The King is Coming...Here!

For the folks in the Dallas area...did you see the sunset tonight (Friday)? It was an easy "top 5-er". Of course, I've seen 30 or 40 "top 5-er" sunsets so the math is funny. I couldn't take my eyes off the rear-view mirror as I drove eastbound on I-30. Is there any place other than the sky where orange, pink, and blue go together?

I've come to believe, after reading a number of brilliant books on this, that our heavenly home will be right here, "here" being a new earth, an earth that has been renewed, redone, restored, reinvigorated, and re-everythinged (see Rev. 21). I think what God is doing with us on this "old earth", if you will, is giving us glimpses of the glory that will be on display in the New Jerusalem. He's giving us a tease, as they say in the mass media. When I see the ultimate sunset here on this earth, God is merely showing me what He is capable of...a gem dropped from a jeweled crown. He's not showing us His full hand - no, that would remove any and all doubt from us and not leave any room for faith. It's much better for Him to dangle glory in front of us in small portions. Those lucky guys John and Paul, who did get a glimpse across the river, had their descriptive powers fail them when it was time to write about what they'd seen.

It's been decided here, under our roof, that we will return to Vermont this October for the sixth time, with the sole purpose of seeing trees color up with such fervor that your eyeballs scream for mercy. Some folks don't get it. The only time I did this trip alone was 1988, and the lady next to me on the plane from Chicago to Albany was the talkative sort who quickly got into some serious prying. She found out where I was from and then wanted to know what business was bringing me to New England. "I'm coming to see the leaves." Well, you could have knocked her over with one of those leaves. "All the way from Dallas to see leaves?" "Yep."

And when I see a Vermont vista like the one above, my will to walk with God gets stronger. 'Cause I don't want to miss the real show. The best is yet to come and babe, won't it be fine!

Surprise trip

I've been sitting on a couple of free round trip tickets from Southwest Airlines, good until the end of '09, wondering how best to use them. I have enough miles on our AAdvantage program for Carole and me to take a trip later this year, so I was free to plan a trip of some sort that didn't have to include her. So I was sittin' around Saturday when it hit me: go to Surprise!

All my life I've wanted to go to a Texas Ranger spring training, but circumstances were never right. Well, I have Spring Break coming, I've got two free tickets...now's the time! So I called Blake. Sorry, Brett, maybe next time. Blake, of course, was as ecstatic as a hobo with a baloney sandwich. He'd had the same dream of sitting in the warm, spring sun, basking in the warmth of the greatest game ever designed. A quick check with our wives to see if this was okay with them (an incredibly essential and smart thing to do), and full of unselfishness, they gave us their blessing.

So we'll be flying out to Phoenix and then to the strangely named suburb of Surprise, an oasis of green diamonds where millionaire ballplayers assemble every spring to work the kinks out. Another item scratched off my bucket list.

Step Back, Please

I thought it might be interesting to do this: tell me where you were (geographically speaking) and what you were doing 20 years ago this month.

Ice Fog

The temperature this morning was in the mid-20's and fog had settled in during the night. It was perfectly calm. I was driving home after a frenetic rush hour experience...it had taken over an hour and a half to ferry my students from the first bus stop to the school. There were traffic jams all along the interstates and we crept along for so long that
the kids had finished all their homework that was due today.

So I get about a half-mile from home and find myself driving into a magical kingdom (sorry, Walt). It was as though God had sprayed all the vegetation with a fine mist - which then coated everything with the most delicate ice imaginable. Scenes which usually were ordinary now overwhelmed my eyes. I told Carole about it when I arrived home and she had to come see what I was having trouble describing. So we loaded up Macie, grabbed my camera, and drove two minutes from the house to this wonderland. Here are some pictures we took:

Back at it

It had been a wonderful day. School called off because of ice. Slept late. Ran errands. Go upstairs to clean up a bedroom. Took a regular step, carrying nothing. Suddenly lower back goes into spasm. I pulled something, obviously. Now I'm walking like Walter Matthau. Evening plans shot. It had been a wonderful day. Being 60 is a daily adventure.

Down is up...

It's a banner day for the baby-killers as Obama, by executive order, has lifted the ban on U.S. money funding international abortion centers. This is wrong on so many levels that I'll just let it stand on its own demerit. Again, I am so puzzled by the support this guy got from believers. Is the "change" that they found so appealing?

And, have any of you run into folks who are excited by Obama's wish to close Gitmo? Now this makes great sense. After all, we've been cruel to the prisoners there - the ones, you know, who are cold-blooded terrorists. Let's trot them over to the U. S. and put them on trial here (good luck rounding up witnesses to their crimes). If just one of these losers manages to be set free and then does something very Islamic, like murder 1000 innocents, won't we be so proud that we were so careful about their human rights?

Up is down, down is up these days.

Honoring MLK

When I was teaching at my urban middle school, there were always three occasions that drove me nuts: MLK day, Black History Month, and Cinco de Mayo. Here's why. Can we agree that we are all Americans? Should we agree that assigning ethnic labels to groups of Americans (like African-Americans, Mexican-Americans, etc.) does nothing in the way of improving our national pride and togetherness? I say "Yes" to both questions.

What I saw happening during these three occasions was a celebration of "look how we are different from you" mentality, further driving wedges among the varied groups within our great nation. I think Dr. King should be honored in a huge way. All celebration, however, should be about his courage and his message of non-violence. I attended assemblies at my school that were supposed to about MLK. What I heard from the black speakers brought in was a frightening message about how awful white folks are. Not "were", but "are". Once we trucked in John Wiley Price...and he refused to stand for the national anthem. I really wanted to do something, anything, at that point to change the way the message was going to come down. But I was badly out-numbered, so I kept my seat.

February is Black History Month, designed to honor significant black people and their contributions to society. The idea is to somehow make amends for the all of the history books written prior to 1970 that excluded black heroes and their amazing accomplishments. But the deal is that all the history books have not only been fixed but have become overloaded with pages honoring the contributions of minorities. What I'd like to see is a movement emphasizing our shared allegiance to our country. Aren't we all products of people who immigrated (one way or another, even forced) to this continent?

You may see where I'm headed. I'd love to replace these 3 occasions with programs that simply honor America. Bring in some wounded veterans and let them tell their stories...and try to give the kids a sense of the cost of freedom. Have a "Constitution Month", where every facet of this great document is heralded and all our wonderful freedoms are analyzed for their brilliance. And instead of treating all wars as bad, explain the terrible threats that forced us respond in wars past. Arrange field trips to cemeteries, where students can see the gravestones of those who perished so that we might be free.

Sadly, anyone brandishing ideas such as these within the educational realm is quickly branded as a racist. And trying to explain patriotism these days immediately gets shouted down. I sincerely hope that this is just a sign of the times, a cycle if you will, that the country must go through to get to a better place.

Now that was cool...

There had never been a successful water landing of a commercial airliner...until yesterday. The more we find out about this amazing incident, the more one thing becomes boldly apparent...the pilots did something that borders on impossible. Chesley Sullenberger and Jeff Skiles represent the incredible skill that sits up there in the front of the plane. Sullenberger is himself a "check pilot". All pilots have a semi-annual "check" flight in which they are graded by someone who could be called a master pilot. Fail the flight and you are pulled off the line for more training.

The fortunate passengers had perhaps the best pilot possible for what happened to them. Not only is Sully a check pilot, he owns a company devoted to airline safety. A former F-4 Phantom fighter jock. And a very cool customer. The Hudson River appears wide but from where the plane was when all this came down (so to speak), it must have looked like a dirty silver ribbon. Sully made this "landing" as gentle as snow falling on a calm wintry day. Had either wing been tilted down a bit, it no doubt would have sheared off and the enormous load of fuel would have exploded. Didn't happen. The relatively calm manner in which the passengers exited the fuselage is a credit to the whole crew of five. Skiles, the co-pilot, even gave one of the passengers the shirt off his back.

Since I'm an aviation geek and a frustrated pilot wanna-be, I've always held these men and women in high esteem - right up there with brain surgeons and missionaries to Burkina Fasso. One of the highlights of my life was a tour given me of a privately owned Saudi 747. I had been invited by the owner's publicist to photograph the takeoff of the plane at Love Field, where it had been idle for 17 months having an $80 million refurbishing. Yeah, $80 million. There was an amazing amount of gold used...in the bathroom sinks, along the walls, and even the seat-belt buckles. My tour guides were the two pilots, both retired 747 captains from United Airlines. What blew me away was how deferential and obsequious their treatment toward me was. They acted like I were the cool person, not them. When the tour was over (20 minutes worth), I thanked them profusely.

Yeah, they are the really cool ones. Thank you Sully and Jeff for reinforcing what I already believed - pilots are as cool as the other side of the pillow.

So, what about Paradise?

I've been reading Surprised by Hope by imminent theologian N.T. Wright. It is an extremely tough read since Wright writes a lot like Paul...lots of extra long sentences filled with long words and references to people and things with which he thinks I'm familiar. But I love what he says about the afterlife, not only because it makes me really anticipate what God has in store for us, but because there is strong scriptural basis for his beliefs.

I may use several blog entries to shine the light on Wright's views of heaven. If you think we are destined to float among the clouds in an endless, spirit-like, nebulous way for eternity, you'll be thrilled with what he says.

There's not room in a blog entry to fully develop what Wright says about paradise. So instead, let me drop some random statements he makes on the subject:

All departed Christians are in substantially the same state, that of restful happiness. Though this is sometimes described as sleep, we shouldn't take this to mean that it is a state of unconsciousness. Rather "sleep" here means that the body is "asleep" in the sense of "dead", while the real person - however we want to describe him or her - continues.

This state is not, clearly, the final destiny for which the Christian dead are bound, which is the bodily resurrection. But it is a state in which the dead are held firmly within the conscious love of God and the conscious presence of Jesus Christ while they await that day.

I do not, however, find in the New Testament or in the earliest Christian fathers any suggestion that those at present in heaven or (if you prefer) paradise are actively engaged in praying for those of us in the present life. Nor do I find any suggestion that Christians who are still alive should pray to the saints to intercede to the Father on their behalf.

Dealing with history...

It's been a mellow exercise, this business of sifting through the lives of our parents, both of whom are denizens of paradise at the moment. The boxes and scrapbooks may be dusty on the outside, but inside there is gold. So many black-and-white photos have seemingly appeared out of thin air...since none of us has ever seen them before. So many of them show a terribly young couple, he - sharp and spiffy in his military uniform, the one that had the belt around the middle of the coat...she - tall, statuesque, proper...both smiling like there's no tomorrow; and for all they knew, what with a war going on, there might not be...

What to throw away, what to keep. Will there be a great-great-grandchild who digs history and draws family trees in quiet moments? Someone who would savor these pictures and other things, the letters we've found, the cards to each other, the tangible evidences of commitment in an age when that was the norm, not that love-it-and-leave-it mentality which pervades our society. Is the attic really a suitable place for a scrapbook with pictures of their early parenthood, beaming ear-to-ear while holding their firstborn, or do you make sure that every great-grandchild gets to memorize each page, each circumstance? Do you dishonor in them in any way by putting a small portion of their memories in the trash? Or do you realize that this world is...not...our...home and know that if they could render advice on this matter, they'd say chunk it, chunk all of it! That's not what matters!

Ah, decisions, decisions.

Deep Diary Delving

Yesterday evening, Carole made the mistake of handing me one of my granny's old diaries. This particular one dealt with years 1947 and 1948. Needless to say, the next two hours were spent in total absorption of the day-by-day events of those two years in her life. Here are some revelations I uncovered:

1. During the summer of '48, Granny got her first phone. Needless to say, this changed her life much like computers changed our home lives back in the '90's. She proudly noted that she made numerous calls and received bunches of calls in return.

2. She married her second husband in 1928, a wonderful fellow named Pat Fenn. BTW, my father was the product of her first marriage, having been born in 1915. Pat Fenn was never called by his name in our family; he was always "T". I guess it had something to do with the last letter of his first name. Anyway, I always wondered about how spiritual he was. Since he died when I was but a lad, I never knew much about his church life. But the diary revealed an extremely religious guy. He never missed a church service and was often used as a speaker at "prayer meetings". And, one of the posts, in big letters, reveals that he baptized his mother! I plan to look up "T" when I get to where he is.

3. The Texas City explosion happened during this span and Granny was devastated by the news. She heard about it over the radio and mentioned that the rumblings were felt as far north as Palestine! She was deeply troubled by the hundreds who died and the thousands who were seriously injured.

4. The most startling revelation to me was the use of leisure time back then. Remember, this was prior to television, computers, and air-conditioning. Granny and T spent nearly every evening (and many afternoons) either visiting friends and relatives or hosting those folks in their home. Interaction with others was so important that if two or three days went by without hearing from someone close to her, Granny would start fretting. They assembled in others' houses to sing church hymns, to play "42", or simply talk.

I couldn't help but conclude that we aren't that way anymore. Our toys (laptops, tv's, etc.) work like magnets to pull us indoors and hold us there, isolating us from others. Now I'm something of an ascetic anyway and I love quiet evenings at home with my wife. But I fully admit that I should be more involved in the lives of others. Granny and T leave me a strong example of "authentic community" and I would do well to follow their lead.

I will likely have more to say on Granny's life as I explore more of her diaries. They are so fascinating!

Delicious anticipation...

When I was growing up back in the '50's, one of the highlights of my life was Dad taking me to the public library. Once inside the door, we would separate for a couple of hours. I generally would start perusing the card catalog (gone forever, now) for books on dinosaurs, volcanoes, trains, or bees. Those were my main interests at the time, and I would always check out an armload of pertinent books on these fascinating subjects.

Since we didn't have much in the way of television entertainment and since video games and computers were still a long way off, I found myself on the couch a lot, eagerly diving into these books, learning all I could and enjoying every second of it. One of the saddest commentaries on kids today is their lack of interest in books. Instead, their time goes to stuff that runs on electricity or batteries. I wish I could explain to them just how delicious it is to have in hand a couple of books that will give you hours and hours of intellectual stimulation. It's the academic equivalent of having the waitress tell you that the cobbler of the day is cherry.

So I've got a couple of books to savor at the moment - that's where this whole soliloquy got started. One was given me by Brooke for Christmas...Let Me Finish by Roger Angell. Angell may be my favorite author. He's an absolute craftsman with words, and people who make writing look easy are heroes of mine. Angell will write about anything, even sports, but he's getting old and I fear that his pen might be laid down for the final time sometime soon. The other is Surprised by Hope by N. T. Wright. I'm fascinated by eschatology topics and this book delves into popular misconceptions about paradise, heaven, and dying. I'm 20 pages into it and already know that Wright agrees with Randy Alcorn about God's renewed earth as our final destination. Oh, it's gonna be rich reading!

Dear Diary...

Yesterday, several family members descended on my Mom's house for a work day. There was a ton of culling, filtering, sorting, and sibling brotherly love to fight through. It was a day of surprises as it seemed around every corner and in every drawer we found the unexpected. Amazing and hitherto unknown pictures of Mom and Dad popped up repeatedly, some from their early marriage days. If you can believe the pictures, they were crazily in love.

Somehow I ended up in the garage, and I began work on a stack of boxes over there with the leaf rake and rusty shovels. About three boxes into this fun activity, I opened a box, blew decades of dust away, and stared directly into the life of my father's mother. For here lay bunches and bunches of diaries - a mother lode of personal history from the 60's and 70's. Curious guy that I am, I immediately began pulling back the curtain on her innermost thoughts.

So this leads to an important question. Do diary writers write for themselves or for others? Is the diary for their eyes only or for those who find them in dusty boxes years later? Was Granny Fenn hoping that no one would ever read her words but her or was she penning words with an eye towards getting feelings and facts right for someone else's eyes? Hopefully I'll know the answer soon. Pleasure reading rarely gets better than this.

By the way, on a random note, as a teacher I was tormented by the word "diary". Often the word would come up as we looked at civil war resources, and inevitably, the kids would spell it "dairy". This led to hysterical sentences like, "We learned a lot about this Tennessee rebel soldier by examining his dairy." Oh boy, thank goodness for moments like that to give a teacher a break from the torture of endless papers to grade!

3 pretty good parents

Ever think about Jesus' 3 parents? You could do worse, you know.

First, you have his heavenly father, the Heavenly Father. They had such a tight relationship, such love, that when the Father needed a sacrifice big enough to show his love for mankind, he gave up that son. Now I don't want to explore the concept of the Holy Trinity...because it can't be understood this side of heaven. One needs only to listen to Jesus' words on the cross to grasp the love..."Father, why have you forsaken me?" So it goes without saying, parent #1 was special.

Then there is Joseph, the humble carpenter. I see him as a man of quiet class and dignity. Did you know that there are no recorded words of Joseph in the Bible? We all know that he could have become quite the angry man upon learning that his betrothed was pregnant. We know he received instructions in a dream and did what he was told. And strangely, he isn't mentioned in the Scriptures after his 12 year-old's son's little incident at the Temple. But he must have had an incredible influence on his boy. One can almost see him in the workshop, patiently teaching Jesus about tools for wood...and life.

And there is Mom. The one selected to participate in the strangest plan possible, to smuggle the Saviour into the earthly realm against all sensibility. The one who was there to the end. Can her faith be adequately described? Did she wake up from her vision and say, "Naw, that didn't happen"? Nope, she resolutely understood and obeyed. And through her, we've all been blessed. We'll never know the depth and scope of her influence on her boy, but it must have been considerable.

Quite a triumvirate.

Behold, Steve Morris

The plan was, this morning, to roll out of bed fairly early and head to Love Field for some airline photography. After all it's been since early October since I pointed a loaded camera at unsuspecting aircraft. My passion became an afterthought with all that was going on with Mom.

But the bed was just too warm. I did briefly peek out the window at the sky and saw wispy clouds, enough to discourage a guy who likes full sun to shoot planes. So I slithered back between the sheets and edged toward the warm wife. The cold aluminum fuselages would have to wait for another day.

Then, this evening, I find the above photo, taken by the incomparable Steve Morris, a retired British Airways pilot. He has a zoom lens that has to be carted around on a dolly. And, he's a genius. So, when I see that shot, I get the fever again. Makes me want to get out of bed early and get a few sunrise pics. Except, tomorrow is Christmas Day. Rats!

Catharsis

Today provided a much needed injection of warm fuzzies into my system. On Wednesday, I had basically watched Mom die, and it was tough. From 6 AM until she died at 2:30 PM, she had to battle for each breath, her chest heaving, her head thrown back when she inhaled and thrown down as she exhaled. This even with oxygen being administered. So when it was finally over, there was palpable relief in the room that heaven had a new occupant.

I had real trouble sleeping that night, unable to rid my brain of (1) what I had witnessed during the day, and (2) flashbacks of memories of Mom from my childhood. But today, I listened as two ministers who knew my parents well reminisce about them during the graveside service. And I learned things I had not heard before. One minister had decades ago decided to forego a normal preaching job and launch out in an individual mission to save souls on his own. He told me after the service that had it not been for an injection of cash from my folks, the idea would have never gotten off the ground.

We were introduced to a man with a 3rd grade education who was wearing a suit my father had given him. Through the efforts of my parents and others, he became an amazing student of the Bible and is now office manager at Mom's church. Scores of others descended on my siblings and me with similar stories. What a boost! How great is it to find out things that they had done without tooting their horn, just trying to be Jesus to those who needed Him. Things of which we had no knowledge.

So the transition has been made and nothing in our lives will be the same. But this is all good...especially with such an amazing heritage passed on to us kids. What an awesome example they left for us!

Mom

Born: January 22, 1922

Died: December 17, 2008

Give Dad a big hug for us up there, Mom. We will always love you.

The Iceman Cometh

Most days, I feel like I'm stealing money from Dallas County Schools, the folks who write out checks to me from time to time. I drive a new bus, I drive a great route, my female passengers are great most of the time, and I get to tower over most itty-bitty vehicles on the road. A real power trip.

Then there are days like today. Black ice is a killer. It lurks in secret places and snatches control of buses and cars and especially trucks. I couldn't believe all the parents who seemed to drop off their kids at the bus stops this morning, almost cavalierly assuming I could be trusted. Were I in their shoes, I'd want a full background check, a drug test, and a notorized statement saying that I'd never been to a Texas Rangers game. Trust me, today I felt the full burden of the knowledge that I was carrying 40 or so precious children - children whose parents would be devastated beyond repair if I did something foolish on the I-20 overhead ramp to I-45.

Naturally, I said my prayers. And after more than four hours total time behind the wheel, I parked my yellow-hound and 'bout collapsed on the steering wheel. The tension in my shoulders and neck was palpable. So was the fatigue.

Another day, another dollar. Tomorrow's menu is "freezing fog". Mercy, I can't wait.

Rating the carols

It's Friday night and Carole and I are unwinding from a difficult week. She's on her laptop and I'm on mine. Dish Network has a holiday channel playing nothing but Christmas music and the carols are playing softly in the background. Which leads me to a treatise on those carols.

Don't we all have some that instantly transport us back to our youth? You know, back when it was normal to say and use the word "Christmas" on commercials and advertisements. Whenever I hear "Come let us adore Him", I'm instantly zipped back to the 5th grade, where I'm standing in the front hallway of Mt. Auburn Elementary, singing that carol with classmates as students are escorted past us to start the Christmas break.

But when I hear two particular songs, I get the spirit...the Christmas spirit. These make me smell fir trees, see colored lights, and think of presents. One is "The Christmas Song". You know, the one with chestnuts roasting on an open fire. I heard on a local radio station that this song was written on one of the hottest summer days ever in California. Whoever wrote it, seems like it was Mel Torme, was jotting down things that reminded him of cold weather and the holidays. Nat King Cole recorded it and the rest is history.

The other is the ubiquitous "Silent Night". That one gets me in the mood to give and receive. Of course, when we were all younger, the thrill was receiving. Now it's giving. That's one of the great things about having grandkids. You can again relive your childhood excitement as you watch their faces explode in joy as they rip away the wrapping paper. At least, it better happen that way.

On the flip side, one cannot discuss the worst carols without shoving "The Twelve Days of Christmas" to the forefront. What a beating! All that repetition and nonsense! And the very slow, incongruous "five golden rings" right in the middle. Anyone who can listen to this thing all the way through, if they are still alive, needs immediate psychological evaluation. The song is a bucket of ice water thrown on the Christmas spirit. And close behind is one about the little drummer boy. Please. Deliver me.

Update on Mom

These are tough days for me and my siblings. Mom has a host of physical problems and some mental ones as well. Physically, she is weak and is frequently short of breath. She doesn't like having the oxygen thingy in her nose and many times takes it out. Then when the staff measures her oxygen blood level, it's in the low 90's rather than the upper 90's. Her heart is bad and she has little appetite. She hasn't gotten out of bed much the last two days due to nausea.

The mental issues really get to us. So much deep confusion about things in the here and now. The other day, she had worked herself into a frenzy over her car and where it was parked. Of course, we sold her car last January. When I finally convinced her of that, she started claiming that it must be a rental car, then. She wanted to know when I was leaving for Denver. Of course, that was news to me. It's so sad to see someone who owned a brilliant mind in her prime now having all those synapses and neurons misfiring.

There's the irony of role-reversal going on. How often did she sit me down in my growing-up years and patiently explain how things were? And now I'm in her chair and she's in mine. I had to have her to care of me then; she has to have us to care for her now.

Some might be offended by my next statement...I'm praying for God to take her soon, peacefully and gracefully. Her time this side of the curtain has been well-spent and honorable. Her body and mind are failing rapidly. It's time for a reunion in heaven with my Dad, her parents, and 3 of her siblings. I think it's really okay to speak that when you're talking about a Christian. We all are going to be so much better off there than here. In her case, I'm willing to trade my immediate grief for her transition to that mansion in the sky.

The Time Machine

I just returned from a trip to the attic. The mission was to put a lighted wreath in the window. Mission accomplished, but little did I know I was stepping into a time machine.

Walking past those boxes of stuff we'd stashed up there, I just couldn't keep from checking them out. "Stuff" means spiral notebooks from college, bank statements from the '70's, leftover army gear from my six years in the military, and exquisite couple's photos from college banquets to which I'd been invited in the late '60's. I hated being invited to those things. Girls who otherwise were certifiably attractive would spend hours at the beauty shop getting their hair swirled into a turban shape and stacked like flapjacks atop their craniums. Then, in the style du jour, there would be a curly little strand dangling down in front of each ear, looking for all the world like pigs' tails.

It was almost as if the girls at the banquet were in a contest to see how high they could get their respective beehives. I wondered if all the guys felt as I did, that these weren't the girls we expected. They were aliens, visitors from planet Klimchock who had happened to land in Abilene, Texas for a night of frivolity. I sincerely hope some of them have recently visited their attics and seen the same pictures...and I hope they are aghast at what they see.

The Future is Bright

About 99% of the time, I have an aviation picture to lead off the blog entry. But we've been getting photo albums from Mom's house and bringing them to our house, just to be on the safe side. And I found the above shot, taken when I was about six. On a bitterly cold Saturday morning, Dad took me to Union Station, planted me squarely on a Santa Fe "warbonnet", and snapped this picture. It was one of the most exciting things to ever happen to me. And I was so afraid the engineer was going to crank that thing up before I got off.

But that's not what I'm writing about tonight. Our church is in a transition period, having had its former pulpit minister relocate to San Diego and waiting for a search committee to find the next preacher. In the interim, we have had a steady stream of mostly young, incredibly talented men fill the pulpit, pinch-hitting as it were. It's funny, but when you don't get out and about in the brotherhood, you lose perspective on the state of preaching. Somehow, I had developed a small worry that all our great preachers were getting old and would soon be retiring.

Well, if one can make broad assumptions based on the men who've graced our pulpit during this in-between time, we as a brotherhood are doing quite well, thank you. The last two guys are good examples of what I mean. Both ignored the rostrum and basically spoke eloquently for a half-hour without looking at notes. Think about how many words that is. Think of the amount of preparation it takes to pull that off. And both weren't just up there speaking nonsense; every sentence seemed to challenge the audience and there were no "uhs" or "ahs" as they contemplated their next thought.

Now I used to be able to pull this off when I taught Texas History...but I had the benefit of telling the same history stories six times a day for 36 years. Pretty soon, I could do it in my sleep. But it's totally different when you're standing in front of several hundred folks, sharing a message that six days prior wasn't even in the formative stage. I'm in awe of these guys.

But way more important than the speaking and memorization process is this - these guys are driven by the Holy Spirit and are truly messengers of the gospel. I can almost picture Paul, sitting on the 4th row, stroking his beard, nodding in approval, and nudging the guy next to him, "These guys are good...real good!"

Post-Black Friday post

Well, it's 7:34 on Saturday morning and I feel like I'm obligated to have another blog entry. Trouble is, I'm not sure what's blog-worthy today. My ideas are either too trivial to post or too involved to even start. So I guess I'll scattershoot.

1. Carole and I have had a lot of wonderful time together this week. With all the concerns about my Mom lately, I've spent a lot of time away from home. A lot of days, I've been getting up at 5 AM and getting home at 6:30 PM. So we've made up for it by running all our errands together and generally acting like giddy honeymooners. I hereby suggest that the last week of every month be like this.

2. This move away from daylight savings coupled with the days getting shorter anyway plays mind tricks on me. I'm picking up my first students in the dark and driving home in darkness in the evening. And when the sun goes down, my body feels like it's time to shut down for the day. It definitely doesn't want to go swimming in the evening. Which leads me to my next point...

3. I've got a bad case of tennis elbow, brought on by too much swimming. Now I can't swim at all, can't lift ordinary objects with my left arm, and have trouble gripping things with my left hand. And the only cure, apparently, is rest. I had so gotten into the exercise mode that it kills me now to have to lay out. Plus, we all know that it's a lot easier to lose fitness than to gain it back. Bummer.

4. I have a lot of respect for the workers at a nursing home. It takes special people to show love to elderly folks who can't do for themselves anymore. I've been very impressed with the people working with Mom.

5. I had thought that the current state of the economy might cut into the post-Thanksgiving shopping craze. Guess I was wrong. What does it say about America that we trample workers to death just to get stuff on sale? I would dearly love to have all Christmas gift recipients restricted to just children. Can we all agree that gift-giving has gotten out of hand? And don't call me Scrooge.

6. I haven't taken a photo of an aircraft since early October. And it's killing me.

It can be done...

When I taught at a large, urban middle school, one of the most dreaded events was any kind of program or assembly. It didn't matter the nature of the program, be it a Christmas play or pep assembly or MLK remembrance. The 7th and 8th graders treated this as a wonderful opportunity to go crazy. These were kids who didn't behave in most of their classes, so why expect them to suddenly morph into angels when 700 of them were squeezed into an auditorium?

I've seen very respectable speakers booed. I've seen principals stalk out, unable to gain control of the horde. There were times when I stalked out, having had my sensibilities violated by what some consider "cultural activities". I deemed it laciviousness.

But there is hope. Today, Carole and I did our first "Grandparents' Day" at Dallas Christian. The highlight was a two-hour program featuring choral and musician groups. We sat amazed as group after group entered the stage area and took their positions. Not one child of the hundreds we saw showed any inclination to be anything less than angelic and professional. No one clowned around. No one elbowed the kid next to him to point out someone in the audience. Nobody pulled a frog from their pants or flicked the ear of the girl in front of him. And their performances were stunning. Everyone showed self-control, discipline, and pride.

I wanted to stand up and scream, "It isn't like this everywhere!!" But then, that wouldn't be showing self-control, discipline, or pride.

Whatta Day #2

Mom's house was burglarized today. Fortunately, it was sometime between two visits I made to the house about 4 hours apart. Nothing of value taken except a TV and a converter box. Numerous drawers pulled out and dumped on the floor. One busted door leading from inside the garage to the kitchen. Perps gained entrance through a window pane in a garage panel (they busted it out).

We're very blessed that Mom was, of course, not present, that I was not present, and that damage/loss wasn't as bad as it could have been.

But pardon me while I sigh mightily.

Whatta Day...

Okay. I'm a retiree who now does a job I enjoy. So a bad day for me ain't so bad. But today stretched my patience.

I'm currently driving the bus of my dreams, D824. It's a fantastic bus that has been prone, however, to glitches. This morning, while it was still very dark, the bus overheated at the corner of Lamar and Corinth. That makes two times this year I've had malfunctions on Lamar St. Twenty minutes later, a mechanic arrives, notices the bus has no coolant, sees a leak, and declares the bus inoperative. The bus lot dispatches a "spare" bus for me so I can proceed on. BTW, I always arrive very early for my run...just in case something breaks down...like this morning.

The spare bus broke my heart. It was P3066, a 14 year-old dog with 148,000 miles on the odometer. And, it had been sitting on the lot for months, unused, with its windows open. There was a nice layer of dirt and dust on every seat. I hurried to my first stop. The waiting girls climbed on with scowls on their faces, having gotten used to plush D824. I had them stand as I took the only rag I had and did my best to scrape the filth off the seats. It was ugly but I got the kids to school on time.

A fellow driver took pity on me and loaned me decent bus for a field trip I had today. Every school has to have hands-on bus evacuation training, and today I was dispatched to Truett Elementary. Teachers are supposed to conduct the training, but upon arrival, I got the news that they wanted us, the bus drivers, to do their job. So, I spent the day teaching groups of 50 kids at a time on how to save their lives if the bus stalls on a railroad track...or worse.

I returned to the bus lot in hopes of getting D824 back. I figured it had a leaky radiator hose, easily fixed. Nope, they said. "Your fan is tore all to h___ and water pump is busted. It's so bad, we're bringing the manufacturer here tomorrow to look at it." Oh, brother. That meant I had to drive another "dog" this afternoon. They gave me D226, another 14 year-old bus with 142,000 miles on it. At least the the seats were clean, but the floor was covered with enough detritus to fill a dumpster. So for the second time today, I was Molly Maid, doing a cleaning job that the previous driver passed on to me. It ain't supposed to happen that way, but I work for a pretty loosey-goosey organization.

I have another all-day field trip tomorrow, taking a group to far southeast Dallas County to an environmental center way out in the woods. I'll start the day in another "dog", but fortunately, a co-worker has agreed to let me drive his very nice bus for my trip. It had better be a better day.

The purpose of pain

Fantastic service this morning at Highland Oaks. Lynn Anderson spoke about giving thanks during tough times. That sure is a tough assignment! I guess my tendency is to see a tough situation as all negative. But the scriptures tell us to be thankful at ALL times. We have to discipline ourselves to refocus on all the positives in our lives rather than dwell on the tough situation.

Another part of this morning's experience was the singing...the songs were all about finding peace in difficult times. I get emotional during HO's singing anyway - the praise team is beyond belief and Chad Higgins, the leader, is superb. And I'm a softie for great choral performances. But this morning's theme and beautiful singing really touched me as for the first time, I let out the repressed feelings about my Mom. Soon, the tears were flowing - not so much for my situation, but for hers...and then we sang "When Peace Like a River" and when we got to the last verse about the clouds rolling back and the Lord descending and well, I was a mess.

I know I don't HAVE to understand why Mom is going through this stress at a time when she hasn't the mental or physical strength to cope with it. I keep returning over and over again to my favorite scripture, II Cor. 4:16-17:

Therefore, we are not discouraged; rather, although our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.

For this momentary light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.

Another update on Mom

Not a lot of blogs lately and not much else except updates on Mom. Her situation is consuming the family and we are putting a lot of time and effort into making sure the correct things are being done for her. The emphasis all this week has been to see if we can get her into an assisted-living apartment at Christian Care Center. There are a couple of rooms available but we found out today that Mom must first put in the necessary therapy before she can be discharged to go to assisted living. The estimate we have is 14-30 days.

Meanwhile, I started today removing important documents from her house. I'm trying every way I know to make it look like someone is still in the house, but we don't want a burglar to ransack the place and destroy a lot of important records and memorabilia. Kind of a sad task.

Update on my mom

After a week in the hospital getting her heart-rate regulated, Mom was discharged yesterday. I took her back to Christian Care Center and she's back in her room. The newest task now is to decide where she goes from here.

We were under the impression that Medicare would cover her up for up to 120 days of rehab. But CCC is not designated as a rehab center. It's a skilled-nursing facility. As a result, Medicare will pay only for the first 20 days. Mom's insurance helps a little bit after those 20 days are up. We need to get a handle on what Mom can and cannot do for herself and then go from there. It could be that she can handle an "assisted-living" apartment there at CCC, a place where she could have her own space but have help nearby.

We kids have talked a bit about returning Mom home and having some level of home health care. But we are a bit leery of having strangers in the house and whether this idea is doable.

If any readers of this blog want to comment on any experiences you have had with your parent(s), I'd love to hear from you.

Reflections on the Election

1. This election proves how our society values looks over substance. Obama would have lost to Abe Lincoln in 1860, back when what a candidate said and believed was pretty much what got him elected. McCain's looks, voice, and age didn't connect with the younger voters.

2. The only real conservative voice in this election was Sarah Palin. I believe that had she been the presidential candidate and McCain the V-P candidate, the Republicans would have had a better chance of winning. Also, in retrospect, Mike Huckabee might have been the best option for the GOP. With Huckabee's ability to think on his feet and his overall courage, I think he would have destroyed Obama in the debates. McCain was reluctant to nail his opponent on his associations with Bill Ayers and Jeremiah Wright. Obama was vulnerable on abortion and tax policies, but McCain couldn't pull the trigger.

3. Way too many religious blacks voted for Obama simply because he was black. That was the over-riding factor - not his positions on the issues. He could have said some really outrageous stuff and they would have voted for him regardless...in fact, he did and they did.

4. And finally (and I'm struggling with this), I just don't get the Christians who voted for a gay-marriage supporting, pro-abortion candidate. Did his glibness, his attractiveness, and his political party trump these enormous liabilities? How can a Christian respond and say, "Yeah, but I felt the country needed a change, a fresh voice"? How will that person feel if Obama gets to replace two Supreme Court justices with two pro-choice jurists? And how about this sticky question: With such a stark contrast between the two candidates and their stances on abortion and marriage, should our churches have gotten "political", urging their members to examine more closely these critical issues? I don't know. Personally, I feel that if I voted for Obama, I would be complicit in the murders of untold numbers of precious lives. No way would I do that.

What to pray for on the morning after...

This will be a 4-year only presidency for Barack Obama. With his outrageous ideas, the economy will insure that. So what should we be praying for now?

Easy. Pray that Obama does not get to make any selections for the Supreme Court. Should he get that opportunity, he will choose someone who is pro-choice and extremely liberal.

Want some good news? How 'bout this. The folks in America who are anti-family and anti-morality are not having any kids. That's not a pure absolute...a couple of them have one child, but that's about it. Meanwhile, Christian families are having kids, lots and lots of them. The liberals have noticed this and are worried about the fact that they may have only this one generation to get their screwy ideas implanted in America. Because the moral wave is coming, brother. (And the sooner the better.)

Mom's back in the hospital

Yesterday at the nursing home, Mom's heart-rate went sky-high (152 beats/min), so they transported her back to Baylor Hospital. I don't have much to report yet since I haven't talked with her doctor or the head nurse yet, but she is resting comfortably at the moment. They did get the heart-rate down to normal while in the ER yesterday.

One thing making this more difficult is Mom's confusion. She simply doesn't recall much of anything that has transpired in the near past. This means that she has to be told constantly where she is and why she is here. It must be awful to wake up in the morning in a strange room and not understand where you are. So please pray for her in this difficult situation.

Questions for the Obama supporter

I don't even know if any Obama supporters read my blog. But just in case, I'd like for you to answer some questions. I'm not trying to pick a fight or act condescendingly to you. I honestly want to know your thought process on these issues:

1. Does Obama's stand on abortion bother you? Do you put the mother's rights above those of the child in the womb?

2. Does Obama's association with Bill Ayers bother you, or do you take him for his word that Ayers is merely a guy who lives in his neighborhood?

3. Do you feel any qualms about Obama's ties with Jeremiah Wright and his racist rantings?

4. Is the fact that much of Obama's academic career remains under lock and key bothersome to you? Is this at all suspicious to you?

5. Can you name something Obama has accomplished in his political career?

6. Does his view of Iran bother you?

Again, I'm not trying to bait somebody into a flame-throwing contest. The above questions are the kinds of questions Republicans are asking during this election season. If a Democrat can respond with frank answers in the same spirit in which the questions were asked, I would love to get your viewpoints.

Beyond Belief

Today, I finished reading the book, Beyond Belief, by Josh Hamilton. For those who don't know, Hamilton plays baseball for the Texas Rangers. It's an amazing account of the two forces constantly battling for our souls - good and evil.

In a nutshell: Hamilton was the top high school baseball player in the land a few years ago. Three years later, he had blown his $4.5 million signing bonus on drugs, had alienated himself from his family and his wife, and was wandering the countryside of North Carolina in a stupor. The details are shocking as Hamilton is ever-aware of the stupidity of what he is doing but has absolutely no clue as to how to reverse the spiral downward.

In the middle of still another night of heavy drug use, he wakes up on the floor of a trailor belonging to guys he didn't even know. He realizes he has finally hit bottom. He staggers to his truck and drives to the home of the only relative who hadn't given up on him...his grandmother. She takes him in (at 2 in the morning) and immediately cooks him a meal. In his baseball days, Hamilton had 235 lbs. packed into a 6'4" frame...now, a spare 180 lbs exposed skin and bone. She basically puts him on house arrest, gives him straightforward advice, and feeds him. Meanwhile, Josh commits his life to God. Horrors! I giving away everything!!

Get the book. Read the book. If your not a baseball fan, skip the first third of the book, which is about Hamilton's precocious athletic prowess as a youth. Concentrate instead on the details of how low Satan can pull someone down and how high God can lift the same person. It's inspiring to the max.

Sunday evening update...

Thrilled to report that Mom has started adjusting to the new environment. My sister Marybeth spent the morning with her and accompanied her to the church service provided by the home. Mom was in good spirits and that, friends, is absolute music to my ears.

Sunday morning update...

Short post this morning. We got Mom moved to Christian Care Center yesterday, but her short-term memory loss was playing havoc with her adjustment. She seems to erase much of what she knows every few hours. So after all the work to explain to her that this move was to rehab her left hand and arm and get her strong enough to go back home, Mom got confused after a couple of hours...thinking she was still at Baylor and not understanding what this was all about. My prayer is that she will come around to the reality of her new environment and be able to grasp why she is there...and accept it.

And...Carole is quite ill with a sinus infection, headache, and fever. I need to be able to snap my fingers and take care of her, too. I'm so glad I have a Father in heaven who loves me and understands me and hears my prayers. What a blessing!

Update on Mom

Just as Carole and I were walking up to the hospital around 12:30 this afternoon, my cell rang and it was Dr. Myers' secretary...informing me that Mom's coumadin level was too high for her to be released today. So now we're looking at tomorrow (probably) or maybe Monday. The doctor has taken coumadin from her med list and so her level should drop to acceptable levels soon.

Dr. Myers made the mistake of checking on Mom late this afternoon when my little sister was there. Marybeth confronted him with the facts: Mom was in better shape BEFORE he began the cocktail of medicines and hasn't felt anything like her usual self since these meds have been administered. She got him to agree to review the meds with the goal of eliminating any she positively doesn't need. The nurse said that most of the meds were for the fluid on Mom's lungs and wouldn't be used once she was out of the hospital. Good News!!

Transitions

On Friday, we will move my Mom from Baylor Hospital to a rehab facility. One of her nurses told me that they expect her to rehab for two weeks before being able to go home. I'm not so nearly optimistic. She is on numerous meds which make her feel woozy and sleepy. I'll be working to see if we can cut those down in the next few days. One concern I have is that she's given pills as though she's a full-sized adult. Actually, she's somewhere in the 85-lb. area and is extremely frail. I pray that she endures the transition well.

On a much lighter note, I'm finally driving a nearly-new bus. It is so great, so modern, so light-years ahead of the dogs I've been driving that I genuinely feel guilty as I motor down the road. Then I think of all the years I'd climb aboard an old yellow-hound that had been sitting out in 100+ degree heat all day...yes, climb aboard wearing nice slacks, a starched shirt, and a nice tie, and then drive for an hour. When I'd get back home, nothing on me would be dry. Bees flying in the windows, kids yelling out the open windows at passing motorists, and scores of other memories are now just memories since the windows on my bus should never have to be lowered regardless of the season.

My new bus has intermittent wipers, remote-controlled outside mirrors, a power captain's chair for the driver's seat, three powerful air-conditioners, tilt steering wheel, a cup-holder (uh, just for the driver), and a bunch of buttons whose purpose I haven't investigated yet. Life is good!

Monday morning finds me...

...sitting here at Baylor Hospital where Mom is being cared for. This was to be the day that she might go home, but I think she's too weak for that now. I got here before 7 today so I could catch the doctor on his rounds...he said he'd be by between 7 and 8, but now it's after 8 and no doctor.

The family has had serious issues with this guy from the beginning. He tends to over-prescribe, over-scan, and generally miss the point of trying to keep Mom comfortable. The biggest issue is with something called amiodarone, a drug designed to control arrhythmia (sp). It has powerful side effects and dosage must be carefully monitored and tweeked. The doc gave it to Mom 18 months ago when she was hospitalized and it just about killed her. When we demanded that the dosage be seriously reduced, she got better immediately and went home. On Thursday, when the doc said Mom would be admitted, I reminded him of this episode and warned him of her vulnerability to this drug's effects. Well, he started her out on a full dosage, and Mom has gone downhill since.

But he hasn't shown up yet. I only hope that when he does (if he does), I can control my anger and speak in measured tones. Hard to do since he's messin' with my momma.

Ruminations...

We had to put Mom back in the hospital on last Thursday. She had suffered a mild stroke a couple of days prior and hadn't told any of us kids. She was also having general weakness and some nausea. Turns out she was having another episode of atrial dibrillation as well. The doctor says she could go home Monday if she responds well to the medicine. The mini-stroke affected her left hand and is making it difficult for her grab or grasp things.

We kids know that we're looking at the inevitable now...getting her into some sort of assisted living arrangement. Fortunately, Mom understands this, too.

On another front, I am so tired of the Fox News Network. Carole has become so very enthralled with the election and its plethora of stories that she has to have the FNC on all the time. I haven't the heart to tell her how utterly beaten down I am by the yelling at the camera by Fox's news anchors. It sounds like I'm intervening in an argument every time I step into our den. Maybe Carole will read this and have mercy on me. Just two more weeks of this...unless there's some sort of disputed election result, something that could well happen.

For those of you following the saga concerning my school bus situation, here's the latest. I had a field trip this morning and amazingly was given bus 824 to drive. It had arrived back from the shop. Even though the field trip never happened (the sponsors and students were no-shows), I got to drive it across town and back. It was a dream...it's only 18 months old, has tilt-steering, and power outside mirrors. Drives and handles like a Lexus. I should officially be assigned the bus on Monday afternoon. I'm really blessed to have a retirement job I thoroughly enjoy. To get to drive SuperBus is icing on the cake.

This is getting silly...

All I do these days, these lovely days, is drive a school bus. My world is a lot simpler than when I was in the classroom trying to explain the International Date Line to middle schoolers. ("What you mean you go back a day?") Retirement is truly wonderful. But if you've read this blog for any length of time, you know that I've been trying to get a new, or almost-new, bus assigned to me. I've spent 26 years driving buses nobody wanted.

It was supposed to be different this year. I was supposed to get bus 819, an almost-new beauty. But when I arrived for work in August, they had pulled 819 and given it to someone else. I was given 499, a really good bus with, uh, 120,794 miles on it. I complained but got nowhere.

But then yesterday I was told that I was being upgraded to bus 824! Outstanding! A wonderful bus barely a year old. I couldn't start driving it yet because they wanted to give me a quick training session this morning. That's fine with me. I've waited 26 years; another 12 hours won't hurt. But then this morning, I was told that the bus was in the shop and that I'd have to get the training session this afternoon. No problem! So I return this afternoon...where I'm told, "We're sorry, but we're sending 824 back to the manufacturer." "What? Why??" "Well, it's horn honks randomly and we can't find the source of the problem." "When will I get it back?" "We have no idea."

Some days, you just can't win. Hey, some decades, too.

Still want him to lead the country?

If you consistently handle the small things in life, chances are excellent that you can tackle the big stuff with ease when life gets tough. I urge you to read the following story about the difference between Obama's campaign and that of McCain:

http://www.cbsnews.com/blogs/2008/10/07/politics/fromtheroad/entry4507703.shtml

It'll be okay, even if HE wins...

I want McCain to be inaugurated next January as much as anyone, but there is already much angst building among Republicans (and family members) as to whether life will still be worth living if Obama gets elected. I'm certainly convinced that his chumminess with Ayers and other weirdos by itself should disqualify him from the Presidency. And his pro-abortion stance is horrible. And he's a liberal. Case closed.

But there's still a month left for things to change, and the political atmosphere these days is nothing if not volatile and subject to quick changes. But there's an even better reason to take a chill pill about a potential Obama presidency. Could it be that a little more challenge would be healthy for us Christians? If Barack really is Muslim-friendly and inclined to make deliterious decisions impacting the future of our great country, wouldn't we be forced to almost draw a line in the sand of our spiritual consciousness? One thing's for sure...we've had it a lot easier than the souls who make up the book Fox's Book of Martyrs. I mean, after all, we live in comfort, we have little or no persecution, and maybe, just maybe, that makes it easier for Satan.

I haven't researched this tonight, but I've always heard that Christianity has flourished in times of persecution. Most of us, if we had to make a quick decision...renounce God or die...would have no trouble staying loyal to our Maker. But we sometimes don't pass the test when the decision is spread over decades...and Satan has a chance to erode our commitment with his lies. Personally, I don't want persecution. I hate confrontation. I want McCain to be elected and Obama to go back to organizing communities. But most of all, I want to go to heaven. If an Obama presidency forces me to "man up" my relationship with God, then it's all for good.