Convuluted And Manic Both Apply.

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Normal is a long way back in the rear view mirror of my life.

Normal is a long way back in the rear view mirror of my life.

There are some tales that are so profoundly confusing that they beggar the imagination. You stand in the midst of them and wonder how you got there, and then you wonder if there really is a way out of the center toward your goal. The story of Casting Crowns and their concert at Target Center in Minneapolis is one of those messes that I specialize in of late.

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When the concert was announced months ago I told my wife that I’d likely not be going as it was on a work night for me. I like Laura Story and For King and Country as well, so I knew it would be a great concert. However, I hate taking vacation days early in the year, it makes the Santa season tough – sometimes I need that time off at the end of the year way more than I do in April. Especially when it’s what we call demand time at work – I don’t have to get the date authorized, I can demand to take the day off. I get 40 hours of that a year and I use it spariningly. Mainly because if I need to take time off to shoot a commercial or record voice overs the money ratio demands that I sacrifice some demand time. It’s usually a 20:1 difference between what I make doing acting jobs and my hourly wage , often quite a bit more. I husband those 40 hours.

Shiny object, toast, rhubarb jam, ah, yes, the concert. I bought two tickets for the concert so that my wife and a coworker of mine could attend together. They have gone to concerts before this and had a good time so it was a nice fit. Problem solved, they’d both enjoy the music and I’d just work my normal schedule.

Three days ago that changed. KTIS sent me an email informing me that they had 4 VIP tickets in the suite that they’d like me to have as a reward for my volunteer work at the station! Sweet news, I love volunteering there and this was pure joy. So I let my wifie know and she forbade me from telling my coworker – the suite would be a surprise. Now I had to find someone to take the two tickets I’d already purchased and two more people who would like to visit the suite with my wife and my friend.

You have no idea how hard it is to give tickets away. Really hard. The tickets down in the usual area were the first to go, I had been blessed with some tickets to see Petra last year and so the call went out to the giver of that gift. Yup, he was there in hours to pick up the ducats. Problem one solved.

The suite tickets have been gifted to no less than 4 sets of people in the last 24 hours. Yes I’ll take them was followed within hours by sorry I can’t go now. Early this morning I found the final recipients of the two spare tickets – the daughter of a friend and her boyfriend. Both lovely young people in college who love the bands. Perfect.

Just before leaving for work this morning wife unit #1A informs me that she feels terribly ill. Recovery from surgery is slower than expected and today is one of the bad days. “I probably won’t be going if I feel like this…” Super-de-dooper. She’d been looking forward to this for weeks, so I know she feels like something Stormy chewed up.

Obligatory Stormy photo.

Obligatory Stormy photo.

4.5 hours before the concert the phone rings – wife unit will not be attending concert. My pea brain kicks in and analyzes the situation as: KTIS gives me nice tickets to thank me for helping. I send 4 ringers to sit in my place and work. It smacks of ingratitude at the very least. Pull up vacation schedule, years vacation to date, etc. I can spare 5 hours to go to the concert and occuply at least my once seat. Call accomplice/coworker/friend of wife and let her know about change in plans.

And, having now gone full circle, off to the concert. Is there any wonder why my brain hurts trying to keep up with this stuff?

Then it happened. I was in the Explorer with my friend, both of us laughing about my slobmobile and we drove like a couple of punch-drunk boxers to the arena. Got there early enough to score a primo parking spot, walk through the arena with no crowd, and grab some sodas and appetizers at the sports bar downstairs. Minimal complaining about work.

We got to the suite where … well, God showed up. For the next three hours I met up with friends of friends, friends at the station, fellow volunteers, on air people I’ve come to know, and the calm that God provides when you need it most. I didn’t realize just how hard I’d been running myself down for the last few weeks but the healing words of the bands and singers startled me in ways I just didn’t expect.

The guys from Casting Crowns talked about needing to be in the Word. For most that means the Bible. For me, Saturday night, it meant the words and music. The messages of these artists were all rooted in the Bible. Sometimes the words come right from the Bible. I listened closely, let the healing love of Jesus wash over me, strengthen me, refresh me. I sang along, let tears stream down my face, and filled my heart with the love that swept over that arena.

If you’ve never been to a modern Christian concert, go soon. Find out where the bands are playing. Google Christian Concert Alerts and find an artist that you like. Go and worship with thousands of others. Find that love in the music you listen to every day. If you don’t live in an area with a Christian station, you can create your own on the internet. There are lots of them. It will change how you look at things. I promise this with all my heart.

Three hours and twenty minutes later we walked back to the car. I had been healed unexpectedly. By KTIS and their gift of concert tickets. Thank you, Elisabeth. My spine is a bit straighter, my gait a bit lighter, and my head a lot clearer as a result of those three hours with my brothers and sisters in Christ.

Now, for some pictures:

castingcrownsendset

Casting Crowns

Laura Story

Laura Story

Thousands of cellular phones during Amazing Grace with For King and Country

Thousands of cellular phones during Amazing Grace with For King and Country

Have a blessed day.

Wow. She Looks Creepy.

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Those words were uttered by a friend of mine as they looked over my shoulder at a Facebook post on my tablet.

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The sad thing is that the person who uttered those words is a gentle soul who advocates for the downtrodden and alienated. For some reason they felt that because the person put up a selfie on Facebook that they’d somehow made it okay to judge them and … and.

It frankly makes me a bit more than sad that this happened. I love both of these people, pray for both, and know that both have problems that would overwhelm 90% of the population in short order. But Facebook is a social media item – and it brings out a competition for popularity that baffles me.

I don’t think that I consider the total number of friends when I hit that button asking if someone would like to be my friend. I do consider whether or not they’ll send me into Santa Hell again, but beyond that it’s not an issue. (Santa Hell is where you go if over 1/2 of your friends are professional Santa types. All you ever see is a raft of friend requests from other portly white guys with beards. You never see any of your other friends. Facebook makes sure that nobody with a blue suit (versus red) ever shows up in your potential friends queue.)

I do monitor my friend count on the author page. It’s pathetic at the moment. So head over to your right and click on the Facebook logo (or this link) and like that page. It helps me with publishers. But friends? I have a lot. I don’t honestly know the number. Nor do I care.

Back to the issue of this post. For some reason otherwise normally kind and generous people go nuts on Facebook and dismiss others with contempt based on looks. They simply don’t realize that this is the only outlet that some folks have for their social life. That may be due to a brutal work/school/family schedule that allows no other activity. It may be because they are victims of agoraphobia. It may be because they are so depressed and lonely that they cling only to the folks who have already acknowledge them on Facebook. It may be – fill in the blank, it’s probably a real reason.

The next time you laugh or grimace at a photo on Facebook, take a moment to pray for that person. You might still laugh or grimace, but you’ll be working toward the right end if you take time to lift them up to God and ask for favor for them. We all need it. We all have stories that matter. We all need prayer and love from the people we meet in real life and in cyberspace.

She may look creepy, but she’s my friend and deserves better than that. I’m no peach myself.

Winter Sunshine Is A Great Smell

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I have a dog. Her name is Stormy. She’s a Shetland Sheepdog (Sheltie.) We took her into our home as a rescue dog a little over a year ago.

Winter Sunshine

Winter Sunshine

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After a week of decent weather, we’re back in the freezer in Minnesota (which may no longer be true when you read this posting – I bank the generic ones for a while sometimes.) So, it’s 12 degrees and my little friend just spent a full half-hour outside running around in the cold sunshine. It’s lots warmer than the cold shadows – you feel the difference the instant you pass into the penumbra.

So, back to the picture/story. I had finished doing the dishes, grabbed my coffee and plopped down on couch. She hopped up next to me (unthinkable just a few months ago) and came over to give me a sniff. I returned the favor and was rewarded with Winter Sunshine On Clean Fur. I wish I could bottle that scent. Dog owners in the northern climes would buy a big bottle of it and save it for years after their friends have passed away. It’s exactly what the words say, and it evokes a visceral response that I cherish. I bury my nose in her neck like some kind of scent vampire and inhale deeply.

Her good smell, relaxed response, and my satisfaction at making her life easier, all contribute to a rush of endorphin that makes me temporarily blind. I close my eyes and remember old friends who have gone on ahead. Friends with whiskers, poopy butts, limpy legs, and gentle souls. Friends who never spoke a word of English but captured my heart with their soulful eyes. Friends who now sit next to me on the couch without taking any space at all. Friends who have taken this current ball of fur into their company and let her know that it’s okay to hang up the anxieties for a minute and just be loved.

She flops down next to me and nibbles the bolster on the couch, her scent pervading the room. All too soon that will be gone as well. She’s not a kid. But I am so glad to have her in this moment.

Pardon me, I have to go stretch out next to her and rub that white chest. We both need it.

Have a blessed day. I hope it’s filled with Winter Sunshine for you as well.

Master At Arms Second Class Mark Mayo Is A Hero.

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I spent a lot of time the last few days reading about MA2 (Master At Arms Second Class) Mark Mayo and his heroic defense of his shipmates on the USS Mahon during an incident involving a civilian intruder. He was murdered in defense of his shipmate, his ship, his country, and you and me.

Master At Arms Second Class Mayo - An American Hero

Master At Arms Second Class Mayo – An American Hero

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There’s an excellent quote from the Bible that covers this: “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” John 15:13 Petty Officer Mayo is an outstanding example of the men and women who serve today in our military. I was saddened by the loss of this fine man, and with the details of the story emerging, it has become quite clear that he took a bullet meant for a shipmate in defense of the defenseless.

It’s terribly easy to dismiss the role of the military when you don’t understand what they do on a daily basis. The fact is that each and every person on active duty, reserve duty, guard duty, and some assorted state militias has signed a statement that they’d give their life if needed. Last time I checked Taco Bell doesn’t require that of their employees, nor do NBC, Honeywell, General Motors, AOL, Amazon, or any other outfit except the assorted flavors of law enforcement and rescue/firefighters in our nation.

It may sound trite, but there are two kinds of people: the kind that run from the sound of gunfire and the ones who run toward the sound of gunfire. MA2 Mayo was the latter. I am honored to have served in the same navy as this young man.

Today I was with a bunch of warriors. Some retired, some active duty, and we sat around the bar telling stories, making hand signals to describe a flight formation, lying about our prowess in areas from the bedroom to the boardroom, and honoring our betters. There was a glass of whiskey in the corner of Keegan’s Irish Pub and an empty chair for our POW/MIA brothers and sisters. And when the time came, I made a toast to Master At Arms Mark Mayo for his heroic sacrifice. A hearty “Semper Fi” and a round of grunts went up from the assembled Marines who had invited me to join them.

Brothers and sisters. All members of the tribe. All saddened at the loss of one of our nation’s finest young people.

Rest your oar, Sailor. You stand relieved of the watch. We’ll carry on from here.

Caller Number 67 Got Me.

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Two or three times each year I spend some time working the phone banks at KTIS radio during their sharathon fund raising drives. I like the pace, I’m good at it, and they appreciate the help. I also get to talk to a lot of tremendous people with great hearts and good stories. They could use your help in funding the station, and it’s a great station. They are making huge inroads into the community for Christ, and the music is uplifting and encouraging. Here’s a link if you’d like to donate.

Jason Sharp and Joe (nice blink!)

Jason Sharp and Joe (nice blink!)

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I’ve been doing this for a few years now, and some years “that call” comes the first day. Some years it comes every day. This year, this time, it came Thursday morning. I’ve changed the names to protect identities, and since the listener wanted to share the whole thing on air I don’t feel that I’m violating any confidences. But, to be sure, I’ll change a detail or two about these calls so that they are not quite real, but close enough to understand what I experienced today – and what choked me up so badly that I had to take a moment to gather myself.

I learned long ago that God puts us in certain places at certain times to provide comfort and aid to people that need our help. Sometimes he puts us there to help ourselves. Thursday morning I’d had a series of great calls. I’m going to paint the picture of what led to caller 67 for you.

The first relevant call came from a Claudia, a nurse who was so excited about her new job that she had to tell me all about it: she was going to work at the VA hospital in Minneapolis. I thanked her for serving me, and my fellow vets, and then spent a minute praying with her and blessing her for her role in my life. I asked God to cover her with grace and make sure she was satisfied in her work as an angel of mercy to the disabled.

A few calls later I was talking to Angela, a woman with virtually nothing. I recognized her address as being in a ghetto area. She was making a meager donation to the station, hardly worth the effort in her own opinion. I realized that this was exactly what Christ was talking about in Mark 12:41-44. I knew that this monthly gift was from deep in her heart, all she had to give. I let her know that this was as big a deal to me, and the station, as a $1,000 dollar gift from another sponsoring listener. She was doing her part to spread the word, faithful to God and herself. I thanked her and prayed with her as well. Such a tender heart, such a good heart.

A short time later the call that popped my circuit breakers rolled in to my headset. We were running a dedication to our personal superheroes. The caller, Marion, started out by telling me that “Axle was my superhero, even if he doesn’t fit the description to most people.” She went on to explain that her son Axle was a two-tour veteran of Afghanistan. Heroic so far. And she went on to tell me that Axle had passed away a year before; haunted by his personal demons he’d taken his own life.

Marion talked for a while about how Axle loved God and was a believer, but he was so damaged (her word) by his service that he couldn’t make it another day. In the wake of his death his family was shattered as though an explosion had taken place. Siblings and parents no longer even talked to each other, silence and sadness ruled the home.

I listened and wrote down what she said. I took her donation. And then we prayed. We prayed for Axle, his family, his siblings, his mother, and for some healing to all who have been wounded in war. I encouraged her to seek out a support group and talk to others who had gone through this terrible tragedy. I told her of my loss of friends to suicide in the years following our service, and how I felt the empty void staring at us all from time to time. I let her know that she wasn’t alone, that we were all in this together, and that there was hope for her family.

And that’s why I answer the phones. Because caller 67 needed to talk to a veteran who’d lost friends to suicide. A veteran who knew of the darkness that haunts our dreams. A veteran who loved Marion as though she was his own mother. God put me there today to talk to Marion, Angela, and Claudia. Not to take credit cards, but to pray and encourage. To love and be loved. To share that witness for Jesus that keeps me going when darkness invades the light.

God bless you, Marion. And Axle, Claudia, and Angela. You are in my prayers tonight.
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