This will be quick. I’m totally beat after a 19 hour day that started in Haiti and ended in Minneapolis. From sun and 90 to dark and snow. Truly a blessed day.
It was my great honor to be part of a mission team that spent a week in Port-au-Prince. A week filled with miracles of healing, bonding, excitement, and spiritual warfare. I love each of those people more than my tired little brain can express right now.
Before I go to bed, I want to thank Russ and Dave, our leaders. Elisa, Gates, and Michael who made our trip special with their kindness and joy in our presence. Here’s our mission blog if you’d like to read what we wrote. I contributed a few days, but these folks can write, minister, and love with the best of them.
A special nod goes to our drivers and translators. God blessed us all with these men. They protected us from the utterly insane traffic (more on that later) and the dangers that accompany working in some of the poorest neighborhoods in the world. They were in competition with our beloved house staff for their kindness and outstanding food and service. Not a single member of Healing Haiti that we worked with was less than superb.
I love that place. I brought back a piece of it tonight, and left a big hunk of me behind, waiting for the next trip.
Pictures, stories, and more love to follow. But right now I stink and I have cuts and bruises to tend to before bed. Nothing major. Just some scrapes with the earth of a land I am growing to be a part of in this life.
God bless Haiti. God bless the United States of America. God bless you for reading my blog.
I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.
I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.
The amazing rolls that Brenda made with my spice suggestions, all stolen from Gordon Ramsay and Robert Irvine? Yeah, baby, that was a learning lesson/teaching time/some other trite expression.
I love to cook. There are enough photos on my phone to keep you drooling for months if I ever get to food blogging. As the oldest of 4 kids that spanned 5 years in birth dates, I figured out early on that helping mom in the kitchen meant eating sooner. That passion for food has continued to this day.
I rarely do a recipe. I might consult the food gods for ideas, but when I get to the stove anything goes. There have been a few notable failures along the way, but I’ve learned a lot of good tricks as well. Much as some of you will knock them, Robert Irvine and Gordon Ramsay have proven invaluable in teaching me tricks for preparing food on a large scale: that helps when feeding the homeless.
Some months ago I gifted Brenda with a batch of our infamous Mango/Rhubarb jam. She made rolls with it and told me that they didn’t have quite the oomph she wanted. I suggested cardamom. I like cardamom. I’d probably eat dirt if somebody… well, you get the point.
A few days later she made another batch and brought them to work. She added my other favorite, and also suggested spice, cayenne to the mix. Not just good, but spicy good. The perfect breakfast roll for my money.
The point? I’d never made breakfast rolls in my life. But I knew something about seasoning and combined with her baking skills we had a winner.
Do you go through life hoarding your insights, or do you share them with others? Is that knowledge just wasting away in your head, or are you spreading the joy to others.
I have found that sharing wisdom brings even more my way. People like to share what they know, and if you’re open to learning you will listen and gain more than you give. It brings peace and comfort in tough times as well. Talking about Jesus is like that for me. It’s not standing on a street corner handing out tracts, but it’s sharing the secret recipe ingredient with someone in the course of conversation.
This last week I was in to see the doctor about the joy of kidney stones. In the course of our conversation miracles came up. Don’t even remember how. But he shared with me an experience where the dead came back to life. He called it a miracle. Boom, door open. I shared my faith and how I’d seen miracles as well. Did I do anything for his belief? Did I convert him? Was he already a Christian? I have no answers to any of the above. But it was natural to talk about it with the man. I was pleased to have the chance.
When the conversation was done, I told him that I hoped he would see many more miracles in his practice of medicine. I hope he does.
Will you share an ingredient from your life? Will you share your faith? Remember: it doesn’t have to be on a street-corner with a tract, it can be in the kitchen with a pinch of pepper.
Be blessed.
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I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.
I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.
Many years ago my beloved Old English Sheepdog, Nigel, passed away. It was just a month after 9-11, life was pretty dreary, and the old boy couldn’t make it up and down the back steps any longer. At 90 pounds (ribs sticking out) there was no way we could carry him out and in to do his business for the winter. His body was weak, and he was just tired of it all. For two years he’d been wearing diapers. Yeah, I’m a little nuts, but it didn’t seem like it was time until the stairs became an issue.
On the afternoon of the day he died, I sent an email to my friends and family. I was hurting, my wife was hurting, and I needed to talk about it with someone. My mother has often commented that it’s the best thing I’ve ever written. Perhaps. But her words of praise got me going on the journey of being a writer as much as anything else has in my life.
Here’s the email I sent that day- typos and all.
Greetings:
It is a sad day in our house, because shortly after noon today, Nigel was put to sleep. He couldn’t climb stairs or move about too well, and he’d lost his ability to control himself. He was too hot in summer and too cold in winter. But he was my best buddy ever.
Nigel had shared over half of our married life with us, and we knew him from the time he was a lump in his mother’s belly until his final moments as an old dog.
During his time on this planet, Nigel was our friend, protector, and resident cartoon character. He was there when we went to bed and upon our arrival in the morning, holding the fort in the hours in-between the dusk and dawn. Often that time was spent comforting Kip in the darkest hours of her night. Racked with insomnia, Nigel was her beacon toward the day’s light.
Nigel made us better people. We quit smoking because it made him sneeze. He encouraged us to remember that a warm heart is much more important than an extra workout. This past week, before I knew he was leaving us, he asked me to forego my workout and stay home and play, catching the bus instead of walking. I’m terribly glad that I did. He didn’t fetch much, but stood there supervising while Edzell (our Sheltie) carried on the day to day work of being the dog in the house.
Nigel was our Guardian Angel. I know that probably sounds silly to some of you, perhaps an opportunity to think we replaced kids with our dogs. Maybe. All I know is that he saved my life one night when I started falling backwards down the stairs while on crutches. Nigel pushed me upright. He’d never before been the second one up the stairs. That night he followed me and saved my neck.
On more than one occasion he saved Kip as well. I could always tell when she’d had an especially bad day, for I’d come home to find her in bed, and nigel standing guard over her. He wouldn’t leave her side until I was aware of her needs.
He went from a bossy puppy to a bossy old fellow with lots of smiles in between. He looked silly at the end in his flowered diaper, DEPENDS snugged around his strong chest with masking tape. Maybe we were nuts to go so far to keep him around. All I know is that if I live to be 250 years old, I will never have another friend like Nigel.
And so this very sad day winds to a close. Kip is quietly crying next to me, my ares are wet and Edzell is sleeping under the edge of the table. He’s not all the wa under it: that’s where Nigel sleeps. Forever.
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I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.
I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.
Ever since the court decisions that avoided senselessly indicting an innocent police officer for shooting a man trying to kill him in Missouri, and the lack of indictments for incredibly poor visuals in New York, we’ve seen a wave of grievance elevation in our nation unprecedented in recent memory.
We’ve made it almost a full week without anyone screaming foul in the press. Well, except the pizza parlor that was threatened with death because they stated their belief system publicly.
*****UPDATE: I wrote this last week. Since then there was a shooting in South Carolina that looks like murder on the surface of it. I was pleased at the rational response until I saw the Huffington Post (No Link For Propagandist HUFFPO) fanning the flames with the “If there wasn’t video, he’d get away with it” post. This was quickly picked up by the usual crowd of people who insist that the police are guilty of something if they’re white. In my universe, people who base judgments on skin color are called racists.
Yeah, kind of tedious.
When that didn’t go much of anywhere over the course of a few hours, the Vineland New Jersey video of a man who died during a police interaction went up. It shows a police dog killing him. So they say. I watched it a few times, all I saw was the man being cuffed and some dumb cop telling the people filming him that they had to hand over the cameras. Uh, no. Sorry Officer. Not true. But the dog killing the man? I hope that video finally emerges because the one the wailers and moaners linked to doesn’t show it. I did watch this video, however, and it shows a conscious subject being subdued by a police dog.
Once he complies, the cops cuff him. He did die on the way to the hospital. That is sad. Any loss of life under those circumstances is sad. But having worked with police dogs, this doesn’t look off the hook. The dog controls the subject by taking the lower arm so he cannot use a weapon. *(Not that he had one, but that’s why the dog does it – once he’s got one it’s a tad bit late.) I include this only because I wrote this last week and it didn’t post on time. Guess I should have waited. The grievance machine is alive and well. Personally, if the video I saw of the South Carolina incident shows what I think it shows, the officer involved will be doing the rest of his life in prison. That, unless there is something edited out, looks like a straight up murder.
I’d respectfully ask all of you out there to stop it. Just quit. No more.
I’m heartily sick of the hair-trigger response to every perceived slight in the United States. We’re better than that in my opinion.
Don Rickles has the proper philosophy: he ribs everyone. Without exception. And because he’s good at it he’s gotten away with it for decades. Try to establish an act like his today and a mob would descend on him and burn his house to the ground.
Perchance the most sorry aspect of this phenomenon is the escalation of outrage. Because I’m fat, I can be outraged over your charging me more for an airline seat. But I’m not allowed to be as outraged as an Arab who’s scrutinized at TSA because he has spent the last few minutes praying while waiting in the line. But he’s not allowed to be more outraged than the gay couple who are waiting to go on their honeymoon after the wedding reception where they didn’t get the cake they wanted. They, however, are trumped by the black intellectual who was stopped by the police because their license plate was 1 digit off from an armed robbery suspect who looked like them.
I’m at the bottom of that pile. But if I work at it I bet I can find an outrage – hey, found it: I was denied my veteran’s discount. I didn’t mention it, but they should have told me they had one and by gosh I served my country and that free soda with my steak was a big deal. Haters!
Where on the great scale of injustice does that place me?
Does it matter? Folks, let’s get real: mistakes happen, not everyone thinks you’re a special princess, and that trophy isn’t being awarded for 224th place this month. People will not like you based on your gender, skin color, ethnicity, sexual orientation, and that dumb sweater you put on your cat.
That, my friend, is what we call life on this imperfect planet. Sometimes, make that often, we have to suck it up, put on our big girl panties and move on to the next item. Being hurt, angry, objectified is only possible if we sweat it. If someone doesn’t want to serve me, I don’ darken their doorway any more. (Yes, it’s happened. I ain’t been back to those places and my cash goes with me.) I also don’t organize a boycott of the business. If enough people experience the same thing the owners will either change their ways or fail.
Same thing on a personal level. I deal with some real blockheads. I’m sure they think I’m a blockhead as well. Okay. But we get along for other reasons and make it work. Do they hate my guts because of my color? In a few cases the answer is yes. I pity them, actually. I’m kind off a fun guy to hang out with. But if you assume I’m there to sell plots in the Klan cemetery when you first meet me, we’ll miss out on some good times. Same goes the other way: if I assume you’re there to steal my car it’s not going to go well.
Maybe we could all back it down a notch? Don’t assume the worst. Pretend that being nice is what God would like us to do? Hey, that sounds like something I read in a book once. I have to look it up. Bet it makes for a better life for all of us.
I’ll be the fat guy in the corner eating jelly-beans. Hope you have a good one.
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I have a favor to ask of my readers: would you kindly share this blog with your friends, family, and colleagues? We hit a million views in 2014, and while the readership continues a nice growth trend, it could be a lot better. Just hit the Facebook like button, share it on your timeline, tweet the blog with a link, and tell that person at the next desk that there’s this lunatic who writes about all sorts of stuff that they might like.
I appreciate your help. When we hit 2,000,000 readers I will give away something cool to a drawing from the subscribers (that’s the box on the right toward the top) who have helped promote this mess. No used sheets, probably not honey, more likely gift cards. Be a part of it. I’ll update from time to time where we’re at in the count. Thanks.
