Steve's Post Game Analysis of John and Amy's Wedding

Well we are back from John and Amy's wedding in Pasadena, and what an amazing time it was. Did you ever have an experience where everything went so well you felt like you were walking around in a dream? Well that's what this weekend felt like to me. I'll admit that I had a few weak moments and my own struggles during the days leading up to the blessed event, but that's okay, I still love weddings. And I especially liked this one.

Actually I've always liked weddings. I liked officiating at them and I enjoy attending them (but don’t tell my wife). I like them because I love the beauty of the ritual itself and because they are such important rites of passage that they really make me think. Seriously, it’s difficult to sit at a wedding – even if you don’t know the couple – and not ponder the deeper things of life. Am I right?

Rites of passage like births, baptisms, coming of age rituals, marriages, and even deaths act as thresholds in our lives. Experiencing them is like moving from one room to the next through a door. The ritual itself, whether it's a baptism ceremony, wedding, or a funeral is the threshold or doorway.

Arnold van Gennep in his seminal book The Rites of Passage described rites of passage as a threefold process with phases and accompanying rituals of separation, segregation, and integration. As he saw it, for there to be a healthy and whole new self the old self must die (ritually speaking) and the new self must be born. That means the role of those surrounding the individuals going through these doorways is somewhat akin to that of a midwife. For the ones experiencing these rites, old things such as family, friends and familiar surroundings must be left behind. This is sometimes symbolized ritualistically by the person(s) being ceremonially "given away" and/or be carried off for an extended time to an unfamiliar location where they learn the meaning and practices of their new status and relationship. In the case of marriage this might be the honeymoon. (Yes friends, that's what honeymoons are really for!) Only after these separation and segregation stages are complete do the people involved undergo the third phase of a rite of passage, their reincorporation into society. But even  as they re-enter society they do so with a new and different status and identity, perhaps involving a new title (Mr. or Mrs.) or name (Amy Elizabeth Jackson Halley). The people also frequently adopt wearing symbols of their new-found identity such as wedding bands, and, almost certainly their new life together requires new patterns of behavior with appropriate duties and responsibilities.

As alluded to above, Van Gennep likened life to a home with people moving over thresholds from room to room. The Latin word for threshold is limen, so Van Gennep called his three phases of rites of passage as preliminal, liminal, and postliminal. He also pointed out that rites of passage often involve more than one type of status change. In a marriage, for example, it is not only the bride and groom that pass from being single to being married but their parents also become parents-in-law and friends of the other in-laws. Parents, siblings, and friends may all find themselves entering new relationships, sometimes joyfully (as I'm confident is the case in Amy and John's wedding), and sometimes not so joyfully.

To ease this transition, stories recounting the achievement or character of the party(s) going through these doorways are often recounted to celebrate what has been and to help guide the person(s) into their new life. In the case of marriage this may consist of toasts and storytelling at the rehearsal dinner or ceremony itself. We enjoyed a lot of that on Friday night. Gifts and goods are also often provided to assist the individual(s) as they move from one world to the next. John and Amy were blessed with many wonderful gifts.

In case you're wondering where I'm going with all this, I want to point out that Van Gennep’s theory isn’t just a bunch of psycho-babble. Jesus said something very similar himself about marriage which has been molded into a wedding homily by more than a few old preachers like me. The passage for this wedding homily is Matthew 19:5 where Jesus, quoting Genesis chapter 2, says 'For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.'  And there you have it – leave (separate) – cleave (segregate) – and the two shall become as one – weave (integrate).

The three points of the homily are (gotta have three points, right?) that the couple must leave, cleave and weave. The old King James Version of Matt. 19:5 even had the word cleave in it. For a marriage to be successful both parties to the union must leave their family of origin (symbolically speaking something must die). They must cleave to one another segregating themselves from society for a time to form their new union and identity. The imagery here is clear enough, but this goes far beyond sex and getting away for a honeymoon. Finally, the couple must weave a new life together, combining their strengths, forgiving one another’s weaknesses and becoming a three-fold strand, a concept based on Ecclesiastes 4:12 which says, "A cord of three strands is not easily broken." Christ, of course is the third and most central strand in Christian marriage. In common lingo – the couple must have each others’ backs with Jesus at the center as their guide. This biblical message straight from the heart of God and the lips of Jesus matches up well with Van Gennep's phases of separation, segregation and integration, doesn't it?

This is probably much too technical of an analysis of the wonderful event that happened in our family this past weekend – but seen in this light I actually believe all those who know and love Amy and John have a role to play in seeing them blossom in their marriage and in their new life together. I was so glad the couple asked for our help in doing that during the ceremony.

In closing I'd like to raise one more glass to the happy couple and again give all the glory to the God that brought them together. Hear Hear! Cheers!

Orion Has Returned

Lately I've been taking my walks early in the morning every few days or so. It started back when the weather was so hot and I was trying to avoid the heat, but I've enjoyed it so much I've kept it up even though the weather has gotten a bit cooler in the afternoons.

One of the best things about walking before dawn is that it is a great time to see the stars. Earlier this month I enjoyed watching the planets Venus and Jupiter burning bright in the Eastern sky, and now one of the few constellations I recognize - Orion - has returned to the morning sky. Orion is one of the most famous of the constellations, partly because it is visible practically all over the world and partly because it actually looks like something - a hunter with a shield, a raised arm, and a sword hanging from his belt.

Spotting Orion this morning brought mixed feelings for me. As a constellation we in the northern hemisphere see mainly in the wintertime, its return means fall is right around the corner and winter is right behind that. I am not ready for cold weather! On a positive note, Orion's reappearance means that football season, cozy evenings around the fireplace, and that great trinity of holidays (Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas) will soon arrive. Even more exciting for the Jackson household, the arrival of "the hunter" means we're closer than ever to our daughter Amy's wedding. Yeah!

If you happen to be up before dawn in the next few weeks, step outside and look up at the southeastern sky and check out Orion yourself. It might help you to find it by locating the brightest object in the predawn sky first - that's the planet Venus. You'll find Venus about a hands-width above the eastern horizon. Betelgeuse, Orion's second brightest star (and the hunter's right shoulder) sits just off to the right of Venus. Enjoy!

Review: Tarzan of the Apes

Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs

My rating: 4 of 5 stars



Tarzan of the Apes, the first of the Tarzan books, was published by Edgar Rice Burroughs in 1912. The book tells the story of a English Lord, orphaned as an infant in the jungles of West Africa. The boy is adopted and raised by a tribe of gorillas and has to learn to survive in the wild. In time he talks with the animals, swings through the jungle trees, and fights against fierce tigers and lions. Tarzan eventually grows to the strength of his fellow apes and this strength, coupled with his human intelligence enables him to become the king of his tribe of gorillas and king of the jungle.

Eventually other humans enter Tarzan's jungle; first a fierce tribe of cannibals, and then a mutinous shipload of Englishmen. Naturally humanity brings with it all the problems of the "civilized" world. The good news is, they also bring the first white woman, Jane Porter, that Tarzan has ever seen. In the end Tarzan is forced to choose between two worlds.

I loved this book! I had no idea the original Tarzan would be so entertaining. The book is so much better than the Tarzan TV shows and movies I grew up watching. I love the writing style (definitely "pulp") and the way the story is propelled along; it really moves. It's also a pretty amazing feat that Tarzan learned to read English by reading books, speak French in only a few weeks, and a host of other amazing feats. Not bad for a "Forest Man" as the other Englishmen call him. Reading the book you have to overlook the racist stuff and the parochial worldview; Burroughs was definitely a product of his age. Bottom line, I like this Tarzan better than the dumb brute portrayed by Johnny Weissmuller and the early Tarzan movies. I especially liked the way the story ended, with Tarzan doing the classy thing. It really made me want to read the other 23 books Burroughs wrote in this series. If you've got a few hours and want to "cozy-up" with a good adventure story, try this one on for size!

Safe and Sound

Grainy photo of  our little bird.

For the last few weeks we've had a nightly visitor to the deck upstairs off our master bedroom. A little bird - it looks like some kind of sparrow or wren to me - has been sleeping on the tiny ledge where our deck post meets the ceiling. Every night around 8:20 to 8:30 this tiny sleepy-headed feathered friend shows up. The ledge where it is roosting is so narrow that the bird can't even hold his head straight - it has to put its bill up in the air and rest on its chin. When I go to the door to the deck and look out the bird swivels its head to look at me, but doesn't seem threatened.

I've become very attached to this little bird. On the few nights when it hasn't shown up I have become concerned and somehow the whole house seems lonelier and sadder. I'm sure it sounds silly, but there's something comforting about the little bird's presence there every night as it sleeps just a few feet from us. Having the bird under our roof feels like a reminder from God that He can and will take care of all His creatures, just as He does that little bird who has found a safe, cozy place to rest.

There's a beautiful passage in the Psalms that says, "Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young - a place near your altar" Psalm 84:3 (NIV). It's only a small thing - and a simple one - but I'm grateful for this reminder that God's eye is not only on the sparrow - His eye is on us all.

Review: The Sisters Brothers

The Sisters Brothers by Patrick deWitt

My rating: 2 of 5 stars



The Sisters brothers, Eli and Charlie, are hired killers hired sent out to Gold Rush country in the 1850s to kill a thief. Eli narrates the story, and ends up being a fairly likable character despite his many shortcomings. Charlie is a psychopath whom you don't want to cross for any reason.

This book is filled with some very dark humor and quirky characters. I enjoyed the sub-plot of "Dub," Eli's doomed horse, and Eli's hilarious introduction to dental hygiene. In all honesty I found the book enjoyable, but in the same way as when I have a bruise and even though it hurts I keep pushing on it.

This book is definitely not for everyone. Those with an aversion to violence and bad things happening to good people (and animals) will not enjoy it. Otherwise, it's an enigmatic read that you might enjoy.

Review: Calico Joe

Calico Joe by John Grisham

My rating: 2 of 5 stars



Calico Joe is a baseball story that's not really about baseball. The story is about brokenness and attempts at reconciliation which are, at best, only partial. The book was deeply troubling to me at some strange level I have yet to fathom (only having finished it last night). Most likely the feelings I have are because of my own up and down relationship with my dad when I was younger, my own little league days, and my own doubts, short-comings and miscues with God, which is what I believe this story is really about.

Paul Tracey's feelings are torn between his father who he grew up despising and his boyhood idol, "Calico Joe" Castle a young major league phenom. Most of the story concerns Paul's (odd?) effort to reconcile the two - figuratively and literally. As stated above, the book felt dark and depressing to me, but maybe it's just me and my "stuff." To be honest, I finished the book late last night and had trouble sleeping afterwards.

Questions remain. Why does John Grisham always use sports stories for his shorter, non-legal-thriller efforts (Bleachers, Playing for Pizza and this book)? And if I didn't really like this short book (I only gave it 2 stars), why did it make me think so much, and why is writing the review revealing and emotionally difficult for me? Maybe I do like the book? Perhaps this experience is like when I read Scripture and find that certain passages trouble me - and yet I know that even as they do God is speaking to me about something I need to deal with. I've always felt it's the passages that are most disquieting to you that you need to pay closest attention to. Maybe that's why this book grabbed my attention even though I didn't "like" it.

One thing I'll be interested in is to see if the story engenders the same feelings in a girl as a guy (assuming Donna reads it). Hopefully answers will come in time.

Timeline

I am reading Ralph Waldo Emerson's journals again. Reading this literary giant's daily musings never fails to inspire me. While starting the book this time I noticed the publisher included a helpful chronology of Emerson's life. Timelines are popular again today, in part due to Facebook's new effort to develop (force?) timelines on all its users' lives.

I noted with interest that Emerson's timeline in the book is limited to 25 items, probably mostly because that's how many items would fit on one page. It's pretty amazing that the life of such an accomplished person can be summed up in twenty-five chronological dates beginning with his birth on May 25, 1803 and ending with his death on April 27, 1882. Even more curious is what the author chose to include in that chronology. Besides Emerson's birth and death the timeline mentions certain years Emerson attended various schools, his marriages, and the deaths of his first wife and his son. Several event markers are used to note the year certain of his literary works were published. Others mention pastorates, house fires and trips to Europe.

My curiosity piqued, I got some paper and numbered a page from one to twenty-five. The first date, the date of my birth, was easy. The last date, the date of my death, I left blank. That left me twenty-three numbers. A few of the dates that make up my timeline were fairly easy. Following Emerson's timeline I included my school years, the date of my marriage and the birth dates of my children. I also included the date of my ordination as a minister, the date of my first mission trip to Africa, and a few vocational turning points. What else I should or should not include was less easy to discern.

In the end, two observations emerged during my little experiment of creating a personal chronological timeline. First, I realized how my priorities reflect the dates I chose to include - or perhaps it would be more accurate to say the dates I chose to include hopefully reflect my priorities. The dates I chose were formative ones for me and I am richer for having been through each and every one. My second observation was that after including everything I felt was important enough to mention, including the hopefully distant yet unknown date of my demise - I still have 14 important life events to fill in!  That tells me that there is major work for me to do in this second half of my life and that gives me hope and motivation to keep running the race.

I enjoyed doing this, and I highly recommend it to you. Try it and see what your twenty-five item personal timeline looks like. Hopefully like me your focus will be sharpened and your energy will be renewed for whatever God has in store for you in your tomorrows.

Review: The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair that Changed America

The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair that Changed America by Erik Larson

My rating: 3 of 5 stars



This book is the compelling, true tale of two men, one epitomizing light and the other darkness, set against the backdrop of the World's Fair of 1893 in Chicago, Ill. While Daniel Hudson Burnham is busy building and overseeing the Fair itself (nick-named the "White City" because all the buildings were white), H. H. Holmes, a charming young doctor and serial killer, is murdering people in a hotel he built for that very purpose within walking distance of the fair.

The book is rich with historical detail and a great primer on life in America at the turn of the 19th century. The story crosses paths with Mark Twain, Thomas Edison, Walt Disney's father (who helped build the fair), Archduke Ferdinand, Buffalo Bill, Susan B. Anthony, Samuel Gompers and a host of other luminaries. Larson also points out that shredded wheat, Juicy Fruit gum, incandescent lighting, AC current and the Ferris Wheel were introduced at the fair. The book is filled with contrasts; light and darkness, old and new, hope and despair. Devil in the White City is also filled with deadline drama: Will the fair be ready to open when promised? Will the people come once it's built? Who will be murdered next? Etc...

I enjoyed the book, though I must admit I got a bit bogged down in the middle. I also found the book just a tad depressing (aren't many true stories that way?). Death, figuratively and literally, abounds in the story, and then there is the shaky rise and sudden fall of the fair itself. In many ways reading this book felt like a twilight stroll through a cemetery - something I enjoy at times, and can't stand at others. I gave the book 2 1/2 stars.

Review: King Peggy: An American Secretary, Her Royal Destiny, and the Inspiring Story of How She Changed an African Village

King Peggy: An American Secretary, Her Royal Destiny, and the Inspiring Story of How She Changed an African Village by Peggielene Bartels

My rating: 3 of 5 stars



King Peggy is the real life story of Peggielene Bartels, a U.S. citizen and secretary at Ghana's Embassy in Washington who three years ago was awakened in the middle of the night by a phone call with news that her uncle had died and that she had been selected to succeed him as king of Otuam, a fishing village on the coast of Ghana. Peggy accepted the crown (actually she was "enstooled") and now divides her time between being a secretary at the Ghanaian Embassy (still) and King of Otuam.

Of course becoming King was just the start of the story. Bartels' book chronicles her difficulties dealing with the corruption, the grinding poverty, and the lack of infrastructure in her tiny village. Anyone who has spent much time in Africa will recognize and appreciate the struggles as well as the usual cast of "characters" in Otuam.

While I enjoyed the book, I found that by the end of the book Bartels' ended up sounding prideful with what all she took credit for ("I brought these people water...I gave them hope..." etc...) Even the concluding words of the complete title (..."How She changed an African Village") was a bit conceited-sounding. I also cringed repeatedly at the mish-mash of religious beliefs Bartels adheres too - like many Ghanaians she ends up coming across as a Christo-Animist and is not shy at all about jumbling prayers to Jesus, her ancestors and a whole assortment of local deities (she boasts her village is home to dozens of local gods). But then I know this is very common in Africa so I tried to make allowance for that.

All in all this is a good book. You will enjoy this improbable tale; it's good story-telling with lots of colorful humor; I gave it three stars.


View all my reviews

Review: The Innocent

The Innocent by David Baldacci

My rating: 4 of 5 stars



Loved this book and can't recommend it enough. Can't wait for Donna to read it so we can discuss. I really thought Baldacci did a great job with another new character. Will Robie is an assassin but I couldn't help but like him. His interaction with Julie Getty was plausible and consistent. I have no idea how Baldacci keeps all his protagonists straight, but he does. Pick this book up and read it and lose yourself for a few hours!

PS - my regular followers probably think this is a weird post after nothing for so long, but I just figured out how to have Goodreads automatically feed my blog. By the way, those of you who are unfamiliar with Goodreads, it is a great place to track your reading, find new books to read, and to peruse reviews by normal people. Click this link to go there.

My Dearest Little Family...

The image above is a letter from my paternal grandmother, affectionately known to us as "Big Mama." The letter was written to my parents in March or early April, 1956 right after she'd learned that I had been born. I love old letters, although their contents are mundane - just life as it was happening in Bassfield, MS back in the mid-fifties - they provide a brief glimpse into the author's soul. Big Mama's spelling and punctuation was interesting, but you can sense her sweet, sweet spirit as she writes:

My Dearest Little Family,

Was so proud of the little Grandbaby and it was a little boy we did want it to be a boy I know you all are so proud. I sure hope it will be as sweet as it Dad. I know he was the sweetest little boy every was. Barbara I will have to go to the Hospital as bad as I hate to - I got the prettiest card from your Mother that was sweet of her. What does Patricia think about the little boy or did she want a little girl tell her to love him real good for me. Odie wrote that Rex has a canker on his lip was going and have it cut out Wed. sure hope he gets along good. Odie is a lot better seams like. Mrs. Deen is still as bad as can be. Francis come Sunday they are all fine. Glyn and Linsey has good jobs now I am sure proud. We are having a revival at the church this week I don't guess I will feel like going and Dad and Annie Lee won't go and leave me. tell little Patricia I want her to come and bring that little boy
love Mother.

Ash Wednesday

Today is Ash Wednesday. Poor Ash Wednesday, such a misunderstood day on the Christian calendar. Most Protestants dismiss the day with a brusque, "That's just for Catholics isn't it?" Others scoff at the day because, "It's not mentioned in the Bible." Still others - the morose and gloomy among us - claim the day is just one more (unnecessary) reminder of, "How bad and sinful we really are."

Truth is there is no requirement to do anything on Ash Wednesday. As His children, redeemed by the blood of the Lamb, all believers have perfect freedom in Christ. He died to set us free (see, for instance, Galatians 5:1, 13). But - as human beings we need reminders of the cost of that freedom, and reminders to follow hard after the One who gained that freedom for us.

That's what Ash Wednesday is for me - a reminder; a reminder of my sinfulness, a reminder of the cost of that sin, a reminder of the glorious resurrection, and a reminder of the joy to come. Personally I'm grateful for reminders like Ash Wednesday. So observe the day as you will - or ignore it, I believe at your peril. The choice, as always, is yours.

For What It's Worth

I woke up this morning thinking about how different God's value system is from ours. It's written throughout the pages of Scripture. God values the least, the last and the lost. We value those who are the greatest, those who are #1, and those who seem to have it all together. I'm not judging anyone for feeling that way, just trying to humbly recognize how askew my own value system has become and to somehow correct it.

It seems to me we live in the age of envy. We're always wanting what we don't have - craving what God has blessed others with rather than celebrating and fully utilizing those gifts and graces that God has given us. What a miserable way to live!

So Lord help us today - help ME - to see things through your eyes and to listen using your ears. Forgive me for fretting and stewing over things that you know I don't need; things I couldn't handle even if they did come my way. Help us to celebrate and live to the fullest the life you have given each one of us. And forgive us for those times we have not done so. In your blessed name I pray...Amen.

Firsts: Broken Leg!



Pregnant wife, broken leg, bad moustache



Today's post is about my first broken bone. When I was a kid living in Germany I jumped off a building and broke my heel bone, but heel bones aren't really that impressive. My first REAL broken bone was actually two broken bones, both the tibia and fibula in my lower leg. The injury occurred in a softball game at Bennett Park in Forsyth County on April 24, 1984. I was playing shortstop for the Cumming Methodist softball team and I fielded a ground ball near second base, touched the bag and threw out the guy running to first. Unfortunately the Oak Grove Baptist base runner running to second thought we were playing game seven of the World Series and he decided to "take me out" at second. When he rolled into me my left leg was planted as I threw to first and the impact shattered both my lower leg bones.

Thankfully Dr. Bob Dunn, a good Methodist, was watching the game. He came out onto the field immediately and confirmed the worst. An ambulance was called. About this time someone got Donna's attention (she was "watching the game" as she conversed with friends in the stands). Someone said to her, "I think Steve's hurt." Donna replied, "Really? I hadn't noticed." Actually I can't prove she said that because everything after I got injured was a blur of pain, anguish and fear for me. I got an ambulance ride to the old hospital in Cumming and the bones were set. I spent the night there in a haze of pain killers and was released the next day.

As you can tell from the photo, Donna was pregnant at the time of my injury, which is probably why she was so preoccupied and didn't notice me writhing in pain out on the field. You can also see my short shorts and my silly 80's mustache. In retrospect that wasn't such a good look for me. Who knew?

The good news is I healed and we had our baby although I still had a cast on when Amy was born. The bad news is I didn't learn my lesson and the next season while warming up for the FIRST GAME of the softball season a player from my own team threw a ball in from the outfield that hit me in the jaw and broke my jawbone which had to be wired together for several weeks. I did learn my lesson that time and have never played softball again. 

Firsts: First Child I Married

June 6, 2009 Leigh and John Harper

Like I mentioned in my last post, I'm jumping around now. Hang on! This photo is of me officiating at the marriage off a daughter for the first time. The photo was taken June 6, 2009 and as you can tell from the frown on my face as I bless the union of my daughter Leigh and her beau John Harper, I'm not too happy about it. Just kidding! Seriously, I was just trying to keep from losing it - which I thankfully managed to do as I officiated at this wedding.

What an honor it was to be the officiant! I was Leigh and John's pastor at the time, so it was natural, but then again, it was very unnatural because, after all, she was my little girl. Leigh and John are a great couple and have a great marriage and Donna and I couldn't be happier for both of them. It was difficult to maintain my composure during the service though. As a minister I had to learn to keep my emotions in check to avoid disrupting special moments for families like baptisms, weddings and funerals. Most of the time I managed to do so, but there are a few times when my own emotions got the better of me and I lost it. The bad thing about "holding it in" is you can sometimes come across as aloof or uncaring. The reason you appear that way is because the way you keep your composure is to not think about the situation at hand, or what you are saying or doing at the time as the minister. It's pretty scary to think about a person standing up in front of others and speaking without really listening to himself - not taking it to heart - if you know what I mean.

That's the way it was with Leigh and John's wedding. I forced my self to speak the words of the marriage rite itself along with my own comments about their union without really thinking about them because if I had, I would've broken and wept like a baby. The good news is, any tears that day would have been tears of pure joy and celebration about what was happening.

The moral of this story is a simple one: If you're ever at a service of any kind the the person up front seems out of it, or unconcerned, please have pity; it probably means whatever his happening means more to her or him than you can possibly imagine.

Firsts: First Time I Held A Child of Mine

Steve holding Amy moments after her birth Aug. 26, 1984

I'm afraid I'm going to be jumping around a bit as I continue my "Firsts" series of my blog. I apologize for writing about "firsts" so long, but once I started I realized how many of these there are, and they're all special to me. I'll get around to the other writing before long.

This "First" is the first time I ever held a child of mine. Yes, that's me behind that surgical mask, and that's my firstborn, Amy Elizabeth I'm holding. The date is Aug. 26, 1984 and we're at Northside Hospital in Atlanta. We've just had the baby. Boy was it rough on ME! All that waiting and worrying! ha ha - I'm saying that for Donna's sake, who had the easy job of just pushing the little bugger out.

Seriously - what a moment. I remember it was so powerful that all my emotions were rushing together and came tumbling out at once. One minute I was laughing and the next I was crying. What a miracle birth is. Anyone who doubts the existence of God should stand in a delivery room and watch their baby be born and all doubts would evaporate. I know I'll never forget the experience.

I was all prepped to take Donna to the hospital ala Ricky Ricardo. We had a bag packed, I was on "go" at all times once the date neared. I was worried because we had a 45 minute drive from our house to the hospital. But then as it turned out, Donna had already gotten up and showered before she woke me up to say, "Dear, wake up we need to go to the hospital now." Imagine being stirred out of your sleep by a sentence like that. In the end we made it with time to spare. In fact, Donna had to walk the corridors of the hospital for an hour or two before they prepped her for delivery.

Amy's birth itself was particularly surprising. For almost nine months our doctor and his staff told us they were sure Donna was carrying a boy (we didn't want to know in advance). As Amy began being born the first thing the doctor (Dr. Thomas Modi) said was, "Woh! He's got red hair!" I remember thinking, "Red hair? Where did he get red hair?" Then, a few moments later the doctor said, "Woh...he's a she!" I remember thinking, boy Dr. Modi sure says "Woh" a lot! I wonder what other surprises are in store for us? At any rate, having a red head, and a little girl was a surprise - and a happy one for her proud parents!

Look at the photo closer and you'll see that little Amy has forceps marks on her face near her eye. Thankfully those faded. You'll also notice we're in a real old-fashioned delivery room. Nowadays the couple waits in a room that looks like the family room of your house, then when it's time they simply turn on a few more lights and voila you have the baby right there. I do believe that would have made me feel more comfortable; like I said the whole episode was pretty traumatic on me :)

Ah well - what a feeling to hold that little bundle; to smell that sweet baby and to hold her. What a blessing. I know I will never forget it. Thank you Donna, and Amy, and Dr. Modi, and most of all, thank you God!

Firsts: First Car

Steve's 1967 Pontiac GTO parked at Donna's house.

Another exciting first for me was my first car, a 1967 GTO aka a "GOAT," which my parents bought for me for $1500 in 1972 (a princely sum back then). Wow did I love that car! It was signet gold with a black vinyl roof. It had hood scoops (fake ones) upon which I added black vinyl "GTO" stickers on each side in case someone didn't notice it was a GTO (see the photo below). Under the hood it had a 400 cubic inch, 335 HP engine with a 4 barrel Quadra-Jet carburetor, and a turbo-hydramatic three-speed automatic transmission that could be operated manually through a Hurst "dual-gate" shifter when you really wanted to show off. It had 15 inch mag wheels, white letter tires and the rear end was jacked up a mile high with air shocks. It had dual Thrush mufflers that really made it purr and growl. Inside it had a state-of-the art 8-track tape player, black authentic-vinyl bucket seats and a tiny custom wood and metal steering wheel that made you feel like you were driving a dragster. In today's parlance the car would definitely be classified as a redneck mobile; but back then it was nothing but pure coolness.


Steve and Donna washing the "Goat" - notice the classy stickers I put on the hood.
Oh...and the ultra-cool railroad conductor hat I wore every day my senior year
of high school for some unknown reason.

I have so many great memories of that car. I remember riding around with Donna seated beside me while Leslie West and Mountain blared "Mississippi Queen" out of the car's ample speakers. I remember washing the car at least 2-3 times a week (as pictured above), and I remember rumbling up to school and claiming "my" parking spot. It was just the coolest ride ever.



Dad bought the GTO from a fellow Lakeshore Lancer, Howard Johnson. That was pretty cool too. I looked up to "Ho Jo" as we called him, so it was nice to get a car that was already well-appreciated at our school. I also recall this car was the only one I've ever owned that I even remotely wanted to work on - and I did. The car was "old school" in the sense that you could open the hood and tell what things were: radiator, alternator, starter, air filter, carburetor, heads, plugs, etc... Can you picture me going to an auto parts store? Well I did - it was always fun to add a new gadget or part to such a piece of art.

One of the saddest days of my early driving years was the day my Dad "borrowed" my car for some reason and was involved in a fender bender. The whole thing was the other guy's fault, but I remember being crushed that "my" car was in an accident. Dad and I were talking about that incident just today and he told me that the police officer handling the accident couldn't believe Dad was the operator of the hot rod. Dad said he kept asking him, "Now tell me again, who was driving the gold car?" Looking back that accident today it all seems petty, especially since my parents bought the car to begin with - but molehills can easily be turned into moutains when you're a hormone-possessed teenager in love with an automobile.

To this day sometimes I look over at Donna when we're driving down the road and I remember those amazing days - the windows rolled down, the wind blowing through our long hair, 8-track blaring, mufflers roaring, people staring, and small animals and children scrambling as their parents tried to get them indoors to safety. It was the greatest! 

Firsts: First Apartment

Oh man - isn't she beautiful!

The photo at right is the first apartment I ever lived in. That's my beautiful bride only a week or so after we got married pointing to the door of our humble first abode, J-110 University Village, which was the University of Georgia's primary married housing area at the time. 

I moved straight from living at home with my parents, to a dorm room for three years (Russell Hall). Donna and I both had jobs in Athens by the time we were Juniors, she in the office of the inimitable Coach Dan Magill in the UGA Athletic Dept, and me coaching at the Athens YMCA. During spring break of our Junior year we decided it would be better to go ahead and get married that summer rather than wait until we graduated and had to worry about marrying and moving and getting jobs all at the same time. Thus we planned organized the whole event and were married three months later in June of 1977. With all the planning and organizing and picking out stuff that happens today, can you imagine people doing all that in only a few weeks? Our rehearsal dinner was at my parents' house, the wedding happened in a church and the reception was downstairs in the fellowship hall of the church complete with punch, cheese straws and mixed nuts. That's about all you got back then. No limo, no fancy reception, no meal, no bar, no videographer, etc... Regardless, our wedding "took" and we're still happily married 34 years later.

Part of getting married meant we could give up our dorm rooms (me in Russell and her in Creswell) and our two separate meal plans at UGA, and we could combine our forces and finances and move into married housing. Boy were we proud of that place! Our apartment cost us $90 a month plus electricity, which rarely ran more than $3-5 a month. The receipt below was for our first full month, July of '77 and shows we used a whopping $4 of power that month, one of the hottest of the year. We were dirt poor, but happy as can be. One of the best things about living in married housing was that most everyone else was in the same boat (poor and happily in love) so we fit right in. By the way, I checked online (click to view) and the same unit currently rents for $600 a month and heaven knows how much the electricity costs now.

The first rental receipt for our apartment - $94

In an odd twist of fate, my parents' house burned in July 1977 a month after we were married. But good almost always comes from bad. Donna's parents owned a rental house next door to their home that was empty at the time so mom and dad moved in beside the Hartsfields and from that day on - even long after my parents moved to Buckhead and then on to Cumming - we have celebrated most of our our holidays and birthdays together.

Sometimes I think of those halcyon days when were were young and newly wed and the world stood before us ripe for conquering. I seem to think of them more in recent years as I've watched my own children grow up and leave the nest and make lives of their own. It's a beautiful plan actually. Personally I feel ever so grateful to be where I am today, sandwiched between our loving parents who provided such happy homes and abundant opportunities for us, and our own children who have turned out so well and made great lives for themselves. Thank you Lord for this wonderful gift. Your grace never ceases to amaze me.

Firsts: My First Pet

Blackie and Steve

This photo was taken in 1959 and is of me and my first pet, a Cocker Spaniel named Blackie. There is nothing quite like a child's first pet, that's for sure. We got Blackie in Puerto Rico and we kept him for several years. He was a loveable dog and very well-behaved. Blackie was also a great traveler. He not only went overseas with us, but he travelled with us as we zig-zagged across the country on all those family outings. During those travels the poor canine got blamed for more "smells" in the car (remember those?) than it was possible for one small dog to make. Usually it was the one most "in the know" if you know what I mean, who would whine "Blackie!  Not again!" as the odor slowly wafted through the car and my parents frantically rolled down the windows gasping for a breath of fresh air.

Cars in the fifties had really deep wells in front of the back seat where your feet were supposed to go. They were the perfect size for a little boy on one side and a Cocker Spaniel on the other. I can't tell you how many times I went to sleep in one of those wells looking over at Blackie in the other one. I really loved him (as is evident from the picture below). He was truly a great friend. Being a military family we moved a lot. Sometimes moving is really fun, sometimes it’s tough (it got tougher as I got older). It was fun because you got to start over and you eventually met new friends. It wasn't fun because you had to leave those new friends, usually after only a year. Having a pet like Blackie made the transition easier. He was always there.

Man's Best Friend

When we lived in Jackson, MS Blackie got hit by a car one night. We awoke to find him sitting on the stoop outside the house missing an eye. He recovered from his accident to live many more years though. He was eventually allowed to "retire" at a relative's house in the country (Johnny Wilson's mother). We were moving to a cold climate where the Puerto Rican Cocker Spaniel would have been miserable. It was tough leaving him behind, but we frequently heard how happy he was back in Mississippi. Later in life I wondered from time to time if what I was being told about my first pet's fate was true. But you have to trust your parents and grandparents. Surely they wouldn't lie to a little boy, would they? Here's to Blackie - my best childhood friend.

Blackie you were there for me
When I was just a lad.
I thank you for the joy we shared,
For nuzzling me when I was sad.

I remember the comfort I felt
as we slept in those back seat wells.
I'm so sorry that you always got blamed
for those lovely "doggy" smells.

Rest in peace dear friend from
the distant past.
And know I miss you every day
but good times don't always last.

In my childhood memories you will
always roam.
Through pastures of green and woods
of brown; always making my house
a home.

Firsts: My First Date

Okay - now I'm moving into my more "mature" years in my "firsts." I hope my readers can take this!  This photo was taken on January 16, 1966. I'm two months shy of being 10 years old. The caption on the back of this photo says, "Steve making a date with Gloria." The girl, Gloria Grubbs, was my first girlfriend, and this was my first date.

Okay... stop that laughing! This is serious stuff. I was in the 4th grade and we lived in Prentiss, MS. For the first nine years of my life girls meant nothing to me. You just had to put up with them. They giggled a lot and they couldn't play baseball very well. Suddenly, in late '65, and early '66 I became interested in women (I'm sure I referred to them as "women" back then).

And what an amazing transformation it was! We moved to Prentiss from Ft. Leavenworth, KS where I had been the only boy in a choir with over 20 girls, but I had no interest in girls. My voice back then sounded like a girl, mind you. But then, my voice changed at age 9 1/2 and suddenly girls interested me. No....I that's not true. I didn't go through puberty at 10, but I sure was suddenly interested in Gloria Grubbs. Truth is, I was very interested in Gloria Grubbs. That much is evident from the photo. Look at it closer.

You may not be able to tell, but I have on a dickey under that shirt. What? You don't know what a dickey is? A dickey is a fake turtleneck - like the one Cousin Eddie wore in Christmas Vacation. Mine was about as bad as Cousin Eddie's. As I recall the one in the photo was white and it really made that blue shirt I had on "pop." And notice the telephone. That phone was your standard-issue rotary dial, 50 pound black model. You remember those don't you? And what's with the "Forget Hell!" Rebel general picture mom and dad had hanging in our house? I know were were living in MS and it was the sixties, but that was a still a little politically incorrect don't you think? And I have absolutely no idea why we had those wind chimes hanging over an interior door in our house. No doubt the house was drafty, but that's a little much don't you think?

Oh well. I look pretty happy talking to Gloria - telling her when Mom and I are going to pick her up (Dad was in Korea). What? You didn't do those "dates" as a kid where your parent drove and you picked up your date and mom or dad drove you around like a chauffeur and tried not to look in the backseat? Oh yeah... classy. Mom even drove my sister and her boyfriend (8th graders at the time), and a a few other kids (including Gloria and me as fourth-graders) to see Herman's Hermits in Jackson, MS back in '66. Everything went fine until Mom tried to parallel park and she hit the car behind us and she shouted, "Oh $#!&." Tricia and I weren't sure whether to be proud of our mom's Sailor's mouth, or whether to turn invisible with embarrassment over the incident. But these days I think I'd be mostly proud. I still don't know what mom did during the 3 hours we were in the concert. But that, like so many of these tales, is a story for another day.

Firsts: My First Party

My mom labeled this photo, "July 28, 1959, Steve going to his first birthday party." I suppose kids going to birthday parties has been a big deal since the Stone Age. I did, and I remember when my daughters went to their first birthday parties - they were so excited. I look pretty excited in this photo don't you think?

Actually it looks like I'm embarrassed; that's probably why I'm flashing the pre-Nixon "V" for victory symbol with my left hand, huh? And look at that present! Kind of small, don't you think? I obviously wrapped it - and tied the bow. And even if bought a tiny present at least I got dressed up for the party. Stylin' don't you think? Dad even combed my hair (it was always Dad who combed and put Vitalis on my hair) and mom obviously pressed my shorts - look at that pleat down the front!

Other tidbits about this "First" photo: We lived in San Juan, Puerto Rico at the time. I don't remember whose party it was (I'm sure mom  remembers). And I'm sure cake and ice cream were served.

PS - another "first" about tonight's post is this is the first blog post I've ever done from Picayune, MS. I'm here tonight on a business trip. Back in '59 I bet no one ever imagined wi-fi would be available in Picayune!

Firsts: My First Christmas

My first Christmas I was nine months old and we lived at Eglin AFB near Pensacola, Florida. As you can tell by the highly intelligent look on my face in the photo below, I was totally baffled by what was going on. All I knew was we were getting up early, staying up very late, and I was getting loads of candy and toys in between. It doesn't get much better than that. To this day Christmas is still my favorite day of the year. I love the wonder and magic of this special time of the year.

Tricia and Steve - Christmas 1956

The photo above was taken at my maternal grandparents' house in Starkville, MS where we had travelled at some point during the holiday. The cute kid sitting beside me in the photo above is my long-suffering sister. I have another, much more dignified photo of the two of us at home that first Christmas, only I'm trying to eat the silver tinsel icicles off the tree (remember those?). The tree at my aunt's house, as you can tell from the photo, is simply a cedar someone cut from the nearby woods, nailed a couple of boards to the bottom of, and voila! There was no such thing as Christmas tree lots on every corner back in the fifties in Mississippi.

The two companion photos below pretty much sum up my life at the time. I was very happy to see all the presents and I wanted them all (photo 1). And what I mostly cared about back then was getting whatever I could in my mouth at the time (photo 2). It didn't much matter what it was or where it had been. Some would say not much has changed about me in the ensuing years!

I like presents! I want them ALL!

I want to put that (and everything) in my mouth!

I'll close with a Christmas poem by Christina Rossetti

A Christmas Carol

In The bleak mid-winter
Frosty winds made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak mid-winter,
Long ago.

Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him
Nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away
When he comes to reign:
In the bleak mid-winter
A stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty
Jesus Christ.

Firsts: My First Cigarette

I'm not very proud of today's "first." I'm also not sure it actually was my first cigarette. I seem to remember seeing the warm glow of a cigarette tip many nights as I smoked my last one of the day in my crib after my folks turned in for the night (NOT REALLY!!). Seriously, back in the day my Dad (like most men) smoked. Thankfully he stopped in the mid-sixties when the Surgeon General put out the definitive statement that smoking causes cancer.

Before that Dad was a regular smoker. At the time of this photo he was obviously smoking filterless Pall Malls. See the package on the coffee table? If you look even closer at the photo you'll see the real reason I liked to be around when Dad lit up. See the little blue box of matches on the coffee table behind me? That's what I really liked. I have always been fascinated by fire. When I got old enough (some might question that) Dad let me light his cigarettes for him. Sometimes after I lit his cigarette Dad would put it down in the ashtray. When he did I'd ease over and pick up his cigarette like a take a puff waiting for him to pop me (notice how he is already balling up his hand in a fist in the photo). Sometimes Dad popped me, and sometimes he didn't. It was worth it though - to see how far I could go.

Truth is - the look I have on my face in this photo pretty much captures my attitude as a little boy. It's that, "push-everything-to-the-limit-and-see-what-you-can-get-away-with" look that other parents may be familiar with. I know that's what the look was because I was the one behind it. Knowing me, I probably turned around after I took a drag on Dad's cigarettte and took a swig of his coffee sitting on the coffee table.

My main feeling when looking back at photos like this one half a century later is shame (maybe that's why Mom took the photo?).  I also feel pangs of regret too - regret that I put my parents through so much. For instance, one time after I lit Dad's cigarette I threw the still-lit match in the kitchen trash can and caught the kitchen on fire - but that's a whole other story. I also regret the fact that there's a part of me that hasn't changed much from the attitude of the kid in this photo. Like you, dear reader, I'm a work in progress. That's not an excuse; it's a fact. Lord help me to straighten up - and to surrender fully to you. And Mom and Dad... I apologize; I'm sorry for what I put you through.  Oh, and Lord, one more thing...thanks for giving me little angels for children of my own. AMEN!

Firsts - Baby Steps: Discovering What Was Before I Came

Steve's first steps April 1, 1957

Today's "First Time" is the first time I ever walked. The date is April 1, 1957. Thankfully mom and dad had a camera ready. I suppose they were primed for this event since I was a little over one year old. According to Laurie LeComer, author of  A Parent's Guide to Developmental Delays, the date of my first steps put me in the normal range.  "Babies most commonly walk between their 10th and 14th month," LeComer writes, "But walking anywhere from 9 to 15 months is considered within normal ranges."

According to family lore (repeated by my mom just yesterday), after months of demonstrating no interest in ever walking, on this day I didn't just stand a take a few faltering steps before falling down. According to "the story" which is actually written in my mom's handwriting on the back of the photo, I got up and walked completely across the room "as if he had always been doing it." Don't you love how family stories like that get embellished over the years?

A couple of things to point out about this photo. First, notice how pleased my sister (sitting in the background) appears to be at my first steps. At this stage in our lives when we weren't pulling each others' hair out fighting we were pretty close. I'm sure it was difficult for her when I showed up on the scene five years after she did. She'd had all the attention for all those years and suddenly she had to share the parental spotlight with an attention hog like me. A belated apology Patricia.

Second, notice my svelte body. In my real cloth diaper, tennis shoes and socks I look more like a Sumo wrestler in training than the scrawny kid I turned out to be. Finally, look at that mischievous grin. Yikes! The more photos I see of myself as a little boy, the happier I am that I didn't have a boy. I know from first-hand experience I was a handful!

In closing, here's a lovely poem about first steps by the Nigerian poet Chika Unigwe.

First Steps

How strange it is
to see him walk
waddling really
like a giant pigeon

crippled
crossing
the expanse of land
green like summer grass
between the living room
and the kitchen

He falls
a mass of yellow jammies
A picture of Dipsy (could it be Tinky Winky?)
staring ferociously
smeared into the ground

He gets up
Waddles
Livingstone on an exploration
discovering what was
before he came.

Firsts - My Hollywood Movie Debut

I'm doing a series of posts about "first times" (read yesterday's post to understand why).

Today's first is, appropriately enough, my screen debut which occurred when the movie Joyful Noise was released today. The photo above (I'm on the second row, fourth from the left inside the circle) comes from the movie trailer, and honestly it's about as good as you can ever see me in the movie. For some strange reason when they did the final edit of the film they forgot to leave leave in the circle so you can find me. In fact you would probably have to know my mannerisms and exactly where I was sitting to even notice me at all in the movie. But I'm definitely there in at least two scenes. One is the climatic concert scene which supposedly happened in LA but actually was filmed at the Civic Center in Atlanta last March. The second scene I'm in is when the triumphant choir returns to their small town in Georgia. I run around a corner waving at the bus as it drives by. I did a great wave but apparently still failed to catch the director's attention. That scene, by the way, was filmed in Conyers.

After seeing it I thought the movie was great. It's a feel-good movie with a positive message and lots of singing and dancing. I am definitely bummed the Atlanta Journal panned Joyful Noise - they gave it a "C" and called it "formulaic." They also didn't say a single word about the great extras that were featured throughout the movie. This review from CNN was a bit better. Personally I think it was pretty dumb to release a movie on Friday the 13th anyway. What were they thinking?

Oh well - I had a great time, I got to see the other side of movie-making, and I made some good friends. Best of all I got paid to do so. I promise not to mention my movie-making here for a while now - at least until August when my next feature-length film is released, the Disney picture "Odd Life of Timothy Green."

Firsts - A New Series by You Know Who

There's a first time for everything in life. First times can be frightening, exhilirating, dangerous, and a hundred other adjectives. Some say "the first time's a charm." Others say, "I did that once, and it will definitely be the last." Some firsts mean you're growing up. Other firsts mean you're getting old. In other words, there's a lot of "stuff" that goes with first times - no matter what the first is about.

On Friday Jan. 13th the movie Joyful Noise is being released. Joyful Noise marks a first for me. It is the first time I was ever in a Hollywood movie. Yes...Dolly and Queen Latifeh and me. Those of you who see the movie probably won't even notice I'm in it. I'm not listed in the credits, I don't  have any speaking lines, and - surprise! - I wasn't even one of the higher paid actors (I think I made about $172.00 for four days work). But still - it's a first, and first times like this one are fun and memorable. Who knows... some day a hundred years from now my great, great grandkids might be watching whatever people will be watching in the 22nd century and Joyful Noise might come on and they will see me - for just an instant frozen in time.  Makes you think!

Anyway - in honor of this "First" I am planning a few days of blogs about other memorable "Firsts" from my life. It will be a veritable stroll down memory lane. Indulge me... and maybe what you find here will make you laugh or cry - or better yet perhaps it will dislodge a memory or two of your own. It may even cause you to pull out the old photo albums or home movies and share them with your kids or grandkids - who knows?

Steve's first birthday!

Today's "First" comes from way back in the time of Howdy Doody. Elvis was on top of the charts and - you guessed it - I celebrated my FIRST BIRTHDAY! This photo was taken on March 22, 1957. We lived at Eglin AFB in Florida. Some quick observations about the photo. First, notice my mom's saddle oxford shoe in the photo; apparently these were all the rage in the fifties. Second, for those of you wondering, yes, my eyes did eventually uncross. Actually they never really were crossed, I remember just being amazed that my parents were letting their one-year old kid get his face that close to FIRE. I remember thinking, "Quick! Someone should call DFACS!" (Actually I am making that part up, I really don't remember my first birthday). Finally, notice my tiny foot sticking out at an strange angle and my little oddly shaped shoe. A little known fact about me (EXTRA asked for these sorts of tidbits in case my movie was a hit)... A little known fact about me is that I was born with what was called a "club foot" back in the fifties. I'm sure you couldn't get away with calling it something so politically incorrect these days, but I had one. My foot turned inward at a weird angle. The real name for this condition is unpronounceable (congenital talipes equinovarus), but apparently it's fairly common, occurring in about one in every 1,000 live births according to Wikipedia. At least the fact that I had a birth defect is out in the open now - and yes it feels good getting that off my chest after all these years. I am rambling now, and probably being politically insensitive myself, so let me leave you with this profound thought to ponder: First birthdays are a lot of fun, even though no one ever really remembers theirs.

God Has Entrusted Me With Myself

The title to this post, “God has entrusted me with myself.” is a quote from the Greek philosopher named Epictetus (AD 55-c.135) who was associated with the Stoics. Epictetus has been one of my mentors from afar over the years. Of course mine has always been a Christian take on the decidedly pagan philosopher (he believed in Zeus and "the gods" and had apparently heard of Christianity, but he was not a Christian).  Still, there is much that can be learned about living well from Epictetus and from the Stoics in general.


Stoicism is often misunderstood. the word stoic has come to mean "unemotional" in today's parlance. In reality however, Stoics like Epictetus didn't teach emotional detachment. Instead they taught we should seek to see things as they really are and not allow our emotions to disturb us to the point of clouding our judgment.  The idea was to avoid suffering by dealing with desires we may have that are contrary to the way things actually are in life. For instance, I may desire very much to be an NFL quarterback, but the reality is, I do not have the physical skills, size, or arm strength required to be one. I have a choice. I can spend the rest of my life feeling frustrated that I am unable to play professional football, or I can acknowledge that I was not gifted to play in the NFL and, coming to terms with that truth, overcome this contrary-to-nature desire.

A good bit of what the Stoics believed can be summed up this way: When something happens, many times the only thing in your power is your attitude towards what has happened. As has been learned in prison camps, through difficult illnesses, and elsewhere - no one can take away your power to choose your response to your circumstances or how you personally elect to view your circumstances. What really frightens and dismays us is not the things that happen to us, instead it's the way we think about these events - our interpretation of their significance - that disturbs us so much.

Another important element of Stoic thinking is that we have duties and responsibilities in this life, and to have a good life, morally, physically, spiritually and otherwise, we must accept and perform those duties. Hence the saying from Epictetus which was mentioned above, "God has entrusted me with myself." God expects me to take responsibility for some things. God's got His part, and I've got mine.

Read up on the Stoics; I think you'll find some things there that will help you to live your life to the fullest. Philosophy can never take the place of religion because it can never answer humankind's deepest need, salvation. But philosophy, like education in general, can help us lead a better life.  

Sound Bites

As I write this another presidential hopeful has had a couple of sound bites get him in trouble. On Monday Mitt Romney said he likes having the option of "firing people." He said this while answering a question about healthcare reforms he'd implement as president. Couple this statement with a comment he made a day earlier to New Hampshire voters - that he (the multi-millionaire) knows what it's like to fear getting a "pink slip," and Romney has clearly let his mouth get him in hot water.

But this post isn't about how not to be a successful politician. Instead it's about the way we ALL get ourselves in trouble with our mouth. Unfortunately with presidential candidates, their gaffes make the 6 o'clock news (if not before). In our case, our words often come back to haunt us, perhaps just not on such an immediate and global stage. As I watched Romney squirm as as he tried to explain his comments I found myself thankful that every word I uttered today wasn't taped and later analyzed for slip-ups, misspeaks, half-truths, exaggerations or worse.

The Bible has plenty to teach us about the power of what we say. Proverbs 21:23 says, "Whoever keeps his mouth and his tongue keeps himself out of trouble."  Proverbs 15:1 says, "A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger." In James (3:2-10) we read how the tongue is only a "small member," and yet "How great a forest is set ablaze by such a small fire!" Earlier (1:26) James had warned, "If anyone thinks he is religious and does not bridle his tongue, this person's religion is worthless."

Like I said, I'm glad I wasn't taped today. I had a few hushed conversations at work; I didn't always speak as if those I was speaking of were present in the room to hear what I had to say. I'm sure I exaggerated a little today (okay... a lot!). Maybe I should have been taped. Perhaps that's the best way for me (us?) to learn to speak and listen as Jesus would. "Lord, in a 'sound bite world,' help me to remember that you hear it all, and you are the One I really want to please. Tame my tongue, in Jesus' name. Amen."

Lessons Learned (Again)

The past two Sundays I have attended two churches I had the privilege of planting. On Jan 1st I attended Creekside United Methodist and today I attended NewSong Community Church. It's great to see how well both churches are doing now that they have gotten rid of the deadwood (me!). Seriously, it's great to see how both churches have taken on their own personalities; obviously the personalities God had in mind for them when he called them into being a few years ago.

Attending these churches has also taught me something about myself. Actually it's not a new lesson - I've been schooled in it before. It's a lesson I've been trying to learn for several years now. Namely, that if we surrender our need for results, success becomes God's business (as stated so succinctly by Fr. Greg Boyle). Sometimes our striving for success, results and outcomes is the very thing that keeps us from seeing what God is trying to accomplish all along. Learn this lesson Steve!!!

I believe Creekside and NewSong are both successful today in their own unique ways. I'm grateful for what God is doing in and through both churches. I viewed both churches as my "children" while I was leading them and while there I viewed them as a child coloring all outside the lines. I saw it as my job to try and force them to color inside the lines - my lines. But God had something else in mind. These churches are actually His children and both of them are still coloring outside the lines today. Because they are, many people are being blessed and God is being glorified. That's how it should be. Now if I can just learn that lesson going forward...

Getting From Here to There

Strategy - noun - "A plan of action or policy designed to achieve a major or overall aim."

I love to think strategically. Perhaps it's a male thing going back to my caveman ancestors who puzzled over the best way to bring down a saber-toothed tiger or a cave bear, but I just love figuring out strategies for accomplishing things; always have.

What does it mean to strategize? To me it means to ponder alternative courses of action towards achieving some kind of goal and then to choose the best way get there. Of course the definition itself assumes a few things. First of all you need a goal; something or someone or somewhere that you want to attain or go or be. Second, the definition assumes that there are alternative courses of action you can take, and that you take the time to reason through them step-by-step to determine the best, or most feasible way to arrive at your chosen destination. Finally, of course, it assumes you're willing to be decisive; that once you make your decision you'll carry through with it - you'll execute.

Strategic thinking goes beyond this though. Real strategic thinking involves knowing more than the "how," it also involves knowing the "why." True strategic thinkers are always asking the "why" question. Fact is, it's the "why" that fuels the passion that drives the strategic thinker's engine. Plenty of people can figure out the "how," whether it involves planting a church, or opening a branch office of a business, winning a political race, or winning a battle on the battlefield. Strategic thinking of the highest order is always driven by the "why" question.

Strategic thinkers make the best leaders. In fact I would argue that to be a true leader you must be a strategic thinker. I love reading a book or watching a movie with a character in it that is a strategic-thinking leader. They're always questioning the assumptions that others make about situations; they're always thinking on an entirely different level than everyone else. I remember numerous episodes of Star Trek (for instance) where the logical thing to do in a situation (Mr. Spock), or the most obvious course of action ("Bones" McCoy) turned out to be the wrong thing. Instead it was Captain Kirk - thinking on a whole different level  than everyone else - that saves the day.

The lesson? Try thinking strategically. That means, first of all asking the "why" question, then having a goal, thinking through how to achieve that goal, choosing a course of action and then executing. You'll be surprised at what you can accomplish.

Stories From Dad

A couple of years ago my father was good enough to write down some reminiscences of growing up on a farm in south Mississippi back in the 1930's. I'm eventually going to write them all out and share them with others. Here's one such story from my dad - the world's greatest storyteller.

Vignettes of Growing Up on a Farm

As has been mentioned before, our farm consisted of some 200 acres. One morning our Dad ("Papa") announced that we must hoe the grass up in a 5-6 acre cornfield in furthest part of our place. The distance was at least 3/4 miles away.

We took inventory (everyone needed a hoe) and someone must take the water container for our drinking water. Well, the day's work turned out fine, and some one hour before dark we started home. About three-fourths of the way back from the field someone asked, "Did anyone bring the water jug?" You guessed it - "No." So you can bet your boots that I was asked to return for the watering jug.

In those days I always went barefooted. I retrieved the jug and started my journey (again) home. On the way we had to cross two small streams (they only ran water during the winter months, our rainy season). There was some 100 yards between these two streams. I was walking down a wagon road - basically a rutted path where the wagon wheels made ruts you could walk in. Somewhat just short of the second stream under an umbrella of trees - and it was almost dark by this time - I received a warning from someone to look down. My foot was about halfway to the ground (my bare foot, remember) and suddenly I saw a white object - cotton white - about the size of my hand - awaiting my foot to step exactly in its mouth. It was a large cotton mouth moccasin snake.

Needless to say, I had the ability to freeze my descent of this right leg and fall backwards precluding me from stepping into the fangs of this very poisonous snake. As I backed away the snake felt fit to move on - not in much of a hurry I might add. As the snake left I can assure you he was the largest snake in diameter and length that I have every seen on this farm. My Papa had seen him before and warned us about the snake. But that night I almost stepped right into the snake's mouth.