January 14 – “A dizzying experience”

Well, yesterday I did something I haven’t done in a while.  I spent an hour playing on the playground.  Er, I mean, I watched as Cailyn played on the playground.  Oh, all right.  I did get “involved” just a little bit.  I started out doing the proper grandfatherly thing – I pushed her in the swing.  But when Cailyn gets into doing something she really likes, then she wants to go “really, really, really, really, really really …” (I think you get the picture) high.  I guess I just got caught up in the moment.  I had flashbacks of getting pushed in the swing so high that my pusher (yep, that’s what the word “pusher” used to mean) would actually run underneath the swing as it flew over his head.  So … I took it as a personal challenge to get the swing as high as I (safely) could.  Threw that word in as a nod to Cailyn’s Daddy.  We harped “safely” at him enough.  Of course he never seemed to need any help to do dangerous things.  Now I was wearing sandals, and the ground beneath the swing was made up of those tiny pebble things, so I couldn’t do the run under the swing approach.  Instead I chose the “stand to the side and add a push as the swing came by” approach.  It felt safer to me, kept stones out of my sandals, and still gave Cailyn the illusion of “really, really, really, etc.” fast.  OK.  So maybe it wasn’t an illusion.  She was going pretty fast. 

From there we adjourned to the playground apparatus section.  We used to call that the slides.  Except these slides aren’t like the ones we had.  Ours were tall or short and went straight from the top to the ground.  And if they were slick enough you could get going pretty fast before you literally “hit the dirt.”  But these new ones aren’t straight at all.  They twist and turn.  And when you get to the bottom you are dizzy.  Which is admittedly kind of fun in and of itself.  You know, this whole twisty slide thing has even carried over into the fire service.  One of our brand new stations was built with a twisty slide instead of the old traditional fire pole.  And after five twists on that thing I could barely walk.  There weren’t but three on the one at the playground, though.  And Cailyn went down that silly thing about a hundred times.  I even took her picture coming down so I could send it to her Mom and Dad.  Of course it required five or six “takes” to get more than just the top of her head or just her pink boots.  And then (I should have known) she insisted that it was her turn to take pictures of me coming down the slide.  Now how could I refuse that request?  It is only fair that she have a turn, right?  I had no choice.  So I climbed the maze (That’s another thing that is different.  Used to we just had to make it up that ladder.  Now you have to climb the mock rock wall and wind your way through all kinds of obstacles).  I made it to the top, though.  And she got a picture of me.  Two in fact.  She wanted me to come down a “different way.”  How different can you get on a slide that twists your body into a pretzel.  I gave it the old playground try, though.  Came down headfirst.  That was a sight to behold.  Maybe someday I’ll have enough self-esteem to post them.  For now I’ll chalk it up to a pretty cool afternoon with my granddaughter.  She probably won’t remember it, but I sure will.

Genesis 1:27-28 says, “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.

God blessed them and said to them, ‘Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground.’”

Father, thank you for including that amazing concept called “fun” in your plan for creation.  Amen.

January 13 – “Second Chances”

The Kids’ Sermon yesterday was once again a lot of fun.  Of the eight or ten kids that came and sat on the front pew, I think only one of them was a girl.  Seven little boys all in one place?  Always makes for some kind of unexpected-ness.  And add to that the fact that we have a few sets of brothers in the mix and we have to really stay on our toes.

I started out by asking: “Have you ever been caught red-handed doing something you weren’t supposed to do?”  Every one of the kids nodded in affirmation to that one.  And before I could ask any follow-up question, one the younger brothers pointed a thumb to his elder sibling and offered, “He didn’t do his homework when he was supposed to.”  Well, there you go.  He just jumped ahead to the point I had hoped to make at the end of the exercise.  But before I could continue, the classic PATM (Pay Attention To Me) Syndrome kicked in, and we had some other offers to confess. 

I decided to go ahead with the plan and asked the second question: “Have you ever done something you shouldn’t do and didn’t get caught?”  Now the adults in the room, and especially a few of the parents, leaned forward in their seats, anxiously awaiting any answers that might arise here.  This time it was the older kids who sheepishly nodded.  A few offered the “I’m not gonna raise my hand all the way, but I will wiggle my wrist high enough to let a piece of paper slide in under it and if you see it, then fine, but if not, that’s all you’re gonna get” responses.  None of the jumped up and offered to reveal their deepest secret, so I just leaned forward and whispered: “What was it?”  OK.  I know you are all scrolling ahead to see what possible horrible secrets may have arisen.  But let me assure you, we have no confessed secret serial killers among our children at Seaside.  There were a few notorious “didn’t really clean my room-ers,” but I promised I would keep their secret. 

The final question was where I wanted to go in the first place: “Have you ever done something you shouldn’t do and didn’t get caught, but then someone told your parents and you got in trouble?”  Now you see why that very first little brother answer was so insightful.  In fact every one of the older siblings immediately looked at his younger counterpart.  Even the only children were quick to rally around this horribly unfair happening.  It was easy to get an answer to the inevitable follow-up: What do you call someone who does that?  And that brought a resoundingly unanimous cry of “Tattle-tale.” 

Finally, the transition I was hoping for.  We did a quick clarification of the difference between a tattler and a teller?  A Tattler tries to get someone in trouble or get attention.  A

Teller makes sure someone doesn’t get hurt (like if you saw your little brother pick up a sharp knife).

That established, I did a quick summary of the Bible story.  It was about some people who caught a lady doing something wrong and brought her to Jesus to see what he would do.  They wanted to punish her by throwing rocks at her.  Jesus knew she had done wrong, but he loved her and wanted to give her another chance.  So he told the ones who brought her, “Whoever has never done anything wrong, you throw the first stone.”  And guess what happened?  Every one of them knew he had done something wrong, so they all walked away.  Jesus told the lady to go home and to not keep on doing those wrong things. 

You know what?  Jesus loves us too, even when we do wrong things.  He wants to give us another chance, though, so when you do something wrong, admit it and ask for forgiveness.  And every chance you get, be a teller, not a tattler.

John 8:9-11 says, “At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there.  Jesus straightened up and asked her, ‘Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?’

‘No one, sir,’ she said.
‘Then neither do I condemn you,’ Jesus declared. ‘Go now and leave your life of sin.’”

Jesus, Thank you for second chances.  Help us to give them as well.  Amen.

January 12 – “Memorial”

I went to another funeral yesterday.  This one was for Susan Antonelli, a girl I went to high school with.  I haven’t really kept up with her personally over the years, but she also lived in Galveston, so I did see evidence of her life many times.  She ran her own travel agency and was, among other things, on the original board of directors of the Ronald McDonald House here in Galveston.  I just remember her as a very sweet girl with long brown hair and a ready smile. 

And I wasn’t the only one who remembered her.  The funeral home experienced a major problem with an overflow crowd.  I joined others who stood in the hall at the back of the room during the service.  We could hear fine, but only a few could see what was going on.  Occasional whispering among the crowd made it impossible to hear, though.  And the floors were wood, so any shuffling of the feet drowned out the speaker as well.  Everyone did their best to remain quiet and still, though, so the experience wasn’t bad at all.

My favorite part of any funeral is when survivors get a chance to speak about their fondest memories.  There were so many people there, though, that those comments were wisely limited to just a few who had prepared some words beforehand.  A niece and a sister spoke.  And one lady introduced herself by complementing Susan on having a Jewish lady speak at an Italian Catholic funeral.  Funny stuff.  A reception was announced for after the graveside portion of the service.  It was to be “at Shrimp n Stuff – the greatest place to eat on Galveston Island.”  Can’t argue with that.  The memorial ended with an a capella solo of Amazing Grace.  Beautiful. 

I did get to stop by station five on my way home.  Haisley Anderson was there visiting her Daddy.  She is the little girl I saw so many times in the hospital.  She sure looks better now.  Very happy. 

The rest of my day?  Chris went to Hobby Lobby.  I worked on the sermon for Sunday.  Mom took a nap on the couch.  Diversion, vocation, and relaxation.  Great ways to spend a Saturday.

Colossians 3:16-17 says, “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.”

Father, walk with Susan’s family through their grief.  And thank you for Haisley’s progress.  Amen.

January 11 – “Mom update”

I guess it’s time again for a Mom update.  For the last three or four days there have been some unusual changes.  She started talking again.  A lot.  And she talked about anything and everything.  She noticed our two dogs and talked to them.  She saw something explode on a TV show and talked about how horrible that was.  She asked Chris a question and Chris looked over at me before answering.  Mom said, “Oh, don’t look at him.  He’ll just make something up.”  (Now that’s my Momma.  She always was pretty good at bantering with me).  She talked to Cailyn when she came over.  (And Cailyn went over and gave her a hug).  She talked to Noa and Josiah and Jachin when they came over.  For some reason she was particularly interested in Micah, though.  Wanted to know what his name was and what toys he was playing with.  Josiah was concerned about her.  He made sure that all the food she had on her plate for supper was “soft enough for her.”  After our home group Bible study she wanted to know when we were going to go to “that other monthly meeting again that we used to go to now that it’s after the first of the year.”  Now I have no idea what meeting she was talking about.  In fact Chris and I were trying to figure out what “when” she might be experiencing.  What meetings was she going to before she started really tanking?  Wednesday Club?  Moody Gardens?  Oleander Society?  PTA (she was PTA president when I was a kid)?  Mom couldn’t put her finger on what it was, so neither could we.  We did assure her that whenever the meeting notice came up, we would see that she made it.  She talked about the pillows on the couch and the couch cushions and the scarf she got for Christmas and the hole in her new gloves.  And when it came time for bed she talked about her walker and the things she saw in the kitchen and her pajamas.  And when she got into bed she talked about the covers and walls.  She talked on and on into the night.  At one point Chris, who had moved over to the other bedroom to keep an eye on her, heard her call out, not in distress or anything, just “Hello?  Hello?  Hello?  Well, I guess nobody is going to answer me.”  Then she proceeded to talk to herself.  She finally dozed off around 5:30 in the morning.  The next day and night were almost a carbon copy.  It was like she was high on some kind of stimulant or something, but nothing has been changed in her medications.

When I went to see my rheumatologist yesterday, he asked how she was doing.  I gave him the Reader’s Digest version.  He pondered it for a moment with one of those frowns that doctors get when they are trying to figure out how to translate all the medical jargon they know into simple words for simple people.  Perhaps he would have some scientific insight into this phenomenon.  Maybe he could offer some guidance from his vast array of medical knowledge.  I was on the edge of my seat.  Finally he pronounced his assessment.  “Sounds to me like something exploded in her head and totally destroyed the filter.”  Ah.  Very scientific.  Very graphic.  Very accurate.  Not so helpful, though. 

I just heard her and Chris talking after what sounded like an exceptionally difficult transition from the bed to walking.  Mom said something along the lines of, “It looks like you’re going to have to be helping me for a long time.”  And Chris’ reply: “Well, then we’ll just do it for as long as it takes.”  That about sums it up.  We’ll just keep on loving her for as long as it takes, whatever that looks like. 

Ephesians 6:2-3 says, “’Honor your father and mother’-which is the first commandment with a promise— ‘that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth.’”

Father, show us how we can make the rest of Mom’s journey as comfortable and peaceful as possible.  Amen.

January 10 – “Wearing hats”

I was struck yesterday (or would that be stricken?) when I realized how many different hats I was wearing within about a four hour period.  It was dizzying.  After finishing up my water therapy class (There’s hat number one – patient), I went to the church to see if I could figure out a way to fix what was going on with the phone.  I tried to get it to forward calls to my cell phone, but that didn’t work, so instead I changed the message on the answering machine and located the instructions for calling in and listening to messages from a remote location.  I guess my attempt at wearing hat #2 as a telephone repairman didn’t go so well. 

While I was in the church office I did some straightening up.  I found an old ID card in a pile of papers that belonged to none other than my son Nathan.  It was his college ID card from when he was in College of the Mainland in 2004.  What was it doing amidst church papers?  Who knows.  But he is my son, so that makes for hat #3 – father.  I also found an unusual box.  It had apparently been delivered some time ago, but the address on the top wasn’t the church’s.  The box had been opened, and all the contents appeared to be there, so I walked it across the street to the correct address and made the delivery (hat #4 – mailman).  The lady was quite appreciative and happily introduced herself.  I did the same, wearing hat#5 – neighbor. 

My next stop was the worship center where I was determined to take down and store away the Christmas decorations.  I suppose that is a job that just about any church member could take care of, so there was hat #6 – church member.  Once the decorations were stored, the next step was a good floor sweeping.  Even artificial garland can shed an inordinate amount of those annoying little pieces.  And I had to rearrange the pews for better traffic flow on Sunday mornings.  So, custodian hat was number 7.  While doing it, though, I became somewhat sad.  This was, after all, a task that in years past Chris and I have done together.  Strangely, she must have been thinking of me as well.  She sent me a text reminding me that I had to pick up Cailyn at school (Hat #8 – DadDad).  She also wanted to tell me that Mom had continued on her talking binge that started about midnight and never stopped.  She was quite pleasant.  It just lasted all night long.  So hat #9 (son) came with a sigh and a shake of the head.  Of course I also texted my undying love, using the opportunity to be janitorially romantic, which required shifting to hat #10 – husband. 

There was a lot of sweeping to do, and at one point an older couple came to the door.  I let them in and we talked for a while.  They were staying at the state park for a month or so and were checking out possible places to worship while they were here.  I told them all about Seaside (hat #11 - pastor), but I noticed they were looking at me kind of funny the whole time.  That’s not so unusual, actually.  People look at me like I’m strange all that time.  The man finally asked me, “Are you the pastor?”  I apologized for not making that clear.  I told him I realized sweeping may not have been what he expected to see the pastor doing.  He chuckled and said, “Oh, it wasn’t the sweeping.  We get that.  It was the hat you are wearing.”  Ah, yes.  The hat.  I had forgotten.  The whole time I had been wearing hat #12, my fire department chaplain cap.  Like I said … dizzying.

Matthew 3:16-17 says, “As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him.  And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.’”

Father, as One who understands about wearing a lot of hats, thank you for all the relationships my hats represent.  I especially appreciate the hat marked, “saved one.”  Amen.

January 9 – “Ameliorating”

Workers at Seaside have completed the process of ameliorating a mold problem in my office there.  That really has nothing to do with much of anything.  I just wanted to say the word “ameliorating.” 

I did have a pleasant experience at the Galveston Ministerial Alliance meeting yesterday.  I have been to that meeting a time or two in the past with my friend Clay, but I have not been since he moved to California.  I decided to go this time primarily because I got the postcard reminder before the meeting.  That’s a first.  It usually comes a day or two after.  I found out that two more of the long-time Galveston clergymen are retiring next year.  One is the rabbi.  The other is the director of St. Vincent’s House, a local charity organization affiliated with the Episcopal Church.  If this keeps up I’ll be the “senior statesman” on the Island.  Frightening thought.  There were also ministers from a Presbyterian church, a Christian church, two from Baptist churches, and the director of the Seafarer’s Center.  Pretty eclectic crowd.  I was impressed at the end of the meeting, though.  We all stood in a circle, held hands, and the St. Vincent’s guy led in prayer.  Felt like a good bond.  I could go for more of that kind of praying.  Kind of an ameliorating experience. 

I went by the central fire station after that meeting.  Hadn’t been there in a while, so I needed to check in with the fire fighters on duty as well as the chief.  And more importantly, the secretary.  Gotta stay on good terms with Trish.  She’s the one who’s really in charge down there.  There were a lot of extra fire fighters around.  Finally found out that they were doing the new recruit interviews of the guys who passed the physical test.  Actually, they were just breaking for lunch from the interviews.  Fortunate time for me to arrive as it turned out.  The chief invited me to join them at The Original for lunch.  That’s a Mexican food place here in the Island.  Good stuff.  I learned a little about the process for hiring.  The union selected a fire fighter, a driver, and a captain to the interview panel.  The chief, assistant chief, and battalion chiefs made up the rest.  So each candidate had to run the gauntlet, so to speak, just to get to his seat at the table.  I guess if they can handle that pressure, it reflects well on their ability to handle themselves in a fire.  They each had to answer a set of questions.  The panel then ranked their answer to each question.  The rankings were then averaged and added together to come up with a final score.  Sounded like a fair process for all concerned.  I’ll be anxious to see which guys are finally hired.  The extra hires will help ameliorate the shortages of manpower.

I also stopped by the city manager’s office to say hi to him while I was in the neighborhood.  He’s a good guy, and I wanted to encourage him.  That’s a tough job he has.  Not much positive feedback for someone who has to deal with crazy Galveston politics day in and day out.  I’m sure every good word helps to ameliorate his situation.

2 Corinthians 12:9-10 says, “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’  Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.”

Father, that’s the kind of amelioration I want to be a part of.  Ameliorate my weakness.  Amen.

January 8 – “A bit of a rant”

I went to a funeral the other day.  Not as the pastor, just as an expression of condolence to the family of a man I have met a few times.  He was a long time Jamaica Beach resident.  He and his wife had come to several Bible studies at Seaside, and they were members of the local Presbyterian church, where the memorial service was held.  I would say that both he and his wife are strong believers in Jesus (hence the present tense of that verb.  He is still a believer as he enjoys some eternal life).  The service was packed with friends and family from all over the West End of the Island.  Several of them spoke kind words.  It was generally speaking a very nice celebration of his life.  The service itself really reflected a believer’s life.  The pastor talked about the importance of loving Jesus and committing your heart and life to Jesus as your Lord and Savior.  No argument there.

One point of interest to me came, though, when the pastor started reading some scripture.  I noticed that something about what he read didn’t sound exactly right, so I picked up one of the Bibles near me to follow along.  Sure enough, what he was saying and what I was reading didn’t quite match.  Oh, it was nothing earth-shattering or faith-shaking.  It’s just that he was “adjusting” the reading so that there were no male or female references, other than when he spoke of God (He got to stay a male).  Instead of “he” the word became “they.”  Instead of “man” the word was “person.”  “Men” became “persons.”  It never changed the meaning or essence of the passage, but it was a bit disconcerting at first.  I knew there has been a Bible published that tried to do just that – remove all traces of what the revisers called “sexist language,” and provide an “inclusive Bible” that wouldn’t offend anyone.  I have a copy of it, in fact.  This was just the first time I have ever seen it used in an actual ministry setting.  It didn’t seem to faze anyone there, though.  I think I’ll stick to the way it translates from the original languages.  Seems to me that one of the points of scripture in the first place is to offend people.  At least enough to get their attention.  That’s what the Hebrew Law was given for – to show us that we are sinners.  Besides, I like to believe people are intelligent enough to understand basic principles of language usage. 

Well, that was a bit of a rant.  Suffice it to say, the Word of God is … well, just that.  The Word of God.  Let it stand.

Hebrews 4:12-13 says, “For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account.”

 

Father, walk with Al’s family in their grief.  May they hear the comfort in your Word.  Amen.