Letter to the Editor: Joplin Globe: SYATP: Part 2

Yay, the Globe printed the See You At The Pole letter in its entirety under the headline "Welcome Sight."

Letters to the Editor: Joplin Globe: See You At The Pole

The opinion below was e-mailed to the Joplin Globe today. It regards their coverage of yesterdays See You At The Pole rally.

Your story (‘A noticeable presence,’ September 28) on the See You At The Pole rally held at Joplin High School was great, but you missed an even bigger SYATP rally on the Missouri Southern campus. There, more than seventy students representing at least five campus ministries (Baptist Student Union, Roman Catholic, FCA, Campus Crusade for Christ and Koinonia) as well as who knows how many Christian denominations gathered to praise God and pray for their campus and the world. It was an amazing display of unity, and a reminder than in spite of the stereotype that students are self-centered and apathetic, many of them not only believe they can make a difference in the world, but care enough to get busy accomplishing just that. Looking at the group of future community leaders gathered around the flag pole on Wednesday, I have to say, the future just might be in good hands after all. Thank you.

Jon Smith
Director
Baptist Student Union
Here's the story from the Globe:

'A noticeable presence'The Joplin Globe

By Rich Brown

rbrown@joplinglobe.com

Carter Hulsey bowed his head early Wednesday morning, and prayed for his school and his country.

"I honestly don't understand everything that is going on in the nation, so I just pray for the leaders that God will give them guidance and discernment as to what to do," said the Joplin High School senior.

"I pray that the people who God has put into authority are blessed with wisdom."

It was the 15th straight year for "See You at the Pole" at JHS, and youths at many other area schools were gathering for the same reason. The annual student-run event gives youngsters the opportunity to pray for their schools, teachers and staff, classmates and the nation.

"This is just another chance to meet, and praise God and ask for his help in our nation," said senior Galen Rea, a member of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes' nine-member leadership team at JHS. "We pray for the president, national and state representatives, teachers, administrators and students."

The half-hour event, which began with a Christian song and ended with students breaking up into prayer groups, drew an estimated 60 participants, said Torrie Epperson, FCA teacher sponsor at the Joplin school.

Epperson said the school's FCA chapter, which sponsors the prayer gathering, has seen a big increase this year.

"We have been running between 100 and 150 members," she said. "It takes an amount of boldness to take a stand with FCA. They have to be strong."

Kevin Deems, who played a drum in the opening song, said he geared his prayer toward just such boldness.

"I prayed that all the people here have the faith to stand up in school and show what they are all about," said Deems, a member of a local Christian band who has attended the event all four years he has gone to JHS. "I try to make a Christian impact, and always be happy and not do anything wrong."

Although the students met at an early hour before the start of school, their activity still drew attention.

"This is outside so it is a noticeable presence," said Barry Sanborn, president of the Area Wide Youth Ministers' Fellowship and youth minister at First United Methodist Church. "You have people driving by who notice what is happening."

Rea said he hoped people would be encouraged by what they saw.

"I think our praying is stirring a lot of questioning and wondering in people's minds and hearts," said Molly Collins, another FCA leader who has participated in the prayer event since the seventh grade at Memorial Middle School. "It makes them ask, 'What's going on? What makes these people come out in the morning?'"

A related event, the "See You at the Pole Rally," sponsored by the Area Wide Youth Ministers' Fellowship and Christ in Youth, was conducted Wednesday night at Memorial Hall.

Prayer Frog

So, last night before going to sleep, Mandi and I took a moment to pray together, which, BTW, is a habit common to strong Christian relationships. Anyway, before praying we were talking about our relationship and came to the realization that we don’t laugh together nearly as often as we used to. Of course, we could have spent several hours psychoanalyzing this unhappy trend, but it was late and we were tired, so we decided just to pray about it. Our prayer, just before curling up to sleep was that God would help us to laugh more.

I KID YOU NOT, within 5 minutes, as I was in that odd stage between awake and asleep, I felt a wet PLOP! on my face. Now, I don’t know about you, but I personally do not have a fondness for wet PLOP! at any hour, let alone the moment I am nearly asleep. Perhaps your different. If so, your are a freak. Get used to it. Anyway, a moment after feeling the wet PLOP! land on my back I also felt it begin to move. Then, with reflexes and coordination that would make an Olympic athlete jealous I did three things simultaneously. First, I efficiently informed my wife through a gentle scream, that something was amiss. Second, I reached up, grabbed the PLOP! and hurled it across the bed. Third, I began fumbling for the lamp next to the bed. After a moment of fumbling I reached the switch, and in that same moment I felt another PLOP!, this time on my back. I froze. The PLOP! moved. I turned on the switch and urgently asked Mandi what was on me.

MANDI: Huh?

JON: WHAT IS IT???!!!
MANDI: A frog.

JON: WHAT?!

MANDI (giggling): There’s a frog on your back.

JON: WHAT THE…?! GET IT OFF!

MANDI (Handing me the frog, and out right laughing now): Here. Don’t hurt it.

I dropped the frog. Then I chased it halfway across our bedroom. By the time I had it, we were both laughing. I left it outside on the back porch.

How did a tree frog happen to be in our bedroom? I have no idea. Does God answer prayer? You’d better believe it.

Fishing

YesterdayI had the unexpected privilege of fishing Indian Creek with Steve Patterson (SRBA DOM). I was thoroughly outfished, but then again, I brought the wrong tackle, which didn't help. Still, it was a beautiful day, beautiful water, good company and the fish were definitely biting. Between the two us Steve and I landed 72 fish, all warmouth and smallmouth bass. I kept a string of the warmouth we caught, and my last catch (number 21 for me) was a nice 14-inch smallmouth. We used weedless plastics that imitate hellgramites. Most of the fish were tiny (6-inches or less), but hey, they were still fish, and there were enough of them to keep us busy. Indian Creek is a beautiful, pristine, crystal clear stream with tons of fish; aside from what we caught I saw plenty of stone cats and suckers. Anyway, it was a great day of fishing, worthy of rememberance.

I can't vouch for the integrity of the links on this page. They're the best I found without really looking. The one on Indian Creek, in particular, is sketchy. The strech we fished was definitely not navigable other that wading, and that would be true regardless of season or rainfall...

Labor Day at Lake Eufaula

THE SMITHS AT LAKE EUFAULA

We spent the last four days down at Lake Eufaula for the Trask Family weekend. Of course, 'Trask Family' has been redefined now to include all the in-laws, several outlaws and even me. A few memories: Angie Douthit falling in the Lake. Catching loads of crappie, daily. Watching Dick Potts' dock swarm with everyone under 20 trying to catch fish, and usually succeeding. Aunt Bobbie throwing her first attempt at Hillbilly Horseshoes into the aerial on top of Dick and Teats' house. Uncle Rod's bacon (it was good). My first attempt to smoke crappie and catfish (it wasn't good). Sitting around on Sunday as everyone with a talent of any kind performed, like it or not, in the 'church' service. The Old Farts kicking the tar out of the Young Punks at beach volleyball, where old age and treachery beat youth and skill once again.

Angie in the lake.

Alyssa and a happy puppy.

Nate's first catfish!

A few of the younger crowd at the party, from left to right: Kaylee Douthit, Ryan Trask, Matt, Aaron Trask, Shelby, KC Trask, Nikki Trask, Tim, Whitney Douthit, McKenzie Douthit, Channing.

Devo VII: Risk for God

We risk for him to the degree that we know we are loved by him. (Brennan Manning)

For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son... (Jesus)

Based on the level of commitment I see in most Christians, I'd say we have a hard time believing that God really does love us. I mean, if we really bought that whole 'unconditional love' thing, we'd all be radical for Jesus, but we aren't. Most of us are so insecure in our faith you'd have a hard time guessing we were Christians in the first place, or that we'd had a God experience so magnificent that it changed our lives forever. We look, smell and sound just like the world. And if that's how we're going to play out the rest of our lives, why did Jesus bother coming at all? Every Christian is living every moment in the intimate presence of God. That should make us dangerous to the world; a threat to the darkness. How dangerous are you?

To live dangerously is not to live recklessly, but righteously. And it is because of God's radical grace for us that we can risk living a life of radical obedience to Him. (Steve Camp)

Tats, the new mullet

Tats. I realize that tattoos can be a delicate subject around Christians (they are specifically forbidden under Old Testament law, but so is wearing a cotton/poly t-shirt), and I definitely don’t feel like waxing philosophical on y’all, but since tats are the rage right now, and by that I mean “FAD” (like parachute pants, big hair, and pet rocks) I do have something to say on the matter.

Ever look back back at old pictures of yourself and cringe? If you haven't it, let me assure you that its only because you're too young to have old pictures. The rest of the world though has these photos, photos we thought made us look so cool we saved them, only to realize, years later, that fashion is SOO temporary! Think something's cool now? Wait 10 minutes, it'll change. And that's no big deal when we're talking about the bell-bottom pants of the 70's or the 'big hair' of the 80's, but tats are different. Ink is forever, basically. (Yes, you can have them removed, but its a long painful expensive process, not a quick trip to the trash can or barber shop.)

Anyway, I was discussing tats (the new mullet) with my wife yesterday when I happened to gaze over at a picture we have framed next to our fireplace. And I thought to myself, “Self, that picture is a piece of art, just like a tat is a piece of art, so what’s the difference? Why should anyone not get a piece of body art?” And the whole thing would have ended right there, except that my brain kept working, which occasionally does happen, and I answered myself, “dude, in thirty years that pic be the fire will look exactly the same, but a tat will not. You want to compare apples to apples? Crumple the picture up into a wrinkly wad, then put it back under the glass.”

The simple fact is that living tissue is just not good canvas, period. Its inferior, and therefore degrades the art rendered upon it. Why not get a tat? Skin wrinkles, that’s why. Ever met a WWII navy vet? They all have this blue smudge on their arm that you see when you shake hands with them. It was a cool hip tat once. Now its illegible, ugly and kinda funky lookin’. Knowing that whatever I ink up now will look like that in 30 years is why I don’t have any tattoos.

Theological? Not in the least, but true nonetheless.

Order of Service II

so, I totally lied about keeping track of the services I've taken a role in leading. I've been terrible about it. Still, I try. Here's another.

Warren's Branch Baptist Church (AM)

Hymn: Standing on the Promises
Hymn: Higher Ground
Announcements and Birthdays
Hymn with Greeting: Amazing Grace! How Sweet the Sound
Offertory Hymn: Trust and Obey
Sermon
Invitation: Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus

Warren's Branch Baptist Church (PM)

Announcements
Specials: Paul Case

1. Make Me A Promise
2. Sky Full of Angels
3. The Old Rugged Cross Made the Difference

Sermon
Invitation

Baptism

Few are the fathers who can claim to have baptized their own children. Tonight I stand among them. All three of my kids have asked Jesus into their hearts, freely, of their own accord. Now Alyssa, who accepted Christ on her own at the age of four (she later informed us of what she had done) has been baptized. It was the opening act of Forest Park Baptist Church's Saturday night 'Crosswalk' service. Awesome, and humbling. God has graced me more than I will ever deserve.

Family History

Yestday I went fishing with my dad (Stan) and father-in-law (Jack) at Lake Eufala, OK. We were after crappie and had a great day. The wind stayed low, the temperature was seasonably cool, the sun was out and the fish were biting. We hauled in somewhere between 60-75 slabs. It was neat to share that day with Stan and Jack since they are so important to me and they live so far apart...

Anyway, while we were out there my dad told a story I can't remember ever hearing about before. Its a sad tale, but true, and worth of keeping alive in our collective familial memory.

Late in his life, George Smith, my grandfather, apparently had Alzheimer's Disease. But it was the 1960's, and no one really knew what that was yet. So, Helen, his wife, became his caretaker. (Nothing unusual so far.) One day, in a state of dementia, George, who was a life-long hunter, got hold of one of his rifles and held Helen hostage in the house they shared on Main Street in Springfield, OR. He apparently couldn't remember who she was... He made threats to her life. The police were called in. Traffic was diverted off Main Street. A standoff ensued. Finally, Steve (Stan's older brother, my uncle), walked right up to George, grabbed the rifle and said something akin to, "Dad gimme that! What are you doing?" End of story, except to say that dad, a Vietnam vet, was thoroughly impressed with Steve's courage. (Steve couldn't go to Vietnam for health reasons.) As I said, sad. George loved Helen, but Alzheimer's, the most despicable disease on planet earth, doesn't care. Ultimately, as George's mind was taken from him, his identity stripped away, it made life for Helen miserable. To love someone and have to bear the burden of watching them lose control of their mind, and ultimately, their body, puts a strain on a relationship that is almost too much to fathom.

Niagara Falls

Mike and Audrey Fultz with the Smith fam.















Mandi @ Niagara Falls (American)















The view from our hotel room. Sweet!















Mandi and Jon at Niagara Falls.















Ready for The Maid of the Mist voyage!















Jon & Mandi at Niagara Falls (Horseshoe).

Yeah, it was a sweet trip. We got to help Audrey and Mike get hitched, (YAY!!!) and even managed to work in a quick trip to see Niagara Falls. By the way, the place is totally overrun by Indians. Seriously, even the restaurant of the Ramada Inn where we stayed smelled like curry, which isn't a bad thing, mind you, its just an interesting development. I didn't expect to see so many Indians there. Basically, we got there late at night, walked to the falls from our hotel, went to bed, did the Maid of the Mist, and headed for home.

University of Oregon filth

In the off chance you hear about the recent filth published by a student paper at the U of O, please accept my humblest apologies. The students responsible are clearly ignorant, rude, even pitiable. They need help. Please don't encourage them by visiting their website or otherwise interacting with them. Silence is what they need. Well, silence and a club over the head with a mace, but Jesus wouldn't like the mace.

Another authentic moment

So, as I struggle throught this issue of worshipping the full range of human emotion, like David of old, I wrote a song, which fact I find amusing since I am about as musically adept as a clam. Still, a song I wrote, and although the music is trapped forever in my feeble mind, the lyrics are here. I call it Joy in the Rain. I wrote it as an attempt to express what so many of us feel in the midst of various trials. Its not pretty, but neither is most of life.

Joy in the Rain

I am weary, Lord.
I am wounded, Lord.
In the fire, Lord, there’s pain.

Oh, I suffer, Lord.
I am tired, Lord.
And my heart just wants to give in.

Through the fire, Lord,
And through rain
I just can’t see any joy…

Through the rain.
Through the rain, Lord,
I can’t see any joy
In the rain.
In the rain, Lord,
I just can’t see any joy
In the rain.

I am weak, Lord.
I am angry, Lord.
I feel so alone.

Oh, I need you, Lord,
But I can’t feel you, Lord,
And I don’t understand why.

Through the fire, Lord,
And in my pain
I just can’t see the joy…

In the rain.
In the rain, Lord
I just can’t see any joy
In the rain.
In the rain, Lord,
I just can’t see any joy
In the rain.

Lord, I know you’re there.
Why won’t you answer me?
I don’t want to be alone anymore.

Lord, I’ve fought this fight.
I fought it in your name
But now I’m tired, Father,
I am bruised.

So heal me now, Lord,
Look on your child,
And take away the pain

With your rain, Lord,
Heal me now
Wash me in your rain.

In your rain, Lord
In your rain,
Heal me with your rain

With your rain, Lord
With your rain,
Lord, heal me with your rain.

With your rain.

An authentic moment

Why is it that the only Psalms we sing are the happy ones? Where is the authenticity in that? David breathed down curses on his enemies, he begged for mercy in difficult circumstances, and he wept in his pain. Regardless of what was going on in his life, David cried out to the Lord. Why don’t we do that? Why can’t we share with Jesus the emotional baggage we all carry around? Its like we’re trying to hide it from him or something. If we all just sing good songs, maybe no one will notice that I’m really bad. HOGWASH! And the really dumb thing is that we do that, then we wonder why we feel alone, why no one notices how broken we really are. We hide ourselves from the truth and call each other hypocrites for not seeing each other as we really are!

As you sow, so shall you reap.

The way of the Lord is not to hide your pain, but to heal it. And a hidden wound is never healed. Besides, do you really think God doesn’t already know? So, the next time you gather for worship notice how we sing about the greatness of God and the love of Jesus, and how blessed we are to know who God and Jesus are. It occurs to me that not everyone really feels that way. It occurs to me that a lot of us may be singing one song with our lips and something entirely different with our hearts. It occurs to me that all we ever do in our music is celebrate the joy we are supposed to be feeling, when in fact what most of us feel is not joy, but rather pain. We feel hurt and broken and alone and scared. What are we scared of? Mostly we’re scared that people will see us for who we really are, or worse, we fear that who we really are now is who we’ll always be. We fear what people might say, or how they’ll treat us if we tell them about our wounds, our pain, our loneliness.

How tragic! Tragic that we feel that way, and even more tragic that we are incapable of sharing it with anyone. And if that is true, then it is not only tragic, but terrible as well. Terrible because that is not the way our faith is supposed to work. That is not worship the way God intended it to be! If that’s the best that Christ has to offer, then you can keep Him. I don’t need a God who won’t let me be real, genuine, authentic. I don’t want that kind of God. Seriously. And while we’re on the topic, I’m not real excited about being part of a church that would bind me that way either. If all we’re ever going to do is tell each other how ‘fine’ we are, then what’s the point of asking in the first place? Why be a hypocrite?

And since we’re being real with one another now, let me add that every time we cringe when someone finally has the courage to give a real answer to the, “How are you?” question, we ought to get zapped with one of those electric dog collars that people put on their pooches to keep them from barking, or maybe a cattle prod. I mean, honestly, how deluded do you need to be to expect someone to answer, “Oh, I’m fine.”? We’re not fine!

If we were fine, we wouldn’t need Jesus so badly. But we routinely reduce the Creator of the universe to an insurance policy. We tuck Him into a neat little box that says “God” on the front of it and we slide it onto the shelf in our hearts between “Fishing” and “Ham Sandwiches.” And the only time we pull Him out is when it’s socially acceptable; on Sundays, or Easter, or when we know someone else is watching. HYPOCRISY!!!

We’re not fine. We’re struggling. We’re hurting. We’re desperate, because we’re lost. Naysayers have said that religion is a crutch. And that may be true. But I don’t need a crutch. My problem isn’t that I’m limping through life, it’s much worse than that. Jesus to me is not as much a crutch as He is an iron lung; without Him I wouldn’t just limp, I’d die. Instead, I run. In spite of my pain, in spite of my hurts, in spite of the wounds accumulated over thirty-five years of broken hopes and dreams and promises and relationships, I RUN. I live. I live well, in fact, but let’s not pretend that I’m fine. I’m not fine, I’m like everyone else. The only difference is Jesus.

Easter 2006

Our home church, Forest Park Baptist Church, does a passion play every year at Easter. Its very good. I mean, seriously, good. And, as I watched Jesus getting nailed to the cross tonight, it occurred to me that I don't really ever care to see that again. It hurts. Emotionally, it is painful and inflammatory. As I watched it I was overwhelmed with the thought, not that He suffered that for me, but that I am not worthy of His sacrifice. So I prayed. I prayed that next time, I get the cross. The idea that I might be the recipient of that amazing grace is just so powerfully overwhelming that I can't imagine standing there and not screaming out, "TAKE ME INSTEAD!" The whole thing seems silly now, but the truth is that I love Jesus, and if it took my death on the cross to keep Him off the cross, I think I'd do it. I know, I know. It doesn't actually work that way, but you get the point. I'm not worthy. None of us are. And yet He came and suffered and died on our behalf. Holy Lord, that's AMAZING! Too amazing to accept, almost. Almost, but not quite. So I'll take the offer of free salvation, and I'll rejoice that I get to live in heaven forever, and I'll give every day of my life in ransom to the Master who bought my freedom. I am a slave to righteousness, slave to Jesus Christ, and praise God for that.

Fast Freedom is perhaps the suckiest ISP in the world. I can't tell you how much time I've wasted trying to use the 'net and getting jacked up by their inferior and infuriatingly sloppy, crappy, pathetic service. About two-thirds of the time I get a 'cannot find server' message. In fact, if you are reading this, its a miracle. I had an entirely different blog all typed up, but you're stuck with this dross instead since Fast Freedom flubbed up again. Sorry. Anyway, the second paragraph here is the tail end of what I had previously planned to post...

Sometimes this year I've felt like a mad scientist flipping a switch over some hacked together cadaver on a stormy night, and now I want to shout, "It's alive!" And truly, the BSU here at Missouri Southern came to life this year. Now as we prepare to take our first faltering steps into a future I hope is as bright as the Son we serve, we have been charged and challenged to apply ourselves to God's work with an abandon that I pray will lead to a greater revelation of God's glory on our campus and in our lives.

The Rules of SPEW

Just returned from our 'Spring Retreat.' Had about 30 students come and listen to John Kelsey from the University of Oklahoma BSU talk about discipleship, leadership and missions. We also played the first ever SPEW Tournament. SPEW (Sumo Pantyhose Egg Wrestling) is a sport I invented myself in a desperate attempt to think of something crazy fun for the students to do this weekend. Although it bears many similarities to previous incarnations of pantyhose sumo action, I believe it is original to the Missouri Southern BSU. By all reports our effort was a monumental success.

The Rules of SPEW:

1. Each combatant must 'pad up' on both back and front, thus making it difficult to break an egg on the torso and creating a true SPEW challenge.
2. Each combatant will place a whole, uncracked and unboiled, egg in the toe of a thigh-high pantyhose.
3. Each combatant will 'armor up' by placing the pantyhose over the whole of their head.
4. The combatants square off in an arena defined by mutual agreement. (Having definite borders, a la sumo, forces combatants to engage in meaningful combat.)
5. The referee will ask both combatants if the are ready to SPEW, and begins the match.
6. During the match the use of the hand to commence the swinging of the egg is acceptable, but use of the arms is otherwise prohibited. Should a combatant use their hands or arms to guide their egg into their opponent, such a move will be ruled a foul and the match will be halted and begun anew.
7. The victor is determined when the first egg breaks. If it is broken on the opponent, this is victory. If it is broken in any other way, (i.e., it cracks on the floor, or the referee, or their own body, et cet.) the combatant is disqualified and the opponent is the victor.
8. Although sparring is encouraged, no official SPEW match shall take place apart from the present of a third party referee.
9. SPEW recognizes no inherent advantage in either sex, therefore there shall be no provision made for male-only or female-only tournaments. Although such tournaments may occur, coed SPEW is acceptable and encouraged.

As for our first tournament, Clayton 'Crusher' Carnahan defeated Jordan Wendland for the championship. There were 16 entries, the first round was a best-of-3 match, and the final was over in seconds when Clayton abolutely CRUSHED his egg on the side of Jordan's head. It may have been the hardest hit of the night. Ironically, Clayton and Jordan are roommates in the MoSo dorms. So, pull on your pantyhose and fight like a man!!!

Missions

I've been on more mission trips than I can easily keep track of, and all were great. Now, however, I am questioning what God may be calling to do to. As a campus minister, I have a pretty high 'Freak Tolerance,' meaning that it takes a lot to freak me out when it comes to mission work. But what I am praying about now is definitely tripping my warning systems. Will I 'freak out' for Jesus? Am I being called to something more than I would otherwise dare myself to do? Time will tell. In the meantime, I can't say more.

The Daily Grind

This just might have been the single most stressful week of my professional life. The Baptist Student Union sent three teams of students (24 people) to various parts of the country on Spring Break mission trips. The teams went to Roxborough, Colorado, Arlinton, Texas, and New Orleans, Louisiana. They will be church planting, working with underprivileged children and assisting FEMA with disaster relief efforts. Getting those trips together was brutal. By my count it was a 63 hour week, not counting the on-call hours I now have as I wait for the teams to return. That might be okay if you're a lawyer trying to make partner, but not for me. I need a vacation!

Seriously though, one of the most difficult tasks I have in life right now is trying to stike that delicate balance between family and work. It is the Gordian Knot of the young family professional, the struggle all 30-somethings with kids have to face daily. On the one hand, I'd like to just stay home every day and raise my kids right. Being a good father is VITAL to me. As one man put it, "The most important thing most Christians will ever do is raise their children properly." I take those words as truth. They may not be written in the Bible, but they are certainly implied in scripture...

On the other hand, as a minister, is there anything more important than changing lives for Jesus Christ? Can I do anything more rewarding, more satisfying, more significant- in this life, or the next- than do everything in my power to change heaven and earth one soul at a time? I love me job, and I love my family, and at this stage of life, I cannot hardly do justice to both. They are both valuable, both worthy of my time, both demanding and fulfilling, yet there is only one of me.

What's a man to do?

Age, I guess.

Devo VI

"I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the place of slavery." Exodus 20:2

DEVOTION:
If God spoke to you today would he need to remind you of all the things He's done for you? Statistics show that most Americans can't name more than 2 of the 10 commandments! How many can you name? When was the last time you read them? In this preface to the 10 commandments, God found it necessary to not only state his name, but to give the Israelites a quick 'perspective check,' Before giving them further instruction, He clarified his recent accomplishments for the people of Israel. I find that fascinating. After only a few years God had to remind Israel of the slavery they endured and the source of their freedom. I'd say that's pretty pathetic, but then again, I myself occasionally need reminded of where I'd be without Christ in my life. Although He freed me from slavery to sin and gave me hope for a new and abundant life, I sometimes need a 'perspective check' myself.

Baseball & Barry Bonds 2

And another thing, while you're out there on the steroid witch hunt, you'd better be ready to go all the way. You'd better be ready to investigate every one of the runs Barry scored off the bat of some other potentially juiced athlete, and to investigate those players whose stats were artificially inflated because a juiced Bonds hit them in. After all, their runs shouldn't count as much either. And, oh yeah, you'd better be ready to come up with a really good explanation of how Barry's alleged steroid use contributed to his patience as a hitter, how his ALL-TIME CAREER LEADER IN WALKS status was also chemically enhanced. Yes, I want an explanation as to how steroids helped him NOT swing, and how steroids helped him to take all those bad pitches.

I mean, seriously, you can't leave him out of the HOF based on hearsay, that would be stupid, and HOF voters aren't supposed to be stupid (although, there are times...) And if you're going to challenge the legitimacy of his stats, you'd dang well be ready to deal with the implications of that challenge. So, again, shut up and vote him in. Steroids or not, he's the greatest offensive force in the history of the game. Leaving him out of the Hall without physical evidence would be a travesty, a miscarriage of justice, and just plain un-American.

Baseball & Barry Bonds

Barry Bonds is a first ballot Hall of Famer, period. I want to state that opinion up front in the off chance that Barry happens to read this blog in between jacking balls 475 feet. I got your back, dude. Now how about an autographed bat? Please?

Seriously though, in the midst of all the accusations flying around about The Man, I'd like to hear just one that is worthy of jerking his HOF ticket. I KNOW you're not dumb enough to try the steroid angle. I mean, the guy has never (that's right NEVER) popped a positive in his career. And even if he does pop positive, that doesn't negate any of his seven (that's right SEVEN) MVP years, just his current performance.

Why not? Good question. First, because the ball itself is juiced. Tests have proven that the average baseball used by MLB started getting harder in the late 80's. Thus, more homeruns. And no one gets banned from baseball. Second, the parks are juiced. The current rage for band box stadiums began in the late nineties, and guess what? Small park = More homeruns. And no one gets banned from baseball. Third, the pitches are juiced. If, as the scions of this Salemesque venture are so quick to point out, steroids are uniquitous in baseball, then a significant number of the pitches that hitters see are chemically enhanced. Faster pitches travel farther when hit. Thus, more home-runs. And yet I don't see any rush to analyze the career stats of hitters who jacked one off of juiced pitchers? Hmm... Fifth, expansion of the game. The addition of the Rockies (whose altitude presents another potential asterisk for stat freaks), the Marlins, the Devil Rays, and the Diamondbacks diluted the quality of pitching more than hitting, thus producing what? Duh, more homeruns. Although it was expected that pitching would eventually catch up with hitting, it never really happened. The homerun totals just kept rising and rising and rising.

And to you naysayers who still don't believe in Bonds, let me ask you, if a juiced batter hits one out off a juiced pitcher, are they still playing baseball? Is it still a home run? Should that home run count less? The fact is that players take steroids in order to gain an advantage on their opponents, but their opponents have equal access to steroids. Illegal, yes, but FAIR. And fairness is what the competition committee is really concerned about.

Regardless of the safety factors involved in taking steroids (and we all know that its a Stupid thing to do), what MLB is concerned about, ultimately, is the integrity of the game. Do steroids threaten that integrity? Not really. If the United States government would legalize them, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Steroid use is a legal issue, not a baseball issue. Barry is right. So, shut up and vote him in... He's earned it.

Blood Drive

So yesterday we held a blood drive here at the Baptist Student Center. Working with the American Red Cross, over the course of 7 hours we managed to collect 32 pints of Dracula's favorite drink. We also had at least 7 people attempt to give, but get denied for one reason or another, mostly anemia. Ladies, please, eat your vitamins!

Anyway, I was the first donor of the day, and I have to tell you that no matter how many times I donate I will always detest doing it. From the annoyingly painful finger prick to the iodine bath of your elbow to the sight of your life flowing through a tube across your arm into a little bag, I HATE GIVING BLOOD. The problem is that I'm not sure how to out from under the moral obligation to donate. I mean, each donation has the potential to save three lives. Three. Lives. That's three people that might die without the help of people willing to open a vein for them. If you knew you could save someone's life, but didn't do it, not because you have a disease, or low iron or a fear of needles, but just because you don'e like giving blood, would that make you a pathetic weasel, or worse, a sinner? Having the ability and opportunity to give a renewable resource, something that cost you no more than a prick of the needle and fifteen minutes of your life, to someone who would otherwise die, and failing to give that gift... It smacks of cowardice, and fear and pathetic weaseliness to me. It smells like ducking a moral obligation, which the Bible calls 'SIN'.

I don't know. Clearly, there are holes in the argument, but the fact remains that my gift might save a life or three. And if Jesus was willing to bleed for me on the cross, in a much more painful and humiliaing context, shouldn't I be willing to suffer a pinch for others? He bled for me, how could I dare not bleed for others. My life is not my own.

"You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body." (1 Corinthians 6:19b) Is there anything more glorifying than giving of my life for the sake of others? Hmm... guess I'm stuck with it.

Devo V

"Then the word of the Lord came to him, and He said to him, 'What are you doing here, Elijah?'" 1 Kings 19:9b

DEVOTION: Read 1 Kings 18:16-19:18

After facing down 450 enemy prophets, Elijah was totally cowed by one evil woman (Jezebel). Okay, so Jezebel was one of the worst villains in all of scripture, she was still no match for God. But Elijah forgot God. After his amazing display of faith on Mount Carmel, he ran, he hid, and God called him on it. What are you doing here? Can you imagine how awful it was for the great man of God to hear that question on the heels of such a great victory. Has God asked you the same question recently? I'm sure a lot of us have heard it. What am I doing in this bar, this party, this bedroom, this chat-room? Why am I doing what I know I shouldn't do? Wow. It can be crippling if you aren't careful. But take heart, Elijah was forgiven, and so are we. Take heart, the Apostle Paul struggled with the same issue (Romans 7:14-21). Take heart, you didn't earn salvation in the first place. God gave it to you knowing full well the struggles you would have on the journey of life. Take heart, He loved you then, He loves you now.

My friend Schnitz

My friend, Ryan Schnitzer, has his own blog now. And it's actually much cooler than my own, so check it out.

Order of Servoce

It may be exceedingly trivial, but I've decided to include the Order of Service from the church services in which I participate. If there is a discrepancy between the OS given here and that listed in various church bulletins it is because I have modified this listing to reflect what actually happened, not what was planned. Here's yesterday's services.

First Baptist Church, Duenweg, MO. (AM Service)

Prelude
Sunday School Report
Welcome & Announcements
Hymn: O Worship the King (#16 in The Baptist Hymnal)
Invocation & Scripture
Hymn: Heavenly Sunlight (#424 in The Baptist Hymnal)
Hymn: Speak to My Heart (#281 in The Baptist Hymnal)
Worship with Tithes & Offerings
Special Music: Eddie & Glenda Smith
Children's Church: Penny March
Message: Jon Smith
Invitation
Benediction

First Baptist Church, Duenweg, MO. (PM Service)
Prelude
Opening Hymn: He Keeps Me Singing (#425 in The Baptist Hymnal)
Hymn: Heavenly Sunlight (#424 in The Baptist Hymnal)
Hymn: Make Me a Channel of Blessing (#564 in The Baptist Hymnal)
Message: Jon Smith
Benediction

Winter Olympics XX (Part 12)

Okay, the fever is breaking. For now, but like malaria, I'm sure it will return in two more years. I'm a junkie, that's when I get my next fix. Mmm... Beijing 2008... Who would think that I'd ever want to go to China? I mean, no offense to the Chinese, who seem to be wonderful people, but I just have never had any desire whatsoever to visit there. Maybe its because I don't like large cities, and I know that China is full of them. Maybe its because I like places where I have a reasonable chance of understanding the language. I don't know, but whatever the reason, the Olympics trump all. Period.

Tonight is the closing ceremony. I won't watch. I can't stand the idea of the games coming to an end. How bad am I? I am actually looking foreward to the men's 50k Cross-Country race this afternoon.

And, by the way, "Apolo Anton Ohno rox my face off." That's what one of our students (Noelle Ott) wrote on the rear window of my 4-Runner last week, and although it was funny at the time, its true now. Ohno understands the spirit of the games, and truly was a good teammate. His comments after the men's 500m short-track speed skate and the 5000m relay were entirely team oriented. It was beautiful. He made clear that to him any medal counts and to win with a team was truly special (actually, the team got bronze, but that's beside the point.) If I had to single out an athlete to represent American ideals, Ohno would be the one. I'm sure there are others who could do as well, but Ohno did a great job. He was gracious in victory, selfless in competition, and supportive of the team. Great job.

Citius, altius, fortius.

Winter Olympics XX (Part 11)

Alright, couple of things here. First, I can’t wait for Vancouver 2010! I can see now in my mind’s eye three American women on the podium in women’s figure skating. With our ladies going 2, 6 & 7 last night, and given that they are all young enough to say that they haven’t peaked yet, why shouldn’t we sweep the medals in four years? Mandi and I are already making plans to attend.

Second, what are we to think about Shani Davis? I just saw him in an interview this morning on the Today Show on NBC and I have to admit that he said all the right things. He talked about camaraderie and ‘team’ and excused his brusque attitude toward the media with an explanation of how much he wanted to celebrate with his family first. There were no pot shots at At Chad Hedrick (who is not exactly a pillar of purity in this whole affair). Gone were the insults and attitude. He looked like a kid with a new toy, holding his medals in his lap, and even brought out 'Flat Stanley' for some children who had rooted for him. He was almost normal in repose.

Is it possible that we have simply misunderstood him all this time? Could it be that the street-kid from Chicago was just acting different than the thousands of other athletes at the game because he’s just a hood at heart? Is it okay to be a hood at heart? Ultimately, I think the answer to these questions must be no. I think that in spite of one good interview, he’s still ultimately a selfish, me-first, prima donna, who is maybe a little misunderstood, certainly committed to family, but completely ignorant of what it mean to be a team player and how important it is to set aside personal glory for team gold.

And while I’m ranting about team gold, would everybody just shut up about the whole “First-African-American-to-Win-Individual-Gold” thing. Hi, my name is Vonetta Flowers. I won a GOLD MEDAL in two-man bobsleigh in Salt Lake City. Remember me? Personally, I think that drawing attention to race in the Olympics ought to be illegal. Who gives a flying pooh whether Shani Davis is black, white, or pink with blue polka-dots?!!! Dude, get over it already. He’s an AMERICAN, and the last time I checked, ‘all men were created equal.’ So rather than celebrate his race, which only serves to further drive a wedge in between the plethora of races in America, why don’t we just LET IT GO?! He’s an Olympic gold medalist. Honor that. Honor the fact that he, like every other athlete at the games, worked his tail off to get there. Why is the color of his tail an issue? Its pathetic, really.

And kudos to Shani for not being an a-double-squiggle about THAT whole thing. He might be the only one with a mic in the cita di Turin who hasn’t made a big deal about the fact. Maybe he understands, like most thinking people do, that his accomplishment was never about race. He wasn’t racing for black America, but for himself. He wasn’t trying to become the next Jackie Robinson, he just wanted to win Olympic gold, and he did. If you want a black hero Olympic hero, call on Vonetta. She was the real trailblazer. Just don’t expect her to be sitting next to the phone when you do call, because she too understands that the Olympics aren’t about race, but about all of humanity united in sport. "The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well." (Olympic creed)

Citius, altius, fortius.

Devo IV

"We know that all things work together for the good of those who love God: those who are called according to His purpose." Romans 8:28

I love that verse. It reminds me that regardless of my circumstances, God has a purpose for me. I don't always understand why things happen, I'm just glad that no matter what happens, in God's mind, it will all work out well in the end. I don't have to understand, I just need to trust. Isn't it comforting to know that regardless of the way things seem to us, God is ultimately in control?

Winter Olympics XX (Part 10)

Did anyone see the post-race press conference for the men's 1500m speed skate? I hope not. The Americans acted more like a pack of wolves than a team. Shani Davis, you are the reason people have stereotypes about black men. Sorry, but your attitude is simply ridiculous. Yes, your teammates are to share in the blame, but dude, you have GOT to grow up. Right now you look selfish, petty and dumb (as in unintelligent). If that's the way you want to be remembered, congrats, you made it. Otherwise, you need to check yourself in a major way.

Winter Olympics XX (Part 9)

So, I was thinking yesterday about the men's team pursuit in long-track speed skating, (you know, the event that Shani Davis was too selfish to skate in), and I'm thinking, here's a 'sport' where each 'team' just sends out their three 'best' skaters and whoever has the slowest guy loses. Now, here's my question: Why send out the first two guys? I mean, each team pretty much already knows who's number 1, 2, and 3 anyway, so why send 1 & 2 at all? Why don't they just get together, say, "Hey our slowest guy is faster than your slowest guy," then just put the slow guys on the ice and let them duke it out head-to-head? It could be like slug racing, olympic style! Seriously, has any winter olympic sport ever celebrated mediocrity more directly? Yes, yes, I know, relays all have weak legs, but team pursuit isn't a relay, its everyone on the ice at the same time. So, again, why bother with 1 & 2? Why not just slide your weak link out there and be done? Of course, then it wouldn't be a 'team' sport, but it isn't anyway, as Shani has so clearly pointed out. Really, team pursuit is about whose dog has the least fleas, so why put the good guys on the ice in the first place? If you want a team sport, do a relay. It works for everyone else.

Now that my daily rant is over, and I do apologize to my loyal reader (I can't imagine there's more than one) for ranting and raving so much about the ugliness of the American team, but they do deserve it, I want to take a moment to point out that this has been our most successful games not on American soil, and may very well end up as our most successful winter games ever. In spite of their blundering stupidity, thundering boorishness, blatant selfishness and cocky attitudes, this 'team' is getting good results. A disappointing bronze in women's hocky is still medal. Silver in ice dancing, (our first medal there in 30 years!) is still a medal, even if one must stretch the definition of 'sport' to recognize it. Seven golds is our best haul ever and that number will probably go up. So, although they may not represent the best of American values, they are certainly world-class athletes. And for that, we should be proud.

Finally, ice dancing. What a drama! First there's the Italian tiff: watching their number one team (Barbara Fusar-Poli and Maurizio Margaglio) literally give each other the cold shoulder even as they skated onto the ice was awesome. You didn't know if she was going to bite his leg, or if he was going to drop her from a hold or what, but the suspense was wonderful. And to see them make up at the end was equally good. They skated well, finished in who-cares place, but made up at the end of their program. After they fell in the second portion of the even they went into a 24-hour standoff where they wouldn't even acknowledge one another's presence backstage, but they kissed and cried when the music faded out. How touching. Truly olympic.

Then there was the Ukrainian team that skated to Bolero. Sacrilege. Bolero ought to be forbidden, retired, from olympic competition. It belongs forever to Torvill and Dean.

Winter Olympics XX (Part 8)

You know you are an Olympic Junkie when you stay up late watching ice dancing, which, as near as I can tell, is pairs figure skating without all the athleticism. It reminds me of the flag team in high school, where all the cheerleading washouts wound up. (Apologies to those who are offended, but that's the way it was at my high school.) The dancers have all the footwork, but none of the jumping or overhead lifts. What they lack in athletic ability however, they make up for with sex appeal, and isn't that what makes an Olympic sport? (Can you sense the sarcasm?)

Anyway, I found tonight's competition rather interesting. Basically, it was foreplay on ice, which the American team of Tanith Belbin and Ben Agosto excelled at. I really hope they're married, for decency's sake. Seriously though, short of falling, the only way I can tell one program from another is by the color of the costumes. The subtleties are entirely lost on me.

Meanwhile, the rest of Team U.S.A. (Ha!) continues to pull down medals at a rate slightly faster than molasses in January, but just barely. I down't mean that to sound negative, but these guys were hyped like crazy, and they just aren't delivering.

Winter Olympics XX (Part 7)

SO, I just watched Shani Davis win the gold medal in the men's 1000m speed skate... and I am more convinced than ever that 'Team U.S.A.' is a misnomer that should never again be used to descibe this collection of American athletes. Yes, there are great team athletes out there (i.e., Ted Ligety), but there is also Shani Davis. What a jerk! He refused to skate the team pursuit, then he refused all media interviews (which normally isn't such a bad thing, but here only magnified the fact that he's an idiot), then he pretty much blew off the post-race interview. He did say in one of his last interviews before he cost us a chance to medal in the pursuit, "I could care less what other people say about me. I didn't come here to skate the team pursuit." Apparently he didn't come to represent his country either, although he might be said to resent it. His disdain is just too much. Could we maybe pull his citizenship or something? Seriously, I'm 35, and I've never seen such atrocious behavior in an athlete at the olympics. (Tanya Harding was close, but her biggest gaff- having her rival whacked in the knee- happened before the Olypics.) Even the NBC commentators said that to call the speed skaters a team would be a mistake. Did I mention the backbiting going on in among the ski jumpers? Yeah, they got into it to. Or was it the cross-country guys. Either way, pathetic. Maybe I'll immigrate to Norway or something. They have better sweaters anyway.

Winter Olympics XX (Part 6)

So, Lindsey Jacobellis. Wow. I'm almost ashamed to be an American. Seriously. I mean, does anyone ever address Team USA and tell them that they are at the Olympics to represent their country, not themselves? First Bode, then Shani (Davis- the jerk who wouldn't skate the team events in men's speed skating for fear of hindering his individual chances), now Lindsey 'Me First' Jacobellis. Pulling a stunt in the middle of a race?! Lins, ARE YOU STONED, OR JUST STUPID???!!! Pu-leese, somebody, anybody, kick these idiots upside the head and remind them that they represent 300 million people, not just themselves. These acts of infinite hubris are embarrassing, really. If you're going to go out there and act like a punk-a-double-squiggle, do it on your own time, in your own clothes, and preferably out of sight of the world media! Do NOT do it while claiming to represent the United States of America. Knuckleheads! Man, what have we got to do to get people to understand that competing at the Olympics are a privilege, not a right? It is to be taken seriously, not treated like a weekend getaway in the snow. To the rest of the ENTIRE WORLD, I apologize for the poor sportsmanship, stupidity and downright ugliness of Team U.S.A.

Winter Olympics XX (Part 5)

So, I hate to admit this, but as an Olympic Junkie I must: the U.S.A. is not nearly as impressive as they have been made out to be. And I am not referring to the fact that this year's team is over-hyped as the 'best ever,' or that we are projected to win the most medals of any U.S. team, but to the fact that without sports made recently popular by the U.S., we'd be a bunch of pathetic losers right now. Look back over the past four or five Winter Games at all the new sports that have been added and what you will find is that they are all sports dominated by U.S. teams, for the most part. Of course there are exceptions, but the snowboarding events, the moguls, aerials, women's hockey. Without these recently added bonuses, where would we be? Pathetic, that's where. Thank goodness we have enough clout to push such progressive sports into the media mainstream, I guess. So congratulations to our own Seth Wescott on winning the inaugural Snow Board Cross event, but isn't it sad that we have to resort to adding sports just so we can win? Can't we find SOME way to compete with everyone else in the traditional winter sports? Please!

Winter Olympics XX (Part 4)

My Olympic fever definitely spiked yesterday when Ted Ligety came out of nowhere to win the Nordic Combined. This junkie needed a fix and Ted hooked me up. Yeah!

Meanwhile, Bode Miller just doesn't have what it takes to be a true Olympic Hero. Sorry, Bode. He is the ultimate in egotism. He will only do what makes him happy, which is fine for an unemployed plumber, but not for an Olympic icon. The Olympics are the ultimate competition, only World Cup soccer even comes close, and you have to come ready to COMPETE. Bode's lacsadaisical me-first attitude just won't cut it. It may be popular with his fans, and its certainly a hit with his competitors, who love watching him self-destruct on the slope, but it won't make you an Olympic champion. 'Citius, altius, fortius' isn't a suggestion, its a command, and those who disobey wind up last. Yesterday, Miller DQ'd. Need I say more.

And, of course, there's Evgeny Plushenko. Why are the Russians so good? He didn't just dominate the field in the men's short program, he made everyone else look like they were skating in sand. Again, I'm not a fan of the Russians, but WOW! You have to root for perfection like that.

Winter Olympics XX (Part 3)

Never in my life have I rooted for a Russian to win at anything. But the Olympics (ahh, the olympics) can change a man, and especially a junkie like me. Last night Tatyana Totmiyanina and Maxim Maranin won Russia's 11th straight gold medal in Pairs Figure Skating, and they deserved it. They were flawless in the short program, and nearly so in the free skate.

So why did I root for this team? Two reasons. One, they were so beautiful in the short skate you HAD to pull for them in the long. I mean, really, they were head and shoulders above everyone else. And, two, the last time we saw these two was in 2002 at the Salt Lake City games; she was unconscious on the ice after he dropped her in the middle of an overhead lift. The fact that they could come back at all is truly OLYMPIC. To see her crumple and limp on the ice then and skating so perfectly now was the kind of inspirational story that deserves Gold.

Winter Olympics XX (Part 2)

Yes, the Olympics are going on as we speak, and deep in my heart there is a pain because I am not there to attend every event. I am an Olympic junkie. If I could watch evey minute of coverage on all the networks, I would. I would have to quit my job, but its almost worth it.

How bad is my O-fever? There are times in my life when I fervently wish I'd been born on some obscure South Pacific island nation so I could found a Luge or Skeleton Federation and attend 7 or 8 Olympiads as an athlete. Aahhhh... Olympics... Beautiful...

If I was wealthy enough I could retire and train tirelessly to be on the curling team. Yes, curling. It may not be glamourous, but you stay in the village and compete 'til you die of old age. I wouldn't need a medal, just the opportunity to compete, to hang out in that environment and meet all those people. It would be amazing.

Alas, I am now too old and poor and American to be an Olympic athlete, but I can still dream. Maybe one day I'll get to at least go as a fan. There is, perhaps, solace in that.

Winter Olympics XX

Last night Mandi and I watched the opening ceremonies of the twentieth Winter Olympiad being held in Torino, Italy. Over the next two weeks I will spend an inordinate amount of time watching television at all hours of the day and griping about the fact that there is a channel somewhere on cable showing some obscure olympic event that I really want to see but can't. I LOVE THE OLYMPICS!!! Particularly the winter games. I am an olympic junkie. Unashamed and greedy for more... It is a life ambition of mine to actually attend one sometime before I die. Maybe Vancouver 2010? Ahh, just the thought of it sooths my olympically tortured soul.

Devotional III

Ephesians 5:3
“But sexual immorality and all impurity or covetousness must not even be named among you, as is proper among the saints.”

Have you ever wondered why sexual purity is such a big deal with God? I mean, if the only answer we can give as to why we think sexual activity should be saved for marriage is that “God said so,” isn’t that a cop out? Seriously. I know that when I tell my kids they should or shouldn’t do something, “Because I Said So!” I feel like a fraud. If they don’t understand why I give them instructions, they ultimately miss the point.

What makes this verse different though is that it does tell us why. Why should we keep our cool before we’re married? Because we’re saints. And being a saint means keeping true to our nature, not our old sinful nature, but our new nature, the one we received when we accepted Jesus as our Lord, our master. Being a saint isn’t something you do or don’t do, it’s who you are! In Christ, you are pure, clean, righteous, holy, ROYALTY even! Sexual immorality? You’re better than that. Impurity? That’s behind you, beneath you. In Christ, you are pure, a child of the King. It’s who you are. Remember that, always.

Anna's Salvation

Today the angels rejoice, and so do I. Tonight, Saturday, February 4, 2006, at 9PM our youngest daughter, Anna, just prayed to receive Christ. I think what encourages me the most is knowing that we didn't ask her first if it was something she wanted to do, but rather she approached us and said that she wanted to have God in her heart. So, her mother and I sat down with her, explained the gospel to her, then asked her if she still wanted Jesus in her heart. When she said yes, we all held hands and I led her in a prayer of salvation. Time will reveal the power of her conviction, but tonight my heart is swollen with joy. It has been the prayer of Mandi and I since before any of our children were born that they would dedicate themselves to the Lord.

Two down, one to go.

Alyssa, our eldest, also asked Jesus into her heart at the age of four. Now six, she is still strong in her faith. It is such a blessing to me and her mother to know that she is still interested in the Lord. I pray even now that these two would persevere to the end, hold firm to the faith that is theirs in Christ Jesus, and lead the world to change for the glory of God. Amen.

A sacrifice of dignity

So, yesterday I had one of those low moments in life when you're really glad that at least your parents didn't see it. In accordance with the Jar Wars contest rules, I ran the Oval at MSSU three times in three hours. Of course, students being students, they called all of the local television and print media, most of which was on hand for the event. Wonderful. Anyway, joplindaily.com was one of those outlets on hand and here's their take on the story. (I can't believe I made the news this way. What would my High School guidance counselor have to say...) The story is by Kaylea Hutson and ran under the banner "BSU Director accepts students' challenge."

NOTE: The picture also ran on joplindaily.com's Sunday print edition, taking up nearly a quarter of the front page. Front page on Super Bowl Sunday? Why me?

It's not everyday students at Missouri Southern can watch as a grown man runs around the campus oval wearing only a pair of red shorts and a red cape. But three times on Friday morning, students watched as Jon Smith, the director of the Baptist Student Union, did just that.Smith painted his chest
green and gold, donned the cape and shorts, and then ran around the oval to the encouragement of students.

It was all because BSU students raised more than $500 for the organizations' mission fund. Last fall, Smith challenged the students to collect at least $500 through a "guys vs. girls" pocket change drive. If the drive was a success, Smith promised to do something embarrassing of the students choosing. After students collected $700 in change, and an additional $1,300 from other sources, Smith accepted his fate. He would, as he put it, "sacrifice his dignity" and run around the campus oval, all because his students met their goal of raising money for missions.

Mandi Smith was on hand to watch as her husband completed his challenge. "I think it's great," she said. "It's goofy, but it shows integrity. He's keeping his word to the students. Students need to see role models, even though it's goofy."

After the run, Smith said he was thankful that it was an unseasonably warm February day. "I'm eternally grateful it's close to 50 degrees," he said, with a grin.

In addition to his wife and students, Smith's children were part of his cheering section. Six-year-old Alyssa said she was proud of her dad. "I think it's cool, because he's running around campus," she said.

Approximately 30 students will travel to three different sites during spring break. One group will help plant a church in Denver, Colo. A second group will journey to Arlington, Texas, to work with children, while a third group will conduct disaster relief efforts in New Orleans, La. Approximately 100 students took part in the fund-raising efforts during the fall semester. The girls beat the guys in the change drive by $2.

Letter to the Editor: Roe v. Wade rebuttal

As a point of interest, here is a rebuttal to the Letter to the Editor I wrote which the Eugene Regist-Guard so kindly published on January 21. Personally, I think it misses the point entirely. Here the author takes pains to point out that an abortion was unsuccessfully attempted illegally, so we should keep women safe by legalizing it. My point was that if abortion had been legal, it would also have been successful and thousands of people would today be poorer for it. The real losers of legalized abortion are not the mothers who kill their unborn children, but the lives those children would have otherwise impacted. Sorry, Eileen. By the way, who's looking after the safety of the children you think we should kill?

Abortion must remain legal

Jon Smith wrote a moving letter on Jan. 21.
He is the descendant of a woman who attempted to perform an abortion on herself in 1950. He is, understandably, glad to be alive and in favor of overturning Roe vs. Wade.

I also dislike the idea of abortion. However, it is important to note that in 1950, abortion was illegal and his grandmother tried to induce abortion herself. The attempt failed and she didn't die - two things Smith should be thankful for.

Think, though - the illegality of the action did not prevent her from
attempting an abortion. Indeed, abortion will happen whether legal or not. The best way to prevent abortion is to prevent unwanted pregnancies. This has never been a priority of the U.S. health care system, and there are a lot of unwanted pregnancies.

I prefer to keep women alive and healthy through legalized abortion, rather than irrevocably injured or dead by their own hands. And that's why, until we have a comprehensive sex education policy, with access to counseling and birth control as well as a society where women are truly granted the right to control their own participation in sex, abortion needs to remain legal, accessible and safe for women.

EILEEN NITTLER

Eugene

Blood is thicker

How many of you guys have a younger sister? You may relate well to this story… I have a little sister. She’s three years younger than I am. And we have never been close. I mean, if you got on dictionary.com and looked up ‘sibling rivalry’ you’d see our picture there on the website. As long as I can remember we tortured one another without mercy. And over the years we both scored several major victories; I remember one time, I shot her with my BB gun… Yeah, I paid for that one, believe me. But as much as we picked on one another, as much as I tormented her and as much as she annoyed me, like a thorn in my flesh, she was always my little sister. Mine to torment, and mine to protect.

Have you ever heard it said that big brothers always look out for their younger siblings? Well, let me just tell you that the reason you may have heard that is because it tends to be true. I could pick on my little sister, but you? You need permission.

Illustration: It’s my senior year in high school. My sister is a freshman, and as everyone know, freshmen in high school are at the bottom rung of the social ladder, but my sister, well she was low on the social totem pole even among her own classmates. She didn’t have many friends. And one day, I find out form my mother (because my sister and I were barely on speaking terms) that another girl, an older girl, tried to pick a fight with my sister in the girl’s bathroom, then threatened her when it was broken up by a teacher. Mom asked me to watch out for her for a couple of days.

Honestly, I didn’t know this girl who threatened my sister, but it didn’t matter who she was. What mattered was that she issued the threat. So I passed the information along to several of my friends, and asked them to watch for any signs of trouble. I put my friends on alert because a threat to her was an affront to me. And that’s the last I knew of the situation before the principle called me into his office.

Now, being in the principle’s office was nothing new to me. I was the Student Body President and the principle and I were quite chummy, really. Still, it was startling to see how serious he seemed that day when he called me out of class and asked me to sit down in his office. I could tell that something wasn’t right, but I had no idea what it might be. That’s when he told me to call off my posse. It turned out that although I didn’t know this girl bully who dared threaten my sister, one of my friends did. So, like a good friend will, he gathered the rest of our gang, found this poor unfortunate wannabe tough-girl, and called her out in front of the school security police. It was an impressive display of muscle, I was told; four senior football players threatening this one freshman girl with excessive violence.

It was one of my greatest moments, and I wasn’t even there to see it. Ironically, I was the only one called into the office over the incident. No one was ever hurt, and it might go down as just another amusing tale of family pride except for this one point: none of the guys that forced an end to the threat on my sister’s safety were family. In fact, none of them really had a relationship with my sister at all. They did what they did for me. They understood that in spite of all appearances I valued my little sister and that was enough for them. The reason I was called into the principle’s office that day is simple: I did what I had to do to protect my sister, and I’d do it again.

Years later my dad and I found out that she was being physically abused another in her seemingly endless string of loser boyfriends, and I remember distinctly sitting at the breakfast table with my father and planning the violence we would do to repay the favor. It wasn’t idle talk either. For several years I had to grapple with whether or not I would try to seriously injure, maim, kill, that individual. For literally years I would day-dream behind the wheel of my truck about what I would do if I ever saw that guy strolling across the street in front of me… Forgiveness came, but it took a long time to come.

In fact, I cannot imagine a touchier subject than my family. Nothing would tempt me more quickly to violence than anything happening to them. God forbid it ever does.

Letters to the Editor: Joplin Globe: Abortion

I will pretty much always post any Letter to the Editor I submit anywhere. So, here's another one I gave to the Joplin Globe:

Regarding the political cartoon you published in today's (Saturday, January 28) edition:

In all the years I have been reading newspapers I have never been so offended by
a political cartoon. The cartoon featured a pharmacist being hauled off for being 'fanatical' enough in his religious beliefs to not fill a prescription for an 'emergency contraception' pill... (As if conceiving a child somehow constitutes a medical emergency.)

Shame on you for purchasing it. Shame on you for printing it. Shame on you for helping promote such an ideologically naive and morally repugnant piece of tripe. The simple fact is that pharmacists have morals and abortion is a morally loaded issue. Recent advances in science have turned what was once, generally speaking, a morally neutral and arguably noble (helping people with critical medicinal needs is noble) profession into a minefield for those with strong convictions regarding the sanctity of human life.

Abortion and, increasingly, euthanasia are not topics that most pharmacists were forced to confront when they chose their profession. The implications of their actions were not in conflict with their moral values. That is changing with new advances in medicine, and belittling those who have the integrity to confront such issues as they arise is simply wrong. The only 'fanatics' that need removed from the Medicare system are the anti-intellectuals who would rather continue pell-mell through life without considering the implications of their actions, or giving regard to the people who will effected by their choices.

I advise you in the future to be more cautious about the material you choose to print, lest you prove guilty of such irresponsible behavior yourselves.

NOTE: The Joplin Globe saw fit to run this one on Super Bowl Sunday in the Opinion Page (4B). It was edited only to remove the insinuation that the ad was purchased, and included the caveat at the end. Thank you dear Globe.

Devotional II

Hebrews 12:1
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and the sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.”

Have you ever wondered why we have witnesses in the first place? I mean, if these people are in heaven, isn’t there anything better to watch? Possibly not. I mean, we’re speculating here, but it might be that there just isn’t anything better out there for the saints of God to observe. Think about it, they’re not watching over us because they enjoy looking at sin, or because they want to see us fall down, or because they want to judge us before we get heaven. They watch us because they want us to succeed. They understand what its like to live with Jesus, and they want the same for us. Jesus Himself said, “there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.” And I take from that that even in heaven there isn’t much that’s cooler to see than people whose lives are coming nearer to God…

Mercy

I remember a day, long ago, when I was about six years old. I had done something, committed some nameless sin, for probably the thousandth time, and it was the straw that broke the camel’s back, or more accurately, my mother’s. I honestly don’t remember what I did to push her over the edge that day, but push her over I did. In fact, I pushed her so hard that she gave me the dreaded “wait ‘til your father gets home” line.

What made that unusual was the fact that I lived in deep fear of my dad, or more to the point, his wrath. Don’t get me wrong, he never abused me or anything like that, but his spankings were legendary. Once, after being spanked for some other heinous six-year-old crime, I cried so hard that he spanked me again! SO, whenever mom threatened to tell dad anything I had done wrong I was pretty good about shaping up. This time however, I had gone too far.

I remember feeling desperate, queasy even, at the thought of dad being the bringer of justice. And I remember the sinking feeling I had when he opened the door to come in after work. And whatever hope I might have had for leniency on the part of my mother vanished almost instantly thereafter as she immediately launched into a diatribe against my rebellious spirit. I think in hindsight that dad too was shocked at the ferocity with which she laid out the argument for my necessary punishment.

So dad did the only thing he could, he called me over, and led me into the next room to receive my just desserts. Mom was still so mad that she stayed out. Not wanting to observe the proceedings, she was content to hear my cries for mercy and the impending screams of pain. Yes, I cried. Yes, I screamed. Yes, I did both before my pants were even down. (No way was this not going to be a bare-bottom spanking.) Then, my father did the most AMAZING thing. He let me go!

First, he made me pull down my pants. Then, he bent me over his right knee. Third, he told me, “Boy, you’d better make me look good…” Finally, he started slapping his left knee as loud as he could. Of course, I was so hysterical by the time that the actual slapping began that it took me several whacks to figure out what was going on, but once I did it was the most amazing feeling of joy I’d ever had. In all my long years of life I’d never been so happy. I had been shown mercy in a way that even a six year old could appreciate, and it changed me forever.

I write this story now at the age of thirty-five. It has been nearly thirty years since it actually happened. Honestly, I don’t recall much of my early childhood, but that memory is emblazoned in my mind such that I shan’t ever forget it. It is mercy, perfect and sweet. And it is my hope in sharing this tale that everyone would one day share a similar story, not of their father on earth sparing a spank one terrible afternoon, but of their Father in heaven sparing them Hell for all eternity.

Devotional I

2 Timothy 2:2
“And what you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses, entrust to faithful men who will be able to teach others also.”

You’ve probably seen this verse at the bottom of my e-mails. It is the theme of my life. In it there is a call to listen and a call to teach. It is the call of every Christian. We all have this duty to learn from God, which we do by listening, and to share, which we do by leading.

But how do we do these things, how do I hear God, and who can lead? Great questions, and, fortunately, not that difficult to answer. First, we hear God in His word. Among other ways, we can hear God by reading the Bible, listening to the teachings of those who have studied it, and actively participating in Bible studies. We can also hear God praying to Him, which is also our way of talking back. Second, anyone can lead. Of course, not everyone can lead anything, but you anyone can lead someone. It might be by helping teach a Sunday School class at church, or a Bible study at the BSU, or even just sharing your story with a friend, or something else entirely. The point is that it is intentional, not incidental. It is action, not accident. You are called to listen. Are you listening? You are called to lead. Are you leading? Those are the real questions you need to ask yourself.

Letters to the Editor: Roe v. Wade

Today is my birthday. I have officially made it halfway to 70 now. Having said that, I'd like to add that very nearly didn't make it this far. In fact, I very nearly didn't make it at all. In the following letter, submitted to several newspapers, I explain why:

At the tender age of fourteen a girl in Springfield, Oregon found herself pregnant. It was 1950. Alone and scared, the girl resorted to the only ‘choice’ she had; she attempted an abortion with a coat-hanger in the kitchen of her house. Her mother helped. The attempt failed and she was forced by circumstances to have the unwanted and illegitimate child…

There are those who hear that story and are thankful that we live in a country where abortion is now legal. They are grateful for the right to choose and look on those dark, pre-Roe days with disgust and pity. To them, Roe v. Wade is a blessing. There are, however, also those like myself, who disagree. I am the grandson of that little girl, the son of that failed attempt. Had Roe been in place in 1950, you would not be reading this letter now.

In retrospect, my grandmother turned out to be a pretty good mom, one who cared diligently for the baby girl she thought she didn’t want, and whose life she tried to end. Later that baby girl became my mother, and she has long been a respected member of the community, a pillar of her church and a tireless volunteer for multiple civic organizations. Her life has benefited hundreds, if not thousands of people. The fact that she was nearly killed before she was ever born is a tragedy, not a blessing. And that is why abortion, like murder, should be made illegal in America.

As we approach the anniversary of the Roe v. Wade decision yet again, I am reminded of how precarious life really is. A simple twist of fate would have ended my mother’s life, my life, and the lives of my three children, before any of us was given the choice to live. Roe is not merely a bad law, but a personal affront and an attack on life itself.

So wish me a happy birthday, and weep for the thousands who will this day die before they ever get the chance live.

NOTE: joplindaily.com saw fit to publish the letter on the Opinion page of their website on Saturday, January 14. It will only appear there for 2 weeks though, is my understanding. It was also submitted to the Eugene Register-Guard, which published it on January 21. The Joplin Globe declined to publish it altogether. C'est la vie.

My First Warning

Okay, so I wrote a nice long entry a few moments ago, but because Microsoft SUCKS, I lost it when I tried to use the spellcheck. For that I am frustrated and sorry. Bottom line, Microsoft SUCKS!, and I got a warning (not a ticket) for speeding yesterday. I am stoked about the warning, bummed about the lost entry, and tired. Good night.

Letters to the Editor: National Geographic

Not that it matters, but I did feel compelled to write a letter to the editor of National Geographic today after viewing their story "Hope in Hell" about humanitarian aid. Here's what I wrote:

The picture of the devastation at the Superdome was an impressive reminder of the suffering that took place three months ago in New Orleans. More recently, I stood at the same site for twenty minutes taking pictures with a team of twelve disaster relief volunteers from Missouri Southern State University on the Friday afternoon following Thanksgiving without seeing a single person or car drive by. We took a group photo next to an abandoned boat, the only vestige of the chaos that thrived there in the days following the disaster, then quietly left the eerie silence of what the 'Big Easy' has become. The sheer lack of any activity was a telling sign of the volume of relief work that remains. Working with the Southern Baptist Convention and the
Red Cross we prepared forty thousand meals for the broken lives that remain... It was a drop in the bucket the size of a city.

My New Travel Blog

My new travel blog is up. It isn't complete, but it does exist. Look for me to archive all my travel journal entries in the near future.

You can find it at Smithing Link 2.

Disaster Relief: Hurricane Katrina

So, I spent the last week on a Disaster Relief Mission to Algiers (New Orleans), Louisiana assisting the Missouri Baptist Convention and Red Cross's efforts to help southwest Louisiana dig out from Hurricane Katrina. My plan at this point is to just start a new blog with all of my mission journal entries for the past 13 years in it, but for now the thing I want to remember (since it isn't in my journal yet) is that I did, in fact, appear on the local Fox TV station and our group got mentioned on National Public Radio. Of course, NPR blew the coverage by refering to our group as "students from colleges around the country" or some such gaff, but ours was, in point of fact, the ONLY student group on site, so we KNOW that we were the people the reporter was talking about. I am especially disappointed since I specifically told her the name of our school. C'est la vie, I guess. Never trust the media...

A letter to my wife

Mandi,

If you've read this, you've read the letter I just wrote to the children. I don't have a bad feeling about the trip or anything like that, I just want to make sure that in the unlikely event that anything did ever happen, that they will know how much I live them.

You're letter will be shorter. Not because I love you less, quite the contrary, I expect more of our love! You are the greatest love in my life. You are the reason I want to get out of bed in the morning, (and get in bed at night... wink, wink, nudge nudge). Seriously though, I love you as much as I know how and I have since before we were married. It is a love that cannot be measured by anything more than time itself and if anything has happened to me then you will know forever that our love is eternal. You make my happy, bring me joy, cause my heart to sing. In the ocean of life, you are my Aitutaki, my Bora Bora. I only wish your life is always as fulfilling as you always made mine.

Love,
Jon

A Letter to My Children

Alyssa, Nate and Anna,

I wish I had time to write you each your own letter...

In less than 48 hours I will be on my way to New Orleans to help out with the disaster relief efforts there. Travelling with me will be 11 students and a van load of people I don't know. Our goal is to help the people who have been so throughly devastated by Hurricane Katrina that even now, more than 6 weeks after the disaster they still don't have utilities. Its a modest mission: feed people DR workers and people whose kitchens still don't work. We've done all we can to ensure a safe experience, but one never knows...

Ultimately, the morbid reason for this letter is to make sure that if anything happens while we are apart, you will know how much you all mean to me. You are amazing children, far ahead of your peers in many areas of life. I love you all. I am proud of you all. I see hope for a bright future in each of your eyes. You have each,since the day you were born, been a source of joy and happiness in my life. You are often the reason I smile to myself when no else is there to see it. You are the reason I come home from work early sometimes. You are a blessing to me that I do not deserve and cannot repay. You are kind and gentle, intelligent and compassionate. My sincere hope is that you continue to grow in those qualities.

Regardless of the strange, sometimes harsh, twists of fate that life brings, I want you all to know that I will always love you. Nothing can change that, ever. Nothing that happens, nothing you do or don't do has anything impact on my love for you. You are precious. Never forget that. You are loved. Never forget that. Always remember, you are mine.

And more than that, you are God's. You will probably soon forget the song you now enjoy, "I am a promise..." But I love hearing you sing it. Your lives are full of promise. Not because of me or any other material edge you may have, but because God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life. He loves you and want to have a relationship with you that will enable you to experience peace and hope and love and joy on a level that I could never provide. He loves you so much that He sent His son Jesus into the world to show you how to live and to be the payment for all the sin in your lives. And He says that you can have a relationship with Him if you just accept His Son into your life...

All you need to do to begin that relationship is accept Christ. Say, "God, I know I do wrong things. I can't stop myself and I know that hurts you, that justice requires me to pay you back for all the pain my wrongs, my sin has caused. And I'm asking you now to bring Jesus into my heart. Thank you for letting Him be the one ultimate payment for my sin. My life is yours, thank you for giving me life in Jesus your Son. Amen."

And its not so much the words of that prayer that count, but the attitude of your heart. Give yourself to Jesus, submit to His authority in life, and watch what God does with you. You'll be amazed. And I'll see you in heaven, my dearly loved ones.

Love,
Daddy

Poop stories

I know this is pretty gross, but 1) I am a guy, and 2) working in missions--collegiate ministry is a mission field--over the years has equipped me with some fascinating scatalogical narrative, which I find a use for at least once or twice a year (usually at a men's retreat or on a mission trip). So, here they are...

Chicken Mole
During my senior year in high school my church, Emerald Bible Fellowship, took the youth group to Mexico for Spring Break. It was a trip the church made every year, this one happened to be my second. For most of the week everything was normal. We went to a missionary compound and did various work projects all day, then hung out with locals at night. We also worked on building a church. The trouble began at the end of the trip...

To show their appreciation for all our hard work, a group of ladies who lived near the mission decided to make dinner for us and several other groups that were woking in the same area. The dinner was served just prior to our leaving the area. Our plan was to eat, load up the vans and head for Anaheim, CA, where we would sleep in before spending a day at Disneyland. That was our plan...

It was Friday night. Dinner was Chicken Mole. The only problem is that mole sauce has to be served immediately after it is made or it spoils, and you can't taste the difference between spoiled mole and unspoiled. The ladies slaved away all day preparing that meal and it was good. Mole is delicious. Then we loaded up the vans and headed North. I'm not sure how far we got over the border, but it wasn't long before the first rumblings of trouble began...

There were 120 people on the trip, travelling in 22 vans. Not long after dark one of the girls in the van I was in complained of a stomach ache (translation: diarhea). We were in the middle of nowhere and she was desperate, so we stopped the convoy so she could scamper out and do her business in a ditch beside the road. (I should mention that we were in a rural area, not on a freeway. There were open fields for miles in every direction at that point.) She was embarrassed, so it took a few minutes. By the time she returned, another person had complained and I knew that I was in trouble myself, although I hadn't mentioned it yet. Still, we needed to keep moving, so we sucked it up, got back on the road and kept driving.

A few minutes later the calls for relief were beginning to multiply with varying intensity. I was the third or fouth to complain, but within half an hour the radios we used to communicate between vehicles were filled with chatter of scatalogical significance. But we were still in the middle of nowhere and toilet paper was at a premium. A decision was made to take the next available exit that offered any kind of civilization. In the meantime, I scored roll of TP from one of the ladies driving our van, Echo Lowery. Echo was like a second mother to me and that night I'd have kissed her. Not every van even had a roll.

The only thing we could find within a reasonable (immediate) time was a church. I don't remember the name or denomination; it didn't matter. All that mattered was me getting out of the van and into nearby bushes. Before we had even rolled to a stop, the doors to many of the vehicles swung open and men, women, boys and girls scampered in the shrubbery in the lawn and flowerbeds around the church building. I was the first one out...

There was an island of shrubbery in the middle of the church lawn. It provided a good 360-degree screen for me as I dropped my pants, prayed not to hit my shoes and let out a monster of a hershey-squirt. (Pardon my French.) I was done in less than a minute. To my surprise, however, I couldn't get out of the bushes; I was completely surrounded by fellow students who had been desperate enough to park their pooh at the edge of the island. I handed off my roll of TP to one desperate soul who hadn't been able to secure anything to finish their business. I can't even remember now if it was a boy or a girl. Our need to "take care of business" overrode any reservations we might have had about pooping in front of the opposite sex. It was dark and we were truly desperate. I will never forget the image of a classmate being chased down the road, pants around his ankles, by a friend who was waving a dollar bill and yelling, "Wipe! Jamie, wipe!"

88 of the 120 in our group were sick that night. Many of them on the lawn of the church. By the time we were finished it looked like vandals had completely defiled the property. The second wave of poopers had to use open lawn, because the bushes weren't safe to walk in any more. It was a sight to behold.

Epilogue: A van of the sickest people was left at the nearest motel, the rest pushed on to Anaheim arriving at 6am. More than six hours off schedule. One girl left a Bible at the church, and was able to explain the situation to a custodian she met there when she went early the next morning to pick it up. The church was glad to be of service, and pleased that there was actually a reasonable explanation for why so many people would poop on their property on a Friday night...

Bolivia
So, back when the earth was young (Summer 1993) I went on a mission trip with Campus Crusade for Christ to Cochabamba, Bolivia. Now, normally when you go someplace where the water is suspect you just drink it bottled. But when you're in country for over 6 weeks, you make mistakes... EIther you brush your teeth to vigorously, or you eat fruit that's been washed, or you take ice in your coke, et cetera, et cetera. In my case it was probably all of the above, but who cares, since we all (there were 14 of us) in the same boat, er, bathroom, within a week. By the end of the second week our normal breakfast conversation centered on the consistency of our pooh, which was usually the color of black ink, had the viscosity of the water that had caused our sorrowful condition, and came out at Mach 1. Before we were done that summer, at least three people had pooped in their pants. I, fortunately, was not among them. However, I came as close as a man can come to pooping in his pants without actually doing it...

I remember sitting at a table about four weeks into our mission, sharing a coke with a Bolivian friend on the campus of La Universidad Mayor de San Simon, when the urge struck. And when I say 'urge', I mean URGE!!! I set my coke down, turned to an American friend named Judson who happened to be nearby and told him to lead me to the nearest restroom immediately. I knew I was in good hands with Judson because he was the first one of our party to poop his pants (perhaps 'oiled' himself' would be better, given the nature of our pooh) and had made a religious habit of knowing the exact proximity and vector of every restroom within half a mile thereafter.

Judson ran. I followed. When the restroom came into view across an open quad I sprinted. As I passed Judson I realized my one problem; TP. Public restrooms in Bolivia do not stock TP. If you go in without any, you won't find any inside. Normal protocol is to purchase TP from the little old ladies who habitually loiter just outside the public restrooms and sell TP on a stick. You don't buy the roll, just enough to get the job done.

Problem: I didn't have time to slow down for the TP lady. Solution: I threw my wallet over my shoulder and yelled at Judson to 'pay the lady' for me and bring in some TP. It was close, but I made it, and eventually Judson came through with the potty paper. What a relief...

Never Trust a Fart
I made Mandi swear she would never share this with anyone... On my honeymoon, sitting in a lounge chair at a resort on Rarotonga, talking with my new bride about who-knows-what, I actually uttered the phrase, "...I just pooped my pants." It wasn't huge, just a little hershey stripe, but it was definitely more than a fart. There, I've said it. I'm not proud of it, but it did happen. I blame the fish...

Beans, Beans, the Magical Fruit
When I was very young, perhaps 5 or 6, we lived on a hill in the woods. 834 South 71st St. in Springfield, Oregon, to be exact. And it was a wonderful place to grow up. We could ride Big Wheels down the road in front of the house, wander through the woods looking at nature, play Cowboys and Indians around the yard or build dams in the spring that flowed nearby. Of course, living so close to nature has great benefits for a young boy. For instance, he can snack on blackberries without going in the house, or eat the beans that magically grow in the yard after the deer graze awhile... Yes, I ate deer poop. In my defense, I was very young and at such a tender age poop and beans can look a lot alike. I developed a tapeworm for my troubles, which I pooped out at some point much later. Mom was pretty grossed out by the whole affair, but what's a childhood without magic beans?

Lake Troy
So, after a long march and an even longer drive out of the woods and back home after a weekend camping trip, a friend of mine, Troy Klaus, created perhaps the single greatest toilet overflow I've ever seen. Why he didn't go in the woods, or at the gas station, or at his own house, I do not know. What I do know is that after dropping a prodigious log in our own toilet, he wiped with something like a half a roll of TP and flushed. Water poured out of the toilet, then out of the bathroom. It was amazing how much water came from that one flush. It was as it the valve was stuck. Anyway, we named the resulting puddle "Lake Troy." And as good a guy as Troy was to be with, tenderhearted and considerate, with an easy laugh and an infectous smile, I will remember him more for that one defining, poopy moment.

Ron
For some unknown reason an old college buddy of mine, Kenny Sargent, one day decided that the little piece of poop that just wont flush (you know, the piece that just swirls around, but won't follow the main body of the bowel movement down the pipe). Kenny decided that that little piece of leftover piece of pooh needed a name. And I don't know what philosophic meandering his brain went through to arrive at that conclusion, but once the decision to name the offending particle was made Kenny acted swiftly to cal l it "Ron." I don't know anybody named 'Ron' that Kenny was upset with, and I asked him what 'Ron' had done to deserve such a namesake, but no answer was forthcoming. Did Kenny even know a 'Ron'? I can't say. All I know it that I'll never see the McDonald's clown in quite the same way.