Ho, Ho, Huh?

 Our normal Santa backed out of his planned appearance this year (He must be a union man after all), leaving us with a need to find a new Santa Clause in a hurry.  We eventually decided to let the church choose between our two "full-figured" staff - Michael and Sterling.  We put it to a vote and Sterling won hands-down.  I think the novelty of a black Santa was just too good to pass up.  Sterling was a good sport through it all, and I noticed him quietly practicing his "ho, ho ho's" when he thought nobody was looking.  It's really too bad he couldn't wear his red "gangsta" Christmas hat;  somehow, with Sterling that would have been the perfect touch.  After the service the kids started lining up to talk to Santa, and I can't help but wonder if any of them thought it strange to see that black face peeking out between the fake hair and beard.  I think Sterling can relax, as he now has job security as the official character actor for The Journey Church. 

 We were hit with our first humdinger of a winter storm last week - we got somewhere between 18-24 inches in about 18 hours.  I went out around 1a.m. the first night to start plowing, because the deeper the snow gets, the harder it is to push. There was already 14 inches on the ground when I started plowing the driveway at the Journey Ranch, and I narrowly escaped getting seriously stuck when I inadvertently backed into the creek that runs along the front of the ranch property.  I had chains on the rear tires, so I put it into low 4WD and hit the gas . . .  and the truck jumped back up onto the road.  Whew!  I bought a set of chains a couple of weeks ago after I slid into and demolished a friend's front stairs, and the guy at O'Reilly Auto Parts assured me that these were the best chains for the money.  However, after plowing only two properties I heard a thumping noise coming from my rear tires, and upon investigation discovered that some of the chain links had broken and the loose ends of chain were hitting the inside of the wheel well.  Best chains for the money, eh?  I made a stop at the hardware store and bought a handfull of "Quick links" to re-attach the chain lengths.  My ingenius solution worked for maybe 30 minutes, and then the chains broke somewhere else.  By mid-day I gave up and went back to O'Reilly's for a refund, and I  bought the heavy-duty kind that take twice as long to put on, but will hopefully stay in one piece.

Our Driveway after the big snow

With what I'm spending on extra gas, chains and minor repairs on the truck, I may just be breaking even.  The Jury's still out as to whether this is a money-making endeavor, or a money pit.

I heard a great story two weeks ago at church.  My friend Leslie (who's stairs I demolished) told me that one of her neighbors came over to see her because she'd noticed me repairing the stairs, and she needs someone to help her with some projects.  As they talked, Leslie found out that this woman has not found a church up here where she feels comfortable, and she invited her to the Christmas Eve service (and she came).  "Coincidences" like this one bring home the truth from the Bible that says: "All things work together for good, to those who love God and who are called according to His purposes."

Freezer Burn

Journey Church White Militia

Two nights ago I took seven guys from our Saturday morning group to spend the night in a secluded (and very rustic) cabin located in the middle of 4000 acres of land about 30 minutes from Conifer.  One of the drawing cards I used to convince grown men to spend the night in a freezing cold cabin was that we could do some coyote hunting while we were there.  As you can see from the image, they came loaded for bear.  After I took the picture I told them that we looked like a bunch of guys from some white militia outfit in North Dakota.  We didn't kill any coyotes (PETA fans can now relax), so instead we spent two hours shooting every conceivable weapon known to man.  It was loud, it was raucous, it was MANLY!  Add to that the fact that we enjoyed a BIG pot of chili the night before, and I could use the same adjectives to describe the atmosphere in the cabin sometime around 3 a.m.  In the end, the wood stove kept the cabin temperature tolerable and some of us actually got some sleep (present company excluded).  The next morning we made what can only be described as an awesome, artery-clogging breakfast: eggs, sausages by the pound, fried potatoes and grits.  We all stood around the campfire the night before, smoking pipes and cigars and telling stories about the most painful or frightening experiences we'd ever had ("You call THAT a scar?  Take a look at this baby...")  By around 10 pm the conversation moved to a deeper, more personal level as we talked about how we hear from God and shared some of our most significant "God Moments".

This is why I love to get a group of men away on their own where there's no cell phone coverage and no distractions, and we can finally start to be authentic with one another.  It was a truly great outing.

     We're all gearing up for our big Christmas Eve service at the high school, and we're hoping to have up to 1000 in attendance.  I am truly amazed by the growth-rate of this church, and even more so by the fact that most of the newcomers are brand new to church and not transplants from another congregation.  We'll always have a percentage of people who slide horizontally between our church and other local churches, based on theological or personal differences they may have with us or their previous church.  We don't encourage church-hopping, but it's a fact of life.  What seems incredible to all of us on staff here is how many people have started to attend from advertisements they've seen on Facebook, or from a poster, or a personal invitation.  This is what "The Church" is all about: reaching people far from God, and encouraging them to become fully devoted followers of Christ.

Blood Trail

Monday is our day off each week, and Daphne and I will often take advantage of the free time to go on long walks in the open space park below our house.  This is when we do most of our talking and praying together.  Last Monday we loaded Dixie in the blazer and headed down to the park for a hike.  It's always more of a challenge when the trail is covered with snow - kind of like walking on the beach when every step slips just a little bit in the sand.  The accumulation of a little more effort with each step is actually pretty exhausting over the 2-3 miles, and we find the need to stop more often to rest even if the snow is packed down.  At one point we stopped to catch our breath and Daphne noticed spots of blood that crossed the path heading down the hill.  Ever one for an adventure, I returned later in the afternoon to follow the blood trail to see if I might find a deer carcass at the end - and possibly a free set of antlers.  It's redneck, I know - but I can't help myself.


     I couldn't tell exactly what kind of animal had made the tracks as they were a little indistinct, but it was clear that it had lost a lot of blood in the headlong dash down the hill -- most likely fleeing from a predator.  It wasn't as easy as it might sound to follow the trail because the tracks would criss-cross each other at times, and the blood spots would be obvious for a few yards and then suddenly disappear.  I found myself back-tracking numerous times to find the last spot where I was sure I could see the trail, then try to discern which way the tracks went from there.  When I couldn't tell which way to go I would set out in what I thought was the most logical direction in hopes that I would pick up the blood trail again (which usually happened).  Over logs, through deep snow, around trees and bushes,  and back-tracking constantly I finally came to a barbed-wire fence.  Some tracks ran along the fence, others went under and some seemed to go over the top to continue on the other side.  I walked the fence for quite a ways looking for an easy place to climb over or through, and finally managed to squeeze between two wires - catching the back of my coat on the barbs in the process.  Ever notice how hard it is to detach yourself from a barbed-wire fence when you can't see exactly where you're caught?  You reach behind you and get one spot unhooked, only to catch on another barb in the process.  I finally got through and found the trail once again.  I followed it for maybe 20 yards and suddenly came upon a bright patch of blood and fur and the remains of . . . a rabbit.  A rabbit?  That's what I've been struggling through the snow all this way to find?  Bummer.  What a waste of time.


     Later that day I was thinking and praying about a particular counseling situation we're involved in where the husband is struggling to hear God's voice for himself, and it suddenly dawned on me that following God's leading is not unlike my experience following the blood trail.  At times God's voice is unmistakably clear and we know exactly which way to go, like when the bright red blood is impossible to miss in the white snow.  If every trail were this clear hunting would be a cinch, but every hunter knows how easy it is to lose the trail, and you can spend hours wandering in circles trying to figure out which direction the deer or elk went.  So what I do when I can't hear God's voice anymore, or I'm not sure where He's leading? When I'm unsure how God is leading I find myself going back in my mind to the last time I clearly heard His voice.  There, at least, I am certain of what I know to be true.  This is particularly helpful when I run up against obstacles (barbed wire fences), or when the trail is not very clear.  Then I can seek the Lord again and ask Him to show me which way the trail leads. . . and He always shows me the way.


Amazing Statistic


I just heard from Michael this morning that The Journey Community Church is now considered by Lifeway Research Group to be the second fastest-growing church under 1000 in the U.S. !  The most amazing thing about this statistic is that this growth is happening in a little mountain community like Conifer.  How would've thunk it?  To God be all the glory.

One Big-A_ _ Horse Stick

We had more snow last night, and the temperature this morning is only 1º - close to a record low for this date.  With last night's storm we've now had more snow than all of last winter combined, and we're not even to mid-December.

 Yesterday was the annual Conifer Christmas Parade, and once again our church built a float and participated in the event.  You had to be a real mountain person to join in the fun, because it was only 15º and snowing the whole time.  Near the end of the parade one of our brave church members said to me, "I think my hands would be freezing. . . if I could feel them!"  But it was all worthwhile, and we ended up winning first prize for the best float for the second straight year - go Journey Church!  As we passed by the judges table the announcer said, "Wow, looks like the whole Journey Church came out for the parade today!"  Actually, we had about 70-100 brave souls who walked the route with us, but that's out of some 500 who attend every Sunday.  But I get his point.  We handed out hundreds of flyers for our Christmas Eve service, and I could swear that we had 20 or 30 visitors at church yesterday.  The theme for the parade was "Western", so we decided to build a giant stick horse, with the head being the
Denver Broncos logo.  The pole was around 30 feet long and was propped up on two tree trunks.  Someone from church sewed a giant Santa hat for the big horse head that added the final touch.  Then we cut and painted 100 smaller sticks and attached miniature Broncos heads for each church member to carry.  We ended up looking like a herd of Broncos fans - which of course we are .  The sign on the side of the float said, "Journey Church: 101 Horse Power".  Of course, there was nothing even remotely religious about our float, which was intentional.  We weren't out to look religious - we just wanted to have fun and win the prize!  It was kind of like a giant Broncos Trojan Horse: we don't want people to see us coming.  We want to win them over with love and a sense of community before they even realize that they're part of a local church.


Even though it was bitterly cold we all had a great time, made some new friends and showed Conifer that we can still build a Kick-Ass float!

Plowing is hazardous duty

 We had about a foot of snow yesterday, and there's more on the way tomorrow.  This is good news for firemen and for those who make their living plowing the snow.  However, I learned yesterday just how dangerous snow plowing can be.  There's probably a good meteorological reason why most snowstorms begin at night, but what it means for those who plow commercially is getting up long before dawn to stay ahead of the storm - ie, the deeper the snow, the more difficult it is to plow.  Most clients want their driveways/parking lots plowed at a certain minimum depth - say two inches.  If the storm drops a foot, then it would not be unusual to plow each property two or even three times.  If you wait until the storm is over, then plowing becomes almost impossible due to the weight of the snow and the problem of where to put it all.  All this to say that you end up plowing the first time in the dark, which is hazardous duty by itself.  Add to this the problem of ice forming on the ground where you plowed a few hours earlier, and you've got a real circus act.  There are several commercial properties that I plow as a subcontractor for a friend of mine, plus all the properties I plow for free as a service to our church or to personal friends.  One of the latter has a driveway that is at least 200 yards long, and pitched at an angle of at least 10-12 degrees.  Add to this that the driveway is made of concrete, and you've got big problems.  During the last storm I slid into and over his log retaining wall, and spent the next hour and a half trying to dislodge a huge boulder that stuck under my truck.  So this time I was much wiser and more careful (note the sarcasm), but on my last trip down the driveway my truck started a free, uncontrolled slide; the only place I could steer was either over the edge and down a steep incline, or back into his retaining wall. I chose the wall.  With a huge BANG my blade hit the retaining wall, and the impact was enough to stop the truck.  With my heart racing I (very slowly) made my way down to the bottom of the driveway, but then I had to slip and slide my way back up by foot to do a quick repair on the wooden wall. 

Well, I learned my lesson about slippery driveways (NOT).  Later in the day after most of the storm had dissipated I went to plow for some friends who live not far from us.  Their house and garage are at the bottom of an even steeper, short driveway (meaning: no room for error).  You can tell by now where this is going.  Plowing their driveway presents several significant problems - namely where to put all the snow, and how to maneuver a large truck in a small space.  Turning around requires driving up the driveway and on to the road above - but after one pass with the blade the driveway becomes a vertical ice-rink.  On my second trip up I lost traction at the top, and with a sick, helpless feeling started sliding backwards down the hill towards the house.  It's amazing how many thoughts go through your mind in 2 seconds.  No amount of power or four-wheel drive could prevent the inevitable, and with a sickening crash my truck careened into the stairway leading up to the deck - and smashed it to smithereens.  I haven't cried in a long time, but at that moment that's exactly what I felt like doing.  I got out of the truck, and promptly slipped and fell - adding insult to injury.  I made two phone calls: one to Michael to ask for some help to put the stairway back together again, and the second to my friend Steve to give him the bad news ("Hi Steve - ummm, I ran into a little problem while I was plowing your driveway").  The truck sustained significant damage to the rear bumper and tailgate, but that was the least of my problems as I surveyed the destruction I'd just caused.  Two hours and quite a bit of money later, three friends from church and I had rebuilt enough of the stairway to allow access to the house.  I am very grateful for their willingness to brave the 15 degree weather and frozen fingers and toes to come to my rescue.  Had I been on my own I would have worked until late into the night to get it done.Today the weather will improve and I'll have my work cut out for me to finish repairing the damage.  I suppose there are several lessons to be learned from this experience - humility comes to mind pretty quickly, followed by the importance of carefully evaluating the risks before starting a difficult plowing job. I guess I'll be making a call to my insurance agent today.

Cannibalistic Christmas Bear

I got home from church today to find my bear skull decked out with a Santa hat, red ball nose and a teddy bear in its mouth.  They called it the Cannibalistic Christmas Bear, because it's eating one of its own.  Works for me.  While Daphne and the girls were away in Alabama I put all the Christmas lights up on the house (Daphne asked me how I got them up on the edge of the roof . . . very carefully I said), cut down a Christmas tree (a blue spruce - don't tell anyone), hauled it up the hill on top of Daphne's Blazer, drug it up the stairs into the living room, and set it up in the tree stand.  This is more impressive when you know the tree is 11 feet tall and very prickly.  I was covered with pine wounds that evening and yes, I'm looking for sympathy.  It was all worth the girls' look of surprise and delight when they got home last night.  Our friends the Larsons came over for lunch and all six girls got busy and decorated the tree.  It looks great.


Mike preached a sermon from Psalm 23 this morning.  The high school was packed again - I would guess well over 400 adults.  Anyway, the sermon was great and very compelling - great job Mike.  Before the sermon he briefly commented on the upcoming installation of our elders next Sunday, and his main point had to do with our vision as a church to encourage women to use their God-given gifts and abilities, including serving in the role of elder.  Yes, I know this is a controversial topic, and we've lost church members who disagree with us theologically on this point.  That's fine, as our church isn't for everyone and it takes all flavors to make up the rich diversity that is the body of Christ.  I do find it interesting, however, that the strongest disagreements almost always come from religious people rather than new believers (or unbelievers) who are simply trying to find God.   I'm not saying that we shouldn't exercise spiritual discernment or ever question what appears to be unbiblical teaching.  We should - in the right spirit and out of a heart of love and concern.  Unfortunately, this almost never happens, and the pastor and church staff are often the last ones to discover the true reasons why someone has left the church.  We learn to shrug our shoulders, wish them the best and move on.  What else can we do?


     One of the things we love about The Journey is the vision to reach those who are far from God and see them become fully devoted followers of Christ, and we'll try almost any crazy idea to accomplish this purpose.  In the process we see many new people join the church who are excited about rediscovering God, and a few who leave because of an offense taken, or because they disagree with some leadership decision.  Maybe our experience is unique, but Daphne and I were part of one congregation in Senegal for 10 years, then another church in France for another 10 years.  Both churches had their share of "issues", and we certainly disagreed with the church leadership at different times.  But we also knew that God had placed us in those churches for a reason, and we deeply valued the fellowship and relationships we enjoyed there.  As the Scriptures say, "Above all, keep fervent in your love for one another, because love covers a multitude of sins."  All too often our decision to leave a church - however justified the decision may be - results in an almost complete break of fellowship, and leads to awkward conversations when we inevitably meet up again in the supermarket; "Uhhm, Hi!  How are you?" (awkward moment of silence) "Fine, how are you?"  "Good, good."  " Soooo, I guess I better get on with my shopping..." 


  In the end, how many issues are really worth breaking fellowship over?  The centrality of the cross perhaps, or salvation by grace, but I have never personally known of a church split that happened over a truly foundational Biblical principle being violated.  Instead, we leave because we feel offended over not being asked to lead a particular ministry, or because we can't get along with another church member.  Jesus said that the world would know we are His disciples by the love we have for one another. . . and we wonder why the watching world wants nothing to do with organized religion.  

Boone & Crockett

Bodacious Bear

I picked up the cleaned bear skull a couple of days ago, and the fellow who does the cleaning told me that my bear may qualify to be in the record book! We measured it together and the total length plus width is close to 20.5 inches.  For black bears, anything over 20 is considered a record, and above 21 is considered in the "all-time" record category.  The closest official scorer for Boone & Crockett (the "Guiness Book" of records for all animals killed with a gun world-wide) lives down in Denver, so I need to find time to get "down the hill" (as we say up here) to get it scored.  If he agrees with our unofficial score, then I can get my name in the book!  I knew the bear was big when I saw him. . . I just had no idea how big he really was.  Who'd of thought the missionary-turned-mountain man would bag a record sized bear on his first attempt?  Not this boy.  Now I just need to get a monster-sized elk :)

I am a bachelor this week while Daphne and the girls are in Alabama for Thanksgiving.  I would have gone with them but I was gone all last week and we have ongoing counseling appointments here.  I'll be with my sister Cathi and her family for Thanksgiving day.  Daphne, Nicole and Jacqueline took a girls' road trip and spent two days driving to Birmingham to save the considerable cost to fly all three of them down there.  They had a great time on the way, and the second day they drove along parts of historic Route 66 and stopped to see some famous landmarks.  
     Karine knew nothing about them coming, even though I almost gave it away by mistake when I was on the phone with her the week before I left for Turkey (more on that below).  The rest of the family were in on the surprise, so when Daph and the girls pulled up outside the house Bill started filming.  Karine was literally speechless as they walked in the house - it is hilarious.  They'll spend Thanksgiving with the Birmingham Myers crew and then start driving back home on Friday.


My folks are in Birmingham as well right now.  Dad had surgery on his vocal cords yesterday to remove what was left of a cancerous polyp, and they'll follow up with a laser treatment when the surgery has healed.  Bill told me the growth was deeper than they'd anticipated, but that the surgeon was fairly sure to have gotten what was left. 

The hotel where I spent the night in Istanbul
on my trip home.

As I mentioned above, I was in Antalya, Turkey all of last week attending the last combined NAMESTAN conference before the region is divided into
two new regions.  Henri had invited all those who had 
served on the leadership team over the past 10-12 years to attend the last three days of the conference to honor us for our years of service.  I had mixed emotions when I read the email invitation: our leave taking was difficult for us and for the team we were a part of, and I wasn't looking forward to opening new relational wounds.  However, my time there went much better than I had hoped and I had many good conversations with former teammates.  In the end I felt like I gained some more closure emotionally, and I am better able to close that chapter on our lives in a good way.  At the closing banquet I, along with the other current and former members of the leadership team, was honored with a very nice plaque to thank each of us for our contribution to the ministry in NAMESTAN.  It was a good memory to end on.

I 

Pray for each other? That would be weird.

As Daphne and I continue to meet with couples and individuals for counseling, we can begin to see patterns developing - the same attitudes and behavior being repeated over and over in different situations.  In other words, there's nothing new under the sun, even though in almost every situation the couple/individual honestly believe that no one else could possibly have struggled in the same way.  I'm not discounting the reality of their pain, or the fact that for THEM this is a new struggle.  I'm just saying that we're all human, and as the Bible states, "No temptation has come upon you except that which is common to man..."  So there seems to be a balance between treating each situation as unique, while at the same time recognizing that God has given us principles that are applicable to any similar problem.

We recently met with a couple who've been married for 20+ years.  When they first came I would say the wife was at the absolute end of her rope, and that she saw counseling as the last option before she called it quits.  No pressure for the counselors!  Actually, we've gotten to the place where we don't feel pressure anymore because we weren't the ones who got them to where they are, and they have to embrace the hard work that's required to see healing and restoration in their relationship.  Anyway, as we listened to this couple talk I found myself praying and asking the Lord for His supernatural wisdom and discernment to understand what the REAL issues are.  After awhile I asked them, "Do you ever pray together?"  This may seem like a stupid question for a Christian counselor to ask, but we've realized how seldom most couples even consider the spiritual aspect of their relationship.  We can offer suggestions for different ways of communicating, or how to de-escalate a highly charged argument - but this doesn't necessarily require any spiritual input.  Pagans can learn to get along better than they currently do, and a happy marriage is not reserved only for "spiritual" people.  But if we truly want to experience healing at the deepest levels of our heart and soul, sooner or later we have to reach the point of seeking God's intervention.  The human heart is the realm of the Holy Spirit, and when He gets hold of us at that level it can be a wonder to behold.  We may not begin by talking about God, but at some point in the marriage counseling we need to direct their hearts towards the only one who can truly transform us from the inside out

     Anyway, when I asked the prayer question, they replied that they pray over their dinner, and that they pray together with their daughter at bedtime.  "That's great" I said, "But do you ever pray together, out loud, for each other?"  They looked at each other, then at us with blank expressions on their faces.  After 26 years of marriage this was a totally novel idea.  "Wow, that would be weird", the wife said.  Funny thing about prayer:  we're fine to pray in our heads all day long, but as soon as a situation requires us to pray out loud we get all nervous and self-conscious.  I lead a men's bible study on Saturday mornings, and after eight weeks of talking and sharing with each other - very vulnerably at times - some of the guys are still unwilling to pray out loud in front of the group.  I think it must have to do with the fact that even though prayer is essentially just talking with God like we talk with one another, it feels so much more intimate and private than other conversations.  In the end the couple we were counseling agreed to try praying with and for each other as homework for our next session.  I would bet money that when they sit down together the first time to pray for each other and for their marriage, they won't be able to do it without shedding some tears.  That's the power of prayer.

A "Fair" Event

I finally entered an arts & crafts show on Saturday - my first foray into selling my own artwork.  Boy, it's a lot of work setting up a booth for a one day fair!  Not sure if this was the best venue to display fine art prints: the gal to my right was selling glass angels, and the one to my left was the tie-dye queen.  And a sweet old lady across the way made a killing with her bees-wax lotion... she even wore a little bee antenna hat.  Hmmm - maybe next time I should look for a wild-west art show.  Seriously though, we did meet a lot of people and I got some good exposure as a local artist.  We didn't do too badly on the day either - I think in the end we made up our booth cost and then some.

   It felt kind of weird just sitting there all day - kind of like we were on display too.  It's one thing when you're selling a product for someone else, but something completely different when it's your own artwork.  In hindsight I should have hired some guy named Guido from Queens to stand in the aisle: "Hey you - you wanna buy a nice piece of artwork?  No?  How's about I pays you a visit wit my cousin Vinny some evening?  Oh, you DO wanna buy it - now that's more like it!"  We met some interesting people too.  One guy was chatting quite freely until I mentioned that I'm a pastor at The Journey.  He kind of muttered under his breath that he attends a different church (where the pastor makes no bones about not being a fan of our church) and then beat a hasty retreat.  It's sad, really.  Whatever happened to Jesus's words, "By this shall all men know you are my disciples, by the love you have for one another?"  To be fair, I did meet a great family who moved here from Georgia two years ago.  I was wearing my "Booger Holler" shirt from a restaurant in Blairsville, GA, and he stopped me as I was walking out of the gym thinking I was from there (I had to confess that someone gave me the shirt).  Turns out they're Christians and they attend a church in Bailey, and we compared notes as fellow Colorado greenhorns about our experiences in moving to the mountains.

Speaking of living in the mountains: yesterday evening Danny came over with his electronic fox call to see if we could call in a fox.  I've been trying to trap one for weeks, but they always seem to steal the bait without setting the pressure switch.  Probably a good thing too, since I found out that fox season only just started November 1st.  The fox call worked like a charm, and we shot a black/silver fox after playing the call for about 30 minutes.  This is the perfect time of year for foxes too, because their pelts are thick and healthy.  This particular fox was old, with broken teeth and diseased gums.  It took a little while to skin it, and in the process Danny says, "You smell that?  That's just the way they taste, too."  I'll take his word for it.  Once skinned it looked kind of like an evil zombie cat - really weird.
     Of course, my girls are mad at me this morning for killing it.  They felt sorry for the bear I killed too.  Hey, we live in the mountains now. Apparently our neighbors have been feeding this fox to the point that it was almost tame.  Not anymore they're not.  These are wild animals folks, not neighborhood pets!  They carry diseases and can be a danger to children and small pets.  Deer are one thing, but foxes and coyotes are predators by nature.  Maybe we should put meat out at night so we can get to know the cougars too.

Now I know why plowing snow is hazardous duty

We had our second... no, our third winter storm of the season yesterday.  I would guess that we had about 12 inches at our house by the time it was over.  It's a little hard to see in the picture to the right, but there's a snow plow attached to the front of my truck.   I am hoping to earn a few extra dollars plowing snow this season, thanks to my good friend Scott who basically gifted me with the plow blade.  Anyway, yesterday was my second time to plow "professionally" and it didn't take long for me to realize how potentially hazardous plowing can be. Hidden curbs and telephone poles aside, it would be frighteningly easy to do serious damage to my truck or to someone else's property.  Case in point:  I plow a few driveways just to help out a few friends who haven't been blessed to own their own snow plow.  My friend Tom lives at the top of a very long (200 yards?), very steep (vertical), concrete (very slippery) driveway.  During the last storm I made a valiant but unsuccessful attempt to plow going uphill.... until Big Brian (my neighbor) suggested using gravity by plowing downhill, not up.  Why didn't they teach me that at Auburn?  So, armed with this new, high-tech knowledge I drove to the top of Tom's driveway and plowed going back down.  Wow, so this really works!  Only one problem: as I reached the crest of Mount Everest on my third trip up I realized that by clearing the snow I'd very effectively created a bobsled track - but I wasn't driving a bobsled.  As the truck started sliding backwards I quickly realized that I had two choices: slide off the downward slope and over the edge, or slide into the wooden retaining wall on the other side.  I chose the wall - but my momentum carried me over the wall and smack into a couple of pine trees.  In the process I dislodged a huge (I'm not exaggerating this time) boulder that was now wedged firmly under the truck.  I spent the next 90 minutes on my butt or on my knees in the snow, digging under the boulder in hopes that it would settle low enough for me to drive over.  Didn't work.  Long story, but we finally managed to get the truck out by attaching three tow ropes to the rock and pulling it out from underneath the truck with Tom's Four Runner.  I guess I'm now in the snow plowing, wall rebuilding business.

First Art Show


This Saturday I will have my own booth at the 34th annual Conifer Holiday Boutique along with some 80 other artisans.  I'm a bit nervous, this being the first time I will be selling my own work on a large scale (they expect around 5000 visitors to attend the one-day event).  I plan to display prints of my paintings and my wildlife photography, as well as a few of the wooden signs that I've created over the past few months.  I have to build my own shelves/ walls to display my work in a 10x10 foot area, so most of my evenings and days off for the past two weeks have been spent in the garage hammering and sawing.  I'll only find out tomorrow evening (when I set up my booth) if what I've built is appropriate for the venue or not.  We'll see.  More to come!

Frosty Birthday

49th birthday today - and to celebrate the occasion we got dumped on by over a foot of snow.  I'm not complaining, as we still love the snow.  I recently acquired a snow plow for my pickup truck both to earn a little extra money when it snows, and to plow for the church and a few friends who don't have any means to push the snow around.  It beats the heck out of freezing out in the cold on my ATV.  I went out at 4:30 this morning to start plowing and got home around 8.  So much for sleeping in on your birthday!   I learned a good lesson about plowing snow though: plow with gravity, not against it.  One of the driveways that I plowed is very long, very steep and very slippery.  I tried unsuccessfully to push the snow up the hill, and got stuck several times in the process.  Then a friend suggested that I drive up and plow down.  Now why didn't I think of that?  Must have been some lack in my Auburn education :)  Tonight we'll have a special birthday dinner with another friend who shares the same birthday - along with all our kids.

I've been reading "Necessary Endings" by Dr. Henry Cloud -- a thought provoking book.  Life is full of beginnings and endings. A time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to uproot.  We usually embrace the beginnings but we resist the endings.  The fact is, both are a normal part of God's created order, so why do we perceive one as positive and the other as negative?  I am fascinated by the way God reproduces timeless biblical principles in nature: if a vinedresser doesn't prune the grapevine, he will end up with an impenetrable mass of leaves and tiny, useless grapes.  He not only prunes the dead and sick branches, but even the excess healthy branches are cut to favor the production of fruit.

     Henry Cloud speaks of "The Moment" in our lives when we realize that we have to make a painful decision - quit a job, let go of a dream, end an unhealthy relationship.  Truth be told, most of us probably reach a number of these "moments" throughout our lifetime, although we may not see them as such at the time.  I remember "the moment" when I realized that I had to leave my previous ministry role.  I knew that we (our family) would pay a very high price to make such a change, because it would likely mean that we would have to leave France altogether.  This is one of the reasons why we resist these "necessary endings", because they almost always come at great cost to ourselves or our businesses.  But the alternative - to remain in the status quo - can be even more costly in the end because of the long-term negative impact upon us or our business.  We stay too long because change means risk, and better the devil I know than the devil I don't know.  It has been almost two years since we made our big change and the move to Colorado.  We miss our many friendships in France, but this move has proven to be the best decision in the long run for our family.  The crazy part is that I had no intention of leaving France for at least another 5-10 years, and I had many sound reasons to stay.  When we finally did decide to sell our home in Saint Sauveur and pack up all our belongings, we couldn't even say where God was leading us - we had a location (Conifer, Colorado), but no clear direction beyond that.  For most of my adult life I've believed, and challenged others to believe, that God never leads us from Something to Nothing.  Well, He DOES lead us to take a leap of faith at times - maybe just to see if we trust Him enough to let go of our plans.  He was waiting for us here when we arrived, and He's walked the road with us ever since.  God is so good.

I'll sign off now - got people to do and things to see.

reflections from a sleep-deprived state

There are many nights when I wonder if I will ever know what it feels like to wake up in the morning  rested, alert, and with a clear mind.  Instead, I wander the house in the godless hours of the morning, and greet the dawn with a deep, deep weariness that leaves my brain numb and saps my energy and mental acuity.

I don't remember exactly when it was that insomnia became my unwanted and constant companion.  I know for sure that I had my first crisis with restless legs syndrome in 2007, when I went 8 days with no sleep and found myself on the verge of a psychotic episode.  Perhaps at some point the sleep deprivation caused by severe RLS resulted in the loss of a normal sleep pattern, and has left me where I am today.  And where am I today?

     I can't remember the last time that I was able to pick up a book and read for more than 2 minutes without falling asleep.  I have almost given up reading altogether both out of frustration and my inability to retain almost anything that I've read.

     The energy and passion for life that I once enjoyed is now reduced to just trying to get through each day with a positive outlook.  I go through each day feeling dull in the head with a deep tiredness behind my eyes - and by 7 in the evening I can barely keep my eyes open.

     I stopped driving at night several years ago because I will absolutely fall asleep behind the wheel.  On the rare occasions when circumstances force me to drive after dark, I need one of our girls to ride with me to hopefully keep me from falling asleep.  Even then I still wander into the opposite lane and scare myself and my passengers half to death.

     We have been forced to change our social calendar because I am unable to engage emotionally or mentally after 7 pm.  For those who knew me before the insomnia and how intensely I enjoyed fellowship with friends, you can imagine how this new paradigm is killing me. We rarely invite others over or accept evening invitations because I've embarrassed myself too many times by dozing off in the middle of conversations, then waking up in the middle of saying something absurd.  I laugh along with everyone else, but I'm weeping on the inside.  Weeping for the loss of a life I once enjoyed.

     If I could only nap during the daytime and somehow catch up I would probably be OK.  But this thorn in my flesh is a double-edged sword because the very act of dozing off sparks some neuro-chemical trigger that sets off the RLS symptoms - and gone is any hope of sleeping during the day.  I have not enjoyed the bliss of a real nap in at least five years.

     Every part of my being is affected by this ever-present weariness: my creativity, my artistic gifting, my joy and passion for life, my relationships.  Those who have met me in the past five years have never known me in a "normal" state of mind.  I'm not even sure I recognize myself anymore.  I've been prayed over and anointed with oil for healing at least five times.  Friends and family who have known me the longest always ask me how I'm sleeping... and while I appreciate their concern, the fact that I'm now known by my insomnia more than anything else saddens me all the more.  Daphne and the girls seem to almost forget the way I used to be, and my deep tiredness hurts them too because I am so much of the time disengaged emotionally.  This may be the hardest thing of all for me to bear.

     I've asked the questions so many times - "God, why won't you heal me?  Is this the way I'm going to live the rest of my life?  I would rather have chronic pain than this brain-numbing weariness that has robbed me of so much I once enjoyed in life.  How are you glorified by this sleep-deprivation?  I really don't understand what this is all about.  I'm trying to believe experientially what I know to be true theologically - that I am loved and accepted unconditionally; that you are intimately aware of my state; that what should be most important to me is the knowledge of your love."  But the experience of these truths eludes me most of the time these days.

    I am so tired of being tired all the time.  Daphne and I have decided to visit some folks in Colorado Springs who have a ministry of listening and healing prayer, in hopes that God may speak to us in some way to help us understand what this is all about.  I must admit, however, that I don't have much hope that it will make any difference.

I will write again after we've been to the Springs.  Perhaps the Lord may just meet us there.

Redneck Snow Plow

A few days ago I acquired a snowplow blade for my truck, which according to my teammates is an unmistakeable sign that I have become a true Redneck.   My reply was that I already WAS a redneck, and the addition of the snowplow is just one more part of me living the dream.  Mountain Man or Redneck... hmmm, I guess I'll take either designation.  Personally, I just chalk it up to "Redneck Envy".  One guy even told me that he was genuinely jealous when he saw me plowing the church parking lot after our first winter storm on Saturday: "You're living out what has been one of my life-long dreams".  Ha - just as I suspected.  I promised to let him get behind the wheel after the next big snow... for a nominal fee.  At our men's group last Saturday morning I heard about a place where you drive heavy machinery (bulldozers, dump trucks etc) around a big field, dig holes, move mounds of dirt, and basically just have a blast - for a price.  But I totally get it.  We men could probably reduce the stress that's slowly killing us with one monthly dose of testosterone-induced activity like sky-diving, bungee-jumping, or destroying old cars by crushing them in a WWII tank.  So in reality, I'm extending my life expectancy by driving a snow plow.

The story of how I came by this new equipment is worth telling;  My friend Scott has been in the snow-removal business for the last 30 years.  At one time he was running four or five snowplows and a crew of eight guys, but for several reasons the business began to decline about three years ago.  He decided to get rid of one of his plows, and since we both drive Dodge trucks he offered to donate his plow to me on two conditions: that I would take over his job of clearing the church parking lot and the ranch driveway, and that I would be available as a back-up for his two-man crew in the event of a major storm.  He would donate the plow, but I would need to pay $300-400 to install the mounting bracket on the front of my truck.  Around this same time I was praying about the idea of donating my ATV to the church, in hopes that we could find a buyer to help offset some critical short-term ministry expenses.  My biggest concern about getting rid of the quad was how I would plow our 200 yd driveway this winter, but I went ahead and made the decision to donate it by faith.  I was literally on my way to deliver the bike to the church when Scott called with some good news and some bad news.  The bad news was that he'd totalled his truck the previous night when he T-boned a woman who ran a red light.  The good news was that the insurance company would pay him for the snow-plow bracket that was destroyed in the accident, and he in turn would use that money to buy a new bracket for my truck.  What an amazing "coincidence".  I took this as a confirmation that I should accept his offer of the snow plow... and the same night that I hooked it up to the truck we had our first winter storm.  I never cease to be amazed by God's perfect timing.


Bearly Burger

     We had our first bear meat for dinner last night in the form of bear chili.  It was very good, and we couldn't discern any difference in taste from beef chili.  The meat was so lean that I had to add oil to the mix when I was browning it.  I'd heard that bear meat is very fatty, but I tried to keep only the leanest cuts of meat when I was grinding it up.
      Our girls had to get over the idea that they were eating bear meat before they could enjoy the chili.  Funny how we have no aversion to eating beef simply because we grew up with that taste.  I honestly believe that people who won't eat wild game are more put off by the thought than by the taste, but to each his own.  If cattle roamed wild and had to be shot by hunters we would probably all be vegetarians.

I Don't Beg... I Negotiate

     It's official: I'm now certified as a hostage negotiator by the International Association of Hostage Negotiators.  Kind of feels like being all dressed up with no place to go.


     Out of 75 in the class, I was the only one who was neither a cop nor active-duty military.  The training was organized by the PATC (Public Agency Training Council), which is the largest privately held law enforcement training company in the nation.  Since it's a private company, anyone who's willing to put up the money and the time can participate in any of the 100+ courses they offer (all related to law enforcement).  This particular course is taught by the IAHN (above) which was founded by Dominick Misino, a 22 year veteran of the New York Police Department where he served as the primary hostage negotiator for his last 6 years and was involved in over 200 hostage/barricade incidents.  One of his most note worthy cases was the negotiated release of 105 people aboard a hijacked Lufthansa aircraft. The suspect was convinced to allow the pilot to land at JFK international airport and then surrender to Dominick on the runway.  The training was excellent, and all five of the instructors were highly qualified in their respective fields.  We heard from a clinical psychologist who is a consultant and/or primary negotiator in Kidnap for Ransom cases around the world, the former commander of the NYPD hostage negotiation team, the former Director of the Atlanta PD hostage negotiation team, a clinical psychologist from the Miami-Dade PD, and the President of Enforcement Technology Group - a company that specializes in the design and manufacturing of high-tech crisis communications equipment. 

Me with Dominick and Dr. Hugh McGowan,
former commander of the NYPD hostage
negotiation team.  Hugh has over 1500
hostage/barricade incidents in his 35 year
career as a hostage negotiator.

     As I interacted with the other participants throughout the week I quickly came to a stark realization:  most of them come from police departments that have teams of trained hostage negotiators and all the advanced crisis communications equipment they could want or need (not to mention a SWAT team to back them up if the situation goes south).  I, on the other hand, have only myself and this training to turn to in the event that one of the churches or mission agencies that I've trained finds itself in a hostage crisis situation.  That was a sobering thought.

    

Fall is my favorite time of year here.  In the span of only a few days the Aspen trees turn from green to an incredibly brilliant array of yellows, golds and reds.  The Aspens pop out among the evergreen trees all over the mountainside - and in only a few more days they'll all be gone.   

Negotiator's Guide to the Criminally Insane

I learned something about our brains today.  I learned that while high-level, long-term stress may not make a person stupid, it does literally shrink part of your brain.  The good news that the same shrunken brain will return to its normal size once the stress is reduced.  Reminds me of the time I went to Ripley's Believe It Or Not museum as a kid, and the one item that captivated my morbid, pre-teen curiosity more than anything else (amidst thousands of equally strange and bizarre items) were the shrunken heads from the Amazon jungle.  I would imagine these tiny little people with tiny little heads running around the jungle, squeaking in their tiny shrunken-head voices.  Seriously though, I've always wondered how they got those heads to be so small, especially in the Amazon where they don't have the latest head-shrinking technology.  Weird.

So where did I learn this fascinating fact about the brain shrinking under stress (or at least one organ in the brain)?  All this week I am taking part in a training to become certified as a hostage negotiator through the International Association of Hostage Negotiators.  I find it kind of funny to be sitting in a room with 75 cops and military personnel... and me.  At least my name card says "Storm Guides International" and not "Pastor Jim".  There are five different instructors this week, each representing a different area of expertise. Yesterday's instructor is a clinical psychologist and former New York cop who works as a consultant to the NYPD and Scotland Yard in the area of hostage negotiation and kidnap for ransom.  Kidnap for Ransom Insurance is big business today, as you can imagine, and this man travels the world to negotiate the terms of ransom and release on behalf of these insurance companies.  He showed a photo of the suitcase he packs for these negotiation trips, including three different passports, $1000 and 1000 pounds Sterling as escape money, and a rubber chicken (haven't figured that one out yet).  He spoke on Psychological Crisis Intervention which covered stress, suicide, and a plethora of mental disorders including schizophrenia, depression, mania, and personality disorders.  As he explained the characteristics of the various personality disorders I found myself mentally placing the name of a person above each disorder.  I know, it sounds terrible, but I couldn't help myself.  I'm probably suffering from the personality disorder called "compulsion to add names above each disorder" syndrome.  He even said which movies describe various personality disorders, like Fatal Attraction for Borderline Disorder, and Dog Day Afternoon for Avoidant Disorder.   That helped me to understand what he was talking about, because I'll never forget Glenn Close playing the psycho jilted lover in Fatal Attraction.  Every man in the movie theater ran home to tell his wife how much he loves her after watching that film.

The reason why I'm seeking this certification is to be able to assist any of Storm Guide's clients who may end up in a hostage situation.  On my way home from the training yesterday I was thinking about the vast resources that the Denver Police (for example) have at their disposal in the event of a hostage-taking:  a 7 person negotiation team, high-tech hostage negotiation equipment, and a SWAT team armed to the teeth in case the negotiations go bad.  Somehow I feel pitifully prepared should I ever need to use this training.

One final thought:  the instructor showed a clip of a series of interviews that were done with Richard Kuklinski, who is arguably the "greatest" mass murderer of all time.  He estimates that he killed somewhere in the range of 200 people during his career as a deranged serial killer and then a mafia hitman.  His nickname is "Iceman", and you'll understand why when you watch the calm indifference on his face as he describes many of the murders he committed.  You can look them up on You Tube under "Dark Secrets: Inside the Mind of a Mafia Hit man".  The instructor's point was simply this:  there are some personality disorders that are simply untreatable and impossible to reform.  A person like Kuklinski becomes a monster as a result of both genetics and environment.  Perhaps the most fascinating idea of the whole day was that two people with the same genetic pre-disposition for fearlessness can end up as either a murderer or as a hero (test pilot, Navy Seal or firefighter) and a great deal depends upon being raised in an abusive or a loving home.  I don't believe that we're simply victims of our genes or our environment, but it was still fascinating to see the elements that contribute to how we develop into adults.

Night Screams

A couple of nights ago Daphne and the girls were inside watching a movie (a chick flick), and I was in the garage tinkering with something.  I thought I heard a strange sound outside, so I walked out into the driveway to listen - and I was shocked to hear a woman screaming.  I jumped in my truck, checked that I had my gun, and raced down the driveway in the direction of the screams.  When I reached the end of our road I stopped the truck to listen so I could determine where the screams were coming from.  Silence.  I drove slowly past several houses in our neighborhood but never heard another sound.  I got back home and sat in the driveway for a few moments reflecting on what had just happened - and then it dawned on me: it wasn't a woman at all... but a mountain lion.  I remembered that I'd heard several dogs barking during the screams, which made sense because they could sense or smell the cougar's presence.  People had told me that a cougar can sound just like a woman screaming, and now I believe it.  Definitely fooled me.


 Yesterday afternoon Courtland and I baptized 15 adults and children from The Journey.  Since we don't have a permanent church facility we used the hot tub behind the house on the Journey Ranch property.  This gives a whole new meaning to the term "hot tub party"!  It was in the low 60's and drizzling rain, so those who came to support their family members had to be really committed.  One of the women I baptized came up out of the water and said to me, "oh, this feels so good in here... can I just sit here while you baptize the others?"  Ummm, I don't think that will work.  By the time we finished all the baptisms the sun had come back out and warmed everything up again - welcome to Colorado.


After church today Daphne and I are driving over to Estes Park for a romantic getaway to celebrate her 50th (sorry, I meant her 49th) birthday.  Last year we went for a 6 mile hike in the Rocky Mountain National Park to celebrate her birthday, and she wants to do the same again this year.  I found a little lodge right on the river next to the park that should be perfect.  I'm taking my camera with me this time because the elk should be in full rut by now and the park is one of the best places to see them by the hundreds.  Should be fun!

I Will Follow Him

"I will follow Him
follow Him wherever He may go
And near Him I always will be
For nothing can keep me away.
He is my destiny


I will follow Him.
Ever since He touched my heart I knew
There isn't an ocean too deep
A mountain so high it can keep,
keep me away -
away from His love."

A song from the movie Sister Act


Funny the things that touch us.  I remember vividly the night over two years ago: We were watching a movie at home in France with a couple of dear friends.  The movie was Sister Act, and at one point in the story Whoopi Goldberg transformed the convent choir from a cacophony of nuns who couldn't carry a tune to save their lives into a beautiful, harmonious, moving ensemble.

I was going through a particularly difficult period with the team I was leading, and I was desperate to hear from God.  As soon as they sang this song in the movie, the tears began to flow.  I couldn't explain what I was feeling, but this song - from a secular, sometimes irreverent film touched something deep within me and I rewound it and listened again and again, impervious to my own tears and the others who were sitting in the room.  Somehow this song hit me at the point of my need at that moment - a need to hear God's voice, a need to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that He was there, and that He knew the point of my struggle.  The song came like a bolt of light straight from heaven into my soul, and in that moment I found a little bit of healing.

We can find God anywhere, at any time.  He is not limited to speaking only through His Word or through a church service, for the whole world is His church, and every sound, every song, every whisper of wind is His instrument to communicate His love to us.  He is speaking and He wants us to hear His voice.  All we need to do is listen.

Elk Rut 2011

A few pictures from two mornings ago - chasing bugles.

The bear before he went to bear heaven

Owners Manual for Teenage Girls

In the middle of a conversation with Daphne late last night, I lamented the fact that there's no owner's manual for raising teenage daughters.  It seems like God would have done us and our children a great service if he'd handed us a book upon our first daughter's birth and said, "Here you go - everything you'll ever need to know is right here, with a handy alphabetical index at the back.  Just look up any question you have, and Voila!  The answer's right there!"  I would have immediately searched for the section on "Holding, Feeding and Nighttime awakenings".  As the years went by and other daughters were added to our home, you would have found me searching under "Playing with girls", and "Dates with Daughters", and of course the classic question of "Monthly periods" where I'm sure the text would have read "On this topic, we have no particular counsel.  Good luck!" I love all three of my daughters with all my heart, and each of their births were the most wonderful, emotional moments of my life. I wouldn't trade the experiences of the past 18+ years for all the money in the world.  It's just that having been a boy myself growing up, I think I probably would have have some basic ideas of how to raise boys.  With our girls I feel like my parenting has been far more by trial and error than I would like to admit.  I have two sisters, but they were 4 and 9 years older than me respectively and I spent my childhood either being mothered by them, or running for my life during baby-sitting episodes that went bad.

If I had the Teenage Girls Owners Manual today, I would be devouring the chapters on "Boys", and "Dating", and "How to protect your daughters from emotional heartache without flabbergasting them in the process."  Oh, and there would certainly have to be at least one chapter entitled "Guns, and their practical use in deterring unwanted suitors".  I will say one thing about raising teenage daughters though:  I find myself on my knees increasingly often as I plead with God for wisdom and insight for a job that I feel unequivocally unqualified to handle.  I can wade into the most terrifying crises with confidence and courage, and through my knowledge and experience help to bring a quick resolution.  But when it comes to raising teenage daughters I find myself fearful, untrained and unprepared for the task.  Our girls are no longer the beautiful little china dolls who used to unquestioningly follow us around because they had absolute trust that we knew the way.  Today they are beautiful young women who are full of their own hopes and dreams, and who have their own legitimate ideas about the way life should work.  Yes, they still need our guidance and wisdom from time to time, simply because we know them better than anyone else and we've clocked more time on this earth than they have.  But our role is quickly changing.  More and more we find ourselves wanting to look up the chapters on "Coaching and Mentoring", and "How to let go as they grow up".  And more recently for myself I need a chapter called " How to handle your own failures when you just can't seem to get it right".  

At 3:30 this morning I can say one thing for certain:  I'm way out of my pay-grade.  I can only turn once more to the One who does have all the answers.

Big Bear

I killed my first bear yesterday.  I was watching the Auburn-Mississippi State game on TV when I heard that a big bear had been spotted on private land not far from where I was at that time. There aren't many things that will pull me away from an Auburn game, but a big bear is definitely one of them!  I went to take a look, and he was definitely a big boar black bear.  I had to drive all the way home to get my rifle and the bear tag I'd applied for earlier this year - never expecting that I would actually have the opportunity to shoot one.  By the time I got back to the place I'd seen him, he had been spooked up into a huge pine tree and he was lying on a branch probably 40 feet up.  I was amazed that he'd climbed that high, as the tree was surrounded by branches all the way up and he was very large - maybe 275-300 lbs.  I only took one shot, and that was all that was needed.  It took me and a friend almost two hours to figure out how to get him into the back of a pickup truck due to his weight.  It must have been around 2 pm when I killed him, and I didn't get home until 11:30 last night.  There was no one available to help me clean the bear, and it took me all of that time to finish skinning and cleaning him (much of the time was me trying to figure out the best way to do the job).  Thankfully my neighbor Brian has a large crane with a pulley system that allowed me to hang him up, which made the job easier for me.  When I called my brother to tell him about the bear, he said, "I guess you've really joined the ranks of the Mountain Men now!  The meat is hanging in Brian's big cooler, and I'll take the hide to a taxidermist this week to get tanned.

Karine is now settled in Alabama.  I flew down with her last week, and spent most of the week looking for a car for her, then getting it registered and insured.  We found a 10-year old Toyota Corolla that is in great shape, and the only drawback is that it's a stick shift.  By the second day of trying to teach her to drive with a stick I was getting concerned that our relationship wouldn't last the experience... but she finally got the hang of it (as we all do) and she's driving like a pro now.  Getting the car registered was a pain, because Jefferson county (where Birmingham is located) is flat broke, and they've closed all but one of the satellite offices.  Karine and I showed up at the courthouse at 6:30 a.m. and there were already 25 people in line.  By the time the doors opened at 8 there were at least 100 people in line behind us.  Of course, when we got inside we were told that we didn't have all the documentation that we needed, which meant another trip downtown that afternoon and another hour waiting in line.  Karine already has a job at The Urban Cookhouse, which is a restaurant that's owned by some friends of my brother Bill who also attend his church.  We're praying that the Lord will quickly provide her with several Christian friends, which will help her to adapt all the sooner to life in Alabama.  One of the main reasons why we wanted her to spend some time in Alabama was so she could meet some young people her age who are excited about their relationship with God.

That's all for now.

Sunrise

The picture above was taken yesterday morning from our back deck.  No matter what we're going through, or what life may throw at us, the sun still rises in the morning.  Isn't that a comforting thought?  Today there is always the opportunity to start fresh with the Lord - forgetting what is behind and looking forward to what is ahead.

This morning I'm off to Fairplay to accompany a friend who has a court appearance.  You just never know what each day will hold when it comes to church work.  At least the drive through South Park is a fantastic panorama that I can never get enough of.  So, Lord - what's on your docket today?

smell of brownies cooking

I'm still working my way through my sawdust and grass cleansing diet.  I've lost about 6 pounds so far, but I have to confess that I have cheated on more than one occasion.  I mean, who can really survive on vegetables and fruit alone?  Isn't it strange that all of the sudden we "discover" that wheat and milk and potatoes are bad for us?  Makes you wonder how the human race survived for all these millennia eating bread and drinking milk.  Was Adam gluten intolerant?  Maybe people just didn't care about excess gas, and farting was considered socially acceptable.  Someone would let a whopper, and their seat-mate on the chariot would say, "Oh, don't you just LOVE the fresh taste of whole wheat bread?"

But back on the Sujet du Jour.  Nicole made dark chocolate brownies for dessert last night (Charlie and Gayle and their grandson came over for supper).  They were sinfully delicious, and I enjoyed every bite as I contemplated the sawdust shake I have to drink this morning as penance.  But have you ever noticed how strong of an emotional trigger our sense of smell is?  It doesn't matter how bad your mood is, as soon as you smell the aroma of brownies cooking in the oven it makes everything feel (for a moment at least) just great.  I remember a time when we were visiting a reconstructed town in France where old buildings from all over the country had been broken down and rebuilt on this one site.  I walked into an old log classroom, and as soon as I caught the first whiff of the odor of old logs and creosote I was catapulted 42 years into the past and back to the cabin our family owned in rural Oklahoma.  It was an incredible experience.  One sniff and my mind was filled with wonderful memories of old spring mattresses, daddy long-legs crawling across the floor, and the ponies standing on the porch looking through the screen window as we ate breakfast.  Wow.  I almost cried as I stood there - thousands of miles away and 40+ years in the future from the source of those memories, but the smell in that room literally moved me emotionally.  I can only imagine how this same brain "trigger" could evoke a deeply negative emotional response if the smell reminds us of a terrible, painful childhood experience.

I thought of the power of our sense of smell this morning as I read this passage from 2 Corinthians 2:

"But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and manifests through us the sweet aroma of the knowledge of of Him in every place.  For we are a fragrance of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing; to the one an aroma from death to death, and to the other an aroma from life to life.  And who is adequate for these things?"

I can't explain this, but I know there are people who have crossed my path over the years who's mere presence caused me to feel wonderful, like walking into the kitchen and smelling the brownies in the oven.  Maybe that's what God is talking about here - that He wants us to be so full of the love and grace of Jesus that the fragrance of the Holy Spirit just follows us around throughout the day.  "The Sweet Aroma of the Knowledge of Him".  I like that.

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On a different and totally unrelated note:  Barrett Trotter was named Auburn's starting quarterback yesterday - a huge test for a young man who's played in others' shadows (namely Cam Newton) for three years, and now as a Junior has a chance to write his own story.  The race for starting quarterback was very close between three excellent young men, and the disappointment in the voice of the number two man - Clint Moseley - was palpable when he described the announcement as "the greatest disappointment of my life... period".  He's got some heart-work ahead of him this season if he wants to play for the good of the whole team.  Life's full of disappointments Clint - better get used to it.