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Monday, March 10, 2008

When Faucets Attack

It first happened last September during my granddaughter’s second birthday party at my daughter and son-in-law’s home. We were in the process of getting ready to eat before the birthday presents were opened. The little squeeze bottle of mustard sort of “burped” and so there was some old-mustard icky stuff on the little red nozzle thing. I went to the sink and washed it off. But then I had to take the sprayer and wash the mustard out of the sink. Then it happened. I went to put the sprayer back and that was apparently its cue to not work. When I released the sprayer nozzle thingy it stuck and sprayed me all over the front of my sweatshirt. The kids sort of snickered. “Hehehehehe…look at Grampa….hehehehehehe….Grampa, how did you get all wet?…hehehehehehehe. I think my son-in-laws were responsible some how but I am having a hard time proving it. But that wasn’t the first time it happened It also quote-unquote “happened” (like it was an accident) at a church event in January a couple of years ago. It was a Saturday seminar with one of our important church officials. His name was Larry. We will call him Larry. Larry The Important Church Official. Larry TICO for short. About 15 people were gathered and it was just a few minutes before I was to introduce Larry TICO. The faucet in the kitchen was leaking. It was one of those industrial type of kitchen sinks with the water supply for the faucet coming directly out of the wall (as in “pointing toward the person standing in front of the sink”). I am a man. I am sort of handy. So I am sort of a handyman. Sort of. I, as super-pastor-sort-of-handyman, wanted to impress the ladies in the kitchen so I attempted to fix or stop the leak. Shouldn’t be much of a problem. I am Dutch – my ancestors were good at stopping leaks. Remember the little Dutch boy who stuck his finger in the dike to save Holland? Kept his finger in the hole all night long to prevent his homeland from becoming a lake. I wasn’t planning on taking that long. I pushed on the faucet to see if that would help. It didn’t. And that’s when it happened. Ffffssshhhhoooosoooososshhhhh!!! Directly at me! The one side of the faucet became unhooked from the water supply and the water was spraying horizontally out of the wall. I, super-pastor-sort-of-handyman, held my hand up in front of the pressurized stream to try to stop it. Who did I think I was, Moses? I was getting wet – and fast. Immediately someone (or I super-pastor-sort-of-handyman – that part is a little bit of a blur) went under the sink and shut off the supply. I was really wet. It was 5 minutes before I had to introduce Larry TICO When I went to talk to him he said, (and I quote), “WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!” Water-logged-super-pastor-sort-of-handyman, “Faucet…attack…me…wet.” I introduced Larry TICO and eventually dried off. I made some sort of joke about wanting to get baptized. Somehow, I think my son-in-laws were involved in this also, but again, I am having a hard time proving it. CSI Hawthorne is working on the case. Copyright 2008 All rights reserved 

Latin Phrases

A couple of weeks ago one of my coworkers emailed us a Friday quiz. The subject line said simply, “Friday quiz…Latin phrases,” and the email went on to ask, “Latin phrases people pretend to understand....how many do you know???”

Below were the phrases:

Caveat Emptor (KAV-ee-OT emp-TOR)
Persona Non Grata (puhr-SOH-nah non-GRAH-tah)
Habeas Corpus (HAY-bee-as KOR-pus)
Cogito Ergo Sum (CO-gee-toe ER-go SOME
E Pluribus Unum (EE PLUR-uh-buhs OOH-nuhm)
Quid Pro Quo (kwid proh KWOH)
Ad Hominem (ad HAH-mi-nem)
Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam (ad-MA-yor-em DAY-ee GLOR-ee-um)
Sui Generis (SOO-ee JEN-er-is)

Well, I couldn’t pass up trying to interpret them so this is what I came up with:

Caveat Emptor - A tourist attraction in SW Kentucky, "Come and see the Cave At Emptor!"

Persona Non Grata -- One of those stupid high school math problems, "If a chicken and a half can lay an egg and a half in a day and a half, how many Non Grade A eggs does Person A have?

Habeas Corpus -- A little town 12 miles southwest of Corpus Christi.

Cogito Ergo Sum -- What a Roman boss would holler at an employee..."Cogito! Do some work!"

E Pluribus Unum -- What E.P.'s family asks him when he comes in from 40 degrees below zero, "E Pluribus, you numb?"

Quid Pro Quo – Not sure…it’s either a shortened form of a cheerleader cheer for the defunct pro football team from Iowa (the Crows), “I am not quidding, look at that Pro Crow!" Or what the really, really young fans of the rock group “Kid Pro Crow” holler at one of their concerts, “Quid Pro Quo! Quid Pro Quo!”

Ad Hominem -- A request for more hominy when someone doesn't like their grits.

Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam - An ad for margarine that's really shiny.

Sui Generis -- Filing frivolous generic lawsuits.


Her reply? “Forget the real answers...yours are way better!!!!!!!!”

But there is one Latin phrase that can only be interpreted one way – and it is without doubt the most important ever penned, “Sic enim dilexit Deus mundum ut Filium suum unigenitum daret ut omnis qui credit in eum non pereat sed habeat vitam aeternam.” The interpretation? It’s a verse found in the third chapter of the Gospel of John, “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” (3:16). God loves you so much He sent His Son to die for you on Calvary! Give your heart to Him today without reservation and without hesitation.

The Steps To The Reception

The wedding for our youngest daughter Courtney was approaching fast. The reception was going to be held at the Solway Town Hall and the stage was going to be where the head table was placed. In order to make it easier for the bridal party to get up to the stage and down to the main floor I told our daughter that I would build some portable wooden steps. I procrastinated (as I normally do on things) and Courtney sent an email inquiring as to the “state of the steps.” The following is the actual email exchange that took place between us. ********************************************************** Sent: Wednesday, August 13, 2003 1:47 PM From: Courtney To: Dad Subject: Steps Hi Dad ~ Did Mom ask you about the steps for the reception? ********************************************************** Sent: Wednesday, August 13, 2003 2:19 PM From: Dad To: Courtney Subject: RE: Steps Yep - I told her: Step One - you gotta fall in love with someone really nice and someone who loves your son....yeah, someone like Gus! Step Two - you gotta decide to get married and hang around with the person in step one your whole life - even when you or they are crabby or you find a couple dings or dents in their knight-in-shining armor armor. Step Three - you set a date to get married and ask you father, who just happens to be a preacher, to marry you two. Step Four - You walk down the aisle with your father and he cries and his wife cries and everyone is just crying, crying, crying all over the place because they're so happy - even the little dude (Courtney’s son) is crying... Step Five - You say, I DO! Step Six - You walk back down the aisle as Mr. and Mrs. Gus, get in the F150 Ford Limo and go to the Town Hall. Step Seven - you eat and smile and dance and talk to friends and family. Step Eight - somewhere along the way make sure you invite Jesus to be a part of your family - He can make things go a whole lot better and has had a lot of experience in human problems and predicaments. He brings joy where a lot of times there is just sadness and He can make something beautiful out of what was all broken. And those are the steps to the reception! Dad :-) Or were you talking about the wooden steps up to the stage? ********************************************************** Sent: Wednesday, August 13, 2003 2:53 PM From: Courtney To: Dad Subject: Re: Steps Oh Daddy, I love you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Just in case you didn't already know that!) Yes, I did mean the wooden steps for the stage!! :-) 

My Truck's Emergency Brake is a Hunk of Oak

My wife and I began our married life in 1973 with a 1960 Ford Falcon as our mode of transportation. It was painted canary yellow and had one of those do-it-yourself black spray-on vinyl tops. The gas pedal was held on with a coat hanger wire, there was a hole in the floor board, and if you hit a bump too hard the driver’s side window fell off the track and disappeared down inside the door. So you always carried a pair of pliers in the glove compartment in case the window suddenly decided to open on its own – you simply grabbed the top edge of the window and yanked it back up. In Fargo, North Dakota it’s important to have your windows rolled up when it’s a minus 30 degrees. For any trip the checklist was: Gas…yep. Four tires…yep. Pair of pliers…yep. Ok we’re good to go. Shortly after our wedding my wife drove the car to the automotive insurance place to get it insured. At a stop light the window went kerthunk. If I remember correctly it may have been snowing that day. A nice guy offered assistance. When my wife told him where she was going, he simply said, “You’re gonna insure that?” We have been married for 33 years and now have three vehicles – one is a 2000 Nissan Sentra (driven all the time by my wife), one is a 1998 Chevy S-10 (only driven every other Sunday when the weather is nice – which isn’t too often in Duluth, MN), and the one I drive most of the time -- a 1995 Nissan pickup. A couple of days ago we went to the hospital to visit one of the church members. I was going to park on 4th Avenue East (called Cardiac Hill) but my wife advised against it (Duluth is a northern Minnesota version of San Francisco with all of its hills and steep streets). I agreed and we went to park where it was level. The emergency brake cable had broken a couple of years ago and so I haul around a piece of 4x4 oak about a foot long that serves as the “brake.” I have had to park on some pretty hairy streets and so I turn the steering wheel either all the way to the right or all the way to the left depending on the existence of a curb, get out, lock it up (who knows why), and then throw out the hunk of wood. (Just to sort of change the subject for a second…there is a restaurant out in the country about 20 miles from where we live called the Covered Wagon. When you park you pull up next to a hitching post [you know – where you tied up the horses in the old Western movies]. I have told my wife that someday I am going to tie a rope to the bumper of the car the next time we are headed to the Covered Wagon. When we get there I will get out and "tie up the car." I think it would be hilarious – she just shook her head.) As we drove home from the hospital, my wife said, “What’s that little yellow light on the dashboard next to that little red light?” I simply replied, “Oh that’s the check engine light – its nothing. It’s been coming on for three years now. And the yellow lights are not really warning lights, they’re more like suggestion lights.” We’ve only ever had one new car (a 1985 Plymouth Horizon) and that got attacked by a deer only five months after we had it. Hit it dead center. Blam! So much for the new car. So we pretty much just buy used vehicles (and I’m not too good at dealing with car salesman. Me to the salesman: “You said your daughter doesn’t have any shoes??? Well here, how about I pay you a thousand dollars more than what the sticker price is?”) Anyway, “stuff” rusts, rots, breaks, fades, gets stolen, loses its attraction, gets eaten by dogs, gets attacked by deer, blows up, melts, fizzles, loses it faddiness (is that a word?), etc, etc. The 1960 Ford Falcon probably met its demise several decades ago (I sold it to my sister when she needed a car – I can’t remember if I threw in the pliers). My in-immaculate-shape-only-a-few-thousand-miles-for-being-a-1998 Chevy S-10 will one day not be so immaculate. A friend gave me an old IBM ThinkPad laptop for free – it probably cost around $2,000.00 new -- my four year old grandson plays with it when he comes over. Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount, “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth where moth and rust corrupt and where thieves break through and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasure in heaven.” (Matthew 6:19-20). He also said in another place, “What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul.” (Mark 8:36). I am not saying here that we shouldn’t take good care of our stuff. If you use your vehicle for a “dirty job” then you have a reason for it not being so clean, but having a filthy car isn’t a sign of being laid back, it’s a sign of laziness. But compared to the big picture of eternity, the scratch on the new car ain’t so important, the stain on the new couch isn't such a big deal, the antique that was broken won’t matter much in heaven. There is more important “stuff” to life. Souls are eternal and Hell is forever. Paul said in II Corinthians, “While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.” (II Cor. 4:18). Would that God would “stamp eternity upon our eyeballs.” Seventy, eighty, ninety, even one hundred years of life is just a little blip along the scale of eternity. Make your decisions with that in mind…and above all give your life unreservedly to Jesus Christ! Don’t hesitate to ask Him to forgive your sins, to come into your heart and to become your personal Lord and Savior. Dan Vander Ark 

Flaming Angel, Speak!

I got up from the computer desk in our basement and decided to go upstairs instead of into another room in the family room/lower level. It was one of those fateful decisions to go to the left instead of right. When I turned the corner I was terrified to see fire ON TOP of our wood stove – a big flame on the OUTSIDE instead of INSIDE of it! I am not a woodstove expert but I do know that’s NOT normal. It was a metal angel that my wife had put on the top of the woodstove that had caught fire once the fire inside was roaring at a pretty good clip. Normally metal angels don’t burn – but this one had a nice little candle tucked away inside of it that both of us had forgotten about. Once it got hot enough the wax decided to leave the metal container that housed it and venture out onto the top of the woodstove….and POOOOF! A flame almost reaching the ceiling! That’s never a good sign. My first reaction? I knocked the flaming angel off from the top of the woodstove but that only created fire in two spots – on top of the stove and on the carpeting. I immediately reached for the fire extinguisher that had been hanging in the same spot unused for about 8 years – I hardly remember pulling the pin and then pulling trigger but WOOOOSSSSHHHHHH and the fire on the stove was out and another WOOOSSSSSSSHHHHHH and the fire on the carpeting was out. The smoke alarm went off and I was shaking and coughing from the cloud of smoke, fumes and chemicals (when I had finally settled down my wife asked me where the fire extinguisher was – I couldn’t remember – I looked and looked and finally found it outside on the back deck). The fire was out but now everything was covered with a dusty white film. Shooting off a CO2 extinguisher indoors is one thing – but shooting off one of those dry chemical extinguishers in the house creates a huge mess (of course not as big as a burned out room in the house or even worse).

Kay said when she heard all of the commotion (you know, like me yelling “FIRE!”) and looked down the basement door all she could see was an orange glow. She didn’t think it was another Day-of-Pentecost type moment but she wasn’t sure what had happened – she thought maybe the chimney piping had come loose or something.

Well we spent a couple of hours cleaning things up and, amazingly, the carpeting didn’t look too bad. I was sure there was going to be, not a snow angel, but an angel shaped burn pattern in the floor. Instead it wound up being just a small melted spot. And the next day I bought some mineral spirits and cleaned the wax off from the outside of the wood stove.

My wife and I both made a mental note – always check metal angels for the possibility of flammable stuff in their guts.

The next day I told this story to a friend at work. He thought for a moment and then said, “Wow man that sounds biblical! Don’t you think you should have listened to see if the angel wanted to speak to you?” He was, of course, referring to Exodus chapter three and the story of Moses and the burning bush. (Can you picture that? Me sitting on the carpeting in front of a blazing angel, smoke alarm going off in the background, my wife flying down the stairs, and I simply respond, “Ssssssssssssshhhhhhhhhhhhhh! We must listen to the flaming angel!”) He told the story to his wife that night and she said it was good thing God hadn’t called me to Mt. Sinai to see the burning bush – her implication being that I would have brought along a fire extinguisher!

I can picture it now – Cecil B. DeMille’s epic motion picture starring Dan Vander Ark as Charlton Heston (in my mind Chuck will always be Moses), Fraser Heston as the floating-in-the-Nile Moses, Yul Brynner as Rameses II (someday I’m gonna try out that Egyptian “bald-all-over-except-for-the-pony-tail” hairdo on my congregation to see what they think; the teens would love it), Anne Baxter as Nefretiri, Edward G. Robinson as that really icky guy named Dathan, Lilly Munster/Yvonne De Carlo as Sephora (Zipporah) and pre-horror movie Vincent Price as the evil lord Baka. Moses had been banished to the backside of the desert where he had married Sephora/Zipporah and become Jethro’s son-in-law. One day, while shepherding his flock near the slopes of Mt. Sinai, he rescued Joshua/John Derek (Hollywood took a little “this-part-is-not-in-the-Bible” license with the rescue of Joshua scene) but something in the distance grabbed his attention – a fiery, blazing bush that just kept burning and burning. While peering at this miraculous sight toward the top of the mountain, Moses (i.e. me) glanced back at Zipporah and said, “Honey, I must turn aside now and see this marvelous sight. Hand me that fire extinguisher!”

Hey Pastor Dan, You're Cool!

One of the people at church happened to mention to me one day, “Pastor Dan, you’re cool!” Her statement sort of took me off guard, but once I recovered I felt I had to set the record straight. “Well let me tell you a little story and I think you will change your mind.” I sat down next to her and told her the following true story. Several years ago my wife bought me one of those leather Spencer Tracy type of hats – you know, the kind that Harrison Ford made famous in those Indiana Jones movies. I had to make a trip to the mall for something so I decided to wear the Indiana-Jones-Harrison-Ford-Spencer-Tracy hat. I parked by Penney’s (on one end of the mall) but decided to go to Sears (at the other end of the mall). As I was walking through the mall I noticed people sort of glancing my way. I thought to myself, “They must be thinking, ‘Was that Harrison Ford? Hey, look! It’s Indy!’” I kept walking and people kept glancing. I tried walking like Dr. Jones. By the time I got to Sears I felt like I was on the last crusade as a raider of the lost ark through the temple-mall of doom. When I got to Sears I went to the restroom just to take a quick glance in the mirror to make sure I was still oozing coolness. Aaaaagggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!! I had the hat on backwards and the tag was sticking out!

I ain’t the Fonz. Me and coolness just don’t see eye to eye. Don’t get me wrong – I try to be cool – but coolness doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. I found 22 results for the word “cool” on www.dictionary.com – I wasn’t pictured by any of them. Besides the typical definitions for cool (such as “imparting a sensation of moderate coldness”), I also found these: socially adept – well that’s not me – I almost knocked out this girl I liked at youth camp when I swung my duffel bag up and caught her underneath the chin. Another definition is this: to reduce the molecular or kinetic energy of an object. I think I do that sometimes. I know I’m thinking slower. I think. And another is this: composure, poise. You haven’t seen me on the dance floor. Just typing “me on the dance floor” seems funny to me. The word can also mean “excellent” or “first-rate.” Like, “Hey you drive a really cool 1995 Nissan 2-wheel-drive rusty dog-ate-the-truck-seat pickup.” It can also mean “a casual manner” or “nonchalantly.” Now that’s not me, but it perfectly describes my older brother. He was really nonchalant at about age 9 or 10 when he started the woods on fire behind our home and came in and asked our mom for a bucket of water to put the fire out. “What do you want that for, Naj? (I spelled his name backwards to protect his identity). “Oh nothing, just gonna water the woods.” By the 27th bucket she must have figured something was up. That and the flames and fire truck outside. My brother reminded me of my “involvement” in this criminal activity about a month ago, but I think he is still just trying to ease his conscience after all these years. I am just about sorta kinda pretty sure I didn’t have anything to do with it. Sort of.

Now if I had started the woods on fire, my nonchalantness/coolness would have gone like this:

“MOM, NAJ STARTED THE WOODS ON FIRE!!! WE NEED WATER!!! AND FAST!!!”
“Who started the woods on fire?”
“NAJ, YOUR SON NAJ!”
“Danny, we don’t have a Naj in this family.”
“LISTEN TO ME WOMAN! I AM SAYING HIS NAME BACKWARDS TO PROTECT HIS IDENTITY!!!”
“Oh. Well, here’s a bucket of water…”

I would imagine most people at some point in their lives try to be “cool.” The desire afflicts teenagers big-time. In the book of Isaiah, chapter 53, there are a few remarkable verses that always make me stop and think when I read them. “He has no form or royal, kingly pomp, that we should look at Him, and no beauty that we should desire Him. He was despised and rejected and forsaken by men, a Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and like One from Whom men hide their face. He was despised, and we did not appreciate His worth. Yet surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows and pains…He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement for our peace and well-being fell upon Him, and with His stripes we are healed and made whole.” (Isaiah 53:2-5). Another version of the Bible puts the first couple of verses this way, ““There was nothing attractive about Him, nothing to cause us to take a second look. He was looked down on and passed over, a Man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand. One look at Him and people turned away.” These words were written of the Messiah and they give us insight into how He was viewed by the society of His day and His remarkable heart of love for people…even people who laughed at Him and scorned Him and derided Him and didn’t think that He was “cool.” But Jesus didn’t worry about coolness. He didn’t put on airs and never tried to impress people. He never tried to be something He wasn’t. What you saw on the outside, He was on the inside. And His tremendous heart of love caused Him at times to do the “uncool” (like touching lepers and talking to prostitutes) and eventually led Him to Calvary for you and I.

So just be yourself. And does anyone want to buy a used “Indiana Jones Harrison Ford” hat, size 7 ½? And you don’t have to worry about putting it on backwards -- I will write “FRONT” on the inside. And I can cut the tag off. 

The Legend of Pigfoot

We were working on our new church a few Saturdays ago when, at lunch time, a couple of the guys starting talking about a wild boar roaming the woods of northern Wisconsin. Now I’m not the world’s most knowledgeable outdoors type of guy (although I do know the difference between a whitetail deer and a John Deere) so immediately in my not-too-informed-about-giant-pigs brain I envisioned little Babe, that cute talking pig, his face wrapped in a Packer scarf, struggling mightily against the bitter cold of a Douglas County winter.
“Poor little piggy,” I said to the guys. “POOR LITTLE PIG! ARE YOU NUTS?” they hollered in unison. I was immediately informed that this was no ordinary pig – but an escapee from a maximum security game farm somewhere in Northern Wisconsin known only to the DNR and the CIA. “And how did he get out?” I chuckled, “Did he tunnel his way out like in the Great Escape?” Thought I was being funny but they didn’t laugh. Their reply: “THEY just escaped! Walked out right past the guard tower!” So now I’m informed that its not one giant pig but several and they weigh……are you ready for this? About 500 pounds each!!! “Why that’s as big as a black bear!” was my astonished reply as I tried to impress them with the one thing I know about black bears (other than that they are black).
As we continued our lunch and the conversation progressed, facts began emerging about this giant pig. Not only is he B-I-G (I guess it’s a he), but he has the temperament of Robert DeNiro, Martha Stewart and the Terminator all rolled into one! They have tusks (yes just like an elephant) and they are meaner than a bunch of day-after-Thanksgiving-shoppers at the local mall. I later checked all this out on the Internet – looked up Russian Boars just to see if they were exaggerating. Those animals get really big (up to 700 lbs. in some countries) and are they ugly looking -- uglier than 11 Vikings trying to stop a last minute touchdown by a high school football team (being a 35 year Viking fan I have a right to say that…but let’s get away from such painful visions). The DNR website states emphatically, “If encountered, give the wild boar plenty of room to flee…” Now I’m thinking, “Give me plenty of room to flee!” And the paragraph heading on one website says boldly, “THREATS TO WISCONSIN.” Honest, I am not making this stuff up! The whole state is apparently in grave danger! And still another line goes, “Russian wild boars have thick shaggy coats and are capable of surviving Wisconsin winters…they are also wary, elusive animals that can live in an area AND NOT BE SEEN.” You mean to tell me they have stealth technology!!!
So I asked this group of mighty warriors, “If you meet one in your yard, is there any way to stop him? What should you do – just holler, “I don’t eat bacon!!!?” Again, my humor fell far short of its intended goal. They glared at me, but then just looked slowly at one another and began to speak in hushed tones – reminded me of a Frankenstein movie when the townsfolk are gathered at the local pub trying to figure out a way to stop the “MONSTER.” A grisly old guy with one eye leaned over my way, spit out his chew, and said with a raspy voice (I am exaggerating here for literary effect – it was actually just one of the ushers – and he has both eyes), “Preacher, they can’t be stopped! We’s tried bullets, arrows, pickups, tasers, everything……and they CAN’T BE STOPPED! If you sees one – just git in the house and begin praying!
Facts tend to get stretched and the stretches tend to grow into fiction and the fiction somehow weaves its way into legend. When my 2 ½ year old grandson grows up and comes to visit me in the old folks home, he’ll see me with my whitened hair (but then again probably not as I am currently taller than my hair), sidle up next to my rocking chair as I’m wrapped in my purple and gold afghan, and will ask me, “Grandpa, can you tell me about that giant pig that roamed the woods of northern Wisconsin back in the old days?” “I’d love to Noah….sit yourself down here for a spell and let me tell you about the legend………the legend of PIGFOOT.”

An A-Mail From T-Bone (Heaven from a Dog's Point of View)

Introduction: I don’t normally put an “intro” to an article but for the following fictitious story I need to sort of set the scene. For 13 years we had a dog named “T-Bone” whom we had to put to sleep in May of 2006 due to a losing battle with separation anxiety and his old age issues. Even though the Bible isn’t clear on it, I lean toward the fact that our pets go to heaven. God is an amazingly good God and I think when we get to heaven we will be amazed by so many things – and one of those things will be seeing our pets in heaven. So the following is what I call an “a-mail (angel mail) from T-Bone,” sort of “heaven from T-Bone’s point of view.” “Hey master – guess what? I can type now! They have a huge keyboard by one of the gates of the city that is made just for dogs – it fits our paws perfectly! It takes me awhile to type these but hey, I got lots of time! The angels help us (the younger angels-in-training); they help us spell somewhat and then we can pull up anyone’s name on planet earth and just hit the “send button” and they say somehow it gets to you. So that’s kool. You remember how you used to preach about Paul the apostle and that church tradition said he was bald and bowlegged but that that would change once he got to heaven? And that once you got up here you would not be taller than your hair? Well guess what? Paul still doesn’t have hair! Guess the jokes on you!!! Hahahahahahahahaha. Just kidding master – he has lots of hair – but he’s still bowlegged – so I guess you’re outa luck there. But is he cool to talk to! He still has fire in his eyes. I saw Jesus the other day. All I can say is, “WOW!” You know you can still see the nail prints in His hands. And guess what? He really loves dogs!!! All types and sizes come running to meet Him when they see Him and He even lets them lick His face – even the pitbulls like Him. And you can’t believe how much He loves people – master I don’t understand why everyone doesn’t give their heart completely to Him. He has such an incredible sadness and heartache when He talks about people that don’t know Him as their personal Savior. Fsbof yp;f ,r yjr dyptu pg jo, smf Hp;osyj!!! Oops hold it, the angel in training just pointed out to me that I had my little paws shifted one key to the right. Let me try typing that again…what I wanted to type was this: David told me the story of him and Goliath! You know King David isn’t that big, he sure ain’t no Ahnold Schwarchentruber Governator guy, he’s just like you and me (well pretty much like you accept he has hair – hahahahahahahahaha – hope you don’t mind me teasing you again about your hair master, of which you have none); and Goliath was huge! They have HDTV up here (heavenly days TV) and they have all of history on DVD’s so we can watch anything we want. Anyway, we plugged in the story of David and Goliath and David sat right next to me!!! Kooler than kool! He pointed out how his countrymen were a bunch of chickens (a couple of chickens up here told me that they were ashamed to be associated with Saul and his soldiers) but that his faith in God helped him overcome any fear that he had and that he couldn’t stand having some big ugly giant dissing his God!!! (See how I picked up that street slang since I been up here?). Anyway, he took out his slingshot and a couple of rocks and wow was it quiet out on the battle field when they had their standoff. Goliath was huffing and puffing and spittin and fumin and snortin and filled with rage. But little David was grinning from ear to ear!!! Us under-dogs were so excited we could hardly stand it. Davey slinged that slingshot and hit the giant right between the eyes and he fell down kabooom! And then he went and took the giants sord (I am sworry master but it seems like a total waste of a “w” to spell it “sword”) and cut off the giant's head. I saw all of the little dogs so happy that little David had defeated that big bully. WAS THAT EVER KOOL! Most people aren’t aware of it, but David wrote a book about that battle and went on a book signing tour for awhile before he became king. Do you know what the name of his book was master? “How to Get A Head.” hahahahahahahaha And hey, tell your daughter Courtney and her husband Gus that their little son and daughter twins that died unexpectedly are doing fine – they took me for a walk the other day down the most beautiful trail; it was all wooded and wow the colors are incredible. Better than any pictures you ever took. Well, I miss you master. I still stop by the gate everyday to see if you’re coming. It’s nicer than nice up here but it still isn’t quite the same without you. I ain’t nervous anymore but there seems to be sort of an empty spot in my dog heart. I think it will be better once you get here. Luv, Yer Dog T-Bone PS Master…Dogs get to come right on into heaven – but you know what? Katz have to have a letter of recommendation! I think that’s so funny master. Copyright 2008 All rights reserved

My Haircuts Don't Take As Long As They Used To

I just had a haircut. It didn’t take but 10 minutes and the hairstylist was very thorough. When she handed me the mirror I was going to ask her to make sure she trim the top because I didn’t feel the clippers or scissors go up there. I looked in the mirror and began to realize how much I was in denial. It didn’t matter if the clippers went up to the top anymore – there wasn’t enough left. For me Great Clips is down to Great Clip and Cost Cutters is down to just about free. I sense now that they are just looking for things to cut – ears, eyebrows, can I trim your arm hair? My problem is that I am folliclely challenged. I was born a redhead, so that means I started life with far less hair then blondes and brunettes and Martians. Some people have foreheads, I have a fivehead. I started getting taller than my hair after about age 30. That’s when it also started turning white (I blame that squarely on the Vikings not winning any Super Bowls) and my weight began to climb exponentially almost overnight. I could battle the weight thing but how do you battle the hair thing? Hair transplants? Nope. I have a picture in my mind of the little playdoh barber chair where you turned the crank and the strands of blue playdoh hair oozed up through playdoh man. I could try a comb-over but those always look so goofy. Doing a comb-over is like putting a bright neon blinking light on your head that says, “Look he’s bald, look he’s bald.” Although I have thought about doing a small braid on one side and then combing that over. And dying it red. That would be cool. I did have a pony tail in my hippie wannabe days when I was a teenager. And I had a pierced ear back when pierced ears were not in. But only for a day – I was too chicken to wear it any longer. But I did it myself by holding a potato behind the ear lobe and jabbing a pin through. Those were the days when men with pierced ears were real men. Yeah, right. I’ve thought about just shaving my head but I sometimes cut my nose shaving my face, so I am not going to work with 11 little spot Band-Aids all over my skull (how do you cut your nose shaving? Stop over some morning about 7:00 and I will show you). As a gag gift my former boss received a can of that spray on hair. I tried it on my arm. Gross. It’s like spraying on that black tar-like undercoating-in-a-can that you get for your car. At the home improvement store you can get that lawn-repair-in-a-box that guarantees you can grow grass on a concrete block. You can insert your own cartoon bubble right about here. And at work for a Christmas gift one time I got a little nylon sock head that you put in a little bowl and watered it and it grew grass hair. It kind of even looked like me. Eventually three of us had a little ceremony by the culvert and we buried it. And a coworker of mine (who shall remain nameless but she sits right next to Debbie and her first name rhymes with sandy) once gave me a gift – a hair brush – but it didn’t have any bristles on it. I almost called down II Ki 2:23-24 on her: “Then he (Elisha or Dan) went up from there to Bethel; and as he was going up by the way, young lads (or a certain coworker from Purchasing) came out from the city and mocked him and said to him, "Go up, you baldhead; go up, you baldhead!" When he looked behind him and saw them (or her, the person whose name rhymes with sandy), he cursed them (or her) in the name of the LORD. Then two female bears came out of the woods and tore up forty-two of their number (or one purchasing buyer). I will never even consider a toupee. As a pastor you have to be honest and upfront with people, and I heard a guy once say, “How can I trust a man with my wife who lies about his hair.” So icksnay on the oupetay. Although one time I did preach a sermon with a rainbow clown wig on. I’ve thought of the Yule Brynner look (you know – the Pharaoh look in the movie “The Ten Commandments”). One long pony tail out the side of my head. That would be so cool. And I would dye it purple in honor of the Vikings never winning the Super Bowl. I’ve thought about a reverse Mohawk – bushy on the sides and shaved down the center. One time the hair stylist person asked if I wanted gel. Why yes I do! Make the sides stick straight out so I have that “Bozo The Clown” look. A few years back I stopped using a blow dryer. Turned it on one morning and it just dawned on me – this ain’t necessary anymore. A tear came to my eye. I got a little nostalgic as I wrapped the cord around it and placed it ever so gently back in the drawer. Once one of my daughters was having an off morning. “What’s the matter,” I said. “I am having a bad hair day,” she retorted. As a dad it’s my duty to always help her start her day with the proper perspective, so I encouraged her by saying, “Its better than having a no hair day.” And I’ve always kind of wanted to be like the apostle Paul. Tradition says he was bowlegged. That’s me. Bald. That’s almost me. And he had a unibrow. NO WAY IS THAT HAPPENING. I will rip out my eyebrows with an Epilady before that happens. And by the way, whatever happened to that piece of torture equipment? I bought my wife one of those many years ago. And we’re still married! I think I read on the internet that the CIA is using it now to get the truth out of people. A lady once told me that bald people are more distinguished looking. I’ve never had a bald lady say that to me. And besides, someone with a ton of hair telling someone with less than a milligram of hair is like Bill Gates extolling the virtues of poverty. When I was in Bible College, for the year book the seniors had to come up with a life verse. You know, like “I can do all things through Christ,” or “With God all things are possible.” Thoughts that motivate you. I thought and thought and thought and finally came up with one. My life’s verse that actually appeared in the year book? Levitiucs 13:40, “He is bald, he is clean.” I guess I’m just getting cleaner everyday. Copyright 2008 All rights reserved 

The Day the Giraffe Blew His Mind

A neighbor asked me one Monday, “Well, what did you do this weekend?” My reply? “In Sunday School we blew up a giraffe brain!” There was sort of dumbfounded look on his face and then he asked me kind of slowly, “So…just where do you get a giraffe brain…and why did you blow it up?” I replied, “I teach the teen Sunday School class in our church, and I was just doing some reading about creation and evolution and I saw an article about the giraffe and what an amazingly complex animal it is.” I had to hurry my explanation as he needed to leave for an appointment. “You see the adult giraffe is about 18’ tall and its neck is about 8’ of that. Now if the giraffe is munching on some leaves at the top of a tree and then decides to take a drink of water and rapidly lowers its head, all of the blood that is pumped by its huge heart (a giraffe has 2-3 times the blood pressure of you and I) will go rushing down toward the head and literally blow the giraffe’s mind – were it not for some remarkably intricate designs. And just the opposite is true also – if the giraffe is drinking water and suddenly raises its massive neck and head the animal would almost certainly pass out as the blood would rush back down into the body – were it not for those valves and pressure sensing signals working just the opposite.” (In the article I read, Lynn Hofland, an environmental test engineer at NASA and founder of Stiffneck Ministries, explained it in more detail: “…this would be a problem [involving too high blood pressure] when the giraffe was head-down drinking water, were it not for a unique collection of reinforced artery walls, by-pass and anti-pooling valves, a web of small blood vessels and pressure-sensing signals that keep adequate blood flow to the brain at just the right pressure.” ["Giraffes: Animals that Stand Out in a Crowd" by Lynn Hofland, found on www.creationism.org]). I quickly explained to him that I wanted to somehow illustrate this to my class so I went to a local home improvement store and bought some PVC pipe, a valve, and some balloons. I put all of this together to try to show how high the blood had to pump and how hard it is to pump it that high. The teens and I had fun as a couple of them blew up a balloon fitted to the end of a 10 foot section of pipe partially raised in the air. I had a valve in it so that after they blew for a little bit, I would then close the valve so they could rest. It took awhile, but they kept blowing and blowing and finally the PVC giraffe “blew its mind.” The marvelous complexity of the sort of goofy looking animal we call the "giraffe" is truly amazing. On the Saturday night before my Sunday School class my wife and I practiced with the PVC giraffe just to make sure it would work. We attached a balloon to one end, lowered the balloon end into the bathtub and then poured water into the upper end of the pipe to fill up the balloon about half way. Then I grabbed the balloon end of the pipe and raised it quickly – the water rushed out and actually started to suck the balloon down the pipe. So if God hadn’t put those pressure sensors and by-pass valves in the giraffe’s neck, if it suddenly raised its head to take a look around, its mind would wind up a couple of feet down its neck! Talk about getting light-headed! And one final item that stood out to me in the article about the giraffe – because the skin, blood cells and capillaries were designed in such a way so as to prevent the pooling of blood in its legs, NASA studied this animal to better design antigravitational suits for the space program. Wow, is that cool! Perhaps on Judgment Day those who believed so steadfastly in evolution will be asked by Jesus, “You know, I gave you the giraffe to show you just how silly your evolutionary beliefs are.” Copyright 2008 All rights reserved 

The Day I Broke The Ice Cream Scoop

“You broke the ice cream scoop,” my wife informed me. “What do you mean I broke the ice cream scoop?” “You broke the ice cream scoop.” “How could I break the ice cream scoop?” I replied. “There aren’t any moving parts.” “You broke the ice cream scoop. See?” She held it up to my face. It didn’t look any different. “You put it in the dishwater; it’s not supposed to soak in the dishwater.” And then I suddenly remembered – I was given explicit instructions that it must NEVER soak in the dishwater (by the way, we don’t have a dishwasher – they both grew up and moved out). So I asked, “Not supposed to soak in the dishwater….why not?” “There are special crystals in the handle?” “Special crystals in the handle?” “Yeah, hear that?” She shook the ice cream scoop and I could hear a sort of muffled 100-mile-away-sleighbells sound coming from the handle of the ice cream scoop. “Its not supposed to do that.” I dropped my head in shame and said, “Oh.” “When you shake it you shouldn’t hear anything. Now the crystals are ruined and it’s worthless.” I think I sarcastically asked her if they were dilytheum crystals – you know, the same stuff that Scotty used to run the starship Enterprise on Star Trek. She explained. It’s a different kind of ice cream scoop AND apparently fairly pricey (as in second mortgage kind of pricey). It’s made by that company (Pampered Really Good Cook) where people gather in secret meetings in someone’s home. Then the hostess demonstrates things like the “magic ice cream scoop” (wink, wink) and then the unsuspecting party-goers fork over wads of unmarked bills under the table for kitchen stuff that you just can’t live without. And instead of the old-fashioned ratcheting type this scoop has some sort of crystals in the handle that will conduct the 98.6 degree heat of your hand, double it through a process called scoop fusion (or maybe its scoop fission – I always get those two theories confused), and then apply that heat directly to the scoop part and cut through the hardest ice cream like, uh, well like a 197.2 degree piece of metal through ice cream. But IF YOU EVER SOAK IT IN DISHWATER its magical properties are gone. Forever gone. Apparently dishwater to this ice cream scoop is like kryptonite to Superman…its only weakness. And it appears that you can only get more magic crystals from the planet Crouton. She was right. I tried it. It was just a useless hunk of aluminum. I thought about hooking up jumper cables to it, waiting till it got red hot and then using it, but backing the car into the kitchen wasn’t an option (well of course you could take the ice cream to the car, but where’s the fun in that?). I so much just wanted to take that ice cream scoop out to the garage, drill a hole into the end of it and see what was in there, but I was afraid the garage might implode and get sucked into the handle. When I get to heaven one of my first questions will be, “Hey, how does that ice cream scoop work anyway?” “Its simple,” the chief chef angel of heaven will reply, “The same stuff that Kirk fought the Klingons over…dilytheum crystals. Why do you ask?” “Oh nothing really, just curious.” “You didn’t put it in the dishwater did you?”