The World's Worst Lover... Smiles!

There's an old joke that goes something like: an old married couple is lying in bed when the woman reaches over and whacks the man on the shoulder. "What's that for?" he cries. "For being a lousy lover," she says and rolls over. He thinks awhile and whacks her on the shoulder. "What's that for?" she cries. "That's for knowing the difference!" he says.

You've heard me mention Kami and seen a photo of her with Duncan in the last post. Today is our 28th anniversary. Twenty eight years ago I had sold almost everything I owned including furniture and books so that I could buy her an engagement and wedding ring from a discount jeweler. It was -- and is -- a tiny ring but it represented all I owned, all I dreamed, and all I hoped for. She said "yes" and so we were married at the Bear Valley Church of Christ in Denver, Colorado. That night we hit the road for the eastern edge of the country. We were going to work with an African-American congregation in Edenton, NC, helping them to build a building and get started.

So, on that late June day, we piled my Renault LeCar full. It had no air conditioning so we opened the vinyl, fold-back roof and headed across the country. This was back during Jimmy Carter's 55MPH mandate. Think about that for a moment: 55mph across Kansas. Then Missouri. Etc. It took us a week. With just a tiny radio, there wasn't much to do but talk to each other. Twenty eight years later, we still talk to each other, and we still enjoy traveling with each other.

I might be the world's lousiest lover. Or she might be. But since we are the only lovers we will ever have we are very happy with each other. In a world where dates are sexual tryouts complete with angst, fear, and looming failure we are freaks. We know that. We're okay with it. I won't run into an old lover in the grocery store nor will she run into a guy she used to live with. We are exclusive. Our secrets are safe with each other. So, while we may be great or lousy in the lover department, we are smiling because we only know each other -- and we love each other.

The world looks upon sexual exclusivity as if it were some sort of punishment. It seems, to them, as if God is holding out on them when He declares one man, one woman for life. But think of it this way: barring some bizarre blood transfusion mixup, we don't have to worry about AIDS. We won't get it. We don't worry about other STD's, either. While we give money and time to organizations that help fight those modern day plagues we know that we are safe in our happy home because we belong to each other, always have and always will.

Are we bragging? NO! This is all the gift of God. I was given an incredible gift by finding the right person to marry. When I first saw her it was like all my birthdays came at once. I didn't know how to date a Colorado girl so I took a shot and we rode horses. And rode them and rode them until I was completely out of quarters! She didn't spray me with Mace and run away so I knew she was the one.

We love each other. We don't fight (really!). We consider each other gifts from God and act accordingly. All of that is because of God's teaching, God's wisdom, and God's direction given to us by many, many faithful people in the church. None of it is because of us. All of it is because of Him.

Thank you, God, for life with Kami. Our life may be lousy, but we are so ignorant we think we're wonderfully happy and content. If that's what they mean by "ignorance is bliss" just let me say I wouldn't trade my bliss for anyone else's experience and knowledge. I still carry her high school senior photo in my wallet, because that is still the way she looks to me! God's way works just fine when both husband and wife try it.

And for those who's marriages or lives fell apart: I am not trying to rub it in. Without some very hard work on God's part I would be where you are. He knew I wasn't strong enough to survive what you have gone through, so He gave me Kami. These few words are a tribute to Him. And to her.

The Newest Marine

Meet the newest Marine. Duncan Taylor MacKay Mead took the military oath at 3:10PM EST on Monday June 26th. For the next eleven months he will be in the "Pool," the group of recruits in the Delayed Entry Program. He chose the Military Occupational Specialty of "Rifleman." His mother might have preferred "Anything Else" but Dunk wants to serve God on the sharp point of the spear. He is trying for an NROTC scholarship (keep praying!). He is already guaranteed Platoon Leader Course so he WILL be an officer -- Lord willing; it is only the path to those gold bars on his shoulders that is still in question. In the meantime, he trains with the Marines twice a week, finishes high school, and continues to play a leadership role in our 115+ youth group at Rochester.

The bluish-purple ribbon on the sign reads "Freedom's Front Door" as does the door into the Ceremony Room where recruits take the oath. As in all things, we covet your prayers and -- remember -- to God be the glory.

More Pollock Painting....

More scattered thoughts as I sit in central Nebraska...

Ten more baptisms. That makes 17 so far with several kids announcing they intend on being baptized when they get home to their families this Sunday. After each baptism the kids leapt to their feet screaming with joy, pumping their fists, applauding like mad, stomping their feet. Wow! After. Every. Single. One. It didn't matter if they knew the kid or not -- the kid was choosing the Jesus side of the battle and so the whole group cheered them on.

Duncan started going through the security clearance process. He swears in -- we're told -- at 1:00PM EST on Monday.

War is an un ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The person who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important to him than his own personal safety, is a miserable creature and has no chance of being free unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself. [John Stuart Mill]

Tomorrow I'll get up before 6AM and drive to Omaha to catch a plane to Minneapolis. After waiting there awhile I'll catch another one to Detroit. Duncan and Kami will be there to meet me. Happy day! Is there anything more wonderful than a family that loves you? Second only to salvation, the greatest gift God ever gave me is my precious, precious family.

It took me over an hour to get away after giving my last talk. I ended it by giving them a charge and an admonition -- St. Patrick's Prayer [I put that on Tentpegs some months ago]. Afterwards, kids came up for my autograph (!) so I signed about 30 of those. Over a hundred wanted pictures of me with them. This is unusual, to say the least. How does a 49 year old man rate this kind of affection from teens?

A girl comes up to me, crying. She is praying for Duncan and asks for my prayers, for she is leaving for the Marine Corps in a few months. She is pumped at the chance of testing herself and serving her country. And she is frightened, too.

You cannot exaggerate about the Marines. They are convinced to the point of arrogance that they are the most ferocious fighters on earth. And the amusing thing about it is that they are. [Father Kevin Kearney, Chaplain, 1st Maine Division, Korean War]

I just talked to Duncan on the phone. He was laughing, digging through my toolbox for implements of destruction. He and a friend are helping one of our older members tomorrow. She has three sheds that need torn down so Duncan and Curtis are going to do it. He laughs as he tells me it will be good practice for him. He reminds me of the bumper sticker that says "When it absolutely, positively has to be destroyed overnight -- call the Marines"

Military power wins battles, but spiritual power wins wars. [General George Marshall]


Sunday, I will preach at a black church in Detroit. Their minister will preach for Rochester. We hope this will be the first of many pulpit swaps. In August, we are calling all black and white churches to meet together for three days at the Southfield Convention Center. It's time the church looked like heaven's going to look -- a full pallet of colors!

Maybe I'll get some rest after Monday. I'm headed to New Jersey the second week of July. The first week of July I'll do something I've never done before. Usually, I kid people that my side was the losing side two hundred years ago and that their playing with fireworks just rubs it in.

This year, I'm flying the flag. Your flag. My flag, now.

Thoughts on a Scattered Canvas

I'm still in Nebraska and will be until Saturday evening. A lot has gone on here and in the news and it causes my thoughts to flitter this way and that, somewhat like a Jackson Pollock painting. For those who might be interested, here are the random tunes of thought that keep rolling through my head.

Four baptisms two nights ago. The kids reacted with fierce enthusiasm after each one. How much better than the way we reacted in my day... by saying and doing nothing; just waiting for the song leader to step up and fill in the time with songs until the preacher could get back out. Hearing their battle cries of joy, seeing their fists pump the air, you sense they understand that one of their friends is now safe at last, home at last.

My son's physical went very well. One doctor called him a "perfect specimen." That was a compliment but it still sent a chill down my spine. My son isn't a specimen. He is unique. Yet, the Corps will make him part of the machine. I am proud and afraid in equal measures.

Three baptisms last night. No lessening of enthusiasm among the kids. Dozens are asking for prayers. Unlike the prayers I remember when I was a teen, these prayers aren't for themselves but for their friends and family. They are "other centered" not "self centered" and I am impressed. I find myself wishing I was as good a person as these teens.

Two good American men were butchered while still alive in the cruelest way imaginable. The animals who butchered them -- as far as I am concerned they turned in their "human race" card by this act -- may or may not still be alive. Soldiers and Marines are sweeping through the area killing over 200 and arresting hundreds more.

My son raises his hand on Monday to swear into the Marine Corps. The events of these days makes me prouder of him than ever. And yet... sleep is hard to come by. He is my boy. My son. My only son.

Today as I walked the campus of York College the teens cut short their games, songs, and gossip to come over and thank me for being there or make a comment on this or that. They wanted to visit with this old guy and that touched me deeply. Where do we get such good kids? Why has God blessed us with so many righteous teens? I am grateful and I am humbled by their affection.

Watershed had to postpone their concert here a third time today as one of their members is caught in airport purgatory because of storms in the upper Midwest. His wife is due to have a baby soon, as is the wife of Chris Lindsey, their lead singer and Rochester's Worship Minister. I pray for Tony's safety and thank God that they do this airport shuttle/shuffle every week without complaint.

Papers captured two years ago are slowly being translated and -- more slowly -- released that prove Saddam had lots of WMDs. Some were captured, most were moved away from Iraq with the complicity of Russia, Syria and France. And, of course, all three sit on the security council of the UN. I try not to think uncharitable thoughts. And fail.

Congressman Murtha calls our Marines murderers. Yet, more information coming out about Haditha indicate that this might very well end up being a hoax. Early reports say the people were killed with AK-47 rounds (7.62X39) and not the M16/M4 rounds used by the Marines (5.56 NATO). Also, the film was supplied by a man whose parents are known terrorists and he is a member of an insurgent group. It isn't enough to yell "hoax!" yet, but it is enough to make me want to slap Murtha. And to cancel my subscription to TIME magazine -- the ones who shopped the video all around the world before checking it out.

I try to calm my spirit but it just won't settle down. Images of Haditha, posturing politicians, my son, the two American soldiers, and the work waiting for me at home all press upon my mind and heart. I need to leave my room and sit among the teens again. By this time of day, and this deep into the week, they can smell a little bit and they are distinctly untidy. But they are smiling, laughing, praying, and singing. They think I am here to help them. I thought so, too. But, as so often happens, I find that when I went to give someone a blessing God had planned all along to give me one, instead.

Come Lord Jesus.

Is There Anything in Nebraska?

I am in York, Nebraska for the entire week. I NEVER go anywhere for a full week. Why did I agree to this? I'm not sure, but here I am. I am speaking only one hour a day, every evening from Sunday through Friday night, and then I will fly back to Detroit. When I told people I was going to Nebraska I got a lot of sympathetic looks. Nebraska? Is there anything thing other than corn there?

There certainly IS corn but there is also much more. York isn't a large or vibrant town (at least, I don't think so from what I've seen) but York College is doing well. The staff and faculty seems first rate, absolutely dedicated to Jesus, the scripture, and young people. Over a hundred of them work with four hundred or so students and, I must say, they are making a difference. This week is Soulquest with kids coming from Wyoming, Nebraska, Colorado, Kansas, Oklahoma, Iowa and... well, I'm sure some other places, too. There are hundreds of them here. Last night, at the opening session, the kids were alert, tuned in, and ready for a week given over to spiritual things.

Yes, there is something special going on in Nebraska.

I stay out of the way during the day. Part of it is that whole antisocial thing I've got going, but another reason is that this week's not about me. It's about drawing teens closer to Jesus via youth workers and volunteers who have come from all over to help them. Most of these kids come from tiny churches and will never have a youth minister. This is the only time they will get to be mentored, taught, loved, and prayed for by those who have answered the call to reach God's younger children. They are pouring their hearts out and teaching their hearts out... and it is making a difference now and forever.

When I get back to Detroit on Saturday night, I will be a better man because I saw what was happening in Nebraska. The next morning I will drive into Detroit where I will preach for the Wyoming Avenue Church, a large African American congregation. Their minister will go to Rochester to preach for me. This pulpit swap is the first part of a summer of interchanges and events designed to draw the races closer together on earth as we will be in heaven. Sunday evening one of the young adult small groups has asked if I could come speak to them. The next day, Monday, Duncan swears into the Corps (he is having his physical while I am writing this). That evening I have been asked to come over and pray for a member's mother. The next night I have been asked to meet with one of our missionary groups (Missional Orders, we call them). The following day is the first in our Emerging Artists Series at Rochester where we showcase the artistic talent that is among us.

A busy week, no doubt. However.... I fully expect to stop every so often in the bustle, lights, traffic, noise and rush of meto Detroit and think of what's going on in Nebraska. There is more than corn here. God is here, and He is busy.

God on the way to June 26th

We have our date. Duncan will swear into the Marine Corps as a poolie (in the pool of Delayed Entry recruits) on Monday morning, June 26th. Kami and I spent some time with the sargeants down at Pontiac RS today and got some more questions answered. Things look good and positive. We read Frank Shaeffer's books to get ourselves ready. Kami and Duncan both thought Frank was a jerk and way too emotionally unbalanced (I did, too) so the consensus is we can get through this better than he did. We'll see.

What is amazing to me is how many Marines and Marine Corps family members God has placed in our path over the last several months. Dee Andrews has sent us good stuff and continually encourages us (her son was an officer in the Corps). Everywhere I turn there seems to be a Marine placed there by God to encourage us. Even on the plane coming home last night from Edmond, OK I sat by a man in his early 50's. For some reason our discussion moved to our children and I told him my son was swearing in very soon. His son was -- at that moment -- in the Mojave Desert doing his combat training in the Corps and the man himself was a former officer in the Corps. He told me: "Make sure he's in superb physical shape and tell him to find at least one thing to laugh about every day. That way, he'll make it."

The number of people who have come up with a tip, a small piece of advice, a contact, or an offer of prayer is amazing. If we ever doubted this was a God ordained journey for Duncan, we do so no longer.

In Oklahoma City, as I drove around the airport, I saw Sgt. Grits, a worldwide supplier of Marine Corps specialty gear. We have ordered things from the catalog a few times for Dunk's birthday and here was the warehouse! I went in, met the Gunnery Sergeant who runs the place and had such a good time I went back the next day for more.

Most of my life God's voice has been very hard to discern. In this, however, He could not be more plainly spoken. We have been given His blessing and we, in turn, gave ours to Duncan. We have not been promised that God would spare him from injury, pain, privation, or death. We have just been assured that we would not be alone, and neither would Duncan, as we journey forward.

Keep the prayers going for all who wear the uniform or carry a badge on our behalf. Semper Fi.

Okay, I'll Say It

Zarqawi is dead. I'm glad. There, I've said it. Before some of my friends want to sit down and fire off angry missives my direction from the comfort of their homes and with their full bellies, let me review:

1. Yes, every soul is precious.
2. Yes, we love everyone.
3. Yes, I would have rather he converted and given the keynote at next year's Tulsa worshop.
4. Yes, I'm sure his mommy loved him.
5. Yes, his current state is tragic and horrible beyond imagining.

Yet....

1. His death gives our soldiers and marines a better chance of coming home to their mothers.
2. He sawed the heads off living people on camera and sold the DVDs in the marketplace (and one of the most popular places to buy those DVDs was Haditha where the children sold them openly in the streets).
3. He called for the death of every Western citizen including, yes, France. C'mon, what did France do to anybody? (with the exception of that Jerry Lewis thing)
4. He trained, motivated, and financed hundreds of fascist fanatics and loosed them with suicide bombs and IEDs to slaughter his own people.
5. He marched fellow Muslims off buses and shot them in the head because they didn't agree with his his view on Mohammed's true heir was. Many of these were teenagers and women.
6. His ego was fed by a spirit of pure evil. If he is unreachable and unconvertable, and if he is determined to kill the innocent, what would Jesus do? Check the Old Testament. Jesus told us that it spoke of him. Those who stood against God and his people and refused to repent were sentenced, by God, to death, plagues, etc.


It makes you wonder: do those who mourn the death of Zarqawi, who claim that, as Christians, we must wail and be sad, think they can out-Christian Christ?

The Marine Corps is not a safe place for anyone, but my son will be somewhat safer because this fallen man is gone. I wish it could have been otherwise. I wish he would have been open to reason and revelation. But he wasn't. He dealt the cards, again and again and dared us to do anything about it. We called him and took him out of the game.

Allow me a moment to breathe easier this weekend and to hope for the safety of my son. Allow me to be happy that one more madman -- one who would kill me, take my daughter as a slave or worse, and end freedom of the press and freedom of religion -- is gone. Will others rise in his place? Certainly. And may God deliver them into the hands of just men.

If David -- a man after God's own heart -- could pray and sing for the destruction of his enemies, and if the Holy Spirit enshrined those songs as scripture, then allow me a song of praise this day.

Thank you, Father. And to the team? Hoo-rah.

Silly Dilemmas

We have three services each and every Sunday morning. I preach at each of them and enjoy doing so, but it has presented me with some situations that remind me how silly I am.

Take the Lord's Supper. No, I mean take it. How many times are you going to take it? I take it all three, but twenty years ago I would have taken it once and considered multiple takings a sign of liberalism run amok... or at least, liberalism walking briskly.

I considered taking the bread in the first and the wine in the second but that only confused everybody and gave the ushers hiccups as they tried to remember what to do.

So now I take it every service and am glad I do. However.... I don't give at every service. I only give once. One time, as a staff, we met and asked ourselves how to lead our congregation in giving (this is an incredible staff! They ALWAYS lead from the front, giving first, serving first, etc.). It was decided that it was a bad thing that two of our worship services never saw us give. We weren't modeling for them. So, let's split our giving into three checks and give some each service" Sounded good until volunteers who counted for one service but not another came across our checks and thought "those lousy hypocrites. This is all they're giving!" So, I'm back to giving one check.

Silly? Sure! Absurd? No question! But so are most things we puzzle and worry about. Will Jimmy do well in his clarinet lessons? May I speak for the universe and say, "Who cares?" There are only 18 jobs for clarinet players in the world and most of them require you to be an alcoholic so let's not fret over it shall we? And when was the last time you heard someone say, "Pete, you played the tuba in high school, didn't you? Drag that sucker out of the closet and play something for the party!"

I don't have a "the churches of Christ salute you" bumper sticker on my car and never have. Reason? Well, the small "c" always freaked me out for one, but the real reason is that I don't always drive in a holy and righteous manner. I would hate to bring shame on the church because I didn't come to a complete stop at a blinking red light (that is, a light that goes on and off, not to be confused with the euphemistic "That blinking red light!").

Silly? Yes, yes, yes.

Half of the elders' meetings I go to wind up discussing some issue or some complaint that is so, so silly -- at least to me. I think God has to shake his head and call Michael over to point it out sometimes. "Can you believe THAT'S what they're worried about?"

I pray daily for wisdom. I pray daily that I will only regard as important the things that God regards as important and that He waves off, I will, too. I think I'm getting better at it.

But maybe I'm just being silly.

Fellini Man

Maybe you've never seen a Fellini film. If not, stop right now, say a heartfelt prayer of thanks, and read on. Fellini did bizarre, avant garde films that were full of concepts and meanings and symbols that could only be decoded by the intelligentsia or someone on a large amount of pharmaceuticals. One of the famous Fellini-style scenes would be, for instance, a beach full of young, vibrant people in skimpy bathing suits (for the time) playing volleyball, laughing, smiling... you get the point. Then, off to the side, not in the center of the shot, would come an older man in a business suit, Trilby hat, briefcase, and wearing a hang-dog expression. He would walk through the middle of the young people with no sign that he noticed them, or they him.

I am Fellini man.

It happens to me all the time. Maybe that's because I get out there into one subculture after another or because I majored in eccentricity in college (Fred's University and Storm Door Company), or both, but I seem to be stuck in strange situations where someone could pop up at any moment and sing the Sesame Street song "one of these things is not like the other" and the answer would be me -- Fellini Man.

As noted some time ago, I went over to Windsor, Ontario and gave a short talk to the FBI Academy annual meeting. It went well enough that I was asked to speak at a couple of other law enforcement events. One of them was last night; an adjunct to the Global Day of Prayer. A sergeant in the Michigan State Police, who is also a pastor, asked me to come and join them for that day of prayer and I agreed to do so. SO after doing three morning services and then attending a graduation party, I drove an hour and a bit west to Ypsilanti where there was a huge wedding-style white tent set up, complete with a stage and three hundred or so folding chairs. I was ushered up to the front row immediately, given a Pastor badge, and sat down. That's when things got interesting.

The organizer came over and showed me a schedule. The event was to last an hour and a half and he showed me when I was supposed to get up and "speak a few minutes." Speak? I didn't know about that, but I was okay with it. Then he showed me a second time when I was supposed to get up and speak. Twice? Well... okay.... I guess.

So I spoke the first time to the mixed race group (it was very encouraging to see the harmony. Whites were a minority, but not overly so) and then got up the second time. It was obvious that almost all of the attendees were Pentecostal; with calls for casting down strongholds, badges that identified some as being in Peter Wagner's prayer group, musicians that didn't stop playing even during my talks and the prayers, lots of rhyming, etc.

After my second talk I handed the microphone back to the organizer who refused it and leaned in whispering, "Would you give the altar call, Dr. Mead?" Altar call? ALTAR call??? I knew I was being given this task as an honor and I really appreciated it... but an altar call?

So I did. It was undoubtedly the strangest, most tentative, most Fellini-like altar call ever but, hey, it was my first time! Several came to me for prayer for this or that and I prayed for them.

Done at last! Uh, no. After two and a half hours (see estimated time length above...) the organizer called for all the pastors and law enforcement officers present to come up to the stage. I did, managing to get all the way to the back so I wouldn't be called up to the microphone again. The lead pastor called for any pastor who felt led by the Spirit to say whatever came to mind. The band kicked it in, drums blazing, bass thumping, as three hundred people stood, stomping, clapping, waving hands, and dancing. Two ladies told us of visions they'd had in the last couple of hours and, helpfully, supplied the interpretation of the visions, too. I -- Fellini Man -- stood quietly and wondered if science will ever develop a real Cloak of Invisibility.

The microphone went from one to the other, each outdoing each other in energy, hyperbole, calls that we were in the end times, denouncing government officials for abortion, speaking in tongues, calling for the demolition of more strongholds, etc. I did my best Matrix impression, moving out of the way of the microphone everytime it came my way. Successfully, I might add. After infinity... or slightly less...the open mike pastor session came to a close. Afterwards, I was touched by how many came up to me and thanked me personally, offering me a kind word here or there for the few things I said.

Uncomfortable? Sometimes. Outside of my tribal customs? Yes, yes, yes. I never regretted being there, though. I can't think of a situation where being in a place to offer a prayer would be a bad thing. I was more afraid of giving offense than of anything else. Although the doctrines, styles of delivery, and temperament of the meeting was like nothing I had ever experienced I was not offended nor frightened. These people loved the Lord or they wouldn't have been there (and stayed there for so long). They were there to pray, to petition the Lord for their neighborhoods and nation. That has to be a good thing, commendable and worthy of support.

God seems to delight in putting me into new places. That's okay. It was an honor to be with them and I wouldn't have hurt their feelings or smirked at their passion for anything in the world. Besides, some of them were law enforcement officers and they had guns.

I might be Fellini Man, but I'm no dummy.

The Talent Show

Last Sunday morning one of the kids came up to me after my sermon and handed me a prayer request card and a sheet of paper he had been working on throughout the whole service. Nathan has a couple of disabilities and challenges, but he had done as good a job as he could on the folded papers he placed in my hand. I thanked him, hugged him, and went on, not knowing what I'd been given but appreciating it all the same. My wife came up to me a few minutes later and told me Nathan's mother had explained it to her. The papers were a handwritten invitation to his elementary school's talent day. Nathan, she said, knew I loved humor and he and a buddy -- also from our church -- were going to do a comedy routine.

I know what you're thinking. "An elementary school talent day? Why wasn't I invited, too?" Yes, yes, I know, the odds of finding talent in an elementary school talent show are roughly similar to those of finding vows of poverty and chastity among TV evangelists.

I moved some things around and went to the show. You might wonder why the senior minister for a church of 1200 or so, and one which is sending out new Orders of people (see last post) as well as moving to multi-site work would spend his time at an elementary school to watch a talent show. Isn't there something more important for him to do?

Uh.... no.

Some of the acts were predictably bad. Some lip synched to popular songs off CDs they'd brought from home. Two eleven year old white girls danced to an urban hip-hop tune, copying the moves they'd learned from MTV or BET including the crossed arms scowling bits. Others trilled their way -- Mariah Carey-like, if Mariah hadn't been feeling well recently -- through American Idol style pop tunes.

I missed one act, though. Evidently one of our young girls was supposed to dance to a tune with a couple of her friends but she was troubled by the words and movements and asked her parents if she could not do the act, but sing instead. She sang a Watershed song about her Lord instead of doing the dance. Wow. What a girl.

The show stopper was another one of our young girls. Amber had a backup band who did a "School of Rock" style version of Sweet Home Alabama. She was terrific and blew the room away.

And Nathan and Will came out and did their comedy bit. (Sample joke: "What did the alien say to the tabby cat? Take me to your litter") They came out in obnoxiously loud Hawaiian shirts with a Harpo Marx style horn and a tambourine (I know, I know. How did they get in my closet???) and told their jokes with an infectious joy. THEY found this stuff hilarious and, therefore, so did we.

Afterwards I found out that Nathan was so thrilled I had shown up that he kept telling everyone that his preacher was out there. When the show was done he came over to give me a high five and get his picture taken with me.

Yesterday, some people went to an NBA final game. Others went to five star restaurants. I hear tell that Las Vegas was quite busy yesterday, too. And a Tony Bennett concert in Chicago was sold out.

Losers! I got the best ticket in town. I got to see a young girl's faith in action, another girl shine with the talent and personality God gave her, and I got to laugh along with Nathan and Will. I can assure you -- no doubt -- that there was no ticket in town better than this one. And there was no work this minister could have done that day that could have been more important.

Kids? Moms and dads? Very, very well done. You raised good, sweet, and joyful kids. THAT is talent.