The Mitchell Report

The Mitchell Report. The Mitchell Report on steroid use in baseball came out yesterday, and already we have polls out of Hall of Fame voters and whether they'll vote for anyone named. Of course the biggest questions swirl around Barry Bonds, baseball's greatest hitter, and Roger Clemens, its greatest pitcher. And what I don't understand is, WHY?! For the love of all that's holy, give it a rest already! Steroids or not, these guys deserve to be in the Hall. What's the case against them? They cheated? Assuming for a minute that that's true (the report rests on personal testimony, not the most reliable form of evidence), SO WHAT?! THIS IS BASEBALL! EVERYBODY CHEATS! Pitchers threw juiced balls with their juiced arms to juiced hitters with juiced bats, and the game still got played. In fact, in the court of public opinion, I'd say fans voted with their wallets in attending more games than ever over the past decade, and the verdict is--WE LOVE STEROIDS! We love 100 mph fastballs and monster home-runs, and we don't give a squirt of Yoo-Hoo whether players juice or not. In fact, since baseball pays bigger money to better players, and steroids clearly make players better (if not, then we need to all shut the heck up and pretend not to be so stupidly fixated on this thing), the argument can be made that we the fans actually want players to juice up. Heck, if steroids will guarantee greater viewing pleasure for my favorite players, then of course I want them to juice! And if steroids will give my favorite team a better chance to win, then of course I want their team trainers all have pharmacology degrees!

Listen, am I advocating steroids in sports? Actually no. I'd love nothing more than a pure game with pure athletes. But the reality is that every pro in every sport is looking for every edge he or she can get. Punishing them after their playing careers are over is ridiculous. If they've broken the law, let the government mete out just punishment after a fair trial. If they are caught by the governing bodies of their respective sports, let them be banned form playing. But let's not pretend the games weren't played, the records weren't set, the results weren't recorded in history. I mean, c'mon. Let's say Clemons did juice. Are YOU going to be the one to take the World Series away from the Yankees for cheating? I didn't think so. SO, if by some miracle you happen to be reading this and you happen to be a HOF voter, sit down, shut up, and vote YES. Keeping guys like McGwire, Clemens, Palmiero and Bonds out of the Hall isn't just, but it is stupid. This isn't the first time I've written about 'roids in baseball, I hope it is the last. As a fan, I'm tired of hearing about it, but I have the common sense to know that the best players, regardless of how they got to be the best players, deserve their place among the game's greats.

10 Things I enjoy about living in Joplin, MO

Yeah, didn't want the home crowd to feel left out here, so here's the Joplin list:

1. Friends
2. Our ministry at the BSU
3. Forest Park Baptist Church
4. Being close to family
5. Closer to Oregon than Bloomington
6. "Opa's" (Mythos: authentic reek cuisine. The kids call it 'Opa's' because that's what you yell when they light the cheese appetizer on fire at your table.)
7. Mark Dinwiddie, and not just because he pays for lunch on Mondays.
8. Well, I'm not sure I can go any deeper, but I will say that we have seen God do amazing things in the 2.5 years we've been here, and that makes up for A LOT.

NCAA football: a sport without a champion II

So the BCS pairings came out today, and as expected, chaos and nonsense ruled the day. BCS. I think the 'B' stands for Bad, and the 'C' stands for Call, but I'm not sure what the 'S' is for. I can think of several vulgarities that might fit, but nothing I'd care for my children to read. 11-2 LSU in the title game? Over 10-2 USC? 11-2 Oklahoma? 11-2 Virginia Tech? 10-2 West Virginia? 12-0 Hawaii? (All five of whom won their conferences.) What about 11-1 Kansas? Is it a bad call to have LSU in the title game? Maybe. Maybe not. The point is we don't know!!! At least five teams have a legitimate beef for not being included. Wouldn't it be nice if NCAA Bowl Series football conformed to the rules that regulate every single other NCAA sport, wherein participating athletes know who the champion is because they play for a title within an NCAA sanctioned playoff format? I hope Hawaii kicks the pooh out of Georgia in the Sugar Bowl, thus ending their unblemished seasoned with a real nice trophy and a legitimate argument that they are the 'real' champions. I mean, who can argue? They would be 13-0 with a win over a top five BCS team in a major bowl.

And while I'm ranting, kudos to the Associated Press for having the wherewithal to stay above the BCS joke, er, system by not allowing their own poll to be used in it. BTW, six different teams received No. 1 consideration in the AP poll this week. Ha!

Peace out.

10 Things I Miss About Eugene, Oregon

This really isn't meant as a condemnation of Joplin, but there are certain aspects of any community that are special and unique. Having lived most of my life in Eugene, Oregon, I grew especially fond of the culture there in several respects. And, okay, so the list is actually eleven things, not ten. Hey, it could've been thirty!

• The geography, especially the mountains (Oregon is more geographically diverse than most of the country combined.)


• The climate (mild summers, mild winters, lots of rain and if you want cold, climb a mountain!)


• Friends


• Family


• Fishing (Oregon has everything the Midwest has, plus the ocean, trout, salmon, steelhead, etc.)


• The University of Oregon ( Yes, it's a bastion of immorality, anarchy, liberalism and neo-pagan crap, but I will bleed green and yellow 'til I die. GO DUCKS!)


• Track Town Pizza (Bloomington had a better culinary scene, but Track Town is awesome.)


• Seeing world class athletes jogging around town. (Eugene isn't "Track Town" for nothing.)


• The performing arts community (truly special)


• Public lands (camping, fishing, hunting, hiking, canoeing, skiing, etc., are all much easier to access and in prettier areas than Midwest states offer.)


• Flora and Fauna (biodiversity is not something you see in the Midwest, comparatively speaking. Just compare landscaping if you don't believe me.)
• Bike lanes

Million Dollar Ideas I won't pursue

Occassionally you come up with a million dollar idea. We all do. Much more rarely, you actually do something about it. Here are a couple that actually came from my genius wife...

1. Cherry flavored Niquil sno-cones. Parents drug their kids all the time. When one of our twins was having trouble sleeping at night our doctor actually TOLD us to use sudafed to know him out. This way you could do it without playing the dreaded 'medicine' card. Incidently, I personally think the same idea could be applied to Bon-Bons for adults.
2. A full-body glazer. While watching the doughnuts at Krispy Kreme go through the glaze bath Mandi realized that if you could do that to an actual person, husbands everywhere would be eternally grateful... (Hey, it was her idea! I just wanted a doughnut.)
3. Stimplants. This is basically a twist on the whole shock-collars-for-kids idea. If you're into Star Wars, think of the restraining bolts on droids. The idea is to implant a device under the skin that would enable parents at the touch of a button to give their kids a small jolt of electric discipline. I mean, we're almost at the point now where we're going to implant locator chips so they can't get abducted, so why not just add a little upgrade? (This last one is mine, not Mandi's.)

10 Things I miss about Bloomington, IN

This really isn't meant as a condemnation of Joplin, but there are certain aspects of any community that are special and unique. Having lived for three years in Bloomington, Indiana, we grew especially fond of the culture there in several respects. And, okay, so the list is actually eleven things, not ten. Hey, it could've been thirty!

• Division I sports
• Real soccer leagues (7 NCAA titles by Indiana University has made it a soccer-crazy town)
• The entire culinary scene (especially Opie Taylor's and Snow Lion, but this could be the entire list if you get right down to it. Restaurant Row? AMAZING!)
• Downtown Bloomington (Especially at Christmas when the lights are up)
• The Indiana Daily Student (featuring Get Fuzzy)
• Ice Cream Parlors (NO, Joplin does NOT have a single real ice cream parlor, and YES that includes Shake's and Braum's... okay, Shake's is borderline, but just barely)
• Brown County (It's not Oregon, but it sure beats SW Missouri for natural beauty)
• The friends we made who still live there
• Borders and Barnes and Noble (real bookstores)
• Seeing the Indianapolis Colts play every Sunday
• The performing arts community. (Much livelier than we have here in Joplin. The music school at IU alone is a hue difference. Imagine being able to hear world class musicians anytime you want for free... wouldn't that be nice? Well, in Bloomington that's just normal.)

Thanksgiving Day

Thanksgiving.

An orgy of football and family and food. Today, like most years, we celebrated at the home of Jay and Rex Ann Dareing (Mandi’s mom’s parents). Altogether there were forty-one of us there. Smiths and Trasks and Douthits and Dareings among several more. Forty-one. Everybody. At least, everybody on Mandi’s side of the family tree. Everybody within a hundred miles anyway. The youngest was… well, LeeAnn Wilson is still pregnant with that one. And the oldest would be Jay Dareing, nearly eighty. As usual, before we ate Jay addressed the family in the kitchen, then called upon me to ask the blessing. There are two deacons, a pastor and a director of missions—all ordained—in the family, and every man there has been a Christian for years, and yet it seems like I am always the one who says the blessing. I mean, I’m sure it’s just a misperception on my part, but I’m telling you, Jay calls on me more than any three others put together. Why?! Not that I mind, I just feel a little odd being singled out all the time from among so many who are at least equally qualified. Isn’t it amazing how significant a little thing like a dinner prayer can seem?

After gorging on turkey, ham, mashed potatoes with gravy, cranberry jelly, homemade rolls, green beans, corn, sweet potatoes, deviled eggs, etc., etc., etc., I was too full to head to the dessert table, choosing instead to veg-out on the couch while I tried not to explode. Note to self: sweats were a good choice. The elastic waist band really helps when you’ve chosen gluttony over common sense. Anyway, sans dessert, I cleaned two plates of food and spent the next four hours on the couch watching football. Dallas beat the Jets, and Green Bay beat the Lions. The Colts won today as well, but that one was on the NFL Network, which no one I know has in their cable package. I guess it only comes with the premium premium package. Numbskulls. I wish they’d just drop it completely and leave Thanksgiving to Dallas and Detroit.

ANYWAY…

The kids had a good time. Nate had a great time wrestling with the other boys (Isaac and Kyle). He said its funner than wrestling Daddy because they’re the same size he is. Honestly, I’m not sure what the girls did, they stayed in the kitchen most of the time.

We went home early. Before dinner. Mandi and I are recovering from colds and Alyssa and Anna are just coming down with it. All in all it was a great day. Tomorrow, we shop. Not sure how I feel about that yet. Thanks, God, for giving our family such a wonderful experience… again.

HuckChuckFacts

Oh, yeah! Dem's mah boys!

NCAA football: a sport without a champion

So last night the Ducks lost Dennis Dixon to injury and along with him, the chance to play for the BCS title. At this point, as much as I hate to say it, I think we'll be lucky to win another game. Still, considering we were picked to finish 6th in the PAC-10 at the start of the season, we've had a great ride, garnered national attention, and might still leverage that into a stronger recruiting class. My hope now is that Hawaii finishes the year unbeaten, Kansas loses once, and we wind up with a one-loss "Champion" and an unbeaten "Also-ran." Why is this so important? Because the BCS is a sick joke perpetrated upon college football fans everywhere. They've been tinkering with the system since 1995 (when Penn State finished 12-0 without a title to show for it) and they haven't got it right yet. How far off are they? Consider this: Beginning in the 2007 season, they changed their language from D-I and D-2 to 'Football Bowl Series' and 'Football Championship Series' to more adequately reflect that D-I programs do not compete for an NCAA-recognized title. Yes, that's right, there is no such thing as an NCAA Championship in D-I football. Why? It would require a playoff. Why i$n't there a champion$hip for D-I football? I'll give you two gue$$e$, but you'll only need one... Which is ridiculous. The sooner they surrender to a playoff system, the better off the sport will be. That the NCAA doesn't correct this situation is pathetic. Consider the following list of BCS 'Losers', none of whom was beaten on the gridiron...

2010 Texas Christian University (13-0)

2009 Boise State University (14-0)
2008 University of Utah (13-0)
2006 Boise State University (13-0)

2004 University of Utah (12-0)

2004 Auburn University (13-0)
1999 Marshall University (13-0)
1998 Tulane University (12-0)
1997 University of Michigan (12-0)

Get Fuzzy

I don't care who you are, that's funny. One of the clue I look for that tell me whether a newpaper is run by people of intelligence is whether or not they include Get Fuzzy in their daily comics. Unfortunately, The Chart and The Globe fail this test, thus forcing me to the internet to find true humor.

On parenting...

So the other day, around lunch time, I'm buying a 44-oz. diet coke at the Conoco next door to the BSU, and in front of me is this girl, very thin, early 20's I'd guess, about six or seven months pregnant, and all she's buying is a pack of cigarettes and a Red Bull energy drink. What do you say to someone like that? I just watched in stunned silence. You need a license to drive a car, but any idiot can be a parent.

Memories from Childhood: Go-Kart!

One year, I must've been about eleven or twelve, my dad gave me a go-kart for Christmas. It was kind of a mud cart, as opposed to a street cart. Designed for dirt roads, it had knobby tires, a two inch ground clearance, and a 4.5 horsepower Briggs & Stratton engine. Oh yeah! That was a kick. I rode that thing around our house, around the pasture, down the dirt lanes and back roads that ran behind the house. It was AMAZING! One year I even rode it in the Coburg Golden Years Parade. Jason Dull (who was my same age and went to school with me at Coburg Elementary, Cal Young Middle School and Henry D. Sheldon High School) had a street cart and we rode side by side in the procession. His cart was faster, but it was made for street racing, so it gripped turns on asphalt. I, on the other hand, could take mine anywhere and slid around gravel corners like a pro. In fact, one year, on Christmas, I took it to my cousin Scott's house (he's a year older and much wealthier now than I) and we raced. He had a little Yamaha motorcycle and we'd race around this makeshift track he had at his house on their farm, which was in Springfield, about 15 miles away. (I say ‘track,’ when in fact most of it was only a muddy road that circled the strawberry field in front of their house.) I always had to go around the jumps so I lost about every time, except the one time I just decided to win-no-matter-what. I jumped the jumps, which was hard on the frame, and I went right through the enormous puddle (more like a small pond) that straddled the course at one point. I won, but I was soaked and muddy which is not a good combination on Christmas morning when you're visiting relatives 20 minutes from the nearest change of clothes. Oh well. It was worth it.

I can’t tell you how many hours I spent with that cart, I can only say that it was amazing fun. It also gave me something to do with my dad. Dad was a total gearhead. Still is. I think the go-kart was his way of trying to connect with me. Although I never developed his love of all things mechanical, I loved working with him on the kart. There wasn’t much to do really; change the oil once in a while, clean the spark plug from time to time, gas it up and let her fly! But once in a while I’d need his help to set the mix in the carburetor, or weld a crack in the frame… Once I let a friend, Andy Gutowski, drive it and he wrecked it into our fence. Tore the carburetor right off the engine. What a mess. Dad was pissed. We eventually got it fixed though.

The last real memory I have of it is the day we destroyed the engine. We set the rear axle up on blocks and were trying to adjust the throttle when it suddenly threw a rod. It blasted through the engine block, missed my leg by about six inches and hammered into the fence about thirty feet behind us. Oil everywhere. Needless to say, that was the end of that. We were both just happy to be in one piece. I have to say that as disappointing as it was to lose the motor like that, it was awesome to watch. Dad eventually replaced the motor, but it was never the same.

Memories from Childhood: BB Guns!

I remember when I was a kid growing up in Oregon how much I loved to play outside on the farm where we lived. [31334 Coburg Bottom Loop Road] Of course, I call it a farm, but it wasn't really a farm. I mean, we had a horse and a few sheep and a couple of goats, a handful of chickens and ducks (mallards) and even a pair of geese, but we didn't actually work the land we lived on. It was a 24 acre parcel in Coburg, Oregon (population: 650) and we lived on 4 acres and leased out the rest to real farmers who actually raised crops and harvested and stuff. We just kept the animals around because they were fun and kept the grass in the pasture down to a reasonable height.

Our property was bordered on two sides by roads. One was a typical country road, the other was a typical gravel farm road. It was the latter which was lined with blackberry vines all along the property we hadn't leased. The tangle of ever-growing thorns was the source of much joy and much pain for me over the years that we lived there. Of course, I loved the berries. Who doesn't? And my mother makes the greatest cobbler on God's green earth, but during the summer, when the vines would grow over our fence and threaten to engulf the driveway, it was my responsibility to chop them back. Sometimes I'd use 'nippers' and other times I'd just flail at them with a machete. Either way, I usually wound up with blisters and it seemed like they'd grow back every week. And when the berries were in season, it always took longer since I couldn't bring myself to waste such fruity goodness without at least trying to harvest as much as I could.

One summer my dad gave me a BB gun. Actually, I had about three or four BB guns, and I used them all. My dad, in fact, gave me my first BB gun when I was about 8. We hadn't move to the farm yet. We lived at 831 South 71st Street in Springfield, Oregon. It was a house my dad built. His dad was a farmer, he was a real estate developer, I'm a minister. So much for the whole 'family business' thing. Anyway, dad gave me this BB gun and about the only thing I remember was shooting at everything I could think of. The BBs came out of the barrel slow enough for me to track them with my eyes, so I was able to adjust my aim pretty quickly at a given target. Of course the only target I remember from that time was a giant rock that sat in the ditch on the opposite side of the street from us. And I probably wouldn't even remember that if it weren't for Danielle. My sister Danielle, decided that she wanted to play near the rock. I decided I didn't care where she played, I just wanted to hit the rock with a few BBs. Yeah, you guessed it, she got popped. No big deal. Its not as if I really hurt her, she just got whapped in the butt by a ricochete. No permanent damage, not even a band-aid worthy wound, but I still got in major trouble for it. That's all I remember about my first BB gun experience.

On the farm my aim got much better. I would set up cans and bottles and practice until I ran out of ammo. It was great fun. Eventually though, cans and bottles got to be a bit boring. After all, guns are for hunting, not target practice. So, I hunted. I hunted anything that would move. Of particular interest to me were the myriad varieties of songbirds and starlings that flocked to the trees and pasture around our house. Countless hours were spent stalking sparrows and finches and anything else with feathers that dared show itself on our property. Not that I was very successful, I wasn't, but it was the quintissential boyhood experience. Once I even clipped one in mid-air. I was stalking starlings in the pasture when my dad had the audacity to inform me that I'd never be successful because they would always see me coming and you can't shoot them in the air with a BB gun. Sure enough, the next flock that came over, I shot at-and hit-one of the birds. I know I hit it because if faltered for a second and dropped a feather. That was the only time I would ever hit a bird on the wing with a BB gun. Now shotguns are a different story...

There was a boy who lived across the street from us, a year younge than me, named Lee Winship. Lee drowned in a boating accident during his sophomore year in high school. I was deeply grieved by that since I had every opportunity to tell him about Jesus for several years, and I didn't do it. A lesson hard won, and a hard one to handle. Anyway, Lee and I were good friends, not the kind of intimate friends that everyone desires, but more like play mates. We goofed off together almost every day, even though we never really got along. It made sense to make peace instead of feuding with each other since there was no one else within half a mile to play with and Those kids (Troy and David Frost) hated both of us. Troy was a year older and just plain mean. David was my age and a total brainiac. Brilliant. He wanted to be a congressman one day. I wonder if he ever made it. He was a smart nerd. I was only a nerd, and he and his brother were pretty good at letting me know that. By the time we were all finished with high school, we all managed to get along, but in junior high and early in high school, we were mortal enemies. And since Lee was in the same boat, we were allies of necessity.

Of course, being boys, it was natural for Lee and I to discover war games; cowboys and indians, laser tag, and yes, BB gun wars. BB gun wars. Now THAT was great fun. Especially since we weren't truly friends. It felt good to shoot at one another and know that a hit would sting. So, every so often, we would hunt one another. And yes, it sometimes stung. But what a rush! Occassionally we would just set up a shooting gallery wherein we would take turns running back and forth across the open pasture while the other one shot at us. In hindsight, its one of things that make you just shake your head and say, "kids do the dumbest things." But if I was thirteen again, I can't say I wouldn't do it. It was just good clean fun. Working now with college students, I'm pretty sure if some of them read this, they'd be out doing the very same thing this weekend.

I think the scariest moment I ever had with a BB gun was also the finest. I was riding the bus to school one day, and as usual, the kids around me were being dirt bags, which is what their parents were training them for apparently, because they were really good at it. Anyway, this time they decided to pretend I wasn't there. They talked aroud me as if I didn't exist and even went so far as to plan a TP party for my house. BIG MISTAKE. I might have been the biggest nerd in the long sad history of nerds, but I wasn't about to let them come over and TP my house without a fight, and since they were arrogant enought to plan the raid right there in front of me, I decided to take action. So, on the night they were to come, at the appointed hour, I went outside with a couple of trusty BB guns and hid behind the lattice fence in our front yard. Within minutes I heard them coming, four or five of them. I could hear them talking and laughing as they came down the road toward me. It wasn't long before one of them lobbed a roll of toilet paper over the fence near my position. That was all I needed. I stood up pointed my most powerful BB gun at the one nearest to me and said in my best Arnold Shwartzenegger voice, "Bad move, Asshole!" I apologize for the language, but that's what I said. Then as he (his name was Jeff) turned around, I fired at him from only about 15 feet away. He screamed. He jumped. He ran like a jackrabbit down the road! His cronies followed at maximum speed. I fired a couple more rounds down the road for effect, but it was dark and they were running away from me.

It was my finest hour.

The next morning, however, Jeff didn't get on the bus to school with the restof his gang. I was immediately terrified. Had I killed him? Was he in the hospital missing an eye? Was he unconscious in the ditch on the other side of the road? All manner of evil thoughts assailed me, and all I could think of all day was that the police were going to come any minute, haul me out of class and arrest me. It was my worst hour.

I survived though, and the next day I caught up with Jeff in the caffeteria where he explained to me that I'd hit him in the thigh and it hurt like Hell, but that the reason he wasn't on the bus was that he'd had a funeral to attend for some distant relative. We actually got along rather well after that day. Once I stood up for myself, he and the rest of his gang treated me with a measure of respect I'd not previously known. I still wasn't exactly an equal, but I was pretty much left alone. It was my finest hour.

Consumer Science (continued)

So, I'm not really sure I got my point across last time. Maybe this will help. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that 'science' is a good thing, but is just as susceptible to corruption as anything else in this world. It is often abused, mistreated, corrupted and falsified by people who ought to know better, i.e., the scientists themselves. It is also horribly abused by pastors and popular media, politicians and professors, but while I'd like to forgive them because they're mostly just ignorant, I can't do so without also holding them accountable for the pathetic mess they're making out of it, science, that is. I mean, everyone has their own agenda, which exists not because of scientific evidence, but mostly human desire (a.k.a. 'lust'), and yet they use science as a tool to justify it. And if the science is bad, wrong, incorrect or just plain contradicts what they have to say, they just say it louder and louder until someone listens, preferably a 'bitter and unsuccessful' scientist.

So, to review, science in and of itself is GOOD. (If it weren't for science, there are a thousand reasons you wouldn't be reading this!) People who twist it around to justify a personal or political agenda are BAD.

Science is the pursuit of facts, not truth, but truth is what people live by. That's why I get frustrated watching/listening/reading bilge produced by guys like Richard Dawkins, Daniel Dennett and Sam Harris, who are so concerned about their version of the truth that they will co-opt and undermine the scientific process until it produces the facts they desire. Then they sell those facts to the world wholesale. Consumer science: science redesigned to meet the needs of the materialist philosophers waging war on ultimate truth.

Consumer Science

You know, I really do love science. I mean science has given us light bulbs and lap tops, nylon and satellite images of earth, not to mention antibiotics and the internet. If it weren't for science, you wouldn't be reading this right now. Science can be good, very good.

Having said that, it is also true that science can be bad, very bad. How so? Great question. Basically, science is bad whenever it leaves its mother-root of reason and instead pursues an agenda of other value. The best exampls of this are probably found in the pharmaceutical industry where billions are spent researching new drugs that will save human lives, then marketed relentlessly until someone wakes up to the fact that the latest miracle cure actually causes liver cancer, or severe rectal leakage... That isn't "science" anymore, its "commercial science." Another example of science awry can be found in the stream of materialist philosophy. What? Materialist philosophy; atheism; humanism; naturalism, whatever you want to call it. What I mean is that there is a great deal of 'science' out there being hijacked by a materialist agenda. Facts are twisted, or worse, denied outright in an effort to prove a non-science point. Usually what happens is that a scientist or group of scientists, starting with a personal bias or agenda, bends the rules to produce the result they desire, then calls every media outlet they can find. And if that fails, they just say the same thing louder and with more frequency until every gullible mark has been fooled. (Occasionally, they'll alert the media first, then perform their 'science,' which is even MORE unsettling.) Examples of this might include the "God helmet" touted so highly by Michael Persinger at Laurentian Univeristy (Canada), the Jesus Seminar, and meme theory (touted by the renowned atheist Richard Dawkins).

Gotta go, I'll finish this later...

Is 'science' really 'all that'?

I remember reading about this when it happened. I find it interesting and somewhat revealing. It comes from The Spiritual Brain: A Neurosientist's Case for the Existence of the Soul,(Beauregard & O'Leary, HarperOne: NY, NY 2007). Yes, I am reading it. And yeah, my nerdism is raging. FYI, 'materialism' is another name for atheism.

IS SCIENCE A SEARCH FOR TRUTH OR SUPPORT FOR MATERIALISM?

Sometimes academic scientists are so convinced that providing support for materialism is the purpose of science that they end up violating conventional civil rights. This happened to Richard von Sternberg, a paleontologist who permitted a peer-reviewed article to be published in his journal, the Smithsonian's Proceedings of the Biological Society of Washington, an article suggesting that the explosion of complex life forms that occurred quite suddenly about 225 million years ago might best be explained by intelligent design. Almost all the existing large classifications of animals (phyla) emerged quite suddenly during a few million years, a mere sneeze of geological time. Sternberg was not himself a supporter of the intelligent design hypothesis, but he believed strongly in putting all the options on the table.

The mere suggestion of an origin that included intelligent causation set off a huge uproar, directed not at the author, geologist and intelligent design theorist Stephen Meyer, but mainly at editor Sternberg. He was cross-examined about his political and religious beliefs by his employers, removed from his position, and denied access to collections of fossils he needed for his work as a paleontologist. Also, he recounted to the Washington Post, then the biological society made a statement disowning Meyer's article, he was counseled not to attend because, in his words, "I was told that feelings were running so high they could not guarantee me that they could keep order." He appealed to the Office of Special Counsel, a federal body that protects the civil rights of government employees, who found that he had had been subjected to retaliation and a disinformation campaign. A December 2006 Congressional report again vindicated Sternberg against many false allegations, accusing senior Smithsonian officials of having "harassed, discriminated against, and retaliated against him.

It became apparent that Sternberg had violated not a written law but an unwritten one: Intelligent causation could not be considered, irrespective of either the state of the evidence or of whether or not scientists who were in any way associated with it had followed correct procedures in gathering and publishing evidence. Sternberg was supposed to have known better than to publish such a paper even though it had passed peer review.

Some argue that such unwritten rules actually hinder the very science they are supposed to protect. Mathematician and ID theorist William Dembski, for example, says, "Materialist ideology has subverted the study of biological and cosmological origins so that the actual content of these sciences has become corrupted. The problem, therefore, is not merely that science is being used illegitimately to promote a materialistic worldview, but that this worldview is actively undermining scientific inquiry, leading to incorrect and unsupported conclusions about biological and cosmological origins."

Prayer

Lord, I am dismayed by the attitude of those who do not call you enemy, but rather ignore you completely.
There are so many now, Father, who simply refuse to believe you even exist.
I think specifically of X and X.
Lord, I want to be there when they get to heaven.
Give them a spiritual awakening.
Reveal Yourself to them.
Let them see and respond to Your great love.
I want to embrace them, Lord, when they get to heaven.
And I don’t care who it is that leads them to faith.
I want no credit for their salvation.
AS IF I could ever garner such a praise!
Lord, I just really want to be able to talk with them in the middle of Your holy peace, in Your heavenly abode, and listen to their journey of faith, their discovery of Jesus and the transformation He brought to their lives.
Father, save them, for they know not who You are.
Break them, if necessary.
Ruin them.
Destroy every vestige of control they have.
Wreak whatever havoc is necessary, or do nothing at all.
Bless them beyond measure with wealth and power and fame and luxury of whatever kind they desire.
I don’t care.
I just want to know that we will one day be in heaven together.
Lord, there are so many people now who do not know you.
Who are going to Hell, Father.
Please, make it stop.
How can you sit idly by and watch the ones, created in Your image, throw their lives away on empty philosophies, false religions, misplaced faith, and personal greed?
What of the children, Lord, suffering and starving, sick and needy?
Dying without you.
What of their parents, Lord.
You alone are God.
You alone will I trust.
But, God, please.
PLEASE!
Do something.
“Here I am Lord, send me.”
It’s not working.
There are so many people going to Hell.
Father, I pray that your church here in America, in Missouri, in Joplin, at MSSU, in the BSU, would feel, for a second, what those millions who are dying right now, will feel for eternity if we don’t do something to stop it.
Give us, LORD, for a moment, a glimpse of the world, our campus, through your eyes.
Father, there are too many people going to Hell.
Don’t You care?
Help us to feel what You feel.
To embrace with compassion the world in which we live.
Heavenly Father, I love you.
But I don’t understand.
Why is there so much apathy in the church?
Why do you allow us to call ourselves, “The bride of Christ,” when we are so unfailingly hard-headed, lazy, dispassionate, cowardly, calloused and craven?
Save us, Lord.
And save the world, Your world, from us.
Send workers for the harvest.
Send me.
Open my eyes to how I can serve you more effectively, efficiently, and earnestly.
I want to be used.
I want to feel used.
I want to feel used by You!
Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name.
Heavenly Father, it is not my desire to garner praise for my name, but to bring glory to Yours.
This campus, Lord, needs You.
Please, pour out Your Spirit on us.

The Dawkins Delusion

I've read a couple of Dawkins' books, and I have to say, as intelligent as he claims to be, this satire actually does a dedecent job of exposing some of his claims. And I don't care who you are, that's funny.

10 Things I love about being a dad.

So, here's a list of things I love about being a dad. I suppose it should be noted that the list fluid because as kids grow and change you find new things love as old things cease. Seeing them grow, a true joy, is also bittersweet. I used bullets instead of numbers because I'm not ure I could ever order these properly, if that's even possible. I do this now knowing that in a year it would be different, every year it would be different. This one thing I know, above all else, I love being a dad most of all because everyone thinks they have great kids, but that's only because they don't have mine. Mine set the standard of greatness. They always have, and in my heart, they always will...

• Being treated like furniture.
• Watching my kids chase me down the driveway and across the yard when I leave for work in the morning.
• Reading to them, even if they won't listen.
• Watching them sleep.
• Seeing them grow.
• Hearing/telling goofy jokes.
• The Tickle Monster.
• Calming their nightly fears.
• Hearing their prayers.
• Squeezy hugs.
• Blanket hugs.
• Butterfly kisses from my girls.
• Wrestling with my boy.
• Daddy Dates with the Alyssa & Anna
• Man Time with Nate
• Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera ad infinitum

"What's best for me"

I was struck just now by an idea that caught my attention as I reviewed Walter Henrichsen's classic, Disciples Are Made, Not Born. Henrichsen asks the reader to consider that we hire policemen to make sure that we don't do anything wrong. His point being that it is rather audacious of any man to assume that one knows what's best for oneself, yet we live in a society that freely acknowledges that people wrong one another constantly. If we all really knew what was best for ourselves, wouldn't policemen be unnecessary? Of course. It is sheer arrogance that leads me to say, "I know what's best for me." I don't. I daily make the ubiquitous mistake of equating the lusts of my flesh with "what's best for me." I desire a doughnut, so I'll go get one, even though I may have high cholesterol, or be a diabetic. Dumb. People kill each other, rape women, shoot heroine, drive drunk, and do all kinds of other idiotic stuff, all the while claiming, "I know what's best for me." Yeah. Right. You know, there's a reason why you never hear fifth graders say things like, "When I grow up I want to be a crack ho'." Yet crack whores exist. And I'll bet if you ask them, the first thing they'll say is, "I know what's best for me."

Why do so many people fail to acknowledge Jesus Christ at Lord of their lives? Because, they say, "I know what's best for me."

I, personally, on the other hand have been liberated from such egotistical nonsense. I am free to admit that I don't know what's best for me, and live a better, more abundant life because, while I may not know what's best for me, I do know who does know what's best and His word is what I'll follow. By admitting my ignorance and letting go of my selfish pride, I am able to get much farther down the road to a happy life by following someone who always does know "what's best for me."

Our true place in life..

I just really appreciated this quote by N.T. Wright (Simply Christian)

Christian faith isn't a general religious awareness. Nor is it the ability to believe several unlikely propositions. It is certainly not a kind of gullibility which would put us out of touch with any genuine reality. It is the faith which hears the story of Jesus, including the announcement that he is the world's true Lord, and responds from the heart with a surge of grateful love that says: "Yes. Jesus is Lord. He died for my sins. God raised him from the dead. This is the center of everything." Whether you come to this faith in a blinding flash or by a long, slow, winding route, once you get to this point you are (whether you realize it or not) wearing the badge which marks you out as part of the church, on an equal footing with every other Christian who ever lived. You are discovering what it means to wake up and find yourself in God's new world.

How true it is, and yet how easy to forget, that as followers of Jesus, we are part of a massive God-centered movement that covers every Christian through all of history! Time and eternity, temporal and spiritual, interlocked with a beautiful perfection that only the Master Conductor could orchestrate. Powerful. Comforting. Peaceful.

Wilson's Creek National Battlefield 9.03.07

On Labor Day this year we took our kids to Wilson's Creek National Battlefield. We weren't sure what to expect, but were pleasantly surprised to find out that they would be firing off a Civil War artillery piece. Only half a load was used for the demo. I think we liked it a lot more than the kids. All in all, Wilson's Creek just isn't much to look at, but the canon was cool. And the kids got their National Parks Passports stamped again, which was fun for them. They love that program.

Unity: What a pain!

I get so tired sometimes of hearing students whine about 'conflict' and 'division' and (the worst of all) 'competition' between ministries on campus. It drives me crazy listening to them moan and lament the lack of unity. Why? Because its all a crock! They are totally clueless about the nature of unity. The Bible says over and over and over again that we, as followers of Jesus, are to live in unity. The first passage of scripture I make the BSU leadership team memorize each year (Ephesians 4:1-3) focuses on unity. But there is a HUGE difference between what the Bible commmands and what students complain about.

Adrian Rogers does a great job of explaining that UNITY is not unison, uniformity or union. He pictures a choir, not singing in unison, but nevertheless united to create beautiful music. Uniformity... uniformity is a joke. Believers in the church are called to a diversity of activities, goals and plans. We're not all supposed to be doing the exact same thing! And even union is a perversion of our God-given call. We might all belong to one church, ministry, or organization, but that says little about the unity of such a union. Even if every member of every campus ministry carried the same membership card, so what? That would mean precious little at the end of the day. It is not unity.

Unity comes with peace. And even though there are a number of campus ministries pursuing similar and sometimes even overlapping goals, that doesn't mean we are not at peace. It does not mean that we are not UNITED.

Sometimes I just want to tell people to shut up about the so-called divisions and competition. I want to tell them to stop focusing on false perceptions and start dealing with REALITY. And the reality is that there are still a lot of lost souls on campus, more than enough to keep us all busy.

By the way, students-who-whine-about-campus-ministries, how many churches do you suppose are enough? One? Ten? TEN THOUSAND?! How about this--however many churches it takes to reach the world for Jesus Christ! That's enough, and until the world is reached for Christ, we need to stop worrying about "competition" and start worrying about mortal combat, because earth is a spiritual battlefield, and people are going to Hell. Now shut up and go tell someone about Jesus.

Prairie State Park, MO 6.23.07

Today the Smith family visited Prairie State Park. To be honest, I wasn't expecting much, having been sorely disappointed in my search for a descent outdoor experience in the Midwest, but this proved to be a pleasant surprise. I mean, there not much there in terms of camping/hiking/visitor center/etc., but not many parks will put you face to face with a Bison without a fence between you.

I wanted to go somewhere the kids could keep up with, and the Gay Feather Trail seemed like just the thing. Its short, flat, and loaded with ticks, but long enough to challenge their little legs without burning them out. On our way in we stopped at the visitor center, which has a nice collection of stuffed prairie fauna, and were informed that the Bison had been seen hanging out on the Gay Feather Trail of late, so be careful. That was exciting! Anyway, we drove to the trail head and started out. The Gay Feather trail in mid-June is loaded with wildflowers, and there was Bison sign EVERYWHERE. There was fur laying on the ground at the trail head, hoof prints all over the place, beds alongside the trail, and offal about every ten feet on the trail itself. It looked like we were hiking a buffalo highway more than a state part service trail.

It took me about five minutes to spot our first Bison. He was a huge bull alone on a hillside about half a mile away. Of course the trail was so flat that we never once lost sight of him, and it turned out that he was the only Bison on our trail, which isn't a bad thing. (When you have three small children with you, you aren't really happy with the idea of walking them through herds of dangerous animals with nothing more than a stick to protect them.) The only problem was that he was resting only about thirty feet from the trail itself on the back side of the loop we were on. Needless to say we cut the corner to get around him, being careful to stay downwind.

Then, when we were at what I considered a safe distance, I snuck back and got a nice picture of him. I had to throw dirt clods and shout for him to get up for the picture, which seemed like a great idea until he was actually on his feet and looking at me with that, "Hmm, maybe I should gore him..." look on his face. As soon as I had the shot I backed away slowly, then quickly, and we all finished out the hike together. It only took us about an hour to do the whole thing.

Back at the car we checked for ticks, drove back to the visitor center, hung out for a few minutes then headed to the picnic area for lunch. It was nice and shady at the picnic area, and the campground was empty, which was a real selling point for me. I've been to too many Midwest parks (state or national) that were too crowded to enjoy, and here we were on a Saturday in June and we had the entire place to ourselves. Beautiful!

"There was a hunter who went into the bush to kill a monkey. He had looked for only a few minutes when he saw a monkey sitting comfortably in the branch of a low tree. The monkey didn't pay him any attention, not even when his footsteps on the dried leaves rose and fell as he neared. When he was close enough and behind a tree where he could clearly see the monkey, he raised his rifle and aimed. Just when he was about to pull the trigger, the monkey spoke: 'If you shoot me, your mother will die, and if you don't, your father will die.' The monkey resumed its position, chewed its food, and every so often scratched its head or the side of its belly."

I excerpted this story, a traditional story of the Mende tribe of West Africa, from the autobiography of a child soldier. Ishmael Beah was recruited by force into the Sierra Leonean army as a child after having seen and heard more death than any American can really understand. His childhood experience includes forced abduction, killing, fear, the loss of his entire family, running for his life as a pre-teen through dense African jungle, forced drug addiction, and the list goes on. Reading it I was saddened by the amazing array of violence that he had to endure both physically and emotionally. He heard this story in his village before the war tore it apart. And although it seems incomplete, it isn't. After telling the story thus far, it is up to the hearer to finish it. What would you do? Beah says in his book that the answer he held in his heart was to kill the monkey. At least then it wouldn't trap another hunter this way.

His response blew me away at first, but why should it? Forced to choose between evil and evil, he chose the way that would save someone else. How noble. How Christ-like. Beah isn't a Christian, but he writes like one. He understands sacrifice at a level most of us can't. Not don't, but c-a-n-n-o-t, understand. Thanks to his unfortunate past, he understands evil and pain and violence and personal loss in ways that we are simply incapable of ever truly processing. "What a horrible story!" we are tempted to say. But the question remains, what would you do? And all too often in real life, we are forced to answer.

Devo IX: The Purpose of Evil

As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"

"Neither this man nor his parents sinned," said Jesus, "but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life."
John 9:1-3

An important fact to understand about evil is that it always serves a purpose. Jesus makes that clear in this story of a man with congenital blindness, which was interpreted then, as it might be today, as evil; an unnecessary blight in the world. And notice how it is simply assumed that this evil is the result of sin; either the man or those responsible for his conception must be to blame for his condition. But Jesus points out that evil doesn’t always work that way. Sometimes evil is permitted by God so that He will receive glory, and indeed, by the time the dust fully settles around this blind man, he is worshipping God after having boldly confronted the religious leaders of his day who desired to lead him astray. Jesus’ own disciples make the mistake here of assigning blame to humanity for the presence of evil, failing the entire time to understand that evil, regardless of the cause, is the servant of God.

Romans 8:28 tells us, “God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” Whether it’s a congenital birth defect, or a natural disaster, the loss of a cherished relationship, a tragic accident or a human abuse, all things means all things. Sometimes the ‘evil’ we suffer is only the discipline of a loving God. Sometimes it is a catalyst for his Glory to be revealed. Sometimes it is the pain we suffer for our own wrong choices, and sometimes it is impossible for us to understand, but never does it fail to serve His purposes. And that is where the comfort lies. In that, there is strength.

Apologetics I

I found the argument below in Ravi Zacharias' book Jesus Among Other Gods. Of course, its not new to him either, but I wanted to remember it for later. Here it is in my own words:

Skeptics point to the problem of evil as the greatest challenge to the Christian faith. Here's a VERY nutshell response:

1. Without good, there is no evil, but since you've already admitted that evil exists, you admit good exists also. This begs the question: how are objective good and evil determined? Answer: Objective truth (unless you think its okay to mutilate children for fun. Any takers? Didn't think so!) Question: What, then, is the source of objective truth? Answer: Atheism offers nothing, so it must be something super-natural. THAT would be God.

2. Now, perhaps you want to simply say that evil doesn't really exist, its only a euphemism for things we don't like, such as emotionally painful events, giant tsunamis, or asparagus. Weeelllll.... Now we're back to mutilating babies for fun. I mean, if you eliminate evil, then you have no way of establishing any objective morality, therefore, if I want to mutilate babies for fun (or poke you in a sensitive area), you have nothing; no basis for complaint, no reason to say, "that's wrong!" Do you really want to go down that road? I didn't think so.

Incidently, anyone silly enough to call themselves a relativist fall afoul of #2 as well. Moral relativism is ultimately indefensible, philosophically speaking. Its also important to note that although we've dealt with the existence of God here, we're still a country mile from proving Jesus's death on the cross as the propitiation for all of man's sin.

America the Beautiful

So, I was singing in the shower one day recently (yes, I sing in the shower), and for whatever reason America the Beautiful popped into my head. Perhaps it was because it was Sunday, perhaps it was because I was thinking patriotic thoughts after having watched Blackhawk Down the night before, God alone knows. Anyway, as I sang it occurred to me that I have most often sung this hymn in church. Then it occurred to me that there can’t be a more inappropriate place to sing it. I mean, the entire song is basically an ode to the nation, which is the definition of idolatry. Three of the four verses of the song are addressed directly the country, not God as one might expect while singing hymns in church.

Music is an amazing form of worship, and I love singing in church, be it hymns, praises or spiritual songs, but let’s be honest, America the Beautiful, judged by its lyrics, simply doesn’t fit the bill well at all. Yes, it is in many ways a plea, a call for blessing on the nation, and could thus be justified, but, again, let’s be honest here, when most people sing the song, they’re not prayerfully hoping for God’s blessing on the United States, but pridefully considering the largess of their wonderful homeland. Such is the extent of American vanity.

Having said that, let me say, for the record, that I firmly believe the United States of America to be a great nation, a nation I am proud to say that I have myself served. That it has been forced to play global-police in the name of democracy and justice in no way lessens the fact that God alone could have guided her to become the superpower she is. What must be recalled, and with fear and trembling, is that the same God who makes nations great will also show no hesitation to destroy them when they leave the path of righteousness He has lain out in the Holy Bible.

As for America the Beautiful, perhaps we should rethink its incorporation into the modern psalter. It is a fine song, deserving to be sung at sporting events, civil ceremonies, family gatherings and the like, but I have a hard time believing that people singing it on Sunday morning at their local church are offering a praise to God. More likely they are pondering the aesthetic value of the Rocky Mountains, or sunset on the great plains, and how tragic it would be for anyone to worship the created in the face of their Creator.

Execution of a teenage girl in Iran_pieces05/05(BBCdcmentry)

Execution of a teenage girl in Iran_pieces04/05(BBCdcmentry)

Execution of a teenage girl in Iran_pieces03/05(BBCdcmentry)

Execution of a teenage girl in Iran_pieces02/05(BBCdcmentry)

Execution of a teenage girl in Iran_pieces01/05(BBCdcmentry)

Yeah, you need to see the whole documentary. Its pretty sick , but you need to understand that what happened to this girl is perfectly acceptable to most of the Islamic world because this is how Islam, according to the Quran, is SUPPOSED to work for women.

Meningitis stinks!

So, about a month ago I came down with viral meningitis. It stinks! Actually, I came down with an unknown virus that lead to viral meningitis with the added bonus of urinary retention. It started on a Wednesday. I ached all over, but not so bad as to stop me from working or anything. It was like the flu, only I didn't have any head or chest problems; no drainage or coughing or anything like that. Thursday was worse, and Friday I went to Urgent Care. Or was it Saturday? They prescribed an antibiotic and sent me home. The next day I went to the Emergency Room. Same result, but with the added warning that if I developed a headache I should return. On Tuesday, April 17th, I got the worst headache I've ever felt. It was BAD! Back to Urgent Care. I hurt so bad I could barely focus enough to answer the doctor's questions. After examining me he asked if there was someone who could drive me to the ER, or if he should call an ambulance, because I was definitely not going home. Mandi drove me to the hospital.

Once in the ER, I was examined again. This time they suspected meningitis and gave me a spinal tap. I was told that it was probably viral meningitis because if it was bacterial, I'd be dead. They couldn't, however, give a positive diagnosis, so they checked me into a private room, hooked me up with some Morphine and started running tests. Over the next couple of days I was tested for Syphilis, HIV, Herpes, Rickets, Lime Disease, and those are just the ones I know about. I'm sure there were more.

At some point it became apparent that I couldn't urinate. This presented an interesting new wrinkle to my case. I soon had my own medical team working on me: an internal medicine specialist, a urologist, a neurologist, and an infectious disease specialist. The official diagnosis: an unknown virus led to viral meningitis complicated by urinary retention. It turned out that urinary retention, although extremely rare, is a possible complication of viral meningitis. (I was told that there have only been ten cases written about in medical journals.)

Meanwhile, I didn't eat the entire week, and drinking was something I was increasingly reluctant to do given the fact that any time my bladder filled I had to be straight cathetered. It was more than unpleasant. I was surviving on whatever they pumped into my veins through the IV. When eventually I did try to eat, I threw up. I went an entire week without food. At the height of my illness food was something I didn't even want to think about, which for me is weird, because when I'm sick I usually eat like a horse. I'm definitely a 'feed a cold' kind of guy. (I'm also normally a 'feed a fever' kind of guy.) By the time I went home from the hospital I'd lost about 15 pounds. I looked good, I just felt lousy.

Anyhow, I checked out of the hospital the Sunday after I checked in. I had managed to keep down half a cheeseburger from the cafeteria, and I was capable of administering my own catheter as necessary, which was about every 8 hours. I had been subjected to more antibiotics than I can account for (they were constant in my IV), steroids, Morphine and Hydrocodone. My headache was all but gone, and although I was still feeling poorly, it may have had more to do with my treatment than with my illness.

Once home, I was still basically an invalid for another week. All I did was sit on the couch and sleep. How sick was I? For the first four days in the hospital I didn't even have the strength to watch television. I didn't read, I didn't do anything. I just laid in bed and tried not to die. For several days I couldn't even keep my eyes open to hold a conversation because I had developed a sensitivity to light. For the first two weeks out of the hospital I had trouble digesting food because the antibiotics had killed off every bacteria in my body. Even now, nearly a month later, I still have bruises from the IV needles on my left hand and right arm. They're nearly gone, but still definitely there.

And that's the story of my bout with viral meningitis. I seriously recommend avoiding it, if you ever get the chance...

Ask A Ninja - College

I laugh... and laugh... and laugh... and laugh... and laugh.

Iran Cartoon

Wow. I think I'd prefer my kids to watch Scooby Doo reruns, thank you very much.

If this really is run on Iranian TV, its a real indication of the dichotomy that exists in the Islamic world. Most Muslims are peaceful, but a large and growing faction clearly isn't. These people are a menace to their society, and ours; they represent a clear and present danger to the security of the United States.

Interactive Worship Training

We used this a few weeks ago at our weekly meeting. I thought it was hilarious. Kudos to those who made it! How do YOU worship?

Recent God Story II

So yesterday I came to work and found the place trashed. There was junk left everywhere, seriously, it was ugly. And I was so frustrated that for the first time in eight years of ministry, I contemplated quitting. "Is this worth it?" is the question that wafted through my mind. And as I pondered the answer to that question, I cleaned. I cleaned and I sweated. And at the ebb tide of my pity party I was taking the trash out to the dumpster behind our building when I noticed an unopened can of beer just laying there on the grass...

It was as if God Himself placed it there to catch my eye; my own personal burning bush. Only this bush didn't speak out loud, it slapped my upside my metaphorical head. And it shouted, "YO IDIOT! PUT UP OR SHUT UP!" Truly, it was theater of the absurd. I mean, of all the times I taken out the trash, what a perfect--dare I say 'divine'--moment to find a beer! So I picked it up and now it lives in my office, there to remind me that in what I thought was my hour of greatest need, the Lord was laughing.

Did I need a drink? Obviously not, although I wouldv'e told you it was tempting. Did I need a laugh, a slap back to reality? Sure thing, and God delivered.

THE PUBLISHING OF THIS ARTICLE IS IN NO WAY AN ENDORSEMENT OF DRINKING ANY KIND OF ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE. THE BEER IN QUESTION SITS UNOPENED TO THIS VERY DAY AND MAY BE VIEWED UPON REQUEST. IT IS A KEYSTONE ICE, SLIGHTLY DENTED, WITH A FRESHNESS DATE OF JUNE 7, 2007.

Ordinary Life III

SO this week has seen highs and lows all around. On a positive note, I got a team sent off to Peru, and have two more leaving tomorrow for Arlington, TX, and a location to be named later. On the down side, one of our Peru team had to remain behind because the United States Postal Service screwed up his passport and couldn't get it fixed in time. I am NOT feeling warm and fuzzy about them right now. Also, Mandi and the kids are SUPPOSED to come with me to Arlington, but Nate has a bad case of the flu and the rest of us are exposed, so it could be a real fun trip... Meanwhile, Cru was awesome and let us have www.everylion.com, which I pray will be successful. Its nice to have it taken care of. It should be up and running before Spring Break is over, then we can think of an ad strategy. Everyone is maximum stressed right now, so the break couldn't come at a better time. I nailed down a date for Rod Handley to come to Joplin, which is very good, but I'm at the point of losing sleep over the SRBA 2007 camp season, which is going to be the death of yet. We got the kids registered for Little League, AND soccer season is starting, so we'll have games or practice almost every day between now and the Second Coming, or so it feels. Aagh! Lord, don't let anyone else get sick...

A Note on Suffering: Part 2

I almost cried when I read this, because I understand its meaning at a very basic level. I only hope that my understanding doesn't increase, for I am weak and weary.

The Thorn by Martha Snell Nicholson

I stood a mendicant of God before His royal throne.
And begged him for one priceless gift, which I could call my own.
I took the gift from out His hand, but as I would depart
I cried, "but Lord this is a thorn and it has pierced my heart.
This is a strange, a hurtful gift, which Thou hast given me."
He said, "My child, I give good gifts and gave My best to thee."
I took it home and though at first the cruel thorn hurt sore,
As long years passed I learned at last to love it more and more.
I learned He never gives a thorn without this added grace,
He takes the thorn to pin aside the veil which hides His face.

A Note on Suffering: Part 1

I would begin here by saying that I have only tasted evil, never drank deeply from the well of human suffering that exists in the world, and for that I am grateful to God Most High who has spared and protected me from so many things that there can be no doubt but that I am blessed. What follows is simply a few thought I jotted down one morning... I pray it is not too simple as to offend those who have felt a depth of pain I can only hope is never mine. Thank you, Lord Jesus, for my own life and I pray you would comfort and enlighten those who cry out this day to their Maker for the darkness they feel.

“Nothing that exists or occurs falls outside God’s ordaining will [including evil]...

How can God govern the choices of human beings without that entailing that those choices are no longer free? How can the same event have two complete explanations? My answer is this: We cannot understand how these things can possibly be... we can understand why we cannot understand it. It is because our attempts to understand this involve our trying to understand the unique relationship between the Creator and his creatures in terms of our understanding of some creature-to-creature relationship.” [Mark Talbot, Suffering and the Sovereignty of God, John Piper, Justin Taylor, eds. (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2006) 43, 69]

That may be the best brief explanation of the sovereignty v. free will dilemma that I’ve come across. I mean, people bang their head against this wall ALL THE TIME, and it just doesn’t crack. What interests me the most is that I found it in a book dealing with the Problem of Evil. People think theology isn’t important, but they’re wrong. Evil effects us all, and we all ask, “Why?” And the answer is too often unsatisfactory. Plain and simple, we don’t know. SO, how do we go on from there? When evil or suffering touches your life, and you sigh to the heavens, “WHY, O LORD, WHY?!” and are met with little more than the echo of your own mind, what happens next?

For many, the answer is to turn their back on God. In the silence of their own personal night, they brood and become embittered. Their faith withers, as the seed sown among thorns in Matthew 13, whose faith is choked out by the worry of the world. Or perhaps they are like that sown on rocky soil that withers for lack of a root in the Word of God. Either way, the results are the same; they suffer, and in their suffering, they lash out for an answer they will not tolerate. This I understand. As a child I grew up in an alcoholic home, and God was my scapegoat for the anguish I felt every day. Unlike Job, I cursed God, and in rage asked to die, to suffer in Hell for that would be better than eternity with such a spiteful God. It is a real and human reaction. I do not belittle the bitterness of others. But it is wrong.

“...who are you, O man, who answers back to God? The thing molded will not say to the molder, ‘Why did you make me like this,’ will it?”
(Romans 9:20 NASB)

“Then the LORD answered Job out of the whirlwind and said, ‘Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge? ‘Now gird up your loins like a man, and I will ask you, and you instruct Me! ‘Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell Me, if you have understanding,’”
(Job 38:1-4 NASB)

I understand that there is not much comfort in those words, so where is the Comforter in the midst of suffering? I don’t know. I don’t know, but I trust God. I trust Him because He is sovereign. I trust Him in His oft resounding silence because I have said to my own kids, time and again, “Because I said so!” For that is really all this boils down to. If God is all-good and all-knowing and all-powerful, then I am willing to trust Him just like I hope my own kids will trust me when I make them suffer. And you will make your kids suffer! When you get them inoculations, they suffer. When you punish them for wrong-doing, they suffer. When you prevent them from doing wrong, they suffer. And often, they cannot understand why. My five year old twins have been warned many times and in loud voices to GET OUT OF THE KITCHEN! Because there are hot pots on the stove or pans coming out of the over; because our kitchen is small and not always safe. Do they understand? Not always. Should I just dip their fingers in boiling water that they might ‘get it?’ Please, get serious. Yet we demand of God, whose understanding is infinitely greater than ours, an equal knowledge, and we pout when it doesn’t come. ‘Children of God,’ indeed!

“I will lift up my eyes to the hills—

From whence comes my help?

My help comes from the LORD,

Who made heaven and earth.”
(Psalm 121:1-2 NKJV)

I trust God because He is sovereign. Because I have seen His hand at work in my life often enough that I know He’s there. I have experienced His grace, His patience, His love, and when the weight of suffering is mine, I turn to Him who suffered most. Christ is the ultimate picture of suffering, and He did it for me. When the weight of suffering is mine, I turn to His word, that has proven perfect and true hundreds of time over in my own life alone. When the weight of suffering is mine, I turn to the brothers and sisters I have in Christ who are themselves an answer promised in His word, and will pray for me and suffer alongside me because I would do the same for them.

Is that enough? For millions of Believers who have suffered far more than me, the answer has been yes.

“Weeping may last through the night,

but joy comes with the morning.”
(Psalm 30:5)

Golden Years

As people age, they start, at some point, talking about "the Golden Years." And whenever I've heard them referred to, its alway in the future tense, as in, "I'm looking forward to retirement so I can enjoy my golden years."

Such sentiments may be fine for others, but not for me. My 'Golden Years' are now. I have my health, my family, a job I love where I feel used by God. I have a brain full of amazing memories that range from bungee jumping in Branson, Mo, to planting a cocanut palm on Rarotonga with my wife, to fishing for salmon with my father in Alaska. I've been married to the greatest and most beautiful woman I've ever had the privilege of meeting for over ten years, and I have the three brightest and most beautiful kids I've ever seen. As I've said a thousand times, other people think they have good kids, but that's only because they haven't met mine. And what have I done to deserve such a blessed run in life? Absolutely nothing. Other than following Christ to the best of my abilities, mine is an ordinary life...

In many ways I imagine myself like Job before the Lord called him to Satan's attention. I can only hope I fly under the radar better than he did. I suppose, since the Enemy is finite, and there are a few more people on earth now than there were then, that I've got a decent chance of avoiding Job's fate.

As I look to the future, I see, in all likelihood, suffering and pain. Family will pass away, sickness, injury or accident will steal my health if aging alone isn't enough. I see trips to the hospitals that I hate so much. (I could never be a pastor for that reason alone.) I see the loss of innocence in the lives of my children. I see the usual aches and pains that accompany every life, and even if they come late to mine, come they will, as they must. Nevertheless, joy is mine.

Joy is mine, not because of the experiences I've had, or the people I've known, or anything I've said or done. No, joy is mine because in my heart of hearts there is Christ, and nothing can ever remove that. Nothing can shake the foundation of my faith because that foundation is the Chief Cornerstone Himself. My joy is eternal, even if these, my golden years, are not.

Do I boast? Certainly not! I have done nothing to merit the favor of God or man. At least not of my own accord. As it is written, there is nothing good in me, nothing worthy of God's affection, that He Himself did not put there by His own providence. I am not worthy on my own, only blessed, and that for reasons only God can fathom. Why He chose me is a mystery that only He can answer, but I rejoice that He did, and THAT is why my joy can never be taken.

Do I hope for suffering? Of course not. Am I tempting fate? May it never be! My sincere hope is that Christ would return long before I feel the pain of anything dark or evil. I seek not the discipline of the Lord as it is promised in Hebrews. In fact I pray against it... at least to the extent that suffering might be mine. Weak? Yes, but true. Anyhow, no matter what happens in the future, these, I declare, are MY golden years. If I live to be a hundred and suffer every day between now and them, my hope is that I would always recall the season I'm in now. If it be the best I ever have, it is enough.

(And though I declare here and now, I beg you Lord, please don't test me on it!)

Fun and Often Stupid College Memories.

So, when I was in college, I named my bed, "The Word," so that I could tell people I spent time in The Word every morning.

It was in college that my goatee first arrived.

Among the classes on my transcript: Downhill Skiing, Wilderness Survival, Basketball (2X), Tennis (2X), Introduction to Acting, Fencing (3X)

One year I lived with a group of about 4 guys in this nice little house about a mile off campus where we were told by the owner that we had to take care of the landscaping. He had a hissy fit when a shrub died in the hedge out front. We should've known he wouldn't react well when he found out that we NEVER ONCE mowed the back yard. There were weeds growing higher than the eaves on the house. Seriously, ten feet or more. There could have been a tribe of dwarves living back there and we'd never have known. It took a serious effort, but we recovered it. We didn't ask to renew the lease.

Same house, same guys. Someone left some spaghetti in a Tupperware container in the back of the fridge... for the year. Although it was never opened, the colors visible through the plastic changed from red to green, and then blue and ultimately pink. At somepoint the contents liquified. We were literally scared to open it. At the end of the year, two of us hosed it at the side of the house. One to hold the container with a painter's mask and rubber gloves, the other to stand ten feet away and hold the hose. I held the hose, Greg Templar held the container. We feared for our long term health after being exposed like that.

One summer I worked a concession stand for the Eugene Emeralds, a short season single-A baseball affiliate of the KC Royal. There I met Mookie Wilson, a member of the '86 Mets, my all-time favorite team. (I am still a hard-core Mets fan.)

I graduated in '95 and don't remember having e-mail, let alone registering on-line.

My college road trips always began in Eugene, but ended in: Phoenix, Seattle, Anchorage, Tijuana, and San Francisco.

I helped perfect "Theme Dates." What's a theme date? C'mon, genius, figure it out. Example 1: Wild Life Date: Began with a trip to a wildlife park, then a showing of Disney's 'Lion King,' and finished with dinner at a restaurant serving wild game. Example 2: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles: Began with a flight to Seattle, continued with a drive to the ferry to Bainsbridge Island, spent the night with friends there, and somewhere we squeezed in a trolly car. Yeah, that one was a little spendy, but you only live once. Example 3: Alaskan Theme Date (Plaid flannel required): Began with duct-taping antlers to the car, wearing plaid flannel shirts, jeans and boots, and going to a barn dance. Dinner was Alaskan salmon and moose steaks. How did we acquire moose? See 'road trips,' above. Theme dates are awesome, and best executed as a group date.

I was present at the invention of Solidaire. Its group solitaire, but the person with the worst game has to perform a previously agreed upon dare. Example: Eating a tablespoon of a spice picked by the blindfolded loser. Having "I love Cheese" inscribed on your forehead in black sharpie. Streaking the circumference of your block while singing, swirlies, playing the next round with you face completely covered in butter--not spread, butter.

Primal Scrap: I came home one day to find two of my eight housemates winging rolls of toilet paper at one another across the living room. Before it ended there were at least five of us involved and anything not nailed to the floor was a projectile, including the recliner and a potted plant. Someone tried to throw the TV, but some things are sacred. I still have a scar from defending myself from a pop can. The scariest moment was probably when I popped up from behind our sofa holding a good sized plastic potsherd only to find myself face to face with a roomie holding the recliner over his head ready to drop it on me. We both saw what was coming, screamed at each other and retreated without firing. From that experience I discovered that a roll of TP, dipped in the toilet, has the ability to knock a man flat without leaving a mark. They were easily the projectile of choice.

"Light the candle!" Those were the last words before a Roman Candle started sparking in the back seat of my '86 Honda Accord. I was traveling with a group of friends in Alaska, and we were in the middle of a bottle rocket was with more friends in the car behind us as we drove home to Anchorage where we were staying for the '92 Cru Alaskan Summer Mission Project. Luckily, no one was injured, and the car survived, but it was definitely stupid.

On the '93 Cru Bolivian Summer Mission Project, I drove the project director out of a poker game in his underwear, and smoked cigars on the roof of our hotel almost every night.

Deep Thoughts

This thought struck me yesterday as I was listening to a completely unrelated sermon. I understand that it is a gross oversimplification of difficult issues, but I only had the back of the bulletin to expound on. :-)

Matthew 28:19-20 "Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age."

IF Matthew 28: 19-20 is our mission statement, and if everything we do is to be done insupport of it, then the litmus test for orthopraxy is discipleship. Social drinking and other hot-button issues must be considered in light of only one question: Does it or does it not constitute a positive contribution to the discipleship
process?

Its a simple, yes or no question. to those who would claim that such issues require more flexibility to respond; grow up! You must respond, yes or no, and live with the consequences.

And what if we can't agree?

If we can't agree individually, we must still be bound together in unity. As long as we stay focused on the MISSION, we are united. Let the discussion of secondary issues take place, but let it be that, discussion. In orthopraxy we remain consistent. Effectiveness depends on it. If we would be effective in our mission, we've got to learn to fight for the truth that matters, not opinions that don't.

In hindsight, its a bit sophomoric, far too simplistic to be of any real value. Although the last sentence bears the mark of greatness, it remains undefined, and that's the real problem. What is 'truth that matters?' For some, social drinking is an issue worth fighting over. For others, its silly. I guess the simple solution is to find the common ground we ALL agree on, fight like hell for that, and let the rest go.

Even social drinking? Even social drinking. Too often we get caught up in arguments and debates over things that have value, but not not enough value, and it drags us away from priority one. We become legalistic, or belligerent, and most of the time it seems we do it in the worst possible moments; when we're in public, where an on-looking world can point and laugh at our endless squabbling. how many people have gone to hell without Jesus while we scream and moan at (or worse, about) one another. They'll know we are Christians by our gossip and infinite capacity for pointless debate.

I wish I could go on, but I'm late for dinner.

Devo VIII: On Evil

"Then the LORD said to Job, 'Will the faultfinder cintend with the Almighty? Let him who reproves God answer it.'
Then Job answered the LORD and said, 'Behold, I am insignificant; what can I reply to You?"
Job 40:1-3

Everywhere I turn lately, I am confronted with evil. It's presence has been felt in the ministry God has entrust to me, in the lives of those around me, and most significantly within my own family. Its touch seems everywhere. And the more I am confronted with it, the more I am convinced of the need for a sovereign God, the more I understand how absolutely critical it is to have a working knowledge and relationship with that God. The time to work out the Problem of Evil is not after it arrives in our lives, but beforehand. We cannot wait until our child has been molested, or the cancer is diagnosed, or our loved one is struck down by some tragic accident of man or nature. No, we must not wait! We must act now. The time to batten down the hatches is before the storm. The time to study is before the test. How many of us procrastinate, then flounder and fail when evil comes.

Job's God, the God of Abraham, and Isaac, and Jesus, was sovereign. And it is only in that sovereignty that comfort comes. Yes, He knew evil would happen, but He also knew that it was for the best. No, I don't understand how, but I don't need to either. Do I want to? Of course. I want to scream and curse and shake my fist at fate as much as any man. But I don't because, unlike any man, I DO know Him who is the Almighty, and I trust Him no matter what.

Blessed is the person who understands that we must trust God's heart whn we
cannot understand His hand; blessed is the person who knows that we must stand
in awe in the presence of the mystery of God's purposes. Blessed is the
person who keeps on believing no matter what. Blessed is the person who
lets God be God.-Erwin Lutzer

Ordinary Life II

"isu smf" The first attempt of our five-year-old son to spell the name of his big sister (Alyssa Smith).

Character counts

"The only thing that walks back from the tomb with the mourners and refuses to be buried is the character of a man. This is true. What a man is survives him. It can never be buried." J. R. Miller

How true! How true, which begs the question, how true are you? I spoke last semester about Integrity and that integrity implies wholeness. It implies being the same person on-line and in person, being the same person to my face and behind my back, being the same person before my friends and before my God.

Character counts, now and always.

Ordinary LIfe

Life is good right now. It usually is for me. What have I done to deserve such a wonderful life? I have no idea. Other than accepting the unmerited grace of God in Christ Jesus, I am as miserable a sinner as ever existed.

Nate just started Upward Basketball at FBC-Webb City last week. Today was his second game. I am so proud of him. He's such an amazing little boy. He jump shot needs work, but he has the sweetest spirit you'll ever find. I hope I can be an encourgement to him.

What is God teaching me right now? Dependence on Him. I cannot keep up with life on my own.

Snow Day

Its a snow day! Yay. Actually, its an 'ice' day, since we have about two inches of solid ice on the ground. On Saturday night, after church, we stopped by Wal-mart to grab some chicken breasts--and where do they find these chickens anyway? Most of the breasts they sell these day would make a Playboy Bunny green with envy.--Anyway, we were getting some chicken breasts when I decided to cut cookies in an empty section of the parking lot. When I say empty, I mean no one had parked there for days. SO I took our 4-Runner out of four-wheel-drive and started sliding around on the ice. The girls were with us and they screamed and giggled with delight. It was fun. Still, I was surprised to see that all that spinning and sliding didn't even leave a tire print on the ice. You wouldn't know we'd ever been there if you didn't see us playing on the ice. It was eerie, really. I mean, shouldn't a mid-sized SUV at least leave a scratch or something? Guess not.

Then last night at about 7:30 the power went out at our house. It stayed off until about 7:30 this morning. We had plenty of flashlights and the fireplace kept us warm, so it wasn't a big deal, but still, it was a nice experience to share with the kids.

Nate should be coming home tonight, weather permitting. He's flying in with his Nana. I know its only been two weeks since I saw him last, but I miss him a lot. He's my son and I love him.