OK, so my Diet Coke addiction is really a cult. At least I know I'm not alone.
Uncle Steve
Mikayla, Tyler, Kasey and me at my Mom's birthday party.Kids love the digital camera.
Sometimes you don't have the words
It was a somber weekend in the Greater Cincinnati area as five local Marines were laid to rest after being killed in Iraq in a roadside attack. Not since the Vietnam War [which concluded before I was born] has our country seen these extreme numbers of combat casualties.
Greg McDaniel, co-pastor at the Impact Church, performed the funeral for one of the soldiers, Lance Corporal Timothy Bell Jr, yesterday at Lakota East High School. I'm sure it was a difficult service to perform, trying to say the right words and ignore the intense media coverage. It seems God gave him exactly what he needed to say to comfort the family and the community.
Whether or not you agree with the Iraqi conflict, you have to be proud and thankful of the sacrifices of these brave soldiers who gave their all for our country. If it were not for people like them that have risen to the occasion throughout America's history, we wouldn't have the freedoms that we hold so dear.
Greg McDaniel, co-pastor at the Impact Church, performed the funeral for one of the soldiers, Lance Corporal Timothy Bell Jr, yesterday at Lakota East High School. I'm sure it was a difficult service to perform, trying to say the right words and ignore the intense media coverage. It seems God gave him exactly what he needed to say to comfort the family and the community.
Whether or not you agree with the Iraqi conflict, you have to be proud and thankful of the sacrifices of these brave soldiers who gave their all for our country. If it were not for people like them that have risen to the occasion throughout America's history, we wouldn't have the freedoms that we hold so dear.
Happy Birthday Mom!
Yesterday was my mother's birthday. We had a get-together at their house on Friday to commemorate. She's quite an incredible woman, that mother 'o' mine. I wrote about her on Mother's Day, but I thought it would be good to talk a little more about my Mom as we remember the day of her birth. So two stories for ya [in retrospect, these stories seem to be more about me than my mom, but she's an important player, nonetheless].
The last time I was spanked was 1989. I was thirteen years old, a Bridgetown Junior High School eager beaver [our stupid mascot]. It was a weeknight and I was frustrated with a conversation I was having with my mother. At the peak of the dialogue, in pure anger, I yelled something to the effect of, "whatever Margaret!" Yes, Margaret is her first name; I called my mother by her given name. Unfortunately, during this outburst, I neglected to realize that my father had just arrived home and was ascending the basement stairs, listening to our entire exchange. By the time he made it upstairs he was visibly upset [to say the least] and came after me. I didn't get a good jump so he caught me and sorta knocked me to the ground in the hallway. Before I knew it, my father's knee was in his back and he was taking his belt off to show me his style of justice. As he wailed on my rear-end I, in a fit of adolescent cockiness, began to laugh at him. Not the brightest move, because this caused him to strike me all the harder.
It was at this point that my mother felt a sense of empathy towards my cause and said to my dad, "Stop it, Ken! You'll kill him." This plea by my concerned maternal parent ended the corporal punishment and I was dismissed to my room in quite a lot of pain. If not for my mother, my father would have continued treating me like a human pinata and perhaps candy would have come forth from . . . somewhere. Thanks Mom, for saving my life.
Additional P.C. Note: Hopefully this little story didn't disturb you folks out there who are against spanking. My father isn't a monster or anything; he was just rearing me as he thought best. And all these years later, I'm thankful he got through to me. I have [yet] to commit a felony and have led a [somewhat] productive, normal life. Trust me, I needed those spankings to help make me the person I am today. So save your phone call to Oprah and keep reading.
OK, now a second story that's a tad more heart-felt. Mom likes to sing. She has a beautiful voice, and always sang harmonies to every song growing up. Unbeknownst to me she sang the alto part so, as I taught myself to emulate her harmony, I was singing a woman's part. To this day, I find myself slipping from a tenor harmony into an alto. As I write this I'm laughing at myself because I've always been paranoid of someone accusing me of being a girl for singing women's harmony, but it's not like writing an entire paragraph on singing harmony is the most manly thing in the world. Interesting.
Anyway, I've always been complimented for singing harmony in songs while leading worship. Not a lot of people know how to do that. And I probably wouldn't know how if it wasn't for my mother. Thanks Mom, for teaching me how to sing. Perhaps I can duplicate your efforts to the world and provide them with some carbonated beverage to keep them happy.
Thanks mom, for always being there for me and teaching me so many things. And thanks for still being as wonderful today as you've ever been.
So happy birthday, Margar . . . um, I mean, Mom! You're the best!
The last time I was spanked was 1989. I was thirteen years old, a Bridgetown Junior High School eager beaver [our stupid mascot]. It was a weeknight and I was frustrated with a conversation I was having with my mother. At the peak of the dialogue, in pure anger, I yelled something to the effect of, "whatever Margaret!" Yes, Margaret is her first name; I called my mother by her given name. Unfortunately, during this outburst, I neglected to realize that my father had just arrived home and was ascending the basement stairs, listening to our entire exchange. By the time he made it upstairs he was visibly upset [to say the least] and came after me. I didn't get a good jump so he caught me and sorta knocked me to the ground in the hallway. Before I knew it, my father's knee was in his back and he was taking his belt off to show me his style of justice. As he wailed on my rear-end I, in a fit of adolescent cockiness, began to laugh at him. Not the brightest move, because this caused him to strike me all the harder.
It was at this point that my mother felt a sense of empathy towards my cause and said to my dad, "Stop it, Ken! You'll kill him." This plea by my concerned maternal parent ended the corporal punishment and I was dismissed to my room in quite a lot of pain. If not for my mother, my father would have continued treating me like a human pinata and perhaps candy would have come forth from . . . somewhere. Thanks Mom, for saving my life.
Additional P.C. Note: Hopefully this little story didn't disturb you folks out there who are against spanking. My father isn't a monster or anything; he was just rearing me as he thought best. And all these years later, I'm thankful he got through to me. I have [yet] to commit a felony and have led a [somewhat] productive, normal life. Trust me, I needed those spankings to help make me the person I am today. So save your phone call to Oprah and keep reading.
OK, now a second story that's a tad more heart-felt. Mom likes to sing. She has a beautiful voice, and always sang harmonies to every song growing up. Unbeknownst to me she sang the alto part so, as I taught myself to emulate her harmony, I was singing a woman's part. To this day, I find myself slipping from a tenor harmony into an alto. As I write this I'm laughing at myself because I've always been paranoid of someone accusing me of being a girl for singing women's harmony, but it's not like writing an entire paragraph on singing harmony is the most manly thing in the world. Interesting.
Anyway, I've always been complimented for singing harmony in songs while leading worship. Not a lot of people know how to do that. And I probably wouldn't know how if it wasn't for my mother. Thanks Mom, for teaching me how to sing. Perhaps I can duplicate your efforts to the world and provide them with some carbonated beverage to keep them happy.
Thanks mom, for always being there for me and teaching me so many things. And thanks for still being as wonderful today as you've ever been.
So happy birthday, Margar . . . um, I mean, Mom! You're the best!
When I say, "Gone" . . .
So I'm here in the office on a Friday afternoon and everyone is gone. By "gone," I mean this place is a ghost town. There are a couple of support staff wandering around, but I think I could set fire to my office chair right now and no one would notice. So that means, it's a three post day! So here's a quick story to get your weekend started off right.
I went to Bethesda North this afternoon to do my hospital calls. I went into the room where this guy from church was supposed to be and saw an empty bed. It was a double room, so there was another person on the far side of the room behind the curtain. I knocked on the door and called out, "Mr Darby?" [not his real name], to see if it was him. A guy in his fifties peeked back through the curtain and responded, "No, he's gone." Knowing that Mr Darby's illness wasn't life-threatening I playfully responded in a somewhat somber voice, "Oh, you mean he's gone?" as in, "he's dead." To this the man immediately blurted out, "Oh no, no, no! I mean, they sent him home. He's not gone gone." I told the man I was relieved and walked away with a smirk on my face.
My advice: never use the word "gone" in a hospital.
I went to Bethesda North this afternoon to do my hospital calls. I went into the room where this guy from church was supposed to be and saw an empty bed. It was a double room, so there was another person on the far side of the room behind the curtain. I knocked on the door and called out, "Mr Darby?" [not his real name], to see if it was him. A guy in his fifties peeked back through the curtain and responded, "No, he's gone." Knowing that Mr Darby's illness wasn't life-threatening I playfully responded in a somewhat somber voice, "Oh, you mean he's gone?" as in, "he's dead." To this the man immediately blurted out, "Oh no, no, no! I mean, they sent him home. He's not gone gone." I told the man I was relieved and walked away with a smirk on my face.
My advice: never use the word "gone" in a hospital.
This can't be true . . .
But I guess it makes total sense. Now you know another reason why I don't play Halo with the guys.
Darby and Joan
wordsmith [n]: a person who works with words.
I'm become somewhat of a wordsmith; I've developed a love of words and a passion for using them; especially words that take a little more effort to work into a conversation. I'd say that, since college, my vocabulary has increased exponentially [see, I did it right there]. The beautiful thing about the English language is that we have so many words at our discretion to use. So why don't people make the extra effort to use a few of them? The usual excuse is that people don't want to seem stuck-up. I think that's a cop out. I can think of two main reasons why people don't like new words:
1) It's hard work. You can't just start using a new word. You have to find out what it means, then figure out how to use it and work it into a conversation. And the bigger reason . . .
2) The fear of looking stupid. As exhilarating as it is to use a new word, it's frightening to mess it up. Those familiar with the TV show Friends can see Joey standing there saying to himself, "Supposably? Supposably!" The risk not seeming to be worth the reward, we hold back and choose to stay at the level where we're at.
It saddens me to think that we can't continue to learn and excel without fearing chastisement from other people. Just because you want to speak and write well doesn't mean you think you're superior to others [I've listened to and read material by people who have incredible vocabularies but are the scum of the earth]. Why should we let other people's attitudes determine what we can be? It's junior high peer pressure all over again. So I want to challenge us all to become wordsmiths. Discover new words or phrases and use them in everyday language. I make it a point, while teaching kids, to always use a word that I have to define for them. I'm not saying it's easy, but here are a few tips for making it happen in your speech:
1) Read. More than the sports page. Read books with no pictures. Read books by authors who are genuine wordsmiths. And when you come across a word you don't know, look it up.
2) Write. Blogging has certainly helped my vocabulary grow. I don't want to use the same words over and over and over and over again, so I'm always looking for new words. Write emails to people and deliberately work in words you might not normally use.
3) Listen to people smarter than you. Whether at work or church [or at home?], hang around people who know how to use those big words. Maybe tune into NPR or download a podcast. Even if you don't agree with the content, you can learn something about your language.
4) Word of the day. There's more than just toilet paper and calendars out there that have a word of the day. I receive a daily email from Merriam-Webster with a word of the day.
For instance, today's vocabulary phrase from my Merriam Webster email is "Darby and Joan." Here's the definition and the accompanying explanation:
[n] a happily married usually elderly couple
"Old Darby, with Joan by his side, / You've often regarded with wonder: / He's dropsical, she is sore-eyed, / Yet they're never happy asunder." Thus ran the lines of a poem published in 1735 under the title "The Joys of Love Never Forgot: A Song." By the mid-1700s, the elderly couple introduced in that poem had become symbolic of devoted couples.
I did an informal survey around this place of people between the ages of fifty and eighty. I asked them if they knew this phrase and not one of them has heard it used before. If they don't know what it means, you know that no one under fifty knows it. So now that you have some new words, see where you can use them.
Who are the "Darby and Joan" in your life? Let them know or tell other people about them. And after you refer to them as "D&J," and the person you're speaking with says, "Excuse me?" Let them know what the phrase means. This way we all get smarter, using the mass of goo between our ears.
And then we talk real gooder too.
*One of the most interesting messages I heard on this topic was by Richard Allen Farmer and entitled, "Making the Mummies Dance." It's available for purchase on the Willow Creek Association website.
I'm become somewhat of a wordsmith; I've developed a love of words and a passion for using them; especially words that take a little more effort to work into a conversation. I'd say that, since college, my vocabulary has increased exponentially [see, I did it right there]. The beautiful thing about the English language is that we have so many words at our discretion to use. So why don't people make the extra effort to use a few of them? The usual excuse is that people don't want to seem stuck-up. I think that's a cop out. I can think of two main reasons why people don't like new words:
1) It's hard work. You can't just start using a new word. You have to find out what it means, then figure out how to use it and work it into a conversation. And the bigger reason . . .
2) The fear of looking stupid. As exhilarating as it is to use a new word, it's frightening to mess it up. Those familiar with the TV show Friends can see Joey standing there saying to himself, "Supposably? Supposably!" The risk not seeming to be worth the reward, we hold back and choose to stay at the level where we're at.
It saddens me to think that we can't continue to learn and excel without fearing chastisement from other people. Just because you want to speak and write well doesn't mean you think you're superior to others [I've listened to and read material by people who have incredible vocabularies but are the scum of the earth]. Why should we let other people's attitudes determine what we can be? It's junior high peer pressure all over again. So I want to challenge us all to become wordsmiths. Discover new words or phrases and use them in everyday language. I make it a point, while teaching kids, to always use a word that I have to define for them. I'm not saying it's easy, but here are a few tips for making it happen in your speech:
1) Read. More than the sports page. Read books with no pictures. Read books by authors who are genuine wordsmiths. And when you come across a word you don't know, look it up.
2) Write. Blogging has certainly helped my vocabulary grow. I don't want to use the same words over and over and over and over again, so I'm always looking for new words. Write emails to people and deliberately work in words you might not normally use.
3) Listen to people smarter than you. Whether at work or church [or at home?], hang around people who know how to use those big words. Maybe tune into NPR or download a podcast. Even if you don't agree with the content, you can learn something about your language.
4) Word of the day. There's more than just toilet paper and calendars out there that have a word of the day. I receive a daily email from Merriam-Webster with a word of the day.
For instance, today's vocabulary phrase from my Merriam Webster email is "Darby and Joan." Here's the definition and the accompanying explanation:
[n] a happily married usually elderly couple
"Old Darby, with Joan by his side, / You've often regarded with wonder: / He's dropsical, she is sore-eyed, / Yet they're never happy asunder." Thus ran the lines of a poem published in 1735 under the title "The Joys of Love Never Forgot: A Song." By the mid-1700s, the elderly couple introduced in that poem had become symbolic of devoted couples.
I did an informal survey around this place of people between the ages of fifty and eighty. I asked them if they knew this phrase and not one of them has heard it used before. If they don't know what it means, you know that no one under fifty knows it. So now that you have some new words, see where you can use them.
Who are the "Darby and Joan" in your life? Let them know or tell other people about them. And after you refer to them as "D&J," and the person you're speaking with says, "Excuse me?" Let them know what the phrase means. This way we all get smarter, using the mass of goo between our ears.
And then we talk real gooder too.
*One of the most interesting messages I heard on this topic was by Richard Allen Farmer and entitled, "Making the Mummies Dance." It's available for purchase on the Willow Creek Association website.
A Walk In The Clouds
OK, first off, I should be beaten with rods for using a sucky Keanu Reeves movie as the title for this posting, but stick with me here and you'll see it fits. Tuesday was my day off, and I really had nothing to do. It was so bizarre that there was no work to be done on the house [obviously, since it's not our house any more], nor was there any other "assignment" I needed to complete. I found myself with a wide-open day. I've been reading this book, Walking the Steps of Cincinnati, by Mary Anna Dusablon which details different walks you can take around the city via stairwells. Somewhat inspired by the book, I decided to use my day to walk around the city.I had an ulterior motive as well. I've been searching the internet for Cincinnati pictures to use for Echo Church stuff, and I discovered that there aren't many good quality [free] pics of Cincy out there. So I grabbed our Canon Powershot A95 digital camera and decided to take some myself. Honestly, this camera rocks; I absolutely loved the photos I took on vacation. So I was pumped up at the thought of my walking the streets alone, with just my camera.
By the end of my trek, I took over 160 pictures. I started the day in Eden Park, then headed over to Mount Adams. I rarely slowed down, vacillating between jogging and briskly walking. From there I parked my car by the Taft Museum and walked a circle from the P&G building to the Roebling Suspension Bridge and back again. I drove across the river to take a few shots from the Devou Park overlook, then drove down to the Covington Landing and, after that, went down to the Newport riverfront area. I finished the day by the Walnut Hills Christian Church to take a couple more shots in the area. Interesting enough, the church used to be covered with vines, and vines are where grapes grow, and that's the whole premise behind the Keanu Reeves movie A Walk In The Clouds. Boo-yah! Told you I'd make that title work! By then I was exhausted and headed for home.
Overall it was a good time. It was very uncharacteristic of me; I'm not the type who roams the streets alone. And I never take pictures like that. But I really enjoyed the time to myself. I was able to think, to get some exercise, and to see the city in a way I haven't in a long time. I'm excited about moving down there now. I'll probably have many more city/photo excursions.
So I figured out a way to post some of the pictures online through a free service called Flickr. Click on that link to check them out. I'll admit that, because of my artsy-fartsy ways, I digitally edited some of the pictures to make them look cool. Go ahead, view and enjoy, and see what I did on Tuesday.
Velvet Elvis Part Two
Just in case you missed it, this post is part two of a two day posting, so if you want to read this cohesively, you need to check out Velvet Elvis Part One. I'll warn you once more, you might find this stuff boring so you might want to skip today's post.When Rob Bell's new book came out, I knew I would get a copy and read it. The Bible teacher from the Mars Hill church in Grand Rapids has been speaking all over the country the past few years, so a book was long overdue. It only took me a couple sittings to polish it off; even though it's over two hundred pages, the layout doesn't include as many words per pages as other books, so it was a short read. The reason it looks longer than it really is, is because it was designed to look uber-hip and urban. To the publishers I say, "Congratulations;" they totally succeeded.
In the book itself, there's not a lot of new material. I would say three or four chapters are sermons which he elaborates on to make book worthy. Since I've listened to many of Rob's sermons through the early years of his church, nothing he said came across as new. But his book is sparking a ton of debate among Christians on whether Rob is correct [right on] or a heretic [right out]. So you've been waiting long enough; here's what I think.
Rob is right along the line of the Emergent Church movement who are wanting to make the church relevant to the ever-changing world. The most prominent person in this movement is a man named Brian McLaren, a pastor in Washington D.C. and a former literature professor [McLaren is taking it on the chin right now too because of things he has written lately]. The driving force behind this movement is the belief that we are headed into a new culture where a new way of thinking will dominate the world [postmodern thought] and the church has to adapt or will become out of touch. I appreciate the passion of the Emergent movement for a missional church that is constantly focused on reaching out to people. I do struggle, however, with some of the things they put out there like Christian yoga [not gonna do it] and their incessant tree hugging pleas.
I think the entire conflict, from Bell's and McLaren's books to the Emergent movement, comes down to semantics [I always think of Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon 2 where he says, "I'm always up for some antics"]. Emergent leaders are trying to repackage 2,000 years of Christian truth into a new vernacular. This is always going to tick of the old guard because, to them, the language becomes just as important as the truth itself. Quick example: the argument of belief in "absolute truth." Sure, these Emergent folk believe in absolute truth but won't call it that because the language doesn't jive in a postmodern context. So the old guard [I'm not quite sure who I mean by "the old guard" but I hope you can figure it out] brands them as non-conformists and questions their salvation. I really believe that if these differing sides could get past the language barrier, they'd discover they're really not that far apart. But that's just my take on it.
We're in a new age in American Christianity with the advent of the internet. From sermon mp3s to blogs to Amazon, information spread at lightning speed. If I come up with a new theology this morning, the world can know it by this afternoon and I'm condemned by nightfall. In this age, everyone is a critic, everyone has a voice and whoever's the loudest wins. When everyone's right, everyone's wrong. And I get a headache.
So getting back to Rob Bell, I'm not sure that his book will necessarily resonate with people who aren't Christians [of course, if he really wanted that, I'm not sure Zondervan would be the best publishing company to have used]. I think the most affected group will be Christians who feel they don't fit in with main stream evangelical Christianity. This is a bigger group of people than you can imagine and that's why, I believe, that battle lines are being drawn. All I know is it's going be interesting to see what happens among followers of Jesus in the United States in the years to come. This book is just the beginning.
Velvet Elvis Part One
I'll give you a heads-up and warn you that the next couple of posts are aren't going to be humorous reflections on my life, but dialogue about religious stuff. If you find this kind of thing boring, check back later in the week. I'm sure I'll be in a less pensive mood by then.My wife had a friend growing up, Emily, who went to Cornerstone College in Grand Rapids, Michigan. One time while she was in Cincy visiting, Emily told us that she went to a newer church in town, the Mars Hill Bible Church, that was growing at an extreme rate because of her pastor's teaching. She claimed that he was an awesome speaker. I remember laughing to myself thinking, "everyone thinks their pastor is an awesome teacher." About a year or so later, Kelly represented Standard Publishing at a youth workers convention in Sacramento and I tagged along. The first speaker of the main session for the convention was the preacher at Emily's church. "We'll see how good he really is," I thought to myself. Emily was telling the truth: her pastor was an awesome speaker.
The first time I listened to Rob Bell preach, I was excited, not so much at what he was saying, but at a truth being confirmed to me. I had finally found someone doing it the way I always wanted to. I was naive enough to think that, in preaching, you could take people deep into the Scriptures and still make it interesting. Rob Bell accomplishes that, and quite brilliantly. We had Emily send us some of his sermon tapes and became familiar with his blend of relevant insight and sharp humor undergirded by a love of the Bible. He's also a master of the object lesson, using whatever it takes to drive a message home. On a vacation to Cedar Point, we swung by Grand Rapids and went to Mars Hill on a Sunday. They meet in a rehabilitated shopping mall. The main worship area is a warehouse area, painted battleship gray, with a stage in the middle of the room. They have about 10,000 attendees every week. Rob wasn't even speaking that weekend but we saw church being lived out simply and passionately. We purchased tapes of the very first sermon series he taught in the church: a series on Leviticus.
About two and half years ago Rob hosted a teaching conference for pastors at the Mars Hill so Aaron and I went up to see what we could learn. He walked us through a series he was preparing about the Ten Commandments and basically showed how he prepared for sermons. He reads and ton of books and uses people like local Bible Lands expert Ray Vanderlaan [who taught that weekend Kelly and I attended] as resources. While our time in Grand Rapids was enlightening [except it was in the middle of January and cruddy Michigan weather] we did a catch a disturbing glimpse of how Rob is perceived by some.
At a lunch event during the conference we sat with a woman who seemed obsessed with Rob Bell, to the point that she was wanting to move from Chicago to Michigan just to join his church. Through other dialogue we discovered that his teaching was THE driving point in the church's growth. Now before you think I'm negative or skeptical about this, I should emphasize that I don't believe this to be Rob's intention. In fact, I think he tries to deliberately downplay himself as this "cult leader" type figure. I think he sincerely is trying to elevate Jesus above all things. There are just some people out there who get caught up in following a certain leader [see 1 Corinthians 1:11-17] and take it to the extreme. It's sad but true.
I guess all of this is to preface the fact that Rob Bell just published his first book through Zondervan Publishing Company. It's entitled "Velvet Elvis," an interesting title to say the least, which he explains in the beginning of the book. This book is stirring up a bit of a controversy in Evangelical Christian circles because some of the stuff he has written in the book. Honestly, it's the same stuff he's been teaching for years now, but since it's in book form it's more accessible.
I want to allow ample time for those interested to check out some of what's being said by other people about the book. I just finished reading it yesterday so I'll offer up my reflections about Velvet Elvis and the Rob Bell controversy in my next post.
Put Me In Coach
We played softball yesterday. A lot of softball.
Yesterday was the tournament of our co-ed church [sorta] softball league. A few of the teams are from churches, while most of the teams are "loosely associated" with the sponsoring church [for instance, one of the teams was called "the Lunatics," sponsored by WEBN]. We struggled through the regular season and only won two games. And we were short four players for the tournament; we had to recruit a pitcher and a woman to play the infield. But we found the right combination of talents to play through the day. You may call it cocky, but I scheduled our Sunday night Catalyst activities thinking that we would be a little late. I had a good feeling about our chances.
Our first game was against one of the best teams in the league [yes, the aforementioned "Lunatics"]. They were solid at every position and they hit the ball well too. We were able to grab a lead and hold on to beat them. Then we had a rematch against our other CCM team and narrowly won that one. The third game we cruised to a victory, which put us in the championship.
Playing our fourth game in four hours, we were all a bit tired. It didn't help that we gave up five runs in the first inning. But we clawed our way back, tacking on a few runs here and there. And we kept them from scoring, which made the margin attainable. Going into the bottom of the seventh, we were up by five runs. Of course, we gave up a couple of runs in the last inning, but were able to hold them off and get the win. Yep, we won the entire tournament.
Just a few thoughts from the experience . . .
Kelly has been playing like a champion. She consistently hit the ball hard and finds the holes in the field to get on base. I don't know if it's really that fair that all the fielders play in when a girl is up to bat; it reduces the area on the field where they can place the ball. She hit one yesterday harder than I've ever seen her hit. And she had the glove working too. She made a catch at first base that was unbelievable. Some guy scorched it down the line and she snagged it jumping up into the air. Good job, wife.
I didn't hit the ball that well yesterday. I had a few good hits, but it really didn't matter. Everyone else hit it good. I'm the type of person who replays the game in my mind to see what I could've done better. Despite my flaws yesterday, we were able to win. So I'm not too concerned today about the times I didn't perform yesterday. I did have the glove working yesterday, though.
The coolest thing was that everyone contributed. We were able to win it as a team. And our attitudes were great during all the games. So here's the roll call of my gray team homies:
Eric Hounshell [coach], Nate Grella, Gary Hube, Kelly Carr, Elizabeth Bough, Randy Preston, Patty Hube, Leah Mason, and subs Carol Carlile and Brent Mowry. And to Bryan Comstock, Jim Scott, Josh and Beccy Stinson- you were gone, but not forgotten. Congrats, team.
So as I sit here wrapping up this post, I'm sore. But it's a good sore. We played some softball yesterday. And played it quite well.
Yesterday was the tournament of our co-ed church [sorta] softball league. A few of the teams are from churches, while most of the teams are "loosely associated" with the sponsoring church [for instance, one of the teams was called "the Lunatics," sponsored by WEBN]. We struggled through the regular season and only won two games. And we were short four players for the tournament; we had to recruit a pitcher and a woman to play the infield. But we found the right combination of talents to play through the day. You may call it cocky, but I scheduled our Sunday night Catalyst activities thinking that we would be a little late. I had a good feeling about our chances.
Our first game was against one of the best teams in the league [yes, the aforementioned "Lunatics"]. They were solid at every position and they hit the ball well too. We were able to grab a lead and hold on to beat them. Then we had a rematch against our other CCM team and narrowly won that one. The third game we cruised to a victory, which put us in the championship.
Playing our fourth game in four hours, we were all a bit tired. It didn't help that we gave up five runs in the first inning. But we clawed our way back, tacking on a few runs here and there. And we kept them from scoring, which made the margin attainable. Going into the bottom of the seventh, we were up by five runs. Of course, we gave up a couple of runs in the last inning, but were able to hold them off and get the win. Yep, we won the entire tournament.
Just a few thoughts from the experience . . .
Kelly has been playing like a champion. She consistently hit the ball hard and finds the holes in the field to get on base. I don't know if it's really that fair that all the fielders play in when a girl is up to bat; it reduces the area on the field where they can place the ball. She hit one yesterday harder than I've ever seen her hit. And she had the glove working too. She made a catch at first base that was unbelievable. Some guy scorched it down the line and she snagged it jumping up into the air. Good job, wife.
I didn't hit the ball that well yesterday. I had a few good hits, but it really didn't matter. Everyone else hit it good. I'm the type of person who replays the game in my mind to see what I could've done better. Despite my flaws yesterday, we were able to win. So I'm not too concerned today about the times I didn't perform yesterday. I did have the glove working yesterday, though.
The coolest thing was that everyone contributed. We were able to win it as a team. And our attitudes were great during all the games. So here's the roll call of my gray team homies:
Eric Hounshell [coach], Nate Grella, Gary Hube, Kelly Carr, Elizabeth Bough, Randy Preston, Patty Hube, Leah Mason, and subs Carol Carlile and Brent Mowry. And to Bryan Comstock, Jim Scott, Josh and Beccy Stinson- you were gone, but not forgotten. Congrats, team.
So as I sit here wrapping up this post, I'm sore. But it's a good sore. We played some softball yesterday. And played it quite well.
Living on the Edge
"How's your house guest experience working out?"
Let me answer that in a roundabout way . . .
Ten years ago this summer, I did a ministry internship in a town called Croton, Ohio. Croton is about twenty-five miles northeast of Columbus. When I decided to apply for the internship, I couldn't even find the place on a map. It was a tiny town five miles from the middle of nowhere; you could walk a circle around the town in half an hour. I had always wondered if I could survive rural living. The answer is no. I was bored out of my wits [I did teach myself to play soccer that summer, though]. I couldn't fathom a life where you had to drive ten miles just to get to a McDonalds, and another five after that to find any other kind of restaurant. It is interesting that, ten years later, Columbus suburban sprawl is now getting so close to Croton that soon all those farm folk will be able to sell off land to those city slickers; it won't be rural much longer.
The people of the Croton Church of Christ where absolutely wonderful to me, and I experienced it from an inside perspective. Instead of just having me stay with one family all summer, they passed me around like I was a lucky silver dollar [I don't know where that analogy came from, but it sounded rural]. In the twelve weeks I was there, I stayed in eight people's houses. Some of the places were less than admirable [one family had a gaggle of cats and a certain feline smell infested the house], while others were amazing [two of my weeks were spent at a Bed and Breakfast]. It was at that time that I learned to survive being "the house guest." If you ever find yourself in a house guest situation, here are four keys to survival:
1. Early to bed, early to rise
This way you could avoid unnecessary hallway contact while heading to the bathroom.
2. Always inspect the bathroom
I feared the dreaded Dumb and Dumber moment of using a toilet that wasn't functioning. Or if you unknowingly hop in a shower that sprays of to the side and soaks the floor. I always do a preliminary bathroom inspection.
3. Make dinner plans in advance
When I first arrived for my internship, they asked me about my food dislikes. I told them the only food I don't like at all is fish. Of course, I was served fish on three different occasions. I wasn't stuck up; I ate what was put in front of me, but later had to refrain from puking. I always found convenient excuses to skip the evening meal so I could drive the fifteen miles to Subway. I didn't always exercise this devious plan, but I knew when to walk away and when to run.
4. Remember they're always watching
You never have privacy in someone else's house, so I always made it a point to be extra paranoid about what I did. No loud music, no private phone calls, and always sleeping in pajamas. This way, I never set myself up for any stories about what I freak I was.
So now back to our current house guest experience. We're just a week in, but I can honestly say that this is the best house guest situation I've ever had. I've even gotten lax on my four keys to survival. The basement is totally secluded from the rest of the house so we actually have privacy. There's never any pressure for dinner and we'd enjoy the Johnson's company if we did. The bathroom is in great condition. In addition to all this, the bed is comfortable and we've made great use of the entertainment room. Oh, and the pool table rocks; Kelly and I are now addicted to playing it.
So I hope we don't find ourselves in another house guest situation, because I've been caught of guard. I'm in danger of forgetting my survival skills. Everything after this will be downhill.
Let me answer that in a roundabout way . . .
Ten years ago this summer, I did a ministry internship in a town called Croton, Ohio. Croton is about twenty-five miles northeast of Columbus. When I decided to apply for the internship, I couldn't even find the place on a map. It was a tiny town five miles from the middle of nowhere; you could walk a circle around the town in half an hour. I had always wondered if I could survive rural living. The answer is no. I was bored out of my wits [I did teach myself to play soccer that summer, though]. I couldn't fathom a life where you had to drive ten miles just to get to a McDonalds, and another five after that to find any other kind of restaurant. It is interesting that, ten years later, Columbus suburban sprawl is now getting so close to Croton that soon all those farm folk will be able to sell off land to those city slickers; it won't be rural much longer.
The people of the Croton Church of Christ where absolutely wonderful to me, and I experienced it from an inside perspective. Instead of just having me stay with one family all summer, they passed me around like I was a lucky silver dollar [I don't know where that analogy came from, but it sounded rural]. In the twelve weeks I was there, I stayed in eight people's houses. Some of the places were less than admirable [one family had a gaggle of cats and a certain feline smell infested the house], while others were amazing [two of my weeks were spent at a Bed and Breakfast]. It was at that time that I learned to survive being "the house guest." If you ever find yourself in a house guest situation, here are four keys to survival:
1. Early to bed, early to rise
This way you could avoid unnecessary hallway contact while heading to the bathroom.
2. Always inspect the bathroom
I feared the dreaded Dumb and Dumber moment of using a toilet that wasn't functioning. Or if you unknowingly hop in a shower that sprays of to the side and soaks the floor. I always do a preliminary bathroom inspection.
3. Make dinner plans in advance
When I first arrived for my internship, they asked me about my food dislikes. I told them the only food I don't like at all is fish. Of course, I was served fish on three different occasions. I wasn't stuck up; I ate what was put in front of me, but later had to refrain from puking. I always found convenient excuses to skip the evening meal so I could drive the fifteen miles to Subway. I didn't always exercise this devious plan, but I knew when to walk away and when to run.
4. Remember they're always watching
You never have privacy in someone else's house, so I always made it a point to be extra paranoid about what I did. No loud music, no private phone calls, and always sleeping in pajamas. This way, I never set myself up for any stories about what I freak I was.
So now back to our current house guest experience. We're just a week in, but I can honestly say that this is the best house guest situation I've ever had. I've even gotten lax on my four keys to survival. The basement is totally secluded from the rest of the house so we actually have privacy. There's never any pressure for dinner and we'd enjoy the Johnson's company if we did. The bathroom is in great condition. In addition to all this, the bed is comfortable and we've made great use of the entertainment room. Oh, and the pool table rocks; Kelly and I are now addicted to playing it.
So I hope we don't find ourselves in another house guest situation, because I've been caught of guard. I'm in danger of forgetting my survival skills. Everything after this will be downhill.
Web Fads
This feels like a good Friday topic: web fads over the past ten years. This article is fun and includes links to all top ten. My top three:
3. Star Wars Kid [wonder what this kid is doing with his life?]
2. Hamster Dance [I'm singing the song in my head even as I type]
1. Dancing Baby [thank you Ally McBeal]
I remember the first time I used the internet. I was in college and Brian Morris had his computer connected to his phone line so he could go online. I was clicking things with the mouse, worried that I was doing it wrong. I specifically remember asking, "What do I do now?" "You look up stuff," was his reply. "Oh," I said.
That summer, trying to make some extra money to pay for Kelly's engagement ring, I spent my evenings at my alma mater wiring the entire dorms for internet usage. By that fall, I was online all the time. The best thing since the internet is definitely high-speed internet. One day you'll be telling your grandkids, "Back in my day we had to multi-task waiting for pages to download." And they'll say, "Whatever Grandpa." And you'll say, "here, let me see if I'm hot or not."
I love that internet.
3. Star Wars Kid [wonder what this kid is doing with his life?]
2. Hamster Dance [I'm singing the song in my head even as I type]
1. Dancing Baby [thank you Ally McBeal]
I remember the first time I used the internet. I was in college and Brian Morris had his computer connected to his phone line so he could go online. I was clicking things with the mouse, worried that I was doing it wrong. I specifically remember asking, "What do I do now?" "You look up stuff," was his reply. "Oh," I said.
That summer, trying to make some extra money to pay for Kelly's engagement ring, I spent my evenings at my alma mater wiring the entire dorms for internet usage. By that fall, I was online all the time. The best thing since the internet is definitely high-speed internet. One day you'll be telling your grandkids, "Back in my day we had to multi-task waiting for pages to download." And they'll say, "Whatever Grandpa." And you'll say, "here, let me see if I'm hot or not."
I love that internet.
Demolition Derby
So Kelly's car was in an accident yesterday. Notice I didn't write, "Kelly was in an accident." Nor did I write, just in case you think I was mistaken, "Kelly Carr was in an accident yesterday." Nope, she wasn't involved at all. But her car was.
We've had her Nissan Altima for about two years. It was the first new car that we've ever purchased. The people at King's Nissan have been really good throughout the process, and Kelly still returns there to get her oil changed. But things have been slipping. After making an appointment to get her oil changed, she showed up and was told that it would take them an hour to get it finished. Yeah, an hour for an oil change! She called me and we discussed whether it was worth the wait. We discussed that since this would probably be the last time she ever went there, she should just wait it out. About forty-five minutes later, I got a call from Kel. Here's how it went:
Wife: Hey Steve!
Me: Hey babe, what's up?
Wife: Well, I got my oil change for free.
Me: How'd that happen?
Wife: Um, they wrecked my car.
Yep, they wrecked here car pulling out of the car bay. Brilliant. I didn't get to see the damage first-hand, but Kelly said there was an indentation the size of a basketball on the corner of her front bumper. Even now I'm dumbfounded that you can wreck a car so badly while driving it twenty yards. It's not like it was a stick or anything. You apply your right foot to the break, position the automatic shifter onto the little "D," put both hands on the steering wheel, gently remove your foot from the break and you're rolling out of the bay. Even in idle, they could've made the trip in thirty seconds. But somehow they managed to do a couple thousand dollars of body damage to the car. I'd love to see the video. I can't imagine that you could hold on to an employee that wrecks a car during an oil change.
Maybe even better than that is the way they chose to explain the situation to my wife. A woman came into the waiting room with a bunch of paper work and these were the first words she said:
"We've already called Enterprise Rental Car. Please come with me."
What the heck? They didn't say, "Ma'am, I have some unfortunate news," not even a, "Houston, we have a problem," just straight into the rental car call. It's a shame because, up until this point, things were going so well. So now Kel is driving a Red Altima that smells like the funk and they've given no estimate on when the car will be back. Suffice to say, I don't think we'll be returning to Kings Nissan in the future.
We've had her Nissan Altima for about two years. It was the first new car that we've ever purchased. The people at King's Nissan have been really good throughout the process, and Kelly still returns there to get her oil changed. But things have been slipping. After making an appointment to get her oil changed, she showed up and was told that it would take them an hour to get it finished. Yeah, an hour for an oil change! She called me and we discussed whether it was worth the wait. We discussed that since this would probably be the last time she ever went there, she should just wait it out. About forty-five minutes later, I got a call from Kel. Here's how it went:
Wife: Hey Steve!
Me: Hey babe, what's up?
Wife: Well, I got my oil change for free.
Me: How'd that happen?
Wife: Um, they wrecked my car.
Yep, they wrecked here car pulling out of the car bay. Brilliant. I didn't get to see the damage first-hand, but Kelly said there was an indentation the size of a basketball on the corner of her front bumper. Even now I'm dumbfounded that you can wreck a car so badly while driving it twenty yards. It's not like it was a stick or anything. You apply your right foot to the break, position the automatic shifter onto the little "D," put both hands on the steering wheel, gently remove your foot from the break and you're rolling out of the bay. Even in idle, they could've made the trip in thirty seconds. But somehow they managed to do a couple thousand dollars of body damage to the car. I'd love to see the video. I can't imagine that you could hold on to an employee that wrecks a car during an oil change.
Maybe even better than that is the way they chose to explain the situation to my wife. A woman came into the waiting room with a bunch of paper work and these were the first words she said:
"We've already called Enterprise Rental Car. Please come with me."
What the heck? They didn't say, "Ma'am, I have some unfortunate news," not even a, "Houston, we have a problem," just straight into the rental car call. It's a shame because, up until this point, things were going so well. So now Kel is driving a Red Altima that smells like the funk and they've given no estimate on when the car will be back. Suffice to say, I don't think we'll be returning to Kings Nissan in the future.
Good Punctuation
My wife the editor would appreciate this. All you have to do is forget a comma and the cops become drug dealers. I never did trust the DARE program.
Can you hear it?
Before we went in to the meeting with the board of the Walnut Hills Christian Church last night to ask about using their facility for Echo Church worship gatherings, Aaron and I sat in my car and prayed; we were going to be content with whatever God brought our way. We made our way into their parlor [one of only three rooms in the building with air conditioning] and stepped back in time. Their parlor is straight out of the 1960's. The room has a yellow tint to it a furniture that made our couch look contemporary. It's like they had done their best to preserve a room that time forgot. It was here that we began meeting all the board members.
There were eight people, not counting the two co-pastors. We began with a word of prayer and I began to share our backgrounds and the desire to start this new church. The early questions were softballs [which perhaps isn't the best analogy considering how poor I hit in our game late last night], things like, "Why this area?" But then one of the gentlemen began asking a question that was less a question and more a release of frustration caused by twenty years in a church that's been sputtering along. His point blank question was, "where were you two when we were looking for new pastors?" The question was awkward, considering that the two current pastors were sitting in the room with us. Aaron did a great job answering that one.
All we did for the remainder of our time was talk church with them. They all seemed frustrated with where they were as a church and we did our best to encourage them along their path. That was the amazing thing that I observed last night: those people are so desperate to see something happen that I don't think they give a rip about specific areas of our theology; they just want to feel like their labor isn't in vain. The most amazing comment of the evening was when one of the board members said, "your new church is an answer to our prayers."
It still has to be approved by the congregation but, as we left, I'm confident that's where our new church will be.
A few thoughts about last night: first, there's nothing like being in a place when God shows up. I never doubted God through this, but I was doubting whether he'd let us meet there. As much as God has been preparing us for this venture, he's been preparing that church to receive us. It reinforces the concept of different dimensions by which to view the workings of God.
Also, I still find the utter desperation of those people intriguing. I guess you forget that even though a church shrinks in size, there are still those who want to see it thrive. Unfortunately for them, they can't perceive that the problem is their lack of being in-touch. I'm going to file this thought because I'm sure that, one day, I could be sitting on the other side of the coffee table. I think there are a lot of snot-nosed punk ministers who think doing church today is all about incense and indie-rock worship music. I'm convinced that it all comes down to teaching God's Word in a relevant, comprehendible way.
Finally, and this might be over the heads of some of you unfamiliar with my church background, our "movement" of churches has been obsessed as of late with striving for unity with the non-instrumental Churches of Christ because they viewed them as the most accessible. Here we are in a productive dialogue with the Disciples of Christ, who also share our Restoration Movement roots, but with whom many say there is no reconciliation. Maybe we've been barking up the wrong tree.
All I know is that we had a chance to be front row when God did something really cool. It was good to be there.
There were eight people, not counting the two co-pastors. We began with a word of prayer and I began to share our backgrounds and the desire to start this new church. The early questions were softballs [which perhaps isn't the best analogy considering how poor I hit in our game late last night], things like, "Why this area?" But then one of the gentlemen began asking a question that was less a question and more a release of frustration caused by twenty years in a church that's been sputtering along. His point blank question was, "where were you two when we were looking for new pastors?" The question was awkward, considering that the two current pastors were sitting in the room with us. Aaron did a great job answering that one.
All we did for the remainder of our time was talk church with them. They all seemed frustrated with where they were as a church and we did our best to encourage them along their path. That was the amazing thing that I observed last night: those people are so desperate to see something happen that I don't think they give a rip about specific areas of our theology; they just want to feel like their labor isn't in vain. The most amazing comment of the evening was when one of the board members said, "your new church is an answer to our prayers."
It still has to be approved by the congregation but, as we left, I'm confident that's where our new church will be.
A few thoughts about last night: first, there's nothing like being in a place when God shows up. I never doubted God through this, but I was doubting whether he'd let us meet there. As much as God has been preparing us for this venture, he's been preparing that church to receive us. It reinforces the concept of different dimensions by which to view the workings of God.
Also, I still find the utter desperation of those people intriguing. I guess you forget that even though a church shrinks in size, there are still those who want to see it thrive. Unfortunately for them, they can't perceive that the problem is their lack of being in-touch. I'm going to file this thought because I'm sure that, one day, I could be sitting on the other side of the coffee table. I think there are a lot of snot-nosed punk ministers who think doing church today is all about incense and indie-rock worship music. I'm convinced that it all comes down to teaching God's Word in a relevant, comprehendible way.
Finally, and this might be over the heads of some of you unfamiliar with my church background, our "movement" of churches has been obsessed as of late with striving for unity with the non-instrumental Churches of Christ because they viewed them as the most accessible. Here we are in a productive dialogue with the Disciples of Christ, who also share our Restoration Movement roots, but with whom many say there is no reconciliation. Maybe we've been barking up the wrong tree.
All I know is that we had a chance to be front row when God did something really cool. It was good to be there.
Game Day
Here's a big day in the life of our new church. Tonight at 7:30, Aaron and I will meet with the board of the Walnut Hills Christian Church to see if they'll let us use their facilities for our Sunday services. When we first started we thought this would be a rubber stamp, but now realize it might not happen.We fell in love with this building at first sight. It's absolutely gorgeous. The stained glass windows are breathtaking. Above is a picture of the oak pews. The sanctuary has a certain ambiance that allows you to focus on the reverence of God in a not-so-reverent world. It would be perfect for what we want to accomplish in that neighborhood. That's why we want it so bad.
The problem is that we have different theological beliefs than the Walnut Hills church. Those differences might keep them from letting us use the building. I thought about maybe stretching the truth and eloquently, ever so gently, stating our theology to not make it offensive, but what's the point? Our focus of this new church is teaching the Word of God without reservations. Eventually we'd say something offensive to them that would set them off. Better to just get it all over with, put all the cards out on the table, and start the potential relationship in total honesty.
Surprisingly, this is the most relaxed I've ever felt about such a big meeting. Regardless of what happens, I'll be fine with the outcome. If they go ahead and let us use the building, praise God. If not, He's not failed us so far so we'll just let Him show us an even better place in which to meet. I'll let you know how things turn out tomorrow.
What is Monday?
As I finished my last post, I was thinking that it might be nice to comment that today is our seven-year wedding anniversary. It's been such a bizarre couple of weeks that both Kelly and I have almost forgotten about it. Fortunately for me, Kel isn't one of those foaming at the mouth, "we WILL make this day special," type of wives who insist on presents and dinners and the like on a day like this.
I know some of you are thinking right now, "the poor schlep has no idea. He's being set-up. When he comes home with no gift or card, his wife's gonna beat him down." To those of you I say you are wrong. That's one of the things that has made our marriage work so well. Kelly is a "little things" kind of person; she appreciates when I do things unexpectedly to express my love for her. Our marriage is nowhere near perfect, but it's absolutely wonderful. God hooked me up with an amazing mate, way better that I ever deserved.
Happy Anniversary, baby! Seven years later, still the best decision I've ever made.
I know some of you are thinking right now, "the poor schlep has no idea. He's being set-up. When he comes home with no gift or card, his wife's gonna beat him down." To those of you I say you are wrong. That's one of the things that has made our marriage work so well. Kelly is a "little things" kind of person; she appreciates when I do things unexpectedly to express my love for her. Our marriage is nowhere near perfect, but it's absolutely wonderful. God hooked me up with an amazing mate, way better that I ever deserved.
Happy Anniversary, baby! Seven years later, still the best decision I've ever made.
This World Is Not My Home
I was wondering this morning if I should change the name of the blog because there's no longer a "Beit" in "Beit Carr." But of course, as Bono so eloquently put on U2's last album, a house doesn't make a home so I think I'll let it slide for a little while.
So we got everything moved into Jamie and Melinda Johnson's basement. They live further north than we did, near the Golf Center in Mason. They have a beautiful house and we're able to access the basement through an outside entrance, which means we don't have to walk through the front door all the time. Apparently they specifically designed the house so the could host missionaries and ministers who needed a temporary place to stay. What an awesome ministry that we're able to take advantage of. In the basement, there's a comfortable futon [in its own bedroom area] bed, a little kitchen area and a full bathroom. They also just so happen to have the entertainment room downstairs [can you say "surround sound?"] along with pool and air hockey tables. Kelly and I remarked to each other that we could get used to this type of living.
This led me to remark that the place was bigger than our old apartments. So I thought this would be a good time to reminisce about those two places.
Apartment 1: Hosbrook Road, Madeira
1 bedroom, 1 full bathroom
There isn't a surplus of affordable rental in the Madeira area, so when we found this place we were ecstatic. The place was small but fortunately we were newlyweds and didn't have anything anyway. Most of the tenants in the building were senior citizens, so there were never really kids around. Our unit was set back in the complex next to some beautiful trees, so we had a nice obstruction from anyone looking in. There were four different apartments in the wing and ours was on the second floor. We had a tiny balcony that we never went out on for fear it would collapse. It was nowhere near perfect, but it was our first place so we really didn't know any better.
The apartment building was right behind the football field for the Madeira High School. We used to hop the fence to go run around the track. What we didn't expect was the first Friday night football game. They chose to celebrate Mustang touchdowns by firing a cannon, which just happened to be situated behind the endzone, thirty yards from our apartment. Just a month into married life I thought we were under siege by the Russians and Cubans. Beyond the incoming mortar rounds, it was a fun little place to love.
Apartment 2: Bridgetown Road, Bridgetown
2 bedrooms, 2 full bathrooms
This place was an easy sell for us after our first place. This apartment was double the size of the Hosbrook place and half the price. The neighbors were all quiet and kept to themselves, so we never had any issues. The only drawback was that we were on the ground level, facing Bridgetown Road. Once it got dark, people would be able to see inside the windows, so we always closed the blinds when it got dark. This tended to make it a gloomy place to live. But having all that new found space was awesome.
The craziest experience we had there was after we had been traveling for CCU to a teen conference for a week. When we pulled into the driveway of the complex and there were fire trucks everywhere and we saw one of the apartment building smoldering. It took us a few seconds to discover that our building was unscathed, be we had the initial heart-stopping feeling as we surveyed the scene. It turned out that, in that summer of drought, someone had lit a firecracker that landed on the roof and smoldered until it caught the whole building on fire.
So reflecting on where we've been, this momentary lay-over is no big deal at all. It's just another place to live, a place to lay our heads.
So we got everything moved into Jamie and Melinda Johnson's basement. They live further north than we did, near the Golf Center in Mason. They have a beautiful house and we're able to access the basement through an outside entrance, which means we don't have to walk through the front door all the time. Apparently they specifically designed the house so the could host missionaries and ministers who needed a temporary place to stay. What an awesome ministry that we're able to take advantage of. In the basement, there's a comfortable futon [in its own bedroom area] bed, a little kitchen area and a full bathroom. They also just so happen to have the entertainment room downstairs [can you say "surround sound?"] along with pool and air hockey tables. Kelly and I remarked to each other that we could get used to this type of living.
This led me to remark that the place was bigger than our old apartments. So I thought this would be a good time to reminisce about those two places.
Apartment 1: Hosbrook Road, Madeira
1 bedroom, 1 full bathroom
There isn't a surplus of affordable rental in the Madeira area, so when we found this place we were ecstatic. The place was small but fortunately we were newlyweds and didn't have anything anyway. Most of the tenants in the building were senior citizens, so there were never really kids around. Our unit was set back in the complex next to some beautiful trees, so we had a nice obstruction from anyone looking in. There were four different apartments in the wing and ours was on the second floor. We had a tiny balcony that we never went out on for fear it would collapse. It was nowhere near perfect, but it was our first place so we really didn't know any better.
The apartment building was right behind the football field for the Madeira High School. We used to hop the fence to go run around the track. What we didn't expect was the first Friday night football game. They chose to celebrate Mustang touchdowns by firing a cannon, which just happened to be situated behind the endzone, thirty yards from our apartment. Just a month into married life I thought we were under siege by the Russians and Cubans. Beyond the incoming mortar rounds, it was a fun little place to love.
Apartment 2: Bridgetown Road, Bridgetown
2 bedrooms, 2 full bathrooms
This place was an easy sell for us after our first place. This apartment was double the size of the Hosbrook place and half the price. The neighbors were all quiet and kept to themselves, so we never had any issues. The only drawback was that we were on the ground level, facing Bridgetown Road. Once it got dark, people would be able to see inside the windows, so we always closed the blinds when it got dark. This tended to make it a gloomy place to live. But having all that new found space was awesome.
The craziest experience we had there was after we had been traveling for CCU to a teen conference for a week. When we pulled into the driveway of the complex and there were fire trucks everywhere and we saw one of the apartment building smoldering. It took us a few seconds to discover that our building was unscathed, be we had the initial heart-stopping feeling as we surveyed the scene. It turned out that, in that summer of drought, someone had lit a firecracker that landed on the roof and smoldered until it caught the whole building on fire.
So reflecting on where we've been, this momentary lay-over is no big deal at all. It's just another place to live, a place to lay our heads.
Gone
So we're finally finished. The house is ours no more.
I won't lie: there was some sadness associated with the parting. As the place got emptier, the feelings got stronger. This was our first house, and we had poured a lot of ourselves into it. From paint to drywall, from water lines to shrubbery, we did our best to make the place look good. But as we drove away Friday afternoon, I was able to feel a sense a relief that we finished everything that needed to be done. I slept well that night.
The whole house sale experience was one of the most stressful times I've had in recent memory. I don't think it was all about moving; I mean, we've done that three times before. No, I think it was the fact that we had to pack both long term and short term at the same time. Trying to decide what we would need for the next two months and figuring what we could pack long term. I'll admit that I was a jerk to my wife during the moving out process. I flew off the handle and probably yelled at Kel more than I ever have in our entire marriage. I have already in person, but once again I'd like to apologize for it. It's interesting how I let a little bit of chaos affect me. But it's over now and we had a wonderful Saturday yesterday, hanging out and talking about life. Hopefully I'll be sane for awhile now and won't need more confessional time.
As I've been noting for weeks now, God was really watching out for us through the whole process. All the way up to the closing, things the could've been major disasters miraculously turned into minor hiccups. Even the little things are a great assurance; as this has been the biggest step of faith we've taken in our lives, we feel like He has our back. It's a great feeling to have.
And now it's into the future as we try not to be the house guests from hell. More on that to come.
I won't lie: there was some sadness associated with the parting. As the place got emptier, the feelings got stronger. This was our first house, and we had poured a lot of ourselves into it. From paint to drywall, from water lines to shrubbery, we did our best to make the place look good. But as we drove away Friday afternoon, I was able to feel a sense a relief that we finished everything that needed to be done. I slept well that night.
The whole house sale experience was one of the most stressful times I've had in recent memory. I don't think it was all about moving; I mean, we've done that three times before. No, I think it was the fact that we had to pack both long term and short term at the same time. Trying to decide what we would need for the next two months and figuring what we could pack long term. I'll admit that I was a jerk to my wife during the moving out process. I flew off the handle and probably yelled at Kel more than I ever have in our entire marriage. I have already in person, but once again I'd like to apologize for it. It's interesting how I let a little bit of chaos affect me. But it's over now and we had a wonderful Saturday yesterday, hanging out and talking about life. Hopefully I'll be sane for awhile now and won't need more confessional time.
As I've been noting for weeks now, God was really watching out for us through the whole process. All the way up to the closing, things the could've been major disasters miraculously turned into minor hiccups. Even the little things are a great assurance; as this has been the biggest step of faith we've taken in our lives, we feel like He has our back. It's a great feeling to have.
And now it's into the future as we try not to be the house guests from hell. More on that to come.