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I have a high level of personal confidence. Wherever God has called me to go or whatever He has called me to do, I have been confidently obedient. However, when it was my duty to stand before 1,000 women and speak, I was at my brink.
The ministry that I am privileged to lead sponsored a special conference for women. I was with the women five hours before I was to actually bring greetings. All morning I was stretched. Nothing was really unusual, it was just the quantity of it all.
I appreciate the aesthetics of God’s colorful creation. When a brightly colored cardinal flies by in pursuit of a Springtime mate, I follow its flight and admire its color. Or when I stop by and gaze at an aquarium with salt water fish, I marvel at the amazing array of colors. Yet, I was swallowed up by a mass of women where my eyes were on overload with bright pink clothes.
My sense of sight wasn’t the only one of my human senses filled to capacity. My sense of smell was also stimulated. The concentration of perfume where ever there were foot-traffic bottle-necks was dizzying. It was a wonderful fragrance but too much of a good thing was quite a jolt.
Then, there was my sense of hearing. I can converse with most. Even when I don’t know what the topic is I am a quick-study and eventual can contribute to the discussion. However, my ears need a break now and then, but the now and then never came. In endless tandem, conversations led me from one marathon of talking to the next with several such talks going on around me. I was craving a quiet break.
Women hug a lot. So touch was not absent on Saturday. Old friends, new friends and grateful acquaintances all wanted a quick embrace, a peck on the cheek or an arm hug.
And what about taste you might ask? That was sensory stimulation number one. The catered food for breakfast consisted of fruit, bagels, muffins, coffee, tea (herbal of course), baked finger foods all with as much attention to presentation as to selection. Are you getting the picture? There was NO meat.
I like women. They are wonderful and God’s zenith to His creation. But, I think I’ll go do a man-thing for a while . . . go fishing . . . on a quiet lake . . . alone.
It was a warm day. I had time for a trip to the gas station. Riding to the filling station just for the purpose of a fill-up seemed strange but this was an errand of necessity.
The station was full. I slowed down to see if a bay would open up. Timing was perfect. A car pulled out and I slipped in right behind it, acing-out two others with my aggressive move.
For a fleeting moment I was enjoying that tiny victory. One small sign quickly changed my mood into chagrine. The price of gas was not only over $3.00 per gallon, it was $3.38 per gallon! That’s the highest it’s been in my years in Michigan.
This is a frustration that is too familiar to all of us who depend on the internal combustion engine. We need to get from point A to point B many times over. That means that we are stuck. We have to buy the gas.
Unfortunately, this high price for gasoline is not new to me. I lived in Scotland in the late eighties. Gasoline is sold by the liter. After you convert from British pounds to American dollars and from liters to gallons, I was paying over $5.00 per gallon years ago. My little car was powered by a miniscule 1000cc engine and fed by a 9 gallon gas tank.
That past experience prepared me for what life is like today in the good ol’ USA. Arithmetic never changes though. Instead of driving up to the pump in a micro car, I pull up in my Cheverolet Avalanche. This is the most versatile perfect vehicle I have ever owned. The life that God has given to me calls for so many different activities from hauling outdoor gear to arriving at the theater with important guests. So with a big rig this stop for gas is painful.
Once the pump is on and the gas is being poured into my tank the counter is turns into a blur. The first total surpasses the co-pay amount for a doctor’s visit. This is just the beginning. I take on breath and the cost has now passed my internet bill and then the electric bill.
There is a small upside to this very frustrating problem. When I am filling up at a station that still uses the dial counter, I stand as close to the rotating numbers as I can. They spin so fast that it is like a personal fan to cool you down on a hot day.
Just in case you hear some news of an unexplainable explosion in Michigan, it was just me. There was no nuclear blast. A major natural gas pipeline did not explode. There was no natural phenomenon of a coordinated Spring time thunder clap over Lake Michigan. It was just me.
Many people celebrate a marriage with the popping of a champaign cork. Others with cheers when the first car of a new product line rolls off the assembly line. Then, others with the ringing of a bell when the stock market closes.
Who doesn’t look to the noise of starting engines at a major Nascar race? Others gather motorcyclists by the hundreds and signal the start of rumbling V-twin engines. Then, others in the tens of thousands shout in unison right at the last note of the national anthem on opening day of the Detroit Tiger’s baseball season.
Noise is very much a part of celebration. Who wants to be quiet when there is good news to be had? God put inside of each of us human beings a cheerful spirit that enjoys laughing, joy, and delight when something has happened.
Writers in every language input the data in computers to express the human experience. Words are formed into ideas and those ideas are couched in punctuation. The exclamation mark is one of our very rare tools and it is so often inadequate.
Readers only get a glimpse of what we are trying to communicate with inert words. The combination of those words is the treasure that we seek. That amazing combination of words that becomes special is what writers want and readers want even more.
Yet, the mechanics of that final result is nothing more than life itself, right? When words express what we feel, sense or experience, then we all marvel, “How did that writer know exactly what I was feeling?” So, perhaps the best writers or at least the writers who nail it often are the writers who experience life and put down in digital what they experienced.
Let me give it a try: I finished my taxes . . . early. No, I’m not lying. The other night I finished over three weeks before the deadline, in the month of March, a different month than April, when taxes are due. I’m done! Last night’s loud sound that shook the state was just me. I was celebrating. It was just me!
It’s been so long since I’ve been paying tuition to various colleges, universities and whoever sends me a bill. Sometimes the bill has been from the university. Other times it’s from Sallie Mae. Then, maybe again sometimes it’s from “Simon says, pay this bill.”
Who can keep track of all those relentless payments? What is galling is the private school that asks for donations while I am still paying off tuition loans. Politely, I write a little note and tell the school that I’ll send them a check. Then, they can apply it first to our tuition debt and apply the $1.27 residual to their next capital campaign.
Once I got really feisty and told them that the funds that they generated from selling my son’s confiscated bicycle should be applied to my tuition debt since it was my bicycle that I loaned to my son. They politely sent me a note saying that the bicycle was illegally parked and was rightly confiscated. So, much for the privileges of private education.
But, today I finally have some relief. After countless years of paying tuition, eating peanut butter sandwiches and calling work trips vacations I actually have a little breathing room. I paid my last tuition payment last month! I am tuition paid!
Oh, oh. I wonder if the Vice President of Development at that private college reads blogs? He probably has an internet sifter to detect such exultation and zero-in on celebratory parents with his “Blackbaud” spy software. If my phone rings soon after this blog is posted, I’ll know who’s calling.
Bill payments have a sort of base bland envelope that transports the cold hard numbers into my home every month. While I have procrastinated paying the end of the month bills a few too many times, the bills have arrived as regular as clockwork. They are consistent, persistent and durable over the years.
But now, I can celebrate a little. I’ll be smiling when the mail comes for a little while. Instead of the schools sending me a bill, the bank will take their place. Loans for past tuition had to come from some where. I celebrate tuition-paid living now. Some day tuition loans will be paid too and I will be tuition-free!
In the meantime at least the bank bills come in cheerful colors. I can say I am done paying tuition! That’s worth a little celebration.
People talk about the five languages of love. I’m not sure who first observed this notion but it seems to make sense. People respond differently to various expressions of love. Individuals best receive and feel loved when it is directed to them through these specific expressions depending on how they are already “wired” when God put them together.
One of those love languages is receiving gifts. For these individuals affection is most deeply felt when tangible gifts are given to them. Beyond special occasions, receiving a gift speaks to their soul. Everyone likes to receive gifts but for people who speak this love language receiving gifts deeply touches them.
Another love language is quality time. In our hurried world, investing time with the one we love is a planned and deliberate investment. Those who resonate with this expression of love find great fulfillment not in what is done but in doing whatever it is as long as it is done together.
A third type of love language is expressed through acts of service. When the one that we love serves us with actions that benefit our daily routine, scratches an itch or gives us comfort we relish in that gesture of devotion. What services are rendered by the loved-one are received as an expression of love.
Another love language is touch. While everyone loves to be touched by the one that they love, some of us are pre-engineered to crave this expression of affection. A hug, a kiss, proximity and holding of hands is fabulous. Cuddling on the sofa is one of the most meaningful moments of the day.
Finally, there is the language known as words of affirmation. This expression of love is accomplished through what is said. Words mean a lot when they describe value, affection and tenderness.
Practically, those who are introduced to this love language concept for the first time wonder how to discover their lover’s language. For men, I suggest that we express all five for a very long time. We are then bound to successfully stumble on her preference.
Don’t be surprised if she is multi-faceted. She may be the common female version which desires all five expressions of love. While experimenting, don’t forget to observe her expression of love to you. Express your appreciation without a miss and you will be a beneficiary just for trying to discover her language of love.
There are a select number of very distinct sounds that trigger vivid memories in my mind. Some sounds like the roar of a powerful V-twin motorcycle engine are exhilarating. Then there are those dreaded sounds like the high pitch whine of a dentist’s drill.
That sound caused me to leave nail marks in the arms of the Dentist’s chair when I was just a kid. It brought tears to my eyes, squirting out of tightly shut eyelids. Burned in my memory are the smells, feelings, and helplessness that came with it.
I can remember the sound of a dentist’s drill like it was yesterday. Wait a minute, it was yesterday! One of my old fillings had to be drilled out and replaced with a new one. The same sound that struck fear into my child heart was once again threatening my inner adult tranquility.
God gave man such a good brain. Our dental researchers figured out that we humans don’t like pain much. To everyone’s delight Alfred Einhorn, a German chemist, invented Novocaine to dull the thousands of nerves that surround our mouth. Now, it is just a matter of tolerating that foot long needle attached to a quart-sized syringe. Now the pain is gone but the lingering effects of a numb face play havoc on my day.
Back at my office I try and act normal. But, I live in a world embedded in leadership. I need to talk to people. My job is to inspire, create confidence and build unity. When I tried to talk with a numb face people were taken back. First, my words were slurred. Second, I gestured wildly while talking. Not my normal M.O. Third, I was drooling while talking.
That wasn’t the worst of it. For lunch I tried to drink a can of pop. But, the right side of my mouth was so desensitized that the drink was dribbling down my face. My executive assistant gave me a straw.
Drinking was bad enough. But, when I chomped into the tuna fish sandwich I couldn’t figure out why it was so chewy. I even checked the sandwich and the label to make sure it was tuna. Then, it dawned on me that I was chomping down on my own lip. When is this stuff going to wear off? Can’t someone invent a reverse shot to reinvigorate the feelings in my face?
When someone is the victim of horrendous atrocities, most of us are repulsed. We don’t philosophically debate the benefits of human actions during the time of torture. Instead, we pour out our compassion, even protest. Some of us dare even to step in to attempt to stop what is clearly wrong.
If that is the case, then why do we call Good Friday “Good”? This is the day that we remember Jesus being crucified for the sins of the world. To be even more specific we also remember His ignominious death. It was a horrible and painful dying.
As we remember His crucifixion, we cannot forget the beatings that took place before He was hung on the cross. Matching Scripture with historical information, the scourging inflicted on Jesus Christ’s body would not be sanctioned by anyone with an ounce of humanity in them. The whip used to lash Jesus’ body was an instrument of sheer evil. Strips of leather tipped with pieces of bone slivers, glass chards or metal shavings dug into the flesh of the victim being whipped and were design to tear and rip when pulled out for another lashing.
Add to His awful death and agonizing torture the preceding trials of humiliation and we have the plot for a blockbuster epic movie. Yet, what film can show the purpose of this troubling episode in history? What director can grasp the means to the amazing end? Who would not want what resulted on the Sunday to come? Yet, the horrors of Friday are so excruciatingly painful.
Too easily we focus on the suffering that was physical. It certainly was tragic, awful and septic. But, was there something more? Could it be possible that His suffering reached another level far worse?
Jesus was the Son of the one and only true God. He was the quint essential embodiment of all that is good, holy and pure. The fellowship between Him and the Heavenly Father was eternal, perfect and flawless. Yet, to die for man’s sin, to be our substitute for the penalty of sin He willingly paid the price on our behalf. It was the penalty of death.
Death means “to separate”. That means that Jesus had to be abandoned by the Father, severed in that perfect relationship, forever. He did it for each and everyone of us. He paid for our sins. That is what is GOOD.
Who is the knucklehead who invented mirrors? Can’t we be satisfied with our reflection in piece of chrome on a shiny motorcycle? Maybe we wouldn’t have so many scary moments in life if we had a worldwide ban on mirrors.
Have you stepped out of the shower lately, lost in important thoughts, then received the shock of your life? You know that moment of utter horror when you see yourself in your aging birthday suit reflected in the bathroom mirror. There just aren’t any words to describe that traumatic moment. “Drive heaves” might work.
Then, there’s another horrific thought: suddenly we could slip, hurt our back and are forced to call 911. Emergency crews break down our front door, scamper up the stairs and SEE us in our glorious naked self. How embarrassing would that be?
There’s only so much humiliation that a human being should be expected to take. It’s a good thing that in the animal kingdom we are the unique creature that wisely wears clothes. God created us to be very different from the rest of the animals that roam the earth.
And it’s all related to that goofy invention called the mirror. Walt Disney had it right when he animated the “mirror mirror on the wall. ” It was a piece of magical furniture stuck in the evil world wasn’t it?
OK, I can hear some critics now. They argue that mirrors aren’t evil, they just tell the truth. It’s the same difference! Don’t get picky with me while I’m trying to make a very valid opinionated point.
I once heard that it is only one half of one percent that are represented on the cover of fashion magazines. Yet, that small percentage of the population makes the rest of us experience the “shock and awful” when we gaze on our natural assets in a mirror. Let’s rebel!
Enough rhetoric. It’s time to act. The rest of us in the 99.5% ought to unite and make a statement. Let’s have a mirror melting rally. Gather up all of your mirrors and let’s build a bonfire and melt these troublesome instruments of our insecurities, highlighters of our flaws and symbols of our short-comings.
Hey, where’s everyone going? Really, you look fine. What about me? Really? Is my hair all that messed up? I must be getting too animated in my speeches. Does anyone have a mirror handy?
For the second time in my tightwad life I joined a health club. Shades of figuring out how many times I have to visit each week in order to take advantage of the company who dared to sell me a membership. Past experience made me reluctant. I know that human nature starts off greedy . . . oops, of course I mean with good intentions to utilize club facilities.
Health clubs have a number of annoying features, not the least of which are the incessant monthly payments. I told my “membership consultant” about my complaint. Before he could respond I also told him that I despise the initiation fee as well. Thinking that I had given him my impenetrable-sales-resistance speech, he smiled and offered me a sizable discount on my sign-up fee.
That caught me off-guard. He is a sneaky guy. Someone must have told him that the word “discount” is my Achilles heel. After all I am a good Christian steward of what God puts into my charge. My stone-cold face turned curiously-intrigued.
Then, we took a tour. The facilities were immaculate. Workout facilities were state of the art. There were tons of people yet, there were no lines waiting for machines and plenty of options from which to choose.
Friendly people greeted my membership consultant throughout the tour. But, the best part was how he sprinkled the tour with plenty of guys who looked a lot worse than me. Occasionally, there were some great looking physiques wandering around, promises of what I would look like when I was into my workout groove.
It was encouraging that a hundred Mr. Universes weren’t flocking into the locker room. Instead, many of the guys were looking a lot older than me, a lot slower and obviously a lot weaker than me. But, who’s comparing? I’m not vain!
Once the tour was completed, he asked what I thought about the place. I know that sales technique. Set up the pigeon with a complex question that is contextual designed to elicit a positive verbal statement. Coyly I shrugged my shoulders, “It’s nice.”
He smiled, left the office and returned quickly. “Good news,” he announced enthusiastically, “my manager has authorized an additional discount off of your initial fee from our generous sale price, just for you.” He told me that I was a nice guy, kinda like extra tickets for good behavior. I signed up on the spot.
Was 1998 really that long ago? My learning-project back then was motorcycling. Everyone had said their piece into my mind. “Danger!” they warned. “Caution!” they chimed. But, the lure of riding kept me seeking.
I was the proud owner of 650cc cruiser back then. It was fun and just the right size for a novice biker. But after a year, my skills had outgrown that splendid ride. Besides, I had plans for my first tour. Don and I had planned a motorcycle ride from Portland, Oregon to Ensenada, Mexico.
So, I went back to the shop where I bought it. The same salesman was sporting a big smile. He knew that I would be back for a bigger bike. We did the trade and I rode away on a 1500cc cruiser that has served me well for ten years.
On that motorcycle I rode to Mexico, Canada and to 27 of our United States. God granted safety through 30,000 miles on my “Silver Dragon”. Now, it was time to upgrade one more time.
It was a hard decision but time is never a friend to machines. A decade is a long time to be on a ride. I stopped by a specialist and made the arrangements.
Preparations were needed. I polished, cleaned and adjusted my bike until it shone brightly. Then, I took pictures of her on our final day together. It was not too unlike my recent last-day with my dog of 15 years, Dusty.
On the appointed day temperatures dropped to 28 degrees. That was a welcome distraction. I donned my warmest clothes and fired up the engine without missing a beat. Stepping on the shifter the green neutral light went off and I was in gear. Twisting the throttle and easing out the clutch, my powerful machine moved into the street with ease. Snow speckled our neighborhood roads but, good tires and a cautious speed made navigation a breeze.
One last time on a quiet road, I blasted my custom air horns while roaring along on my last ride. It made me sentimental. Dodging man-hole covers reminded of how agile this machine is as we made our way to the sales floor. And for the final time I turned off the ignition and handed the keys to a divinely-appointed friend who will help me find a new ride for many more miles of memorable adventures to come.
