My family always took vacations. Every year, we'd load up in the car and drive somewhere. When I was really young, a couple of times it involved staying with relatives along the way. It was both a chance to see them, and to get a free room for the night. Mostly though, there never seemed to be a lot of vacation planning. In fact, a few times, my dad would sit down the night before we were to leave, open up a map of the United States and ask out loud, "Which direction should we go this year?" Then he would 'kind of' plot our route.
We only actually flew somewhere once, which not so coincidentally was the first time I flew in a plane. But that flight was preceded by a long and winding road through New Orleans, down the coastline and on to Panama City Beach. Somewhere along the way we decided to catch a flight from Panama City to the Bahamas. If we could've driven to the Bahamas, I'm sure my dad would have done that instead, to save the money.
The problem with flying out of the panhandle of Florida was this: we had to take off and land three times to just get to Miami, lay over about six hours, and THEN fly to the Bahamas. I tended to get a little car sick when we drove, and taking off and landing that many times in the same small plane about did me in. By the time we reached Miami, I was miserable. To quote the Beatles, "All the way the paper bag was on my knee, man I had a dreadful flight!" I sat there in the Miami airport with my head in my hands, trying not to throw up, hoping to rid myself of that horrible nausea. I wound up being VERY thankful for the six hour layover and a chance to finally return to my normal color before I boarded that last flight to Nassau.
I'm sure the Bahamas was my mom's idea. She was always interested in seeing the world. She made sure she got to see Hawaii and Israel before she died. They used to put 'stickers' on your luggage when you flew, and we had the 'Nassau, Bahamas' stickers on the sides of our suitcases from then on. We lived in Ada at the time, and not too many folks had even flown that lived there, more or less been to the Bahamas. She dropped the 'Bahamas' bomb whenver possible in conversations (to impress). But from my perspective, I had only bad memories of that trip. Whatever last minute hotel we booked in Nassau wasn't really on the beach, just near a not-so-nice public beach; and after the initial 'flying' experience, I spent most of our time in the Bahamas dreading the flight back. I have no desire to go there again, so I won't be buying any timeshares in the Bahamas!
One year my dad plotted out a trip to the Northwest. We managed to take in Mt. Rushmore, Yellowstone, and the Great Salt Lake during that 'swing'. We never really went to cities; we just aimed for National Parks or tourist destinations (although on the Bahamas swing, I think we DID actually take a half day guided tour of New Orleans. I just remember the above ground graves. Those things stick in your head as a kid). As usual, we never booked a hotel in advance. We always drove way longer than we should have each day, and waited much later than we should have to find a hotel.
Remember, there wasn't the plethora of hotels back then that we have now, so normally it was a small one-story motel by the side of the road, where you parked in front of your door, and stayed the night. The ritual always involved finding a neon 'no vacancy' sign, where the 'no' wasn't lit up (think Bates motel). Then my dad would go to the front desk, get a key for a room, and go look at it first, to be sure it was clean and presentable before he'd ever actually secure the room. I can remember many times when he'd come back to the car, when the room WASN'T worth renting (even for him), and it was back on the road until we got to the next town, and the next motel with a vacant room. It was a rare occassion when we would decide to stop driving about 5:00 to stay at a motel with a pool, so that there'd be time (and daylight) to swim; but never more than once a road trip.
The same scenario played out that year when we arrived at Yellowstone. Once we got there (which was pretty much in the middle of nowhere) we discovered the only rooms to be had were in and around the park. Of course the 'lodge' was booked up. However, my dad found us a great deal on a tiny one-room cabin in the heart of the park. There wasn't a bathroom (I think we all shared a large one, that was down a path through the trees) and I'm not sure there was even electricity in the darn thing. Even though it was summer, it was, of course, high up in those mountains, and that night it was frigid. The ONLY heat in that cabin came from a small open woodburning stove in the corner. Thank the Lord my dad was a country boy, and knew how to get that little stove percolating. However, it was still really cold (you could see your breath), and the only way to stay really warm, besides keeping several layers of clothes on or crawling in bed underneath a ton of covers, was to stand right in front of that stove.
Like most kids, I was never good about heeding warnings. I had a small scar right beneath my eye for many years from running with a screwdriver in my hand in spite of the fact that I'm sure I got the "you'll poke your eye out" warning many times. I swallowed a marble when I was about five even though I'm sure I got the "don't put that in your mouth" warning many times also (that marble never DID show up although we watched and waited for its arrival for several days after that). So, this time was no exception. My dad quickly said, "Don't get too close to that stove. You'll catch on fire." Once again, this would have probably fallen on young, 'deaf' ears, but then he added a little something that really DID get my attention. "Back on the farm," he said, "I had a little brother that burned up from one of those stoves." That stopped me in my bare tracks (pun intended).
You see my dad grew up in a one-roomed house north of Seminole, Oklahoma; and that was how THEY kept warm in the winter (way back then). And it was news to me that he ever had a little baby brother. I knew about his sister Linda, and his brother Dan. But I guess there was a fourth Whittern child that got a little too close to the woodburning stove as a toddler, caught his pajamas on fire and died as a result. Needless to say I was stunned. Needless to say I NEVER got very close to that fire...no matter how cold I got that night. It's a warning I never forgot.
The Bible contains many warnings...way more than the infamous TEN that the world has done all it can to hide. But like all warnings, they're not much good if they stay hidden or remain unread and/or unheard...or unheeded.
Death itself is a warning. A reminder that tomorrow is not promised and today is all you have to work with. And that YOU were given a day that someone else wasn't given.
James 4:13-14 Look here, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we are going to a certain town and will stay there a year. We will do business there and make a profit.” How do you know what your life will be like tomorrow? Your life is like the morning fog—it’s here a little while, then it’s gone.
(to be continued)
Friday, March 18, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
TOO LEGIT TO MITT
As previously stated here, I never had a desire to be 'Mr. Fix-It'. Nor did I have a yearning desire to be 'Mr. Food'. I learned to cook out of necessity ("stew or die"). I could barely cook mac and cheese when I left for college, but with the help of roommates and trial and error, I figured out a dish or two along the way. I definitely learned more things from my mom after I left home than when I lived there. No doubt, I was a more willing and interested student when I had to eat my own cooking.
Unlike my tool drawer (see 'Tool' blog), I have LOTS of kitchen gadgets in my kitchen drawers. My kids make fun of us because we will stroll through all the kitchen stores at the outlet malls. I love Tuesday Morning because of their kitchen stuff. They always have the weirdest items. Things you'd never ever see (or pay $20 for) at a normal store, but at cheaper prices. Bed Bath & Beyond: I'm digging the 'Beyond'. They probably have every kitchen invention that comes down the pike (but not at cheap prices, whether you use one of the coupons they send you every week or not).
A few years ago my favorite spatula developed a crack in the handle and part of it finally broke off. I still try to use it, but you can't really 'baby' a spatula. It's your main weapon in your kitchen arsenal! You have to be able to dig and scrape and pry those good crispy crusts of the fried potatoes from off the bottom of the skillet...that's why you fry 'them taters'. Since my spatula became a wounded veteran of the kitchen wars, I've been on a mission to find one JUST like it. I've looked all over the world. I keep bringing them home, but none of them quite measure up. It's like Chef Ahab looking for his 'great wide spatula'. I'll probably never find another one like it. I suspect Farberware just quit making them.
Oven mitts are another staple in the Whittern kitchen. But they get dirty (or charred) so quickly that there never seems to be enough (clean ones) around. I always hate it when that big nasty thumb gets stuck into a freshly cooked meal (yuck). It's also a little scary when I brush up against the 'heating element' in the oven and get to endure the aroma of freshly burnt 'mitt'. Don't expect any pics of oven mitts forthcoming. None of our mitts are really 'post-worthy'. Wish I had one that said, "Kiss My Mitt!" (as a throwback to "Kiss My Grits"). When I have my oven mitt on, you will hear no MC Hammer music.
Started wearing mitts pretty faithfully after an 'incident' in college. I was getting ready for an out-of-town gig and thought I'd cook some green beans before I left. Now cooking green beans (back then) was pretty simple: open the can, dump 'em into a pan, turn the heat on and stir (I do much more seasoning with bacon and brown sugar now). But during the college days, it was pretty mindless stuff...and that was the problem. It was so mindless, that it slipped my mind that I had put the beans on the stove. A bunch of the band members and I lived in a big yellow two story house on Duck Street (a few years before Garth Brooks lived in it) and I was upstairs showering and getting ready to go. When I trotted downstairs, I could see the lonely pot of beans on the stove from across the house as I instantly remembered putting them on to cook. I sprinted across the room and nervously looked into the pot, only to see the dried up, mostly burned now-black beans stuck to the bottom of the pan! Luckily, I had left the spoon in the pan so I quickly grabbed it to try and stir the beans in an attempt to release them from their fiery grave. BIG MISTAKE. The fire hot spoon virtually stuck to my hand. College boys don't have oven mitts. They also don't have sense enough to NOT leave a spoon in a hot pan either. I did have a tray of ice cubes in the freezer, though and I managed to hold one all the way to the gig that night. WOW, that hurt!!!
I'm not saying that mitts are impervious to everything. I've held a pizza pan or corningware dish right out of the oven a little too long a time or two and started feeling the heat ("If you can't stand the heat, get out of the mitten"). And yes, I wasn't kidding about brushing up against the oven element and starting a small 'mitt fire'. Mitts are glorified gloves. So naturally the thicker the glove, the harder it is to affect the hand.
I used to use rubber gloves alot in the kitchen...at least to reach down into a nasty college-boy sink to do week-old dishes (no tellin' WHAT you might stick your hand into in those sinks). You could still feel the cold, but the wetness and the slimyness was somewhat kept at bay (sorry spellcheck, you just can't drop the 'y' in 'slimy'). Unfortunately, I too often would reach too far in, and that rubber glove would fill right up with nastiness (or I'd discover a previously unnoticed rip in the glove and realize that my thin wall of protection was pretty much nonexistent after all).
The other day our pastor was talking about the war between good and evil, between God and the devil, and how the only real way for the devil to 'get at' God was through God's people. I got to thinking, if God's spirit lives in me and directs my life, then it's like I'm the glove and He's the hand. Now sometimes I'm all 'fit like an oven mitt' and it'd be hard for old Slewfoot to cause any damage during those times. Other times, though, I'm like an old yellow rubber glove with a hole or two here or there. Not good for much; and an open sieve for all sorts of nasty, slimy gunk. Paul paints a word picture about the armor of God in Ephesians 6. But since I've never been stuck by a spear or been wounded in battle (other than taking a paint ball in the eye once), it's a bit of a reach for me to fully envision that. But I definitely can relate to the 'oven mitt' of God...and the three-edged 'spatula'; protected, yet armed for whatever task that lies ahead.
Hebrews 4:12 For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any... (a. two-edged sword, b. double-edged sword, c. surgeon's scalpel, d. triple-edged kitchen spatula).*
Whatever translation you prefer, the NKJ, the ASV, the Message, or even the RTV*, you get the metaphor. In life, in battle, in the operating room, or in the kitchen...you need to be protected, prepared and properly equipped.
Just don't ask me to put on the apron of God! Them's frying words!
*a. New King James, b. American Standard, c. the Message, d. Randym Thoughts Version
Unlike my tool drawer (see 'Tool' blog), I have LOTS of kitchen gadgets in my kitchen drawers. My kids make fun of us because we will stroll through all the kitchen stores at the outlet malls. I love Tuesday Morning because of their kitchen stuff. They always have the weirdest items. Things you'd never ever see (or pay $20 for) at a normal store, but at cheaper prices. Bed Bath & Beyond: I'm digging the 'Beyond'. They probably have every kitchen invention that comes down the pike (but not at cheap prices, whether you use one of the coupons they send you every week or not).
A few years ago my favorite spatula developed a crack in the handle and part of it finally broke off. I still try to use it, but you can't really 'baby' a spatula. It's your main weapon in your kitchen arsenal! You have to be able to dig and scrape and pry those good crispy crusts of the fried potatoes from off the bottom of the skillet...that's why you fry 'them taters'. Since my spatula became a wounded veteran of the kitchen wars, I've been on a mission to find one JUST like it. I've looked all over the world. I keep bringing them home, but none of them quite measure up. It's like Chef Ahab looking for his 'great wide spatula'. I'll probably never find another one like it. I suspect Farberware just quit making them.
Oven mitts are another staple in the Whittern kitchen. But they get dirty (or charred) so quickly that there never seems to be enough (clean ones) around. I always hate it when that big nasty thumb gets stuck into a freshly cooked meal (yuck). It's also a little scary when I brush up against the 'heating element' in the oven and get to endure the aroma of freshly burnt 'mitt'. Don't expect any pics of oven mitts forthcoming. None of our mitts are really 'post-worthy'. Wish I had one that said, "Kiss My Mitt!" (as a throwback to "Kiss My Grits"). When I have my oven mitt on, you will hear no MC Hammer music.
Started wearing mitts pretty faithfully after an 'incident' in college. I was getting ready for an out-of-town gig and thought I'd cook some green beans before I left. Now cooking green beans (back then) was pretty simple: open the can, dump 'em into a pan, turn the heat on and stir (I do much more seasoning with bacon and brown sugar now). But during the college days, it was pretty mindless stuff...and that was the problem. It was so mindless, that it slipped my mind that I had put the beans on the stove. A bunch of the band members and I lived in a big yellow two story house on Duck Street (a few years before Garth Brooks lived in it) and I was upstairs showering and getting ready to go. When I trotted downstairs, I could see the lonely pot of beans on the stove from across the house as I instantly remembered putting them on to cook. I sprinted across the room and nervously looked into the pot, only to see the dried up, mostly burned now-black beans stuck to the bottom of the pan! Luckily, I had left the spoon in the pan so I quickly grabbed it to try and stir the beans in an attempt to release them from their fiery grave. BIG MISTAKE. The fire hot spoon virtually stuck to my hand. College boys don't have oven mitts. They also don't have sense enough to NOT leave a spoon in a hot pan either. I did have a tray of ice cubes in the freezer, though and I managed to hold one all the way to the gig that night. WOW, that hurt!!!
I'm not saying that mitts are impervious to everything. I've held a pizza pan or corningware dish right out of the oven a little too long a time or two and started feeling the heat ("If you can't stand the heat, get out of the mitten"). And yes, I wasn't kidding about brushing up against the oven element and starting a small 'mitt fire'. Mitts are glorified gloves. So naturally the thicker the glove, the harder it is to affect the hand.
I used to use rubber gloves alot in the kitchen...at least to reach down into a nasty college-boy sink to do week-old dishes (no tellin' WHAT you might stick your hand into in those sinks). You could still feel the cold, but the wetness and the slimyness was somewhat kept at bay (sorry spellcheck, you just can't drop the 'y' in 'slimy'). Unfortunately, I too often would reach too far in, and that rubber glove would fill right up with nastiness (or I'd discover a previously unnoticed rip in the glove and realize that my thin wall of protection was pretty much nonexistent after all).
The other day our pastor was talking about the war between good and evil, between God and the devil, and how the only real way for the devil to 'get at' God was through God's people. I got to thinking, if God's spirit lives in me and directs my life, then it's like I'm the glove and He's the hand. Now sometimes I'm all 'fit like an oven mitt' and it'd be hard for old Slewfoot to cause any damage during those times. Other times, though, I'm like an old yellow rubber glove with a hole or two here or there. Not good for much; and an open sieve for all sorts of nasty, slimy gunk. Paul paints a word picture about the armor of God in Ephesians 6. But since I've never been stuck by a spear or been wounded in battle (other than taking a paint ball in the eye once), it's a bit of a reach for me to fully envision that. But I definitely can relate to the 'oven mitt' of God...and the three-edged 'spatula'; protected, yet armed for whatever task that lies ahead.
Hebrews 4:12 For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any... (a. two-edged sword, b. double-edged sword, c. surgeon's scalpel, d. triple-edged kitchen spatula).*
Whatever translation you prefer, the NKJ, the ASV, the Message, or even the RTV*, you get the metaphor. In life, in battle, in the operating room, or in the kitchen...you need to be protected, prepared and properly equipped.
Just don't ask me to put on the apron of God! Them's frying words!
*a. New King James, b. American Standard, c. the Message, d. Randym Thoughts Version
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
You're Such A Tool
My dad used to fix most of whatever needed fixing around our house. Oil change? Check. He'd pull out the old oil pan to drain out the old oil and put in the new. I think he still owns that old metal pan. Anything pretty dirty or filthy often showed up in that pan. I remember coming home from school one day, and my dog, Curious (who 'curiously' loved to chase cars) was laying in it. Curiosity killed the cat, they say. Got the dog that day, too.
When the garage door spring appeared to be broken, he assumed he could fix that too. I probably will always remember him calmly walking up to me with his hand wrapped with a red and white towel (that started out white) and telling me to just keep playing, that he was driving himself up to the hospital (which in Ada was only about six blocks from my house). That old (broken) garage door spring still had quite a recoil.
Yes, during all these 'fix-it' moments, I was usually out playing. Football, baseball, army, bicycles or skateboards, there was ALWAYS something to do. I never had an interest in learning how to change brakepads or fix a leaky faucet. I think I have the aptitude and the fortitude...but not the wantodude.
Certainly I've had my share of projects to complete as a father. Swingsets, slides, bicycles and scooters all took hours to complete (mostly at night). Much of the furniture in my house had to be assembled. If I have instructions I can do it. But you also have to have the right tools.
My tool chest is actually a 'drawer' that consists mostly of tools I managed to borrow (and keep) from my dad. I bought my dad a 'leatherman' for Christmas many years ago, and he loves it and uses it to this day. He's never from from it. I don't have one and probably don't want one (although it would be a better Christmas present than many I've gotten). A 'leatherman' (in case you don't know) is part Swiss Army Knife, part Transformer. It's about 10 tools in one that folds up neatly into a small pouch you can carry around with you or wear like a fanny pack.
Shopping for tools isn't fun (for me). They're rarely on sale, and I don't know that I need a tool until I'm trying to fix something, and then suddenly realize I don't have the right wrench or drill or socket to do the job. I have an aversion to the metric system, so that may be part of me being 'tool-challenged'. So I usually use one of two things: a set of needle nose pliers or a screw driver. I have several of both. Whether it's the right tool or not, I'll at least try and fix everything with one of those two tools. If neither work, I want no part of it; because I've found that when I try to use a tool on something that it was not intended to be used on, the results are never good. I'm thinking my dad needed a different tool when he loosened the nuts on that garage door spring. I know my dogs were meant to run and play in the yard, but not compete for pavement space with cars.
As a Christian, I was made to serve God. I was made to praise Him. I was made to commune with Him. At least that's what the instructions say. Therefore I believe I'm wired that way. When I'm not doing those things, I'm not going to be happy. I'm darned sure not going to be productive. And the results won't be good.
All of us are tools in that way...different ones for different purposes. Paul used the 'parts of the body' analogy in First Corinthians (Chapter 12). In today's world, perhaps we could use the 'toolbox' analogy, how all of us are 'equipped' and 'tooled' differently, and we're all needed to get the job done. Very few (none) of us are 'leathermen' (no matter how smart we think we are or multi-talented we profess to be). When we try to do it all, we will most likely fail. The road of those good intentions are littered with broken tools (and bruised knuckles and busted fingers; 'body parts' analogy still works, I guess).
One other thing: I know I especially don't like it when I've been tooling around doing things on my own and then abruptly I realize that God hasn't picked me up in awhile...that I haven't felt the 'hand of God'. That's also not a good feeling (for me).
That's because I believe we all have a higher purpose, a divine application on this earth. Otherwise, we're just trees; or animals; or oil pans. God wants us to 'apply' ourselves to the task He sets before us. Each one of us has a unique set of skills to use on each task; for each application. I hope that He looks down on me, has a specific need in mind, and says to Himself (and to me), "I have an app for that." And then He places his finger on me (nudges me), and then I get to work (and really apply myself). Otherwise, I'm just another idle (dumb) tool in a drawer full of them. I've got a drawer like that...and it's pretty useless.
When the garage door spring appeared to be broken, he assumed he could fix that too. I probably will always remember him calmly walking up to me with his hand wrapped with a red and white towel (that started out white) and telling me to just keep playing, that he was driving himself up to the hospital (which in Ada was only about six blocks from my house). That old (broken) garage door spring still had quite a recoil.
Yes, during all these 'fix-it' moments, I was usually out playing. Football, baseball, army, bicycles or skateboards, there was ALWAYS something to do. I never had an interest in learning how to change brakepads or fix a leaky faucet. I think I have the aptitude and the fortitude...but not the wantodude.
Certainly I've had my share of projects to complete as a father. Swingsets, slides, bicycles and scooters all took hours to complete (mostly at night). Much of the furniture in my house had to be assembled. If I have instructions I can do it. But you also have to have the right tools.
My tool chest is actually a 'drawer' that consists mostly of tools I managed to borrow (and keep) from my dad. I bought my dad a 'leatherman' for Christmas many years ago, and he loves it and uses it to this day. He's never from from it. I don't have one and probably don't want one (although it would be a better Christmas present than many I've gotten). A 'leatherman' (in case you don't know) is part Swiss Army Knife, part Transformer. It's about 10 tools in one that folds up neatly into a small pouch you can carry around with you or wear like a fanny pack.
Shopping for tools isn't fun (for me). They're rarely on sale, and I don't know that I need a tool until I'm trying to fix something, and then suddenly realize I don't have the right wrench or drill or socket to do the job. I have an aversion to the metric system, so that may be part of me being 'tool-challenged'. So I usually use one of two things: a set of needle nose pliers or a screw driver. I have several of both. Whether it's the right tool or not, I'll at least try and fix everything with one of those two tools. If neither work, I want no part of it; because I've found that when I try to use a tool on something that it was not intended to be used on, the results are never good. I'm thinking my dad needed a different tool when he loosened the nuts on that garage door spring. I know my dogs were meant to run and play in the yard, but not compete for pavement space with cars.
As a Christian, I was made to serve God. I was made to praise Him. I was made to commune with Him. At least that's what the instructions say. Therefore I believe I'm wired that way. When I'm not doing those things, I'm not going to be happy. I'm darned sure not going to be productive. And the results won't be good.
All of us are tools in that way...different ones for different purposes. Paul used the 'parts of the body' analogy in First Corinthians (Chapter 12). In today's world, perhaps we could use the 'toolbox' analogy, how all of us are 'equipped' and 'tooled' differently, and we're all needed to get the job done. Very few (none) of us are 'leathermen' (no matter how smart we think we are or multi-talented we profess to be). When we try to do it all, we will most likely fail. The road of those good intentions are littered with broken tools (and bruised knuckles and busted fingers; 'body parts' analogy still works, I guess).
One other thing: I know I especially don't like it when I've been tooling around doing things on my own and then abruptly I realize that God hasn't picked me up in awhile...that I haven't felt the 'hand of God'. That's also not a good feeling (for me).
That's because I believe we all have a higher purpose, a divine application on this earth. Otherwise, we're just trees; or animals; or oil pans. God wants us to 'apply' ourselves to the task He sets before us. Each one of us has a unique set of skills to use on each task; for each application. I hope that He looks down on me, has a specific need in mind, and says to Himself (and to me), "I have an app for that." And then He places his finger on me (nudges me), and then I get to work (and really apply myself). Otherwise, I'm just another idle (dumb) tool in a drawer full of them. I've got a drawer like that...and it's pretty useless.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
ON BEING BI
So I'm reading my Yahoo headlines several months ago and I see that the former Oscar winner for Best Supporting Actress is bisexual? I think the only state that allows that is Utah...but they have another name for it there. I've been to Utah; I think I'll stay in Oklahoma.
God tells us we are 'fearfully and wonderfully made.' He made us...so He has a right to tell us how to behave. I spoke in an earlier Blog about the parts of the body and how they all fit together. I'm glad my 'ear' didn't experiment with seeing or smelling, or try to develop a heightened sense of touch. I envision putting my head underneath the shower nozzle to test the temperature 'by ear' because my 'ear' insisted that it was a great 'feeler' (and in this example assuming my 'ear' had also developed the ability to speak). Somewhat akin to sticking your tongue to the ice pole (Dumb & Dumber reference). I actually have accidentally tested the shower water with my head, when someone left it on. I think I'll let my fingers do the testing.
I also wrote before about ones' calling. How do we determine our life's calling or vocation? I find we too often go back to something we know (or have known in the past). What if Michael Jordan had tried baseball FIRST? What if Billy Joel's parents couldn't afford piano lessons (or a piano). Would he have become famous as the Mandolin Man? "Sing us a song, you're the Mandolin Man" doesn't have the same ring and I'm not aware of very many Mandolin Bars (unless you count Irish Pubs - shout out to the Flyin' Fiddler).
Perhaps we should force our kids to work a different job in a different industry every summer until they have matched their aptitude with a vocation. We're told it looks bad on a resume to change jobs alot. But I've also been told that folks that change jobs frequently wind up being more successful in the end. I do believe this: chasing after what we want is probably never going to be as fulfilling as chasing after what we're good at.
As for me, I stumbled into a sales job at Southwestern Bell (now AT&T) nearly 28 years ago (where they let their fingers do the walking) and didn't even stinkin' know what the job was. I wanted a steady job with good benefits (and that's what I got). Not much of a life plan or goals list, huh? I wound up being pretty good at it for lots of reasons, but mostly because I have the ability to persuade (I was pretty successful as a debater in highschool). I stuck with it because I had a family to support and no longer had the luxury of trying stuff out. But the talents one possesses can be used in a variety of areas and at enumerous companies or jobs and I'm not sure that I can claim that this job that has occupied half of my life (so far) was 'the one'.
I went to college at OBU because I wanted to be a Church Music Leader. Probably the right match for many of my aptitudes (and it was definitely a 'calling'), but it just wasn't the right fit at that time. When church music began to radically change about 15 years ago, I realized that it had BECOME the right fit and the right time for me (finally starting to answer that 'calling'). So for about a dozen years or more I've kind of straddled the fence between the corporate world and the church world, with a heavy dose of performing on the side. So depending on which half of the glass we're looking at, I've had the best of both worlds (or the worst of both worlds).
It's not that I'm a closet 'bivocational'! Both partners are aware of the other one. In fact, I'm not at all 'attracted' to the corporate side, but when the dance floor got thin lo those many years ago, I had to settle for the ugly fat 'Bell' chick (don't ever confuse 'southwestern bell' with 'southern belle' - two totally different broads). Not to mention that the 'Bell babe' was willing to commit.
Regarding the other relationship, it seems like over the years one of the other of us hasn't been willing to commit (either myself or the church) so this half in/half out state has continued. I have always hoped to one day be able to find that perfect union, that bilateral committment and be able to leave my 'first lover'. The good news (and we love to talk about the 'good news') is that the ailment can be cured. First step of course is admitting you have a problem; so here goes: "Hello, my name is Randy and I'm bivocational."
Now that THAT is out of the way, I can work towards leaving the bivocational lifestyle behind and concentrate on my true love: leading worship! It won't be politically correct (being hetero-vocational), but there'll be fewer meetings and fewer parades to have to attend. When someone asks what I do for a living, I won't have to suffer through that uncomfortable moment when I stutter and stammer, and make that quick decision on whether or not to 'out' myself. I can state emphatically "Yes, I like church bodies." I prefer singing to selling. I prefer overcoming a 'bunch of NOTES' to overcoming a 'bunch of NOs'. I sing loud, and I'm proud. I've finally chosen the narrow way, not the bi-way highway; it wasn't the easy way, but it was God's way. Yes, I'm a Worship Pastor. I tried it out when we were on the Feud, and it felt good. It felt right!
So, drum roll please, November 1st, the divorce will become final. Bell(e) and I will split the sheets! It was a good union for many, many years, but frankly we've begun to REALLY get on each other's nerves. I was never unfaithful...but I've definitely had a wandering eye (and I've sinned in my heart against the old gal many times). I'm not sure what the future holds but I know Who holds the future (pardon the cliche). Don't be sad...I'm getting a good settlement (and rolling it right over into an IRA).
Some of you may say, "Oh, he won all that money on the Feud, that's why he's quitting his day job!" Well, my fifth of it, minus the government's take won't last long, believe me. I actually made this decision before we ever set foot in Orlando. I wrote most of this blog in April.
It's just the right time (and has been for awhile now). God's been saying, "Go there." I'm just finally saying, "Yes."
Thank you, Ma Bell, for 333 months.
As usual, my thoughts are best described in a song.
Click here, then listen to: I Say, "Yes!"
(seventh song on my CD "You Sing One...You Sing 'Em All")
God tells us we are 'fearfully and wonderfully made.' He made us...so He has a right to tell us how to behave. I spoke in an earlier Blog about the parts of the body and how they all fit together. I'm glad my 'ear' didn't experiment with seeing or smelling, or try to develop a heightened sense of touch. I envision putting my head underneath the shower nozzle to test the temperature 'by ear' because my 'ear' insisted that it was a great 'feeler' (and in this example assuming my 'ear' had also developed the ability to speak). Somewhat akin to sticking your tongue to the ice pole (Dumb & Dumber reference). I actually have accidentally tested the shower water with my head, when someone left it on. I think I'll let my fingers do the testing.
I also wrote before about ones' calling. How do we determine our life's calling or vocation? I find we too often go back to something we know (or have known in the past). What if Michael Jordan had tried baseball FIRST? What if Billy Joel's parents couldn't afford piano lessons (or a piano). Would he have become famous as the Mandolin Man? "Sing us a song, you're the Mandolin Man" doesn't have the same ring and I'm not aware of very many Mandolin Bars (unless you count Irish Pubs - shout out to the Flyin' Fiddler).
Perhaps we should force our kids to work a different job in a different industry every summer until they have matched their aptitude with a vocation. We're told it looks bad on a resume to change jobs alot. But I've also been told that folks that change jobs frequently wind up being more successful in the end. I do believe this: chasing after what we want is probably never going to be as fulfilling as chasing after what we're good at.
As for me, I stumbled into a sales job at Southwestern Bell (now AT&T) nearly 28 years ago (where they let their fingers do the walking) and didn't even stinkin' know what the job was. I wanted a steady job with good benefits (and that's what I got). Not much of a life plan or goals list, huh? I wound up being pretty good at it for lots of reasons, but mostly because I have the ability to persuade (I was pretty successful as a debater in highschool). I stuck with it because I had a family to support and no longer had the luxury of trying stuff out. But the talents one possesses can be used in a variety of areas and at enumerous companies or jobs and I'm not sure that I can claim that this job that has occupied half of my life (so far) was 'the one'.
I went to college at OBU because I wanted to be a Church Music Leader. Probably the right match for many of my aptitudes (and it was definitely a 'calling'), but it just wasn't the right fit at that time. When church music began to radically change about 15 years ago, I realized that it had BECOME the right fit and the right time for me (finally starting to answer that 'calling'). So for about a dozen years or more I've kind of straddled the fence between the corporate world and the church world, with a heavy dose of performing on the side. So depending on which half of the glass we're looking at, I've had the best of both worlds (or the worst of both worlds).
It's not that I'm a closet 'bivocational'! Both partners are aware of the other one. In fact, I'm not at all 'attracted' to the corporate side, but when the dance floor got thin lo those many years ago, I had to settle for the ugly fat 'Bell' chick (don't ever confuse 'southwestern bell' with 'southern belle' - two totally different broads). Not to mention that the 'Bell babe' was willing to commit.
Regarding the other relationship, it seems like over the years one of the other of us hasn't been willing to commit (either myself or the church) so this half in/half out state has continued. I have always hoped to one day be able to find that perfect union, that bilateral committment and be able to leave my 'first lover'. The good news (and we love to talk about the 'good news') is that the ailment can be cured. First step of course is admitting you have a problem; so here goes: "Hello, my name is Randy and I'm bivocational."
Now that THAT is out of the way, I can work towards leaving the bivocational lifestyle behind and concentrate on my true love: leading worship! It won't be politically correct (being hetero-vocational), but there'll be fewer meetings and fewer parades to have to attend. When someone asks what I do for a living, I won't have to suffer through that uncomfortable moment when I stutter and stammer, and make that quick decision on whether or not to 'out' myself. I can state emphatically "Yes, I like church bodies." I prefer singing to selling. I prefer overcoming a 'bunch of NOTES' to overcoming a 'bunch of NOs'. I sing loud, and I'm proud. I've finally chosen the narrow way, not the bi-way highway; it wasn't the easy way, but it was God's way. Yes, I'm a Worship Pastor. I tried it out when we were on the Feud, and it felt good. It felt right!
So, drum roll please, November 1st, the divorce will become final. Bell(e) and I will split the sheets! It was a good union for many, many years, but frankly we've begun to REALLY get on each other's nerves. I was never unfaithful...but I've definitely had a wandering eye (and I've sinned in my heart against the old gal many times). I'm not sure what the future holds but I know Who holds the future (pardon the cliche). Don't be sad...I'm getting a good settlement (and rolling it right over into an IRA).
Some of you may say, "Oh, he won all that money on the Feud, that's why he's quitting his day job!" Well, my fifth of it, minus the government's take won't last long, believe me. I actually made this decision before we ever set foot in Orlando. I wrote most of this blog in April.
It's just the right time (and has been for awhile now). God's been saying, "Go there." I'm just finally saying, "Yes."
Thank you, Ma Bell, for 333 months.
As usual, my thoughts are best described in a song.
Click here, then listen to: I Say, "Yes!"
(seventh song on my CD "You Sing One...You Sing 'Em All")
Monday, September 27, 2010
Twenty Two Minutes and Three Seconds of Fame
Yes, I'm well aware of the Andy Warhol prediction (and now overused phrase) that in the future everyone will be famous for 15 minutes (first stated in 1968, and then reiterated by Mr. Warhol again in 1979). And I'm telling you, with Reality TV, American Idol, YouTube, Twitter and who-knows-what next, it's become eerily accurate. At any rate, maybe by the time this blog is complete, you can figure out my math (and where the extra seven minutes and three seconds came from).
Just call me a geek. I like numbers. I'm good with them; and math comes easy to me. Remember a phone number? Easy. Algebra? You bet! Excel spread sheets? Bring 'em on. Numbers allow us to quantify, measure and compare things. Numbers are objective; how we analyze them is subjective. But this blog isn't about numbers...necessarily. But it will stay true to the 'randym thoughts' title; so get ready for a 'number' of them!
My wife and I recently went to see the movie Heaven's Rain. It's a great movie, that accurately and factually tells the true story of an Oklahoma pastor and his family's home invasion in October 1979 (they weren't really called home invasions back then; that term didn't really catch on until about 1995, but that indeed was what it was). I highly recommend the movie. It's certainly a different movie than Fireproof, but every bit as relevant to the concept of 'forgiveness' as any movie you'll see. Since it happened here in the Bible Belt, it is especially engaging. In addition to that, my family attended Putnam City Baptist Church (in 1972) when this pastor, Richard Douglas, was there so I was even more intrigued. (In October of '79 I was in Fresno, California playing rock-n-roll. Back then, before the Internet, news coverage of this in the 'Valley' was scarce, so my first hand knowledge of the crime was limited. I do remember my mom calling to tell me about it on the phone). But to be honest, my main reason to go see the film was to see if I was going to be in it.
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| Raise your hand, Randy, so everyone can see which one you are! |
Coincidentally, as Heaven's Rain ends its run in Oklahoma City (on the 30th), Whittern's Reign (aka: Family Feud) starts its run. If my sources are correct, October 4th at 1:00 p.m. you'll be able to see the Whit Family in all their glory...twenty two minutes of fame! You see, one of the things the producer (Gaby - see her in the pic) mentioned when we were getting our pre-game pep talk and instructions, was that they had to cram a whole show, including all of Steve Harvey's antics into just 22 minutes.
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| Executive Producer, Gaby talks to the Whittern Family before the show |
And although we're obviously not in ALL 22 minutes of the show, the Whitterns vs the Wilsons was a heavy weight fight; four rounds of action with both families duking it out for camera time. The Wilsons were the first family out of the chute that day (playing a returning champ) for a reason. They were a flamboyant, outgoing family, and by the time we got to them, they were out for their third win (I had the feeling that none of the other families wanted to play them, either). It's actually been kind of interesting, because they've already shown the Wilson's first show, where they beat a really strong opponent, The Farwell Family (going for THEIR third win). It was a really funny show, so I'm not surprised they snuck it in early. Be watching for their second show, when they take on the family with Shamus, the ballroom dance instructor. It's a hoot.
One of the things I've noticed, much like in the movies, editing has a significant impact on the final product. For instance, each show we saw taped, began with the traditional 'family introductions' (usually made by the family captain). So far, I've yet to see one of these make the show. And I can understand why. How many times do we want to hear the phrase 'my lovely wife' or 'my crazy cousin'? Let's leave the comedy to the professional (Steve Harvey) so we can get to the 'stupid answers' as fast as we can.
After all, the clock's rolling, and we only have 22 minutes to spare. Truth is, they switched our order right before we went on, and I accidentally introduced Holly as 'my sister' (instead of as 'her sister' referencing Katie). I've introduced hundreds of singers and entertainers in over 20 years as an MC at various shows and Oprys, so it's something I almost do for a living...and I still had some 'duh' moments. So I'm glad the intros are gone.
The Feud is a great vehicle for Steve Harvey and although it is still very much about the families and their personalities (and their answers), just watching Steve is worth tuning in for. Every show I've watched (and I've seen about 25 of them so far) has been entertaining and funny. Hands down, it has become the best game show on TV.
Fame itself is fleeting. I see it every time I mention an artist or actor from the 70s (or the 60s) when my kids are around. Will my grandkids know who 'Farrah' was? How about Rowan and Martin, Jan and Dean, Chad and Jeremy? I grew up listening to Dean Martin on my mom's stereo. One of the first albums I listened to was King Creole. I went to an Elvis Extravaganza at the State Fair on Tuesday night to see a good friend of mine, Rich Vickers do his ETA (Elvis Tribute Artist) performance (he was superb, by the way). Elvis is alive and well because of these types of events, but the others I mentioned are not so lucky (and not so famous).
It seems like the way you DIE has a great effect on your fame...
...when it should be the way that you lived.
People also confuse 'fame' with 'success'. You can be famous, for good and bad reasons...and even the good reasons don't usually translate into making a living at it. If fame is fleeting, success from that fame is even harder to hang on to. Think of the unhappy child stars. Think of the college athletes who didn't go pro (or tried to, but couldn't). A life can't be judged on how famous it was (or wasn't).
There seems to be a buzzword about making Jesus famous. Has there been anyone MORE famous, MORE sustaining than Jesus Christ? I don't feel the need to make Jesus famous...just important...in my own life. The rest will take care of itself. It is quickly apparent what is important in people's lives. If Christ isn't important in my life, then I won't be much of a PR guy for Him.
Fame seems to be more of a selfish thing...an earthly thing. In a generation or two, the people we consider famous now, will barely be remembered. Maybe a history book or two will chronicle their place in history; but the more history we have, even that club becomes more and more exclusive. Outside of Oklahoma, the Murrah bombing is about two generations away from being nearly forgotten. Truth is, I can't really remember my great-grandparents. Fast forward three generations; who will remember you? I loved my mom. I have great and fond memories of her (notice I've mentioned her several times in this blog). But my grandkids didn't know her. They certainly won't remember her.
James 4:14 Whereas you do not know what will happen tomorrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.
Your 15 minutes of fame (when and if it comes) won't change anything. It won't have any real or lasting effect on your life one way or the other. Nor will my twenty two minutes and three seconds of fame. And what money you make off of it (if any) will vanish like the million or so dollars most of us will actually earn in our lifetimes (you do the math...$35,000 a year for 30 years). But what I do about Jesus...that's another thing entirely. I believe that will have eternal significance. At a minimum, being a Christian has given my life meaning and my faith has sustained me. Fame? You can keep all twenty one minutes and thirty-eight seconds of it.
Where'd the rest go, you ask? You do the math...
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The captain of the Wilson Family, Secily Wilson was quite a lady. She and Donna struck up a quick friendship in the lady's room (Donna let Secily borrow her mirror). She was great TV. Check her out on the web!
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Approximate Wait Time for this Blog - 30 Minutes (Part Two)
Animal Kingdom was a great addition to the Disney Theme Parks. Maybe because it was a whole park that I had never been to before. But the Safari ride through the live, wild animals was superb and it kind of made the Jungle Cruise over at Magic Kingdom null and void. It was like a zoo without bars (although we had a couple of cold waters when we were done ;). The park was really busy that day (and muggy). And the 'Fast Pass' machines kept messing up, so that an attendant was continually having to help folks get their complementary passes. Now I've always been one to like to beat the system (one of my many bad traits) and my son has followed in my footsteps, and in fact walked quickly past me in that regards. He observantly noticed that many times, when all other efforts failed, the Disney worker was reaching around the back of the Fast Pass machine, and pushing a mysterious button that automatically spit out a Fast Pass. So, from that point forward, whenever we needed a Fast Pass and the machine wasn't cooperating (either because it was truly malfunctioning or because we hadn't waited the mandatory 'hour' between Fast Pass dispersals), Dustin would reach around to the back of the machine, punch the button a few times and voila, we were armed and dangerous...or to misquote the old Palladin line, "HAVE TICKET - WILL TRAVEL!"
Observance and diligence will take you far in life...or at least will put more 'magical' in your day.
Proverbs 13:4 The sluggard craves and gets nothing, but the desires of the diligent are fully satisfied.
But the rides that affected me the most throughout several days of themeparking, were the Disney rides that I had first ridden 40 years ago in California (and later about 20 years ago in Florida). Rides like the Pirates of the Carribean for instance. There was such talk about the 'animatronics' and the realness of the characters back in the day for some of these rides. And in fact, many of the sights were mesmerizing back then...the old 'Disney Magic' was alive and real. But this time around, I could have really cared less. I was mildly disappointed that they were refurbishing the It's A Small World ride (mostly because I wanted a cool place to sit for awhile). And if the Pirates of the Carribean would have had much of a line (we basically walked right on), we probably would have skipped it. We didn't darken the door of the Tiki Hut or the Hall of Presidents (The Tiki Hut said it was 'Under New Management'; I assume the Hall of Presidents is now, too ;). When I was younger (even as an adult) I would have stood in line and waited for all of these rides (and did). But I've lost my passion for them. For me the 'magic' has worn off.
The rides haven't changed. I have.
Revelation 2:3-5 You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary. Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love. Remember the height from which you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first.
There's no doubt I have extended periods of exuberance for Christianity. But like many of us, I have times when I punch the clock...go through the motions. It's like I'm riding the Pirates of the Carribean, but I'm thinking about what's for lunch or how tired I am...oblivious to the "YO HOs". The hound dog still has the keys to the jail cell. The three pirates behind bars are still trying to coax him over. And even the horny old pirates are still chasing the 'women of the night' round and round in a circle. Been there; done that! (the ride...I'm talking about the RIDE).
It's not that I'm lukewarm. But no doubt I find myself HOT, then COLD; much like the Roller Coaster: I'm FIRE; then ICE. The ride of life is still coming at me just as fast as ever; full of twists and turns, followed by periods of waiting and watching. But it's so much better when you're on FIRE; versus being on ICE. (However, being drenched and beaten by rain pellets at 60 or 70 miles an hour is no picnic, no matter how enthusiastic you are.)
There's always more ground to cover. One more corner to turn. One more ride to discover. But the ride is only as fun, interesting, and engaging as my enthusiasm is for it. So I find myself, over and over praying the REAL version of Isaiah 40:31 and asking that I run and not grow weary...walk and not be faint. And as with most scriptures, the original version will sustain me through every event in life (no matter how wild the ride).
About two years ago I had the opportunity to sit down with Eddie DeGarmo and just talk for over an hour. He was there in Estes Park, CO to give a talk/lecture during the Seminar in the Rockies when I was up there a couple of summers ago. I wasn't about to miss it. My first official date with Donna was at a DeGarmo & Key concert in the 80s. He was the driving force behind one of the first and most successful (from my point of view) Christian rock bands during those early years. But the venue (room) where he was slated to speak was one of the more obscure ones at the YMCA of the Rockies; and also it was on Friday morning of the week long conference...and many of the young artists clamoring to be discovered, and so certain that they were the next MercyMe or Chris Tomlin had packed up their homemade CDs and left Estes Park early to return to their home towns in dejection and despondency (like so many of the disappointed Feud families). So, when I trotted up to the room and peaked in, I realized the small auditorium was dark. I wandered back into the lobby, and asked the old guy sitting on the couch if the seminar had been cancelled. He replied, "I think it's probably just you and me, partner. How are you? I'm Eddie DeGarmo." So, I sat down, and Eddie and I talked for over an hour. He told me how he went from traveling and performing, to publishing (and I found out he had been REALLY successful in both arenas). It was SO interesting and better than any lecture I could have attended. A one-on-one impromptu session with Eddie DeGarmo...just sitting on the couch, shootin' the breeze. I tell you this story, because one their best songs (see below) aptly describes my feelings about all this and sums up my Christian ride. I don't want to be 'casual' about it.
I sure don't want to be 'lukewarm'. I want to excitedly choose my music...then Rip Ride and Rockit! And when unexpected storms arrive, I want to show patience and be willing to wait for whatever God has in store for me. And I want to do it with decorum and class (no matter what those around me are doing or saying; or yelling!).
Casual Christian - DeGarmo & Key
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Proverbs 13:4 The sluggard craves and gets nothing, but the desires of the diligent are fully satisfied.
But the rides that affected me the most throughout several days of themeparking, were the Disney rides that I had first ridden 40 years ago in California (and later about 20 years ago in Florida). Rides like the Pirates of the Carribean for instance. There was such talk about the 'animatronics' and the realness of the characters back in the day for some of these rides. And in fact, many of the sights were mesmerizing back then...the old 'Disney Magic' was alive and real. But this time around, I could have really cared less. I was mildly disappointed that they were refurbishing the It's A Small World ride (mostly because I wanted a cool place to sit for awhile). And if the Pirates of the Carribean would have had much of a line (we basically walked right on), we probably would have skipped it. We didn't darken the door of the Tiki Hut or the Hall of Presidents (The Tiki Hut said it was 'Under New Management'; I assume the Hall of Presidents is now, too ;). When I was younger (even as an adult) I would have stood in line and waited for all of these rides (and did). But I've lost my passion for them. For me the 'magic' has worn off.
The rides haven't changed. I have.
Revelation 2:3-5 You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary. Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love. Remember the height from which you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first.
There's no doubt I have extended periods of exuberance for Christianity. But like many of us, I have times when I punch the clock...go through the motions. It's like I'm riding the Pirates of the Carribean, but I'm thinking about what's for lunch or how tired I am...oblivious to the "YO HOs". The hound dog still has the keys to the jail cell. The three pirates behind bars are still trying to coax him over. And even the horny old pirates are still chasing the 'women of the night' round and round in a circle. Been there; done that! (the ride...I'm talking about the RIDE).
It's not that I'm lukewarm. But no doubt I find myself HOT, then COLD; much like the Roller Coaster: I'm FIRE; then ICE. The ride of life is still coming at me just as fast as ever; full of twists and turns, followed by periods of waiting and watching. But it's so much better when you're on FIRE; versus being on ICE. (However, being drenched and beaten by rain pellets at 60 or 70 miles an hour is no picnic, no matter how enthusiastic you are.)
There's always more ground to cover. One more corner to turn. One more ride to discover. But the ride is only as fun, interesting, and engaging as my enthusiasm is for it. So I find myself, over and over praying the REAL version of Isaiah 40:31 and asking that I run and not grow weary...walk and not be faint. And as with most scriptures, the original version will sustain me through every event in life (no matter how wild the ride).
About two years ago I had the opportunity to sit down with Eddie DeGarmo and just talk for over an hour. He was there in Estes Park, CO to give a talk/lecture during the Seminar in the Rockies when I was up there a couple of summers ago. I wasn't about to miss it. My first official date with Donna was at a DeGarmo & Key concert in the 80s. He was the driving force behind one of the first and most successful (from my point of view) Christian rock bands during those early years. But the venue (room) where he was slated to speak was one of the more obscure ones at the YMCA of the Rockies; and also it was on Friday morning of the week long conference...and many of the young artists clamoring to be discovered, and so certain that they were the next MercyMe or Chris Tomlin had packed up their homemade CDs and left Estes Park early to return to their home towns in dejection and despondency (like so many of the disappointed Feud families). So, when I trotted up to the room and peaked in, I realized the small auditorium was dark. I wandered back into the lobby, and asked the old guy sitting on the couch if the seminar had been cancelled. He replied, "I think it's probably just you and me, partner. How are you? I'm Eddie DeGarmo." So, I sat down, and Eddie and I talked for over an hour. He told me how he went from traveling and performing, to publishing (and I found out he had been REALLY successful in both arenas). It was SO interesting and better than any lecture I could have attended. A one-on-one impromptu session with Eddie DeGarmo...just sitting on the couch, shootin' the breeze. I tell you this story, because one their best songs (see below) aptly describes my feelings about all this and sums up my Christian ride. I don't want to be 'casual' about it.
I sure don't want to be 'lukewarm'. I want to excitedly choose my music...then Rip Ride and Rockit! And when unexpected storms arrive, I want to show patience and be willing to wait for whatever God has in store for me. And I want to do it with decorum and class (no matter what those around me are doing or saying; or yelling!).
Casual Christian - DeGarmo & Key
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Approximate Wait Time for this Blog - 30 minutes (Part One)
With each generation society changes...I'm tempted to say evolves; but the word 'evolves' denotes a 'bettering' or an 'advanced state'. So I think I'll stick with 'changes'. Today's generation (and my generation to some extent) not only wants, but expects to 'have it all'. Don't save for the future. Don't save for emergencies. Don't save for anything! The newest cars, houses, clothing, shoes and gadgets are just a credit card swipe or a computer click away.
Buy now. Pay later. Pay way more later. Maybe never pay.
You know the obvious things. Here's one of the not so obvious things I noticed while in Florida doing the 'Feud'. Back in the day, when you visited Disneyland (that's all we had back then), you bought a book of tickets (how many remember that?). You had A, B, C, D and E tickets. The A and B tickets were for the lesser rides (like Cinderella's Golden Carousel or the Shootin' Gallery or Swiss Family Treehouse). The D and E tickets were the 'golden' ones for the Haunted Mansion or the Jungle Cruise. In fact, even the Hall of Presidents and the Country Bear Jamboree required a prized D or E ticket (we didn't even bother with either of those attractions this time). The point is, you had to decide which ride you REALLY wanted to ride or which attraction you really wanted to see; because once that E ticket was gone, that was it. No more 'cool' rides. My parents (especially my dad) were not about to shell out $5.95 for another book just so I could ride one more 'cool' ride. No amounts of "Please, please, please, please!" would change their mind either. Every once in awhile, I might be able to con my mom out of one of her tickets (she wasn't a big fan of rides), but the bottom line was this: you didn't expect to ride all the rides. You waited in line. You gave up your last 'E' ticket. And you made sure you enjoyed it. End of story.
But today is so different. Not only do the kids expect to ride every ride, they want to ride them more than once, and not have to stand in line. So now Disney has come up with the Fast Pass. You obtain this at the entrance of each ride. It gives you a specific time to come back (usually more than an hour or two later) and take the 'Fast Pass' to the front of the line. Now the rule is you can only get one fast pass each hour. So we had to bounce from one side of the park to the other, grabbing as many fast passes as we could, in an attempt to ride as many rides as possible (with as little waiting as possible). Now I'm not saying that standing in line is some sort of rite of passage on the way to Nirvana or a 'trial' that you must endure to be 'worthy' of riding some 3 minute thrill ride. But it's a microcosm of our "I-want-it-and-I-want-it-now microwave world" that we live in. ("OMG, the iPhone 4.0 is SO much faster than the iPhone 3G!" Who knew? Who cares?).
It was interesting to hear people from all over the world, rapidly blurting out their native language, interspersed with the words 'Fast Pass' here and there. 'Fast Pass' is the same in EVERY language! But I found myself getting sucked into it also. During our time at the Universal Studios theme park, we paid the extra to get THEIR version of the Fast Pass called the Express Pass (and honestly it WAS worth every penny). You didn't have to come back later for the Express Pass. You just went from ride to ride, straight through the park. No planning; hardly any waiting. You didn't have to spend an hour in the heat, in a line with very little air circulation, next to those same nationalities that don't have the same bathing habits as we do or next to the teenagers using the wait in line as foreplay for the ride they hoped to experience later. You got in, you got on, you rode; you got in, you got on, you rode! More time to eat the high priced food, and shop the high priced gift shops. Universal gets more money from you and somehow we're all happier.
Now there were one or two rides that did NOT except the 'Express Pass' (aren't there ALWAYS exceptions?) One of them was the Rip Ride Rockit Roller Coaster; where you got to choose the music you listen to during the ride from a list of several genres and artists (kind of like you choose your own music for your final ride into eternity, aka: your funeral). So this particular day, we chose an opportune time (about lunch time, when we hoped the wait would be the shortest) and got in line. The 'estimated wait time' posted at the beginning of the line was 45 minutes, so we figured if that was our longest wait of the day, we'd be in good shape. During your stint in line, the video monitors constantly played examples of the music from which you could chose. Strangely enough, there was no Gospel music to pick from (guess I'll save that for the aforementioned 'final' ride). Since I once worked with a preacher that had an affinity for ZZ Top (shout out to BBB), I decided that I would choose 'that lil ol band from Texas' to scream along with.
Now I'm not saying it was a 'sign', but I was soon reminded that God controls the weather; for as we were standing on the platform, after about an hour wait, and only three groups away from climbing aboard, an announcement came over the loud speakers (you can't miss the announcements, because they turn off the LOUD music to make them) and it said, "Due to inclement weather in the area, the Rip Ride Rockit Roller Coaster is temporarily closed." It had been cloudy and rainy off and on throughout the morning, but it hadn't seemed to be an issue until now. Obviously, some poor soul's final ride into eternity had been on a roller coaster (probably while listening to rap) thanks to some well timed 'lightning' in the past; because we soon discovered that the park had a policy that when the thunder rolls, the coasters do not. So you can image the reactions and verbal barrage that soon followed that announcement from the throngs of hot, sweaty people who had not only been denied their Sixth Amendment rights to a 'fair and speedy ride' (through use of the Express Pass) but were now being denied their 'Freedom of Screech' (after all, that's what you do on a roller coaster; at least I believe it was one of the answers to the Family Feud question: Name Something You Do On A Roller Coaster). So I was nervously hoping no one wanted to exercise their Second Amendment rights to bear arms; especially the Hispanic Family just behind us. They were 'lívido' and they were letting the innocent workers have it in Spanglish. I understood the English parts, and my son (who just spent several months near the Mexican border in south Texas) assured me the Spanish slang they were using was equally 'condescendiente' and 'abrasivo'. I suddenly felt I had been time warped to a really bad carnival in a really bad part of town and found myself watching for the glint of a 'shank' suddenly appearing out of a pair of slaggin FUBUs. Fortunately, before the crowd could bum rush the poor kids who were just working their summer jobs between semesters, the thunder stopped; and the coaster rolled.
The weather reared its ugly head off and on that whole day. We wound up riding the Fire side, of the Fire and Ice Roller Coaster in a driving rain (obviously there was no lightning present at the time; either that or the workers decided it was better to risk our lives than theirs). I can only describe it as being catapulted on a wheelchair through a car wash at a hundred miles an hour (and yes, I paid to have this done to me). Fortunately, we were able to use our Express Pass, and the kids (not the mom or dad), rode it several times. For me, once was enough.
The most strenuous ride we rode during our time in Orlando? The Disney Parkwalk Asphalt Marathon. Donna's phone measures the number of steps taken each day, and we discovered that we were averaging about six miles per day. Fast Pass my ACHING FEET!!!
It caused me to retranslate Isaiah 40:31!
Those that wait in line (Lord help me!) will renew their strength. They will buckle up and then soar like eagles. They will ride and not grow weary...they will walk (and ride some more) and not grow faint.
(to be continued)
Buy now. Pay later. Pay way more later. Maybe never pay.
You know the obvious things. Here's one of the not so obvious things I noticed while in Florida doing the 'Feud'. Back in the day, when you visited Disneyland (that's all we had back then), you bought a book of tickets (how many remember that?). You had A, B, C, D and E tickets. The A and B tickets were for the lesser rides (like Cinderella's Golden Carousel or the Shootin' Gallery or Swiss Family Treehouse). The D and E tickets were the 'golden' ones for the Haunted Mansion or the Jungle Cruise. In fact, even the Hall of Presidents and the Country Bear Jamboree required a prized D or E ticket (we didn't even bother with either of those attractions this time). The point is, you had to decide which ride you REALLY wanted to ride or which attraction you really wanted to see; because once that E ticket was gone, that was it. No more 'cool' rides. My parents (especially my dad) were not about to shell out $5.95 for another book just so I could ride one more 'cool' ride. No amounts of "Please, please, please, please!" would change their mind either. Every once in awhile, I might be able to con my mom out of one of her tickets (she wasn't a big fan of rides), but the bottom line was this: you didn't expect to ride all the rides. You waited in line. You gave up your last 'E' ticket. And you made sure you enjoyed it. End of story.
But today is so different. Not only do the kids expect to ride every ride, they want to ride them more than once, and not have to stand in line. So now Disney has come up with the Fast Pass. You obtain this at the entrance of each ride. It gives you a specific time to come back (usually more than an hour or two later) and take the 'Fast Pass' to the front of the line. Now the rule is you can only get one fast pass each hour. So we had to bounce from one side of the park to the other, grabbing as many fast passes as we could, in an attempt to ride as many rides as possible (with as little waiting as possible). Now I'm not saying that standing in line is some sort of rite of passage on the way to Nirvana or a 'trial' that you must endure to be 'worthy' of riding some 3 minute thrill ride. But it's a microcosm of our "I-want-it-and-I-want-it-now microwave world" that we live in. ("OMG, the iPhone 4.0 is SO much faster than the iPhone 3G!" Who knew? Who cares?).
It was interesting to hear people from all over the world, rapidly blurting out their native language, interspersed with the words 'Fast Pass' here and there. 'Fast Pass' is the same in EVERY language! But I found myself getting sucked into it also. During our time at the Universal Studios theme park, we paid the extra to get THEIR version of the Fast Pass called the Express Pass (and honestly it WAS worth every penny). You didn't have to come back later for the Express Pass. You just went from ride to ride, straight through the park. No planning; hardly any waiting. You didn't have to spend an hour in the heat, in a line with very little air circulation, next to those same nationalities that don't have the same bathing habits as we do or next to the teenagers using the wait in line as foreplay for the ride they hoped to experience later. You got in, you got on, you rode; you got in, you got on, you rode! More time to eat the high priced food, and shop the high priced gift shops. Universal gets more money from you and somehow we're all happier.
Now there were one or two rides that did NOT except the 'Express Pass' (aren't there ALWAYS exceptions?) One of them was the Rip Ride Rockit Roller Coaster; where you got to choose the music you listen to during the ride from a list of several genres and artists (kind of like you choose your own music for your final ride into eternity, aka: your funeral). So this particular day, we chose an opportune time (about lunch time, when we hoped the wait would be the shortest) and got in line. The 'estimated wait time' posted at the beginning of the line was 45 minutes, so we figured if that was our longest wait of the day, we'd be in good shape. During your stint in line, the video monitors constantly played examples of the music from which you could chose. Strangely enough, there was no Gospel music to pick from (guess I'll save that for the aforementioned 'final' ride). Since I once worked with a preacher that had an affinity for ZZ Top (shout out to BBB), I decided that I would choose 'that lil ol band from Texas' to scream along with.
 |
| Rip Ride Rockit Roller Coaster |
Now I'm not saying it was a 'sign', but I was soon reminded that God controls the weather; for as we were standing on the platform, after about an hour wait, and only three groups away from climbing aboard, an announcement came over the loud speakers (you can't miss the announcements, because they turn off the LOUD music to make them) and it said, "Due to inclement weather in the area, the Rip Ride Rockit Roller Coaster is temporarily closed." It had been cloudy and rainy off and on throughout the morning, but it hadn't seemed to be an issue until now. Obviously, some poor soul's final ride into eternity had been on a roller coaster (probably while listening to rap) thanks to some well timed 'lightning' in the past; because we soon discovered that the park had a policy that when the thunder rolls, the coasters do not. So you can image the reactions and verbal barrage that soon followed that announcement from the throngs of hot, sweaty people who had not only been denied their Sixth Amendment rights to a 'fair and speedy ride' (through use of the Express Pass) but were now being denied their 'Freedom of Screech' (after all, that's what you do on a roller coaster; at least I believe it was one of the answers to the Family Feud question: Name Something You Do On A Roller Coaster). So I was nervously hoping no one wanted to exercise their Second Amendment rights to bear arms; especially the Hispanic Family just behind us. They were 'lívido' and they were letting the innocent workers have it in Spanglish. I understood the English parts, and my son (who just spent several months near the Mexican border in south Texas) assured me the Spanish slang they were using was equally 'condescendiente' and 'abrasivo'. I suddenly felt I had been time warped to a really bad carnival in a really bad part of town and found myself watching for the glint of a 'shank' suddenly appearing out of a pair of slaggin FUBUs. Fortunately, before the crowd could bum rush the poor kids who were just working their summer jobs between semesters, the thunder stopped; and the coaster rolled.
The weather reared its ugly head off and on that whole day. We wound up riding the Fire side, of the Fire and Ice Roller Coaster in a driving rain (obviously there was no lightning present at the time; either that or the workers decided it was better to risk our lives than theirs). I can only describe it as being catapulted on a wheelchair through a car wash at a hundred miles an hour (and yes, I paid to have this done to me). Fortunately, we were able to use our Express Pass, and the kids (not the mom or dad), rode it several times. For me, once was enough.
The most strenuous ride we rode during our time in Orlando? The Disney Parkwalk Asphalt Marathon. Donna's phone measures the number of steps taken each day, and we discovered that we were averaging about six miles per day. Fast Pass my ACHING FEET!!!
It caused me to retranslate Isaiah 40:31!
Those that wait in line (Lord help me!) will renew their strength. They will buckle up and then soar like eagles. They will ride and not grow weary...they will walk (and ride some more) and not grow faint.
(to be continued)
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