A Tale of Two Churches

In the closing days of WWII, two events had profound impacts on the lives and faiths of two great European nations. In England, using the brand newly deciphered Enigma machine, British scientists learned that the next target for the German bombing runs was going to be Coventry, England. Winston Churchill agonized for hours over whether to stop the bombing from taking place and expose to the enemy the knowledge that they had cracked the codes of the Enigma machine - a code thought unbreakable by the enemy, or to allow the bombing to occur. Ultimately, Churchill decided to save the code and not the city in order to bring the war to a close much quicker. Coventry was flattened and their cathedral was burnt to the ground. Churchill wept at the news of the destruction that had been wrought. To this day, the burnt out shell of the cathedral remains in Coventry to remind all of the destruction of war.

In Germany, in the closing days of the war, the Allied bombers bombed the German city of Dresden so thoroughly that almost the entire city was destroyed by a combination of bombs and fire. The fire was so intense that anyone caught inside the city would literally burst into flames just from the heat. Dresden's Cathedral was, as well, completely destroyed by the flames. For the past 60 years its burnt out husk has remained at the heart of a rebuilt Dresden to remind its citizens of the destruction of war.

On Reformation Sunday, yesterday, the Dresden Cathedral was reopened and rechristened. Amongst the items given to the church at its rechristening was an iron cross from the city of Coventry - a symbol of peace between two former enemies.

War is Hell. There are no two ways to look at it. No matter the noble cause, no matter the personalities involved, no matter which side God is allegedly on, war is the exact opposite of Christ. War is everything that Christ does not want for us, or for our enemies. Love your neighbor as yourself does not include an exemption for war. In all things, we should work to end war and injustice, and bring about peace around the world.

As America mourns its two thousandth death in Iraq, as politicians bleat on about justifications or condemnations depending on their own political views, we Americans must remember that we live in a representative democracy. We are at war because we want to be at war. We are allowing this slaughter to continue. We are both Coventry, and Dresden. Either way, we are destroying ourselves.

Enlarge Your Soul Now!

Its easy! Swedish religious scholars have discovered a way to enlarge your soul. By reading one little book three times a day and practicing the instructions given there in, respondents can expand their soul up to ten times its normal size. You could swell your soul to gigantic proportions and be the envy of every person in your office. There's no gimic here! And best of all, you can do this in the privacy of your own home! Its 100% completely legal! (Product may be banned in less enlightened countries!) So apply now and get your Swedish Soul Enlarger for just three easy payments of $19.95. Call now! Operators are standing by.

Its not quite a burning Bush, but if you were to receive this message on your computer, you'd probably throw it away as Spam. And Spam is what it is. But I read somewhere that the reason Spam exists is that because for every 999 people who reject its message, one reads it and says, Cool! I've got to get me some of that. The cost of the Spam is less than what one customer in 1000 pays out, therefore, the Spam is cost effective, therefore Spam continues to exist.

This Spam is from God. The Soul Enlarger, naturally, is a Bible. But that aside, how much of God's message do we classify as Spam? How many times does he send us messages that we ignore as being too good to be true or likely to cost us something or too time consuming. Sometimes I have to look at some of the stuff God sends to me and I just shake my head... there's no way I'm opening up that message. I don't even want to think about it. I didn't ask for it. I don't want it. No matter how much it costs. I reject the Spam before I even read its content.

We all have so many natual filters in our brains - culture, religion, language - that we sometimes never ever receive the message sent.

My friends, clear out your filters for a change, embrace the message, and see what wonderful things are in store for you... unless they come from Sweden... ;)

Have a wonderful weekend...

First Friday Ramblings...

I was awoken this morning by a truly stunning bit of news... Sulu is gay. My mind boggles. Sulu... Gay. It seems inconceivable after all this time. No wonder they never showed his cabin on the ship, it was probably filled with track lighting and tastefully decorated. But then something hit me out of left field... Sulu had a daughter! How the heck?! And, of course, I realized that in the 23rd Century there is no stereotyping, there is no prejudice, this whole straight/gay thing is probably a relic of the past. I mean, if Kirk can have sex with every alien species to ever walk, slither, beam or fly at warp speed, what difference does it make if Sulu and Spock want to fly off together for a romantic weekend with sword play? Surely, Sulu adopted. Of course, it totally gives new relevance to the line from Star Trek VII where Kirk is astounded to learn that Sulu had a daughter, "Where did he find the time to have a family?" Well, now we know.

Tongue firmly planted in cheek,

Will

The Good News

My friends, hear the good news. The end has arrived, so that we can begin again. We all await the long fallow period between seasons when trades are made and teams reborn. Hope springs eternal until next spring when young men return to the diamonds of our youth and compete in the time tested rite known as spring training. Though we will suspect certain teams of superiority, there is no right to the title, no guarantees of victory, no definite outcomes preordained until that first official cry of "Play Ball" and the season is renewed. So repent of all your bad feelings over missed opportunites. Forget wrongs done and errors committed. Embrace the newness in life that has been bestowed upon you and your fellow followers in fandom. We are all even now.

Giants record for 2006, 0 wins, 0 losses, and 0 games out of first place.

The Day I Met God For The First Time

I was a religious kid. I may not have been good at it, but I showed up. I did the choir thing and the youth group thing and the lectionary thing and the usher thing and the committee thing and the serve cookies, make coffee, clean up, set up tables, etc... thing. I thought I was pretty hot stuff, religiously speaking.

I had a few very capable youth leaders who really taught me what it was to be a Christian by their actions - Pastor Dave, Lila Bennet, Phil Hughes, Thad Lewis and a large host of others. I really enjoyed my time spent with them and I felt that they had the coolest jobs in the world (little did I know ;).

I remember the day Phil Hughes told us that he was going into Seminary. Phil was a cool guy. We really liked Phil. But he was a college student, not a religious student. How the heck does one decide to be a Seminarian? I asked him. And he told me point blank, "I was called." To this day, really, I haven't a clue what that means. I've been waiting for a call for so long, I'm assuming my number's been disconnected. It reminded me, in hindsight, of the scene in Contact where Matthew McConaughey describes the moment he found religion, (I'm paraphrasing here), "And there He was... God." The look on his face and the light in his eyes suggest something in McConaughey's character that implies the awesome majesty of the Risen Lord.

The day I met God, I came to the conclusion that I too wanted to be a youth pastor. I was a senior in High School and as I often did in my senior year, I took the long and quiet way home from swim practice so that I could have time to think. I walked through the green fields and pastures of the upper Sigmund Stern Grove park and my mind wandered over the thousands of possibilities layed before me for the course of my life. Somewhere along that route, I came up with the realization that I'd be a really good youth pastor.

You see, I already knew the job. Pastor Dave and Phil and Lila, etc..., had been such good teachers. You create a devotion. You tie some games into it. You make some punch. You sing some songs. I could even learn to play the guitar (Boy, how wrong I was on that last one ;). And every summer you take the kids to a work camp somewhere, and I love to travel! This was great. I was already such a religious person - how hard could Seminary be?

About the time I could see my house up ahead, though, I suddenly realized that I was missing one thing - one key ingredient in this fantasy of being a youth pastor. I had not received my call. God had not called me to be a youth pastor. Didn't know what that was, but I knew from Phil that it was important. So I stopped walking, closed my eyes, and I prayed to God.

"God, this is Will. Listen, I've been thinking. What do you think about me being a Youth Pastor?"

And that was when I heard the voice of God - a strong, hearty, pleasureful, robust laugh like I've never heard before. God laughed at me for so long and so hard, that I could almost see the streams of tears in His eyes. It was so infectious that I started to laugh as well.

I mean, who was I kidding? Me, a youth pastor?

My life has taken many twists and turns since then. And I've never received my call. But I've never once doubted that God existed since that day when He laughed at my pretention. I wonder sometimes, if he's still laughing.

Mad Ramblings of Count Friday

It must be Friday again... cause here I am with more insanity...

My mind has been whirling, of late, and swirling, and dancing, and singing, and prancing, and poeticizing, over the issue of music. My church, stubborn as it can sometimes be, is now involved in Musicgate - an issue of what sort of music we ought to be playing within our walls. Some want a more contemporary and worldly music, and others want to stick with the tried and true classics. This is a deeply held issue in our church, but we are by no means the only ones living with this issue. Our pastor's wife recently returned from a women's retreat where she was the musical director and she declared with satisfaction that she managed to tiptoe through a minefield of musical selections so that most of the group was only mad at her selections less than half the time. As a singer and a lover of music, I find the issue very interesting. As a Christian, however, I find the issue rather silly. This is the modern equivalent of arguing over which end of the egg to eat first.

In theory, of course, we make music in our worship service to glorify God. Clearly, God has been around a long long time, and probably knows tunes much better than anything we've ever created - even Mozart. So to Him, the music doesn't matter so much as the heart behind it. I can picture Him in Heaven with his fingers in His ears smiling at our attempts to please Him. After all, He grew up on music from the lyre and lute and people banging quietly on cymbals and drums. This modern stuff with violin concertos and organs and harpsichords is just not really his cup of tea. But He appreciates the effort being made on His behalf and He enjoys the music no matter the content, the sound, or the creator. He probably even secretly watches the Ozzy Ozbourne show when nobody is looking (He really likes the dog). The point being that any preference in music in church is OUR preference, not His.

#B) Does Tom DeLay know something the rest of us should? He's claiming he can't get a fair trial because he's a Republican and his judge is a Democrat. So, should us Democrats be worried that we can't get a fair shake from a Republican judge? And what's a poor Independent to do? How does this shake out for the country with two new Republicans on the supreme court? And does this mean that justice is blind, but your voting record is available in braille?

Part The Third:
Love rescue me
Come forth and speak to me
Raise me up
And don't let me fall.
No man is my enemy
My own hands imprison me.
Love rescue me.

Many strangers have I met
On the road to my regret
Many lost who seek to find themselves in me.
They ask me to reveal
The very thoughts they would conceal.
Love, rescue me.

And the sun in the sky
Makes a shadow of you and I
Stretching out as the sun sinks in the sea.
I'm here without a name
In the palace of my shame
I said, love, rescue me.

In the cold mirror of a glass
I see my reflection pass
I see the dark shades of what I used to be.
I see the purple of her eyes
The scarlet of my lies.
Love, rescue me.

Yeah, though I walk
In the valley of the shadow
Yet, I will fear no evil.
I have cursed thy rod and staff
They no longer comfort me.
Love, rescue me.

Sha la la la etc.
I said love, love, rescue me.

Yeah, I'm here without a name
In the palace of my shame
I said love, rescue me.

I've conquered my past
The future is here at last
I stand at the entrance to a new world I can see.
The ruins to the right of me
Will soon have lost sight of me.
Love, rescue me.

A PSALM FROM U2

(Thanks, Heather...)

And on that note, have a great weekend.

The Roads Least Traveled

My good friend Andy and I are now both writing blogs about our journey's in life - his with a slightly more spiritual leaning than mine. Considering that we grew up together in a church in San Francisco and then, as is natural, went our own separate ways - but remained best friends, it is not a stretch to see that we are both now sharing our love of God at the same moment in time. But the roads we traveled to reach this moment are very different.

When we graduated from high school, we went to two different colleges. After one year, I joined the Navy and Andy joined a fraternity. After college, Andy married his college sweetheart, and I broke up with my high school sweetheart. When Andy was getting a good job, I was going off to Idaho to get my degree. When Andy was buying his house, I was living in Las Vegas. When Andy was having his first kid, I was just starting work with a new company. When Andy was having his second kid, I was moving back home again. (A very abbreviated version of ten years of our lives... ;)

Shortly after I started my new job, I realized that I was finally in a position to have free time and to do something different with my life. I remembered fondly my days at Lakeside Presbyterian Church and I decided to go back there. At first, I just went to sing in the choir. I'd always enjoyed singing. That lasted about five minutes on the first night before I was recruited into the bell choir as well. After another couple of months, I realized that the Associate Pastor was having trouble doing things with the Youth Group because her long time volunteer had left to join the seminary (I sense a theme...). I took her aside and told her that if she needed my help with the youth group, I'd be happy to do things from time to time. Before long, I was a full time youth assistant. And then, I was asked to serve on Session and became the head of Christian Education. Finally, last spring, the Associate Pastor moved on to another church and the entire youth group program fell to me.

For five years now, I've been very active in the church and much more active in my faith than I'd ever been before. My confidence in my faith has been growing steadily in that entire time. I've read the Bible now nearly twice through - to the point that during one Men's Breakfast I was able to rattle off the name of a prophet before the Pastor could remember it (which shocked me more than him ;) I pray regularly. I've led the youth on one mission trip, conducted my own overnighter (How did Pastor Dave manage to do that? I only had three kids!), done two Ice Cream Socials, and watched my first graduating class take their first steps into the bigger world.

Andy, on the other hand, had quite a different route. He went back to church when his second child was born and spent the first couple of years with a more evangelical church. After a while, he realized that this wasn't the sort of religious experience he was looking for and headed instead to his current church. Since then he's blossomed into an educator, puppet master, and part time pulpit supply at his church.

We've gone down two completely different paths, seen completely different things, had completely different experiences, and yet, we've arrived at the exact same point - we're are now both walking the footsteps of Jesus Christ. How many other roads are there that all lead to this point? How many narrow paths coming from so many different directions meet at this one road? Einstein's definition of infinity is that it is the point where parallel lines meet. I've always thought that a poetic statement that to me sums up where we will find God. Though Andy and I walk side by side, in Christ, we walk as one.

The Death of TAC?

The Adventure Chronicles was started on a July day in 1983. For the past 22 years it has come to represent my dream for a company of creative equals. But in recent months, I have come to suspect that the dream might finally be over and that I might just be too stubborn to accept the idea. While I've long known that I was the heart and soul of TAC and that the dream of TAC was mine alone, I'd always thought that I'd have plenty of energy to carry TAC's dream to fruition. Lately, however, I've begun to doubt my will and my level of energy. How long can one person hold on to an unfulfilled dream?

For as long as I can remember I've wanted to make this dream a reality. Before TAC, in 3rd Grade, the company was called JDW Films, and that changed to SDW Films, and then, at one point, it was WAG. But with the writing of the words The Adventure Chronicles Present, TAC was born and came to symbolize to me every thing that I'd always dreamed could one day happen.

I pictured a huge entertainment empire on the scale of Disney - where creativity was king, and not just a commodity to be bought and sold or gone without if the budget didn't allow for it. Naturally, I'd be the leader - but only since this would allow me the resources to bring my own ideas to fruition, not because I wanted to boss anyone around.

The problem with this dream was that to have a huge empire, you need more than just yourself. I created TAC with the idea that I could lure people over to my side of the fence, that I could instill this dream in them.

But time and again, I failed. And let's face it, who wants to bank on a dream? A dream doesn't get you a good job. A dream doesn't get you a spouse or kids or a nice house. A dream doesn't buy you fancy things or send you on vacations. When all is said and done, a dream is just a dream - a flighty figment of fantasy.

And so, I've been thinking of chucking it, throwing it out, abandoning it to a world of childish pasttimes. I've been thinking of all those things I missed and all those things that I can have, if I can just forget the dream and go after practical pursuits.

Aye, but there's the rub.

I can't. I've thought about it, and thought about it, and sometimes even fantasized about it, but I can't abandon the dream. I can't abandon TAC.

You see TAC is more than just a dream to me - TAC is me. Whenever I think of ending it, I get short of breath and panicky. To abandon it, to shut it down, to move on to greener pastures, at the expense of never again imagining leaping from an exploding blimp, using Mock Fu to disarm a large opponent with bad breath, stealing a rickshaw, or traveling to countless worlds and countless adventures - I just can't do it. TAC is more than just a few words on a page, it is an attitude, a way of life, that says that life is precious, and crazy, and thrilling, and extraordinary. And by extraordinary, I don't mean MORE ORDINARY, I mean SO FAR BEYOND ORDINARY THAT YOU CAN'T EVEN COMPREHEND IT. I could no more shut down TAC than I could will myself to stop breathing.

TAC is like my inner flame. It takes a few blows from time to time. It dims. It flickers. But it never goes out.

So, no more dreams of money, or women, or children or fancy real estate. If I never quite achieve the TAC Potential, so be it. My life is set. My course is laid. My bed is made... only figuratively, of course. ;)

And now, back to work on TAC... and my next great Adventure.

Do you believe?

I had a breakthrough this weekend so profound it nearly brought me to tears with the joy of its revelation.

For most of my life I had wondered whether I truly believed in God. This was actually going to be the subject of a future blog - one that I had been planning. You see, as a thinking human being I just can not rationalize away such troubling thoughts like the 40 years spent wandering through the desert or the parting of the Red Sea or the plagues or all sorts of other miracles. The stopping of the sun in the sky, etc... On the one hand, I, like so many others, want to try and explain these things through scientific means - perhaps there was an earthquake and it temporarily caused the Red Sea to dry up only to be set loose again a few hours later. But these scientific explanations make even less sense to me (and how did Moses know to be at the Red Sea at just precisely that moment that the Red Sea was going to be parted... and how did the Egyptian army just happen to be in the Red Sea when the water decided to flow again?) The short answer, of course, is to say that one shouldn't take the Bible literally. But if one starts questioning part of it, why not question all of it?

I was not exactly having a crisis of faith, but I wasn't exactly comfortable with these thoughts either. Did that mean I wasn't fully committed to Christ? Did these struggles I had with believing His words mean I was much less a Christian? And, let's put it on the bottom line, when I died and went to Judgement Day was I going to be found lacking because of my doubts?

I had sort of made an uneasy peace with myself because I knew that deep down inside, while maybe not understanding and maybe not believing every word, I did believe in God. I could feel Him in my life. I could see Him in the path of my life. There was no other explanation for it. I knew God existed... but I didn't understand it.

And that was when I looked at my Sunday church bulletin and the lightbulb went off and I nearly wept tears of joy, for on the cover was this quote:

"Understanding is the reward of faith. Therefore seek not to understand that thou mayest believe, but believe that thou mayest understand." St. Augustine

I realized that I'd been looking at the problem in the wrong direction. I wasn't supposed to be trying to understand God, I was supposed to be believing in Him. I'd already accomplished the hard part. And my reward would be coming to understand him over the rest of my life. This is something truly wonderful. And I thank God for this gift.

May you all come to belief... for it is there that you will find understanding.

Praise Jesus.

Yet More Friday Musings

Okay, my mind has really been wandering today. In random order I thought; Wouldn't it be funny if those pygmy skeletons archaeologists found in Java turned out to be blue tinted and are the remains of a small Smurf village ruthlessly destroyed by some ancient predecessor of UNICEF - What would an Amazing Race, College Fraternity Edition look like? - Surprise! Credit Card companies are out to screw us all! - You can't get blood from a stone - and, wouldn't it be nice to be my own boss and to come into work whenever I felt like it even though I'd probably get so busy working that I'd forget to eat until my dogs reminded me that they were hungry.

I think I need a vacation. But as of Oct. 17th, I won't be able to afford one. Thank God for student loans. If I didn't have something to default on, I'd be completely broke come Oct. 17th. ;)

See you all on Black Monday. Until then, have a nice weekend.

All The World's A Stage...

I often look at the Bible from two different directions. As a writer, I find myself trying to picture the mindset of the people writing the Bible. This is much harder than you think. It suggests that I can put myself into the mind of someone who not only lived thousands of years ago, but who also spoke a different language, came from a different culture, and had an entirely different knowledge base. But, ultimately, I think its safe to say that people are people and that though cultures, languages, and time may change our perspectives, at the core we are all human beings. And so, I imagine myself as a writer living thousands of years ago trying to create a story about Moses for the masses.

We in the modern world assume we know things from History and Science. We picture Moses reaching the shores of the Red Sea, raising his staff, and mumbling magic words - and the waters part - and we say to ourselves, "Faith made this happen, because there is no historical evidence, and science says it can't be done." And that little kernel of doubt creeps in. As a writer, of course, I look at it and say, "Why did the writer write that? He must have known that nobody would believe it. Heck, they were all there. They walked with Moses. They talked with Moses. They know that the Red Sea didn't part." From a writer's point of view, it doesn't make sense. You've got blockbuster special effects but a real credibility problem. It'd be like me writing a story about George W. Bush leading the troops into Iraq and finding a huge cache of WMD's. We know that never happened. And, as a result, nobody would believe it and the story would never be repeated, passed down from generation to generation, and eventually printed. Unless... everyone agreed that that was what had happened. From a writers perspective then, we must assume that what the writer was writing was considered the truth back then and that we have no choice but to accept it today as having been truth back then.

The other perspective I have is of God - The Author. Writing is an act of creation. I create worlds, inhabit them, and compel the action to a certain extent by having characters act and react accordingly. A good piece of fiction will long outlive its creator, will take on a life of its own, and will be embraced and changed from generation to generation. The author of this piece will also be viewed differently from generation to generation. God created this world. God inhabited with all sorts of fascinating characters. God has His own story line, but for the most part, He lets the rest of the world ad-lib the story. We don't know about Jesus's best childhood friend, but we can be sure there was one. Just as we can be sure that Cain's wife was also created by God. As a writer I know that I don't have to spell out every detail for it to be assumed. To a certain extent, I give my characters free will to eat, sleep, breathe, and love one another when I'm not looking. I brought them into their world. I expect them to live in it, until I call upon them to further the story that I have in mind.

Shakespeare said it best, "All the world's a stage and we are but players in it." We are the characters in God's play. But we also are the creators of our own dramas. We have the power over these dramas and can end them in any way we are creative enough to consider. But our dramas, in the grand scheme of things, mean nothing because we are merely players. It is the Author's storyline that we must follow, and His directions that will lead us to a good and safe end.

Surely a sign of the apocolpyse

I know it doesn't say it in the Bible, but when UNICEF - the United Nations International Children Emergency Fund (or some such) - carpet bombs the Smurf Village and kills Smurfette, leaving Baby Smurf orphaned, just to raise funds, I've got to think the end times can't be far behind.

If I was a wholesome cartoon character I'd start checking over my shoulder. UNICEF may be targetting you next.

A New Day

My brain works like the old big univac computers. Plug in some random information and three weeks later a solution comes out. What's funny, always after the fact, is that while my brain is working on this massive problem the rest of me kind of gets squirrely. I start getting really weird ideas that sound so good to me that I actually begin working on them. Somewhere in the back part of the warehouse of my brain are thousands of really bad ideas for stories, songs, poems, businesses, buildings, toys, games, and all sorts of other things. If you have known me for quite some time, you can probably remember some of these crazy ideas. I never really know which of these ideas is sane, at the time, because I think they're all wonderful. And telling me that they're not only makes me more adamant that they are wonderful. And then, like a Holly Hobby Easy Bake Oven, my big old univac mind goes DING! and a new idea pops into my head and voila... I suddenly realize that all these ideas I've had for the past three weeks or so are really BAD IDEAS.

So, this weekend, on Saturday, in the midst of preparations for the 11th Annual Burrito Night, my mind went DING! I'd come to the conclusion that I'd been computing all summer long. The cool thing about these conclusions is that you can see it and immediately know that its right, that its not only right but its the only logical conclusion. Other famous past DINGS for me have included joining the Navy (Not really sure what the hell my brain was thinking on that one, but it was definitely a Ding), going to school in Idaho, moving to Vegas, and writing my Novel. I've sort of come to the conclusion that without the Dings in my life, I probably wouldn't have ever gone anywhere.

I sometimes picture these guardian angels in my life, swirling around me. There's probably like an entire crew of them working just on me because I'm so dense sometimes. They can't directly interfere with me, but if they want me to do stuff, they can sure give me lots of hints. For the past three months they've been working overtime. And I've known it. I could feel it. I've been walking through life looking around and saying to myself, "I know there's a clue here, a big heavenly hint, but I haven't a clue what it is." And the angels groan, slap their hands to their foreheads, and try to figure out what to do next to make me see the obvious. These guardian angels are my big DING. I may not see what the path is, but I know I'm being guided to something.

And that's what this big DING was. It was the realization that I'd grown stagnant. That even though I was constantly working on projects, I was not moving forward, not progressing. I was moving sideways in many different ways. Its time to go on. Its time to move on.

Now all I have to do is figure out where I'm going. I can picture the guardian angels already slapping their foreheads and screaming, "DOH!" What can I say, I'm dense! Anybody want to help me with my Broadway musical?

More Friday Musings

So which is it? What does God want us to do? Does He want us to be the type of Christians that tell other Christians how to behave? What is or isn't a sin? Does He want us to be the types of Christians that villify those who do not follow our way, calling them murderers and devils and other nasty things? Or does God want us to be nice to everyone, no matter who they are, no matter what they do, no matter what they believe, because in doing so, we will show them the way?

First law of Christianity according to Will: If someone claims that they know what God wants you to do in your life... run far away as fast as you can.

Okay, maybe not the first law... but certainly not the last either.

When I was in the Navy, I looked at this very small island one day and thought I saw a missile battery. Fortunately, I took this to my good friend who'd been working on this area for years and he told me that it was just an abandoned oil rig. But he also told me that another guy, my age, had called it a missile battery and sent out that information to the fleet. An entire U.S. Naval fleet turned right around because of the threat this "missile battery" posed. I learned very early on that my mistakes could have huge consequences for myself and my shipmates and possibly for my nation. After that, I worked very very hard to never make a mistake.

Compared with that, it's hard to take any other job seriously. Loss of money, no big deal. Pissed off customer, so what? Taking an extra five minutes for lunch, not a federal crime. But make a mistake in the Navy and someone could die.

It always helps to put things in perspective. I don't like the war in Iraq and I don't know why we still have troops in Afghanistan. We started this war to stop terrorism, and there's more terrorism now than there was before. I completely suspect the President's motives and I am absolutely certain that he lied to the American people about WMD's in Iraq. That said, we must support our troops overseas and do everything in our power to bring them home safely and quickly - even if it means winning a war we have no business being involved in. Even if it means losing it.

My perspective on war is a little different than most - having been involved with one. First, bring home as many of your men as you can alive and in one piece. Second, accomplish the clearly stated objective and then get out. Third, if either of the first two goals can not be accomplished, don't go to war.

War is hell. Its the only time "civilized" society allows for the murder of young men and women in pursuit of a goal. We murdered thousands of Iraqis to capture 52 men and to protect the United States from WMD's that never existed. As a society, that is a sin we have to live with. And yet, I am saddened at the lack of outrage. We have murdered thousands of innocent people and our common response is, oh well, they probably had it coming.

Okay, I could talk about our so called President for days if you get me started, but I wanted to end on a lighter note.

God loves you. He really does. And if you ever have a Christian in your face telling you to change your ways or go to hell, just tell them that God loves you. This I know. For the Bible tells me so. If that doesn't stop them in their tracks, well, give 'em a good swift kick. Its okay. God told me that that was what He wanted you to do. ;)

Have a great weekend.

Learning to Draw

When did you stop drawing as a kid? I was thinking about that the other day when it occured to me that I don't draw and that as far as drawing skills are concerned, I'm hardly more proficient than a first or second grader. If I was to draw a family and a house and the sun right now and hang it on my fridge, you'd assume I had a six year old living with me. But beyond my lack of artistic skills, I wondered why I stopped drawing.

Clearly, kids have their own skill set. For me, it was probably writing, even very early on. I've always been able to channel my imagination into words and ideas. And for some kids, it was art. They were drawing circles around me in 2nd grade and they're still drawing circles around me - even if the circles have gotten a lot bigger ;) The point is, these drawing kids didn't stop writing when they were in 2nd grade just because they were not as good at it as I was. So why did I stop drawing?

I think sometimes we humans have a tendency to stop doing things when we can't be good at it. Whether its drawing or singing or driving a car, if we don't advance, we stop the dance. If we don't excel, we must repel. If we don't aspire, we must retire. Included in this, of course, would be our relationship with God.

How many kids do we lose from religion because they don't feel that they have any ability at religion? I know that sounds competitive, but think about it. So and so has such a great relationship with Jesus... but I don't even know if He exists. I must be doing something wrong. I'll try something else for a while.

I think we must be aware of this factor of human nature when we deal with young ones. We must make them aware that there are many more of us non-Picasso's out there when it comes to religion than Rembrandt's in the making. And I think we need to let them know that anything a person does for God is pleasing to Him - no matter how much it looks like a stick figure robbing a bank.

Peace out!

The Funeral of Me

This sounds like a morbid topic - yet another in a series of downer issues for my blog, but I promise you it's not.

A well loved saint of the church and a woman I was priviledged to call my friend passed away a couple of weeks ago. Her name was Ginger and she finally succumbed to a cancer that had been plaguing her as long as I knew her. She is in a much better place now and is truly one of God's special angels.

About November of last year, we were listening to our youth choir sing an Irish benediction tune that was hauntingly beautiful and she turned to me and said, "I want them to sing that at my funeral." As she had cancer, I knew she was being at least partially serious and when I tried to tell her that she was being way too premature, she smiled at me as if I was but a child and said, "I've actually planned the entire service." In the end, she was right, and her funeral was absolutely gorgeous and really touching.

It seems morbid to plan our funeral because its an acknowledgement that we're going to die. And even though we know we're all going to die, to actually plan your funeral long before those last few hours on your death bed seems almost to be asking for it. Nevertheless, I think it an important thing to do and ever since her funeral, I've been wondering what my own funeral should be like, MANY, MANY, MANY YEARS FROM NOW. What I've discovered is that I want people to celebrate my death, the same way I've always wanted people to celebrate their life.

First of all, I want to be cremated and my ashes spread on some dusty trail in the middle of trees and forest or on top of a mountain with a gorgeous view. If I'm going back to nature, at least let me go back to some place nice.

Second of all, for my memorial service, I want my short story, "Blink" read. Its still my favorite story - and I think it sums up life perfectly.

Third of all, lots of music. I'm not particular enough to consider what I want right now. But I'm partial to a little Pink Floyd as pre-festivities music (to get people nice and mellow). I'd like two anthems performed by choirs - Lacrymosa from Mozart's Requiem (and tell those Basses to sing out!) and Where The Streets Have No Name from U2, done gospel style as they did on Rattle and Hum. As a benediction response, Don't Worry, Be Happy by Bobby McFerrin - but I'm not entirely sold on that one.

There should be a Dixieland band to perform after the service and good bold Christian readings and hymns during the service (I'm particularly fond of anything from Ecclesiastes). And, depending on how American I'm perceived at the time of my death, a Navy Blue Angels fly-over at the end of the service would be tres cool, followed by fireworks. Clowns and face painting for the kids and grandkids. And everyone should get something cool as a gift for coming - a bubble wand or a balloon or something.

A national holiday also wouldn't be a bad way to honor my life, but I really don't need a statue or a postage stamp, and absolutely no grave marker. Honor me as I lived, not as I died.

See, its easy. Once you get past your hang ups about actually thinking about your funeral, you'll find it rather enjoyable to talk about your plans.

Anyway, Mr. Morbid, signing off... ;)