Galatians 6:11

My mother-in-law gave me a poster a few years ago from a print shop in Lexington, Kentucky. I never got it framed, but it's one of my favorites and I'll most definitely get it encased one of these days. It's the entire King James Bible printed on a poster. You can't tell that there are even letters on it with your naked eye [or, I guess since the poster was made in Kentucky, I should write it as it would be pronounced there: "neck-kid"]. All you can see are these tiny lines. The print shop was trying to show the powerful detail their new printer could inscribe. With a good magnify glass, you can actually read the thing- if you squint.

I'm thinking of shrinking my blog font. I know this might not seem like a big deal to many of you, but for some of my "older readers" this could be of supreme importance, so you might make your voice known on this issue.

Last night I was l looking back on some old stuff I've blogged about and, in my old blog format, I used a smaller font. Since I made the change over to this new blog look, I've used a "normal size" font. Looking at some old postings, I have to admit that I sorta like the smaller looking font. I've always had a thing for small print. Growing up, I would lay on the carpet directly in front of the television so I could distinguish the small print describing what month the specified APR rate expired on an '85 Yugo. Small fonts look really cool. I like 'em. Of course, maybe that's because I'm not far-sighted yet.

On my last visit to the optometrist [or is it an optician? I'm not quite sure], he told me that I have another ten years or so until I'll need reading glasses. So I'm thinking since it's inevitable, I might as well live it up and enjoy the decade- you know, reading contracts at car dealerships and stuff like that. I mock you, bifocals. It's not my time yet. So leave me alone.

So let me know if reading this is too uncomfortable [I mean the print, not the writing] and I'll make the appropriate change. Oh, and if you can't distinguish this, you're a huge loser. No you're not really. I was just kidding. But you might want to consider using a microscope with your computer.

(I) Mock Turtle (And Wish He Were In A) Soup

I used to like turtles. Now I think I hate them. All of them.

As the weather gets better, Kelly and I like to go for walks after work. We live right by Landen Lake [something we'll miss when we move and become city folk], so it's a beautiful two and a half mile walk around the water to relieve the day's stressful moments. When we got home Monday we changed, put on our walking shoes and went for a stroll around the lake. Early on in the walk, on part of the trail along Simpson Trace, Kelly spied a turtle in the middle of the road. We looked behind us and a jeep was heading straight toward him. Kelly averted her eyes, but the creature somehow survived. Feeling compassion for the poor, defenseless turtle in the middle of the road, I crossed the street to grab him. He had a decent sized shell, about eight inches long, so it was tough for me to grab him in one hand [I could never palm a basketball either]. I was able to get a hold of him, but he didn't act like a normal box turtle and hide in his shell. No, this turtle popped his head out, hissed at me and took a swipe at my hand with his beak or whatever you call that hook-like mouth. Yep, it was a snapping turtle.

I grew up in a farm-like, suburban area where we were in constant contact with wild animals, but I don't think I've seen a snapping turtle in twenty years. Our dog once found this snapping turtle that was huge; his shell was about a foot and a half long. Somewhere we have a Polaroid of my father holding this massive snapping turtle by the leg. I remember that, at the age of ten, I found a turtle of that sheer magnitude frightening enough that I didn't take notice of his constant snapping. But now that I think about, that turtle took a bite out of our dog's nose. If, when Kelly pointed out the turtle in the road, I had remembered the attributes of that turtle so long ago, I most likely would've left him in the street to suffer death by Lexus.

So when the turtle took a swipe at my hand, I went into my form of survival mode and flung him into the grassy median in the middle of the road. At this point I was ticked off at the critter, but still worried about his well being so I continued the rescue mission. I grabbed him again by the shell and he repeated his gesture of self defense, trying to take off one of my fingers [later I was tempted to offer him one of my digits free of charge]. This time I dropped him on the asphalt; he landed like a hubcap, briefly swiveling from side-to-side. I decided to end the escapade by then kicking said turtle across the road into the grass. As we walked away, the turtle was still hissing at me, totally unaware that I had probably saved his Shredder-hatin' shell from extinction.

Now I could end this story with some allegory about how my saving the turtle and him being unaware that I was helping and not hurting is just like blah, blah, blah [insert spiritual lesson here]. But I don't give a rip. That turtle sucked. I want to go back a kick it again. My lesson is always let the animal in the middle of the road die. If the good Lord didn't want them to get hit by automobiles, He wouldn't have invented paved roads.

And I might never wear a turtleneck again.

God is definitely good

Some days you sit down to blog and there's nothing; you're just rummaging through the garbage for something to get by on. Then there are days when there's so much to talk about that you haven't got the time to write it all. This is one of those days. So I'm not sure whether or not I should us it all up today or spread it out over a few days. I'll just get to it and see where I end up.
Yesterday was an incredible experience as I met with the pastors of the Disciples of Christ church we're looking at renting for our new church. It's cool to look at things that have happened and see God's fingerprints all over it. Let me give you some background.

A few weeks ago, Aaron and I started to look for a place where our church could meet. We discovered that urban Cincinnati doesn't provide many options when it comes to affordable meeting space. That's one of the reasons our church is going to meet during the evenings on Sundays: a lot of church buildings sit unused on Sunday nights and some of these churches wouldn't mind letting someone else use it and make a few rental bucks in the process. So we scanned the neighborhoods for churches and weren't finding what we were looking for.

A wrong turn actually led us to the building we found. It was an one-hundred year old church building located in a great location. Despite this, I wasn't too sure about stopping in, but Aaron insisted that we should go inside and check it out. We parked the car and knocked on the door and no one was there. Just as we were getting ready to leave, a gentleman pulled into the parking lot. His name was Michael and he was the co-chairman of their church board. We told him who we were and what we were planning on doing and he was really receptive on our plans. He showed us the sanctuary and it was perfect. It seats about three hundred people, so there's plenty of space to grow. The sanctuary is lined with oak pews and is decorated with beautiful stained glass all along the walls. Isn't funny how, for years, churches didn't want to be associated with buildings that looked like this [old and tradition] and now people like me get excited about them?

Well, we switched information and got in contact with the co-pastors of the church, whom I met with yesterday. These ladies, Carol and Cheryl, were absolutely wonderful and before I really told them what we wanted to do, they were acting like we were already approved. They showed me around the building and it's perfect for what we need- plenty of space for child care, additional meeting space and even a baptistery. It's like God just plopped this thing in our laps to use. And when we talked about rental fee, they stated that they weren't interested in making a ton of money but were more concerned about reaching the neighborhood. I left the building grinning ear-to-ear, knowing that we were being taken care of. It was awesome.

It's not 100% sure yet. There's still a board meeting in June to talk about, where we would get final approval. But it looks like it'll happen. I'm thrilled to be a part of this ride that God is going to take us on during the next few years. With days like yesterday, I'm ready to charge the gates of hell with a Super-Soaker. Just thought I'd share.

OK, I'm done for now. I'll get to those other stories later. So at least there's something left for me to write about.

Now Is The Time

Well it's official: we're starting a church.

I'm sorry if some of you haven't been informed yet, but Kelly and I will be leaving Christ's Church at Mason this fall and teaming you with our friends Aaron and Dorota Burgess to start a new church near downtown Cincinnati. It's been funny to have this decision hanging over my head for the past few months and not be able to write about it here. This will be one of the most monumental events in my life and I've been longing for the opportunity to reflect about it. So let me fill you in on some of the details that have brought us to this decision.

Ever since college, I knew I wanted to start a new church. I thought it would be exciting to guide a new community into the future, with no history or dogmas to hold us back. I was just never quite sure when or where it would all work out. My ministries took me and Kelly all over the Greater Cincinnati area where we had the opportunity to learn and grow, but my passion for starting a new church waned. Just a couple of years ago, I thought I decided never to plant* a church because of my rebellious attitude. It's sometimes difficult for me to be submissive and I thought that me starting a new church would give in to my James Dean-ish problem with authority. But during the past few years I discovered that I [usually] am respectful of other's authority; it's not like me to do things just to tick people off. So I really had no excuse not to plant a church. I was just being a wussy.

I didn't want to leave behind what we have here. It's not that ministers rake in cash, but there is some security in working in an established church. If you work hard and care about the people you minister to, you can make a nice existence for yourself. You know that you'll get a consistent paycheck [that won't bounce] and if you scrimp and save, you can really enjoy life. Kelly and I have loved life while at CCM and feel rather comfortable here. We have a wonderful house in a great neighborhood, and we're surrounded by many friends we've made here. But since the beginning of the year we've been praying for God to do something in our lives. We were using our trip to Israel as an opportunity to let God speak to us. And He did.

During the trip Kelly and I talked about church, life and the future. We talked about the talents and abilities we could use in a church that we weren't using right now. But I think one of the biggest things to influence us was being in a culture where there were so many people didn't know Jesus and our hearts going out for them. It all culminated the Friday night after we got back from Israel, while sitting in an O'Charley's restaurant, with Kelly and I staring at each other. We weren't very talkative, somewhat exhausted from our travels. Kelly got a bit misty eyed and said, "We have to leave." She wasn't talking about the restaurant- she meant Mason. This is somewhat important to note, because in our relationship, I'm always the one who wants to blaze through decisions and move swiftly. But I know God is behind it if Kelly is there 100%. It's held true every time we've made a decision like this, and this was no different.

So that was March and here we are at the beginning of June. In between you've missed more prayer and meetings and discussions that are getting this thing rolling. We're not going the tradition church planting route by any means here. Actually, I guess you could say we're following the Field of Dreams "If you build it they will come" church planting philosophy. There's a lot to get done, from getting people and money and plans together. We're planning on beginning Sunday evening October 16th [most church plants begin their planning more than a year in advance, so you could say we're behind the eight ball here]. But we're not worried. If this is what God wants, it'll work. And if not, you'll still be able to see me at McDonalds. Just don't yell at me if I forget to give you the Egg McMuffin you ordered.

This morning at 11:00 we'll be taking an important early step in getting things going. I'm meeting with a church near downtown about renting their building on Sunday nights where we can have our gatherings. So if you could drop a prayer about that, I'd appreciate it. I'll keep you posted on how things go.

So now is the time. Can't wait to see what happens.

*"Planting a church" is the widely accepted evangelical terminology for starting a new church. I'm not much of a horticulturist [I kill just about every green thing I touch], so I'm not to big on the phrase "church planting." I guess I'm a tad fearful of thinking that if I effect this new church the way I do greenery, then we're screwed. If you have any ideas of what else to call it, be sure to let me know. I've got nothing.

I'm poor?

Warning: Guilt trip ahead

I've hear many a college student lament, "I'm poor." I've never liked hearing people say that phrase. When I was growing up I had some friends who always dropped "we're poor" about their family and it drove me crazy. They lived in a house in the suburbs, their parents had two vehicles and they never starved a day in their lives. Well for all of you who have used this phrase, it's time you put it to the test. Click on this website called Global Rich List, enter how much money you make a year and it'll tell you where you rank in the world's earnings. For example, just by my own salary, there are 5.8 billion people in the world poorer than me. If I add together mine and Kelly's salary, it says we're in the top 1% of the richest people in the world.

I don't know how accurate their formula is, but we do live in the most affluent nation in the world. So stop your whining and appreciate all God has given you.

About Living

There's this little boy who attended our church with his family that developed cancer about six years ago. Benjamin's family doesn't come to Christ's Church anymore but his grandparents, aunt, uncle and cousins do, so we still have some connections to him. A few weeks ago, he was put back in the hospital again. So last Friday, the day of the week I do hospital calls, I went Childrens Hospital to see him and he was in horrible shape. He was in a forced coma because he was working against the breathing machine they had him hooked up to. The poor little thing looked horrible. It didn't strike me until I was in his room that I remembered the last time I was in that wing of the hospital.

When Kelly and I were just married, there was a little girl from her home church in Lexington that was fighting leukemia. They brought her up here to Childrens and, because they really didn't know anyone in the city, we decided to check in with her once a week. Krystal Lafoon was eight years old and as precocious as they come. She had this rich southern accent and the accompanying Dixie attitude. We would play games with her. Kelly would help her color or do crafts. I'd tell her jokes and she'd give me a sarcastic glare that said, "You're not as funny as you think you are." It was a great way for us to start the first months of marriage and full-time ministry. Krystal was good for us. Fortunately she got well enough that they sent her home, but it wasn't more than a few months later that she was right back up here at Childrens. I remember when I went to see her that last time. Kel was at work and I went by myself. Krystal looked horrible. There were more tubes sticking out of her than I've ever seen; she was exhausted. I tried making her laugh again but she didn't even have the strength to glare at me. I knew it wouldn't last much longer. Krystal died within a couple of weeks.

It was so tough to deal with God during that time. In seminary, I had been taught all the "Bible answers" and the appropriate things to say and feel in situations like that. I was told not to be angry with God because it wasn't His fault, but the real culprit was sin. God made the world perfect, but when man sinned it brought death into the world. The rest of us, throughout the history of the world, have had to deal with the problem ever since. It might have been theologically correct, but it all seemed like crap. Where is God when little children who've never harmed a soul are forced to suffer such pain? Why isn't He protecting the innocent? In the past eight or so years of being in the ministry, it hasn't gotten easier. But I've taken a healthier approach of how to deal with God during times like these.

I get angry at Him.

Sounds a bit blasphemous, doesn't it? But I promise it isn't. Anger isn't necessarily sin. It can turn into sin, but it doesn't have to. Psalm 4:4 says, "In your anger, do not sin." When someone offends me, even if their offense wasn't a sin, I get angry. In instances like a child dying, I can feel offended by God and angry but not be sinful.

And you can be angry with God and not be in danger of being snuffed out. Life's not fair. He knows that. We all don't get the opportunity to live the happy, perfectly fulfilled lives that we long for ourselves and our loved ones. We need to feel the freedom to wrestle with God about the way He works and moves in the world. If He angers you, let Him know. Fearlessly. He created the world, so He has pretty broad shoulders. God can handle all our questions and frustrations.

But while you're experimenting in this new found freedom, don't go off the deep end. There are too many times that we don't acknowledge God for the many blessings he sends our way. Life itself is a wonderful gift and, despite all the junk we have to put up with, is probably a lot better than we realize. Go watch Hotel Rwanda and then complain about how horrible your life is. So anger is just one emotion that we should emit before the Lord. You have a whole palate of emotions with which to present to God.

A couple I went to college with lost a child in pregnancy last year. In a blog entry reflecting on the experience, he recited the following song lyrics, which resonated with me as well:

"You give and take away.
You give and take away.
My heart will choose to say,
'Lord, blessed be your name.'"

There's the point. God is still in control and has a purpose in all He is doing. We need to return to Him, after times of anger and frustration, and acknowledge Him as the giver of life. No one's saying it's easy, but we have to trust the God knows what He's doing.

Let me wrap all this us with Benjamin and Krystal.

When we came to CCM we got to know Mark Mueller, one of our church's elders. He's the patient/family liaison down at the cancer/leukemia ward at Childrens Hospital. Through conversations about his job, we found out that he actually worked with Krystal and her family. It was wonderful to tell our stories of her and have someone else remember what a special little girl she was. Even though it was a short lived life, filled with pain and struggle, she was always happy. She was indeed a special little girl, and everyone who knew her could testify to it.

During this latest struggle with his disease, Benjamin's mother was pregnant. His mom gave birth to a little girl on Tuesday afternoon. Afterward they told Benjamin's mom that her son had taken a turn for the worst. They had to ambulance her over to Childrens, and she got to see Benjamin one last time. He passed away four hours after his mother had given birth- yes, he died the same day his little sister was born.

And they named her, "Faith."

Who's Your Daddy, Luke?

I never realized how much Star Wars was a part of my life until I bought the DVDs of the first trilogy. After watching those movies my mind was flooded with thoughts of my childhood and how much I loved Star Wars. I guess I'll have a connection with those three movies until I die.

That being said, I thought I would feel a sense of completion as Kelly and I finally saw Revenge of the Sith on Monday. It just didn't happen. I absolutely disliked the first two episodes, but was encouraged at all the positive comments coming out about this movie. I left wondering what movie those people had watched. And I think I'm not the only one experiencing this frustration. Here are my thoughts after watching Episode 3:

At least now I know. After waiting almost ten years, from the announcement of George Lucas' plan to make the movies until now, we finally know what the first three installments were supposed to look like. That doesn't mean it was worth it. In retrospect, I wish Lucas had never made the movies. All I really wanted to know could've been summed up in the last hour of the third movie. Maybe I'm being a little hard on him. It's not like the Wachowski brothers did anything with the sequels of their smash The Matrix. But after what Peter Jackson did with The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, and with a lot less CGI effects, Lucas should be embarrassed. Yet despite that . . .

It was visually stunning. It's amazing what they can do with computers now. Just watch the character of Yoda who went from hand puppet to fully fledged action hero. But the next generation of movie makers are going to have to struggle with how many computer generated effects to use. It might become fashionable to do high impact, action movies with little to no CGI.

There was no suspense in the story line at all. Obviously, we know how it was going to turn out: Vader, Luke, Leia, Obi Wan, Empire verses Rebels, yada, yada, yada. But this movie had no suspense like the first trilogy. Lucas has stated that he would encourage future generations to view the movies one through six, instead of how they came out but that would kill some of the best parts: a little green critter is the great Jedi master or Vader is Luke's father. I believe Lucas still could have kept some things mysterious, but he didn't give a rip.

It was the worst dialogue ever. Seriously, I just saw a middle school play that had better dialogue than this movie had. Why, why George didn't you get someone else to script this out for you? You might think this is nit-picky, but poor dialogue creates a definite cheese factor that these three movies have been fighting.

Still unanswered questions. How do the rebel forces get organized? What is Leia actually princess of? Why don't we see Boba Fett growing up? What happens to Jar Jar after the funeral?
It just seems that these movies weren't planned out well. And we get what we get.

So everyone says this one was better than the first two episodes. So what? Those movies were horrible. I'm just really disappointed. I guess I would still suggest Star Wars fans go and see Sith, but go with low expectations. Personally, I'm going to forget these past three movies were ever created.

I Am Softball Guy

Softball guy is the guy who has little left in life but this game. Now just because a guy loves to play softball and plays a lot, doesn't necessarily make him softball guy. Softball guy knows his batting average. Softball guy has softball specific warm-up equipment. Softball guy is able to recall different games situations in total clarity months after the fact. Friends, I'm afraid I'm this close to becoming softball guy.

Yesterday was our first co-ed softball game of the year. Yes, talking about your softball performance is one of the most pathetic things in the world and is the road that leads to softball guy, but I've still gotta break it down.

I went 2 for 3 in the game, which wouldn't be too bad, except for that one out, I struck out swinging. Yes, I struck out in softball. No one strikes out in softball. Interestingly enough, I usually strike out about twice a year, but never this early in the season. I've lamented before that I don't have the best athletic ability and sometimes I try too hard to make things happen. We were down by 12 runs and I wanted to crush one. Yet the only thing I demolished was my pride.

All things considered, I had a decent game, but I tend to dwell on the negative. I have a hard time letting go. I'll probably have to go hit the batting cages this week just so I can recover mentally. But then again, if I hit the batting cages, that means I'm taking the sport too seriously again and I'm embracing softball guy status. Oh the dilemma. What to do?

But so what if I become softball guy? I just love playing ball. Putting your glove on, running out on the grass, legging a single into a double . . . it's a great game. I suppose the older I get, the less pride I'll have to have about it, so I'm just preparing myself for the inevitable. I am softball guy in the works, so be prepared. Maybe, then, it's ironic that my current batting average is 666.

*By the way, I'd be doing her an injustice if I didn't bring up the fact that my wife took a softball to the forehead yesterday. Our shortstop has a canon for an arm and the balls he throws have some incredible movement on them. So while Kelly received the throw at first base, the ball had serious action and deflected off her glove, through her cranium. She was a trooper and wanted to finish the game, but we were down huge by that point and it wouldn't have made a difference so she sat it out. Her forehead has a nice knot on it that, fortunately, her bangs cover up. So here's to my little unicorn for being tough as iron. That's just another thing I love about her.

It's easy like . . .

Sunday morning. Or shall I call it "game day."

It's one of the strangest times of my week, so I thought I'd let you in on how it works for me. As a minister, I'm usually up early on Sundays to get to the church and prepare for what lies ahead. Late Saturday night, using between the commercials of Saturday Night Live, I get all my clothes and toiletries [yeah, I used that word] ready in our other bathroom so Kelly can sleep in. After showering and doing my make-up, I'm out of the house in about twenty minutes.

Sunday mornings is the only day of the week I take the long commute: down Montgomery to Fields Ertle to Mason Montgomery. If I were to do that trek on a weekend, it would take me twenty minutes to get to church. But I love it on Sunday because no one's there; it a ghost town. I make my obligatory stop at UDF for a Diet Coke and then park my Explorer on the street next to the church. Then comes the walk.

It's about an 150 yard walk from where I park my car to the door. Honestly, it's become one of my favorite times of my week. It's not so fun in the winter, but in the spring, summer and fall it's wonderful. The sun peeks over Western Row golf course and I get a few moments of reflection and prayer by which to clear my mind. Just me, some Canadian geese, and God as I start my day.

The church is already unlocked because Tom is the there way before anyone else., but I'm usually the second person there. Whenever he's traveling, I walk around the building and unlock doors and turn on lights. It's a big stinkin' church, so whenever I unlock, it take awhile. Then I hit my office and do a little work. Since I've been blogging, I devote some of this time to write a little. I look over my lessons for the mornings and then talk to people as they come in.

But what's fun is I usually spend the first hour of my day in silence. Not really talking to anyone, just listening- to the world, to nature, well . . . to God really. Loving the opportunity to worship Him. And I get paid for this. Life isn't too shabby at all.

Tana's Swan Song

Just so I can claim to be somewhat consistent, in guitar related news, I sold one of my guitars yesterday on Ebay. I bought this one about five years ago. It's a cutaway acoustic/electric with a really beautiful black and gray body. I really love the way it looks, but rarely play it anymore so it made no sense to let it sit around unused. So now I'm back to two guitars and two cases [I haven't head enough cases for all my guitars since I was in college], so life is good.

I really want to talk about the Apprentice finale last night. We've seen every "last episode" of the show's three seasons and they've all been pretty bad. Mark Burnett, the creator of Survivor, is the producer of The Apprentice, and he usually does some great finales with them, so I'm disappointed at how bad The Apprentice's last episodes turn out. It could be Donald Trump's fault because he gets more face time in the finale than in any other show of the season. He's not as smooth as he thinks he is. But last night was horrible.

Everyone knew going into the show last night that Kendra was going to win. Even though she can come off as annoying, she did everything she needed to do to win the competition. She was the most qualified female yet in the show's history. Even though she cried tears of happiness before The Don, she was the stellar candidate.

There there's Tana. She did just about everything she needed to not win. She was horrible in her final task but kept trying to spin it as if it went perfectly. The Mary Kay salesman from Iowa thinks she could sell popsicles to Eskimos in Alaska. Yet she was totally oblivious [just recall the episode when she claimed to be a MILF- don't ask]. Tana reminded me of a hopped-up kindergarten teacher who talks to you like you're an idiot. There was no way she was winning.

So all that being said, there was no suspense in the episode. Kendra was going to be the clear-cut winner, but they tried to make us think it was up-for-grabs. And they only had an hour to get it all done. Usually the final is 2 hours long, but they shortened it so the could get an ER in at 10:00. So instead of naming the winner quickly and talking to all the other contestants to see how crazy they really are, they drug out the announcement for the entire hour [and even had the audacity to use the first fifteen minutes of the as a season recap]. Boo, I say. Boo indeed.

Best part of the show: they announce the high level jobs in the Trump organization from which Tana or Kendra will choose. First year's winner Bill got a skyscraper in Chicago. Last year's winner Kelly got a highrise in Florida. What do the ladies get offered? The Miss Universe pageant. Brilliant. I haven't searched the web this morning, but I'm sure no one in the media will see the sexism in offering the two women a chance to run a beauty pageant.

This was by far the weakest Apprentice field ever. You gotta be kidding me that, out of a million applicants, these were the best of the best. Memo to Trump and Burnett: do better next time or I'm switching to CSI.

Back to Guitar Week

I took my off day yesterday and didn't have the will to post, but I did think about this topic:

My Favorite Guitar String

There are six strings on a standard guitar: low E, A, D, G, B, and high E. It probably seems like a weird discussion, talking about my favorite string. And no, this isn't an excuse to drop: my favorite is the G-string [although ironically, this is always the string I bust when playing]. I was just thinking yesterday that without the high-E string on the guitar, I probably don't like playing as much. This isn't just nonsense- I have my reasons.

1) It's easily accessible. The main reason that most guitar players don't get past playing chords is that they're too many strings to hit. Take the six strings on the guitar, and pick a riff where you have to vacillate [big word] between the two, and it gets rather tricky. It can be difficult to play the correct string without staring at it. But if you play a riff where everything is on the E-string and you don't have to worry about other strings getting in the way; it's right there on the bottom. Plus, in fingering the note on the fingerboard, you're unobstructed by the other strings in hitting the proper fret. Any riffs I've ever played while leading worship have been on the E-string.

2) It sounds good. It might not be manly to enjoy the higher sounds on the guitar, but I do. In a band setting, you usually have a bass player, so it's not as important for people to hear your lowering string. The beauty of the instrument is found in the E-string, presenting a harp-like sound. Nice.

3) It's in the key of E. Yeah, that sounds obvious, but it's perfect. I think the key of E is the best sounding key you can play in with a guitar. When not played, it resonates well, and when you need to play it while in E, there are tons of variations you can do with it.

So if you play, let me know what your favorite string is. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only E-fan around.

Until later, take it E-Z. Get it? I slay me.

Guitar Week Over?

This is my problem in life: I'm a starter and not a finisher. I'm awesome at getting things going, but I bore easily, get distracted and leave things dangling. As committed as I was to Guitar Week, I've already found something else I wanted to talk about. So maybe I'll get back to the guitars tomorrow, but now some Bob Huggins talk.

I don't want to talk about the whole UC Basketball thing here, because most people who know me know that I'm a big Huggins guy. But yesterday I read an article by a columnist in the Cincinnati Enquirer about Huggins leaving UC. Paul Daugherty was making a point that if Huggins is fired, it's not the end of the world. Here's what he wrote:

"There was no confusion in Clifton in 1989, when UC hired Huggins. There is now. Meanwhile, what is everyone so afraid of? Chicken Little UC supporters would have you believe if Huggins leaves, the Bearcats will start scheduling home-and-home with Cincinnati Bible. Huggins is the only line of defense between UC basketball and Wednesday morning at the YMCA."

Um, yes, that was a bash on my alma mater. By the way Paul, it is no longer Cincinnati Bible, but Cincinnati Christian University. I was down at the school for a fund raising breakfast this morning and found out the David Faust, President of CCU, wrote a response to Daugherty about his comments. All I can say if, "ouch."

But I found it interesting because in that article my two worlds collided. Even though I'm a huge UC fan, I never attended class there. I still own no CCU apparel, while a Bearcat logo graces my office wall. Maybe, just maybe, one day my alma mater will be able to make Daugherty eat his words.

Or maybe I'll keep pretending I graduated from UC.

Guitar Week

So apparently no one really cared to submit a theme of the week. You know what? That's fine with me. I can run this ship all by myself. I've been doing it for months already, so don't worry about me. You'll just keep on getting what I give ya.

I've deemed this guitar week. This month marks the 12th year that I've been playing the guitar, so I thought I'd pay homage to the anniversary by talking about my guitar experience. Today I'll fill you in on how I got started playing.

I played the violin, thanks to Oak Hills music program, for ten years [from third grade till I graduated high school]. I was pretty good at it for not having taken private lessons, but I knew I didn't want to play it forever. You can't really sing along with the violin, plus it was never the kind of instrument that got you chicks. Since I was used to playing a stringed instrument, jumping to the guitar was pretty natural.

When I was seventeen, I borrowed a guitar from a friend along with a chart of chords and kept teaching myself stuff. It was definitely a slow process at first, and a painful experience for my family who had to listen to me learn; you really learn how much people love you when you're learning to play the guitar. That Christmas I received my very first guitar- a cheap Yamaha beginners model. It wasn't anything special but it had a darker finish that gave it a unique look. A year later I knew 7 chords and was still learning how to strum.

Then I started college, where a few people in the dorms who played taught me a few more tricks. I got a lot better during my freshman year, but sorta rested on my laurels and stopped learning. I began to lead a little worship here and there, but still wasn't very good. After graduating I began a youth ministry and it became imperative that I start playing more in order to lead worship. It was then that my playing took off. The calluses on my fingertips became permanent, I taught myself to finger pick [even though I still only use three fingers to do so] and learned a little bit about music theory. In the past seven years my playing has accelerated to the point that I lead worship on a consist basis for our Focus service. I'll be the first to admit they I'm not really that good, but I know enough now to fake it.

I can't believe I've been playing this long. I'm so glad I taught myself to play. It's therapeutic, when you're having a bad day, to pick up the guitar, strum hard, and musically beat the crap out of it. If you've ever had the desire, I'd encourage you to get a an old guitar, surf the web for a chord fingering chart and have a go at it. I swear, it's not that complicated. And if you give it a few years, you can be better than you think.

Vote For Beit Carr Theme Of The Week

"Bloggin' ain't easy"

It's true. Everyday you have to come up with something new to talk about. And when people expect humor and insight, the demand can become overwhelming. So I need a vacation. But I'm not gonna use it to stop bloggin'. Instead I want a break from having to come up with topics. So I'm instituting the first ever contest to choose the . . .

BEIT CARR

THEME OF THE WEEK

At the end of this post, you comment on what you want me to talk about next week and I pick the best response to be the theme for all the postings for next week's blog. So you have all weekend to give me your idea. Then see if you're topic is chosen as the . . .

BEIT CARR

THEME OF THE WEEK

My, Grandma, what a big font you have.

"You will eat a dog and not even know it"

I never really liked Chinese food until after I finished college. In my first ministry, when it came to lunch time, there was a certain office lunch schedule,where once ever couple of weeks we did Chinese. It did disturb me a bit that the place we ordered food from was right next door to a pet store, but I developed an appreciation for the food anyway.

One of my favorite parts of the meal is the fortune cookie. But unlike most people, I don't give a rip about the fortune; I just like the odd taste of that cookie. I know there aren't that many of us out there who love eating those cookies, but stop hiding your heads in shame. It's a glorious delicacy and we should fearlessly admit how we love them so. Just typing this I'm thinking of the stale, wonderful morsel capable of slicing open my gums with one mis-chew.

My ears perked, then, this morning as I heard the news report of the fortune cookie that won the lottery. There was a Powerball drawing back on March 30th produced 110 winners. Statistically, this seemed too many, so lottery officials did some investigation and discovered that almost all the winners picked their numbers according to their fortune found in a cookie. From the news report on Yahoo:

"The fortune cookie featured six lucky numbers. The first five were good enough for six-figure prizes, The sixth figure, needed for the jackpot of $25.5 million, was listed as 40, when the winning number was 42. A Tennessee man who shunned fortune cookie luck landed the biggest prize."

Interesting. Just a few thoughts about the great cookie caper. . .

1) I never thought anybody was dumb enough to actually bet the lottery on numbers from their fortune cookie. On the news this morning, when they reported from the cookie factory that produced the numbers, that the numbers are selected at random from a big fish bowl and put on the paper. So those numbers were selected at random- twice.

2) I wonder what it's like to work at a fortune cookie factory. None of the workers bet on the numbers, but then again, they see thousands of combinations of numbers every week. But what would it be like to work there? Say you go to the bathroom and a co-worker mutters, "You will go number 2 and there will be no toilet paper." Do you believe them?

3) I guess the point of this whole story is fortune cookies aren't just good to eat, but capable of making you money. Maybe this is the way God has been wanting to speak to me and I've instead chosen to gorge myself on the sweetened vessel. There's a deep, spiritual lesson somewhere here. I'll let you know if I find it.

Extending Grace

I was really struggling whether to post this out of fear of possible backlash. It's easily to be misinterpreted with stuff like what I'm about to write, but I think it's necessary that we think about this. But first, an introducing story:

The only time I've seen Les Miserables [which I prefer to pronounce phonetically rather than using the correct French pronunciation] was the video of the 1998 movie with Liam Neeson, Geoffrey Rush and Uma Thurman. I really need to see it performed on stage. Victor Hugo's work is an epic story filled with quite a few theological themes.

One of the key points in the story happens at the very beginning. Jean Valjean is released from prison after nineteen years for stealing a loaf of bread in an attempt to feed his sister and her children. Unable to escape his ex-convict status and find lodging, a priest welcomes him in for the night. Jean Valjean steals from him the priest's collection of valuable silverware and flees into the night. The next morning he is apprehended by the police and is brought back to the priest's house. The priest, extending grace, says the silverware was a gift and additionally gives Jean Valjean two silver candlesticks and sends him on his way. The simple act of grace transforms Jean Valjean's life.

Many people hail Les Miserables as a masterpiece. Yet many of us are unwilling to try to live out what the story actually advocates: helping people obtain redemption by extending grace. While we appreciate the story, the actions of the priest are dismissed as irrelevant to modern life. I mean, would any of us really welcome an ex-convict into our homes? I've never had the opportunity to do so, but I can't say that I would. In fact, I'm not sure I'd want to live next door to someone who's served extended prison time. Would you?

The news media has been relentless the past few months towards registered sex offenders. Part of this is the reaction to the many cases of child abduction/murder that have happened recently in the US. They have us fearing for the safety of our children [even referring people to websites where you type in your street address to find out how many sex offenders live in your area]. Just this morning I was watching a local news station which reported that a community was trying to get such a person out of their neighborhood. I suppose you could call this a witch hunt. Fellow minister Tim Reed wrote that sex offenders might be the modern day equivalent of Jesus' tax collectors and prostitutes. I think he's correct. Yet when it comes to these people, who are viewed as the refuse of our society, even Christians feel freely obligated to pile on and point fingers of condemnation.

Now don't get me wrong here: the actions of rapists, child molesters and other offenders are heinous and in-human. But these offenders ARE still human. Yet you probably wouldn't know it when talking to some followers of Jesus. There have been times that I've been with fellow Christians and have heard the following phrases spoken about in connection to such people:

"We should just kill 'em all."
"Those people don't deserve to live."
"We should just drop 'em all on an island somewhere . . ."

I think I've asked this before, but it bears repeating: Why is it that we Christians, those who should be the purveyors of grace, are so hesitant to offer grace to those who desperately need it? Without the actions of the priest, Jean Valjean would never have been able to have been redeemed. But we miss the grace. There's a misunderstood teaching that the righteous should live and the evil should die. Judgment of this is left to God alone, not to us. But we get the opportunity to emulate God by offering the grace He offers. The only thing distinguishing the blurred lines of who are the righteous and who are the evil is His grace.

And just another thought: Jesus never promised safety in this world for His followers; He actually predicted the opposite. We need to stop letting people, popular culture and media make us fearful of living our lives. Even if danger lurks around the corner, we need to fearless face the world. They can kill the body, but not the soul. Regardless how we're treated, we're commanded to love others- sinners and saints alike. Maybe you'll never meet a registered sex offender. But if you do, how will you treat them? I'm not saying you have to let them babysit your kids; you don't show them unlimited trust, but you treat them as human beings. But when the petition to kick them out of your neighborhood comes around, do you sign it?

It's easy to forget that we've all been given some silver candlesticks in our lives.

Rounding Third And Heading For Home

I had the chance to go to the Reds game last night. Sunday night baseball on ESPN and the Reds . . . once again, failed to show up and embarrass themselves. Let me drop some random thoughts and observations from my experience last night.

1) I still hate the Dodgers. Growing up a Reds fan, it was natural. The Dodgers were in the same division as the Reds, so they were rivals. Any good Cincinnati fan is supposed to hate the Dodgers. So usually, this weekend series would've packed 'em out attendance-wise. Unfortunately, there were less than 20,000 people there last night and only about 70,000 for the three game series. Maybe it's because the Reds seem to be out of the pennant race by May, or maybe it's because we've forgotten our heritage. Yeah, pretty pathetic.

2) Great American Ballpark is a beautiful place to watch a game. I guess all the tax dollars used to build a new stadium for the Reds was worth it [although I still get mad at Paul Brown Stadium]. We were sitting in the middle deck area. The concessions area on that level is like a sports bar. It was an enclosed area with tons of tv's and gorgeous furniture. Not quite like the concession stands in old Riverfront Stadium. I must say that it just doesn't feel like baseball without the smell of cigarette smoke. That may sound demented, but that's how I remember it. It almost made me want to light up a Marlboro on the way home.

3) I'm afraid baseball is a dying sport. I hope I'm not right about this one, but let's face it: it's an incredibly boring sport. The next generation of kids can't even pay attention. They were so many things for kids to do down there that it reminds me of Kings Island. When I was a kid we used to go to the ball game to actually watch the game. Novel idea. But I guess as long as they sell beer at the games, it has a chance.

4) THEY NEED TO BRING BACK THE ORIGINAL MR. RED RACE. I cannot stress this enough. For those unfamiliar with what I'm talking about, back at the old stadium, they used to have three baseballs with hats [marked Mr Red numbers 1, 2, and 3] tediously race across the scoreboard. It was awesome to here people shout out the numbers as they went along. They replaced it with this dumb computer animation of Mr Redlegs, Rosie Red and Mr Red freakishly running around the ballpark. Why, of all things, couldn't they bring this piece of nostalgia to the new digs? I don't want all that technology crap. Kelly and I were able to attend the last game at Riverfront and I have pictures of the last true Mr Red race. I thought by now they'd bring it back, but I guess it's gone for good. Sad, truly sad.

Anyway it goes, the Reds are still my team and I had a great time last night. Thanks to Tim Tucker and his parents for hooking me up with a seat.

Mama, Just Killed A Man . . .

I actually have a lot to get done this morning, but I had to write a few words this Mother's Day about Mom. My mother is one of the most wonderful people I've ever known my entire life. She is the epitome of hard work, thoroughly raising four kids. By thoroughly, I mean that she always went the extra mile to take care of us in any and every way. For example, the only time we had to make our beds was during the summer when we weren't in school; Mom would always do it. I don't think my brother Chris still knows how to make his bed [am I wrong there?]. Anytime we had to be taken someplace or needed anything, Mom never let us down. I can't think of any time growing up when she failed to come through. I was in junior high when she went back to teaching, and she still figured out how to manage her home so that you couldn't tell anything changed. The thirty-first chapter of the book of Proverbs describes her perfectly.

But there were always times that we let Mom down. Yep, growing up we did bad things that angered her. She wasn't the disciplinarian though, so you hoped for a spanking from her instead of Dad [she could never generate the force needed for correction that Dad could]. But even then, she never stayed disappointed long.

This morning I was thinking of one time in particular that I didn't do her right. It was May of 1984. We were doing the obligatory Mother's Day projects in school, one where we made this booklet dedicated to praising our moms. On one page we were supposed to draw a picture of what our mom's do during the day. So I drew a picture of what I thought would be fun: my mother, sitting on the couch, watching soap operas [Days of Our Lives to be exact]. Now it is true that my mom would sit down in the afternoons to watch the occasional soap opera [by the way, later in college I became addicted to Days of Our Lives], but that was after she had been up since 5:30 cooking, cleaning, sewing, ironing, and performing many other tasks to keep her home spotless. I specifically remember the way she reacted when she saw the picture: she laughed a little saying, "Is that what you think that I do?" but thanked me for my booklet. Years later, I feel horrible about it. For a cheap laugh I lost that opportunity to let her know how much I loved her. Sorry 'bout that, Mom.

I know Mom isn't scarred by that incident 21 years ago. I'll see her this afternoon and bring it up; I'm sure she doesn't even remember it. She knows how much she's appreciated. But instead of just buying a card or a present for this holiday, give your mom a call, or a hug. Even if you have a lackluster relationship with her. And more importantly, check in on her in a few weeks and in a couple months from now when societal celebrations don't obligate you to do so. If it weren't for her, you wouldn't be here today.

Love ya, Mom.

Run For The Roses

Today is the most exciting two minutes in sports: the Kentucky Derby. I'll admit, I never really cared too much for horse racing until I started dating my Kentucky-born and raised wife [I think one of our first dates was to Turfway Park where we lost a staggering $10]. Horses are magnificent creatures and I find it fascinating to watch them race.

A few years ago, while doing recruiting for the college, I was in Louisville with an afternoon to kill. I found my way to Churchill Downs and took a tour of the facility. It's funny because, whenever you see it on TV, it looks pristine and almost regal. Actually, it's pretty ugly place from the outside. Churchill is in the middle of this old residential neighborhood, the closest store is a dilapidated gas station down the street. But once you're inside, it's awesome.

There's something like a five year wait to get tickets to the Derby, unless you want to do the infield, where they cram thousands of people. Apparently that's where all the plastered college co-eds watch the race. That's why during the telecast they usually don't show shots of the infield, fearing that viewers will see R-rated content.

So how do I make my pick for the Derby? I really have no idea about horses, so I've created my own method. It's a combination of selecting a horse with decent odds and a cool sounding name. So if a horse is named Montezuma's Revenge but is at 250 to 1 odds, I won't pick him. Likewise, if a horse is at 2 to 1 odds but is named Gertrude's Daisies, there's no way. Take, for instance, a few years ago. There was a horse with 20 to 1 odds named War Admiral. Decent odds and an awesome name. He went on to win the Derby and almost won the Triple Crown. So this year's favorite is Bellamy Road. I'm not feeling him because it makes me think of Bill Bellamy, the old MTV VJ. My pick: Sun King. If I had a little more guts, I'd pick Don't Get Mad. Yep, I'm a wuss. We'll see how I do . . .

Dealing With The Past

I'm a tad dismayed because there's a movie coming out this weekend that I really want to see but, because of time constraints, won't be able to till Monday at the earliest. The movie is Kingdom of Heaven. It's a period film about a young French man [played by the always elvish Orlando Bloom] who joins the Christian Crusade to defend the city of Jerusalem from Muslim invaders. Interestingly enough, while it would seem a movie of this topic would spark controversy in our politically correct times, not much has been said about it. It's a fascinating time of history that has been too often ignored.

Some of you are unfamiliar with the Crusades, so pardon a very brief history lesson: In 1095, Pope Urban II decreed that Christians should take Jerusalem out of the hands of the Muslims; Muslims had taken control of the city in 638 and Crusaders finally took the city in 1099. The Muslims then recaptured the city in 1187. Except for one brief additional period of Christian rule, the Muslims prevailed and maintained control of the Holy Lands.

It's difficult for Christians to reflect upon the Crusades. A byproduct of these campaigns were horrible atrocities committed by Crusaders in the name of Jesus. Thousands of innocent people were killed, women raped and towns destroyed, all by people who claimed to be accomplishing God's will. Some Christians refuse to acknowledge this as part of their heritage- especially those with a Protestant background who claim no responsibility for actions of the Roman Catholic Church. But this is part of our past. Yes it's disgusts us to think of what happened back then and we would never imagine doing things like that today, but we can't escape these skeletons in our closet.

As a Christian, I am part of the catholic church [little "c" meaning "universal"]; what we would call the body of Christ. That means I'm not just responsible for my actions. Being part of a universal community expands my accountability to all Christians- past, present and future. Those followers of Jesus, who hundreds of years ago rampaged the countryside and slaughtered people, are my spiritual ancestors. Christians in Rwanda, who a few years ago shed the blood of hundreds of thousands of innocent people, are my brothers and sisters. And future believers, who commit violent acts years after I'm dead and gone, are my descendents. This may sound crazy to you, but I believe it to be a Scriptural truth.

There's a problem in the way we've presented the Christian faith the past few years as a "personal relationship." True, each of us must decide what we will do with Jesus in our own lives, but we are also instructed to be involved in each other's lives. Throughout the Bible we see the importance of community and Christianity. Most of Paul's letters in the New Testament are written to churches [and when he writes to individuals, it's almost always about churches]. When someone in the community is entangled in a serious sin, it is the responsibility of the church to deal with it. You don't get a free pass just because you're not the offending party. For example, there's an interesting read about a church needing to handle an incest problem in I Corinthians 5.

I guess my point is this: you can't dismiss the sin of others with a mere Bart Simpson "I didn't do it." Don't be afraid of the shady past of the church; it doesn't discount our message. Trying to bleach Christian history of past indiscretion to make Christianity look better isn't effective. It's just not believable. The church and Christians are flawed, but our founder is not. Despite all the excess baggage and guilt the church bears from thousands of years of screwing-up, powerful and redemptive things are happening in this world. The way of Jesus can work. It just takes some work.

Don't run from your past. Learn from it.