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.

Ordinary Life

I don't have much to say at the moment, but feel compelled to write anyway. Not much is going on in our lives right now other than the mundane. I am working hard at turning the BSU into the 800lb. gorilla of campus ministries at MSSU, Mandi is homeschooling the children, and the kids are just being kids.

Our most recent 'excitement' was Alyssa's Pinewood Derby race at AWANA last night. It was frustrating from the beginning and ended badly. First, the date was changed and we weren't notified until less than 48 hours prior. Second, it was our first effort at doing this together and I don't even have a workbench on which to craft a decent car. Third, I was laboring under the false impression that kids were supposed to do most of the work for the 'kids' division of the race. Most of the cars were CLEARLY the work of skilled men, not 8-year-old children. One idiot went so far as to carve his son a dragon and his daughter an airplane (complete with working prop). Seriously, the cars were beautiful, I mean, magazine quality beautiful. What kind of Jack-a-double-squiggle does PROFESSIONAL quality work, then enters it in his kids' names like that? Alyssa hand painted her car and was crushed to see other kids winning trophies when they clearly hadn't touched their cars (or even seen them?) until their fathers were through. I was embarrassed to be so underprepared, but not as embarrassed as those adults should be who cheated--Yes, CHEATED--in order for their kids to win. I was so proud of Alyssa for doing so much work on her car, and so dissapointed for her when we arrived at the race to find out that the only way to win was for the adults to make the cars, and give them to thier kids to play with.

I was told the race was supposed to foster Parent-Child relations by giving them something to work on together. Alyssa and I did that. We win, yes, WIN. To all the other idiots--Yes, IDIOTS--(and especially the Father-of-All-Idiots, Mr. Dragon/Airplane), I can only say, SHAME ON YOU. I only hope you repent, because you should.

Disc Golf

So, I have been playing disc golf off and on for about 12 years now and it amounts to about 22 courses in 12 states. I'm still not very good, but I did hit my second 'Ace' today. It was a 171 ft. shot on the first hole at Oak Grove Park in Springfield, MO using a yellow 172g Millenium JLS that I've had in my bag since the mid nineties. It was a great shot, pure vintage Jon. I tossed it high left and let it cut back down to the hole. It was sweet. No one else saw it, but a guy named 'Dave' whom I met just a few minutes before leaned back from the tree he on which he was urinating to tell me he heard it.

Letters to the Editor: Joplin Globe: Evolution

Updating the post of 9/27/05...

The Joplin Globe did, in fact, see fit to publish my editorial pretty much as I wrote it. That, of course, makes me very happy. See 'Primates' on A9 of today's paper or click here. It will be interesting to see whether or not anyone responds...

Notes from life

Work, work, work. That pretty much sums up the last month of our lives. Mandi and I continue to search for a church to call 'home,' and it has begun to really effect the kids. No longer are they excited to go to SUnday School, instead they just cry. They NEED the stability and security of going to the same church every week. Since we've moved to Joplin we've visited Journey Church, Forest Park Baptist Church, Fellowship Baptist Church, First Baptist Church-Webb City, First Baptist Church-Carl Junction, Wildwood Baptist Church and Harmony Heights Baptist Church. Frankly, we're about all churched out. The search must end soon, for our sake and the kids' as well. Ministry at the BSU has been booming though. Our smallest weekly meeting has been 55, which we had at both a weekly meeting and Wednesday luncheon. I know this seems kind of like a blah entry, but there's really not much to add at this point. I really don't want to get trapped into simply writing ministry reports, and ministry is all I have to talk about at the moment...

Letters to the Editor: Joplin Globe: Evolution

Once again the force of stupidity are mobilizing across the globe in the mindless pursuit of a world without Christ...

The Joplin Globe today published a column by Jay Ambrose which I quite agree with, except that Mr. Ambrose didn't go far enough. In the article he describes an expreience had at the London Zoo which I can only attribute to atheism run amok. In a letter to the editor of the Globe I added my own critique which is also here...

Regarding Jay Ambrose's column in the September 27 edition titled, "We're
not just another primate."

It’s good to see someone using common sense for once in their understanding of the human species. Mr. Ambrose was not only on-target with his arguments; he also did an excellent job of showing restraint towards those philosophically ignorant enough to disown their special place in creation.

I cannot claim that restraint. The idea that Mankind is just another species is a prime example of what philosophical dead-ends like naturalism, humanism and materialism—all of which stem from atheism—would like us to believe. The fact is however that such baseless and intellectually-challenged philosophy ultimately leads to the demise of morality and proliferation of mindless activity like 'frolicking around in an exhibit' in the London Zoo while scantily clad.

The very idea that we are ‘just another primate’ is morally repugnant not only to
Christians, but to Mormons, Jews, Muslims and other faith groups as well. If it was true that Mankind is just another species, then we would have to accept that nothing spiritually separates us from all other life on earth and we would lose all bases for morality. We would be forced to give credence to such immoral practices as abortion, euthanasia, homosexuality, polygamy, etc., which is exactly what most atheists want.

According to Genesis 1:27 God made man “in His own image…” We are special. We are not like other created life for that very reason. To forget that fact is to ignore
not only the common sense truth that Mr. Ambrose ably pointed out, but our
Biblical heritage as well, and that is much more important.

Archives

RELIGION BEFORE POLITICS
(Originally published 12/9/2004 at www.iuchallenge.org/blog)

As an evangelical Christian, let me just say that I am about tired of being
labeled as a Republican. You talk to people now, in the aftermath of one of the
most divisive elections in our nation’s history, and they automatically slap the
scarlet ‘R’ on you (51% smile as they do it, the other 49% with a scowl). It
taints you, and I’m tired of it. I’m tired because I know for a fact that neither candidate represented a complete set of Christian values, and both parties lied to the public to garner votes (see www.factcheck.org). I was forced this year to vote for a man who I know does not completely agree with my moral convictions. He will NOT support my view, an evangelical Christian view, on important issues. People find out that you are an evangelical and they just KNOW without asking that you voted republican and therefore you believe everything that Republicans have ever mentioned from the party platform.

I am tired of having my worldview assumed by my voting record on one
elected office in one election. It seems that in America today you are red, or
you are blue. There are no other colors. The fact remains, however, that neither
red nor blue is an ideal fit for most evangelicals. (Yes, some will disagree, but we can’t all be intelligent.) Some of us–many of us–are a shade in between.

51%-49%. That’s the approximate split in America’s political convictions, and that does a fair job of describing mine as well, if they must lay along party lines as is too often assumed. Republicrat? Demoblican? What am I? Politically, I don’t really know. What I do know is this: on every issue, environmental, social, moral, fiscal, whatever, I will find the Christ-like position and I will stand there. Rooted in God’s word, I will defend or attack immorality and unrighteousness regardless of what political color it may take, should I be called upon to do so. Will it be easy? Of course not! Does that matter? Of course not. What does matter is that we as Evangelicals do not allow ourselves to be colored by someone else’s brush.

The body of Christ should not and must not allow itself to be defined
monochromatically by an American political process. We are supposed to be light
(Matthew 5:14-16), not red, not blue, not even green, but light (which, by the
way, indicates the presence of ALL colors.)

SO, the next time you wind up talking to a ‘politics-first’ person (and that will probably be sooner than later) try to remember that we are not called to a party, but to a person; Jesus Christ. Remember, too, that that we are aliens in this world, and therefore in this country. (1 Peter 1:1) We have the privilege of voting on its political leaders, but our first allegiance is to the King of Kings, not an elected official.

Jon

Archives

PEANUT BUTTER LOVE
(Oriniginally published 12/7/2004 at www.iuchallenge.org)

I just want it to be known to the world that I love my family. I have a
beautiful, caring, considerate wife and the three greatest kids in the world. My
family is so great that I often shake my head (literally, I do) in wonder at
what kind of cosmic lottery I must have won to get such a great life.

I remember on the day of our wedding (February 1, 1997) that during the
toast my best man said that when my wife (Mandi) and I look back on the love we
had at that moment, it would seem like we had a foundation of peanut butter with
which to start our life together. Now, almost eight years later, I can say
unequivocally that he was right. Our relationship has not been perfect (mostly
my fault), but it is infinitely stronger now than it was back then. We have
lived in three states, had three kids, three jobs and five homes. And although
our marriage has never been in real trouble, it has not always been easy. What
is the source of our strength and stability? Jesus Christ. If I can ever pass on
one piece of advice to my children (Alyssa 5, Nate and Anna 3) it is that apart
from Christ, you have nothing real, just the illusion of a reality beyond your
control.

I love my wife. I love my kids. I love them to the absolute best of my
abilities, but Christ loved them long before I ever knew them. And my love,
compared to his, is a foundation of peanut butter.

Jon

Archives: Rich Man's Rue

(Originally published at www.iuchallenge.org/blog on January 13, 2005)

RICH MAN’S RUE
by Jon Smith

The muse is upon me…

I were a rich man,
once upon a time.
Lived the best a man can;
baubles, games and rhyme.

I skied on sno-capped mountains,
fished rivers in the spring,
was loved through all temptations,
I saw most everything.

Then I found myself in judgment.
Surprised, I was, to die.
Looking back across my memory
(my life without Christ in it)
was just another lie.

I lived!
I loved!
I held my own,
comparing man to man.
But before the throne
I stood alone,
and frozen my heart ran.

Just God demanded judgment,
and truly He was fair.
My sins though small condemned me.
Now I burn in Satan’s lair.

Here, O Death, thy victory!
Here, O Death, thy sting!
Who’d have thought a life like mine
to this estate would bring?

I heard.
Ignored.
Scoffed!
At the life in Christ that’s found.

Embrace Him now! my fervent prayer,
lest, like me, in flames, you’re bound.

Letters to the Editor: World Magazine

So, I submitted an editorial to World Magazine a while back, and today I found out that it was actually published! (Vol. 20 No. 29, July 30, 2005) This is definitely the high point of my writing career. Here's the original article. Its an interesting piece on Moralistic Therapeutic Deism. Here's my response. Of course, this is the edited version (published under the heading 'Cultural Novocain'), for the full submission, see my June 27 blog entry.

In my ministry to students at Indiana University, I am daily shocked at the
ill-conceived and unbiblical worldviews held even by the evangelicals on
campus. Christians taught in public universities are experiencing the
systematic erosion of their faith and, worse, they seem numb to it. Deism
is the Novocain of the university culture. Christian students are soothed
by the "presence" of God even as they are spitted on the moral fork of a
tolerance that is intolerant of their faith.

Life verses I

So, the Lord has seen fit over the years to provide me with a verse here and there that captures my life in some key way. This morning the verse that struck me like a thunderbolt was 1 Thessalonians 2:8. "We cared so much for you that we were pleased to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own lives, because you had become so dear to us." [CSB] THAT is how we feel about the students God has so graciously brought into our lives over the past three years. As we move on to a new life and ministry in Joplin, MO, it struck me that I really hope that the students we have had to work with understand that simple truth...

Moving from Bloomington

I am swiftly losing my mind. Between dealing with the realtor in Bloomington, the realtor in Joplin, the moving company, the mortage company, the insurance company and all the other pieces of the transition puzzle, I am about ready to shoot someone. Not that anything is going horribly wrong, yet... I am just tired of dealing with it all. Waiting for phone calls, sending faxes, tracking down last year's tax returns, etc., etc., etc., is driving me crazy. The latest headache: the independent inspection on our Bloomington home. I've never met the man, but he has to be the most anal retentive human being on the face of the earth. NOTHING on this house is below code, but according to Mr. Grumpy Pants we have 10 repairs to make. I called the builder, James Baird, and although he's very understanding of the nature of the concerns, even he sees the petty and at times errant nature of some of the flagged items. For instance, although we live on top of a hill, the inspector flagged us for not having adequate drainage. WHAT A CROCK! We have perhaps the best drainage in the entire city of Bloominton! Anyway, the frustration is mounting, but God is ultimately in control. THAT is the only key fact in all this. He knew we'd get those ten flags. He knew we'd have trouble getting the house closed in time to move. He knew all the problems we're experiencing before they we knew we'd be moving. And, truthfully, as anxious as we are about it all, nothing major has happened. There aren't any large or insurmountable issues we're facing. Its just the cumulative weight of all the little stuff... God is good. He is in charge. That is enough.

2914 North Hickory

God is good. Knowing we had sold our home in Bloomington and were moving in two weeks, we more than a little concerned about the fact that we had no place to live in Joplin. When the realtor, Cherlyl Chandler, became difficult to reach (she had jury duty) we got dwonright panicky. So we got some friends to watch the kids and flew to Joplin on Wednesday morning. Our realtor met us there at 4:00 and we spent the rest of the day and most of the evening searching for our new home. It went well, but we were stressed out, exhausted and in a hurry. Late that evening we decided on a house, 2914 North Hickory. Right price, good location, huge. The floorplan wasn't the best, but it would do. Since it was new construction we put insane riders on the bid and offered 4 thousand dollars less than the builder wanted. (I figured he would at least know what we wanted then and as a builder might work with us to provide it later). Then we went to Jack and Jane's to sleep.

The next morning we went to the realtor's office at 9am. If we were exhausted before, we were positively zombified the next day. Neither Mandi nor myself were able to sleep at all. Maybe I got an hour, maybe less. Cheryl took us to look at two more homes and we also visited the top two from the previous day. All four would have been a good fit for us and we began to rethink our decision of the day before, anticipating that the lowball crazy offer we'd made would be rejected and we would have an opportunity to choose another house if we wanted. Problem (blessing): the offer was accepted unconditionally. I wanted to test the builder for drugs. We came in low, asked for serious upgrades, and his answer was yes.

We're still not crazy about the floorplan, and its not the fanciest house in the world (one step above rental quality), but 3200 square feet on a good sized lot, in town and at $188,000, is enough to offset any concerns we might have. He even went ahead and put sod in the back yard! I just assumed he'd use seed and straw, like most other builders do, particularly when they're getting lowballed on the house. What a blessing! Cheryl's response to it was that she wants me along next time she has to buy a house for herself.

Thursday afternoon we boarded the plane for home, satisfied that we had seen God's goodness at work in our favor again. Then the last leg of our flight, St. Louis to Indianapolis, was cancelled. Our first thought was for the kids. Would the babysitters be able to stay that much longer? While we pondered our situation in the line for the courtesy phone that the airline, American, uses to reschedule flights for its stranded customers, the man in front of us, Paul, mentioned that its only a four hour drive between the two cities. Immediately you could almost see the lightbulbs going on over people's heads. We joined Paul and two others, Jamie and Michelle, and agreed to split the cost of a rental car. We would make it home after all, another blessing.

While we got ourselves organized I spoke with the American representative on the courtesy phone and the company agreed without discussion to refund half of our tickets. Another blessing.

On the four hour drive to Indy we shared about our respective lives and someone asked me about our ministry with students. A 2-3 hour witnessing session was born. About halfway through I was so tired of answering questions about the Bible that I told them all it was okay to change the subject because I didn't want to just dominate their time or offend anyone. Their response was that it was the most civil conversation they'd ever had about religion and they wanted to keep talking. I shared more. No one was converted, but I know that they heard the truth, that they understood the message of the gospel, and they heard it in a loving, non-contentious way. When they went to bed that night I'm sure the Holy Spirit was still whispering in their ears. What a blessing!

Finally, because we got the house so cheap we decided to use the professional movers we'd had give us estimates earlier in month. Why that constitutes yet another blessing is this: When the second estimate came in, we showed the man our copy of the original estimate and he almost choked on how cheap it was. He literally could not understand how we could get such a deal. (It should be noted here that the moving industry is very competetive. The sales reps from each company know the sales reps and rates of their competitors. And, moving is NEVER cheap.)

At the end of the week we have accomplished a lot, and we have again been blessed far beyond all we could ask or imagine. Why God continues to shower us this way is still beyond my ability to comprehend. This, however, I do know: allow Him full creative control of your life, and you will be constantly amazed by the power of God to turn your mundane journey into a divine odyssey.

Letters to the Editor: World Magazine

The following is a letter to the editor of World Magazine submitted June 27 and in response to several recent articles therein...

'Ignorance is bliss,' as the saying goes, and it seems as though state institutions of higher learning leave college students closer to that euphoric condition every year. In my ministry to students at Indiana University I am daily shocked at the ill-conceived and unbiblical worldviews held even by the evangelicals on campus. Christians taught in public universities are experiencing the systematic erosion of their faith, and worse, they seem numb to it. Like a frog in a kettle they don't realize the danger they're in until they've lost that which they once claimed dear. Daily their faith is undermined by well-meaning professors and graduate assistants using the bully pulpit of the university classroom to teach art, science and values from secularist, or worse, deistic perspectives. (Deism is the Novocain of the university culture. Christian students are soothed by the 'presence' of God it offers even as they are spitted on the moral fork of tolerance intolerant of their faith and diversity exclusive of Jesus Christ.)

The vast majority of college graduates attended state universities. That is not likely to change. And there are campus ministers at virtually all of those schools dedicated to offering spiritual shelter in the hurricane of unbiblical dogma foisted off as moral virtue. Yet we, the Body of Christ, are failing miserably to feed the flock at their hour of greatest intellectual need.

That is why I enjoy World Magazine so much. I sincerely hope that the students to whom I minister realize the value of a news source willing to demonstrate Christian values across the broad spectrum of issues that comprise modern life. My only criticism of your publication is that it isn't often read by those who need it most: collegians.

The Honeymoon Shell

So, we have this shell. It sits out on display at our home, usually in a prominent space, and people often wonder where it came from. Its a nice shell, I don't know what kind exactly, but its a soft peach-colored spiral about the size of a baseball. Mandi and I found it on our honeymoon...

After our engagement as Mandi and I made preparations for the wedding and subsequent honeymoon, we made the decision to let Mandi focus on the first while I focused on the latter. Now, it should be mentioned that we had a little money saved up and I determined to use it to give my bride a real first-class trip to somewhere exotic. I looked at brochures about tours of Asia and Africa and Caribbean Cruises, etc., until my eyes were tired of looking. Then as I was strolling through the Valley River Mall (Eugene, OR) on my way home from some inane errand I saw it...

It was a kiosk run by a travel agency that had a video playing over a TV that you could eyeball on your way past. They showed videos of various tropical locales to which they catered., and the video I saw was of the Cook Islands. IT WAS AMAZING! I knew at once that that was where I wanted to go.

Of course, in 1996 everyone still pretty much booked their trips through an agent, not the 'Net like we do today, so I rushed over to the travel agency I normally used and harried the agent into telling me all she could about the Cooks. Amid the brochures she gave me was one with a picture of a bikini-clad woman lounging on a spit of sand under the tropical sun. There was a shallow beach that ran back aways and faded into a line of palm trees. It was beautiful, and I told the agent, "That is where I want to go. Exactly to the spot where that woman is sitting in this picture. Find the resort, that's where we'll stay."

Well, we couldn't locate the exact spot, but we did book a nice trip to Rarotonga and Aitutaki. And we had F-U-N. We were married on Februaly 1, 1997 in Grove, Oklahoma. It was cold. The Cooks, however, were brilliant; warm, beautiful, full of great food, great snorkelling and no commercialism whatsoever. We couldn't even find any really good souvenir stores.

Then one day, near the end of the trip, we took a day cruise around the lagoon at Aitutaki. It included a BBQ on a motu at the edge of the lagoon, snorkelling, and a generally great time. The day began perfectly with a cruise around the lagoon in a motor boat, then as we cruised back to the motu (a small island at the edge of a lagoon) for lunch I noticed a great looking spot about a hundred yards off the channel we were in and pointed it out to the skipper. It was a sand bar that dropped off at the edge, but stayed just inches above water most of the way to the motu. The skipper's response was, "Yeah, that's where they take the pictures for all our promotional brochures." He was pretty laid back about it, but Mandi and I about jumped out of our skin. I told the rest of the people on the boat and as the excitement spread the skipper decided (at our behest) to drop us off right there and let us walk along the spit to the motu where he'd meet us for lunch. Mandi and I were the first ones off the boat, and that shell was just laying there in the sand, like a wedding gift from the Lord.

I've been on a lot of beaches in my time, but I've never found a shell that even comes close to this one for size and beauty. Oh, sure, you can buy nicer ones at tourist shops and you might even get a local conch diver to give you one for free if you catch them at the right time, but to just step off the boat onto the sand and find that thing was truy glorious. It was the only shell on the beach. Big as a baseball. I can't look at it without remember the story of how we came to be at that place. And now, more than eight years later, it is still in perfect condition; not a scratch, not a chip. It is one of our most treasured belongings. It is our honeymoon shell.