Amazed, stunned, in awe

God has once again amazed me.

I attended the American Basketball Association owners meeting in Nashville on Friday. I was in attendance with CEOs, civic leaders and businessmen from all over the nation - a pretty impressive list of people. The head of the league, Joe Newman announced that the ABA will be preparing for 62 teams in the fall.

He also required that each of the teams sign on with me as their chief national statistician. I sat there amazed at what has just transpired. This has taken my writing career in terms of the ability to pursue avenues in publishing and outreach in my literary endeavors.

We're all still taking this in.

This changes just about everything in my life.

Memory

Psa 139:1-4
O LORD, You have searched me and known {me.} You know when I sit down and when I rise up; You understand my thought from afar. You scrutinize my path and my lying down, And are intimately acquainted with all my ways. Even before there is a word on my tongue, Behold, O LORD, You know it all.

I find this passage especially striking because I am a person who forgets a lot. A LOT.

I write things down on a calendar - and guess what: I lose the calendar. I am not making this up. In college I was given a Day-Timer schedule book as a gift. I lost it within a week.

Computer filing has been the greatest thing for me. Having cohorts who work alongside me in business is also a Godsend. They will remind and notify me whenever I'm off my schedule. Hmmm, that would be about every three hours or so.

Then there is the name-forgetful faux pas experience I endure just about every week. Yesterday I was shopping and the clerk was a student of mine - for two years. That was only two years ago. I needed to look at his name tag. He saw me doing it.

I can't remember the main characters in a movie five minutes after we leave the theater. In fact, sometimes during the movie I forget their names. Pitiful, I know.

Yet the Lord knows me intimately. When I'm hurt and when I'm on top of the world. When I'm sneaky and when I'm sympathetic. And when I'm grieving to know Him better.

Luk 12:7
"Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered..."

I agree with Eric

"God made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure." Eric Liddell

And if you will understand and accept the deep humility in which I say this, then I can truthfully say I feel a parallel to the Olympic runner in this sense:

God made me a writer. And when I write, I feel His pleasure.

And I am as sincere and truthful as I can possibly be.

Outside of my time with my Lord and my family, there is virtually nothing I enjoy better than to write. When I sit down to start a new chapter or create a plot, I am reminded of the promise in God's Scripture:

"Delight yourself in the LORD and He will give you the desires of your heart"
Ps. 37:4.

kopiao

1 Timothy 4:8-10 "...godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come. This is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance (and for this we labor and strive), that we have put our hope in the living God, who is the Savior of all men, and especially of those who believe.

John MacArthur, Bible teacher, notes : "'Labor' (Gk., kopiao) means 'to work to the point of weariness.' 'Suffer reproach' (Gk., agonizomai) means to agonize in a struggle.' We work to the point of weariness and exhaustion, often in pain, because we understand our eternal objectives.
J. Oswald Sanders wrote, 'If he is unwilling to pay the price of fatigue for his leadership, it will always be mediocre' ... Weariness, loneliness, struggle, rising early, staying up late, and forgoing pleasures all come with excellence.
Galatians 6:14--Paul said that by taking up the cross of Christ, he crucified himself to the world--he died to everything around him and became consumed with the gospel of Christ....As Paul looked to the future, that caused him to serve with his whole heart, striving in the work of the ministry. We hope in an eternal, living God, who will some day reward those who faithfully serve Him."

I wonder how many of us have been Christians for the sake of the title, or for the asurrance of delivery from Hell alone. We commit ourselves to verbiage, but when the rubber meets the road, we don't have an inkling of serving for the sake of Him... we do it for show, for obligation to our local assembly, for a 'feel good' emotion, but we have lost that commitment to serving the Lord for His sake, and for furthering His kingdom.

I mean, sure, we've served in somewhat of a capacity as long as it fits our schedule, but have we worked in a kopiao or agonizomai manner? Have we given to help a needy person, even doing physical labot? Have we hoarded our precious lunch break instead of seeing a sick one who needs a person to talk to? Have we sought out people and shared the Gospel with them, even if it is at risk of getting ourselves embarrassed?

Hey, we take risks every day. We burn the midnight oil for a job promotion. What happened to our service to Jesus?

Life Lessons In Wrestling

I was never an outstanding athlete.

In fact, at best I believe I was fairly mediocre.

Oh, there were times when I won some sort of trophy here or there, but mostly I wore the label "average, not exceptional" of which so many of us are familiar.

I wrestled in high school, maintaining a love/hate affair with it that takes too long to explain. If you've been a wrestler, you know what I'm talking about.

My story for today concerns the match that wore me out. Completely.

Our high school division maintained that wrestling matches between opponents would consist of three 2 minute rounds. We were playing against a cross-state rival and I was competing in the 138 pound class.

My opponent was the same age as I, and was a rookie on the varisty team as well. As we started the match, I felt a sudden surge of excitement. I was stronger than this guy. In fact, I could move him around at will. I was going to destroy this little cretin. Ha! I could sense the kill when after the first period, I jumped out to a 4-0 lead. In the second period I was muscling him all over the mat. He was flopping around, diving and scrambling with his legs while I forearmed, pulled and grappled with him, flexing my now bulging muscles.

And that was my mistake.

I was trying to out-muscle him. And in the third period it caught up. My arms were shot. I mean, they were dead. And slowly, slowly, he climbed back in points. I could hardly pull myself up. My biceps were twitching from fatigue. Exhausted, I felt myself being pulled and shoved now. The little-regarded opponent now was within one point.

I still could not respond, only try to escape and buy time. But it didn't happen. With twenty seconds left he took me down and had a near pin. By the time the clock ran out, the underdog had beaten me by two points.

Man, I thought I had this guy. I knew I had him.

But as I sat in the hallway, stunned, I came to a great realization that day. I was not as strong as I thought. My concept of my endurance was much, much less than I had ever imagined. Hey, I was limited! I think all of us come to this epiphany sometime in our young life - and this was one of mine. I began to realize that not only could I be defeated, I could actuially defeat myself, as I had done in the match. By not pacing myself or by patiently thinking through the approaching moves, I set myself up for a fall.

My Christian walk was that way as well. I was in the emotionalism, social enjoyment and excitable events that made up a teen group calendar. But relying on Jesus? Well, why should i, I reasoned. He let me walk this earth, and live my own life, right? I can make it on my own.

But I found out, as I did in this wrestling meet, that my attempts at serving Him and living for Him through the teen years and adulthood trials of life would take much more than my own strength, I didn't know how to pace myself. I wore out too quickly. I needed the quiet, lone times with Him in prayer and reading in order to build trust and renew my spirit.

And those renewal times with Jesus, my friend, have been the best times of my life.

Isa. 40:31 - But they that wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; they shall walk, and not faint.

Mrs. Downey's Estate

A couple of my old college classmates told me that there was an extra room on the country estate. "If you help with the property, Mrs. Downey will give you the room for free," said Jared. "And now's the right time, because a buddy of mine is moving out of her home - well, really, it's like a small mansion. Three other guys each have rooms there. If you call this number -" he handed me a slip of paper - "you can get first rights on the room."

I called the number and was greeted by a kind, elderly voice. Mrs. Downey was more than happy to have someone take the room. Having grown up in a rural town, I was fairly familiar with farm chores, so I moved into the basement room and would care for her horse, two cows and twenty-five acres of pastureland. For free rent. Nice.

So it seemed.

I was unpacking my stuff and carrying it through the basement door when the departing student bumped into me. "It's a huge place," he said. "She even has an elevator inside."

"You're kidding," I said.

"But you need to know something," he warned as he packed his car. "The reason I'm leaving is that she's a nut case." He looked me in the eye. "I've been accused of stealing, crawling on the roof and even bowling in the upstairs hallway." He tapped his forehead. "She's losing it, and I'm not going to be around on the day she snaps, free rent or not." He left and I pondered my new situation.

To make a long story short, it was true. Almost every night I would hear the brrrrrp of the old elevator coming down to the basement and would then have to explain myself.

No, Mrs. Downey, I wasn't bouncing a basketball down here.

No, Mrs. Downey, I didn't take all the ketchup.

No, Mrs. Downey, I wasn't trying to sneak a girl into my room.

No, Mrs. Downey, I wasn't climbing the magnolia tree last night at 2 a.m.

I had just about had it with this little 78 year old woman who stood inches below five feet tall. She wandered the house, cutting glares at us each evening while complaining that she needed our protection to watch the estate. She ate alone and she muttered about the inequities of the War Between the States. I am not making this up.

I was enduring this odd lifestyle, mainly because I needd to save money, but in truth, I was tiring of it quickly. I enjoyed taking care of the farmland and caring for the animals, but in truth, I found them much more pleasant than I did the sour-faced Mrs. Downey.

Then one cold, raw evening I happened to be carrying some farm tools to the back porch when I saw friends pull up to the front of the mansion. Mrs. Downey had some neighbors and a family member arrive for coffee. I stepped inside to return a broom and I noticed the small party was uneasy. The heating had not caught up to the quick temperature drop. The main room was cold, and nobody knew how to start the fire in the fireplace. Mrs. Downey was crestfallen. She was appearing to be a poor hostess, and in her world, that was worse than profanity.

I did the only thing I knew to do. "Here,"I said briskly. "That's my job. I see I made it just in time." The group looked at me while Mrs. Downey's eyes grew wide with surprise. I didn't wait for a comment, but ran out into the yard and grabbed as many branches as I could find.

For some reason, I have always been able to make a good crackling fire. Other people play a Steinway or run a four minute mile. I can handle an Ohio Blue Tip match with a bit of a talent, I humbly admit. Within three minutes I had a strong, warming fire blazing in the hearth and throwing out much-needed heat. The guests smiled and I nodded, but as I left to go feed the cows, I saw Mrs. Downey's eyes.

She was grateful.

Grateful.

What resulted was a fine and unusual friendship between this elderly widow and myself for the final three months until the end of the year when I was called into a new ministry elsewhere in the country. Mrs. Downey and I would sit at her messy kitchen table and watch a miniscule black and white TV while sipping instant coffee from old ceramic mugs or dining on leftover macaroni on mismatched plates. She shared her concerns for her family and her daughter's history of illnesses. She chatted about many things - maybe some day I will tell you about them - but above all she opened up to me, a 23 year-old college grad between jobs.

I learned the deep and yet delicate power found in Colossians 3:12:

"Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience."

I never saw Mrs. Downey again. That was 26 years ago. I still remember, though, the door of friendship opened when I saw that someone had an estate that needed repair and a little love.

And I'm not talking about the house.

Last night was probably the most off-the-wall Bible study we've had so far.

The initial studies (we'll have two of them a night and maybe three if time allows) were from the book of Philemon and the book of Revelation, specifically from Rev. 19. As we were talking about the coming of the Lord and the ensuing battle of Armageddon, the conversation changed - and I am not exactly sure at which juncture this occurred - we got into "nasty deaths in the Bible."

Among others, to the best of my memory we started discussing:

- Herod being eaten by worms.

- Ehud stabbing Eglon and getting his hand covered by the fat of Eglon's belly.

- Saul's suicide.

- Samson's torture (his death wasn't that grotesque, but the blinding he received was awful)

- Jezebel getting thrown out of a window, gettign run over by a chariot and then being eaten up by dogs.

The discussion was rather lively and not disrespectful in any way. After we had animated conversation for quite awhile the guys looked at each other and started laughing. Yet the point was made which came out in Revelation 19 - the birds were called to eat the flesh of the rebellious ones (Now I remember, yeah, that's where the conversation turned to the grisly death stuff) and I had made the point of the egocentric claims of the many who, as in Psalm 2, thought they could overthrow God and promote themeselves. Their end is not only swift, it's also humiliating.

Invitations

I've been able to visit wonderful places: Grand Canyon, Yosemite, National Cathedral, Liberty Bell, Tower of London, Carlsbad Caverns, Badlands, and a great BBQ place in Lulling, Texas.

There were strange places as well: Corn Palace in Mitchell, SD and Westminster Mansion in San Jose come to mind quickly...

I think I like best the places where I've been invited.

And I've been invited to some pretty memorable places in my life.

In college, I was invited to be part of a Federal Communications Commission petition on behalf of the state of Delaware. An ad hoc group gathered me up and took me along to their meeting in Washington DC. We were able to take a tour of the Senate Chambers. That reminds me of the one time in high school where I received a formal invitation (as a high school newspaper editor) to attend a Secretary of the Army press conference in the Pentagon. Both were great trips.

I like being invited to places. Invitations are great.

Perhaps one of the most enjoyable I invitations I had over the years was to be asked over for a simple but fun family dinner at one of the homes in Hollister, California. The Kliewers were a hoot to be around, always filling me (a single guy with no social life whatsoever) with solid stick-to-the-rib meals and great stories. I still remember the relaxing evenings we had. The Guerreros would invite me over for a no-nonsense Mexican dinner which still makes my mouth water in memory. Quesadillas, tacos, refried beans, tostadas...

Then there was the older gentleman in Fresno CA who met me at the church and took me to a Greek restaurant and let me pick and choose anything off of the menu. I remember the deep conversations we had while dining on halvas, lamb, artichokes and thick coffee.

It's a grand thing to be invited.

And that's what I like about this omnipotent Lord of ours: God is a God of Invitation!

Am I wrong? Take a look at Isaiah 1:18.

Then read Isaiah 55:1.

And then we remember that Jesus Himself said "Come unto Me and I will give you rest?"

God invited Noah into the ark, where He was. Isn't that a great picture of salvation?

Best of all, look at Revelation 22:17. You know the qualifications for coming to Him? You must be thirsty and you must be willing. That's it. He's a God of Invitation.

Some random Super Bowl Pix

Above: Halftime set up. They rolled that stuff in and out within minutes. Well, I guess they had to.

After the win... I still can't describe the feeling. It was an event that has few equals. People across the aisles were hugging and shouting, high-fiving and cheering. Put New Year's, Christmas and July 4th rolled up into one and you have an idea. Taylor Moran and I take a break from screaming.

I'm going to say that this was taken about 40 minutes before kickoff.

The above photo was taken a couple of hours before game time. We chatted with everyone around us. A really exciting atmosphere, and everyone friendly, even "enemy" fans. The Steeler-to-Cardinal fan ratio was about 4 to 1. Maybe that's why Card fans were so friendly.

After these guys warmed up, a grounds crew came out and picked up shreds of grass of the field with their fingers, one at a time. I'm not kidding.

Ben and some players loosening up. Every time these guys sprinted along the sideline, the crowd erupted.

This is one of the first sights I had after I found my seat about two hours before game time. yeah, we got in early.

This was one of the walls to help direct us to the many parking lots after the Game.

Earning tickets

When I was a child and attending Sand Beach Independent Bible Church, there was a running challenge to little kids like me. The glass-enclosed case in the lobby of the downstairs section had prizes for those who earned enough tickets. Each Sunday if you attended you would get a blue ticket (1 pt). If you brought your Bible you got a red ticket (2 pts). I also believe you got a red ticket for memorizing a verse.

And, oh, the prizes you could win! There was a little display full of trinkets and baubles.. but not the ones on the top shelf! Those were the Bibles.

And, buddy, I earned a Bible. Took me long enough, but I was able to "buy" a Bible for about 50 or so ticket points. Man, I loved that Bible. It was great to carefully write my name on the inside cover, and leaf through the maps and various passages.

The Bible still holds an awe to me today.

The Bible, as you know, has 66 books, with 39 in the Old Testament, and 29 in the New Testament. The OT, as some people call it, foreshadowed the coming of the Messiah, and gave prophecies and hints about it through the 39 books, like:

The Messiah would be born of a virgin Isa. 7:14

The Messiah would be rejected by men and be wounded for our sins Isa. 53 (the whole chapter)The Messiah would not only be the Everlasting Father, He would be the Prince of Peace Isa 9:6

The Messiah would be pierced in His hands and feet Psalms 22: 16

The Messiah would be born in Bethlehem Micah 5:2

There are many many more but these beginning ones give you an idea of the supernatural nature of the Bible. These prophecies came true even though they were separated by hundreds of years. The Bible, all 66 books, are cohesive and make up one theme: Jesus making the way for us to be with God and be part of His family.

2 Timothy 3:16 says that "All Scripture is inspired by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, for training in righteousness; that the man of God may be adequate, equipped for every good work." Paul meant that both the New and the Old Testament were - and are - inspired. The word "inspired" is literally "God-breathed." This implies that the Scriptures are from the mouth of God.

As I said, the OT had prophecies, right? And you see that 2 Peter 1:21 says "for no prophecy was ever made by an act of human will, but men moved by the Holy Spirit spoke from God." Peter is saying that prophecy is not the product of human will, but by those moved by the Holy Spirit.

Julianne's haircut

This is an old picture I found of Julianne during her first "professional" haircut. Unlike the boys, Julianne actually enjoyed her haircut. In fact, these years later, she still "cuts our hair" and as she plays the part of the hairdresser, she insists on calling herself the name of the stylist you see in the picture here: Erin.

Sort of gives you an idea of the strong impression adults leave on kids.

Childlike Faith

I spent the morning speaking to five different groups at the conclusion of the ministry known as the Upward Basketball season, in which I had about seven minutes with each group. My presentation was the culmination of weeks of messages from their coaches and leaders in which they heard Bible verses and instructions on God's plan of salvation.

I met with them at the West Park Baptist gym and gave them a joyous message of God's free gift of salvation and the way to accept it.

I was stopped on the way out the door after one of these times by a man who called himself a Christian. He told me that I was not presenting the Gospel correctly. In a nutshell, he said that "the kids were too small to understand."

???

Since when did the Bible tell us that the simple childlike faith of loving Jesus, wanting to go to Heaven, desiring to follow the Lord and not wanting to be sinful could not be understood?

Luke 18:17 - "I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it."

Ventroloquism part 2

Side note: I am getting more writing assignments than I thought possible. I am backlogged at least a week on immediate assignments, not to mention the two biographies I am working on (interviews, phone calls, etc) It was necessary for me to "fire" one of the companies for which I work. As I was assembling the content and sending in the features over the weekend, the company supervisor (my sole contact) slowly started requiring web-building requirements to my assignments. As I was discussing this issue, he became rude and disrespectful...and that was it for me.

You see, about four months ago, I made it a policy that in any business that I would do, if anyone would show disrespect to me or any of my teammates in the network, I would cease the business relationship. I might be the last businessman in the world that holds a strong policy on manners, but there must be civility in all aspects of the working world, I believe. Christian or non-Christian - no matter.

--------------

Now, back to the story:

I was the most anxious kid in the country the week before Christmas. Nothing else seemed to matter but that Jerry Mahoney ventroloquist puppet. I dreamed about using it and speaking without moving my lips. I studied the "Throw Your Voice" sections of party games books in the Hershey Library. I talked about how I would entertain church groups and school meetings alike. I was obsessed with Christmas morning.

The day came.

I bolted downstairs - along with the rest of my brother sand sisters - to the front room of our country house on Airport Road. Mom had us sit down (Dad wasn't around - I think the divorce was final) in front of the tall Christmas tree decked with plastic icicles and spray snow (which I still think is awesome stuff). We went through the smaller gifts that we exchanged among siblings (car-shaped soap, box of nonpareil candy) and laughed a lot. It was great.

Then there was one more present for each child.

The Big Gift.

One by one we worked our way around the room. I'm telling you, I was in a sweat, (and I believe I was too young to even have sweat yet) but I can tell you the honest truth, I was shaking whenever I grabbed that wrapping paper. It seems the right size, but you never know...

I held the rectangular parcel vertically and I ripped it open halfway up.

Jerry Mahoney peeked through the whole inteh wrapping paper.

I shouted, screamed and laughed. I kissed my mom and shouted some more. Christmas Day was Perfect.

I waited and waited and waited for something so long that I ached - and it came to pass.

And I look at the life we have right now, and as much as I know things are fun and enjoyable, there are also hurts and griefs that we all face. I know there is a better life that God has for us. He's not a monster to make us suffer and then extinguish from existence. There is a Heaven and I wait anxiously for that day whenever I can see it all come true.

For we know that when this earthly tent we live in is taken down-when we die and leave these bodies-we will have a home in heaven, an eternal body made for us by God himself and not by human hands.

We grow weary in our present bodies, and we long for the day when we will put on our heavenly bodies like new clothing.
For we will not be spirits without bodies, but we will put on new heavenly bodies.
Our dying bodies make us groan and sigh, but it's not that we want to die and have no bodies at all. We want to slip into our new bodies so that these dying bodies will be swallowed up by everlasting life.
God himself has prepared us for this, and as a guarantee he has given us his Holy Spirit.
So we are always confident, even though we know that as long as we live in these bodies we are not at home with the Lord.
That is why we live by believing and not by seeing.

2 Cor. 5>2

Thoughts on Christmas wishes

I can recall the Christmas I wanted to be a ventroloquist.

Specifically I wanted to be as good as, or better than Paul Winchell (whom many of you will recognize as Tigger's voice in the Winnie the Pooh cartoons.) This guy could make the doll talk without so much as a flinch of his lips, and I was enthralled at the idea of being able to set up a partner onstage to make wisecracks and witty asides while I played the straight man. Oh, I could see my career take off, especially in my 4th grade class in January, when the teacher, Mrs. Riley, would let anyone march to the front of the class, proudly display one of their Christmas gifts and chat about it. Why, I don't know - perhaps for the experience of getting in some public speaking. No matter. This was my chance to take center stage and impress the girls, especially Lynette Bredbenner and Lori Morris. I would show my gift, go into a routine and make them swoon. Never mind the fact that I was a buck-toothed kid with a long neck and a bad haircut. It's the sheer thespian talent that knocks 'em dead, didn't you know?

Well, I was dropping every hint possible in order to let my mom know that I wanted a Jerry Mahoney puppet more than anything in the world...

Superhero Convention Part 2

(Please refer to my first Superhero post a few days before the Super Bowl. Now that everything has calmed down since my trip to Tampa, I can get back to this story.)

I truly believed that I could call the great heroes of the universe together and organize an ad-hoc Justice league of my own. Think of it! We could protect the world from all of the ills of the 60's... if we could just get organized. And I, a second grader from Dallastown Elementary, would be the one to bring them together.

Why I believed that the titans of the world would gather and obey my instructions, I cannot tell you. I just figured that they, being fair and kind much like they were in the comic books, would allow me to be President Elect or Headquarters guy or something. How I was supposed to know where the immediate crimes were? I hadn't figured that out either - the first thing was to get organized, for crying out loud.

So I found a hunk of cardboard that was about 3 feet square and set to work on it with crayons. It said this:

ATTENTION SUPER HEROS

of any powers. All are welcome.

TIME TO ORGANIZE.

Meet at Dallastown Park

at home plate today at 3 p.m.

ALL SUPER HEROS WELCOME.

I went down - so help me, a second grader - to Gladfelter's Furniture and was going to ask them to put it in their window, but when I got in the store, it was too quiet and ornate. I chickened out, and went outside. I propped it in front of the store on the sidewalk and took off. Nobody should know it was me who put the sign there. All things secret.

I hung back throughout the afternoon - not wanting to give away my secret identity. That, plus the risk of getting yelled at by the old guy sitting near the monkey bars. 2:45 p came and i was in a sweat. 2:55. 2:59.

They would all fly in, at the last minute.

3 p.m.

Gosh, these guys aren't punctual. Still, they have floods and fires to take care of...

... at 3:30 p.m. I walked back to Charles Street and went to my room, half disappointed and yet relieved a bit as well. I wasn't sure what to do if a whole mob of heroes with assorted powers showed up.

But I loved strenght and action in a person. That's probably why Mark is one of my favorite books. Jesus is portrayed as doing, going, moving, active.

He's the God-man, who stunned the disciples by calming the sea in a superhero way. Their reaction?

They were terrified and asked each other, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!” (Mark 4:41)

When I first started learning about Jesus' abilities to defy the laws of the "normal" nature around Him, I got intrigued. This One who came to earth to heal and do wonders - why was He doing this?

My journey was starting...

Odd

I'm right in the middle of the work day, slaving over assignments and trying to figure out character development, plots and outlines - and it hits me: I really would like a tomato sandwich.

A good fresh tomato sandwich. The kind where you get a huge thick slice and add a little lettuce. I add mayonaisse to mine and some serious pepper (a little salt - sometimes seasoned salt).

There’s only two things that money can’t buy
And that’s true love and homegrown tomatoes
— Guy Clark

Being a Christian and Have a Great Time - is it allowed?

Halftime at the Super Bowl. Here's the funny thing - we tend to separate the secular from the sacred in many areas of our life, especially when it comes to sports. I mean, why bring Jesus into all of this - "does He love the winning team more than the losing team?", etc.

But I think it's your perspective.

I don't think of it along that pathway. I see sports - as a participant or a player - more as an extension of our need for an energetic diversion from our workaday world. I see it as a way for friends to chat about the lighter things of life and for people to find a fun way to socialize.

As I stood there throughout the game enjoying the singing of the National Anthem, the Springsteen concert/fireworks display, and the back-slapping that total strangers were exchanging with me, I remember openly thanking the Lord - I mean it - and just letting Him know that I so much appreciated this as one of the times when God just said, "You've put in a pretty hard work schedule in life - just go act goofy and have fun."

And I did.

I Lived to Tell About It

Awesome. Simply amazing. The anticipation did not exceed the event. It was everything they said it would be... and more. Electricity in the air. People cheering and chanting. Biggest TV event in North American television. 70,744 people in the stands, about 70% Steeler fans.

I'm still taking it in.

I will be writing a few thoughts about the game in a while. But for now, I am still processing everything that happened. Really, the pictures I will be posting will give you a good idea of the SB XLIII from the ground view.

Leaving Today

It's Friday and I will be flying out to Tampa at 4 p.m. this afternoon. Estimated arrival time is 6 p.m. As I had said, the wonderful (wonderful, wonderful) people who made this happen will be hosting me along with five others on the plane as we head toward Super Bowl territory. For the sake of their privacy, I will not disclose their names until I get permission, and I will be asking for that this weekend. If they grant it, I will let you know.

I'm nervous. Nervous, can you believe it? I've been a mess since Wednesday, and the game isn't played until Sunday. Great for my stomach, let me tell you. We Steeler fans all get nervous before a game. It's like seeing your sons go onto the field. We're all family, and if you're a Pitt native you know what I'm talking about. It's a Burgh thing.

If you look at the picture of Raymond James Stadium here, I believe we will be sitting in the middle section just under that balcony. They're called Club Seats. If those indeed are the seats I have, as I checked ont eh Super Bowl ticket prices they start at $4500 apiece. Either we will be there or in some luxury boxes, and I can't even begin to tell you the price of those. I told them I don't care if I'm on the upper lip of the whole place. Just being there is going to be stunning.

I keep thinking about this roller coaster ride I've been taking in the past year. 2008 was a horrible year for me physically. In fact, it seems like it was a bad dream - a nightmare, in fact. My back felt like glass was embedded in it. Depression set in. I was fatigued most of the time to the point that even a phone call seemed like climbing a mountain. Hardly any of my spiritual mentors showed any concern at all, and I felt lost. And I thought, why are things so bad for me?

Yet here in 2009 I get a chance few other people in this world enjoy - I get to go to the Super bowl and watch my hometown team play. More that that, my boy Nicholas is getting married to a wonderful girl on May 9th. My wife Jill is enjoying better health and overcoming her fatigue week by week. Peter is growing in responsibility and has shown true grit through personal setbacks. Julianne, of course, is the light in the household. My back is almost healed and I can sit through a full church service. And I wonder, why have I got it so good?

I look at the Scripture (Mt. 5:45) and see that God brings in blessings to everyone and is impartial in his overall goodness, because He "causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous."

He knows my future and He brings gentle testings for my strengthening, and things I cannot understand at the moment. Yet as I walk through those dark valleys I must admit that God has a purpose and His ways are far beyong man's intellect; indeed "Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain." as it says in Psalm 139:6.

Highs and lows in life. God has His watchful eye over all of it, and I must say that I am far beyond dissecting it for cerebral discourse, but I'm also continually amazed at how it all comes together time and time again.

Super Bowl

I will finish my story later. I cannot believe I am writing this, but through the generosity of some very very very fine people, I will be going to the Super Bowl this Sunday. I will be flying out on Friday... wow, this has knocked me over. I will give details tomorrow and I will do my best to blog what has happened at the Super Bowl and the festivities on this site.

This is stunning. I'm going to see my Steelers play.

At the Super Bowl.

Superhero Convention

I am going to tell you the absolute truth.

Not that I've filled this blogs with lies, mind you, but this one is going to be hard for anyone to swallow, but I swear it is true, down to every detail.

I wanted to be a superhero. More than that. I actually tried to organize a superhero convention. I was in second grade at the time.

I better explain...

These were the dynamic TV years of the George Reeves Superman, Green Hornet, but especially the Mt. Everest of all crusaders: Batman.

Oh, how we loved Batman. Every kid in Dallastown Elementary loved Batman. And Robin, of course. The TV show was the talk of the school. Playground time was all Caped Crusader stuff.

Add to this the fact that my dad bought us kids two crates - crates, mind you - of comic books ranging from early Iron Man, Spiderman, Aqua Man (I didn't really like him), Silver Surfer, Hulk, and others, and you could see I was a mess.

I would sit and read the old DC and Marvel comics and just hope against hope that I could be a superhero. We would, of course, gather into neighborhood superhero groups of our own in the gravel lot near our home with our own custom-made names and powers: FleetFoot, Inferno, Ultra Boy, and even Glasses Man (I found an old pair of plastic lens-less glasses and figured they were good for laser beams. I was short on creativity that day, okay?) We had come upon a set of old capes from a defunct high school band and we were set. Every day - and I do mean every day - we were running the lawns of the little town, defying imaginary hoodlums who all wore pork-pie hats and masks. I never could figure out why they would stereotype themselves that way, but that was their business, not mine.

But I wanted to take it step further. I knew the world had superheroes lurking around, waiting to get organized. They just needed a leader. And I, a knowledgeable second grader, would be the one to band them together...and the International Headquarters would be in Dallastown, Pennsylvania... and I was absolutely serious about all this...

Love to Write

My writing assignments have been picking up considerably, and as much in the secular world as in the Christian realm. It has been amazing.

Among the assignments in my docket:

- setting up the content for a web page and e-book for a West Coast online website corporation

- writing a fiction novel based on the life of a retired DEA agent

- editing an e-book on the tournament preparation for Brazilian Jiu Jitsu

- writing and editing a book for a Canadian e-company

- writing press releases and bios for the Ice Bears hockey team

- writing sports reports for the local pro basketball team

- getting back to my old radio days: writing copy and providing voice talent for a California website company

- writing articles and mini-bios for a new Christian e-magazine

- finishing up a proposal for a parents' book for Focus on the Family

The best way I can describe what is happening is the slow realization of Psalm 37:4 - "Delight yourself in the LORD; And He will give you the desires of your heart. "

Few things in life I love doing more than writing. To turn a phrase spoken by Eric Liddell in the movie Chariots of Fire, when I write I feel God's pleasure. I know this is what He has for me, and I cannot get enough of it. I feel His movement as I work, whether it's a devotional from the book of Isaiah or a press release for the hockey team. Wow, this is good stuff, and it's one of the ways I feel God pats me on the back.

Snow Day

There's a blanket of snow covering the ground here in east Tennessee, and in our subdivision a layer of ice has added a tricky dimension to the driving conditions. Tan Rara subdivision is on a series of hills, so I am stuck. I can't make it up the first hill, so I am writing this from home. Ah, but it's beautiful though. Our yards are gorgeous.


I'm looking at the first hill coming down to our neighborhood and the thought strikes me that this would be the ideal hill for sledding. I admit that the logistical problem in this is at the bottom of the sledding course is a 4,000 square foot house that would pancake the face of any participant, but let's not get picky, okay? The course is smooth and about 100 feet long. It reminds me of my elementary school days back in Dallastown PA.



Snow came plentiful in those days, and as a child I remember every winter we would have at least two or three snow days that would cancel out the misery of classroom work for an entire day, as close to euphoria as a kid can get. The large brick schoolhouse hadn't been upgraded since the war effort, and I can still recall the sloping wooden floors and huge blackboards with a tray full of chalkdust in every room. A day to get out of that environment? Yee hah.

Near the school there was a long, long gently sloping road that curves towards - well, I don't know where because I don't think any kid made it all the way down to the bottom alive. We were all bundled with scarves, ski caps, boots and thick corduroy-type coats, toting our wooden sleds with strong red or blue-colored runners. For some reason I recall that there were no girls around at all - this was an all-male event, so you will clearly understand that no boy wore mittens - gloves only. Showing up with mittens would have been fatal.

We'd hit that slope and shoot down that long slide to the cheers of other boys who were not encouraging our success, but actually rooting for a seriously good crash into someon'e's mailbox or curb. It happened. More than once I flipped the sled end over end and once hit a dry patch of road, which shot me free of the sled and cartwheeling down the road. The boys applauded with gloves. Thud thud thud.

I remember the sheer joy of the clean white snow and the quiet crunch underneath your galoshes or boots. The world seems quieter. Moms were home whipping up some hot chocolate, and dads coasted back from work with a smile on their face as we would all pretend we were in for a blizzard, so we'd better have a healthy fire and an extra dessert.

Wow, I loved everything about snow.

So when I came across Isaiah 1:18 om the Bible and saw that God promised the results of my trust in Him was to have a heart white as snow... man, He hit the soft spot of my soul.

I was in my teen years when I found this passage. I was a rotten kid. I had realized the messy life I was living and the chaotic plans I selfishly made were jumbled without reason. There was no rhythm or sense to my plans or my morality. That's why Isaiah's passage struck me, and at the age of seventeen, I made a serious decision about following Jesus. And here's the kicker: my life started opening up like snow days.

Spills, yes. But also joy. Real joy.

Enkrates in action

The post-flu exhaustion had hit our family and we're holed up in the house this morning, unable to go to church because of the lingering effects of the many sicknesses we've picked up. It's good to say that the flu itself is not raging in us, but the final strains of the weeks-long ailment are trying to hang on: headaches, fatigue, sore throats, and watery eyes.

Wow, new weeks and months coming and it's time to prepare for them, now that our strength is retuning. Nicholas and Alexis will be married on May 9th here in Knoxville, and Jill and I are doing our homework on the rehearsal dinner and stuff. My writing assignments have ben coming in from all over the country, from a web corporation in California to a Toronto electronic firm to - believe it or not - a martial arts publication firm in North Carolina. Plus, I have signed on in writing articles for a new webzine out of the Midwest and am waiting back to hear from a book publisher and a television company needing content writers.

So much more to tell you, and here's the balance I must strike ...the need to be a responsible go-getter and bring in the necessary income to take care of the bills, along with the reliance on God to help us see Him work. Faith and works go hand in hand in real life... this is not a course in semantics. I trust in God and yet I don't sit back and expect Him to bring Publishers' Clearinghouse to my doorstep.

One answer I get is from the book of Galatians in the fifth chapter... "the fruit of the Spirit is self-control..." The other fruits I can understand: kindness, goodness, peace... I can understand how I'm supposed to act, and not smash someone in the mouth for taking my parking spot or threatening my kids. Okay, I see those. But self-control goes much deeper, especially in the context of my life right now. In the Greek it is the word enkrates and it comes into play very clearly here. The word literally means to have dominion over oneself, or "to hold oneself in." (I kind of picture someone who holds his breath.)

As I take steps to see the Lord's working in this coming year - and it seems very clearly that He is moving in ways I can see - that I "hold myself in" and take care to get a deep breath and step back whenever I want to run ahead and do things my way. I want to tithe on every assignment payment that comes in. I will reject any job offer that would compromise my testimony for Jesus Christ. I want to be fair and not overcharge and yet be realistic and not undercharge, either.. hey, we've got bills to pay. You see the balance that the Christian needs?

Jesus has been kindly leading us, and man, does that take so much stress off of me. I want to be sensible and remain open to His authority as he takes us down a new and exciting career path.

On the Court

I think one of the last things I would have ever predicted as part of my career would be that of a sports columnist. But here I am, now writing for my second professional sports team. The American Basketball Association has placed a franchise here in Knoxville and the Glisson family, owners of the Thunderbolts, have taken me into the fold as a writer for the fledgling team. I am still a freelance writer, but this is part of my work.

Man, is this ever enjoyable. I get to run across town - often with my family in tow - and watch basketball and ice hockey (my other reporting assignment with the Ice Bears), reporting on whatever scenario I want to highlight.

The ABA has a freshness about it that I like. Everybody is friendly, and you can't help but get caught up in the "let's do it" attitude. They're small and they know it; the humility is a nice change from the major leagues. The Glissons have a perpetual optimistic approach to the future, and I am deeply impressed that this Christian family has sunk tons of money into mission work across the world.

What a new avenue for me. What fun.

Spelling Bee

When I was in the sixth grade at Hershey Middle School, I was the typical geeky kid with a big head, goofy teeth and a subpar athletic ability.

Well, come to think of it, maybe I wasn't typical. I don't remember many kids with heads as large as mine. To this day I still can't wear a decent hat without my wife shaking her head in mock sadness.

But I digress.

I was a doofus of a kid, making it by in classes and being ignored mostly by the Inner Sanctum of cool kids. Especially the girls.

That is, until I won the school spelling bee.

Yeah, baby.

That was grand. The school held the whole event in a community center theater (Could anything be more cool? Could anything be more intimidating?) and lined us kids up in rows at the front of the auditorium. One by one we went through the agonizing process of taking on words that suddenly became enemies. We had to take them on in the public field of battle.

And, for once, I won.

I can remember my last word for the win: "commercial."

Oooooooh, man. What a feeling. I finally won something.

I remember standing next to the second place winner, whose name I only remember as "Dave", alongside the principal of the school, a kindly bald man who always wore bow-ties (He wore a red and green polka-dotted one for Christmas, which gave us schoolkids no end of delight) . I won a Roget's Thesaurus, which took me about five years to understand what it was to be used for. Never mind that, though. I won.

I entered into the realms of celebrity-hood. Kids waved to me in the hall. Teachers patted me on the back and smiled. Even the lunch lady congratulated me and called me by name.

The Beautiful Kids asked me into their group.

But after a flighty day of head-rushing excitement, I soon came to the realization. I was not as smart as I was made to look. I couldn't even fool myself. I hit a good run of words that were within my capabilities, and I didn't freeze on stage. That was it. A week later in the State Spelling Bee first round, I realized how stupid I really was.

I came to discover - as we all do sometime in our lives, many times more than once - that I was not the invulnerable, independent superior being I'd like to think I was. I just received a big batch of grace. I realized that it was not my prowess, but by the grace of God I won. There were numerous kids smarter than me. And I realized something else, as the flock of cooler kids came by to absorb me into their Winner's Circle.

I didn't want to be with them.

I found out that God drops occasions of grace into our laps to encourage and sustain us, and to brighten our walk once in awhile.

What I won was not by my superhuman merit. It was by effort, yes, but also - I believe truly - a time for God to give me a nice gift I hadn't expected.

It was a small lesson, but a worthwhile one. And a nice diversion from Grammar, which I hated.

This goodness from God was one of the small directional signals that led me to see how He really was, and that path eventually led me to salvation.



Gen. 49:25 - "From the God of your father who helps you, And by the Almighty who blesses you {With} blessings of heaven above..."

Baritone Thoughts

When I entered the second grade, my dad encouraged us all to find an instrument to play. After all, since he was the local high school band director, it would seem right for his up-and-coming charges to have some experience in the aesthetic tools of the trade, right?

Gwen chose a glochenspeil ( some people call them the "bells" - sort of like a portable xylophone), and Brent went for the French horn.

For some reason I cannot fathom - it may be because it was the only other instrument sitting around the house - I chose the baritone. The baritone. That piece of metal was bigger than me.

I immediately hated it.

I could get the notes down fairly well, but I couldn't keep up with the pressure of staying in tempo with others (probably a foreshadowing of my ill-spent youth) when we played in band. I got bored of daily practice. The thing gunked up too much. But worse, the baritone is the school bus rider's nightmare. Shoving and pulling that thing onto the bus was an embarrassing and frustrating tribulation. I detested taking that thing to school. Why couldn't I have chosen a trumpet? Or a harmonica? A kazoo? I'm amazed I didn't need professional counseling.

Well, I hung on with that thing through the fourth grade, sliding into fourth chair (out of four) and not caring that I was probably shaming my dad into exile.

But here's the weirdest thing: when our teacher asked for talent entries for our classroom Christmas party, I volunteered. Again, my actions were inexplicable.

I couldn't even read music, let alone get a good note out. Nevertheless, I thought I could wing a rendition of Silent Night - by pure talent alone. I am not making this up. I had the answer: I would pray.

I thought God would give me the talent. That's the truth. I practiced not a lick, but the night before the party, I forced Brent to pray with me that God would give me the ability to pull off a stunning performance and be proclaimed God's virtuoso at Dallastown Elementary School.

Well, it didn;'t happen. Silent Night takes like, how long, two minutes to play? ... if you know what you are doing. It took me longer than ten. Don't get me wrong - the class loved it. Wouldn't you, a low-self-esteem-suffering kid with huge ears and clod feet love to see one of your classmates go down in flames? I was a hero and a goat at the same time.

Prayer became more clear to me after that. I learned - and this is the truth - that God is not the end product of a magician's trick. He's not to be pulled out of a hat for self-fulfillment. He wants to talk with us, not be yelled at or commanded about. Yet some people still feel like I did in that baritone recital - God is a switch to be turned on and off.

Yet there is so much to prayer, and God does invite us...

Jeremiah 29:12 - "Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. "

We'll talk more about praying to God in the next couple of weeks.

Forgiveness

I don't want to give anybody the impression that I was a sweet angelic kid who was an undeserving victim of daily trials, that my childhood was filled with abusive attacks around every corner, or that I was some Oliver Twist with an unknowing and innocent life of smiles and tears as I suffered each step of the way.

I was bad at times. Really, I was downright rotten. In fact, I can now relate this story since it's been so many years:

When I was a second-grade student at the Dallastown PA elementary school, I had actually conned kids into thinking that we were creating a basement railroad city in our little home. I had just come back from a summer family retreat to see Roadside America, a huge model railroad city of tiny trains and miniature houses. I was enthralled by the scenery, and I carried the whole vision back to Dallastown, and openly lied to the little schoolyard gang that my dad and I were laying out the mountains, streets and tunnels in preparation for a whole line of railroad trains.

Here's the kicker: anyone who wanted to come and be an engineer in our soon-to-be railroad city could earn a pass by helping us pay for the completion of the village.

That's right - I was a con man in the second grade. I had kids handing me nickels and dimes and even an occasional quarter in the hopes that they might sit alongside me and direct a Sante Fe freight line around the countryside.

Man, Ponzi schemes had nothing on me.

I cannot believe I did this. I am still ashamed of what I did.

Even worse, I was a pretty fair shoplifter, and I can now count on my hands the things that I pilfered from stores or other places as I went through childhood. I don't need to line-item them; what good would that do?

I do remember, however, going into a local supermarket and scouting out the Brach's candy display - you remember the one that had an "honor system" bucket, where you threw a nickel in and took a piece to taste for yourself right there? Well, not only did I grab a bag and start loading pieces of candy as if I were taking samples ( I might steal two pounds or more) but I also would steal the money out of the Honor Bucket.

And that was just my childhood. How could God find any good in a wretched kid like myself?

As a teen I had heard a clear message about salvation but I had serious reservations about whether God could forgive a person like me. There were, of course, even worse things. Could this Jesus forgive the things I had done?

Yet there it was, again and again in the Bible: Jesus took seriously the people who seriously sought Him and followed Him...

"...to open their eyes and turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God, so that they may receive forgiveness of sins and a place among those who are sanctified by faith in me.’" Acts 26:18

Getting to Know Great People

I've always made it a habit to find a great person and try to get to converse with them and listen as long as possible. It's been a lifelong habit of mine. Note, please, that I didn't say a celebrity or the most vocal or even necessarily the leader of the room.

No, it's finding someone who has a character, talent, or history that would be important (or fascinating) to learn. Doing this has led me to sit at the table with a Congressional Medal of Honor winner, a man who was buried alive, parents whose life and love was in the loving adoption of international babies, a personal bodyguard to the great General MacArthur, the pastor of a miniscule South Dakota church who adored his people... the list goes on.

I just like to get to know these people.

This take me back to my Boy Scout days. My brothers Bruce and Brent were Scouts in leadership in good ol' Troop 65 of Hershey PA, one of the great troops in BSA history. There are so many stories I could share of hiking through the Appalachians, camping in subzero weather, getting caught in a downpour in Gettysburg... but I want you to know why I loved the troop so much. Why all of us - boys and parents - loved the troop so much.

It was the Scoutmaster, Don Stevens.

The man was a father figure and yet a willing fall guy for a prank. He would discipline fairly and yet he would encourage guys like nobody else I'd seen. After my dad left our family, I saw Mr. Stevens as a caring and fair leader who kept us post-divorce boys in good spirits and in hard training.

Once, in a misunderstanding, he shouted at me in front of the entire troop, chastising me for something of which I was completely innocent. As a new Scout and a green Tenderfoot, i went back to my tent and sobbed in solitude. Within minutes, as soon as he had been told the truth, Mr. Stevens came in and sincerely apologized. "Boy, did I mess this up," he said. "Would you forgiveme, brad?" I was stunned. A man of his stature, asking me for forgiveness? I wasn't even 12 years old! I, of course, accepted the apology, and then he did something I will always remember: he took me in front of the troop and reasoning that "since he made the shouting public, he'd make the apology public," He addressed all the boys.

I don't know if Mr. Stevens is alive today. I hav searched and cannot locate him in pennsylvania. What I do know is that this Christian man did more than talk the way of Christ - he showed it in fair and caring leadership.

I wanted to get to know this fine man at each and every campout or Scout meeting.

In Phillippians 3:10 I see the same desire by Paul:

That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made conformable unto his death;

Just as much as I loved the troop and the camping, firebuilding and merit badge-earning, my biggest kick was in getting to be under the tutelage and care of a great man. I learned principles in leadership that I still use as a teacher today. Paul is in the same mindset. He loves the people of the church and the organization of the ecclesia, but the whole foundation is to know Jesus. That's Paul's obsession. And int eh Chrsitian walk, it's mine as well.



The excellent Bible resource of Jamieson, Fausset and Brown says "To know HIM is more than merely to know a doctrine about Him." In other words, it is Jesus we want to know, not the trappings of the church. My goal is to read the Bible through by Easter break. In it, I want to see Jesus from the first words of the Scripture all the way through to the Apocalypse. That's my goal.