Thursday Thought

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…

She doesn’t walk—she stomps. She doesn’t run—she lunges. There is more subtlety in a stick of dynamite than in the two-year-old we know and adore as Ava.  But once those magnificent blue eyes of hers lock with yours—especially while she flashes her impish grin—you will be reduced to play dough in her chunky hands. Ava recently spent a Saturday with us, amusing and entertaining my wife and me from breakfast through late afternoon.  The two-year-old tutor also tried to teach me a lesson along the way. It started when I coughed.  Ava immediately whipped her head away from what she…

Freight trains are as common as cats—and for some, more preferable.  Stepping off the commuter train I ride every day, I walked parallel to a freighter rolling toward the stock yards. With no fence between me and the goods-laden train just a few feet to my left, I chose my path carefully, intrigued by the sounds I was hearing.  Or not hearing. A series of gondola cars eased past, eerily silent.  One could barely discern the press of their steel wheels on the rails.  Hardly a whoosh. But other cars creaked.  Flat cars shuddered, tankers shrieked, while box cars groaned. …

The word missionary seems to have evolved. And I’m not sure it’s for the best. I understand a missionary to be someone who uses their gifting (preaching, teaching, translating, nursing, music, construction, administration, arts, etc.) to share the central gospel message: that our sins now separate us from God and we are in desperate need of the Savior, Jesus. As we support several different missionaries, my wife and I enjoy reading their updates and newsletters. But Jesus seems to be getting less and less press.  We read about construction projects, clean water initiatives, ministries to the poor and other good…