Shameless Plug

By now many of you know a little about our outreach ministry to the rockers, tattooed, pierced... really to any who are never, ever going to enter a standard church building. Soul Space is about to occupy their storefront where they will talk to people about Jesus, give tattoos (No. Really), and counsel those who have no other place to go. Pete Grant is our lead minister for this work. He and his wife, Rudi, are wonderful people who have a heart for the "others" in our midst. Go to www.sacredink.blogspot.com and read their story.

[Quick note: when I was in Wichita this weekend I went to the mall for a quick haircut and a sandwich. They had one of those temporary Halloween costume shops set up and, as I watched. four Goths walked in a shopped for something to wear on Halloween. Cracked me up. I wanted to ask them, "What are you going as? Me? An insurance salesman? Your parents?"]

Anyway... the Soul Space people are a ministry of the Rochester Church but they are doing this ALL on their own dime. These are people without any real funds and who barely make it week to week but who have mortgaged their lives to the tune of $20,000 to get this ministry off the ground. Some of you who read this might want to help them pay that off so they can lose that burden and be blessed. I have no hesitation to ask you to send a check to "Rochester Church of Christ" at 250 West Avon, Rochester Hills, MI 48307 and we will get it to them within a week of its arrival here. I will also do a running tab on this blog, but gift givers will remain anonymous. I will send you a letter from the church thanking you for your gift and that will satisfy the IRS (yes, both the Rochester Church and Soul Space are IRS approved non-taxable entities).

If you want something tangible for your money, two of Soul Space's finest are Josh Turner and Lance Handyside. These are remarkably talented young men who formed a group known as Bar 12. I have always loved the blues and have a very large collection of it... and these two are up there among the best of the best. To raise money for this ministry, they cut a CD that absolutely rocks and blows the doors off anything at Best Buy. If we genetically engineered two babies from the DNA of the Marshall Tucker Band, Pink Floyd, Robert Johnson, Stevie Ray Vaughn and Lynyrd Skynyrd it would be Bar 12. I bought a pile of their CDs (and I'm Scottish, remember! When I open my wallet George Washington blinks; it's been so long since he's seen the light) to give out as Christmas gifts. Some covers and some originals are on the disk and you will love it.

Send us a check to the Rochester Church for $15 and I'll send you a CD. All proceeds will go to Bar 12 and Soul Space.

Here's a promise -- if someone out there gives the whole $20,000, I'll tell you. If we sell that many CDs, I'll tell you. You will know every amount every step along the way.

If we can make this work, souls will be saved and the church -- not just here but worldwide -- will change as others see these pioneers and follow in their footsteps to reach outside our church buildings to those Jesus loves in the shadows and corners of our culture.

Two Weeks of Whiplash

The title of this post doesn't come from physical whiplash (although it came close -- read my tentpegs blog for today to see what I mean) but from the metaphysical whiplash I get everytime I get into a marathon travel binge.

On Saturday I fly to Wichita. I'll get to speak to the church that morning as they raise their mission money for the year. That afternoon I am to speak with the elders about how Rochester Church is reaching the unreached and how we have navigated the changes in our culture and congregation. That evening I speak for all the Wichita Churches of Christ as they have their annual shared worship time. I fly back on Monday. On Thursday I speak at Rochester College on a panel with four clergypersons from other faiths. We're to do a short chapel service in the morning and then a two hour question and answer period that evening as we discuss the way women are treated in our various religious tribes. The following Sunday I preach the three morning services at Rochester and then drive to Beamsville, Ontario to speak at the Great Lakes Lectureships. I keynote that on Sunday night ("In the Name of Jesus -- and no other name") and give a class the next morning on the importance of church planting. Then... I drive back into the US, spend one day at home, and drive on to Indianapolis where I will speak to a Christian Church that Wednesday evening on the importance of knowing and living the Word of God. The next Saturday I fly out to Vero Beach, Florida to speak for three days at a congregation that helps us support the Manry family in Uganda.

So, to wrap up:
Wichita, Kansas
Rochester, Michigan
Beamsville, Ontario, Canada
Rochester, Michigan
Indianapolis, Indiana
Rochester, Michigan
Vero Beach, Florida
Shady Rest Semi-Retirement Community for the Religiously overactive and Slightly Pooped Out, Rochester, Michigan

My travel schedule for next year is severly curtailed by comparison as we keep most dates open so that if Duncan gets leave or has an important Marine Corps ceremony we can be with him. But for now.... zoom!

As I climb on the plane or point my car in various directions I often wonder, "How did this happen? How did an infamous loner who hates traveling and crowds get into this? How did Bill and Kitty's kid end up here? How much longer can this go on before somebody points at me and shouts out 'He's not qualified!' Did that last sign really say no rest area for the next 67 miles? I just drank a 7-11 Bladder Buster sized Diet Coke!"

Here's the deal: pray for me and I'll pray for you. I'll try to write some in between journeys, promise.

A Prayer for Scott

Scott and Debbie Borawski were members at Rochester Church for years. He had served in the military early in their marriage but had left it to go back to college when I met them. Debbie is one of those people who is endlessly energetic, optimistic, passionate, and sweet. Scott was the steady one, solid and thoughtful. Not long after 9/11 Scott indicated that he might re-enter the army. He was talked into finishing his degree, which he did a few years ago. He immediately went back to the Army. While he tried for Officer Candidate School, they gave him sergeant stripes instead and sent him to armor school.

Eventually, Scott left his wife and beautiful children behind and went to Iraq. His men loved Scott -- calling him "the old man" since he was older than most of the other soldiers. He was their team leader, but last Monday the 16th of October he was pulled from patrol to do Unit Movement paperwork. His four man team -- Colberston, Dumas, Unger, and Lauden -- went out without him. All four were killed by a roadside bomb (aka IED). The bomb was a powerful one that shredded their vehicle and the men inside.

The four men had been planning a big party for their "old man's" 36th birthday on the 21st of this month, but the party didn't take place. Scott was left alone, saved by a strange combination of Army paperwork and the Hand of God. He is getting care in Iraq and Debbie is surrounded by Army wives -- including those of the lost men, but what they all need is the love, grace, and healing that can only come from God.

Pray. And pray again. Pray for them by name. Create support groups for everyone in your congregation who is the parent or a sweetheart of a military person. And pray again.

My son and I went to see "Flags of Our Fathers" last Friday and we both enjoyed it. I feared an anti-military screed and he feared a whitewash of the brutality of war. Our fears were unfounded. It was an honest look at a time in our history that often gets turned into little more than a cartoon. It made me remember a line from the old M*A*S*H TV show after one of the doctors loses a young soldier. The CO tells him, "The first rule of war is that young men die. The second rule is that doctors can't revoke the first rule." (or something like that. It's been twenty years, people!)

Regardless of politics -- and please, no political comments need to be made to this post -- it is entirely appropriate to pray for these men and women and to pray for their families and to pray that God will guide the leaders of this and every nation. One lady in our congregation spends one hour in prayer every day -- you read that right -- asking God to bring the Muslims to Jesus. I pray that one day we will be able to send our sons with Bibles and not bayonets.

NOTE: some of you will want to write Scott and/or Debbie and offer support and condolences. I would love for you to do that. I will NOT post their emails and addresses here for there are too many who troll through the internet so that they can grab those addresses and then send "that's what you get you son of a..." letters to them. If you want to get in touch with them, email me. If I know you or have reason to think you are legit, I will send you their contact info.

What Eric Blair Learned

Eric Blair was born to an English Civil Servant working in India. Sent back to England for his education, he was spotted early on by observant teachers -- this one was a thinker and a writer. He was also an adventurer. As most young men did -- at that time and now -- he felt himself morally superior to his parents and moved to the political left. He wrote "The Road to Wigan Pier" about the poverty in rural England and went off to Spain to join the Marxist forces during the Spanish Civil War. Confronted with the realities of Communism and with the inevitable slide of leftism towards fascism (and, yes, the political right can take you there, too, but this is Eric's story) he began writing under a pen name, one that has become famous worldwide -- George Orwell. He first wrote "Animal Farm" as an anti-Stalinist screed and at the same time that the New York Times was writing a year long series praising Stalin. Blair/Orwell then moved to the Scottish island of Jura and wrote "1984."

Originally a pacifist, then a partisan for the left, and then a pacifist again, he came to the sad realization that pacifism was only possible when men stood ready to protect the pacifists. He wrote this: "People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf."

Here are some other quotes by and about those rough men.

"Appeasers believe that if you keep throwing steaks to a tiger, the tiger will become a vegetarian." (H.H. Broun, 1888-1939)

"War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feelings which thinks that nothing is worse than war is much worse. A man who has nothing for which he is willing to fight, nothing which is more important 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, 1868)

"Those poor bastards. They've got us surrounded. Now we can fire in any direction. They won't get away this time... They have us right where we want them." (Col. "Chesty" Puller, USMC, the most decorated Marine of all time, December 1950, Choisin Reservoir)

"The Spartans do not ask how many the enemy number, but where they are." (Spartan poet, c. 415 BC)

"Nothing is worse than war? Dishonor is worse than war. Slavery is worse than war." (Winston Churchill, 1940)

"Remember: when enemies and terrorists threaten, it is always the Marine Warrior, not the politician, who ensures the survival of our society. It is always the Marine Warrior, not the news media, who guarantees our freedom of the press. When the flak flies it is the Marine Warrior, not the lawyer, who preserves our civil liberties." (Marion Sturkey, USMC)

"I am an American, fighting in the armed forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense." (Article 1, Code of Conduct, US Armed Forces)

"Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, to assure the survival and success of liberty." (John F. Kennedy, US President, 20 January 1961)

"The last time any of his fellow prisoners heard him, Captain Versace was singing God Bless America at the top of his voice." (from the Medal of Honor citation given posthumously to Captain "Rocky" Versace, US Army, who was dragged from a bamboo cage and executed by the enemy on 26 September 1965)

"...he was again wounded, this time in the right hand, which prevented him from operating his vitally needed machine gun. Suddenly, and without warning, an enemy grenade landed in the midst of the few surviving Marines. Unhesitatingly and with complete disregard for his own personal safety, Corporal Barker threw himself upon the deadly grenade, absorbing with his own body the full and tremendous force of the explosion. In a final act of bravery, he crawled to the side of a wounded comrade and administered first aid before succumbing to his wounds... He gallantly gave his life for his country." (Medal of Honor citation, LCpl. Jedh C. Barker, USMC, 1967)

"Freedom is not free, but the Marines will pay most of your share." (Ned Dolan, USMC)

"Some people spend an entire lifetime wondering if they've made any difference. The Marines don't have that problem." (Ronald Reagan, US President, 1985)

"They told us to open up the Embassy or "we'll blow you away." And then they looked up on the roof and saw the Marines on the roof... and they said in Somali, "Igarilli ahow" which means "Excuse me, I really didn't mean it. My mistake."" (Karen Aquilar, in the US Embassy, Mogadishu, Somalia, 1991)

And, finally, this poem by an unknown writer:

"I am a small and precious child, my dad's been sent to fight.
The only place I'll see his face is in my dreams at night.
He will be gone far too many days for my young mind to keep track.
I may be sad, but I am proud,
Because my daddy's got your back...

"I am a caring mother. My son has gone to war.
My mind is filled with worries that I've never known before.
Everyday I try to keep my thoughts from turning black.
I may be scared, but I am proud,
Because my son has got your back...

"I am a strong and loving wife, with a husband soon to go.
There are times I'm terrified in a way most will never know.
I bite my lip, and force a smile as I watch my husband pack...
My heart may break to pieces, but I am proud,
Because my husband's got your back...

"I am a Marine, Soldier, Sailor, Airman, serving proudly, standing tall.
I fight for freedom, yours and mine, by answering the call.
I do my job while knowing the thanks it sometimes lacks.
Please say a prayer that I'll come home soon...
Because it's me who's got your back."

A Scotsman With A Grievance

The title for this blog comes from a P.G. Wodehouse quote: "It is never difficult to distinguish between a Scotsman with a grievance and a ray of sunshine." I happen to think that Wodehouse was one of the most brilliant writers of the last century and, once again, he has nailed it. I don't have pet peeves. I have full kennels of frustration.

But things have been going pretty well. I just got back from a trip to do a men's retreat in Northwestern Indiana. I left a yard half covered in snow and drove in horrible winds so I had to concentrate more than usual on my driving. Good thing I wasn't in a place where I could be distracted by scenery! I've always thought that I would like to die in Indiana. You see, the transition between life and death would hardly be noticeable. I won a contest once to spend a week in Indianapolis. Second prize was two weeks. (all right, my Indiana friends, I'm kidding!!! I love you. And your State? Beautiful! Especially the Wal-Mart in Delphi)

Good thing the political world is there to distract me. It seems the Republicans are somewhat like a bull who carries his own china shop with him. It's almost like I'm reading the longest suicide note in history. But do I really want to hand power to John Kerry? His face reminds me of a female llama who's been surprised in her bath. Some of Pelosi's speeches make me think I could drive an 18 wheeler between any of her points and never have to be concerned about scraping against a fact.

Besides, any government solution is usually worse than the problem it was meant to address. And hearings and committees? I think they are political dead-ends meant to lure ideas and facts deep into them where they can be quietly strangled.

Anybody else notice that Jesus was born AND died on a holiday? What are the odds of THAT?

I'm reading Alcorn's book on heaven. It's a good read but it makes me wonder if "church" couldn't be defined as a man who's never been to heaven preaching to a bunch of people who will never go there.

Well, nobody said living would be easy. However, every year you get a free trip around the sun. That's something, at least. I don't want to be a pessimist (my definition: a man who, when he smells flowers, looks about for a coffin) and I don't think I'm an optimist (my definition: an accordian player with a pager). Realism isn't really working for me, either. Yet, work enough realism into a statement and it becomes comedy, such as when Groucho Marx said, "I've had a wonderful evening -- but this wasn't it."

I could still be poor, and I'm not. I'm paycheck to paycheck, but at least they last that long. When we were kids our house was so small that when you entered the front door you were in the back yard. We couldn't afford toilet paper so we tied our pet hedgehog to a stick and told him to hold his breath. Instead of napkins, after dinner my parents would send us outside to play with the neighbors' woolly dog. To escape our poverty a couple of my relatives left the respectable world and went into crime. I have an uncle who has a wonderful gift of being able to find things before other people lose them.

But, my trip was good, the men were great, the snow's melted on my front lawn, my son is handsome, my daughter is stunning and talented, my wife is beautiful, and my congregation is the best. Now tell me, how in the world can I maintain a world class snit when God keeps ruining it by blessing me???

Thoughts Before the Road

I hit the road tomorrow to do a men's retreat for the Elmwood Church of Christ in West Lafayette, Indiana. Before I do... some random bits...

It snowed this morning. I'm not kidding. Our "high" today is supposed to be 39. While the snow -- which came down furiously for a half hour -- has mostly melted in the sunshine, this reminds us of several things: we are not in charge of the planet or its weather, none of us are using enough aerosols, and global warming is a myth -- at least in Michigan.

My mother is doing much better. Thank you for your prayers. Dad is scheduled to leave for Guyana two weeks from Monday.

Since the men's retreat is at a camp, and I'm thinking of my parents, I keep thinking of growing up and that leads to thoughts of...

Food. My mother is an Irish cook, which means she can't. She is a lovely lady, but fact is we had leftovers for sixteen years. The original meal was never located. My wife does wonderful things with leftovers. She throws them out.

School. I'm not sure why I studied the least helpful subjects all the way through school, but I AM proud that I can speak Esperanto like a native. My higher doctorate is in "psychoneuroimmunology" which means "there are no jobs in this. What were you thinking?" My dad wanted me to have all the educational opportunities he never had, so he sent me to a girls school. I always wanted to be an intellectual until I realized an intellectual is just someone who thinks they found something more interesting than sex. And a Ph.D? Yea, I got a couple, but face facts. A Ph.D. is just what they award you for transferring bones from one graveyard to another. (Originality is undetected plagarism) We had a tough school. We had our own coroner. One of my best papers was from the fifth grade and titled, "What I Want To Be IF I Grow Up."

Haircuts. I got a bad one. I'm not sure why or how it happened. It seems that my barber is a world expert on everything except the cutting of hair. People tell me that the difference between a good haircut and a bad haircut is two weeks. Nope. This is going to take longer. I've seen Number Two pencil erasers that looked better. Good thing I've already got a girlfriend.

House and Home. My wife keeps things awfully neat and clean. I'm not sure I understand that. I learned something in the years I lived alone: if you don't clean your house for two months, it really doesn't get any dirtier. I've also learned that children brighten up a home... because they never turn off any lights. When I was a kid, our family never talked. We communicated by putting up Ann Landers columns on the refrigerator. My father never took me to the zoo. He told me that if they wanted me, they'd come and get me. I'm doing much better now. Although I'm just 49, I'm reading at a 55 year old level.

Marriage. When I first saw Kami it was like all my birthdays came at once. I agree with Groucho Marx when he said that anybody who can see right through women is missing a lot. I am still wowed by her. When I first kissed her, I kissed her like I was trying to clear the drains. It is still hard to keep my enthusiasm in check. Sometimes we have words, but I never get to use mine. That's probably for the best.

Music. My sister was a town and country soprano of the sort best used to augment grief at a funeral. She wanted me to learn to appreciate the higher forms of music, but I confess that classical music, to me, is something that one listens to in vain hope that it will eventually stumble upon a tune. I went to an opera and admit that it is impossible to fully appreciate it after hearing it only once. I also admit that I will not sit through it a second time. I listen to my XM radio a lot. It has a channel for the top twenty records only. I listened to it and shuddered thinking, if these were the top twenty, what must the bottom fifty sound like? Of course, I should talk. My singing is best described as something between the sound of a rat drowning, a lavatory flushing, and a hyena devouring her afterbirth in the Appalachian Mountains under the light of a full moon.

Until later.... I've miles to go before I sleep...

Just another day at Rochester...

I love the Rochester Church. Let me share some moments from yesterday as an illustration. We are a congregation of 1200+/- members with an attendance around 1000 (this is a VERY mobile congregation). Our building is thirty miles north of downtown Detroit and we draw from a twenty mile circle with a few driving nearly an hour to get here.

Yesterday morning we had, as usual, three services, back to back. At each of them I put out small woven baskets up front. I told them about Sam (not his real name). Sam walked into his trailer home and found his 19 year old son had commited suicide with a shotgun. The sheriff's department immediately called us. This church has that kind of reputation -- we are on the first call list for any disaster or need. Any officer who needs counseling comes to us. If someone is homeless due to fire, domestic abuse, or financial tragedy, they come to us. Our elders have assistants -- Care Ministers -- who lept into action within minutes, establishing contact with Sam, guiding him through his pain and emotion, arranging for him to have a place to stay, and navigating the government agencies that get involved in these things. (God bless you, Tom and Heather!)

Sam has attended Rochester several times but he is not a member. That didn't stop us. He wants to move up north (yes, people in Michigan can still speak of "up north") to be with his surviving family members and get a new start. The expenses for cleanup of the trailer and his son's cremation have already been taken care of. On Sunday morning I directed the peoples' attention to the woven baskets and asked them to contribute a dollar or two as they saw fit just so that Sam could have a few weeks of cushion as he looks for work.

During the lesson, songs, and prayers people broke out of the crowd to come up and put money in the baskets. They couldn't wait for the end of services when we traditionally give to special needs. THOUSANDS were raised for Sam. Our benevolence team will give him a big chunk of it now and hold the rest in reserve for his future needs.

I love this church.

At third service, I called up Pete Grant. He is heading up Soul Space, a new ministry we have, targeting the pierced, tattooed, broken, addicted, and fringe people of Oakland and Macomb counties. Pete was trained in the ministry but left it after two horrible experiences. He is pony-tailed, tattooed and pierced. He hangs out with others of the same ilk... and he loves God. He thought he would never find a place he could serve the Lord as the church rarely accepts freaks (his own term). We do. In fact, we commissioned him and four more like him to reach out to others in their group with the gospel.

Our first act with Pete and Soul Space is just beginning. They are securing a storefront where they will have a Christian Tattoo parlor -- no kidding. It is called Sacred Ink and will be a place where people come not only for tattoos but also for a safe, clean, caring environment where people are treated with dignity and God is hallowed. They are already making waves in the area and the buzz has begun. Whispers can be heard that there is a church that actually loves these people! Soon we want to have a coffee shop and music venue for them. Two of our Soul Space guys formed a blues performance group called Bar12. As an afficianado of blues for years, I can honestly say they are the best. Their CD comes out in a few weeks and we will have a benefit concert for Soul Space here at our building on November 18th. We are fully prepared to be overrun by the freaky and the fried that night. Even though we are still an acapella congregation that is about 80% white and largely middle class, we are not so arrogant as to think God only loves people like us.

We stopped services three times yesterday. In the first service we stopped to pray over an elder and his wife who are headed to Albania to teach the gospel. They just got back from Brazil and Cambodia and Finland and... you get the point. In the second service, "Sam" was there and the people left their pews and formed one huge circle around him to pray for him. In the third we gathered all the Soul Space people, put them in the middle of the family room (what we call the auditorium) and prayed for them.

While third service was going on there were two other large meetings in our building. The Children's Ministry Team was meeting to plan our future work for God's little ones and the Teen Ministry Leaders were meeting with parents to help them raise their children in the Lord and to form strong bonds of fellowship between the teens.

I love this church. We let God and kingdom matters break into our routine. Our elders are strong, faithful, and fearless men. Our members are ready to give, ready to serve, and not so hung up on process and procedure that they forget that God loves people and wants us to help them. The weather is already turning with some saying we will get a snow flake or two this weekend. I hate the cold, I hate the dark days, and I hate the wind that howls around my house... but I love this church. I love seeing Jesus at work in this place.

I want to be Catherine

I know heroes. I have lived among them for years. I've known police officers, federal agents, soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines since I could walk. Firefighters, EMTs and emergency room doctors and nurses are in my immediate circle of friends. I wish I could be more like them, but I don't want to BE them.

I want to be my mother. Electa Catherine Kee Mead, known most of her life as "Kitty" and in recent years as "Catherine" is my hero. Born into a sharecropping family of displaced Irishmen in West Virginia, Catherine was a beautiful child, inside and out. When my father met her, he was in the Navy and she was engaged to someone else. He swept her off her feet (funnily enough, this is still very hard for me to imagine...) and they were married shortly thereafter. They bore three children and adopted three more. I was their last born child. After my two older sisters were born the doctors informed her that she would be unable to bear any more children. She disagreed, saying that she needed to have a son so that she could give him to the Lord. Like Hannah, she prayed and, like Hannah, once I was born I was marked for the Lord's service -- like it or not!

My mother had surgery last Monday. It was a difficult surgery, but they assure us she will be fine. She has had a hard life. I could take a lot of cheap shots here and comment on how hard it must be to live with my father for over 55 years, but I'll resist the impulse. For now. Instead, I will remind you that this is a 75 year old woman who has spent a lifetime walking down jungle paths, sleeping on hard dirt floors, taking falls on icy streets in Siberia and Ukraine, and sipping cups of watered down tea in drafty living rooms in Scotland. For the sake of the Kingdom, she has worn her body out.

And yet... she remains the single most optimistic and the sweetest person I have ever known. Physically small (I call her my Pocket Mom), her huge, beautiful eyes still radiate grace and welcome to all who see her. When she came out of surgery and slowly woke up, she was battling pain, anesthesia, and a morphine drip and yet -- as the nurses all said in awe -- she smiled at each person who came near and asked them how they were doing, complimenting them on their hard work and thanking them for their attention.

She never asks for anything. She gives, instead. There are many, many things in her life that should have caused her to turn bitter, depressed, or morose but she refuses. Not all of her children are in the faith. Some have turned to, not just sinful, but evil ways of life. She prays for them daily and lives in hope that they can yet be reached by the gospel, even if they won't accept her calls. While she recovers, her greatest concern is that she be well enough to travel the hour and a half it takes them to get to the small church across the river in Kentucky where my father preaches every Sunday (when he is in the country). When I suggest that bowel surgery might mean she needs to stay home for a couple of weeks and give church meetings a miss my suggestions are -- graciously and with love -- swept aside. Of COURSE she is going to go to church!

Steady in her faith, absolutely fierce in her love, gentle and sweet beyond description. I want to be my mother.

She is my hero. Once, when I was a boy, a neighborhood bully who was so overgrown for his age he qualified for group rates for insurance and travel purposes came to attack me. That wasn't hard to do as I wasn't exactly combat-ready at the age of five. I remember being knocked down and feeling him climb on me, jumping up and down on my stomach. The next thing I remember is a banshee's cry and his head changing shape as a broom connected with it. He dropped like a rock and then scrambled to his feet as she pursued him out of the yard. I never saw him again.

But I saw her in a new light. She's my hero.

On Monday, after a painful, difficult surgery, the nurses pulled me aside and said, "We see a lot of angels here, but all of them sprout horns under anesthesia and when they are in pain. But not Catherine." I told them, "That's because this is who she really is."

I'm not Catherine yet, but I want to be.

Always Faithful

A post of mine, back on September 18th, blathered about how squirrely people are about things and about how they don't deal well with reality. In that post I mentioned a couple of impressive things about Bush... and that set off a couple of readers. Regular readers of this column know that I am not a Republican or a Democrat. I am not a fan of our president, nor did I care much for the last one. Jeremy, of The Observationist, wrote a couple of times and so did someone known only as Am.

Let me be clear on this: I write this without sarcasm or irony. I believe that Jeremy and Am are probably warm, intelligent, and wonderful human beings. I KNOW that is true about Jeremy because he wrote me a personal email that can only be described as gracious and kind. Am seems very, very sensitive about some things, but aren't we all? He/she is probably someone I would enjoy spending time with were we able to meet face to face.

A couple of things they wrote need to be answered to be fair to them and to others. When I responded to Am that my son and I would remain Semper Fidelis, Always Faithful, he/she wrote: "Always faithful to what? To Jesus (highly recommended and a wonderful thing by the way)? To GWB? To the Republican party? To the war in Iraq/on terror? To the Marine Corps? To despising Clinton and/or democrats?"

Jeremy wrote several things, but I will mention just one. "I disagree with you that your son is fighting for my freedom to dissent."

Remember what I wrote earlier. Jeremy is a good man and means well, but this comment needs to be addressed. Jeremy, you don't get to choose what my son is fighting for. It is presumptuous in the extreme to disagree that he is fighting for your freedom to dissent when you do not know him, his comrades, or what is in their hearts. You might be surprised to find out how many Marines are democrats (and more than a few are running for political office as Democrats right now). If you ask the average grunt why he is there, the name of GWB will not come up. He will speak of honor, courage and commitment. They will speak of horrors that must end. But, mostly, they will say they are there because they need to be there. You don't have to like it, accept it, or understand it, but don't tell them why they are fighting or what they are fighting for. THEY get to decide that.

As for Am... you asked "always faithful to what?" Fair question. Here is the answer.

Always faithful to Jesus and to the Word of God, both the passages on peace and those on war, both those that require picking up the sword and those that require laying it down; those on earning money and those on not storing it up on earth (that's right. I have no retirement plan, no Social Security. Nothing), those on giving of your money, time and life in service... you get the idea. Always faithful.

Always faithful to my wife of over 28 years. If she needs me, she knows -- absolutely knows -- that I will be there for her, stopping any activity, canceling any appointment, making any journey, to get to her. She knows that I will always love her, care for her, protect her, and cherish her. Always. Always faithful.

Always faithful to my children -- my lovely daughter and my brave son. Always.

Always faithful to any within my sphere of influence. If they are being harmed, I will step in. At my age and in my current health/lack of health situation, stepping in might be fatal. I'm not the 3rd degree black belt I once was. I kid and tell people that if someone yells "Attack!" I might have one! But I will step up and step out because that is what faithful men have been called to do. We run TO the sound of guns. We wrap our arms around those whom others want to destroy. We will do it whether or not others approve; even if they impune our motives. We will do it because it is right. Always faithful.

Always faithful to my brothers and sisters in the faith. Every year I speak at churches so conservative that they use only one cup for the Lords Supper, have no Bible classes, make the women wear hats in their buildings, and refuse to eat in the building. I also will speak to United Methodist and Catholic churches, Independent Christian Churches, civic groups, and youth events -- regardless of who is putting them on. I do it because the people who love God -- even when I strongly disagree with some of their beliefs and practices -- are precious and should be treated with dignity and grace. They should be served and loved, not shunned and boycotted. A lot of people on the left and right get mad at me every year because of where I've gone and whom I've embraced, but that's all right. I love them, too. Always faithful.

Jeremy, you have graciously shown me that you are my brother and that you mean me no harm or offence. I believe you, admire you, and accept you as a friend. Am, I would do the same for you. Regardless of where we stand on this or that political/social/financial issue, I promise you that I will treat you with kindness and love. Honor, Courage, and Commitment are core values, not just for my son and his Marine friends. They are my promise to you.

Always faithful.