Petra Isn’t Just A City In Jordan.

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I have a confession to make: I wasn’t a very good Christian for a great share of my life. (Mom, it’s not mandatory that you print this and mail it to me. I’ve already confessed to this one!) And by not a very good one, I mean someone who had such deep doubts about God that I tried to avoid exposure to anything even vaguely Christian so as to avoid puncturing my skepticism. As a result of that boneheaded outlook I missed out on lots of great things, including Petra.

Petra still rocks!

Petra still rocks!

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I was the smart guy who wouldn’t listen to Christian rock on a bet. No, not as long as (name the commercial band) was playing would the likes of Petra or Stryper grace my radio. I mocked the genre, mocked the people who listened, and mocked the message. Call me Saul.

After 40 years of performing, Petra finally got me to a concert last weekend. I’m sad to report that my backside is very sore from kicking myself for this mistake. I have to add Petra to the list of things that may have changed my life for the better if I’d been open enough to listen to them years ago.

Having seen the Rolling Stones, AC/DC, and numerous other acts that started out in that era, I’m pleased to report that Petra stacks up with any of them, and exceeds the Stones by a wide margin.

Incredible vocals, guitar and bass with the best of them, and great drumming are what makes this band a keeper. I saw them at the Cedar Valley Church in Bloomington, MN. Just a quick walk from the Mall of America, it’s a small venue. The band, however, has a big sound. A sound that used to fill the largest venues on a regular basis.

I have to admit that I didn’t know any Petra songs by heart when I walked in the door. I will be remedying that in the future. The songs I heard Saturday left a mark on my soul. They are some of the songs that form the portfolio for most modern worship bands in contemporary churches. These guys can write and perform.

What sets their music aside from many others is the style of the vocals. Think Journey with Christ. This music speaks strongly to people my age because we were weaned on guitars, hair, and spandex. The soaring vocals (I think I stole that from a late night infomercial) are exactly what I want to listen to when I tune in to the radio. Petra brings not just that sound, but words that tell Biblical stories. Stories of the life of Christ, His Crucifixion, and His resurrection. On the surface most people would wonder how they can make that into a rock anthem that works? The answer is … danged if I know, but it works. You find yourself singing along and rocking out with the band.

Perhaps more importantly, I found myself rocking out with the audience. The audience that I’d mocked and scorned in my youth. I felt a hollow sadness for a part of the night for how I’d treated these people. They were nerds for Christ. But they knew all the words, they bopped with the beat, and they had lived their lives in Christ while I was still lurking around some scuzzy bar in Naples, Italy.

They knew all the words. That thought came back to me over and over Saturday. The audience had embraced this sanctified lifestyle as kids and kept it up until this very moment. Gray and paunchy like me, they had worshiped God during their youth when I was trying very hard to avoid His mercy and love. What a dolt I was back then. Probably still a dolt in many ways, but at least now I’m trying to play a bit of catch-up and savor these things I missed back then. It’s never too late to be a teenager.

I shot quite a bit of video that night – and I’m not going to ruin the band’s reputation with my patented shaky video style. Instead I’m putting a few of their videos below. Thanks, Petra, for a great concert on Saturday. And, to my fellow Christian music fans, my apologies for my negative attitude in the past. I’m honored that you kept the genre growing while I was looking for the truth.

Petra In Buenos Aires.

Petra playing Creed (Farm Aid, 1992)


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It Was Way More Than A Ham Dinner.

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All across the United States restaurants went out of their way to honor veterans on Monday. I even got up early and went to cash in on my freebie. Someone forgot to send me the memo that the joint would still be packed at 1930 on a Monday. If you live in Minnesota, that’s way after “The Norwegian Dinner Hour.” You can usually count on the place starting to empty out at 1900, dontcha know?

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Instead of risking being late for work, I abandoned the major chain (no hard feelings, glad to see you doing well and all) and headed to Old Country Buffet. You can stop the eye rolling. I like the place. Good coffee, Rice Krispy bars, pot roast, ham, mashed potatoes, etc. Comfort food.

Best Veteran's Day meal ever.

Best Veteran’s Day meal ever.

I didn’t even ask about getting the military discount. I leave that one to the younger men and women who have taken over in the wake of my generation moving on to the important things: getting fat and bald. I paid my tab and hung my coat on the back of the chair.

A quick tour led me to the carving table where a giant slab of ham beckoned. If you can’t have bacon, ham is close enough. The young man at the carving station asked for my order and quickly filled it – and a giant hunk of ham it was! As I turned to head to my table he said, “Did you serve.”

Given the context of being served in a restaurant it took me a moment to figure out what he meant. I suppose the Casper Society (WARNING: autoloading sound file) hat on my fat head was a giveaway. And in that moment there was no finer, more welcome, better tasting meal in all of the world than what I had in my hand. “Yes, I did. A long time ago.”

“Thank you, Sir. I appreciate it.”

Finest meal I’ve had in a long time. And a well mannered young man who will be in my prayers when I go to bed tonight.

The meal may have cost me a bit on the credit card, the recognition and respect were priceless.

God Bless America – there’s hope for us yet.

Facebook Saves Veterans Lives.

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I know that’s a ridiculous statement on its surface. But take a moment to read this post about veterans on Facebook and then I think you’ll see what I’m talking about. While I’m at it, Happy Veteran’s Day to all my brothers and sisters.

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A very good friend of mine has a theory that many veteran’s have a form of slow-rolling Post Traumatic Stress, especially those that have seen combat or collected intelligence. Why those two groups? The first is obvious: getting used to the idea of people trying to kill you never really happens. You adjust to it, make accommodations in your posture, and try to get past it in the end. You see friends wounded. You see friends die. You experience that mind-numbing fear that comes with the knowledge that you might die.

Part of that combat world includes anyone in the military that flew aircraft, drove a tank, served on a ship, or … Yes, those were all forms of combat. Working in the day-to-day environment of the military in peacetime or war exposed you to physical hazards that very few civilians would understand. All of it takes a toll on the men and women involved. The extended periods away from family, the rough working conditions, the danger of flying off of ships, and living underwater all contribute to Post Traumatic Stress in some veterans.

Intelligence collectors take a beating of a different kind – mental. There is a huge stress factor involved in collecting intelligence if you’re worth your oxygen consumption. You want to get it right because others depend on you. Your bad judgement, poor translation, lax attention, and fatigue can cost the lives of the people on the front lines. You try to live inside the head of your opponent: it’s bizarre. Not only do you have to be a serving member in our military, but you have to be a Libyan fighter pilot, a Taliban sniper, a Viet Cong logistics director, or a Soviet tank division commander in your own mind. That’s how the game is played: you become the enemy.

The question is what does this have to do with Facebook?

The answer is 24 hour on-line peer support networks. People who know what it’s like are standing by to assist.

Over the past two years I’ve joined several groups on Facebook that are specifically submarine/intelligence/veteran/cryptologic in their nature. The requirements to join some of them are pretty tight: you must be vetted by members of the group who know that you were engaged in the specific activity of the group. No posers allowed. If we don’t know you, you ain’t getting in the door.

As a result the confidence level that you are talking to a peer is pretty high. The comfort level with exchanging information with them follows along with that knowledge. It leads people to be more open about what they are experiencing at that moment, and it allows a pressure valve to trip when things are too intense.

In the time I’ve been a member of one group in particular, I’ve seen several veterans talk about suicide and their loss of hope. Within minutes (if not seconds) of their posting this cry of distress a peer has responded. Within a very short period of time the conversation has shifted to geographic location, who’s nearby, who can call the person, who knows another vet who’s in the neighborhood. It’s amazing to watch when it happens. Nobody wants another vet to go down to suicide. I leave the suicide hotline numbers up on this blog year round so that people in need can get help right away. Facebook is taking on that role for many of my comrades.

Is it world-class therapy? Nope. Is it licensed and regulated? Nope. Is it frequently crude humor and profane behavior? Yes. Is it the difference in someone making it out of their crisis? Yes. It surely is that if nothing else.

So, to my fellow veterans, and their families, if you have a problem dealing with the stress of your experiences, your depression, your anxiety, and your pain, get online and find a forum for veterans that your are comfortable with today. I can’t stress enough that these online communities are taking the place in modern life that the VFW and American Legion posts did for the returning vets of WWII. Younger vets don’t join those organizations at the same rate they used to, but they are out in cyberspace every day.

If your issues go deeper than needing a boost from others who served, make sure you talk to the VA about getting some help. If the VA doesn’t appeal, get in touch with a local counseling service. Make an effort today (and if you’re the family of a vet with troubles, help them do this!) to reach out and get that help. You matter. You signed that blank check over to Uncle Sam that said you’d pay with your life if needed. Anyone that does that is a friend of mine.

Happy Veteran’s Day. Be well.

Happy Birthday Marines!

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No Sponsorship Sunday this week. We’re celebrating a birthday!

So, this will be a quick post. But one that I hope you read and act upon.

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A few weeks back I wrote about supporting our troops overseas. The importance of those letters and packages is massive when you’re a long way from home. It’s so much a part of me that I felt guilty that I hadn’t put any goodies in the mail for a while. This picture tells the tale.

Happy Campers

Happy Campers


The smiles. The happy looks. The idea that we remembered them. Please take a moment to remember a military member today. Find a friend’s relative overseas and send a letter and a package. Or go to Soldier’s Angel’s and donate. But don’t let another day go by without doing something.

This post is going up on the Marine Corps Birthday because I sent my packages to a Marine Gunnery Sergeant that I know.

Semper Fi, Dusty. You’re in my prayers.

It’s A Man’s Mall.

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This is where I was at 0518 this morning.

The line forms here.

The line forms here.

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It was Orange Friday at Mill’s Fleet Farm. Also known as “The Man’s Mall.” At 0600 they were poised to give away free blaze orange hats to the first 500 in line and gift card scratch off tickets to the first 700. I like free stuff. I love Fleet Farm. I was out anyway since it was right after work.

The line wasn’t bad when I arrived. I was about 150 out on my side of the door, an equivalent line stretched the other direction. By the time they opened the doors (in 21 degree weather) the line was about 1,000 people or more between the two sides.

I got the hat, I got a scratch off that didn’t win. And then I did what every guy does (except those rare birds who like to shop- and I don’t think any read this blog) and I gathered what I needed and blew the pop stand.

Yes, a toilet valve, chocolate covered peanuts, and a 32 ounce summer sausage.

Just the basics.

Just the basics.

That’s how guys shop. Real men don’t walk around touching clothes. I almost bought a couple of pairs of work jeans while I was there, but the last batch still have some life in them. I chuck them when the seams split but not a second earlier. I guess it’s ok to fondle power tools in aisle 19 if you have an urge to check the texture of the casing – and maybe check an axe for sharpness. If there’s spare canning supplies on sale you can grab those as well. But nothing else. You should already be stocked up on ammo so no need to go down there today. (If I’d won the gift card there was a pistol I had my eye on, but since I didn’t win…)

So that’s it. A man’s shopping expedition. Doors opened at 0600. I was on the road again at 0621. And that’s how it should be.

I’d also like to take this opportunity to wish my Marine friends an early Happy Birthday. Semper Fi, my friends.

I'll wish you a Happy Birthday and you'll like it!

I’ll wish you a Happy Birthday and you’ll like it!

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