Hoax

When I was a child, I was sitting in my Grandfather’s living room. He lived in the city of Detroit, where he had come to find work many years before. All of my memories of my grandfather are from after he retired. We would visit my grandparents at their house in Detroit constantly. I would watch my grandpa drink Maalox right out of the bottle, constantly sipping it all day long, to keep his stomach in check.

This same grandfather, so the story goes, was once asked to play banjo and fiddle (that’s “violin” for you arteests) for the Grand Ole Opry in Tennessee, but he refused because it didn’t pay enough to support his large family. But he still pulled out his fiddle and banjo on occasion and played a little something for us kids, which I absolutely loved. But it was hard to get him to do it. He’d say, “My author-rye-tiss is given me trouble,” and that was the end of it.

So. I was sitting with Grandpa, watching TV, and a commercial came on for the brand new Disney World in Florida. I was transfixed. I wanted to head out there immediately and take up permanent residence. But when the commercial was over, Grandpa turned to me to say something, which he didn’t do very often. He just didn’t talk much. But he turned to me and said, “I don’t believe it! It’s a bunch a nonsense! Cain’t be no such thing as that Disney World! They’s a bunch of liars!”

For a moment I was startled, shaken up by the idea that I had somehow been duped by “The Powers That Be.” For a moment I took the word of my grandpa that Disney World wasn’t there and we were all being cruelly misguided by someone higher up than us. Considering that my life’s goal at that moment was to get to the fabled Land of Disney, this was quite disturbing.

But then I settled down and realized, for the first time, that my grandpa was just wrong.

I was not foolhardy enough to try and correct him. But years later I tried to make sense of what he said, and what I think is that Disney World was just too much for him. He had been born in 1899. He had been through the Great Depression. The world he grew up in was just so far removed from the images on the TV of Disney World that he simply could not even imagine a place like that existing. All of the colors and rides and music. All of those smiling people. It was just too much. So he dismissed it.

It seems to me that a lot of us do this with a lot of things. Some people dismiss joy and peace because it’s too far from their experience. Some people dismiss love and hope and forgiveness for the same reason. But just because we can’t imagine something doesn’t mean it’s not possible or true.

I have been to Disney World. It’s really there. Honest. And it’s amazing.

I just wish my grandfather could have seen it.

Ephesians 3:20-21
Peace to you.

And yes, that really is a guy from Kiss singing "When You Wish Upon A Star."


© LW Publishing 2010

Reremembering

Sometimes at night, when I can’t sleep, I find myself trying to think back as far as I possibly can. I try to figure out what my earliest memory is.

I have a very strong visual memory. I can recall images of some long ago events like they happened this morning. I can remember faces, but I have a hard time remembering names sometimes, even the names of people I was really close to. I can give you directions to almost anywhere by giving you landmarks, but I can’t remember the names of the roads. I can remember pointless details and lots of facts that I’ve learned over the years, but I would never find my car keys if I didn’t keep them on a hook by the door.

Memory is my blessing and my curse. There are things I’m so glad I remember and many things I wish I could forget.
  
But I was trying to remember my earliest memory, and I find it’s very hard to place certain memories chronologically. In posting on this blog, I’ve had to contact my mom several times to get the time sequences right on things and recall some of the things said. But I think my earliest memories are just visual.

I remember a shed in the backyard of the house we lived in when I was around 3 years old. I also remember the basement flooding in that house, and another “episode” where my older brothers were teasing me in that basement by singing the song “Sherry” by the Four Seasons, and replacing the name “Sherry” with the name “Davey.” They made me cry.

Don’t you hate them for that? Mean old big brothers. (We have resolved all of our former conflicts, in case you’re wondering.)

I think the earliest memory I can pull up is some images of the inside of a crib, with some toys. My mom has confirmed these images. Apparently I had some health problems when I started out and I spent a lot of time in that crib with some plastic toys which I was determined to consume.

Do you have an earliest memory? I’d really like to hear what it is. I find it fascinating. Are your earliest memories visual or do you remember sounds or is it more about an event or a circumstance? Some people I know have almost no memories from when they were very young and others seem to remember everything.

Einstein said, “Memory is deceptive because it is colored by today's events.” But it’s also all we have sometimes. So we make due with it.

Image of human brain synapse in the state of storing a memory,
by Michael A. Colicos, UCSD.
For me, storing them is no problem.
Finding where I stored them is the problem!

Psalm 77:11-12
Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010

Pastor

I’m a Pastor at a church in Southgate, Michigan, called LivingWater. We’re not a very fancy church, we still meet in a school because we (apparently) don’t attract a lot of wealthy people, but the people we have are great and the work is good. Still, I realize that for those who knew me back in the day, this can be a little weird. “Has Dave become some kind of religious fanatic? What if he starts preaching at me? What if he judges me? What if I accidently cuss in front of him? What do you say to a guy who is a pastor?”

For those who have only known me since I started this work, I get the opposite sometimes. It’s really more of an attitude that you get from people: “Why don’t you talk about spiritual stuff more? Why don’t you do this or that? Why aren’t you what I expect you to be? You’re not very religious for a pastor.”

Well, to answer the fanatic thing: It depends on what your definition of a fanatic is. If by “fanatic” you mean a person who believes in God, believes Jesus is God, and believes faith should really mean something to us on a day to day basis, then I guess I’m a fanatic. I love God in Christ and I don’t care what anyone thinks about that. It’s who I am. Unfortunately, just being a person of faith is all it takes to drive some people away. I can’t do anything about that. But I am not in people’s faces with this all the time. I don’t shove “religion” down anyone’s throat. I’m here to help if you ask, but I am not a Bible thumper. I don’t believe the Bible needs any thumping. It does fine without it. So I am not trying to twist any arms or “sell religion” to anyone. When you get it right, you realize there’s nothing to buy or sell anyway. It’s an honor to follow Christ, not a chore.

But, on top of simply being a person of faith, being a pastor is really a challenge sometimes because people forget that I’m still just me. I’m just Dave. I’m the same guy who grew up in Taylortucky. I’m still a weird blend of artsy fartsy mildly intellectual and B movie lowest common denominator enthusiast. I still like all kinds of music, I still write all kinds of music, and I like to watch a good movie (or a bad one). I don’t watch a lot of TV because it mostly stinks, but I do like Fringe. I like hanging out and drinking coffee and talking about whatever, which I don’t get to do much sometimes because people expect me to talk about SPIRITUAL things. They think I’m being shallow by talking about what they perceive to be NON SPIRITUAL things. While other people don’t want to be around me or are just nervous around me because they think I might start talking about SPIRITUAL things.

I can’t win.

“Why don’t you talk about spiritual stuff more?” How about this: How about the reality that everything I talk about is spiritual. It all has to do with truth or lies. It all has to do with God or the Devil or the Flesh. I focus on creativity because I believe in a Creator. Creativity in all its forms is an implication of that reality. As one of my favorite bands says, we ourselves are, by our design, “the signature of divine.” But why do we have to be so obvious all the time? Is God obvious all the time? I don’t think so. I find God to be very subtle. In one way or another, everything in my life and everything I talk about, everything we experience and talk about, is ultimately spiritual, one way or another. As Bob Dylan said, “You gotta serve somebody.”

The story of our lives is either moving us closer to God or farther from God. I, personally, want to move closer. And I believe God is in the details of that journey. I believe in a creation where God is actively everywhere. He’s got stuff going on. When I was growing up, God was there. When I was hit by a bus, God was up to something. When I was arrogant and angry and confused in my teens and twenties, God pushed me to a different place. When I met my wife and finally started to figure out what I should be doing with my life, God did things to get my attention. I did not always understand it fully or see it while it was going down, but God’s hand has always been in the details of my life. I am only a person who has come to realize that fact and I’m trying to respond instead of treating God like he isn’t there. I am not a televangelist. I am not a psycho Christian. I am not interested in using "religion" to beat people up or prove I’m right. I just want to share life with people in a meaningful way and help people respond with love to the reality of God in Christ.

And have some good coffee along the way.


This is who I am: I am a child of God. I do the work of a pastor. But I’m still . . . just . . . me.




Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010

Reading List (07.10)

So. Whatcha been reading lately?

It would be hard for me to confess to you how many books I actually read at one time. It’s frankly embarrassing and I think it reveals that something must be wrong with me. But whatever. I have been reading some interesting things, and I thought I’d share some of them with you.

I recently finished book one of the new Tad Williams Shadowmarch series. It was supposed to be a trilogy, but Tad can’t help himself, and now it’s looking like it’s going to be four or five books by the time he’s finished.

Also just finished Quantum, by Manjit Kumar. It’s about the history of quantum physics/mechanics. It actually makes this stuff somewhat understandable, which is a major achievement, and it also covers some of the personal stuff between the different physicists. It doesn’t get into string theory and such, but I’m guessing that will be the sequel.

I am about a quarter way through an old book by Pastor Bill Hybels called “Redefining Church,” which I have been meaning to read for a long time, and I am about a quarter way into a book recommended to me by my friend Ray, called “Bowling Alone,” written by a sociologist from Harvard University, named Robert D. Putnam, who has been studying what he calls “Social Capital.” It’s about how people have been moving away from meaningful social interaction for the last 30 to 40 years, why it’s happening, and what can be done about it. So far it’s great.

I’m also about halfway through book one of Lloyd Alexander’s "Black Cauldron" series, The Chronicles of Prydain.

There are some others, but that's enough for now, wouldn't you say?


So. You reading anything?

Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2010

Small Talk (Circa 07.18.2010)

The other night the better half and myself watched Cirque Du Soleil’s “Quidam” with our kids on DVD. If you aren’t familiar with Cirque, you should try to see them sometime. It’s a circus that was started by some French Canadians in Quebec, and has since become a worldwide thing. The songs are in mixed languages, sometimes with words completely made up, as the “story” of the show is conveyed more through pantomime, imagery and movement than concrete thoughts. The composers seem more interested in the sounds of the words than the meanings of the words. You will hear English, French, German, etc., sometimes all in a single sentence. But it doesn’t keep you from enjoying it at all. It’s kind of just the flavor of Cirque. My wife and I saw a live performance of their show “Mystere” around ten years ago and it was amazing.

Quidam was pretty cool, with the usual mix of acrobatic circus acts, performance art and music. For some reason it made me feel like I was watching a Jim Henson movie, like Labyrinth or The Dark Crystal. But our movie night with Quidam led to a short conversation the next day with two of my kids. It went something like this...

6 Year Old: Dad, can we watch the circus again? What’s it called?

Me: You mean Quidam?

6 Year Old: Can we watch it again?

8 Year Old: If we do, I’m going upstairs!

Me: Why would you go upstairs?

8 Year Old: Because it was freaky!

Me: It’s just a circus. It’s meant to be different to keep it interesting.

6 Year Old: Yeah! And it teaches you to speak Chinese!

Me: Well, yes, I hadn’t thought about that aspect of it, but learning Chinese is certainly a plus.

8 Year Old: But it was freaky!

Experimental mosaic by Greek Artist Charis Tevis,
inspired by Cirque Du Soleil.
You can see some of his work on Flikr.

Peace to you.





© LW Publishing 2010

Drive-In

Growing up, I lived a few streets away from the Jolly Roger Drive-In theater. When I was really little, we actually went to this theater a few times, but into the 1970's, and I have no idea how they got away with this, the theater started showing some hard R and maybe even X rated movies, it’s a little hard to remember, except that my parents were outraged, of course. And, so you understand, this was not in the middle of nowhere. This was in the middle of a suburban neighborhood and any kid was free to go over to the street that ran next to the theater and feast on carnal knowledge better left unknown.

But they showed other things too, especially in the late sixties and early seventies. I remember watching one of the Ray Harryhausen movies on the street that ran next to the theater, trying to figure out what the people were saying, but still amazed at the images on the screen. I believe it was one of the Sinbad movies, but it’s hard to remember.

Almost all of my movie viewing during the first 10 or 13 years of my life was done at a Drive-In theater. I saw Disney’s The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes (good old Dexter Riley, played by the incomparable Kurt Russell). I saw some Disney Animated films, and I always loved every minute of it. I would watch my siblings slowly doze off as the night wore on into the second show, wondering how they could stand to miss the movie.

I loved the popcorn and the “shrimp” roles that had who knows what really in them. I sure don’t think it was shrimp. I loved the atmosphere. I loved the way the gravel made noise under the car as you slowly made your way to just the right spot to park and see the show. I loved everything about the Drive In. The whole thing.

I think my favorite Drive In experience was when I saw Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory at the Ecorse Drive-In. This was in a suburb outside of Detroit. I would have been a very impressionable eight years old at the time. My family and I were eating at a little burger joint we went to a lot that was across the street, near the Ecorse Drive In. When we pulled out of the restaurant, instead of turning left for home, like we usually did, we turned right and went into the Drive In. I still vividly remember this moment. We all shouted and screamed, we were so happy to be going to the show. My parents laughed at us.

You need to understand that we almost never did this. We couldn’t afford it. So it was once, maybe twice a year at best. For us, this was a very big deal indeed.

And it was Willy Wonka. And it was amazing.

This movie still holds a special place in my heart, partly because it’s such a great movie, with strong songs and a performance by Gene Wilder that is completely worth the price of admission. But also because I can still remember the light of the movie shining on my parents faces in the front seat. I remember looking and thinking about the shape of their faces. I remember the smell of the popcorn and the glow that filled our car as we huddled together quietly in the dark, listening to the little speaker hanging on the window.

Entranced and at peace, we were a family. We had scars. We had been broken. Life was not perfect, but this was one of the good days. We were one.



Peace to you.




© LW Publishing 2010

Ambitious

“Why is the world like this?” said the man in the grey flannel suit. “People are crazy,” he added, as he was wheeled into the emergency room. He had been shot. There was blood all over his nice, pressed suit, mostly where the bullet had gone in, near his heart, but not in his heart. There was that to be thankful for. But his suit had been torn open, tearing off the buttons, along with his shirt and t-shirt. His chest was bare except for blood and bandages.

The man who drove him to the hospital was pushing the gurney. He said, “Oh yeah. I know what you mean. I really do!”

Grey Flannel thought about it for a moment as they parked him and began processing him. The bleeding had been stopped on the way to the hospital and he had been given some pain killer. It put him in a contemplative mood. He finally responded, “We’re supposed to pretend it doesn’t matter. But it matters a lot, doesn’t it? Why people want things, what they do to get them, it does matter. Right?”

Gurney Man kept talking with Grey Flannel, trying to keep him calm. He said, “I heard a man once describe a Christian leader he knew as ‘ambitious.’ And he was right, I think. This guy, he was ambitious. Like a lot of people.”

Grey Flannel was with him on this. He knew what he was getting at. He said, “Yeah. I know a lot of guys in business who are that way. It’s how they survive. It’s how they get ahead and beat out the competition.”

Grey Flannel said, “Well. Ambition is really just wanting, isn’t it? It’s about wanting a lot of something. Which can be good or bad. Sometimes you can even get good from bad, you know?” He had to stop talking here to answer some questions for the doctor. They also asked Grey Flannel some things, then they started to move him again. Gurney Man stayed with him as they were wheeling him down the hall.

Gurney Man said, “This Christian leader, he was really concerned with what his dad thought about him. He was really concerned that he measure up because his dad didn’t seem to like him enough. And then he got to where he wanted affirmation from other people he looked up to. And this drove his ambition. He wanted to impress people. And he did it. That’s what drove him to do most of what he did. But the thing is, he did a lot of good along the way. He accomplished a lot of good, and that’s what you have to think about. You have to think about the good. Protect it even. And realize that the man doesn’t even know himself.”

Grey Flannel said, “Oh. I get it now. I get it. I know who you’re talking about, right? You’re talking about the guy who put this bullet in my chest, aren’t you?”

Gurney Man said, “I’m just saying. He’s doing a lot of good. His motives might be off a bit, but he’s doing good things. And what have you done? You just got in the way, that’s all. You just got in the way. Sure, this was a little over the top, but if you stop the man, you could stop a lot of good.”

Grey Flannel said, “So, how long have you been in on this? His voice started to tremble with anger. “You’re with him right? How long have you been feeding his ambition to get what you want?”

Gurney Man just smiled at him, with pity. It was clear that Grey Flannel just didn’t get it. Probably never would. So Gurney Man let him go. Let them patch him up. He’d survive. That’s what chumps were good at. Surviving. Not thriving.

They pushed Grey Flannel through some swinging doors and he was gone.

Gurney Man thought to himself: Let him live with his ethics and such. See how far it gets him. What good will it accomplish. Nothing.

Gurney Man walked away.




Peace to you.




© LW Publishing 2010

Judge

How do you feel about being judged? How do you feel about people who judge you because they think you don’t feel things as deeply as they do? How do you feel about people who judge you because they think you’re not as “transparent” and “real” as they are? How do you feel about people who judge you because they think you think you’re better than they are? How do you feel about people who judge you because they think you don’t “get” them? How do you feel about people who judge you because you don’t pity them as much as they think you should? How do you feel about people who judge you because they think you aren’t “passionate” or “sincere” enough? How do you feel about people who judge you because your experience is not their experience? How do you feel about people who judge you for not being “spiritual” enough? How do you feel about people who judge you for being too intelligent? How do you feel about people who judge you for being too dumb? How do you feel about people who judge you because they think you're strange or different? How do you feel about people who judge you as unworthy of their time or attention? How do you feel about people who judge you because you aren’t them? How do you feel about people who judge you as “unfit” or “unworthy” for “personal” reasons? How do you feel about people who judge you because you disagree with them?

How do you feel about people who judge you because you are judging them?





Matthew 7:1-5
Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010

Robot Monster

A while back I did a 3D movie night with my kids. We did this at home, not at the theater, and it wasn’t with the new high-falutin’ new-fangled overpriced stuff you see coming out at the stores. We watched Robot Monster in 3D with the old fashioned card-board glasses.

The kids liked the movie, which shows me I’m doing something right as a parent. And it took me back to when I was a kid, watching this movie on a Saturday afternoon with Sir Graves Ghastly, who was a local TV movie host that dressed up as a vampire.

The great thing about Robot Monster is that it is truly one of the worst movies ever made, and yet, somehow, it is wonderful to behold. The sheer audacity of putting a man in a gorilla suit with an old fashioned diving helmet for a head, paired with a cave and a bubble producing communication machine . . . I am stunned by the bravery of the man who made this film. And it holds the distinct honor of almost always being listed among some of the worst movies ever made.

But let me tell you a not-so-secret secret: The films that end up on the worst movies ever made lists are not really the worst movies ever made. What they are is low budget films that really should be bad, and certainly are bad on a technical level, but somehow people love to watch them. Just like people like cheesy songs. Just like people love to eat weird disgusting food.

Robot Monster is one of the best of the worst. Way.

And yet, it was apparently a bad experience for the director, Phil Tucker. Not the making of the film, but the reviews. From every story I’ve read, he had a blast making the movie. He thought he had a classic on his hands. But when it first came out, according to some different sources, Phil Tucker attempted suicide in response to the profoundly negative reviews.

People laugh about this now, but I’m sure it wasn’t funny to Phil. Not at the time. And I can relate. I have received some pretty negative reviews in my life too. I have produced things that people have torn apart with their words and attitudes. It’s amazing how hard people will beat you down. They seem to enjoy it. And for what? For not meeting their expectations.

But Phil made it through, somehow. He kept at it. He went on to direct five or six more movies, including a movie starring comedian Lenny Bruce. None of them were quite as bad as Robot Monster, but you can’t come up with a winner every time.

The good news is that Phil found his wings. He became a very successful editor working on big budget films in Hollywood for the rest of his career. He also earned a U.S. Patent for a turbine engine that he created.


He was a very smart man.




Galatians 6:9
Peace to you.




© LW Publishing 2010

Uninspired Empiricism

If you have any interest at all in science and the questions of how we “know” things, or just questions about what is “real,” then you really need to spend a little time getting to know Albert Einstein. I have been studying the life and work of Einstein for about two years now, and it is endlessly fascinating. For me, this interest has spiritual overtones to it because I’m interested for spiritual reasons in what science has to say about the nature of reality and what the material universe is composed of. But along the way I have learned a lot about Einstein and it is always intriguing.

I mentioned before that I’m reading a book called “Quantum” by Manjit Kumar. I’m nearly finished and it has been a very consuming read, though I’m going to have to read it again. I’m not quite getting everything. That happens to me a lot. But there are lots of quotes from Einstein in this book that keep me wanting to know more about him.

Einstein was determined to hang on to the belief that an objective reality exists. It just made sense to him, which seems like common sense. But some of the other physicists were drifting into the realm of what Einstein called “voodoo forces” and “spooky interactions.” And Einstein held on, to the end of his life, to the basic belief in objective reality.

Einstein wrote to a friend, saying, “I have no better expression than ‘religious’ for confidence in the rational nature of reality insofar as it is accessible to human reason. Wherever this feeling is absent, science degenerates into uninspired empiricism.”

It seems to me that a lot of the sciences and maths have done exactly that: “degenerated into uninspired empiricism.” And a lot of people have allowed their lives to do the same thing.



Exodus 9:16
Peace to you.



© LW Publishing 2010

Would You Believe...

Have you ever found yourself believing something, absolutely sure about it, only to find that you simply misunderstood or were given bad information? Or you just “figured” something was true, only to find out that you were wrong? It is so easy for this to happen, especially if you basically trust people like I do.

When I was 6 years old, I remember my mom bringing my little brother home from the hospital. It was a big hubbub. I think, looking back, that some family members were amazed my mom didn’t lose this baby. My sister had died just three months before and it was very traumatic, obviously. So the new baby was a bit of light in the darkness.

Mom had gotten home while I was out playing, so I didn’t see her come in. Several relatives were over to see the baby, there were a lot of cars parked out front. I went in the house and they were all talking – I was not on their radar – but, finally, someone said, “Would you like to see your little brother?” I went down the hall to the bedroom at the back of the house where mom was ensconced on the bed with the baby in her arms. He was very little and, even though he was awake, his eyes were scrunched up tight. Mom let me put my finger in his palm, which he grabbed tight. That is always the coolest thing when a baby does that. Then mom gave me a reassuring hug and I was ushered out of the room by I don’t know who. That baby now has a blog which you can see here.

I went back into the living room where some of my aunts and uncles were sitting. One of my uncles said something like, “So whadya think?” What I thought was that I wanted the baby to look at me, which he didn’t do. So I asked, “Why doesn’t he open his eyes.” That’s when one of my uncles said, “When they’re first born they can’t open their eyes. Just like dogs and cats can’t open their eyes when they’re born. The light would blind them if they opened their eyes.” My six year old self didn’t take that as a joke because no one laughed. So that’s how, until I was 9 or 10 years old, I believed new born babies could not open their eyes at birth because their eyes were too sensitive and they would be blinded by the light.

Over the years I have listened to people and ended up believing for a time that...
1. When human beings died they became angels.
2. Monsters were in my closet.
3. All people are basically good.
4. Money was handed out at the bank based on some mysterious merit system.
5. I was born with certain natural abilities that would allow me to do certain things without really having to work at it.
6. As long as I was dedicated and worked hard, I would succeed.
7. Broccoli was created genetically in a lab by combining cauliflower and cabbage, and this was done by the Broccoli family, who later went on to produce the James Bond movies of the 60's and 70's, and Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. (Stop laughing at me.)
8. A friend would always be a friend.


See . . . I’m basically a trusting person. It gets me into all kinds of trouble.




1 Thessalonians 5:21
Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010

Fish Stories

When I was really young, maybe 5 or 6 years old, I went fishing with my dad and my brothers and some of my dad’s friends. This was a big deal because they were all heap big fisherman. I can still picture the area we were fishing in my head, but I don’t know where it was. My dad set a rod for me and put it in the water with all the others.

And I waited. That's what fishing is you know. It's the art of waiting.

I played in the trees. I played with bugs. Occasionally I’d go to take my line out of the water and my dad would tell me to leave it alone or I wouldn’t catch anything, pulling the line in and out. Eventually I grew tired of messing with it and went to play in the twilight. As the sun went down, a different set of bugs came out that kept my attention for a while. But when it was good and dark, the grown ups decided it was time to go. So I went to reel in my line, but it didn’t reel in very easy. It seemed to be stuck on something.

It was stuck on a pike fish. It was a big one.

Someone yelled, “Dave’s got a fish!” Dad helped me reel it in, and my parents have a picture somewhere of me and my sister and one of my brothers holding this fish up – if they find it I’ll post it – but that fish was about as tall as I was.

It was a great thing, but let me just say, it sets up some rather high expectations. My life in fishing has been all downhill from there. Nowadays, fish just laugh at me as I drag bait right across their faces.

But then there’s my daughter. She is the proverbial middle child and she is a born fisher-person. Whatever little talent or luck or whatever it was that was displayed that day in my childhood has blossomed in her, and she is not timid about it. She baits the hooks. She takes the fish on and off. She finds a way. She doesn’t let the gooey stuff bother her. And she will fish all day if we let her.

We have been going to a Jellystone campground for years now, and we always have to buy her bait and bring the rods so she can spend hour after hour fishing. She catches blue gill after blue gill, looks at them in a bucket for a few hours, then pours them back in the water for next time. So it was no surprise when she came back to the cabin this last time saying, “Dad! I caught a fish!” Cool. Another fish. I looked in the bucket.

It was a large mouth bass. 13 or 14 inches? Pretty long. She caught it all by herself. Completely. 8 years old. You’ve got to love it.

And we did. For dinner.





Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010

The Highest Form of Musicality

I’m reading a new book called “Quantum,” by Manjit Kumar, which I am enjoying immensely. I’m about halfway through, so I can’t say anything about the book as a whole yet, but there is a quote from Albert Einstein in it that has really moved me. It just grabbed me and won’t let me go.

When Einstein read the published papers of physicist Niels Bohr, which explained the structure of atoms, Einstein said that for him it was, “the highest form of musicality in the sphere of thought.”

Man, I love that. It sits well with my soul.

It communicates this truth: some things just sing. Some things just click with us, in our minds, in our spirits — we identify with them both intellectually and emotionally as right and true — and it’s like hearing a perfect song, perfectly composed, perfectly played.


This is how I feel when I hear the name “Jesus.”





Philippians 2:9-11
Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010

What?

I was in da kitchen when a idea came ta me. I went acrossed da fambly room ta my computer ta rite aboud words dat people misponounce all da time. Ahm not sayin a don do it maseuf sometime, but id still bother me. Me and da kids were makin frengh toast wit egg yokes in da kitchen and I snuck away ta do dis. Hopefully dey won burn da house down. I wadn feelin mean aboud id. Id jus gah me thinkin aboud how some people say nuculer instead a nuclear and theens lite dat. Nuculer id my paticular pet peeb. Geord W. Bush, who I don hate, even doh um apparenly suppos to, accordin to popalar seniment, he use to say dis wrong all a time. It drobe me crazy. But dats jus me. I don take id for granite dat you feel da same way. Supposably everbody has dere own pet peebs aboud words. Pronounciation idn auways easy. I guess dis is jus my perscription fer findin peas aboud id. Ostensively anyway. Ostensibly? Laugh er cry.

Okay. I’ll stop writing now. This is making me tired. I don't want to start prespiring.





1 Corinthians 14:8-9
Peace to you.


© LW Publishing 2010