt to develop a “church-within-a-church” having failed. To be honest, I wasn’t even aware of they’re being the first to experiment with such an endeavor; but it appears their particular effort was geared toward the 18-30 bunch and not just another teen gathering in a separate sanctuary. What they cite as the reason for its demise is: “value and philosophy differences”. In other words, change the music to fit the tastes of the new arrivals all you want, but if you’re not willing re-write your code of ethics, they’ll just take their show down the road. Personally, it makes sense to me. Isn’t that exactly what the ecclesiastical Body has been doing ever since Martin Luther mailed his 95 theses to Wittenburg’s door? If what I’ve read is right, the only reason it didn’t happen sooner had a lot to do with the stiff price one had to pay for heresy. No; what we’re missing to span the generation gap is not a unified view of Scripture, but an immersion in the Reality of His presence……………….

Assembly Lines......................."

Our visit to the National Corvette Museum in Bowling Green this week was with dual intentions. My niece and her husband were also there to pick their new yellow convertible they had ordered. That’s much more car than I could ever afford (more than I’d ever need, actually); but it was nice seeing them achieve something about which their hearts beat as one. Prior to the celebration held in the rear of the museum, I was privileged to tour the factory with them. It took about two hours and was quite an experience. Discovering that they segregate their parking lots and, indeed, will reprimand you if they discover your alternate brand of vehicle sitting in one of their designated “GM product only” locations was quite humorous to me; and, inside, having just returned from Disneyland, I was convinced that Walt must have also visited such a workplace before creating his various mechanical fantasy trips. My other observation concerned being asked what sort of career you had pursued for the last thirty years and your answer being something akin to: I was in charge of the three bolts that attached the gas tank to the Corvette chassis. Again; and again; and again………….

I know. I know. The UAW long ago managed to ensure such auto worker positions were well worth the monotony. Their benefits and wages are well above anything I ever achieved at the railroad; and it’s for sure my testimony of having been nothing more than a clerk isn’t about to impress anybody. Still, there was at least a bit of a challenge to assembling that train. Problems to be solved. Demands to be met. I do admit to occasionally being bored and feeling as if I were trapped. When you’re young, there’s always another job where you found this one (or so it was, anyhow, when I was young). You wake up one day, though; realize you’re not as young as you once were; and you’re just glad to be doing something. Thankfully, “something”, in my own case, wasn’t systematically and repeatedly cloning a one-two-three trivial process. Then, again, maybe ennui has nothing at all to do with the world around us. Maybe it’s more a mental view that we, ourselves, create, choosing to focus on some “pie in the sky” rather than being grateful for what we possess. A normal part of who we are, I suppose. The trick is in recognizing life, itself, is the real treasure……………

Time is a dimension we attempt to measure in quantities that hold different significance to us, depending on a number of things. Minutes and seconds rarely enter into the picture unless we are competing in some athletic event or baking cupcakes for the fifth-grader to take to school. Hours and days come into play when there is an exciting adventure waiting for us somewhere in the future. Think about ten more years before retirement and it seems like forever. Let your daughter turn sixteen and you wonder where the last decade went. Centuries and millenniums are known to us only as celebrations of history we didn’t know in their entirety. Yet is we who establish the whole package by doing nothing more than taking our next breath. We inflate our lungs, empty them for another filling; and, in that space, the universe has shifted, mankind has known both addition and loss. Little is as it was before. Our problem is not in existing. We can accomplish that all on our own. Remembering just who and what gives it purpose is another matter. There is a well within us that must be re-dug, kept open and flowing. God, alone, restores our soul as we go……………

Eternal Security.............................."

Wednesday evening Beth and I stood in front of the National Corvette Museum in Bowling Green, Kentucky, with my brother’s widow, daughter, son-in-law, and about five other couples who are into such mechanized mania. Only a week before he died in September of ’99, en route from that location to his home just outside D.C., he and the blood portion of the above mixture stopped to visit with us for a few hours and to introduce me to his new love affair with that particular vehicle. Owners, he so noted, form clubs and then motor around the country in convoys. Finally, he said, he was enjoying opportunity to pursue quality time with his family. A few days later, he was gone. His naval career bought enough clout for his ashes to be spread at sea and the only real marker existing to serve as a “grave site” is a square memorial brick laid at the entrance to the museum. Above a picture of a boat breaking through the ocean’s surface is his name and the dates that declares his transition here among us. Below is engraved the revelation of his having been an “ex-submariner turned corvetteer”. There, in the glow of the facility’s electrical lighting, we deposited a lei of red, white, and blue flowers that circled the stone and recalled a few memories he had given us. Physical distance between our homes makes getting together in any manner a rarity. It was nice; but, gazing at the inscription, it occurred to me that however solidly implanted within the ranks of sports-car enthusiasts he became in such short time, I didn’t know. The “ex” part of the other label, though, was in error. Once you’ve experienced going into the deep with fleet’s elite, it stays with you forever…………….

In like manner, while reading a post on apologetics and the comments that responded to it, I found myself wondering about how we individually approach defending our theology. Do we attempt to reconcile our experience to the Word, the Word to our experience, or do we set the two apart, finding no correlation between them? I thought it not complete coincidence to discover, as I was framing such question, to discover a friend probing me for my view on a couple of verses in 1st Timothy where Paul is trying to encourage the young preacher. Doctrine, it seems to me, is something that should not be embedded in concrete, but entrusted to an ongoing work of the Holy Ghost; and, indeed, if we miss it anywhere, it’s here and in more ways than one. In 4:7, the apostle admonishes his disciple to exercise “godliness”. We tend to translate that as a lifestyle, a form of what we do and who we are, rather than a quality brought to us out of a manifestation of His presence. This, as far as I’m concerned, is the “gift” that Timothy is not to “neglect”, that which will give evidence of his “profiting” unto all. It’s not about how smart we think ourselves in our Scriptural parsing, but what comes to pass when we “decrease that He might increase”. I have no problem with doctrine being used to “reprove, rebuke, and exhort”, but only in the sense of our theology preserving the reality of Christ in our midst. When it becomes a fence by which we tend to constrict and kill one another, when it isolates us from the very place He commanded us to “go”, we need to back up and examine where we are in Him. Down the road, my understanding may change. Should change! My ability to dive into the depths of all that He is? Never!.......................

Parsing the Prophet................."

Digging into the Greek/Hebrew origin of terms utilized within Scripture has never been of particular interest to me. I do keep a favorite, high-school dictionary on my computer desk that not only serves me on those occasions when someone speaks “over my head”, but also has blessed me more than once with the definition it assigns to various words. The Bible refers to believers, in one place, as being “peculiar”. How good, then, to discover that can translate to “belonging exclusively to one”! What’s more, after falling into legalistic, old-time, Pentecostal holiness over thirty-four years ago, I also enjoyed passing along to some of the “holier than thou” crowd that “holy” equates to “evoking or meriting veneration or awe”. That clearly seems to narrow it down to He Who dwells within as being the only one to fit the description……………

In like manner, being called a “fanatic” didn’t appear so insulting when you read it referred to being “marked or moved by excessive enthusiasm and intense uncritical devotion”; and, if “zeal” meant possessing “eagerness and ardent interest in pursuit of something”, what was so wrong about that? Well; you live and you learn. While trying to catch up on all the posts I missed while vacationing last week, I came across a series over on Jesus Creed that deal with the subject of zealotry. Scot doesn’t just give you Webster’s view. He provides a feast and I’d recommend it to any and all. Five meals. Every one good eating. Somehow it never occurred to me that “making fences” had anything to do with being zealous. I surely believe everything he says. For a long time I’ve so believed. I also know it’s quite possible to “get ahead of God”. Been there. Done that……………..

Finis Dake penned a story about a pastor who fell asleep in his study after service, thinking about how well his church was doing and all the wonderful things he had accomplished for God. Suddenly an angel appeared, announced he was there to measure the reverend’s zeal, and pulled from deep inside the man a flat object which he threw on the floor. Gathering up the pieces, the heavenly ambassador registered the results: pride-50%; personal ambition-23%; fear of man-18%; etc. In total, only 5% was actually motivated out of a love for his Creator. True or not, the tale has stayed with me over the years. Vanity is a part of us all, whether we admit it or not. Still basking in the anointing that claimed Sunday’s service at the Youth Detention Center, I found myself feeling much like the guy above. Quite often you’ve just got to stop and give yourself a swift kick in the ego……………

Flexibility..........................."

For the last two years I’ve been promising the granddaughter a trip to Disney. For two years, cash flow and other options took us elsewhere. This time around I determined to make it happen one way or another and Thursday we motored to Orlando, risking predicted “isolated” thunderstorms. It was about ten when we caught the ferry over to Fantasy Land. At six in the afternoon, it began to rain so hard we eventually “gave up the ghost” and literally paddled our way out of the park. The heat had been overpowering and the downpour might have been welcomed had it not settled in to stay. When you compute the price of admission and the number of rides we were able to access while we were there (due to an average forty-minute wait in every line), it comes out to something like $6.50 for each individual event. McKenna turns six in August, though. The memory of the experience will no doubt blur before too long, a place she once visited with Mamaw and Papaw; but it is for just such an age that the elements there yet hold an attraction. For me, it was more like: a slice of pizza – an arm and a leg; a small, pink, souvenir Minnie Mouse hat – expensive, but necessary; the smile on her face as we sailed through a global presentation of dolls all singing “It’s a Small World After All” – priceless……………

Friday morning, the view from our balcony was, as usual, magnificent. The waves were perhaps a bit more choppy due to a brief patch of squall that had pushed inland from off the horizon. Always the first guy out of bed, I sat there absorbing my daily dose of Scripture. Heaven help whoever it is who inherits my Bibles. They are filled with notes that I scribble as I go, inserting them wherever space permits and whenever “something” speaks to me concerning some particular verse. On this occasion, it struck me at the end of John’s epistles how this apostle, after stuffing his letters with abundant admonition to love the brethren, seemingly forgets that Jesus asks us to treat our enemies likewise. In a blank area yet existing on the page before Jude’s contribution to the New Testament, I penned a paragraph noting the Church to be approximately a little more than five decades into its beginnings when John put ink to paper. My own thirty-four year walk within Her has taken place a lot farther down the road. Some, of course, read the inspired account and paint the Lady a spotless bride, holiness personified. I find us to be no different than any other generation planted “upon the rock”. We all come up short of Him. The Book is a book and humanity remains humanity, other than the mystery of Christ in both………………

Time, in its transition, effects a change on all things held within its grip. The mind (however one might wish to define that segment of who we are) can remember, forget, adapt, and atrophy. Due to the fact that it operates out of both our disposition at any given moment and our own reasoning, it can also make a lot of bad decisions as it travels from point to point in the aging process. Some of us are smarter than others. None of us are as smart as we think we are. Theology, then, in being man’s attempt to reduce God until He fits into our thinking, is merely a humorous endeavor on our part since any real possibility of our succeeding to capture Him in His entirety is beyond us. It is, I realize, part of the “chase” and I’m not suggesting we should give up the practice; but it might be nice if we didn’t set our theories in concrete. What Christ would bring to each and every one of us is not just a collection of literature to slice and dice, but an authentic connection with the One who first spoke it into existence. One not forged of our own genius, but of His eternal love for us. Into each life some rain must fall and plans will fail as we attempt to dance with and explain the magic kingdom. He remains sure in the midst of it all……………

Fuzzy in the Head........................"

It was 9:30 Friday evenin when we turned onto the expressway about three miles from the house. With two young children and a two-year old infant occupying the back seat of the van, I had opted for an over-night version of the journey between northern Kentucky and St. Pete. Easier on the kids. Easier on the adults. Unless, of course, you happen to be the one driving. There was a day, and not all that long ago, when travelling such distance under cover of darkness seemed the only way to go; but, in approaching my sixty-fifth in October, simply dismissing one's normal sleep habits isn't as easy as it used to be. We did make it, though, and straight through other than a few stops for gas and a rather bad, breakfast experience in southern Georgia. Beth spelled me twice, for about an hour on each occasion; but, at about two in the afternoon, Saturday, the people at the condo graciously gave us access to our unit. A Tylenol P.M., at bedtime, put me into deep slumber and Sunday morning, bright and early, I was the first up to greet the sun, mind refreshed and ready to go. Whether my body was ticking on all four cylinders is another matter.

The human spirit. If it be something other than that grey blob of neural electrons held within the cranial cavity (and I believe such premise to be true), then why do we mortals become so dull in our thinking when we don't allow Command Central to partially shut down on a regular basis? These last few days, here at the beach, have been lethargic in nature to say the least. Not that I've ever been one of those who worship the sun. A few minutes in the water during the early hours and then back to the air-conditioning on the fifth floor is more my style. I'll just skip the part where you lay there frying your anatomy. Stretching out in the shade offered by the enclosed stoop just outside our living room is more my idea of vacation "fun". My Bible, a new author to explore, and a notebook to fill with those thoughts generated out of the first two items complete my list of essentials. Yet, here it is Wednesday already and I'm still trying to connect words in such a way as to make sense. It's like someone has filled my brain with molasses. I'm inside the framework, still alive and contemplating the mystery of it all, but the gears upstairs seem "stuck in the mud"..............

I've been reading a book whose message is directed toward those who captain, if not the ship of our soul, then, in simple terms, the marina where we all tie up and dock on any given Sunday. The writer is a fellow who evidently, somewhere along the day, made a significant leap from a denomination that rejected any present manifestation of the apostolic gifts of the Spirit, to a group that now operates in the fullness thereof. There's some fantastic quotes within the pages of his work, along with what I consider great advice to the clerical community by the author, himself. Without taking anything away from the value of a good sermon, he suggests that pastoring is a much bigger calling than merely slicing and dicing the Word. People remain people, and require a shepherd. Issues need more than chapter and verse recently parsed by a guy with a degree. In pushing the reality of "Christ IN me" to be more than a phrase penned by Paul, however, he begins to sound a bit like others I've heard in the last couple of decades. The Holy Ghost becomes a permanent, personal possession of the preacher rather than a well into which he descends from time to time. Then, again, maybe I'm hearing him wrong, still needing to cath up on my rest.............