Write Your History Well

The Tyler paper on Monday published material on an historical marker remembering Tomas Pollard.  Among his contributions to our area is a very personal one with great impact on my family.

When he prepared to go to the Senate in Austin, he asked permission of my grandmother in Bullard to take her son, Ellwood, to Austin as his page.  The session and the people had a profound impact.  After the legislative session ended, my father remained in Austin, having gained a life-long fascination with history and political science.  He was quite proud to show us the photo of his group of pages from that session.

By the age of 15, he was writing for a newspaper in Austin.  He had his own apartment, and was self-supporting in the Depression years which saw so many out of work.  After WWII's service in the U.S. Navy, his fascination with history took him for two degrees from Sam Houston, and into the doctoral program at the University of Texas.

As an honor student there, he was quick to give credit for his introduction to the greater world outside of his very small home-town, and to the world of learning, to that experience serving as page to Tom Pollard.  The man was a public servant with a very long reach, and it is good to see him honored.

All of us stand at the very "present" end of a line of influences and impressions left by people who have cared about us.  And the history which we write is absolutely just as important as the history we have received.  

May you write well today!

A Holy Place Restored

Church arsonists, for whatever reasons, burned churches in East Texas some months ago.  Today, one was re-dedicated.  Russell Memorial United Methodist Church in Wills Point had a dedication Sunday this morning.  A packed sanctuary, restored to be one of the most beautiful anywhere, was overflowing.  With God's help, a congregation had rebuilt their worship house.  We celebrated, lifted Bibles and hymnals in dedication, asked God to bless again the Baptismal font and Altar, and heard words of promise about being useful to God.

For the congregation, for the former pastors gathered, for everyone, it was a powerful experience.  A few months ago, a congregation stood on a bare slab, cleaned off after the burning.  They said, "Here is where we meet God together, dedicate our children, make covenants, and memorialize loved ones.  We meet God here, and the place should be beautiful."  Today, it was, with the promise that it will be, from now on.

The meeting with God and His congregation is life's most important business.  We need to be there.  It shapes us.  And there is a simple insight and commitment:  the place where this happens should be honored by being the best and most beautiful that we can provide.

Today, I watched a congregation I once served, say that.  They dedicated a place for a future of many years, to be a place prepared for meeting with God.  The place, and the process, was beautiful to share for a moment.  It was today's gift from God.

Reality Check

Oops!  Sometimes that reality check can make an impression!

A student pilot crossed an invisible line, into Washington, D. C., where he was "notified" and escorted away by a pair of fighter jets!  There are protected areas.  When my son interned in D. C., I asked him about the "homeless" in Lafayette Park, across from the White House.  Aren't some of them the same all the time?  Are some of those really Secret Service in disguise?  What IS under the canvas on the roof of the White House?

There are some border-lines we protect.  Every individual has some, every family.

Friends have done the "Financial Peace University" program lately, with Dave Ramsey.  There are some debt-levels you just can't safely enter.  Those borders ought to be marked with red tape.  Some clear line, so that the boundary is so visible just when the spending urge hits.  Ah, but the friendly credit cards make those lines disappear, don't they?

Now, when government debt is soaring, state spending is in crisis because it can't really do deficits, and personal debt across the nation rises to an all-time high, maybe we just crossed a line somewhere.  Maybe.

But there aren't any fighter-jets to warn us back.  Just that little voice that says:  "If you're in the hole, quit digging."  And if we miss the signal?  There's a significant thump as one, or more, of the systems just quit functioning.

Is there a way out?  Well, Jesus says quite a lot about this.  Where your heart is, there will your treasure be.  Do not put your trust in princes or chariots (power, money, and military strength).  And on almost every page of the New Testament.  He doesn't yell, but He does tell us the truth.

He got it right.  Do we listen?

Taking Your Christmas Temperature

What's the reading?  What makes you happy?  Is the usage of the word CHRISTMAS a key element?

What says Christmas?

Is this issue really all about how retailers market the season?  It this cause for joy?  Or have we just moved another notch into the complete commercialization of the thing.

Christmas is about:  _________________________________.  You fill in the blank, but the point is that it is NOT about marketing.  Somehow, the more times the word CHRISTMAS is linked to "buy stuff" the less content it has, and certainly the less persuasive it is.  The Lord of Christmas once said He had nowhere to lay His head, among other denials of the virtues of conspicuous consumption.

So, am I delighted that we'll have "Merry Christmas" instead of "Happy Holidays" this year?  Oh, not so much one way or the other.  Being pre-empted for advertisements doesn't exactly bring honor to Jesus.

But, then, that's just my opinion.  Yours?

A Hug From L.B.

Big man on a mower, it wasn't his usual place.  He worked the dock, inside the warehouse, handling huge loads, but a back problem sent him to a new job.  Lay Leader in his church, just a few blocks from the port, L.B. was a good friend.

As I walked across the big lawn to the Seafarer's Center, L.B. drove his mower right to me, got off, walked to me and wrapped an arm around me in a huge hug.  "L.B., what's this?  We're not huggy, are we?"  He said:  "See those two boys there?"  The two "boys" were in their 20's, body-builders, looking a bit on the rough side.  "Wave at 'em, now!"  They waved back and smiled.

"They're gang guys.  They won't give you ANY trouble now, though."  L.B got back on his mower, and went back to cutting grass.  He had sent a message to some rough friends, and from that day forward, they were friendly, polite, easy-going.

Strong messages can be sent and received in the mildest manner.  But, I suspect the two "boys" knew L.B. was not always gentle, if the need arose.  And they knew he would never back away from anything.

Gentle strength, quiet messages, still convey meanings in a world where too many are shouting and too few are thinking.  Maybe that's a gift from God.  Maybe that's part of what it means to follow Jesus.  And maybe you've had a friend stand by you.  Give thanks.

The Point

There's a new category recently:  tipping point.  It's that moment when you're going along, each stimulus getting the same reaction, then suddenly it reverses.  Survival issues, environmental issues, relationship issues, health issues, idea issues all show "tipping points".  In our personal life, we have those.  After many, many "whatevers" happen, we get to the point when we just don't want to accept "whatever" anymore.

News people say we've found another one:  TSA backlash is happening very quickly.  The search business that was tolerable last month has hit a tipping point.  Whatever the arguments pro or con, that "point" becomes an event.  Whether or not the tipping point obscures the process and the reasons for it will be a very public decision.

Our faith comes into play at those idea or ethical or experienced points when we've just had all we can tolerate of something.  The patience of Job, or whoever, is a helpful phrase, for we do admire those who cruise through situations that break the resolve, or the patience of those all around.  Poets have celebrated that quality for generations.  "...if you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs, then....." for one.

Whether it is environmental or behavioral, a TSA screening or a person's behavior, the faith of a Christian is often tested, and always shows itself, by calmness in that tipping point.  In this case, whatever the irritation, we will NOT let the terrorists win and destroy by disruption.

Today's International Lesson Series was on Psalm 91.  Within the purposes of the covenant, sustained by God for His purposes (and not necessarily for our comfort) we are expected, even in tipping point moments, to calmly (by grace) maintain a thoughtful and servant posture.

A wise man once said, in the midst of all sorts of trials, may your faith set your goals, your heart set your strategy, and your clear mind set your tactics.  Then, keep faith.  And this blessing:  may your personal end come in the midst of your tactics, faithful.

Few Words, Strong Faith

Walking by, he stopped to talk a moment.  Talked about his life changes, wife's illness.  Turning to go, he said:  "Pray for us.  Her name's Jane.  Jesus knows her well."

Now THAT is an affirmation.  Short words that affirm deep faith.  Tremendous invitation to pray.

Jesus know you well?

Artist and Healer

One of my white stoles is silk on one side, linen on the other.  It was a gift, and the artistic creation, of a very special pediatrician in Houston.  Dr. Nora ..... discovered that her practice in the Medical Center was prospering.  She opened a second office in a very poor Hispanic section of Houston, and divided her work week, caring for many who just could not pay.  Very busy, she also found time to craft beautiful silk and linen paraments for her church.  When she delivered them, she said:  "The altar cloths are for the church, and these stoles are for the other ministers to use. This one is for you to keep;  take it with you when the Bishop moves you."

Her work is a witness to me every time I use that stole.  There are other artist/healer witnesses, too.  One appears in today's Upper Room devotional, written by an eye doctor in India, re-telling Jesus' invitation to children and a child-like trust in Him.  She sees those ancient children, repeated,  in the ones in front of her every day.

I'm grateful today for doctors who serve:  surgeons who work in mission hospitals, physicians who develop trusting friendships in the slums to bring people away from modern shamans to modern medicine, for Bethesda Health Clinic in Tyler where the working poor are served, and for the enormous charity work done by local hospitals.  And I am thankful for so many specific faces in personal memory along this line.

Jesus' children who come to him in open trust, always express a reflection of that trust in caring for others.  What an enormous blessing pours out of that trust, fresh for some child today and every day.

Do you have someone in mind?  Thank and encourage them.  (and let me know;  I'd love to know their story)

Kin-Folks

It's in the news:  Prince William's Kate (fiancee) has famous relatives in the US.  George Washington, George Patton, Meriwether Lewis, are among the cousins (up to 13th cousin 3 times removed, whatever that is!).

I, on the other hand, have no relatives of note.  National Geographic advertised a program to trace my "deep" ancestry (not genealogy) for only $99.  For such a fee, I expect them to skip any horse thieves they encounter along the way, but that would only tell me what continent my ancient ancestors inhabited.

Breaking out of genealogy, I have been informed on good authority that I am the adopted child of the Creator of the Universe.  Somehow, that trumps being a 13th cousin to most anyone, seems to me.  And the adoption line is still open, by the way, in case you're interested.  But, then, you probably already knew all this.

Aren't there wonderful things on our thanksgiving list?  Jesus first.

My Personal Wounded Warrior

Ross was 6'4"and skinny, wore jeans that were about 28 waist and 36 length, and was the most amazing dog man that I ever knew.  He could find a stray dog along the road, connect and communicate within 5 minutes, and the dog was "his".  Stunning to watch those first five minutes, wondering how he could do that.

Ross was, not so long ago,  45 going on 17.  Never grew up.  Almost got a court-martial in Viet Nam for adopting animals.  Decided once to be a rodeo clown, until hiding behind a gate at bull-riding time meant that the gate rolled back on his new boots and 7X hat!

Carpenter, electrician, welder, on and on and on, but never kept a job.  Even a police officer once, which was a bad idea for law enforcement.

Ross was a little wounded before he went to war.  When he came back, no one really paid any attention that his mental state was totally out of range.  No violence, ever.  But Ross was the eternal gypsy, never made a commitment, never grew up.  One after another, he checked himself in to Veteran's hospitals, always realizing that psychiatric help was the answer, but never connecting with it.

And when he died at 55, Ross was still a teen.  All of us in the family loved Ross.  None of us knew how to help.

Thank God that He loves the odd ones among us, the ones that never produce, never connect, never learn to love.  No one else could reach Ross.  God could.

Thank God for it all!

Credible

If it is all about and only about "books", then most of us aren't really interested.  If it gets to be about people, better.  About people close and personal, it reels us in.

Radio interview today, with the author of "When the Danube Ran Red", a Holocaust story.  At first, arms' length, honestly.  Except for September's experience:  three brass squares in a Regensburg, Germany sidewalk, marking the house where three generations of Jews were taken out to the camps.

And even that remains a bit distant, were it not for a personal experience almost 40 years ago.  I was a port chaplain, visiting an ocean-going tug that was the most amazing piece of machinery I'd ever seen.  It had come to tow a semi-submersible drilling rig to the North Sea.

As we went into the machine shop on board, I just asked the Captain:  "What's your story?"

He said nothing, just reached over and pulled up his left sleeve, to the elbow, revealing a crudely done black set of numbers:  Auschwitz numbers.  Eyes met.  Quiet moment.  Real story.  The aura of one of the toughest men I ever met.  A man who could walk the tough streets, and cause a street gang to back away with a look.

As history becomes more bookish for new generations, it's normal for "deniers" to arise, for whatever purpose.  But for those who connect in personal ways, personal relationships, personal realizations, there is no denial that actually persuades.  Real life wins the debate.

2000 years ago, the Word became flesh.  It's denied.  Book knowledge won't cut it.  Personal experience validates the book knowledge (theologians and poets say it better) and there you have the abundant life.  It never has been anything less, and there is nothing in the world better.

Christmas is coming.  Forget the tinsel and bows.  Get credible with the Man.

Blessings.   B

Wounded Warrior Outcast

Bob came to church every Sunday, but he didn't come in.  His old friend Gerald was the head usher, so Bob just  stuck his head in the door, waved at Gerald, and handed him a $5 bill.  Sometimes he'd slip into the foyer just long enough to hear the sermon, sometimes not, but always unseen, except by Gerald.  He knew his old friend would be waiting there for him.  Gerald didn't come into the sanctuary on any Sunday until Bob had made his visit.

A 1950 high school graduate, the annual listed him as both best-dressed and most likely to succeed.  Bright, and with family wealth behind him, he was set for college and career.  Korea came, and Bob went.  Bob came home stuck in a crippling mental disorder.  Shell-shocked.  No help available.

Healthy otherwise, with more money than he needed, Bob just existed.  Always dressed in the same sport coat and slacks, stained and soiled beyond belief, but hand washed at home.  A tie that had to be at least 40 years old.   Ancient shoes wrapped in duct-tape.  Shaggy hair, driving a 20 year old Ford.

I saw his car at the burger place one day, mid-afternoon, and went in to visit with him.  He was enjoying a burger.  We were the only customers, and the entire staff stared at us, wondering why in the world I was having a conversation with "that man".

Bob never asked for anything, lived almost like a walking-around-hermit, in the house of his parents in an older part of town.  He never missed a Sunday, and, in my experience, proved to be approachable only that one time. His only true link to the rest of the world was his friend, Gerald.

I am positive that God delights in Gerald!  And every one who does the same thing, reaching into the "fog" where one of God's children lives isolated, never letting go, and providing just one link.  Thank God for the "Geralds" around us.

When Tulip Goes Cock-a-doodle-doo!

Our family in the Pacific Northwest bought some rural property, with two other families.  Beautiful place, it already had a garden, and some fruit trees, but no chicken house.  Son-in-law, a fine re-modeler, promptly built what has been called a "five-star-chicken-house", excellent in every way.

Spring came on, and the grandchildren bought (more or less, their parents did help) some baby chicks.  Of course, little girls want to name chicks.  Flower names, they chose.  Their favorite was Tulip.  Chicks grow.  Soon it was time to move them out to the chicken house and yard.

All chickens are not created equal, and it soon became apparent that Tulip was not going to lay eggs!  Tulip was, in fact, a rooster.  And he'll tell you all about it, frequently, loudly, and early.  Which is fine!  If my grand-daughters name their rooster Tulip, who am I to complain.  They are among my favorite people in the world.

Life goes like that sometimes.  Lovable folks name and define things, and we just go along.  Even if we end up with a rooster named Tulip.  That's just fine.  And sometimes lovable folks, who really don't have any idea about what they are defining, put us in some strange positions.

I often remember, and chuckle to myself at appropriate times, the old vaudeville disclaimer:  "I'm not a doctor, I never went to a real medical school, but I did hang around drug-stores a lot when I was a kid."  It helps when someone speaks so authoritatively about medical matters, of which they have no actual knowledge.  At all.  Not that I do, but often I'm really sure the self-assured diagnoses, often of someone never even met personally, are certainly among the more non-helpful things in life.  Especially when we lift those definitions up to God in prayer, to the One who is not mystified by anything medical, to say the least.

Now, I can smile, and simply whisper to myself:  "Tulip!"  and if it just continues interminably, I can keep smiling and whisper to myself:  "Vaudeville doctor!"  And smile.  And try to be helpful.  And not criticize.  After all, God loves us even when we get it wrong, which is most of the time, at best.

Everybody needs a little smile-generator like that, if you set out to be a real and helpful friend.  It really helps!

Smile - - - and be a blessing.

Learn Something Every Day

Just out of seminary, I was excited about a new book one day, and mentioned it to my senior pastor.  His reply?  "I'm solid, don't need it!.  I don't read new books anymore!"

Well, that sure closed a door!  He remained an admired friend for lots of other reasons, but that closed off a whole area of life.

I like scanning blogs.  I'm a follower of one photography blog that features abandoned hotels and amusement parks.  I'm a follower of one that has a huge discussion spin-off:  http://rachelheldevans.com.  Today's is a provocative question about God's care for Anne Frank.  I write three, and enjoy reading several.  Always something new to learn EVERY day.  And I appreciate the responses to this little instrument, you know.

I like teaching, because students and other participants always bring a fresh insight.  And I thrive on preaching, because it is so much more of a conversation than most people think.  There is NO sermon in which I don't LEARN, from the spoken and visual responses that occur in the moment.  Those responses bring the Word to the speaker at least as clearly as to the hearer.

In fact, all of the community that God has built is a blessing to all of us.  And the more you look around, the more blessed you feel.

Thank YOU for being one who reads and discovers.  Blessings on your day.

Bread Truck Reminder

"Aroma Therapy" said the sign on the side of the Mrs. Baird's truck.  Great reminder of driving into Dallas, turning off Central toward SMU, and being enveloped by the aroma from Mrs. Bairds!  Now THAT was aroma therapy.

Early mornings at Lamar in Beaumont, marching band first thing in the morning, downwind from Texas Coffee Company, roasting the good blend early in the day.  THAT was aroma therapy!

Sights and sounds and smells are special blessings.  They don't do much for survival, except in specific instances, but to enhance the day, to stretch the mind, and to bless the heart, they are superb gifts.

Isn't there a lot that's worth a fine "thanksgiving", just in the ordinary days we take for granted?

The Prayer Guy

Some days he just springs into my mind.

I guess he was my favorite in-law.  In assisted living quarters,  the entire staff would come by, one by one, to have prayer with Ervin.  One soon volunteered to serve as a door-opener to the nursing home area, where he'd visit room after room, just for prayer time.

A journeyman welder, pipe-fitter, boiler-maker, and the senior pipe bender at Texas Pipe in Pasadena, Ervin pre-fabbed the last "new" refinery built, at the end of a long career.  His "Pipebender's Bible" is a staple in the union hall.  But  his life as a Bible-teacher and prayer warrior was his real legacy.

As a pastor, I'm often asked how we can lift up "so and so" and their legacy.  It is a wonderful thing to HAVE a legacy to lift up, which isn't all politeness and "froth".

During Ervin's funeral, I paused somehow longer than I intended (this frog suddenly sprang up in my throat) after asking:  "And what could we hear him say from across the river today?"  From the back of the room came the answer (his hallmark phrase) I had been intending to speak :  "Just right!"  Then laughter and folks repeated his slogan with a smile.  Through the valley of the shadow of death, with a smile and a "just right!"

That's a legacy!

How's life going?

After prayer:  "Just right!"

Most times, that's enough said.

Faith and Flu

Flu season was full speed.  Lots of it was "going around".  Sunday noon came, I was shaking hands at the door, when a man walked up to me, grabbed my hand.  His other hand gripped my shoulder as he stepped close.

"Preacher, I'm just barely going, but this flu isn't keeping me at home, no sir!"

I wondered whether or not to thank him.  But it does raise a rather self-answering question:  "When IS it good to stay home from worship?"

Sometimes loving our neighbor means keeping our distance, rather than complicating life's issues.  And that's always a hard one, isn't it?  Not so much hard to answer when the issue is clear, but hard to calculate when we seriously do try to love our neighbor.

Jesus said we are to be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.  That has to be one of the biggest challenges He ever laid out!

The Yellow Rose Wedding

The man rushed into my office in Navasota.  "You the preacher?"  he asked. I nodded and he quickly asked, "Got boots?"  I nodded, and he was so relieved!  (and I was so curious.)

He launched into the story.  The marriage was to take place in two days and the minister was very ill.  Could I do it?  Oh, probably.  Would I wear the boots?  Sure, but now I was totally curious.

The scene played out well.  We gathered on the front porch of the long-abandoned Masonic lodge building in Plantersville, TX, an almost empty old cross-roads town.  An enormous Texas flag was draped to form the backdrop, cascades of yellow roses were on the columns, and the bridal party rolled up in wagons.  The preacher DID wear boots.  The wagon train rolled out after the ceremony, headed to a backwoods barbecue reception.

Happy people, having fun, with almost all the symbols flipped beyond recognition.  Like lots of folks, the priority list was totally garbled.

1.  Preacher wears boots.
2.  Do this on the front porch of a now abandoned house of honorable commitments.
3.  Yellow roses everywhere - - true to the song, but not really.  (The "yellow rose of Texas" was actually a high-yellow mulatto camp follower that Sam Houston sent to "entertain" Santa Anna during his siesta time, causing General Santa Anna to be totally distracted and surprised by the Texian attack.)

It was probably the happiest, most "mixed signal" celebration ever.

Sometimes we take great and powerful poetry and symbols (often Old Testament stories and American history) and re-present them in a way the originals would never recognize.  Which may not amount to anything earth-shaking, except that it cheapens and dumbs down our greatest treasures into decor and window dressing.  In this case, a couple's highest commitment was wrapped in pretty shabby choices.  The wrapping took center stage, distracting from their own promises.

I wondered why they didn't have a simpler celebration that focused on high and honorable commitments, or even on the love they probably shared with each other.

I bet God wonders why we all do that kind of thing, over and over.  Of course, it doesn't HAVE to be that way, if we choose.

It Really Is There

For a long time, I believed that the Nielsen ratings were a "figment", but then.................

Aha, I'm in!  I actually have a TV diary to complete, send in, and obviously make great changes in TV programming.   Well, probably not, but at least it is real.

Sometimes folks mistake Christian FAITH for believing the unbelievable, and that causes a great deal of stress.  But, the whole witness of the Bible is that God acts in human history, and faith is a matter of TRUST, not simply blind belief.  Credible witnesses, personal experience, the "warmed heart", the guidance of the Holy Spirit in understanding the Word, recognizing that God shares Himself with us in so many ways, all of these build trust in our hearts.

Great comfort in that, I find.

The Lost Memorial

The historical marker stood on US 69, north of Lindale, Texas, just where the old highway met the new one.  Just before the road got to the Sabine River bottoms, there was a marker.  Then  one day it was just gone, the post sawed off at ground level, and now the entire site has been included in the re-paving work on the highway itself.

I saw it one day, and resolved to bring a camera on the next trip down the road.  When I did, I found the cut pipe post, and the marker gone.

What had it memorialized?  the area just west of the highway was a rather level field, where a small "force" had gathered, spent the night, and made an early morning attack to wipe out an Indian group camped somewhere a few miles to the west.  The historical marker had the old language of the Indian wars.  Which someone, unknown, decided it was time to stop remembering.  And so, the marker disappeared.  I wondered for a long time if it would come back. It seems gone for good.

Time does that.  A grand old idea becomes a bit of an embarrassment, and history is edited.  When we traveled in Europe this fall, we found Germans that were passionately and totally angry at Hitler.  Hitler's Mein Kampf is no longer a legal document in Germany, only graduate history students can buy a copy.  Hitler's monuments are preserved only as lessons on what NOT to do as responsible citizens.  Concentration camps are preserved as penitent reminders of horror.

Perhaps God uses the passage of time to let us get our history straight, to drop the old embarrassments of human nature, and to make a fresh start.  It seems a slow process, but it does move us forward, perhaps in His own good time.

Gotta Be Ready

On Gentry in Tyler, heavy traffic, two flat "things" blow out of the back of a pickup.  Driver turns around, returns, parks in the left turn lane, and scoots back to retrieve the items.  It takes two hands, and he needs to run to clear traffic.

However, he is very "stylish" with the trademark way-too-low pants.  Lookin' GOOD.  Dragging the ground.  Let's see now:  one hand for one flat thing, one hand for the other flat thing that blew away................ that leaves two elbows trying to hold up the pants.  If you bend a bit.  If the wind isn't blowing AT ALL.  If you bend your knees and try to walk on tip-toe.  One thing for sure, the man is NOT ready to run!

Apparently it was a "stylin'" day, for a few blocks later, a young woman was trying to cross a very busy street.  Not thin, but not overweight either, big hair, too-tight but stylish pants, and HEELS.  At least 3" high, maybe a little tight, and there she is in the middle "turn" lane as traffic whizzes by in both directions.  There's a break, and she begins to run across the open space.  She didn't fall, but traffic did stop for her.  She wasn't READY.  Lookin' GOOD, but like a fish out of water in that traffic.

Looking good - - - but not ready to play in the adult world of the street.  Looking good, a hallmark of our society, but not ready to really compete.  A big issue for some folks is finding a way to be competitive at a $25.00 per hour wage, in a world where the global industry standard is $10.00.  Somehow, not ready,  at least not in the real world.

Jesus told lots of parables about being ready.  The whole Book of Revelation is about being ready for life in a hostile world (usually the most ignored interpretation, since we would rather be "stylin'" than be ready).  It's about being faithful within the Holy Spirit guided fellowship, when that fellowship is under persecution.  It's not about jobs, it's about life itself.  It's not even about eternity, it's about the day-to-day realistic grind that absolutely demands integrity and authenticity.

Abundant life means being ready to live with reality, and God's guidance.  Look good or be good?  Big question for Christians today.

A Very Short One

Fall:  when it is easiest to spot the live oaks.

The Shell Game

At the end of the September trip, we were in Budapest, on a high spot overlooking the river dividing the city.  Off to the side was a man with a cloth spread on one of the steps, offering a "shell game".  I watched as he used a small roll of aluminum foil and three pocket-sized match boxes to play out the game.

One tourist after another first won 100 euros, then lost 200.  His two "shills" on the sides spoke excellent English, and you might have thought they were tourists, friendly, laughing, encouraging to the players.

As I watched, he did seem a bit clumsy to be doing a shell game.  He let the little aluminum "pea" roll off to the side, his moves were pretty transparent, he dropped one of the boxes once, just not very good at the game.  Then I watched  as he won his money back from each player, and on those rounds, his hands were amazing, and impossible to follow!

One of the shills encouraged me to bet.  But by then, my opinion had firmed up.  He was not clumsy, he was totally in charge of the event.  No one was going to win, except him.  I watched for about 5 minutes, and he took in about 600 euros in that time.

Life is full of shell-games.  The watcher gets over-confident, self-confident, says to self:  "can't lose!" and then proceeds to lose the whole wallet.

Jesus said we should be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.  LOTS of wisdom in that short saying;  buy into that one and you take one more step toward the abundant life, and several steps away from the shell-games.

Habakkuk

The short book with the funny name comes up again.  I love Habakkuk!  A short book with a powerful witness, Habakkuk himself is almost a parable.  Great statements aside, the outline itself is superb.

Witness to an invasion, in the "old world" style of brutality and extermination, Habakkuk survives.  He reflects, lifts  up a controversy with the Lord, then a praise.  But it is the concluding hymn/poem that is the wonderful affirmation:  even if ALL the benefits disappear, I will JOY in the Lord.

The foundation is faith, and faith trumps material measurements.  Now, is that something our age seems to need?

Take another look into Habakkuk.  Comments are welcome.  Slow comments shape next year's visit with Habakkuk.  Quick comments might shape this Sunday's early-service sermon.

Bryan

Well, Yet Again in East Texas

Texas is a "sort of" independent nation, with a fundamental strangeness in one set of laws.  Yet again, the voters approved a strange measure.  Those opposed to alcohol won half of an election.  It is in Smith County, as in many areas of Texas, legal to buy alcohol in a restaurant.  It is, in those same areas, often illegal to buy alcohol to take home.

Therefore, in a strange wisdom, it is legal to drink and then drive home.  It is NOT legal, in the same area, to have a cup of coffee, buy alcohol, drive home, and THEN pour a drink.

It's one of those "unintended consequences" of a very close, very well-intentioned political campaign.  It's also one of those areas where you can find that plenteous and deep well of humor in human nature.

It is good when our oddities just result in humor;  it becomes a different matter when there is a direct connection between good intentions and drunk driving.

We Don't Brag on John Anymore

I started researching one day, looking for the outcome of such a promising young man, wondering why he just dropped off the radar screen, sort of "out" of the historical record.

By age 24, John Evans had a medical degree. Soon he helped found Indiana Central State Hospital, and founded the Illinois Medical Society.  He prospered, founded the Illinois Republican Party, and became a personal friend of Abraham Lincoln.  He helped other Methodists found Northwestern University (and the city of Evanston, Illinois), and was elected first president of its Board of Trustees.

Check the longer story here:   http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Evans_(governor)

He was appointed governor of the Territory of Colorado, and founded the parent institution of the University of Denver.  And that is almost the end of the story.  As governor, he appointed the Rev. John Chivington as Colonel of the Colorado Volunteers, with a commission to "quiet the Indians".  Which led, to make a long story short, to the Sand Creek Massacre in November 1864.  There was a cover-up, and President Andrew Johnson asked Evans to resign.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sand_creek_massacre

So much good, so clearly Christian (streets in Evanston are named for heroes of the faith), and so much accomplished.  But John participated in a moral blind spot of significant size, and a popular one:  the only good Indian is a dead Indian.  And on November 28, 1864, the bad trumped the good, with tragic consequences.

Somehow, along the way, his tragic flaw has been shared by many.  Only lately have we begun to re-discover history grossly re-written to hide flagrant flaws.  And as we do, an admiration grows for those long-hidden and much-abused people who brought great dignity to life, even as they were being so badly used.

It's a reminder:  whether we've seen it or not, God has not left Himself without witnesses among every people, and especially among the American Indians, where there is a richness of poetry and faith.

Today, am I so caught up in my own busy-ness that I fail to see God's hand at work, even in people I don't clearly understand or value?  It happens.  And long after, an Act of Repentance will be part of the 2012 General Conference of the United Methodist Church, which will include a call to awareness of the values of indigenous peoples in other places as well, and to awareness of Christ's call to brotherhood.