WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM- Eye of the Storm

     Still too early to say, but I think this hurricane season was one of the most obnoxious ever. Newborns will now be spared the names Harvey, Irma, or Maria (like Hugo and Katrina in the past) due to unpleasant associations of mayhem and destruction.
     I dislike hurricanes. They're big bullies, even when they're named after females, who aren't typically bullies. But there is something that fascinates me about hurricanes . . . the news coverage.
     The coverage is virtually the same during every hurricane season. It goes something like this:

1. The news conference- Usually the mayor, the governor, or some other prominent politician takes charge and starts the show at the podium. And there's always an interpreter doing sign language stuff next to the speaker. And please don't accuse me of disrespect, but some (not all, just a few) of the interpreters exhibit facial expressions and gestures while they are signing that are inadvertently entertaining. I find my eyes drawn to the interpreters more than the ones they are interpreting. Aware that the scene is not meant to serve as entertainment, I then feel guilty for seeing some humor in a serious, life or death situation. Anyway, that being said, there appears after that some type of weather expert who is invited to the podium and he declares various states of emergency and reminds everyone to get out of Dodge. "Let me repeat, if you are still in town, evacuate now. Don't be a hero. Drive North. Don't delay to gather your belongings. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. Get thee away from here now. You will face death and destruction if you stay. One last time: Run for your lives. And do it in an orderly manner."

2. The new reporters- "You heard the man," the reporters say. "Everybody, you must leave now! This means you! This means now!" But then a funny things happens. Those very same reporters start driving South instead of North. Overhead pictures show traffic jams of those heeding the warnings all headed away, while on the other side of the freeway, you see an occasional news and weather truck headed toward.

Don't get me wrong. I admire the bravado of these reporters and weathermen. I just think they're crazy. After arriving in the danger zone, they compete with each other as to who can stand out in the hurricane the longest while reporting live. "Get inside and find shelter," shouts the anchor at the desk back at the home office to the reporter on the scene- but I think it's a set up. I think they know he/she won't go seek shelter. It's all part of the drama. Then we are witness to assorted scenes of the reporter, wearing a raincoat with a little hoodie, moonwalking against the wind in the middle of a river that was a busy street 24 hours previous. And we are impressed and horrified. And we keep watching. Which is why they hang out in the eye of the storm with their plastic covered microphones to begin with.

3. The aftermath- The next day, the reporters are still there and are reporting with bags under their eyes and sporting ridiculous hairdos while no longer wearing the hoodie. They interview people who didn't leave despite being ordered to. Perhaps some people don't leave because they know they'll get to do interviews (if they survive). And the reporters talk about looting. Except in Texas, where looting is kept to a minimum. That's because there are signs in yards that read, "You loot, we shoot." And I think they mean it.

     Based on his track record, I think Jesus is driving South when everyone else is fleeing to the North. He never shied away from danger or confrontation during his days on Earth. I think if one of His children is in harm's way, He is there, standing up to the bully. Isaiah 25:4 says "You have been a strong place for those who could not help themselves and for those in need because of much trouble. You have been a safe place from the storm . . ."
     No matter what storms we face in life, we can count on a Hero, our Lord and Savior, being there for us in the eye of the storm. And we don't need an interpreter to know that having Him on our side is more protection than a raincoat and hoodie could ever be.

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM- Best Day Ever

     When people ask about my day, I don't like replying that I'm having a bad day. And when the day is over, I find it difficult to say I've had a bad day. I think that's because I am always aware that my worse day dulls in comparison to the challenges and hardships many other people in the world face on a given day. So in that respect, I don't feel worthy of being able to classify one of my days as a bad day.
     Of course, bad things can happen during a day. But does that mean the entire day should be labeled as bad? If you end the day having eaten three good meals, have a roof over your head, have people in your life who love you, have a job, have your health, and have seen a raindrop or a sunset, then it's hard to call it a bad day, even if there have been setbacks along the way.
     Even so, I was having a rough day that day, though it ended pretty well. Oops, I have a habit of starting a story in the middle, so let me back up.
     A year or so ago, a female college student came to my head baseball coach office and explained to me that she was the leader of a group on campus that did "feet washing" for other students and teams at Gardner-Webb as a way of demonstrating servanthood and humility. She asked if I would be willing to allow our team to have our feet washed by the members of her group at a point in the near future.
     I listened as she explained the procedure and how she and her group made things "unweird" (my word) and comfortable for all involved. Highly impressed and greatly appreciative of her willingness to serve in this manner, I agreed to have our team participate.
     That meeting led to more meetings for Emma and me and in the course of planning the event, we became friends. Despite the fact that I perceived her as being much more spiritually mature than I could ever be, I tried to share some verses and wisdom with her that I thought could encourage her along the way.  And she seemed to appreciate it.
     A few weeks ago I went to hear Emma give her testimony at church and she delivered her inspirational message like a seasoned speaker. A week or so after that, she requested a few moments of my time to ask me a quick question. In the same office where we first met, Emma informed me that she had been named to the Homecoming Court at Gardner-Webb. I let her know how proud I was. Then she asked if I would be willing to escort her at halftime since her dad was not going to be able to come from Mississippi.
     I immediately answered in the affirmative so as not to give her a chance to change her mind. I've raised three boys, so escorting a young lady for anything has never been part of my resume.
     It rained on Homecoming day but that didn't dampen our spirits, though it did make unruly the few hairs that still remain on my head. "Don't trip," I kept telling Emma before we went on the field. With a laugh, she informed me that the more I mentioned about not tripping, the more likely she was to trip. I was actually trying to distract her from being nervous, though I think I was more anxious than she was. What if I trip, I kept thinking. What if I go to the wrong spot. What if I faint. That sorta thing.
     Just before the name of the winner was announced, I had this feeling (awareness, instinct, whatever) that Emma was going to win. And she did. I immediately whispered in her ear, "You'll remember this moment for the rest of your life". She replied, "Stop talking, you're ruining it. And get your big shoe off my foot so I can go get my crown." (Okay, she didn't really say that, but it would have made for a good story).
     Afterward in the stands, I spent time with some of Emma's family. I kept telling her 8-year-old sister Sophie, who was ecstatic and giddy with pride, "This is probably your best day ever." She grinned and clutched her big sister's arm.
     So back to the story about the rough day I was having recently. Not a bad day (remember my rules for bad day declarations), but one with its fair share of challenges and frustrations. Just before leaving to go home that afternoon, I saw something that had been left for me outside my office. There was a framed picture of Emma and me on Homecoming Day. There was a nice card with nice words written inside it. And there was a drawing from an 8-year-old sister, featuring Emma and me, with a caption at the top that read "Best Day Ever."
     My gloomy day abruptly turned sunny. Little sister Sophie was right. Homecoming was the best day ever and this challenging day of mine could have been a lot worse. Psalm 118:24 says "This is the day the Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it." It doesn't say I should rejoice only when I have great days, or days when things go my way. It says "this day". Period.
     I am alive. I am breathing the breathe of life. I am enjoying the grace, mercy, and peace of the Savior. I am able to love and be loved. I rest in the assurance of a future eternity with my Lord. It's a good day.

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM- Drama possible for late arrivers

     For some reason, stuff happens to me. Stuff that doesn't happen to other people. Not bad stuff. Just unusual stuff. Case in point: I am writing this week about something else that happened to me at church.
     I say something else because other things have happened to me in the past at church- Like the time I was carrying my newborn youngest child into church and a pigeon flying overhead, in honor of Sunday tithing, dropped his "offering" into my skull plate. Hands full, I carried on, not realizing exactly what had happened until I reached the men's room inside. To my horror, green excrement bird slime was swimming in my hair and oozing down my forehead. To make matters worse, I had passed and greeted several of my fellow church-goers in the hallway as I entered. Public humiliation. 
     Another time many years ago, pre-children, my wife and I arrived late at a church we were visiting and were placed with others in the choir loft behind the preacher where everyone could see us. Fortunately there were other late arrivers (possibly not a word because my computer underlined it in red but I'm using it anyway) so we weren't the only ones in plain view. Unfortunately I was seated next to a gentleman who placed his hand on my leg, turned his head toward me and stared at me for 48 of the 60 minutes we were there. Quickly realizing he was a special needs individual, I was extremely patient with him. Apparently so was his caretaker sitting to his left because she never once encouraged him to remove his hand or discontinue his stare into my earlobe.
     It took all the self control and mental discipline I could muster to look straight ahead while the eyes inches from my face stared at me and the hand occasionally rested on my thigh. And the woman of my dreams to my right was no help either as all she did was giggle the whole time. I don't remember the sermon that day but I did discover that people really can sweat in church without it being hot inside.
     There's more but to save space I will simply say that based on past experience, I feel sufficiently prepared for all sorts of drama whenever I enter a church service. On the recent day in question, I was sitting on the back row (the result of being a late arriver- maybe not a word but I'm using it again) with plenty of empty space to my right. I placed the bulletin next to me on my right and settled in, eventually feeling confident that no one would need the space on my row.
     About fifteen minutes into the service, some mutual late arrivers (get used to my new word) came in and a young man of about twenty years or more, eyed the open space directly beside me and quickly moved to fill it.
     At this point, I feel an explanation of proper church etiquette is appropriate. Here is the way this situation would normally go:
Twenty Something Guy: "Hey, is anybody sitting here?" (whispered because he's a late arriver- my new favorite word)
Me: "No, y'all are welcomed to sit here." (I'm from the South so it's "y'all" not "you guys")
TSG: "Okay, thanks, man.
Me: "Sorry about the bulletin, let me get it out of your way." (TSG then waits for me to retrieve it)
TSG: "No problem." (TSG sits, leaving sufficient man space between himself and me)
     Obviously that's not the way things went down. The whole row was empty so I was not prepared for TSG to plop down right next to me.Spatial awareness notwithstanding, he spotted the empty spot and lunged toward it much quicker than my 53-year old arm could reach for the bulletin seated next to me despite my best effort. I never had a chance. He was either oblivious to the bulletin or totally didn't care. His rear end reached the cushioned pew a millisecond after my hand grasped the bulletin, but a nanosecond before I could relocate it. In short, he was sitting on my bulletin while my hand was still holding it. 
     For a few awkward moments there was a Mexican standoff the likes of which Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid never experienced. Fortunately my hand was not underneath his rear area- it was merely resting awkwardly near it, clinging to the bulletin more out of principle than necessity.
     Did he know he had seated himself on my bulletin? Did he know my hand was still grasping it- (the bulletin)? Did he realize that I could have been arrested if anyone happened to be SnapChatting or Live Facebooking our encounter? My guess is he didn't have a clue. He never acknowledged my presence before, during, or after the "incident."
     Miraculously, his friends had not followed TSG and were beckoning him to locate elsewhere, which he promptly did. I completed the rescue of my precious bulletin and returned my attention to the matter at hand- a fine sermon about perseverance.
     I should have known when I walked into church that day to never let my guard down and always expect the unexpected. The Bulletin Bully moment snuck up on me because I wasn't prepared.
     1 Peter 3:15 says we should be prepared at all times to give the reason for the hope we have when asked. And that hope is in Jesus Christ, the One whose sacrifice gives me valid reason to hope (and  know) that my future is one of eternal fellowship and celebration with my Lord and Savior. It's a celebration I don't intend to be late for. I'm prepared each day to share that news if asked, and sometimes even if I'm not asked. From now on, I'll also be prepared for most anything that could happen anytime I'm brave enough to darken the doors of a church. Especially if I'm a late arriver.

WACKY WEDNESDAY WISDOM: Sometimes I just don't get it

     Normally I write light-hearted, tongue in cheek stuff. The idea is to get people to smile a lot and think at least a little while they read. We need to smile. We need to laugh. We need to think. And we can do all of those at the same time.
     But less than one week after I started writing a weekly column again, tragedy struck. And we don't feel like laughing. And smiles are a little harder to come by. Some crazed lunatic maniac inspired by hatred and evil took it upon himself to start shooting innocent and decent people in Las Vegas a few nights ago. Over 50 are dead and hundreds of others are injured.
     Immediately talking heads on television started talking their heads off. Lobbyists started lobbying, reporters took to reporting, politicians started politicking, and pundits began punditing. I am aware (because my computer underlined it in red) that punditing is not a word, but I tend to make up words at times. Why not- pundits, lobbyists, and politicians make up words and phrases all the time to try to convince me to agree with them.
     Anyway, arguers began to argue, picketers began to picket, and praying folks began to pray. With good reason.Our country is in a mess. Not a hopeless mess but nevertheless a mess. We aren't as unified as we once were. We've always disagreed but now we seem to sling mud at people we disagree with instead of searching for common ground that could lead to solutions.
     But none of that means much to the families and friends of the victims of what is being called the Vegas massacre. Their lives have been permanently altered, and in many cases, they are having to say goodbye way too soon to loved ones who should be eating apple pie and standing for the Star Spangled banner at a football game this weekend. Instead, some have passed on to eternity and others fight for their lives in hospital beds.
     Tina Frost is one of those victims fighting for her life. I watched Tina chase a soccer ball around the field at Gardner-Webb-where I coach baseball- back during her days here a few years back. I did not know her personally but those who do know her speak highly of her. And while folks across the nation debate gun control laws, she is fighting for her life in a hospital bed. Does she know how many people are praying for her? There are a lot of us.
     Sometimes I just don't get it. I'm not mad at humanity and I'm not mad at God. I'm just mad. I don't like to see people get hurt, especially innocent people. I pray and ask God "Why?" and the answer doesn't fall from the sky in the form of a lightning bolt. Does God allow pain and suffering? Or it is us who allows the pain and suffering when we stand by and allow evil to progress unchecked?
     James 2:17 says "Faith by itself, if not accompanied by action, is dead." It's appropriate and good to pray when tragedies like this occur. But it's also necessary to do something about it. We shouldn't just chalk it up to the inevitable presence of evil in the world, we should do everything in our God-given power to stand up to evil and become obsessed with spreading love and compassion to a world that's hurting.
     I don't have answers, political or otherwise. I just know this. God has placed us here on Earth "for such a time as this" to do our part to both advance His Kingdom and to stand up to evil. I won't begin to tell you how to go about that. You figure it out. Say your prayers and then get off the couch and put your big boy/girl pants on and get started.