Let me say this: I am, without any doubt, not a cat person. Never have been, never will be. Don't want one, can't stand an animal that shows no respect or obedience.

We now have a cat. 5 days and counting. Abandoned, cold, half its body weight, curled up in the back of the "dog kennel" on Mother's Day. Adopted us it seems. As I have said to many, it is not a cat! It is an animal in need of help!!

"Angus" needs to survive another 3 days without being claimed for him to become legally ours. One vet bill, cat odour in the kitchen, and a tugging on my emotions already tell me that he is mine.

So the message on my mobile from a lady down the road who called in at the vet and heard about our find scares me. "She thinks we have her cat". I don't want to call Kel and tell her whilst I am away. Back tomorrow night which means we only have to stall the owner for a day and a half and we have legal ownership!!

The cat, "Angus", the animal in need of help has taught me a lot in 5 days. Most of all it seems that some things in life are more important than others. Angus, your season with us may be over, but you will leave a legacy.

My boarding call is about to sound and I shall pass the message home as I walk to the boarding gate. A day in Sydney will drag contemplating the absence of our newest family member upon my return.

I am sitting in the airport awaiting my boarding call, prepared for a home coming after a five day absence. My dog will come to the window as the driver delivers me to the front path. I will attempt to hurry with my baggage train up to the front door as the wet weather welcomes me with a reason to seek a hot shower. My loving hound will want to jump up on my leg as I juggle two suitcases, a laptop and my keys through the hallway. Upon opening the door to the living area my wife will arise from in front of the fire where she has been reading, sewing or pining for her beloved.

...if I make it home.

We have changed to an ealier flight due to an early finish today. Immediate thought - will I be watching the news tonight, in shock at the story about the flight that I should have been on, or will my wife be watching a story about my new flight, unaware that I won't be arriving as originally planned.

No logic or foundation truth behind these thoughts - maybe just a prompt to head back to the Qantas Club bar for a beer to bring me back to the reality that nothing will happen!

Nearly a month...

So nearly a month has passed since I thought I might be more diligent in my attempts to record something of worth in a self determined forum. Currently sitting in the Qantas lounge in Perth, awaiting a 4 hour flight back to Melbourne and continuing to wonder if the pace of life is draining my excitement or adding to it!!!

So many observations to make and so little capacity to think creatively. My journalling has been constant in the "private domain", but nothing worthy of common reflection.

PP is preaching into 1 Peter, with a real call to self evaluation last Sun. I feel like my faith is so compartmentalised at the moment. I am my own worst enemy, lacking consistency in attitude and action. The challenge to reconcile my head knowledge to my heart's desires leaves me feeling unfulfilled and disconnected. Again the need to focus on an eternal perspective would move thoughts away from my "plight" and place a perspective on my role in the big picture.

God sees my being through His love, and I can't see His face through my sin.

Warning: the following stream of consciousness results from a personal demand upon myself to write. Coupled with the mandate that once written it needs to be said, you are privvy to a rare open heart - much sentiment, but no guarantee of logic.

Here we are again, getting swept into the maelstrom of life as the sweet idyllic peace from the Christmas break rapidly fades as realities force their way back into my presence. Mid February and we are at full steam. This is great from a professional perspective, however at odds with the priorities I would like to afford to other aspects of my life. It seems that the secret to being "normal" is to give an appearance of balancing life's competing demands whilst walking the razor's edge within the mind between coping and imploding!!!

I read Ray Comfort's autobiography two weeks ago and it brought home the truth of the temporal realm. The need for an eternal focus as a priority, but this needs to be balanced against the competing demands of relationships, sustenance, ambition, pride, routine.

Do I worry too much about the little things? Who says they are little? If they cause internal debate then your judgement does not include an understanding of the impact of all that happens externally upon my internal being. When did you last care? How do you know who I am today? Can you assume that I am the same as the last time that you knew me? Who are you anyway??

Current activities to absorb my time and energy, thereby relegating the real questions to a pile titled "really important to do, but he's not smart enough to realise how much better (i was going to write easier, but God has given no guarantees of ease) life could be if he would have the guts to address them):"

1. half marathon next Sat.
2. first assignments due in 4 weeks.
3. finding a placement for teaching prac in second semester.
4. preparing briefing papers for industrial determination rulings (also known as doing my job).
5. changing the oil in my car when I get home tonight.
6. attending a writers' festival tomorrow where Frank McCourt will talk about Teacherman.
7. gritting my teeth to get through Church on Sunday.

Next time I will populate the list:

"really important to do, but he's not smart enough to realise how much better (i was going to write easier, but God has given no guarantees of ease) life could be if he would have the guts to address them):"

If you have read this far, thankyou for caring.

Today my project team and I commenced packing up our office for a physical relocation next Monday. Although moving buildings is just an administrative glitch in our timeline, it does afford a physical reminder of reaching the end of the year and marks a transition to a new organisational structure. In conjunction with the physical packing I decided to audit my electronic filings on both email and hard drive. Going over twelve month's worth of product and determining what is worthy of keeping and what is not required at all (should it ever have been kept) provided a reminder of the journey we have undertaken this year. And in the light of current frustrations at the amount of work ahead of us it was timely to reflect on how much we have achieved.

Last night Adrian spoke about worship and remembering what God has done in the past. An auditing of His blessings, patience, discipline and love would serve well to remind us of the potential for the challenges ahead if we continue to allow Him to work in our lives. Just as reflecting on the work already done gives a sense of achievement and a confidence in tackling the next task to come along, so too a comfort is gained from remembering God's past attentions and drawing strength from the possibility of His future presence.

Like returning to an old childhood neighbourhood, there are vestiges of familiarity that convict me of my neglect. Failure to catch up with old friends, discarding part of my background not out of choice or shame, but rather caused by the distractions of busyness and the pathetic quenching of a writer's desire. Can I ignore this inner voice any longer? I fear my silence would testify to laziness and apathy.

I hope to visit soon for a longer stay. Suffice to say you are missed and I hope to have something meaningful to offer when next I call.

Cold noodles again

I sit at my desk, glorious (is that a culinary term) beef mustard curry
reheated from last night for lunch. I reflect on yesterday's lunch
experience, so eloquently drafted for posting and committed to the ether
junkyard by a system reboot overnight!!!

As I recall, my expectation of a steaming hot bowl of noodles was based
upon the supposition that the brew room microwave would perform to
expectation. However the rude shock of having a lump of cold, slimy noodles
enter my mouth instead of the olfactory anticipation being met was too
much.

It prompted a great philosophical linkage to those situations in life where
my "bowl of noodles" turns out to be cold or slimy or just yuck! The
difference with real life situations is that no quick trip back into the
brew room is usually available to zap the offending circumstance.

God serves up cold noodles as he sees fit. I just need to learn to go
hungry or eat them as my hunger overrides circumstance.

Maybe cold noodles are good for me and my tastes need to change!!

==========

Speaking of cold noodles, tonight Kel and I say goodbye to our best
friends. They are moving back to Detroit after three years down under. It
will be a hard farewell to make.

Administrative Admissions

I will be so glad when we get to the next life that there will be no longer
any requirement for administration!

The cycle of business meetings, tax returns, administrative instructions,
bill paying, investment monitoring, budgeting, in tray clearing,
conferences - they are all so not worth the effort sometimes!!

I envy the birds that I see in our yard.

The other day, as I was stacking wood (yes the preparation for winter
continues - each piece of firewood warms three times, cutting, stacking and
then burning) a honey eater flew past me into the bushes next to the wood
pile. Beautifully created with its long curved beak reaching into the heart
of each flower, feasting on the nectar within.

My favourites are the tiny finches that know you are about to reveal the
choicest grubs and bugs to them before you start to shift wood. They gather
around on the ground, waiting for the next morsel to be unearthed. Flitting
over the wood pile they embody the presumption of abundant provision that I
wish I had the faith to accept from God.

If I did not think I had to provide so much for myself, then maybe my
administrative overheads might not be so burdensome.

At 32

We bid farewell to Matty D on Tues

At 32 you are not supposed to by laying in a wooden box.
At 32 you had better be ready for eternity.

About Abortion

The abortion issue is getting some new life in Australian politics.

The Pro-life lament: Letter to editor -The Australian 2 Feb 05 "What right
do you have to put anything between the mother and father, the doctor and
the mother's health?"

Isn't there something missing here - what about the baby.

Trying to define the extent of the problem, by calling abortion a separate
action to other medical procedures, John Anderson, the Deputy Prime
Minister 3 Feb 05:
"At what point do we say a fetus takes on a life of its own? In a society
like ours, legislation should reflect as closely as it can the will of the
people."

His comment highlights the lack of moral truth in the issue as society
considers it. Humanism, relativism and opinion through a democratic process
are no guarantee that life will be represented or protected.

Just because it is popular doesn't mean it is right!

"Most of the change we think we see in life is due to truths being in and
out of favour" - Robert Frost

Where is the baby in all of this? The will of the people will rarely
reflect the moral truth as laid down by God.

m<><

The most important breath

His breath came in short gasps as the restriction in his throat grew
tighter.

The gentle savour of pasta, peas and corn was quickly replaced by the
realisation that without rapid movement his ability to recover without help
would disappear. Alone in his office, no one was due back to disrupt his
lunchtime reverie for another forty minutes. His final moments fittingly
synonymous with the Dilbert email spread across his screen.

A vision flashed before his eyes of his body being found, slumped over the
keyboard with endless pages of nonsensical text scrolling down the screen,
a form of ironic eulogy composed by his face mashed into the keyboard.

A short sharp gasp and hard forceful cough and the terror of asphyxiation
was replaced by the need to search for some paper towel to remove the
embarrassing jetsam of a mouthful of lunch from his desk.

(Someone once told me that the only thing that separates us from eternity
is our next breath. Hope you enjoyed your lunch today, I eventually did!)

Professional Profanities Point to Probable Predisposition

It is official - I am off LLeyton Hewitt.

I stayed up til midnight watching his 5 set epic in the Quarter Finals,
admiring his strength, heart, resolve and reserve as his exuberant antics
were curtailed throughout the match.

I can handle expletives to do with bowel movements, the frustration of the
F word, but why does he need to use the Lord's name in vain - twice.

I know that it probably means nothing to him, but it shows the inner man.

My ears cringe and my heart cries.

RIP Matt

From today's "The Australian":

"AS torrential rain and hail pounded down, defence force helicopter pilot
Matthew Donovan was determined to ensure his girlfriend, two brothers and
three friends got out of Empress Canyon before him.

The canyon in the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney, had flooded and turned
into a series of sucking pools of deep water. Having ensured his friends
were safe, Matthew, who served in Iraq and East Timor, was the last to jump
into a pool close to the canyon's mouth - an act of selflessness that cost
him his life.

"Matthew being Matthew, he was making sure everyone got out," his uncle
Basil Donovan said yesterday. "Even though he was into adventure, he was
always remarkably careful."

Brother James Donovan is the police officer who made headlines 10 days ago
when he jumped inside a taxi and wrestled a gunman in a packed city street
in Melbourne. A second brother, Kelly Donovan, is a high-ranking army
officer.

But the force of water in the canyon was so strong that both were powerless
to save Matthew.

Police rescue divers found his body mid-morning yesterday in the rock pool
at the top of Empress Falls, after a rescue effort hindered by fog and
heavy rain.

"It looks like the waters sucked him back underneath," said Springwood
police inspector Tony Malone. "The water-flow has pinned him in and kept
him under."

James and Kelly arrived back in Sydney last night, traumatised after having
watched their brother drown.

"Since Matthew's father died 10 years ago he's been very close to his
brothers," Basil Donovan said. "But by the time it was his turn to swim,
the current was too strong.

"His brothers had to watch. Because of the whirlpool effect, he was coming
up and down."

It was late afternoon on Saturday when the group of six walked down the
steep steps that lead to Empress Canyon.

An experienced canyoner, Matthew usually preferred more challenging
canyons, but that day he had chosen a beginner's spot in the Blue
Mountains. He did not want to put anyone's safety at risk.

His nephews knew storms were forecast, Basil Donovan said, but had no idea
they would hit the canyon so hard.

The National Parks and Wildlife Service said the heavy downpour was
extremely localised, and the ground was already waterlogged from days of
rain.

The grief-stricken party spent yesterday at Katoomba police station making
statements before a family gathering in Sydney.

"He was a very, very high-achieving, very caring and very loving son,"
Basil Donovan said."

RIP

Is there a hurry?

This morning a heavy shroud of mist sat on the mountain, dumping heavy dewoff of the gum leaves onto my head and back as I made my way along a running trail. It provided a stark representation of the weight sitting on my spiritual being at the moment. Three days, three impacts of death. None of them particularly close, but close enough to wonder why and when.

On the way to the Australian Open Tennis on Saturday we passed a body of a cyclist on the roadway, the victim of a hit and run. Covered in a plastic sheet, feet protruding with cycling shoes attached, the milling of emergency services personnel around the scene caused traffic to slow. Later in the day we would hear that the driver at fault had turned himself into
police after initially fleeing the scene, a fact of interest but unknown to a 32 year old now set loose into eternity, reaching a destination far from his intended end point to that which he contemplated as he strapped into his pedals that morning.

It was a record day for any Grand Slam event ever at the tennis with over sixty thousand attending. As we managed to cram into the back row of the stadium, securing seats before the first game I gazed around at the "special" people in their "special" boxes, secure behind a glass screen in their "specially" designated lounge chairs. As I ate my snacks, hastily thrown into a bag on the way out the door that morning, I thought of the "special" people, eating their special" food, with "special" service - no half hour queues for a carton of overpriced animal fat and second rate potatoes for them. Then I thought as Christians how we can sit in our own "special" boxes, enjoying the privilege and security of eternity without a thought for the sea of faces in the stands below, not caring about inviting the "less" worthy into our sphere - because they have not paid the price, or it would inconvenience us to share, or they might actually demand more
of us than we are willing to give.

But what if this is the last tennis match they ever have the opportunity to see, they might not have another chance to enter the world of the "special' people again. What if they do not make it to the game because they get knocked off their bike?

Yes, there is a hurry.
=========

Last night James and I caught up on the phone. He asked if I remembered a mutual friend. He went to the doctor in September, was asked what he planned to do between then and Christmas. She shook her head and told him to forget about work. He passed away from cancer on Christmas Eve at age thirty four. A picture of success - mega bucks, globe trotting, important roles in international organisations - passed onto eternity. He got things right with God, came back to the reality of his faith.

Wonder if there were regrets for lost time.

And he spake a parable unto them, saying, The ground of a certain rich man brought forth plentifully: And he thought within himself, saying, What shall I do, because I have no room where to bestow my fruits? And he said, This will I do: I will pull down my barns, and build greater; and there will I bestow all my fruits and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul,
thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry. But God said unto him, Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee: then whose shall those things be, which thou hast provided? So is he that layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich
toward God. And he said unto his disciples, Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat; neither for the body, what ye shall put on. The life is more than meat, and the body is more than raiment. Luke 12:16-23.

Yes, there is a hurry.
===========

I wanted to call Kel this morning to see if the Pest Controller had arrived, but she called me first. We had seen wild summer storms lashing the northern states on the news last night. A canyoning party had to be rescued in the Blue Mountains due to flash flooding. One man was still unaccounted for after being washed away. Police hold grave fears for his life. It is more than likely that they will only find a body. Kel had received a call to let her know that he was a class mate of ours from College. Nice guy, not real close but friendly enough to catch up with when
I was on course with him last year. We can only pray for the best and prepare for the worst.

Yes - there is a hurry.
============

Morning Glory

This morning as I ran through the National Park I broke into the clearing
that gives a sweeping view over the city below and the ranges to the East
and West. In the early morning grey the shadows still played, but the form
was unmistakable to the slight right, halfway up the slope. A large brown
fox, caught out in the open, stalking down wind from the cluster of rabbit
burrows under constant development.

With one quick word of encouragement Hootie was off, a black streak blazing
across the freshly cut hay, hastening the fleeing fox into the ferns along
the fenceline in the distance. Despite the feral and destructive nature of
this introduced species the beauty of God's creation was with me as I ran
up the rise to the top of the clearing and turned to look back over the
city to the bay in the distance.

Sitting like a layer of cotton wool on a saucer, a shroud of low oppressive
cloud blocked out the urban sprawl below, protecting my wonder at creation
from the distraction of artificial features. Off to my right a large
electrical storm was moving in over the western plains, the arcs of
potential difference lighting a ladder from ground to ceiling, moving
closer as the enlightenment of dawn was being challenged by the darkness of
a storm front.

A gentle breeze gathered strength, the smell of fresh hay and rain
harbingers of the storm that was gradually drowning out the sight and sound
of morning. As I turned to move off home the sound of thunderheads moved
closer and started to be accompanied by the first droplets of rain, come to
launder the sleep from nature's eyes. The thunderheads broke overhead and
the power of creation was reinforced even further.

Soul Patch

Yesterday I came back to work after four weeks break. The psychological preparation and domestic routine of setting the alarm clock, making sure my uniform was ready, thinking in advance as to what I would need for lunch all came to a head when I looked bleary eyed in the mirror at 0545 hours and faced the reality of having my first full shave in 31 days.

Friends told me that the tuft of hair growing under my bottom lip is known as a "soul patch". Now as I faced its removal the strength of the metaphor was apparent as I prepared to remove part of my soul and return to the vocational grind. Every holiday I grow my beard in one form or another as a symbol of outcry against the routine conformity forced upon me through
regimental standards. The stripping away of that facial hair embodies the return to a facet of my existence that is not entirely my preference.

It is not that I do not like my employment, it is more the opportunity cost that is associated with spending my time in my current fish bowl. But I know that what I do makes a difference and as I enter my 19th year in service I know that the time is coming closer when I will be able to make another choice.

There are a couple more weeks before I start this year's subjects for my post military role. Only three subjects this year and then I can move into the final year of preparation to teach. I am looking forward to building on last year's results. Yesterday I received a letter from Uni asking me to consider post graduate work. I think I need to consider myself seriously as a student now. Study is not just another diversion from the priority of life - maintenance of a "heavenly vision".

Emmanuel preached on Sunday and reminded us of the greatest threat to our purpose in the world - believing there is no hurry!.

Worth a Thought

Letter from an Army Chaplain in Iraq:

Dear Friends and Family:

I am addressing this letter to you to express a frustration that I know has been voiced time and again, yet is met with little change. It concerns the media coverage of this war and the effect of that coverage on the morale of our troops. As a battalion chaplain I hear the comments and
complaints of soldiers who, while performing an incredibly difficult job under hostileand stressful conditions, constantly see their efforts portrayed as futile. NBC's coverage this morning (your Thursday evening, 16 September 2004) is a prime example that I believe shows the gulf that
exists between the truth of what is happening here and the deceitful agenda of the mainstream media at home and abroad.

Only 24 hours ago the NBC media crew arrived here and filmed hours of footage with our unit. They were told of numerous projects in which our unit is involved, not only in the area of force protection and Troop Medical Clinic support, but also in humanitarian aide to a local village
here in Baghdad. Here is an example of some of the projects to which they were introduced:

1. The reconstruction and furnishing of a clinic
2. Miscellaneous enhancements for a local elementary school and a local
day care center
3. Reconstruction of the decimated electrical, sewer and water systems
4. Reparation of exterior walls and gates surrounding the village
5. Rubble and garbage removal projects to clean up the entire village
6. Construction of a protective chain link fence around the local Shi'a
Mosque
7. Studies to examine the development of agricultural systems and a
garment industry to help the locals provide for themselves
8. The ever-growing clothing and school supplies drive for the children of
the village

In the roughly one minute clip that they drew from their day of filming, what did they show? The First Lieutenant who is the primary driver of these projects was shown with one quote about never believing he would be in Iraq, being a National Guard soldier. This was followed by their interview of another soldier's wife, saying her husband was supposed to have retired this summer, that his responsibility to the military should be over and that he should be home. They showed NOTHING of the great humanitarian efforts that are going on here!

It is coverage like this that is convincing more and more soldiers that the consistent media agenda is to show you, the American people, the futility of our current efforts and how everything is going wrong. There is no apparent attempt to show all the good that is happening that, for those of us who are here, far outweighs the very weak, though spectacular, moments of insurgency. And we see it via satellite, just as you do. In a day of great violence across the country, last Sunday, where the insurgency failed to take one American life, what one film clip was shown over and over? They showed the lone burning Bradley fighting vehicle, with
Iraqis dancing on and around it, waving flags of the insurgency. Out of the thousands of troops who made it safely around Baghdad and the country that day, the media focused on one piece of impressive footage and repeated it over and over until the viewer receives the message that this is all that went on in Iraq today - an insurgent victory. I also remember how the body count, for two days thereafter, was printed in ever-increasing increments, never mentioning who the casualties were - giving the impression that they were American casualties.

The despair and depression, as well as the thankfully limited anti-war sentiment, over our country's efforts in Iraq are not based upon all of the facts. They are rather based on what the media has chosen to show - and what they have chosen NOT to show. The media knows that they can always find those willing to complain, grouse, protest and disagree. And they splash those voices all over their screens and pages, drowning out to tell you, as I am, that there is good going on here.

There are things going on here you would be proud of, things that would bring tears to your eyes; like the looks of parents whose children are going to school for the first time in years, equipped with pencils, pens and paper and clothed with clean new clothes. There are essential services being provided to people to whom they were denied under the oppressive regime of Saddam Hussein. There is a trial going on for that man and at least eleven of his evil cronies who, let us remember, killed over 300,000 people under the watchful eye of the United Nations (pun intended) during the 12 years they had responsibility for the health and welfare of this
nation (yes, the same, inept organization that is currently ignoring the Darfur, Sudan, slaughter of Christians by Islamic fundamentalists). This was the same time that the oil-for-food program monies were being used to line the pockets of Saddam and his friends and build luxurious palaces like the ones our forces now occupy as he had quarters all over this nation. And Saddam all the while complained that it was "American Sanctions" that were killing his people. I don't remember a sanction that required a mass grave.

Please know that the media is NOT giving you the right picture, much less the WHOLE picture. They have an agenda, it is clear, and that agenda does not include the current administration claiming success in this endeavor. It is unclear if their sensationalist "reporting" will change if the administration changes. The one thing I know as I watch the morale of the men who are here doing the job is that every time the enemy's paltry attacks are made out by the media to be marker events in Iraq, it becomes a little harder for soldiers to see value in even the greatest things we are doing. Your care packages, your letters and your constant prayers are the only
things that remind us that the majority of thoughtful Americans are truly behind this effort and that what we are doing has great value. Don't let that go. Keep supporting your troops, not just in word, but in action. Remember this: You cannot support the troops AND denigrate the war effort. It is a logical and a practical inconsistency. While the soldier fights the enemy, he needs those behind him to offer support to his back, not daggers.

The news media is one of the greatest threats to this war. Just ask a terrorist. Every time he can do something desperate and spectacular and have the effect with one man blowing himself up in a crowd that an entire U.S. Brigade has in securing a city, the media has thrown terror the
victory. It is not the side that wins the most ground anymore that is victorious, but the one that can satiate the blood-hungry media. We have given them the stories they need to show how much we are truly doing. The question then must turn to why they have a fascination with making the villain the victor. If we win this war, it may not be much of a story for them, but if we lose it...

Your troops are doing amazing things here - things many of them are not even trained to do, like a medical platoon leader doing public works projects! I hope that either the media start showing the REAL stories here or that you will show your contempt of their deceitfulness with your
complaints and, ultimately, with your vote. Don't watch the news media that thrives on the death of American soldiers to bump their ratings! And remember your troops. Support of victory is support of your troops.

Sincerely, CH (CPT) Chris Bassett Baghdad, Iraq

The Consciouness and a Righteous Rage (of an "angry young man" - sorry Billy)

I received the following from a spiritual mentor today.

It was written by his brother - I only wish that I had captured the
thoughts as succinctly and as well supported anecdotally.

Encouraging to know that my journey's experience is not unique.

Where can I find such a worship experience? I don't see stumbling blocks
around me. The challenge is in seeing the opportunities to shape the
current environment to meet the needs reflected below.
=====================

Well Dearly Beloved (you know who you are!)

I am just home from church and a blessed communion service and thought I
might share a bit with our marvelous family. Now if the word "share"
coming from me scares some of you into scrolling quickly to the end, just
rock back on the kick stand of your Harley for a little while and let's
chat (even if your Harley won't run anymore ... Can I get an Amen right
here?)

We were privileged to attend Calvary Chapel this morning where Pam and John
and Little John go to church (Little John goes to Cheerio Chapel, I
think.) The music of the current song, I am Forgiven lingers yet in my
soul dripping with fresh dew. "I am forgiven, because you were forsaken; I
am accepted, you were condemned, I am alive and well your Spirit lives
within me, because You died and rose again.  Amazing love, how can it be,
that You my King should die for me. Amazing love, I know it's true. Its my
joy to honor you.  In all I do,  I honor you."

I looked around this very full room of intensely involved people meeting in
the Memorial Auditorium in Chattanoogaand some thought occured to me. If
you will indulge me for a short visit over some cyber space ink, I will
share them with you.

Our kids have thrived spiritually at Calvary Chapel.  You must know how
very thrilling that is to a parent. Believe me when I tell you this is not
a parent time to brag about the kids (yours are perfect, but not mine), so
don't read that into the motive here. Back to the point. You may not
think of a non-denominational down town church as something with which you
are overly familiar, but similarities do exist. Some of what is different
may deserve an "Amen" too. Mind you, I am not on a recruiting mission for
Calvary Chapel, and certainly not with MY family. (Can I get another Amen
here!)

Calvary Chapel was birthed out of the Jesus Movement of the 1960's in Fort
Lauderdale, Florida. Now before I loose your attention, please let me
gently remind you that I read all the sermons and prayer letters each of
you send to me. I listen to your tapes and thorougly enjoy coming to your
churches and hearing your sermons in person. So back up on your kick
stand, I am fixin' to preach for a while my own self!

I was standing in the middle of the room before church started and a
question occured to me. Why was I comfortable here?  Should I be? I
guess part of the answer is because I came desparately wanting to worship.
Jackie, Lee and I have in transition for the last several weeks and have
had to misschurchbecause our ox was in a ditch somewhere between I-20 and
I-75!  I deeply needed to be free from the hassels of moving and worship
with other believers.  I came ready.

The other parts of the question were just as easy to figure out. I was
raised during the hippy generation. I came to understand my own generation
(and myself in relation to "them") sometime after I was grown. The roots
of this church are in winning that sub culture to Christ. Further,  the
church is reaching a lot of today's young adults. I have worked most of
my career among young people, so that aspect of my revelation of comfort is
no surprise to you. Finally, and not the least obvious, is, that like you,
I was privileged to be around strong preaching all of my life. Frank, the
pastor, is a serious expositor of the Word of God, no exception here. I am
at much at home with his preaching as I am with yours.

There is another observation. In the churches I have belonged to recently,
there seems to have been a strong power block of families, deacons or
whomever. Going to church in these places included having to pass an
acceptance thing before you were allowed to really fit in.   You really
just had to ignore the burdening weight of "the club" and worship anyway.
Meanwhile you needed to pray you did not have to work as a church staff
member there, as I so often have. I did not sense that kind of protectivism
this morning.

Maybe from the standpoint of church polity it is because Calvary Chapel is
merely accountable to its parent group in Florida, and not to the locals.
I saw a lot of really dedicated "worker bees" this morning, but nobody I
saw had a big ball of keys and looked like they were the self delegated
approval agents. I will have to think more about this polity thing. Maybe
it is because this church is so new that no one is one of the "old
families" of the church (yet) and exerts some sort of prior claim. Maybe
because they are in a rented building no one can claim, "THIS is my pew!
Granny died right here thirty years ago."

What about this acceptance thing?  Just maybe this body of believers was
built on something we are not really used to having. Separation from the
world in the old days meant being separated from hippies. Yes, I
understand what a hippy life style was better than you do . I also
remember how a huge part of the lost populace was publically denounced and
excluded from our churches. Remember that? No pants on women, no beards on
men, if you do, no church for you! Ain't that just like Jesus?

My education on the absolute wrongness of that attitude came from the very
mouth of the man who influenced me so very much in so many other ways. I
remember going to Teachers and Officers Meeting on Wednesday night under
Dr. Lee Roberson. Sunday School teachers were encouraged (required) to
stand up and tell how many people would be present for visitation on the
following night. A very proud teacher stood up and introduced a brand new
convert to the group that he had found and led to the Christ. There the
young man was, long hair and all, beaming from ear to ear, and he stood
up. Dr. Roberson literally exploded, "Young man, don't you DARE go out of
here and attempt and represent Highland ParkBaptistChurchuntil you get your
hair cut! Now, sit down!"

The churchof Jesus Christis under serious indictment by God for building an
ugly moat rather than building a beautiful bridge. I am of the strong
conviction that many of our separated churches are dying out today because
of the seeds sown fourty years ago. Can I get another Amen right here?
Perhaps one of the strengths I found so refreshing today was that opposite
spirit, you know the one I mean, the one of acceptance of all people where
ever you find them.

Across the isle from me today was a man who is running for mayor locally.
On the other side of me was a nationally known heart surgeon. They are
older so don't get the idea that all these congregants just left puberty.
I had attended another church a few years ago with the mayoral candidate -
under the ministry of Ben Haden.  When my friend Ben retired and the church
finally called another senior pastor, that vibrant church with its open
doors began to shrivil immediately. Why? The man they called was an old
school reformed Presbyterian, not like the evangelistic Ben Haden. Now the
church has become what the elders wanted all along, I guess, a stictly
reformed church, THEIR church. That church is literally across the street
from a state university. Not many of the students are crossing the moat
today. And the older,less-reformed group like us have all faded away too.
Am IÂ surprised to find these older families along with this host of
otherwise unchurched young people? Not really.

Another thing. Ben Haden, Lee Roberson and Bob Jones all taught us that
you can have harmony in the Body of Christ, even if everyone does not all
believe just alike. Ben went so far as to say he did not vouch for anyone
in his church, let alone the choir. He was just glad they were under the
Word. He preached to everyone as if they were lost.  The point, these
men drew the line fimly around the fundamentals of the faith with no
compromise at all. After that, variations in denomination of upbringing
that came through the front door were relegated to the patient growth and
teaching ministries of the church. Besides, what is a church if all the
members are homoginized then poured into the redundancy and boredom of a
cookie cutter. That comfort zone with no room for differences was truely
foreign in the New Testament church.

Yes, I know the church I attended this morning breaks the mold, but who
christened the mold we are used to anyway? The pastor was saved while he
and his wife were internationally known models. God gathers his preachers
from whereever He wants to! (He got YOU didn't He?)

Oh yeah, you thought I was going to miss music, didn't you? Fat chance.
The worship leader (song leader) was a lovely young lady who sat in front
of the worshipers on a stool, long straight hair, casually dressed and
wearing sandals. Sometimes she prays, sometimes she only directs one's
attention to the words on the screen. She did not wave her hands. Most of
the time you loose track of the fact she is there. What kind of music does
she choose? Don't rush me. It was "blended contemporary" and it moved my
soul!

Just so you will know. My soul is often moved deeply by the sound of Bill
Gaither's Vocal Band. And I got just as energized in my spirit when I
listened to the loftiness of the well trained choirs sing the great anthems
of the faith at First Presbyterian and Highland Park. I still get just as
thrilled when I hear the hymns and choruses that came into our church out
of the great revivals of this nation's youth. I grew up with those songs.
If you are trying to put MY music in a box with your label on it, you are
out of luck!

What does not lift my heart is when I hear the songs of my childhood sung
today in a hurried rote manner by zombies in the pew. No wonder song
leaders have to wave their arms so much! Somebody pawned off on
Christianity an approved list of songs to sing in an agonized fashion and
then "somebody" else came along and squelched creative and spiritual
involvement. Further more, I am in absolute pity with the emotional
poverty of those who tried to embrace change a few years ago and got no
further than the Ron Hamilton sound because of some ecclesiatical peer
pressure. Give me freedom everytime and get out from between me and my God
when I sing! ...such as it is! ...and give me some more alto sax and
percussion while I sing!!   Can I get another Amen here!! Aaaamen!.

Now I am just talking to the people I love the most (check the list). So
if your Harley is still resting on its kick stand, "far" that bad boy up
and send me a note. I would love to talk to you. I may have to go back to
work soon and miss the opportunity.


With love and compassion

 ..... (the Beloved)

Tragedies and Statistics

"A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic" - Joseph Stalin.

I have just finished reading a book by Joe Rosenbaum called "Defy the Darkness" as part of writing an essay on the Holocaust.

Joe was a 14 year old Polish Jew living near the Russian border when Germany invaded in 1939. It was only written and published 3 years ago and really brings to mind the Stalin quote above as it recounts his 6 years of survival under the Nazi regime. Hearing first hand facets of existing in the ghettos, concentration camps (Auschwitz, Dachau), working for Mengeles himself and the measures required to survive were all quite moving, challenging and made me appreciate freedom. It also brought home the fact that hearing about 4 million Jews killed as a historical fact can only start to be appreciated when you consider them one at a time, hearing their stories. The irony being that they won't be told, except in kind by a survivor.

When I read the monthly Voice of the Martyrs newsletter there will be a deeper poignancy to the acts of persecution that Christians suffer. How long will our own freedoms last?
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In the spirit of anachronous juxtaposition - I thought this was funny:

A male frog goes to a psychic. The psychic tells him, "You are going to meet a beautiful young girl who will want to know everything about you."

The frog becomes excited, "This is great! Will I meet her at a party?" "No," says the psychic, "in her biology class."

Gorilla suits suit

Today on the radio I heard about one of those incidents in life that gives me a smile, caused me to reflect on how I did something similar once and now, a few years on - I would still do it given the chance, or maybe I still do if only in a different form.

The story concerned a 25 year old man in Belgium arrested for jumping out in front of bushwalkers and then running off, whilst wearing a gorilla suit. Locals reported gorilla sightings to police for several weeks. A crack team of trackers equipped with dogs and tranquiliser guns was formed to locate and remove the wild threat. The gorilla was eventually confronted
without the aid of the tranquiliser guns and released after relinquishing his suit. His excuse - he thought that peoples' lives were too boring and he wanted to give them some excitement!

I remember doing a similar thing at a Youth Group costume night. I had my parents drop me off at the Church early, it was mid winter and quite dark in the car park by 7 pm. Wearing my gorilla suit, I was able to hide in the bushes along the pathway and have some "good, clean, Christian fun" with the nerves of quite a few of my peers. Would I do it again? - in an
instant. Would I do it now? - you bet. Do I do it know? - I guess I do, wearing the suit of conformity every day, filling a role that I feel is no longer me (Wemmick!). But is the person inside the suit supposed to be frightened by it? And what forms the mirror that shows the suit to the wearer?

Maybe the suit is me, and I don't like the me it represents! Maybe I was called to this reality, but now the season is past and another is being prepared for me.

Andrew has Given Up On Calling. Does that show a satisfaction with where he is, therefore happy not to pursue another journey or destination (for now)? If I give up on "finding"/hearing" my calling does that mean that I can remain content here? God doesn't call us to contentment. He would like us to feel contentment in some spheres of our existence, but what distinguishes between contentment and complacency?

I don't think I can be content here, as a destination. Although I can find purpose here in two aspects:

1. It is where God has put me and I should remain, seeking contentment in His purpose until shown otherwise.

2. Acceptance of this reality is a part of the journey to my next destination (I didn't write this line from an eternal perspective, but it seems to have more depth in that regard).

Today's reality, wearing today's suit, is a stepping stone, a preparatory phase. Waiting for the next visit to the tailor of life for another fitting session. Of what cloth and cut? - my preference, but the tailor does the sewing.