Pleasing Papa

And now, O Israel, what does the LORD your God require of you? He requires only that you fear the LORD your God, and live in a way that pleases him, and love him and serve him with all your heart and soul. And you must always obey the Lord's commands and decrees . . . for your own good.

Deuteronomy 10:12-13 (NLT)

There is a difference, I think, between trying to please my father and merely trying not to disappoint him. I grew up with a great dad. He invested his time in his family. While other dads were bowling or going to the Lion's Club, my dad was with us. Other dads drank the weekends away. My dad worked at the factory in Ft. Wayne, and then came home to farm - an activity which he did with me at his side.

He was also incredibly encouraging to me. Countless times dad told me he was proud of me. He rebuked me from time to time, yet he was never insulting or sarcastic. He disciplined me, but rarely ever raised his hand - even though he should have at times, perhaps.

I grew up not wanting to disappoint him.

Once, right after Christmas break, I was walking out of school on my way to the school bus. I had received a new fountain pen in my Christmas stocking. A girl in my class, who was generally disliked only for having had the misfortune of being born with a cleft palate, was walking ahead of me wearing a brand new white coat that she had received that Christmas. I flicked my fountain pen at her coat leaving a speckled trail of blue ink from hem to collar. Funny at the time? Sure. But not so much at 10 P.M. that night. I couldn't sleep until I told my dad what I had done. He made me call the girl's mother and make it right. Why the pains of a guilty conscience? Not as much over what I had done to the girl and her coat, but more because I didn't want to disappoint my dad.

There is some merit to approaching God that way. Certainly I don't want to disappoint Papa. Nevertheless, the obedience that he desires goes well beyond the negative reinforcement of wanting to avoid angering or even disappointing God. God wants us to please Him.

My friend, Greg Stauffer, once told me that he pictures his relationship with God this way: God in Heaven looks down on his child Greg, and every so often He says, "Look at Greg! Isn't that just the cutest thing he's doing?" Or, "Look at Greg, I am so proud of the way he handled that situation!" "Check out Greg mucking out the horse stalls. It cracks me up when he wrinkles up his nose at the smell!"

That is pleasing Papa.

No, I do not want to disappoint God. But I'm finding that, if not disappointing Him is my only motivation, it is often insufficient to deter me from the sin that I so frequently set my heart on committing. There must be, for me at least, some further motivation.

I think I am learning that the motivation is to please Him as well.

National Preaching Summit

Just returned from the National Preaching Summit. What a great couple of days to be encouraged and to build my skills in preaching. Six great preachers taught us over the course of two days. Here are a couple of gems (taken out of context, of course):

“Some people brighten up a room just by leaving it.” - Jeff Walling

“Do people love to bask in the glow of your absence?” - Jeff Walling

“Build your cabin in the woods and then build a road to get there.” – Fred Craddock

“Do our churches look like the Amish? You love to take pictures of the Amish, but you don’t want to move in with them.” - Jeff Walling

“What seeker sensitive is to the church, global warming is to politics.” - Bob Russell

Breaking 5,000

Today's deer picture, brought to you by . . .

Jif. Choosy moms choose Jif. Did I mention that the adults are inching closer to the students in our battle for peanut butter supremacy at South Lansing Christian Church? The tally is:

Students: 2707 Adults: 1712

Oh yeah, the picture. Taken outside my window yesterday afternoon, just twenty yards away . . .

Peanut Butter Meets Tim Lahaye?

Received this contribution today during the great peanut butter drive of 2008:

PS - The tally, as of 2:30 PM today is STUDENTS: 2371 ADULTS: 1371

Monday morning update

The story in the Lansing State Journal elicited amazing community support in our peanut butter drive. Even today people are calling to find out when and where they can drop of peanut butter to send to Haiti. And, yesterday, one of my own strategies was used against me. As I was welcoming the assembly to worship a procession of students came walking up the center aisle bringing with them over 1000 containers of peanut butter, including a LOT of single serving containers. It looks like the whole SLCC staff is going to take pies in their faces next Sunday morning.

I'll gladly wear a little whipped cream for the sake of hungry Haitian children. Here is the toteboard:

Sunday update - before church

Friday night peanut butter update

Thursday afternoon update

The forecast for today: peanut butter. The jars keep rolling in. Here is the count:

Peanut Butter Update

John Schneider's column in the Lansing State Journal highlighted our peanut butter battle. We've been getting phone calls and visits all morning! One nice older gentlemen from Okemos called to say he bought a jar, but was reluctant to drive in to the city, so could we send someone to pick it up. We sure will! Here are the totals as of 11:46 AM today.

Peanut Butter Challenge Update

Southies (the folks who attend South Lansing Christian Church) have been involved in our first ever peanut butter challenge. The goal: to collect a truckload of peanut butter for the children of Northwest Haiti Christian Mission. The reward: hungry kids get some badly needed nutrients and one or more SLCC staff people get a peanut butter pie in their face(s).

Here's the deal. The youth and children are squaring off against the adults. If the kids collect the most peanut butter, yours truly gets the pie. If the adults collect the most, the rest of the staff all get the pie.

This competition has really got some Southies fired up. I've heard talk of conspiratorial whisperings in hallways after elders' meetings. I've seen people eyeballing the growing piles of PB on Sunday mornings and talking about switching jars from one pile to the other. (Good luck with that, by the way, we labeled them to prevent such trickery.) I've even heard someone is planning to bring in a palate - that's right - a palate of peanut butter just before the March 9 deadline. Not to worry.

Preacher Frank has a trick or two up his sleeve, too.

Here's the count so far, in case you're wondering:

Cheat once . . . get a new job. Cheat twice . . . get $750,000

Sampson is out at IU. The whole thing turns my stomach.

One of our own, Dan Dakich, will be leading the Hoosiers the rest of this season. As one of Coach Knight's players, I can't imagine Dakich disgracing the Hoosier Hoops program the way Sampson has done.

As my dad, Larry, would say, "let's analyze this." Myles Brand fires coach Knight because he puts his hands on some players (one was his own son) and later a smart-alack student. Should Knight have choked Neil? No. Was he in the wrong? Yes. But Knight didn't cheat. Ever.

Brand and his toadie Greenspan cut coach Knight loose. Then who does Greenspan hire? A cheater. A one-time loser who promises to go straight but doesn't deliver. Great call, Greenspan. Super legacy Myles.

I heard Isaiah Thomas is available. And he promises not to hit on the gals in the front office.

I'm sure there is another anonymous donor to pony up a half million dollars when the next cheater Greenspan hires has to leave town. As for the other quarter mil that Sampson gets in his settlement, ESPN is reporting that the money is coming from "university funds." Translation: Indiana tax-dollars. Since IU is a state college, it appears that the hard earned of Indiana citizens is being used to pay off a cheater who should never have been hired in the first place.

I know, I know, I sound bitter. You have to be an Indiana boy to really understand my outrage. Trust me, my little tirade is bland compared to the vitriol they're hearing in the Hoosier state right now. And rightfully so.

Even a broken clock is right twice a day . . .

Our youth minister, James, emailed me today to find out if he could write a purchase order for the t-shirt you see pictured here. I'm pretty sure he was kidding.

Theologically, though, the shirt isn't that far off. Paul wrote about the nature of the church, which he compared to a human body in 1 Corintians:

But in fact God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. If they were all one part, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, but one body.

The eye cannot say to the hand, "I don't need you!" And the head cannot say to the feet, "I don't need you!" On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and the parts that we think are less honorable we treat with special honor. And the parts that are unpresentable are treated with special modesty, while our presentable parts need no special treatment. But God has combined the members of the body and has given greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. (1 Corinthians 12:18-25, NIV)

I doubt that the makers of this t-shirt had this passage in mind. I suspect the folks at The Church You Know website are bloviating about the state of the church in America (or their perception of it, at least). In any event, it's pretty satirical stuff. They even have a Wally the Worship Leader android for sale.

Gamble Chocolate

I came home tonight to find a heart-shaped box of chocolates lying open on the table. They had all been cut in half and otherwise eviscerated to reveal their innards. The kitchen resembled a chocolate slaughter house.

I asked the boys what happened, and they told me about "gamble chocolate." Gamble chocolate is the stuff that comes in the box every Valentine's Day. While Whitmans Samplers come with a little card that shows what the chocolates are, gamble chocolate does not. Its the stuff about which Forest Gump said, "Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you're going to get."

Anyway, it turns out that Mrs. Frankly performed a little surgery - okay a lot of surgery - looking for a particular piece of candy. She's never been a big fan of the stuff with the fruit flavored fillings. Coconut is definately out! Its usually caramel covered chocolates for her. Funny thing is, they all look the same on the outside. You've got to get to the center to see what they're really all about.

Kind of like people . . .

From Myles Brand to Kelvin Sampson: The decline of Hoosier hoops.

Twenty-two years ago my buddy Jason and I sneaked off our conservative Christian college campus and broke curfew to go sit in the bar at the Sheraton Inn down the road. Why would two Bible college students risk reprimand and possible expulsion? To meet Bobby Knight, of course.

Someone told us that the Hoosiers stayed at the Sheraton when they were in town to play Michigan State's Spartans, and we wanted a chance to meet the man all us Hoosier boys simply called, "Coach." The team was in a meeting for most of the evening and, by the time they got out we were nearly drifting off in sleep. We looked up just in time to see coach disappearing into an elevator. Disappointed that we missed him, I left a note for Coach at the front desk asking for an autograph. Sure enough, the man who everyone said was a notorious hard case mailed me his signature the next day.

Growing up in Indiana, meant being immersed in the culture of crimson and cream (aside from a few miscreants who preferred the black and gold). Every basketball player I knew dreamed of wearing the red and white striped warm-up pants before sell out crowds at Assembly Hall. A trip to the barber shop meant seeing the new calendar that Indiana printed every year with head shots of each of the players and coaches. Every boy I knew dreamed of playing for Coach. His tantrums were legendary. He would strip the hide off his best player if he missed a back screen, or if he was careless with the ball. It wasn't unusual for him to park his most productive scorer on the bench if they didn't hustle on defense.

Moms shook their heads when they watched Coach. Dads simply nodded their silent approval. I heard more than one say, "I wouldn't mind my boy playin' for him." Sure he was hard. Yes, he was tough, but by golly he graduated his players and paid attention to the rules. Oh, and he won national championships along the way, too.

When Coach got fired several years back for violating Myles Brands, "no tolerance policy" the namby-pambies got what they wanted. Coach was out. Foreigner Myles Brand was rewarded with a coronation to the throne of the NCAA, and Mike Davis, a talented but star-struck young coach inherited a team that made a deep run in the NCAA tournament.

The kinder, gentler Mike Davis lasted just long enough for Hoosiers to figure out he wasn't Coach. He was a nice guy. Like Knight, Davis gave a lot of money away, but unlike Coach, we couldn't get it done in the "W" column. Davis was out.

Better informed Hoosiers than this old boy wagged a knowing finger when Oklahoma coach Kelvin Sampson made the move to Bloomington. A rule breaker in the house that Bobby built? How could it be? Now it looks like Sampson is going to be canned for repeated recruiting violations - something that would never have occurred in the Knight years.

Two yeas ago I got to meet and visit with Hoosier legend Kent Benson. As part of the Hoosier's undefeated national championship team, Benson is a minor god in Indiana. When Kent Benson speaks about Indiana basketball, people listen. I'm told that Benson said recently that he would not attend another Indiana basketball game as long as Sampson is on the bench. Looks like he may be back at Assembly Hall pretty soon.

The two questions that occupy the minds of the Hoosier faithful this week are, with Sampson almost assuredly out, who will be directing traffic courtside? And, can the tarnish be wiped off a program with a pristine past?

God+Prayer=Power for LIFE

John Smith from Pastor Care passed this along to me in his weekly prayer email. It is so inspiring that I wanted to share it with all of you:

Steve Seaberg and I are connected because his son Aaron is married to my daughter Sarah. On Friday 2-8-08 Steve woke up with chest pains. A friend drove him to the hospital and Steve had a heart attack in the car on the way to the hospital. He was pronounced Dead on Arrival at Saint Mary’s Hospital in Grand Rapids.

When Aaron and his sister Amy arrived at the hospital they were informed that their Dad had died. While Aaron and Amy were saying their goodbyes, Aaron poked his Dad. One of the attendants asked why he did that, and he said, “I don’t know. I just want to make sure he isn’t messing with us.” A few minutes later Steve began breathing again and there was a pulse. Aaron and Amy were asked to leave the room immediately while the attendants began to work on Steve. His vital signs came back and they were able to stabilize him. When the blood rushed back into his brain it spiked a very high fever. They had to begin a full body cooling procedure that will take at least 24 hours. They were in the room with him when 24 minutes later, Steve began breathing again and his pulse returned.

Steve never regained consciousness during that time and he was not responsive to anything. But the doctor’s and nurses did a wonderful job of caring for him and maintaining his vital signs as they cooled down his body to reduce swelling in the brain and then warmed him back up again.

Steve’s family and friends never gave up on him. They continued to tell him they loved him and they were there with him. We had no way of knowing if there was any brain activity because the numerous complications would have rendered any of the tests inconclusive, so they didn’t run them.

We continued to hope and pray, while preparing our hearts for the truth and reality we preferred not to accept. The weight of being the one who would have to make the very difficult choices was resting squarely on Aaron’s shoulders. I listened to Aaron talk about it for quite awhile while I was at the hospital Wednesday afternoon 2-13-08.

Then I had to leave to meet with a pastor in Rockford. While I was meeting with this pastor a call came through on my cell phone from my wife – so I took the call. Sarah had just called her with the most amazing news! Steve opened his eyes and called Aaron by name, called his daughter Amy by name, and called his sister Chris by name. He was surprised that Chris was there because she lives in Texas.

There in the ICU of Saint Mary’s hospital, the Seaberg family witnessed an absolutely amazing miracle! And we want to give You all the praise and the glory!!!!!!

Thank You Father!

Praise You Jesus!

Bless You Holy Spirit!

Perhaps an appropriate response might be to leave a prayer in the "comment" section. I'll pass along to the Seaberg family that Frankly readers are praying for Steve.

I'm too sexy for my church . . .

Pastor Paul Wirth at Relevant Church in Tampa Bay, Florida says Christians are not having enough sex. That's why he has challenged the married members of his congregation to have sex every day for thirty days. In other news, church attendance by men increases dramatically.

Seriously, though, Wirth and his church are making an attempt to restore sex to its rightful place. Along with his challenge to married couples, Wirth is urging single members to abstain from sexual contact for thirty days, too.

I've asked the Southies to pray every day for thirty days. I recently urged them to begin tithing, if they're not already doing so. Am I missing something? Is this the next logical step for South Lansing Christian Church?

Lightning rod or lightning God?

The giant statue of Jesus that overlooks Rio de Janeiro, Brazil was struck by lightning during a storm on Sunday. What does it mean? Our more superstitious Christian brothers and sisters the world over speculate it is an omen. They're trying to discern hidden meanings. They suspect a deeper reality is at work here.

Me? I suspect that this means the steel-reinforced concrete statue is . . . really, really tall.

Restoration Movement . . .what's that?

I get that good people disagree on the subject of baptism. I understand that.

For the record, I believe that the Bible teaches the following about baptism, as experienced in the first century:

• It is by immersion. No serious Bible scholar believes otherwise.
• It is of a believer. Infants were not immersed in the early church.
• It is for the remission of sin and the gift of the Holy Spirit (Acts 2:38)
• It is the time and place where we die, are buried, and raised to new life in Christ (Romans 6:1-8)
• When we are baptized, we are clothed with Christ, and identified with His body, the church. (Galatians 3:27ff)
  
• It is the point at which we are saved. (1 Peter 3:21)

I realize that there is a significant segment of the Christian community that disagrees with that last point. For as long as I can recall the debate about the timing of baptism in the salvation experience has raged. Are we saved and then baptized, or are we baptized and then saved? I get all that.

I even get that some people, having experienced four years of a Christian college education at a "Restoration Movement" institution of higher learning will disagree with that position. Our best schools have never turned out mind-numbed Christians cut with an Alexander Campbell shaped cookie cutter.

What I don't get, though, is how a graduate from one of "our" colleges can write to me, as one recently did when applying for the youth ministry position at our church:

I am unfamiliar with the Independent Christian Church. I will have to do some research. Obviously, I didn't learn anything about it at [Nameless West Coast Christian College]. With all the different denominations represented there, I figured the school was non-denominational.

Okaaaay. He was concerned about our church's view of baptism. I told him, essentially, what I wrote above. His response:

Thank you for taking the time to share with me a little bit about your church. However, I will respectfully withdraw my resume from consideration for your youth ministry position. Although I do respect your belief about baptism, I believe the way forward for the future of the Church is to side step dogmatic theology and make room for everyone who accepts Jesus as Lord and Savior of the world in spite of our theological differences as long as they maintain the basic tenants of the historical faith.

Again, I understand that we might disagree. What I cannot fathom, though, is how this young man could graduate from [Nameless West Coast Christian College] and not understand that, for Independent Christian Churches, "the way forward" is all about finding the way back to our New Testament roots.

I am thankful that a person cannot matriculate from my alma mater without understanding this concept. Do my fellow alums always agree with it? No. But they do learn it and understand it. I realize that this young man does not represent the majority of Independent Christian Church college graduates. Perhaps he doesn't even represent his own alma mater fairly. But if he does, if I'm wrong and today's graduates believe that baptism is just another dogmatic doctrine to be side-stepped on the road to an I'd-like-to-teach-the-world-to-sing-in-perfect-harmony sort of theology, in the words of one old professor of mine, "I fear for the brotherhood."

Rules for Raising Children

I came across Susannah Wesley’s Rules For Raising Children today during my sermon preparation for Sunday. The mother of nineteen children, Wesley has often been called the "Mother of Methodism" because of the influence she had on her sons, John and Charles Wesley.

If every parent took these six rules to heart, I suspect all our children would be better off:

1. Subdue self-will in a child and thus work together with God to save his soul.
2. Teach him/her to pray as soon as he can speak.
3. Give him nothing he cries for and only what is good for him if he asks for it politely.
4. To prevent lying, punish no fault which is freely confessed, but never allow a rebellious, sinful act to go unnoticed.
5. Commend and reward good behavior.
6. Strictly observe all promises you have make to your child.

Sin is expensive

I'm slogging through Leviticus again this year, two months into a reading schedule that will see Jesus returning about Christmastime. I'm reading the New Living Translation (thank you very much, Mike Kjergaard), and am being blessed in spite of all that grossness and gore.

Every sin demands a sacrifice. Cheat on your neighbor, gotta kill something. Refuse to testify in court, somethings gotta die. Commit an accidental sin? Nope, you still gotta slit some poor critter's throat (unless it is a bird, in which case you ring its neck - a nastier reality as far as I'm concerned.)

Its a good think I didn't travel with Moses. Methinks that my flock - I was a shepherd back in high school you know - would have steadily dwindled. Sin was a pretty expensive
proposition back then, but then I guess that is the point. God wanted His children to know that sin is not consequence free. I'm guessing He also wanted his sons and daughters to develop an aversion to sin. Once you've slaughter your kids' pet goat, I suspect that when you get back from the tabernacle and look your children in the eyes, their faces muddied with tears and dirt, you begin to get a more godly perspective on sin - and probably also the desire to avoid it in the future.

Sin is still expensive. According to a Forbes magazine report, Americans spent $14 billion on porn in 2001. By comparison, we spent $18 billion on generic drugs just three years later. One wonders if some of those weren't antibiotics. Billions more were spent on illegal drugs, fast-food binging and boozing it up.

But the cost of sin isn't demonstrated in just dollars and cents. I see it every day. Sin cost Tammy and Dave their marriage (not their real names, of course). Unsatisfied with his marriage, Dave "fell in love" with a woman he met on the internet. The cost to their children was immense. Their marriage dissolved, and their family fractured.

Jim meets with me regularly. He is addicted to internet porn. It's too soon to know if he'll be able to save his marriage, but already the cost has been high.

Melanie is a drunk. The cost of her dissipation has ran into the thousands of dollars. Her sons stand on the sidelines and watch their parents slog through a messy divorce. Who will get the house? Where will the kids live? And those are just the easy questions. The harder ones: Will anyone want me now that I am divorced? Can God forgive me? Can I forgive myself? Those questions stare back at them from their bedroom ceiling each night as they wonder if their lives will ever stop spinning like the $300 Hunter-Douglas they just installed in the house that one of them will have to move out of.

Yes, sin is expensive. Always has been.

Moses and the Israelites paid for sin with the blood of sheep and goats. God paid for sin with the blood of His Son, Jesus. Because of Jesus' sacrifice, I can be forgiven. But that doesn't mean there isn't a tab to pay in the here and now. There is. There always will be. And although we may not have to carry a yearling on our shoulders to the tabernacle, we do well not to forget that sin costs, nevertheless.

New, from K-Sell Records

Need your help . . .

Hey Frankly readers! I am leading a book discussion next month on the topic of building healthy relationships. The suggested book to read is John Maxwell's Be a People Person. Frankly, the guys in the group are "John Maxwelled" out. Can you suggest another book that will challenge them to develop godly relationships?

I had considered Hybels' Just Walk Across the Room, but I already have an "evangelism" title upcoming this year. What suggestions can you give?

Thanks!

Come cruise with us!

Back in high school I learned the Second Law of Thermodynamics. Also known as the law of entropy, this principle teaches us that matter, left unto itself, goes from a state of order to a state of chaos. Put more simply, "stuff rusts." If I don't change the oil in may car, the motor will sieze. If I don't clean the gutters on my house, my basement is more likely to flood.

Over the years I've taught dozens of couples the First Law of Marriage Dynamics. In other words, if I don't put energy and effort into my marriage, it will break down.

That's why Tracy and I are headed to the Caribbean in October for a marriage enrichment cruise. We would love for you, faithful Frankly reader, to come and join us. In addition to the great weather, and the incredible ports of call, on two of the three days we're at sea I'll be speaking on God's Plan for Marriage, and authors Chris and Rachel McClusky, will be teaching on intimacy in marriage. The price for this cruise is exceptionally affordable. There are inside staterooms for just over $400 per person, ocean view rooms for for just over $500 per person, and balcony rooms for $743 per person.

You can check out Centermark Coaching's marriage enrichment blog to get all the details, or you can check the "Come Cruise With Me" link on the right of this page.

Email me today if you're interested in cruising with the Wellers!

Changing lanes . . .

As I was driving the kids to youth group tonight on I-96, I was surprised to share the roadway with the Butler, Indiana American Legion bus. I pulled alongside and rolled down my window, hollering like a paparazzi in search of a Lindsay Lohan photo. Ted Miller was driving the bus. Ted is Butler's city manager, a veteran, and an officer at Post 202. Ted peered into our car thinking, or so I imagined, that some crazy left-wing Michigan psycho was harassing a perfectly innocent group of senior citizens returning from the casino in Mt. Pleasant (at least that's my guess.) When he saw it was me and not Al-queda he grinned and waved. I guess the folks will have a guess-who-I-saw story to tell when they get back home.

What's the likelihood that we would meet on that road at that time? We departed from different places and were headed for different destinations. Yet, for just a few moments we were able to share the common experience of tooling down I-96 together in the evening twilight.

Come to think of it, that is pretty much a metaphor of my experience in Butler, Indiana. For ten great years, my journey merged with those of a bunch of wonderful people. Together we shared victories like Eastside's boys' basketball sectional victory. We endured defeats - so many losses to Jimtown and John Glenn. We worked together building a church, a playground, a library, and new schools. We laughed together at the Eat'n Haus, in Towne Hardware, at Kaiser's and in dozens of other places. On 9/11 we cried together and we prayed.

Our church saw babies born and said goodbye to saints. We raised a crop of kids and sent them out into the world to make a difference. We served nearly 50,000 meals at the county fair in the time our paths were conjoined. We forged friendships - some of which I expect will remain until the day we walk a gold paved path.

My journey tonight took me straight on I-96 while the Butler bus made a southward arc and headed down I-69 toward home. The path we traveled together was ever so brief. It seems like the ten years we spent in Butler . . . fleeting.

Earlier today the Butler Church of Christ voted to call a new pastor and his wife, Dan and Sandy Wagner. He comes, ironically, from Lincoln Christian Seminary in Lincoln, Illinois. Ironic because Lincoln Christian Church got their new preacher from South Lansing. South went to Butler, Indiana. And now, Butler has completed a truth-is-stranger-than-fiction circle in calling Dan. Dan will do amazing work in Butler, because Butler Church of Christ is filled with amazing people who serve and amazing God.

I miss traveling the Butler path. I miss Mike and Shelly and Scott and Jenny and Nora and Stan and Bob and Julie and Kim and Diana and Jeff and Pam and Scott and Jessica and Sam and Brie and Kevin and Misty, and, and, and . . . .

I take comfort in two truths. First, our paths have diverged only for the time being. We'll travel the road together again - if not in this world, then in the next. Second, I find great comfort in the new companions with whom I have been called to journey - the wonderful people here at South.

I've often heard it said that preachers have it rough. They grow to love a group of people and then God calls them away to some other place. In truth, it has been hard. And yet, I've not considered myself singularly cursed, but rather doubly, no triply, blessed to have forged eternal bonds with people in Kokomo, Butler, and now Lansing.

Someday, in that great gettin' up morning, we all need to get together for a long walk. Until then, although our paths may cross far too seldom, we'll nevertheless be headed in the same direction, parallel lines leading to the throne of God. Better put it in your planner. I'll be looking for you on the Heavenly highway.

Small Group

Galatians, Guns and Grace. Ah yes, that's my kind of small group!

Mrs. Frankly and I had our first small group meeting tonight and we enjoyed it thoroughly. We hung out in Galatians 1 learning about Paul's apostleship. Seems Paul thought his bona fides came from God and not men. He might not have attended Jerusalem Tech to earn his degree in legalism (or maybe he did, actually), but he did spend three years earning his PhG (piled high with grace) degree with Jesus in the wilderness.

It was really good to connect with a group of people that I have no responsibility to teach. It was good to hear my children laughing with the other kids in the group; to hear my daughter belch from the living room half a house away. It was good to find out people were going to be praying for me and to assure them I would be praying for them. It was good to talk about orthotics with Paul and semi-automatics with Joe.

The Franklies will make this a regular visit, I am sure.

There is something affirming and organically healthy about connecting with a smaller group of people at a heart level. It reminds me that I need them. And it helps me to know that maybe they need me too.

I highly recommend it.

Putting butts in the pews

I've heard that more than one church is promoting a sermon series with the provocative title, "Pure Sex."  Now, a Florida television station is reporting that some Florida drivers are finding the billboard promoting the series is distracting to some motorists.  Here is the billboard.  What say you, Frankly readers?  How far is too far in trying to reach pagans with what the Bible teaches?  Where is the line between "in the world," and "of the world?"

A pain in the . . . toe

My friend, Julia, was spotting her fiance, Rob, during his workout yesterday when he dropped a dumbell on her toe. Dr. Terrie checked it out and drilled a hole in the toenail to relieve the pressure. (Keep in mind I'm getting all this second-hand, so I could have the facts wrong - not that I would ever let a little thing like the facts get in the way of a good story.) I hear tell there was plenty of blood and, a couple of x-rays later, Julia walked out of the medical center wearing a stylish new shoe which she was sporting at church this morning.

It sort of reminded me of an event from my college days. Thad Beard and I were playing ping-pong in the administration building. It was late at night, and I was supposed to be making rounds as a student security guard. The thing we usually did, though, was play ping-pong, eat pop tarts from the cafeteria, and read the Civ and Lit books from the library's reserve shelf. Thad and I were involved in a hotly contested match when he cracked off a big smelly one. I yelled "doorknob!" and commenced to chasing him. In college, yelling "doorknob" meant that a person had complete license to pummel the "flatulant" until he was able to locate and touch a doorknob. This provided a reasonable means of keeping dorm rooms odor free, but proved particularly difficult on long road trips.

On this particular night, Thad raced from the ping-pong table to the nearest door with me on his tail. Just before Thad reached the door I lunged at him. With all my weight going forward, my descending foot caught Thad's ascending heel. Something popped and a pain shot up my leg that dropped me like third period French. A trip to St. Lawrence Hospital revealed that I dislocated my big toe. It hurt like a son-of-a-gun.

As I told Julia earlier today, it is amazing how much pain such a small a part of the body can cause.

I think that is true in the body of Christ, too. Over the years I've learned that one person can cause considerable pain in the church. Occasionally that person has been me.

As I lay in the ER at St. Larry's, I would have been happy for the doc to tell me he was going to cut off my big toe if it would have stopped the pain. That's how we often handle the "extra grace required" Christians in our churches. Someone causes too much irritation and we chop 'em off. Sometimes its necessary. Bob Russell says that there are three reasons to remove a person from the Body: heresy, sexual immorality, and divisiveness. I agree with him. It's better to cut off the toe than to allow gangrene to infect the whole body. I wonder, though, if there are times when we chop off the "appendage" out of convenience rather than necessity. Shouldn't we be more graceful?

Looking back, I'm glad the doc reduced my dislocated toe rather than removing it. Maybe I can learn to do the same with folks who cause the rest of us pain from time to time. And if a blockhead like me can learn, maybe you can, too.

Here's your sign

According to the Associated Press, a guy from Berlin was nearly incinerated when he nearly drank gasoline from a flask. The good news: he spit it out. The bad news: he spit it on his cigarette. Which was lit. With fire. Ich bin ein moron.

Here's the story.

BERLIN -- A German man in the northeastern town of Gross Godems was being treated for serious burns Monday after accidentally setting his apartment ablaze when he mixed up a bottle of gasoline with alcohol, police said.

The 56-year-old apparently grabbed the wrong bottle and took a swig from the gasoline flask, then spat it out when he realized his mistake.

The gas hit a lit cigarette, sparking the fire, police said.

The man's name was not released.

Thank you!

I've heard from a couple of Frankly Speaking readers concerning my post last Tuesday, January 8. Thank you! If you've not yet read the exciting news, please check it out and join me in praying for the upcoming trips.

Church of the ATM . . .

My friend, Brian, sent me these two photos from a new church that is locating in a former Lansing Area Federal Credit Union. I am preaching a series on God's plan for our personal finances right now. Maybe a church with a built in ATM isn't such a bad idea . . .

Buckets are for more than just popcorn

Mrs. Frankly and the three "little" Franklies accompanied me to Celebration Cinema tonight to view the new Jack Nickolson / Morgan Freeman film, The Bucket List.

It was an exceptionally good film. In fact, it was a great film (that superlative is for my friend, Ben). I won't give away any of the plot. I won't spoil the end. I laughed. I cried (a little), and when the credits rolled I was reminded that, in a world with too much sex and violence committed to celluloid, humanity is still capable of producing a good movie now and again.

Don't wait for the DVD. Go see this movie.

PS - I'm already planning a "Bucket List" sermon series.

Promise Keepers

My dad used to say that a man who didn't keep his promise to his wife couldn't be trusted to keep his promises to anyone else. What does that say about the Republican Presidential candidates? I don't presume to know why so many in the field are divorced - who's at fault, what happened. Rather, I merely observe that there are three candidates who are married to their first brides:
Mike and Janet Huckabee, Ron and Carol Paul, Mitt and Ann Romney.

Does it matter that the others are divorced? Is fidelity in marriage a requirement for the Presidency? When a man stands before the preacher and promises, "til death do we part," and then goes back on his word, why should I believe him when he raises his right hand and intones, "I do solemnly swear to uphold the constitution of the United States of America"?

Or am I just too old-fashioned?

Huck-a-boom, Huck-a-boom, dontcha just love him

I'm thinking of voting for Mike Huckabee. Zig agrees with me.

Globe trotting Wellers to go on mission trips

Regular readers of Frankly Speaking will recall that Mrs. Frankly and I went on a mission trip to Haiti last spring with the good folks from Butler Church of Christ. It was a moving experience as the surgical team we were with brought health to scores of Haitians and as the rest of the team painted and furnished an infant orphanage at Northwest Haiti Christian Mission. (Two of the little girls we worked with are pictured above.)

In 2008 Mrs. Frankly and Frankly-ette (Abigail) will be headed back to NWHCM. They will be there over Easter, and will once again be assisting in the clinic and surgery center. Son number one, Caleb, and I will be headed to Mexico over the summer. We'll be working near the Belize border to assist a group of Christians that lost their church building during last year's hurricane season. With a grant from International Disaster Emergency Services, Christ's Mission in the Yucatan is building a permanent block building that will serve, not only as a church, but also as a hurricane shelter for the community. We'll be helping with the construction.

This will be Caleb's first mission experience outside the United States, and it will be the first time Abby has seen poverty on this scale.

I am excited about their trips because I believe they will help to form them, spiritually. 70% of all missionaries began their careers as short-term missionaries. (My sister and brother-in-law are two who did so.) Caleb has already expressed interest in becoming a minister, and Abby wants to work with children. This will be a great opportunity for them to see if God might be leading them to become missionaries.

All told, the Wellers will be spending about $5000 for these four trips. Tracy and Abby will spend about $1300 each while my and Caleb's trip will run closer to $1200. I've never used Frankly Speaking to solicit anything from my readers, but I thought I would make a special request of the 100 + readers who drop by each week: would you be willing to help sponsor our trip(s)?

There are a couple ways you can help. First, Abby and Caleb both need passports. These will cost about $90 each. Second, you can help pick up the cost of our airfare with a donation of any size.

If you are willing to pay for the kids' passports, just send a check made out to either Abby or Caleb with "Passport" in the memo line. Unfortunately, these are not tax deductible gifts.

If you'd like to help with our airfare, just drop a check in the mail made out to South Lansing Christian Church. Put "Weller mission trips" in the memo line. We'll make sure you get a receipt from the church so you can claim the gift on your taxes. You can mail either gift to:

Frank Weller
South Lansing Christian Church
6300 Aurelius Rd.
Lansing, MI 48911

Keep checking back this spring for pictures from Haiti and, later on, from Mexico. Caleb and Abby (and Tracy and I) are working and saving for this trip, but as you can imagine it is a lot of money to come up with. That's why your partnership in this effort means a lot to me. Thanks, friends!

Not as Much as Noah

There's a flood watch here in East Lansing. That's what happens in springtime, I guess. Except that it's not springtime. They used to say in Indiana that, if you didn't like the weather, you could stick around five minutes because it was sure to change. Well, that axiom seems to hold true for Michigan, too. Come to think of it, I'll bet they say the same thing in every state north of the Ohio River.

As it happens, I am reading about Noah and the great flood that he endured so long ago. The critters all entered into the ark - including the two-legged ones with Noah's last name - and found safety in the midst of the storm.

Is that the church?

Certainly not the building. I've seen plenty of church buildings succumb to fire and hail and rain and wind. The living church, though, the people who make up the body of Christ, what about us? Are we an ark for people when they're hurting or scared? When they're facing a cataclysm that threatens their existence?

I sure hope so.

I guess the church, to stretch the marine analogy a bit more, is either a pleasure cruise or a lifeboat. I, for one, hope we're the latter; I don't want to waste my time on the former.

Oh . . . enjoy the sixty degree weather while you can. It's supposed to be below freezing again this weekend . . . right after the thunderstorm and tornado watches.

Winter Wonderland

The view from my office window is spectacular today!

Think about this on election day

Uncle Jay provides some useful insights heading into the upcoming primary elections.

Last year's reading

I'm often asked what I'm reading. A few years back I began keeping a list of the books I read. Here is 2007's list. Some are new, some are old.

The Hope by Herman Wouk
The Last Jihad by Joel Rosenberg
Just Walk Across the Room by Bill Hybles
Simple Church by Thom Rainer and Eric Geiger
Blood and Thunder by Hampton Sides
Developing the Leader Within You by John Maxwell
The Last Days by Joel Rosenberg
Celebration of Discipline by Richard Foster
The Copper Scroll by Joel Rosenberg
The Ezekiel Option by Joel Rosenberg
Epicenter by Joel Rosenberg
Six Days of War by Michael B. Oren
Night by Elie Wiesel
Be a People Person by John Maxwell
A Theological Miscellany by T.J. McTavish
Visioneering by Andy Stanley
The Pursuit of Holiness by Jerry Bridges
The Fight for Jerusalem by Dore Gold
Point Man by Steve Farrar
From Beirut to Jerusalem by Thomas Friedman
Safely Home by Randy Alcorn
The Externally Focused church by Rick Rusaw
Good to Great by Jim Collins
Breakout Churches by Thom Rainer
Clearing the Bases by Mike Schmidt
Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser
Reveal: Where Are You? by Greg Hawkins and Cally Parkinson
Made to Stick by Chip heath and Dan Heath
The Golden Compass by Phillip Pullman
A Quiet Strength by Tony Dungy
The Day of Battle by Rick Atkinson

I try to read a variety of books. Looking over the 31 titles that make up the list, I find 7 works of fiction and 24 non-fiction. Three are biographies. Eleven are either personal spiritual formation texts or somehow related to helping me "do church better." In 2007 I devoted a considerable amount of reading to books with a Middle Eastern theme. The best of these, by far, was Friedman's book, From Beirut to Jerusalem.

Without question, the best book I read in 2007 was Atkinson's follow-up to his Pulitzer winning book, An Army at Dawn (a 2006 read). His latest installment in the Liberation Trilogy has me panting for the final volume in that series. What a massive and fulfilling read.

What did you read in 2007? What are you looking forward to reading in 2008?

The greatest country in the world

I visited with a Lebanese pizza maker last night while waiting for my ham and pepperoni pizza to come out of the oven. A young mother of two school-age daughters, she immigrated to the United States several years ago to escape the constant warfare of her native country.

"When I was a child, Lebanon was predominantly Christian," she told me. "Since the coming of Hezbollah, though, the Christian majority is shrinking. Muslim families have six, seven, ten children, and Christians have at most three. We're becoming outnumbered." She went on the explain that Palestinians from Israel have flooded into southern Lebanon, using her homeland as a base to stage attacks on Israel. "I completely support Israel in their attacking of Lebanon because, when they attack Lebanon, they are attacking Hezbollah. The Palestinians come to Lebanon to fight against Israel. If they want to fight Israel, let them do it in Palestine and not in my country."

Her partner in the pizzeria is also a Lebanese immigrant. Two years ago he and his wife adopted a baby from Lebanon. His wife, in fact, was in Lebanon to pick the infant up when war broke out between Israel and Lebanon. Her return to the U.S. was doubtful before congressional leaders from Michigan and State Department officials intervened. Eventually, the U. S. Marines escorted them to safety. His story received such notoriety that he appeared on Larry King Live.

Speaking of the United States he told me, "This is the greatest country in the world. People who don't believe that should see places like Lebanon. Here there is peace and everybody has the opportunity to build a better life."

Earlier this year I read Thomas Friedman's book, From Beirut to Jerusalem. His first-hand account of Beirut's deterioration from "the Paris of the Middle East," to a squalid, war-torn city filled with pock-marked hovels is sad and instructive. My two Lebanese friends had enough and left in search of something better for them and their children. They found it in the United States of America. I wish that folks who constantly run down the U. S. could see this country through the eyes of those who've seen suffering abroad.

Still, they hope to return. "I have family in Lebanon, and I plan to return there when I am old," Petaline told me, "but right now there are no jobs, no opportunity. That is why I am here."

Cluster Map

Regular readers of Frankly Speaking will notice the new addition at the bottom of the column to the right of this posting. Cluster Map shows the location of the various IP addresses of the folks who've accessed Frankly Speaking. There are 23 nations from five continents represented. Don't ask me, I have no idea why . . .

Christmas

My kids and I spent about two hours Tuesday night playing Guitar Hero III - the latest of the Playstation games that are bringing back the hits of my childhood. My son, Caleb, is a whiz at the game. I struggled to play the bass guitar on "Sweet Child of Mine," while Bubba started the song in hard mode before turning around to play the lead guitar facing away from the television. Then, just to show his complete dominance over the old man, he laid the guitar on the floor and played it with his feet while I continued to fumble around on "easy" setting.

Did I mention he plays the drums, too? Uncle Marty took the boys to Wal-Mart on Monday to pick a few things up for Christmas. He dropped Caleb and Jonah off in the electronics department where they found the latest game. It's like Guitar Hero, but it includes a set of drums. Caleb, who plays in the percussion section for the Grand Ledge High School marching band, set the game to expert and proceeded to smoke it on the first time he ever saw the game. Marty told us later that Caleb actually drew a crowd with his "performance."

We had a ton of fun with my mom and dad, sister and brother-in-law, and their kids.

I hope your Christmas was blessed, too, and that the promise of the New Year brings you hope and determination.

Lori sent this to me. Growing up on a farm in Indiana, I can really relate to little Logan. The background to the clip is below:



We have had a lot of requests to replay the phone call that Pastor Mike shared during our church service on Sunday, Nov. 11th, 2007.

Here you'll find the video clip that was created just for you. We've placed the video on YouTube so that you can watch it and share with family and friends.

Logan is a 13 year-old boy who lives on a ranch in a very small town in Nebraska. Logan listens to Christian Radio station 89.3FM KSBJ which broadcasts from Houston, TX. Logan called the radio station distraught because he had to take down a calf . His words have wisdom beyond his years.

Since airing the audio of the phone call and now the making of the video clip, it has taken on a life of its own. People are forwarding it all over the world. We encourage you to share the love of Christ with anyone you can.

(**Sky Angel is a family safe broadcasting service that is offered on satellite. KSBJ is a local Houston Christian music radio station. Video clip produced with love by www.FrankLozano.com

What's in your trunk?

I realized today that I am fully integrated into the Michigan culture when I opened my trunk and saw the tree stand that I've been carrying around since early October. You never know when you might want to shinny up a maple tree to ambush some unsuspecting deer.

Lots of guys carry stuff around in their trunks.

Passionate golfers carry their bags around from March until November. My dad, although never a boy scout, lived by the "be prepared" motto. To this day he still carries around a small toolbox with everything he might need during a breakdown. Tony Soprano carries around dead guys in his trunk. Okay, I made that last one up. He has his people carry around the dead bodies.

One holiday season I drove around from Thanksgiving to Christmas Eve with my wife's presents in the back of the minivan. (Technically not a trunk, but the posterior of the vehicle nevertheless.)

What's in your trunk? Are you hiding something? Maybe not literally, but I suspect most of us have an item or two tucked away behind the back seat where no one can see. This is not good.

Last night Mrs. Frankly and I hit a couple of stores for some yuletide shopping. There were several bags in the trunk when I picked up the two youngest Franklies from youth group. Normally they toss their school bags and whatnot in the trunk. Absentmindedly, I hit the trunk button and popped the lid. The next thing I heard was my wife yelling, "get out of there boys!"

Once something is in the trunk, we do our best to keep it in and keep others out. This, too, is not good.

The thing about trunks is that the light is only on when the lid is open. Otherwise its just dark in there. (Okay, I've never actually been inside a trunk to know; just roll with me on that one.) John wrote in 1 John 1,

This is the message we have heard from him and declare to you: God is light; in him there is no darkness at all. If we claim to have fellowship with him yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not live by the truth. But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin. If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.

Its pretty simple, really. Trunk closed, light off, no fellowship with God. Trunk open, light on, sin forgiven.

Now where's that remote?

Love wins . . .

Saw this bumper sticker on a Volvo earlier today: "Love wins."

"Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit." Joseph, a righteous man, takes Mary home; raises her son as his own. Love wins.

Twelve years later Mary and Joseph search hysterically through a web of streets and alleys for their lost son. Racked with fear for what might be, they find him sitting among the elders, a child prodigy impressing the old men with the depth of his questions. "Why did you do this to us, Jesus?!" "I had to be about my Father's business," is his matter-of-fact reply. Love wins.

The lawyers want to kill her. No one comes to her defense, no one disagrees. She's a whore, after all. What is more, she's a tool they can use to trap the carpenter-turned-rabbi from Nazareth. "What should we do with her, Jesus?" "Whichever of you who is innocent . . . clean . . . without blemish . . . you throw the first rock." Love wins.

Standing outside a tomb. Mary and Martha pull their cloaks over their mouths and noses. After three days, the stench will only magnify the pain of losing their brother, their protector, provider, legitimizer. "Lazarus, come forth!" Shuffling from his tomb he comes, dragging his death clothes with him. Love wins.

"Father, let this cup pass from me. . ." He prays in the garden. He doesn't want to die. His Spirit wages war with His flesh. The pain of an agonized death versus the pain of a lost humanity. "Yet not my will, but yours, Father." Love wins.

"Eloi, eloi lama sabachtani?" "God, why have you forsaken me?" "Abba! Where are you daddy?" He gives up His spirit, slumps forward, breathing stops, the struggle ceases. Love wins.

Peter and John race to the tomb. John, the faster, out paces his old fishing partner. Jesus is not there. Mary says He is risen. She says she's seen him with her own eyes! Christ is risen; He is risen indeed! Love wins!

The sky splits. Angels descend. Riding on a cloud, surrounded in light, trumpets blaring, He returns to call His own to His side. No more night; no more death or pain; no more tears. God dwells among them. They are His people, and He is there God. Satan banished to the pit, nevermore to assail.

Love wins.

Put that on your Christmas cards this season.

Let those two words inspire and motivate you to greatness.

Christian brother, Christian sister, you win. I win. Because . . .

Love wins.

Wal-Mart Scrooges

This link to a story about Wal-Mart appeared in my inbox today. Shame on Wal-Mart. With billions in corporate profits, they pick on the little people. Regular readers of Frankly Speaking know that I rarely step on the anti-corporate soapbox. I certainly don't bash Wal-Mart, as they've saved me tons over the years. Now I'm wondering if I should continue to shop there . . .

Alan Keyes?

Michigan's early primary has forced me to begin thinking through my vote considerably earlier than in the past. I am struggling to decide who to vote for. I appreciate Mike Huckabee, but am perturbed by his fiscal policy. I like McCain on immigration. Mitt Romney's state was the first in the nation to marry homosexual couples. Where was his leadership on that issue. Mayor Giuliani's pro-choice position, when coupled with his marriage problems, makes me wonder about his commitment to the family (Dr. Dobson notwithstanding).

I'm taking a hard look at Alan Keyes. He doesn't have a prayer of winning. But he stands for what I stand for. I still remember his capital punishment answer during a 2000 presidential debate. It was the clearest, most sensible treatment of that issue that I've ever heard from a politician. (Why is it that the pols who make the most sense don't seem to have a prayer of wining?)

Jon, a guy I play hoops with on Tuesdays and Thursdays, is urging me to vote for Ron Paul, but I can't bring myself to vote for a guy whose part advocates the legalization of marijuana.

I'm thinking Keyes more and more. I wonder . . . is he even on the ballot in Michigan? [No, as t turns out] Now who?

These are a few of my favorite things . . .

Wally and I are working on new lyrics to the Sound of Music classic, "My Favorite Things." (I haven't actually told him he's helping yet, though.) You know the one: " . . . when the dog bites, when the bee stings . . ." We want to create the guy version of the song. No cream colored ponies for us. Crisp apple strudel? More like buffalo wings, I think.

Here's my question, men. What are your favorite things. Fill me in, and you could be immortalized in this soon-to-become classic.

My girls

Check out the two hot brunettes I saw eating lunch outside my office window earlier today. I was able to take their pictures without them noticing I was staring. They were only about fifty feet from my office window, and they were wearing . . . well, let's just say they were wearing only what God gave 'em.

No fear

Ananova is reporting that Japanese scientists have created a genetically modified (GM) mouse that does not fear cats. Think about that a minute. Do you suppose that, out of respect for the mice's newfound confidence, cats are going to throw in the towel. As sure as Tom chases Jerry, I don't think so.

There is a reason that "mousy" is a synonym for "timid," "fearful," and "shy." That's how mice are supposed to be. It's what has kept them around for the thousands of years since they managed to avoid being trampled by the elephants on Noah's ark.

Humans have their own version of fear avoidance. Although not genetically modified to avert our natural fears, we certainly have been culturally modified (CM?) to lose them. There was a time when a boy feared getting his girlfriend pregnant. When my friend Mike got his gal pregnant in high school, his father made him drop off the football team, get married, and get a job. Just a few decades earlier he would have been forced to quit school, too. Fear of early fatherhood kept us in check. It helped that girls were equally afraid of having to quit the cheer leading squad, and worried that their reputations would be sullied by over-amorous behavior.

Not any more. There isn't any fear of pre-marital sexuality any more. Not even the fear of sexually transmitted diseases has curbed our sexual appetite. I actually heard a radio doctor reading from a recent medical journal study encouraging early sexual activity as a means of avoiding teenage participation in vandalism. What?

There was a time when one of the most fearful four letter words in the English language was DEBT. The very idea of having to file bankruptcy was a horrifying as being quarantined for typhoid or tuberculosis. Families avoided debt at all costs. Maybe, just maybe, one would get a mortgage for a home, but never something so extravagant as a car, certainly nothing trivial like furniture or jewelry. Not any more. Credit companies market to consumers by suggesting that, not only is it good to pay with "the card," but it is preferable to paying with cash. Paper money just gums up the giant capitalist machine.

I've often heard the phrase, "a healthy fear," but I've never been too sure what that means. Maybe it is something akin to what I feel whenever I have to work with the wiring in my house. I fear, frankly, being electrocuted. That is, very literally, a healthy fear. Breeding the fear out of mice is one thing. But I'm pretty certain taking the human fear gene away, and its cultural equivalent - the relaxing of proper and helpful social norms - is not a good thing. At the very least, we're creating successive generations of men and women for whom, "No Fear" is more than a brand of clothing or a catchy idea for a "reality" show, but rather a mantra that leads to self destruction.

At it's worse, though, we're creating a conscienceless culture where anything - and anybody - goes. Frankly speaking, that's not a good thing.

My civic duty

For years I've amazed my wife as the only person she knows who actually wants to serve on a jury. Whether it is my highly developed sense of civic duty, or just my fascination with the legal process, I've always wanted to the opportunity to see the legal process up close, but I've never had the chance.

Until now. I was called for jury duty today.

In DeKalb County.

Where I no longer live.

Figures.

Not so much . . . no . . .

Our realtor called to let us know the buyer for our house could not get financed. Seems the mortgage underwriters want you to have a job before they loan you $93,500. Go figure.

So we're back on the market.

Please pray that our home will sell. And, if you provide the lead for the person who buys it, I'll personally give you a sloppy wet kiss, or cook you a steak dinner with all the trimmings - your choice.

Thanks!

Christmas eve

Our church is planning an amazing Christmas Eve service for December 24th. At 11 p.m. 600 folks will gather at South Lansing Christian Church to celebrate the coming of light into the dark world.

We'll be answering the question: "Why Bethlehem?" Jesus could have been born anywhere. Rome makes sense. It was the political center of the known world at the time. The most powerful nation in existence, Rome was a logical choice.

Perhaps Greece. As the intellectual center of mankind it would have made sense for the "word to be made flesh" in a culture where words were so highly prized.

Maybe even in central America with its ancient Mayan culture. As they looked to the sun god, it would have made sense for the Son of God to illuminate their darkened thinking.

But Bethlehem?

How does that make sense?

Come on December 24th. Bring the kids in their jammies. Be surrounded by family and friends. Bask in the soft low of candles and Christmas carols. "Come to Bethlehem and see Christ the Lord the newborn King."

He'll be there.

Outside my window . . .

It is 8:00 a.m. in Lansing. Just beyond the pane of glass that separates me from 26 degrees of cold the world is beginning to hum. When I left the house this morning it was still dark, and yet there were a lot of people up and at it. The interstate was bumper to bumper for some reason.

I listened to Mad Dog in the Morning arguing with morning show callers about Mike Martz and his job as head coach of the Detroit Lions and who should replace Michigan coach Lloyd Carr. The quiet of my office, and the soft whooshing of the heat duct is a welcome reprieve from the hectic pace of the drive in.

As the sun peeks over the horizon it casts shadows across the field that I can see just above my computer screen. Drab, lifeless brown weeds change their hue in the morning light. They look almost golden. In the background the steam rises from the Board of Water and Light smokestacks, silhouetted by a blue sky that is punctuated with a few low-hanging clouds off in the distance. Pink when I sat down to type, the colorful sunrise palette is fading to a more sedate wintry blue and gray.

Maybe I'll see a deer or two today.

Last week a young buck scampered into the field about thirty yards from where I sit. He stopped to dine on the pumpkins my sons threw out for him to eat. I walked into the office and flipped on the light. His head shot up and he looked my way, a hunk of orange hanging from his mouth. He gnawed on his Thanksgiving snack, walked over to the salt lick for some after dinner seasoning, and then ambled toward a thicket.

Perhaps I'll see that gimpy doe again with her two young ones. She has a limp in a hind leg - probably the result of being a city dweller who dodges cars if not bullets. At least she doesn't have to worry about hunters, just how to get from food to water and back. She too stops by to nibble on the salt block. She never says "thank you," but she hangs around long enough for me to feel as though some quid pro quo has taken place.

There is a light dusting of snow on the ground. Soon I have to head back out into the bluster. I hate the cold, but the trip will be worth it. I'm headed a few miles up the road to Michigan State University, and its fields full of Hereford cows grazing on corn stubble and the leavings of this year's harvest.

All things considered, God has blessed me with a great start today.

I hope he has blessed you, too.