Medicine Done Stupid!

Some years ago, the government decided the average person needed help with their medical bills because they were stupid. Thus, Medicare came into being. It was so well done that over years, insurance companies have followed the lead of the government. It is worth noting this is the same government that built Washington D.C. without parking lots. That is unless you are dead and that is where we found the only parking lot in our visit to the Capitol. I left my car at Arlington National Cemetery because there was no other place to park. I sort of thought that cemeteries by their very nature were where people went to be permanently parked.

However, this government did so well with Medicare that insurance companies couldn't wait to jump on a bad idea. As best I can tell the AMA said nothing. Now we live with the insurance company in the room when you go to see the doctor. In fact, in the small waiting rooms I have been pushed off into, by the time you get the patient, the patient's spouse, the lawyers who might sue, and the insurance company who would like to tell the doctor how to practice medicine, there is hardly room for the doctor. I guess that is what the K-Y Jelly and the tongue depressor are for.

One of most onerous additions to Big Brother medicine is the formulary which I prefer to call "medicine done stupid." The formulary is really an extension of the "take two aspirins and call me in the morning" approach to medicine. For the most part--actually for every part, it is a pack of myths only believed by government bureaucrats and insurance company bureaucrat groups, many of which have serious genetic inbreeding in their backgrounds.

What is a formulary? It is a hierarchy arbitrarily constructed--did I say arbitrarily? I meant, constructed at levels to give you the cheapest medicine the pharmaceutical company can coerce, bribe, or as a last resort buy. These medicines are arranged by tiers. Tier I is mostly generics or those drugs that have been arm twisted into kickbacks for the company. Some were found in toxic waste dumps, but still usable because they are not beyond their expiration date. Tier II is the second level. Perhaps the arms don't twist as much, or the kickback are not so great. Tier III is medicine that may be getting to the modern era but you aren't going to see much of it. Tier IV and V, just makes the pharmaceutical company laugh and bring tears of merriment to their eyes.

What is the myth of the formulary? I am so glad you ask. I can think of several.
1. Formularies assume we are all the same age, the same sex, and respond to all medicines the same.
2. Formularies assume we all have the same degree of health and the same illnesses at the same time.
3. Formularies assume our illnesses present with the same symptoms and respond to the same medications in exactly the same way.
4. Formularies assume we are all taking the same drugs and are tolerating them equally well.
5. Formularies assume we have the same allergies.
6. Formularies assume we are all complete fools, and won't reach a point where we rise up and tell everyone to get out of the room except for the doctor and the patient whereby the doctor is the doctor and the patient is the patient.

The rest can leave the room wearing those funny green paper suits that make their cheeks look oh so rosy!

A Nice Hand Slap for A Not So Nice Agency!

As I understand it, the Texas Supreme Court has upheld a lower court ruling that affirmed that the Tom Green County District Court overstepped it legal bounds when it approved the Texas Department of Regulatory and Family Services(CPS)removal of over 460 children from the YFZ compound last month.

Yea! Yea! Double Yea! While I would never approve of polygamy, or 12 year olds having babies of 50 year old men, I am absolutely confident the state of Texas(CPS) took action with the wrong end of the shovel. CPS does that a lot.

If children were in danger because of the men in their midst, why were the men in their midst not taken into custody? When have you known of the "rapee" being taken into custody instead of the "raper?"

More than that, why did CPS believe it had the authority to remove every child of the compound without proof that every child was in danger? Well, that is the way CPS works. Top down,(including legislative supervision) these are the most reckless, irresponsible, autocratic, unreasonably arrogant agency in the state of Texas. I am so grateful that the top courts in Texas have slapped the hands of rubber stamping judges and reckless authority that separates families on the flimsiest of accusations.

Count me as one who has been forced to deal with CPS (as any professional in Texas is required to do) and does so holding his nose loathing every moment. The drama that has played out on the YFZ Ranch is just an example of their barging in, trampling the Bill of Rights, ordering families into counseling(yet to be proven they need) all the while leaving this family in crisis totally out of reach with CPS except by phone . If one has the misfortune of talking to some snippy caseworker, they are treated like they are both stupid and a criminal just waiting for their conviction and sentence. All the while, their children are pushed into overcrowded foster care homes, a few of which are worse than the homes they left--again thanks to CPS.

I hope and pray this serves as a wake up call to everyone who has anything to do with the oversight of CPS. This is another black eye that Texas does not need--and it is all because Texas wants to take the cheap way when dealing with families and the poor.

Well, this is what cheap gets!

Where are all the old folks?

Mom has a question growing out of all the YFZ Ranch affair, and all our family's assurances have done little to convince her that her concerns are not justified.

Just for the record, I am a chip off the old block and the old block is still around. At 83, she is sharp as a tack and she notices things. I guess I am to blame for that. When she developed cataracts, I helped her get new eyes, so now she really notices things. She noticed in all the stuff about the YFZ stuff that she has not seen one woman past child bearing years--not one. She smells something fishy and her smeller is still pretty good--while we are at it.

Now, Mom is a little sensitive about this issue. It's alright for her to wonder if people under 80 have a right to live, but not the other way 'round. I have been with her when some little smart thing whipped into our parking space, or got ahead of her in the grocery line.

What the years have done is loosened her lips. When she was younger, she did a better job of keeping them together when she was offended. Not now! She seems to feel that she is entitled to comment on everything and since her hearing is just a little bit frayed around the edges, loud enough so the offending person can hear.

So, if you know about where the women are above child bearing age in this cult, let me now. Mom is not thinking of joining them, but it will ease her mind to know that they are not killing off their old folks.

Who would ever have let that thought cross their mind?

The health of the minister

It is curious to some church members when their clergy get tired, sick, depressed, discouraged or burned out. Somehow, there is a small group of folks who believe their ministers aught to be above it all: the sordid money, greed, anger, frustration, weariness, and impatience.

Sadly, there are some ministry students who believe they, themselves aught to be above it all. My job as a field work supervisor with the local seminary is to help them see why they won't ever be above it all.Not only that, but if they don't change their thinking, they will be "under" it all. So, they get sent to me.

As a field work supervisor, I believe in the beauty of the ministry and the meaningfulness of the ministry when viewed through the proper lens. My lens have never been rose colored lens because I grew up in a service station in West Texas right down the street from one of the bigger Baptist churches. I won't say that I have seen it all from religious people, but what I haven't seen, I had just soon pass by on the other side.

For better or worse, churches are composed of people. And therein is the problem. Some of the people are the embodiment of Jesus Christ. They are the people you aspire to be at some point in one's life. They have the right amount of love, grace, forgiveness, and toughness for life. They inspire and encourage. If every church could be full of these people, well, ministers would give their salaries back to pastor these kind of folks.

However, my experience is that such people are like salt sprinkled over the church to make the others endurable. There is probably a parable there about how God feels about us all, but on we move. The rest of the lot can be a pretty dodgy group. Depending on the church, they may be family inbred, they may be theologically inbred, they may be historically inbred, or they just may be inbred.

Family inbred may be the worst. These are the folks that throw hymnals at each other both inside and outside the church. They are all family, you see, and all the family issues are always right in the presence of the gathering whenever the gathering gathers. Snubs at weddings, arguments over land, divorces and remarriages, they live on in the family church.

One of my personal favorites is the theologically inbred. You know you are in this church if when one enters the building, everyone is clutching their King James Version of the Bible. Tradition, theology, culture, and "the way we've always done it" get mixed up into this crazy mix of theological goo. One does not not even know where to begin to unravel the mess or more appropriately, mop up the goo.

Then there is the historically inbred. These tend only to be an issue at "First Churches." Their history is deep in the community and there are certain standards expected of the church. They have nothing to do with the Gospel or the Bible or Jesus Christ, they are just a part of being the "First Church" in town. I pastored one of those. (The leaning brick church sign should have given me a clue everything was not up to plumb!) And if God is gracious, I shall never, never, have to put on the top hat and whistle and try to bring sense out of such a circus again. Perhaps what gives me a little joy in my life is knowing that everyone was laughing at them behind their backs. All the while, they were busy playing at being church.

Finally, there is just the inbred. They are a mix of age, family, theology, history, and all those things that don't count for anything. In some ways they all become an excuse for doing nothing but keeping the organization going. What that includes is changing nothing. No leadership is ever changed. No worship style is ever changed. No seat is ever changed(unless by chance some erstwhile guest sits in the wrong seat--which won't happen again). On a tour of the building, they will tell you they have have the same red carpet in their auditorium for the last 50 years. It smells like 50 year old carpet and toward the front you can definitely smell where thousands of sermons have died painfully slow deaths.

Yes, it is the work of the field work supervisor to help his student see the world of ministry into which he or she goes. You may think it sounds cruel, but cruel is letting them believe the church is one step below glory. To do so will crush their health and perhaps cut short their ministry. Frankly, ministers cannot be above it all; they will not survive if they end up buried under it all; they need to learn how to survive in it all!

The Future of Texas Baptist Committed

The Baptist General Convention of Texas(BGCT) is not the only entity with an uncertain future. I would say the same is true for Texas Baptist Committed (TBC).

In its infancy TBC was heroic in its efforts to block and expose fundamentalism for what it was. Texas Baptists were better off because fundamentalism did not take over the BGCT.

Times changed and TBC moved into its adolescence. It is in its adolescence that it has stumbled badly and perhaps even fatally. Now it is important to understand that Dr. Currie is the Executive Director of TBC. Behind him is a Board of Directors whose counsel and consensus he seeks. Behind them are thousands of TBCers. I count myself as a marginal member which is why I am so distressed at TBC's failure to act in the debacle we have just moved through. Dr. Currie and I have been acquaintances and friends for many years. I deeply respect David and his contribution to Texas Baptists.

However, I cannot turn away from the failure of TBC to stand up to the weak, corrupt, and incompetent administration that has almost shipwrecked our cherished convention. It became obvious to some that the administration past was two hearts too small for the task they were asked to do. TBC could see the warning signs and yet, year after year passed. It wasn't enough that the Valleygate affair finally broke. TBC functionally did nothing. It did not withdraw its support, it did not take a public stand against the administration, rather it just quietly encouraged incompetent leadership to think about retirement. Money was disappearing, fault was being shifted, more money was being misappropriated, funds were being put into dodgy projects, trust in the churches was eroding, giving was beginning to dip and still TBC did nothing. Now, with a new administration, we are learning the full extent of how much money, talent, and time we have lost.

I fault TBC for much of this. It was not their fault that incompetent leadership came to the BGCT. It was their fault when they became aware there was a problem, they failed to speak as courageously to the BGCT leadership as they had to the fundamentalists. It was their fault they failed to withdraw their support for this failing administration. It was their fault that some allowed friendship to stand in the way of prudent, prompt action. It was their fault that the TBC that went toe to toe with Patterson-Pressler was unwilling or unable to go toe to toe with the leadership that was destroying the convention TBC came into being to protect. Incompetence, mismanagement,and mistrust are as destructive to an organization as is fundamentalism. TBC was proactive in dealing with the theological foes of the BGCT, yet was strangely silent as the BGCT was stripped of it fiscal reputation during Valleygate, it stellar staff (just name someone who has exited the building during the last administration's first years), and its capacity to start real churches in real places with real pastors. It was also silent as churches began to doubt the leadership of the BGCT, both elected and employed. Reorganization was a disaster and yet, TBC was eerily silent.

Recently, TBC has attempted to find a new relevance by touting the two code phrases so often an indication of weakness and pending irrelevance: "supporting the BGCT and fighting fundamentalism."

I want to know if the TBC that came into being and gave the BGCT a future, is willing to commit to a course of action that requires them to be equally vigilant about integrity in the BGCT; openness to free and open discussion; and the absolute refusal to ever be a part of the Middle Ages through which the BGCT has hopefully moved?

Congratulations! It's a kidney stone Part II

I had the misfortune of riding in a lead funeral car recently with three (myself included) survivors of kidney stones. In some ways it felt like 10 year old boys telling lies about whose ball went farther, whose throw was hardest, whose running was the fastest.

There is room for competition in kidney stones, and perhaps, just perhaps because it helps us feel better it is good therapy. "Now what," you may ask, "can three men riding in a funeral car find to compete about related to the passing of kidney stones?" Well, actually there is quite a lot for such a short trip.

First, there is the pain at onset. Everyone agreed that theirs was the worst. "I was on the floor in 5 seconds curled up in a ball." "I was down in three and it took a crow bar to get me untied." "Well, I was dropped like a deer shot through the eyes. The pain was so bad, it took two trucks and their strongest chains to get me straightened out again."

Then there was the waiting room. "Well, I was there for two hours before I ever got to see a doctor. I was doubled over in pain all the while. It was horrible." "Two hours, why I was there through two shift changes. I spent most of my time either throwing up or passing blood, and curled up in pain like a pretzel." (For the record, I have tried to reproduce that position but I guess you have to be passing a kidney stone to contort the human body into such a position) "Not me, I was in the waiting room so long, security served me with a notice of eviction, thinking I was homeless!"

Then, we talked about the stupidest thing said to us by a hospital employee. "Well, after I had been in intractable pain for three hours, the triage nurse asked me if I knew my blood pressure was up a little?" "That's nothing, my triage nurse told me that since there was no running blood or chest pains, my intractable pain was not sufficient reason for me to be put to the front of the line. I asked her, in quite reserved tones I thought, 'Your blood or mine?'" She called security! The third one said, "Well, I didn't have any problem at all, I just walked in and they put me in a room." At that point, I suggested whatever part this person had at the graveside service, I would take it and we could leave them on the side of the road. When the person pointed out they were the funeral director and owned the car, I calmed down.

We all had the same experience behind the locked doors: slow motion nurses, doctors, technicians and of course, the myriad of tests. I believe there is a ratio of necessary tests in direct proportion to the quality of your insurance.

People with no insurance get the once over by the nurse with the diagnosis: "Yep, you got a kidney stone. There's nothing you can afford to have done. We'll give you a water shot and send you home!" "Will the water shot help?" "Well, honey, do you want it to help?" "Well, yea, right now I would take anything to make the pain go away!" "Well, Darling, this shot will help!"

If you have great insurance, they have to make absolutely sure of the diagnosis. Even though this is your 7th time to the trauma center with similar symptoms. One keeps hearing, "We just need to make absolutely sure!" "When you say, I just don't understand why I have to have an MRI of my brain when its hurting way, way lower in my body?" To which one always gets the inevitable, "Are you a doctor?" And then they say that again, "We just want to make sure!" "Sure that I have a stone?" "No darling, sure that we have drained your insurance. You don't think they give this great care away do you?"

Then there is the pain medicine after they are sure you have a stone. "Well, it took quite a bit of morphine to ease my pain!" "I had to have morphine and Demerol to finally ease my pain." "Why, they brought in a tranquilizer gun from the zoo for crazy bull elephants to give me. It helped a little. They tried a second shot and hit the big, sassy nurse, took her down--well, like a bull elephant--yea right to the floor! Suddenly employees appeared from nowhere, moving at lightening speeds with pillows and blankets to make Sassy comfortable. They pushed me off the gurney, took my sheets and 12 employees lifted her to where I had been laying.I had enough tranquilizer in me that I just curled up in the corner and felt better. I do remember looking up through blurry eyes watching everyone pat her hands and face and bring her warm blankets."

And then there is the treatment. "They went in and got mine!"(Collective ohhhh!) "I was blasted, and then got to pass the little bitty grass burrs."(another collective uhhhh!) "Well, they wanted to take a garden hose and put it up you-know-what and run it up you-know-where so that it would theoretically make the stone easier to pass. I told my doctor, I will undergo this procedure if he would. We quickly talked of other options."

Yep, there wasn't a sandlot present, but we all felt better when we reached the cemetery. At least we weren't riding horizontal in the hearse behind us!

You are giving my offering back?

We had the memorial service today for a man who had suffered several years in the nursing home and then finally died.

There are several things that stick in my mind about Jesse, but the one I think of most is that he was the occasion of us giving money we had raised back to those who had given for the cause.

Our auditorium was build in the early 60's and by the time I got to Crescent Heights it(the auditorium not the church) was moving in several directions. Now, I am not a carpenter or the son of a carpenter,but I generally feel it is not a good thing when a fixed building on a foundation moves south, west and north over time at glacial speeds. The church had already poured a concrete bank to stop the westward movement, but south and north were still a bit of a problem. Then the laminated beams started sinking. Ever so slowly, over time, they were moving closer to the floor and it seemed through the floor.

I could imagine a time when one would stoop to enter the sanctuary or perhaps we could encourage the congregation to enter and stay on their knees through the service. That would add to the reverence of worship. The chandelier lighting would be no problem to change out, and well the custodians would have no problem dusting the ceiling. Somehow, none of that seemed desirable.

We called in an expert(someone whose guess costs more than your guess) and he said, "I am not sure what is happening here but it will be at least $80,000+ to fix it. At that point I am mentally thumbing through the cardex of my mind thinking of any pyromaniacs that I knew.

We discuss and discuss and then elect a task force to deal with the problem of the sinking beams. Task forces are a step above committees in Baptist hierarchy. Committees are where you meet to talk about a problem. Task forces are charged by the church with talking about a problem until someone gets tired of talking about it and decides on a course of action. Jesse as I recall was not even on the task force, but came in and took over the meeting and said, "Here is what we need to do. We need to punch a hole in the floor and see why this beam is sinking." Churches should not have such logical people in them, but Jesse set the agenda for the first stage.

I on the other hand, could only hear $80,000+ so I did what pastors do best, I started taking an offering. Got up to $16,000 in the special fund. We decided not to call it a "sinking fund" because--well it hit too close to home. Anyway, we were $16,000 on our way to who knows how much.

Jesse punched through the floor, found the problem to be termites and water, and said, "Why we can fix this problem easy. And easy he made it. Jesse made a prosthesis for the bad timbers, cut out the rotted part, put in the metal legs,concreted the floor back, relayed the carpet, fixed all the other beams so they wouldn't sink, and all for a little over $1,000.

Very few church members have ever had the financial secretary call and ask, "Do you want your money back, we don't need it!"

That was Jesse!

The way forward for the BGCT Part II

When couples present themselves for counseling where love is present but trust and respect are gone, we have both education and real work ahead. We also start with a fundamental rule, "No whining!"

For the person (or Convention leadership) who has lost the trust of the other, the person or convention needs to understand that everything for the past few years has been a lie. Everything! If we are talking about an affair, then there are several things at work. There is the affair itself,(which is a breach of love, trust, and respect) the covering up of the affair, and all the dishonesty associated with the infidelity. That must be understood or the person cannot understand the skepticism of the spouse. If the last few years have been tissues of lies, then just saying, "I am telling the truth now, there is no one else!" Well, they have heard that before, haven't they?

In an institutional structure like the BGCT, dishonesty and disrespect can take root quickly and be difficult to root out. Trust and respect may also be difficult and slow to return. What does not work is blaming the person who is skeptical of the responses they hear. After all, their skepticism was well justified previously and the responses were the same.

So what does it take to move forward? I would suggest several things. First, I think it is essential for elected and paid leadership to acknowledge the sins of the past. Funny thing, this business of repentance and forgiveness. We want it to be localized and personalized. We get very uncomfortable when leadership must stand and say, "The BGCT has been reckless and dishonest about your giving dollars in the past few years. As elected leaders who functioned during that time and function now, we are grieved in any part we have had in this breach of trust and we pledge to not allow this to happen again. We are deeply repentant and grieved about any part we have played in the betrayal of trust and respect."

Second, elected and employed leadership must act and speak with candor and transparency. No more evasions! No more referrals to someone else who is going to pass us on to someone else. No more lies. No more misinformation or partial information. More than that, this group must be out in front of anything that is bad news, discouraging news, or embarrassing news. We need to hear it from elected and paid leadership FIRST.

Finally, rebuilding trust and respect takes time. The leader (paid or elected) that wants a transformation of environment overnight is at the wrong place at the wrong time. Trust and respect are stolen in a moment but rebuilt over the years.

So, what is the way forward? Candor, transparency, patience, and always the truth. Always the truth!

The way forward for the BGCT

Significant relationships rest of three vital ingredients: love of some kind; trust; and respect. When one understands that, one can understand a person in a couple saying, "l love him/her, but I no longer trust/respect him/her." It also helps one understand why divorce can be so heartrending. The divorce happens not because love has died, but because respect or trust has died.

Having said that, I believe that is where many folks find themselves with the BGCT and why just saying, "Everything is better now, lets move on," won't work. I love the BGCT. It was the convention of my birth and growing up years. It was the convention whose school I attended that was so life changing for me (Howard Payne University), it was its fraternal relationship with SWBTS that pointed me to my ministerial education, it was another institution that allowed me to gain my second graduate degree (Hardin-Simmons University). I have been honored to serve when asked in the BGCT and at Howard Payne as a trustee. However, I no longer trust or respect the elected or hired leadership of the BGCT.

I know those are strong words, but look at where we are. Look at who has taken us there and who has looked the other way and given assurances that everything was alright. Look at who has pressured, cajoled, and inferred that if one did not quit asking questions and get on board they could/would be left off the train. Look and think. Think about those who give lip service to "free and faithful" Baptists then stifle discussion at the State Convention or in the Executive Board. Think about how such freedom has been suppressed when the wrong questions were asked and were not answered to anyone's real satisfaction.

Now, here is where we are. We have a new administration. I am sure Dr. Everett is a nice guy, but I have been down this loop before. At some level, in Christian circles, everyone has some niceness in them. And in our convention, it is given every leader is a Christian. But like the alcoholic or the serial philanderer not everyone is worthy of our respect and our trust.

The sad thing is that elected leadership has fouled their own back yard. Their refusal to do their work has left some of us not trusting anyone or anything that is said. In one e-mail exchange before the convention, I had an officer tell me what a fine job he had done during his year in office. He was either delusional or worse. That has been the measure of recent elected leadership. Paid leadership has taken the money, the silver, all the time doing a slight of hands that was worthy of any magician.

So, how does one rebuild trust and respect when it has been lost? I will speak to that in my next blog.

Congratulations! It's a kidney stone!

I have just come from the trauma center where one of our ministers most likely is unsuccessfully attempting to pass a kidney stone. Kidney stones are God's way of reminding men having babies hurt a lot!
The survivors of kidney stones are a rather tight knit group. We compare pain, the size, the symptoms, the kind. All of this because--well we can and somehow it helps to talk about your inner pain with someone who really understands.
To those of you who have never had a kidney stone, the best way to describe it is like trying to pass a grass burr the size of Omaha. After 9/11, I was in the trauma center unsuccessfully trying to pass my 7th stone when three hours later I was no closer to being seen by a doctor or being free of pain. I asked one of my members to step outside and tell security that I was a terrorist with a gun and just come in and shoot me. He didn't but it would have been good if he had.
The modern routine in the modern trauma center is the same. Everyone treats you as if you are stupid about your body. At triage, one nurse told me, "Mr. Chancellor, your blood pressure is up a little." I looked at her through teary eyes of disbelief and said with rather amazing restraint, "I have noticed this often happens WHEN I AM TRYING TO PASS A KIDNEY STONE!!" She said, "I guess that could explain it." Triage done, we go back to the waiting room to--wait. Trauma center waiting rooms are really a test of the sincerity and stamina of the ill and infirm. If you die or leave before your name is called, you really were not that serious about seeing the physician who moves at the speed of a turtle with three legs casted.
However, just because you get back to a room means nothing at all. I am an expert on my kidney stone pain and my kidney stones. However, in the presence of trained medical personnel, that is meaningless. So, I must wait for the C-Scan to tell the doctor that I have a kidney stone who relays the information to the nurse on her lunch break who then comes in and confirms what I knew four hours ago. I have a kidney stone the size of Omaha that I am not going to pass in this lifetime. So, she suggests that someone give me a pain shot since they now know that it is a kidney stone. I suggest perhaps the person most equipped to give me the pain shot might be her. She does a "ah duh" and goes for the shot. After that, I don't remember much--until I got the bill.
It goes without saying that my heart and prayers go out to our minister friend.

Back again with much prayer

I have never had a good experience at the airport in Taipei, Taiwan. My first visit was in 1997 to lead a team to do an International Mission Board Annual Meeting. Our team consisted of 12 people. We were bagged to the limit. Not only were we carrying clothes but also supplies and gifts. Those days things were harder to get in East Asia than today, so we had our bags loaded with all kinds of valuable stuff.

The first sign things would not go well was really before we reached Taiwan. I was the last person getting on an American jet leaving DFW to Los Angeles. Five other team members had boarded with old soccer bags from a coach's locker room destined for the garbage dump. He rescued them and we put more stuff in them and carried them on board.

At least five did! I was stopped and told my bag--my very same sized--my very same colored bag was oversized and would have to be checked with all the other bags destined for LA. At that moment, I faced one of the great moments and measures of a man. I could argue about them letting five other team mates on with exactly the same size and colored bag, or just say nothing and let them rip the bag from my hands. Figuring by the look on the scary flight attendant's face, I opted to let go of the bag. Figuring one lost bag was worth the harmony I would still have on my team because their bags had not been confiscated.

No matter, when we finally arrived in Taiwan, all 25 bags were delayed. (airline speak for "lost") To report the problem we were shown down into the basement of the airport where we beheld hundreds of bags stuffed everywhere there was a place one could stuff a bag. I have never, never seen so much luggage in my life. My heart began to sink. The agent at the window explained to us that Kula Lampur had just opened their new airport and there were some problems with the bags.

Half of our bags arrived four days into our trip, all but one arrived 6 days into our trip and the last bag found its owner two weeks after we returned home. What was in the bag? The music director's clothes. I later found out that as he was praying one night, he asked the Lord, "For whatever reason these bags have gone astray, could you at least send me my music. And one hour before mission meeting started, his music arrived.

My most recent experience at the Taiwan airport was returning from a trip to see my two sons: one was in China and the other was in Thailand. (I have a fatal flaw: I love flying EVA which is hubbed in Taipei. ) Now follow me on this: I had presented my passport in Abilene; DFW; LAX; Taipei; Bangkok; Kunming, China; Lejuine, China; and reverse the order back to Taipei. Now we had a problem. We had stopped off to see some missionary friends, and now we had a problem. It seemed that I was traveling on the last six months of my passport. Therefore, I was denied entry into the country. I could not return to the country from which I had come, nor could I continue on to America. I was stuck in no-person's-land. However, there was a simple solution. When one travels to Taiwan, they are given a free visa on arrival that is good for thirty days. I, on the other hand, with my questionable passport, could purchase this free visa for myself and my wife and the worthlessness of the passport would go away. (does anyone smell a racket here?) So, with no other choice, our passports were confiscated, as well as my bride. I was escorted outside the main terminal of the airport to an ATM machine where I extracted the equivalent of $150 in New Taiwanese dollars, which I immediately turned over to my escort who brought me back to my wife, our visas was granted and off we went.

Now you may ask, why are the ancient tales worth thinking about now? Well, my middle son, who used to be my youngest son, has announced it is time to meet his girl friend's parents, and yes, they live in Taipei, Taiwan. On the phone over the weekend, I mentioned to my future daughter-in-law I was proving my love by going to the one city and the one country in the world I have blacklisted. We go next month.

With American's new rules about luggage and my dramatic weight loss, I figure I can wear four changes of clothes, put two pairs of socks in my pockets, and feel like I did three years ago when I would fly. And I won't have to keep up with the luggage.

Security may be a bit of a problem.

The latest turn of events in the YFZ affair

I join a host of people with rather mixed feelings about the court ruling yesterday saying that CPS had overstepped their authority when they removed over 400 children from the YFZ compound outside Eldorado, Texas some weeks ago.

Baptists have numerous children's homes around the state and it is worrisome that one call (now proved bogus) could cause such an action. Suppose CPS showed up at one of our children's homes on the basis of one call and took ALL the children away. One might think this would never happen. But then one is left with the question, "Why could it not happen to us, but it did happen to them?" When you deal with an agency such as CPS that is autonomous (or until yesterday, thought it was autonomous) one anti-religious supervisor could trigger such a reaction.

For CPS, this slap at their authority has been long overdue. In my 34 years of being a pastor and working with CPS (by law not by choice) I have seen their work up close and personal. It is a boondoggle at best, and at worst, an out of place agency functioning in a police state when no such state exists. Their actions are absolute, without question, beyond intervention, and backed up by rubber-stamping judges who generally give them what they want no matter how flimsy the evidence is. Contracted counselors are ignored when they cannot produce the evidence that was the occasion for intrusion and removal. Every outcry is treated the same whether made by a 4 year old or a sulky 16 year old. That changes when these children are adopted where outcries are treated as malicious and untrue. Yea, I cannot help but cheer for all the families that have been stripped of their dignity and their children because CPS said something was going on.

While speaking of CPS, how was it possible for CPS to conjure up 400+ beds for children taken into care, when every night, somewhere in Texas, children are sleeping in the case worker's office because they cannot be placed in a foster home because there are not enough beds?

I am also profoundly puzzled over why other agencies in the State of Texas have done so little against this cult. The last time I noticed polygamy was against the law in Texas. Why weren't some men arrested instead of the children removed? Children were not the ones who wrote the rules of the cult.

The last time I noticed, the Texas Department of Health had to approve the sewer, septic, and water system before a compound like the YFZ ranch could open. I remember the misery the Health Department gave one of our encampments over it's septic system. We had an open air conference center with bathrooms (big mistake). The State came in and wanted us to have a septic system that would accommodate the maximum number of people as if they were living there seven days a week 24 hours a day. No amount of talking, explaining, cajoling, would dissuade the Health Department. It had to be this way. When we were finished, we had put in place a septic system for a community of 300 people just to satisfy the state. So where were they when all this construction was going on? I guess they were too busy harassing Baptist camps.

I feel deeply for the children. However, Texas has once again ignored many opportunities to intervene before it came to this. It makes one wonder exactly what does go on in Austin?

Saving the best for last

The picture that adorns my blog is cropped. What you don't see explains the joyful look on my face. I am an amateur photographer (which is another way of saying I have a sneaky way of not appearing in any pictures) so there are not many photos of me around. Off to the left, is one of my two grandchildren. We are having one of those moments that only a grandfather and grandson can have.

When the first of these two children (19 months apart) entered my life, the church family looked at me kind of funny. Well, that is an understatement. I was microscopically examined by every person who entered the building. They wanted to see how I had changed. I made the mistake of saying from the pulpit, "I was born a fuddy-duddy and am still a fuddy-duddy and will die a fuddy-duddy." I am happy to report to you that in 15 years of preaching: morning, evening, and Wednesday nights, these are the only words the church family remembers--and yes, it has come back to haunt me. Grandchildren have called me out of fuddy-duddydom.

Last Father's Day, my whole clan gathered from the far flung reaches of the country. It was the best Father's Day ever. All three children, families, and girlfriend (not mine, Joe's) were present. In our modest home, we had to made adjustments so I offered our bedroom to the oldest since his family of four was the largest tribe in the house. My wife and I went to the small guest room with the "three day bed" in it. I call it the three day bed, because after three days on that bed, our guests are usually ready to leave. This was also the first family gathering since we had our whole sewer system replaced after it gave up the ghost. We had nursed it along for 14 of the 15 years we have lived in the house but one day, it said "no more," and sure enough, "no more" of anything went down the sewer. So this was a great test for us all.

What I didn't know as I turned over my cherished private space to my oldest son and his wife and two children is the youngest had already gotten the nickname "The Pillager." At two years old he is the most amazing multi-tasker I have ever seen. He can watch a movie, check out a shelf and all its trinkets while talking at the same time. He is a bundle of delightful energy who winds down very slowly.

But he does wind down. His older brother is much quieter, and I suspicion when "TP" gets on his nerves, he just hits him upside the head with a model car. "TP" not only has unbounding energy, he has a voice that can empty a small village.

So the first night passes with my enlarged brood under my roof, and it felt so good.

Morning comes and my oldest son finally opens the bedroom door and stumbles out into the hall looking for coffee. I ask how things went during the night and if everyone got a good night's sleep. Tim said, "Well, we got them to sleep and then about midnight Noah woke us up because he had wet his bed. We got up, cleaned up the mess, cleaned up Noah, and brought him to bed with us. An hour later, Connor woke us up. He had wet his bed. So we did the same drill a second time. And finally had them all together asleep in your bed, when they both wet your bed. Sorry Dad!

That "Sorry Dad!" was deep, sincere, and heartfelt. In my quirky mind, I thought it was a hoot. I could see Tim scrubbing up after each accident saying, "Mandie, what am I going to tell Dad, first we ruin his carpet, then we ruin his bed. He is going to be so mad! I guess the best thing to do is just confess right up front." And so he did.

Now the fuddy-duddy in me would have huffed and puffed and blown the house away complete with soiled carpets and all. But I am a grandfather and a pretty darn happy grandfather.

What popped out of my mouth was as much as a surprise to me as it was to my son, "Well son, I think that is wonderful, my grandchildren are marking their territory!"

It is one of those moments when a child looks at his father and does not recognize the man before him. I call it a "Roswell moment--as in what alien has taken over the body of my dad?"

Tim has many more of these moments to experience. I guess if I were playing fair, I would warn him in advance, but the look on his face is just too priceless to miss.

You see, his dad has left the kingdom of fuddy-duddydom for the land of pre-paradise.

Texas and the Poor, Part II

Some years ago, The Texas Legislature began an ill fated journey to make Medicaid more difficult to access, more difficult to keep and more difficult to use. I was in one of the state-wide hearings that was really a state-wide show (probably paid for by the poor). Billed as a "listening session" the Legislature had already made up their minds.

First, they were going to close most of the local human service offices. (This is where the ideas go from the stupid to the ridiculous) In their place there would be three ways to access Human Services in Texas. First would be over the internet. Now the last time I looked, few poor people could afford computers or internet connections, but that was beside the point. When this objection was raised, those in the audience were told that internet sites were available everywhere: public libraries; internet cafes, etc. Second, people could access Human Services through a call center. Generally that means an outsourced answering system that does not understand anything but the basics of what they are dealing with. Picture an Bombay answerer and a Hispanic person at the other end. That would grind things to a halt. Finally, people could access Human Services through a bus that would visit the community on a published schedule.

Next, for the benefit of the Medicaid users(yea, really) enrollment would be required every six months. This was to keep addresses current, deter fraud, and other reasons that escape me.

Finally, Texas would outsource its paying to a third party payer. Now, I am not the smartest pencil in the pack, but if there is not enough money to go around and you want to get the best bang for your buck, why would you pay someone to do what you already pay employees to do? And where is that money going to come from? The Legislature's answer: from the savings that come from better management. What that translates into is simply savings that come from making Medicaid out of reach for most of the people.

Additionally, when you make reimbursement low enough and slow enough, physicians and other providers will give up in despair and quit taking Medicaid. Problem solved. When there are no providers and people have to chase the bus to renew their Medicaid, your net result is great savings.

I told you, Texas hates the poor.

P.S. Three to five years into this Legislative scheme, it was quietly abandoned because--IT WOULDN'T WORK!!!! I believe that is what the hearing kept telling the panels that criss-crossed Texas.

Texas and the Poor

When Jesus said, "The poor will always be with you. . ." (Matthew 26:11) Texas said, "Darn! Darn! Double Darn!!

Texas likes Big Oil and Big Business. What it doesn't like are the poor. The Legislature also doesn't like abortion. "Ain't no child in Texas going to be aborted on our watch!!"

Herein is a problem. The problem is that most people who want to abort their child don't want their child for one reason or another. So Texas stops the abortion and the child is born to people who don't want it. The truth is that after the child is born, Texas pretty much leaves the child on his own with those parents/parent who didn't/don't want him or her in the first place. Sure they could have given the child up for adoption, but folks who find themselves in these places are often short on making wise decisions.

So, a newborn is on his/her own in the care of parents who don't want him or her. That is where the great state of Texas steps in with solutions. First, there is the Department of Family and Regulatory Services which is a pseudonym for Child Protective Services. When CPS steps in, the child is a little less in danger than with its parents. This department sheltered from any legal action and completely immune from any civil or criminal action, gets to decide the fate of the child that tragically comes into their care. Tragically because: the staff is overworked and underpaid; the staff is under-trained and is introduced to a toxic culture of arrogance and omnipotence that permeates this agency. They and only they know what is best for the children in their care--although the turnover rate and education rate of this agency is deplorable.

When CPS decides to place a child in foster care, Texas has helped again because it has underfunded the foster care system to the point that children sleep on the floor or couch of the CPS worker's office. Now if the workers are poorly trained for their jobs, imagine what kind of training they have to oversee children and teenagers in their offices. In fact, I doubt that such arrangement meet minimum standards of the Texas Health Department for keeping children.

After children are placed in foster care, Texas helps again. They pressure the department to get the children out of foster care and get someone--anyone to adopt them. Pretty much anyone will do as long as they are not sex offenders. One has to draw the line somewhere! Thus begins a rather disastrous set of experiences in which special training is held to help the case worker learn to ignore the counsel of those who do know--the trained counselors paid by the state to see these children and when called up, testify in their best interests.

As I said, Texas hates the poor. And I got more reasons than just the CPS system. You should take a look at Texas InHuman Services.

The $14,000. pill

I got sick not too long ago. The flu was going around so I supposed it was my turn. I had eaten at my favorite restaurant and four hours later I was hugging the toilet. I went to bed and went to sleep. The family came in and did family things, and we all settled down for the night. It was shortly after midnight, my wife says she was awakened by a crash. She sat up in bed, saw that I was not there and decided I had bumped into something going for a snack. She went back to sleep. It is worth noting my wife was a doting nurse on our older children but as she has gotten older, works full-time, exhausts herself working with small children and adolescents during the day, well-when she gets home, her nursing skills are a bit blunted.

Rather than rummaging the house for a snack, I had passed out in the bathroom. Anna was awakened by the sounds of me crawling to the toilet to do a little toilet hugging again. She called 9-1-1. I managed to crawl to bed. And the a cast of thousands arrived.

In our town, if you call 9-1-1, first you get the fire truck loaded with folks who are trained EMT's They are first responders and generally they are men--which helps if one sleeps without pajamas. They crowded around my bed and started asking questions. Then the ambulance came. I was asked which hospital we wanted. We have two. We have a "not-for-profit" and a "for-profit." Anna gave them the name of our hospital of choice--the "not-for-profit." One of the ambulance persons promptly responded, "They're closed!" You'll have to go to the other. And off we went sort of. Not before I had a wrestling match with the woman who wanted to see what I was sleeping in and wanted to take me to the hospital as I was. I refused until I put on some clothes appropriate for meeting people.

My son recently bought me a plane ticket from Los Angeles to Taipei, Taiwan for the price of the ambulance ride across town. When we arrived at the "for-profit" emergency room, we were followed by a woman who sat at the door waiting for fools such as us. She would not leave my room until she had collected the deposit my insurance required. My wife gave her the debit card. Never have I felt more welcome.

I asked for more blankets because I was freezing, so the attendant took away the one I had. The doctor came in and looked at me and left. I suspected that was a $300 look, and I was not far off. Then the door closed and my wife and I were left alone.

After a short while, I realized I needed to do some toilet surfing, but I was on a gurney and there was no toilet in sight. Anna called out for a bed pan and someone brought one and promptly left. Bed pans have an interesting history. They were first worn as hats during the wars on the continent. Later, after the wars had died down somewhat, they were used with little success as Frisbees. The problem was if not caught, one got knocked out.

Stainless steel came along and the design was now complete. When a bed pan was slid under the patient, they forgot what they wanted the bed pan for.

Mine was plastic. I hate bed pans and for me it is like trying to hit a basket ball goal shooting basket balls out your rear end. And sure enough, once again I missed. My wife quickly cleans me up and gathers up the mess and the sheet. Where you ask, are the "for-profit" nurses? Well, I can only tell you where they were not. When I get presentable, I amble down to the bathroom to finish my work.

When I returned, my wife, not the "for profit" nurse has remade my bed with one sheet. Apparently "for profit" means "one sheet" instead of two. Eight hours later I am dismissed with a diagnosis of dehydration and two pills. A week later the bill arrives--$13,000, for the emergency room services and $1,000. for the ambulance ride.

I have suggested to my wife that she did right the first time. When she hears a thud in the night, just keep sleeping. I will either get better or die. I think she can bury me for half of what it took to treat me and take the rest and go someplace wonderful.

Perhaps she will meet husband #2.

Ministers are people too

There are several reasons why the recent action of the "new BGCT" distress me.

As poorly as it was being done, the couple who were charged with Minister's counseling were doing the best they could. One could ask the question, "Why do ministers need special counselors?"

That would be a good question. Apparently one the Baptist Building has failed to ask. There are several reasons.

First, ministers are reluctant to seek counseling for themselves or their families. I have spent 34 years in ministry shoulder to shoulder with great men who were faithful to their calling, but struggling with their family, their calling, their own personal demons. Yet, to consider counseling usually brought the same response, "What if my folks found out?" That is part of the reluctance.

It is not all. Since most of our ministers in Baptist life are men, men in and of themselves are resistant to seeing a counselor. They are going to have to talk about their feelings--and what self respecting man is going to do that. Yet, that is why some of the clergy are clinically depressed, because they feel and have no healthy outlet to express those feelings.

The glass house phenomenon is true. The minister's family lives on a stage for all the world to see and comment on. So, the idea that a troubled family could seek private counseling is almost unimaginable.

Ministry is also very isolating. There are few professions in which choosing the wrong friend can cost you your job. This is true for the spouse as well. I have seen more than one ministry couple whose ministry was deeply damaged by a confidence broken.

Finally, ministry is one of the few jobs in the world where family problems and perhaps divorce can end careers or cause a job to be lost. In the counseling world, many therapists are divorced and they write it off as understanding what their clients are going through. Lawyers are never chosen based on how many spouses they have had. One does not choose doctors by that criteria. But in Baptist life, the troubled marriage or home could be a death sentence.

So what does this have to do with ministers seeking counseling through the BGCT which is no longer available? Simply this: if the counselor himself or herself does not understand the inner workings of the church, they can give bad counsel which will cost the ministry family their job. One Christian psychiatrist tells of his early days of counseling a minister. He advised him to share his struggle with his board. He did and was promptly fired. He returned to the psychiatrist where both sat shell shocked. Sadly, I was not.

Ministers are meant to help people with problems, they are not supposed to be people with problems--which you might be able to see could be a problem!

Fortunately, our "new" BGCT understands this and asked the counselors to leave a referral list on the desk as they vacate their offices.

The Incompetent Traveler

I never intended to be a world traveler.

No one in my family is or was. It is true that Dad was in the service and saw action in the South Pacific as a Marine, but once he got back home to the old US of A, he never intended to leave. God had birthed him in the US, and he was not leaving.

I got my first passport in my second church. I made a mission trip to Brazil. It was both success and disaster for me. It was success in that we did what we were asked to do. It was disaster because I wore a watch and actually expected things to happen when they were advertised. I did not make the same mistake on the second trip. It was on the first trip that we stayed in homes of a dear family that did not understand English and I did not understand Portuguese. So we used our hands a lot. It was on this trip that I learned about another part of the world and some interesting things about myself.

I learned I am allergic to lye soap, and by the time I left Brazil everything I owned had been washed in it. It was like being thrown back into adolescence when one is covered with pimples.

I learned that just because there are wires dangling out of the dohicky behind the shower head, one will not be electrocuted. It is only an "on demand" heater like your children are "on demand" if you need them.

I learned there are parts of the world where time means nothing and somehow they live with it.

And so began my traveling career. I remember riding up a funicular in Bergen, Norway, and the people sitting beside us asked, "So, do you travel internationally a lot?" My immediate response was, "Hardly at all." Then I began to think of all the places we had been. That was 9 years ago. Twice to Brazil, twice to Norway, once to Taiwan, and then the real traveling started. We went to see our children when they were in China and Thailand by way of Taiwan. Then, three years later we were back to see the middle child in China and Hong Kong. Then there was Ecuador,South Africa,Brazil and recently, there has been Greece (2), Macedonia, Hungary, Austria, Slovakia, and Prague.

After all that travel, I consider myself an expert on--delayed luggage. When one deals with the airlines, luggage is never lost, it is delayed. It may be delayed for a day, or two days, or as in Taiwan, 4 days and 6 days, but it is never lost. It may be delayed the rest of your life, but never lost. I have this picture in my mind of having a delayed bag delivered to my casket during my final memorial service. In anticipation of such an occurrence, I have asked for 7 pall bearers. There will be six to carry the casket and one to carry the bag that finally showed up. I plan to be buried in the "oops" shirt that always comes with the "oops" bag from the airlines when one's baggage is delayed.
It will be a fitting end to the life of an Incompetent Traveler.

The lawnmower of time

My grandfather was cheap. Actually, cheap was an understatement. So, when I was a child, (the middle of three) I joined my brothers in mowing Granddad's grass. Granddad had a push mower that had a rotary blade. It was the first "eco" friendly mower I have ever met or used.
Imagine my surprise when I purchased one for our yard. It was a hoot.
I ordered it online because it was not available in the store. When I went to pick it up, I walked through a color guard of tractor mowers poised to be taken home by anyone who needed to mow a small ranch. And of course I was at the wrong place. At the other end of the building, I would find pickup. So back to the car, around the corner, and into a small, dingy room in which no living employee was to be found. Instructions were simple, insert the bar code into the machine, or run through the card that had purchased the device. The bar code was unreadable, so I fished for my card. Five minutes later, the stock person arrives with a box. It is not a large box, nor is it a small box. It is neither heavy or light.
The adventure begins. We take the box home and I set it down. My youngest son, is eager to open it and get it going. (Poor child, he has no idea what is in store for him) So, I take out my trusty tool kit and open the wrong end of the box. One knows it is always the wrong end, because it is the one I open. I cannot get anything out of the box. I am being careful because if I have to return this item, I would expect the company to want the box in the best possible shape.
At last, the main part of the lawnmower is pulled from the box, and it is relatively easy to put together. That means it only takes me an hour to get it up and running. It is with a great deal of sadness that I confess I have the home mechanical skills of my father. Although one of the world's great mechanics, everything he touched at home, meant calling a specialist to repair what he had done and fix the original problem. So, an hour for me was a great feat.
Out to the yard we went. It had suffered neglect as we had been concentrating on putting in the rose beds to help with the scarcity of water. It was our effort at Xeriscaping. The waves of memories washed over me as I was a 10 year old back mowing Granddad's grass. What I didn't remember hearing was a voice saying, "Dadd!, don't hog it all, I want to mow!" Somehow, this relic from the past had a pecular attraction to my X-Box son who had never seen such a contraption. So, being the gallant father I am, I turned it over to him.
Strange child, this. Now all he wants to do is mow with the new mower. I have to tell him we have to wait for the grass to grow. Interesting the difference generations make.

The rose of hope

It was the summer of 2004 and our group was on its way for an adventure in South Africa. This was the first time I had led a mission team to a destination unsure of our responsibilities. Yet, I was willing to do so because I knew the missionary with whom we would work. So we arrived after two days of travel through London and finally Cape Town. After a short rest we loaded into a vehicle for the 11 hour trip north to the Northern Cape. Our destination was a community called Upington which was situated on either side of the Orange River. This seemed to be one of the entry points of refugees fleeing the instability of countries to the north. Families would make their way to the outskirts of Upington into what are called "squatter" camps. South Africa would take a plot of ground and install water lines and electric lines. As refugees would come, the would claim a small parcel of ground and begin to build a shelter for the family. Anything became a part of the shelter.Scrap metal, sheet metal, wood pieces, anything gets assimilated into the little house that emerges on the property. Water is available at a valve sometimes a quarter of a mile from the little house. Frequent trips are made each day. Then when the family is safe from the elements, many of the new residents do something rather unexpected--at least to me. They plant a flower. It may require someone to walk a total of a mile to keep the plant alive. But they are willing to walk the distance and make the trip.
The squatter camp changed the way I look at flowers. No more just decorations, or a part of a well landscaped plot of ground or estate. Flowers for the refugees was about hope.
Since that time, I have had the occasion to travel in parts of the world that have found freedom after years of oppression. In Eastern Europe among the dreary blocks of apartment complexes once manufactured for the masses, I saw flowers, flowers, lots of flowers.
Having photographed all kinds of flowers, I think I understand a little of the appeal. First, there are the colors. In a dreary world, the colors are appealing. But then, one can get lost in gazing at the parts of the flower and how intricately they are made. Each is different, yet so much the same.
Flowers are a simple thing. But I have learned to not take them for granted. You have to have been in a position of despair to appreciate what one flower can do.

Oursourced Caring

Our state convention in its latest rounds of cost-cutting measures has finally killed what once was a rather robust ministry to ministers. The reason the cost-cutting is necessary is because people are not giving to the state convention because (I think) they no longer trust the state convention. The "Trust Me" routine can only go so far and go on for so long and then people start asking the question, "Why does he keep saying that?" The obvious answer is that he is untrustworthy. And so giving is down. The idea of just looking to the future is not working real well either. People want to know a little bit more about the past before they can get excited about the future.
Once upon a time, the BGCT(Baptist General Convention of Texas) had a sensible and compassionate way of dealing with troubled or terminated ministers. For troubled ministers they offered to pay for their counseling. For terminated ministry families, they helped them find a safe place to go and often rented a U-Haul for them to get there. That was then.

Now, we are going to outsource our caring. However, caring for ministry families in the BGCT had come close to feeling like neglect these last eight years. There was less and less money for counseling. Some counseling money was diverted to prop up a new counseling center at the church of the former Executive Director. Terminated ministers were no longer helped but told to negotiate a severance agreement--which shows how many in the Building had been a terminated minister. When one is terminated, one rarely is in a position to negotiate anything (If you don't give me a severance agreement, I will camp out in my office, go on a hunger strike, not change my socks , and scream all the church's secrets out the window until you promise to feed my family for three months!!)

I am not sure where the money went, but I know where it did not go. For some reason, some folks in the Baptist Building hated the idea of helping troubled ministers and their families. Sure, some of the ministers were incompetent and sure they could have qualified to be our last Executive Director, but that is no reason to turn away from the family in their hour of need.

Well, the money has run out, the pink slips are in the bins, and what is left of a once robust convention is gone. Just remember what the Building told our ministers at this very time, "Be warmed and filled!"

The $27,000,000. question

The Baptist General Convention of Texas (my state convention of affiliation) has been in turmoil for the last eight years. There seem to be two reasons for this: incompetent leadership and an organization that continued to prop up the incompetent leadership.

The organization that has propped up the incompetent leadership grew out of the onslaught of fundamentalism that began to take over state conventions after they have taken over the national Southern Baptist Convention. However, the problem is that in the words of Martin Luther King Jr. the organization has "become the beast in order to defeat the beast." They stifle dissent, they threaten, promise to destroy and ostracize those that disagree with them. They raise doubts about their motives and finally, when all else has failed, they outmaneuver them while talking about the need to have a free and open discussion which they will not permit.

I am credentialed to counsel in Texas and my group of choice is couples. Many times when couples come to see me, there has been infidelity in the marriage. The unfaithful one always has the same position,"Let's forget about the past and forgive and go on!" The faithful one just looks in bewilderment. And his/her question is valid. "How do I know what I am forgetting and forgiving unless I know what has happened?" I have noted the failure to confess is often the unwillingness to repent.

So here we are in the life of my cherished convention: the powers that be want us to look to the future, forget the past, and forgive whatever was done (always) with the best of intentions.
Some of us cynics want to know what we are being asked to forgive and forget. I am not positive, but it begins with $27,000,000. that is not there anymore.

One less bag to fly

The airlines of America have announced they are going to start charging $25.00 for the second checked bag you take with you to your destination. Having traveled a lot, what that means to me is the airlines are going to charge me extra for destroying my bag and its contents shortly before they lose it. I have the distinction of watching my baggage loaded on a small non-stop flight only to have it lost somewhere between Lubbock, Texas and Amarillo, Texas. Go figure.

Quickly on the heels of this great news, is the news that American Airlines is going to charge $15.00 for the first bag their passengers check. Having reluctantly flown American Airlines a lot, I am amazed at their capacity to stay in business. Their employees hate them, hate their customers, and in turn, their customers loathe them. In some parts of the world, mention American airlines and Americans who must use them break out in a rash. My latest American story is from my secretary who was traveling from Abilene to St. Louis. Apparently, the crew overslept themselves, got lost coming from the hotel and as a result, the plane was late, the passengers missed their connections, and American was their usual unhelpful self.

Some wonder where it is all going to end. I am a cynic and proudly carry that title. So, I believe we have only seen the beginning of parceling out the pieces of what makes an airline flight. First you will buy the ticket. Next, you will pay extra if you want good seating. Of course there is 1st class and business class, then there will be apple crates, (which are the cheapest and have more foam than the economy seats) and then there is economy (in which only half the seats are broken) If you want access to a clean working toilet, that will cost more. The luggage thing we have already covered. If you don't want the scary flight attendant, of course that costs more. Each passenger will take their turn in the co-pilot position because unfortunately, that position got caught in the last round of layoffs. Finally, on the back of one ticket, there is a black spot. This person must load the luggage, wait until everyone is on board, guide the plane out of its chute whereby they have 15 seconds to catch the plane before the scary flight attendant slams the door shut and taxis off for the runway.