I Think I'd Rather Ride A Mule...

Last Saturday, my dad and I went to Washington DC on the 5th, and last, Lone Star Honor Flight. It was such a wonderful experience for both of us. I know I'll never forget it. I'm sure it meant a lot to my dad, too. He smiled the entire day - even when we were disembarquing at 2:15 AM. The volunteers did so much to make the entire trip and experience as meaningful as it was. They also went to great lengths to ensure the safety of the 115 veterans who were on the trip and sought to make everything as convenient as possible. However, there was one part of the experience that was inconvenient and quite a hassle, not just for my dad, but for every veteran on the trip...security screening at the airport.

I'm not a frequent flyer, so I was a little surprised at how involved the screening process was. Because of the shoe bomber, people now have to remove their shoes - in addition to taking off every piece of clothing or accessory that has metal in it (metal detectors are nothing new, but are just as much of a hassle). The screeners also have to go through a person's carry-on baggage. I carried my laptop on the trip and found out I had to remove my laptop and allow the screeners to go through it as well as my bag. No biggie - except I forgot a data cable crimper in my backpack. "You have a tool with handles in your bag." I forgot it was there. I had taken everything else out of my bag  EXCEPT for that. I talked to the screener and was given the option of checking my soft-sided backpack along with my laptop. "Uh, no thanks. Go ahead and keep it." That cable crimper is now in a bin of contraband somewhere in the George HW Bush Airport in Houston. But, I understand. Because of a few wackos I'm being inconvenienced. That's the way it is. Somebody eventually ruins everything for everybody. And, in this case, I'm a young man and can handle such inconveniences. Many of the 115 veterans on the Honor Flight couldn't take it so well.

Picture this: 20 plus men in their 70s, 80s or 90s approaching the security check point in wheelchairs. "Empty your pockets and take off your shoes, belts and jewelry." These men are heroes and would never pose a threat to this great country. What striking irony!

The screeners proceded to check these men - who fought for the freedom of this great country on foreign soil - screening them as if they were potentially terrorists or criminals. It was an embarrassing sight. Many of the men in the wheelchairs had great difficulty standing on their own, which was why they were in the wheelchairs anyway. Ironic indeed.

In the case of my dad, he couldn't take his shoes off by himself and needed help putting them back on. As we were leaving the screening station, Dad said to me "I hope we don't have to do that again. I'd rather ride a mule than have to go through that." I told him "we're probably going to have to do it one more time, when we get ready for our return flight." Dad didn't like hearing that and I was sorry to have to tell him. And, just as before, the experience on the return trip didn't disappoint. Only now all the chair-bound men were exhausted after their excursion in Washington. The process seemed to last forever.

I know everyone is submitted to the same screens. Those with mobility issues seem to be inconvenienced the most. The TSA maintains that they are fair to every passenger because they check everyone the same way. I heard someone say in the course of being screened "I guess that's the price of freedom nowadays." That freedom seems cheap and flimsy, in light of what I saw later that day. An inscription at the Wall of Freedom inside the World War II Monument (A wall covered in a field of 4,000 stars that represent the 400,000 lives lost of US Servicemen) says "Here we mark the price of freedom." Quite ironic. The definition of freedom must have changed drastically in 65 years.

I am reminded of the words of Benjamin Franklin: "They who can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." When freedom is given away, it's extremely hard to get it back. Wars have been fought to do that very thing.

As I told my dad Saturday, "I'm sorry, Dad, but there's no mule handy. You're going to have to take off your shoes..."

It Absolutely Made My Day!!!

I've had the same commute for 2 1/2 years. I drive along Texas Highway 105, between Conroe and Montgomery, Texas at least twice every day. I chose this commute over my old one, up and down Interstate 45 between Conroe and the Galleria in Houston for obvious reasons: shorter drive, less traffic and usually a less eventful commute altogether. Within the past month, the commute changed a little in that the speed limit dropped 5 mph along the entire route, and with good reason. The Montgomery lake area is getting more and more populous and there's more traffic along the route. Because of the change, there's been a lot more police, sheriff and highway patrol cars along the route handing out tickets, which logically translates into slower traffic movement altogether. I'm still getting used to it, just like everybody else. So far the tickets have been going to everyone else, thank God.

Anyway, we all know there's always somebody out there that comes along that we really wish that THEY would get a ticket because of their fast, reckless and annoying driving habits. "Where's a cop when you need one" is usually what I say under my breath. Well, yesterday, there just happened to be a cop in the area, or more appropriately, a Texas Highway Patrol, and the whole incident made my day.

I was on my way home from Montgomery, on a stretch where the highway goes from 2 lanes in both directions, to 3. Naturally, as cars approach, they tend to speed up a little in order to get their pick of the 3 lanes and get on down the road. I was riding along and noticed in my rear view this sporty Lexus - with out-of-state plates - bearing down behind me. The driver quickly changed lanes to pass me but didn't have room, with the other car riding in the next lane over, just a few yards ahead. The Lexus quickly switched back behind me, bearing down again, as we approached the last traffic signal before the widened highway. Considering that I drive a Ranger pickup with a 4-banger engine, I got over after the signal to let the Lexus go on through, and boy did it ever! It went by so fast, my little Ranger rocked as the faster car whizzed by. I was riding with my daughter and I muttered "what I wouldn't give for a cop to be waiting over that hill." Little did I know that a trusty Texas HiPo was in hot pursuit.

Back up the road, before I the Lexus made its presence known in my rear-view mirror, we passed a HiPo going in the other direction. I was relieved that I was driving within 5 mph of the speed limit (remember, the speed limit changed recently). Apparently that little Lexus was speeding before it ever got to me. And, most likely, the HiPo saw the quick dippity-do lane change that the Lexus was doing just before the highway opened up. Whatever the case, I cannot put in words the glee and sheer delight I felt to see the HiPo whiz past me (which made my little truck rock again) and run up behind that little Lexus, turn on his lights and pull it off to the right of the highway! I only wish I could have pulled up along side the Lexus and waved at its driver, as if to say "hey, you remember me?!" Only, you're not supposed to ride up along side a car that's been pulled over. I waved, but I doubt the driver saw me. Then again, maybe they did.

Yeah, I know...it's pathetic. I would have hated to have been that person. But, I wasn't and it totally made my day. It's the little things sometime that makes life worth living.

Observations From Watching Band of Brothers With My Dad

I'm sure there are many who might be more qualified to write about my dad's experiences while in Europe. He's never been one to talk about much of anything he considered to be "personal." Why then would he say anything about a traumatic, possibly terrifying experience, such as his experiences while in World War II? He may have talked to other members of the family about his experiences, but by the time I came along, he wasn't talking about anything. He never spoke of anything he did while he was in the Army to me at all. I just put things together, as best I could. To my knowledge, Dad said more to their former pastor, Gaylord Brown, than any other living human being I'm aware of, about his service. Maybe there are others who know a little more than I do, but that is not due to a lack of trying.

One of my earliest memories of my dad and when I realized that he was a veteran of World War II was seeing his German Luger. I wasn't allowed to hold it, but I didn't want to, either. It was a terrifying piece of German Engineering to me. Little did I know then how my dad came to possess it. (Perhaps my family can enlighten me about how he got it. He's never told me anything other than the guy "didn't need it anymore." So far, I've heard different versions of the story, though none are conclusive.) I also discovered some German medals in his old footlocker when I was about 10. (I thought he must have gotten them in a gift shop or something, never realizing what was involved in them coming into his possession. Had I known how special they were, I wouldn't have played with them and eventually lost them!) Later on, I would see his army uniform and find some really old photos from that era. It always seemed like Dad was annoyed with my inquisition into his personal association with the war, but I was fascinated with all of it.

(Also, as a side note, he would make references to "Bastogne," when it would get cold. Every time the weather would change and it would get cold, Dad would talk about being there and how cold it was. I had never heard of it. To me, it was an excuse to turn up the space heater in our house to an uncomfortable level for everybody but him. I got the picture, Bastogne was cold and I would never want to go there.)

Shortly after my family and I moved to the Houston area in 1998, the movie Saving Private Ryan was released. This was the start of a collective emphasis that was being made to honor those who served in World War II. There were reports of elderly veterans experiencing panic attacks and flashbacks of their experiences as a result of seeing the movie. In spite of these reports, I asked Dad to to watch the movie with me. I had gotten him a 101st Airborne cap to wear and he wore it to the theater that night. After the movie, there were several who patted him on the back or shook his hand to thank him for his service. I was so proud for him, but Dad seemed to be embarrassed by the attention. "I just did what I had to" was all he's ever said about it. Many veterans say the same. They had a job to do and did their best to do it and not get killed.

Those who have seen the movie, Saving Private Ryan, should be able to recall the opening scene. For over 20 minutes, the onslaught of German guns against American soldiers storming the beaches of Normandy, France, plays out with frightening detail. The other battle scenes that follow show the band of rescuers proceed across Europe to rescue Private James Ryan of the 101st Airborne Division, which was the division in which he served. Dad watched the entire movie with me, and thankfully he was not adversely affected by the graphic action. After the movie, Dad opened up a little and told me that the depiction of the tanks literally shaking the ground was true to his experience. "You can feel them coming before you start hearing them," Dad said afterward. I wanted to hear more, but Dad felt he'd said enough.

Just a little information about Dad and his service, Dad was a private in the 101st Airborne, the 506th Parachute Infantry Division, G Company. He arrived in Europe just in time to go into the Ardenne Forest for the Battle of Bastogne.

So, last week, I saw that Band of Brothers was coming on HBO, 2 episodes at a time, for the entire week and asked Dad if he'd like to watch, which he did. (Band of Brothers is about E Company of the 506 PIR in the 101st Airborne Division.) We started with Episode 5, Crossroads, which dealt with the battles that led up to the defense of Bastogne and the events surrounding the Battle of the Bulge.

At the end of Episode 5, Easy Company is informed that their leave has been canceled and they are about to head for the Ardenne Forest. As they proceed toward their destination, the are met by a long line of soldiers who are beaten down and demoralized as they return from the front where Easy Company is headed. These soldiers give up their ammo and tell the men of Easy Company that they "didn't have a chance" and "they were killing us." I asked Dad, hey did you experience anything like that? He said 'Yeah. I met this tall, lanky guy who was walking along in line. He was walking along carrying his gun and ammo and saw me and said "what do you think you're going to do, soldier?" I said "we're going to stop them fellas!" He just looked at me like I was stupid and then handed me his ammo and kept on walking.' Of course, those who know their history know that the 101st Airborne were walking right into the teeth of the German Army in one of the bloodiest battles of the war.

Episodes 6 & 7 were about the Battle of Bastogne and its aftermath. I watched with fascination as guys burrowed into foxholes, hid behind trees and scrambled for whatever cover they could find, while German soldiers bombed away at their positions with pinpoint accuracy. Dad didn't say anything during these two episodes. I'm guessing the material was just as he remembered it, or had been trying to forget for the last 55 years.

There was a scene where one of the majors goes around to the different companies to share with them General Anthony McAuliffe's response to the German's offer to surrender. "NUTS" was the general's reply. He said "yeah, they got that right. We were called together to hear the general's message. We went back to our foxholes and dug in a little deeper."

After Episode 6, Dad said "you know, it's a wonder that any of us ever got out of there alive." His words echoed those of the men who were interviewed as part of the film. It is indeed a wonder that any of them made it at all.

Episode 8 is called "Why We Fight" and going in, I had no idea what the "why" would be. As the show progresses, it shows how Easy Company, as it discovers a concentration camp in the German countryside. I asked Dad, did you guys ever run across one of those? "Yeah. There were a lot of them and they were awful. You could smell them miles from miles away, before you ever got to them. It was like a chicken farm, a slaughterhouse and a sewer altogether." I asked if he ever went inside. "No. I never went in until after the Jews were all released from them. It was hard to see how bad those people were treated."

The last two episodes dealt with the things that happened while the war on the European Front were winding down. Dad told me "there was lots of drinking and carrying on going on around that time. I tried not to get wrapped up in a lot of that stuff. Since things were winding down, I just wanted to get back home and I figured the best way to do that would be to stay out of trouble."

I know there's lots more to learn from my dad. I'm thankful for the opportunity created by this mini-series to break the ice a little more. I'm going to get it on DVD so we can watch it again. Maybe it'll serve to get him talking just a little bit more.

Thinking About 2010

I'm sitting on my couch thinking about what 2010 might be like.

It's almost comical to think that when I thought of 2010 as a kid, I expected a completely different world. I think of the Bugs Bunny cartoons, where they had a future sequence. Everyone was in a space suit, driving a space ship around a futuristic sort of world. After making a drive to East Texas earlier this week, I'm reminded just how that is NOT the case at all. Everything I remember is pretty much the same way I remember it. 2010, in that sense, is not nearly as daunting.

Considering the entire landscape however - the financial, political and social concerns as 2010 dawns - it's a pretty scary animal. I have been fortunate enough to have steady employment through a very unstable time over this past year. Many of my friends have not. And, as a nation, we're still free while so many are not.

I'm thankful for everything I had in 2009 but I'm very much aware of what I have to be thankful for in 2010, as well as the consideration of those who have not been as fortunate as me.

God help us all in 2010.

It's Not Luck, It's Answered Prayer

I don't believe in luck. In order to believe in luck, someone has to acknowledge that there is both good and bad luck. Those who have good luck have the leg-up on those with bad luck. Those with bad luck might as well be cursed. That's a simple explanation for why I don't believe in luck. There's a lot more than just that, but that's not what I am writing about.

Because I don't believe in luck, when good things happen, I attribute them to another source. I believe in a merciful, loving God, who hears and answers prayers - often in ways we don't foresee, understand or can explain. The scriptures say that "every good and perfect gift comes from God," so when something good happens to me or those around me, I try to remember to say an audible "thank you" to Him for it.

With that in mind, I want to share something that happened today and say a thank you to God for His protection and providence.

For the last couple of weeks, I've been trying to get my son's car in to get an oil change. It was well overdue. Well, I finally was able to get it in today. As we were leaving, the tech told us we needed to check the serpentine belt because it looked like it was "split" and was in terrible shape. I cautioned Chris for his drive home to not do anything out of the ordinary. When I got home, we picked up another belt and got ready to install it. Of course, we had to take off the old one in order to install the new one. When we took the old one off, this is what it looked like:

I would venture to say that when this car belonged to my parents, they probably never changed the belt, which was why it was in the condition we found it in. You can see from the pics that the belt was literally falling apart. Yet, somehow it didn't. Was it luck? Some might say so. I can't.

Every morning, when my kids leave for school, I say a quick prayer "God, protect my kids." So we find out today that they had been driving a car with fan belt in that bad of a condition. They had been driving with it like that for quite some time. Is it a coincidence that we happened to find out about the belt before it broke and left my kids stranded somewhere along the road? Maybe. I suppose that people could see it as a coincidence. I don't. I believe that God intervened somehow and caused that rotten fan belt to keep from falling apart until it could be found and replaced.

It's nice to know that the God who cares for sparrows, as well as people, also cares about kids driving old cars with old, worn out parts and keeping those kids from being stranded until their cars can be repaired. Thank you, God.

Sometimes You Just Gotta Let Off Some Steam

For folks who know me, I'm usually a level-headed guy who can take everything - up to a point. That "point" often varies, but it always comes after dealing or putting up with something until I just can't anymore. I reached that point yesterday at work. No, I didn't lose my cool and punch somebody or get myself fired. No one was hurt in the course of this little adventure. Maybe I should tell you the story...

Last May, I was at work and was assigned a ticket for a teacher's computer in one of the computer labs in our district. It was doing something really weird when she tried to print and it would only happen in 1 particular application. I went to her room to see if I could replicate the problem myself. Sure, enough, it did the very same thing when I logged in on her PC. I worked with it for about 15 minutes and decided I should try replacing her PC with an identical replacement. When I placed that PC in her room, it did the very same thing. I was stunned. What was even more frustrating, when I took the original PC back to our office, it actually worked properly. "What the heck?!"

I went back the the teacher and told her what was going on and I came up with a work-around to get her by until I could figure out what exactly was happening. This had been working until about a week ago. Not only did she have the original problem that I could not resolve, but now she was having other problems - all of which were just as unexplainable as the original one. So, I went into her room with another new PC. I plugged it up and, wouldn't you know it, it STILL didn't work. "What the heck is going on here! I had to get this fixed.

I restarted the PC (I had rebooted the PC several times already) and this time noticed a funny flash of words on the screen. I went back and restarted the PC again, but this time I opened set up. When I did, it was trying to log me out already. (The Escape key is the exit key from set up, in case anyone didn't know). So, I pressed the Escape key and, wouldn't you know it, I found the problem. The key was stuck on the keyboard. I replaced the keyboard, brought back the user's PC, started it up and magically, all the issues the user had been experiencing just went away. We talked briefly afterward and she told me that the Escape key got stuck right about the time all of her problems got started. I passed the word on to my boss and co-workers and got an "atta-boy" from them.

But there was the issue of the keyboard.

With a bad key, it would never knowingly be allowed to re-enter the production floor of our campuses. I needed to dispose of it, but throwing it away was just too easy. This thing had been the bane of my existence for over 6 months. There had to be some sort of payback for this pathetic, inanimate object for all the grief it had caused me.

I thought a lot about what to do. It was plastic, so burning it could be potentially hazardous to my health and those around me. I could run it over in my truck, but that just wouldn't be satisfying enough. It needed to be something with my bare hands. I thought about a baseball bat, but all of mine are wood and the plastic would hurt the surface of the bat. I went back to doing it with my bare hands. After a lot of stomping, swinging it around by the cable and smashing it on the ground, this is what it looked like:

Notice, there is no Escape key anywhere to be found.

Reflections On Being Too Busy

Being busy has become cliche'. Ask anyone how they're doing, 9 of 10 will say "I've been busy, man. Real busy." I talk to people about their schedules and a realize that I'm not nearly as busy as everyone else. My kids never played Little League or any other pee-wee sports. Chris played football for 3 years and decided to get serious about playing guitar. The girls participated in gymnastics and dance for a few years. But, more recently they've settle into being in the band at their school. Things can get hectic at times, but in the course of a week there's not usually a lot of extra places to be and lots of things to do. Still, somehow I've been too busy.

My family and I don't do much outside of our jobs. We might have a get-together with folks outside of work every now and then. We know there are people who we work with who are a lot more busy outside of the workplace than we are. The only other activities we really get into have to do with our church. We play for church services, outreach events and anything else that might come down the pike. We also have a lot of friends at our church. Some of you may have seen my post over the weekend about our little church. Most of our friends are there and most of our time is spent there. In the vast configuration of things however, it's really not THAT much. But still we've been too busy.

You might wonder why I say that we've been too busy?

This past Saturday, there was an estate sale at a house across the street and down 4 houses from ours. A little old lady lived in that house since we moved in the neighborhood. She likely had lived there long before we ever moved to the neighborhood. From what I could tell, she was really sweet. I would see her every now and then going out to get her mail. She would wave and smile. I can't count how many times that happened. We've lived in this same house 6 1/2 years and not once did I ever introduce myself to that lady. I was always going somewhere. I was too busy.

Over the past few months I noticed that I hadn't seen that lady check her mail. I hadn't seen her at all outside of her house for as long as I can remember - maybe for all of 2009. Her yard was always in good shape. It didn't appear that no one lived there. I just didn't see her. Then, all of a sudden, there's this nondescript sign in her yard "estate sale."

Over the course of the day, on Saturday, people came and went and before dark someone loaded up a trailer with what could have been the entire dining room set. No sign of the little lady. She was gone. Where? I have no idea.

I've driven by that house at least 4-6 times since Saturday and when I do, I feel such a sadness. Something is missing...that little lady is gone - and I have no idea who she was. More importantly, I never knew who she was because I was just too busy to find out who she was. That, to me, is the saddest thing of all.

Before My Very Eyes

Last Saturday, I witnessed a startling transformation.

My oldest daughter, Jessica will turn 15 next May. She's currently a freshman at Montgomery High School. She's in the Golden Bear Marching Band along with many of her friends. Thanks to changing jobs two years ago, I get to see her every day and have met many of those friends.

Last Friday was the Homecoming Game for Montgomery High School. I was there, along with my family, to see Jessica march in the band. I was bursting with pride to see her out there on the field. We spent most of the band's routine trying to point out where she was to my parents as the routine twisted and turned back and forth across the field. It was a good night. The football team had won handily. The band looked great. On the way home Jessica mentioned something about a homecoming dance the next day. It didn't really register. It was late and we all needed to go to bed.

Saturday morning, the band traveled to Bryan, TX to participate in a marching contest at Blinn Jr. College. Her mom & I dropped her off around 7 AM and picked her up later in the day. It hadn't quite registered what Jessica had told me about the dance later on that day. On the way home she mentioned something about getting some stuff for her dress for the homecoming dance.

"What?! What are you talking about?"

"Dad, there's a dance at the high school tonight. Remember? You and Mom both said I could go."

"Oh, yeah! Right."

I remembered, but some of the stuff she said she needed startled me a little. She and her mom had bought a strapless dress for the occasion a few weeks before. I hadn't seen it yet, but I was somewhat confident that since her mom had signed off on it, it would be OK. But we still had to get the accessories to make it work properly. Girl stuff. Somehow I regularly end up taking both of my daughters to get " girl stuff."It's OK though, I'm a pretty good dad.

---

It was stressful in the early days. I had gotten used to getting those things for my wife. I got over being embarrassed about buying femine items for her by doing it - again and again. Real men buy Kotex. (You can write that down!) I don't know why it was different buying those same things for my daughters, but somehow it was. I had to get used to it all over again.

There was the time I took one of the girls (I don't remember who now. I'm sure they'll tell me.) to buy some bras. I'm sure if their mom were there, she would go in with them and make sure they fit and all that. Dad's don't do that. So, I'm sitting in the shoe department in JC Penney's and one of the sales guys comes by to offer his assistance.

"Can I help you?"

"Uh, no, thanks. I'm just waiting on someone."

"You might be interested to know that we have a special on shoes..." He continues on.

"Listen buddy, I'm here with my daughter who is trying on bras right now. I just need a place to sit and think. Is it OK if I sit here for a bit?"

"Yeah, sure." The guy just busts out laughing and I know he's laughing at me. He came back a couple of times before my daughter was ready and was still laughing. He OBVIOUSLY does not have girl children - if any children at all. One of these days the tables will be turned. It would be nice to get to return the favor - only I wouldn't be laughing. I would just say "hey, it happens!" It definitely does!

---

So, Jessica and I go shopping together - to one shop and then to another. We find what we're looking for fairly easy, but I'm feeling rather uneasy. I don't know that I want her to wear a strapless dress - even if her mom DID approve. No offense, but this is MY little girl!

Then, like a shot out of the dark, she finds ANOTHER dress. It's not strapless, which has me feelin' pretty good about this new prospect. She tries it on and - WHAM! - it's a keeper. But in that split second a realization sets in. My daughter is lookin' good - real good! Wait, maybe a little too good! Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Who said she could go to this dance thing anyway?!

I know my kids aren't babies anymore. But, when Jessica tried on that dress a serious realization or perhaps an epiphany: I'm looking at a beautiful young lady. It should have been obvious, but it wasn't clear to me until that moment.

Now, I don't particularly like it that she's all grown up, but that doesn't really matter. Time marches on regardless of what we do or DON'T do. I suppose I could fight and resist - only to look ridiculous to her and everybody else. It would be best for her and us to embrace the transformation and celebrate it. With that, I have to admit that she looked really pretty Saturday night. See for yourself:

So, there it is - a dad struggling to find his place in a world that revolves less around him and more around his kids. I'm sure I'll get better at it. I still have some time to prepare. Because even though she has grown up so much, she's still growing and will continue to. The best part is that I can be a part of it along the way.

Sing a Family Song

I just got a new batch of music the other day and I heard this song for what seemed like the first time:

There’s got to be some folks around with memories just like mine

Who’d give the world to stop the clock and turn back the hands of time

To an evening spent like so many spent with Mom and Dad at home

When Dad would get the old guitar down and sing a family song

Sing a family song, oh, sing a family song

When mom and me sang harmony, little sister she hummed along,

Sing a family song, oh, sing a family song

When Dad would get the old guitar down and sing a family song

Now maybe your first memories of home won’t resemble mine at all

But I know there’s one thing I know we all have in common

And that’s the God given gift to recall

Maybe your dad didn’t play no guitar but I know there was something he did

That doesn’t make your old heart well up and sad when you relive your life as a kid

Sing a family song, oh, sing a family song

When mom and me sang harmony, little sister she hummed along,

Sing a family song, oh, sing a family song

(words & music by Merle Haggard)

It got me to thinking of family reunions that I attended, as a kid, on my mother's side of the family. After they had lunch, everyone would start taking out their instruments: fiddles, accordions, guitars, banjos and start playing. Those who didn't play would sing along. When I was little this would last FOREVER! That's what I grew up with expecting family reunions to be.

Now, in the case of the Knox Family, I don't recall everyone getting together to sing. Like the song says, my memories weren't of my dad playing and singing a song at home. Mom did all that in our house, but most of our singing was in church (though when we would make long drives, she and I would sing along with the AM radio. When we got tired of that, we'd just start singing and take turns harmonizing with each other). I don't know how many of us play any sort of instrument. But, this is my idea for the reunion this year: If there's some song that is near and dear to your heart from your childhood, let me know. I want to get a collection of songs together in a Power Point slide show so we can sing them together at the reunion.

This is where it will get interesting - if you play an instrument that can be carried into the Malakoff Senior Citizen Center - bring it with you to the reunion. I'll put together chord charts and sheet music so we can play them together. [There is already a piano there (I think), so if you play piano, you'll be splitting time with my mother.] All I ask is that if you'd like to play, please let me know in advance so I can make arrangements for you. Of course nobody will NOT be allowed to play, but it'll be easier if I'm already expecting you.

So, if you have a favorite song you'd like to sing, let me know. And, if you play an instrument, dust it off and bring it with you. Who knows, maybe we'll be starting a whole new family tradition!

Would You Want To Be Remembered Like This?

I recently saw an ad campaign that shows a series of obituaries. One died a military hero. One was a fireman who died in the line of duty. Another died of natural causes, but was a great dad. The last one was "electrocuted while trying to steal copper." Then the tag line says "How would you like to be remembered?"

I remember learning who Steve McNair was. My family and I lived in Mississippi for 2 years - 1993-95 - the same 2 years that McNair rose to national prominence playing quarterback at Alcorn State University. "Air McNair," as he was known in those days, was a household word. It was no surprise, after his stellar career, that McNair would go in the NFL draft. In fact, he was drafted the number 3 pick overall in the 1995 draft by the Houston Oilers, who went on to become the Tennessee Titans. He was the local boy who made good. He could play everything, but seemed to excel playing football. He retired last year after a star-studded 12-year NFL career with a good name and the respect of his colleages and fans from all over the country. If only that was the end of the story.

In the days since the story broke regarding the murder of Steve McNair, that silly ad about the copper thief has come to mind again and again. There was no way McNair saw this coming. How could he? He had only been carrying on like this for just a few months. Reports say that he had been seen at the condo so often that neighbors thought he lived there. The fact that he could carry on such a complete double life, as has been revealed in news reports, is nothing short of amazing. But as each new tidbit of info is leaked into the press, the story becomes more pathetic - kind of like the guy in the ad. Make no mistake, the REAL victims here are McNair's wife and children, and maybe some of his extended family. One has to wonder how many may have known that any of this was going on. What of his numerous "friends?" Whatever the case, I know neither the man in the ad nor Steve McNair ever imagined that things would come to such an end. But, here it is, something noone could have imagined, playing out in front of us like a bad script. It is only a matter of time before the next bit of sordid info to hits the wire. When it does, it brings with it the kind of mess that will not clean up in a thousand lifetimes.

All the stories I've read and heard in the press are about McNair, the football player, or McNair, the philanthropist, or even McNair, the family man. But, unfortunately we are learning the the real story about Steve McNair without the benefit of hearing from McNair himself. I know, if given the opportunity, he could probably offer no good explanation for his behavior over the past several months. I'm sure he would like to try. But, I know for an absolute certainty that Steve McNair definitely would not have wanted to be remembered for anything like this.

I'd Do Anything For Love...

Last week, one of the saddest stories ever witnessed in US pop culture came to a close. Though I would never consider myself a Michael Jackson fan, the breadth of his influence as an entertainer cannot be denied - even in the small east Texas town where I grew up. During the 70's and 80's, his music was everywhere. One would be hard pressed to find someone who doesn't know the name Michael Jackson, much less anyone who never heard his music.

Yet, in spite of the influence and celebrity, as well as his immense talent, we've seen his personal life spiral out of control and become a media spectacle in recent years. His life seemed to be unraveling before our eyes. Lawsuits, bizarre behavior, accusations, rumors of drug abuse became a regular part of the man's life and overshadowed his incredible talent. Considering how his life had been geared for the spotlight since childhood, and that his private life had become such public event, it is little wonder that his demise happened just in time for the evening news. However, I find it odd that the same reporters who referred to Jackson as "Jacko" during the child molestation trial in 2005 and in the time since, now simply refer to him today as "Michael" in reverent tones. I guess in his death, it is more fitting to allow such a tortured soul that bit of mercy.

I get most of my news from the headlines that appear on the Drudge Report (flame away all of you Drudge haters!) and in the days since there have been a lot of articles appearing there about Michael Jackson. A lot of them have been nothing but fluff, talking about how much pain he was in, how talented he was, how he never got to be a normal child, on and on. I would be the last person qualified to analyze the life Michael Jackson lived. But, one article appeared on Drudge that caught my attention. Rabbi Shmuley Boteach spent a good deal of time since the 2005 molestaton trial counseling Michael Jackson and became one of his close friends. In an unguarded moment, he once said the following to the rabbi:

"I am going to say something I have never said before and this is the truth. I have no reason to lie to you and God knows I am telling the truth. I think all my success and fame, and I have wanted it, I have wanted it because I wanted to be loved. That's all. That's the real truth. I wanted people to love me, truly love me, because I never really felt loved. I said I know I have an ability. Maybe if I sharpened my craft, maybe people will love me more. I just wanted to be loved because I think it is very important to be loved and to tell people that you love them and to look in their eyes and say it."

At the bottom of everything that has been so weird, sad, frightening, angering about what we all have seen of this man's life, that statement is most telling. Regardless of what was done to him or what he did to others, ultimately one of life's deepest longings went unfulfilled in his life from an early age. As he matured, he merely sought to fill the void with the fame and fortune that came all to easy to him. I don't know when it happened, but at some point he realized that he couldn't make enough money to quiet the longing within him for love. That need cried out in him and no avenue was unwasted pursuing a remedy that he would never find.

Meat Loaf's Grammy Award winning song "I would do anything for love, but I won't do that" comes to mind. Many dispise him. Many others laugh and crack jokes. I can't find the strength to do either. We look at Michael Jackson and see the tragedy: a man did everything he could to find love on this earth only to find all those things - including the more despicable things - could not fill the void. In fact, he became what many would refer to as a "monster" before the end.

The truth is, in spite of all the fame, fortune and all that such a lifestyle could afford, the self-professed "King of Pop" wasn't so different from us at all.

Wrecked...

When I see the word "wrecked," it brings a lot of things to mind. With Mom's accident recently, it's come to describe what happened to her in a moment of vulnerability. Sometimes it also means having a little too much to drink and having things get out of hand. My friend, Andrew Fortune, liked to use the term to describe what happened when he would strongly sense God's presence at a certain time. It just so happened that I had the experienced of getting "wrecked" a few weeks ago during the Vineyard Leadership Conference in Galveston. I cried like a baby throughout the conference and left there wondering "what now?"

Then a few weeks ago, I read this blog by Crispin Schroeder. Crispin is a musician on staff at the Vineyard Church in Kenner, Louisiana. He recently made it known that he and his family would be planting a church in the Covington/Mandeville area in the same state.

I have to admit that I get a little envious of church planters nowadays when they make this sort of announcement. The experts say it's easier to manage planting a church when a couple's children are small or grown. Teen and pre-teen children seem to have more difficulty with the process of relocating and acclimating to the new way of life. But, when our children were small, we couldn't seem get our act together long enough to get the blessing to proceed. As our family has grown, it's often seemed like little more than a pipe dream. "Life comes at you fast," the commercial says, and we've just found ourselves and our children getting older. The dream of planting a church is still there, but it's like something placed on a shelf, gathering dust.

Reading Crispin's blog coincided with the "wrecked" experience for me. Though he didn't use the word "wrecked," I got exactly what he meant. The world needs to see people who've been wrecked by the love of God.

It may not mean much at all and may never come to anything, but last night something happened to me in a Wal Mart parking lot. In the middle of making plans to move my parents away from the first place I ever called "home," the place called back - or maybe it was God calling back. I really don't know which. Originally, when I thought of planting a church, I felt that the church to be planted would be in a wild and raucous place: Gun Barrel City, Texas. To drive through the area, it would seem the last thing the city needs is another church. But, I'm sure they could use one that Crispin describes - made up of people who have been "wrecked" by the love of God for people who need him most.

So, while driving down the main drag, I felt the heart of God for a part of the world that is as dear to me as my own life. They need to meet people who've been wrecked by God's love. My prayer was, and will be, "God, send someone, who's been wrecked by your love, to this place. And, if no one else will go, then send me." Some day. One day. Whenever.

Yeah, I'm wrecked, but it's OK.

We All Knew This Day Would Come

It seems like such a cliché' to write about how life changes, how people grow up and get older and then how everyone copes with it. After all, life happens to everybody and we all have to deal with it the one thing that binds us all together: change. As much as we fight it, struggle with how it makes us feel or what we must do to come to grips with it, everything will change. Musicians have made a living for themselves giving music and lyrics to all those feelings change stirs up within us. Writers and artists have applied their talents to provide words and pictures for the feelings that seem too deep for words. In spite of all our best efforts, we're never quite prepared for moment when change comes.

Some of our friends and family know that we've been talking with Mom & Dad about moving closer to me and my family or to my sister, Vicki, and her family in Victoria, Texas. We've had various plans in the past that never materialized. Recently, my wife and I raised the topic with them and we were moving forward with a plan to have them move closer to us in the fuzzy near-future. Of course, now with the events that unfolded over the weekend with my mother's wreck, we're looking at putting another gear on our plans. We've talked before about them moving and have discussed it a few times again this weekend. It will be really nice to have them nearby and check in on them regularly and have them more involved in our family. It's a great thing and I look forward to it. I hope they look forward to it with the same pleasant anticipation we have.

However, as the song says "each new beginning is another beginning's end," how does one go about leaving a place that has been "home" for such a long time? I often think about my parents' home as being such a significant place for me. However, it wasn't until my cousin, Brenda, mentioned it on Facebook a few days ago that I realized I'm not the only one who feels this way. It's the not the place that is so special. It's always been a small, wood-frame, two bedroom house on a simple 3/4's acre lot on one of the quietest streets in Malakoff, Texas. But, what made it so special is that it's the container that holds everyone's memories. 505 East Pine Avenue in Malakoff, Texas has held a lot of memories for a whole lot of people for a long time.

I came into this world after my brother and sister, along with most of their cousins, were all but grown. In those days, 505 E. Pine Avenue was known as 514 Pine and my grandparents lived in a small travel trailer parked right next to the house. I remember as a small child seeing all sorts of people coming to visit my grandparents. Aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, outlaws - you name it - someone was always coming over to see my Pop and Grandmamma. I've heard my sister and different cousins talk about how my parents along with my aunts and uncles would go into the little 12 x 12 kitchen in my parents' house and close the door so they could visit, while the cousins would try to sleep on their pallets in the living room. Every now and then the kids would get too loud and one of the parents would open the door and tell the kids to be quiet and go to sleep, all the while laughing and telling stories late into the night.

I don't remember much anymore from the days when my grandparents lived next door to us. There are lots of stories and pictures from when I was set in the bed with my Pop to watch "rasslin" with him. But, there are two things I remember without pictures and they are as vivid as color television.

The first was when I was about 4 years old. I came bounding out of their trailer and right in my path was a brown, checkered snake curled up in the grass. I don't know how I was able to skip over it, but I did, and ran directly in the house. By the time I had gone inside and come back out with my mother, the snake was nowhere to be seen. From that day forward, I never bounded outside of the trailer. I looked before I would leap until their trailer was finally moved away.

The second event I remember at Grandmamma’s house had to do with my cousin, Randy Perkins. Randy was known as being “mentally retarded” in a time when political correctness hadn’t yet come into play. I was terrified of Randy not just because he was bigger than me and looked funny, but because he would take every opportunity to bully and physically hurt me. He once got a running start and knocked me off a tricycle in my parents’ driveway. When I saw Randy, all I wanted to do was RUN!

One day, I was over at Grandmamma’s enjoying tea and crackers when Randy and his mom, Georgina, pulled into the driveway. She knew I was scared of Randy, so she grabbed me and told me to go hide under a table and to be as quiet as I could. I scrambled under that table, slid the tablecloth down as far as I could and hardly breathed for half an hour. Georgina visited with Grandmamma while Randy messed with things in her house. I just knew he was looking for me. At one point, she told him to stop whatever he was doing – I guess it was because he was getting close to where I was. After what seemed like an eternity, I heard Georgina say “well, I guess we’d better go” and Grandmamma proceed to walk them out the door. Once they had pulled out of the driveway and gone down the street, she raised the tablecloth and told me that I could get out from under the table. (Now that I think about it, I honestly don’t remember if Grandmamma left my glass of tea and crackers on the table or if she put them away. If she didn’t, that may have been the reason why Randy was going through her house the way he did. ) I’ll always be grateful to her for protecting me that day.

Another thing about my parents’ house here in Malakoff is the history of pets we had here. The first pet I remember was a black, over-sized Chihuahua called Sissy, I think. I don’t remember what happened to her, but she was far from being the last pet at our house. We had several stray cats and dogs, as well as a few that we picked out from a litter of pups or kittens. At one point, we had the meanest horse in the entire world in our back yard, a Shetland pony named Poncho. He must have bitten everyone in the family. It was a great day when my brother-in-law sold him.

Because we had so many pets when I was a kid, there are also countless animal carcasses buried on my parents’ property, too: dogs, cats and one hamster all are out there, somewhere. There’s also a few pets buried at various places on the property of my parents’ church, Malakoff First Assembly of God. There’s even one pet buried in the median of Hwy 31.

Penny, the wonder-horse, known for breaking into local feed stores and chicken coops, opening gates and jumping cattle guards, broke out one last time and met his match. One Sunday morning, the local FFA teacher called my dad and told him that a horse that looked like Penny was lying dead on the road outside of Malakoff. Dad verified that it was Penny and consulted with a local attorney about what to do next. His advice to Dad was to not claim the horse. In spite of friends saying “Joel, I think your horse is dead on the east side of town,” (and several of them did) we didn’t say anything. To our knowledge no one was injured in the accident. But, poor ol’ Penny had to be tended to. That same day, the Henderson County Highway Department buried Penny in the median of Hwy 31 where it divides on the east side of town. I always wanted to put some sort of marker out there. But, I couldn’t do it without raising suspicion. So, when I head out east toward Athens, I always take a quick look to the north side of the road to pay my respects to the most amazing horse that ever lived.

One of the drawbacks of growing up in a small town is that people know things about each other. It’s not so bad if a person lives right. If they get in trouble, the whole world will know about it. If people have been the same place for a long time, there is a larger body of information to pull from. In my case, I was the third child attending the same schools my brother and sister attended, so everyone saw me coming. Fortunately, only a handful of teachers were still around who remembered my siblings by the time I was in their class. But, I had one teacher, Mrs. Helen Brewer, in high school, who took every opportunity to tell me that should be more like my brother or sister. “You’re too lazy!” I never got a break.

Then there are all the people who went to school with my brother and sister who had kids of their own who were my age. I remember being in art class looking at an old football program one time. One of the girls in the class said “Hey, look it’s my mom!” One of the guys said “That’s my mom!” I said “That’s my sister!” The table went quiet then everyone said “Nuh-uh!” It took some convincing to get them to believe me. Then, the same guy who identified his mom in the same picture said “hey, your sister is pretty!” I told him “And she’s the same age as your mom!” I couldn’t make this stuff up!

Literally, there’s a story at every turn in this little ol’ town. For me, this place was my entire world for the first 19 years of my life. It’s been the lone constant in the time since. I always knew I could go back home any time I needed to. As we get ready for this new phase of life, when Mom & Dad will come to live with me and my family, there are more mixed feelings than I ever expected. I will miss this place more profoundly than I can imagine right now. It’s not just a chapter that’s closing, either. It’s like finishing a major series of books and packing them away in a trunk to be shipped away.

Having said that, I must say that there is such an advantage to what we’re doing. I look forward to seeing my parents more regularly and to be involved with each others’ lives again. I think we’re thoroughly going to enjoy each other’s company. But, make no mistake…I’m really going to miss this place. I knew this day would come, but now that it’s here, I had no idea what I was in for until now.

An Unexpected Change of Plans

Many of our friends know that we've been talking to my parents about moving nearer to us. It's been something we've talked on and off with them for several years now. Recently, we've revisited the topic and I think that it may be time. However, yesterday things changed rather dramatically and we may be scrambling to catch up for a while.

Mom was in Athens yesterday (Athens is the next biggest town to Malakoff, which is, if anyone doesn't know, the center of the universe) and was going about her business and had a wreck. She was taken to the hospital here, but we don't know exactly what happened. We talked to my parents' insurance agent and she told us to get a police report and file a claim. Unfortunately, there's no way to get a police report in Athens over the weekend. So, I'm in Athens tonight, sitting in the East Texas Medical Center here, writing this blog, waiting for Monday to roll around so I can try to get my parents' affairs in order. I definitely didn't see myself being in this position yesterday. It's just a reminder of how quickly things can change.

Over the course of the day today, we've discovered more about Mom's condition. It turns out she has a heart condition that she knew about for a while. We knew a little about it, but it was a bit more serious than we had been made to believe. It was discovered while treating her cracked and bruised sternum, caused by either the seatbelt or the steering wheel during the wreck yesterday. Considering the circumstances - or at least what we've pieced together so far - we've been blessed that she is still here with us. It looks like there's a long road of recovery ahead of her. We likely will need to kick our plans, to have them move near to us, in high gear.

That's the nuts and bolts of what's going on here. However, I want to write about what's been going on around us throughout the day.

My parents' neighbor, Jeanette King, called me yesterday and told me what happened with Mom being involved in the wreck. After I got off the phone with her, I contacted my sister, Vicki and my wife, Danelle and told them what I had been told had happened. I didn't realize it, but the two of them started contacting family and friends by e-mail, phone and Facebook and by this morning there has been such an outpouring of love and concern that was nothing short of amazing.

So, as the day is winding down, I'm thankful for my family, friends and loved ones. Your prayers, love and concern mean more than you know. Look for updates on Mom's condition on Facebook in the coming days.

Opinions Are Like...

One of my earliest memories of little league baseball came from one of my teammates' dad who was one of our coaches. It was one of those teaching moments that comes up during sports. Somebody was complaining about something, why this happened or that took place. Our coach turned to the player in the midst of his complaint and said "opinions are like assholes; everybody's got one and they all stink." Oops! Nobody dared say anything else.

I'm sure everyone has heard this at some point in their lives. The longer I live, the more I've come to agree with the statement. In fact, it seems I've come to develop opinions about other people's opinions along the way. As far as that goes, I'm sure other people have developed opinions about opinions about other opinions. Where does it end? Maybe I'm over-analyzing this, but is it appropriate to express an opinion at all? If it is, how does one go about expressing it?

First of all, I think before anybody opens their mouth about anything, they need to have respect for the people they are talking to. I've seen it too often (and unfortunately, I've operated like this) where a person thinks they're the only right person in the room. Those are the conversations where people come away frustrated, with hurt feelings. If a person honestly cares about people, they're going to be more careful than most about expressing their opinion. Period.

Secondly, it's important to be informed about whatever might be discussed. It is SO annoying to get involved in a discussion with someone who is BS'ing their way through it. It's just as annoying to talk to someone who is so immersed in their opinion that they can't relate or understand where the other person is coming from. If you don't know, shut up. You might learn something.

Lastly, and most importantly ( I think so, anyway), before ever saying anything, I think it is appropriate to ask ourselves "does what I have to say add to this discussion?" Chances are that it doesn't. If it doesn't, save it for another time when it might be appropriate. As I've learned, it's not a good thing to speak everything that comes to mind - no matter how good the intentions might be.

I think Christians have a lot to learn when it comes to interacting with each other and the rest of the world. We do have the right in this country to free speech and thank God for that. But, just because we can express ourselves freely as our personal right, it doesn't mean that we can say whatever we want to whenever we want to say it. If we consider ourselves to be at all "Spirit led" as we often claim, it would make sense then that the same Spirit could help us shut our mouths as well as open them.

I heard once, "God gave us two ears and one mouth and that should tell us something: he expects us to listen twice as much as we speak." If anything, that should make sense.

A Pretty Awesome Night

(I've been trying to get this posted for a week...)

I've been playing guitar and singing for about 22 years now (about 12 of those years were serious) most of which has been with some connection to the church. One of the main reasons I wanted to learn to play guitar and be able to sing with it was in order to lead worship at church. As many who knew me growing up probably know, the church music in those days wasn't conducive to guitars for accompaniment. I also played the drums, so it was easier to beat on things than actually play something that was unfamiliar.

Along the way, I discovered Vineyard Music, a music company that specialized in contemporary songs and arrangements for churches, written for a variety of instruments, particularly for the guitar. The discovery coincided with something called the Brownsville Revival in the mid-90's. An Assembly of God Church in Pensacola, Florida had nightly services for nearly 4 years, hosting visitors and pilgrims from around the globe and receiving national news coverage and even special reports at the same time. Lindell Cooley was in charge of the music and used Vineyard songs extensively. People from across the globe flocked to Pensacola to attend the revival meetings and came away singing the songs and took them back to their local congregations. One of those churches was Malakoff First Assembly of God, my home church.

I soon found out that there was more to the Vineyard catalog than just the songs that were played at Brownsville. At that time, a CD was released every quarter of the year with brand new songs on it. A separate songbook could be purchased that came complete with sheet music for piano, chord charts for guitar players and transparency masters for those who used a simple overhead projector to display song lyrics. (Later, these resources were saved on the CD, along with the audio tracks - a great resource) It probably seems so trivial now, but this was a big deal in 1997. I bought everything I could get my hands on and would learn to play it right away. Along the way, I started noticing the names of the people who wrote the songs. Brian Doerksen, David Ruis, Andy Park and John Barnett were just some of the prominent song writers at that time. Like I said before, I played as many of their songs as I could. Eventually, I ended up playing Andy's songs more than the rest. So, when I heard that Andy would be coming to our church in Conroe, I was going to be there. In fact, I sat on the front seat.

For about 90 minutes, Andy and his band played many of the songs I've played at one time or other in the same building. One of my friends said later "he played all your songs!" It was actually the other way around. Still, it was nice to meet Andy and sort of completed the evening for me. Of course, Andy is just an ordinary guy, and when I met him, it was no big deal. I told him I liked his songs and played a lot of them, to which he replied "good. I'm glad you do."

After the concert was done and we finally made it back home, I thumbed through the songbook and realized just how many of his songs I knew by heart or by sight. It's not that often we meet our role models. I'm glad he was the type that let me tell him how much I appreciate what he does.

Wow! What A Party!

Today, I had the privilege of being the front man for the band from the Vineyard Church of Conroe today in the "Go Texan Day" Parade in Conroe. This was made possible because our fearless leader, Raymond McDonald, came down sick recently (BTW, we wish you a speedy recovery, Bro. It ain't the same without you!) .

It was sort of like getting to start a baseball game because the ace of the pitching staff went on the DL. After our entrance into the parade last year, the bar had been set pretty high with Raymond playing his Texas Blues and newly written songs. At the same time, it was an incredibly exciting opportunity. Afterall, how often does a band get to play to an entire city?

Just like last year, we warmed up playing on the float, doing our drive-by jam through the streets of Conroe, to get in position near the Montgomery County Library. To add a little bit of drama this year, a fiesty cold front rolled into town about an hour before start time, forcing us to run for cover with anything musical or electrical (which was nearly everything). We scrambled to get everything set back up to be ready for the big kick-off and then were playing 90-to-nothin' for the next hour. It was a total blast! Still, in spite of the fun we had (It wasn't just the band. There was a band of Vineyardites in tow, handing out little trinkets from the church, spreading the love) from our vantage point, the city was having a pretty good time, too.

To me, the whole experience was a practical demonstration of what we talk about every Sunday and in every home group and church-related activity: expanding the Kingdom of God. The best part was that we were participating in a party and inviting the whole city to join in.

The Trials of Ted Haggard

I heard about the release of the documentary, The Trials of Ted Haggard, on HBO a few months ago while surfing for news. I missed its premiere, but I finally got around to watching it last night.

I'm hardly a fan of Ted Haggard. I didn't really care for him before he got in trouble. Like many, I scoffed when I heard that he was caught in sin. "How could he have done something so stupid!?" Since then, I've read many of the articles that have been written about the man and the vast attitude of public opinion against him. I don't - in any way - condone of his behavior. After all, for a person is in his position who was struggling like he says he was, it would have been far better to admit the problem and sought out help than to be openly exposed and caught by surprise. As my friend and pastor says, DISclosure BEFORE EXposure. In the eyes of public opinion, he's no better off than A-Rod or Miguel Tejada, much less Jimmy Swaggart, all of them asking for forgiveness after being caught in a really embarrassing situation.

I think the thing that surprised me, while watching the documentary, was how negatively the church, as a whole, had received him after he had admitted guilt and asked for forgiveness. I mean I understand the frustration and anger of the homosexual community. It reminds me of the Van Halen album OU812, released during the time of the string of scandals involving Jim Bakker, Jimmy Swaggart, Marvin Gorman and other prominent preachers in that day. People should be upset. Haggard wasn't truthful with his family or his church at first and finally had to admit the truth when other versions of the story emerged. The film mentions, as a footnote, that another allegation was made by a church member before the film was actually aired publicly. There's just no good way to dole out bad news.

This is the problem that I have with how the man was treated by the people he once led as pastor. According to what was reported in the documentary/movie, Haggard was made to move out of the house he owned, to leave the state of Colorado and never darken the door of New Life Church again. I understand people being hurt, angry, upset - whatever - over what the guy did. This guy blew it and fell hard. Anything involving the former head of the National Association of Evangelicals, the pastor of New Life Church and the host of hundreds of conventions around the country, it's next to impossible to keep it quiet.

I think the biggest tragedy isn't necessarily what happened to him and his family. I really feel for his wife and kids having had their lives uprooted and undermined because Haggard's actions. But the guy felt so alone that he couldn't go to someone and ask for help. That's huge and awful! He was afraid of being judged before, and based on how he's been treated, he was right to feel that way. As he says in the documentary, "I feared that if I admitted my struggle, I would lose my friends, my vocation - everything." Consequently, one of the overseers in leadership at New Life says in the video "We want Ted Haggard to just go away." Everyone who attends New Life should take note of this. They could one day be saying this about you. And in case someone might think they couldn't possibly do something like what Haggard did, remember "except for the grace of God..."

I think it should also be noted how everyone - as a whole - responded to this particular incident. Would it have been as harsh had he had committed adultery with a woman? I don't think so. There's more of a stigma for homosexual behavior. By saying that, I don't condone homosexual activity. But, lets be honest, homosexual activity is the hotbutton for American Christianity right now. If it came down to it, and the average person given the choice, most people would have preferred that he would have gotten caught with a woman - or a string of women - than to get caught like this.

What I keep coming back to is that I would expect this kind of response from the media. Ted Haggard's story is the "perfect storm" in journalism. "Superpreacher busted for doing what he preached against." There will be no mercy in that arena. But, to be effectively blacklisted and subsequently blackballed by the Christian Church? I think everyone should take a step back and consider what has taken place: a Christian brother is caught in sin. Period. Sin is sin, whether its viewing pornography, adultery, or cheating on taxes. We say we understand this, but we have our own idea of what's a little worse than the rest. In conservative circles, that would be homosexual behavior.

Like many who get entangled in sin (name your poison here), Ted Haggard tried to cover his tracks only to find he was getting out of control. Originally, the story was he met with the male prostitute once for a massage. Then that story grew to regular, monthly meetings. Then, somehow drugs were involved. Finally, there was someone else besides the prostitute. Unfortunately, that's how sin works - and we know this. We do something that we said we would never do and vow not to do it again. But, we do it again and make excuses for ourselves, based on our background or experiences. Sometimes we can even be confronted and respond with lies and deceit. Considering what Haggard said in the video, he felt he could not go to anyone for help. If he could have turned to someone for help, would he have taken the opportunity? We'll never know that. The truth is that things were out of control and he finally got exposed in the worst possible way.

Now, consider the next passage of scripture in light of this scenario:

^"1Brothers, if someone is caught in a sin, you who are spiritual should restore him gently. But watch yourself, or you also may be tempted. ²Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. ³If anyone thinks he is something when he is nothing, he deceives himself. ⁴Each one should test his own actions. Then he can take pride in himself, without comparing himself to somebody else, ⁵for each one should carry his own load." Galatians 6:1-5

I realize that the men involved in addressing the disciplinary action levied against Ted Haggard probably read this passage of scripture along with many others. Note the text - "if someone is caught in sin." It's as if the Apostle knew that people wouldn't likely come clean and admit their failures outright. No, they would probably get caught, one way or another. When they are, those who are spiritual have a responsibility to restore that one in the faith. The problem here isn't the fact that Ted Haggard lied and covered up his struggles, temptations and sin. He just revealed, what most of us knew all along, that at the end of the day we're all only human. No, the problem here is that when the church (in this case, New Life Church and its overseeing ministers) had the opportunity to be the agent of true healing for Ted Haggard, they chose to be his judge, jury and executioner. Rather than taking the responsibility of restoring this man to a level of respectibility in what was his own home (Ted Haggard says at one point that New Life was his life), he was banished like a leper. A 4-man panel of church overseers made the decision to deal with Ted Haggard like they did. They explain in a video (their response is shown briefly in the documentary) why they felt it necessary to deal with him the way they did. Yadda, yadda, yadda. They punted. Plain and simple. "Go away, Ted Haggard. Get help somewhere else."

I find it a curious question to ask, if they were found in the same circumstances, how would they want to be dealt with? If it were me, I would prefer this:

¹⁴ David said to Gad, "I am in deep distress. Let us fall into the hands of the LORD, for his mercy is great; but do not let me fall into the hands of men." 2nd Samuel 24:14.

Unfortunately, Ted Haggard learned just how harsh and true this passage could be.