Author: Jon Gauger

I won the lottery!  Well…not really. It only felt that way, when on a recent flight to Pennsylvania, I was seated in an exit row.  For those who don’t travel much, sitting in an exit row seat means you don’t have to hunch, lurch, twist and otherwise contort your body to fit into what the airlines claim is a seat.  The amount of legroom is almost humane. But the gift of this non-smooshed seat comes with a catch. A flight attendant actually “interviews” you just before take-off.  You must confirm that you… A. Will read and comply with the emergency…

She was just seven years old.  But Lynnette had clearly crossed a line. It was an offense that called for an apology.   I went to her room wanting to teach her that an apology is more than a quickly mumbled, “Sorry.” It means naming your offense, acknowledge that it was wrong, and then asking for forgiveness. With a bit of prompting, Lynnette came through with a very nice apology. As she uttered the words, “Will you forgive me?” I looked her squarely in the eyes (I was down on one knee).  I said, “Of course I forgive you. I’ll…

Deep inside I’ve always wished I was more macho.  The barrel-chested “Mr. Brawny” brand of guy. Alas, I’m a smidge over five foot eight and decidedly “un-brawny.”  So why the fixation? A macho guy wouldn’t have given a second thought to flying with a World Vision team to Senegal.  But I did.   A macho guy would scarcely have noticed the beetles crawling under the door of our hotel, or the lizard that seemed to chuckle at me as he skittered across the window curtain.   Me?  I was a bit squeamish, especially as I eyeballed a spider on the wall that…

As carefully as I could, I maneuvered backward a bit…then a bit more.  Just a t-e-e-n-y bit more.  (I was peering through a camera monitor). The idea was to capture a video clip of my friend, Dr. Charlie Dyer, promoting an upcoming trip to Israel.  Standing on the Mount of Olives, the view of the Old City of Jerusalem offered the quintessential backdrop. Framing the shot, I needed to step back to make sure enough of the fabulous city walls were in view.  Easier said than done, because of all the tourists. And then it happened.  Something very sharp and very…

Does your church offer theatre seating, big screens and lighting effects? Sam’s does.  He’s eight.  What is not typical for Sam is the Presbyterian church where his grandfather, Toby, serves as pastor. No fog machines or strobes. What Sam saw and heard there was more muted and less produced. Call it high liturgy. Pastor Toby recalls, “Twenty minutes into the service, the congregation fell silent. Sam did not understand the ritual called Confession of Sins.” Sam wondered. Was he supposed to be doing something? And how was he even supposed to know? Sam was definitely out of his element. As…

Morning. Early morning. Everyone else was still politely snoring in the cabin nestled in the north woods of Wisconsin. Not Emmalyn.  She had just turned two. And two-year-olds have an amazing capacity for getting up at the crack of dawn—or before. Emmy’s mom, though, was also up that morning.  She’d just made a cup of hazelnut-chocolate coffee and was sitting on the deck overlooking West Spider Lake. The fragrance of pine trees and the freshly ground flavored beverage hung heavy on the scene. Emmalyn helped herself up into her mother’s lap. Cocooned in blankets, the two pondered the sounds of chatty birds…

Four-year-old Caleb charmingly engaged his three-year-old sister Lucy in a knock-knock joke: Caleb: Knock-knock!  Lucy: Who’s there? Caleb: Knock-knock!  Lucy: Who’s there? Caleb: Knock-knock!  Lucy: Who’s there? Caleb’s mother, Lynnette, informed us that this repetition went on approximately twenty-five times. At the twenty-sixth iteration of Caleb’s knock-knock, Lucy stared him in the eye and declared, “No more chances!” With that, she spun on her heel and left Caleb sputtering. Have you ever done that? I’m not talking about the knock-knock joke that goes on forever. I’m asking if you’ve ever told someone else, “No more chances!” Maybe she failed you…

Now that Spring has sprung, prepare ye for the onslaught of insects, critters and other pests.  Which calls to mind a recent visit to the hardware store.  For no reason in particular, I waddled down an aisle featuring products promising a virtual assault on every creeping thing in the yard.  My favorite is the prize-winning spider killer known as Miss Mufffet’s Revenge (I’m not kidding).  This arachnid antagonist promises to kill spiders inside and keep spiders outside.  If your pest problem is of the bunny business, consider stocking up on Critter Ridder, a rabbit repellant that Mr. MacGregor would surely…

We clean the bowl…but do we clean our soul? Last week I made the somewhat crude assessment that we give attention to dirty toilet bowls…but sometimes insufficient attention to our dirty souls. In the spirit of two-way conversation, I invited your feedback and now share some of the comments you submitted. Edna wrote, “Tidy Bowl…Tidy Soul.  I like your thought…but I do not like cleaning bathrooms!”  Then she added, “Keep up the good scrubbing work—it will never be a drain on you!” (Thanks for the puns, Edna!).   And your point is  spot-on: soul cleaning is something we really DO have…

It was quite the trend.   For a short time, it became standard operating procedure in restroom maintenance.  The doors of most restaurant and office bathrooms posted a card that noted exact dates and times when the place was cleaned—in many cases, several times a day. All those times and dates were to be carefully initialed by the cleaner.   Remember those cards?  Well, you’ve probably noticed that most of them have gone the way of flip phones and dial-up internet.  Why? Know what I think?  I think workers didn’t like the work!  And managers didn't like the cost.  And…