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Since Blogger has improved itself to the point of uselessness, I have transferred to Theobloggers and moved all my works to www.patrickmead.net. Tentpegs can be found at www.patrickmead.net/tentpegs. I may be adding a third blog about guitars and songs... but that is down the road. Remind me to link to you from my new page if I haven't already. I don't want to drop the ball during this move. See you at my new home!

Remains of the Day

Excuse me for borrowing the title of a great old Anthony Hopkins movie, but I couldn't help but think of it as we carted boxes and paper and ribbons to the curb for today's garbage pickup. We spent a lot of time wrapping all that stuff. It was easy to tell which packages I wrapped (remember: white men can't wrap) as they looked like they'd been attacked by the Tasmanian Devil... if he was blind and had ADHD. Kami's packages were, as always, perfect. Regardless, all of that was over.

A day spent with my kids and wife (and son in law). We ate -- but not too much. We watched movies on TV. We gave each other presents. Most people would say we spent too much but I would disagree. I want to give it all away. Once, my wife took me through a museum in Europe that housed all the best works of a famous painter. The tour guide was really into his spiel and was ready for the dramatic ending when he said, "Yet, he died penniless." Not having much of a brake on my mouth, I said out loud, "Good timing!" He didn't seem to appreciate the sentiment.

There is no joy like giving. A lot of the season seems to be a waste. We burn up tons of kilowatts with Christmas lights (my house looks like the cover for "We Love Electricity" magazine), spend way too much on wrapping paper and bows that will be disgarded almost immediately, and worry over dinners that take four times as long to prepare as they do to eat.

Why? Because it's fun. It is a family thing, something we do together and for each other. Let other preachers be grinches and Scrooges. Let them rail against the materialism, against the waste, against the remnents of paganism...

By the way, on that last point: we had two trees up on our stage at Rochester Church. One man pointed at them and said, "You know, those things are pagan." I said, "No they're not. God made trees. Sure, the pagans misused them from time to time but we've redeemed these two. They're ours. They belong to God's kids now." I felt like the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld: "Pagan? No trees for you!"

As for me and my house, we will celebrate any chance we have to be with each other and to go overboard in giving to each other. We learned from God and His Son how to be generous, how to give away your life to find it. We will not allow the naysayers and nitwits of the age (or the pulpit) tell us that we must frown and disapprove. Because Jesus came, every day is a day of celebration and, on those special ocassions when the world joins in, we will rejoice and be lavish in His Name.

Joy to the World, indeed, people. Joy to the World.

The Gift of a Song

Mice brought us one of the greatest, most powerful hymns of all times. The year was 1818 when a band of roving actors came to Oberndorf, a small Alpine village near Salzburg, to present the Christmas story at the local church, a Catholic church named after St. Nicholas. The problem was that the organ wasn't working; mice had entered it and damaged it so that it couldn't be used and the repairman couldn't get there before Christmas.

The troup did its performance at a private home that was equipped with a small organ but this, plainly, was not going to be adequate for Christmas night, just two nights away. The assistant pastor, Joseph Mohr, took the long way home that night, contemplating the Christmas story, wondering what he could do to bring music to his flock on Christmas. As he looked over the snowclad village he recalled a poem he had written two years previously. If only there were music written for it, maybe a way could be found to present that as their carol for the church. The next day he spoke to the church organist, Franz Gruber, and asked if there was any way that music could be written for his poem; music that could be played by a simple guitar, without the organ or choir backing them up.

Guitars were not accepted by most churches. They were too common, reminiscient of the drunken bards or fools that played at traveling fairs. But Gruber stepped up and worked for hours -- for that was all the time he had -- and came up with a simple tune. They stepped up the next night and sang, for the first time, "Stille Nacht" or "Silent Night."

Weeks later the organ repairman came by and worked on the church's organ. He asked Gruber to play something to make sure he had repaired it adequately. Gruber played "Silent Night" and the repairman was so stunned by its beauty and simplicity that he asked for a copy. He took it to his own Alpine village the next week. At his home church, he played it where it was heard by two different families of traveling singers.

The Strasser sisters took the carol all over northern Europe, eventually performing it for King Frederick William IV of Prussia who was so taken by the song that he ordered it sung every Christmas in his cathedral. The year was 1834 and the song wasn't done traveling. The other family, the Rainers, took the carol to the United States and sung it there, in German, in 1839. It wasn't until 1863 that the song was translated into English and broke out of the large German communities in the US (in Nebraska, Texas, Minnesota, New York, Pennsylvania, and Kansas) and into the consciousness of the entire nation.

But it wasn't done. Fast forward to 1914. The world is at war. It is trench warfare with millions of men mired in frozen mud, slowly dying in narrow trenches ringed with snipers, machine guns, and barbed wire. It is Christmas and all along the line, in a dozen places, something remarkable happened.

British soldiers informed their officers that the Germans were stringing colored lights and decorating trees. They could see this through a series of mirrors held up over their position on sticks. You never put so much as a hand over the parapet or it would be shot by a watchful German sniper but more and more men crowded around to look up at the mirrors and watch the lights twinkle on all along the German lines. The officers told them not to shoot... just observe and report back.

Then the sound of a song came over a German radio. An internationally known opera star was singing, with tears in her eyes and a catch in her voice, "Stille Nacht." She had one son in the British lines and one in the German. Her song was a way to touch her sons; a prayer for a night of peace and safety for her boys. When the song was over the British men sang out "Silent Night" in their own language... but still from behind their sandbags and timber reinforced trench walls. The Germans applauded so the British sang "The First Noel." The Germans responded with "O Tannenbaum" and so it went for hours, trading carols and songs back and forth until the British sang "O Come All Ye Faithful" and the Germans sang along in their own language. Two nations, two languages, joined together in one hymn.

And then... a lone German soldier stood up, exposing himself. He walked forward, a white scarf tied to a stick held almost casually in one hand. He stood there quietly, smoking a cigarette as the British wondered if this were some kind of trick. Some Scots stood up slowly and walked toward him. When they met, the Scots offered some (illegally obtained and possessed) whisky from their canteens, exchanged cigarettes, and others began to leave the trenches and join the group in the middle. Soon, hundreds were showing each other photos from home, trying to tell jokes regardless of the language barrier, and trading gifts and tokens of the season with their nominal enemies.

The lads from the Bedfordshire Regiment played the Germans in a flare lit soccer match. From time to time the teams would shuffle and there would be mixed teams playing mixed teams. The game went on for hours until the ball was punted against a barbed wire wall and was punctured.

The dead were gathered and buried in services conducted by chaplins from both sides, in two languages, with both armies standing quietly in reverence for each other.

It couldn't last... though the unofficial truce did last until New Years in some places. Eventually a shot rang out -- accidentally? -- and the men raced to their truces and the war was war once more.

But for one shining moment, something changed the horror of WWI into something holy and kind and human. And it all began with a heartsick mother singing into a radio microphone a song that wouldn't have existed at all if some mice hadn't gotten into the organ at Oberndorf. A carol that saved the day in 1818 brought a moment of peace and joy in 1914. John McCutcheon wrote a wonderful song about that night called "Christmas in the Trenches."Allow me to write those words below. I assume you already know Silent Night. Now, when you sing it, you can remember the story behind the song and the power of that simple message, then and now.

Christmas in the Trenches

My Name is Frances Tolliver, I come from Liverpool.
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders, Germany to here,
I fought for King and Country I love dear.

Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost so bitter hung;
The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung.
Our families back in England were toasting us that day,
Their brave and glorious lads so far away.

I was lying with my mess mate on the cold and rocky ground
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound.
Says I, "Now listen up me boys," each soldier strained to here
As one young German voice sang out so clear.
"He's singing bloody well y'know" my partner says to me.
Soon one by one each German voiced joined in in harmony.
The cannons rested silent, and the gas clouds rolled no more
As Christmas brought us respite from the war.

As soon as they were finished, and a reverent pause was spent,
"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" struck up some lads from Kent.
Oh the next they sang was "Stille Nacht", 'tis "Silent Night" says I,
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky.
"There's someone coming towards us" the front line sentry cried.
All sights were fixed on one lone figure trudging from their side.
His truce flag like a Christmas star shone on that plain so bright
As he bravely strode unarmed into the night.

Then one by one on either side walked into no-man's land;
With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand.
We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well,
And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave 'em hell.
We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home.
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own.
Young Sanders played the squeezebox and they had a violin,
This curious and unlikely band of men.

Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more.
With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war.
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wondrous night:
"Whose family have I fixed within my sights?"
Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung,
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung.
For the walls they kept between us to exact the work of war
Had been crumbled and were gone forever more.

My name is Frances Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell.
Each Christmas comes since World War One, I've learned its lessons well.
For the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame,
And on each end of the rifle, we're the same.


Merry Christmas....

Bread on the Water

One of the hardest decisions a Christian will ever make is "who do we help? Who is genuinely in need?" Deacons placed in charge of benevolence have a burnout rate approaching that of Education Deacon (who are burnout champions again for the hundred year -- since Sunday schools started). We get used to being spun hard luck stories and trying to find a clue in the complex tale -- is this legit or are they scamming us?

I remember one church I served that slaved over Christmas baskets. They went over the top on presents, clothes, and food for needy families. After getting a list of names, they got each willing member to deliver the goods to a couple of homes. I took Duncan, then aged 10, with me to a single wide trailer home nestled deep in a ravine. A few feet from the closed front door we could smell cigarette smoke and unwashed clothes. I was born in poverty and raised poor until my father could drag us into the lower middle class so I understand how people can be trapped in bad situations. I reminded myself to deliver these gifts from God's people in such a way as to honor our Lord and show His love.

It didn't work out that way. A man's voice yelled at me to open the door. I did. Smoke filled the trailer as did piles of clothes and unwashed dishes. The man and woman (husband and wife?) were sloppy and barely looked away from the telly as we told them why we were there. The man said, "I guess you can bring it in" and never moved as we carted in several huge boxes representing hundreds of dollars worth of toys, food, clothes, and gift cards. To make a long story short, no one helped us bring them in and no one thanked us for bringing them. We tried to visit with them but they wanted to watch the TV and, besides, they were busy yelling and cursing at their kids.

The next year, Duncan and I drew their name again. I said "no." There is a fine line between throwing bread on the water, wanting to do good in Jesus' Name, and, on the other hand, being a poor steward and encouraging the lazy or sinful. (this story is longer so don't write saying "maybe he had a back problem and maybe..." We checked them out thoroughly after my visit)

My parents are broken hearted. They have welcomed children into their home all of my life. Dad would adopt anyone who wanted a family. Sometimes it worked out well. Just as often, it didn't. Today, they learned that a young girl they have given their lives and money to for years has been lying to them, using them, and laughing at them behind their back. They think they have failed. Once again, I say "no." Mom and Dad are generous, kind, people. While their religion is strict and rigid, their hearts are warm and giving. They did no wrong in giving their money away (and they don't have much. Missionaries don't retire well) or in spending most of the last several years in helping this girl. It was bread on the water and, as Jesus promised, it will come back to them.

Sometimes bread comes back right in front of our eyes. After the death of Professor Jack, I wrote that we would take goods and food back down to Cass Park in his memory. Yesterday was that day. Read my daughter's blog at karagraves.blogspot.com (linked on this page) for the details. It was a glorious time of love and giving. We help people every time we go there but the bread is already coming back in the form of changed lives in our own congregation. Our people come back from Cass Park with changed attitudes, more open hearts, and a giving spirit. (full disclosure -- this ministry is run by Josh and Kara. I didn't go with them yesterday)

Maybe giving away money and goods won't change the recipient very often, but it certainly changes the giver. So, with few exceptions including the one I noted above, my family will continue to give. Will people take advantage of us? Yes. Will we be hurt financially or emotionally? Probably. Then why do we continue? Because giving is an act of grace that blesses the giver more than the receiver. We don't give so that we will feel better. We give because that's what our family does -- our earthly family and our Christian one.

It is bread on the water. It is a cup of cool water given in His Name. That means that every gift is eternal. God will remember it.

A New Toy

I finally found a replacement for one of the two guitars stolen from my office a couple of months ago. After spending a lot of time in nearly 20 guitar shops in two states, I came upon this Tacoma concert style dreadnought in Limelight Music less than three miles from my office. I played perhaps a hundred guitars with costs up to $3900 as I went from place to place, but the warm sound of this guitar won me over.

I have always eschewed guitars with mahogany sides and backs as inferior to those with rosewood. Rosewood always produced such sweet highs and haunting lows... but this guitar matched the best rosewood backed guitars I could find... and for a tenth of the cost of the high end guitars. I had to check the price a few times before I believed it.

Tacoma doesn't build these anymore. The people at the shop were glad to get rid of it and I was glad to find it. It needed a home. This guitar was made back when all Tacoma guitars were handmade in a shop in the US. Handcrafted and set up by masters, they couldn't compete with cheaper guitars so Fender bought them out. The Tacoma name is still being put on guitars, but they are semi-hollow body guitars and not the same as this old masterpiece.

I brought it home last night and played it until my fingers hurt. It's been a long time since a guitar made me want to do that!

Tomorrow or the next day... a report on the birthday celebrations and a wonderful outreach planned tomorrow in memory of Professor Jack down in Detroit.

Hang in there -- blogger problem

Many have tried to comment on the last post but can't. Beta Blogger doesn't seem like a good idea right now. I might have to try another service since this one keeps breaking. They claimed they had it fixed two days ago but the message boards are full of frustrated bloggers saying they are experiencing the same problem right now.

Suggestions? You'll probably have to email them....

Guns, Cookies, and Walsh

A few photos since some asked privately, via email. Duncan tested for his next rank in Kenpo Karate last Saturday. He won his first black stripe on his brown belt. Kenpo has three black stripes before you test for black belt. It usually takes as long to go from brown to black as it does from white to brown... but his teacher is convinced Duncan will get it done in time for shipping out to Parris Island in late April, early May. Here is a photo of Dunk and the only other student to make that rank and also -- just for That Girl -- a photo of his arm. I wanted her to know that Joey's arms on that dancing show might not make the cut in Dunk's platoon!



Tis the season for cookie making. My daughter, Kara Graves, has been over a few days making cookies with my wife, Kami. They have made the house beautiful with their presence and laughter and they've made it SMELL TERRIFIC with the umpteen varieties of cookies. Now... if they'd only tell me where they hid them...



Some asked if there were any photos of Navy Corpsman Chris Walsh who I blogged about yesterday. Here is the only photo I can find of this American hero. Also, there are photos of his mother holding baby Mariam and Mariam after surgery with a couple of the medics who helped transport her to Boston from Iraq.



I have some guitar news but it can wait a couple of days. It would be unseemly to talk about that right after looking at these photos. Remember the Walsh family in your prayers along with Baby Mariam and her family in Fallujah.

Remember Their Names

It is a crying shame that millions of Americans know the name Lynndie England and Abu Ghraib. All around the world those names and images are seared into our memory by thousands of media stories. So, it's pop quiz time: name one Medal of Honor winner, or Silver Star recipient of the Iraq War. Isn't that amazing? After five years of pounding us with one side of the story, and after our administration made countless terrible decisions about how to fight the war, it is not surprising that a majority of Americans think the war is lost. It might be, but not because of our men and women in uniform.

A case in point, from ABC News, December 7th, 2006. The event covered in the story took place in June of 2006. The First Battalion 25th Marines were out on patrol in Fallujah when an IED exploded right beside the vehicle carrying Navy medic Chris Walsh. Captain Sean Donovan and his men immediately piled out of their trucks to chase the trigger man.

As they were pursuing the man an Iraqi woman came out and began calling to them that her child was sick. They let the trigger man go and went to the woman, sending in Chris to check on the baby. The medic determined that the baby was desperately ill and needed immediate care. She was just 2 months old and suffering from a rare intestinal abnormality.

While still under the threat of another attack, Captain Donovan and Corpsman Walsh came to the same decision. "Right on the spot, the mission changed from the trigger man to the baby girl." One of the factors in their decision was the bravery of the family in coming out to ask for their help right in the middle of Fallujah -- perhaps the most hostile place in the world for any who would befriend Americans. Since the family were brave enough to risk their lives for their daughter, Walsh said, the Marines decided they could do no less.

For the next three months, Walsh and the team made house calls under the cloak of darkness into the dangerous city to help the baby. They tried to stablize her, took photographs, consulted experts, all the while arranging papers for her that would allow her to leave the country for the advanced medical care she needed. Staff Sgt. Ed Ewing (USMC) led the visits. They showed up at random times; the family never knew when they were coming. That protected the Marines and the family.

After months of caring for this family, tragedy struck. Another IED went off on September 4th, killing two Marines -- Lance Cpl. Eric Valdepenas, and Corporal Jared Shoemaker. It also killed the baby's guardian angel -- Navy Corpsman Chris Walsh.

To honor the memory of their fallen Corpsman, the Marines made that baby girl the mission of their entire unity. Eventually, they won their battle and baby Mariam was granted permission to leave Iraq. Dr. Rafael Pieretti of Boston Massachusetts General Hospital performed the surgery in October. After her successful survery, Miriam was taken home. A USMC patrol went out at night and returned her, safe and well, to her mother.

That same day, Chris Walsh's mother, Maureen, received a letter from Captain Donovan about her son's bravery and about the life that was saved because of his big heart. The letter read in part, "Although he won't be visible, Chris will be very much on that patrol, the hope for Mariam's tiny life having arisen from the charity and gallantry of your son."

In recent days, Maureen Walsh got to meet baby Mariam. "It made me feel like Chris was there," she said. "He wanted something like this. He wanted to make a difference in somebody's life."

Thank you, ABC News Online, for printing this story. If only we forgot England's name and remember the names of Chris Walsh and his buddies in the USMC who broke off a hot pursuit to save a little girl's life.

Strings and Things

Elderly Instruments (www.elderly.com) was a blast, as always. It is only an hour and a half away from my house but I limit my travel there since I tend to giggle like a schoolgirl when I go. They only had a few Alvarez guitars in stock. It seems that everyone is trying to order them but they just can't ship enough of them. The cheaper ones are available, but the Yairi and Artist Series are backordered. I ordered one anyway. It may or may not be here by Christmas. I have a 28year old Alvarez Yairi 12 string and love it dearly so I am fairly confident this new guitar will do well. I would have liked to have sat around with it in the shop for awhile -- ordering without playing is risky -- but there is a 30 day no cost return policy so I think I'm safe. The model I ordered is the AD60CK Dao Dreadnought.
It should be deep enough to sound good. If it isn't... back it goes. The only guitars I played that sounded as good as my old Alvarez and Yamaha (fair is fair -- they had nearly 30 years to mellow) were a $1000 Yamaha -- the Celtic series, and a Taylor that was tagged at $3150 after a hefty discount. They had the Taylor T5 -- and incredible guitar that plays fairly well unplugged and outstanding when plugged into an acoustic amp. The plain black went for $1515 and the incredible Koa T5 went for just over $2850. That puts them out of my reach, but I am going to dream about those guitars for a good long time. Here's a photo...
And it doesn't do it justice. Excuse me... I have to go wipe up some drool.... Okay, I'm back. Since I don't play the lottery and since we have quite a few mission commitments, the T5s will have to sit on the shelf for now. The Alvarez is discounted to $450 but the reviews I've read from owners have it playing as well as guitars two and threes times as expensive. We'll see....

I'll celebrate my wife's birthday with her on Sunday. She flies off to Texas on Tuesday to be with her family at her cousin's wedding. That means I'll be here without her on my 50th birthday (the 16th, since you asked. Only nine more shopping days!). I may drive down to see my parents for a few hours. That would get me out of the State and away from possible surprise parties or other birthday ambushes. The kids (aged 23 and almost 18) ask me what I want for my birthday. Of course, I could send them the photo of the T5 but that wouldn't be fair. Fact is, if I want something I find a way to get it. Birthdays were fun back when I had no money and gifts supplied stuff I could never get on my own. Now the whole fun in birthdays and Christmas is in giving stuff away and buying extravagant presents for other people. I can remember being frustrated when I'd ask my parents what they wanted and they said nothing. They just wanted me to be there with them. I couldn't believe it then. I do now.

Home at last. A couple of inches of snow lays on our lawn and roof. Our blow up Santa has fallen over and looks like he might be drunk. My parrot sat on my shoulder and made comments as I wrapped the gifts I brought home from Indiana. My wife and I went to Joe's Crab Shack for a quick dinner and now we're back, surrounded by four Christmas trees. My son is doing his homework having just returned from a kenpo karate workout.

It's good to be home.

Guitar Hunting

[for an update on JoAn Dillinger, go to tentpegs.blogspot.com]

I went to a few other guitar shops today before and after visiting the Dillingers in the hospital. There were some great guitars to be found but they seemed to be overpriced compared to Musiciansfriend.com, a website I have used several times before. Of course, Musician's Friend doesn't carry every brand and that means I can't compare prices on Larrivees there, but they have Gibsons, Guilds, Alvarez, Martins and Breedloves among others.

I went to Sam Ash, a music chain we don't have in Detroit. Most of their guitars were store brands with exotic sounding names like Carlo Robelli, Carly, Brownsville, or Benedictine. It was hard to find any guitars -- even expensive ones -- that gave the warm, lower tones I miss from my classic guitars; the ones that disappeared from my office. Martin makes a koa guitar that is priced around $500 and sounds great, but it is really made from high pressure laminate, not solid koa. I'm not sure how that would hold up over the years. Ovation has several good models. I own one already and am tempted... but the only way to get a warm tone out of one is to plug it into an amp and I prefer playing unplugged when possible. Breedloves are good and might be where I need to look... but they run $700 or so and it is hard to be that selfish with my money.

One of the commentors on the last blog wanted to learn how to play "Puff the Magic Dragon" for their child. The chords are simple ones. They repeat as below. When you see a "*" it means to keep your pinky finger on the first string (high E), third fret. This is especially effective if you play fingerstyle.


G, Bm, C*, G, Em*, A7*, D7, G

That's it. As they say in Mexico, muchas easy.

Tomorrow I speak at a local denominational high school and then meet with a couple of Noblesville elders to discuss how we do small groups at Rochester. After another lesson on grace in the evening, I will be done at Noblesville. On Thursday, I am headed home and, since I have to drive through Lansing anyway, I will stop for an hour or so at Elderly Instruments, the best and largest purveyor of quality acoustic instruments in the midwest. (www.elderly.com) I'll give you a full report....

Run, Run, Rudolph!

It's a busy week in Meadville. I am on the road in Noblesville, Indiana (think -- northern Indianapolis suburb). I am giving a four day seminar on grace at a church I love. This is my 4th time here. I've only been one other place four times since we returned from Scotland nearly 20 years ago so that should reveal the depth of my affection for this congregation. They are a traditional church who are open to hearing other viewpoints... and they get that from me. I have been (theologically) kicking over chairs since I got here. Some hear and are glad. Some hear and are not. Some don't hear me at all but thank me for the sermon anyway.

Keep this in prayer: the minister's wife, JoAn Dillinger, is going in for surgery for pancreatic cancer on Tuesday morning, 5:30. The surgery is as major as it gets and is expected to last 8-10 hours. She is a sweet Christian lady and an integral part of this congregation's life. Pray for her husband, too -- Jim. They've told me I don't need to be there... but I'll show up anyway.

I wrote about Tim and Nancy Milligan on my other blog not too long ago. Nancy was taken back into the hospital yesterday (Sunday) and they discovered a new brain tumor. She is disappointed, but still has her faith. Radiation treatment starts soon.

I've been going from music shop to music shop looking for replacements for the two guitars stolen from my office. I'm not made of money so I won't be able to buy what I want, but it is a lot of fun sitting around and playing first this then that high ticket guitar. Price doesn't always indicate how good a guitar sounds. I played a no-name guitar today that was cobbled together in some sweat shop in China and it sounded better than the Fenders that cost four times as much. I'd love to replace my Yamaha and Alvarez but they don't make those models anymore. I will continue to haunt guitar shops in every town until I find the right one. It isn't a grueling task!

Between speaking, visiting the hospital, and shopping for guitars I've been finishing my Christmas gift list purchases for my family. I never have more fun than when I can spend money on them. Most of my life money has been tight and even now it isn't just laying around the house in piles. (we often run out of money before we run out of month) Whenever I get the cash and chance to spend it on fripperies, I do!!!

We went to Bronner's last week. Bronner's is the world's largest Christmas store. It is an hour north of us in Frankenmuth, Michigan. My family almost had to sedate me. I ran from display to display and would have bought out the store if Kami and American Express hadn't stopped me. Run, run, Rudolph? That punk deer's got nothing on me.

Ho, ho, ho.

Who's In Charge Here???

We've been experiencing a long spell of warm weather and, I must say, it has been welcome. Michigan isn't known for good weather so these last two weeks where the temps hovered between the mid 50's and upper 60's were wonderful. We've been watching winter approach from the west for the last two weeks. Seattle got blasted first and then the rest of Washington State. For several days we watched that state get pounded by several feet of snow as we walked around our block wearing short sleeved shirts (yes, Florida, we wear short sleeves in the 50's... and some of my shirts look like they date back that far).

The news puppies and weather weinies have been running around like Chicken Little on his third cup of expresso for the last several days calling out dire warnings about the end of the good weather and the approach of Armeggedon. Or, as we call it up here, "winter". Michigan met the warnings with a collective shrug. We know it's coming. We've seen it before. We'll see it again.

This morning I awoke... and found the planet was still here. Yes, it was coated with a layer of ice, but we didn't lose power, our neighbors hadn't started eating their young, and CEO's weren't on the corner selling used pencils. The only real damage we had was our flagpole. The pole had surrendered to the ice. It was broken in half and laying on the ground. My first job of the day was to get out there and rescue the flags. Rain and snow are predicted for most of the next week and we'll survive it no matter how scared the weather wussies on TV get.

I drive to Indianapolis tomorrow to begin a four day series of lessons on grace for the Green Valley congregation in Noblesville. They are a remarkable group and I love them dearly. Keep them in prayer for they are in some distress. Their wonderful minister, Jim Dillinger, and his wife, JoAn, are facing her pancreatic cancer with faith and fortitude, but it is a hard time for all. Her surgery is Tuesday and expected to take 9 hours. They would love to save her life but they would settle for prolonging it.

I'm all dressed up, ready for a funeral in an hour or so. My son's girlfriend's grandfather passed away after a long illness. I'm not doing the funeral as he was a Catholic. I'll stand, kneel, and sit with the rest of the congregants at St. Andrews Catholic Church and show my respect for the family (and a good family they are, too) and then go back out into the dark and cold day.

It would be easy to be depressed on these days when winter howls in, the sound of icy rain on the windows keeping us awake at night, and friends are facing funerals and surgery... but I'm not doing too bad with it. I find it helpful to have these days. They remind me that I am a creature, not the Creator. I am not in charge here.

I want to save the world, but running it and saving it aren't really my responsibility. My job is to reach out with the message and love of Christ and it is His job to take it from there. I am not in charge of weather or traffic or taxes... I am only in charge of my decisions, my actions. Even then, God is gracious. He knows that we are dust. Even concerning something as important as living in peace with everyone He tells us "IF it is possible, AND as much as it lies in you..." indicating that He understands that sometimes it isn't possible and sometimes it isn't possible for ME when it might be for you. He knows our limitations and loves us anyway.

There is great comfort in trusting God. I'm glad I am just a creature and not the Creator. I'm glad I am just a servant and not a master. While I don't understand what God is doing a lot of time -- including why He allows weather wackos to live -- I trust Him. He knows what's He's doing. I just need to make sure we're stocked up on hot chocolate.