It was a momentous day, and I thought I knew why. Boy, did I have another thing coming.
It happened on an early morning in late August 1976. I was about to enter a new phase in my life called “college.” And today was registration day.
Preparations for this day had begun several years earlier. I was blessed to have one of those life-changer teachers in high school who saw it as her mission, partly, to give us a taste of what university life would be like. And I have to say, thanks to her, to whatever degree I may have dissed schoolwork in high school, I had my game face on now.
This was college. This was serious.
Advisors and friends had also prepared me for what to expect when freshmen show up at registration.
“You want what class? Nice try. That class closed when the sophomores came through here yesterday.”
Nevertheless, I had made out a schedule, and thought it was a good fit for me. I was excited. But I also wanted to be teachable and flexible.
Oh yeah, and godly.
So before I left for the campus, I knelt beside my bed and laid out my pre-designed schedule in front of me. And I began to pray. My prayer went something like this: [click to continue…]
Riley and Rusty and a Closed Door
It all started a few weeks ago when I noticed something about Gracie, my dog wannabe. As the house queen in her own eyes, Gracie likes to keep her options open. In other words, she can’t stand closed doors. Any closed door. It’s not so much that she wants or needs what’s on the other side. She just likes having options.
And so do I.
I love opportunities and the capacity to dream. And get frustrated when a door closes in my face, or somewhere else.
All that led to a half-baked observation a couple of weeks ago: “Even my dog hates closed doors.”
And that led to a well-thought-out meditation from my sister Debbie Hughes about dogs, doors, and why and how we (people, that is) experience them.
So if you’ve had your share of frustrations or disappointments, keep reading… this is from her, for you: [click to continue…]
When through fiery trials thy pathways shall lie,
My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply;
The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design
Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.
Isn’t it wonderful that we don’t walk through “the fire” alone?
Isn’t it interesting that we nevertheless must walk through the fire?
God doesn’t seem to need our advice for how hot the flames should be,
or even where in the natural they come from.
He only asks that, when the pathway leads through them, we keep moving.
And when the flames taunt, we keep trusting.
(Lyrics from “How Firm a Foundation.” Photo credit: AP Photo/Daniel Ochoa de Olza)
(For more stunning photography from the San Bartolome de Pinares in Spain, click here)
It’s time to break the silence. So in a minute I’m going to tell you the most shameful, disgraceful thing I’ve ever done. Then I’m going to tell you the second most shameful, disgraceful thing I have ever done. I’m not proud of either (hence the terms “shameful” and “disgraceful”), but in the spirit of James 5:16, there is healing to be found in honesty and vulnerability.
More on that in a minute. But first, here are seven new half-baked ideas that are still baking up in my oven… [click to continue…]
You came into the world a bit sooner than you were due, but no sooner than you were planned by your Heavenly Father. And I can’t imagine a more beautiful baby has ever been born, or to more loving parents. While you are our second grandchild, you are our first grandson, and will always be the firstborn of your mama and daddy. For them, this has been a day of labor and risk, of waiting and prayer. And today, February 23, 2010, you have made it worth it all.
You entered a family who has seen its share of joys and sorrows, laughter and tears. But through it all, your family walks with a faith in the heart and love of the living God. Your name means “priest,” and it was well-chosen. You will live as an ambassador between God and humanity. As you trust your life to the Lord Jesus, you will be part of a kingdom of priests – and you will be one of its standard bearers.
Your middle name, David, reflects both a noble family heritage and the Sweet Psalmist and Shepherd of Israel – the man after God’s own heart. I pray that you will spend a lifetime discovering what that means.
You were born into a world filled with change and challenges, and no shortage of opinions. In many ways the world you inherited is not kind. [click to continue…]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yE6PNps5N9I
Martin Lindstrom has learned what sounds – branded and unbranded – are most likely to turn your head. Or move your heart. Or open your wallet. Hmmm. Suppose the above video may be a hint?
Together with Elias Arts, a sound identity company in New York, Lindstrom’s company, Buyology, Inc. tested 50 volunteers and measured their responses to a wide variety of sounds. He has made a list of the 10 most powerful and addictive sounds.
You can forget waves, rain, or birds.
But if you hear the five tones of the Intel jingle, you are very likely to be drawn to it; it’s the second-most addictive sound in the world right now. Third on the list (and you know that’s right… a cell phone set on vibrate).
To find out what the number one most addictive sound is, as well as the top 10 in both branded and non-branded categories, [click to continue…]
I hated Ann Finch.
Three times she sent me to the principal’s office, and two of those times I emerged with a butt-on-fire.
One time she made me stay after school in an Ann-imposed detention. I lied to my mother and told her I needed to stay late because of band. When she picked me up, who should be walking out of the building but Miss Finch? She tattled on me, and then it was double trouble.
Once I ended the grading period with an 89.4 average. She gave me a “B” for the quarter. One lousy stinking tenth of a point! Too bad. She wouldn’t budge.
I liked Ann Finch.
Probably for the wrong reasons, but I liked her nonetheless. She was so easy to pick on. [click to continue…]
To celebrate in another that which makes him gloriously unique…
To raise her to a position of influence or respect – even if in your heart alone…
To turn to him in need, confident that he’s faithful and capable of meeting it…
To admit your failings, trusting that her grace is greater…
To forgive his offenses of motive or action…
To find in her the safety that only the strong arms of love can deliver…
To remind them of who they are and what they possess…
This is the gift of honor… the finest offering and most God-like language you have.
Often imitated, never duplicated.
It could alter traffic, change work schedules, and send us into bone-chilled terror. When we weren’t busting out laughing.
I’m talking about “The Look.”
Mama copped to it – even called it “The JoAnne Look.”
My most recent encounter with it came last October when we were sitting in the lobby of Providence Hospital waiting for my dad to get a test. Secluded in a waiting area, we could hear somebody on the other side setting up some sort of display by dragging eight-foot tables with an annoying racket. Especially annoying if you had a bad headache, as Mama did.
I could see it coming.
Those poor people had no idea.
Dear God, here comes The Look. [click to continue…]
The house was profoundly quieter now. The funeral service was a sweet combination of faith-filled worship and fitting tribute. The dozens of family members, cousin-strangers, and delightfully helpful friends and neighbors have retreated back to dock with “normal.” All that remained this evening were my dad, my sister and me.
After thank-you notes, food rearrangement, guest dish collecting and sorting, and a pause for supper, my dad decided to start the process of going through stuff. Her stuff. While my sister began looking through and sorting out her desk, he emptied her purse. Inside was what I suppose is a typical example of a 71-year-old woman’s typical daily haul. A wallet with all the ID cards, insurance and AAA whatevers, and credit cards. A wad of keys. Pills – lots of pills. Fingernail and lip stuff. A comb.
And a receipt.
“Hey,” Daddy said, looking over the receipt. “You know what? I’ll bet she bought me a Valentine card.”
That’s sure what it looked like. A loose receipt in Mama’s purse revealed the purchase of a greeting card sometime early last week or the week before. But where was it hiding?
We started looking everywhere. The desk. Files. Closets. I asked about the car. Alas, no card.
“I sure wish I could find that card,” Daddy kept saying.
Finally, my sister found it in what should have been an obvious place, just above the workspace on her desk. And sure enough, he was right. She had bought him a card that was just waiting for her signature. And here is what it says: [click to continue…]
