What gets under your skin? There are so many things to choose from. Well, now I can add one more. There is a new phrase being used these days, and it really gets my hackles up. Actually, it's more of a preamble to someone's declaration of fact. Maybe you've heard it.
"I'm not gonna lie to you...."
Huh?! Why would someone say that? I'm glad that when someone who says this to me, is going to be telling me the truth. But then I wonder if everything else they tell me(or have told me in the past) is a lie. Kind of goofy, don't you think. I have in fact, had someone use this phrase in conversation and had that same person later lie to me. So how do I take them seriously at any time? I sincerely hope that this phrase quickly goes the way of "fer sher dude."
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Monday, October 06, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
The Radical Jesus
Three weeks ago, my wife and I began a Journey Bible Class taught by "Dr. Bob" Laurent. The class is called 'The Radical Jesus,' and it has been an incredible time of learning for us both. In week one, Bob talked at one point about how Jesus was radical because he loved he people that the Pharisees said not to love. The sinners, the diseased, the outcasts. Dr. Bob grabbed a volunteer from the class and played out a section of scripture where Jesus showed just how radical he was in his love for people. While he talked about this particular event, it reminded me of a similar telling of the tale by someone else. I had read it in the book, "Just Like Jesus," by Max Lucado. In his book, Lucado presents what it may have been like as seen from the leper's perspective. I love this account so much and have copied it here for you to enjoy as well. My only advice is....grab a Kleenex.
The Ultimate Outcast
"When Jesus came down from the hill, great crowds followed him. Then a man with a skin disease came to Jesus. The man bowed down before him and said, "Lord you ca heal me if you will."
Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man and said, "I will. Be healed!" And immediately the man was healed from his disease. Then Jesus said to him, "Don't tell anyone about this. But go and show yourself to the priest and offer the gift Moses commanded for people who are made well. This will show the people what I have done."
- Matthew 8 (vv. 1-4)
For five years no one touched me. No one. Not my wife. Not my child. Not my friends. No one touched me. They saw me. They spoke to me. I sensed love in their voices. I saw concern in their eyes. But I didn't feel their touch. There was no touch. Not once. No one touched me.
What is common to you, I coveted. Handshakes. Warm embraces. A tap on the shoulder to get my attention. A kiss on the lips to steal a heart. Such moments were taken from my world. No one touched me. No one bumped into me. What I would have given to be bumped into, to be caught in a crow, for my shoulder to brush against another's. But for five years it has not happened. How could it? I was not allowed on the streets. Even the rabbis kept their distance from me. I was not permitted in my synagogue. Not even welcome in my own house.
I was untouchable. I was a leper. And no one touched me. Until today.
One year during harvest my grip on the scythe seemed weak. The tips of my fingers numbed. First one finger then another. Within a short time I could grip the tool but scarcely feel it. By the end of the season, I felt nothing at all. The hand grasping the handle might as well have belonged to someone else - the feeling was gone. I said nothing to my wife, but I know she suspected something. How could she not? I carried my hand against my body like a wounded bird.
One afternoon I plunged my hand into a basin of water intending to wash my face. The water reddened. My finger was bleeding, bleeding freely. I didn't even know I was wounded. How did I cut myself? Did my hand slide across the sharp edge of metal? It must have, but I didn't fell anything.
"It's on your clothes, too," my wife said softly. She was behind me. Before looking at her, I looked down at the crimson spots on my robe. For the longest time I stood over the basin, staring at my hand. Somehow I knew my life was forever being altered.
"Shall I go with you to tell the priest?" she asked.
"No," I sighed, "I'll go alone."
I turned and looked into her moist eyes. Standing next to her was our three-year-old daughter. Squatting, I gazed into her face and stroked her cheek, saying nothing. What could I say? I stood and looked again at my wife. She touched my shoulder, and with my good hand, I touched hers. It would be our final touch.
Five years have passed, and no one has touched me since, until today.
The priest didn't touch me. He looked at my hand, now wrapped in a rag. He looked at my face, now shadowed in sorrow. I've never faulted him for what he said. He was only doing as instructed. He covered his mouth and extended his hand, palm forward. "You are unclean," he told me. With one pronouncement I lost my family, my farm, my future, my friends.
y wife met me at the city gates with a sack of clothing and bread and coins. She didn't speak. By now friends had gathered. What I saw in their eyes was a precursor to what I've seen in every eye since: fearful pity. As I stepped out, they stepped back. Their horror of my disease was greater than their concern for my heart - so they, and everyone else I have seen since, stepped back.
Oh, how I repulsed those who saw me. Five years of leprosy had left my hands gnarled. Tips of my fingers were missing as were portions of an ear and my nose. At the sight of me, fathers grabbed their children. Mothers covered their faces. Children pointed and stared.
The rags on my body couldn't hide my sores. Nor could the wrap on my face hide the rage in my eyes. I didn't even try to hide it. How many nights did I shake my crippled fist at the silent sky? "What did I do to deserve this?" But never a reply.
Some think I sinned. Some think my parents sinned. I don't know. All I know is that I grew so tired of the damnable bell I was required to wear around my neck to ward people of my presence. As if I needed it. One glance and the announcements began, "Unclean! Unclean! Unclean!"
Several weeks ago I dared walk the road to my village. I had no intent of entering. Heaven knows I only wanted to look again upon my fields. Gaze again upon my home. And see, perchance, the face of my wife. I did not see her. But I saw some children playing in a pasture. I hid behind a tree and watched them scamper and run. Their faces were so joyful and their laughter so contagious that for a moment, I was no longer a leper. I was a farmer. I was a father. I was a man.
Infused with their happiness, I stepped out from behind the tree, straightened my back, breathed deeply...and they saw me. Before I could retreat, they saw me. And they screamed. And they scattered. One lingered, though, behind the others. One paused and looked in my direction. I don't know, and I can't say for sure. But I think she was looking for her father.
That look is what made me take the step I took today. Of course it was reckless. Of course it was risky. But what did I have to lose? He calls himself God's Son. Either he will hear my complaint and kill me or accept my demands and heal me. Those were my thoughts. I came to him as a defiant man. moved not by faith but by a desperate anger. God had wrought this calamity on my body, and he would either fix it or end it.
But then I saw him, and when I saw him, I was changed. You must remember, I'm a farmer, not a poet, so I cannot find the words to describe what I saw. All I can say is that the Judean mornings are sometimes so fresh and the sunrises so glorious that to look at them is to forget the heat of the day before and the hurt of times past. When I looked at his face, I saw a Judean morning.
Before he spoke, I knew he cared. Somehow I knew he hated this disease as much as, no - more - than I hate it. My rage became trust, and my anger became hope.
From behind a rock, I watched him descend a hill. Throngs of people followed him. I waited until he was only paces from me, then I stepped out.
"Master!"
He stopped and looked in my direction as did dozens of others. A flood of fear swept across the crowd. Arms flew in front of faces. Children ducked behind their parents. "Unclean!" someone shouted. Again, I don't blame them. I was a huddled mass of death. But I scarcely heard them, I scarcely saw them. Their panic I'd seen a thousand times. His compassion however, I'd never beheld. Everyone stepped back except him. He stepped toward me. Toward me.
Five years ago my wife had stepped toward me. She was the last to do so. Now he did. I did not move. I just spoke. "Lord you ca heal me if you will." Had he healed me with a word, I would have been thrilled. Has he cured me with a prayer, I would have rejoiced. But he wasn't satisfied with speaking to me. He drew near me. He touched me. Five years ago my wife had touched me. No one had touched me since. Until today.
"I will." His words were as tender as his touch. "Be healed."
Energy flooded through my body like water through a furrowed field. In a instant, in a moment, I felt warmth where there had been numbness. I felt strength where there has been atrophy. My back straightened, and my head lifted. Where I had been eye level with his belt, I now stood eye level with his face. His smiling face.
He cupped his hands on my cheeks and drew me so near I could feel the warmth of his breath and see the wetness of his eyes. "Don't tell anyone about this. But go and show yourself to the priest and offer the gift Moses commanded for people who are made well. This will show the people what I have done."
And so that is where I am going. I will show myself to my priest and embrace him. I will show myself to my wife, and I will embrace her. I will pick up my daughter, and I will embrace her. And I will never forget the one who dared to touch me. He could have healed me with a word. But he wanted to do more than heal me. He wanted to honor me, to validate me, to christen me. Imagine that...unworthy of the touch of a man, yet worthy of the touch of God.
The Ultimate Outcast
"When Jesus came down from the hill, great crowds followed him. Then a man with a skin disease came to Jesus. The man bowed down before him and said, "Lord you ca heal me if you will."
Jesus reached out his hand and touched the man and said, "I will. Be healed!" And immediately the man was healed from his disease. Then Jesus said to him, "Don't tell anyone about this. But go and show yourself to the priest and offer the gift Moses commanded for people who are made well. This will show the people what I have done."
- Matthew 8 (vv. 1-4)
For five years no one touched me. No one. Not my wife. Not my child. Not my friends. No one touched me. They saw me. They spoke to me. I sensed love in their voices. I saw concern in their eyes. But I didn't feel their touch. There was no touch. Not once. No one touched me.
What is common to you, I coveted. Handshakes. Warm embraces. A tap on the shoulder to get my attention. A kiss on the lips to steal a heart. Such moments were taken from my world. No one touched me. No one bumped into me. What I would have given to be bumped into, to be caught in a crow, for my shoulder to brush against another's. But for five years it has not happened. How could it? I was not allowed on the streets. Even the rabbis kept their distance from me. I was not permitted in my synagogue. Not even welcome in my own house.
I was untouchable. I was a leper. And no one touched me. Until today.
One year during harvest my grip on the scythe seemed weak. The tips of my fingers numbed. First one finger then another. Within a short time I could grip the tool but scarcely feel it. By the end of the season, I felt nothing at all. The hand grasping the handle might as well have belonged to someone else - the feeling was gone. I said nothing to my wife, but I know she suspected something. How could she not? I carried my hand against my body like a wounded bird.
One afternoon I plunged my hand into a basin of water intending to wash my face. The water reddened. My finger was bleeding, bleeding freely. I didn't even know I was wounded. How did I cut myself? Did my hand slide across the sharp edge of metal? It must have, but I didn't fell anything.
"It's on your clothes, too," my wife said softly. She was behind me. Before looking at her, I looked down at the crimson spots on my robe. For the longest time I stood over the basin, staring at my hand. Somehow I knew my life was forever being altered.
"Shall I go with you to tell the priest?" she asked.
"No," I sighed, "I'll go alone."
I turned and looked into her moist eyes. Standing next to her was our three-year-old daughter. Squatting, I gazed into her face and stroked her cheek, saying nothing. What could I say? I stood and looked again at my wife. She touched my shoulder, and with my good hand, I touched hers. It would be our final touch.
Five years have passed, and no one has touched me since, until today.
The priest didn't touch me. He looked at my hand, now wrapped in a rag. He looked at my face, now shadowed in sorrow. I've never faulted him for what he said. He was only doing as instructed. He covered his mouth and extended his hand, palm forward. "You are unclean," he told me. With one pronouncement I lost my family, my farm, my future, my friends.
y wife met me at the city gates with a sack of clothing and bread and coins. She didn't speak. By now friends had gathered. What I saw in their eyes was a precursor to what I've seen in every eye since: fearful pity. As I stepped out, they stepped back. Their horror of my disease was greater than their concern for my heart - so they, and everyone else I have seen since, stepped back.
Oh, how I repulsed those who saw me. Five years of leprosy had left my hands gnarled. Tips of my fingers were missing as were portions of an ear and my nose. At the sight of me, fathers grabbed their children. Mothers covered their faces. Children pointed and stared.
The rags on my body couldn't hide my sores. Nor could the wrap on my face hide the rage in my eyes. I didn't even try to hide it. How many nights did I shake my crippled fist at the silent sky? "What did I do to deserve this?" But never a reply.
Some think I sinned. Some think my parents sinned. I don't know. All I know is that I grew so tired of the damnable bell I was required to wear around my neck to ward people of my presence. As if I needed it. One glance and the announcements began, "Unclean! Unclean! Unclean!"
Several weeks ago I dared walk the road to my village. I had no intent of entering. Heaven knows I only wanted to look again upon my fields. Gaze again upon my home. And see, perchance, the face of my wife. I did not see her. But I saw some children playing in a pasture. I hid behind a tree and watched them scamper and run. Their faces were so joyful and their laughter so contagious that for a moment, I was no longer a leper. I was a farmer. I was a father. I was a man.
Infused with their happiness, I stepped out from behind the tree, straightened my back, breathed deeply...and they saw me. Before I could retreat, they saw me. And they screamed. And they scattered. One lingered, though, behind the others. One paused and looked in my direction. I don't know, and I can't say for sure. But I think she was looking for her father.
That look is what made me take the step I took today. Of course it was reckless. Of course it was risky. But what did I have to lose? He calls himself God's Son. Either he will hear my complaint and kill me or accept my demands and heal me. Those were my thoughts. I came to him as a defiant man. moved not by faith but by a desperate anger. God had wrought this calamity on my body, and he would either fix it or end it.
But then I saw him, and when I saw him, I was changed. You must remember, I'm a farmer, not a poet, so I cannot find the words to describe what I saw. All I can say is that the Judean mornings are sometimes so fresh and the sunrises so glorious that to look at them is to forget the heat of the day before and the hurt of times past. When I looked at his face, I saw a Judean morning.
Before he spoke, I knew he cared. Somehow I knew he hated this disease as much as, no - more - than I hate it. My rage became trust, and my anger became hope.
From behind a rock, I watched him descend a hill. Throngs of people followed him. I waited until he was only paces from me, then I stepped out.
"Master!"
He stopped and looked in my direction as did dozens of others. A flood of fear swept across the crowd. Arms flew in front of faces. Children ducked behind their parents. "Unclean!" someone shouted. Again, I don't blame them. I was a huddled mass of death. But I scarcely heard them, I scarcely saw them. Their panic I'd seen a thousand times. His compassion however, I'd never beheld. Everyone stepped back except him. He stepped toward me. Toward me.
Five years ago my wife had stepped toward me. She was the last to do so. Now he did. I did not move. I just spoke. "Lord you ca heal me if you will." Had he healed me with a word, I would have been thrilled. Has he cured me with a prayer, I would have rejoiced. But he wasn't satisfied with speaking to me. He drew near me. He touched me. Five years ago my wife had touched me. No one had touched me since. Until today.
"I will." His words were as tender as his touch. "Be healed."
Energy flooded through my body like water through a furrowed field. In a instant, in a moment, I felt warmth where there had been numbness. I felt strength where there has been atrophy. My back straightened, and my head lifted. Where I had been eye level with his belt, I now stood eye level with his face. His smiling face.
He cupped his hands on my cheeks and drew me so near I could feel the warmth of his breath and see the wetness of his eyes. "Don't tell anyone about this. But go and show yourself to the priest and offer the gift Moses commanded for people who are made well. This will show the people what I have done."
And so that is where I am going. I will show myself to my priest and embrace him. I will show myself to my wife, and I will embrace her. I will pick up my daughter, and I will embrace her. And I will never forget the one who dared to touch me. He could have healed me with a word. But he wanted to do more than heal me. He wanted to honor me, to validate me, to christen me. Imagine that...unworthy of the touch of a man, yet worthy of the touch of God.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Half Way There
Today is kind of a benchmark day for me. I'm half way through! Twenty down....twenty to go! The cool thing is, I am not the same guy I was at week one. I have learned things I never knew about myself, my wife & children and the other guys involved with me. I am actually glad that God brought me to this place. When it is all over, I look forward to using what I have learned to help others. For those of you who are totally confused about what I am referring to, please check back in 20 weeks. I'll enlighten everyone at that point. For those of you who do know what I am talking about, thanks for your support and your encouragement. It means a lot!
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
New Photos Posted
Hey everyone! I just posted some new pics on my Flickr account and I thought I'd spread the word.
If you'd like to check them out, click on the New Photos Posted title line.
I hope you like some of them.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Goodbye To A Coworker
This is kind of a sad day for me. My son and co-worker Ryan,is leaving. Today is his last day in the police radio room. He has been doing a great job but alas, dispatching is just not for everyone. Ryan has decided to explore other options. I really cannot blame him though. The high stress, the expectations of police, fire, citizens and co-workers is a lot to deal with. Nobody wants an ulcer by the time they are 21! But let it be known that I am very proud of Ryan for his achievement in this job. I know that God has great plans for his life and he will succeed at anything else he pursues. I will miss seeing him come in as I get ready to leave for the day. But myself and everyone in the radio room will always have a soft spot for PN958.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
The Bucket List review
Last Saturday night I saw The Bucket List, starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. It is the story of two men who have cancer and share a hospital room during their ensuing treatment. They also soon are told that they only have months to live. This revelation drives their ideas of a 'bucket list.' A list of things to do before they "kick the bucket." Things are grandiose as witness something truly majestic, and as mundane as laugh until I cry. There were a few that I would love to have on such a list. Such as driving a 1960s Ford Mustang Shelby GT500, see the Taj Mahal and the Great Pyramids. The one that sticks out most in this movie however, could be the easiest, and the most difficult. Both at the same time.
The task was to help a complete stranger for the good. That seems like it would be so simple, yet often times, takes tremendous courage and humility. Such character traits are found in Freeman's character Carter Chambers. A man whose dream in life was to become a history professor. But as often is the case in life, a wife and kids changed his direction and he settles into being a mechanic. Nicholson's character Edward Cole is the typical rich, hard-nosed business tycoon. He needs nothing and wants for nothing. or at least he thinks so, until he comes face to face with his own struggle to live. Carter knows he doesn't have too much time left, and begins his bucket list. After learning of the short amount of time he has, he crumples the paper and forgets the notion. Edward finds the paper and scoffs that it fails to have some other exciting experiences on it. Cole tells Carter he will finance their list if he will participate. This is where the fun, the laughter and even a few sad times begin.
I went into this movie having read a few reviews by major film critics, who lambasted the movie as being formulaic and uninspiring. They all left me wondering the same thing. Did they see the same movie?! Sure the formula was similar to so many other films, but since when is originality a grand commodity in Hollywood these days? There were some extremely funny scenes, many great site gags, and final explanation about what is wrong with the expensive coffee is priceless!! There are also some very poignant and moving scenes scattered throughout. I really must say that if you don't feel a lump in your throat at the end, you really must have ice in your veins.
I cannot recommend this movie enough! I am certainly not a professional movie critic, but I do know enough to go into a movie to enjoy it on its face value. In this case, I was well rewarded.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
I'm still here
Hey all. I've been gone from the blog world for quite some time (due to no home pc). But, here are a couple things I have done over the last few months (since I last posted).
* Went on a weekend 23rd anniversary get-away with my wife to Silver Beach in St Joseph, MI (first time there).
* Decided to write a book and started to get stuff together toward that end.
* Finished my 13th book (Flashbangs by Mark Steele)
* Started book #14 - "The Gospel Reloaded" (about the parallels of Scripture & the Matrix movies)
* Got to sing a Kenny Chesney song ("There Goes My Life") at GCC.
* Paid off approximately $4,000 in debt so far (and still going).
* Started playing "The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion," on XBOX 360 (this game is like video crack!)
* Saw several movies (The Bourne Ultimatum, The Brave One, Transformers, 3:10 To Yuma).
* Watching plenty of NASCAR & NFL football.
I'm forgetting so many other things I've done, but suffice it to say, I've been keeping myself busy since August. Hopefully, I'll get more opportunities like this one to blog some more and keep you all up to date on what I'm up to. Take care & God bless.
* Went on a weekend 23rd anniversary get-away with my wife to Silver Beach in St Joseph, MI (first time there).
* Decided to write a book and started to get stuff together toward that end.
* Finished my 13th book (Flashbangs by Mark Steele)
* Started book #14 - "The Gospel Reloaded" (about the parallels of Scripture & the Matrix movies)
* Got to sing a Kenny Chesney song ("There Goes My Life") at GCC.
* Paid off approximately $4,000 in debt so far (and still going).
* Started playing "The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion," on XBOX 360 (this game is like video crack!)
* Saw several movies (The Bourne Ultimatum, The Brave One, Transformers, 3:10 To Yuma).
* Watching plenty of NASCAR & NFL football.
I'm forgetting so many other things I've done, but suffice it to say, I've been keeping myself busy since August. Hopefully, I'll get more opportunities like this one to blog some more and keep you all up to date on what I'm up to. Take care & God bless.
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