Heart Disease

I begin a new sermon series this coming Sunday. Honestly, it is a straight-up knock off of Andy Stanley's book, It Came From Within. Andy writes about four monsters that attack our hearts: guilt, anger, greed, and envy. More on that in later posts.

The upshot of the book, which I finished reading this morning about 1 AM, is this: we spend far more time adjusting our behavior that we we do tending to the heart. Odd, since it is the heart that is the source of our behavior. The heart doesn't so much reflect who I am, as it reveals who I am.

The book came at a good time for me, for it is an affirmation of something my spiritual coach, Dean, told me while back. He said that I need to reflect more. I need to pay more attention to the inner life. Andy Stanley agrees.

In fact, he lists several questions in his book that help us test the heart:

• Is everything okay with my heart?
• Am I mad at anybody?
• Did anyone hurt my feelings today?
• Did anyone break a promise to me today?
• Am I worried about anything?

The answers to these questions can reveal if we have a monster lurking in the shadows.

These aren't the questions we usually ask, though. Truth is, we usually focus on our behavior.

Not convinced that you monitor behavior instead of your heart? When was the last time you asked your son or daughter, "Are you mad at anyone?" No? Me either. I ask things like, "Is your room clean?" or "Did you finish your homework?" I spotlight behavior and neglect teaching my kids to reflect. Why? Because that is what I learned to do.

There are other questions you can ask that will help you diagnose whether or not you have heart disease. These really require some boldness, though, because these are questions you ask the people closest to you. Try these on your husband or wife:

• Do you feel I struggle with being completely open about things?
• Do you feel like I have walls?
• Do you ever feel like you're competing with my stuff?
• Are you ever afraid to talk to me?
• Do you ever wonder which one of me you're coming home to?

Did I mention these are tough?

I don't know if you're like me, but I am convinced that I need to focus more on my heart. When I do, I'm guessing my behavior will begin to change the way God desires. Or at least that is what I am hoping.

Frank's Tips for Surviving the Secretary of State

I took my middle child to the Secretary of State today to acquire his level one driver's license. (That's the BMV for my three Indiana readers). It was . . . exactly what you would expect. And since Frankly Speaking is such a helpful oriented blog (wink, wink), I thought I would pass along several useful tips for surviving your upcoming trip to purgator . . . er . . . the license branch, as we call it back home.

1. Pack a lunch. And plenty of fluids. There is a reason that the acronym is "SOS." You might want to go as far as investing in a GPS transponder beacon in case your loved ones become concerned for your whereabouts. And they will. In fact, you might want to stop at Gander Mountain before your visit to see if there is something freeze dried or dehydrated just to be certain that it is edible after your long delay. The wise survivalist will pack additional food for his fellow travelers so that the freeze-dried ice cream you bring along can be traded for a higher place in the line.
2. Bring documentation. All of it. That you've ever received. Because, when you step up to the counter and the bureaucrat on the other side asks you to identify yourself, smiling and responding, "I am me," isn't going to cut it. You're going to need your Social Security card, naturally. And your birth certificate - the original one with the raised seal. You're also going to want something official with your address on it. A water bill; a title to your vehicle. If, however, you are like my son and have not lived long enough to establish that you are who you are, you might also want to bring along the scrapbook that your mother made for you. Locks or hair, your first lost tooth, the tubes that you had in your ears at one point - each of these contain traces of DNA that can be used to establish your identity. A report card works, if it has your address on it. But you might also want to bring along your teacher(s), and other relatives that can tell helpful anecdotes about the time when you were four years old and urinated on the front lawn in full view of the ladies bridge club across the street.
3. Ask a computer guru to accompany you. Your service specialist is probably going to have to input your data at least once or, as in my case today, four times, before calling tech support for assistance. If at all possible, just bring Bill Gates with you to the branch. Or Steve Jobs. Oh wait . . . if the State used Apple they wouldn't need tech support.
4. Make a game of it. This can make all the difference between sanity and . . . well, insanity. Begin a pool with your fellow masochists. Everyone throws in a buck to bet which employee is going to be serving you. Will it be the girl that looks like she graduated high school twelve minutes ago? The frustrated former middle management executive from GM? Really want to have fun? Stop at the bakery beforehand and snatch a random "now serving" number. When you arrive at the SOS, wait several minutes and then loudly ask, "Wait a minute! Did I miss my number? I've got 83 here!" Of course, that only works if they're nowhere near 83, but you can figure out that part of it.
   
5. Make a buck. Make sure you take two numbers (you'll have to do this on the sly). Wait thirty minutes and then very quietly auction off the extra number. You're going to have to be subtle about this, however, as someone is likely to rip the pen and chain off the counter and either use the chain to strangle you or the pen to shiv you (or both).

With enough creativity, planning and patience (and a prescription for Valium), your trip to the Secretary of State doesn't have to be a mind-numbing, exercise in frustration.

NOTE TO "THAT READER": It is called humor. The views expressed in this column were intended to be satirical in nature and are not intended to reflect anger, frustration, perspiration or indigestion. Thank you, have a nice day.

If anyone aspires to be an elder . . .

I enjoyed visiting with Jim in my office earlier today. In the course of our time together, he asked how much our church's elders were paid. He was really surprised when I told him that they are all volunteers. I can understand why.

I've known some great elders in my time as a preacher, and they all desrved to be paid. Ray S. cared enough to confront me when I was still wet behind the ears. Ron R. was like an uncle to me when we lived in Kokomo. Terry U. is the most biblically literate elder I've ever known. Mike K. is the first elder I've ever been able to call a "friend who sticks closer than a brother."

It's not enough to say that these men all deserved to be paid, either. Fact is, you couldn't pay them enough for a lot of what they do. My dad was an elder, and I watched him experience the joys and the heartache of serving in that role. There were times when serving was an almost unbearable burden. Just the other day we talked about one particularly difficult congregational meeting when he was on the hot seat for making what was, at the time, a difficult leadership decision. Twenty-five years removed, the pain is so real that it is still hard for him to talk about it. Fact is, every elder I've ever known has had similar experiences.

An hour or so after Jim asked me how big our "elder payroll" is, South's elders met for their monthly meeting. It was a good one. I really appreciated the input the guys have in our ministry. They all bring different gifts to the table, and God seems to give them the right thing to say at the right time.

Mike V. keeps his eye on the bottom line. I really love that he has a heart for ministry and that he does all he can to make our financial resources go as far as they can. Without him and his team keeping an eye on the books, we'd be in tall grass. He has a heart for seeing people become all that God has called them to be - including me.

Dick has a dry, but great sense of humor. He usually sits quietly by, but when he speaks he asks the right questions, and can break down an issue so that it is manageable. Tonight he took a complex issue and framed it in a way that made it seem less intimidating.

Terry S. is an encourager. He is the most extroverted and gregarious elder with whom I have ever served. Terry stops by my office to pray with me every Sunday morning. He encourages the whole staff that way. His vocabulary is filled with superlatives, which he dishes them out liberally (and means every word).

Mike B. is kind. And steady. And sure. If Mike says he is going to do something, I can count on him doing it. He keeps track of all the new members at South and makes sure that each of them receives a visit in their home from the elders. He will tell you that Mr. Palmer (or maybe Doc Doty) was "Mr. South." But for me, that person is Mike.

Chris is so insightful. He asks probing questions that cause the staff to reflect on on their spiritual condition. How are we with God? What is robbing our joy? Are we being true to our staff covenant. Chris is always looking for "the vision" thing, but he is careful to make sure that we don't get so focused on the big picture that we neglect our own spiritual condition.

Joe is the newest of our elders. His heart for families is evident and he leads by example with his own. His priorities are clear: God, family, ministry, work - in that order. He, too, is quiet by comparison. And that gives his words, when he speaks, even more weight.

Terry R. is a servant. When he retired from GM earlier this year, he devoted his time to custodial work at South. But he doesn't "neglect the ministry of the word and prayer" to sweep floors. Terry was instrumental in leading a couple to Christ just this last week. He is so grounded and understands that the best ministry is done in relationship.

Tom has been a personal encouragement to me, too. In a lot of ways, he has a no nonsense approach to life, and yet when he ministers to people he does so with an obvious grace and mercy.

Every one of these men is amazing.

There will be, no doubt, a cynic or two that will read this and suggest that I am currying favor with the men who are my overseers. So be it. But credit is due where credit is deserved, and these men deserve credit for their service. That's not why they do it, of course. (They might even get a little bit ruffled at the idea of me writing this.)

Bill Hybels made a statement a while back that stuck with me. (I quoted a portion of it in my last post, actually.) He wrote, "The local church is the hope of the world, and its future rests primarily in the hands of its leaders."

If he is right, and I think he is, that means South Lansing Christian Church has a great future ahead.

Life, death, eternal life and other truly important events . . .

Yesterday was one of those days that alternates between heartache and joy. A day when a preacher feels both incredible helplessness and incredible hope.

The day began when I met a physician that has a vision for a free health care clinic in an under-served area of Lansing. Her grant proposal was well written. She has over $100,000 in in-kind donations. She needs another $200,000 to get her project off the ground. I don't think there is anything our church can do. Helpless . . .

Talked with a guy who is really struggling in his marriage right after that. He and his wife are nearing the seven-year mark, and the frustration is palpable. We've talked before. Sometimes they do well together; sometimes they don't. I believe they have all the resources they need for a God-honoring marriage. And yet I often feel pretty helpless to move them in that direction.

I spent three hours preparing a funeral sermon for a nine-day-old baby boy. The apparent contradiction between God's omnipotence His goodness was hammering in my ears the whole time. So I decided to acknowledge it. There are some times when "that don't make no sense" as Delmar's friend Pete likes to say; times when God seems asleep at the switch. God is big enough for us to admit our doubts, I think, but as I contemplated how to bring hope to this boy's family, I felt pretty hopeless.

I delivered that funeral sermon shortly after that, but not before I stood beside mom and dad as they peered into the bassinet at their little boy. He was exquisite - just like one of those "real life" baby dolls that you buy your daughter so she can feel all grown up when she plays mommy. There were lots of tears. And through the sobbing I felt pretty helpless.

At the funeral dinner that followed everyone was very complimentary. They said my words brought comfort and healing. In spite of the brutal events of the day there was laughter and joy. (Being a Christian makes all the difference at times like these!) As evening came, the sun finally began to shine.

The day concluded with me immersing two folks into Christ. What a huge blessing that was! Tom and Nancy were befriended by a group of folks from our church that camp together and cruise together and, well, they do just about everything together. It seems they also share the gospel together, too, because Tom and Nancy went public with their faith in Jesus last night. Afterward, their friends gave them a beautiful Bible. Nancy was overheard to say, "This is the first Bible we've ever owned." Amazing.

That is how the church works. This organic, living, breathing thing that is the hands of Christ and the hope of the world. Bringing comfort to people that are hurting; bringing Christ to people that are hopeless. The local church is the hope of the world. And in a day when this preacher felt pretty helpless, the church was a source of great hope for me, too.

Romans 8:28, painfully real

Terry called me this morning. “Frank, I need you to come to the hospital. Gene and Amy are here. Their two-week-old son, Landon, passed away this morning.”

When Amy fed Landon at 3 AM she could tell something wasn’t right. Then he stopped breathing. They laid him on the floor and Greg began CPR while Amy called 911. Gene prayed and breathed for his little man, but by the time the paramedics arrived, Landon still had not come around. And he never did.

As I showered and dressed to go to the hospital I couldn’t help but think of the verse I am supposed to preach tomorrow morning: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Really? Was that what I was supposed to tell Gene and Amy? "Hey, guys, God is going to bring something good out of this." Was that going to be any comfort for their 6-year-old son, Anthony, who just wants to know where his baby brother went?

Was God working all things for the good when the detectives interviewed Gene and Amy separately to determine if their stories matched? Was God working all things for good when Gene and Amy arrived home from the hospital to find two police cars sitting outside to secure what might potentially be a crime scene? When Amy was asked to “re-enact” what took place with a baby doll – how did God work that for good?

Following their routine investigation, the police determined that there was no foul play, but that is small comfort for Gene and Amy because Landon is still dead. Though the police have their questions answered, their family is left with a singular unanswered question: “why?”

I have some answers to that question, but they are all theological. They minister to the head, but leave the heart wanting. And when that happens – at times like this – it takes great faith to believe this verse, to claim it as one’s own, to believe that God can see the whole movie and not just the frame or two that is our existence.

And that may be, at least in the near term, the only good that can come of something this painful.

One Friday Night: Police, Prom and Parenting

Last Friday I watched Abby get all dolled up for the Everett High School Prom. She and her friends from South's youth group all went together and, even though she attends Grand Ledge High School, they fixed her up with a guy from Everett so she could hang with them. Tyler was the young man's name, and he seemed nice enough.

Even though I just met Tyler, I wasn't worried about him. As I said, he seemed nice enough, and besides, Abby had just completed a Lansing Police Department self-defense course. She had already spent some time showing her brothers and I her new moves. For her final exam, in fact, she defended herself against LPD Chief of Police Mark Alley. He suited up in a specially padded outfit and attacked her, and she kneed him in the groin and punched him into submission. Frankly, I don't want to mess with that girl.

Still, one doesn't just send his daughter into the night without a reservation or two. So I put on my bullet proof vest and chaplain's uniform and went for a ride along with LPD Sergeant Emmons. I reasoned that, if there was a problem, I would be able to get anywhere in the city rather rapidly, and would have unparallelled communications.

The night was interesting, to say the least. We began with bar checks. We drifted in and out of several downtown bars. The Cadillac Club was slow. Things were dead at The Firm. Across the street, though, at Club X-Cel the place was jumping. The Sergeant and I found ourselves surrounded by a passel of drunk co-eds who wanted to dance with a cop in uniform. I shot the Sergeant a get-me-out-of-here look and he plowed a path to the door. He found the whole thing pretty amusing.

We checked out the bars in Old Town - including my first (and probably last) gay bar. Frankly, it was the coolest spot I was in all night. The owner is a gifted artist who personally made all the artwork and furnishings. We checked out some city parks, too, including the fish ladder where the salmon will soon be leaping their way upstream to spawn.

As we were headed to Rum Runners to check it out we received a call about a shooting on the North side of town. We raced across town with lights and sirens and arrived in fairly short order. As we turned the corner, the first thing I saw was a girl in a prom dress. My heart skipped a bit as the dad in me wondered . . . Abby had no reason to be in this neighborhood. In fact, I knew she had planned to be in Ovid by this time, but still, I couldn't help but be a bit concerned.

When we pulled up, the victim was being loaded into an car by several friends to be taken to the hospital. The police delayed them until paramedics could arrive, which they did moments later. From that point on, the whole situation seemed like something out of a movie. Police canvassed the neighborhood and interviewed neighbors. They questioned a group of partiers that were near where the shooting occurred. They looked for evidence.

After the scene was secured, the Sergeant and I headed to the hospital. I was able to pray with the victim's family in the waiting room. As of this morning, I am uncertain how the victim is recovering. We continue to pray.

For the first time since moving to Lansing, I experienced the reality that this is a city. I have known that, of course, but Friday night I saw it up close and first hand. It is eclectic and alive. We are a multicultural, energetic place filled with life and excitement. We're not a utopian community, to be sure - did I mention we stopped a man with crack cocaine in his pocket Friday night - but Lansing is, relatively speaking, a very safe community. The murder rate here, for example, is less than in Ft. Wayne, Indiana - the nearest large city to where I used to live.

Still, that is little consolation for a dad who watches his first born spread her wings and begin to live more independently.

It is, all in all, a lesson in trust. Trust in my daughter. Trust in her judgement. Trust in our community. And trust in God. For that part - the part that is teaching me to trust - I give thanks. The rest of it, I'll just endure.

Reflecting . . .

Some have mentioned the recent dearth of Frankly Speaking posts. The reason for the sudden slim output? Simply this: I am trying to spend a little less time expressing and a little more time reflecting.

About two weeks ago I was blindsided. I had hurt a friend pretty significantly without realizing it. The wound festered and caused great pain. I was at fault, and that is a problem. The bigger problem, for me though, was that I was so unaware that I had done anything. When all this came to light, my spiritual formation coach, Dean, challenged me to spend a little more time trying to be aware of my surroundings and more self-aware.

Through this process, painful as it has been at times, I think I am beginning to understand more of the person God wants me to be. The irony of it is inescapable. I came to South Lansing Christian Church convinced that God wanted to work through me to bless this congregation. While I am still convinced that God is going to use me, I am becoming more and more convinced that God's greater purpose for my life, right now, is to do to me before he does anything through me. It would seem that God is still at work developing my character. In fact, that might have been God's plan all along in calling me to South.

Throughout this season of reflection, I have been challenged to think through a number of questions. Some of them include:

• What is significant about what God taught me yesterday?
• How did God specifically answer my prayers?
• What happened in spiritual warfare?
• Is there any time where I chose not to listen well to God or to others?
• Was there any time when I spoke too quickly or when I spoke and God desired my silence?
• Was there any time when I displayed anger that offended and, if so, what "right" did I choose not to surrender to God?

Anyway, that is probably more than you wanted to know or maybe even care about. But it does explain the recent lack of blog postings. I'm not going away, just being a little more silent for a bit while God goes to work on my character.

Not sure if I like this idea . . .

Four days ago I was teaching a group of Haitian pastors about the qualifications for Biblical deacons in the pastoral epistles. When I told them that scripture says a deacon must not be addicted to much wine, they all freaked. Seriously. There was a major bruh-haha in the room. They were arguing back and forth with one another. My interpreter, Archimel, was trying to control the chaos.

Then he explained to me what was going on. He told me that the students were telling him, "No, don't write 'Not addicted to much wine.' Instead, write, 'A deacon shouldn't drink.' " To his credit, Archimel told them, "That is not what scripture says."

I was pretty interested, then, when I saw this story in the DesMoines Register about a Methodist pastor that is providing shot glasses for the local bar. They have the church's logo, phone number and the phrase, "Give us a shot."

I'm pretty sure I know what my Haitian pastor friends would say about that.

Headed home . . .

Took a trip to the Far West today to see what is happening in La Bay. We were also supposed to go to Beuchamp, but a tire in the tap-tap gave out. So we changed tires and headed back to the mission early. I was able to get some soil samples to bring back to Chris. If he can analyze them at MSU, we should be able to give the missionaries here a better idea how to work their land. Then they, in turn, can help the people in their communities.

We leave the mission in about ten hours - at 4 AM. Then it is a tap-tap ride to Port du Paix and a puddle jumper to Port au Prince. From there we fly to Miami, and then on to Detroit. I might make it home to my bed about twenty hours after we begin. Should be a long day.

Looking forward to seeing you all.

It's 9 o'clock at night. . .

Do you know where my wife is? She is in Haiti. In the recovery room. Working. And none to happy to have her picture taken. Still, I thought you should all know that Tracy is hard at work on her mission trip.

Another day in Haiti . . . Wednesday edition

Yesterday was a good day in Haiti. It began sadly, though. A one-year-old boy named Roberson was brought into the clinic with severe malnutrition. He weighed only eight pounds. His mother, who is mentally challenged, was unable to care for him properly and brought him from the Far West to the clinic. He was immediately started on a special formula called F75 that contains milk, vitamins, oil and I'm not sure what else. The little guy cries all the time and even his whimper is pitiful. Hopefully he will respond to the formula and will gain weight. Hopefully the effects of his first year of life will not be lasting. Thank God for Northwest Haiti Christian Mission. Otherwise Roberson would have died.

The day ended with a "hoedown" at the mission cafeteria. All the children from the baby orphanage and Heaven's Waiting Room joined the "blancs" and the elderly folks (the gran moun) for a night of dancing, games, crafts, and refreshments. It was a blast! I don't think any of us could have anticipated it would go over so big. Here are some pics . . .

Baby Kinderson with one of the nurses about to be fed.

Suzanne Miller, a member of South Lansing Christian Church, and a nurse at Ingham Regional Medical Center, has her hair braided by a Haitian woman. This sort of activity helps the local economy by putting American dollars into the hands of Haitians.

The gran moun (Haitian for old person) enjoy the hoedown, complete with ten gallon hats.

Another day in Haiti

Yesterday I learned that the missionaries have a phrase for when things don't go according to plan: "Another day in Haiti." Similar to my missionary sister's phrase, "Africa wins again," they use it whenever they are thwarted in their ministry efforts by the circumstances of living in the poorest zone of the poorest country in the western hemisphere. Yesterday's "another day in Haiti" moment: Internet service that did not work.

So with apologies to all who checked in, here are some snaps, albeit a day late.

Here I am teaching in the Bible college. We talked about the importance of church elders. The board has the Greek, English and French words for the three words that denote elders in the New Testament.

Some of the kids in our group took food into the village to feed house-bound senior citizens that can't make their way up the hill to the mission compound. Megan is carrying a container with enough food for four people. This meal is the only food that many of these "gran moun" eat every day. Without it they would starve to death.

Wha chu talkin' 'bout Willis!

This little guy made me think of the old TV show with Gary Coleman. What was the name of that show?

Sunday Supper

Last night's supper was barbecued chicken legs, beet salad and deep fried plantains. I'm not sure if Brenda doesn't like the beet salad, or if she feels bad for the chicken.

Nate made a friend

Nate Moreno hanging out with a little one in the mission courtyard and Northwest Haiti Christian Mission. Shortly after this Nate got involved in a scrappy soccer game. No word, yet, on who won.

Monday in Haiti

A great day. I taught about forty preachers and young men planning on becoming preachers today in the Bible College here at St. Louis du Nord. It was interesting working with a translator. When I preached yesterday at the church it was only the second time I worked with a translator. For the sermon I worked with a translator named Johnny. He leaned over just before my sermon and said, "This is my first time doing this."

I thought, "Great! Mine, too!" I asked him if he was nervous and he said, "No. I trust in God, first, and in myself, second." That is good and godly confidence. He seemed to really be into the sermon, following my articulation and gestures, and even encouraging the congregation to "Amen!" in the appropriate spots. Afterward, when I asked the missionary how we did, Janielle said, "You did well. The translator did very well!" It looks like Johnny might have found himself a part-time job. Good for him.

Today my translator was Archimel. (Pronounced like a compound of the names Archie and Mel). He is 26 and his wife gave birth to their first baby, a girl, just a few days ago. She had the birth in Port au Prince because it was a c-section delivery. She will be staying in PAP for about a month because the roads are too rough for her to take the bus to Port du Paix. To show my gratitude for his service, I gave him one of the layettes that the Everett High School National Honor Society (or was it the French club?) prepared for us to bring. The others have been placed in the hospital to be given to new mothers. They really appreciate this gift. It is really cool to think that High School students in Lansing, Michigan were so unselfish as to provide the first "onesie" that these children will wear home in far away Haiti. (Way to go, Sid!)

Teaching with a translator today really tapped me out. One the one hand, it is tough to get into a rhythm with the translator. On the other hand, it is nice to be able to look ahead at my notes a bit to see what is coming up. The students are very stoic and do not express much. This is difficult, given my humorous and expressive way (some would say silly) way of teaching. It was hard for me to know if they were bored out of their skulls, or were just listening intently.

Today's lesson was on the nature of the church. We talked about how the church is not a democracy, but a kingdom with Christ as the King. It was well received. We also talked about promoting unity in the church and the importance of remaining on mission and not being distracted by conflict over useless arguments. When I asked them about some of the "opinion" areas that have led to conflict in their churches they responded with some familiar answers.

Money was one. How do we spend it? Who gets it? Another was positions and titles within the church. Some want the titles but don't want the work. Some want to hold onto their positions as "pastor" and will not delegate, so the church does not grow. Sounds all too familiar. The day ended with a discussion, of all things, about the role of women in the church. One pastor asked me if women could be preachers or if this was prohibited in scripture.

He has seen women preaching on the television (Joyce Meier?) and wonders if it is correct or not. He thinks, "no." Another pastor has a cousin and an aunt that preach in the US. He said that, because the angels first appeared to women to announce the resurrection of Jesus Christ, that women today are authorized to preach.

Different country, same controversy.

We discussed it and, when pressed to do so, I gave them my opinion on the issue. Then I told them that this was a particularly good example of the very thing I said was so important - that we not allow tangential grey areas to prevent us from the mission of the church: evangelism and discipleship.

All in all it was a very good day. I am looking forward to teaching on the subject of elders tomorrow. I will try and post a few pictures here or on facebook after dinner, so check back.

We're here . . .

We arrived at the mission without any hitches. We're all settled in and getting ready to hit the sack. I am preaching tomorrow (found out about thirty minutes ago). The weather here is beautiful. The mission looks great. Everyone is in fine spirits. I will write more tomorrow, or as internet access allows. I'll also try to upload a picture or two as well.

Part-way there

We are safely ensconced in our Miami hotel awaiting our morning flight out to Port au Prince. The flight in went perfectly. All our bags arrived as they were supposed to. We had dinner at Bennigan's tonight (thanks to our anonymous benefactor) and are ready to sack out. We have breakfast at 7 AM and then board the shuttle to the airport at 7:30 AM.

Here is the pool in which our high school students went swimming this afternoon before dinner. The adults stayed out of the water. We're still a bit too cold from Michigan and, in spite of the 70 degree weather, we were not ready to dive in.

If we have internet service at the mission compound, I will blog a bit tomorrow night and maybe post an arrival picture if I can take one.

Headed to Haiti

Myself, Mrs. Frankly, and our daughter are headed to Haiti tomorrow afternoon. We will be flying out of Detroit to Miami. On Saturday we head from Miami to Port au Prince. We are part of a team that includes several other folks from South Lansing Christian Church as well as my former church, Butler Church of Christ, and my home church in Garrett, Indiana.

I will be teaching a group of Haitian preachers on the subject of church leadership. Tracy will be working in the medical clinic. Abby will be assisting in the baby orphanage. It will be a full and challenging week.

If the internet is up and going, I plan on posting some pictures each day so you can keep up with what we're doing, so check back often.

And, don't forget to pray for us.

Would you pay to see this kid bald?

Its pretty hard to get my son to cut his golden locks. I sound like such and old guy these days as I complain about "these long-haired kids." Recently, though, I learned that my son Caleb is participating in St. Baldrick's, an organization that is dedicated to curing childrens cancer. He joined the Lansing Police Department team to raise money for St. B's by having his head shaved on March 15. Mrs. Frankly and I made a small donation to support Caleb and the mission of eradicating childrens cancers. I thought maybe you might like to as well. If so, click here.

Truth be told, we would pay just to get him to cut his hair. That he is helping cure cancer along the way - that is gravy! Thanks for joining the effort. . .

Caleb vs. "The Old Man"

This never gets old!

Tonight I shared the gospel with a woman that has been attending our church for the last several months. She grew up in a home where perfection was the expectation. She grew up in a home where feelings were not expressed because being "in control" at all times was required. She grew up in a home without Jesus.

When I shared with her that we cannot be perfect and God knows that, when I told her that we don't have to be perfect because "God made him who had no sin to be sin for us," she had tears in her eyes. When I explained to her that "all have sinned and come short of the glory of God" and that "the wages of sin are death," she understood that her sin has earned eternal separation from God. And when I told her that, in spite of what we have earned the "gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus our Lord," she nodded with deep appreciation for the price that God paid for her sins.

When I told her that the Bible teaches, "if we confess with our mouth and believe in our heart that Jesus is Lord we will be saved," she said, "I believe." When I explained repentance to her and told her that she could stop being "in control" and give Jesus control over her life, she flushed with excitement. When I told her that she could "repent and be baptized for the forgiveness of sin and the gift of the Holy Spirit," she said, "I am ready."

When I explained the beautiful picture of immersion that Paul paints in Romans 6; the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ; the washing away of sin; the rebirth to live and walk in newness of life, she said "when?"

This Sunday. In front of a whole church full of people that she is just getting to know, she is going to say that she believes that Jesus is God's Son, that she wants him to be her savior and then she is going to be immersed.

This never gets old. Never.

Seriously?!

Sydney was so moved by my sermon from Ephesians 6:10-18 yesterday that she sent me the link to this. Wow.

Back on the market: Round 3

Last May I wrote about our home in Indiana being back on the market. Turns out we are going to be selling it yet again. Unfortunately the nice couple that had purchased it last year are going to be moving out. I say, "unfortunately" because these are some really good folks that we have been blessed to have in our house.

Be that as it may, we now need to sell our house again. The land contract details of price, down payment and monthly payment are being ironed out right now. But if you know someone that wants a really nice home with a lot of updates on a great little corner in a nice small town, have them get in touch with me. You can email me by clicking on the link in the column to the right.

In the meantime, enjoy the photos of our "southern home" here below. And, feel free to pass them along to anyone that you know might want to purchase our home.

The front of our home. New windows, doors, siding and roof in 2004.

The kitchen was all new in 2004, too. Custom maple cabinets, center island and ceramic tile flooring.Our dining room with hardwood flooring, chandelier and lots of natural light.

Letting go some more

Regular readers of Frankly Speaking will recall the struggles that I have had with the realization that my first-born is a year away from leaving the nest. You see, Abby is in her year of "one-mores." With each event, Tracy and I look at each other and wordlessly say, "Just one more." Just one more marching band exposition. Just one more season of halftime performances - capped off by Senior night. Just one more winter choir concert. One more spring break. One more . . .

I mentioned this struggle in an email to my friend, Mike, recently. Mike and Kelly have raised a couple of amazing kids. Their son, Tyler, is completing his student teaching right now in anticipation of becoming a teacher. He is engaged to be married to a good Christian girl. Mike and Kelly's daughter, Brittany, is a student at Cincinnati Bible College. They're both exceptional kids that have a bright future ahead of them, and a credit to their parents.

Mike wrote back some encouraging words from which I have taken great comfort:

Thanks for your kind words about our kids. I always thought once they graduated my job was pretty much finished, boy was I wrong. Tyler and Kellie Thorp are getting married this spring and Brittany is going to Florida for spring break. About the year of "last ones". Turns out it isn't as bad as it seems. I shed some tears after Tyler's last high jump and his last soccer game but I survived. It is sad that a part of our lives is ending but I came to realize that for new life to begin sometimes the old life must die. You will find eventually that for every "last" there is a "first" that is even better than you could have dreamed of. You will see the life that you helped create venture out into the world and succeed beyond anything you ever imagined. Then when they fail, and they will, they will return to you for comfort and advice and maybe a kick in the backside. Maybe you already know these things but I hope hearing it again from someone else who is on the journey just a little ahead of you is an encouragement. Hope you and Tracy are well.

We are well, Mike. In fact, maybe we're even a little better because of your encouraging words.

A fish tale parable

When Bob and Tom (yes, those are their real names) went ice fishing the other day they probably had no idea they would ignite a controversy within South Lansing Christian Church. The day began innocently enough. Inspired by South's Seek, Study, Serve vision the pair sought fish, studied fish, and even served fresh minnows in the hopes that they might become fishers of, well, fish.

Spiritual as they are, Bob and Tom followed the early church's example of "having all things in common," That is to say, the pair pooled their resources - no doubt a sensible, stewardship-based approach to angling. Bob provided the equipment. The ice shanty, tip-up (fisherman speak for ice fishing pole) - all Bob's. For his part, Tom supplied the lake. A private body of water, Tom has long had permission to fish this secret honey-hole (a point he was careful to bring up in the ensuing controversy). Bob drove the pair to the lake, but Tom bought the bait and selected the location for the hole, even drilling it through the thick February ice.

Tom baited the hook and dropped the line into the frozen abyss and the two settled back to tell the lies that fishermen tell while waiting for the bait to be taken. Which it was. By a monster pike. Bob was the first to see the tip-up flag, or so he claims.

For those of you that live in places where water is actually a liquid more than four months out of the year, when the bait is taken on an ice fishing pole, a spring loaded flag is tripped, alerting the fisherman that a fish is on the line. This serves a couple of purposes. First, it enables the fisherman to warm his hands by keeping them away from the pole, except when absolutely necessary. Gloves are preferable, but pockets will do. As will armpits. Your own, usually, although I have heard of husband/wife fishing partners that started out innocently trying to stay warm and ended up receiving frostbite treatment. But that is a story for another blog. Probably one that is blocked by your Internet filter.

The second purpose of the tip-up is to enable the fisherman to drill multiple holes in the ice and drop lines in each. This increases the possibility that a fish moving beneath the ice might swim onto food strangely and mysteriously hanging from the sky waiting to be devoured as though it were a gift from Poseidon himself. Of course, there is always the danger that one's tip-ups will flag simultaneously, leading to the sportsman's version of the circus plate-spinner. One unfortunate angler, Dwight Snerdherder, upon seeing multiple flags surrounding his shanty, began scurrying from hole to hole until he became dizzy and passed out. They found him there hours later, alive, surrounded by fish, his Carharts frozen to the ice.

Tom reached for the pole, set the hook (another distinction he was careful to make later) and began reeling in the line. Judging by the tug on the line, Tom knew that he had either hooked a "big 'un" as they say here in Michigan, or else the minnow that he was using for bait was sucked into the pond's open loop geo-thermal system. Turns out it was indeed a hoss.

As he was winding line, Tom peered into the hole and, seeing the monster swim past exclaimed, "Its a hog, Bob!" Springing into action, Bob laid hold of the pole and began to assist Tom in landing the whopper. Was it an innocent desire to help his friend or something more sinister? Perhaps Bob wanted to lay claim to a portion of this 35 1/2 inch wallhanger?

Long story short, they landed the lunker. Before the body was cold . . . er, um . . . I mean warm, the arguing began.

"It was my pole!"

"I bought the bait!"

"My shanty!"

"My hole!"

"I spotted the flag first!"

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

"Not!"

"So!"

Unfortunately the controversy spilled over into Sunday morning. Within minutes of completing my sermon on grace and mercy and other minor doctrinal issues of faith, Bob approached me. "Hypothetical," he began. "Let's say you're fishing with a friend, and you own the one pole that you're sharing, and you catch a fish together. Who does the fish belong to?" For his part, Tom kept quiet, though not for long.

Raising the I'll-take-my-lake-and-go-home defense, Tom later explained, "I invited Bob to go fishing on this private lake that only I have permission to fish on. If it wasn't for me, we wouldn't even have had the chance to fish there." When I asked him about Bob's proprietary tackle assertion, he dismissed it handily. "If I lend you my golf club and you hit a hole in one with my club, then is it my hole in one? No, its yours. Point. Set. Game. Match." (Mixed metaphor notwithstanding.)

Truth be told, we may never know to whom the fish belongs. The only ones that really know are Bob and Tom. And the fish. And he's not talking.

Oh . . . the spiritual part. Paul wrote about the perils of man-fishing in 1 Corinthians 1:

I beg you, brothers and sisters, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ that all of you agree with each other and not be split into groups. I beg that you be completely joined together by having the same kind of thinking and the same purpose. My brothers and sisters, some people from Chloe's family have told me quite plainly that there are quarrels among you. This is what I mean: One of you says, "I follow Paul"; another says, "I follow Apollos"; another says, "I follow Peter"; and another says, "I follow Christ." Christ has been divided up into different groups! Did Paul die on the cross for you? No! Were you baptized in the name of Paul? No!

You get it. And, in case you're wondering, my good-natured friends Bob and Tom get it too.

Susan Bandy, R.I.P.

The Lansing State Journal ran an amazing obituary for Susan Patricia Bandy today. While the piece made no mention of Ms. Bandy's faith, it is clear that she was full of life. My favorite bit was a paragraph about her college education and early years of employment:

She spent two years at Lansing Community College, sharpening her social skills, until Pappy drew the line and made her get a job. She went to work in the State Treasury Department mail room and worked her way up the ladder until her skills exceeded her interest. Moving on to the State Highway Department, she found her niche as a drafting technician, but when all the rest areas, highways and parking lots began to look alike, she transferred to the Michigan Department of Natural Resources, where the tasks were more varied. She fit right into the Engineering Division Family, and though she retired from the DNR in 2002, she stayed in touch and, of course, never missed a Division party.

They aren't even holding a funeral for Susan. Her last wish was simply that her friends get together and have a party. What a way to be remembered.

Teaching Church Leadership . . . Haitian style

I've just confirmed my assignment for our upcoming Haiti mission trip. I will be teaching Church Leadership to preachers and elders in the Bible College at St. Louis du Nord. I will lead a sixteen hour seminar, spread out over four days, in which we will cover the basic structure and function of the New Testament church's leadership.

I am tasked to cover such elements as the founding of the church, the early church's structure, the choosing of the first seven deacons, and the Jerusalem council among other topics.

Four days to cover the book of Acts and the passages from the pastoral epistles that pertain to leadership?! Impossible, really. I know that several preachers and church leaders read Frankly Speaking, so my question to you is: given only four days to teach, what do you think are the essential components of church leadership on which I should focus?

Oh . . . and if you're moved to give, we need 50 spiral notebooks and about $200 to feed the college students for a week while I am there. Drop me a note if you can help, and leave your course curriculum suggestions in the comments section.

Guess who's coming to South?

Frankly Speaking readers can be the first to know: Brother Ron Otto will be returning to South Lansing Christian Church on February 15 to preach the Sunday sermon. Ron ministered at South from 1993 to 2006 before becoming the Senior Minister at Lincoln Christian Church in Lincoln, Illinois.

Ron did amazing things while at South. When he mentioned to me that he was going to be in the neighborhood on February 15, I got pretty excited. I already planned to be out of town that weekend and, when the speaker I planned to have here graciously allowed Ron to take his spot, the way was paved for Ron to once again preach in the church where he made such a big impact.

So, spread the word, friend. Ron Otto will be preaching at South on February 15!

I'm feelin' for you, Mr. President

Read an interesting tidbit this week about President Obama. Apparently he mistook a window for a door and, upon trying to enter the Oval Office from the portico between the West Wing and his personal residence, ran into a rather large pane of glass. Thankfully he wasn't injured.

I feel for him. He's in an unfamiliar place. He has the whole world watching every move he makes. He wants to make a good impression. And he runs into a window.

I've had the same experience. The first time I went on a retreat with our staff at South Lansing Christian Church we went to a cottage owned by one of our families. I planned to grill out for everyone and walked through the dining room intending to go outside and light the grill. Instead, thinking it was already open, I walked into a (very clean) patio door. I nearly broke my nose. The staff nearly broke their funny bones they were laughing so hard.

Thankfully the door didn't break and, aside from a bruised ego, there was no permanent damage.

If I had to guess, our new President probably had a chuckle at his own expense. He strikes me as the sort of fellow that doesn't take himself too seriously. Hey, if you can't laugh at yourself, you're probably going to have a very hard time making your way in the world.

Trolling for dollars

Myself, Mrs. Frankly, and our little Frank-ette are headed to Haiti in March to assist a surgical team at Northwest Haiti Christian Mission. This vital mission brings hope and healing to poor Haitians living on the Northwest corner of that island. Tracy will be using her recently completed Registered Medical Assistant's license in the birthing center and in the recover room of the mission's hospital. Abigail will be working in the infant orphanage to organize their inventory of baby clothes. I will be working with the Bible College training pastors and working with the local church. When I am not preaching and teaching, I will be doing laundry in the hospital's central sterile supply.

I launched a causes application on my facebook page today to help raise funds for our trip. The cost of the trip is $1500 each, for a total of $4500 for the three of us.

I thought I would also use this forum to ask my faithful Frankly Speaking readers to partner with us by praying for us and, if God enables you, by donating to our effort. I would love to know that you are praying for us during our trip on March 13-21. And, if you can help contribute, even a small amount, it will help us immensely. Hundreds of people drop by Frankly Speaking each week. If you can join even a few others in contributing, it will begin to add up and make a difference.

If you're moved to do so, please make your check out to South Lansing Christian Church and send it to:

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

When you do, write "Weller Mission Trip" in the memo line. We'll make sure you're properly receipted.

And, thanks for helping us help Haitians.

Walkin' in a *%@#^$ Winter Wonderland

My friend, "Johnny on the Scott" recently announced that he is moving to Inverness, Florida to become the Senior Minister at First Christian Church there. In my email reply I told him, "I hate the cold. Therefore, I hate you. Congratulations on the new ministry. Love, Frank." [Note to the humor Nazis commenting on the previous post: John knows I was just kidding.]

Seriously though. Winter in Michigan has been tough so far. Our maintenance supervisor, Chris, knocked this mammoth icicle off the building yesterday and laid it on the floor of my office.

I thought about firing him. In fact, I might have actually told him he was fired. [He knew I was kidding, too . . . I think.]

The best thing about winter is that it kills the bugs and sets us up for a glorious Spring. In Florida, John will view Spring as a harbinger of the hot and humid days that lie around the corner. Me, I view Spring as a time for life to renew. A season filled with mushroom hunting, catchers and pitchers reporting, daffodils and tulips, and the dog rolling around in the grass, grateful to be released from her long winter hibernation.

Okay, I guess I can live with winter - not that I have any choice.

Thoughts on my daughters BF

So my daughter has a new boyfriend. I haven't actually met the young man yet. We told our daughter when we gave her the "you're-old-enough-to-go-out-on-a-date card" that, before she could go anywhere with some suitor, that they first had to meet me, the DAD.

So Abby has been trying to arrange a meet and greet with young William all week. Apparently there is a basketball game at Everett Friday night and he wants her to accompany him there. So far, it hasn't worked out to meet the youngster.

She tells me he is a good boy. Of course she says that. Charles Manson's squeeze probably told her old man the same thing: "Daddy, whatever you do, don't look at his tattoo. He's very sensitive about it. And besides, all the boys are inking their foreheads these days." I'm sure Will is a good guy, though. My daughter is generally a good judge of character.

There are two musts that I insist upon, two inviolable standards that I expect from any young man who wants to date my daughter. First, he must be a Christian. And by that, I don't mean a kid who attends church just because his folks do, or some dude that hangs out with the youth group because it's a place to cruise Jesus-chicks. I expect a for-real, sold-out-to-Jesus sort of believer. If he is one of those, he's already light years ahead of most of the testosterone factories that ambulate through the high school hallways every day.

Second, he must treat my daughter with respect. Open the door. Buy her dinner. Do what he says he is going to do. And, by all means, keep his hands north of the 10th parallel and well south of the 40th. Theologians call the area of earth bordered by the 10th and 40th latitudes the "10/40 window." It refers to the area where the most "unreached people groups" in the world live. Where my daughter is concerned, the 10/40 window is closed. Preferably, he will not touch her at all, but if, occasionally, his knee brushes hers (the knee is the 40th parallel in my mind), I guess that is okay. But only accidentally. If at all. Come to think of it, let's just have no touching. It would also be nice if he says "yes ma'am" to Mrs. Weller, and it would be nice if he was sort of terrified of me, too.

Beyond that, I have a lot of flexibility. Turns out young William is in the Everett band. That's good. He plays the clarinet. Benny Goodman played the clarinet. Band is definitely a plus in his portfolio even if the clarinet is a bit too sultry in this particular instance. Earlier this week he had to get off the phone because he needed to study - another admirable trait.

It seems unlikely that I can meet Will prior to Friday night's game, so here is the plan: Friday afternoon I am riding along with Officer McNamara. As a Lansing Police Department Chaplain, I frequently get all geared up, complete with uniform and bullet-proof vest, and ride along with the officers. McNamara is a canine officer, so (I think) he's not assigned to a particular district. If that is the case, I'm thinking Mac and his dog and I might need to drop by Everett High School during the game for a public relations visit. In uniform. With the dog. And meet Will.

Yeah, that sounds just about perfect.

I am reading Watchman Nee's book Sit, Walk, Stand.

Dean Trune told me that Watchman Nee, after being arrested by the Chinese government, was never allowed to be alone with anyone because he always ended up leading them to Christ. His jailers placed him in solitary confinement. Even then, he kept converting the guards. Eventually they took the extraordinary steps of cutting out his tongue to silence him.

He never wrote a book. Notes taken by those who heard him were eventually published in book form. Sit, Walk, Stand is Nee's look at the book of Ephesians. Ephesians 1-3, he says, are doctrinal in nature, while chapters 4-6 are practical.

Frankly, it is one of those books that I am going to have to re-read. It is too difficult, in parts, for me to get the first time around. One part I do understand, though, is this:

Too many Christians have all the doctrine but live lives that are a contradiction of it. They know all about chapters 1 to 3 of Ephesians, but they do not put chapters 4 to 6 into practice. It were better to have no doctrine than to be a contradiction. Has God commanded something? Then throw yourself back on God for the means to do what he has commanded. May the Lord teach us that the whole principle of the Christian life is that we go beyond what is right to do what is well-pleasing to him.

Wow. I think that describes the church I grew up in. We were more concerned with being right than being well-pleasing. In our movement it was really easier to grow up knowing about Jesus, than it was to grow up knowing Jesus - at least it was for me. I am grateful that we seem to be striking a more balanced chord in recent years. There may be a few that throw out the doctrinal baby with the bath water but, for the most part, we seem to finally be getting that we must obey the scriptures and have a relationship with their Author. At least I hope we are.

Good advice from Glenn

I often listen to Glenn Beck when I am in the car. He said something earlier this week that has been bouncing back and forth in my mind ever since. His comment: "The key to living successfully is acting proactively."

I think he is right.

Two nights ago I told the youngest of the Franklies to snow-blow our driveway. I suggested he do the neighbors too, having noticed it had not yet been cleaned out. He did; then last night, as we were cleaning our garage, the neighbor came by and handed him $21. He said, "No, no, I did that because we are neighbors, you don't need to do that." She insisted; so did he. Finally, he relented when she said, "Consider this as payment for the next time, then."

That is proactivity. Jonah cleaned her walk and driveway and earned enough money to pay his way to the youth group lock-in. How can I, at 41 years old, learn to do what Jonah has learned at thirteen?

Frankly, I react far more than I proact. I allow circumstances or events to dictate what I do. My calendar is filled with reactions. As I look through what I am working on, I see too little "sharpening of the saw." Too much going on in quadrants one and three and not enough in quadrant two.

My intentions are there. I arrive at the office planning to sequester myself for two or three hours of seeking God and sermon preparation. Someone drops by. The phone rings. The computer alerts me to a newly arrived email. (I have a thought that I just have to blog.) Soon I am following a rabbit trail that leads me far from my intended course. And, it is difficult to discern which of these are "distractions" and which are fundamental to my work as a pastor. The Apostles thought it wrong for them to "neglect the ministry of the word" to minister to people's needs, and yet I am certain that they didn't turn their backs on folks.

Where is the line? How do I balance being proactive in my ministry with reacting to the people I minister to? And, what would it take for me to become less of a reactionary and more of a "proactionary?"

Discipline, I suspect. Discipline to lay out my calendar and stick to it. Discipline to plan my meals and my workouts and refuse to deviate from my plans. Discipline to get to bed on time so I can get up when I intend. Plan the work; work the plan. Pay the price. Just do it. All the accurate axioms that I too easily relegate to platitude status.

I tell the people who come to me for marriage advice, "Having a good marriage is 20% knowing what to do and 80% doing what you know."

Maybe I need to take a page out of my own playbook and work a little harder at putting it into practice.

Love this musical!

Tried to rip Abby's DVD of Hairspray to her iPod today but failed. Sorry sis. Here is something that should make you smile, though. - Love, Dad

A (not so typical) day in the life of . . . Frankly Speaking

A full day today for Frankly Speaking. At the risk of seeming incredibly vain, I thought I would share my first full work day of 2009 with you, my faithful readers.

• 4:30 AM - Alarm goes off; roll out of bed; shower; put on a suit for LPD Chaplain duty
  
• 5:00 AM - Leave for office to retrieve stuff for Chaplain's Lineup
• 5:20 AM - Arrive at office; get stuff; leave
• 5:30 AM - Purchase pies at Meijer; one apple, one Dutch apple, one peach, and one cherry
• 5:50 AM - Arrive at Lansing Police Department North Precinct and begin cutting pies; make contact with command staff
• 6:00 AM - Lineup
• 6:10 AM - Chaplain's Lineup; introduce chaplaincy program; show Dave Ramsey video; Dave Ramsey video doesn't work; invite officers to attend Financial Peace University; serve pie
• 6:30 AM - Leave for home; call daughter on the way to make sure she's up; she announces 2-hour delay for Grand Ledge High School
• 6:45 AM - Arrive home and check News Channel 6 to confirm school delay; watch thirty minutes of lions eating stuff on Discovery Channel; leave house
  
• 7:30 AM - Arrive at Fitness USA and begin working out (interval training on the treadmill); run into "Tiny", the youth pastor from Trinity Methodist, who helped coach Jonah's football team
• 8:30 AM - Finish workout; shower (amazing water pressure); head for home
• 8:45 AM - Make sure kids are up (again) and cook breakfast for them (very atypical for me)
• 9:30 AM - Take Jonah to Beagle; Abby and Caleb to Grand Ledge High School
• 9:45 AM - Head to South Lansing Christian Church for work
• 10:15 AM - Arrive at office; visit with Micki, Sue, Wally, Chad and Tim
  
• 10:45 AM - SEEK time; Reading from Hebrews 11-13; journal; pray; journal some more
• 10:55 AM - Drop in visitor; set SEEK time aside
• 11:45 AM - Good visit; back to SEEK time
  
• 12:15 PM - Prep for Staff Meeting
• 12:20 PM - Drop-in visitor; prep-time set aside
  
• 12:47 PM - Back to prep time; scurrying to get ready for staff meeting
  
• 1:00 PM - Waiting on staff to arrive for 1 PM Staff Meeting; (I've set a bad example for timeliness and I didn't communicate to the rest of the staff my newly minted resolve to be punctual)
• 1:20 PM - Staff meeting begins (finally)
  
• 2:30 PM - Leave for LPD afternoon lineup
  
• 3:10 PM - Chaplain's Lineup; repeat spiel from 6:00 AM, pie inclusive
• 3:30 PM - Leave to return to office
• 4:00 PM - Meet with parishioner; pray for his troubled marriage
• 5:00 PM - Reply to emails
  
• 5:05 PM - Check the news: Drudge, LSJ, Fark
  
• 5:35 PM - Pack up computer
  
• 5:41 PM - Leave for home; listen to podcast of Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me on the way
• 5:50 PM - Check the mail; no check from Indiana house yet; stress about bills
  
• 6:30 - Enter nutrition and exercise for today on gyminee .com
• 6:51 PM - Supper with the family (Hamburger Helper and green beans)
  
• 7:45 PM - Leave for Chaplain's Lineup
• 8:10 PM - Chaplain's Lineup; repeat spiel from 6:00 AM and 3:00 PM; more pie
• 8:30 PM - Leave for home; stop at QD to get snacks for Abby and Caleb; show Abby a parking meter 'cause she says she's never seen one before
• 9:00 PM - Arrive at home
  
• 9:45 PM - Wii bowling with the Franklies - I won; Wii tennis with Frankette - won that, too
• 10:46 PM - Finish writing this post; worry that it is incredibly vain; post it anyway; go to bed

Thanks, Claiborne . . .

The Providence Journal is reporting that former United States Senator Claiborne Pell passed away yesterday. Serving in relative obscurity, Pell's name will forever be synonymous with the grants that bear his name.

I received a Pell grant in college. I hope that, in four years, when I have a daughter and a son both in college, that they might receive Pell grants too.

It's funny. Someone I never met helped make it possible for me to go to college. Who knows how many times I have been blessed by the efforts of someone I never met. Pell grants.

Thanks, Senator.