Almost Famous

Almost Famous is one of my absolute favorite movies. Not because of Kate Hudson, though she is fabulous in her breakout role of Penny Lane. The movie centers around a turbulent summer tour of the fictitional band Stillwater. In the movie the band is reaching for super-stardom but find it seems just beyond their grasp, but they're right there along side some of the biggest names in business.

For the past 8 years or so, I've been friends with Raymond and Bobby McDonald. Raymond is now the pastor of our church. Bobby is the worship/music pastor. In the time I've known them, I've heard all kinds of stories about their time in Los Angeles and all the musicians they came in contact with. I enjoy hearing those stories. It's also cool to actually meet some of those people they talk about.

Last night, Bobby and I went to the Meridian in Houston to see Frank Black (of the Pixies) in concert. I'm not much of a Pixies fan. Neither is Bobby. However, Bobby is good friends with the guitar player in Black's band. His name is Duane Jarvis. Duane is as versatile as they come in the pro music scene, or so I had been told. Last night I got to see for myself, up close and personal.

Bobby had been told about the upcoming show and Duane asked him to show up. Bobby was put on the guest list and asked me to come along. We showed up and the guy at the door told Bobby "they were looking for you before the show," referring to the band. When we walked in, the band was in the middle of their opening song. We grabbed a couple of beers and I followed Bobby as he made his way around to Duane's side of the stage. Bobby worked his way up front and caught Duane's attention. He jumped in surprise and mouthed "it's great to see you." We watched the entire show and were asked to come backstage. I got to meet Duane, as well as Frank Black (his "real name" is Charles Thompson) and the other members of the band. I must say I've been a lot of places and done a lot of things, but walking into the Meridian and enjoying the show like we did had to be one of the coolest experiences of my life.

On the way home, Bobby and I talked about the show and recalled some of his favorite experiences from when he and Duane used to play and tour together. He also told me that Dwight Yoakum is coming to town and his guitar player is another good friend of Bobby's. "You wanna go? I should be on the guest list."

Gee Bobby, I'm beginning to wonder who you don't know at this point.

Age Is Just A Number, Right?

3 days from today, I will be 38 years old. I don't feel like 38, whatever it's supposed to feel like. I'm not sure I even look 38, whatever it's supposed to look like, either.

As it says on my profile, had I any inkling that my life would go on past 21, I would have taken much better care of myself back when it counted. No silly, rickety bike ramps (now, there's a funny story). I would do a lot more looking before I leaped. I would have walked instead of running when my knee, ankle or whatever else started hurting. I also would have told the coach my arm hurt when he asked me instead of saying "no" so I could stay in the game. 18 and 19 year-olds don't think about being hobbled by injuries on up the road. 30-somethings have to live with what they did to their bodies back in the day. Still, for being almost 38 - a few days and a couple of years shy of the big "4-0" - I still feel pretty good, most of the time.

Since I started writing this blog, I take time to think about milestones, special events and even the mundane and routine in ways I never used to before. Specifically, in regard to getting one year older for instance, how should a 38 year-old act? What are 38 year-olds supposed to do? These are all questions I hope to explore over the next year.

I've Been Remiss...

I'm a little under the gun here.

My brother-in-law wrote in his blog about his anniversary just a few days ago. My own anniversary was the next day. Needless to say, I've heard about it from the only lady who really counts - my wife ("Aaron blogged about Jenee, but you..."). Of course now it probably won't have the same impact as it would have - had I remembered to blog about our anniversary on our anniversary, especially since it was a big one. But, considering the fact that I do nearly all of my blogging during breaks at work, I can honestly say that at that point in time, I was completely and utterly swamped!

Back to the point at hand...on September 14, my wife and I celebrated 15 years of marriage - to each other. That's quite an accomplishment these days. I'd call it wedded bliss, but if I did, I'd be lying. My wife knows it, too. It's been 15 years of surprises, mistakes, miserable failures, heartaches, bumps and bruises, not to mention financial troubles, employment problems, yadda, yadda, yadda. Had either of us known what we were getting into 15 years ago, we probably wouldn't have gone through with it.

Before I'm mistaken for being the biggest jerk on the planet, I should explain a little. From where I stand (or sit, in this case), I married very well. I'd stack my woman up against anybody. I've never met somebody who can do so much with so little, make any old place feel like a home and keep going - even after a mountain of setbacks have come her way. She doesn't give herself nearly enough credit. She says she's not creative at all, yet can pull some of the neatest surprises out of mid-air that anyone has ever seen.

We once lived in a house that shouldn't have been lived in - period. It was an old, dingy pier-and-beam job that had settled badly and had uneven floors throughout. It hadn't been lived in for years and the leaders of a church thought it would be a great place for their youth pastor and his family to live. Fortunately, we weren't the first of their youth pastors to live there. We heard stories (after we had already moved out) about rats running in the attic, thick dust on the floors, on and on. (Those folks had it rough). Still, we had a toddler and an infant to bring into that hole. We did have an incident of a mouse running around the kitchen and our dog catching a rat the size of a small cat. Still, she never batted an eye (that I saw) and was hard at work - from the time we arrived until we left 15 months later. She made that place a home for our family. She would later make our home in the same house with my parents. (We now look back on that time as one of the better times, believe it or not.)

I've made a LOT of bad decisions along the way, many of which have affected us directly, a few of them for a LONG period of time. These were the sort of things that most people don't come back from - not as a couple, nor as individuals. Somehow, we did and our family is still intact. I've tried an awful lot of things over the past 15 years. I've held several jobs - with only 1 lasting more than 5 years. The rest have been a year or two here or there - or less.

I've changed career paths quite a few times, as well. When she met me, I wanted to be a preacher, got my license to preach and took off only to crash and burn within 5 years. The 10 years since has been an attempt to recover from the wreckage early on. Now, after 10 years of wandering between various careers, I'm actually thinking it may be time to return to work in the church. Everybody run for your lives!

But, if I ever did anything right in these past 15 years, I picked a winner of a girl. I've told her a few times - but not nearly enough - that I'm a better man because of her. I truly wouldn't and couldn't be who I am today without her. I am truly thankful to God for her. I know for a fact that He was responsible for bringing us - and keeping us - together.

I'm looking forward to many, many more anniversaries with this same lady. Hopefully we'll both live a long, long time.

I Could Get Killed For This

The world is going crazy. Nobody knows what to do with Muslims.

Depending on where one gets their news and information, that statement may or may not have any meaning to you. If the major source is mainstream, network news - probably not. However, if one reads blogs and message boards - you're on board.

The Pope made a speech regarding Islam and now muslims everywhere are going nuts. According to another source, the muslims didn't start acting out until they had attended their Friday prayer services.

We've been misled about the "Religion of Peace." History records Islam as being a religion of the sword. In the address scientists on the role of faith and reason in human experience, the Pope recounts a debate between a Byzantine emperor Manuel II Paleologus and an "educated Persian." Here I quote directly from his address :

Violence is incompatible with the nature of God and the nature of the soul. "God", he [the Byzantine emperor] says, "is not pleased by blood - and not acting reasonably is contrary to God's nature. Faith is born of the soul, not the body. Whoever would lead someone to faith needs the ability to speak well and to reason properly, without violence and threats... To convince a reasonable soul, one does not need a strong arm, or weapons of any kind, or any other means of threatening a person with death...".

The attacks of 9/11 forced them to showed militant muslims for who they are - murderers. I understand that there are supposedly millions of muslims who are not militant. But, I echo the sentiments of others who say if Islam is really a peaceful religion, why don't the peaceful ones rise up and condemn the extremists? Why won't they? Because they know that the Koran says that those who do not convert to Islam are its enemy. That an infidel (anyone who is not a muslim) must die. That doesn't sound very peaceful to me.

So, at this rate, if anyone dares to say anything negative about the Islamic religion they could be putting their lives on the line. I guess I am now a target. Woo-hoo!

5 Years After 9/11

Five years ago, I was administrative assistant working for Kerr-McGee Oil and Gas Company, listening to the radio while I was working on a sunny Tuesday morning. I wasn't really paying attention to the radio until I heard the host talking about a plane that had flown into one of the Twin Towers in lower Manhattan. "There was something like this during world war II, when a plane hit the Empire State Building, but it was a small, single-engine plane. We'll be monitoring this for you through out the morning." I went on about my business.

Barely a few minutes later, there was an urgent announcement "a second passenger plane has flown into the other World Trade Center tower." I don't remember hearing anything else. I got up and went to our conference room and turned on the television just in time to see the replay of the second crash. I then alerted my coworkers to the situation.

I was working in the Environmental Health and Safety Department and it was our responsibility to take in account the safety of our office complex in light of what we were seeing unfold. Several safety announcements within the first several hours spread even more fear and panic within our city. Eventually, our entire office was allowed to leave for the remainder of the day while our department worked out a safety plan for the coming days. Over the next 72 hours, with the restricitions enacted nation-wide in regard to air travel, our department would be responsible for getting some 200 employees back home, who had been stranded in various places across the country and around the world. This would be a process that would last for another week after 9/11.

Our complex was within 5 miles of the Houston Interncontinental Airport and the sound of air traffic was a daily part of life. I remember walking outside to my car late that afternoon and noticing the eerie quiet in the sky overhead. When air traffic finally resumed, there was such an infrequency of overhead flights for several weeks. It seemed everyone would look up to watch each plane go overhead during those first few days.

That night, when I was finally able to return home, I went in and hugged each of my children and kissed my wife. I told them all that I loved them. I knew full well that hundreds, possibly thousands would never get the opportunity to do the same with their loved ones ever again. In a day that started just like any other, we all were faced with the brutal and ultimate reality that the world had been changed forever - right before our eyes.

We must never forget what happened on September 11, 2001. It wasn't some horrible accident. We were attacked for being who we are: Americans.

What Has God Been Doing In Your Life?

That might be a strange question for some. "God? Doing something in MY life? " Actually, it may not be as strange or crazy as one might think.

Too often we dismiss good things that happen in our lives as being good luck, because of this or that - which was either part of our regular routine or a result of doing things a bit differently or just the upswing in association with the yin and yang. It also could be the work of God. Whatever the case, it's all fine. We're entitled to our opinions. But, what if we're discounting the possibility that such things happening to us is because God is wanting to work in us through such things?

In my experience, most people who deny the existence of God do so for a lot of reasons, but ultimately it comes down to their disappointment in God and/or the church. I know it's simplistic to say such a thing. Give it some thought though. It's usually one or the other.

In regard to the matter of disappointment with God, I've got to say that - if we're honest - we've all been there at least once in our lives. We pray and the answer we get isn't what we want. Whether it's for someone to be healed or to get something we really wanted. When it doesn't happen, it hurts and as a result God gets all the blame. It's sad, but God's big enough to take it. Many are unable to take it themselves and they walk away.

I can't tell you how many times I've wished I could do something about such a thing. Unfortunately, because someone decides to ignore God or begin to say He doesn't exist, He doesn't go away. But those people pass off those little miracles that God pulls off each and every day. One can only hope and pray that somehow God is able to somehow get through all the hurt and touch such a person where they are.

As for being hurt by the church, most of the time people are just people and they don't mean to offend. It doesn't change the fact that they do. It's just the fact that we're all pretty much ignorant. We don't realize that we did something that totally devastated somebody else. Sometimes we don't get the chance to make it right. Other times we just hope that the other person will be big enough to not be offended by our ignorance. Talk about irresponsible! The fact is we need to be a lot more sensitive to those who are new and young in the faith. Often we're bullies and just don't realize it.

So, I'm back to the original question: "What has God been doing in YOUR life?" Don't be in a hurry. Take some time. You just might suprise yourself.

Rest In Peace, Big Guy

Last February, I took my daughter to see the legendary Maynard Ferguson at the local high school. Today, I learned that the legend himself passed away at the ripe, old age of 78. All I can say is I'm glad I saw him when I did. What an inspiration he was!

Maybe It Was Just Me...

Last night, my family and sat down to watch the premier of the acclaimed HBO special "When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in 4 Acts." (Part 1 aired last night. Part 2 is on tap tonight.) I've always liked documentaries. They fascinate me. To me, it's neat to see a chronological account of a particular event. No matter how much one knows about what happened, there's always something new in there somewhere. I guess as a result, my family likes them, too.

In this case, I'm not sure what I expected to see last night, whether I would learn something or what. I was up later than I really wanted to be watching this piece. When it was over, I could only wonder if it was worth it. After thinking about it for most of the day, I thought I could do a little better with it if I wrote about it. So, here I am.

Now, in defense of the film - or whatever it is - there was some really interesting footage that must have been gathered from everywhere. And, as expected, director Spike Lee did a masterful job piecing the entire event together from the piles of footage. As a result, it seemed like the events from that fateful week were being relived right before our eyes. For the first hour, no one in our living room moved. We all felt the weight of the tragedy and couldn't believe that it had only happened within the last year.

As the film progressed, the mood began to shift from sadness and despair to frustration and rage as, one by one, each victim applied blame for the tradgedy to the official of choice. After an hour of one complaint after another, I was ready for the first half to end. It was getting harder and harder to feel sorry for people recounting their experiences. Regardless of what I felt or what anyone's opinion is on this tragedy, I think this is truly a situation that none of us, who watched from afar, will ever understand.

For instance, I've been to New Orleans a handful of times. None of my experiences there were that memorable. I just thought it was old and dirty. I do like Cajun Food, but I don't think I just have to eat it in the Big Easy. That's just me. I wasn't raised there. I'm sure it would be different if I were. But, I guarantee you this, whether I was raised there or not, whether I was told one day or one week before a storm the size of Katrina was on its way to my town, if I had to walk, crawl or beg, I'd get out of there. Who cares if the storm didn't turn out as expected! Me and mine would all be okay. End of story.

Of course, that isn't what happened. Hundreds died and thousands were displaced. I understand there were poor and impoverished people who were at the mercy of the government. But, really, who's fault is that? Would anyone really put their lives in the hands of any federal, state or local entity? In essence, when those people ignored the warnings of their city government to evacuate, they took their lives in their own hands, all the while thinking the government would be there for them when it all was over.

If anything, the most pathetic part of this tradgedy is the fact that it didn't have to happen. Of course it did. Tons and tons of TV footage tell us so.

My, How Time Flies!

I've had way too much time on my hands at work lately (I hope my boss doesn't see that!) and I went back to look at some of the previous 80-some-odd posts over the last year. I started this blog in August 2005. Since that time a lot has transpired, as could be expected with any given year. Specifically, last August was when Hurricane Katrina decimated New Orleans. It was also when my wife and I finally enrolled our children in our local school district.

Everybody was scared last August - especially myself. Nobody knew what to expect. After just a few days it was clear that everybody was going to be fine. Now, we're gearing up to do it all again. The kids are all a year older now, moderately bigger, taller, etc., going to the next grade up. They're all so excited - as are their parents!

Do You Really Want To Be A Millionaire?

Who hasn't thought about what it would be like to win the lottery? I know I have. I've thought about it a lot actually. That doesn't mean that I've gone to the extent of buying a lottery ticket. No surprise that I've not won. I don't see the point on one hand. Then again, I wonder why I shouldn't allocate a portion of my paycheck to play regularly. Afterall, at the heart of the Texas Lottery Commission is the promise that it supports Texas education. Yeah, now there's a good cause!

There are too many stories of people who literally strike it rich only to blow it all without bettering their lives one bit with the big payday. That brings me to an article I read today in the Houston Chronicle. A Jourdanton, Texas man won the lottery almost 6 years ago only to regret that he ever won the prize. The old addage "money can't buy happiness" falls painfully short. According to the article, this man isn't alone in his troubles. How ironic! In a culture that idolizes wealth, society says a rich person should be happier than everyone else. Yet in talking to just a few of those who became instantly rich, they're more miserable than they were - before their windfall! Simply amazing.

It reminds me of the old proverb:

An inheritance quickly gained at the beginning will not be blessed at the end. Proverbs 20:21

I don't have anything against rich people or people getting rich. I think I'd like to try my hand at it one of these days. However, that fortune may cost a lot more than the price of a lottery ticket at the local convenience store.

Winds Of Change

There's not a good way to explain it. Everything feels different, better than before. Hope is in the air - literally. I can't get into specifics right now, but things are looking up.

Now, what can I be talking about?

The lyrics from one of my all-time favorite songs can fill in the blanks for now:

The Winds of Change
Danny Tate/Danny Wilde
Performed by Russ Taff

Well, I've seen my chances come and go
And come back round again
But everytime they took me by surprise

There was a day I used to want
the things I did not have
But it's never better on the other side.

Well, I've never gone so far that I've
forgotten my way home
The best things always bring you back again
over and over

(chorus)
The Hands of Time
Go Round and Round
They don't slow down when you lose your way
At every turn
The things you learn
You wear them proud like you wear your name
And as you go
On Down that road
Don't let the dust get in your eyes
It blows in the winds of change.

Hunger is no stranger
I've sat with him before
And everything I've done has not been good

As I've tried to make my stand
I've had to learn to fall
And maybe I've seen more than I should

But I've never gone so far that I've
Forgotten my way home
The best things always bring you back again
over and over

And I held on to my life
And I kept my dream alive
And the dream ain't over
Over and over

I hope to chronicle what takes place from here on this blog in the days and months to come.

God is good!

Observations On The Latest Middle East Crisis

I'm not much for politics these days. Call me burned out, a drop-out or whatever. I've been so frustrated with both sides within our political system for longer than I care to add up. Too many broken promises, hidden agendas, conflicts of interest, yadda-yadda. I'm jaded. Politics and politicians won't save any of us from any of the hundreds of thousands of threats that we face as a nation each and every day. With the latest trouble in the middle east, it's hard to believe that anything a talking head has to say will have any bearing on what is currently happening. The same rhetoric is just that - empty, meaningless talk.

Yesterday, during my drive home, I tuned into the Savage Nation, a radio show hosted by Michael Savage. (This radio show has been labeled ultra-conservative by various pundits mainly because Savage regularly spouts a lot of radically conservative ideas. I personally tune in to hear the man rant and rave. There's nothing like hearing a New York yankee lose his cool.) Instead of the normal talk about the Bush Administration or a guest from Washington, Savage was interviewing Pastor John Hagee, from San Antonio, Texas during the first hour of the show. Hagee, a TV preacher and a regular teacher of "End-Time" events, was talking about various prophecies from the Old Testament and their relevance to the current fighting in the Middle East. Savage, along with much of his radio audience, was stunned. "There are such striking similarities to what's going on today." No kidding. "You won't hear this interpretation on the nightly news, my friends." Yeah, you got that right. You know things are getting serious when people resort to consulting the Bible to interpret events of the day.

I grew up in a church tradition where preachers talked a lot about the 2nd Coming of Christ and sought to interpret current events to show everyone just how close His return is. There's not a lot of interpretation needed these days. Sure, there are more than enough cooks and goofballs around that could serve to turn anyone off. But, despite all the craziness and weirdos, I think the entire world is about to see the climax of time unfold before our eyes.

So what does all this mean? Well, I think if you believe what the Bible says, then you should get ready and start looking up. If not, the events of the world might yet make a believer out of you.

So, I Cut My Hair...

After almost a year of trying to grow it out, I again cut my hair. Yeah, I know. Everybody else in the world was telling me to continue growing it. The one person who wanted me to cut it mattered the most: my wife. Yep. Nobody said anything about it at work. My mom even was leaving me alone about it. But, Danelle hated it - with a passion. Stupid me. I thought I could convince her that it was cool. Nope. She wouldn't buy it.

So, a couple of weeks ago while she was getting her hair cut, she made an appointment for me, too. The girl used a "magic comb," which was a comb with a hair razor in it. Probably the coolest thing I've ever seen. It made mince meat of my mane within a matter of minutes, leaving clumps of hair 6 to 10 inches long on the floor. What a waste!

The truth is I really like being married. I guess it means I'll be keeping my hair short for the rest of my life. I guess there are worse things, though I'm not able to think of any right now.

I still like being married, though. I really, REALLY do. Which is exactly why I cut my hair in the first place.

Completely Amazing

This video is completely amazing. According to the story, the DPS trooper was shot 23 times and survived. Click here to see the report.

Bigfoot Might Be in East Texas

Can it be? See for yourself!

Remember What I Said About Christian Community?

A couple of weeks ago I wrote about a friend's decision to walk away from our little, cloistered faith community and pursue a possibly destructive relationship. There's been an update to the story. A few nights ago, she came back.

Unfortunately for her, when she left, she did a lot of things that were hurtful to the very people who had been so supportive over the last year. But, instead of being scorned or chastised, she received the same love that she had been accustomed to before she left.

I have no idea what went on in her head while she was gone or on the night she returned. I'm sure she had already thought about what she might need to say or do to make things right with everyone - much like the prodigal son in Jesus' New Testament parable. I guess the best part is that she didn't have to or wasn't expected to. That's not to say it was easy to receive her back again. I'm sure it wasn't. Still it was the right thing to do.

As difficult as it is to forgive, it is what Christians are called to do - right out of the box. It's the willingness to forgive that sets Christian Community apart in this world. It's what people crave - to be forgiven when they mess things up. It's the kind of thing that might bring a prodigal back home - to stay.

I'm Feeling Pretty Stupid Right About Now

In my previous post, I wrote about the eye-opening blog that I discovered, thanks to my co-worker - one cube over. I got all wrapped up in the story and told each of my two blog readers about it as well as my wife early this morning. It now appears that it's all a hoax, part of a clever marketing campaign for a billboard sign company.

I'll admit that I'm the gullible sort. I take things at face value - which can leave me open to the occasional kick in the gut, pants or wherever. In this case it's almost disappointing. I guess I was hoping it would be real instead of the TV reality that most of us have become accustomed to. Had I not discovered the revelation this morning, I probably would have been suprised by the video posted today on the blog. I'm supposed to believe the video to be the work of a private investigator. If that's the case, shouldn't he be a little farther away. At least they are on TV. I'd like to think I would notice a guy with a video camera right across the table or up the sidewalk from me. Then again, I don't know what I'd do.

If this is in fact a hoax, I have only one question...where in the hell can I sign up for a job like that? Getting paid for making up a storyline like this one? I'll bet people would be standing in line. Wouldn't you?

Now, For Something Completely Different

Reader Caution: The links below contain some graphic language at times. Reader discretion strongly advised.


For those of you who get your news via the world-wide-web, you may have seen this today. Whether you have - or haven't - it's still worth a second look. A coworker sent me the link for the blog That Girl Emily. It's a blog about a woman, her self- discovery and the subsequent disclosure of her husband's affair with her best friend, Laura. Frightenly fresh, Emily's account covers barely 18 days leading up to her heartbreaking discovery - just days ago. No story here. This is real life. (Eat your heart out reality TV)

As the old saying goes, "hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn," or in this case, a woman scorned. Take a look at her plan to unleash 14 Days of Wrath on her unfaithful husband. Not to be outdone, day 2 is simply another magnificent reprisal. One can only imagine what the next 12 days hold for Steven. I say "you go, girl!"

As I read this account, I could only laugh. Had this story taken place in another part of New Jersey or a different family, Emily's brother probably would have gotten together with some of his buddies and taken Steven out in the woods. No one would have heard from him again - ever. That is if Emily hadn't already shot him first.

Of course now, in this post-modern, hi-tech information age, possibly half the world knows the mischief that Steven's been up to, as well as his shortcomings.

No pun intended.

How Valuable Is Christian Community?

A friend told me today that a mutual friend had decided to leave our church community to pursue a likely destructive relationship with someone she met not long ago. This girl came to us in a broken state and we've all witnessed her healing and transformation as a person. To hear now that she decided to leave the community who loves her to venture out on her own is heartbreaking.

A little over 5 years ago, my family embarqued on an adventure with several friends who wanted to see a new church in the city of Conroe, Texas. Many of us were from the mother church, the Vineyard Christian Fellowship of Spring. We were joined by others from the surrounding area around Conroe. Within no time - it seems anyway - we were a thriving church. Five years later I pause to look back and I'm amazed by what we've seen together. In telling our story to people outside of our church, many have made the comment "it sounds like you've joined a cult."

One of the biggest lessons I've learned while being yoked with this group of people has been the value of Christian Community. I've been in the church my entire life. I've seen the good, bad and ugly that church life can afford. Over the last year or so, I've even seen a lot of ugly within my own life and within my family. Still somehow, I find myself hanging around, wanting to be part of this thing. It's so strange. It's possibly the only thing that made me want to hang on when things seemed their worst. I know I've not experienced the same bond in other circles that I've been part of.

From the beginning of our experiment (as I like to call it), our pastor talked about the necessity of community. It's been the emphasis of our parent organization, the Vineyard Association of Churches for nearly as long as our church has existed. In today's world, people are looking to be connected to someone or something that is bigger than themselves. Whether it's an extended family, membership in some sort of organization or club - or even a gang - people want to belong somewhere. Now, after hearing this message for the last 5 years, I think it's finally taken hold. I can't imagine my life outside of our church. The rest of my family feels the same. We've shared a lot with this group of people. Like most things, the shared experiences serve to bind everyone even closer together.

Many of us live down the street and around the corner from each other. As I understand, we have some 30 or so families within 5 miles of our church. That's pretty close by anyone's standards. Of course, building such a tight-knit community means people get to know each others' secrets, weaknesses and very often failures too. At times, such a thing can be over- whelming. We all want our space and our privacy. The trouble is that we can waste away in secrecy. Community, in its truest sense, doesn't seek to exploit weakness but protect it and apply healing there. The skeptic might not believe that he can be healed by such an ordinary instrument as the community around him. As one who's been wounded and is now on the mend, it's simply a wonder to behold.

Now that I'm on my way to the "other side" from the "being healed" to joining the ranks of the "wounded healers," my mind continually goes to my friend. She is dearly loved and will be truly missed within our community. What can we do for her now? What are we supposed to do? You see, it's not about laying blame or giving correction anymore. No. It's about rescuing one of our own. It's doing something that Jesus did and would do. Community isn't just a cup of coffee, as we've often said around our church. This is where the rubber meets the road. Community is like an extended family and family doesn't give up on each other.

So, how valuable is community? Or what is community worth? It's invaluable in my estimation. In times like these, we can show how valuable it is for the benefit of everyone else.

An Alternative Summer Vacation Destination

Every year about this time people start discussing where they're going for vacation. Maybe it's Disney World, or going on a cruise. For the last 5 out of 8 years, my family have spent a week at the Cornerstone Festival just outside lovely Bushnell, IL. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, or so I've heard. If the sight of cornfields and farm houses - as far as the eye can see - is what one considers lovely, it must be just like home. Every year the town and neighboring cities anticipate the influx of some 30,000 festival-goers who represent a financial shot-in-the-arm for the local agriculturally based economy.

This marks the 23rd year that the Jesus People USA have put on the festival, which often resembles the best of Woodstock, with its hippy happiness. (JPUSA was started by a group of born-again hippies in the early 70's.) Cornerstone is the grandfather of Christian music festivals, drawing the most muscial acts of any such festival in the country. Hundreds of acres become home to some 25,000 campers over a one-week period. It's not just about the music however. There are seminar speakers every day covering a wide-range of topics for the Christian, seeker or whoever.

The first year that my wife and I went to the festival, in 1999, we went without the kids and were volunteers. That meant in exchange for our work we would be refunded the price of admission. Depending on the job, that could be a great deal. For an inexpensive vacation, that was the ticket. We volunteered again on our last trip in 2005. It was simply the longest week of our lives. By midweek, we were asking ourselves "why are we spending our vacation doing this?" We both swore we'd never do such a thing again. Vacation is too dear to spend it working.

Something to consider about an outdoor activity, like this festival, is the weather. The first year my wife and I were at the festival, in 1999, we were flooded out of our tents. It didn't rain again over the rest of the week, but there was mud for two more days. We returned in 2000 with our 3 children. It rained 3 out of 5 days. Mud was everywhere - up to a foot deep. It was a nightmare for adults; a dream come true for kids. Our other 3 trips have seen little or no rain. A good thing you might say. Believe it or not, it isn't. Instead of mud, there's plenty of dust. I didn't know this before, but during the summer, there's little difference between Illinois and Texas. It makes one wonder why they'd spend good money to go camping in a cornfield. Maybe I'm just getting old, but going in a RV is much more appealing.

This year my son is going without his parents and siblings as a reward for attending summer school. He hitched a ride yesterday with his aunt and uncle who previous made plans to go. My wife wanted to go this year, but her stick-in-the-mud husband didn't want to brave the high gas prices for a cross-country road trip to camp under the stars. The truth is after two years of being on or near an RV, the thought of going back to a tent in the field just didn't appeal. Dust is bad enough. Mud is much worse.

According to weather.com, rain is in the forecast for July 3rd and 4th, just in time to greet the festival campers when they arrive. The truth is though it may rain for just a day, the mud will last much longer. Have fun guys. You can tell me all about it.

An Update of Sorts...

Today marks 3 weeks of being medicated. After my first week of being on Citalopram I was bumped up from 20 mg to 40 mg. Honestly, I've not been able to tell a difference physically. There have been no real side-affects to speak of. No problems that I can tell. I guess it's all good. I've not had any depressive episodes to speak of so the meds must be doing the trick.

I also received a prescription for a sleep aid, Ambien, since during the initial interview I mentioned having trouble sleeping. After of almost a week, I'm beginning to wonder if my sleeping habits have had an effect on my mental health in the past. I've been enjoying getting up during the week and feeling really refreshed. That's usually reserved for Saturdays and the occasional Sunday. I don't quite know what to do with myself now. I should have checked into this a long time ago!

Make No Mistake About It: It's About the Almighty Dollar

It's been a little over a week since my "rooftop" experience (sorry, no mountains around these parts) and I keep learning things every day. Something I learned a long time ago is that regardless of what any of us think, in our world, money is what makes the world go around. As terrible as it is to admit, we all know it's true.

I was really excited when I started my current job with Stewart again. I knew I would eventually have benefits and all the trappings that come with a corporate job. Once I actually received those benefits - after the 90 day waiting period - I was a little suprised at how much I would actually pay for them. But, I had insurance afterall, so it's all okay, right? It got even better when I considered seeing a psychiatrist and realized that such visits and medication were covered under my plan. Excellent news, right?

Last week, after my visit with the nurse, I discovered after leaving the office that I didn't have the prescription that I had actually come for. I called the office back, talked to the nurse and had her call it in. Over the next several days, I called the pharmacy to check on the prescription only to find out that it was on hold, needing additional approval from the doctor. "That's weird," I thought. I spoke to the nurse again and she assured me that she would take care of it.

After several days of a lot of back-and-forth with the insurance company, the word finally came that the prescription that I had been given for Zoloft was not covered under my plan. Apparently they covered other similar drugs, Celexa in this case, but not Zoloft. Supposedly a generic form of the drug will be available at the end of the month and it might be covered at that point in time. Yeah, well...we'll see. In the mean time, the nurse suggested trying the "other" drug until we could determine if the generic for Zoloft would be available.

I knew going in that finding the right drug would be a matter of trial and error. One drug that worked for one person might not work as well for me or visa versa. (My makeup is a little weird anyway. It seems that nothing works for me the same as it might for anyone else.) Up until now, I've been blessed my entire life to have been healthy. I've never had a prescription for anything other than an acne cream or something I was given to counter pneumonia or an infection in my body. I've only taken Celexa for 4 days and I'm not sure how it's affecting me. One day I was so groggy, it felt like being drunk. Today, it was probably the best I've felt since I started taking the drug. I know it's going to take some time to evaluate and see what is going to work best.

I've heard stories about how prescription drug companies jockey for position with local doctors' offices. It took seeing the whole thing in motion to realize what I had heard was actually true. I didn't know going in that my insurance company had only 3 name-brand drugs that would be covered under my plan. I should have known this. It seemed ridiculous however that with all the mental health drugs available on the market, my insurance company would only cover 3 of them. I wouldn't be suprised if this were the same with every other insurance provider.

The truth is that this drug or that is preferred or more readily available because of how the drug maker lobbied with this or that practice or insurance group to get their support to prescribe the medication. Go to another physician or insurance plan and it might be something else. I'm not saying that this is bad, but I don't know that it's good either. Supposedly our medical system is much better than in countries where the care is state-supported. Still, in an industry that is supposed to be about valuing life and making it better, it still comes down to good 'ol politics. I can only imagine how the scale expands when moving from the local practice to the large medical groups and insurance companies around the country. Special favors and all kinds of little perks along the way. Recently there were several reports about lawmakers in Washington receiving thousands of dollars in trips and cash. I'm sure medical insurance companies were right there in the thick of it.

What does that mean for me, the patient? Well, hopefully that I can get whatever I need and be better for it. More importantly, I'd better go in with both eyes wide-open, do my homework and pay attention to details - now, moreso than ever. As much as we hope that the doc we see is going to help us or that our insurance is going to pay their percentage of our bill, in the end it's a muli-billion dollar enterprise and they, like any other company, want to make as much money as they can along the way.

Because, in the end, it's about the almighty dollar.

Sometimes Peace Is Found In The Oddest Of Places

This past Friday, I went to see the nurse practitioner for the psychiatrist I chose from my medical plan. I've never been to see a counselor let alone a psychiatrist and I wasn't quite sure what to expect. I followed the nurse into the room. Instead of an examination table, there were two easy chairs and a love seat. It was a very comfortable room. The walls were light blue and the chairs were almost navy. After 45 minutes of questions and answers, the nurse said she was going to prescribe Zoloft and explained why.

To me, it's always fascinating to have someone describe me to me. You know, like in the personality tests and such "you are like so...you like this...you don't like that." It's cool to me because I can agree or disagree, depending on how good - or how bad - the analysis is. In this case, the nurse was spot-on. No need to disagree. So, when she told me that she had prescribed Zoloft to others who she had seen with some of the same problems, I felt pretty good about at least trying it. We also talked about alternative medications, but came back to the original recommendation for Zoloft. I was given the long list of possible side-effects as well as the anticipated results and was anticipating seeing how it would affect me.

But, a funny thing happened on my way out of the office (not like the joke, "on the way to the office..." Never mind. Bad joke) ...the nurse forgot to give me the prescription. I eventually called the office and was able to get the prescription called in. Currently, I am waiting on the doc's approval to get the prescription - hopefully tomorrow. Still I was disappointed. I wanted to see if this medication might be what I've been looking for for the past year or so. I went on home to get back to work on my house.

Earlier in the week, after I had scheduled the appointment, my sister contacted me about her, my brother-in-law, their daughter and two grandchildren coming to our house. My brother- in-law is a master plumber and we had been talking about him doing some work on our shower. In the course of our most recent conversation, he said he would just come in on Friday and take care of our plumbing problem. We really needed the work done, but didn't realize just how extensive the work would be. It wasn't going to be a matter of replacing one pipe, but everything in the house. Talk about surprise! It's a good thing I took the whole day off. I needed every minute before we were done.

To make matters worse, it's already June here in southeast Texas and the temperature is already hitting the mid 90's in the afternoons. Now add another 20 or 30 degrees and that's supposedly the temperature in the attic. The high on Friday was 96, so we were working in 116-126 degree conditions for the entire day.

We got started around 6 AM doing the preparatory work. I had to shower before my Dr.s' appointment and left around 9:30 AM. I returned about 12:30 PM, changed clothes and went into the attic. By then, the temperatures outside were nearing the high for the day. The air in the attic was so hot that it burned my nose and mouth when I inhaled. My shirt was wet after just a few minutes. My brother-in-law was the brains of this operation and would have to cut and fit the pieces for the new connections being installed. He also had hurt one of his knees recently, so I had to do the crawling around in the attic just because I could.

My brother-in-law lined me out on what I needed to get done and he went back down the attic ladder and left me to myself and the pipe work. These were old, galvanized metal pipes that undoubtedly had rusted long ago (hence my plumbing problem) and the progress on the job would be difficult. As anyone who knows me can attest, I do not like being hot or dirty - or both. I'm not a pleasant person to be around if I'm one, or the other - or both. But, here I was, about to embarque on a very difficult task in a difficult environment. It was at this moment that the Peace came.

I can't really explain what it was other than a sense of calm resolve. I also felt that God was in the attic with me. It was in that moment I said "God, I embrace all of this - the heat, the dust & everything else. I want to do this with You today." In that moment, it was if He said in response "Okay."

For the next 10 hours, I did all sorts of things I didn't think I could have done before. However, most remarkable to me was that I didn't get nearly as frustrated and lose my temper as I often do on smaller, less difficult projects. Instead, I enjoyed this - despite getting a little too hot a few times and coming down with cramps. It may have helped that I was working with my brother-in-law, who, in addition to being a plumber, is also an ordained minister. Perhaps that was all part of the plan. My sister noted at the end of the day, that despite having worked together all day and being extremely tired, though we were a little cranky, we weren't out of sorts with each other. I had to agree with her. I've lost my head with people on lesser jobs.

I realize to someone who might be reading this that it doesn't sound like that big a thing that happened to me. I have to say it was huge and profound on a lot of levels. I probably could have had the same experience during a walk or over a cup of coffee. But, I didn't. My attic was my own little chapel last Friday. I have to believe that if I can find Peace in a place like that, I should be able to find it anywhere, anytime I need it.

And maybe that's the whole point: to steal away somewhere - where there aren't any of the normal distractions - in order to connect with God. Of course, such a place could be anywhere: behind the wheel of a car, in one's bedroom, along a scenic walkway or sitting on the toilet in your bathroom. Whatever it is, it's just important to connect with God while you're there.

Depression and What to Do About It

I've being talking a lot to my wife and friends about the stuff I've been dealing with lately. I'm more the type of person who thinks about things - like why am I feeling this way - and tries to figure it out instead of asking for help. Maybe it's because I'm a guy. (I don't mind asking directions - most of the time. I do have my moments. If I'm in a hurry, no way.) I just figure I should be able to shake it off. Maybe I had too much to drink or I ate something bad. If I did, it should have worn off after a day. This stuff is always there. Something isn't right - with me!

My friends started talking about seeing a pyschiatrist and the possibility of needing medication, and I freaked out a bit. I think it's huge that I've been able to come to the realization and admit that I have a problem with depression. I'm learning however that there's a huge expanse between admitting there's a problem and actively seeking out help for it.

It's really a matter of making the call and following through with a visit. It's crazy (no pun intended) but I'm a grown man and I'm actually scared to death that one of these guys might tell me that I actually have something wrong with me. Crazy indeed!

I plan to continue to write about this. A friend of mine recommended a website, Real Live Preacher. It's a blog, more or less, by a real, live preacher who has journaled his experiences on the web - including his bouts with depression and dealing with the treatment of the condition. I hope my experience will be positive, like his. I guess we'll see - together...

Gee, that's weird to say that.

Could this be a turning point?

Here's a bit of information about myself...

I must be an optomist because I'm always looking forward to, or hoping, for a turning point in my life. I know I've had them: times in my life when everything changed, one way or another.

Just a few...James Sprayberry coming to Malakoff High School as band director. Until he arrived, I planned to get out of band after the 8th grade year. James Sprayberry's death was also a turning point. Had he lived, I would likely have been a band geek from that point forward. The decision about where to go to college was a turning point. Deciding against going to LeTourneau and going to Evangel instead was huge. Then, the choice to go to Southwestern. I digress...

One thing I often prayed for as a young man was for a "spiritual" turning point. I was looking for a distinctive place where I knew that God intervened and everything was changed for the better. There have been quite a few of these in my life. Not very many in the past several years. Still, I've hoped for them though they have been hard to come by as of late.

I've written here - quite often over the past few months - that I've been in a rough spot. It's hard to put in words, but it's been like walking through a thick fog or a smoke screen of sorts. Perhaps this is the mid-life crisis that I've been told awaits every man at some point in the years between his 30's and 50's. I don't know. I've been coming to grips with the fact that things didn't go the way I would have liked and I've had to "make- do."

At this point it seems really pathetic as I re-read that previous sentence. Everyone has to do it - at some point. Realize that I'm not going to be a millionaire. That the city won't name the street where my parents still live - in my childhood hometown - after me. That a lot of those dreams about life, ministry, or whatever were little more than dreams or misconceptions about how things work. So, what am I supposed to do now? Such is the question that I've been faced with when I get up to make my hour-long commute from the outskirts to uptown Houston. Is this all there is? Will this be what I do for the rest of my life?

I think I've felt very justified in being in touch with these feelings. Afterall, it's taken quite a while to be able to verbalize what's been going on for what has been a long time. So as pathetic as it is - there's a point to it, to grieve for what hasn't been realized and what should be let go of and ultimately be given to God. That is where I've been. Enter the turning point.

Tonight, we had a guest speaker at our month-end evening service. Her name was Ms. Choi. She's a house -church leader/planter from China. She's been imprisoned 4 separate times because of her faith. She's also founded an orphanage and is responsible for the birth of hundreds more house-churches in China and literally thousands - perhaps millions - of believers throughout China and other parts of the world. During her imprisonment, she received unbelievable punishment at the hands of her captors. Yet, through it all her faith was strengthened and became more inspirational to the people around her. Her life is one of being given lemons and in turn planting an orchard. To explain her and her testimony could only fall short with mere words. The woman, who is only slight in stature, is truly a spiritual giant in the Kingdom of God.

As I heard her talk, I felt as if God was speaking to my own struggles with my place and role within my community and church. Honestly it seems that everything is being stripped away in one way or another. It's as if I've sort of entered a prison of sorts - without the bars. This isn't the work of a person, or a group of people, to put me in my place. It can only be the work of God Almighty.

Paul talks about the the work of a potter and then absurdity of the clay telling the potter how to go about forming it. Quite often, that is what we do. "God I want this or that." Or "don't make me do this or that." We envision ourselves doing all these great things for God and His Kingdom but we fail to realize He has plans for us because we fight Him at every turning point. This is where I've been lately. It's hard to go to church and participate because I'm no longer doing what I was formerly accustomed to. Dare I say that I know better than God? I say I don't, but my actions speak otherwise.

Ms. Choi said she had to stand for hours at a time while in a crowded cell in China. She could sit, stand or kneel, but could not recline or lie down. Such was the mistreatment of her captors. What did she do, how did she respond? She asked for strength from God. When she thought she was to be executed, she made peace with death. When she was not killed, she prayed for deliverance - which eventually came. Her life, in-turn, became an inspiration to millions while she did exactly what she could - she lived out her life.

It probably doesn't sound that awe inspiring. Just looking at a lady, who probably isn't more than 5' 2", who read her testimony to the church. She doesn't look like the type who would start hundreds of underground churches, but that is her legacy. Perhaps the word for me is to focus my energies on where I already am. She was in prison. I'm locked into a 1-hour+ commute and a high-rise office. Her last stay in prison was over 10 months. I've been where I am about the same amount of time. She didn't speculate on why she was there, but sought to make an impact where she was. Can I make an impact in my world? That's the question - at this point in time. "God, what would you have me to do?" I don't need to know the significance of what I'm doing right now. I just need to keep doing it I guess.

As we closed out the service, our pastor asked Ms. Choi to pray over our church. For almost 4 minutes, the lady fervently spoke to the Eternal God with a fervency I've not seen in quite some time. She spoke in her native tongue, which at times sounded like some of the syllables I've heard uttered by those who "spoke in tongues" in the church meetings I grew up in. She was praying for us and honestly, it felt that she had a connection with the Almighty that all of us present could only wish we had. I'm curious to know what she said about us and what she asked God to do. Then again, I might not need to know. I'm sure it will be revealed in time.

As for this being a turning point, I sure hope it is. I sure need one.

I'll Probably Regret This...

I've been going through an emotional rough spot lately. I've been thinking about a lot of things, wondering if things would have been better - or worse - if I had made different decisions. It can be dangerous territory , but everybody does it, right? I just had one that I've not thought about - ever - until now.

Cue Bruce Springsteen's "Glory Days"...

I used to play baseball - until I wrecked my arm. One of my favorite pitchers was - and still is - Roger Clemens. In the 80's, Roger had his shoulder scoped and the procedure literally saved his career. I had developed a shoulder problem and thought my condition was similar. I went to a sports doc to evaluate whether or not to have the surgery. Since I still wanted to play, the doc encouraged it. Things didn't go quite right with the procedure and I was through with baseball just a few months later.

I've got 3 game balls at my desk - in my "feel good" corner - from 3 of the best baseball games I pitched during high school.

One is from my junior year. We beat Palmer HS 12-3 on April 25, 1986 on our own field. I had 11 strikeouts in a 7-inning game against the 6th-ranked team in the Texas in 2A. My old little league coach suggested to our coach that I get the game ball after the game. The two coaches agreed and gave me the ball. I had dominated the same team a few weeks earlier in a error-plagued loss.

One little tidbit from my baseball career - I had to get a lot of strikeouts every time out. If anybody hit the ball, I was in trouble - as was indicated by my win-loss record. I didn't know how to calculate my Earned Run Average (ERA) in those days, but I suspect it was very low. I don't think there was a game in which we failed to have an error in the 3 years I pitched. It's a pretty sad thing when a pitcher can't count on the players around him to make plays, as was the case with me and my team mates. To any of those guys that might be reading - if you're offended, you shouldn't be.

The other two balls are from my senior year.

One of those is from an 8-7 victory of our local rival, Mabank HS - at their place, in a game where I hit my first-ever home run in regulation ball. Mabank won our district title that year and went to the playoffs. Our team was the last to beat them in regular-season play (they were eliminated in the first round anyway). I had 12 strikeouts in 7 innings in that game. I had to convince the coach to let me pitch that game. I had pitched in a losing cause just days before and it wasn't my turn in the rotation. I just felt like we would win and begged him to let me go. After I got mobbed by my teammates when I walked off the mound at the end of the game, coach gave me a hug and told me I had proved him wrong. That was a great day.

The other is from my last HS game. It was against Forney HS on May 18, 1987 (19 years ago yesterday) at our home field. We played them just 3 weeks before this game and and I carried a no-hitter into the 4th or 5th inning before the errors took over. We also got into a full two-team scuffle after the game's last pitch and, on the way off campus, the other team threw rocks at our bus. When they showed up at our place, people were everywhere hoping we'd scuffle again. In the end, there was no need for a scuffle. I had 13 strikeouts that day and beat them 4-1. It would have been a shutout, had it not been for 3 errors that allowed the only runner that I allowed past 2nd base to score that day. The write up in the local newspaper described the performance as being overpowering. Forney also went to the playoffs that year and didn't get past the first round.

I'm writing all this stuff because I reminded myself what sort of gift I had as a teenager. I started pitching during the summer after 6th grade. My dad propped up an old tire against an old shed in our back yard for me to use as a strike zone. I practiced my pitches on that target until the wall behind it fell apart. When I entered high school, I tried out as an outfielder, because I didn't think I could make it as a pitcher. I was later converted to a catcher and made all district that season.

Toward the end of my freshman season, our baseball program began a 26-game losing streak that spanned 3 seasons. Our coach was looking for any and every way to break our skid early on. One day during batting practice, I asked if I could pitch. This coach - a different coach than the one's during my junior and senior season (we went through 3 coaches in 3 years) - didn't believe I could pitch. After batting practice, he scheduled me to pitch during an upcoming tournament. I didn't win in the tournament, but as an underclassman, I impressed both our coach and opposing coaches. For the rest of the season, I split time catching behind the plate and pitching in front of it.

I was selected to all-district and all-county teams throughout my 4-year HS baseball career and participated in 2 professional tryouts. Still, I was not signed to play college ball after high school. It was probably a good thing. The arm was virtually gone by then. Perhaps proper rehab could have helped what ailed me. I don't know. I later walked on at Evangel College in Springfield, MO and made the football team as a place-kicker. I spent two years there before returning to Texas. I grew up a lot during my time at EC. I also thought after I arrived back in Texas that I could make a comeback in baseball. Sadly it wasn't to be.

I say all of this because I remembered - just a few minutes ago - a phone call I received during my senior year of high school. It was from the head coach of the LeTourneau College (now University) wanting to talk baseball. I didn't get it then, but man, do I get it now. The guy was trying to recruit me. He talked about the school, what my future plans were and if I would consider LeTourneau after high school. For whatever reason, that I can't remember now, I turned him down - cold. He even called back again a few weeks later. I turned him down again. I was waiting on another phone call that would not come. Now that I think about it, I can't believe how short-sighted I was.I have no idea how LeTourneau's scholarship system was set up or what they would have been able to offer. What would've happened if I told the coach "yes, I'd like to talk about baseball and LeTourneau"? I guess it really doesn't matter anymore.

There are quite a few times that I've thought how nice it would be to pay a younger version of myself a visit at one of those crucial points in time and tell that goofball to make a different decision - like when Biff goes back in Back to the Future II to tell himself to use the sports history magazine to help him get rich. It probably wouldn't mean I would be rich or would even be playing professional baseball. But I wouldn't be wondering "what if" either.

That 18 year-old version of myself sure was a dumb kid. I should know.

My Favorite Pic of Myself

I'm just posting this so I can add this to my profile. Still, you gotta like the hair, huh?

Asking Yourself the Right Questions, Pt. 2

I'm up, way before I'd like to be. Here lately, I've had trouble sleeping - for various reasons. Yesterday, Wednesday morning, I was awake around 2 AM. My mother was scheduled for surgery. She's almost 77 and I was a little nervous about the "minor" procedure that was going to be done on her. Nothing is minor for a 77 year-old. I didn't find out until almost 8 AM yesterday that this "minor" procedure wasn't minor at all. The very same lady, who can't seem to keep a secret when it counts, kept our entire family in the dark for nearly 5 months about a serious medical condition. My own father didn't know what was going on until Monday. I guess it was good that I didn't know until yesterday or I would have been waking up early - for weeks on end by now. At least I know she is in good hands. When I left her yesterday, my sister was there with her. She was resting comfortably. Dad was with my brother-in-law. Our family will be going back this weekend to make sure she's alright upon her return home.

I've been meaning to write some more for several weeks now but have been too busy to get back here to it. Since writing the first part of this thread, I've found myself in quite a dilemma. A month ago, I was on path of self-discovery and it seemed everything was clicking on all cylinders. I had read Wild at Heart and had been genuinely challenged to seek out the things that gave me passion in life again. Even more-so, I heard from several friends from years gone by and had really been encouraged. I saw pictures of myself from a time when I had been very passionate about everything in my life. I don't believe in coincidences and thought that all of this was coming together for a reason. John Eldridge, the author of Wild at Heart, also talked about receiving the "wound" that causes us to retreat from our passions. I had defined the wound and I thought I was on my way to my passionate rediscovery. Things were SO looking up!

Somewhere in there I must have missed something. Where I was so hopeful and optimistic just days ago, I've been discouraged and frustrated since. In the cosmic scheme of things, that guy, the one that had been so passionate and determined in years past - the one I was trying to rediscover - made a lot of choices along the way.

Some of those choices were good ones - like starting a family. I still pinch myself sometimes when I spend time with the 4 most important people to me. They are good, intelligent people that offer me so much encouragement and strength. I really don't know where I'd be without them.

The decision to come to Houston 8 years ago was another good decision. It wasn't my idea really and I originally balked at it. It was a new start for us and, now, 8 years removed, it seems like one of the most important decisions that we got right.

We made other good decisions, too. For some reason though, it just seems that the bad ones weigh awfully heavy on those good ones. The weight of the bad decisions - even those from 8, 10 and nearly 15 years ago - still seem to have bearing on the decisions we're making now. Maybe that's just how it works, but it's getting really old now.

I've talked about this at length with my wife and with my friend Raymond. It seems to me that with every moment of clarity, a stinging blow to the head or to the gut is just waiting around the corner. What was so clear just days before is swallowed up in dense fog. Is this the lingering consequence from mistakes from long ago? Is it just how life is? I wonder if somewhere along the way if I've done something to have pissed God off.

It's hard to talk about things like this with most people. Generally, folks want to be helpful and encouraging. If I hear one more person say "you're right where God wants you," I'm afraid my first reaction would be to punch them square on the jaw. I do think God is at work - somehow. It's not anything special that tells me so. It's the result of all the theology classes I've had over the course of my life. I'm not content with my book knowledge of Him however. I'm still hoping for one of those "burning bush" moments, where I have that life-altering encounter, though I wonder if it will ever come.

So, to get back to the original thought that started this thread, what are the right questions to be asking? I suppose the biggie is "what is it that God wants from me?". That would be first, to which the answer would be "everything." The second would be this "how do I give him 'everything'?" That answer is a bit more complicated.

I'm sure there will be more thoughts to follow on this topic. .

Asking Yourself the Right Questions...

For folks who know me well, they likely know that I'm not much of a reader. My whole family are readers, but my kids take after my wife. There's only a couple of books that I've ever ventured to read more than once: Celebration of Discipline and Ragamuffin Gospel. I do well to read a book or two in a year.

Recently, a group of guys that I was meeting with suggested that we all start reading Wild at Heart and discuss what we read when we get together. One of my friends, knowing that I was not a reader, bought the book on CD and made copies for me to listen to along my commute. After listening to the first 2 or 3 chapters, I decided I needed to buy the book and read it for myself. Man, I'm so glad I did, too.

I've written here recently that I've had a very difficult time over the last year. Marital, family, monetary and employment problems - all at the same time. I honestly believe that if it wasn't for the support of our friends my family and I would not have made it. I've made it a point to thank most of these people. If someone is reading and wondering if you had a hand in our survival, go ahead and pat yourself on the back and accept my gratitude. It's wonderful to have good friends to count on.

Anyway, over the past several weeks since I started listening to and reading Wild at Heart, it has coincided with an epiphany and a renaissance that's been happening with me personally. Someone told me a long time ago that life is too short to go through it being miserable. I've written here that my wife and I were living in the shadow of a bad decision I made 15 years ago. I understand that life can be brutally hard at times, downright unfair, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah. Still, it's possible to be able to enjoy the ride. For me, the last 15 years have been about surviving. If I'm anything at all, one thing I am not is a quitter. Not quitting is commendable where I'm from. However "hanging in there" just to prove that I don't want to quit can really get old. Part of the epiphany over the past few months has been this: if I'm only surviving, I'm still missing out on what life still has to offer. There is SO much more to life than just getting by.

That brings me to the questions we ask ourselves. So often it's about what the world needs. "What does the world need?" It's the stuff of great business plans. New businesses are started all the time because a guy is walking around looking for a way to meet a felt need in the world. If there's a market for it, it will sell. It always does. Of course, such things aren't about really meeting needs but exploiting that market, wherever it might be.

When it comes to people, it's a little more complicated than just trying to meet a need in the world. If that's what we're trying to do, it's a good way to get chewed up and spit out - real quick. Maybe you've seen those articles about the hottest jobs in the market. If we go after a vocation just because it is in demand we might find ourselves at some point on a ladder that is leaning against the wrong wall. I know. It's happened to me. There's nothing more demoralizing than putting so much time and effort into a profession only to find it's completely wrong.

Instead, as quoted in Wild at Heart, the right question is this: Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive.

In all honesty, we all have dreams that, for one reason or another, we're afraid to chase because of a list of reasons. They're not necessarily the same reasons, but you know what they are. Where will the money come from? What if I can't do it? Fill in the blank. Those questions only serve to keep us in the same spot we've been getting accustomed to being in for who knows how long. If we want to get out of there, that place of misery and hopelessness, we have to pursue those things that we've wanted to all along. This isn't an excuse to run out on responsibility. It's an opportunity to do what we've been created for and be what we were created to be.

Recently, I found a friend of mine, Travis Meadows, in My Space. Travis was our worship leader in our youth ministry in Jackson, MS 10 years ago. During that time, Travis was peddling songs in Nashville. He made several demos and independent recordings during the two years we were there. In the years since, Travis moved to Nashville and has been doing the same thing he was 10 years ago. Recently, on his website, Travis posted this on his blog:

Well, it's official! I am now Staff writer at Universal. I have been writing with some of the best writers in Nashville as well making some great new friends. I signed yesterday the 14th of March at 10:45, that same day I got my first cut, "Open Ended Heartache." It was recorded by an artist from Australia named Adam Brand. He did a great job. The next day he cut two more of my songs. So I'm one day into my deal and have three cuts. That's a good start. I'm hoping for a few more cuts. The more cuts the more money for the Meadows family. This truly is a dream come true. Here is a little irony for you. I tried for close to 15 years to make it as a christian artist, but no matter what I did it just didn't work out. Universal hired me as a country writer, too funny. So there you go Travis Meadows is a writer for Universal and loving every minute of it!

My brother-in-law, Aaron, has been in the process of starting up a coffee business. He quit his job with Starbucks and moved his family from Pennsylvania a few months ago. Why? Because the guy is passionate about coffee - of all things. But, I'm telling you, when you taste his coffee you will know the guy really loves doing what he's doing. I'm probably embarrassing him by writing this (he actually reads my blog every now and then), but he's an inspiration to me. He's pursuing the dream.

Of course there are excuses why we shouldn't be so bold. I'm too old. Travis is in his 40's and has been at this a long time. I'm not good enough. I don't know how to get started. My brother-in-law put in a lot of time in research before he launched his company. It's likely those excuses are the reason we've been sitting where we have been for so long. Life was meant to be an adventure. It's time to go after the things that stir passion. Life is too short not to.

So, what does it for you? Think about it and go after it. There's no better time than the present.

...and now, the Back-peddle

A few weeks ago, I was a little steamed up at the announcement that Jerry Jones and the Dallas Cowboys had acquired Terrell Owens. For me, a life-long Cowboys fan, that was treason - second only to the debacle Jones created when Jimmy Johnson resigned in 1994.

In case anyone wasn't paying attention or didn't care, Jerry was jealous of the attention being heaped on his successful head coach. In a drunken stupor, Jones commented, to a pretty good-sized group of people, "this team can win - regardless of who the coach is." Oh, really?! Despite winning, the super bowl 2 seasons later, the Cowboys, as a franchise, was no longer among the NFL's elite teams. The team still isn't to this day. But, signing Terrell Owens after two tumultuous seasons in Philadelphia it tells me that Jones is desperate to win again and take the team out of Jimmy's shadow.

Now, having said that, I must confess that, after spending the entire day in training, the first thing I did upon being released from the class was to check the baseball scores. Yep. The Astros will throw out the first pitch in their first regular season game of 2006 in just a few minutes from now. And you know what? I wish I could be there. In fact, I'll probably listen to the game in my car on my way home. I wish I could stick to my boycott, but it's hard to turn my back on the national past-time.

Granted, the ballplayers are spoiled, the rivalries hardly exist (except for if you're a Red Sox or Yankees fan) and the game isn't as fast paced as those at the college or high school levels. But, when one goes to a big- league baseball game, they know what to expect. Win or lose, they usually get it - and pay dearly. Still, they get the show and really, that's what it's all about. Right?

Maybe I should have written before that I was giving up on the Cowboys. I'm sure there are many in my family who wish I would - and maybe I will. One thing is definitely clear tonight as I get ready to leave work for the night...I'm ready to hear the umpire yell "play ball!"

Ya-hoo! Go Astros!

Pelunsky Prison Blues, Pt. 2

It's some 12 hours after writing my previous blog. I was pretty nervous about the upcoming gig at Pelunsky Prison. As is often the case in my life, many of my fears were not realized. Actually, the entire experience will go down as a good memory for Danelle and I.

First of all, Pelunsky isn't in Huntsville. Nope. It's somewhere near Coldspring and Livingston, out in the middle of nowhere. According to my wife, there was some sort of uprising in 1994 that led to some changes in the prison system, which is why Pelunsky came about. Apparently, the powers that be decided to put this unit as far away from a major population center as they could. It took over an hour just to get to the place. I guess that's what was in mind in putting the unit out there where it is.

Secondly, despite the fact that Pelunsky is home to "Death Row," our band of miscreants didn't come anywhere near that part of the population. Instead, it turns out that those who were under minimum security were the only ones allowed to attend public meetings. Low risk inmates in a minimal supervision setting. Our concert tonight was a function that is part of a ministry headed up by our keyboard player, Walter Bennett. He practically knew everyone who was in attendance and practically orchestrated everything we did. We were in the best possible situation we could have been in behind the walls of the TDCJ.

Now, death row was there and on our way out, our guide for the evening, the prison chaplain, informed us that the 3 blocks of buildings to the southwest of the Pelunsky grounds is the most secure, heavily guarded facility in the state of Texas. From what I understood, those therein do well just to see the light of day.

Lastly, I think the most memorable thing that I took away from the evening was looking at the faces of men from so many different backgrounds who shared a common place and time. It's weird, but it was almost like I could see the crimes that had been perpetrated in their faces. There were several that knew that had made a terrible mistake. Circumstances beyond their control pushed them to the brink and they crossed the line. Now they were left to pay with their lives. Others had committed unspeakable offenses against other human beings and were forced to be reminded of their sins when they wake up each morning in custody of the state of Texas. Still, here they were, all together in the same room, listening to our band - singing songs of hope and deliverance.

But for me, it was way more than that. When I looked these men in the face, I realized that I had committed sins of my own, maybe not the kind that would get me thrown in jail. I was also reminded of times when I was so angry that I could have crossed the line or made bad decisions just as quick and rash, just as they had. The only difference between myself and them was the grace of God, pure and simple. Sometimes, that's what it takes. Someone has to look us right in the eye to makes see what we might miss otherwise.

So, after an afternoon of anxiety, I was relieved to sit down with my cohorts and debrief over some ribs and fried catfish at Florida's (a pretty good bar-b-que place near the prison). It was awesome to see ourselves used by God's hand the way we were tonight. It seemed the guys were really blessed by our being there. We were even invited back.

I won't be as concerned about going back as I was today. I actually made some friends on the inside. More importantly, I was reminded that we're all basically the same. If but for the grace of God, there go I. Indeed.

Pelunsky Prison Blues

I'm getting ready to leave work so my wife and I, along with 3 friends of ours, can go play music in prison. We'll be behind bars for 3 hours: 5-8 PM tonight. I'm guessing it will be something like Folsum Prison Blues, though I'm not sure if we'll be playing for a portion of the population or not. I thought we were going to a different unit, one that my wife and I had been to once before. It turns out we're going to the Pelunsky Unit, Death Row for male inmates in Texas, just north of Huntsville, Texas. I don't know why it made any difference, but when I found out we were playing "Death Row," the whole trip took on more significance. Death Row? The thought sends a chill up my spine.

Last night we had a short rehearsal and my friend Walter told us all the "do's" and "don'ts" for our visit: what to wear, what not to wear, what to bring, what not to bring. I'm playing the drums, which required a special security clearance because of all the metal in the kit (perfect for making shanks). Again, the idea of taking all this stuff to death row is a little freaky. I wonder what Johnny Cash was thinking when he went into Folsum Prison way back when. Was his drummer concerned about his kit, like I am about mine?

I had a cooky dream about the experience this morning. I don't remember the dream, but I woke up feeling uneasy about this whole thing. I'm thankful for the opportunity. I hope I'll be able to write about the experience in my blog tomorrow.

I'll end with that...

Givin' Up On Pro Sports...

Maybe I'm telling on myself, but I've always been a loyal fan of the teams of my choosing. I guess there's a childlike aspect about it. I grew up near the Dallas - Ft. Worth area and naturally, to me anyway, I was a Cowboys and Rangers fan. I cried when the Cowboys lost Superbowl XIII. I rejoiced when they won XXVII, XXVIII and XXX. I was watching the night that Nolan Ryan became the all-time strikeout leader in major league baseball. He was a Ranger then you know.

Now that we live in the Houston area, I've also become a fan of the Texans and Astros and follow them closely. As childish as I can be when sports are on the television, I'm no longer a child. As entertaining as professional sports can be, I'm at a point where I can't stomach watching them anymore. All the rivalries that were so real in my childhood are a distant memory, thanks to the free agency system of today. Despite all the claims that the superjocks are in it for the love of the game they play, it's pretty clear that it's all about the money. I was late to catch on because I hoped there might be some salvageable good still left in it. I'm now convinced that it's corrupt to the core. The love of money is at the heart of everything that is wrong with professional sports.

Case in point: Terrell Owens, the big-mouthed jackass who single-handedly dismantled the 2004 NFC Champion Philadelphia Eagles franchise barely a month into the 2005 football season, was recently signed by the Dallas Cowboys for a 3-year deal . What is Jerry Jones, the owner of the Cowboys' organization, smoking?!! Not only is the guy a discipline problem, he's a destructive influence on his OWN team. Who cares what he does to the opposition! It's ridiculous.

Those closest to me have heard me talk about getting out to see a real football or baseball game more and more lately. I don't want to bother with going to see "professionals" who are more interested with their health and marketability than in making a play. Instead, I'm planning to pick up a high school or college game instead. That is where real rivalries come alive and kids play to win because they love the game, not because they're getting paid to play.

Stepping Out From the Shadow

I've been pretty introspective lately. I'd like to turn this subject into a song. I posted it on my My Space Music site. I've copied it here in case anybody wants to stay away from My Space altogether.

I've aluded in other blog entries that my wife and I are experiencing an epiphany of sorts. The channels of communication are wide-open. We've talked about things that have lurked under the surface of our lives for years on end. I've also chronicled what it's been like. It's been the most amazing thing I've ever seen - period.

In the course of these late night talks, we brought up something that has been a pretty big piece of baggage for us throughout our married life. I'm writing about it now because it really has been a source of much frustration and pain for us. I won't go into it specifically because of the personal nature that is involved. Suffice it to say it was a decision to do what I thought was the right thing to do at the time, but it was a decision made at a time of vulnerability. I felt I had no friends that I could turn to, or so I thought. Despite evidence to the contrary, I was told at the time "this is for the best." You'll look back on this one day and see it as a good thing." Yeah, whatever.

That decision has loomed like an enormous shadow over our lives, our relationship to each other and others and now, our family. It has overshadowed every subsequent decision that we've made since that day. It's as if we've been haunted by it. If only I had talked to someone else. If only I could have known that I could have talked to somebody else. Regret hangs like a stinking carcass in a meat locker. It sure would be nice to rip the thing down and throw it in a trash bin someplace or better yet, bury it!

Somewhere along the way though, something changed, hence the epiphany. Instead of being hounded by the shadow, I discovered that I can step out from under it. The shadow is full of other people's expectations. All the predictions that people made about our success. All of that unreached potential - which can be a horrifying thing to look at face to face - can be left behind, just by walking out of the shadow and into the light. I'm not saying that the shadow will ever go away. It will probably stay just where it is. The fact is I don't have to stay in it or under it. I can walk away and I don't have to look back.

So, I guess we're "walking on sunshine" or in it anyway. It's kinda weird to look at the new scenery. It's a little frightening because it's really new, challenging and inviting. Is it for real? It most definitely is.

Carl Tapley Stories

My wife and I have been doing a lot of talking lately (see my previous post). One of the things we have talked about has been how my writing seems to be blooming lately (in large part as a result of keeping up my blog). Unlike so many blogs on the web, I've tried to make mine less about current events - though they have popped up here and there - and more about matters pertaining to East Texas. Hence the whole slant of this blog.

An indelible part of my affinity for East Texas is my experiences while growing up there. I'm sure people from a big city or a large town would have plenty of things to write about. As action-packed as such stories might be, I sincerely doubt they could rival stories I have of my friendship with one Carl Tapley. As I write this, I'm a little apprehensive of putting such personal information on the web, but I'm more apprehensive for myself than for Carl. He's the kind of guy that would likely Google himself every now and then to see if there's anything new out there about him. So, Carl, if you're reading this, you reserve the right to correct me on any of these accounts, because quite honestly it's been a while and my memory might be doing funny things.

Carl, or Tap-bone - T-bone for short, moved to Malakoff, Texas from Conroe - ironically where my family currently resides - when we both were in the 5th grade. He was always a tall, lanky sort of person. He was care-free from the time I first got to know him. We seemed to hit it off right away. He often would ask to spend the night and never seemed to want to go home the next day. Sometimes he would stay over two or three nights at a time. When he wasn't spending the night, he would often call me up and want to talk. When we ran out of things to say, rather than hang up like people usually do, I often had to pretend that something was wrong with the phone to get him to hang up. Even if I was successful getting him off the phone, he often would call back.

We played football and baseball on the same teams from elementary through high school. Both of us weren't very good early on and usually kept each other company on the bench. In the summer after our 5th grade year, our baseball team made the area playoffs and had to trim our roster by a few players. I made the team and Carl didn't. I really felt bad for him. He was a good sport about it and even came to the games to root us on. I never forgot that. He was team player if there ever was one.

But, Carl's "take one for the team" player attitude was often overshadowed by incidents that could only be described as "Carl being Carl." Here are just a few of Carl's priceless and memorable moments:

In the 7th grade, our coach was recruiting for an upcoming track meet. Our school didn't have a track, but our coaches wanted to make a strong showing at the meet. I was selected to run both the mile and 2 mile runs and to throw the discus. The faster guys were selected for all the running events, but nobody volunteered for the hurdles. I guess Carl saw this as his moment. He volunteered, though he'd never hurdled a thing in his entire life. The track meet was only a handful of days away, so none of us were able to prepare for any of our events. I'm not sure that any preparation would have helped Carl. On his first event, the 110 high-hurdles, Carl didn't clear the first one. Instead, on that first hurdle, he managed to hook his right foot under the hurdle rail and fell over the hurdle. As funny as the sight was, it was a painful event for him. He broke his wrist in two places, falling over the hurdle there on the track. Afterwards, that same coach was always quick to say, in reference to Carl, "I'll do it coach" and get a laugh out of everybody. The truth was that Carl would always volunteer to do anything and the team had to brace ourselves for the outcome.

That summer, during baseball season, we were playing a local rival, Kerens. They had a team pretty much like us, except for one player, Scotty Bryant. He was a super-athlete. He was outstanding in every sport, including baseball. He was a pitcher, not because he could necessarily pitch. He could throw incredibly hard around the strike zone which was more than enough in our league. On this particular day, we had not gotten many hits and were losing, but somehow we were still in the game. It came time for Carl's at-bat. He drew a 4-pitch, 2-out walk and proceeded to first base. When he got on base, he decided to do more than just "chatter" the pitcher (talking baseball trash at him). He started jumping and juking around in a way that I cannot describe with words. It was so ridiculous that the entire opposing team was laughing, including Bryant. It distracted Bryant just enough that he could no longer find the strike zone and walked two more batters. Carl moved from 1st to 2nd and from 2nd to 3rd base. Meanwhile, Carl kept up his goofy dance, but as was often the case, he took it just one step too far. His family was screaming "Carl Allen, you stay on that base!" Our coach was getting angry and ordered him to stop. More importantly, the opposing team wasn't amused anymore and I think they figured out how to stop him in his tracks. Just as Carl was getting his lead and beginning to shake his feet and hands, Bryant turned and threw to 3rd base. Carl froze in his tracks. He was tagged out with very little effort by the 3rd baseman. It was the end of inning and of our only legitimate scoring threat of the entire game.

Carl and I were in the 8th grade band. In our school district, our high school band would also use 8th grade band members to beef up the numbers on the field. Carl & I both played the trumpet and sat and marched by each other in the band. During rehearsals he was always joking around and often got us both in trouble. One particular time, before school had even started, Carl was joking around and some of the upper-classmen got upset. They took us to the far end of the Ag building and were ready to beat the literal crap out of us. They told us they wanted us to take things more seriously. I could see how grave a situation this was and I really didn't want to have to endure a beating, so I just went along. For some reason unknow to me - Carl couldn't keep his mouth shut. He proceeded to mouth off and summarily got us both knocked around. I didn't get the worst of it, but the whole time I was thinking "look what you've gotten us into!" Afterwards, those same guys didn't bother me, but they always had something for Carl.

In our school system, we were allowed to be in both band and athletics through Jr. and Sr. high, so Carl and I played football together, as well as baseball and other sports. One time, our 8th grade football team was playing Rusk Jr. High and had just scored the go-ahead touchdown on an incredible kick-off return in the closing seconds of the game. We're jumping up and down on the sidelines, celebrating the win. But, there on the field was a piece of yellow satin laundry, known in more proper terms as a penalty flag. "Personal foul, clipping, on number 80." Number 80? "Who the hell is that?" On the far side of the field is number 80. It's Carl - like the kid with his hand still stuck in the cookie jar - saying it wasn't him. He was guilty of clipping - making a block in the back of a defender, on his only play on the field that night - which garnered a 15-yard penalty. The touchdown came back and like so many times in our athletic history, we had just grasped defeat from the jaws of victory. Still, as bad as it was it's not the worst part. The block that Carl made was away from the play and had no bearing whatsoever on assisting the score. It's a good thing we played at home that night. Had we been away, I don't think Carl would have been allowed to ride the bus.

I could tell more stories, like the time I was nearly knocked unconscious by a baseball he threw when I wasn't ready while playing catch, or when we got into a fistfight at a youth event at our church, or when we got into a fight during baseball practice in high school. Such stories are endless. We had our share of fights, like any siblings or best friends are capable of. Now that I'm a grown man I treasure those experiences just because I had a friend like Carl. I've only seen him twice in the 19 years since we graduated high school. The last time I saw him was 3 1/2 years ago. He's hardly changed at all. I'd have to say that's a pretty good thing, too.