Fish Chunks

As a loving and devoted father, I am always trying to get my daughter to experience new things, new food dishes, different traditions, art and architecture of foreign places. A necessary experience to foster worldliness, appreciation for other cultures, an introduction to new ideas, and an opportunity to embrace the differences among us. Sounds like I should be up for a father of the year award, right? Well, hold up just a minute. I feel compelled to tell you something before the big award presentation. I have been rethinking my position about all this culture crap. Why? Well it all started when I began to think that if I am going to make my daughter try new things, then I should be willing (and, yes, eager) to try new things myself. O.K., picture the scene, I am in the Netherlands walking about through quaint villages with some friends. The greatest delicacy known to these people is fresh herring, caught right out of the myriad streams that interlace the country side. They are then served up immediately to the drooling throngs. So, I step up to the plate (hah). I am not a big lover of seafood (or food that stares back at me either for that matter), but I agree to try the local favorite. I am going to be brave. Yes for once in my life, I am going to be a man. I place my order, the vendor hands me my, err, treat, and I am ready to put my money where my mouth is. I take a bite and chew. Three, two, one, ... wait for it ..., I blow chunks everywhere. The side of the vendor's cart, the vendor's shoes, in short, all over the blessed quaint village. Funny, the locals did not act upset. In fact, the entire episode seemed to be a great source of mirth for them. I am beginning to suspect that, perhaps, this raw fish isn't really a local delicacy, but a huge joke perpetrated by the cursed Netherland-ians on unsuspecting and gullible tourists. But my point is, forget about all this openness to cultures and other's traditions, if it smells or looks in the least bit funny, run like the wind Bullseye.

Beware - I Have Gas

Sometimes something silly enters into my brain that resonates within my cerebral humoritoral lobe (that portion of the brain that controls hilarity). The result is a good chuckle. I wanted to share one item that I really enjoyed. Here at the laboratory where I work, we often use bottles of compressed gas, i.e. cylinders containing gas at incredible pressures. You can think of them as bombs in a convenient package adorned with pretty stickers, but of course there are other dangers present too. One of which is that in a confined space, if the bottles leak, they can quickly displace the available oxygen, which could kill you in a couple of minutes (and maybe, if you are lucky, cause you to foam at the mouth). Anyway, safety is a big deal at the lab, and we have safety personnel "up the wazoo" (which means, as far as I can tell, up the butt or with great abundance -- I will let you choose your preference) who are charged with making at least one new safety regulation per hour per person or armed goons with kill their house pets in a most extreme manner. Anyway, I digress. The safety folks have posted signage in all elevators on site that states emphatically: "Personnel are not to accompany gas cylinders on the elevators". I came across a handwritten note in one elevator that was meant as a reply (or challenge) that said "How will they know which button to push for their floor?". I liked this. Silly, inane, and with a touch of anarchy (due to the graffiti element).

The Big Reveal

God does not need to shout, a whisper will suffice. Neither does he need to speak as if to children, Christians must learn to understand the parables. He does not need to perform miracles one upon the other for all to see, his infinite power is obvious in the world around us and the stars above. It should be clear that the unbeliever, the agnostic, the self-absorbed, the self-righteous, the egoist, the lazy, the hate-filled could see every miracle in his arsenal and still find a way to turn away from his truth, his gospel. They will not open their hands for gifts, their mouths for food, or their eyes to see. Watching the reactions of these types goes against all logic, all rational thinking. How could anyone witness all of his glory and still turn from him, denying themselves the opportunity of finding eternal peace, eternal love, and eternal joy? This is an opportunity to have a never-ending relationship with the maker of the universe, the king of kings, and the lord of lords.

I have just finished reading the book The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis. While the book is over 50 years old, it is an amazing read - not an iota of the work is dated or out of touch with "modern" thinking. While is it fiction, the allegory of a Christian's life after death is a tool that Lewis uses to literary perfection. The message is clear, focus your attention on what matters, leave the unimportant, erroneous, and petty ways behind, and follow the Lord without distraction. However, in the end, not all can be saved from themselves.

Good News, Bad News

A dose of good news is needed to offset a dose of bad news. I need to focus on things sometimes, not just give them a cursory glance. Sometimes when I read something important, I go back and read it again out loud or write it down and go over it a couple of times. This can really help me to better grasp an idea or to wrestle with something in a way that can give me the upper hand (at least intellectually). Passages from Galatians 5:19-24. (These ideas were inspired from Charles Swindoll's book, So You Want to be Like Christ?.)

The raw realities of sin (aka The Bad News):

... repetitive, loveless, cheap sex; a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage; frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods, magic show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-comsuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalizing everyone into a rival; uncontrolled and uncontrollable addictions; ugly parodies of community.

The sweet fruit of the Spirit (aka The Good News):

... affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely. Legalism is helpless in bringing this about; it only gets in the way.

Remember the Monkey

I have noticed an annoying and hypocritical tendency of mine. I have had a number of bad habits through the years (thanks for asking, but I hardly think this is any of your business), which I have worked hard on extricating from my life. Of course this is the good news. The annoying and hypocritical aspect of today's discussion is that I find myself rashly judging others who are still slaves to these exact same habits. I look down on these folks with a totally haughty (now there's a good word) attitude, as if I am so much better than them. How disgusting they are, how petty, how common, how lower class.

I often pray that the Lord will reveal areas in my life that I need to work on, and this is one area that rises to the top. When I catch myself in one of my mental diatribes against those people, I need to chill (an expression used by some hip youngsters I saw on T.V.). I need to realize that I was once afflicted by the same problems, I had the same monkeys on my back. I need to search my memories and remember how the habits arose in my own life and controlled me and give some space and some understanding.

Brain Smell

The brain is an amazing hunk of matter, isn't it? It has the incredible ability to encounter something and then to store it away for days or weeks or even sometimes for countless years. Subconsciously, and at times unexpectedly, it can be triggered to pull out these memories and then flood the body with an exquisite and palpable recreation of a past experience. I am reminded of a specific instance of this in my life. A long time ago, I was courting (now that's an old-fashioned word!) this wonderful girl. In the evening, she would take a shower. During this time, I would anxiously wait downstairs for her to finish. The anticipation of seeing her again, holding her hand, and talking with her into the night was electric. One of the things I remember clearly is the smell of her shampoo when she first opened the bathroom door. It was the smell of clean, of renewal, of anticipation. Every now and again, I will encounter this same smell as I am walking along and I am transported back to this place, this situation, and this time from so long ago. I feel like I am lifted out of my dreary present world, even if only for a moment. Of course I have to come back, albeit resistantly, but I always return with a memory that connects me again to myself and to the past. Indeed, an amazing hunk of matter.

WEC Journey

When I came back to VA two years ago, I was a broken man. The kind of broken that couldn't be undone by any cure except the passage of time. One thing that I left behind in OH was a wonderful church -- Central Methodist. In VA, I ached to find a new church home. I needed that connection with God and that special, unique brand of Christian fellowship. I had never "church shopped" before and I was totally out of my element. I had no clue as to how I should begin. What I found were congregations with about 50 folks whose mean age was at least 125, music that was lifeless, sermons that were white noise to my ears (and yes, I realize this sounds like a harsh assessment, but it was my perception). Lost, defeated, and adrift I gave up after several months and a half dozen churches.

Fast forward to Feb. 2008. I was looking for a cabinet for my home. After a search that had consumed countless online hours, I found what I wanted. I made a beeline to the furniture store and inspected a floor model - it was stunning. I made my purchase and arranged for delivery. Two days later I get a call and am told that the piece was closed out and no more are in stock. In fact, the floor model that I looked at was already gone. They set up to refund my money. This episode lingered in my mind and ate at me. I didn't know why, but it was somehow more than the furniture. After a couple of days, I was moved to go back to the store, I don't know, maybe a trust but verify kind of thing. In retrospect, this was quite unlike me. Walking into the showroom, I was surprised to see that the floor model that I had studied just a few days earlier was right where I had left it. I talked to a very nice salesperson and just for the heck of it, she checked on its availability. Curiously, this piece had not been set aside for anyone. She told me that it was mine if I wanted it.

As I was arranging for delivery, I told the salesperson that I live on Waters Edge Dr. Her face lit up as she set about telling me about Waters Edge Church. She told me over the course of the next 30 minutes (in no uncertain terms) that I would definitely not be disappointed if I showed up. Attending to other customers was definitely not forefront in her mind as she told me about the people, the pastor, the music, the messages, and the laughter. She even went out to her car and gave me her program from earlier in the day (it was a Sunday). Her enthusiasm and generosity were wonderfully received and much needed in my life. I left the store with an entirely new attitude and spirit. Somehow I knew that my search was over.

It may seem silly, but I definitely feel that God's hand was on me, leading me to Waters Edge. Ten months after my first visit, I feel totally at home and am finding my place. This is where I am supposed to be. My beautiful cabinet sits in a prominent place in my home, and is a constant reminder of the watchful oversight of the great Shepherd.