Thank You.

You enlisted because of a deeply felt calling to do something; or you simply sacrificed your own desires in order to follow the duty of your nation's call.

You endured the humiliation and pain of the rigorous training necessary to prepare you for the duty you would perform. Whether you endured that process with much complaining or with a willing heart - you endured it none the less.

You left behind your family and friends.

Perhaps you knew, that what you were doing was for their good.

The multitude of day to day activities that most of us take for granted - you gave up. Ball games, family dinner, church, scout troop meetings, fishing, reading a timely newspaper ... all these luxuries and more you relinquished.

As if that weren't enough, you entered the fray. You saw things no one should have to see. You followed orders when they made no sense, you endured the unthinkable hardships of war. Discomfort was the norm; rest was but a distant memory from a far away time. You became one with the earth: mud, stench, and gritty sand was your constant companion.

You were not alone. Folks back home were praying for you, some would send a note now and then. And you had your buddies - there was never a friendship like those forged in battle. Though God seemed so far away from the death and pestilence of war - you knew He was there - and you called on Him.

At some point, you were faced with a choice and you chose to do the right thing. You chose to forge ahead when others would have backed away, you chose to volunteer for the patrol no one else wanted, or you just chose to stay committed - to be at your post that day. . . and that choice took you from us.

At the moment, you may not have considered the value of your choice. You probably didn't see the vital role you were playing in the grand scheme of freedom. In fact, you may have felt completely forgotten in that destitute place, completely unaware of your role in history. You were "just doing your job", but for us your sacrifice was of great value!

"Greater love has no man than this; that a man lay down his life for his friends . . . "

To all the veterans who have yielded the ultimate sacrifice of their very lives in order to ensure the freedom of millions, and to their families who gave them up - because we cannot even begin to properly repay you - we simply offer this:

Thank you.

Who Are You Going to Trust?

It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in people.
It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in princes.

Psalm 118:8-9 NLT

I keep running across verses like these lately; I hope I get the point.

When I employ this concept (trust God, not other things) to filter my thoughts and responses to the things I encounter every day - the practice seems very foreign. In fact, I find that I am perfectly willing to trust in inferior things as opposed to trusting God.

Years ago, I was struck by a story told by members of a short term missions team. A meal had been prepared for them during their visit and the guest list was pretty large. When the group hosting the function found that they had run out of food their response was simple.

"Let us now trust God."

I like that.

Instead, I tend to wrestle with challenges that come my way, I try to develop a back-up plan or kick myself for NOT developing a back-up plan.

Here are some reasons I can trust God:

• He is Sovereign. In other words, He reigns over everything.
• He has a plan.
• He is good.
• He loves me.

Because I know that He is good and He loves me in particular (and everyone of us can say that), it can be a great comfort to remember that He has a purpose to fulfill in the things I encounter - and He possesses the sovereign power to bring about His purpose.

When my finances get tight and I begin to smart from foolish decisions; He has a plan. His plan may not be a divine bailout - rather it may be to let me struggle a little so I will be willing to listen and learn His best plan for my finances.

When the world - and my country in particular - seems to be spinning out of control and I feel powerless. He has a plan. His plan may be to ultimately bring a nation to its knees so that its people will finally seek refuge in Him.

When relationships become tense and complicated, and I wonder what things can't be like they were. He has a plan. I know from experience. Sometimes the relational struggles can push us to a point of desperation which is where it seems that God's power best revealed.

The prominent headlines of our times can make us fearful because they reflect no hope in Christ.

- Riots in Europe

- Volcanic eruptions in Iceland

- Thwarted terrorist attacks in New York

- Looming worldwide economic disaster

- Unprecedented flooding in Nashville

- An oil spill in the Gulf that threatens much of our coastal regions and much industry

- Massive changes in the scope and direction of our government, limiting individual liberties

We are bombarded by these messages everyday.

It begs the question -"Who are you going to trust?"

Psalm 112 describes the joy of those who fear the Lord and delight in His commands. Verse 7 is applicable here:

"They do not fear bad news; they confidently trust the Lord to care for them. "

A Contemporvant Service

We got this in a forwarded email ... it's just funny to me!

In spite of my great desire to be hip I must admit that I am not completely comfortable yet with a pastor in flip-flops....

"Sunday's Coming" Movie Trailer from North Point Media on Vimeo.

Houdini

Okay, we haven't settled on proper names for our little bundles of joy (otherwise known as Thunder and Floyd, our new goats).

Yesterday, I arrived to find the two sweeties on leashes grazing in the front yard. I was even more surprised to find the my dear wife (who consented reluctantly to the whole "goat plan" and still hasn't completely bought into the notion) standing there with them,with "Floyd's" leash in her hand as she watched them pull chunks of unwanted weeds and vines and munch away.

The picture seemed - well - almost serene.

It wasn't.

As the story began to unfold I learned that beneath that peaceful scenario lurked a dark and raging storm.

R. had taken the day off and was attempting to paint the new sun room. She heard bleating ("bleating" is the warm and cheerful bantered carried on by goats and sheep)and thought it was coming from the laptop where AA was visiting an animal website.

The happy thoughts invoked by the barnyard sounds were soon turned to horror as she looked out the window to see Floyd standing among the Blue Rug Junipers behind our house, staring at her and calling playfully.

Floyd and his cohort should not be out of their exclusive area.

She then set about the task of chasing (ever so calmly) Floyd. He was eventually taken in by his baser instincts (she bribed him with something green and edible). By the time she returned him to his rightful place - "Thunder" had finally discovered the means of "Floyd's" escape and follow suite.

I had arrived just after the climax of the second chase-and-apprehend scene.

Floyd had found a weak spot in the fencing and capitalized upon it. You have to give him credit.

So adding to the list of possible names for Floyd: Harry Houdini.

Among other names we have considered:

Frodo and Sam (we're going through an LOTR phase)
Abbott and Costello
Ketchup and Mustard
Rhythm and Blues
Annakin and Obi (leftover from our Star Wars phase)

Billy - Boy Boy Boy

With the announcement of our new residents, I had to provide the obligatory Tex Avery Cartoon...

Mairzy-Doats and Goatzy-Doats....

On some issues, I am a very patient man.

For several years now I have kicked around the idea of purchasing a goat.
As a quasi-birthday gift this year - may dear wife obtained TWO goats for me.

I once had two turtles, Myrtle and Scratcho (named thus because of the way his little claws would scratch when he was picked up); I also owned a little brown rabbit named Marcy (wrote a song about her) - those are the most exotic domesticated beasts I've owned up until now.

My purpose for wanting goats was very practical: we are surrounded by a very wooded area and I want the goats to clear it out (I've been told they'll eat nearly anything). Also I want my kids -er children - to gain the experience and responsibility of caring for an animal.

At a fundraising auction for our school last month, R. and I bid on a couple of baby pygmy goats but were beat out; at that point it was apparent that the last stronghold of resistance was crumbling.

AA and Ab and I have had a good time over the last few weeks, brainstorming names for a goat tandem - if we actually followed through and bought them. In fact that subject dominated the conversation at more than one of our rare sit-down-at-a-table-together meals.

Goober and Gomer, seemed to be the favorite, although I liked names with more legacy like Romulus and Remus the legendary twins of Roman Mythology or even Jacob and Esau.

When the goats actually arrived last Saturday, we learned that they already had names: Thunder and . . . Floyd . . . as in Floyd, the barber on "The Andy Griffith" show.

The two goats we have are a little over a year old and the former owners said it would not scar their psyche for us to change their names, but I am having trouble convincing the Ab and AA to do that.

Thunder's name is significant because he was born in a storm. Floyd, on the other hand, just doesn't seem to fit.

King Solomon in the Old Testament, erected two massive pillars when he was constructing the Great Temple for Jehovah. These pillars were prominently placed out front and they stood nearly fifty feet high including their capitals. They were made of bronze.

Solomon named these two pillars Jakin and Boaz. Jakin means "God Establishes"; Boaz means "God is strong". These are the two names I settled on as my choice for the two goats - Jake and Bo.

AA - who is my best com padre these days - quickly joined with me in my crusade to establish some meaningful names for these two goats. Ab and R. are holding out. Ab likes the real history behind Thunder's name - and rightly so.

So right now we call them any variety of names, however we have found that the only sound that really gets their attention is the rattling of the feed can.

America at Her Best

Well I first heard Dave Ramsey reference this blog post on Wednesday and then I happened to catch a few minutes of Rush Limbaugh yesterday in which he also talked about the post in
Patten Fuqua's Section 303 blog.

This is a picture of what America is like when she is at her best.

I attempted to "share" the post earlier but was technologically inept. So I just copied and pasted it below. You can link there and see it amid all the acoutrements that make up that blog. Enjoy and learn:

Allow me a moment to step away from the usual voice of this website.

What I am about to write has absolutely nothing to do with hockey.

If you live outside of Nashville, you may not be aware, but our city was hit by a 500-year flood over the last few days. The national news coverage gave us 15 minutes, but went back to focusing on a failed car bomb and an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. While both are clearly important stories, was that any reason to ignore our story? It may not be as terror-sexy as a failed car bomb or as eco-sexy as an oil spill, but that’s no reason to be ignored.

The Cumberland River crested at its highest level in over 80 years. Nashville had its highest rainfall totals since records began. People drowned. Billions of dollars in damage occurred. It is the single largest disaster to hit Middle Tennessee since the Civil War. And yet…no one knows about it.

Does it really matter? Eventually, it will…as I mentioned, there are billions of dollars in damage. It seems bizarre that no one seems to be aware that we just experienced what is quite possibly the costliest non-hurricane disaster in American history. The funds to rebuild will have to come from somewhere, which is why people need to know. It’s hard to believe that we will receive much relief if there isn’t a perception that we need it.

But let’s look at the other side of the coin for a moment. A large part of the reason that we are being ignored is because of who we are. Think about that for just a second. Did you hear about looting? Did you hear about crime sprees? No…you didn’t. You heard about people pulling their neighbors off of rooftops. You saw a group of people trying to move two horses to higher ground. No…we didn’t loot. Our biggest warning was, “Don’t play in the floodwater.” When you think about it…that speaks a lot for our city. A large portion of why we were being ignored was that we weren’t doing anything to draw attention to ourselves. We were handling it on our own.

Some will be quick to find fault in the way rescue operations were handled, but the fact of the matter is that the catastrophe could not have been prevented and it is simply ignorant beyond all reason to suggest otherwise. It is a flood. It was caused by rain. You can try to find a face to stick this tragedy to, but you’ll be wrong.

Parts of Nashville that could never even conceivably be underwater were underwater. Some of them still are. Opry Mills and the Opryland Hotel are, for all intents and purposes, destroyed. People died sitting in standstill traffic on the Interstate. We saw boats going down West End. And, of course, we all saw the surreal image of the portable building from Lighthouse Christian floating into traffic and being destroyed when cars were knocked into it. I’m still having trouble comprehending all of it.

And yet…life will go on. We’ll go back to work, to school, to our lives…and we’ll carry on. In a little over a month, I’ll be on this website talking about the draft. In October, we’ll be discussing the new Predators’ season with nary a thought of these past few days. But in a way, they changed everyone in this town. We now know that that it can happen to us…but also know that we can handle it.

Because we are Nashville

Papa's Birthday

Today would have been my "Pop's" birthday. I think he would have been 105.


I thought I would jot down a few thoughts about him here. He was my Mom's father and passed away in the mid-90's.


He was quiet and humble. He seemed very different from my paternal grandfather who was considered a great man in some small circles and he seemed to carry himself with a certain dignity while Pop's visage was one of meekness.


Pop didn't have a great deal of education and he grew up hard. It was a large family, I don't know much about his father except that he was cruel at times.


Pop had a great deal of influence on me as I think of it. He retired from the one of the Dundee Cotton Mills in Griffin, Georgia when I was very young. By the time I came along he had already been through about two crops of grandchildren so he had mellowed. He had played the role of disciplinarian with my old brother and his crew, but by the time I came along he was more like a grandpa.

I spent quite a bit of time at their home in that quiet East Griffin Mill Village. I stayed with Pop and Granny, one - maybe two weeks out of the year, we tended to spend the better part of one vacation there each year, and there were countless weekends.

There home was the closest thing to a country farm that I knew, Pop had chickens. He raised them for the eggs and for food.

He also bore a latent "entrepreneurial" gene that was came to surface in things like his fish bait endeavour. After he retired, Pop decided to start a bait farm. He raised Grade "A" Red Wigglers and sold them to local bait shops.

I have thought about this a lot lately as I felt inspired to launch our family into a composting lifestyle. Pop put "anything that will rot" into his worm beds. These beds were a gardener's dream. They were made of cinder blocks, 2 1/2 to 3 feet deep, about five feet wide and 20 to 50 feet long - filled to the brim with cotton waste, assorted manures, food scraps, clippings, leaves, newspapers . . . and millions of fat worms.

This appealed to my own penchant for the unique and unusual; it was also the subject of more than one school report. Since Pop would let me help harvest the worms and would pay me a portion of the profits I spent a good bit of time with him there on some trips.

He and I would don this filthy, smelly Playtex gloves, and sit on milk crates, turning compost and plucking the joyful little invertebrates from their warm and moist surroundings.

I think if we had avoided the gloves, my nail-biting habit would have ended much earlier in life.

Only recently have I realized the great value of that time. We just talked. I don't even remember what we talked about - but we were spending time together.

Others would come by. Small children that lived in the neighborhood were drawn to Pop and they would stop in to visit or maybe even help a little. Little kids just took to him. Pop had a brother and a sister that lived on the same street and they would usually happen by on the way to their garden spot or just to check in - they might pull up a crate and talk as we worked. I remember at least one occasion when my aunt was working nearby and she spent her lunch break talking with Pop about her older children.

The very process of this work was such that it eliminated most distractions (except for mosquitoes and gnats) and its amazing what you can sort out when you are elbow deep in muck.

He and Granny survived on a very small pension from the mill and Social Security. Pop made very little profits from his bait sales, but they produced a good bit of what they ate, chicken, eggs, and piles and piles of garden vegetables. But I thought they were rich, because I knew for a fact that Pop kept a $100 bill folded and tucked away in his wallet and at one time he had fruit jars filled with half dollars locked in his trunk in one of the back bedrooms.

As I look back their lifestyle was very meager. I always remember Pop telling me how that when Mom was a child, one night they ran out of food - ran out! He told me that he had gone out in the night to try and buy a little something to eat because he "couldn't stand the thoughts of his babies waking up hungry with no food in the house".

Blessed are the meek; for they shall inherit the earth"

That was Pop. And he spent a great portion of his lifetime working with his hands, right there in his earthy inheritance.

May Day March

I have heard a lot of political rumblings over the recent moves by the state of Arizona to crack down on illegal immigration in that state.

I think the city of San Francisco advised their citizens to boycott Arizona . . . I'm thinking "that's a problem?".

Apparently large protests are expected today. I heard a sound byte from a spokesperson for some "Society of Latino Elected Officials" (or something like that) in Atlanta. She spoke of the big protest planned for Atlanta warning that what has happened in Arizona could happen here in Georgia!

So I guess she is saying that if the federal government passes legislation to protect it's citizens and then refuses to actually enforce that legislation. Then the state of Georgia might step in and say "We will fill up what is lacking due to the federal government's dereliction of duty - we will take measures to protect the private property rights and civil rights of our citizens when threatened by people arriving here in an illegal fashion and without properly declaring their reasons for arriving here. "

If that's what she is saying could happen here - then I don't think I will be showing up to protest that action. I appreciate it when a government realizes its duty to its citizens.

YEAR TWO

Sojourn celebrates its second anniversary today.

I went back this morning and read my "Inaugural Blog" to see if the principles that motivated me to start blogging in the first place, were still there.

They are.

I still want to imitate my Creator by creating. Although I will confess that most of this past year two factors have affected my ability to use this media as an outlet for creativity: availability and attitude.

Not long after starting this blog, we purchased a laptop in addition to our family desktop. This gave us a spare computer so I could use the desktop with impunity. Well, the desktop crashed late last summer and Mr. Procrastination hasn't gotten it repaired. In addition, R. and I are using the laptop much more; she is also blogging and reading other blogs, we often watch Netflix movies on the laptop, and finally - the internet is our main resource for news.

Then again, I haven't been very available lately. It seems that distractions abound with two kids that are beginning to get involved in more stuff (even though our involvement is very mild compared to many parents we know). Most of the time here lately I feel as if (get ready, I have been waiting for a chance to use this phrase!) - I feel as if I have been swiftly oscillating in a pedestrian fashion, not unlike a decapitated cackler - (you figure that one out) This leads me to the second factor - attitude.

More and more I realize why my Dad seemed to be grumpy alot when I was a kid. I have become grumpy - at times. I find that though I have things to write, by the time I get the opportunity to write them, my energy level is just depleted.

There, now that I have unburdened myself and most of you have moved on to find out what the latest Lindsey Lohan scandal is, I need to quickly look at the other guiding principles.

To Craft - I had hoped that this endeavour would give me a chance to hone whatever writing skills I may possess. I think the project has been useful in this area. I would like to incorporate more variety into the mix - more stories, articles etc.

To Communicate - I haven't done well with this one. I have spouted my opinion a great deal, in hopes that it may provoke thought in others but my communication in this blog has been almost totally one-sided. In addition to the blog, I have expanded my venues, signing on to Facebook and Twitter. In both instances, it has proven to be too time-consuming to keep up with the barrage of communications there. By the way, if you are my Facebook friend - I'm sorry if I haven't responded to something you wrote on my wall . . .

To Learn - well, SoJourn has been a learning experience! I have met a few folks because of the blog or because my being here led me to read their blog. I have learned a little more about me: it has become increasingly clear that I still waste far too much energy on being concerned about what others think. . . or what I think others will think. Hopefully learning will eventually bring about change in me.

This will be my 381st post so I guess I have averaged a little over a post every other day - that's more than I thought.

If I graded this past year, I would have to give SoJourn a B- or a C . That gives me something to work toward.

If you are a reader of any regularity, thank you. I like to think that I would do this whether anyone was reading or not - but I really want people to read what I wrote ... I'm just that shallow. But more than that, I hope that God will help me to write something here that will be worth reading . . . something that will make a difference.

Thanks again and God Bless!