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Tales From The Dog House - 5/10/2005 10:44:24 AM
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is5512
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From: stuck out here in paradise
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"Because all the good names were already taken," to answer the obvious question. For a brief but rich (good and bad) season in my life, I drove an 18-wheeler. I needed a catchy, clever, knock-'em-dead c-b handle. What I used instead was Dog House. One of the things that maybe needs to change is that I look back an awful lot. That name reminded me that I once was really something. Before I drove, I played a little electric bass. The old uprights used to be called dog houses. I eventuall learned that the sleeper on a semi is also called a dog house. That's great because now I generally look back and say, "Wow, I used to be a truck driver."
And by the way, the best title for a collection of work has also been taken. My vote goes to country artist Doug Supernaw's album Deep Thoughts From A Shallow Mind.
So here are some of the places I've been. But, I have to tip my hat to one of my all-time heroes: Gordon Baxter. From 1971 to 1998 Flying Magazine ran his material in the column Bax Seat. I think it was one of his editors that said something like, "At its best, his work is like the richly flavored, deep blue smoke wafting out of the bowl of your favorite pipe. But it only happens when he isn't paying attention." Thanks, Bax.
And thank you, Ray, for listening to the voice.
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RE: Tales From The Dog House - 5/10/2005 11:05:37 AM
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is5512
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Leaning
The cockpit of a Cessna 152 is a close fit for two normal people. The FAA defines "normal" as 170-pounds. I was (am) more "prosperous looking," and Steve wasn't far behind. We'd open the doors after a flight, and you'd hear a "Thwock." Steve Kellett was the Chief (and only) Instructor, Chief (and only) Mechanic, and Fixed Base Operator at the Bamberg, South Carolina, Airport. A 152 is also a noisy classroom; the dialogue that follows was shouted.
"We're touching at the wrong times."
"Whaddya mean, Steve?"
"I noticed it earlier, so I've been watching you. You don't trust the airplane, do you? You're leaning to stay upright. Gimme the plane."
"You got it," I confirmed, hands and feet off the controls, while Steve took over from the right seat. (The student is on the left side, the Pilot In Command seat.)
"I'm going to turn hard right. When I do, you lean as far to the right as you can," and he threw the little Cessna into a harder turn than I'd ever dream of trying.
"How'd you like it?"
"I hated it."
"Good. Same thing to the left, and you lean hard left." Once again the world went sideways.
"Now do it the way you've BEEN doing it. I'll go hard right; you lean left and try to stay upright relative to the ground."
My scream was muffled by a face-full of glass from the window next to me.
"Same thing to the left. You lean right."
This time he heard the scream because I leaned right into his ear. He very nearly got my lunch in his ear as well.
"I got it! I got it! Always lean in the direction of the turn!"
"Don't lean at all! Relax! Trust the airplane!"
From that day forward, flying was a lot easier. I handled the craft better, and I wasn't all tensed up at the end of a flight. And I never had to have that lesson repeated...in the air, anyway.
I have a gentle, loving compassionate Heavenly Father Who has sent an awesome Teacher to live in me. But , word to the wise: If you ever hear a voice from heaven say, "You don't trust Me, do you?," pray it happens on an empty stomach
"Trust in the Lord with all of your heart, and lean not on your own understanding." Proverbs 3:5 NKJV
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RE: Tales From The Dog House - 5/10/2005 11:27:12 AM
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is5512
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And the Pastor's wife wore fatigues
I had to send along a snapshot of the Sunday morning service. Pastor Cindy sought and got permission to deliver the message on Mother's Day. As she'd promised, she wore combat fatigues.
A word about Pastor Cindy: She flows freely in the Prophetic. These are people on my Don't Mess With list. God will normally not send a Prophet into your life to exchange brownie recipes with you. Now, they can be thoughtful, considerate people. She told me that, during my first visit to the church, she initially resisted the Holy Spirit's direction to stop the service, call me out, and open my mail. But, Prophets are obedient.
Nearing the conclusion of the service, she called forward all the mothers in attendance, and lined them up for individual prayer. I grinned. All these ladies lined up, with the diminutive Pastor's wife in camoflage fatigues praying for, exhorting, and laying hands on each. It was the Boot Camp scene from Full Metal Jacket. Lee Ermey would've hidden in terror. Pastor Cindy stopped before one of the taller ladies, apparently having just recieved a Word, looked up at her, and while shaking a finger under her nose, proclaimed, "YOU'RE going to have to keep reminding yourself that No Weapon Formed Against You Shall Proser!!!"
There was one part of the service that caused me to wince. She mentioned that, while shopping at the Army surplus store for her costume, she grew quite enthusiastic about the clothing and accessories. She turned to her husband and said, "Honey, this makes me want to join the Army." Her husband, my Pastor, the one I turn to for correction and counsel and wisdom, replied, "No. You're too old."
After the service, I approached him on this. "You told her what?" With a look of total innocence, he replied, "It's the truth. You and I were both in the Army. You know that." Another lesson learned. Totally honest and guileless men become Bishops. "Smart" and cautious men become three-time ex-husbands.
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RE: Tales From The Dog House - 5/11/2005 7:11:22 PM
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is5512
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Grandma's Tears
What makes you special? What makes your contribution so special that, no matter how badly you may botch things up, it's still greatly anticipated and needed?
I'll be honest enough to let you know that a friend and I are feuding over just that issue right now. Unless we put a stop to this, we'll soon be quoting scripture at each other.
I love the story Jeff Smith, The Frugal Gourmet, told about his grandmother. He would try with all his ability and dilligence to duplicate Grandma's recipes. He was a very skilled man in the kitchen, but he never was able to get things to taste quite "right." Finally, he watched. Grandma, while cooking, would tip at the "happy juice." The more she cooked, the more she tipped. And, being Scandinavian, the more depressed she got until finally, she was weeping into her cooking. What made her recipes so special? Grandma's tears.
Anybody can do the mechanical things you do day in and day out. There's a statistical certainty that somebody is doing it better than you are. But nobody else can put your tears into the recipe.
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Afraid Of Yes - 5/15/2005 2:29:14 AM
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is5512
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Less than two hours ago, I had to make an uncomfortable confession to a Friend With Rights.
I'd better define that. An F-W-R is more than someone you treasure as a friend and bless God for bringing into your life. An F-W-R is someone you have given permission to open up your heart and do surgery...with kitchen utensils, if need be.
I confessed that there was a certain issue in my life that I had deliberately not brought before God. It was because I was afraid to hear the word, "No." Upon further review, I was only half right.
There are good-hearted people who believe that God loves and cares for us...at a distance. There are others who end their prayers and petitions with the words, "If it be Your Will." Jesus certainly taught us to pray that way. But, I admit to you that I am afraid of the word, "Yes."
It is easy for me to say, "God, I am a wretched sinner unworthy of your love." It is far tougher for me to be willing to hear, "It's o-k. I'll fix it. I'm giving you a second chance...twentieth chance...two hundredth chance." I'm more afraid of Yes than No.
Oh! You'll love this: After the painful admission, I wanted to disappear quickly and quietly...but couldn't since I had to ask F-W-R to help me jump-start my car because my battery was dead. God throws a beautiful curve-ball.
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Breathe - 5/15/2005 9:49:33 AM
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is5512
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"Hey, buddy. Can I pray for you?"
"Yeah. O-k."
These days, if somebody tells me the Lord has put it on their heart to pray for me, I'll go diving over pews to get to them because I know what's waiting for me. But that Sunday morning, neutral acceptance was a major step for me.
I'd been through a lot. Getting me to a church at all had required weeks of stubborn, loving persistance by the drummer in the band. To be even minimally effective, a bassist and drummer have to lock in like (as the Dan Fogelberg - Tim Weissberg album title suggests) "Twin Sons of Different Mothers." So I gave in and went to church. This was not a church where one could hide in the shadows. The Pastor did not administer the Elements at the Communion Table. The congregants served and prayed over each other. If you were not prepared to be completely transparent and ready for real spiritual intimacy, you were in the wrong church. And for months, I had declined Communion. So, "yeah, o-k" was me agreeing to jump off a cliff. But, I had no idea how big a cliff.
Mike and I sat next to each other. He took a deep breath. He never got the first word out. BAM!!! I started talking, and I couldn't stop. I prayed. I praised. I prophesied. I blessed. As Mark Lowry puts it, I started at Genesis and made it all the way to the maps without stopping.
When it was over, "Mike, what just happened?"
"I dunno."
I had just been taught an important lesson: You breathe in. You breathe out. Try to live your life doing only one or the other, and your face will eventually turn real purty colors.
I was at the place for healing. All those people were pouring into my life, and I took it all in. And all the while, I was starting to change color. I breathed out that Sunday morning, and I've been doing it pretty regular ever since. And when I run into a prolonged time of trouble in my life, "failure to inhale and exhale" is generally the problem.
I'll take it a step further. Ask a Pastor if he thinks you've been called to the ministry, and he'll likely tell you, "If you can even remotely see yourself doing something else, you haven't been called. Do the 'something else' instead." I would add: "Your true calling is what you could stop yourself from doing as easily as you could stop yourself from breathing."
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The Broken Road - 5/23/2005 2:15:35 PM
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is5512
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Ten more lousy feet. If I could re-write history, I would have allowed ten more feet between me and the S-U-V in front of me Friday afternoon. I'll make the two hour drive to pick up the accident report tomorrow.
But why stop there? As long as I'm doing a re-write, maybe I wouldn't have at that precise moment been thinking of Mary Chapin Carpenter's "Something Of A Dreamer." Maybe I would have made choices other than the ones that led me to be in that town at all that day...the ones that led to the Court telling me I could visit my son every other weekend. And maybe I would have avoided the relationships before that one as well.
Maybe I wouldn't have embarked on my chosen career(s). I tell anyone who will listen that, if I knew then what I know now, I would have gone straight out of high school into the Music Education program at Oral Roberts University. Right now I could be in a classroom, and leading worship on the side.
Or maybe I should be singing along with the Marcus Hummon song, "God Bless The Broken Road..." that led me to right-here-right-now.
Will you forgive me if I don't answer right away?
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The Wall - 5/27/2005 7:27:21 PM
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is5512
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Once upon a time, there were two magnificent mansions set in the gently rolling countryside. Separating these two proud estates was an exquisitely crafted stone wall. It was sturdy enough and low enough and wide enough to lean on. The owners of the two estates, being friends, found it was a perfect place to meet and share a cup of morning coffee...perhaps some lemonade and stories in the cool of the evening.
One evening, the two decided to pool their resources in a grand joint venture. The first thing that had to go was the wall. In their rush to consummate the new venture, they attacked the wall with happy ferver until all that was left was a pile of rubble. "So much the better!" they exclaimed. "We're together in this, and there's no need for separation between our two estates."
As the days progressed and despite their best efforts, they found the joint venture would be impossible to carry out. They ended the enterprise with no hard feelings. The had begun as friends, and vowed to continue the same way.
But the wall was gone. That place where they had spent so many happy hours just talking and daydreaming was now a pile of rubble. Not fit to lean upon or to share a bite to eat. Just a long line of haphazardly strewn rocks marking an ugly line between two fine estates.
Realizing they no longer had a place to meet, and not realizing that with time and care the wall could be rebuilt, the two owners retreated to their homes and never spoke again.
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Lessons From Captain Luke - 6/5/2005 4:23:13 AM
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is5512
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If you'll re-read posts 2 (Leaning), 6 (Breathe) and 8 (The Things...), this may make more sense...
I have taken some very hard blows this weekend. Hard enough that I have asked our CrossWalk Prayer Warriors for help. But, I just received some encouragement from Captain Luke Skywatcher.
Just under ten years ago, I did traffic reports over Columbia, South Carolina, as Captain Luke. Afternoon reports during the winter holidays were my favorites. Smooth air and a bird's eye view of Christmas decorations made it a special time. Summer afternoons, though, were rough.
Eagle 1, a Cessna 152, flew at 1500-feet. Nasty thunderstorms, youthfully exhuberant (read that: "crazy") pilots, and teeth-shaking turbulence from heat rising off city streets in 100-degree-plus weather can leave a fella shaken. So, What Would Captain Luke Do? He took lamaze lessons.
The pilots I flew with wanted to see who could make Captain Luke airsick. Believe me, they tried. They never got me. I found that the breathing exercises that help in childbirth also fend off airsickness.
So, some lessons from Captain Luke Skywatcher, filtered through DogHouse, and needed by Jacob this weekend...and perhaps someday needed by a friend of yours. When it's stormy, when you're being shaken, or when you're being tested: First, trust the bird. It's designed to fly, not fall.
Second, breathe.
The third lesson would be: Remember What's At The End Of The Rainbow. You see, I flew into one once. But, I'll save that story for another day.
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The Basics - 6/10/2005 1:35:37 PM
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is5512
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One afternoon in the spring of 1971, I hopped a bus from dear old South Side High and rode it to the campus of the Indiana Institute of Technology. I went to the manager of the campus radio station and told him I'd work there for free. I just wanted to be around "radio."
Apparently even then I was a lousy communicator. I just wanted to empty trash cans. He set me up in a studio for an audition, then walked away for a few minutes. I panicked and ran out. It took me a year to get up the courage to come back. When I came back, I stayed. Richard Bach defines a "professional" as, "An amateur who is too stupid to quit." I didn't leave radio for good until March of 2002.
People say that radio has to be in your blood. For me, it never was. My earliest memories were of throwing an l-p on the old planetary-drive turntables (back-cued two-thirds of a turn!), then running down the halls of the dorms to see if anybody was listening.
I got distracted over the years, and eventually caught up in the complete stupidity that is radio broadcasting. And, Oh My!, has Christian Radio ever been "conformed to the world" in that respect.
I eventually realized that the greatest thrill of all for me was to be able to find a treasure, open the mike, and say, "Hey! I've just found something wonderful! You've gotta hear this!"
That, for me, is The Basics.
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And In This Corner... - 6/16/2005 1:49:03 PM
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is5512
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I hold certain beliefs that, while not outside CrossWalk's accepted policies, are unpopular, if not held in contempt by some. I'm generally silent about them so as not to interfere with my many on-line friendships. But, I'm forcing one of them out into the open today; my deep apologies if this offends. The issue is, "Demanding of God."
I cringe when I hear the words, "What will be will be." I don't like the implication that maybe God will honor His promises, maybe He won't, and that it's not up to the creature to demand anything of the Creator. But, I confess that sometimes my prayers are wimpy. If I get blessed, o-k; if not, that's o-k, too. Today, I'm going to demand of the Creator, and I seriously doubt that the issue will be settled soon.
In Genesis 32, my namesake said the same thing. "I want something. I'm not letting go until You give it to me. And if I walk with a limp for the rest of my life, that's just too bad. But I am only offering You two choices: Bless me or kill me."
Now let's find out in the coming weeks and years if I'm only capable of talking the talk.
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The Voice From Egypt - 6/24/2005 11:38:29 AM
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is5512
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A few nights ago, I heard a voice in the dark. I was checking my posts here, and Young Sparkazoid was learning how to operate the TV/VCR, DVD player, cassette deck and clock radio simultaneously. He learned the next day that pouring orange juice from a sippy cup into a clock radio made the radio stop working. Kid's got smarts, don't he? He's not even 2. I was in my 20's before I learned to not pour orange juice into clock radios. Back to the thread...
I knew that voice. He was discussing Really Important Stuff: examining one of the incarnations of the Doobie Brothers. The last time I'd heard him was 17-years ago. I had sent him out to do a live broadcast from a small town that had just upgraded it's only traffic light from a "flashing-yellow" to a full-out, no-holds-barred "green-yellow-red." He'd covered the story the same way he'd have covered the Last Arrival of the Hindenburg. Oh, the Humanity!!!
I related to a friend the sadness I'd felt on hearing that voice. Dear Friend was dumbfounded, and I detected hints I was being chastised for pridefulness. "After all that's happened to you in the past year, you feel Sorry for a guy who is working at a job that he loves??? I don't underStand You!"
But, a few p-m's and e-mails confirmed what I knew when I heard his voice. In the intervening 17-years, he'd held half as many jobs, had a dozen or so U-Haul receipts, had two daughters Down South he rarely got a chance to see. His last e-mail contained the words, "I should have become a bricklayer."
I left Egypt, and have been wandering for years. He stayed. In the coming days, he'll want to suggest I go back. In the coming days, I'll want to suggest he leave.
<sigh> Where is Wisdom when I need it?
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I-M fragments - 6/24/2005 12:31:27 PM
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is5512
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To whomever this is for: What follow are fragments from an I-M conversation. No lipstick or eye shadow were applied. It was prompted by a thread I posted elsewhere...actually else-here:
http://forums.crosswalk.com/They_Call_This_Thread_%22Pariah%22/m_217379/tm.htm
"...i dunno who this is for. tell me if this strikes a chord with you. probably not, but something like: "there are those we reject, and push away...if you were lying bleeding on the road, would it matter to you who helped you? would you push away someone trying to help you? what would it take? would you have to be hurt badly enough? would you have to be ignored and bypassed by those you thought were Your Own People? what if someone you thought was Certainly Going To Hell was the only one who took compassion on you? who bound your wounds. who annointed you with oil. who gave all he had to give you a place of rest. who promised to come back later to make Sure you were healing..."
just fragments. <ends>"
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Rainbows - 7/9/2005 1:41:14 PM
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is5512
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From: stuck out here in paradise
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I saw what was at the end of the rainbow. Literally. And for the benefit of the "dot the I's and cross the T's" crowd, I'm *certain" we were within the VFR "1,000 and 3" rule.
It was kind of a boring morning. Rush hour traffic was uneventful, and even the corporate pilots out of the downtown airport were leaving us alone. We were basically killing time until we had to go back to the barn when we spotted the rainbow.
"Wanna bust it?" "Sure."
We never did think we could actually fly into a rainbow, much less catch it. I guess we figured the closer we got to it, the farther it would move away from us.
We learned that there are different rules in the air than on the ground. The rainbow let us catch it. We aimed for the area of brightest color and flew into it.
At the risk of getting carb-junkies excited, it was like flying into a donut. In front of us and behind us was just sky. But above, below and to our sides was the rainbow.
Maybe that day I didn't, "put out my hand and touch the face of God." But, it was nice being held aloft by His rainbow.
By the way, the next time I flew commercial, the plane happened to fly between the sun and a cloud. I looked down and saw the shadow of the plane on the cloud. I'll give you three guesses what I saw encircling the shadow...
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Getting To Know You - 7/11/2005 7:44:06 PM
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is5512
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Would you let yourself become attracted to someone through their writings alone? There are an awful lot of good reasons not to.
Non-verbal communication counts for so much. It doesn't show up in writing. Even if this person said nice things, you couldn't trust what he said. You'd have to see him with your own eyes. Nor could you trust what just his friends said about him. You'd have to get other opinions, wouldn't you? Especially if he hung around less than respectable friends.
What if this person occasionally displayed what some would call an out-of-control temper? You'd want to stay out of a disfunctional relationship like that. I mean, this person might have had brushes with the law. For all you know, the authorities were keeping a close eye on him. He certainly wouldn't tell you these things when he wrote, would he?
What if the things he said were just plain wierd? The times he did answer a question directly, it would be with an illogical and often outlandish response. Generally, though, he'd talk in circles and only eventually come to the point. Maybe.
To be honest, if you fell for someone strictly through their writing, it's probably just puppy-love. A sign of immaturity. He said a few things; your mind took over and filled in the blanks.
I guess I'm guilty of that. I am in such a relationship now...with a person I've never seen. All I've really got is His promise that He's coming back. He did leave me a gift, though. "Another Comforter" is what He called it...
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High Flight - 7/14/2005 12:17:57 PM
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is5512
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There are some works that just "get to me." The "Forgiven" painting. The African Suite by Neil Diamond. Isaiah 55:12. Sometimes even thinking about 'em "clouds me up."
In post #18 Rainbows, I made reference to another piece that gets me going. "Put out my hand and touched the face of God." The closing words of High Flight. An appropriate epitath for it's author, John Gillespie Magee, Jr. The same thing I and countless others (including President Reagan) used as a tribute that awful afternoon Challenger made her final flight.
Special thanks to the kind, hardworking and nameless Moderator (PS103, but don't tell anybody) who helped me share this with you.
http://www.wvi.com/~sr71webmaster/highfl~1.htm
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The Puzzle - 7/19/2005 1:26:17 AM
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is5512
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Ever do a jig-saw puzzle? 500, maybe 1,000-pieces scattered over a dining room table. Theoretically there's a complete picture in there somewhere. Or maybe your suspicions are true: That the people at the puzzle factory threw a bunch of non-related parts together in a box, and they're laughing at the thought of us going nuts trying to figure it out. Or maybe it started out as one picture, but they dropped a few pieces on the floor and only put in 995...and then broke a few to make an even thousand.
My closest friend just told me that I wasn't alone. That I wasn't the only one who got frustrated with his life and worried that only a handful of pieces here and there came together with each other. That the clusters of completed pieces didn't seem to connect with each other. That even in the Bible, all those people I always assumed "had it together" in truth lived jig-saw puzzle lives, and it was only at the conclusion of those lives that the picture made sense. And now that I think of it, Hebrew 11:13 suggests that some of those lives ended without the picture seeming complete. It was their faith that gave them the vision of a completion that would come.
Several of the pieces of my life have been broken. Some shattered. Some things that started out pure have been stained. Does that make me useless? As a mirror of God, yes.
But, in my church, if you look behind and above the altar, there's a stained glass window. It's got Jesus in the center. And when the light hits it just right...
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Crying At Weddings - 7/21/2005 3:42:07 PM
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