Synthesizing real life and real faith.

Podcasts For The Road

It's been a long week, and there is much to do yet before I leave for Kentucky on Wednesday morning. One of those things is to download sermon podcasts to listen to along the way.

I'm nearly done downloading all of John Piper's series to date on the Gospel of John. I'd like to grab some more Mark Driscoll, as well, and maybe some Timothy Keller, just to have a bit of variety. We'll see what time permits.

Going by myself this time, to see Mom and Dad especially, and to help out where I can with Mom's transition to the assisted living place. I don't know how much use I will be, but I hope I can lend some assistance.

I don't plan to push this one through, as I usually do. I will take time to stop both ways and not try to do it all in one big push. At least, that is my plan at this point. Getting too old for those kinds of journeys.

I Wish I Could

I seriously wish I could find a way to force myself to write more.

Just Odds & Ends

Just a post to say I did it. Nothing terribly important here.

May 26 is the day I see the pulmonary specialist. I guess it's time. I'm getting so totally sick of being unable to breathe. For the better part of two years I have been sick and struggling for breath, and it's time to go the next level. Currently I'm on 40mg of prednisone a day (since Friday) and even that seems barely able to bring any relief.

Nonetheless, I keep trying to get the garden in. The raspberries are almost fully cleaned out - as much as I can do until I am able to get the tiller running again and prepare a space for the ones I have to move to finish the cleanup job. Don't know when that will be, honestly. My seedlings started in the basement are going great guns and are almost too root bound now. Saturday (or maybe Friday) I will make my run to Byrns Greenhouse in Zim to stock up on what else I need for the summer.

Home alone this week as Casey is in Galveston for a Vineyard National Conference, and Anna is house- and dog-sitting for the Folmans, who are also in Galveston.

And tired, as usual. Going to try for a good night's sleep tonight.

Why I Go To Church

Going to church for the past couple of years has been a moderately trying experience for my introverted, space-hungry self. We generally managed to arrive early enough for the first Sunday service to navigate from the front door to our chosen seats without much difficulty. Once seated, however, it was difficult to go anywhere, as the 9:00 crowd continued to build, filling the aisles, jamming the coffee bar, ascending and descending the narrow staircase between the main floor and basement (where the restrooms and children's ministry rooms were located) and simply trying to get through the front door, across the small lobby, and into the auditorium. No, I took my seat and didn't try to move until the end. But then, of course, the problem was increased exponentially, because not only were those attending the first service making their way out, but those coming for the second were working their way in.

Not-Too-Deep Not Possible

The Internet being what it is - that monstrous web of information where one link leads to another, which leads to another, which spurs a search over here, which creates more links upon links upon links - I found myself this morning moving from the news on CNN to the personal blog of one of my favorite musicians, Steven Curtis Chapman. At the top of his blog is this up-front apology/promise, reproduced here verbatim:

Steven Curtis Chapman's personal blog. Okay, I’m gonna say this right off the bat…I’m gonna fail at this blogging thing. I'm told this is to be Short-n-sweet entries that don’t try to go too deep or try to communitcate too much information. To which I say, “yeah, right!” You see, I don’t do “short-n-sweet”, “not too deep” is not a concept I grasp and “too much information” is my middle name. With all that said, I’m gonna attempt this business of blogging and see what happen.

The Strong Draw of the Old Things

"Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee...."

It was cold in Urbana, Illinois during Christmas of 1976. That week between Christmas and New Year's is fairly clearly etched in my head for a number of reasons, including the biting, bitter wind that blew across the flat, midwestern prairie, only aggravating the nasty head cold I arrived with. I did not want to be there, there can be no doubt, and Casey will attest to the fact that my 20-year-old self did not exactly respond to the hardship with mature grace and dignity.

Find It On Amazon: 
How Great Is Our God

Endless Loop

I sit here at this moment in one of those Kafka-esque moments that modern technology seems to serve up on a regular basis.

I am trying to access online a credit card account that is in Casey's name. The online account is in her name because the credit card - almost never used - is in her name and she carries it with her (I think). I do not even know at the moment what the account number is. All I know is that I set up online access to track the account a long time ago and have never (well, in recent memory) had trouble accessing it before.

I use a password manager program that is able to automatically enter security information into web sites. I go to the web site, click the login button, tell the password manager which set of credentials to use, and it logs me in to the site. Or at least begins to. That is where I run into the snag.

Stones at 5AM

I started the car Friday morning, went inside, and suddenly remembered that I had almost no gas left in the tank. There aren't many options for gas between here and work in the middle of the day, and there are almost none at 5:00 am except for the self-serve Armor station on Rice Lake Road. A bit out of my way, but I couldn't take a chance. I ran on fumes to get there.

So there I am pumping away while on the tinny, outdoor speaker mounted on the building I hear the Rolling Stones rocking away. I tried to decide if that was better than the country music they used to play there at that station or not. I'm still not sure. A moment later the song was over and next came . . . Black Sabbath, of all things. At 5:00 in the morning, outdoors, almost in the middle of nowhere, in the cold. I don't know, something about that just didn't play right in the mind of an old guy like me.

Why do they need tinny music playing anyway? That's the question that really doesn't play right in the head. What is wrong with silence once in awhile?