Tuesday, July 31, 2007

 
Big Al, with a couple of pretty little cowgirls at VBS yesterday

Today is Day 4 of VBS. Tomorrow is what I affectionately call The Grand Tamale.

Last night was my latest training session on the road to becoming sworn in as a CASA volunteer. I sat in a bad chair for three straight hours (no breaks), most of which was spent listening to two gentlemen from the district attorney’s office educate us on substance abuse. It was, at once, both fascinating and disheartening.

In case you haven’t heard, the war on drugs has not gone well. At all. It seems people have pretty much got it backwards; instead of saying “no,” there has been a resounding YES to drugs in our communities. Our instructors last evening, along with the youth court judge, estimated that nearly 90% of all court cases in Jackson County are drug-related. For example, the charge might be burglary, but when you explore the “why” behind the burglary, nine times out of ten it is because of drugs.

In between establishing the enormity of the problem and the primer on what we as CASA volunteers should look for (with a particular focus on spotting a meth lab on our home visits), there was an important question raised: Why? Why do so many people turn to drugs? Research pinpoints two main reasons: (1) mental illness (with much fewer instances, and interestingly, these cases aren’t so much as to get “high” but to feel normal), and (2) to cope with life (a means to escape).

I thought about the overwhelming reason people use drugs – to escape the misery of their life – and I came to an interesting conclusion: the future of the war on drugs doesn’t look so hot. I say this because the war on drugs doesn’t address the root problem. Our local law enforcement personnel do a terrific job of arresting and prosecuting perpetrators, and our legislators continue to modify the laws to help in the arresting and prosecuting. But who is dealing with the root problem of human misery?

I’m afraid that drug enforcement officers have one good thing going for them, and that is job security.

Our government can (and should) declare war on those who exploit others, and it can bust perpetrators. But laws cannot give people a real reason to live.

I become more and more convinced each day that Jesus really did offer up the meaning of life when he taught indiscriminate love. I long for a day when those who claim to follow him (a) grasp that this IS the good news, and (b) make it central to who we are and what we do.

Until we go beyond “Say No” and offer people something to say YES to, we’re in for a depressing ride.

Monday, July 30, 2007

 
Yesterday was our second-ever end-of-quarter combined class at the Ocean Springs Church of Christ. Six months ago, each Sunday class was challenged to do more than simply talk about following Jesus, but to actually "go into the world" and serve the hurting. On the last class of each quarter, we would meet together to talk about what we had experienced.
Yesterday, we heard about...
* Our Senior Saints class providing gift boxes to all the families of new babies at the hospital
* Our 40-Something class becoming volunteers with programs that mentor at-risk children
* Our Young Adult class's ministry to single-parent families
* Our Teens work day rebuilding hurricane-ravaged houses
* Our 3rd-5th graders visiting shut-ins
* Our 4s-5s & 1st-2nd grade classes combined efforts to provide books for children at the battered women's shelter
* And our 2s-3s beautiful artwork for the hurting, as demonstrated by Brynn above
We've got a long ways ago until reaching out to a hurting world becomes the central focus of who we are called to be as followers of Jesus, but on days like yesterday, I feel as if we've taken a couple of steps in the right direction.

Sunday, July 29, 2007

 
When Hurricane Katrina struck our area twenty-three months ago today, it poured water into the houses of twenty-seven of our church families. Due to the unbelievable influx of money, workers, and supplies responding to our cries for help, almost every family was back in a permanent house (some their old house, and some a new house) within a few months. For a couple of families, however, their situation was more complicated, and the wait much longer.

The Lawler family is still waiting.

For one, they are involved in substantial litigation with their insurance company. For two, they live in an area that faces complicated new building standards.

Thankfully, they were blessed with a very nice house so that they haven't had to cramp into a FEMA trailer these almost two years. But still, they aren't home.

Shannon sent me some pictures this weekend of the footings FINALLY being poured for their house! They are very excited for things to really be underway. As is the case with new construction, there will be lots of weather issues and contractor issues to deal with along the way, so there are no firm predictions for how long this will take. But it's started. And that's a good feeling.

Saturday, July 28, 2007

 
Well, I survived my two-day gig with three jobs at Vacation Bible School. I can now turn over the roles of "Sing & Play Stampede Leader" and "Showtime Roundup Leader" to my youth minister, Trent, and focus on my initial role as "Spotlight Drama Leader."

The Spotlight Drama deal is pretty cool. The prepackaged VBS kit from Group Publishing came with a CD containing five powerpoint shows for me to use. During "Horseplay Games" time each day, I steal a few of the kids and have them pose in a variety of interesting poses while I take pictures (like Brandon's picture above). Then, I go to the computer and insert the pics into a neat little show that everyone sees at the end of the day.

In case you're wondering, yesterday's show was to the praise song, "Praise the Lord," and Brandon's pose came at the line "No matter where you've been."

Kids LOVE getting their picture made, and kids LOVE seeing themselves on the big screen.

Yup, cool job. With a job like this, maybe John Dobbs and I both would be more fond of VBS?!?! Maybe I can reserve this job for every Vacation Bible School?

Friday, July 27, 2007

 
Our church building was transformed into Avalanche Ranch yesterday to take children on a Wild Ride through God's Word. Everything went remarkably well, and without a doubt, my longstanding standard for VBS success (that the kids have fun) was more than attained.

It's just after 7am, and it's about time for me to don my cowboy hat and slip on my cowboy boots again and continue our Wild Ride. If all goes as planned, the children will leave today having been firmly taught that God is with them wherever we go.

Not a bad goal for a day, huh?

Thursday, July 26, 2007

 
I’ve been tagged by my friend, John Dobbs (you can read his list HERE). The tag calls for me to list eight random things about myself. To quote Mr. Dobbs, “Random things are not necessarily marvelous things…or good things … or even interesting things. These do not purport to be secret things that no one else knows. So keep that in mind when reading my list.” So, there.

The Rules:
* Players start with 8 random facts about themselves.
* Those who are tagged should post these rules and their 8 random facts.
* Players should tag 8 other people and notify them they have been tagged.

EIGHT RANDOM FACTS ABOUT AL STURGEON
1. I don’t like iced tea.
2. I am legally blind in my left eye.
3. I was in a wheelchair at my wedding.
4. I have a half-full shampoo bottle that I don’t know what to do with.
5. I rarely listen to the radio while driving.
6. I rarely get angry about anything, but for some reason car trouble and computer trouble are the two things that really get under my skin.
7. I’m addicted to planning: when I have free time, I usually end up planning a big new project that I later regret.
8. My dad was fifty years older than me.

Now, my turn to do the tagging. I’ll go with…
1. Troy the Megachurch Pastor
2. David the Dentist
3. Ric the Surfer Dude
4. Laura Landhardy
5. Bruno the Liberal
6. Travis (aka Paul Bunyan)
7. My Twin, Amy
8. Marianne the Female Michael Jordan

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

 
I'm up to my Gospel Chariot in getting ready for VBS, among other things.

Jessica, our director, chose Group Magazine's "Avalanche Ranch" package for our VBS experience this summer. It has lots and lots of fun, creative stuff in it. She asked me to be in charge of Spotlight Drama, which is a perfect match for me. I get to take lots of cool pictures and turn them into a powerpoint show involving the kids that is shown in the closing session each day. I'm really looking forward to that part.

But...

Trent, our youth minister, is the Sing and Play Stampede Leader. Another good match, except that Trent is on a trip with the teenagers this week. Our five-day VBS begins this Thursday and runs weekdays through next Wednesday, meaning that Trent won't be there for the first two days. Guess who gets to be the Sing and Play Stampede Leader for those two days?

Yee-Haw!!!!!

Now I normally wouldn't mind at all (I've learned that singing goofy songs with kids is not that big a deal after all). I tracked down a cowboy hat yesterday, pulled out my blue jeans, and found some boots, too. I was really getting into the fun! Then last evening I pulled out the song CD and realized that I was in WAY over my head. Lots and lots of new songs with lots and lots of hand motions to learn - and VBS begins tomorrow. Uh-oh.

I went to the church building last night, where Jessica and Cryste were working on decorations. I felt like a heel giving Jessica something else to worry about (did I forget to mention that she is very pregnant in addition to all the VBS planning?), but there was just no way that the songs would go off as planned.

But she was awesome. We actually had fun, the three of us, coming up with a slightly modified plan. And it will work well.

Yee-haw!!!!!

I just have to squeeze in a lot more VBS preparations today than I expected, but it's worth it for the children.

Every once in a while it dawns on me that life is mostly fodder for what really matters, which is spending time with people. Laughing with Jessica and Cryste last night, and being goofy with children tomorrow morning... those are the things that matter. The rest are just details, and not worth the stress they have the tendency to create.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

 
Last night was training session number three (of ten) on my path to become a CASA volunteer. I have the tendency to get involved in too many things, but I am very glad to be getting involved in CASA. I still highly encourage others to consider it, too. You can go to the national website HERE, type in your zip code, and the search will call up where you can get started in becoming a volunteer. As the advertisement dramatically communicates above, it is rather important work.

Last night's training session was on Cultural Competency, and Miriam from Biloxi Regional Medical Center did a terrific job instructing us in this area. She focused much of her instruction on the Hispanic and Vietnamese population since both groups are notably represented in our service area. I learned I am very much culturally incompetent. I have SO much to learn.

I taught a class at church recently on "acceptance" in a world that loves to draw lines that separate. It is sadly ironic that many American Christians are scared to death of words like acceptance, diversity, and tolerance. In America, popularly presented as the great melting pot. Followers of Jesus, the lover of all.

I understand the fear. I think. It's the "I'm okay, you're okay" thinking that is in question: most American Christians don't seem to think others are okay (even other Christians). I relate to this feeling, although my lines end up drawn in funny places.

But that's not the point.

Instead, a CASA volunteer needs a session on diversity training because written into American law is a fundamental respect for differences among its citizens.

And I'm afraid Christian churches in America need similar sessions, though for a very different reason. We need to learn how to love everyone regardless of categorization first - in spite of anything that might stand in the way of love. Like God loves us.

Monday, July 23, 2007

 
Yesterday was the return portion of Family Road Trip '07. After worshiping together at the Grapevine Church of Christ, we enjoyed some excellent Texas BBQ at Spring Creek Barbecue, then said our good-byes.

If it was an emotional good-bye, we did a good job of not showing it. Felt more strange than anything else: so much is scheduled to happen between now and next summer, one would think we'd be overcome with... well, some kind of emotion I guess. But maybe emotion is overrated. Sometimes you just have to get on with it.

I heard myself say things like...

"Jessica, we'll be thinking about you during your surgery."
"Jacquelyn, hope your last year of college goes well."
"John Mark, be careful driving to North Carolina to start your new life."
"Joseph and Hillary, we'll see you at your wedding next May."
"Josh, have fun moving to New York City."

Snippets from the theme song to my blog come to mind: days turn to minutes, and minutes to memories... you are young and you are the future... be the best you can...

Sunday, July 22, 2007

 
Very weird to notice that, though I’ve driven 600 miles to hang out with my sisters and mom, I spent some special quality time with just my wife and daughter yesterday. Twice!!!

#1: Everyone went different directions around lunchtime yesterday, and we ended up watching Pirates of the Caribbean 3 at the movie theater. Lots of action in this loooonnnggg movie, but it was fun. That Johnny Depp is something else…

#2: Then last night, when a movie ended up on the television that was a bit beyond Hillary, we went for a walk down to a neighborhood park. As you can see from the picture, my wife and I ended up in a little swinging competition. She won, of course.

Who knew we had to drive to Texas to spend some quiet time together?

Saturday, July 21, 2007

 
I'm supposed to be an adult, right?

I'm here in Grapevine, Texas, with my family, and at 11:54pm last night, I drove with my three nephews to a nearby Wal-Mart. John Mark (the oldest) recently graduated with an engineering degree and leaves Monday for a prestigious internship with Cisco Systems in Raleigh, North Carolina. Joseph (his younger brother) is engaged to be married and, if all goes well, will enter graduate work in physical therapy after his senior year at Abilene Christian University. Josh (their cousin) plans to attend Marymount Manhattan College in New York City this fall, majoring in accounting.

Well, this prestigious group of young men went to Wal-Mart with their Uncle Al at midnight last night for the long-awaited release of the seventh (and final) book in the Harry Potter phenomenon.

The funny thing was that Josh was the only one who wanted a book. I went hoping to take pictures of crazy costumes or knock-down, drag-out fights over a children's book. I think John Mark and Joseph went just to make fun.

Wal-Mart had a security guard out parking the cars for the midnight crowd. They handed out free water and made a special Harry Potter cupcake-cake for everyone. They also handed out bracelets (red guaranteed to get a book, green for maybe... I'm not sure what the blue and yellow were for...). This was a big deal, you know?

It wasn't really an emotional crowd, however. Only a couple of lame costumes, and absolutely no fights. When we made it to the front of the line, it looked as if there were plenty of books in stock for everyone in line and then some, so I didn't feel compelled to wait around to snap pictures of the first people who didn't get a book.

The best picture I got was the one of crazy Josh paying obeisance to the surprised checkout girl who presented him with his treasured book.

But we had a blast: four smart aleck guys up past their bedtime.

I'm suspecting last night was the last time I'll get to hang out specifically with the sons of my sisters, just the four of us. That might not be such a big deal to the three of them, but their Uncle Al was glad he tagged along.

Friday, July 20, 2007

 
We drove to Dallas yesterday for my family's annual summer reunion. With one sister in Texas and one in Arkansas (and me in Mississippi), we rotate each year between the three states in an attempt to find one time each year when we can all get together.

We came yesterday with an extra special plan, and that was to see Pam. We all love Pam, and she moved back here close to a year ago, and we've missed her so.

We made it to town right at 5pm, visited with my sister a few minutes and brought all our stuff inside, then headed over to Southlake to meet Pam for dinner. We had a great time wandering around the Southlake Town Square, checking out the impressive painted cows, and simply enjoying the beautiful evening. Pam treated us to way too much food at The Cheesecake Factory, and it was just a great night.

Pam has had a very hard couple of years, but we found her doing well last night. That made us both feel so good. I think she has been heroic through it all, and she deserves to be doing well.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

 
I went to the dentist yesterday, which unfortunately constitutes a major event in my life, seeing as how those visits are so rare. I remember getting a six-month reminder notice in the mail at some point, and I remember putting it off in honor of my personal tradition. I suspected it had been a year since my last cleaning.

Turned out to be two.

Which gives me a good excuse: the reminder must have been lost in Hurricane Katrina.

Oh well, it turned out like all my other visits. No problems, other than the fact that I don’t floss. And I never make my six-month visits.

I once again made a half-hearted mental commitment to start flossing and make the regular six-month cleanings. The dental hygienist must not have believed me since she gave me a battery-operated toothbrush to work on my gums. I prefer the old days when I got lollipops instead.

Anyway, this isn’t the point of my story.

Instead, when I arrived, there was an attractive young couple, probably in their early twenties, sitting in the waiting room. I said “hi” as I made eye contact with them, signed in, then found a travel magazine to take a mental vacation. But I couldn’t help notice that the female part of the couple was… how shall I say… bubbly? Energetic? Put it this way: she could hardly sit still, and she seemed like she was begging someone to have a conversation with her.

Since she was an attractive young girl with either her boyfriend or husband, I thought it best to learn about the top twenty beaches in the world instead of engaging her in conversation, so I stayed behind my magazine. But she was kind of hard to ignore.

She was watching the television in the waiting room, audibly reacting to every news story and commercial. Then, when a commercial came on singing the children’s song, “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands…” Well, she just clapped her hands.

Now how many of you are going to do that in a quiet waiting room?

She laughed at herself, and I had to put down the magazine and laugh, too. As did her boyfriend/husband. She went on to finish the whole song, never missing a chance to go clap, clap.

In a few minutes, her boyfriend/husband was called back to the dental dungeon. Soon afterward, a rather angry older man came stumbling out, not happy at all to be alive at that moment in time. He stumbled out the front door, muttering all the way. After he left, I looked at the young lady and said that he didn’t look very happy. She smiled and sang, “Clap your hands.” (Clap. Clap.)

I wish I was that happy!

Our Peak of the Week Class begins each week with my summoning all the children to the front to sing a few songs. It had come to the point where the adults yawned and talked and didn’t participate much at all while the kids sang. After dismissing the kids last week, I had a heart-to-heart talk with everyone. I strongly encouraged everyone to come on Wednesdays, sit up front, be goofy with the kids, and make those ten minutes a highlight of their week. And I wondered how it would go last night.

Well, the spirit of my dentist office friend must have rubbed off on everyone because last night was very different. We did the children’s song from Hades, Father Abraham, and everyone just had a big old time flailing arms and legs around with the kids. I was very happy.

And I knew it.

So I just might clap my hands.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

 
I’ve never met Will Campbell, but I find him fascinating. I first heard of him in Philip Yancey’s What’s So Amazing About Grace? in a story I’ve told a hundred times since. Earlier this year, I read his most famous book, Brother to a Dragonfly, which, beautifully weaves a bit of autobiography through the tragic story of his relationship with his brother.

Brother to a Dragonfly left me hanging, though. It left Will sort of disillusioned with life in the heart of the Civil Rights Movement. I have always thought of the Civil Rights Movement as almost a spiritual shangri-las, a time where following the way of Jesus seemed much more of a real choice. It probably helps that it was in my own backyard. And almost my own lifetime. Yet Will Campbell sees through that façade, too. He moved on to loving the Klan, too.

I received in the mail yesterday what I think is sort of the next chapter in his story, a memoir he titled, Forty Acres and a Goat. I began reading it last night.

I suspect many of my readers wouldn’t like Will Campbell at all. Others might fall in love with him, too. Let me share a brief article about Campbell with you today (about a PBS documentary on his life called God’s Will, a documentary I’d love to get my hands on someday if I only knew how…). This article may whet your appetite for Campbell. Or make you nauseous. Either way, dinner’s served!!!!!!!


Will Campbell, ordained as a Baptist preacher in backwoods Mississippi, was the only white minister present at the creation of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. He escorted nine black students through angry mobs at Central High School in Little Rock. He was present at sit-ins, civil rights demonstrations, and strategy meetings with Martin Luther King.

Will Campbell, a graduate of Yale’s divinity school, is an amateur country musician and hardscrabble farmer who sips whiskey with friends who are members of the Ku Klux Klan. He holds all institutions--including the church--in disdain and refuses to pastor even the smallest congregation. He doesn’t even attend church Sunday mornings.

"In all these years I can’t think of one thing I’ve actually, personally, accomplished," he once wrote.

Yet he is considered by many people to be one of the nation’s most influential spiritual leaders…

Campbell is "a deeply religious man," President Jimmy Carter says of his friend who chews tobacco and wears cowboy boots. "One who has a great deal of spirit. Calm. Wise. Witty. Eloquent."

Campbell’s memoir, "Brother to a Dragonfly," was nominated for a National Book Award. In his 13 books since he has continued writing about race, religion, and community.

Campbell grew up poor in rural Mississippi, and when he preached his first sermon in his community’s church he read from a pulpit Bible that had been presented by the KKK. But he could never embrace his society’s preoccupation with keeping people segregated and groups apart.

"I don’t know how to say this without sounding terribly presumptuous," he explains, "but I don’t recognize the concept of different kinds of people."

"Will Campbell is an articulate and authentic witness to what is the best of humanity," says minister and civil rights activist James Lawson. "He should be one of the models that America lifts up for what it means to be an American. What it means to be a human being."

"God’s Will" explores Campbell’s life, his efforts to repudiate racism and division, and his work to reach out to civil rights workers and avowed racists alike.

The program includes interviews with the celebrities and writers who are among his friends, such as Tom T. Hall, Waylon Jennings, John Egerton, and Jules Feiffer.

The documentary also shows Campbell working in what he believes the church to be: not a television evangelist’s satellite empire--he calls these people "electronic soul molesters." And not big buildings with tall steeples and gymnasiums that are open only to members.

"There is a little tavern we go to quite often," he says, talking about his rural home near Nashville. "I marry the people. Bury the people. Get them out of jail, or try to, and so on. Every one of them, without exception, would be at my house as quickly as they could get there. And I would be at theirs.

"That is church."

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

 
The statistics are mind-boggling:
* More than 870,000 documented cases of child abuse in our country every year – how many go un-documented?
* Over 1,250 children die each year directly from child abuse or neglect – the majority are under 5 years old
* 9 out of 10 abusers are a child’s parents/guardians
* 1 out of 4 girls and 1 out of 6 boys will be sexually assaulted by age 18
* Between 80% and 90% of prisoners were victims of child abuse

Mind-boggling.

And what do we do about this? Shaking our head in sadness doesn’t seem sufficient. After last night, I have a suggestion:

Become a CASA volunteer.

CASA stands for “Court Appointed Special Advocate.” A CASA volunteer speaks up for the best interests of a child by making sure that the court, social services, and legal counsel do their jobs for that child. One of my all-time favorite passages is Proverbs 31: 8-9 which urges speaking up for those who cannot speak for themselves. Where is that more appropriate than when speaking up for an abused or neglected child?

You have to be 21 years old to volunteer. You have to fill out a bunch of paperwork. You have to do 30 hours of training. It doesn’t seem too much to do for a child in such desperate need.

I went with my friend, Dana, to our first training session last night. We were 2 of 13 volunteers there. 4 were veteran CASA volunteers, and 9 were brand new. We ranged from a great-grandmother to a young man who is hoping to go to law school. There were 3 pastors in the group. There was 1 lady whose husband was killed six years ago, which ended their desire to be foster parents – so she decided to be a CASA volunteer instead. We are a diverse group, and that is beautiful. Our only problem is that we are too small.

Our director had a death in the family, so the Youth Court Judge, Sharon Sigalas, conducted the session. She told us that her little courtroom handled 1600 cases of abuse and neglect every year. I was blown away. 1600 cases, just in our county!

My wife and I spent three years of our marriage as houseparents at a residential group childcare facility, so I am no longer shocked by what happens to children. I continue to be shocked, however, by the sheer numbers. Combine that with the proven concept that abused and neglected children need adults who care about them personally, and I’m humbled to think how many volunteers are needed to make a difference for children in need.

So I’m spreading the word today. Check out CASA HERE. Find out where you can get involved in your community. Change the world.

Monday, July 16, 2007

 
I don't guess I had ever heard of (or noticed) Rachel Carson before, but I now know that she had a stamp named after her back when I was eleven years old. She was a scientist, ecologist, and writer who, among her many accomplishments, wrote a book that shocked the United States into banning DDT and other harmful pesticides.

Tom from New York sends me encouraging emails from time to time. Though we've never met in person, he is a valued friend. He read some of my Katrina e-book this past weekend, and my section on noticing the beauty of the stars in the first days after the hurricane reminded him of a section from Rachel Carson's book, The Sense of Wonder. I've now learned that this book encouraged adults to take kids to wild nature and expand their imagination by introducing them to the wonderful variety in this world. Sounds like a book worth reading to me...

Anyway, I just thought I'd start your week the way mine started: with an insightful selection from Rachel Carson. Enjoy.

Exploring nature with your child is largely a matter of becoming receptive to what lies all around you. It is learning again to use your eyes, ears, nostrils and finger tips, opening up the disused channels of sensory impression.

For most of us, knowledge of our world comes largely through sight, yet we look about with such unseeing eyes that we are partially blind. One way to open your eyes to unnoticed beauty is to ask yourself, “What if I had never seen this before? What if I knew I would never see it again?”

I remember a summer night when such a thought came to me strongly. It was a clear night without a moon. With a friend, I went out on a flat headland that is almost a tiny island, being all but surrounded by the waters of the bay. There the horizons are remote and distant rims on the edge of space. We lay and looked up at the night sky and the millions of stars that blazed in the darkness. The night was so still that we could hear the buoy on the ledges out beyond the mouth of the bay. Once or twice a word spoken by someone on the far shore was carried across in the clear air. A few lights burned in cottages. Otherwise, there was no reminder of other human life; my companion and I were alone with the stars. I have never seen them more beautiful: the misty river of the Milky Way flowing across the sky, the patterns of the constellations standing out bright and clear, a blazing planet low on the horizon. Once or twice a meteor burned its way into the earth’s atmosphere.

It occurred to me that if this were a sight that could be seen only once in a century or even once in a human generation, this little headland would be thronged with spectators. But it can be seen many scores of nights in any year, and so the lights burned in the cottages and the inhabitants probably gave not a thought to the beauty overhead; and because they could see it almost any night, perhaps they will never see it.

An experience like that, when one’s thoughts are released to roam through the lonely spaces of the universe, can be shared with a child even if you don’t know the name of a single star. You can still drink in the beauty, and think and wonder at the meaning of what you see.

Sunday, July 15, 2007

 
After an adventurous Friday, our group of guys checked into the Jameson Inn in Newnan, Georgia, just after midnight. We got a kick out of seeing one of our own, Matt Ruffin, had his name on the welcome board (since he had made the reservations). Several particularly enjoyed that his name almost looked associated with the PGA women's golf group that stayed there, too.

We left the hotel late yesterday morning and traveled to Montgomery, Alabama, where twelve of us played a round of golf at Lagoon Park. None of us would have impressed the PGA women's golf group, I'm sure, most especially me. This was the first time I looked at my hand-me-down golf clubs since we made this same trip last September, and it showed early and often.

I shot a 125, which I am actually proud of considering (a) my lack of playing, and (b) my ability in the first place.

It was a nice course, one of the top-ranked public courses in the United States, but once again, the beauty was in the opportunity for a bunch of guys from church to spend the afternoon simply enjoying time to be together.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

 
Several years ago now, Gene Logan began organizing an annual trip for the guys from our church family to watch a major league baseball game. It has been one of my personal favorite things to do ever since.

Our normal trip is to Atlanta, but we have made a couple of trips to Houston as well. This year was Atlanta, however, and last night 19 of us witnessed a good old-fashioned whipping, as the Brian McCann and Tim Hudson led Braves defeated the Pirates 9-1.

The trip was significantly more adventurous than we anticipated. We took three vehicles, and the one with Pat, Richard, Cameron, Richie, and Matthew was well down the road in front of the other two not long after we left our Cracker Barrell breakfast in Mobile, Alabama (some of us were a little slower than the rest after breakfast!). Not long after we left Mobile, our church van began to shake significantly, and pretty much at the top of the HUGE bridge over the Mobile River the front left tire blew.

This was not good.

The nine of us found ourselves perched VERY HIGH on the bridge, on its very narrow shoulder, with the need to change a front left tire in the oncoming traffic.

I learned a few things:

I learned even more things:

You see, you can learn an awful lot on a trip to the baseball game.

But we made it, even with the visit to the Wal-Mart automotive department in Bay Minette, Alabama, to purchase four new tires for the van. Instead of arriving at our hotel and checking in, then arriving at Turner Field our customary two hours before gametime, we made it to the park around 45 minutes before gametime.

Still, we made it in plenty of time to have a great time with friends, see an entertaining game, watch the Friday night fireworks show, and pay over five dollars for a jumbo hot dog.

As the credit card commercial says... priceless.


Friday, July 13, 2007

 
It turned out to be a delightful morning. I dropped Hillary off for her fourth day of dance camp, then drove down to East Beach in Ocean Springs in hopes of capturing a picture for my Ocean Springs photo-project. I’ve long since committed to including a person in each of my pictures, and I have driven down East Beach many a time in hopes of catching someone at just the right time. Yesterday seemed to be a repeat performance.

But I drove through one final time, and I noticed a couple of ladies out walking their dogs on the beach. I thought that, after broaching that uncomfortable “do you care if I take your picture” phase of the project, this just might work. So I parked and got into position to ask them on their way back down the beach.

When I asked if they would mind if I took their picture, the immediate (and obvious) response was, “What for?” When I explained, the second lady remembered me from when I took a picture recently at the Mary C. O’Keefe Center. They agreed, and I trailed along with the sun to my back, trying to capture a good shot.

It turned out that my best picture was more of a random, fun one. One of their friends rode by on a bicycle, so they yelled, “Take a picture of that lady!” I jumped out in the road and did, and I think that’s the shot I will use for my book (check it out HERE).

After my brief photo-shoot, one of the ladies asked if I wanted to see her destroyed house (East Beach was devastated by Katrina). I accepted her offer, and I walked with Peggy and Joey and their two dogs up to the house you see a bit of in the picture above. It really was a mess.

It turned out to be a fascinating story.
* Peggy’s family is actually living in the back of this house while they wait to rebuild.
* They are waiting to rebuild because their house was designed by famed architect, Frank Lloyd Wright, which means that there is a lot of wrangling with the Historic Preservation Commission that must come first.
* And, Peggy’s son rode out the storm in the house with several of his friends! She showed me the rope hanging from high in the tree closest to their backdoor. Her son tied the rope in the tree after swimming out of the house and clinging to the tree for his life. He and his friends reported watching a massive sea turtle glide beneath them as Hurricane Katrina launched her furious attack on the mainland.

We simply visited for fifteen or twenty minutes, exchanging stories from an unforgettable storm that changed our lives.

It turned out to be a delightful morning.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

 
Paul Bunyan
Jay DeFrees made multiple trips to Ocean Springs from northern Illinois following Hurricane Katrina. On one of those trips, we discovered a common bond involving a love for the St. Louis Cardinals. It did my heart good to receive emails from Jay from time to time simply saying "How 'bout those Cardinals?" He even called my house after the World Series last year (which, in case you have forgotten, the Cardinals won)!!!!

My family went to Disneyworld a year ago April, and we were at Disney-MGM Studios one day. We were getting off of the Backlot Tour ride when I heard someone yelling my name. It was Jay and his wife! We had the pleasure of briefly introducing our wives to one another (and each other), and I walked away smiling at how that crazy hurricane had made the world wonderfully smaller.

Jay's heart has been in Mississippi ever since those trips he had made, and he was overjoyed when he found out some church folks from his world were making a trip to Pascagoula. He jumped at the opportunity to come. He emailed me a couple of weeks ago, and we set up a date to have lunch while he was here. That was yesterday, and he and I enjoyed lunch at Monica's in Pascagoula together. We swapped stories from days gone by, and he asked me lots of questions about how things have gone for us at the Ocean Springs Church of Christ.

But my favorite story of the whole time involved our (now) mutual friend, Travis Hass (a.k.a. Paul Bunyan), pictured above.

To briefly introduce you to Travis, Travis had decided to take a semester off from college in August 2005. Even though he wasn't much past twenty years old, Travis could do it all in terms of house construction, and he had planned to remodel a few houses, make some money, and simply take the time to refocus his life. Then, Hurricane Katrina struck. He came to the Gulf Coast with his preacher, Jack James, and they were heroes to us. They came initially as experts in floating sheetrock, but before long, Travis had decided to spend his semester - the one he was using to refocus his life - living at our church building and heroically rebuilding houses. Along the way, I learned that Travis was an excellent speaker, a brave firefighter, and a deep thinker.

Plus, he is really strong. Which is where my lunch with Jay comes in.

Jay asked about Travis yesterday. He said that after his trips to Ocean Springs, he would make presentations for his church family, telling them all about the unforgettable people and experiences from Ocean Springs. He told stories about Travis throwing roofing tiles up on a roof while he and a friend struggled together to push one at a time on the roof, and before long he said "Travis-stories" began to take on mythical proportion - "like Paul Bunyan" he said. :-)

Jay said that his young son is enthralled by Travis, a young man he has never met. Travis has become a regular character in their father-son interactions, this larger-than-life figure whose spirit and muscle and heart and love combines to fuel a young boy's imagination.

I just thought that was wonderful. To think, that a man from Illinois and a man from Georgia met in Mississippi on missions of mercy, and that brief meeting inspires a young boy for the future.

Both Travis and Jay are larger-than-life to me.

Yes, larger than life is a good way to put it.


Wednesday, July 11, 2007

 
I have an on-again, off-again love affair with meetings.

On the one hand, I appreciate all the jokes about committees, how they are the work of the devil and such. I have sat through many an infuriating meeting, so I get it. And I remember, in particular after Hurricane Katrina, the proliferation of meetings when there was SO much work to be done instead of sitting around talking about it.

But on the other hand, how can groups effectively move ahead together without having meetings? Every effective government has some sort of legislative meeting place. Every effective corporation has a board of directors that meets. Every sports team heads to the locker room at intermission time to do more than pee and towel off.

No, meetings are necessary. The secret lies in the effectiveness of said meetings somehow.

We had a SPIN meeting last night, planning for where to go from here in our young adult group's ministry to single parents. There were eight adults that came, representing six families. No one was technically in charge of the meeting, and there was no agenda other than the standing question: okay, how do we make this better? These facts combined to leave the potential success of the meeting in great question.

But it was a great meeting. I think a LOT was accomplished, and we seemed to leave with a really good plan.

I don't know exactly how that happened, but I wish I did. I'd bottle it up and carry it with me to all my meetings.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

 
Aerial View at Ameriquest

I took the picture above a few years back in Arlington, Texas. I had great seats, but it was SO HOT that I took to wandering around the stadium. I liked this picture zoomed in from the top of the right-field foul pole. It's Vladimir Guerrero, last night's home run derby champion, fouling off a pitch on one of his trademark wild swings.

I love sports. Last night, I took advantage of having nothing big to do and sat on the couch and watched the home run derby on ESPN. My man, Pujols, almost sneaked his way into the championship round (which, of course, I think he would have won!), but in the end, Vlad emerged from the field of eight competitors to take the trophy.

I enjoyed the prognosticators. Well, I enjoyed how wrong they were. The field of experts had five of the eight players chosen to win it all, but the final two were two of the three no one had picked (despite listening to Crazy Joe Morgan, who picked Vlad in the second round because his initial pick came in last place... you would've thought Joe had Vlad all along!).

I think that's one of my favorite things about sports: you just never know. You can study the game, study the players, study the ballpark, study the weather, and make the most logical prediction. And be dead wrong.

This is why I don't like movies as much as sports - someone knows the script. This is why I don't like concerts as much as sports - Lee Greenwood sang "God Bless the U.S.A," what a shocker!!! In sports, you have to play the game, and who knows who will really come through when the game is on the line.

And sports reflect life.

I have a plan for today, this Tuesday the 10th of July, but who knows how it will really turn out? I could guess how today will go, but that's all it really is: an educated guess.

Maybe today will be a landmark day. No one could imagine it, but maybe today is the day that Al Sturgeon comes through in the clutch for all humanity. Maybe today is the day that will change the world in an important way.

The sun is shining, there's green grass on the field, and the day awaits. Time to lace up the shoes and get into the game.

Monday, July 09, 2007

 
Okay, I forgot my camera yesterday. Shocking, I know. So this is not our real chef, nor our real group, nor even my picture. But it's fairly representative of our lunch yesterday...

For some reason, I've concluded that our Sunday classes are the key. For all the church research specialists among us, they are effectively our small groups I guess. We're learning how to "go into the world" through our classes. Plus, we're learning how to form community there, too.

My little method for that "community" part is simple: have a class party every month. Somehow.

When I led the young adult class, I was constantly frustrated (not "mad" frustrated, mind you - just "perplexed" frustrated) in trying to come up with events that would draw people together. Until I got smart, that is, and asked everyone to take a month and plan something. That went SO much better...

So I've tried the same approach to our new "forty-something" class. We hosted the initial party in June, and then July was Patrick and Teddie's month. They had the unique idea of going to do the hibachi lunch thing at Yuki's in Biloxi, and it was a terrific idea.

This was my first time, both for the hibachi deal and to eat at Yuki's. My oldest daughter LOVES Yuki's, and just to mess with her, I would consistently call it "Yucki's." But nothing could be farther from the truth! YUM-YUM is my professional opinion!

Sitting around a three-sided table with old, new, and developing church family friends, watching an impressive cooking demonstration, and sharing a good meal... Not a bad way to spend a Sunday lunchtime at all I say...

Sunday, July 08, 2007

 
It is early on the first day of the week. The sun has risen. As I look out of my office, I see purplish-pink clouds in the hazy blue sky. My neighborhood is perfectly still. My house is dark and quiet, and everyone is still sleeping.

It is the same time of day that ladies left their house to go to a grave, only to discover the most fantastic event in the history of the universe - the event that changed the world.

And I'm up early because of that same event, some two-thousand years later.

I've already said the Lord's Prayer, my daily attempt at centering my mind on what matters. I will soon travel into town and unlock a quiet and empty building, anticipating that around 150 others will show up to spend the morning with me remembering.

We'll all stop the stupid directions of our lives for just a little while, chasing happiness through gathering stuff and posing like we're important or something. A couple of folks will lead prayers. We'll all sing a few songs. The eucharist will be served. Holy Scripture will be read.

And I have the job to proclaim the Word of God.

I'll stand up with the message of Jesus: "The Kingdom of God is right here! Stop chasing stuff that doesn't really matter! Throw it all down, all you who are worn out from trying to carry the world on your shoulders! Chase after God instead!"

And then we'll go to lunch. We do this every week.

Sometimes I wonder if any of this matters much, but I'm convinced that it does. At least I'm convinced that Jesus really did change the world, and that he still does today. I'm convinced that he spoke the truth, and I'm honored to be able to speak that truth every Sunday.

Others will be getting up soon, so I should get ready and head into town. I have work to do today.

Saturday, July 07, 2007

 

My mom with Willie Sandlin (sent to me by Brett Carlile)

To combine thoughts from a couple of recent posts…

* From Blue Like Jazz: “Writers don’t make any money at all. We make about a dollar. It is terrible. But then again we don’t work either. We sit around in our underwear until noon then go downstairs and make coffee, fry some eggs, read the paper, read part of a book, smell the book, wonder if perhaps we ourselves should work on our book, smell the book again, throw the book across the room because we are quite jealous that any other person wrote a book, feel terribly guilty about throwing the schmuck’s book across the room because we secretly wonder if God in heaven noticed our evil jealousy, or worse, our laziness. We then lie across the couch facedown and mumble to God to forgive us because we are secretly afraid He is going to dry up all our words because we envied another man’s stupid words. And for this, as I said before, we are paid a dollar. We are worth so much more.”

* I believe today is the day for Willie Sandlin’s funeral. I do not know this for sure; I only deduce this from a comment from Facebook. My mother is normally my reliable source of information on Northeast Arkansas, but she is currently in Costa Rica, accessible only by carrier pigeon or llama (that’s my picture, at least), so I’m not sure. Either way, I’m thinking of the Sandlin family today. I appreciated so much all the kind comments from folks after what I wrote about Willie the other day. I hope this sounds right: I really didn’t know Willie meant as much as he did to me. The news caught me off-guard, and as I often do while off-guard, I sat down to write about it. And I’m too stupid not to share my off-guard writing with the whole world.

Anyway, tying all the above together… My friend, Terry Austin, is about the best writer I know. And I know upwards of ten people. So today, thinking of Willie, and thinking of writing, I thought I’d share what Terry wrote about Willie on his blog called Crowley’s Ridge Journal on Independence Day:


Willie Sandlin died earlier today in a Utah hospital room. Earlier in the day, doctors had – for what seemed like the thousandth time – told Willie’s family that the damage was more extensive than they’d thought, that they hadn’t been able to do what they’d hoped to do, that they didn’t know their next step or how much time Willie had remaining.

Much of this scenario had played itself out time and time again for nearly 20 years, starting when Willie returned from a mission trip throwing up everything but his toenails. One medical problem begat another, and for the last few years, Willie’s condition spiraled downward so quickly and severely that he was unable to continue working. And for Willie, whose life and passion was wrapped up in his work as a youth minister, that was an untenable status quo.

Unable to work meant that Willie couldn’t spend time with teenagers, couldn’t address hundreds of young people who gave him their rapt attention, couldn’t travel to Native American reservations or inner city ministries to administer social justice to the residents in those locations.

In his last days, Willie Sandlin sat at home and waited. Waited to get better, or perhaps waited to get worse. He waited, I believe, only because he knew how important it was to his wife, his two sons and his daughter that he indeed ride out this storm. But ultimately, the fear of same outweighed the fear of change, and Willie found the courage to declare his independence.

Willie Sandlin was one of the few people I’ve ever know who truly lived with one foot planted in Heaven and one foot firmly entrenched here. His dual citizenship made him equally comfortable – and yet uncomfortable – in both places. He was a man fully capable of bringing the compassion of Heaven to an otherwise bleak and cold world. He could and did offer that compassion equally to Christian and non-Christian alike, giving every person the sense that he or she was important and worthy of such a gift. And yet his faith ran so deep that he often found himself frustrating those with whom he worked in ministry, for he was “people-focused” and was no keeper of “stuff.” He drove old cars that were forever breaking down, he would give a stranger his last $20 even if Willie needed it to pay his own rent, and he would bend or break rules as he saw fit when he felt someone’s well being was at stake.

The kid everyone else had written off as a lost cause? Willie would invest himself totally in that child’s life. The guy who came, month after month, to ask for groceries or help with the light bill? Willie would find a way to help him. The forms you were supposed to fill out before providing that help? Willie would lose them, or when you asked about them, he’d lock his eyes with yours and do a poor job of fighting back a smile. And you got the message.

People first, rules second. That’s the way of Jesus. And it was the way Willie lived.

At some point, reality crashes on you like falling shards of glass. For me, it came tonight around seven o’clock, when I learned that Willie wasn’t going to get better this time. I sat among a hundred or so friends, all of whom knew Willie, and experienced a palpable sense of loss.

We all changed tonight, though most of us would’ve preferred not to. One person, one larger-than-life man, was ready for this to happen.

One very tired man now, finally, forever, has declared his freedom.

Friday, July 06, 2007

 
I'm anti-trendy. If there's a must-see movie or reality show, a hot new band or must-read book, or, oh, let's say an iPhone, you can count me out. I want nothing to do with it.

There's a positive side to this. I have chosen to follow the way of Jesus, and Jesus seemed anti-trendy. "Counter-cultural" is the term I've read most. I mean, did Jesus have an iPhone? I rest my case.

But I wish my motives were that pure. Instead, I think I'm just a snob. Kind of a reverse snob, but a snob nonetheless.

Anyway, when Blue Like Jazz was the hot new book to read, I didn't read it. It was trendy, and in case you haven't heard, I'm anti-trendy.

Well, somewhere along the way I determined that this "emerging church movement" was interesting after all, mostly because... well... it was the first thing ever to somewhat describe ME to myself. And Blue Like Jazz, from what I understood, was sort of the theme song for the movement. So I began to read.

I told a couple of brilliant, Bible-scholar guys at Pepperdine ("Hi, Bobby!" if you're reading this...) that I was just getting around to reading it during a conversation about Shane Claiborne's book, The Irresistible Revolution. I absolutely loved Claiborne's book (since I read it before it became trendy, you know). Both of these Bible scholars (heck, I'll just say: Dr. Gary Holloway and Bobby Valentine) said that they "got" Claiborne, but they just didn't get Blue Like Jazz.

Well, now I'm motoring through Blue Like Jazz (two months after I told them I was about to start reading it), and falling in love with it. Donald Miller is Anne Lamott with a LOT less cussing, and Anne Lamott's writing is phenomenal in my opinion. And I think I can see why those guys didn't "get" it. Mostly because I don't think it's something you "get." Blue Like Jazz seems appropriately named: jazz is more something to be appreciated than understood.

[Side note: I really like how Miller names his friends in the book: Andrew the Protester, Tony the Beat Poet, Mark the Cussing Pastor... Don't be surprised if I don't start doing the same on my blog: Bruno the Liberal, Troy the Mega-Pastor, Hezekiah the Harmonica Player...] :-)

So far Blue Like Jazz has been a much-needed read. For one, Donald Miller is hilarious. But more than that, he is refreshingly honest, admitting aloud a lot of the ways I think. I may change my mind, but I don't think he's trying to convince me of anything. He's just telling me the story of his life, and the appeal of the book may just be that a lot of us find our lives sidle up to his quite nicely.

The changing world is more into "story" and being "real" than the few centuries prior, and because of that I can see why Blue Like Jazz became trendy. The kind of trendy I'm discovering I like.


Thursday, July 05, 2007

 
I’m not so much a slow learner. I’m more of a reluctant listener.

I’m in my third week of jogging now. Soon after I began, I received an email from my friend, Fred from Long Beach. He is a runner, and he invited me to participate in the Wesson Memorial Run in Ocean Springs on the Fourth of July (pictured above). He mentioned that it was “just” two miles and that people of all levels of fitness would be running. I thought about it, but the fact that I was barely jogging one mile made me a bit nervous about trying to jog two so soon. I said I would think about it, but probably not.

Fred emailed again. He told me of a training technique he used when building up to run a marathon and thought I might benefit from it as well. It simply revolves around the idea of running for a minute or two, then walking for a minute. Rinse and repeat. Sounded interesting, but being the reluctant listener I am, I didn’t try it out. I just kept suffering through one lousy mile a day, non-stop.

I made the mistake of timing myself one day that first week and noted that I labored through a twelve-minute mile. This brought my friend, Bruno, great pleasure. In years gone by, he thought about writing a book on middle-aged life, titled, “The 12-Minute Mile.” I think the title remains dead-on.

So week two of jogging started off feeling a bit better. One day I noticed that I ran my mile in ten minutes and something or other. “Take that, Bruno!” I gloated. :-) Then, unbeknownst to me, some monkey started jumping on my back every day afterward. This was not getting easier after all, but I remained determined not to quit this time.

Then, Donna emailed me. She and her husband, Steve, are somewhat new to our church family, and really cool. They are a beautiful couple who should be photographed in fashion magazines, and to wit, they are very much into fitness. Donna heard about my jogging and invited me to run in the Wesson Memorial Run in Ocean Springs on the Fourth of July (pictured above). She mentioned that it was “just” two miles and that people of all levels of fitness would be running.

Sound familiar? I responded to Donna as I responded to Fred. Thanks, but I doubt I’ll be up to it just yet.

But I went to the race yesterday, not as a participant, but as a photographer. I had a really good time. I got to see Fred and Donna and Steve, and in addition I saw Stella and Keith and Richard and several other people I knew as acquaintances. The weather was a bit overcast, which was a welcome relief for the runners, and I saw some amazing sights. The winner finished the two miles in UNDER ten minutes! I saw a man pushing a double stroller finish the race in just over eleven minutes! My friend, Keith, came trucking through at thirteen minutes. Steve and Donna finished close together at the sixteen minute mark! I was more than impressed…

After the race, Steve told me that when he started jogging a few years back he read about a training technique in Men’s Health that helped him a lot. It suggested running for a minute or two, then walking for a minute. Said it was really good!

Sound familiar?

So I came home yesterday, after the race, to run my mile. And I decide to time myself again. And I run for a couple of minutes, then I walk for one. Then I do it again. And again. And I finish my one mile in eleven minutes exactly. And it felt better than all the other times combined.

This is why everyone in the world should be wary of preachers. We don’t mind at all standing up to tell you what we think you should do with your life. But this one, at least, is an awfully reluctant listener.

But I’m learning. Yes, slowly.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

 
I called my mom this rainy Independence Day because she’s leaving on another mission trip to Costa Rica tomorrow. She informed me that Willie Sandlin died yesterday, and now my heart is very sad.

Willie died at 46 years of age, far too young if you ask me, yet older than many doctors predicted. His health problems supposedly began on a mission trip to Arizona, and they came to an end at a hospital in Utah, the only place in the world that would touch his complicated situation. I had heard that things were bad for Willie recently, but to tell the truth, that has been the case so many times over the years that I guess I just thought he’d fight through every one. But, no.

I guess it’s fitting that the Cardinals won the last World Series while Willie Sandlin was alive. Only Terry Rush could trump Willie’s collection of Redbird memorabilia, but even Terry couldn’t surpass his passion for the Cardinals.

I don’t think anyone could surpass Willie’s passion for anything.

Willie was one of the best speakers ever. He was a popular speaker from early in his adult life until crazy health issues got in the way. I remember him telling me about what it was like the Sunday he filled in for Max Lucado at Oak Hills in San Antonio, how the thousands of people had to be herded in and out side doors like cattle to get the thousands fed.

I remember when some friends and I began attending the Hillcrest Church of Christ in the days before we lost our spiritual idealism, when we were given the opportunity to plan a huge outreach service. Shannon Beasley and I did most of the program planning, and when it came time to choose a speaker, we wanted Willie Sandlin.

And he delivered.

It was one of the greatest church memories of my life. Shannon invited the youth group from Troy Gramling’s “Southside Community Church,” and that rowdy bunch showed up in full force! The singing was astronomical. Shannon arranged the song “Regardless” for that special night, and by the time the sermon came around, it didn’t seem like it could get any better.

Which was why we asked Willie to speak.

I remember watching Willie at different times over the years. I watched him sing, in particular, on the front row on nights he was to speak. He would sing with his eyes closed, which is dangerous for a Church of Christ speaker. For one, you might screw up the precious four-part harmony by not watching the song leader keep time; for another, someone might think you’re actually getting emotional. But Willie sang with his eyes closed.

Every once in a while now, when preparing to speak, I sing with my eyes closed, too. Trying to be like Willie, I guess.

In the author’s note to Donald Miller’s Blue Like Jazz, he wrote: “I never liked jazz music because jazz music doesn’t resolve. But I was outside the Bagdad Theater in Portland one night when I saw a man playing the saxophone. I stood there for fifteen minutes, and he never opened his eyes. After that I liked jazz music. Sometimes you have to watch somebody love something before you can love it yourself. It is as if they are showing you the way.”

I remember watching Willie love God.

And I remember watching him love his family, too. I coached his oldest son, Josh, when Josh was in the 8th grade. Willie had already been deathly sick, even though this was thirteen years ago now, but I remember watching Willie watch Josh play basketball. I was so absorbed by watching him that I’m sure I wasn’t paying much attention to coaching. One of the first essays I ever wrote (because I wanted to write) was about this. Willie sat on the edge of his seat, entranced, and filled with joy at the honor of being able to watch his son play. I’ll never forget that look as long as I live. You can see it in the picture I swiped from his younger son, Jacob’s, Facebook page, can’t you? I hope you can see it. The sparkle in his eyes is priceless.

I remember writing that Willie watched his son play like Father God must have watched Jesus live.

Willie gave me a similar look at my dad’s funeral. I was 24 years old when my dad died, a young punk kid basketball coach who had never preached a full sermon, much less a eulogy, in his entire life. Out of all the faces looking back at me in that packed funeral home that day, Willie’s is the most vivid. Once again, he was on the edge of his seat. But he didn’t look at me with joy. He looked at me with how I still define the word “compassion” today. He hurt for me with his whole body, and it spilled out of his eyes.

It makes me cry to type this today.

I am a preacher today because of Willie Sandlin. Literally.

My life was getting pretty screwed up around that time. My wife and I had quit working as houseparents at a children’s home, and I was selling insurance. I was trying to sell Willie insurance, in fact. I hated my job, but I didn’t know what else to do. Willie told me that I was being called to ministry. I told him he was full of it. For one, I wasn’t formally trained to be a preacher: he said that didn’t matter. For two, I told him I was getting sort of crazy, and no church would accept me the way I think: he told me I’d be surprised.

After a lot of soul-searching during that formative time of my life, it was Willie I went to with the question: okay, where do I start in becoming a preacher? He told me, and I’ve been honored to be following Willie’s advice ever since.

Willie’s dead now. Jill has lost her husband. Josh and Jacob and April have lost their dad. A whole lot of people have lost a minister and a friend. And the entire world has lost a sparkle of passion.

But a lot of us still hold tight to a lot of inspiration from his brief, brilliant life.

And, knowing Willie, I bet he’s having a whole lot of fun with Jesus right now.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

 
I took a vacation day yesterday to celebrate Hillary's actual tenth birthday. We spent the day together in New Orleans, and the official minute that made her ten years old came while we sat at lunch at one of our favorite places: Bubba Gump Shrimp Company on Decatur Street. There weren't many people in the restaurant yesterday, so the waitress elicited help from the family at the table next to us in an off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday!"

Earlier, we had walked around the Riverwalk shops, stopping to watch the working singers at the Fudgery, and pausing for beignets at the Cafe du Monde store there.

Our original intention (in addition to Bubba Gump's and the Riverwalk) was to spend the bulk of our day at the Aquarium of the Americas and IMAX. When we arrived, however, we learned that they were closed on Mondays! Sheesh! I felt a little bit like Chevy Chase in Vacation, but since we had been to Wally World (uh, I mean, the Aquarium) before, it wasn't quite so bad.

We ran into a guy afterwards that reminded me of the Ripley's Believe It Or Not Museum down on Decatur, so I convinced Hillary that this would be a super-cool thing to do - I tried to play it up as even better than the Aquarium of the Americas. She was hesitant, but I think she was buying it.

Then we found out that Ripley's had shut down.

Sheesh again!!! I was starting to get that crazed Chevy Chase look after all!!!

But my little girl is cool, so we moved on to Plan C. We went on a carriage ride through the French Quarter, which was really neat. The guide pointed out lots of interesting things, not the least of which was Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie's house (if you ever need to know where it is, I've got the scoop). After that, we drove back to Gulfport where we went to a movie together - Fantastic Four: The Rise of the Silver Surfer - which, if anyone cares, I thought was a fun movie.

Ten years, though. An entire decade. They go by quick, don't they? Which is why I value days like yesterdays... Memories...


Monday, July 02, 2007

 
I went down to Halstead Road in Ocean Springs yesterday to take in part of a nationally-sanctioned horseshoe pitching tournament. Eight competitors from four states (two all the way from Pennsylvania!) came for this, the only tournament in Mississippi.

I went to add another entry to my Ocean Springs photo-project, and other than adding another layer of sunburn to my bald head in the intense Mississippi heat, I had a great time. The competitors were so very gracious, along with being so very good!!! The lady in the background of the picture above won the tournament: one match she hit 77% ringers!!!

It was a neat opportunity. All eight of the competitors are headed to the world championships in Oklahoma, and when they were finished I had the chance to hear these world-class pitchers talk about the finer points of the sport. Did you know there were dozens of different types of tosses in horseshoes? There's the traditional 1 3/4, and there's the 3/4... There's the basic flip, and the double flip, and the reverse flip (which causes shoulder injuries). It's amazing the technical detail in pitching horseshoes!

If you're interested in learning more about this neat sport, check out the national website HERE.

I made some pits in my backyard, but I haven't used them.

Yet.

After yesterday, I suddenly have a hankering to try out that traditional 1 3/4 toss and see what I can do.

Sunday, July 01, 2007

 


Hillary’s Party

Instead of a detailed report, I'll choose to let the pictures speak for themselves. Suffice it to say that we had a GREAT party, with 17 kiddos and 11 adults hanging out for the whole time. It was VERY HOT outside, which made for a perfect day for a pool party.

Then, to top the day off, I enjoyed a swim with my two daughters as the sun went down last evening in the warm and wonderful water!

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