See That Island Out There?

See That Island Out There?
(a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

Courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/circulating/2701670382/

One of the interesting things I recall from my childhood is a period when my Dad worked on a riverboat. Now, this may seem remarkable to you, and it is, but not so much as you might think. When you grow up on a river, it is not so uncommon to find work on it. 

The port of Paducah, Kentucky is a busy one.  Sitting at the confluence of the Ohio and Tennessee Rivers, the town, like so many river towns, owes it's very existence to these rivers.  Everything orients on the rivers.  People give directions saying things like, "Start at the foot of Broadway . . ." and "Drive to the flood wall and make a left onto First Street."   How many streets do you know that have a foot?  How many towns have a flood wall?  

I have a lot of fond memories centered on those rivers.  And one that still rankles a bit.

During the period Dad worked on the river, I have several memories of dropping him off at the spot on the river where the Hougland Barge Lines personnel came to begin their tour.  Dad worked "30 on, 30 off"; which meant, since we were little kids and Mom couldn't leave us at home, we were there once each month to either put Dad ON the boat or pick him up FROM the boat.

It was on one of these occasions that Dad pointed out across the river to what I later came to know was Owens Island, and said, "You see that Island out there?  That's the island Mark Twain had Huck and Jim hide out on."  From that moment on, it was an article of faith that Owens Island was the physical reality put to good use by Mr. Clemens in his classic novel.

I told people (many, many people) that tidbit for . . . oh, about a decade; told them so with confidence.  I did so regularly ... until that day my Senior Year, in the Paducah Tilghman High School Library, when my friend Bruce brought it all crashing down.

Bruce, upon hearing me state this juicy fact, took issue with me, insisting that not only was it NOT the island from Huckleberry Finn, but that it COULD NOT be that island.  Bruce was smart; and he was a Boy Scout, something for which I had great personal reverence since I flunked Cub Scouts.  So why I debated this with him for so long I can only ascribe to my faith in the words of my father.  I stubbornly clung to my belief

Gently, I now realize, Bruce led me to the Library where he spun the globe so we could look at the United States.  He pointed to a spot on that map and asked me what it was.  It was obviously the Mississippi River and I so stipulated.  Then he asked me what river did Mark Twain grow up on and eventually work on.  I readily admitted it was the very same river.  And then he asked me on which river Huck and Jim had all their adventures.  I was a little slower to answer that one, possibly, at least subconsciously, realizing where this was going.  But, eventually, I agreed that, too, was the Mississippi River.

Moving his finger slightly to the right, he located Paducah and asked the names of those two rivers.  Of course I knew their names as the Tennessee and the Ohio.  I then saw where this was going and I quickly pointed out that Owens Island could STILL be the island in the book because Huck and Jim traveled DOWN river as they fled.

That was when he administered the coup de grâce.  

Spinning the globe up so that we were looking directly down on the area including all three rivers, he pointed to where the two rivers which fronted our hometown ran a mile further SOUTH to join up with the Mississippi.  Suddenly I saw it.  There was never anything clearer.  Owens Island could not be the island from the book.  Huck and Jim floated DOWN the Mississippi, and could NEVER have come past Paducah.  I realized that Dad had not told me the truth.  

And that is the story of how I learned my father liked to tell tales.  He didn't mean anything bad by doing so.  It was all just a bit of fun to him, a way to exercise his imagination.  The problem, of course, is that until confronted he never let on.  A person could . . . *ahem* . . . remain ignorant of the truth for years . . . and years.

After that, I was no longer quite so naive about the things Dad told me.  I usually sought verification from other, more dependable, sources; Mama or Granny (who had seen right through Dad from the moment he first showed up to date Mama).  And, to be fair to Dad, I also learned to be a little skeptical about things in general; no longer just accepting EVERYTHING on face value, but applying a little scrutiny when anything seemed not quite right.  So, in the long run (the very long run), I concede the experience had a positive result.

It also explains why I completely understand the skepticism expressed by the sneering doubters (in the Acts 2 passage from this week's Lectionary readings) upon encountering the polyglottal cacophony at Pentecost.  They came to see what the fuss was all about and found a dozen men speaking what seemed, for the most part, to be gibberish.  It's no surprise to me they thought the speakers were drunk.  

Picture it: twelve people are speaking at the same time, each in a different language.  To the average hearer, only one of the men would be making sense, the one speaking THEIR language; the rest would be an oral jumble of non-intelligible sounds all piled on top of one another.

And here is the point: it's OK to be a bit skeptical in unusual situations.  If it is a REAL miracle, God will make it plain, just as He did in the Acts passage.  

Trust me.

###############################
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/

Day of Pentecost (May 27, 2012)
Acts 2:1-21 or Ezekiel 37:1-14
Psalm 104:24-34, 35b
Romans 8:22-27 or Acts 2:1-21
John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15

We're getting together Friday morning at 8:00 at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown on 6th, near the Courthouse).  If you're in Waco, join us for breakfast and discussions of the coming week's passages.   

We're not EXPECTING any flaming tongues, but Cholula Hot Sauce is available on request ;-)

Enjoy the week!
Steve

What You Wrote in My Yearbook

What You Wrote in My Yearbook
(Edited and transcribed by Steve Orr)

To those who shared time in "good ole' PTHS" with me, do you recognize yourself? Could you have really written that? Oh, yes, my friends. Here are your own words just as the appear in that beloved book that still sits on my shelf. Hard to believe that, after all these decades, I still enjoy taking it down and thumbing through the pages, seeing the way we were ... way back then.

Granted, not all of you, dear readers, wrote in MY yearbook. But you wrote in SOMEONE's yearbook, didn't you? There is something universal about the things we write in yearbooks. And even though these were written by the hands of those I called friend, those I idolized, those who taught me, and those with whom, sadly, I've lost contact, I bet some of YOUR words are here, too.

And if some of it reads a little strange, well . . . it WAS the '60s ;-)

INSIDE THE FRONT
"Well, I'm finally getting out, but I know our friendship will not end here. I'll always remember you and Algebra. Good luck as an upper class-man next year. Love and Lollipops, Lois T"

"I may not know my algebra, but you don't know your sports. So we can both learn from our friendship. Don H"

"Although I have only known you for a short time, we have become great friends; our friendship will last through many of our activities. Carl C"

"To a real great kind. Good luck always. Love Ya, Linda R"

"Good luck always. Remember me. Love, Martha"

"My love. My dearest darling. I will miss you so next year. My life will be so dull and miserable without you. Remember always as your One and Only. Gloria XXX"

"You're a great guy. Stay cool & uptight. Good luck & God bless. Danny"

"Now you can say a G.I. signed your annual. Good luck, Randy B"

"Bleache! Mike R"

"You're a great person -- someday I know I'll be able to say 'I knew [you]' -- Good luck in life and of course -- your writing! Luv Ya! Bettina"

"It's been a fun two years at PTHS -- only one more to go -- You're a real Doll & I hope I have a class with you again next year. Luck to you in the future & always! Love Ya, Sara"

"Sorry about that office! Good luck in all you do. See ya next year. Barbara H"

"It has been great. Take it easy and stay out of trouble! Be good! Be careful, then have fun! RJ"

"You are a great person! Best of luck always! Love Ya, Kay Loves Mike"

Tappercoom, Man has it been fun! Let's do it again! Skipps"

"My greatest critic! Remember, someday when I'm 'published' you can be my agent. Or really, you don't need to work -- you can sell the 'original copies' and live off the income! Won't that be great? I've enjoyed you so much and I'm glad you're my friend. You're quite a poet yourself -- stay that way! Always, Susan M"

PAGE ONE AND OPPOSING PAGE
"It's been a lot of fun working together in Thespians and I hope that next year we can make our plays the best ones yet. Good luck in everything. Love, Liz"

"Remember all the Chemistry antics. The crowded water fountain (Sink! ha!), your nerves, broken test tubes, etc. Good luck next year at good ole' PTHS. Love Ya, Donna C"

"Here's the 'snob' signing your annual! Actually, I'm not one at all. It's been a blast in Speech this year, but we're sure gonna miss all those 7-10 minute speeches! PTHS is gonna miss Mr. Miller, too. Good luck in all you do. Love Ya, June C"

"It's been a great year for 'playing' around. Hope you do a lot of that next year. Good luck. Debbie K"

PAGE 76
"It's been nice having you in class. See you around next year. That's nice, too! V.S."

PAGE 78
"To my former neighbor and former student. Keep in touch. Mrs. Rudolph"

PAGE 82
"Hello and how are you? Have YOU planted a tree, a shrub, or a bush? Once upon a blush -- We are at Frisch's. Remember? Barbara F"

"You've been a brick and I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. Best luck, J. C. Miller"

PAGE 94
"Best wishes to you. Sincerely yours, L. J. Bryant"

PAGE 100
"I certainly have loved knowing you this year -- you sure brightened up many dull Chemistry lab days. You're such a nice boy & I hope can stay that way always. Best of luck and I could never forget you! Love, Mollie"

PAGE 103
"What am I gonna say if you don't be QUIET! Now have a blast next Fall and don't work too hard. Congratulations on being a Rep. at Large -- Great!!! Love, Ann"

PAGE 104
"It has been a real pleasure knowing you and working with you, esp. in Thespians. Keep up the good work. Best wishes -- Juliette"

PAGE 107
"I'll always value our friendship as one of the finest, sincerest, and Bestist (ha ha) that ever was! Good luck always -- Keep the Thespians going. Love Ya, Leah Bear"

PAGE 122
"This year at PTHS has in many ways been great. English class for instance -- what about Algebra. Mrs. Smedley is one character we shall never forget in our lives. Good luck next year and have fun in all you do. ----- Susan S"

PAGE 137
"Good luck next year. God bless you in everything you attempt to do. Just promise to make next year your best and your last. Willa W"

PAGE 150
"Don H"

INSIDE THE BACK
"Let's face it. A Poet you ain't! No really, you're a great buddy & you will be a writer, maybe! Have fun next year. We'll both be the GRADUATE next year 'bout this time. Have fun in Stand! Mike R"

"To a very special friend who I'll never understand. Don't ask me why coz I don't know. Anyway, I never know what to say in these things so I'll just say Green lights, Blue skies and so long for now! Donna P. (P.S. Mike R don't know nuthin anyway!)

"This year has been fun. Fun? Well, anyway I'll never forget our swinging Chemistry class and 6th period Algebra. Good luck in the future. Love, Judy"

"One thing I can say about you is you are very unusual. Like playing drums on the biology cabinets and other associated things. But I guess you're still a good friend. Good luck next year. Holly"

"It's been great knowing you this year! You're a great guy! Never change! Good luck thru the future in everything you attempt! Love ya! Pam"

"From an old friend who adores your poetry. Keep it up. It's been great knowing you. Good luck. May you always be happy. Love ya, Judy J (P.S. Remember Thespians and remember me.)"

"A very nice guy. Good luck in all you do. Jerri M. (P.S. Be a good Thespian)"

"You are one of the best friends I have and I hope it's always that way. Remember all the great times we've had since 9th grade. Good luck in the future. Paula M"

"What could I have done without you this year? You've helped me a lot, spiritually and emotionally. Thanks for being my friend. Good luck always and may God be with you. Love, Judy"

Conditioning

Conditioning
(a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

I was never an athlete.

For many of you, this comes as no surprise. For the rest of you, believe me, it's the truth. And should someone try to tell you different, just tell them I said it was that OTHER guy with this last name; not me. In fact, it's not so much that I wasn't an athlete as that I was horrible at anything athletic.

The closest I came to team sports was one brief summer in Little League. That was a disaster; couldn't hit, couldn't run, couldn't pay attention . . . Best to draw the curtain on that right now. And my situation wasn't for lack of others trying. I had older cousins who, seemingly, could do just about anything. They tried to teach me how to hold the bat without choking up, how to run from base to base ("No! Not THAT way!"), how to catch, and how to slide. I actually got pretty good at sliding. But the rest of it just didn't take.

That left PE class . . . the dreaded Phys-Ed.

Starting with the 7th Grade, my fellow students and I spent a portion of every other school day participating in a 40 minute version of whatever sport was in season. In the fall, we played football in PE (never understood the rules, so I was always a Lineman). In the winter, we played basketball (couldn't move AND dribble, terrible shooter). On rainy days (for some reason), we played dodgeball (big and slow, easy target). And in the spring, we played baseball (see above) and/or track & field (still hate this).

All through this, we were subjected to a form of torture called "conditioning." And that is the part I hated the most: sit-ups, chin-ups, rope climbs, push-ups, and running the bleachers. Imitating sports wasn't so bad: you got knocked down, you got up, you got knocked down again; simple. Exercising just to exercise?! Madness.

Many of my friends from those years (all of us "back of the pack-ers"), would be shocked to see me now. As I write this, I am recovering from my second night this week at the gym ... with a trainer ... doing *gasp* conditioning! Odd as it seems, I now pay someone to lead me through many of the very activities I hated when I was in PE class all those years ago. Things DO change :-)

Why, you may ask, do I do this? Spend two, three nights per week at a gym? The short answer is this: there are things I want to do---improve my health, lose weight, shape up---and I need a trainer to ensure I reach my goals. When I read this week's Lectionary passages, I immediately saw a parallel between the the Luke and Acts passages and my times at the gym.

When I am working out, I am focused on the moment; but my trainer is thinking about all of it: where I've been; what I'm doing right then; how that activity, in concert with others the trainer has planned, moves me toward the objectives; and what's next. It's kind of like that for the Apostles in those passages. They are told to expect someone who will serve as teacher and guide, someone who will help them achieve the goals set before them. They didn't know what was coming. But they believed the one who told them a helper would come. And they acted from within that belief.

When I'm in the throws of the third set of repetitions, and flagging, it is the calm voice of my trainer that keeps me going: "You can do this. Just a bit more. Almost there." My trainer knows what I'm capable of; knows how much more I can bring to the task; knows how much more will be required of me before I can rest.

The Spirit is like that with us. When the going gets hard, we need to listen for that voice deep inside: "You can do this. Just a bit more. Almost there."

###############################
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/

Ascension of the Lord (May 17, 2012)
Acts 1:1-11
Psalm 47 or Psalm 93
Ephesians 1:15-23
Luke 24:44-53

We're getting together Friday morning at 8:00 at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown on 6th, near the Courthouse). If you're in Waco, join us for breakfast and discussions of the coming week's passages.

No sit-ups required :-)

Enjoy the week!
Steve

My Treasures

My Treasures
By Steve Orr

"My treasures do not ching together or glitter. They gleam in the sun, and neigh in the night." Arabian proverb

I never owned a horse. Which, in all probability, is a good thing. While I had pets (well ... dogs) as a child, I was never that kid who begged his parents for a pet, promising to feed and care for it. Don't get me wrong, I loved my dogs. We got along well. And they knew I was the soft touch of the family. I have a lot of stories about my dogs (like the one where my dachshund slept under the covers of my bed in the winter, keeping my feet warm in a bedroom that had no heat), but they will have to wait for another time. This piece is not about dogs. It's about horses.

So, even though I never owned one, growing up in Kentucky, I was raised with a deep appreciation of horses. Frankly, it was almost unavoidable. Countless times I walked the eight long blocks to the fairgrounds to watch the trotters and their sulkies somehow simultaneously careen and float around that dirt track. All across the counties of West Kentucky, horses could constantly be seen serving on working farms. And it was a rare month when the Junkman didn't ply the alleyway behind our house with his great horse-drawn wagon. Horses were everywhere.

I think I know where my appreciation for horses began. And, of course, it was because of a girl. My first crush (and more, to be honest) was on a girl who lived across 21st Street and around the corner on Harrison. I still remember the first time I saw her; first grade, Andrew Jackson Elementary School; massive smit-down. That crush (or whatever it really was) lasted for many years, long past the point where either of us could have done anything about it. But that, too, is a story for another time. Today is about horses.

It was pretty difficult to not know she loved horses. She wore horse jewelry. Instead of a poodle skirt, hers had a horse on it. The first time I visited her house, I saw she had a model horse on a shelf in her room; it served as one of the book ends for several fiction books involving horses. Because of my feelings for her, I decided to get interested in horses.

The fiscal realities being what they were, neither of us was going to have an actual horse, but we could both enjoy fictional horses. And that's how I came to read Walter Farley's Black Stallion novels, along with other equestrian stories and at least one non-fiction book about Man-O-War. Long before I ever read Stephen King's phrase "fall through the hole in the page," I was doing it. When young Alec Ramsay held on for dear life as the Black raced across desert sands, I was there, clinging to that great back, thrilling to the danger and to the stunning power of the Black Stallion. I loved that fictional world of horses. I heartily recommend those books to you parents for your children . . . and you can sneak a read, too :-)

A wise person once said, "The difference between theory and reality is this: in theory, they're the same; in reality, they're not." In fiction, that girl and I would have ended up spending our lives together, and horses would almost certainly been a part of it. But the reality is that our lives took different paths. I moved to Texas and started a new life. I met the real girl of my dreams, got married, became a father, father-in-law, grandfather.

The reality of horses is not the same, either. Actual horses must be fed, and housed, and cleaned, and cleaned up after (there's a reason one of the labors of Hercules was mucking out the stables). If they are a show horse or a race horse, they have to be exercised. They have to see the vet from time to time; there can be sizable health-related expenses. And, of course, horses are bred.

And here, I believe, is the really dangerous part. A foal, one who is sweet and gentle, can win your heart from one beat to the next. And if, as one of my Texas friends did, you decide, based on that sweet and gentle foal, to keep breeding "babies," there is no going back. Not for your heart. You're in. All they way in.

And so today I write about my Texas friend who did that; who, after getting that first sweet foal in May of 1989, decided along with her sister to breed and raise horses. It has not always been an easy road for them. In fact, it has often been very hard, indeed. And today will be one of the hardest. Today, after almost 23 years of love given and love returned, they lost that first foal.

Sometimes I hear people say something like, "Well, of course it is sad, but it's not the same as losing a person." I guess I would have to admit some intellectual reality to the statement. But our hearts don't usually follow our intellect, do they? Really, how can half a love be any kind of love at all? We love our animals. And it is not unusual at all for us to grieve when they're gone. They lived in our hearts, after all.

Bryn Dar Farm's first foal is gone.
Rest in peace, Dyfan (May 14, 1989 - April 16, 2012)

"My treasures do not ching together or glitter. They gleam in the sun, and neigh in the night."

King's X?

King's X?
(a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

Think back to your childhood a moment.  That's further back for some of us than for others, so I'll give you some time here ;-)

Do you remember the games you played ("98, 99, 100.  Ready or not, here I come!"), the chants to which you skipped rope ("Down in the valley where the green grass grows ..."), the phrases you called out ("Ollie, Ollie in-come free!").  And do you remember all the "magic" phrases that everyone just seemed to accept as having authority and that ruled our interactions with one another ("Tag!  You're it!"). 

When we were kids we said a lot of things and in a lot of ways that had meaning to us, then, but, which have not always found their way into our adult communications.  We had elaborate languages, games, and conducts that made perfect sense to us ... then.  Many of these were puzzling to our parents and other adults who crossed through our wonder years.  I think they were puzzling partly because while some things travel through time ("Ring around the Rosie, pocket full of posies"), each generation has some things that are unique.  Some of it was just not recognizable to adults because it was particular to us.  Still, I think the bigger problem was that adults forget.  As we age, we find that those raw honesties of childhood are not welcome among our peers.  And so, we adults let them go.

But some of those terms and phrases hang on; things like "no tag backs" and "King's X."  As adults we recall the power these had during our childhood, while also recognizing that few adult situations will bend to their authority.  There was a time, though, when calling out "no tag backs" could ward off pulling double duty as "it" and when yelling "King's X!" could bring any game or activity to a complete halt.

We yelled "King's X" when something unanticipated arose, a game-changer if you will.  This could be something as simple as a bee flying onto the field.  Or, it could be a far more complex situation, such as when some of us realized some others of us were playing by different rules.  We stopped whatever we were doing until everyone could agree that it was OK to continue with the game; until the "norm" was either restored or reset.

It is this time of year, when we are focused on crucifixions and resurrections, that the phrase "King's X" always come to my mind.  I recall that verse in 1st Corinthians: "No, the wisdom we speak of is the mystery of God—his plan that was previously hidden, even though he made it for our ultimate glory before the world began.  But the rulers of this world have not understood it; if they had, they would not have crucified our glorious Lord." (1 Corinthians 2:7, 8 NLT).

I can't help but think those "rulers of this world" wished they could have yelled out "King's X!" when it finally began to sink in what all their evil machinations had ACTUALLY produced.  Their "Game of Graves" had been turned upside down.  What they intended for evil, God intended for eternal good.  Not only did they not see it coming, they facilitated it!

So, no.  No "King's X."  And, just in case it didn't come clear to them when Jesus rose from the grave, "No do-overs!"

###############################
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/

Acts 10:34-43 or Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
1 Corinthians 15:1-11
John 20:1-18 or Mark 16:1-8

Psalm 114
1 Corinthians 5:6b-8 
Luke 24:13-49

We're getting together for breakfast Friday morning at 8:00 at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown Waco on 6th, near the Courthouse).  Join us!  It's a feast for body and soul.

Enjoy the week!
Steve

The Lamb Thief

The first time I heard Keith Green sing, he was already dead.  

I was driving down the street, listening to the radio.  I didn't know he was dead, so that didn't influence my opinion of his performance.  Maybe if I had known I might have cut him some slack.  As it was, what I heard didn't impress me.  I didn't know he had been somewhat controversial, and I didn't know that he had written, co-written, and performed many best selling songs.  All I knew at the time was what I heard on the radio that day, and, as I later learned, it was not a song for which he was especially well known.

The piano accompaniment which Green was playing was slow, laconic, almost wandering; just about the exact opposite of the usual pieces I heard on the radio.  There was no driving back beat from a bass guitar, no drums to draw the singer back to the appropriate pace.  His voice was, well, not exceptional in any way.  He just sounded like a guy singing.  I found myself wondering just why this piece had made it to the radio, at all.

And then, there were the words.  They didn't rhyme, which was very odd; in fact, there appeared to be no attempt to come up with a rhyming pattern of any kind; not even words that didn't rhyme but almost did.  It moved so slowly, it sounded like he was almost reading something to music.  At that point, I was reaching for the controls to change the station.

But then, I REALLY heard the words.  And I stopped; my hand hovering over the controls.

"Create in me a clean heart, oh God
And renew a right spirit within me.
Cast me not away from thy presence, oh Lord
Take not thy Holy Spirit from me.
Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation,
And renew a right spirit within me."

THAT struck a nerve.  I had that feeling I had heard something like that before.  I know this is cliche, but it's true: I pulled my car over to the side of the road and listened to the rest of the song.  And when it was over, I pulled out my Bible and started searching.  By then, I was certain the man had been singing scripture, and almost verbatim.  I was used to songs ABOUT things in the Bible, but this--this singing verses without forcing them into some kind of rhyme--this was something a bit new to me.

And I found it.  In Psalms 51.  And I knew why it seemed so familiar.  David wrote this song after Nathan, God's Prophet, told him a story.  In the story, a man--a rich man; one with plenty of everything; power, wealth, accolades--stole, slaughtered, and ATE a poor man's only lamb rather than one of his own many lambs.  Scripture says David burned with anger against the man and said to Nathan, "As surely as the Lord lives, the man who did this must die!" (2 Samuel 12:5 NIV).

Then Nathan, who already knew that David had secretly had sex with Bathsheba and arranged for her husband to be killed in battle, turned on David and declared, "YOU are the man!"

Ever have one of those moments?  That awful slice of time when it is shoved in your face that what you have done is not only wrong (really, REALLY wrong), but KNOWN!  It was a shocking wake-up for King David.  And it made an impact.

David, finally remorseful for his actions, feels the full force of being cut off from God by his sin.  And he writes what we now call Psalm 51 to express his remorse and desire to be forgiven.

You may have done some terrible things in your life.  David certainly did.  Don't let those decisions and actions keep you from God.  I encourage you to embrace the words of Psalm 51 as your prayer of forgiveness and reconciliation.  Yes, there are always consequences for our actions, and our bad actions can come with some pretty horrific consequences.  David's did.  

I was ungracious during that first minute of listening to Keith Green sing his song.  But by the end I began to grasp what he undoubted already knew.  With that particular song, the words are far too important to let them be overshadowed by anything, even the music.  Even the performer.  What I learned is this: if I am willing to change, God is willing to forgive, to restore and renew, and even create in me a clean heart.


###############################
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/

Fifth Sunday in Lent (March 25, 2012)
Jeremiah 31:31-34
Psalm 51:1-12 or Psalm 119:9-16
Hebrews 5:5-10
John 12:20-33

Annunciation of the Lord (March 25, 2012)
Isaiah 7:10-14
Psalm 45 or Psalm 40:5-10
Hebrews 10:4-10
Luke 1:26-38

Will you be in Waco Friday morning?  If so, join us for breakfast at 8:00 at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown on 6th, near the Courthouse).  We have a great time discussing the coming week's passages, and the food is delicious :-)

Enjoy the week!
Steve

Training Wheels

Training Wheels
(a brief Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

My first bike, a Sears 26-inch JC Higgins, was so much bigger than me, I had to bring it to the end of our walkway (which was a full twelve inches above the sidewalk) in order to get on it. But, once on it, I could not keep it upright. That didn't keep me from trying, but I fell ... a lot. In fact, every single time I pedaled a couple of turns, I started to tumble. This kept me close to home. That way I could always tumble unto our slightly raised lawn.

Into this problem stepped my Dad. One Saturday, he called me to come out front to show me that he had installed training wheels on my bike. This was great! I still had to climb on at the end of the walkway, but this time the bike stayed upright. My Dad gave me only one rule: whenever I got off the bike, I had to use the kickstand. He said that would keep the training wheels from wearing out (he intended to use them for my sister at some point). For the first few minutes, I just sat there, luxuriating in the realization that I was not going to topple over.

And then I took off.

I rode all over the neighborhood on that bike, for days and then weeks, I soared, my confidence placed firmly in those training wheels to keep me aloft. Oh, I still had some dismount problems due to that center bar, but on the whole it was the freedom I had dreamed of. This was more than happiness. This was joy.

One morning, after having come back from a ride, I carefully climbed off the bike, hooked the kickstand down with my sneaker, and turned to find my Dad standing in my path.

He said, "How was the ride?"

"Great!" I replied.

"So," he asked, "no problems riding without the training wheels?"

I whipped around and saw, to my horror, that there were no training wheels on my bike! I was almost overcome with the shock of realizing that I could have fallen.

"You took off the training wheels!" I accused.

"A week ago," he replied.

I had been riding without them for a week! But that was not all. Dad had never intended for me to rely on those training wheels. Like Stephen Covey was to articulate decades later, Dad "began with the end in mind." Every two or three days, he raised those training wheels ever so slightly, until, at some point, they never touched the ground while I rode the bike. And, because he had insisted I always use the kickstand, I never noticed that the bike could no longer stand on its own.

It is like this with God and us. God began a work within each of us "with the end in mind." God knows we have to make the journey, that we will encounter things we, initially, just cannot do without assistance; and we get that assistance. But the objective is that we outgrow that help; that, in fact, we grow to the point where, not only do we not need help with that challenge, but we become so skilled at it, we become someone else's assistance.

So, when you read Ephesians 2:10 and find that, long ago, God prepared good deeds for each of us to do; that God crafted a group of positive actions specific to you, for you to do; don't be surprised. Be encouraged: God thinks you're ready.

And be curious. Start looking for them. Someone needs their training wheels.

################################
READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Fourth Sunday in Lent (March 18, 2012)
Numbers 21:4-9
Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22
Ephesians 2:1-10
John 3:14-21

http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/

If you are in Waco Friday morning, join us for breakfast at 8:00 at Cafe Cappuccino (downtown on 6th, near the Courthouse). Good food and good discussion. I am so excited to be going!

Enjoy the week!

Steve