Category Archive

One morning I was rushing with last minute preparations before I threw myself out to the world.  I opened my valet and reached for a watch.  I was strapping it on when I noticed that it was not working. In the words of that immortal fairy tale Alice in Wonderland, “Oh, bother!”

Fussing a bit, I took it off and reached for a spare time keeper.  It too had stopped working.   Now, my mind had shifted from a last minute preparation detail to problem-solving.

Now I had two watches that were not keeping time.  Next, I picked up my dress watch.  It too had chosen a time in the past to freeze-frame.

That’s when I picked up my last hope and shook my head in dismay.  This must be a wristwatch conspiracy!  All of my watches had gone on strike.

Now I owned a total of four watches with dead batteries.  All were completely useless.  My hopeful solution of using back-up watches had proven futile.

Once my mind wrapped itself around the notion that I had no reason to strap on any of my watches, I wondered how creative I could be.  To wear a watch that wasn’t working just for the jewelry-effect seemed dopey.  Then, I did the unimaginable.  Knowing that I had appointments to fulfill and that time was certainly slipping away, I looked at my left wrist to check the time! 

Old habits die hard. I knew that I didn’t have a watch on.  Yet, I still looked at my wrist like I have every time that I wanted to know the time.  That’s a bit too obsessive, eh?

In a last desperate effort I got creative.  Each drawer in my valet was opened.  Then, I saw it.  A flash from the past welcomed my exploring fingers.

I picked up an old wind up watch.  Reaching back into my memory banks I rehearsed the steps to make this old faithful time keeper come alive.  It made me smile when the God-given memories from the days when this watch found new life for just a few moments.

Once I systematically reset the time, date and wound it up, I pushed the crown back into its recessed position.  Attentively, I looked at the second hand and it began to systematically tick one second after the next.   Ancient technology had come to my rescue.  The old had come through: durable and dependable.

After spending many miles on the road it was time to stop and fill up my gas tank. My calendar called for more travel in the days to come so a full tank of gas made sense. In my plans I knew exactly which station I would visit for a fill up.

I left the office later than usual. That has its benefits. First, the freeway traffic is noticeably lighter. Second, most likely I was anticipating that the gas station would be lightly visited since most people would be home for dinner. I was wrong.My choice of a gas station was strategic. It traditionally has some of the lowest prices. Also, it has eight lines and sixteen gas pumps. Even when it’s busy the flow is always quite fast. I was wrong again.

When I rounded the corner, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The lines at this gas station were backed up to the drive way entrance. Behind each one of the pumps, there were lines that were six vehicles deep.

I was tempted to roll on by and come back at another time. Then, I looked at my gas gauge. It was the better part of valor to stop and wait in the longest lines that I have ever seen here at my first choice for gas.

Once I found my place in line, I put my transmission into neutral. Then, I looked around at my neighbors, each stoically waiting for their painful moment. There wasn’t a single happy fact to be found. I wouldn’t describe them as sad, rather I would call it resigned-to-be-annoyed.

Then, I looked ahead at those who were filling up their vehicles. Their countenance was decidedly animated. Some were shaking their heads in disbelief. Others were totally disgusted.

Finally, it was my turn to pump my own gas. The price per gallon startled me. Today, the price for gas was just pennies away from $4.00 per gallon. It was higher than it had ever been before in my lifetime here in the good ol’ USA.

Once the automatic pump stopped, I rounded the price up and had trouble trying to land the pennies on a five or zero. It moved too fast! After several tries the grand total of a full tank was more than I have ever paid for this vehicle.

I looked back at the next driver, shrugged my shoulder and felt pity for her and her full-sized SUV. She returned my sympathy with a head cocked to the side, accompanied with a deep sigh. Then, I strapped on my helmet, pulled on my gloves, straddled my seat and drove off grateful that the Lord has given me a motorcycle to ride.

This has been a burdensome day.  Decisions and challenges are piling on top of my already crowded desk.  It took my best concentrated effort to focus and be the leader of cheer.

When the friendly competition recruits your players, it’s annoying.  After two of my teachers have been recruited away life feels too uncomfortable.  Two big schools will clearly get better with these additions from our small faculty, but we are left hurting.

Well it’s been quite a pity party.  I’m the main act, the complete guest list and the party crasher all at the same time.  Woe is me!

When pressure comes, I am generally unflappable.  Panic is not a common reaction.  Neither is anger.  My typical approach is to systematically tackle one part of the challenge at a time.  This time however, I feel overwhelmed.

I have had two very talented employees who have left for outstanding opportunities.  Can I fault them for that?  Certainly, I want the best for those who have been a part of our team.  Honestly, I am happy for them.  But, I feel abandoned.  Now there is a very difficult slope to climb just to get back to square one.

A few days ago the Lord let me watch a whitetail buck with budding velvet antlers romp in my backyard.  We traded bovine barks.  I was totally taken by the experience and momentarily forgot my troubles.

I have been feeling in need of another reminder of His presence.  But, I thought that my quota for special God-moments was exhausted.  Then, something special did happen.
In the middle of a store parking lot, just as I was pulling into a slot, there she was.  I looked. I smiled.  I chuckled.

Waddling across an expansive asphalt parking lot was a mother mallard.  She was followed by a brood of down-laden ducklings, chirping randomly and bumping into mommy’s booty whenever she paused to dodge a car.

Once she disappeared behind rows of parked vehicles, I smirked up to heaven.  God is still watching.  He is still caring. He is still loving.  Maybe if not tomorrow then eventually soon, the good news will start to pour into my office.

If deer freely roam in my backyard and ducks with their ducklings waddle across parking lots, then there’s got to be good stuff out there just ready to happen.  Things have got to start perking up, don’t they?

Life has been full in recent months.  I have reported to my Board of Directors that the last three quarters have been very difficult.  The challenge of multiple decisions with major implications has been a heavy weight to carry. 

There’s an old saying among leaders that it is lonely at the top.  There are many details that can’t be shared with others.  The heart of the top dog contemplates those matters alone.

These are moments when I turn to God with a plea for help. I talk to God regularly about what I do. My dependence is upon Him for good times and bad.

So, I asked God for something to perk me up.  Sighing deeply I rose from my chair and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water.  A movement caught my eye.  In my backyard a brown flash passed through our trees.

A deer was grazing on my grass.  Just on cue, it appeared from behind the spruce tree curiously gazing around the creek.  It took a sip of water.  When its head was turned away I called with the quiet bark of another snorting deer.  The deer jerked its head up and stared right at me.

From years of being in the woods with these amazing creatures, I froze and stared back.  We were a mere ten yards apart and the wind was in my favor so the bovine couldn’t assess what I was.  Then, I saw a very exciting sign. 

At the top of the deer’s head were the two budding protrusions of newly growing antlers.  This was a young buck!  Here was the future of the local herd.   He would be the progenitor of several new fawns to be born this Spring.

He pawed the ground, swung his head low and away.  Then, he snapped his head back up to see if I had changed direction or begun to move.  That’s an old feint used by deer but I was not fooled.  I remained motionless.

After a few moments, he effortlessly leaped the split rail fence.  He paused with his over the back one last look at the creature that gave the deer call, curiously shook his head, hopped the creek and disappeared into the woods. 

That’s when I smiled.  Then, I chuckled and thanked God for the little visit that reminded me that He was here.  “Thank you LORD.  You are still with me.”  Amen. 

Criticism is a reminder that we are making a difference with our life.  It is a vivid reinforcement to never give up.  Admittedly, few things can ease the sting.  Criticism always hurts.

One of my past teachers and an influential leader both left me great advice about handling criticism.  Each boldly and candidly discussed the inevitable with a similar statement, “Nobody likes criticism.  But criticism comes with the territory for those who spend their lives trying to accomplish something.  If you don’t want criticism then don’t do anything, don’t say anything and don’t try anything.”

These were both very accomplished individuals.  They illustrated their counsel with several poignant stories.   One told of moments in his life when he responded to the criticisms of his deathly-ill ministry leader.

When the venom flowed against the man that he worked for, respected and deeply admired, he was at a loss for words.  He had no idea what he should do.  His boss was so ill that he was bedridden and not coherent.  There was no way that he would bring the criticism to him.

He turned to a trusted mentor for advice.  Shaken by the hurtful words and severe criticism he was tempted to strike back and defend the one to whom he was intensely loyal.  But, the advice he received is advice that has proven to be so helpful to me in difficult times.

Recently, God determined that I would grow through trials.  I’m in the privileged position of ministry leadership.  Every leader is doing, trying and saying more than most.  That’s a recipe for inviting many variations of criticism.

Leaders hear it from every avenue where their efforts touch.  Criticism is a common fare.  Knowing that it has come and will come again never quite takes the pain out of it.  During recent trials criticism has been unusually abundant.

The strike back temptation has not been infrequent.  Nor has the defensive posture been absent.  But, the advice that I was given long ago served me well again on each of these occasions.  My teachers long ago taught me a valuable lesson.

These great leaders advised me that an effective approach to handling criticism is to humbly look for truth.  We will rarely like the experience, messenger, delivery or attitude.  But, if we humbly look for truth in the criticism that is leveled against us we can become better and weather the storm with grace.

Ever since Spring made its entrance I have reveled in the warmth of the sun and refreshment that comes from falling rain.  What Michigander would ever complain about such weather after emerging from a very cold Winter.  Now is the time for God’s blessing of budding trees, colorful annuals and nesting birds.

Each morning when I drive off to work I get a reminder that Spring is here.  Life is pushing the limits of my patience but I still manage to ignore the reminders.  After all, I don’t want to complain.

Turning a deaf ear to repeated signs, however, is becoming harder. I try fiddling with my cell phone, checking appointments and changing radio stations.  But, the reminders are becoming greater.

Each day the professionals haul their equipment into the neighborhood and finish their work quickly. 
Behind the work of these professionals is a manicured effort that makes the rest of us amateurs green with envy.  Their machines are big, powerful and very quick.

Really, though, personally I’d rather mow my own lawn.  “I like mowing the lawn.”  There’s something about the smell of fresh cut grass that makes me feel like I’m one with the constant miracle of growing life.  Besides, once the lawn is cut, to stand back and admire the end result is so gratifying.

Instead of putting on a coat and tie, I get to put on whatever I find.  Then, I open up the gas can and smell that great aroma.  Once I fill the gas tank, I pull on the starting chord and get to pilot a powerful 5 horsepower self-propelled machine.

This is God’s calling for men down to the detail of sweat, real estate, machine domination and muscle.  My lawn looks as sharp as the best in the neighborhood . . . once it’s cut.  Right now it looks like a bushy-haired hippie without the good sense to take a bath or comb his locks.

OK, I admit it.  I don’t like yard work!  My admission is ancient history. I have posited the idea of replacing my grass with Astroturf.  There have even been occasions when I wanted to rent a goat to keep my lawn trimmed and fertilized at the same time.

Low maintenance is my preference.  A rock garden sounds nice.  Why pay high water bills to grow the grass just to keep it cut?  Oh, no I’ve been discovered!  Plastic flowers anyone? 

Do you remember the last “unscratchable” itch that you had?  That annoying itch found its way right in the middle of your back where you couldn’t reach it?  No matter how you contorted your arms, shoulders or back that persistent itch was just out of reach? 

There wasn’t anyone around who could help you.  A special someone could have used two hands with a total of ten fingers to claw up and down your back.  Their love and devotion would have given the deep satisfaction that comes from relief.  But they weren’t around!

Then, you mentally resolved to ignore that feisty tactile stimulation.  A few moments went by when your self-control almost thought that you were going to conquer that unrelenting feeling.  But you broke and grabbed a baseball bat, yard stick or wooden stirring spoon to reach around and attack that pesky annoyance.

You resorted to feline tactics.  A door jam with a sharp corner served to massage your back.  For the first time you started to feel some relief.  That’s when your special someone final shows up and looks at you weird like you’re doing an exotic dance.

I have an itch.  It is there deep in my soul.  Some times I think that I know what it is.  Once that solution begins to form in my mind, however, it slips out of my grasp like a greased pig.

There have many walks of solitude, knocking off laps in a pool or long motorcycle rides that keep my mind contemplating this unrequited passion.  It’s about ideas, feelings, dreams, hopes, disappointments, humor.  Yes, it is all about life.

In some ways it is the adrenaline of the soul.  It makes me go after every day of my life with a hunger to achieve, accomplish or overcome.  Whatever the hours hold in a day, I try and pay attention to what God has given me to experience.

Over the last months since September 2007 I have been scratching this itch of life through the strokes on my computer keyboard.  Writing to you about God’s provision and experiences in life has been my scratching stick.

Yesterday, we reached a landmark moment in our “itching” together.  We surpassed 10,000 views of this blog.  I am thrilled!  Thanks for stopping in for a visit.  My prayer is that you will always be a little encouraged when you read and gather strength to persevere.  Thank you!

Sunday evening was very cool.  I was excited to start on an adventure with good friends.   Maybe I twisted too quickly getting out of his car.  Moving from the warm car into the cool evening air may have been too much of a contrast.  Pain shot through my left hip.

I grimaced.  Do you suck in the air through your teeth when agony sneaks up and bites you too?  But, I didn’t let my friends know.  No use being a baby about a little discomfort.

The more that I stomped around in the woods, the worse the pain became.  Rest would have made sense but our journey West knew only a limited amount of opportunity before we were called back home and into the office.

Every day I popped pain pills and carried out the woodsmanship that we had planned for an entire year.  Both hips were sore.  On top of that my back was beginning to ache. 

Back problems are no fun.  They ruin everything. I was disappointed that my slow movements were escalating

If the pain persisted I knew that i would have to go and see my doctor.  Lots of tests would have to be taken and any subsequent diagnosis would not be any fun at all. 

I imagined a prognosis of a few months to live.  Some malady with a name that I couldn’t pronounce would be my undoing.  God was calling me home . . . such heroic morbidity, eh?

Now, ten days later I suddenly remembered.  Walking across a parking lot with groceries in hand my mind pieced together the cause of my pain.  Aren’t such reflective recollections amazing?

A week ago Friday, I was walking the streets of downtown with a good friend. The weather turned soggy and sprinkled enough rain on the sidewalks to get them slick.  Locked into conversation while walking I stepped on to a slick spot, went airborne. 

But, because of my highly trained athletic skills I landed on three appendages with one other reaching for balance.  My friend was very impressed with my recovery.  It was a break dance move of the coolest kind.

That unexpected near-fall was my eventual injury.  The twisting and straining surely tore something that began to surface days later.  At least I wasn’t dying of some rare tropical disease.  While it may not have been break dancing, I did break something.

Monday was the quietest day on my calendar.  The weather Tuesday and Wednesday didn’t look friendly for motorcyclists.  So, today is the day that I chose to ride. Riding is an amazing experience but dangerous traffic is a constant hesitation.

Once all of my gear was on I fired up my V-twin.  I rolled out of our neighborhood and into the morning rush hour traffic.  My motorcycle safety training has made it second nature to Scan everything ahead, Identify dangers, Predict possible scenarios, Decide in advance how to avoid hazards and Execute a pre-decided plan should danger present itself.  It’s an acronym known by motorcyclists as SIPDE.

Ahead at the first major intersection that I would encounter on my commute, the light had turned green.  Traffic in my lane was moving through the intersection.  An itchy driver in the oncoming left turn lane was inching forward.  He slammed on his brakes instead of darting out against a red light when he realized that I was coming through.  Sheepishly, he hung his head when I rode by.

Then, I was on the interstate, making my way through unusually heavy morning traffic.  My speed matched posted limits.  Traffic around me was flowing smoothly.  But, there is one spot on a right banking curve where the left lane comes to an end.  It is a very dangerous spot.

Rushing up from behind me in that soon-to-disappear-left-lane, a small SUV roared up to the end of that left lane.  She bolted to her right crowding into my lane.  There wasn’t any time to think.  I laid on my horn and bolted ahead with a fully twisted throttle. 

Our eyes met.  Hers were wide as a saucer, her mouth open, frozen in the middle of the conversation that she was having on her cell phone.  Steering with one hand and braking hard, her car careened close enough to kiss, I mean kick. 

She deserved and needed the Heavenly-Father-stare that I gave her.  No words, no wild gestures, just a look through my dark face shield.  She and her little SUV disappeared in my rear view mirror to distances far to the rear.

By the way, her daughter did the same thing to me on the way home from work at another merging-traffic-section of the interstate system.  I’m sure that they talking on their cell phones now wondering why there are so many motorcycles ridden by hot Asian men on the freeway. 

The weekend was very busy.  My mind has been full of financial challenges, new initiatives for seminary growth and concerns that make prayer a welcome refuge.  Maybe I could find some time to refresh.

People filled my calendar.  From sun up to sun down and beyond, I was looking to arrange investments in lives, studying, writing and preparation.  Nevertheless, I was keeping an eye on a group of hours still free on Sunday afternoon.

Sunday morning began early.  I finished up lesson preparations.  At church I taught my class, visited with people and connected with others that I needed to see.  My hope for a personal window-of-time was still alive. 

Once at home I skipped lunch.  I slipped into the appropriate attire, double-checked my map and threw my leg over my motorcycle.

My V-twin 1600cc engine fired up flawlessly.  I stepped into gear, released the clutch and headed north.  Traffic cooperated and let me thread my way into the countryside.

God provided excellent weather for a ride.  The sun was shining.  Mild temperatures invited me to pour on the miles.  Winds were gusting but did not hinder my journey.

Once on a quiet country highway, the delight of riding rejuvenated my spirit and reinvigorated my soul.  Lost in the moment, I welcomed the restoration of balance.  Fellow bikers know this refreshment that mere words flounder to express.

Ahead a slow-moving vehicle impeded my pace.  Traffic was clear so I rolled on the throttle and moved into the opposite lane to pass.  Easily overtaking the vehicle and having a free lane to the right, I did not exchange lanes.

On coming traffic was speeding toward me.  There was a safe margin to switch back into the right lane.  But, something broke out in a small smile as the speeding truck in front of me enlarged and loomed closer.

The charging bull was on a beeline.  Speed and momentum were climaxing.  I saw the eyes of the driver, the flash of his headlights and had no fear of the danger that was closing in so fast.

Easily my motorcycle drifted right and passed safely into the lane where I was supposed to be.  A mutual sigh of relief expressed itself by all of the drivers in the area.  But, with power and confidence in my amazing machine there was never any danger, just adventure and a time to be lost in the moment.

There have been many times when I have been alone.  Usually, however, aloneness doesn’t bother me.  My career-calling has required that alone-state many times.

I’m fine with a fishing pole and the challenge of locating a day’s catch.  There have been many hours spent hopping rocks on a promising trout stream.  The solitary pursuit of the elusive rainbow, brown, cutthroat or brook trout has been part of countless days along the water’s edge.

There have also been many hours spent in the woods alone. With my hiking boots laced tightly I have left human company behind. Yet, I was satisfied.

Motorcycle riding is usually done alone.  As the endless ribbon of asphalt races underneath my boots, I am lost in solitude and isolation.  Yet, it feels good.  Such moments soothes and relieves. 

To be fair I am not really alone at those moments.  When I wade across a brook, walk through the woods or travel on my motorcycle, I am in frequent meditation.  It is a time to converse with God about the matters that are on my heart.  Aloneness is more of a description of being away from people.

But, there are times of aloneness that are not my favorite times.  When I am by myself while surrounded by people who are engaged with others, I feel lonely.  The worst is waiting to be seated at a restaurant and the greeter calls out, “Fong, party of one.”

That’s an announcement that makes fasting seem quite appealing.  No matter how good the food has been, a fast food hamburger just might seem a bit more welcoming.  Those moments are the worst.  They often come when I’m traveling.  Those times are worth avoiding and calling in for room service. 

When I am in a strange city and my obligations are done, I rarely visit amusement sites when I am alone.  Surrounded by families enjoying each other and couples in love make me feel lonely.  So, I skip the tourist activities.

Alone is only bad when I let loneliness creep inside of me.  Instead, I engage people when I can.  As quickly as possible I make new friends. When there is an occasion to help someone, I do.  When the people are gone, I settle in and rest my soul with a good book, compose a blog or go for a long walk with my best friend of all, Jesus. 

Do you remember your doubt when trying something new?  In the back of your mind there was a strong hesitation.  You wondered if this was a joke or something being recorded for AFV.  Then, when you tried it you were shocked that it worked.

Being out in the field and holding a turkey box call in my hand was one of those moments.  Without any training I thought that surely no real turkey would succumb to my artificial calls from a man-made contraption.  Metal and plastic could never fool a living creature, could they?

So, as the morning sun peaked over the horizon I decided to give it try.  I would attempt to reproduce the accurate sound of a female turkey calling for the intimate services of a Tom turkey.  With enthusiasm and a bit of chagrin I activated the call by pushing the plunger vigorously and sending out a series of squawks, yelps and purrs. 

Proudly, I marveled at my new found experience.  To me it sorted sounded like a turkey.  But, humorously as a novice to this bird language I snickered because I had had no idea what I was saying.

There was no time to imagine anything else.  A real turkey, a male, a Tom, gobbled back in the distance!  I could hardly contain my laughter.  Here in the wilds a genuine wild turkey was answering my female overtures to come and mate!

Our romantic discourse lasted for nearly half an hour.  Then, from out of the woods a competitor emerged.  A real hen wandered into the field and displayed herself, purring like an alluring temptress.

Then, appearing in full strut from behind a stand of pine trees, a Tom turkey waddled into the meadow and locked in its gaze at the beauty before him.  I tried another cluck, one more purr and another cackle from my box call.  But, the Tom was smitten by the newcomer.

It was a show!  The Tom did all of the work.  He was showing off, dancing figure eights, puffing up its feathers, swirling his wings in the dust and then gobbling up a fierce burst every few minutes that echoed up and down the meadow.

I lost!  He went with that other female!  Oh, well, I wasn’t ready for a new relationship.  I would have had to be honest and tell him that this whole thing started off with an imitation box call.

Dawn would soon be approaching and I wanted to be situated in time to greet the new day. My buddy was heading toward a recommended spot.  Have you ever gotten up early enough just to welcome a new day?

The night sky was already turning light against the dark woods.  I sat on a low hanging tree limb dressed warmly and in clothes that would blend me into the vast array of trees, bushes and shrubbery.  My hopes were high for an eventful new day.

As dawn crept over the woods light spread across the meadow.  Birds chirped happily in the trees, squirrels chattered wildly at whatever suited them and even a few giant beetles roamed over the forest floor.  Then, movement caught my eye.

At the edge of the tree-line on the opposite side of the meadow a whitetail deer stepped carefully into the open.  She raised her head to sniff the air.  Her ears pivoted in every direction to pick up any sounds of danger.  Her eyes were assessing all the signals that she was picking up.  Her tail wagged in contentment and she began to graze her way into the center of the meadow.

Soon another deer followed her, then another and then more.  She was the vanguard for a dozen-plus-one.  Young fawns frolicked playfully as adult deer grazed contently.  I’m in awe of God’s engineering and aesthetic design of this graceful wonderful animal.

But, I was still waiting for the prize of the day.  I pulled out a recommended tool.  A sportsman recommended it.  It’s a box call.

It’s shaped like an egg with a plunger running through its center.  Push on the plunger and a reed scrapes across a metal plate and produces a squawking sound like a turkey hen.  The object is to sound like a lonely female turkey that wants the company of a male Tom.

In disbelief I rolled the box call around in my hands.  Surely, I thought, no real live male Tom turkey would fall for a man made unit sending out shrill sounds and yelps.  Could I really sound like an alluring female bird?

I gave it a rigorous try.  The sounds reminded me of a scratched-up vinyl LP played on a broken down record player.  But before I could think of any more insults at my own wildlife mimicking, a distant sound of a gobbling turkey answered my call!

That deserved a response.  So, I looked at him straight in the eye.  Yes, eye- contact was deliberately made.  Once a moment of pause slipped by, I smiled.  Honestly, I’m sure that I heard some facial-cracking but he sort of smiled back!

On the jetliner, when my seat mate sat down he did a dastardly thing.  He pulled out a fragrant sandwich and began eating right. ”It smells like you have enough to share,” I offered. 

He laughed so hard that he started spitting lettuce pieces in my direction.  That social slip made him laugh even more.  I joined in the chuckling and assured him that I was just joking.

Once I landed in the city of Brotherly Love I looked for my host.  He would be another stranger.  Our rendezvous was flawless.  We loaded my luggage into his car and drove off through rush hour traffic, a one hour journey that took us over two. 

But, we laughed, talked and dissected everything from national politics to marriage matters.  We had the beginnings of great fellowship between men who were complete strangers just a few hours earlier.  It began with that same people skills learned long ago.

By nature I am an introvert.  It has not been to frequent that I have suggested that I would be just peachy content with my dog and a fishing pole.  There is a lot of truth to that.

Yet, God blessed my life with the privilege to speak to others on His behalf.  It is both an honor and a huge responsibility.  To be effective I must engage people and find ways to interact with them.

This is the skill.  Every where I go I know that there are people who are shy, hurting, self-conscious and introverted.  Those are all traits that have been a part of my life.  So, I take the first step into their lives.  I take the initiative.  That was God’s way with us.  It works for us to serve others the same way.  

On Sunday in church a friend grabbed me by the arm.  His tug was unusually forthright.  Clearly he wanted a private word. 

I focused on him and what he was going to say.  I have learned that look, that mood and that furrowed brow.  Usually, I prepare myself to hear a complaint, a rant regarding something that I did wrong or a warning of some impending disaster.

Instead, I was surprised.  He told me that he was concerned for me.  He was especially taking note that I had mentioned all of the pressure that I have been facing. Here was a friend asking how I was doing.

I was frank with him.  This is a time in my professional career when I have never felt so much stress.  There are massive budgetary challenges, enormous opportunities to move forward and complicated people issues that are filling up my days. 

On top of that I have several writing projects hounding me for attention.  Then, my time is stretched into world missions, service at my church and an ever-scattering-family.  Add to this list household maintenance matters and it’s amazing that a nurse recently called my blood pressure beautiful!

Into my very busy days and nights I build in relaxation measures.  For me physical activity is vital.  It’s not easy to work out when I finish a long 12 hour day.  Those hectic hours fill my plate with more rather than emptying it.

Sometimes I’ll swim for a half mile or more.  At other times I’ll hop on my bicycle for an aggressive ten mile ride. Or I might lace up my hiking boots and pound out an hour-long stomp around our neighborhood.  That keeps my days manageable.

But, there are greater secrets that make life worth living through enormously stressful times.  Sometimes I’ll climb aboard my motorcycle and fire up my twin engine and roar down a country road, lost in the moment.  

Or I’ll grab a fishing pole and head down to the lake.  Whether I’m trying to cast a variety of hardware or drowning worms, it’s not the catching that is important.  It is the moment of being engulfed in His creation.

There isn’t always someone to help us bear our burden.  But, that doesn’t mean we have to buckle under the pressure.  Buck up.  Embrace life.  God has given us everything we need to make a successful go of it.

Recently, a fellow blogger, Kim, wrote about an unforgettable invention.  I laughed so hard that I knew that I had to pass this royal idea on to all of you.  No doubt we will all be chuckling about this product a time or two in our day.

We should have a little fun trying to name this invention.  It has a name but let’s try a few imaginary options before we address the actual label.  How about Share Your Throne?  Maybe Two for the Flush of One?  Or maybe Good Neighbor Seating? 

The actual name is TwoDaLoo.  It sells for $1400.  Yes, it is really available.  This is not just toilet humor. 

This product claims that it will help marriage communication.  I’d like to see the supporting data for this assertion.  Whoever is doing the marketing on this product better consider a new line of work.  This is one idea that I suspect just might tank.

It reminds of Boy Scout camp.  The campgrounds were slightly primitive.  While there was available plumbing, each camp area was provided an outhouse.  Well, it wasn’t really an outhouse since there was no house.  It was just a wooden box with a hole cut in it sitting over a pit.  But, our box was special.  It was a two-seater.  Yes, it was big enough for two with two holes cut in it side by side. 

Our scout master was quite a jokester.  He teased all of us and told us we’d explode if we didn’t get over our bashfulness and utilize the facility.  We dared him to be the first.  He did.  He sat down on that box while our whole scout troop stood around and watched and smelled and left to go and hunt for some God-ordained-privacy.

Sometimes trauma in our past should be left there.  Do we always have to dig it up and deal with it?  I only had shivers run up and down my spine for a short moment.  The thoughts of that week at scout camp did leave an impression on me.

Time forces nature to urge its relentless calling.  I did use that facility.  But, I woke up very early in the morning to do so.  Some how having company for such a necessity wasn’t my favorite activity of the day.  But that really sealed in my mind what the phrase “nature calls” really means in vivid terms.

This past week I took some time to visit a medical specialist at the advice of my Family Physician.  In his opinion it was time for a check up.  It only took two years to finally get around to doing it.

My General Practitioner wasn’t upset, he just told me to get it done.  I remember his tone exactly.  It wasn’t negative, insulting or condescending.  It was just complimentary to my guilty feelings for not having done so when he told me, oh so long ago.

I called in for an appointment.  They had an opening, dog gone it!  So, I figured that the Almighty, Sovereign God was clearly leading in my schedule.

The specialist’s office asked me to come early to fill out all the necessary paper work.  I planned that into my schedule as well.  At the time I made a mental note at how business-like they were on the phone.

My mental note was reinforced when I showed up at the office.  I almost felt like snapping my heels, coming to attention and whipping up a salute.  But, I thought better of such a show of jocularity.

The receptionist handed me a clipboard, asked me to fill it out completely.  She added without taking a breath that should I be called in before I was done, to take the paper work with me and continue writing until it was complete.  Her instructions were prophetic.  Before I was even close to being done, a medically uniformed woman entered the waiting room, “Fong?”

I looked around the waiting room  Clearly I was the only Asian there.  Not only that, I was the only person there.  Nevertheless, I was open to playing by the rules.  So, I raised my hand, “Here?”

I got up and followed her into the examination room.  By then I was at the end of my good-boy routine.  She asked me to sit while she took my blood pressure, “Are you allergic to anything?” “Just to BP cuffs.” I responded seriously.

For the first time she hesitated and then laughed uncontrollably, “I just got that!”  We chuckled together.  “Your BP is beautiful.” “Sure, laughter is the best BP medicine,” I diagnosed.

“Are you taking any prescriptions?” she inquired with a smile. “Oh, yeah, a little of this and a little of that.”  She roared like she hadn’t laughed for weeks.  We heartily guffawed together.  I won’t even send her a bill for this visit. 

I was at a new restaurant recently. Friends had recommended it and I was curious to give it a try. Not only was the food great but the waitress treated me like an old friend. Friendly conversational banter and attention to my meal were first rate. I would say that that kind of service deserves a substantial tip.

Then, I was with a friend in a quiet little town. We went out to a modest eatery. He assured me that the food was excellent.

All of the people in the restaurant knew him by name. The owner came out to laugh it up with him. The waitress chatted about newsy items including family, customers and a bit of news about town.

The food was great. Fish was the main course. There was plenty of it. And she even offered to cook us up more if we weren’t full. That was wonderful service that is not easily found elsewhere.

My host strongly encouraged me to leave a handsome tip. This would likely be one of the waitress’ mainstays of income in their small town. I smiled and told him that I had beat him to the punch. My tip would be generous.

These positive moments have to be contrasted with a recent episode. This time I was at a familiar restaurant. In fact this is one of my favorite choices. I was looking forward to the meal. In the past the service has always been excellent as well.

Something didn’t sit well with me from the start. The waiter was new to me. He never smiled. Business-like was how it first struck me. Then, it was detached. When he brought my salad he was talking to the guests in the next booth while sliding the food on to my table without greeting or comment.

He was more like a delivery system than a waiter. No, even delivery systems are more cheerful than that. It was the smallest tip that I have left in ages. Weird how I remember that experience in detail almost more vividly than the excellent experiences of the past. Now, there’s a good tip!

I was at a funeral of a man whose life ended too early. Ron was two years younger than me. Yet, he is in heaven first. It made me think.

Ron and I weren’t close. We only encountered each other on a handful of occasions. But, I was impressed. Ron made that kind of impression on people.

He was respected in his field for his great mind. Imagine that prowess with remarkable athletic ability. He played college sports with teammates who made it to the pros. Further add to these as his brother announced to our laughter that Ron was voted “most wanted” by the girls in his high school.

The American path to success calls for brains, beauty or brawn. Ron had all three. Yet, to hear about his life none of these three assets were what ultimately endeared him to his family and friends.

As the service progressed, we heard from several of Ron’s closest friends. They gave tributes that lauded many of Ron’s qualities. We heard several amusing stories.

The music was right. The preacher delivered an encouraging message. Yet, I left that service moved by the meaningful words spoken by an amateur.

She was introduced as one of Ron’s three daughters. Immediately, I contained my surprise. That would be a challenge for anyone to speak at the funeral service of a parent.

Everyone clearly shared my admiration mixed with concern. But, our pensive mood was quickly allayed by her cheerful spirit. She charmed her way into our hearts.

When she reflected on her father, there was instant credibility. She was believable from her first words. There was a presence about her that eased our uneasiness.

Her testimony convinced me that Ron was best remembered for his love. In the wake of his life he left behind a very happy family. Each was strong and determined in their faith. She spoke about devotion and a depth of lasting joy in her family. This young woman made me wonder what my children would say at my final service some day.

Perhaps the best witnesses of a life lived well are those who lived with the life that is remembered. They saw it all. The experiences of our children with us are forever intertwined in their spirits. Their reflections reveal the truth about the life we lived and what is worth remembering. I hope my kids have good memories.

Hospital visits are a part of my life. It comes with the territory of being a spiritual shepherd. Bringing cheer, comfort and hope to the life of someone who is a part of your flock is a treasured connection.

The route to the hospital was a familiar one. Diana’s father had given me a call and told me of the latest developments. Doctors were trying to diagnose the disorder that was causing his daughter’s discomfort.

Once I was in the parking lot it was simple. The clergy spot was vacant so I slipped in and headed for the hospital entrance. It was after-hours but the desk clerk smiled and waved me through. This hospital like so many give pastors cart blanc no matter what time of day it is.

The catacomb-like maze of hallways was too familiar. Elevator doors opened on cue and transported me several stories up. Well-marked rooms in sequence led me to my final destination.

Diana’s young eyes greeted mine with a smile, “Pastor Bruce!” We chatted like old friends. First was the delightful conversation. There was a little teasing, a little catching up and a few endearing words of caring. Then, it was on to the diagnosis. All of the medical talk was abbreviated. We got down to the prognosis. Finally, it was time to take charge spiritually. We turned to what was most important, our faith in the Great Physician, Almighty God and our trust in Him.

That was a moment years ago. Diana was a teenager back then. She recovered and was fine. I was her pastor and friend. Now, it is years later. I’m in a different town, in a different state but when I was on the telephone with her, she still called me Pastor Bruce.

My long distance call was purposeful. She was no longer a teenage girl. Now, she was Mike’s wife and mother of her beloved little children. But, the circumstances of years gone by were similar.

First, there was a delightful reunion that marked our conversation. Then, there was the diagnosis. Finally, it was time to talk spiritually. Our faith in God the Great Physician would again be our trust. This time it was cancer. Courageously, she would fight it with all of her faith in the Lord.

The miles between Diana and me are many. It’s much further away than a mere evening drive. But, her indomitable spirit and tender faith are amazing. Unless God intervenes the next few days will be her last on earth. There was no taking charge this time. Our trust and faith are in Him for her.

Bank parking lots are never known for their smooth flowing traffic layouts. I’ll admit that the spaces are often tight and traffic flow is limited. Yet, someone else’s one-handed driving because they are preoccupied on the phone is taxing on everyone’s patience.

There is a little bit of skill required to drive with one hand. It is the palm-pivot-and-pressure technique. Open your grip and press firmly on the wheel with the palm of your hand. Make sure that your fingers are out of the way. Turn the wheel by rotating your hand. Presto, easy!

Well it wasn’t so easy for her, whoever she was. I had to come to a quick stop. She was coming around the corner of the bank parking lot on my side of the asphalt. Her eyes ignored me as she carried on her telephone conversation.

Unwieldy, she tried to turn her car wheel but it was slipping through her hand. Even though she was using her elbow to keep the wheel in place, she was more focused on her cell phone than where her car was going.

If I hadn’t stopped she would have only had the choice of colliding with me or backing up for a better angle at the corner. Slowly she crept by without enough room to open her car door. Still she was manipulating her steering with her elbow and one slipping hand.

Our eyes met and she glared at me as if I were a huge inconvenience. She was likely someone’s grandmother. But there was nothing she sent my way that was grandmotherly.

Well, I was off to the next store for an errand. By the time I drove ten miles and was about to turn into that lot, I had to slow down and let another car mosey its way through the intersection. She was turning the corner in front of me. I had the right of way but she was too busy talking on her cell phone to pay much attention to the rules of the road.

When our eyes met, I saw a complete stranger with a familiar glint and glare in her eye. She was a dead ringer for the other close encounter of the cellular kind. If they weren’t sisters they must be friends. They were probably talking to each other. I’m sure that they were talking about that God-send of a handsome Asian man giving them a flirtatious gaze.

Nearly ten years ago the movie Braveheart swept the silver screen. Film lovers flocked to see it. Many returned to see it again and again. It was an instant hit and the talk around the water cooler.

This past week, I was home stricken with a sickness that sapped my energy and melted my strength. I sat on the sofa and selected this DVD to watch again after a long absence.

Panoramic views of Scotland’s heather-covered hills and images of her fragrance brought back my own memories of living in that beautiful land. Even though I had seen the movie and knew the ending it was the dynamic storytelling, mesmerizing character-development and treasured themes that riveted my attention.

Freedom and the cost of acquiring it always grip my heart. Loyalty and the value that it has in life because it is constantly threatened by selfish greedy people stirs my spirit. Treachery by those who thirst after power and wealth at the expense of others infuriates my soul. Valor, honor and courage are elevated to the forefront of human experience when tyranny is rampant.

In this epic film those in positions of privilege were tempted by bribes and wealth. They would change loyalties on a whim if it suited their personal gain. People weren’t important to them but they were to William Wallace.

Driven by the senseless execution of his beloved wife, Wallace is thrust into leadership to fight for freedom. He used his brilliant tactical mind to win impossible battles. It was all for love and liberty. He motivated others to join him and he trusted God to give him the strength and courage to lead them.

Sir Robert the Bruce was portrayed as one with privilege. He wanted to do what was right but struggled with the realities of compromising people around him. Perhaps he is most like what most of us are. Wallace may be the best in what we all hope we could be.

True honor that is selfless is infectious. Leadership and example that touches so many lives is something we all admire. No matter how dark the circumstances or how terrible the wicked will be God always gives the light of hope. That hope inspires the rest of us to live far above the fray of compromise. Freedom isn’t a matter of fear or circumstances, it is a matter of heart, a brave heart.

John and I first met when I was a candidate for my current position. He was on the Board of Directors at the time. Details of that first encounter are a bit foggy in my memory but several subsequent moments are crystal clear. Today, I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again this side of heaven.

My memories of John start his voice. He is an Italian New Yorker. When he talks you hear a unique twang. Mixed in is that forthright New York reputation of taking-control.

Once when I was out visiting him in the Big Apple, he caught up to me when a parking attendant was giving some double talk about parking charges. John didn’t wait for an invitation. He lit into the guy with a strong and forceful directive. “Lying is always bad for business,” John climaxed his discourse on this experienced shyster.

John’s energy is as potent in his enthusiastic hobbies as it is in dealing directly with people. He invited me to hop into his Chevy Corvette. I’m glad that I put on my seat belt right away because he lost no time in pulling out on to the road with a roar.

There have been precious few moments when I thought about G forces on my body. This was one of those moments. His Corvette acceleration pinned me back against the seat and I couldn’t move. I turned my head and watched John grin from ear to ear from his soulish delight while gripping the wheel.

John’s enthusiasm for life was surpassed only by his hospitality. In the home is where a man’s true values emerge. His family reflects what he embraces.

Ruth Lynn made us feel so much at home. Her culinary skills were enhanced by her cheer and delightful conversation. Their daughters reflected the same people interests and wonderful dialogue.

Today, my friend John is in a coma. He was in surgery to address a cancer concern. Something went wrong and his breathing would not reengage.

Dramatic steps by the surgeons were frustrated. The best choice was to put John in an induced coma. Our prayers are that God would comfort his family and restore him to good health. God, the Great Physician, is able. I know that He is able. So, I have asked Him to do what He is able to do on behalf of my friend, John.

When I eat my dinner in front of the television it is as much a filler as it is a focus. It hasn’t been unusual when someone asks me what’s on and I look a little dumbfounded. The other night, however, my attention was more on the show than on my food. Dr. Phil was interviewing a couple. I’m not good with guessing ages but they were likely middle-aged and had one daughter.

Currently they are separated. She is afraid for her safety. He has a history of battering her.

Once I realized that this was the situation, I bristled. They showed pictures of her bruises and lacerations after such a beating. My teeth just ground.

I don’t think that I recall her ever looking at the wife-beater once. Her eyes were locked on Dr. Phil. Most of the time she had a sad affect. I would describe her countenance as worn down and unhappy.

What was reported after these revelations blew me away. Dr. Phil asked the man why he hit her. He responded that she had hit him first. That’s when I just about choked the television.

Then, Dr. Phil emerged at his best. Without hesitation he firmly declared to this sad-excuse-for-a-man that he should never hit a woman. He was a coward and had no grounds for his abusive actions.

I cheered along with the television audience. Dr. Phil got this one right. All of us glared at the guy sitting in the stool, hands clasped together looking at Dr. Phil. He had a smirk on his face.

Then, it was uncovered that this woman had taken this man back five times after previous separations. Each time she was hoping for something better. But, each time his temper erupted out of control and she was again the victim of a terrible beating.

God has given us all common sense that can prove life-saving for a woman in a situation like this. Whether it is physical abuse, mental abuse, verbal abuse or any kind of abuse that is contrary to love, every woman should be able to find protection from it. The church, family, friends or neighbors must step-between and provide protection.

I salute all of you abused women who have had the misfortune of being with a louse, who is not deserving of your devotion. May God bless you with provision and protection everyday of your life.

Do you dread your annual visit to your doctor? All of the medical poking, prodding and questioning fill so many of us with dread. Of course you’re not exactly dressed in a power suit either, right?

Who among us doesn’t feel the extra bit of confidence that comes from being well-dressed? Our self-certainty level spikes when we gather strength from how our clothes make us feel. It is a comparative thing. Well-dressed people earn a little extra regard from those around them.

That’s why we are taken back at our annual physical. The examination gown that our doctors require us to wear. It’s that paper thing that is too short, too small and way too open in the back. (Don’t forget that the opening goes in the BACK.) If dressing well gives us confidence, then this garment makes us basic, it reveals us as we really are, humble.

Pretend that a Martian visits this world for the first time. The first observation that it makes is one of us undergoing a physical. It sees us in our “gown” and our doctor in a perfectly creased lab coat. What would the conclusion be? Master and slave of course!

For a while the inquiry and exploration is fairly benign. I have done everything right and the test results are looking promising. As the time passes and the end of the examination is drawing to a close, I am encouraged.

Then, my doctor always updates me on the latest and greatest health discoveries. He sifts through all of the stuff and gives me the straight scoop. Usually every year, I add something to my routine that he recommends.

Once I added a daily aspirin. Another time I added a specialized over-the-counter supplement. This time he suggested that twice a day I take a fish oil capsule, Omega-3. I lit up! Proudly, I announced that I had just started that regimen recently.

He was pleased. I was even more thrilled. After all of my reading and contacts, I was doing something right in BEFORE my doctor suggested it as a good thing to do!

Studies have shown that a regular diet that includes Omega-3 may have very positive results in heart health. I like where this is going. Now, I can remember that a big part of good health includes eating fish. That’s Jesus-food. Let’s lose this fashionable gown and all go FISHING!

One of my penchants in life is research. It was a skill that I developed while studying for my J.D. and M.D. When I declare a fact, I want to be confident that I can substantiate my allegations.

My Asian roots gives me an arena to apply this skillful use of my experience. This has nothing to do with my career but only serves as an occasional diversion. It is some what like an NFL professional who enjoys a pick-up game of flag football or a Juliard Professor singing at a birthday party or an accomplished Kawasaki motorcyclist renting a harley-davidson. It’s great skill used for a nominal moment of fun.

As I focused my craft on Chinese cooking, I discovered that Northern Chinese cuisine, which is characterized by its spicy, explosive flavor and featuring various fish dishes is actually a product of Germany. Early Chinese explorers in the NW provinces journeyed into the land of Goth from 4B.C. to A.D. 17. Fish from the North Sea were combined with the unique spices that the explorers brought with them. Not only were unique flavors discovered but a lasting friendship between the two countries was forged.

You also might be interested to know that in 1996 Taco Bell announced that they had purchased the national treasure the Liberty Bell to help reduce the country’s debt and renamed it the “Taco Liberty Bell.” The White House press secretary also added that the Lincoln Memorial had also been sold and would henceforth be known as the Ford Lincoln Mercury Memorial.

Speaking about food, my favored fast-food culinary company, Burger King, announced that the Whopper, their flagship burger, was now available for left-handed people. The condiments are designed to drip out of the right side. When they say “Have it your way” they really go all out!

For me I was particularly proud that NASA had adopted my special recipe for slow cooking. In a weightless environment I suggested using a stainless steel sphere, much like a hamster ball. Add one 2 liter bottle of root beer, one pound each of turnips, carrots, onions and water cress. Re-vent heat exhaus