April 13 – “A fire department Hero Nod”

I got accused of being a hero the other day at WalMart.  Very strange feeling.  As Chris and I were checking out in the 20 items and under line right by the door, I noticed that the checker was gazing at me.  But yet, it was not exactly at me.  Hard to explain.  She never really looked into my eyes.  It was kind of eerie, to be honest.  The kind of stare that makes you want to check to make sure your zipper is up.  It took me until she was almost through with our purchase to realize she had to be staring at my fire department cap.

I guess the reverie must have passed for her, because she suddenly came back to the world and asked, “Are you in the fire reserves?  You guys are heroes over there.”  Chris informed me later that she must have thought I was in the military.  I explained that I was the chaplain of the Galveston Fire Department, and as such I didn’t have to run into burning buildings, thus greatly diminishing any chance that I could be included in the hero category.  Ignoring my protestations, she smoothly shifted gears, and still with that sense of awe like she was talking to some sports superstar asked, “Do y’all have a lot of volunteers in that department?”  Not so much in Galveston,” I replied, “but Jamaica Beach has an entire department made up of volunteers.”  That brought a “Wow.”  By this time she was handing me the receipt and slowly shaking her head from side to side.  As we walked away, just above a whisper, she offered, “Be safe out there.” 

OK.  I put together this account so the guys in the Galveston and Jamaica Beach fire departments could read it and receive her awe and words of encouragement.  They are the ones it should be correctly addressed to.  I add my own sense of admiration to those guys in both departments.  I am proud to work with and represent you in the small capacity I am able to.  And I echo her final words to you guys, “Be safe out there.”

2 Corinthians 6:3-10 says, “We live in such a way that no one will stumble because of us, and no one will find fault with our ministry. In everything we do, we show that we are true ministers of God. We patiently endure troubles and hardships and calamities of every kind.  We have been beaten, been put in prison, faced angry mobs, worked to exhaustion, endured sleepless nights, and gone without food.  We prove ourselves by our purity, our understanding, our patience, our kindness, by the Holy Spirit within us, and by our sincere love.  We faithfully preach the truth. God's power is working in us. We use the weapons of righteousness in the right hand for attack and the left hand for defense.  We serve God whether people honor us or despise us, whether they slander us or praise us. We are honest, but they call us impostors.  We are ignored, even though we are well known. We live close to death, but we are still alive. We have been beaten, but we have not been killed.  Our hearts ache, but we always have joy. We are poor, but we give spiritual riches to others. We own nothing, and yet we have everything.”

Father, once again I ask that you surround the fire fighters with your protection and with a deep sense of your presence, especially when they rush to a call.  I know their instincts kick in once they are on site, but in those moments right before and those hours after a call, please give them a sense of assurance that you are with them.  Amen.

April 12 – “Double header”

Well, now that was an interesting start to a wedding.  As I waited in the lobby of a very nice hotel, talking with the photographer for the same wedding I was about to perform, the hotel wedding coordinator walked up to inform us that the wedding was going to be a little late getting started.  Not that unusual a situation for any wedding, but Stacy had “that look” in her eye.  I knew something more was forthcoming.  Sure enough, she continued.  Seems the bride had decided that she really didn’t like the professionally applied make-up job she had just spent the afternoon receiving.  So she was currently in the shower washing it all off.  I desperately wanted to appear as nonchalant as possible, but I just couldn’t stand it.  I pulled out my phone to check the time.  Fifteen minutes before the scheduled start time for the wedding.  You’re right, Stacy.  This one will be a bit late. 

As usually happens, though, the bride made her way down the elevator, only fifteen or twenty minutes late, and we hurried out to the gazebo to get started.  It was a really small wedding, only 15 or 20 people.  They did have some kids involved, though.  Two flower girls and a ring bearer.  And there had been no rehearsal, so this was an opportunity in the making for something fun to happen.  As the bride turned into the aisle to start her walk, the kids began their.  The two little flower girls walked side by side.  Each held onto a side of … one gallon sized baggie full of rose petals.  And as they walked they did a masterful job of reaching in and dropping them on the grass.  Trailing them was the ring bearer with his pillow carrying the real-live wedding rings.  The essence of cute all the way around.

The ceremony went really well.  I only had to tell them three times which hand was their right one.  And no, the little guy didn’t drop the rings in the grass.  In fact, it took the groom a long time to even get them untied from the pillow.  All was well, though, and they knot was officially tied.  I hung around and talked with the folks for a few minutes. 

I met the groom’s Mom.  Divorced, she told me she was going to a Bible College in Colorado Springs.  She has to write a wedding ceremony next semester, so she was really paying attention to what I said.  I was surprised that she had never heard a wedding with plan of salvation before.  That’s one of my non-negotiables.  I told her to email me, and I would send her a copy of mine.  Most of the crowd left for a reception dinner at Willie G’s.  But their day was not over, by any means.  See, that all occurred from around 1:15 to 2:00 or so.  But something else was on tap to occur by eight that night.  The groom’s Dad … was getting married.  Same location.  Same musician.  Same pastor.  I made my way home to grab a bite to eat and crash for an hour or two. 

The second wedding actually took a page from the Seaside miracle handbook.  All indications were that it was going to rain.  It was even sprinkling a bit when I was walking in from the parking lot.  The wedding went on as scheduled, however.  And just as we completed the last group photo, the unmistakable raindrops began to fall.  I think a few more photos followed in the rain, but I made my way back to the car and on home.  So … two weddings in the same day, father and son.  I think I’ll remember this one for a long time to come. 

Psalms 32:11 says, “Rejoice in the Lord and be glad, you righteous; sing, all you who are upright in heart!”

Father, walk with both of those couples as they start two new families that are actually one.  Amen.

April 11 – “A Late-Night Phone Call”

On Thursday night I had just settled into bed for a long-awaited night’s sleep (I know, sounds like The Night Before Christmas, right?).  I had finally reached that state of grogginess where continuing any further attempts at my usual pre-sleep crossword puzzle would have proven futile.  I had just reached over and turned the light out, when a raucous chorus of Take Me Out To The Ball Game led by Donald Duck, pierced the bedroom.  Recognizing that unmistakable melody as my cell phone ring, I grabbed for it quickly.  See, those late-night phone calls are not ones you eagerly anticipate as a pastor.  Most of the time it involves some emergency or another that necessitates either a quick trip to the emergency room or a long telephone counseling session. 

Struggling to focus on the caller ID, I realized the second greatest fear of a late-night call: when the caller is one of your kids.  That just amps up the intensity another notch or two.  Which grandkid is sick?  Why did they call my phone instead of Chris’?  Is it a Waco call?  Waco takes four hours to get to, so what do we absolutely need to pack?  No, wait.  This one is just LaMarque.  We can get there in ten or fifteen minutes and not have to pack at all.  Chris will want to go.  Better get her up first.  I was almost exhausted with planning before I ever said hello.

I finally managed to locate the swipe bar at the bottom of the screen, and just before I made the tell-tale left-to-right move that would release whatever news this was upon my consciousness, I happened to glance upward just a little bit.  And I saw what time it was.  10:10.  Wait.  I just came to bed about fifteen minutes ago.  This doesn’t really count as a late-night emergency call at all.  This is more of an old-coot-went-to-bed-before ten, ha-ha-ha, you’re-old call.  That changed everything.  As my fingers finally made the swipe, I gathered myself together.  Can’t let them know that just moments before I was in a veritable stupor.  There.  Ready.

Almoist before my “Hello” was out of my mouth, the voice of my oldest grandson Jachin exploded from the receiver.  “Hey, DadDad!  I got a hit!”  And I was awake.  Fully.  This was great news.  You gotta understand.  Jachin had just broken out of his first Little League hitting slump.  And this wasn’t one of those dribblers that the catcher threw over the first baseman’s head.  He’s left-handed and he smacked one into right field.  That means he swung with confidence and pulled the ball.  Talk about a little grandparently pride.  And while I was basking in that news, he almost slipped another one past me.  Seems he also got to pitch for the first time.  Wait.  First hit AND first pitching opportunity?  And he did pretty well on the mound.  No, there’s more.  AND they won the game 14-2.  It was enough to make a doddering old, baseball-loving DadDad’s head spin.  I assured him that I was really proud of him.  Of course I knew he could do it all along.  And I made sure that Nana heard all the details that I could remember as soon as I hung up.  Not the sort of news that you keep to yourself.

I felt really special to get that call.  At first I thought that it just shows how little it takes to make me happy these days.  But no.  There’s nothing little about your first hit and your first chance to pitch.  That was a BIG deal.  Thanks, Jachin, for the late-night (that wasn’t so late after all) phone call.  Thanks for letting me share in your excitement.

Isaiah 49:13 says, “Shout for joy, O heavens; rejoice, O earth; burst into song, O mountains!  For the Lord comforts his people and will have compassion on his afflicted ones.”

Father, thank you for the little pleasure of a baseball good news phone call.  Kind of charges me up to receive a boatload of late-night emergency calls now.  Amen.

April 10 – “LMD”

OK all you friends up in the frozen Northlands who are still experiencing snow and bitter cold … I hope you especially enjoy my most recent trials and tribulations.  It will give you something to long for, something to make you pine for life on a tropical island in the Gulf of Mexico near Texas.  Ah … Galveston life in the Spring.

Yes, it is officially Spring here on the Island.  Leaves budding out.  Trees greening up.  And … lawns.  Lawns that were already green with clover and wintertime weeds that now have actual grass pushing its way to the surface.  Lawns that need mowing.  Once again the time has arrived for that most wondrous of Spring and Summer activities: Lawn Mower Day.

This one started out as most others.  Fillerup with gas.  Prime the motor.  Pull the rope.  Adjust the sunglasses.  Pull the cap down a little tighter.  And push.  That’s about all there is to it is most instances.  Push and turn, push and turn, until all the offending sprouts have been decimated.  Easy, right?  Well, at least until I arrived in the back yard.  That’s when the sputtering began.  Complaining and sputtering, slowing and revving, smelling awful.  And then, to make sure I was paying attention, came the smoke.  Billowing from … wait a minute.  Several bolts were missing, and the entire muffler piece was gone.  No idea where that is.  The whole engine was shaking.  And finally, the inevitable happened.  It died.  And no amount of coddling had any effect. Not re-pulling, or waiting for a while and trying again, or re-priming, or cleaning the spark plug or the air filter.  Nothing.  Dead. 

Now we did happen to have a back-up.  Tucked away in our shed was the old Craftsman lawn mower from six or so years ago.  It had started to run rough so we replaced it with this new contraption.  On a whim I did the same mini-overhaul I had just performed on the wreckage of the other one.  Switched out the spark plug.  Checked the oil (amazingly clean, by the way).  Finally added a little fresh gas and gave it a tug.  To my absolute amazement, the thing started.  Ran like a dream.  Quiet.  Consistent.  I attacked the remaining few strips of uncut lawn to get them finished in case it gave out on me, but it held.  The blades were obviously dulled, but that was an easy fix.  By the way, there was a burnt out lawn mower on the street for anyone who wanted it, but it didn’t stay long.  Hopefully it will be happy in its new home.

Now the next task of LM Day has to be the trimming.  I got out the weed eater to attack those hard-to-get-at places and make the lawn edges look professionally done (Or at least as much like a cheap imitation as I could come up with).  As I unwound the extension cord (It was in one of those wheel things), the plug flew up and smacked me in the face.  Right in the eye, actually.  That hurts.  And of course there was a lot of blood involved.  I managed to gather a substantial amount on my hands and the rest of my face before I went inside to have Chris assess the damage.  Just enough, mind you, to make sure she would have that instant of stark, raving, did-he-poke-his-eye-out fear.  She got it cleaned up, and it was just two or three small cuts.  I think I’ll have a black eye, though. 

Once the massive loss of blood was under control, I finished the back yard and started on the front, confidently whipping out the task and whistling a tune (Not really, but the alliteration was too good to pass up).  And just as I started on the final bit of edging, with a grand end in sight (well, not exactly an end.  I still had to spread Grub-ex and weed-n-feed), the weed eater started whining and grinding.  And then the all-too familiar smelling and smoking, until finally it slowed to a crawl.  Oh, it was still spinning, but in case you ever wondered, a weed eater rotating that slow won’t cut even a blade of St Augustine grass.  Admittedly frustrated by this time I tossed it.  Literally.  Tossed it onto the front porch with a resounding crash.  And as before, I went to our stash of back-ups, which in this case was an old weed eater missing it’s string guard that we used to cut the grass in between fences, so you use it at your own risk.  It looks like a long stick with a piece of string tied on the bottom.  But it worked.  I finished the yard.  Chris made me stop after that.  Too much goodness.  I didn’t argue, though.  I had to agree.  That was just too much for one Lawn Day. 

Until I took a shower and the water failed to drain properly.  And we noticed the truck has a flat tire and needs a new muffler and inspection and registration sticker.  And the car needs an oil change.  But all that will have to be a story for another day. 

Psalms 96:11-12 says, “Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it; let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them.”

Father, thank you for back-ups.  What more can I say?  Amen.

April 9 – “Being a hebby attoon in a isgusting world”

You gotta love listening to little kids learning to develop speech and vocabulary skills.  Especially one as verbal as Noa has become.  Now, she’s not quite two yet, so she has a long way to go, but I suppose vying for attention in the midst of three older brothers has placed her on the fast track. 

She often joins me at my desk when the big guys are playing on the Wii or off chasing each other outside in some strange and wonderful game only big brothers can understand.  She’s not intrusive, by any means, and will often just stand next to me and take in the wondrous sights that surround DadDad’s desk.  Her latest discovery was the day she couldn’t hold back and started pointing and saying over and over, “Attoon.  Attoon.”  That one took me a second or two before I could refocus my eyes into a two-year-old’s perspective.  She was indicating the souvenir rubber otter I have perched atop an hourglass.  Once I realized that, it wasn’t such a far leap to put together what she was saying.  “Raccoon,” of course.

She also has two descriptive words that have become her favorites.  The newer of the two is “It’s hebby.”  That designates anything that is big, or even proportionally big, as well as most dangerous or perhaps most important.  In that sense she is actually using it in the best etymological way.  Value was often described in terms of weight in ancient societies.  Or maybe she’s just a throwback to the sixties when “That’s heavy” was a term for anything beyond understanding, or, depending on one’s level of intoxication, anything (That’s strictly an observation on my part, you understand.  I was always too afraid to try anything that might damage brain cells.  I didn’t have that many as it was).  At the baseball game the other night Christina set out three plastic dinosaurs.  Noa had an immediate evaluation.  Gently touching the T-Rex, she announced, “Iss one is hebby.”  Absolutely right.  Her other favorite word that she amazingly uses appropriately every time, although I don’t always agree with her assessments, is “isgusting.”  That’s right, “disgusting.”  You can imagine how often she gets to practice it in a house full of older brothers.  They have a knack for being “isgusting.” 

Maybe that attoon of mine has the right idea, perched atop that hourglass, completely above time, as it were.  It’s not easy being a hebby attoon in this isgusting world of ours.  Circumstances can sometimes get you down.  That’s when we need to crawl up on top of time – seek out the presence of Jesus – and see the world from his perspective.  Changes everything. 

Hebrews 12:2 says, “Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”

Father, thank you for being above our circumstances.  Thank you even more for giving us access to your hebby perspective.  Makes ours a little less isgusting.  Amen.

April 8 – “The aftermath”

As I have made my way around town over the last few days, I have been surprised to run into some unexpected people.  Well, it was not so much the people, but the connection that was so surprising.  On Monday I went to the Central fire station for a meeting with the chief and a lady who has purchased and completed renovations on the home of the guy who was fire chief during the 1900 storm.  How’s that for a little piece of history?  She is having an open house and wants the chief to share some history and me to pray a blessing.  Sounds like fun.  While I was waiting for her to arrive, I met the lady who will be filling in for Trish, the fire department administrative assistant.  She had surgery yesterday and will be gone for six weeks.  The temp lady was very pleasant, and asked where in the building was my office.  Never thought about having an actual chaplain’s office.  I explained that I was a volunteer, so I worked from my home office or from the church where I am pastor.  That seemed to intrigue her.  She paused for a moment, then asked what church.  I replied “Seaside Church out in Jamaica Beach.”  She grinned and answered, “I went to your sunrise service yesterday.  It was beautiful.”  And the sunrise service was our topic of conversation until the appointment arrived.  Didn’t see that one coming at all.

After the meeting I went downstairs to talk to the fire fighters on duty.  Kenny was in the captain’s office on the computer, so I stopped in on him.  And the first thing he said?  “We really enjoyed the sunrise service yesterday.”  I must have looked surprised, because he continued on, “We were the ones in the chairs with the canopies on them.  Didn’t do us much good, though.  The rain was blowing sideways.”  Once again, a brief conversation ensued about the service.  Not at all what I expected, but I really enjoyed the chat. 

We don’t always receive much “aftermath” feedback from events like that service.  Sometimes it makes me wonder if we should press on.  But these little affirmations sure make all the work seem more worthwhile.  So next year maybe we could …

Nehemiah 9:17 says, “But you are a forgiving God, gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love.”

Father, thank you for the feedback.  May the aftermath of you invading people’s lives be way more effective than was the actual event.  Amen.

April 7 – “Schooled in non-video childhood interaction"

I never did get to finish telling about our pre-Easter extravaganza of grandchildren.  At some point, for some unknown reason, Chris and I found ourselves alone … with a batch of grandkids, of course.  I think it must have been date night.  We were being schooled in the fine art of non-video–oriented game-playing, and that doesn’t just mean CandyLand or Operation.  Not these kids.  Chris and Micah and Jachin played a game of Nuts.  That’s a card game known by many names, but it is essentially Multi-solitaire.  As many people as have decks of cards play a miniaturized version of solitaire in front of them, but anytime an Ace is played, any of the rest of the players can play on it as well.  It can get pretty wild and crazy, especially if you have some hyper-competitive first-borns involved in the game.  Earlier that afternoon, in fact, we played a game where Nathan (baby if the family) and me (forgotten middle child) were matched up against Kel, Christina, April, and Chris … all “competitive” first-borns.  It was kind of fun for us to watch the others go toe to toe while we quietly racked up point after point.  As it turned out, Nathan and I tied for first place.  The others did a masterful job of hiding their massive disappointment, though.  They showed fine character and only accused us of cheating six or eight times.  As I said, great game.  So while that was happening on one end of the table, five-year-old Josiah was teaching me a card game called Egyptian Rat Killer.  I have no idea as to the etymology of the title.  All I do know is that the little rat killer sitting across from me completely cleaned me out of cards, then coolly told me to count the number of cards I had left, and that would be my score.  Ouch.

We did get a bit more rambunctious than that, however.  There was the rousing game of hide and seek that we played outside.  That’s when I learned that I was missing out on one of the key chants of childhood.  I had never heard it before.  It goes something like, “One, two, three, base is on me.”  I think there was more to it than that, but it gave you permission to leave home base once you successfully touched in.  Without the chant you are fair game for “It” to nail you.  Now you tell me. 

My personal favorite of the evening, though, had to be the one we played in our kitchen: Quidditch (sans flying broomsticks).  Hope there are some Harry Potter fans still around who understand the reference.  Basically, there was a game of soccer going on, and I had control of a small rubber ball – the snitch.  I would toss it across the room and bounce it off the wall at random intervals.  If the seeker of either team intercepted it, they automatically won the round.  Meanwhile, the soccer game provided opportunity for even more points.  Fascinating game, that Quidditch. 

Isaiah 11:8-9 says, “The infant will play near the hole of the cobra, and the young child put his hand into the viper's nest.  They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain, for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.”

Father, thank you again for the storehouse of creativity you insert into the minds of young children.  Amen.