WINNING! (Part Two)

Sure this story may seem insignificant to you. Most things are that way. What's important to me is NEVER going to be as important to you (unless it involves you). Without the 'like' button or the 'comment' button or the 'retweet' button, social media would die. Yes, social media is a good way to keep up with your friends (current or otherwise). It's also a great way to stay in touch with your family (especially if they live several hours away). But it's the Internet's way of saying "Me too! Me too!" by thrusting your name, your picture and your comment into the lives of every one of your so-called 'friends'. "Don't just look at them! Look at me! Look at me!"  "I like that, too!" "I'm laughing out loud, too!" "I'm shaking my head, too!"

Conversely, it's a great way to avoid looking at pictures of kids and grandchildren (other than your own). Just say, "YES, I saw those on FACEBOOK!" and then quickly change the subject (or go home and post some of your own). C'mon now...newborn puppies aren't that cute (I'm talking about the hairless mole ones). Kittens with closed eyes and no hair...hideous. Every picture taken at a hospital right after a birth...squished and frowny. The best thing you can say about a newborn baby is, "He's a C-section baby! Isn't he cute?" Meaning, the size of the head, although still largely out of proportion, hasn't been altered like an orange sherbet push-up that was just squeezed through a keyhole. As for my babies (see, you just got less interested) they were the cutest around; but that first week, they were more 'fetus' than Fabio; more 'goober ' than Gerber. And if your babies happen to look like your previous babies (and they probably will, since they all look alike) the flooding of memories will mask what you are actually cooing at and fawning over, and will make them even more wonderful to look at (through your eyes). But it's just God's great auto-tuner. Every family thinks their kids can sing. Every family loves to look at pictures of their babies.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." That's not from the Bible. That phrase first showed up in the novel Molly Bawn, about 1878. In 1953, there was a great episode of The Twilight Zone (Eye of the Beholder - Episode #42), where the ugly woman in need of a make-over was Donna Douglas (the original Elly May Clampett). The problem was everyone in her world was grotesquely deformed. She, on the other hand, looked like Elly May in a hospital gown; but alas, her operation fails, she keeps looking like Elly May and she never achieves the 'ugliness' she desires, in order to blend in with society (based upon the very subjective definition of beauty that dominated that world; see what I mean?).

If you can only find one person on earth that thinks you're beautiful, tell your mom you love her too (but I'm sure there are others!). If you find a thousand people that like your singing, you've got a platinum record! But that doesn't mean you sing good, now does it? Most things in life are pretty subjective that way. Even athletic ability is relative to who you play with and whether that ability increases or decreases in the clutch.

As for me, I always liked black and white things as a kid (not the colors, but clear cut things). I thought math was one of the fairest subjects around. Either you got the answer, or you didn't. No teacher favoritism (or lack of favoritism) could hurt you either way. No essay questions or term paper variables that were dependent on your point of view or who you were; just get it right (or it was wrong). Spelling pretty much works the same way. So naturally, I found myself buzzed (pun intended) about the eighth grade spelling bee.

This was in and around 1968, and the Vietnam war wasn't over; so there hadn't been a large influx of Vietnamese (or Asians for that matter) entering America and signing up for spelling bee contests yet (therefore it was easier for a country kid from Muskogee to 'nguyen', so to speak). It was also before the kids from India realized how easy two and three syllable English words were to spell, especially when compared to the multi-syllabic words in their language. Even having to spell some of those tough two syllable winning words like 'guerdon'* and 'stromuhr'** must have seemed like taking Gandhi from a baby to them! For instance, the names of the last two years' winners: Anamika Veeramani and Kavya Shivashankar. Let's face it; those kids had to be pretty smart just to put their NAMES on their papers!

I knew about none of this, of course; but I did know spelling came easy to me. I almost had a photographic memory back then (it's hard to find film these days, though), and I prided myself on knowing the spelling of words. Like most kids, I grew up screaming at the top of my lungs, "Mom, how do you spell 'multi-syllabic'?" to which she would reply, "Look it up! You may need to use it in a Blog someday!" Alright, I made up that last part, but my mom NEVER spelled a word for me. It was "look it up" or make it up!

Eighth grade happens to be the last grade in which you can qualify for the national spelling bee. My family had just moved to Muskogee, Oklahoma, and I was determined to make a name for myself (like anyone else really cared). I took that study book they had given me home, and tried to make myself study it. But there were hundreds of words! Luckily, the book was divided into three word groups based upon difficulty; and I figured the kids would drop like flies long before we got to the tough words (plus I had things to do; like PLAY) so I gave most of my limited attention to the first two sets of words (assuming that would be more than sufficient to 'guerdon'* the coveted title to myself).

So there we were, in a classroom at Alice Robertson Junior High in Muskogee, Oklahoma, and sure enough nearly all the other little competitors had fallen to the curb; all of them except one little plump red-headed girl named Suzy Smith. I could be tacky and talk about her freckles or her lack of friends (therefore her ample time to study compared to the rest of us) but the fact is, the little girl could spell. She was a southern girl, and like most of us had a bit of a drawl. She was also very soft-spoken. She kept quietly spelling those 'little ole' words and then turning to me as if to say, "Your turn."

We had finally begun to enter that dreaded group of 'tough' words and I was winging it on sheer brain power (luck). I knew eventually I was doomed. My only hope was that maybe she would trip up. Then suddenly she did. The word was 'marsupial'. Now I had done a book report in 7th grade on kangaroos and other marsupials; so I stood there like a 'possum in wait, ready to 'hop in' with the right spelling if she faltered; and therefore it pleased me to no end when she spelled: m-a-r-s- (hesitation) -u-p- (more hesitation as she decided one 'p' was sufficient) -i-e-l (followed by a look of desperation as she heard gasping from around the room; suddenly realizing she had worried so much about the consonants, she'd tripped over the vowels). The sweet old teacher who was monitoring from the back of the room, sat up in her chair, leaned forward (trying to be nice), and politely asked her, "What was it you said, honey?" As I mentioned, Suzy spoke very quietly; and indeed had barely exhaled those last three letters. The looks and sounds of the room had told her she had 'zegged' when she should have 'zagged'. So, when she repeated it, she succinctly said, "m-a-r-s-u-p-i-a-l, marsupial".

Now everyone in the room had heard it right (or should I say, "wrong") the first time. So when she corrected herself, the teacher dutifully asked her, "I thought you said 'e-l' the first time," to which the little girl replied in her best southern drawl, "Sometimes my a's kind of sound like e's."

Say what? Does Steve Nash tell the refs he was really saying 'Fudge' when they 'T' him up? Does Kevin Durant say "sometimes my dribbling looks like walking!" when he flails out of control into the lane and expect the reps to call off the traveling call? Does Tiger Woods claim, "I thought I had the five iron! No wonder the ball went in the water!" in hopes of getting a mulligan? Of course, not. Tiger screams 'fudge', drops a ball and takes the penalty strokes. There are no mulligans in spelling bees!!! But what was the teacher going to say? My suggestion would have been, "Liar, liar, hair on fire!" I mean, what kind of 'kangaroo court' were we dealing with?? But the teacher had to take her at her word; and after all, she had spelled it right (the second time).

Needless to say, I was reeling from the whole ordeal or no deal (no telling what the 'stromuhr'** would have registered at that juncture, because my blood was pumpin'!). Not surprisingly, I loudly and confidently misspelled the very next word, and little Suzy Smith became the spelling bee 'winner' and went on to represent Muskogee at the next level. Meanwhile, I went on to the ninth grade, never to enter a spelling bee again. I did sing 'Harry the Hairy Ape' later that year and won the talent show, but it didn't make up for the wrong that had been done. For several years after that, I didn't care much for redheads or koala bears. And I determined in my mind that I would never do anything like little Suzy had done to me. After all, words mean things!

Psalm 34:12-14 Does anyone want to live a life that is long and prosperous? Then keep your tongue from speaking evil and your lips from telling lies! Turn away from evil and do good. Search for peace, and work to maintain it.

James 3:8-9 ...no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With it we bless our Lord and Father, and with it we curse people who are made in the likeness of God.

So I hope all of us can learn from this by choosing our words (letter by letter) very carefully. That's one of the main reasons I wanted to write this blog; to pass on experiences I've had and how they've affected the way I live my life.

For instance, if it sounds like I'm talking about someone behind their back, it's just that sometimes when I voice my concerns about a person's behavior or actions, it sounds like gossip.  And sometimes it sounds judgmental when I'm really just pointing out obvious shortcomings. And yeah, it may sound prideful and arrogant when all I'm doing is calling it the way it is. See what I mean? I learned a valuable lesson there in eighth grade.

And I may say I'm doing this or that for God when it appears like I'm actually doing it for myself. Or even when I'm fully aware of what He expects, it may seem like I quite often do what I think is best for me. But don't jump to conclusions; pay closer attention! Because sometimes my "He's" kind of sound like "me's".

What do you mean you bet I can't spell 'obedient'!??

Can I get a definition?

Can I get a witness??
_________________________________________________________
*2008 winning word-Sameer Mishra correctly spelled 'guerdon'
     (n. a reward - vb. to give a guerdon to, reward).
**2010 winning word-Anamika Veeramani correctly spelled 'stromuhr'
     (instrument for measuring the quantity and speed of blood flow).

About a year or so after the spelling bee-bacle, the country tune 'Okie From Muskogee' hit the airwaves and our little town became quite famous (plus it gave folks something to talk about besides how I was robbed in the 'spelling bee' ;). Even though my family moved to Oklahoma City in 1972, I ended up going back to Muskogee to sing/play several times during my 'rock-n-roll' years, and the band I was in during those days, Marin, wound up playing a unique version of the song one night in 1977 at the Muskogee Civic Center. Our sound guy, Mark Hendricks often carried a Teac reel-to-reel with him and he captured the audio live on tape. Recently, I threw together a slide show to go with it, including a few pictures of the band members here and there. Anyway, I've been looking for an excuse to post it to the Blog...so if you neglected to click on the link above, here it is!

WINNING! (Part One)

Well folks, our family's week on Family Feud has rolled back around and our shows will air the entire week of March 28 at 1:00 p.m. on Channel 34 locally. If you are out of the OKC area, you can go to http://www.familyfeud.com/, type in your zip code and find your local station. Most of you don't know this, but Family Feud was not my first experience with 'winning' on television, although it was certainly my most successful one.

My first actual TV appearance was when I was about six or seven years old. My mom carted me up to Oklahoma City (from Ada) and I appeared on The Foreman Scotty Show. For those of you that are as OLD as I am, you'll remember it as a local kids show (similar to Ho Ho the Clown) that featured a studio full of kids each week day, with the host, being Foreman Scotty.

Foreman Scotty

That first time that I was on the show, I got to sit on Woody, the Birthday Horse. Yes, of course it was my birthday. That was one of the few perks of having a birthday during the summer when school was out; you were free to skip town, and do special things. After all, it was difficult to invite very many kids to a birthday bash, since they too were out of school, hard to reach (life before FACEBOOK), and often on their OWN family vacations.

The second time that I appeared on the show, my Uncle Rickey went with me (my mom and his mom, Granny Bo, drove us from Shawnee where they lived, up to Oklahoma City for that appearance). Rickey was my uncle, but he was only about three years older than me. Once we got to the studio, there was a shuffling for kids to get seated on the risers there. Being short (it runs on that side of the family), Rickey and I got to sit on the front row. That was one of the few perks of being short; you got to sit on the front row for pictures, choir concerts, and on Foreman Scotty.

I loved Foreman Scotty. He was on every day at 4:30. I always thought that Foreman was a strange first name. It didn't click to me until years later that he was the 'foreman' on the ranch; the Circle 4 Ranch.  Foreman Scotty ALWAYS wore a hat. I think that when I perform and/or sing at the Rodeo Opry, I just don't feel right unless I wear my hat. I blame that on Foreman Scotty (besides, the 'hat' makes me look taller).

Two really exciting things happened every day on The Foreman Scotty Show (for all the kids that were there). Each show they gave away a 'Golden Horseshoe' and a 'Golden Zoo Key'. Now in order to win the 'Golden Horseshoe' you had to EARN IT. The point was for you to make the funniest, most ridiculous face you could make or jump up and down doing the silliest thing you could imagine in order to get the attention of the camera; which in turn had a lasso superimposed on the screen, that panned crazily to and fro until it landed on (lassoed) that special, crazy kid who was making the funniest face (or making the biggest fool of himself). Honestly, it probably would normally go to the cutest little girl or darlingest little boy no matter what they were doing; but we were sure that it was an award based purely on merit and we were both intent on earning it.

As I mentioned, we were on the first row of chairs; in fact I was in the very first seat on the end and Rickey was in the second seat right next to me. During the first commercial break Rickey turned to me and asked me to switch seats with him.  "Why?" I asked. Turns out Rickey was going to be doing some kind of a 'bird thing', with his fists in his armpits, and his elbow-wings flapping (think Red Skelton and the two seagulls, Gertrude and Heathcliff for all you fellow old-timers) and he needed the extra room on the end there, for his routine to really take flight. Being the acquiescent little nephew that I was, I switched seats with him. So the time finally came for the 'Golden Horseshoe'. I began to contort my face. Rickey flapped his wings. I stuck out my tongue and turned up my nose. Rickey flapped his wings even harder. And guess what? That's right...neither one of us won! Some little cute girl on the second row left that day with the Golden Horseshoe. We couldn't believe it!

During the next commercial break, we sat there whining like Kobe Bryant looking for a foul call, lamenting to each other about had badly we had gotten robbed. We almost didn't notice when the cameras started rolling again and it was time to award the 'Golden Zoo Key'. We both were startled when they announced that the winner of the 'Golden Zoo Key' was whoever was sitting in SEAT TWO! You see, you couldn't earn the Golden Zoo Key. You couldn't lobby and beg or even hope to perform your way into winning it. The Golden Zoo Key (at least the way we understood it) was a random drawing of a random seat number, and once it was pulled out of a hat (or from whatever orifice they extracted it from), the random child received it as his or her 'lucky' prize. The problem that day was that Rickey HAD been sitting in SEAT TWO. But he, of course, had swapped seats with me, in hopes of securing the 'Golden Horseshoe' and thereby forfeited the winning ticket, as it were, by now sitting in SEAT ONE. In his mind, I had taken his 'Zoo Key'; in his mind, he was supposed to win it; but I got it, since I was sitting in SEAT TWO: his seat. I got what he deserved.

Now I could make all kinds of parallels here but let's start off here:

Isaiah 53:4-6 (New Living Translation) Yet it was our weaknesses he carried; it was our sorrows that weighed him down. And we thought his troubles were a punishment from God,a punishment for his own sins! But he was pierced for our rebellion, crushed for our sins. He was beaten so we could be whole. He was whipped so we could be healed. All of us, like sheep, have strayed away. We have left God’s paths to follow our own. Yet the Lord laid on him the sins of us all.

Put simply by Paul and Peter: Christ died for our sins.
Put simply by me: He swapped seats with us.

Does that mean we get the 'Golden Gates Zoo Key'? That analogy might be a bit of a stretch although I certainly didn't earn it or deserve it. Perhaps I would have won the key even if I hadn't switched seats (after all, I'm sure I was the 'darlingest little boy' there that day ;). I do know that every time we went to the zoo with that side of the family from then on, and I would pull out my 'Golden Zoo Key' and use it to hear about the animals, Rickey would immediately start in on how it was his key and how I had been sitting in his seat!

Oh the joys of winning!

Conversely, we've all had times in our lives when someone else has gotten something that we felt like we deserved...when we wanted to be the winner, but someone else got the prize. Those times are not nearly as pleasant but are every bit as memorable; and they perhaps shape our character more than winning.

Oh the heartbreak of losing...

(to be continued)

DEATH AND 'FACTS IS' (Part Two)

This whole Blog was not meant to be about vacations; but about the permanent vacation, aka: death.  As a worship leader and default pianist for our church, I play and/or sing at a lot of funerals.  Most have been dear saints who were at the end of long, mostly productive lives (to my knowledge, anyway), so tears of grief were mixed with those of joy and relief.

But there have also been some folks die quite unexpectedly recently (technically before 'their time', as 'they' say).  A couple of them were riding motorcycles and that in itself gave me reason to reflect.  A pretty good friend of mine (not a 'BFF', but a good buddy) named Doug Jones died the final day of my sophomore year at Muskogee Highschool while leaving school. It was a sad ending to what is normally a pretty happy day ("School's out, school's out..."). He was a guy that I went to both school and church with; and he was widely hailed as the 'toughest guy in school'. You never expect one of your highschool classmates to die...but especially not one as tough and rugged as Doug. He was one of those Timex guys, that could take a licking (and keep on ticking). I observed a couple of his playground fights; and afterwards was always glad that he was my friend (and not my enemy).

Most of us have experienced that kind of death at least once in our life.  Think about some of yours for a moment; when you had a schoolmate or someone about your age die suddenly; or even just some kid who lived down the street who died needlessly while going about his or her normal, everyday routine...for the last time.  I'm not speaking about that group that lives 80 plus years, and dies after a long illness or extended nursing home stay, as sad though as that can be.  I'm referring to the unexpected news; that interruption of a life that seemingly would go on and on and on. Doug Jones. Michael Freeburg. Trevor Roberts. Diane Smith. James McLish.  Truthfully, the longer I sit here and think, the more names that come to mind.  Most of them didn't get to marry or to have kids.  They didn't get to worry with bills and mortgages or find themselves without a job and struggling to make ends meet.  They didn't see the Murrah building blow up or the Twin Towers fall.  They didn't get crows feet and worry lines.  They didn't lose their hair and their looks.  They didn't get to retire.  They didn't get to live...at least, not very long.  And not as long as you or I have.

But you see...that's what living is; lots of good...lots of bad...lots of routine; for who knows how long. Too often the bad can overshadow the good and the routine can overtake it all. I stop and realize that I don't even know what my dad's little brother's first name was. Fact is, I don't know the names of people in your lives that were unexpectedly taken. All any of us have right now, besides a houseful of 'things', is RIGHT NOW; a life that was extended longer than several others that we came in contact with. It doesn't make us more valuable or 'special' because we're still among the living; it doesn't even mean that we have a higher calling or a worthwhile purpose that they didn't have. It just means we're still here. The fact is we don't know 'why'.  We don't know 'why not'. The fact is most of us won't take time to sit and reflect on it; or even to put it down in a Blog (or to divide up our houseful of 'things' in a 'will'). I can also tell you that I don't know if that's good, bad, routine or somewhere in between! If the place they are in, is indeed a 'better place', then maybe the joke's on those of us still here on earth.

I always tried to encourage my kids to enjoy the 'now'. I warned them that when you got to junior high, you'd wish you were still in grade school (but wanting to hurry up and drive). When you got to highschool, you were wishing you were back in junior high (but wishing you didn't have a curfew).  When you got to college, you realized how easy you had it in highschool (but you couldn't wait to get out and get your own job).  Too much time spent pining for the good old days, yet wanting the next milestone to hurry up and arrive.  Sigh!  But it should make us all stop...and appreciate our life; the one we have TODAY. It makes me thankful; not just to be alive, but thankful for those who, although they perhaps did die 'before their time', managed to touch my life in the process.

So part of me thinks, "I've got so much to do. Put the lid down and step away from the laptop!"  But here I am, typing away.  "Oh look! The sun's finally out." Get off the computer; and DON'T get on Facebook.  But here I sit, still typing.  When we tally it all up, maybe we've WASTED more time (and more key strokes) than the aforementioned folks actually lived (or typed).  Hopefully that's not true; but let's all at least resolve to try and quit wasting time; or at least as MUCH time (in their honor!).

Yes, we're lucky (blessed) to be alive. I believe I've been blessed by the good AND the bad things of life. We'd be so boring if we didn't lose sometimes.  We'd become way too self-reliant if we didn't have to call on others (especially God) to get us through the tough times. But with that being said, I do want to focus on the 'good' things in my life and choose to joyfully live (and acknowledge the gift of) each day.  To that end, you probably won't see me post statuses, tweets or blogs about the 'routine or the in-between'...like I said, I don't want to focus on that.  I may even choose to blog less...but hopefully live more; so that when I do blog, you'll be glad you invested your time to read it.  While you're at it, read Psalm 51 which includes this verse:

Psalm 51:12 Restore to me the joy of Your salvation, and uphold me by Your generous Spirit.

Just for fun, go to my Red Letter Day CD and listen to Can't Take My Joy Away! It's a good five-minute aerobic tune about holding onto your joy (actually it's a three minute song with a two minute jam!).  So, hit play...then start dancing (think 'Snoopy Dance')!  Let it roll while you work around the house, clean in the kitchen or wrestle with your kids (or your spouse). Value today. Pursue joy! Then hold onto it (for dear life!).

...whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-if anything is excellent or praiseworthy-think about such things. Philippians 4:8

Don't debate them.  Don't over-analyze them.  Just meditate on them.  Be content.  BE HAPPY!  You're alive!  Enjoy the fruits of the spirit.  I'm particularly partial to these: patience, kindness, gentleness and self control.

So, exercising my 'self control', I'm going to now stop typi

DEATH AND 'FACTS IS' (Part One)

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)

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

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.

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")