Keep the change?

Look, I'm not on staff at any church nor I am a member of any committee, nobody "clears" The Blue Book first or sends either "suggested post topics" or follow-ups to my In-Box ... so get mad at me if you wanna, 'cause I take 100% responsibility for what you read here. And am trying real hard to stay on the ball, since limited web access means I only got about 8 minutes to write and post this.

I got angry this morning when I heard about our church's new capital campaign. See, leadership feels God is calling the local church where I'm a member to built a new youth facility, a new children's building, and meet certain needs in our community ... all of which is gonna cost some bucks.

Yeah, lots of bucks. So here comes a new campaign. The church needs more money and that's what got me started. $20 million is the figure I wrote down. That's 20,000,000 smackeroos.
----

First I did the math, to try making sense of such HUGE numbers.. Let's say a hypothetical church has 4000 members. $20 million divided by 4000 members = pledges of $5000 bucks apiece. Spread out over 5 years, that's $1000 per person/per year.

Now there's 365 days in a year, so dividing $1000 per year by 365 = $2.74 per day for five years. Is the big picture starting to come into focus a little bit?

I got angry because I caught myself doubting the hearts of people who're being called upon to give.
-----

"Hey now, wait a minute Joe. A new youth building and foreign mission stuff sounds great and everything, but I got bills and things to pay." Then you should pay what you owe ... but stop borrowing money to buy more things you don't need so you can owe even more.

Just think for a minute about whatever "thing" you'd been thinking so lovingly about buying next.
-Thinking about adding-on a swimming pool? A pool is just a big bathtub that stinks like chlorine.
-New shoes (closet's so big you can't find the one you've already got)?
-A 2008-model car?
-A network-capable GPS/radar for the boat? (who, me?)

Shoot, after church today I swung by Bi-Lo to pick up a few things, and realized I spend more than $2.64 every day on stinkin' potato chips and Ramen noodles. Which only made me angrier ... the biggest "financial situation" facing a body of believers ought to be "What are we gonna do with all this money?"

After all, how much did you pay for your salvation ... and how much is one person's soul worth? For believers, who've witnessed the change that happens when Christ comes into your life, is the joy of knowing that God Keeps His Promise worth more than $2.74 per day ... especially when it's used to preach and share the gospel throughout our community? (Folks, we're talking about the richest country on the planet here. Isn't that worth twice the amount ... $5 bucks a day, I mean really).

I'm a simpleton, I am, a guy who's comfortable with the basics and don't like gray areas much, least of all near our checkbooks. And anyway, how much would you have paid for someone else to step up, and take your place in the crucifixion line?

Cause somebody named Jesus Christ already did.

Some friends know

Tonight at the marina cafeteria, M said she knew a girl whose eyes were colored like "Looking into the Sistine Chapel."

Wow!" I gasped, dropping my silverware and napkin to the floor with astonishment. "If I ever looked into a girl's eyes and saw the Sistine Chapel, that's BIG."

Across the table from me, J's eyes caught mine and she said, "That's not big, that's HUGE."

Yeah, sure would.

Flying high?

5:51 AM

Maybe it’s because of the hours I spent boring holes in the sky as a private pilot, but commercial airline catastrophes seem to catch my attention. A significant percentage of aviation accidents are directly attributable to pilot error … everything from taking-off without checking fuel levels, not carrying the “right” charts on board, or trying to land in weather conditions far exceeding the airplane’s (but more often the pilots’) capabilities.

Just after getting my Instrument Rating, back in the days when I was flying several hours per week to keep current, I subscribed to a monthly National Transportation Safety Board newsletter that detailed the investigation results of specific aviation accidents, everything from headline-grabbing jumbo-jet crashes with hundreds of fatalities, down to student pilots who literally stalled and crashed in their own backyards while showing off for a girlfriend.

The reports came directly from NTSB files and included an official, comprehensive overview of background information applicable to determining the likely cause of the accident: forecasts reported before the incident, weather conditions at the time of the incident, when the airplane’s engine was last overhauled or serviced… and even how many hours the pilot(s) had slept the night before and what he/she ate that last time before climbing into the cockpit.

It was those kind of painstakingly personal details that slashed through the anonymity of watching the same news story on TV, and made each pilot’s life seem not so far removed from my own; the otherwise irrelevant finer points like, “After checking the weather forecast, the pilot called his wife and told her he was ‘running late and feeling tired,’ but was ‘very anxious to see her’ and expected to arrive home no later than 11:00 PM.”

Reading the minute-by-minute playback was like stepping back in time and joining the last few minutes of the flight as they occurred: I had little trouble imagining what it was like peering through the same dark windscreen at nine thousand feet on the same moonless night, or feeling the airplane’s controls become sluggish and unresponsive after mistakenly penetrating the storm cell, or being simultaneously awed and terrified by the unexpected proximity and immensity of a lightning bolt searing down just inches ahead of the propeller as it probed for any life or machine it could find between clouds on its short, unsympathetic appointment with earth.

Maybe the NTSB reports’ formal, indifferent tone created the illusion of foresight and control, implying that the reader, now armed with the advantage of hindsight, might somehow step through the timeline, take charge of the situation … and prevent the accident from ever happening in the first place.

But skipping back to re-read that next-to-the-last minute a dozen times couldn’t forestall the inevitable … that gut-wrenching moment when the wail of over-stressed metal pierced over the thunderclaps, the moment when the pilot felt the sickening lurch of the wings’ sad departure from the airframe … and knew this mistake would be the one that followed him to the last second of his life.

- - - - -

The aviation catastrophe I find myself remembering most often is the Concorde crash back in 2000.

I suppose it’s there because the Concorde represented a technological achievement (ferrying passengers across the Atlantic Ocean in just 3 hours) that’s not likely to be repeated … and the substantial cost of a round-trip ticket (about $18,000 by 2000) meant Concorde’s seats were largely reserved for folks with significant wealth at their disposal.

(During take-off that afternoon, the Concorde struck a piece of metal debris left over the runway by the airplane departing ahead of it, which punctured the narrow tires and caused them to overheat and catch fire. Then when the pilot retracted the landing wheels into the gear well, the fire was retracted along with them … and quickly spread inside the fuselage to cause the crash and kill all 100+ passengers and crew on board.)

In its 24-year service history no Concorde had ever crashed, not one life had been lost, but that one event was enough to worry passengers away from super-sonic flight forever, and end the Concorde’s flying life.

It may sound trite, but maybe the reason I keep going back to the Concorde catastrophe is because wealthy as the passengers might have been, no amount of money, jewelry on board, investment in plastic surgery, prestige, political influence or scheduling conflicts could save their lives that day … which led me to wonder how or whether, had the passengers only known a week in advance, they might have changed their priorities and lived the last week of their lives differently.

I’m not pointed fingers at the privileged, ultra-wealthy classes at all … because in the long-term we’re aboard the same flight and one day we’ll all arrive at the same earthly destination (under ground, I mean).

Instead I’ll point the longest finger back at myself, and admit searching for the ground 6 miles beneath me from the window during my most-recent commercial flight, and thinking, “There’s not a thing down there that I’ve saved-up, accumulated or stockpiled away that can do me any good right now … especially if the pilot flying the airplane sees something coming that’s just bound to ruin my day.

"Do not wear yourself out to get rich;
have the wisdom to show restraint.

Cast but a glance at riches, and they are gone,
for they will surely sprout wings
and fly off to the sky like an eagle."
-Proverbs 23:4-5

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
-Matthew 6:19-21

No web= A Good Web

Still no regular internet connection; I gotta scavenge around the parking lot after-hours like a squirrel scratching the pavement for left-over signals.

But here's a quote I heard the other day thought I'd pass along ...

“Men measure success by what they collect, but women measure success according to how they’re treated by men.” - tpw

Love ya'll, I do and really mean it.

Oh ok, NOW I get it

6:22 AM

Ever been talking to somebody about something, then by the time the end of the conversation rolls around, you suddenly realize you’ve been talking about two (or sometimes three) entirely different things?

I’m not naming names, but some people out there (I’m probably one of them) sound like they use Dixie cups for a cell phone (or their service carrier’s one antenna is a set of rabbit ears bolted to the inside of the attic window in a furniture store in downtown Belton).

Doesn’t matter if their new Dufus-berry has all the latest features and can plot GPS coordinates pointing to the nearest gas station from the Antarctic, gets all the satellite sports channels in HDTV, burns DVDs and pops popcorn all at the same time.

Understanding what’s being said between alternating layers of static and dead-silent spots is like trying to communicate with a school of carp whose idea of a breakfast buffet is scouring algae off the bottom of my boat: every two minutes or so there’s suddenly a regurgitating grunt that vaguely resembles a word, but all the syllables in-between just sound like bubbles.

Ok, so what is it about Legalism that implies the word can mean one thing to one group of believers, yet have just about the totally opposite meaning to another? I mean, I’ve never once met a believer who’d argue, “Salvation only comes from following Old Testament law and especially the Ten Commandments.”

What you do hear instead is, “Doing good deeds and following the law isn’t enough because salvation only comes through faith ...“

Fine so far, but then in the next breath come all the But’s, the Real’s and the minutiae of Can’t:

-But a real believer can’t listen to secular (meaning Rock) music
-But a real believer can’t go to R-rated movies
-But a real believer can’t have tattoos, earrings or piercings
-But a real believer can’t wear jeans or tennis shoes to church
-But a real believer only reads the King James translation
-But a real believer can’t be a member of a circus like that so-called church

Gee, what just happened? How’d all those new rules get magically slipped into the playbook? Well just wait, because rules are like flies swarming atop fresh road-kill, and the more the merrier:

-But a real believer can’t touch alcohol
-But a real believer can’t dance (I never could anyway, so there)
-But a real believer can’t go to a movie on Sunday
-But a real believer can’t wear a two-piece bathing suit
-But a real believer can’t associate with sinners
-But a real believer can’t vote a certain way in political elections
-But real believers can’t clap in church

Oops, then we reach a point where the flies get so thick, you can’t even see what first caught their attention:

-But a real believer can't be divorced and become involved in ministry (ouch)
-But a real believer protests adult bookstores and takes pictures of any one going inside
-But a real believer can’t allow unwed mothers (or their kids) into church
-But a real believer can’t permit people of another race to visit their worship service
-But a real believer has an obligation to tell believers belonging to different denominations that they’re going straight to Hell

Shoot. Thinking up new rules to showcase my own self-righteousness (and keep other folks toeing the line) is so much fun I can’t stop.

-But a real church has a steeple, a baptistery depicting the River Jordan and stained glass windows
-But a real church can’t allow drums, electric guitars or video screens in the service
-But a real church has Sunday School, Easter cantatas and Wednesday night prayer meetings. And holds bake sales and car washes to finance their youth ministry
-But a real church can’t try to reach or witness to sinners by making their services creative, relevant or applicable
-But a real church can’t keep growing, and stays small enough where a pastor knows all the members by their first names, visits their sick pets in the animal hospital and sends everybody a personally-signed card on their birthday

Sounds like lots of spare Gotchas keep falling in the bottom of the spiritual parts kit, until finally the only tool churches have left is one big Can’t … which might explain why nothing ever gets done (I won’t even mention that the best way to fix loose nuts or stop squeaking gears is with a tight-fitting wrench that’s got a big handle).

Modern-day legalists might outwardly reject Legalism, without once recognizing that man-made traditions, rituals, “being religious” and “living by the rules” are still the same Pharisaical snare, a powerful web of conditions and guess-work that, once fallen into, traps us in place and prevents us from totally surrendering to Christ and knowing the freedom and joy of following him … not man-made rules and regulations.

Legalism is a maze with no exit, a directionless path leading us away from thanking God for his mercy, and toward forgetting that Christ’s sacrifice truly means Your Grace is enough for me.

Downtime & "What Am I Expecting from the World?"

No regular web access right now; something happened to my connection yesterday & no idea when it'll be back. Anyway, this morning I penned this post in Word.

So what am I expecting from the world?

“Oh yeah I got goals, because I know what’s important.”

What are your Life Priorities?
-great job earning big bucks
-an awesome house (pool, game room)
-drive a new car (every year, hopefully)
-exotic trips & vacations whenever
-retiring early
-vacation house (beach or mountains)
-generally, buying anything I want
-achievement
-financial success
-being happy

What three words best describe you?
Intelligent, ambitious, motivated

What one word best describes your future?
Successful

Now let’s forget about the world, and see what we got:

What Are Your Your Life Priorities?
-pleasing & satisfying myself first, in every possible way

What three words best describe you?
Doesn’t get it

What one word best describes your future?
Futile.

One if by land, two if by sea

Meet the Gibbs Aquada, a "a revolutionary showcase of High Speed Amphibian (HSA) technology."

Sure it's a 100-mph car, but the Aquada is capable of so much more ... like 30-mph top speeds on the water ... and driving billionaire Richard Branson across the English Channel. Or towing skiers.

"Entry to the water is via beach, boat ramp, slipway or directly from the water's edge. Once afloat, the transition from road vehicle to High Speed Amphibian (HSA) is effortlessly achieved."

"Powerful enough to tow a water-skier and with a style and class of its own, the Gibbs Aquada is the perfect leisure vehicle. The Aquada is the new name for freedom!"

All this freedom ... for only $100,000 US

Live according to what?

This is one of those posts I've had on my mind for months, without being sure I could write the words I meant. After this morning, the picture came into sharper focus.

I've read more accounts than I can remember of folks in Africa suffering horrific, unimaginable deaths ... men being tusked and stomped into postage stamp-sized pieces by elephants, hunters ripped apart by lions and unsuspecting villagers seized and dragged away as underwater take-out orders by crocodiles.

I'm not intentionally searching for such gruesomeness, or finding these lurid stories in the worm-eaten journals of early 18th century explorers; I'm talking about accounts of people being killed or eaten alive in events still happening to this day.

But no matter how many stories you read I don't think there's any way to know exactly what it feels like to be rinsing the soap outta yours ears in the neighborhood stream and then notice the person standing beside you is suddenly wearing a smashing new crocodile belt ... only this item's one-size-fits-all and has big sharp teeth for a buckle.

Reading about a life-changing event just ain't the same as seeing it happen firsthand ... and experiencing what it's like for yourself.
-----

Atheists are a puzzling bunch of people, especially when they seek to attack Christ. Some would like to claim Jesus never existed at all, but was merely a myth, a fairy tale like King Arthur, passed down from oral tradition at the beginning and then embellished in written accounts through generations of creative scribes and disingenuous authors.

But even if Jesus did exist, they argue, his life doesn't matter anyway because the accounts of his death, burial and resurrection are nothing more than fictions created to conceal “what really happened”:

(a) Christ merely passed out on the cross and was buried, then the cool damp air inside the tomb miraculously revived him, or
(b) The beatings, floggings and side-spearing never happened, because if they had, Christ would have been in such a terrible state that no amount of damp air could help him, or
(c) Christ actually did die on the cross, but the disciples forgot where he was buried and mistakenly assumed he’d been resurrected when they found an empty tomb, a simple error of geography that caused a troublesome centuries-long misunderstanding; but then “probably what really happened” was:
(d) The disciples stealthily moved the 5-ton stone, stole Christ's body from under the sleeping Romans' noses and, being eager to be persecuted and die as penniless martyrs, thought it'd be a good idea to cook up a tale of his resurrection and ascension into heaven to add credibility to their claims.

Seems like skeptics would study the topic more closely first, determine which hypothesis seemed most plausible and complete to suit their purpose, and then stuck with that one explanation before they started dismissing the resurrection.

And I think they would, too ... if only they could find one that was thoroughly plausible and absolutely complete.
-----

Not even James Cameron could find Christ's body (and thus missed his opportunity to be immortalized in Hollywood as The Man Who Ruined the Resurrection), but I’m sure skeptics would settle for finding a new "Secret Lost Gospel of Bob the Centurion" buried in a jelly jar under Pilate’s shoe closet that repudiated all four gospel accounts of Christ's arrest, trial, crucifixion and resurrection.

Shoot, they'd settle for finding a piece of gum with an Aramaic yodh scribbled on one side if they thought they could chew it long enough to prove Christ changed his mind when confronted by his accusers, or in any way ever denied being who he claimed to be.

But Christ really was who he said he was, and no account will ever be found that says Christ:

(1) Saw the swords and torches heading his way up the Mount of Olives that night, said "See ya" to his disciples and then ran off into the hills fast as his legs could carry him
(2) Backed down or reversed himself when challenged by his accusers
(3) Offered to negotiate a plea-deal to spare his life
(4) Agreed with the Pharisees that living by the law was sufficient, in exchange for a lighter sentence
(5) Showed the Sanhedrin how he'd done the magic tricks behind the "Feed the 5000" and "Waiter, we need more wine" illusions
(6) Argued with Pilate, "Man I don't know what you heard so far, but those people out there got it all wrong"
(7) Renounced the gospel, admitted he was a liar or complained "Wow, what was I thinking about?" as the nails were being driven into his hands and feet

What a heyday the Romans and the Pharisees coulda had if even one of those things had been true and a witness coulda been presented to prove it. And certainly enough time elapsed before the first written gospel accounts were widely circulated that the Romans coulda just made one up, like the Sanhedrin did with false witnesses, to nip this irritating new Christianity in the bud.

But they didn't because they couldn't: too many eye-witnesses were still alive who'd been physically present at Christ's trial and crucifixion who could dispute any false accounts that contradicted what they'd seen with their own two eyes.

That leaves modern-day atheists and skeptics with nothing to support their claims but intrigue and fanciful possibilities ... theories far more difficult to substantiate than the historical gospels they attempt to dispute.
-----

Church tradition holds that all 11 of Christ's disciples died martyr's deaths (the 12th being Judas Iscariot). Why would men willingly choose to die prolonged agonizing deaths for no purpose, rather than renounce the lie of their own creation? Wouldn't it just have been easier to say, "Hey dude with the flails, take a time-out and check Peter's basement ... we hid the body in there"?

The disciples couldn't deny the resurrection because they'd seen Jesus alive with their own eyes, and knew without any doubt Christ's message was real … and so they spent the rest of their lives doing exactly as he commanded. Even though sharing the gospel ultimately cost all of them their lives.

Sure, Peter denied him three times while Christ was being questioned; it's just that I can't find an account anywhere of any of the 11 disciples denying Christ after his resurrection. Wonder if Christ expects less from us today ... because we weren't physically there to see it?

No, just because we weren't there 2000 years ago, I don't think that he does.

-----

This morning I wondered what it would be like to be in a church somewhere if a bound man was brought out during the message to stand beside the pastor, who then explained to the congregation that to better understand what really happened to Christ, the man standing before them would receive 20 lashes with a cat-o-nine tails. Right before their eyes, to demonstrate one part of what Christ's suffering had been like.

Yep that sounds weird, and I'll bet the auditorium doors would be choked with folks running over each other in horror and fleeing with disgust to get away, no matter how calmly the pastor tried to assure them, "It's perfectly OK, because this man agreed to let it take place so that we could all see."

Doubt that'd make much difference to the congregation, because most people couldn't sit still and watch the event unfold. But assuming they had no choice but to see it happen, I’m convinced that afterwards not one of them would ever deny what they’d witnessed … because they’d been there and seen it with their own two eyes.

Being an eye witness to the living, resurrected Christ permanently changed the disciples’ lives. His resurrection proved Christ was who he said he was, that he alone had died in our place, conquered the grave and rose again to save us from our sins. And that when he said “I am the way, the truth and the life,” brother he meant every word.

So as believers, are we living every day according to the things in the gospels we happen to agree with, or according to the idea that faith means God is a spiritual slot machine about to pay off if we’ll just be patient long enough, or maybe because we believe he’s our heavenly bipolar uncle willing to reward us and give us exactly what we want … so long as we say exactly the right words or recite the appropriate chants … and catch him in the right mood?

Or are we living like the disciples, according to what we’ve seen and witnessed instead?

This isn't Big

This is Huge:

"A women's heart should be so hidden in Christ that a man must be seeking the Lord to find it."
-Elisabeth Elliot

(discovered among a Facebook friend's quotes.)

Too busy to go?

Wow, it's finally Labor Day weekend! Time for one awesome BLOW-OUT before Summer '07 is history. Last chance to have fun, party-down and relax with a four-day weekend ....

Seem hard to get up & motivated for church this morning, especially when the lake, a neighbor's bar-b-q or a huge summer sale are already competing for your undivided attention? Or maybe you're already too tired and fatigued from last night's "relaxations"?

Vernon is one of my missionary friends in TZ; I read this post earlier today on his blog ...

"My good friend Sandy Baird was invited to go [to Pakistan] to preach and speak at a seminar and several evangelistic meetings. Sandy invited me, and away we went together on August 16-20.

We met Pakistani Christians who love the Lord, but who live under constant surveillance and persecution.We were met at the Pakistan/Kashmir border by a truck of armed guards who escorted us to the church.

While we were present at the church and parsonage for the next three days, there were 6 armed police 24/7 guarding the church property because of our presence. The attendee's were 6 pastors and 40 or more church members and leaders. That evening, they began preparing for the evangelistic meeting. Everyone who came in to the compound, including us, were patted down (searched) by the police to add to the security.

In a nutshell, an amazing program of music was presented, over 600 people attended [emphasis added]. I had the privilege to preach while Bro. Aslam (Sampson's father) translated. Praise the Lord that 50 people [emphasis added] accepted Christ that night! Sandy and I shared preaching teaching responsibilities for the next two days. The seminars and the above scenario was repeated two more times! 50 saved the first time, 20 saved, 44 saved. Wow!

Interesting information and memories:

1. Most Christians cannot get good jobs because of their faith.

2. One man came to us and asked us to help deport his nephew and his wife because the nephews wife was Muslim, but she got saved. Now her family is threatening to kill her and the husband. In Pakistan, this would be "ok" to kill a convert.

3. Pastor Sampson was hassled by intelligence officers basically everyday asking about Sandy and me.

4. One picture Sandy took was of a man praying at the front of the pulpit area, and an armed guard with a machine gun standing behind watching the events.

5. We were escorted by police every time we left the compound.
   

I am a changed man. Why? I was so challenged by these Christians who really know what it means to sacrifice for Christ.

Their lives are living sacrifices everyday. I will be praying with them and for them...and, by God's grace will not take for granted the freedom we have to worship in America, and, here in Tanzania where I serve. I returned home safe and sound yesterday (Tuesday) at about 2 pm. I'm tired, but energized spiritually."

---Do numbers really matter? Of the 70 million Christians murdered in the past 2000 years for professing their faith, 65.5% (that's 45.15 million) were killed in the 20th century. -source

Some weeks seem better than other weeks

But every second starts here.

Thanks ya'll ...

DJ's Engaged!

More photos here via Facebook.

Can you keep a BIG secret?

-more later. Maybe. It's outta my hands and it depends.


Hint: I was probably the last person on earth to expect things would turn out this way & happen so quickly ...

Think you got problems?

-Hey, this is only here for wipin' a smile under your nose in time for Friday Night, ahead of the Labor Day Weekend ... :-) Love you guys ... and know what? We really don't have any problems after all.


No, I really got BAD problems. Like every time I take a shower, there's 20 gallons of water rushing out from the bottom of my night stand ... and absolutely no idea what's going on.

Big Friday Hook Up

With the inverter's battery cables run through the 1-inch holes drilled through the head (bathroom) cabinet, this morning came time to mount the 70-pound unit in its new home.

The inverter (above) creates 2000 watts of pure sine wave 110-volt AC from a bank of 12-volt golf cart batteries. So I can watch TV, charge the laptop, use the microwave and other conveniences while anchored out, without having to waste fuel by using Calypso's diesel generator (if the genset actually worked, I mean).


The tools practically start jumping up and barking every time they see the coffee cup in my hand, because that means I'm about to release the hounds on a new project.



Here's where the inverter's gotta go (note red & black battery cables previously installed in background). I measured often and carefully, so I've go no doubts everything's gonna fit and fall into place. No problem.


First, the DC cables gotta be bolted to the inverter (the cables aren't yet hooked to the batteries, so they aren't "live").



A little heavy lifting ... and we're underway. Nothing to it so far.


Uh oh Portman, we have a problem. The shelf over the cabinet is keeping me from rotating the inverter into place, with the bottom side down, and creating a critical What-Do-We-Do-Now? wedgey. Suddenly the situation looks dicey indeed.


A little wiggling and some creative carpentry finally moved the shelf outta the way (the best thing about a hammer is it doesn't require batteries and never needs recharging).


Success! Now with that chore finished I'm almost done ... if completing the first 5% of the installation counts for anything.

Upstairs, Part II

The staircase to the second floor seemed too narrow for two people to ascend side-by-side; presumably the Onion's working girls proceeded ahead of their patrons, winsomely leading them up the bare wood steps worn so deeply with use it seemed my boots might sink through the other side.

At the top, the landing leading to the individual rooms felt even more narrow than the stairs. Nothing in its seclusive interior appeared to have been changed or "updated" in the 90 years since The Onion's red-light heyday: the only thing missing from the last century were the echoes of piano music and the din of bawdy patrons swelling from the shell of the tired saloon downstairs.

That, and the dissociated patter of bleary-eyed girls more concerned with depositing cash in their tills than with the tasks about to be performed for the uncounted time that night.
-----

Aspen had become boom town by the mid-1880s, attracting thousands of wide-eyed dreamers and prospectors from around the globe, unmarried men and drifters emboldened with dreams of "striking it rich" by subtracting their share from the deep veins of the Mother Lode.

Shaft mining was (and still is) a treacherous, unforgiving way to earn a living, especially for the men who'd surrendered to the economic realities of wildcat prospecting and handed themselves over as menials to break rocks with picks at the end of mile-long tunnels buried thousands of feet underground for the benefit of owners whose profits sometimes seemed more staggering and imposing than the mountains themselves.

Odd assortments of physical artifacts and relics pointing back to the miners' toils, Victorian-era curiosities like rusted lanterns, shovels, stoves, ore carts and loose sticks of dynamite are still found in the original shafts: when the mines closed, cleaning up after themselves hardly seemed financially lucrative or worthwhile. The innominate remains of scores of miners are there too, luckless men who suddenly found themselves trapped beyond reach either by cave-ins, entombed where they fell to explosions, or otherwise fell victim to routine calamities like asphyxiation, floods, or being crushed and ripped apart by machines.

In 1893 President Grover Cleveland repealed the Sherman Silver Purchase Act, effectively kicking the legs out from under silver's value. All but worthless, silver's price plummeted overnight and within weeks dozens of mines (and bordellos) closed forever, forcing thousands of unemployed miners and hundreds of working girls into the streets ... with few options for the future and no direction to follow, beyond the one their boots were already pointing.
-----

What surprised me was that the tiny rooms upstairs where the ladies entertained still had furniture left over from the day. I remember what appeared to be original Victorian-pattern wall paper clinging to the grimy, stain-smeared walls and the gas light fixtures suspended overhead. How many other men had stood in that same spot, glanced around the room and seen the same things I was seeing now?

All that separated me from that day and a familiarity with the players' names, their faces and the deeds they'd performed was the unforgiving, inviolate rush of time. The air itself felt as though the last participants had merely excused themselves and stepped from the room momentarily, rather than endure my interruption, and might return at any second to resolve whatever unconsummated business they'd left behind.

As my flashlight played across the walls to the ceiling and picked out details a hundred years after the fact, I couldn't help sensing another conceit remained, something imparted and deeply soaked into the setting ... a glimmer of moments of lives uncollected, precious seconds cached and still unclaimed between shadows.
-----

What shocked me about the rooms wasn't the museum-caliber preservation, but that the rooms upstairs were so physically small, hardly larger than walk-in closets, and nothing at all like what I'd expected.

But then spaciousness and luxury weren't priorities for desperate, lonely men whose lives were spent trading blood for their dreams in gelid caverns so far underground.
-----

Should I have felt like a voyeur, an intruder standing in the uninvited middle of a performance leftover from last century as I gaped and wondered how many fortunes had changed hands, how many thousands of illicit couplings had occurred, and who'd been the last to trudge upstairs to those rooms?

The stage was still set and the props remained undisturbed and in place: nothing I could see had changed in almost 100 years since the last story had played. Nothing at all ... except that the names, faces and lives of the players had all been either rewritten, forgotten or finally lost forever in the embrace of time.

Upstairs, Inside The Onion After Hours

The Red Onion is a restaurant on the Cooper Street Mall in Aspen, Colorado. Originally built in the 1890s, the downstairs' most prominent feature is a long wooden bar, which goes a long way toward explaining The Onion's authentic look and feel of an old mining-town saloon.

Back when I lived in Aspen, ownership changed hands often which, given the seasonal economic considerations of doing business in a resort town, translated to the reality that The Onion was very seldom (if ever) open for business ... and so sat neglected on its haunches behind the thin cover of newly-planted decorative trees, perhaps entertaining itself with recollections of a more ah, colorful past.

Back in the day, The Red Onion wasn't originally built to be a restaurant but a mining town bordello, with a saloon serving drinks downstairs to loosen-up patrons before its "painted ladies" escorted their marks upstairs for a few raucous moments of expensive diversion and sensual entertainment.
Apart from depictions in movies, there's not much left of the original Old West saloons around any more, and the one time I was fortunate to take a deep breath and venture up the stairs, The Red Onion was still full of itself ... and reeked its identity as the genuine thing.
-----

No no no, don't start jumping to conclusions or get the wrong idea: I worked graveyard as a security guard back then, the empty Red Onion was a client, and one night another guard somehow secured a key to the front door and with our flashlights, the two of us dared venture inside.

Despite numerous renovations and "improvements" (like plumbing and electricity) through the years, with the electric power disconnected and the only illumination coming from our flashlights, it was easy to belly up to the century-old bar and imagine that a hundred years' time had never passed.

That night I felt as close to traveling back in time as I'd ever get. Staring back at the reflection of myself in the dim mirror behind the outrageously long bar, I had little trouble imagining myself belonging to a moment that had passed five generations before I was born.

Sure, The Onion had been open under various guises to the public off-and-on since its first life as a bordello had expired, but the second floor had always remained strictly off-limits, and all that 99.9999% of people knew consisted of what they could see from street level outside ... or of what they imagined the upstairs had been like in busier times.

So when Pat, the guard with the key, jerked his flashlight toward the narrow wood stairs I had little hesitation about finding out first-hand what The Onion had been all about. We were going to pay a visit to upstairs, inside a real Old West house of ill repute ...

So when's opening night again?

"One day I'll start trying to live a more Christ-filled life but in the meantime, I've got obligations and prior commitments demanding too much of my time and attention. But I'll get around to rehearsing my part soon as I can."

-memo to self:

The curtain's already up and there are no more rehearsals, postponements or sick calls, nor is there a stand-in or understudy for your role ... a part which continues uninterrupted and without intermission till the curtain falls on Closing Night. Check original author's script as often as necessary for additional clarification, as required.

Come on, come on hurry up! Let's speed things up a little bit!

"Woe to those who draw sin along with cords of deceit,
and wickedness as with cart ropes,

to those who say, 'Let God hurry,
let him hasten his work
so we may see it.
Let it approach,
let the plan of the Holy One of Israel come,
so we may know it.'

Woe to those who call evil good
and good evil,
who put darkness for light
and light for darkness,
who put bitter for sweet
and sweet for bitter."

-Isaiah 5:18-20

The keepers of the gates

I'm a member of a church that sure gets criticized an awful lot. Most of what I've heard the past 3 years goes beyond simple gossip and meanness, to the point where some critics doubt whether we're all actually on the same team.

Our church gets so many rotten eggs hurled in its direction not because there's a dozen or so of us out in the woods somewhere chanting, worshiping calves or waiting for UFOs, wearing snakes or drinking poison every Sunday morning. Nor does our church get vilified because it's occupied the same red-brick-and-a-steeple building (and had exactly the same members) for the past 80 years, or because it plays traditional 200 year old hymns at "reverent" volume through a pipe organ that cost more than a new aircraft carrier.

If any of those situations was the case, I feel pretty sure the critics would look the other way, find something else to distract them from preaching the gospel and leave us alone. So then what is it that keeps the critics so riled-up and firing brimstone arrows every chance they get?

Could it be because there's finally a church impacting an entire community for Christ ... and the critics-in-the-pulpits are tired of trying to figure out how to answer, "Preacher, how do you explain what's happening over there?"

Their problem is that they can't explain something they've never seen or expected before ... so criticizing someone else is the best they can do.
------

Someone with four lifetimes more vision and wisdom than me pointed out that Jesus wasn't crucified by the tax collectors, lepers, adulterers, prostitutes and sinners. Christ was crucified by the religious leaders and teachers of his time, who were already convinced in their own minds (probably by serving on committees) exactly what the Messiah was gonna be like ... and in their religious, tradition-loving eyes Jesus just wasn't it and didn't preach the message they way they wanted to hear it nor did he reach people by teaching the same way they'd taught themselves to teach.

Christ's message of forgiveness and salvation through grace, not through man-made rules and procedures, turned their scrolls inside out and shook the foundations of the priest-privileges and luxuries they enjoyed.

They'd become idolaters by centering their focus upon themselves, worshiping their man-made rituals and traditions as though their rules were greater than God, and became so removed from God that they failed to recognize the message of the living God when he was standing in plain view before them.

Christ took the legalistic guess-work out of salvation, and his critics couldn't stand to hear it ... nor let him get away with preaching it.
-----

I've been to churches where I didn't feel welcomed. I've sat on hard-backed pews in congregations where every holier-than-thou head seemed turned in my direction with mistrust, as if trying to figure out, "What's that guy doing here?" and then went out of their way to avoid me once the service had ended.

Nobody took much interest in finding out why I was there ... so long as I didn't put my hands in my pockets after the offering plate went by.

You get a definite feeling that if someone ever stood before a congregation like that and asked them, "Do you people go out of your way to insist on keeping sinners on the other side of that door and away from God's kingdom, or not?" you'd expect to get a thunderously overwhelming "YES!" of approval.

Probably a choir-full of Amen's, too ... though what you wouldn't get would be any clapping or arms lifted toward Heaven.

Now I wonder if the same congregation would answer the same question the same way with the same jubilation and enthusiam ... if it was Jesus Christ standing there who did the asking.

Highly Unusual

I'm not up at 12:21AM, I'm still up at 12:21AM. Must be insomnia, because I hardly ever have trouble falling asleep.

Here's the last verse I read a little while ago, before turning out the lights:

"What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul? If anyone is ashamed of me and my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, the Son of Man will be ashamed of him when he comes in his Father's glory with the holy angels."
Mark 8:36-28 (NIV)

"See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the basic principles of this world rather than on Christ."
-Colossians 2:8

"These people honor me with their lips,
but their hearts are far from me.
Their worship is a farce,
for they teach man-made ideas as commands from God.'"
-Mark 7:7

"He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches."
- Revelation 3:22

Can't you hear the wind howl

Shoot, I dunno the difference between an icon and a gravatar, but this is my gravatar, for no good reason except that I like it.

The "Little Lie" Lie

Earlier this year I wrote a post mentioning that in our 16-year friendship, B and I have never once had a fight, argument, falling-out or anything even like it. I asked her about that the next time we talked, and after thinking a moment she confirmed Yes, after knowing each other for half of her entire life there's not been a single time either of us snapped back or recoiled in anger, slammed down the phone, administered the silent treatment ... or even raised a voice in the other person's direction.

B and I have been friends through both of our (separate) romantic episodes. Before she got engaged we met for lunch often, had dinner and were alone together occasionally. But even when we were both "unattached and available" there still wasn't one inappropriate word or innuendo to pass between us, not one "little slip-up" or a "Except for that one time" moment in our 16-year history. Nothing ever happened that even comes close.

Since meeting her, knowing and having B as a friend has been too important to risk losing, but there had to be something else that explained how two adults of opposite genders could remain friends for 16 years, without fighting (or disrepecting each other) a single time.

Just took me a long time to figure out what it might be.
-----

The other day a friend was telling me about some issues he's facing in a romantic relationship with a girl he's been seeing off-and-on for several years. The problem comes down to trust because, from what he told me, she's gotten into the habit of "fudging" the truth a little bit ... especially in situations when lying doesn't even seem worth the trouble.

Little stuff, like where she's going, which girlfriends she's hanging out with, and what time she got home from visiting her folks. Then when confronted with "the evidence," her explanation is usually,"I didn't think it mattered." Which then leads him to ask, "Then why lie instead of just telling the truth ... unless there's something you're hiding?"

Which often leads to a fight, because she just doesn't see the situation the same way.
-----

Who are you most likely to tell a lie ... your best friend, or your worst enemy? Are you more likely to lie to someone you cherish, respect and hold close, or to someone you despise, disrepect and don't mind pushing away? Which lie hurts you the most ... the one you're told by a friend, or the one you're told by an enemy? But isn't a Lie always a Lie? Every lie carries the same deceptive intention, along with a willingness to disregard and hurt the person standing in its direction.

Not even your worst enemy appreciates being told a lie; they already hate you and expect you to lie. So why lie to a friend in the first place, and merely confirm the worst things your enemies (and former friends) already know?

Telling lies is another way of saying, "You're too stupid to see nothing's more important in my world than me." Telling a lie is the same as shouting into someone's face, "YOU SUCK!"

Why is is that liars can't see that every lie starts with the two lies they tell to themselves: "He/she's too stupid to catch on, so I can get away with it" and "There's a good reason to lie." But it's the liar who never catches on, because a habitual liar is so deceived that they actually believe their own lies ... starting with those first two lies inside their head, the ones they're convinced no one else can possibly know or hear or see being acted out every day in their lives and relationships.
-----

But the girl in my friend's situation doesn't interpret what she's saying as Lying, or see that what she's doing is dishonest, because she "only does it to keep him from getting mad." She keeps missing the point that Lying is what "makes him mad," and Lying has the side effect of creating suspicion and commitment-killing mistrust as well.

Because if he can't trust her to tell the truth about little insignificant stuff, then how can he possibly trust her to tell the truth when it comes to the big important stuff in a relationship? Sounds like she also hasn't noticed that by the time telling "little white lies" starts to seem so easy, Lying has gone way past being a habit and is showing other people Lying and deception is your way of life.

So take a wild guess what the most-likely person willing to become romantically involved with a Liar is gonna be?

Hmm, that one wasn't as hard figuring out as it seemed.
-----

After describing several of his previous relationships through the years, my friend turned and asked, "Has there been one woman in your life, a woman who, so far as it's possible for you to know, has never once bent the truth or told you a lie?

"Outside of a casual acquaintance, name one woman who's never lied, and then tried to explain it was because she either changed her mind, or lied and argued it's no big deal or it just wasn't important, or lied to keep from hurting your feelings, or lied because she found something else she wanted to do that night, or made plans with you and then didn't follow through, or told you she'd call you and didn't, or been dating someone behind your back and explained "Oh, he's just a friend"?

Gosh, I'm so used to hearing those things so often by now that I'd forgotten they really are outright deceptions and Lies after all. I felt an uneasy hollowness reach out from my heart as I skimmed through the ragged chapters of former liaisons, girlfriends, relationship fiascoes, bad breakups and disastrous friendships.

It started looking like my friend was right, because they all shared the same recurring theme: Why does telling the truth seem so hard and too much to expect, when there's no reason to lie in the first place? Don't I deserve to be treated better than that?
-----

Finally I glanced back up and told him my answer. "B's never lied to me."

My friend's mouth literally fell open. He looked shocked, really stunned, and he was firm about demanding to know if I'd stand by that statement ... even if someone held a gun to my head.

"Yeah, I would" ... and that's telling the truth, too.

See, I knew there had to be something that explained how B and I could be friends for 16 years without fighting, screaming, arguing or falling-out a single time: She's never once lied to me ... and I feel pretty sure her unwavering honesty during all that time goes a long way toward explaining the bond and total trust at the core of our friendship.

Blog Wars

-from The Technological Nonsense Department

Those of you living in The Upstate who thought you heard thunder this afternoon may have sighed, "Great, it's raining ... just in time to ruin what's left of my weekend."

Well, what you witnessed wasn't a weather phenomenon at all: the thunder you heard was actually a horrific crash resulting from the collision of the two most pervasive forces in The Digital Empire, namely The Blue Book waging an unrestricted Blog War versus AVCLUB.

How could there possibly be a winner in such a cunning, Anything Goes, No Holds Barred, Lights Out Steel Cage Texas Death Match Loser-Must-Leave-Town exchange of digital mega-force? Is there any way to sift through the hot hard-disk ashes and charred web cinders, to know with certainty which side won?

Oh sure, AVCLUB's got its own stylized Death Star, but here at The Blue Book an Old Favorite is still The Best Favorite ... and "This is not the pirate you're looking for" works every time.

Just ask my new pal, Captain Calypso:


Ok here's what really happened: I crawled into Ken's office whining like a scalded three-legged cat, but before I could start begging and sobbing he generously offered me this awesome gift.

Thanks Ken!

Got my origami on!

Dropped by AVCLUB's central headquarters this morning, and Ken took time to show me this origami pirate. Wow, it's really amazing to see all the fine details up close in real life 3D space/time:

Is that kewl? Arrrg yeah, and from now on I want him riding beside me in Calypso's helm every time I untie from the dock.

Is it really origami? I dunno, but ask this bad boy and watch what he says (he's got a hinged jaw that opens & closes). Oh heck yeah.

ps. Ken also convinced me to consider something like this:

A kitten tattoo? What is it about a kitten tattoo?

When waiting counts

The past five months I've been thinking about taking a rifle with me to TZ.

It's perfectly OK (with the right permits) so legality's not the issue; the question has more to do with considerations like (a) Which one could I afford to lose, or have stolen? (b) Will ammunition be available once I'm there? and (c) Which one is powerful enough (because there's things over there that bite real hard and aren't choosy about counting their calories either), without always being "over-gunned."

I've only got one rifle that fits all three criteria, so clearly that must be the "right" choice, right? Well, no. A rifle (particularly one intended for dangerous game) is more than just pieces of metal and wood held together with screws.

A mass-produced, off-the shelf generic one-size-fits-all rifle might fit and "feel right" for most guys and seem like the best choice, but it won't "feel right" for me if it doesn't fit, or if I have the slightest doubt about its quality or its dependability.

The choice becomes more complex remembering that my life, literally, could depend on making the right choice the very first time.


It's futile to expect uniqueness, personality or attractiveness from anything that's easily available or negotiable for a discount. The romance, mystery and intrigue just won't be there, ever, because its only value lies in using it until something better comes along.

A new rifle that arrives looking like it's already spent years being banged around in the back of a safari truck's just not worth keeping for the long haul.
-----

See, I expect us to be together through thick and thin for a long, long time and every time I steal a glance at or pick up my little rifle I wanna hear myself thinking, "Wow, it's not just that you're gorgeous, timelessly stylish and more finely assembled than a handmade Swiss timepiece.
"It's also that you've been designed with one purpose, that you're powerful, utterly capable, reliable and and totally dependable in the stickiest situations. You aren't just the right choice, you're the only choice ... and I'm confident if we're ever out on our own and things start getting hinky, so long as I do my part I can depend on you to do your part ... and together we'll keep our grass outta the fire and have a life-time of adventures together.

"It just feels good knowing you're here and there's not a day that goes by that I don't appreciate you even more. I've never had any doubt that you are the best choice I coulda possibly made. You've never showed me otherwise, and it was totally worth waiting to find you.

"That's just a few reasons why I'm glad you're here ... and I know by tomorrow I'll see even more."

OK, if talking to a rifle sounds weird, then imagine I was talking to a woman instead.

-----
Here's a fact: it's nothing for a man (or woman) to agonize over which rifle to choose from all the available choices and options, then wait six years for delivery of the "Best Royal Grade Rifle" custom-made to fit him or her in every way.

Waiting six years for a rifle seems worth it when that's what we've been looking for, know that's exactly what we want, and that anything less will never do.

But then other times people can't wait five minutes before jumping into bed with a new partner, or think nothing of diving into the first or most convenient relationship that drops into their laps ... because when it comes to waiting and making critical decisions that will affect and impact every facet of their lives forever, expecting folks to Wait for the One Custom-made to Fit in Every Way is asking too much, and they'll reach for whatever's still left on the shelf.

Heck they might even think it sounds stupid hearing that their lives will be impacted forever (think heart ache, or charging elephants) by jumping the gun early and making a mistake.

That's what sounds weird to me.

On Facebook & stuff

I decided to kill 15 minutes this afternoon while Mr. Wonder-Washer takes care of tomorrow's jeans today, and wandered around Facebook's newest stupification (my word, yaaa), "COMPARE FRIENDS."

We'll skip over exactly what that means because I'm not sure what that means, but as I was about to click away from the page that revealed my friends apparently think Bald Eagles are more kissable than me, I noticed an ominous orange skull in a lower sidebar with the caption "Find Out When You Will Die."

I guess if a dummy clicked on the skull, paid them some money, a computer would then calculate the precise moment (if not the actual means) of his earthly departure.

Look I know computers are smart and everything, but come on, does anybody (except a dummy) really believe that type of forecasting actually works?

I mean, if I paid them my dummy-money and they said I was gonna die on such-and-such a date, shoot, then all I'd have to do is stay home and watch TV that day. End of forecast.

Just one reason why I'm pretty sure it's a scam ... and one more thing to interfere with my plans.

But I gave MYSELF permission

Ezekiel 3:20
"Again, when a righteous man turns from his righteousness and does evil, and I put a stumbling block before him, he will die. Since you did not warn him, he will die for his sin. The righteous things he did will not be remembered, and I will hold you accountable for his blood."


The Holy Spirit never gives us permission to sin; choosing to go ahead and sin anyway feels like a privilege we're entitled to grant ourselves anytime it seems convenient.

You've already heard this old saw: "God's already promised to forgive me for anything I do, so what's the big deal if I slip up and sin some anyway?"

Whoa, hold your horses. Grace isn't something we were given any choice about arbitrarily dispensing to ourselves. Grace comes from God's mercy alone, through Christ sacrificing himself on the cross for our sins ... not the other way around.

"Don't you know that when you offer yourselves to someone to obey him as slaves, you are slaves to the one whom you obey—whether you are slaves to sin, which leads to death, or to obedience, which leads to righteousness?"
Romans 6:16

Oh gosh, the word Sin sounds so Puritanical and Judgmental. You never hear the word "sin" outside of church anyway, so if a little sinning sounds like fun and isn't hurting anybody, that should be private stuff between God n' me or whoever I'm doing it with.

"Let no one deceive you with empty words, for because of such things God's wrath comes on those who are disobedient."
Ephesians 5:6

There's a not-so-subtle difference between humbly asking for forgiveness and selfishly expecting to be forgiven. God knows our hearts, God knows where our faith truly lies, and God knows when we lie and deceive ourselves about living by our faith:

"For in the gospel a righteousness from God is revealed, a righteousness that is by faith from first to last, just as it is written: "The righteous will live by faith."
Romans 1:17

God doesn't hate sin because sinning is fun, exciting and glamorous and he's not the grumpy old man upstairs who wants to make sure we're miserable, scared and brooding while we're living in his apartment downstairs. God hates sin because sin ignores his word and mocks his holiness: sin is pursuing our wants, instead of seeking his will.

All sin, any sin, is a deviation from God's flawless design and is therefore imperfect, pernicious, rebellious and unacceptable in his eyes. God hates sin because it's a perversion of his perfect design and plan for our lives. For believers, sinning means forgetting who we are, and ignoring who God planned for us to be:

"In his pride the wicked does not seek him; in all his thoughts there is no room for God."
Psalm 10:4

Only the enemy is foolish enough to believe he's smarter, more in touch or more powerful than God.

---

"Do not offer the parts of your body to sin, as instruments of wickedness, but rather offer yourselves to God, as those who have been brought from death to life; and offer the parts of your body to him as instruments of righteousness."
Romans 6:13

People willing to set their faith aside to pursue a good time in the moment are looking for a distraction from being reminded who they are in the present, believing that breaking God's law today will somehow fix what's broken inside them tomorrow. Sinning today has never been enough or satisfied them, but they still expect to be forgiven and free to sin the same way tomorrow. And next weekend too, if that's what happens to suit them.

Drugs (illegal or otherwise; or getting blasted with alcohol) sure sound appealing when reality seems dull or overwhelming. The prospect of sexual conquests (guys) and romantic adventures (ladies) are actually the two opposite sides of one sin coin revealed at the same time: a woman trading disinterested sex for emotion, and a man exchanging half-hearted emotion for sexual gratification.

"Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a man commits are outside his body but he who sins sexually sins against his own body."
1 Corinthians 6:18

All sin is abhorrent and separates us from God's perfect plan for our lives. Obedience means staying faithful during trials and temptations, keeping God's word in our hearts and honoring him in every thought, word and deed.

Great Deal, or No Deal at all?

"If you go shopping looking for a deal, you're going to find and go home with one."
-advice I received from a preeminent antique collector

Depending on traffic, it usually takes anywhere between 47 and 48 seconds to drive the 200 yards from the dock parking lot to the marina cafeteria (if you're asking "Why not just walk?" it's because after 3 or 12 beers, everybody loves the challenge of hitting a moving target- especially a bumbling, flat-footed target like me).

Last night 47 seconds was just long enough to tune in 106.9 and hear a snippet from Chip Ingram, who asked his live congregation, "When you look back on your life and think of all the things that caused you the most anguish, hurt and frustration isn't it strange that the pains we remember come from our relationships, and not from things in our finances?" (my paraphrase).

Chip was emphasizing the folly of worrying about money, but I want to take his question in a different direction because it got me thinking, "If we already know our emotional vulnerability is intertwined with our relationships, then why the heck aren't we more careful when it comes to making decisions about who we're gonna start dating in the first place?"

I mean, I'm just about 100% convinced I'll never suddenly wake up and find myself at the altar, married to a woman I'm meeting for the very first time.

No, we're gonna start dating first ... and I'm also convinced a First Date must come before a second (or even 19th) date. So it's much easier walking around emotional minefields, even if it takes longer and requires more patience, than it is convincing myself it's perfectly safe to close my eyes, cover my ears and try tap-dancing my way through. Even when I'm in a hurry to get where I'm going.

Or maybe you're tired of sitting around bored on weekends, but not necessarily interested in commitment or even starting a relationship, and decided "recreational dating" is a valid substitute for the real pursuit. But a little recreational dating is like having a little "recreational exploratory surgery" and happens for the same reason: you're uneasy about what's causing all the heart pains and stomach-churning deep down inside, and whether it's ever going to stop.

---

It's only after a First Date that the tiny seed of a commitment can take root , or that a bad relationship can start growing tangled vines around the trunk protecting around our hearts and its weight can begin holding us back from growth.

Looking back now, I see how often a Weed-Eater (or better yet, a John Deere riding mower) was actually what I needed ... not adding fertilizers or hormones by following-up with a second date.

-In 1921 this Holland & Holland .577 Nitro Express double rifle sold for about $1500. Two years ago the same rifle went for $175,000 ... and good luck trying to find one out there at anywhere near that price today. Only Holland & Holland is Holland & Holland, and there aren't any "deals" on a Holland available anywhere.

A genuine keeper, not the latest look-a-like or imitation but The Real Deal, can be agonizingly hard to find ... and there just aren't any "Deals" out there worth the investment. Least of all when it comes to dating and relationships.


Proverbs 4:23
"Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life."

Proverbs 24:11-13
"Rescue those being led away to death;
hold back those staggering toward slaughter.

If you say, 'But we knew nothing about this,'
does not he who weighs the heart perceive it?
Does not he who guards your life know it?
Will he not repay each person according to what he has done?

Eat honey, my son, for it is good;
honey from the comb is sweet to your taste."