Out of My Mind

Ideology today

2011-10-19T20:24:00.003-05:00

I might find ideology more appealing if in today's society it was less a reason for inaction than a cause. I also might find ideology more appealing if it was less a blunt instrument with which to beat people and more of a "because of this, I propose this."

But that is not the fate of ideology today.

Sadly, ideology today does not facilitate dialogue or conversation, but rather provides the background for shrill debate in which no one listens because no one has anything to learn and certainly not any truth ungrasp.

Ideology today is not beginning with ideas rather the spewing forth of dogma both heard and repeated but unable to stand the scrutiny of anyone not as dogmatic as oneself on exactly the same issues. In fact what attempts to pass for conversation and discussion in America today is more like a mediocre sound system poorly adjusted resulting in a echo ring of annoying proportions.

Perhaps what is most annoying about ideology today is its perverted misuse to justify the paralyzing inaction of leaders in a time that has no time for inaction or delay. So, all that happens is noise, raised voices, invectives, pointed fingers, criticism and--inaction. That is not leadership. That has never been leadership. Nor will it ever pass for leadership except among those who either have lost sight of what leadership is or wrongly believe leadership is about being an impasse to action.

If the face paced world of business adopted the model of leadership we frankly do not see among the public sector elected government legislators and congressional representatives, they would have marched their companies into insolvency.

Oh, wait, that is what they did. But, what business did was turn to the government to bail them out financially. Where shall the "leaders" of government turn?

Posting without insight

2011-09-17T13:40:00.003-05:00

Immigration and immigration reform are serious issues in the West. Ignoring this seems to me to be rather foolish. However, the inability of nations of the West to find workable solutions is a continuing source of both debate and ill will toward those who find their way to "our" shores.

Recently, there has been a rather unhelpful post circulating on Facebook on this issue. It goes something like this: if you came across the border illegally into North Vietnam/Russia/Iran you would be arrested, tried, imprisoned. After that, the focus changes to how illegal immigrants are treated in the United States. And of course, it is overly generous, infuriating, and a tax burden for schools, medical care and welfare.

This post is troubling at several levels. First, the lack of insight in comparing bankrupt tyrannies in which citizens attempt to flee oppression and starvation to a thriving freedom driven country is just silly.

Additionally, the dismiss the economic factors of illegal migration are shallow and disingenuous. People aren't flocking to infiltrate impoverished economies. Duh! People attempt to get to places where they can earn money to support their families.

So, perhaps what small hearted Americans should do is to ask God to take away the money and take away the freedom, and that will solve the illegal immigrations problem.

Adverse Outcome

2011-09-17T12:38:00.004-05:00

Wednesday, we had an "adverse outcome" at work. Such words are a euphemism for someone died. Of course in our environment, there will be an autopsy because---in our setting, things are never what they seem.

So, on the surface, it appears the death was self inflicted.

In the prison setting, the threat of suicide is another bargaining chip the offender has to manipulate for practically anything. If one does not like his cell mate, he can threaten self harm. If he does not like his cell location, he can threaten suicide. If he does not like the security officers on his shift, he can threaten suicide. If he does not get his demands met soon enough, he can threaten suicide.

The issue of suicide in the correctional setting has come to have the flash point it has because it gives an emotional message that offenders feel hopeless, neglected, and abused therefore killing themselves is the only way out. Sometimes that is true.

Prison, at least the prison in which I work, is not a hopeful place. Nothing about it is hopeful. The building are poorly built, not air conditioned, stale aired, grey walled, loud, and full of people judged by society as unwilling to live by the rules of conduct the rest of the world lives by. One 18 year old offender told me "these are not nice people." No, they are not and one of these not so nice persons will be one's cellie.

Additionally, the food is barely palatable, security officers often unqualified and emotionally unsuitable for their jobs. Freedom is non existent, and everything is regimented. The snotty nosed teenager whose surly "Nobody going to tell me what to do" has no idea the Hell he will be in when he ends up in prison. The offender is told what he can wear, when he can sleep, where he can work, what he can eat, when he can shower, when he can shave, how can share a cell with him and what he can keep and what he can possess.

What medical and mental health care is available is parceled out often at maddening levels.

It should not be surprising that suicide is an issue in prison. And it should not be surprising that institutional prison administration should be hyper sensitive about the issue. Nothing so unmasks the facade of adequacy of prison care as a suicide.

However, given the hypersensitivity of the issue, offenders have found another way to attempt to manipulate a tired and often unresponsive system.

Additionally, the incarcerated setting has a higher than normal percentage of felons with personality disorders. The most troublesome lot are those who have "cluster B" personality disorders: which are identified as Borderlines, Antisocials, Histrionics, and Narcissitics. Simply explained these are folks who have a pervasive disregard of the presence, the rights, the needs, and the existence of others. Their worlds are very small with themselves at the center of the universe and pretty much the only one who matters at any given moment.

If this pervasive view of the world were not enough, Cluster B folks have great difficulty regulating their emotions and mood. So, when they are frustrated, it is not unusual for these folks run to the outcry of self harm or the attempt at self harm.

The most mind bending moment for me has been when an offender says, "If I don't get _________(you fill in the blank) I am going to cut my throat/hang myself/take this handful of pills/jump off my top bunk."

I know the anticipated response and the professional response is supposed to be "Oh, please don't do that." However, I find myself thinking,"Oh, OK, mind if I watch? I fail to grasp why that threat should motivate me to do anything to mediate your threat."

Institutionally, that is not the right answer. We don't want offenders to self harm because--well, there are too many papers to fill out, and well, it just don't look good.

My therapeutic approach is the old familiar "call their bluff." Institutionally, we are not equipped to do that.

So, as long as the institution responds with a frantic knee jerk reaction, offenders will continue to threaten self harm. And with the frequency of the threats, there will inevitably be "adverse outcomes." Not because they intended such an end, but because like everything else in most of their lives, they were as good at bluffing as they were successful as criminals.

10 years later

2011-09-11T17:36:00.002-05:00

September 11, 2001, is one of those seminal events assaulting all other experiences pushing them to the bar ditches of memory.

As if what is unfolding is unfathomable enough, the swirling waves of uncertainties multiply the clouds of confusion and disorientation. Such it was for most all in the United States that morning.

Our two sons were out of the country, out of reach, out of sight, but very much in our hearts. Our need to connect and reassure ourselves that scattered as we were, we were all safe.

I am not sure we have learned all the lessons 9/11 had to teach us and not really sure we have learned any of the lessons 9/11 had to teach us.

Ten years after, a nation that should be more safe is not necessarily so. A country that should be more tolerant is certainly not so, and a country that should understand the basic tenants of living together, sharing together is absolutely not so.

This weekend has been a soul searching time for me. I watched posts on the internet and grieved that Christian people are so easily misled by the loud arrogant militant doomsayers who appeal to the worst in all of us. In the late 1970's a small, self absorbed, strident band of morally superior preachers began to push their agenda and way to the front of the political spectrum. They managed to polarize, obscure, and misdirect the energies and lives of millions of people while making the American experience more toxic and less secure. By shading the history of America, leaving out significant facts in the tapestry of the shaping of the nation, by pushing forward an entitlement that never belonged, and ignoring some of the founding father's concerns about government and religion, we are now bearing the putrid fruit of that bastard movement.

The talk is more strident, the truth more blurred, the emotions more raw, the dialogue melting into escalating debate, the positions more intractable and problems neglected become more complex because of fewer options.

I am profoundly disappointed in how easily "protecting freedom" becomes "protecting the status quo." People being what they are allow themselves to think less critically and be more easily manipulated. Freedoms hammered out under the threat of a watchful tyranny, as slowly given away, slowly modified, and slowly corrupted.

So we move past this anniversary, convinced our greatest enemies are off shore.
I am less convinced and more troubled.

The problem with tax money

2011-07-23T17:38:00.002-05:00

Tax money is a never ending fountain of funding. "Never ending" is the problem.

Therefore, what is connected to the trough of public funding face intrinsic issues of accountability, relevance, and effectiveness.

As bad as business can get, generally in a capitalistic economy, the inefficient, the bloated, the ineffective, and the incompetent shrink and disappear. Funding, financing, and sales disappear. So does the product and the brand. (unless one is GM or Chrysler, or Citibank, etc.)

Government is different. Government is funded by taxes and taxes don't go away. So, over time, what does happen is government becomes less efficient, less responsive, less accountable, less relevant and less effective.

So the Texas legislature recently lowered the budgets for Texas agencies that feed at the trough of Texas taxpayers. In our agency's case, what is going to happen is that the meager services we were actually providing will go away. However, pending the renegotiating of a new contract, what will remain is a process and an unwieldy process at that. The process is simply documenting services that cannot be realistically provided but are contractually required so must be documented as being provided. (Wink! Wink!)

If that sounds confusing, you have not crossed over. If it sounds logical you have just crossed over into the world of the bureaucrat. If it is documented it happened. If it is not documented, it never happened.

So trust me, in the coming two years, the documents will show what is impractical, what is impossible, what is ridiculously unrealistic happened every day--however impractical, however impossible, however unrealistic and however ridiculous (Wink! Wink!) Because...

Norway Grieves

2011-07-23T17:10:00.002-05:00

Norway convulses in the face of inexpressive grief from what appears to be domestic terrorism.

My heart goes out to them, as the death toll rises in the face of a terrorist strike.

The picture is very sketchy, very tentative, and early in the unfolding drama. I think we there is a pointer.

Hate has historically motivated and driven the madness of murder. What fuels such madness? I think there is an sense of entitlement. There is also an enemy that appears to threaten to remove or destroy the entitlement. There is also the belief that powers of influence are indifferent to the danger and risks. I believe there is also a catalyst or voice or voices that drive the vulnerable to believe and to act.

I would call this the "weaponizing" of fear and hate.

Immigrants

2011-07-23T16:57:00.002-05:00

Most civilized countries that enjoy some kind of participatory government have to deal with terrorism: from without and within.

In Norway, it appears to be from at least one person who believed that immigrants from the Middle East were destroying the Norwegian way of life.

I remember being in Norway twice and both times were extraordinary. Both times, I remember hearing concerns about the flood of immigrants whose final destination was Norway. One only had to look on a map to understand one could really not move further north. So Norway became a destination. It was so because there was a wonderful standard of living, exhaustive social services, a small population, and democracy.

Every western nation or those identified as "western" appears to face the same issues related to immigrants and for the same reasons. However, depending on the nation the "face" of the immigrants change. Their national origin may blur but the reasons for immigrating is generally economic and desperation. People really do yearn to be free and safe. For all its struggles "the West" has both large margins of safety and freedom.

And so they come. As long as the economies are decent and freedom is widespread in a world in which most live in poverty and without safety.

Perhaps the way to stop the flood of immigrants is to invest more in assisting their countries of origin to feed their populations in societies that are free and safe.

Lied to again

2011-06-19T14:41:00.003-05:00

I think I have been lied to--again.

Not that being lied to is that unusual. In fact, it is more likely getting told the truth is more rare. Working in a maximum security prison and having access to the one who has access to psychotropic medications makes getting lied to more likely. In fact, feigning mental illness in the correctional setting is a hobby for some and attempted art for others. However, one expects lying in the workplace--especially my workplace.

What I don't expect is being lied to by people who have no reason to lie. And yet it happens time and time again. There was the former university president(not deceased) who went on to work in the Baptist Building who was a liar of the pathological kind. I still remember the meeting in which he was the "resource" person appointed by the Executive Director, when it dawned on me the man was lying and had been lying.

Then there was the recent employee who is no longer an employee. His issues were such that lying was as necessary as breathing. Sadly, there was no real reason. When one fails and has nothing to talk about or brag about, or as Robert Frost said, "Nothing to look back on with pride and nothing to look forward to with hope," one can understand lying. One reshapes the past to imagine achievements that only exist in one's mind. But, in the real world where some achievements were made--apparently not enough.

Which brings me to the one recent liar. It appears to be a small thing, but it becomes a flag that causes the thoughtful person to look more sceptically. And when one looks more carefully, one realizes that there is no such thing as "just one lie."

What's wrong with this picture?

2011-06-08T16:14:00.002-05:00

For the upteenth zillonith time, my cable went out. We called the cable company for the upteenth zillonith time. And eventually a repairman came out.

He assessed the issue and replaced the defective part.

I said to him, "This is really frustrating because the cable keeps going out and we call and you guys come out and nothing much changes. In fact, it goes out so often we don't call most of the time because we know it will be eventually come back on."

The middle aged cable man said, "Yea, when I subscribed to this cable system, it went out four or five times a week and I had to fix it when I got home. I got tired of it and switched to Direct TV."

I thought for a few seconds and said, "That's not a good recommendation for the company you work for."

And he walked out the door.

So, does that mean that Livingston is cable is so lousy that even its employees use something else? I guess so.

Why pass along lies?

2011-05-31T15:03:00.002-05:00

Across a lifetime, I had wondered, puzzled, and shaken my head at how easily religious people pass along information that is not true. For years, it was the petitions passed around from church member to church member on a myriad of issues from an atheist trying to stop religious broadcasting or demonic symbols embedded in business logos.

Because I read and remember, I began making a file about these ongoing rumors, and would pull it out, make a copy of the truth, and find the person who had been duped was actually upset with me. That was my first clue something was tragically wrong.

For people who are supposed to value truth, practice truth telling, religious folks have little loyalty to what is true. Rather, it seems to me that religious folks often want snippets of information they find important to be true. And if they feel passionately about it, it must be true. It really is the ultimate idolatry. Against all facts, all truths, we decide what is truth and what we will do with it.

These day because conservative Christians have a deep antipathy toward the sitting President, I guess that makes it alright to pass along lies about his birth origins, his faith, and pretty much anything that can incite others to think badly of him.

I have noticed that when the facts come out, the swarm move on to another subject, never apologizing, never admitting they have slandered a national leader, never feeling badly about violating basic Biblical teaching about gossip, lies, and slander. Just move on, murmuring under one's breath.

Tragically, the full measure of who we really are is revealed when we move through uncertain times with folks we had rather not be our leaders moving us in directions we prefer not to go. More than that, despite the prevailing opinions to the contrary, people of deep religious faith can hold different, passionate viewpoints about economics, law, justice, immigration, money, and the place of government in the lives of people.

One does not need to agree with leadership. In America, one does not need to support candidates for leadership. However, we are commanded to pray for our leaders and people of faith should respect those who try to lead us. On, yea, and you really should speak truth and pass truth on. Anything less than--well, is a lie, but then you knew that.

Waiting

2011-05-31T14:51:00.003-05:00

Curious thing about hospitals, one can always find people waiting.

Anna arrived early for her heart cath because, we can do that and should do that. People show up early for appointments out of respect, even if those for whom we wait can't get organized enough to see their appointments on time. Two hours later, she is taken back for the "stand you on your head till all your coins fall out" procedure. Not too bad if one has insurance which always includes our contribution to medical expenses for those who don't do their part, or pay their bills, or carry insurance.

Then we go to the procedure prep room. After that is done, assured it was going to be " a while" in hospital speak, I run off to find some lunch because it is going to be a long afternoon.

And after a quick lunch, I arrive back at the procedure room, and Anna is gone. Apparently "a while" is no longer as long as it used to be. She is bumped to the top of the list. I am reasonably sure it has nothing to do with any seriousness of her condition, more likely she had insurance and the cardiologist's boat payment was more assured than the other person waiting who may not have had insurance. So, I sit in the waiting room--waiting.

I have no deep concerns about how Anna will do because she is strong, vibrant, and does most everything to keep her heart healthy. She is a woman of faith and grace infused with the most incredible kind strength and courage.

The concern is what hereditary plays in this wonder mix of genes, environment, and lifestyle.

So I wait.

Perry for President?

2011-05-27T16:48:00.001-05:00

If America ever needed a well coiffured president, Governor Perry would certainly be at the front of the line of males who are considering a run for the office. Women generally have that feature nailed from the start.

I could certainly support any effort he made to not be the Governor of Texas. However, the list thus ends for why this would be a good decision for Texas and America.

Perhaps we will all be better off when Governor Perry jumps on the bandwagon of those who won't run for president. When he gets on that wagon, he should sit next to "the Donald." The contrast would be interesting and a great photo op.

Treating the Mentally Ill in prison

2011-05-27T16:05:00.002-05:00

So, how are the Mentally Ill treated in prison?

Basically, they are treated poorly. However, for some, this is better than their free world care because in the free world they get no care and can generally not afford any kind of care.

Why are the Mentally Ill treated poorly in prison? Perhaps it is because the unspoken model in prison is a skewed perception of the free world. In the free world, the Mentally Ill are treated poorly. MI folks are treated poorly because they are not easily understood. The simple descriptor "crazy" is a sloppy way of understanding and dismissing people who are different. Many MI folks are "different." What we presently understand about the organic basis of hallucinations and delusions tell us the MI see a different world, experience a different world, and feel differently about the world that is uniquely theirs. There is a great gulf fixed between the world of the MI and the world of those who are schizophrenic, or psychotic or profoundly unstable in mood.

The MI can be a little scary at times. The actively psychotic person can inspire a fear in us that is both sobering and wise. Being drawn in to the psychotic's experience can raise profound concerns in us about our perception and processing of reality which can raise momentary doubts about our own anchor holding in the face of challenging times. More than that, we tend to respond in fear to the experiences we do not understand but sense are anguishing to the person into whose world we have been drawn.

In the free world we have interesting ways of fleeing what makes us afraid. Moving away or moving "them" away. Both are isolating and except in very few instances can be experienced as abandonment.

So, in the prison setting, moving away and moving "them" away is very limited. In prison, MI offenders become the possession on the Mental Health Department. Largely, I think, security and administration don't feel a need to understand the MI because "they" are Mental Health's problem.

In some ways, the indigent MI have a "fair" existence in prison. Promised a dry bed, meals, clothes, psychiatric treatment, medications and monitoring is often above and beyond what they would get if left on their own to fend for themselves.

The downside of prison for the MI is they are often victimized by the "stronger." Their stuff is always at risk, their resources may be extorted and they may be used for sport. Additionally, unlike the free world, psychotropic meds may be the only sure supply of mind altering and mood altering fixes accessible to the non MI (which requires an exhausting kind of additional work from Mental Health providers because of the rewards of pretending to be MI). Offenders have found numerous ways to take legal medications and adapt them to act like the coke, marijuana, and other substances they used and sold in the world. Indigent MI may even find that "selling" their meds can give them a little "money" to spend. So some take a dose and sell a dose.

Finally, the MI become ensnared in a web that has up to an 80% recidivism rate. That means when they get out, it is rather difficult to stay out. The severely MI once sent to prison may stay in a cycle of returning and returning until they become "habitual."

When the governments of the US decided that institutionalize the MI was too extreme for most, they did not provide sufficient alternatives for those who needed services, structure, and supervision. So pt's moved from "state hospitals" to state prisons over time. For the taxpayer paying the bill, the people put at risk by their lack of supervision, and the prison alternative, this sad approach needs to be rethought.

While the MI are largely a benign group, most every law enforcement agency across the country has a least one death of an officer killed in the line of duty because of encountering a MI person who was not compliant with their treatment or a "never diagnosed" but should have been.

More and better choices would serve the public, the MI and the state better than what we currently provide.

Like the poor, the MI are going to be with us for a long time. It's about time we did a better job with their care.

Prisons and the American way of Justice

2011-05-27T13:36:00.002-05:00

Perhaps, in my judgement, the most serious issue with prisons are the deep connections they intrinsically have with a deeply flawed system of justice.

In America, justice is flawed because it is slow, blindly punitive and deeply, perhaps, tragically strangled and perverted by money.

Go waste your day with a jury summons. Jury duty gives you a snapshot of what is wrong with justice in America, legislation in America and American government.

The goal of jury summons is not to find a jury but to find the right jury. Of course the right jury means different things to a prosecutor or a defense attorney. Therein starts the compromise that ends with some kind of decision that somewhat addresses the charges that have been brought. The notion that a jury of my peers could render a verdict has long been relegated to the garbage heap. "A peer" can mean so many things, until it takes 60 people showing up to find 6 or 12 who will "do."

Are we all so clueless?

Are we all so stupid? Does it really take 30-60 people have their lives confiscated for an indefinite period of time to find 12 who are good enough? Really, lawyers have spent way too much time in their own company becoming convinced that everyone is as stupid and soul less and them and their colleagues. So, the case has to be "pre-tried" to see if anyone will not do. It is no wonder prison has so many innocent people. The American way of justice is a matter of "charges, procedure, technicalities, and competent representation. By the time the accused is finally brought to trial, the crime, the victim, the social consequences hardly matter at all. By the time "justice" has run its course, punishment is light years from the crime.

In my personal opinion, the problem with the death penalty is not a problem with the penalty. It is a problem with the years it takes to finally get the execution of the sentence. And, quite frankly, we have the lawyers and the courts to thank for that.

There are some folks the "state" has a vested interest in executing. These are criminals who have done horrific crimes and disfigured innocent families for generations. The only reason their carnage is not more widespread is because the offender was caught or did not achieve the opportunity and power to do more evil. It is inhumane for a just society to allow them to continue to live and continue to live among us. Yet, 15 years of waiting for a sentence to be carried out is both unbelievable and incredibly foolish and frankly cruel and usual punishment for the victim's family. The only reason why many DR offenders do not rise to the level of evil of a Hitler is because they lack opportunity not evil.

The American "way" of justice is deeply flawed. Until we "reform" justice in America, expecting different outcomes from our prisons is frankly silly.

The awkward question about the meaning of prisons in America

2011-05-27T13:06:00.004-05:00

There is an awkward question about prisons in America that is not generally discussed in polite society. By polite society, I mean those people who should be discussing the question and holding themselves accountable for answers and solutions.

Just exactly what are prisons supposed to do? I have heard several rather evasive answers whenever that question is squeezed out in a conversation like flatulence in a stuffy room. There is sniffing, looking around, awkward silence, and descent into gibberish.

The rationale for spending $38,000+ per offender per year is generally "well, we need to keep the public safe." Separating offenders from their criminal friends and families (sometimes the lines blur between which is which) and society at large is supposed to do this.

It doesn't! And it doesn't for several reasons. Criminal friends and family still have contact with the offender. Prison does not become an isolation ward for the dangerous to protect the public, but more often that not operates as the main offices of "Crime Inc." Prisons are organized and deeply influenced by the offenders housed within, rather than by prison officials, guards, and administrators.

And perhaps the most important reason this does not work, prisons act as a toxic spill that creeps and seeps into everything that surrounds them and touches them. Employees of prisons, in fact, all law enforcement personnel are all badly influenced by continual contact with offenders. It affects the way they think, the way they consider others, their world view, their values, their morals, their marriages, their parenting, and their very souls. And through these contacts and associations, the free world is profoundly impacted. The offender may not be physically present, but his influence is felt in big and small ways.

The awkward question about the meaning of prisons in America part III

2011-05-27T13:06:00.003-05:00

So, if the isolation rationale is not totally what it appears, if rehabilitation is not happening, perhaps we can feel better about the notion our rather expensive prisons are "punishing" offenders for the wrong they have done.

Obviously, you have never visited in a prison. Talking heads decry the luxurious life of the offender incarcerated in Texas, but again, such folks largely speak from ignorance. I am sure there are folks in Texas whose lives of grinding poverty would find prison a step up.

Most would not. Space is cramped, cell mates are almost always undesirables (this is prison not the Hilton), food is available but much more than that description might be disrespectful to other things that are described as "food." Clothes supplied by the system( which is only what you are allowed to wear) seem to been purchased worn out but that's alright because offender areas in most prisons are without air conditioning and more often than not are hot and stuffy.

More troublesome than all this is the surrender of freedom that comes when one is incarcerated. It is one of the great ironies of life that people who don't want to have people telling them what to do end up in prisons where folks are always--telling them what to do. You can only be where you are told to be. You can only shower when you are told to shower. You can only watch TV when you are told to watch TV and you share that TV with 40 other people, the biggest of which determines what the channel is set on. You are told when you can eat and what you can eat and what you can possess and where you can walk and when you can visit your family and when they can visit you and if and when you get to get out of your cell and out of prison.

Although such an environment may begin to sound a little like "punishment," in order for that to work, it is necessary for an offender to grasp the idea they are guilty of something. Although there are over 150,000 offenders in Texas prisons, a guilty person is hard to find. They either didn't do what they are accused of, or they didn't do it like the courts said they did it, or there were mitigating circumstances that leaves them innocent in their own minds. And what would those circumstances be: well the person they killed was warned to quit messing with them; or they were just defending themselves or their stuff, or the other person(s) that were helping them got away, or the person they robbed/assaulted/killed was a worthless piece of s***.

So there we have it: innocent people locked away in "god forsaken" prisons being disrespected and denied their rights.

In the absence of genuine feeling of guilt, there is little chance for remorse, and less chance for change. In fact, for many, prison become a school where the goal is to learn how to do the same thing and not get caught.

Right!

The awkward question about the meaning of prisons in America part II

2011-05-27T12:46:00.004-05:00

Prisons in America are perceived by some as being opportunities of rehabilitation.

Nothing could be further from the truth. In Texas, most of the money spend on offenders is for their room and board and security. A modicum of money is spent on any kind of efforts at rehabilitation. The Windham school is a modest effort thrown at the huge issue of offenders' inability to read, write, and be educated. Medical and Mental Health Services are managed care driven contracts that offer nurse driven medical essential services and mental health symptom management by scarce psychiatric providers and Master level unlicensed clinicians. Additionally, in the Mental Health field, much of the prison behavior is driven by what is understood to be personality disordered individuals that Master level clinicians are marginally exposed to, and through out the field is regarded as "untreatable." In the incarcerated setting, making head way with a personality disordered individual is nothing short of a miracle. And sadly, whatever progress is made with one, 10 more arrive on the chain bus on given unit on any given week.

What this translates into is a large population of offenders who have nothing better to do the larger part of their day except hone their already substantial abilities to think wrong, feel wrong, and do wrong. Grandma was right in this regard, "Idle hands are the devil's workshop." I would add, "idle minds, idle hearts, and idle spirits." Efforts in TDC to rehabilitate anyone regarding any self defeating habit are under available, understaffed, underfunded, perhaps worse of all largely ineffective.

The way Texas has chosen to deal with this program is to create a stealth institution (TDCJ) whose presence is only noted at budget time and when an offender escapes. The rest of the time, citizens are encouraged to refocus their attention on the next court case or on issues of more substance like the Rangers or the Astros.

The Mentally Ill In Prison

2011-05-27T10:57:00.002-05:00

In the free world(life outside a prison) Mental Illness is a label and term that is generally applied very specifically and narrowly. Lots of folks who battle depression, anxiety, attention deficit disorder, hyperactivity disorder, would never think of themselves as Mentally Ill and are not really labelled or described in that way. In the free world, Mental Illness as both a label and a category are reserved for schizophrenia, psychosis, extreme bipolars, and the mentally retarded.

However, in prison, Mental Illness and the treatment of Mental Illness is the domain of psychiatry and Mental Health Departments. The label and the category are broad. In fact, when offenders are screened for Mental Illness, we look at present behaviors and past history. What are we looking for? If a person has a free world history of treatment by psychiatrist or an inpatient stay at the Mental Hospital, if the person has ever attempted suicide, or has ever reported taking a medication that is designated as a psychotropic medication, or has seen a counselor for any reason; been diagnosed as a child with any number of issues such a Attention Deficit Disorder or Hyperactive disorder, or is Mentally retarded or Borderline Mental Functioning. We also screen for all the above list of situations, diagnoses, services while in the prison system. So, Mental Illness is broad, very broad.

What is challenging to learn and experience is in Texas, the largest providers of Mental Health services are not medically trained personnel or clinically trained counselors or psychotherapists or psychologists, but police officers, jailors, and correctional officers.

And generally, this large group of folks, in both the free world and prison are largely not interested in identifying or understanding Mental Illnesses. So, the keepers and the daily minders of the ill basically have no interest in their illness.

Sad irony that more often that not ends in tragedy.

Survival

2011-05-27T09:45:00.003-05:00

When one is sentenced to prison, the most important issue with no close rivals is survival: physical; emotional; spiritual; and perhaps at the bottom of the list--intellectual. I would put intellectual at the bottom of the list because prison is really not a great place to learn much that is helpful, and as the recidivism rates show what offenders do learn only makes them more prone to commit more crimes.

Physical survival may surprise some, but one only as to think about who gets sent to prison. At our place, we have a mix of offenders from folks who have moderately serious drug offenses to serial killers on Death Row. Many of our population are not professional thugs or killers, but they have been sentenced and housed with professional thugs, gang bangers and killers. Add to that mix sex offenders some of whom are predators, and men who have trouble with anger, aggressiveness, and personality disorders best described as believing they are the only one living on the planet and they are entitled. "Entitled to what?" You ask. Well just fill in the blank. More food, better food, first in line, not kept waiting, and the list goes on and one.

Since everything in prison tends to devolve into either a tattoo needle or a shank (weapon), it is easy to see why survival can be the paramount issue. This is especially true if one is small of stature, effeminate, scared, serious mentally ill or not associated with someone bigger and badder.

When one talks of physical safety, it is all about not getting injured/and or killed for any number of reasons: you don't belong to a gang, don't belong to the other gang, won't allow yourself to be extorted for soup, favors, or various and sundry items, or are perceived as being a snitch. You might be taking some medication that others would like to take instead. Or, you have something of extreme value someone else wants like a cheap fan or writing paper.

What is not valuable in prison is a human life. Curios to me that is because so many of the offenders are in prison because they did some crime against a person or persons. It is sort of like being sent to the one place where no one really gives any thought to you--because in the free world, you did not think of others. If it sounds like a snap shot of hell, it is!

The Texas way of Mental Health Care for the poor

2011-05-22T18:15:00.002-05:00

If you are poor, live in Texas and have schizophrenia, your best chance at care will be in prison. Go figure the logic of this. If one is able to be treated with the generics out there, prescribed by a competent psychiatrist, the taxpayer costs could rise to $5,000. a year max. However, if one takes the Texas approach, we pay $38,000-40,000 a year to keep an offender behind bars, and we throw in psychiatric care and meds--for free?

The ruptured rapture

2011-05-22T17:55:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, at 6:00 pm, it was all supposed to be over. An old, dithering duffer whose should have known better but didn't, predicted the Rapture would take place. For reasons that always escape me, people listened, and of course the news media took note, and off we go for a short lived ride that ultimately ends with some foolish disappointed person having a faith meltdown on camera.

Such predictions have always seemed to me to be "prophets behaving badly." Foolishly, they keep doing it and religious people keep believing the silly pronouncements, never mind that Jesus said that no one knows. Apparently, "no one" is the only thing up for interpretation.

So here we are, the day after the end of time. Hum, what a curious time to be!

Back Again after a two year absence

2011-05-22T17:30:00.002-05:00

It has been about 2 years and 2 months since I last posted to this blog.

In that period of time:

My family moved into a new home at a time when property sales and purchases were at an all time low. My mother-in-law had continued her health and mental health free fall, now residing in a Nursing home with good days and bad days. Good days mean happy delusions and bad days are rather traumatic delusions.

The national economy appears to have ended it's rapid descent while the blaming continues at almost shrill levels.

Big American banks and American auto makers are back to business as usual with an amnesia that can be breathtaking.

Texas has gone from riches to rags while the sitting governor is well--still sitting and telling us that Texas is the "envy" of the country.

Natural disasters have run the gamut from volcano eruptions, earthquakes,tsunamis, and the tornadoes, flooding, and these have happened pretty much all over the world. Sadly, one can choose a particular kind of disaster to donate to and whatever one gives will not be enough.

I continued to be challenged in my new work of overseeing the mental health care of offenders at a maximum security prison. My work is such that my favorite slogan for the week was something I ran across on the internet, "I have run away to join a different circus."

And I discovered Ian Rankin, a Scottish mystery writer whose plots surpass Christi in complexity and darkness.

Writing has always been good therapy for me, and these days, given all that has happened world-wide the last two years, a little therapy can't hurt anyone--too much

Wow

2009-03-01T12:02:00.002-06:00

This morning I rolled out of bed early for a Sunday morning in my new life. I got dressed, ate my nutritious bowl of cold cereal and made it to church by 8:00 a.m. Our church family was moving into their new sanctuary. This building had been years in the planning and at least a year in the building. Hurricane Ike gave it a good shake down, but it survived rather well.

So, today, for the first time in years, the whole church family got to sit in worship at the same time. Until this day, there was the early church and the late church. It is a challenge a lot of churches face.

The building was deceptively simple and small on the outside. Once one entered the building, it became obvious it's outside was an optical illusion. The building was huge and simply elegant. Now our church can combine all its Bible Study locations into two building and all its worship will be together.

It was a great service. Simple but spiritual, beautiful but powerful. The morning closed with two baptisms and folks stood around and admired what God had done.

It was another good day with the fellowship of believers.

Another tradition falls

2009-03-01T11:40:00.003-06:00

Yesterday, I broke a 43 year tradition.

I bought my first non-American plated vehicle. Since I was 15 years old, every car I have ever purchased was an American plated car. I was a patriotic holdout refusing to walk off from the American automakers even though their autos were historically poorly designed, poorly made and poorly serviced by dealers who disappeared after the sale. Several years ago, I found a great dealer and would drive 90 miles to purchase my American plated auto. The cars were not any better, but this was a great family owned dealership which was run by the owners. They handled everything so a poorly made car could still have a chance to be a good vehicle with their relentless commitment to their customers.

But, for me it all changed when the auto makers made their way to Washington to tell Congress that what was good for American automakers was good for the nation. I guess Congress believed the lie and gave them a key to the treasury. "Just help yourselves, take all you need!" And they did, and have come back for more.

I decided that day, I was no longer a customer. I suffered through crappy cars, but I am not going to pay for them at least twice, first through a bank note and then through taxes.

If America and the automakers were joined at the hip, perhaps they should have thought a long time ago about their ongoing unpatriotic management of the Big 3 which shrunk the car industry causing layoffs and plant closings that many communities and families have not lived beyond. By their own hand, GM, Chrysler, and Ford have committed a maddeningly slow suicide by their arrogant refusal to make decent cars at decent prices serviced by decent dealers.

So, I threw in the towel and went looking for a work car that was "preowned" but had lots of life left in it. Yesterday I found it. The price was great, the body was super, the interior was spotless, and best of all, this eight year old car was designed and engineered for 500,000 miles. If I didn't know better, I would say I was sitting in a new car.

I value loyalty and I have been a loyal customer of the American automobile. When Detroit went to Washington, I finally got it. These guys did not deserve my loyalty. Truthfully, they don't deserve anyone's.

On the way to purchase my "preowned" vehicle, I passed a closed GM dealership. I shuttered at the things to come, but greed and arrogance always set up a day of reckoning.

She's wearing the blindfold on her ankle

2009-02-26T21:02:00.002-06:00

The older I have become the more I feel this creeping sense the American way of justice is fundamentally unjust.

It is not because I am some kind of bleeding heart liberal I feel this way. Rather it is my horrible habit of going through life listening with my eyes open. I have been amazed how many folks move through life not listening and not seeing and sadly not thinking. Thinking has become a dying art that was at the best of times not well practiced or often practiced. Sadly in academia thinking has been frowned upon especially if the thinker came up with the wrong conclusions.

Why would I think our current system of justice is unjust? Well, the reasons are myriad.

I have never served on a jury. However, I have sat in the room to be picked for a jury more times than I care to remember. I knew my journey to the courthouse was always a waste of time because I inhabited one of those professions that lawyers labeled as "never, not even if they are the last living soul available." I have long known that lawyers preferred not to put pastors on the jury because the prosecution likes them for conviction, but the defense likes them for punishment and neither is comfortable with the prospects they might be unpredictable. So, I would mutteringly answer my jury summons knowing full well I was wasting time. Either a settlement would be reached and we would all go home, or I would be canceled out early because I had too many negatives.

So, I have a profound question about the meaning of "a jury of one's peers." The legal profession has turned that phrase on its ear. Juries are not composed of a collection of one's peers unless the whole country turns out to be biased in ways the attorneys want and naive and basically brain dead. If they aren't, testimony will take them there as trials are more theater than the theater.

I also know that justice is all about the right attorney at the right price. The more you pay, the more they play. So slimy corporations and morally substandard insurance companies pay well and their attorneys play well and hard.

I have also been introduced to the world of the incarcerated.

I am not naive enough to believe the rich never commit crimes, but it amazes me how few rich people are in prison. In fact the only ones I have met aren't but insist they are and by the way, CNN is out in front of the prison doing stories on them every week.

In these days of our ever worsening economy, I know that if anyone were to go to prison, it will most likely be some poor soul who did what he was told and changed some people's mortgage documents to misrepresent their income or the rate of interest they would pay. The boss who schooled them on those techniques will never see the inside of a cell.

Little people serve time, big people pay lawyers. Such is the tragic American way of justice.

Justice is not blind, she is badly broken. Tragically for all, the break has been set by the blindfold that should have been around her eyes.

The Word for the Times

2009-02-25T19:35:00.006-06:00

President Obama did a masterful job of speaking to the Congress and through that address speaking to the nation and the world. I have often marveled that politicians who make their livings selling their ideas and causes do it so poorly through the spoken word. During the previous campaign, I came to the conclusion the United States did practice torture but generally on its own citizens by turning politicians loose to speak often without end and more often without point.

The President is powerful in his prose and through his prose calling our nation to hope and hard work. In a time when words are powerful, our President is powerful in words. I really like that, admire that, and appreciate that.

There was one thing I was listening for last night and was not surprised not to hear. There was one word I yearned to hear in the proper context that was strangely absent.

That word was "Accountability." While the President did speak of coming accountability for the billions of dollars being accessed by banks, auto makers, and the like, I heard nothing of calling to account those who helped precipitate this financial meltdown.

Frankly, there are three lines of accountability I want to hear about. First, I want to hear about legal accountability. Documents were forged, laws were broken, frauds were perpetrated, regulations were violated. Such people need to be prosecuted.

Now there are two reasons for that. First, in my mind is the nature of the crime. Our gross national wealth has shrunk by over 40% during this meltdown. These are not just abstract figures, they are retirements, savings, incomes, small businesses, endowments. People have been deeply hurt by these criminal acts. In my mind this is nothing short of robbery. Someone needs to be prosecuted.

There is another reason for this as well. Every weekday I go to work in a Mental Health unit at a maximum security prison. It is the largest single gathering of incarcerated innocent offenders I have ever been around. I know they are innocent because they tell me they are innocent. They didn't do it or they didn't do it like that, or they couldn't have done it then, and on and on. Some make the case for living in a society where there is one justice for the rich man and one for the poor man.

If there are no charges, no trials, no jail time for those who are at the heart of this financial debacle, I will have to say that some of the offenders are right: there are at least two kinds of justice in America--and frankly that is not justice.

There is another level of accountability we need to see. Not every one who helped push us over the financial cliff did things that were criminal in the legal sense of the word. However, they are guilty of greed, arrogance, and gross mismanagement. Under their negligence, we have lost our lead in so many areas. Millions have lost their jobs because of the failure of leadership, CEOs, COO's and CFO's. Governing board did not govern and when things got to be too bad, leadership was cut loose to drift away in "golden parachutes." Again, people lost jobs, investments, retirements because lazy minded and lazy butted boards and company officers were too busy building their fortune instead of minding the store. Two things must happen to restore accountability to American businesses. Executives need to be fired without any compensation of any kind. Let the bastards take the company to court for breach of contract. Let the company lawyers pull out the records of mismanagement and stupidity and let the executive plead his case before a jury. Let his crocodile tears persuade the folks who work two jobs, can't afford decent health care, and have watched their meager savings evaporate while this executive went to Washington and got a billion or two or 20 to tide his mismanaged company over until they can lay off more workers and raise executive pay. Let them sue.

Governing boards also need to resign or be fired. Both executives and boards need also to have an unavoidable legal liability for the lack of oversight while they and their executives were at the wheel. It is called fiduciary responsibility which they failed to exercise. They need to be held accountable and their fortunes need to be in financial jeopardy similar to the jeopardy everyday people have endured as this economy has gone south.

There is one other arena of accountability we must see. Congress has given itself the task of regulating so many aspects of our daily, financial life. There are all kinds of "oversight" committees in the House and Senate. Last night I watched as the cameras panned the august gathered crowd and I was struck at how many of our elected leaders were stuffed full of their own importance and taxpayer food and money. Several looked like toads slowly drifting off to sleep lazily resting on a pond log. That has been the problem. Too many frogs sleeping.

So, if there is a single molecule of character, a single cell of integrity, a corpuscle of self respect, those entrusted with the oversight responsibilities they so quickly coveted should now resign, apologize to their constituency and the taxpayers of America and go home.

I deeply respect our new President and his determination to move us out of this fiscal mess years in the making. My problem is the people in the room listening were largely responsible for ignoring the warning signs down through the years. I have little confidence they have learned anything that will help us move forward.

Mr. President, don't expect the anger to go away until we see some of the shakers and movers of this debacle locked away, pushed away, and/or simply go away.

That will mean someone up there and out there is "truly getting it!!"

Who is Minding the Store?

2009-02-18T21:09:00.003-06:00

Today, another breaking story about a Texas firm that may have bilked investors out of $8 B.

Now we need to ask the question, "Who was minding the store?"

The answer is "Apparently, not a living soul!!"

I am not known for being naive, but--well, I thought that all these regulatory agencies and Congressional Oversight Committees were for regulating and overseeing. Alas, yet again, I was wrong. Stupid me!

I guess Congressional Oversight is just that, they overlooked what they were to oversee. Which then begs the question, "So what are they having all these meetings for?" I guess Congress is meeting to investigate the efficacy of rutabaga on the health of earthworms. Or the pressing concern regarding whether cotton or nylon should be used on Athlete's jock straps.

They are not discussing whose doing what with the money they are extorting or gathering from citizens. And apparently, neither are the regulatory agencies. So what are they regulating? Perhaps hemlines--which may be the folks providing inservice for school principals and their dress codes.

They certainly aren't much regulating anything else. These unstable, risky loans, funds, and schemes don't have anyone checking them out, or asking questions, or investigating, or monitoring. So what are we paying these folks to do?

I'm thinking party. They must be spending their days partying. Meeting nice people who are representing a great fund that will pay money out the wazoo! Now, they must be partying, because drunk is the only way these folks must be believing these Ponzi schemes.

And then, Congress must be partying, because they certainly aren't working for us, so they must be drinking, and smoozing with the big dogs who are funding their campaigns. Whatever they are doing, what they are not doing is looking after our interests unless like GM of old, they think that what's good for them is, of course, good for us.

So here we are. Our tax dollars are supporting agencies that are sleeping through their day job, and our tax dollars are supporting Congresspersons who are suffering with such poor sight, they are not seeing a lot except and until the 18 wheeler puts on the air horn and starts the skid.

Then, it is too late.
Sadly,I am afraid, what ever we do now, will be too much,way too much but not enough and much too late.

How Much Down the Rat Hole?

2009-02-18T20:15:00.004-06:00

Chrysler and GM have come back to Washington to ask Congress for another $14 B bringing the tab the car companies are running with the US Taxpayers to a cool $39 B.

Apparently, Chrysler and GM are convincing Congress they can do something on our dollar they could not do on their own dime. They have made the argument:

First they finally get it! Now that is a major step for these oil burning, gas guzzling behemoths. What do they get? What we have been trying to tell these arrogant bastards for 30+ years. Their crappy overpriced cars are junk compared to alternatives available down the street at the Toyota or Nissan dealer. Each year Americans have bought fewer and fewer American plated automobiles while the talking management teams ignored the reality that was creeping up the walls of their ivory towers. Course they didn't much care what we thought because they jetted around in their "not Detroit made" planes. If any jet manufacturing company made jets like Detroit made cars, no one would fly them, and those who did would generally be dead. The fall that happened when the engines quit working wouldn't kill them. It would be the sudden stop at the end.

Apparently, Detroit finally gets it that they can't go on like this. This is the part apparently Congress doesn't get. Congress has crafted a boogie man that is scaring Congress to death. God love them, they are so easily scared about everything. So, in order to keep an unrepentant industry going, our elected officials are going to let them burn through our cash. I haven't heard one single word, not one, from the company management team about building cars America needs or wants: cars that are built to last longer than the 6 year note it takes to pay one off; cars that don't suck up all the gasoline in the world to get them out of the drive way; cars that don't go down the road rusting and dropping parts off as they merrily sputter to their destination; cars that actually have warranties that are largely unneeded because this vehicle isn't a high school experiment pulled before it was ripe. Or, that owners don't have to chase dealers to honor.

Detroit's approach to getting back to profitability is to lay off workers and then? Well, they are going to sell them a piece of junk they can't afford. Now the person is unemployed thanks to Detroit looking after the big hats, and they really think they are going to run out and buy a car from the very folks who put them in the unemployment line. Now, why am I the only one who thinks this is poor economics?

Let me tell you what I think Detroit and perhaps even Washington don't get. I think the miserable sales is a dire prediction of what is to come. Taxpayers are mad. They are mad at mortgage companies, overfat predatory banks choking on their own greed now running to Uncle Sam for relief. I think folks are tired of car companies ripping them off in the showroom and now ripping off tax dollars because they have been too arrogant, too lazy, too self-absorbed, too stupid to see that America is not some island in the sea that can insolate itself from the rest of the world. So, now, what is almost a native American industry or at least a Western industry is done better by nearly everyone but America--well with the possible exception of YUGOslavia, which is no longer a country, as I recollect.

I need to buy a second car. It won't be new, and sadly, it won't be American. I have finally decided I can drive Detroit and drive crap.

Or, I can finally drive something dependable. I have been a loyal Detroit guy until now.Twelve automobiles. Now, I refuse to do any more to help an industry that has been so unpatriotic as to destroy the economies of individual American families and then run to Washington and rob us again.

Goverment by Dummies 101

2009-02-07T08:29:00.004-06:00

Apparently, Congress is more stupid than the greedy bankers that got us into this financial mess.

Our gridlocked Congress is moving at a glacial pace to shore up the financial system that is in shambles because of their previous lack of oversight. But not to worry, as long as taxpayers pay their taxes and young taxpayers arrive to take their places, the money can still be foolishly spent on Congressional Cronies and their foolish schemes.

The latest thought seems to propose suckering investors who have already lost their shirts, pants, and socks in the last greedy go round, to wager their last pair of underpants on "bad investments" that have already sunk the Banks' liquidity. The government would pass out guarantees like postage stamps, that if the investments go below worthless, they will step in and make good on the bad investment. The thinking, or lack thereof, seems to be that if there are more suckers than just the banking executive suckers, who could be cajoled into buying worthless investments for real dollars, then the really talented bankers could right their boats and keep their bonuses and we could all sail merrily along awash in more debt than we have ever been in. Bad investments could be dumped off on us and the government we middle Americans fund. Bankers, mortgage companies, and fund managers around the world could now slither back into the sunlight and buy themselves another penthouse and resort home in the Bahamas.

My personal opinion is that we need to start at the beginning. If we can round up suspected terrorists and put them in a makeshift jail on an island in the Gulf, perhaps we could do the same for those who have destroyed our world's economy. Bankers and mortgage brokers within America have done what Muslim terrorist have been unable to do in their holy war against the West-sink our way of life and make us pay for the privilege!

Let them go to jail while we sort it all out. Then let's round up the salespeople who had so little integrity and scruples they could sell their fellow gullible and greedy citizens down the river for a bonus. Let them be gathered into one place to prey on each other.

Then, lets gather up the politicians who broadened their sorry butts on taxpayer money while neglecting to oversee the economy they were elected to manage. They can organize constituency groups in the prison and try to get elected.

I would suggest prisons that look like zoos. Folks can go there and view the offenders in their natural habitats. Of course we would want to bring in their mohogany desks and their cell phones. We might even let folks feed the lot, and perhaps have their pictures made with the more docile. While people who have lost everything might want to throw rocks, we could limit them to unshelled peanuts.

The bottom line is that now is not the time for taxpayers to sit back and watch. Rather, if we ever made noise about anything, now is the time. It is time to communicate with your slumbering representative, and your lethargic Senator. It is time to dump the corporations who have run to the government for a bailout. Get Citi Bank, Bank of America out of your wallet. Move your Countrywide mortgage. It is time to quit buying GMC and Chrysler cars of any kind. It is time to say, "Enough is enough." Substandard cars, predatory practices are over.

The fact is, all of these folks are going to fail. It is just a question of how much taxpayer money you want them to make off with before they bite the dust.

It's Christmas

2008-12-25T09:07:00.002-06:00

For the last twenty or so years, our family has celebrated Christmas on or around Christmas Day. We have a shot gun approach. If we land somewhere in the latter part of December and before New Years, we were good.

Families make this necessary. Children and grandchildren off and involved. Responsibilities that keep one away from home or homebound. It is a part of a growing and expanding family. One cannot be shortsighted or selfish enough to require it to be just on the 25th. I have been surprised at how many couples could never get this simple concept.

So, they squandered their holiday with unpleasant relatives or demanding parents. They found themselves getting depressed and dreading holidays. The easiest money I ever earned was suggesting they dynamite those folks off of "their" Christmas Day celebration. And what joy began to shine on their faces when they realized they could give themselves permission to reserve a good day for a good gathering with folks they enjoyed.

My basic philosophy in life is that disagreeable people should be left alone to savor their own misery. They refuse to enjoy life and they should not be permitted to drag others into their swamp. Just because they are family does not give them an entitlement to continue to ruin our lives. I have the joy of being a part of a joyful family all of whom I enjoy spending time and holidays with. Sadly, others cannot say that about their family. So, I encourage to push those folks to the periphery of their holiday celebration. They are not to be neglected--although it would fit into their mold of misery. The more miserable and difficult they are, the further the gathering is from Christmas.

But we have also learned that as important as family time is, Christmas is really about receiving the renewing gift of the love of God in Jesus Christ, and reproducing such love and giving in an impoverished world of pain and grief. So, over the years our tree has had fewer gifts under it for ourselves and more gifts given to others who were not family.

This year, our church, missionaries, Salvation Army, and a little girl whose father is in prison, and a family our Sunday School class was helping will get our giving. There is also a gift for my mom who has instilled in our family a tenacity of spirit, a durable faith, and a love of laughter. And it goes without saying that there is something for our youngest child at home, and our grandchildren.

Christmas. It is my favorite time of the year.

Why them, Why now?

2008-12-25T08:38:00.004-06:00

Duesenberg, Cord, Studebaker,Packard, and American Motors.
Some of those names anyone would recognize, some others perhaps not.

Each one was at one time a car maker in the United States. Each one produced a fine automobile for a time, but each one fell out of favor with customers for one reason or another and each one failed. In those days, government had too much to do to bail out each one. Government also did not succumb to the myth that any one sector of the economy was so vital that it could not fail.

Only recently with Amtrack and Chrysler has there been sufficient lobby power to make these ineptly run businesses indispensable. Interesting to me is that mining, steel, and textiles have slowly been shuttered in this country. Government did not step in to bail them out. Rather they let the market take its course and today we survive rather well with the changes such inaction has brought. Buildings still get built, heat still gets generated and yes, we still have clothes to wear.

What outgoing President Bush has done is give away the keys to the treasury to an arrogant elite whose sense of entitlement has impoverished us all. GM has believed its future is so entangled with the United States they cannot imagine one without the other.

I can. In fact, when the President gave GM and Chrysler good tax dollars to follow the billions they had squandered, I decided that I would not buy another American labeled automobile. I would assume that Ford will quickly follow which would make it a clean sweep. I am so incensed by such indefensible and irresponsible behavior, I will scratch these folks off my buy list. The fact is there are more brands to pick from now than can survive in a growing world market. As best I can tell, only us and the British have been foolish enough to attempt to prop up failing automotive efforts. Now RR is a BMW brand and Bentley a VW brand, and on and on it could go.

In the history of any technology, innovation and competition kept businesses alive and those who started the race often could not stay in the race. American car makers got lathargic and fat with mediocrity and greed and customer indifference. We kept telling them in surveys their work was shoddy and boring, we kept telling them we were replacing them in our hearts, and in showrooms across America their uninspiring creations stayed. Only arrogant, stupid people don't listen and they didn't.

So, now, in this United States of America where we have huge, huge problems with access to health care, growing unemployment, world wide political instability and rising national debt and deteriorating infastructure do we have the surplus tax money to prop up poorly run industries that will fail before 2009 is out.

Only in America.

Tragedy

2008-12-04T20:29:00.002-06:00

I was awakened by an early call this morning calling me in to work. An officer's life had gone tragically awry and let behind hundreds of mourners.

Across my years in ministry, suicide has been a black hole that threatened to consume all who it touched. It obviously consumed the person who took that way out of their problems. It invites all that know the person to buy into the despair and hopelessness that fueled the life of the person they loved.

I started my morning off talking to some new officers about dealing with suicide. Suicide is always a hovering issue in prison life. It's easy to understand why. Offenders are given very small cells some of which are shared with another offender. For folks on death row, it will be home until or if they are finally executed. Then, if the offender carries a mental health diagnosis, suicide can be a way out of the weariness of dealing with intractable symptoms that often only go away with heavy, side affect laden medications. No wonder the mentally ill get weary and despairing.

So what did I say--what could I say? First, I am sympathetic, deeply sympathetic to the ones who remain. I remember vividly the day I heard about a fellow pastor who committed suicide. He was pastor of a church in town that had to face the reality their ancient and revered building was structurally unsound. The building had to be razed. As as churches often do, the journey was long, loud, contentious and not without causalities. The first funeral in their new building was the funeral of the pastor who took his life. The invitation to despair was almost overwhelming.

So, I said to the folks that they above everyone else on the planet should know that some folks spend their lives attempting to make others responsible for their lives. That is the story of many offenders. It's someone else's fault. But what we say to them is simply, "Every person is responsible for their own life." That is true for suicide. We cannot take personal responsibility for another's choice to live or die.

I also told them they could not accept the invitation to feel guilty. Suicide is always a race between folks: those who want the person to live and the person who wants to die. If the person wants to die, they will win the race. That is the reality of the situation.

I also told them if they carried away two lessons from this experience it should be: take care of yourself seeking help if you need it when you need it. To refuse help is to choose to self-destruct.
The other thing to remember is that innocent people always suffer when we are unwise in our choices. The final angry outburst toward others is the act of suicide.

Fortunately, there are not many days like today.

Off to Washington

2008-11-18T19:41:00.006-06:00

It appears the place to be these days is Washington.

No, not because of the election, but because of the foolish, financial fiasco businesses in America have fostered on themselves and are attempting to push off on the American people.

I find myself wondering if it would be worth taking off from my job and jetting to Washington on a bankrupt airline. All for the opportunity to look for the window where one shows up with his hand out and gets buckets of tax dollars because, well, because business is greedy and Congress is stupid.

Sub prime mortgages have sank millions of families and hundreds of banks. I must confess I am not crying for the banks. To me banks are the boils on the buttocks of society. They have lobbied Congress to get extortion interest rates and fees to bleed the billfolds of the middle class.

Now their bottom line is hemorrhaging and I like that. When I canceled my Citi card last year, I told them I wanted to do my part to sink their ship since they had worked so hard to sink mine. I enjoy seeing Citi flounder, and no, I don't feel sorry for those overpaid glass hearted gluttons. I relish every billion dollars they write off.

And now, Congress has done such a good job of bailing out the banks that Detroit is driving to the capital to get their fair share. If they drive their own creations, they better take lots of gas and a spare car in the truck. Which is why they are in the spot they are in.

I have never owned a non American plated car and I have owned 12 autos during my adult life. I have owned GM, Chrysler, and Ford--mostly Fords. I own two Fords now. The most miles I have been able to churn out of an American plated auto is 185,000. The rest were best left along side the road before they reached 100,000 miles.

See, I think the Big 3 are where they are because for the last 50 years at least their products have been poorly made, poorly designed, and poorly maintained through dealers who were largely driven by greed not service. So, they are tottering on the brink of bankruptcy. I would feel more sorry for them if I knew they had not left millions of owners in broken down pieces of junk while they turned a deaf ear to their customers' appeals for help. I am not sure there is enough bytes of cyberspace to contain all the horror stories of American automobile owners stiffed by dealers, ignored by Big 3 "Customer Disservice," and slippery warranties worth about as much as the paper on which they were written. Very few motorists today who have bought a new or used automobile have not had one or more cars that should have never been built or kept. Out of the 12 I have owned, at least 6--50% were junk, good old fashioned, every day, ordinary, run of the mill junk. And now these Detroit underachievers, pockets padded with the hard earned money of hard working Americans want us to bail them out because they can't build a car Americans want to drive.

And Congress, more afraid of losing lobby money than losing voter support will buckle under the pressure and find some lame reason to give away billions more tax dollars. And for what? To keep underachieving Big 3 autos clogging the highways of the world.

It may be that American automobile owners may be so disgusted over this most recent stunt of the Detroit 3, they will rebel and flock to real cars made by real automobile makers who know how to make a four wheel transportation device that doesn't drain one's bank account, pollute the world, and fall apart about 1 year before it is paid for.

Let's not be afraid to envision a nation where greed and mediocrity in finance, in airline travel, in automobile manufacturing are finally laid to rest all together in a swampy marsh. I would suggest that all those unsold cars would make good personal burial devices. For once, they wouldn't pollute, and for once it wouldn't matter if the wheels fell off.

The occupants weren't going anywhere anyway!

The man with the parrot

2008-11-10T14:28:00.002-06:00

I have loved getting acclimated to East Texas.

Since IKE, there has been the constant smell of pine in the air. The temperatures have been increasingly cool and my senses tell me that I am in the mountains. I love the outdoors here. They are indescribable.

So imagine my surprise when I was headed to town and looked to my right to notice a man walking away from me toward his house with a bag in one hand and a parrot on his shoulder. I looked for the limp, but there was none. Just an old bearded man with a very large green and red parrot on his right shoulder.

Where I work, occasionally, one of the offenders tell us there are birds in their cell, but more than likely if they are serious they are batty. But there he was or she was. I have never been good at telling the sex of a bird--well for that matter most everything else as well even to the upright species known as man/woman.

I thought about my mountain experiences where very interesting people flock to the hills away from the conventions and expectations of the rest of society.

So, to the senses of the mountains: the pines gently swaying in the wind; the wind ripe with the smell of pine smoke; the cool evenings that speak of mountain air and mountain temperatures; I can add the eccentric few who keep us ever watchful for the different and the odd.

An Open Letter to our New President

2008-11-09T13:55:00.005-06:00

Dear President-Elect Obama,
I celebrate with the country the tremendous milestone your election represents for our nation. There are peoples around the world that have had hope rekindled because in America we have elected our first President from the African-American peoples.

I want to pass on to you some simple requests that will make a historic election a historic time in America.

Given so many in America are disillusioned with leadership and with Washington leadership, perhaps you can lead us from that to a renewal of respect. How?

Be the man of faith. Your faith is obviously real and personal and it often seems that you lean to the position of it being a private matter. It is, but men of genuine faith live differently for different reasons than men and women of unbridled ambition and greed. Live out your faith!

Be the father/husband your family needs. While you hold a vital place in the affairs of the world, to children and wives, absence is absence. One of the great arena's of leadership you can provide for American families is to make room for the family and let us see some of that. Too little value is placed on parenting our children in the midst of hectic, demanding days. I don't remember when it dawned on me that if I died doing my job, I could and would be quickly replaced. No so for my place in my family. There will be more presidents, there will not be another dad like you for your family.

Be the African-American man of our time. In the prison where I work, far too many of the offenders are African-American. Too many cannot read. Too many are without any reasonable hope of a meaningful future. I believe you can make a difference for Black America. You can stand as the abiding reminder that in an imperfect society with imperfect justice for all, that people of color can still aspire and achieve and lead the nation. I believe this is a day when a vital part of our shared life needs to be inspired to not throw away their lives on the more available temptations leading to destruction.

Finally, Just be our Commander in Chief with dignity and grace. These are days when partisanship gridlock is hurting the nation in every way a nation can be hurt. The powerless are pushed down by the monied and influential lobbies/lobbiests pushing their own agendas. Government must first protect those who are most vulnerable. Far too many children of every color go to bed terrified each night, often without enough food; without enough medical care; and without enough healthy adults in their lives to make sure they are safe and secure. There is no lobby for these folks. Rather, the gun lobby, the pharmaceutical lobby, the oil lobby, the farm lobby, etc, all have their spokemen. We need to think about the least of these in our midst.

We have also graduated to providing Wall Street welfare to the engineers of this financial debacle. We have moved from Welfare Cadillacs to Welfare Rolls-Royces and Mercedes. All the while, the government does not have the money or the will to help the elderly or the underprivileged child.

I know that I have no idea what kind of burden awaits you as our President. However, our nation is a praying nation. And the one thing every believer owes you our leader is our prayers and our support.

I pray you will soar on wings of Eagles. I pray that as you do, the hope and vision of many might be kindled and the sagging faith of many might be renewed. May the days of Obama be the beginning of new hopes and dreams for millions around the world.

If you attempt these as you govern, these will be days of renewed grace for the United States.

And the Loser Is . . .

2008-11-04T18:19:00.006-06:00

The United States of America.

The man who triumphs at the polls today will be a tribute to money and the people who have it and gave it.

The elected offices of our land have slid into a massive purchase of privilege and power. While both candidates have railed against special interests and the influence they wield in Washington, these are the very folks who have bankrolled the presidential race, the senate races, and the congressional races. I get the feeling that the height of insincerity is the candidate who blisters the lobby groups while (wink, wink) knowing he has his hand in their deep pockets.

This election has helped me to learn that I am not middle class but lower class because I don't make $75,000 a year. Wow, talk about a downer. I have been living in poverty all my life and more sobering, so have my children--sorry guys, I thought we were living better.

This election reminded me that most candidates think I am stupid, stupid, stupid. Because I am so stupid, I won't notice they misrepresent the other person's position, lightly gloss over their own, and all the while appealing to their honesty and integrity. How stupid is that?

This election reminded me that insiders who accept no responsibility confess to one or more of the following:
If while serving in the Senate, they were not responsible for anything that has gone on, they are ineffective.
If while serving in the Senate, they were responsible for what has gone on, they are incompetent. If while serving in the Senate, they were out of the beltway loop, they were unnecessary.

And those were our choices.

While I have never quite understood the Parliamentary system, I do like the notion that elections are not perpetual cycles that plague the people like a chronic cough. We are well past the time when it should take four years to elect a president. Three months max! That is all that is needed, and really all we should stand. In order to accomplish that, politicians would have to forget the mud slinging and put forth the issues.

But, that is not today.

Today, the election belongs to the moneyed, and apparently, by definition, I am not one of that crowd.

And The Winner is....

2008-11-04T18:12:00.002-06:00

The United States of America.
Yes, in a day when governments are changed by revolution and civil war, our experience today is a tribute the sturdiness of our system of representative government.

I love this ritual every 2-4 years where there is always the possibility the government in power could become the former government in power. Yet, it all happens without one shot being fired.

Around the world, peoples of the world look with envy at our way of changing governments or renewing ourselves through government. They live in countries where citizens never go to bed with confidence they are protected by their leaders. Some live in governments where leaders are expected to enrich themselves while they impoverish the people. Some live in countries where factions have paralyzed the government and any hope of a functional durable government.

For all its flaws and short comings, for most Americans, we never think of these days as anything else but a chance to express our opinion and take a hand in shaping our destiny. That is the wonder of our nation.

Surprise! Surprise!

2008-11-03T11:04:00.000-06:00

I was minding my own business watching a little television in these waning days before the elections and then it happened.

I got splattered with the mud of campaign rhetoric.

After the elections, Congress and Legislatures convene to do the work of governing and they often marvel at the low opinion they carry in the eyes of the general public. The problem seems to be their memories are too short.

Just a few short months before, the airways and papers and campaign trails were full of folks talking about how one's opponent was a liar, a traitor, and a thief--not necessarily in that order.

It would appear to me these folks don't think much about the consequences of such campaign tactics. I do.

Someone is going to win the election. Generally speaking, it is someone who is running for the office. Generally speaking, it is someone who campaigns for the office. Generally speaking, it is someone that is muddy from "slung mud" and from "slinging mud." Rule of thumb is that one cannot throw mud without getting some of that mud on oneself. So here we are.

At least two campaign; both of which are portrayed as (see above). One wins and yet what is the general public to believe? Well, in my practice I have a phrase I use about destructive behavior. I call it "fouling one's own back yard."

That seems to be the current trend in the world of politics. If politicians want a better relationship between the voters and themselves, quit calling each other liars and thieves. No wonder we don't trust politicians. They have painted their opponents in the worst possible light, so what are we left to conclude? After the smoke clears, are they no longer what they were portrayed to be? Were they ever? Were differences of opinion called something else? Were these in fact simply different philosophical ideas, different approaches, different ways of understanding problems?

If Congressmen and women want the public to trust them more, perhaps they need to recast their rhetoric and get away from invectives and "mudding."

It might restore some confidence in the political system. Strange as it seems, that might be a good thing.

Hanna Banana

2008-11-01T10:40:00.004-05:00

When you see a walking 6 foot banana at prayer meeting, well you know it is Halloween at church.

In the last few years, many churches have had a love-hate relationship with Halloween. Some think even acknowledging the holiday is somehow a betrayal of the Kingadom. Frankly, I have never understood such silliness. Every age places (we hope) the church in an antagonist culture with all kinds of influences. One needs to decide which issues are worth engaging and which are just meaningless cultural observances.

When I was growing up, Halloween was that way. Some teachers thought it important we know the roots of Halloween but most of us just knew it as a time when we got a costume, and went out and got lots and lots of candy from strangers. What could possibly be wrong with that?

I know times changed. The culture became more dark and broken. One of those areas was in the area of the dark side of mythology and gross misunderstandings of the power of evil. Another was in the danger of going door to door and accepting things from strangers.

So, some church folks began to think of Halloween as a celebration of the demonic and of evil. Others felt our society was fundamentally unsafe. I guess I never bought that view.

From that vantage point came the idea of alternative celebrations at local churches completely stripped of all the "stuff" that was seen as undermining the Christian message. Some of my friends and staff wanted to do that, and I would say, "As long as you don't forget the candy. Candy is inherently neutral in the culture wars. And as long as it's free, and as long as kids can get more than they need to eat in one sitting. They really need to get enough candy to make them sick if they eat it in one setting."

Of course, everyone would look at me--again--and wonder.

The fact is, kids need to have the Halloween experience. They need to see their world as a rather safe place in which to be. They need to see their neighbors as safe people to turn to, and if they are not, who is not and why are they not. They need to see the world as "kid friendly" and generous to children. And, unless there are serious health concerns, children need occasionally to be showered with candy. Candy is a wonderful comfort food which affirms the potential goodness of life.

So, bring on the giant banana--as long as it is followed by a bite sized Snicker's bar.

Texas's latest scandal

2008-10-22T19:37:00.005-05:00

Hot air rises.

That is one of the few things I remember from my days in science. That could explain why I am not a nuclear scientist. But for me it explains a scientific phenomenon that appears to be true for both Austin and Washington. Apparently when hot air rises, (you guess the source)it gets thin and those who breathe it for long periods of time lose vital brain cells. It is sort of like asphyxiating yourself by breathing.

A significant number of these brain diminished people end up making laws for Texas and for the United States. Herein, to me, is the best explanation of why Legislators and Congressmen/women keep doing the same stupid things expecting different outcomes. In my circle this is also called insanity.

Case in point, the present prison scandal. While my heart goes out to the Senator whose family was threatened, I would point out to him that my family was threatened by an inmate in 1995 who was responsible for killing my two brothers-in-law. This offender promised to kill my wife and her sister and our children. Since we were just lowly taxpayers, we could not summons all the wardens to Austin to explain why they refused to manage the unmanageable with the unavailable.

But that is what the Senate did. Whenever anything goes wrong in the state government, the powers that be throw down a rag that says, "Let's have a hearing." It is misnamed for more than one reason, but primarily because nobody ever listens, and rarely is the problem addressed.

I predicted when the TYC fiasco broke there were still more state scandals to come. We had gone through prisons, CPS, APS, and TYC. Now us average Texans with only Master's degrees quickly noticed a theme going. Lowballing state human service agencies led to underpaid, overworked, turnstile workforces that fumbled the ball--well several balls. So now we are back to that again. The Senators, (breathing too much oxygen deprived air) have summoned the prison wardens to be accountable for why their prisons have so much contraband in them. More especially, why do offenders know the unlisted numbers of elected leaders and why do they feel free to call them and harass them. That job is really a senatorial poragative and they are deeply offended when death row inmates push in on their turf.

Now, a nurse I worked with today expressed it rather well if not colorfully, "It ain't hard to figure out how this happens when people who put their lives on the line every day are subjected to cursing, inmates throwing s___t and p__s and stabbling them with pencils and everything else they can get ahold of, and then the officers and nurses find out they are making less per hour than the convenience store employee."

Is it possible that some of the noble gray soldiers of our prison correctional officers corp, have found countraband a good second job? Possibly. Perhaps when it comes time to pay the gasoline bill, or the grocery bill, telling the clerk, "I keep your family safe from fellons, " doesn't rate much more than a stare. It certainly doesn't get them a discount or make their paycheck stretch further.

Every place except Austin and Washington does the adage "you get what you pay for" make sense. In those places, the part-time law makers and full time politicians think that people are standing in line to be put in harms way in horrible conditions, with horrible offenders for a nominal amount of money (what not even a handshake or a kiss?).

So, let me make a suggestion to our oxygen deprived lawmakers.
Take off your coat, take off your tie, put on a colored shirt and come work a day in a prison. The air is thick, sometimes rank, the food is--well--prison food, the co-workers are tired and underappreciated, and they do heroic work each and every day so the rest of us can sleep at night.

What is that worth? A lot more than they are getting.

Tubing on the rapid waters of change

2008-10-18T17:20:00.004-05:00

There is a stress chart that most counselors use to help folks understand when their life stress reaches the breaking point.

Some visitors from the church we joined alluded to this when we described to them our last three months. My wife and I both made staggering career changes. I have gone from being a pastor to a supervising psychotherapist for offenders at a maximum security prison housing death row. My wife has closed her private practice. We have closed our home in Eastern West Texas, put it on the market and moved to East Texas where we currently reside in the top story of my brother and sister-in-law's house. I feel like a vampire bat in the bellfrie of life.

Then I began a job for which I had to learn nearly everything. I had to learn prison life and lingo, managed care life and lingo, mental health management and lingo, and finally, the particular clientele that is uniquely the incarcerated mental ill and the incarcerated mentally ill wantabes.
This was begun by moving me around the south east part of Texas to all the prisons in our system.

Then my wife fell down the stairs and broke her--vertebra. Surgery followed in downtown Houston--where only a crazy person would drive--and I found myself well suited. Then came IKE and my family was introduced to hurricanes up front and personal. When folks asked when we arrived, I tell them Hurricane Ike blew us in and we decided to stay.

And then my mother decided to have knee replacement. So I am spending the weekend with her as she recuperates from that surgery.

So, when I say we are on the rapid waters of change, I am not exaggerating. In the past, my biggest problem with tubing in the rapid waters, has been that if I could find a tube big enough to hold my butt, the water was too shallow to keep it from dragging on the rocks. Such is life. Is that not a metaphor for the routine of living? What one thing does well, something else takes away.

So how does one tube safely on the rapid waters of change? For me, I think I carry an innate sense that God has always held my life and holds my life still. I saw it years ago when I would arrive at the university dorm on a late Sunday evening not remembering the last 60 miles through the deer infested roadway. I felt it when I married, when my children were born, when my father died, when we traveled around the world with our luggage in the plane behind. I felt it when J.D. moved into our lives and I feel it each day that God gives me strength to step onto the infirmary unit where the offenders mistakenly call me "Doc," and one of the Docs call me "Doc."

I also attempt a lightness of heart. One of the offenders was telling me he was having trouble dealing with all the bureaucracy of the prison. He needed help in getting into the free world. I suggested to him that if he could manage the prison stuff, he was well practiced for life in the world. Everything today takes more effort, encounters more hassle, consumes more time, places you with more disinterested employees than ten years ago. A lightness of heart keeps you laughing when others just dissolve in tears or erupt in anger.

I also remember the old woman who said her favorite verse in the Bible was "And it came to past." She went on to say that everything in her life has come and passed. That is life. This big problem today is but tomorrow's memory.

I also have learned to value those things that don't change over time. I cherish my God, I cherish my family. I cherish some enduring friendships that go back to my youth. I cherish the health I have, not the health I wished I had. I also cherish the opportunity and privilege to serve the Kingdom where ever I am placed.

To me there are no promises I won't get seriously dunked, get my butt bruised and skinned, have folks on the shore laughing at me when my feet are where my head should be, but all the while, I too am laughing. Pity the man who takes himself and life too seriously. For me, the end is determined and it is a good end.

So, what's not to like about the adventure on the rapids of life?

The End of an Era

2008-10-18T16:40:00.006-05:00

This past week, I submitted my resignation to my old University on whose board of trustees I have sat for more than 11 years since 1994. I communicated to the President that such service has been a labor of a debtor paying on a life long obligation. Every bit of it, and much of it was hard, was joy. In my mind, the debt is not discharged, but there is a time and season for everything.

I have come to this place for several reasons. First, there is simply the present reality for me. My new job only allows so much time off and that only begins after I have been on the job for six months. Technically, I have no days off, no comp time, no vacation until after the middle of February. I have already been through emergency surgery with my wife and Hurricane IKE. There is no time to take two days and do trustee duty.

Because of that, I cannot feel good about waiting until I have the freedom to resume my load on the Board. I have missed more meeting this year than in almost all the years previous. You can't help if you don't show up. I have not been able to show up. Attendance is basic. One builds from there.

There is another sadder reason for me. The trustee of a Baptist University holds that institution in trust for all Baptists in Texas. I can no longer do that and feel good about it. You see, the visible expression of Baptists in Texas is the Baptist General Convention of Texas and its visible expression, the Baptist Building staff and Executive Board of Directors. Simply, it is impossible for me to hold something in trust for people I no longer trust and do not respect. It is sad to say that I have more respect for some of the offenders with which I work than I do for some of the members of the Board of Directors, some of the Officers of the Convention, and some of the Executive Board staff. My case load can claim they were mentally ill when they robbed, killed, and beat folks up. BGCT people offer no such excuse. My offenders are also behind bars. Unfortunately, none of those responsible for the theft of money from the BGCT are.

The reign of Charles II is underway and for all the world, it looks like the reign of Charles I. Several months ago, I asked the Treasurer some questions about all the reserve money that had disappeared. My letter went unanswered until I blogged something about it and then she called. Ms. Larsen was going to get back with me and she--never did. I am not too surprised. That seems to be the new modus operandi for the new Kingdom of Charles II.

When I read the new Ex Director was recommending the old BGCT president for the new Associate ED position, I wrote him about the disastrous choice. Like his Ms. Larsen, not a word. I guess the approach the new Charles is taking is just look over and ignore. After a while they will tire and go away. Something incredibly arrogant about that approach to management, but that seems to be the way it is in BGCT land these days.

So, the State Convention that squandered $30,000,000.00 of its members' tithes and offerings, its investments and its reserves, wants me to hold in trust a university for them. Who is going to school me on the meaning of trust? Who is going to hold me accountable for that trust? Who is going to audit our books to see if I have done my job and all the money is where it is supposed to be? Yea, Right!!

You see the dilemma. The ones for whom I am to hold this institution in trust are profoundly untrustworthy. Their untrustworthiness has cost them the good will of hundreds of churches, millions of dollars, and a reputation for integrity that was years in the making.

I also find with great sadness I have lost confidence in those who keep the BGCT "safe." These days whenever I think of Texas Baptist Committed, I think of Martin Luther King and his statement "if we become the beast to defeat the beast, then the beast has won." In Texas, TBC has become the beast. It has supported corrupt leadership. It has stiffled constructive conversation. It has ostracised those who are not 100% on their team. And all the while they are allowing the BGCT to become irrelevant. Their courageous propheticism only extends to fundamentalism but does not include standing up to incompetent leaders who hide under the shadow of their great wings. The test of the character of any organization is how it deals with those in the ranks who fail. TBC did not lovingly confront and remove, they stonewalled and gaffed and hoped that Texas Baptists would forget the past as soon as a "Not Charles" appeared. That hasn't worked well, so now they recast those who are deeply concerned as neo-fundamentalists and they change the conversation. Some of us, we are not budging. Nothing is right until it is made right. And frankly, nothing, absolutely nothing has been made right.

As I leave the BGCT in my rear view mirror and head to the prison, I hear that old Country-Western song on my radio, "I have moved up to a better class of loser."

Pity the modern boss

2008-10-18T15:47:00.003-05:00

I have lived a rather sheltered life working in the church. Generally employees in the church come in two forms--really, really good or really, really bad. Fortunately, I have had more of the former than the latter.

I have known for some time that many folks in the work world were time impaired when it came to getting to work, but only becoming a boss in the prison, did I discover that may be the least of a boss's problems.

Recently, I was coming in for my daily strip search that stops just short of completely stripping when in the line, was a petite little thing blond from her head to her toe. First, she was dressed like Dolly Parton except more so. She was wearing stiletto heels that made my nose bleed just looking at them. She was also wearing a push-up bra with wire supports. Now, you may ask, "how would he know this?"

Well, my little stiletto heeled low watt bulb couldn't get through the metal detector.
At first, I assumed it was all the metal jewelry she was wearing on her hands and fingers and toes and nose and lobes and neck and hair. But, after each of those were carefully removed while she giggled and cooed, she still set off the alarm.

While I was watching this barbie doll do her barbie doll thing, I found myself thinking of all the sex starved offenders behind the walls and wondered if we would find anything of hers left after she got on the unit. I expected it to be something like throwing meat to pit bulls.

It did not matter how much barbie took off, the metal detector kept going off. I began to wonder if it was a male machine (not really sure if they are gender specific) and he was enjoying the show. Finally, the screening officer, showing far more patience and restrain than I would have under similar circumstances, asked, "You aren't by any chance wearing a wire bra are you?"
Blondie giggled, "Why, yes I am. My push up bra has these wire underpinnings in it." Giggle, Giggle.

I never did know if she actually worked at the prison, but if she did, it was only for comic relief, nothing more. In our place, she actually set the cause of equal rights for blonds back to the stone age--make that jewelry age.

The Curious Case of the classic crazies

2008-10-18T15:20:00.005-05:00

In the free world, (that is outside the world of the prison) mental illness is an interesting experience to diagnose and treat. In lay terms, we have not moved much beyond calling folks "crazy." This rather vague category can include your mother-in-law, ex-wife, and the person down the street who keeps saying that someone is coming in their house and stealing their peas. All are equally crazy. Your mother-in-law, because she has never liked you, your ex-wife because she quit liking you and became a raving shrew, and for obvious reasons the person down the street who has found the only burglar in town who craves English peas enough to break and enter.

Most persons and families are ill informed about mental illness and equally ill-informed about the symptoms, causes, and treatment of such illnesses. Treatment in the free world is about diagnosing, educating the person/family, and providing a treatment approach that addresses the broadest range of issues the illness brings.

In prison, it is slightly different. Since many of those incarcerated are there for using/dealing/selling illicit drugs, mental illness takes on a whole new set of twists and turns. And since most of the prescription medications for mental illness work on the same centers of the brain as illicit drugs, there is a whole new culture in prison called "med seekers."

Simply, they want to act mentally ill in order to be prescribed the medications so they can get high or sell them or exchange them for other things of value. So, the mental health worker spends his day dealing with folks who want to get off their medications because they are no longer having symptoms and those who want to get on psychotropic medications because (see above).

I am rather new to the place, but I have discovered when an offender comes into my office and tells me he is hearing voices six out of seven days for a period not to exceed a month, and that these voices are co-existent with his paranoia which has been unabated for a period not exceeding two weeks, while at the same time, he has had delusions and feelings of grandiosity, I suspect someone has been reading their DSM-IV-R--which is the diagnostic Bible of mental illness.

I suggested to our clinicians instead of going through the laborious process of learning everything in the DSM about diagnosing schizophrenia, schizo affective disorder, etc, we should just consult with the "med seekers" to see if the patient meets criteria. They have far more time than we do to get the symptoms right, and they are a walking encyclopedia of delusions, hallucinations, and paranoid ideations.

Course, my co-workers just look at me, shrug their shoulders and say to each other, "he's crazy."

You Are Not In West Texas Any More

2008-09-25T17:23:00.001-05:00

You know you are not in West Texas when:
People prepare for a storm in advance.
When you are introduced to Bubba Jr.
When BMA (Baptist Missionary Alliance) is the brand of Baptist available most often.
When logging trucks cause a traffic jam.
When the humidity is worse outside than after the hot shower inside.
When your red car becomes black with the guts of "love bugs."
When you lose a significant part of your horizon to the trees.
When you have straight line winds without sand and dust.
When all folks talk about is their hurricane damage.
When a major appliance purchase is a generator.
When camp sites have trees for shade and are generally close to real running water.
When mushrooms are yard art.
When grass is green without ever being watered.
When bends in the road reveal more breath taking pastoral scenes.
When the smell of pine saturates the air.

Feeling The Threat

2008-09-23T22:24:00.006-05:00

One of the concerns folks who know me have had about my career change is my personal safety. I have been cautioned and warned about being careless in a prison--especially a maximum security prison housing death row. Granted I am not always the most careful or the most surefooted, but I have tried to be wise, be alert, and always aware of my surroundings.

I have visited five prisons counting the unit on which I work. One other has been a maximum security prison which means it houses serious offenders. I have been in and out of these prisons most every day for a month, and have never felt threatened--until today.

It was surprising what happened and only after I was safe did I realize what a foolish thing I had done. It could have cost me my life.

My intentions were honorable, my heart perhaps overruling good judgment.

I had scheduled the first staff meeting of my new job. Between rarely being on the unit because of my training, two hurricanes, and sickness in the unit, my folks have been scattered for the last month. Today was the day. I planned a working lunch so that we could catch up on work but still have time to do some bonding and developing as a team. So, my idea was to bring in pizza for the Mental Health staff and treat them, starting our relationship on a hopefully upbeat note. We have lots of work to do and the work is never easy.

Doing anything is a challenge in the prison. So, I had to write a letter to the Warden asking for permission to bring boxed food to the prison. I discovered no pizza place delivered pizza out as far as the prison and we did not have a lot of choices to begin with. I moved the meeting time till later, planned to call in the huge order and go get it myself. I ordered an extra pizza to use as bribes as necessary.

It was only when I started the long walk to the front gate that I heard it. The staff camaraderie finally showed itself. The whispering was rampant, "Skip the cafeteria today, it is pretty bad." One of the perks of working in the prison is that staff can eat in the officers' cafeteria for free. Three meals a day are served and a staff person can dine breakfast, lunch, or supper. However, sadly, there are days when even being free isn't enough. Today apparently was one of those days.

So, I slipped out and brought back four large, hot, smelly pan pizzas with two boxes of cinnamon breadsticks.

I stepped in the front door and realized the danger in which I had placed myself. I was going to walk about one half mile, through six security gates during offender lunch hour with over 1900 persons going to or from the dining halls, being watched by over 150 Corrections Officers who knew not to eat in the dining hall. Yep, not one of my better days or smarter decisions.

Honestly, I wasn't worried about the offenders. It was the Corrections Officers that had that hungry, drooling look on their faces. I immediately realized I was in mortal danger.

One of the quirky features of my mind my imagination often zips to a newspaper headline detailing my demise. I remember the headlines preparing for the baptism of the morbidly obese man who was phobic of water. When he got anxious, he sweated profusely and was prone to pass out. You use your imagination. "Local pastor drowns in own baptistery." The lead line would follow, "Michael R. Chancellor, local pastor was finally pulled from the bottom of his baptistery following a baptism that took an unexpected turn. The 400 lb. candidate became anxious and passed out falling on the pastor and pinning him down in the water until he quit bubbling."

Yep, too many headlines have raced through my mind over the years.

Today it was simply but movingly sad, "Missing Pscho found buried beneath a mound of empty pizza boxes. Officers smeared in pizza sauce puzzled by events."

Home Again

2008-09-21T13:32:00.002-05:00

Today we found our new home. It was wonderful.

More than anything else, believers need to find a new family of faith when they move to a new location. Nothing else seems to fall into place until that happens. I am not a shopper, but I am one who tries to understand where God wants us to be. This morning it was obvious.

We stopped a young lady in the street and asked her where we needed to go for worship. She was friendly and pointed us to the auditorium. It would have been easier, but this congregation is building a new worship center, and the hurricane has scrambled things a bit, so signs are down and and it was not quickly apparent to me where worship was located.

People greeted us all the way into the sanctuary. We found a place on the side of the building. It is a small building laid out like a cross and we found ourselves sitting at the front of one of the side beams of the cross. I liked what I saw. There was a youth right in front of us getting his electronic drums ready. A man came in with a trombone, another with a trumpet, another with a violin, and then the pianist and organist took their places. The powerpoint came up and people were greeting us as they entered. We felt at home--really at home. Then worship started on time. Those who know me know this is vitally important. It shows respect for those in attendance. Going long is not a problem for me. Starting on time is essential.

However the pastor apologized for the departure from the usual schedule. He needed to update the church on things going on as a result of the hurricane. The next 15 minutes was spent exhorting the church to give more assistance than they had already generously given. Arizona Baptists had been feeding over 5,000 meals a day with their disaster relief unit, and Central Baptist was going to pick up the work on Tuesday. They needed people to help cook and serve. I signed up for supper each day. I am off at 4:30 and would love to get involved.

Then, when all the ministry was taken care of the Minister of Music stepped up to the microphone with his shiny red electric guitar and we stood and began to sing. Folks were glad to be there and they sang with joyful hearts. On we moved from one hymn to chorus to hymn to chorus, everyone seemed to feel God's Spirit and moved with the flow. Anna and I worshiped.

The message was excellent and simple but had direction and purpose. Folks who know me know all of that is important. Hurricanes are bad enough in the world, but blustering wind and pointless stories don't do much for me or I suspect for the saints.

Perhaps the greatest affirmation for me was when the decision time came and we stood to sing congregationally, "The Untitled Hymn." Most folks call it "Come to Jesus." I have listened and wept and prayed through this great song, but today, I got to sing it with everyone else.

Yep, I have found my home. And now, we are really poised to get on with the rest of our lives.

The Chief Psycho is In

2008-09-19T19:26:00.002-05:00

In government jobs, no one is assigned to design titles that easily fit on a business card. There is also no one responsible for creating titles that actually tell an outsider what one does.

So I have come to my new job and my title is "Responsible Psychotherapist." I have informed my co-workers they need to know two things about their new boss. If the organization had advertised a position for "irresponsible psychotherapist," I would have applied for it first. But, I have come to discover, those positions are already filled.

I also told them they were free to call me the "Responsible Psycho." Hence the conversation at the end of business yesterday. Offenders turn in a request to see the doctors, nurses and mental health folks. They are escorted to a large cage that houses about forty at a time. When it is their time, they are called out of the cage to see the respective person. My appointments didn't show up so I stopped by the Corrections Officer's booth to see if they were there. No, they were not I was told. Several offenders heard me and ask if I was the "psych guy." I replied in the affirmative. One said, "I don't have an appointment, but I will take the guy's who didn't show up."

"Why do you need to see me?"

"Doc. I have this little man that lives in my back pocket."

"How long has he been there?"

"oh, 'bout twelve years!"

"Well, why don't you have your imaginary friend call my imaginary assistant and he can set up an imaginary appointment to talk about his imaginary problems. "

This is going to be a great place to work

The Parade only a Hurricane can orchestrate

2008-09-19T19:14:00.002-05:00

I watched parades all my life. Growing up in West Texas, we had a 4th of July Parade and my band often marched in it. Later on in life, we lived in a place that had their big parade at Saint Patrick's Day. In Abilene, any good occasion was a reason for a parade. So we had a Veteran's Day parade, a Stock Show parade, a 4th of July parade and a Christmas parade to name just the obvious.

But it took moving to Livingston and living through a hurricane to see the parades I saw these last few days. First, there was the parade of cars coming from the coast in preparation for Gustov. Then there was the parade of cars going the opposite way with folks frustrated by the close call and the expense of evacuating for no good reason.

Then came Ike. Parade going up the state and parade going home to some of the evacuated places. The damage from Ike is so extensive, some are not allowed home.

The best parade was the blinking yellow lights that adorned the multitude of energy companies dispatched to the area to restore power. I have never seen so many power company trucks and tree removal trucks as inundated our area. People were pulling over and applauding as they passed like proud troops in formation marching in a Veterans Day festival. Thursday evening, I was out late in the afternoon and the guys were calling it a day. It was about seven and the sun was beginning it nightly ritual of slow descent. And moving into town was a convoy of over 30 trucks amber lights blinking coming in as from a battle.

For many in this region, amber is the color of hope, and the sound of a diesel truck the sounds of hope.

Thanks to all the men and women who moved in and put us back into light.

Batten down the hatches, Here comes IKE

2008-09-19T18:41:00.005-05:00

In Abilene when one finished a transaction, it was not unusual for the clerk to say, "Have a nice day."

It is a friendly benediction on one's purchase and patronage.

In Livingston, last week, the benediction was, "Be safe."

Why would anyone say that? Hurricane Ike was coming.

Every hurricane is a different experience. It all depends on where one is in relationship to the eye. If one is in the path of the eye, it will be wind, rain, calm, wind, rain, and then it is over. We ended up on the dirty side of Ike. That meant we were on the east side of the eye and there was no relief from the wind and rain and wind and rain. Because of that, the area received a lot of damage.

In the yard where we are staying, five trees succumbed to Ike. Curious the way trees can fall. Some looked like they were toppled by some giant moving through. Some were missing their tops but the rest of the tree was intact. Some were snapped at the base and others were laid over with huge root balls protruding from the ground and great craters left where roots once laid. Then there were the trees that looked as if the giant had reached down and twisted the trunk of the tree until it unraveled. I was told that was evidence of a tornado.

We were without electricity from Saturday morning until Wednesday afternoon. However, a generator helped us keep a modicum of comfort and life in place. The generator ran fans and refrigerators. Blue Bell helped us deal with the discomforts of post storm life. But then the Blue Bell ran out. Good thing my sister-in-law thought to buy "Jiffy pop." This old technology
popcorn can be accessed with a simple propane stove. So when the ice cream ran out, we did jiffy pop. Now these were not our only sourcees of nourishment. =They were our only source of comfort food which is equally important to surviving a hurricane.

Weather cooperated after the storm and the Monday night after Ike left town, we were sitting out on the deck, roasting chicken and feeling like we were in the mountains. In the air was cool breezes, the smell of pine and the smoke from pine branches. I could close my eyes and believe I was in the mountains of Colorado enjoying the atmosphere only the mountains could provide.

So, the hurricane isn't the worst experience I ever had.

That is still held by any number of kidney stones that decided it was time to exit the scene.

Going to the Hospital? BYOB

2008-09-03T08:13:00.001-05:00

While most folks go to the hospital only when they must, it would seem a given that a good bed is essential to the healing process. Not so much.

Apparently hospital beds are an afterthought--much like the food that is erratically served in most places.

While bed frames now come with all the whistles and frills--like "in-console" TV controls and weight meters at the end of the bed, hospital mattresses are the eighth wonder of the ancient world. I believe that hospital mattresses in America were all made before 1945, then stored in an old barn until they were totally useless. Then someone got the bright idea to sell them to hospitals. After all, the people are too sick to complain! A lumpy bed is the least of their problems.

Adding insult to injury, family staying with the patients have been treated to fold out beds that masquerade as uncomfortable chairs. With luck, an engineering degree from MIT, the persistent person can reshape their uncomfortable chair into an equally uncomfortable bed.

In my wife's room, the fold out bed resembled a slab for a cadaver in the local morgue. It felt just as comfortable. I first discovered the fold out bed when I mistook the thing for a chair. When I sat down, the seat began to roll out and I quickly found myself admiring the ceiling. On the whole, hospital ceilings are rather understated and not given the attention they deserve.

Having discovered the bed, I began to attempt to assemble that feature of the furniture. Having previous experiences with such devices, I knew to start early and be persistent if I expected to sleep on the contraption come nightfall.

It only took two days to get it to work. The first night was like sleeping on the exam table in the doctor's office. You know the one: the shelf slides out for your feet. The only problem is the shelf is a full half foot below the rest of the table. Yea, it is so comfortable, a fold out bed has been designed for the hospital room using the same inspired design. The next night I discovered the shelf could actually be moved up and one could have a cadaver slab instead of an examining table.

So Anna on her bed, and me on mine, we dozed off blissfully confident that the $2500.00 a night was not for a "sleep master," extra cushioned, twelve pillowed bed. Nor was it for gourmet food tastefully presented and wonderfully nutritious. Nope, we were paying that much for Anna to come under the healing touch of a back surgeon whose knowledge and skill would stand up to bad beds and interesting meals.

And miracle of miracles, somehow, she would leave the hospital better off than when she came. The back would be repaired--no thanks to the bed in which she stayed. The body would be healing no thanks to the meals.

And the husband would be glad to move from the morgue to the bedroom.

Same Song Third Verse

2008-08-29T19:44:00.004-05:00

If anyone had any question about how committed the BGCT was to real change in light of the previous administration's squandering of $30,000,000.00+, they need to look no further than the recommendation that comes for filling the position of Associate Executive Director.

This "leader" was not only asleep at the wheel, but did not see anything wrong with what had gone on the previous eight years. The fact that tithes and offering given sacrificially by rank and file Baptists, was misused, misspent and misdirected, did not matter to him. He indicated to me that he was proud of what the BGCT has done on his watch.

This "leader" is also a part of the new fundamentalism demonstrated by Texas Baptist Committed in their efforts to follow in the steps of the old fundamentalism of the SBC. In fact, I found myself feeling like I had lived the Amarillo convention before. And then I remembered when it was. It was in New Orleans when the fundamentalism ran rough shod over the opposition because they controlled the chair. I remember feeling like such action violated the basic tenants of Baptist life, so I was extremely surprised when Texas Baptist Committed orchestrated the same tactics at Amarillo. Those that control the chair control the discussion of which there never is any. Later I had confirmed the budget presented, approved by the Executive Board of Directors, and later presented to the convention, was unsustainable from the beginning. The building knew it, many on the Board knew it, and many in the audience knew it, but nothing was said.

Yep, what is ahead for the BGCT? Look at the last few years and you have your answer. When those who allowed the abuse of the past to flourish now are suggested to lead the staff you know where things are going.

Tragic choice that will bear bitter fruit undermining even a faint confidence that anything in the BGCT will be different.

It's Not Gas, Just My Ringtone

2008-08-28T09:13:00.002-05:00

Every job has its war stories. Folks in ministry can tell both humorous and outrageous anecdotes about the life of the minister and the family of the minister.

Folks who work in law enforcement have their stories and those who work in prison have theirs.

So, my favorite so far is what happened on a unit in the area. Some years ago, Congress enacted what is called "safe prison" legislation that takes seriously the outcry of an inmate regarding sexual harassment, or threats of violence. Each outcry is supposed to trigger an investigation.

So, a man says his roommate is making improper advances toward him, and is immediately moved to a holding cell. This outcry triggers an investigation. When the cellmate is questioned, he denies the advances but offers this observation: "The guy wanted to move to get a better cell phone signal."

Cell phones are one of the many thousand of things that have become contraband in the prison for obvious reasons.

The officers drop their jaws. "He doesn't have a cell phone! We search his cell regularly!"

His cellmate is unmoved. "He has a cell phone and you won't find it!"

"Why is that?"

"He hides it up his butt!"

The officers, never easily phased, said, "Naw, can't be!" Then they look at each other. They leave and call the infirmary and schedule the guy for an X-ray. Word goes around the unit and when the X-ray is done, a crowd has gathered in the hall.

Sure enough, clear as everything, between his hips on the X-ray is an outline of a cell phone--and a charger! He had them wrapped in a latex glove.

It gives new meaning to the comment that wrong numbers are a pain in the butt!

He is commanded to "spit it up" or something sounding like that. He can't. So he takes a ride to Galveston where it is procedurally removed and confiscated.

Now, when someone tells me they have misplaced their cell phone, for some reason, I think of work.

My oldest Son

2008-08-27T07:58:00.004-05:00

My oldest son is a police officer.

I got to visit with him this weekend and as he left, I suggested he could tell his friends that his father had finally gone to prison for his crimes! Tim smiled.

He is the miracle son, as is his brother.

When Anna and I married, we knew that we might not be able to have children. And it appeared our perception was going to come true as time passed.

Then Anna's brothers were murdered after Christmas and a great grief settled on the family. And then we discovered Anna was with child. Our first born was anticipated the following January.

Anna enjoyed every minute of her pregnancy and the first Christmas after her brothers death came and went. Anna went into labor and Tim was born a year to the date we buried Anna's brothers. We called him our miracle child because more than one gynecologist had told us having children was impossible. More than that, Tim became a symbol of hope to the family. He was not a replacement, but a deep expression of God's love at a time when our family needed an affirmation of His love and the hope of a better future than the recent past.

Tim grew up and finished college and he followed his brother to East Asia. Tim was drawn to an opportunity that meant he would back pack in the Himalayas sharing Christ. He loved his work but continued to suffer physically from the primitive conditions. So he returned home to marry and give us our only grandchildren(to this point).

In the faces of my grandchildren I see my sons growing up yet again. Yet, these little kids fill my heart with joy and not much responsibility. I look at them and remember a friend who remarked, "If I had known how much fun grandchildren were, I would have had them first."

Tim has had a short but distinguishing career as an police officer. He will be at his post five years after the first of the year. In those short five years, he has been honored as "Officer of the Year," become a field training officer, a fire arms training officer, a fill-in shift officer, and recently a member of the first SWAT team his department has ever had.

All of that aside, he is a son in whom I take great delight because--well because he is my son and that is enough in our family for the favor and blessing to rest.

I remember reading in seminary Myron Madden's book, "The Power to Bless." In it he tells about the parental power to bless or to fail to bless. The blessed child, according to Madden has the resolve to try new things, leave home, and take new challenges.

Long before Anna and I married, I resolved to be the kind of parent who "blessed" my children and communicated to each of them " I am glad that you are and you are the child in whom I take great delight." It has served us all well.

I remember when J.D. came to live with us, he soon picked up on how much his mother and I loved our other boys. He asked me one day, "Dad, do you love me as much as you love Tim and Joseph?" It was a good question for me. It was a sobering question. What does one say?

My answer? "I love you as much as is in my heart to love you!" To me, that is always enough.

Back in the Saddle Again

2008-08-26T07:56:00.004-05:00

My family needs a church home. So, we are get acquainted with the churches in our new home town.

Last week we visited with our family's church and heard an elderly man ramble for 30 minutes. He concluded his message by singing all the verses to "Back in the Saddle Again."

It was a great spiritual moment.

Today we went to a BGCT church in the area. All I can say is from beginning to end, I found myself missing my home church in Abilene. I found myself thinking of how all of us in that fellowship had taken for granted our worship from week to week. We have extraordinary music both in variety and presentation. It was always such a joyful gathering.

Today, I was with the frozen chosen who were as joyful as a room full of people waiting on root canals. I wanted to stand and sing and clap my hands and infuse a little life into this group of believers. My quiet style of worship has been reset far beyond the experience of many rural Baptist churches.

I found myself thinking, "If we are going to heaven, why do we look like we are on a super highway to Hell? If we have life, why do we look like we are all recovering from hemorrhoid surgery?"

David danced before the Lord as he led the ark of the covenant into Jerusalem. How much more should we sing for joy as the presence of the Lord fills His people and His church?

While worship aught to be serious, it must be be overflowing with joy.

That will be the way I know it is Sunday and I am not in prison!

The Adventure of Life

2008-08-25T07:39:00.003-05:00

When I have traveled, I can be a little high strung.

I have been known to get irritable if things don't go like they should, well, let's just say it is not pretty. And what I know is when I travel, something always goes wrong.

It was years ago, traveling into Amarillo to catch a flight to Austin for a conference that I came to a life changing decision. I decided to relax and enjoy the adventure of living and not sweat the small stuff. In fact what I decided was that rather than getting upset, I would try to see the humor and tell the story.

It happened this way.

I was with a friend who offered to drive. He had a root canal the day before and unknown to me, had taken pretty heavy pain medicine when he started the day. We were on I40 when he told me he was a little under the weather and was "on drugs." So getting to the airport was a feat in itself. Then we checked in with our non-refundable tickets. The clerk took my ticket and only after checking my bag told me our flight was being diverted from Austin to San Antonio because of the fog at Austin. I asked her when I would arrive in Austin, and she guessed that it would be late in the afternoon. At that point, I realized the absurdity of this and laughed. I found myself saying, "I am attending a 24 hour conference in Austin. That is why I bought a ticket to Austin. I know no one in San Antonio and have no business in San Antonio. Why would I want to board a flight to a city I have no business in instead of going to the city where I have business?"

She looked wide eyed at me, paused and said, "Well, that makes sense. I guess you wouldn't."

"Exactly! So, if you cannot get me to Austin, I might as well go home. So if you will refund my ticket, my drunk friend and I will return home." Her wide eyes became wider. "I can do that!" She set about to refund my ticket and then looked up and said, "I'm sorry, but you have a non-refundable ticket! I cannot refund your ticket price."

"Even if you cannot get me to my destination in a reasonable amount of time?"

Our discussion was cut short by the later word the fog had cleared and we could now board for Austin.

As we moved to the jet way, I found myself saying, "This is too rich to get upset about. It is something to chuckle about.

I have been chuckling every since. Little did I know that this little silliness was only the beginning of a life of travel and the ensuing glitches that inevitably come.

Whose been sleeping in my bed?

2008-08-24T19:16:00.004-05:00

My orientation for my job began Monday in a facility 99 miles away.

My employer paid for me to stay in an "extended stay" hotel. "Extended stay" is a euphemism for "no maid service."

I don't exactly remember when my problem started with hotels, but when Anna and I were to marry, the hotel lost my family's reservations three times. That started a trend that varied from lost reservations, rooms with plumbing not working, doors kicked in, beds broken and various and sundry other small things.

This hotel first lost my reservations. The clerk was mortified. She kept apologizing and apologizing. I explained to her it was not unusual for this to happen to me. So it took about thirty minutes to check in.

Then I went to my room which was a handicapped accessible room because that was all that was left. I asked if the handicapped parking came with it. Sadly not!

So, after the drama of packing up the house, driving to a new home, I was glad to settle into a room with a semi-comfortable bed. I brought some popcorn and burned a bagful.

I crawled into bed for an uneventful evening of television on a channel I rarely see.

And then it happened!

My foot brushed against something at the foot of the bed. It felt like a dryer sheet, so I fished it out with my foot. It was not a dryer sheet!

What it was--a pair of woman's underwear.

I hurled it to the wall and jumped out of the bed. I was later surprised this old man had such agility and speed.

It occurred to me the lady's panties could have been mixed up in the wash and my bed was clean and freshly made. That did occur to me, but what if the other was true. Eeweeeee!

So, at my extended stay hotel, they made me feel right at home. Before I got to sleep, I changed the sheets on my bed. What an effort at hospitality.

Wet Hands, Who you gonna call?

2008-08-16T15:08:00.005-05:00

We stopped our packing and made a mad dash to my favorite onion ring/hamburger/steak finger place. It is just a few blocks from our home, so I rarely use their facilities.

However, I forgot to wash my hands and they were dirty with all kinds of stuff one acquires when packing. So after I ordered, I went to the bathroom. I washed my hands and turned around. And there it was: the box.

It gave no indication of whether it was full of towels, partially full of towels or full of hot air. Yep, it just hung on the wall.

So I began to assemble the clues while my hands air dried. There were towels close to the trash can (for a men's room that is close enough). There was no big,round chrome button on the unit. In fact, there was no button at all. So I decided it was a new fangled towel dispenser that was activated by motion. It was certainly not activated by moisture. So, I began to wave my hands gently. Nothing! Then I waved my hands more vigorously. At that moment, I caught a mental picture of every man in the bath room waving his wet hands frantically in front of a rather unresponsive but mildly amused machine.

Bathroom fixtures have been mocking us for years. Perhaps I should more accurately say, bathroom fixtures have been mocking me for years. I am easily confused in the place I need to be the most straight forward.

If I have a problem figuring out the toilet, that is no problem, I just leave it for the next guy. Except in Taiwan. The swanky hotel we stayed in had a public men's room the toilet of which had a sophisticated seat not unlike a fighter pilot cockpit seat. It had controls, and gadgets, and widgets, and I strongly suspect an ejection seat.

Mostly, I have had trouble with sinks. I remember the British Museum of Natural History. One you got past the dinosaur in the lobby, everything else seemed so-- well, small.

But, in the men's room, I found myself standing across from an Asian man joining me at the fount looking for how to turn the darn thing on. We both had approached from different sides watching the water stream forth until--we stepped up. Then the water stopped. We waved our hands like we have been trained to do. We turned our heads sideways to see if there were some hidden faucets. Then like mimics, we shrugged our shoulders(the male universal sign of "what's up with this"). Then we watched as another man, obviously of English descent, come between us and like a pianist playing an instrument, hit the foot pedal and "walla" water.

There was a stainless steel hula hoop right off the floor when activated by the foot, caused the water to run.

So, my mirror image shrugged his shoulders again, washed his hands and off he went. I went off looking for the towel drier thingee.

Ella, The Way Under Dog

2008-08-12T01:00:00.004-05:00

Our home was visited Sunday morning by an uninvited guest who came in through the window, left through the front door, with several hundred dollars.

Ella our "way under" dog either watched (as she misunderstood watch dogs are supposed to do)or she let out a non committal bark that frightened the burglar away.

Now, Ella is fierce when someone comes to the front door and rings the door bell. She acts as if she is the queen of the jungle. However, climbing through a window in the dead of night does not evoke the same response.

I have a theory that if Ella's groan did not frighten the thief away, she would go into her well honed skills of autosuggestion.

Ella is a good hypnotherapist. She can enter a room and scan the people and approach one. She will then stare at that person and project a powerful, irresistible thought into the mind of the person in front of her. It does not matter if it is male or female. All are equally susceptible to her powerful hypnotic rays. And what does Ella communicate? I have found her interests run along two lines:

"You want to pet me! You really want to pet me! The compulsion is so great you cannot resist petting me." And they do, they always do. Her mental powers are enormous.

Then there is the other suggestion: "You want to get me a snack! You must get me a snack! You feel the overwhelming urge to get me a snack--not that nasty snack, the other one!"

Excuse me, I need to stop this and get Ella a snack and pet her while she eats it. Resistance is futile.

It's that Time Again, YUK!!

2008-08-12T00:43:00.004-05:00

Grit your teeth, hold your nose, it's election time again.

I should like to send out into the streets of America the V-8 "dope slap" team to help us get pass this distasteful plague on Americans.

Basically, the "dope slap" team would split off and go with every candidate large and small. Their sole responsibility would be to "dope slap" a candidate when he or she got off on telling everyone what his or her opponent believed instead of what he or she believed. Every time they reached down in the mud to hurl some at their opponent, the "dope slap" team would get there first, get the most, and hurl it back.

The problem is way too much money is being spent tearing down the other guy. So it should come as no surprise when the election is finally settled, about 50% of the population don't trust the winner, and most folks have doubts about them all.

If a candidate were going to persuade me to vote for him or her, I would need to know several things of substance.I would want them take about the roots of their character formation and who were their models and heroes growing up. I would want to know what was the basis of their moral code. I would want to know if they believed in supporting charities and mobilizing volunteers to be a vital force in American life. I would want to hear some practical ideas to make taxes better spent, programs more efficient, troops more prepared with all the equipment they need. I would want to know how to be a global power without a swaggering arrogance and how to lead the way in reaching out to the least in our world.

I would want to know if our model of democracy is adaptable to other countries and if not, why not, and what would work for those emerging nations. Tyranny is a non-starter for me.

I could even imagine an election one day where all we heard was great ideas, great philosophies, great cooperation, and great governing.

When I talk with conflicted couples, one of the first challenges I have is to change their way of thinking about each other. What is it I say to they? Simple really, "You guys are on the same team.In marriage, in raising a family, parent to child, mom and dad are on the same team. Forget that and you are dead!"

Our campaigns have forgotten that we are all on the same team. We may occupy different possessions and some will play defense to another's offense, but we both playing the same game.

Perhaps if we could get that through our partisan heads, the United States might begin to work together again.

My Wonder Boy

2008-08-12T00:32:00.003-05:00

These are tough days for James. In some ways, he is better at moving than his mother and I am. By the time he reached us, we were this fifth set of parents, and James had lived in more homes than that.

So, like so many children who come from similar experiences, security is where you find it. James found his in stuff: working stuff, fancy stuff; battery powered stuff; broken stuff; and more than once, sticky stuff that gooed all over everything.

When James came to live with us he brought some clothes and boxes and boxes full of toys of all kinds. He had every game from every happy meal he had ever eaten and mixed in with those were some pickles and shriveled up fries--yum. It did not take long until there was no place to put anything and every effort to help him give something away was generally fruitless.

Around our first Christmas, we hit on an idea. Every new toy that came into his room meant he had to surrender one to give away. That began to work and off we went.

Fast forward a couple of years and James has found out we are moving and he will probably have less space in his room that he presently has. Nothing much else is said.

In a little while, James comes out of his room with his Nintendo 64. It came to him as a gift from us as a welcome home present. He had sense received an X-Box which is the focus of his attention. I asked him what he is doing with his Nintendo 64, and he looks up at me, and says, "I am giving this to Isaac. He doesn't have one just some games and I want him to have my old game box."

Wow, I stood and watched as this innocent little kid was taking some very positive steps toward being a responsible adult. Responsible adults think of others.

Yes, James is my wonder boy. And such a blessing to our family.

Men In White

2008-08-12T00:15:00.002-05:00

Prisons and jails have the same smell.

It is the acrid smell of failure. From a distance, the population all dressed in white may give a rather interesting scene, but get closer and the high walls, the limited freedom, the smell inside the walls and there is nothing here to like. The prisoners don't like it, the guards don't like it, and everyone may wish they were somewhere else.

Who has failed? Well inmates have failed or they would not be in prison. At the very least, they failed to be represented by competent attorneys who could get them off. The larger picture is that person after person found societies rules too confining, societies ills to depressing, life too meaningless, and what other folks had more desirable than what they possessed. So they stole to buy, killed to rob, or just needed to settle a score that was not earlier settled to their satisfaction.

I also think families have failed. Many years ago, when I started pastoral ministry, I required young couples to have premarital conversations with me about their choices in marriage. Some of the prospective grooms were a little haughty about those things being none of my business. I had a standard reply, "If you marry poorly and propagate, which seems to happen to a lot of shaky marriages, then your children will grow up watching their parents scream at each other and them. They will grow up without supervision and without rules. You will either think they can do no wrong, or believe they can do no right. One way you don't discipline and the other way you break their spirit. In some ways it all comes out the same. Your kid goes out and steals my hubcaps. That makes it my business and all our business. You marry poorly, parent poorly, and we all pay. And that is what we have had.

I also believe churches have failed. I have been aware of my church's background was one of teaching the "don'ts" of life. Pretty dreary subject. I believe it really turned off teenagers during a time when they are wondering what they should do. Churches have talked little of meaningful sex, of understanding how sexuality is one of God's great gifts, and when it becomes blessing in our lives.

I believe society has failed. We are more swept away by fluff than substance. So, we get energized over the latest sport that is season, but can't do anything but yawn over UIL competition. What we exalt teaches children and youth values. What we sideline teaches children these things are not important. So we feed the body, entertain the body with bread and circuses, and trudge through an aching emptiness of soul.

Men in white reeking with the acrid smell of failure. It it were only a smell, a bath would cure it. This smell is mind deep, emotion deep, soul deep.

Welcome to the Neighborhood

2008-08-05T16:49:00.003-05:00

I got my "Welcome to Polk County" Sunday evening.

The officer who pulled me over was my new best friend. We will also be close because with the stroke of a pen I now help pay his salary. The questions proved only slightly embarassing. When he asked what I would be doing moving to Livingston, I replied, "I am going to become the 'Responsible Psychotherapist' at the prison--except this is not too responsible!"

I have had this heavy foot problem for some time, but have managed to only pay up in small communities.

I have perfected the art of the "stupid, naive, ah shucks motorist." With highway patrol it usually works pretty good. Fortunately, they are not trying to earn their way with fines. The local police are equally nice but someone has to pay for their salary.

On this dark and stormy night, a tree limb had broken off, fell on a squad car and the building. The office told me it destroyed half their department. Somehow I had the sense I was going to pay my fair share of the repair. Oh, well!

Although I did not have the good sense to see the lower speed limit sign, I did have the good sense not to make some remark about the size of the department or that it was unfortunate that one more tree branch didn't fall and prevent our conversation. That would have been rude at best and strategically unwise.

So, off we go. New job, new town, but same old habit.

I really have to work on that!

Prison here I come

2008-08-01T01:26:00.003-05:00

Did you know the greatest mental health provide in the state of Texas is our jails and prisons?

Sad but true.

So the prison becomes a wonderful opportunity to work with the "least of these."

I have thought a lot about this new door of ministry for my life.

My ministry has been shaped by listening. Early in the first church I served, I realized I was not trained to listen like I should. So I started learning and listening. In my opinion, the Spoken Word on Sunday needed to be supplemented by the listening ear on Monday. So, I started listening.

In those early days that was about all I could offer. But for many folks, that was enough. They needed someone to hear like God hears--overflowing with acceptance, grace, and mercy. They needed somewhere safe to park their secrets with out loud. Only later was I to learn the power of saying things out loud. But somehow God was in the room and grace and direction came.

So after years of listening theologically, pastorally, and patiently, I came to get an advanced degree in psychology. So, I was introduced to the interior of the human life and how we might think and feel and decide and even understand. Then came a license and an expanded ministry that been successful. The church I proudly served for 15 years allowed me to take to the road listening. First to missionaries on mission trips, and then to missionaries in their natural surroundings and in planes,trains, cars, board rooms and outside the board rooms.

Now my listening leads to prisoners in their natural surroundings.

Some predict failure in this new venture--but there were some naysayers about my pastoring. Some predict the confined environment will wash me out. Some said that about pastoring. Some say I won't be able to stand the horrible language. They have never sat in a deacons' meeting and heard what was said short of cursing. I knew some of the red faces were the language restraints they didn't observe outside the building.

But I believe they are wrong. Pastoring has toughened me up. It has made me stand up and hold my ground. This new venture will actually allow me to control my environment better that I have ever been able to do in a local church. I am led to believe by my new supervisor that bad behavior can be controlled in the prison and I can order a inmate back to his cell.

So, I recently drove by a woman's house who has given me fits for eight of the 15 years I have been here. She carries a diagnosis she refuses to acknowledge to me. But I found myself thinking, "In the prison where I am going, she would be in a cage and I would be sitting at a chair outside doing my work!

How cool is that!

One more passing grade on another test

2008-08-01T01:05:00.003-05:00

I passed another test today.

At the beginning of the business day, the call came that I had passed my drug screening test. Most tests I crammed for and more than I can remember passed. But this test, this test was about peeing in a cup. Not just peeing, but peeing stuff that didn't have stuff in it. So I passed! Few tests have I passed by what I didn't have, but now it is official. I am hired!

So, on August 18, I shall begin the journey of becoming the Responsible Psychotherapist for one of the prison units out of Livingston, Texas where we are moving before the start date. Basically, I will run a mental health clinic in the prison for the inmates who need psychiatric services.

In some ways, I have been preparing for this all my life. When God began to woo me to ministry, I visited with my wise pastor about what I was sensing. He started with youth ministry. "Do you feel drawn to work with youth?" I was a youth and at time working with my peers was more like a prison sentence or a horror movie. No, I did not feel called to work with youth. "Do you feel called to do education?" Frankly, there was not an exciting way to say that. Education ministry is vital to church but to spend my life doing what I saw our Minister of Education doing was a non-starter. The same question about music, except this time he answered, "I have heard you sing, forget that!" We laughed but, my brothers had the voices not me.

And with that, in that day and age, the only thing left was being "called to preach." I did not feel that either, but I did know I was called to ministry. Far be it for me to know that such a sense and such a calling was the future in our midst.

In my time, what I do and call preaching is often called teaching. My definition of preaching in the popular church culture is still selling without substance, shouting devoid of Scripture, and enthusiasm that is infused but quickly dissipates like snow in our West Texas yard. I cannot think past the preacher who wrote in the margin of his message,"Weak point, yell like hell!"

Over the years, the weak points have come together to make a weak church. I know that is where I will struggle. I will launch out to find a pastor who can preach in ways that challenge, inform, inspire and lead me to better devotion and service. Matched with my own devotional life, I will love and serve.

So, my call to ministry has taken many paths of exploration. It all ended with pastoring, and I have loved it but I was open to missions, to chaplaincy, to pioneer missions, to counseling. All of those have passed before my heart and I have told God I was willing. I believe, in my heart, I would go anywhere God led--even out of Texas. But I was a captive in this great state. But, in this great state my pastoral ministry has been shaped by each of those great works.

Now that call leads to the prison.

And a crock pot too

2008-07-30T00:50:00.002-05:00

Our church does Angel Food.

It has been a galvanizing vision that has captured the hearts of CHBC. Every volunteer has a story to tell about their service and the ministry they help.

Once a month, Angel Food delivers a pre-paid box of food to a person or family. This distribution takes place in our church and it is not unusual for us to greet and meet 600 people in three hours. Whole families come to pick up the groceries. We off load the food when it arrives, divide it out between frozen and non perishables.Then we set about to assemble the boxes according to each person's order.

It is amazing what this ministry in Abilene has done for our volunteers and our church folks. One thing we have learned is that many people don't just need food, they need contact. So many of them are shut away or too busy to sit down and get acquainted with someone. We have heard so many stories of people's struggle and heartache and anguish. Why, just because we were there to listen.

There have been funny moments and one of the best was Saturday. After the orders were filled, a man called back to the church after he had gone through his order. He wanted to know where his free crock pot was. The lady who answered was fully aware of the menu and remembered it mentioned nothing of a free crock pot and she was also aware that Angel Food did not do that. She said politely, "Well sir, where did you get the idea we were giving away a free crock pot with your order? He replied, "Well it said so on the menu, "A Marie Callendar' crock pot!" Our lady finally understood and said seriously but laughing inside, "Sir, that was a Marie Callendar Crock Pot Dinner. You furnish the crock pot and the packet has everything else in it for dinner."

That story got passed around and around. Great bargain on food and a crock pot too!

Pastoral Authority

2008-07-28T10:52:00.002-05:00

One of the battle grounds in Baptist life over the past 30 years has been this business of "pastoral authority." My Catholic priest friend never quite understood the Baptist pastor and the authority he does not have. But, I have to give him a break because lots of Baptist pastors don't understand Baptist pastoral authority.

In Baptist life, "Pastor" is an paradoxically empty title full of expectations and responsibility but empty of any real authority. My Catholic priest friend scratched his head over this. Authority comes in the trenches of life as a pastor shows up and his presence helps the family or person in crisis. That person or family becomes open to the new pastor and his role as leader of the church. He develops credibility with them, love from them, and authority with them.

It is the one position of which I know that presumes the pastor is stupid and inexperienced even though he has degrees out the wazoo and comes with years of experience. The fact is that he is new here! He is unfamiliar to us, and we know the real Biblical authority is the preacher we listen to on the television or the author of the latest book we have read.

Pastoral authority is really like cotton candy. It appears to have substance until you taste it and it disappears on your tongue. The more you crave it, the more it disappears. In fact, the disciples represent the perception of pastoral authority. It is something to be coveted, fought over and ultimately passed down like one would a well worn coat.

Jesus knew better. In fact, each day of his earthly ministry the empty/full dimension of pastoral authority played out. The religious leaders were always questioning His authority, His miracles, His teachings. Jesus tried to steer them to the notion of humble service. In the local church, humble service opens the door to pastoral authority. It is not conveyed or bestowed. U have shared with my field work supervision students again and again. Authority is rooted in one's call to ministry, but it is confirmed by the congregation into which one pours ones life in service. It is not given by vote or action of the church. It is given over time as one proves himself or herself worthy.

It may not make sense but it is reality. And the wiser a young pastor is as he moves into a new church, the more he will determine to let authority come to him as he works the work of pastor. And come it does, if one stays long enough. The less sought the more given. The better it is used, the more is bestowed.

Putting a price tag on the memories

2008-07-24T11:04:00.004-05:00

Today we finalized putting our house on the market.

It is not a fancy home by any standards, but it has been home for us while we have lived in Abilene. It has been the first home we ever owned and each room is full of memories.

The Realtor sat down with us yesterday. Today we finished the start of the process. There is just too much paperwork for anything good to happen in a reasonable time. There are questions I was asked about this house that really seem beyond the pale.

"Has anyone died in this house beyond natural causes and suicide. . ." Now, really, this house is forty+ years old. I can account for only 15 years and what difference does it make? Are we inventorying ghosts? Is the house worth more if someone was murdered here? What if there is a blood stain under the carpet? What if in a previous life this house was a Mafia safe house? If it will help sell the house or add to the value, I could make up something. I have tried to list everything wrong with the structure, but a good yarn that increased the value. . .

I know that not enough birds have died here. I know the family dog has ingested one every now and then. When I quizzed her on how she came to possess such a feast, she has remained mute--kind of like a dog which she plays the part of very well.

I know that few squirrels have perished on these premises, although the family dog has done her best to add that to her menu of offerings. She has done the same with a premise mouse that lives in a tree toward the back of the lot.

I know that I thought I was going to die a couple of times over the years but it was just kidney stones, dehydration, and then the trauma center bill. Beyond that, only the grass, assorted plants and other efforts at outdoor gardening have bit the dust. All the weeds have survived with a zeal that is envious.

So, lets get on with the sale. Although, now that you mention it, I think some Hollywood star broke down in our drive way.

The Coming Sad Farewell

2008-07-23T08:34:00.006-05:00

I told my church family Sunday morning I was retiring from pastoral ministry.

After 15 years with them, it is a tough decision and a tough decision to hear. We have grown older together and like old shoes had finally, truly broken each other in. I knew them and they knew me. We both had scratches and bruises from living together as family.

Being a Baptist pastor is not unlike herding chickens. It is more art than science. Too much at any one time and they get scattered rather than gathered. Wading into them to lead is always noisy and can they cluck and cackle! Feathers are easily rankled and occasionally, the feathers fly. Some of the flock are just mean, but most are not. Sometimes all the effort produces eggs and all to often not.

For 33 years I have been a pastor--except for a six month period of time when the chickens won. In those years, I have been honored to serve four churches. It is appropriate that I finish my marathon at the best church with the greatest family. Not that the others weren't good. We just didn't stay long enough to get where we are with this family. No church was less than five years and each was hard to leave.

Now unless you are confused, I am not retiring to some retirement home on the waterfront. The churches I have served has never paid that much. Rather, we are moving closer to ailing family and undertaking new careers. Mine when finalized will be a real hoot. 33 years ago, I would never have seen myself doing what I will be doing. Yet, there it is. Staring right back at me.

What I do know is that I shall move off the scene of Baptist life. I won't much care who is fighting whom, and who is not taking care of whom. I probably won't even remember the new Executive Director's name or who is the next anointed President of the BGCT. I may even forget what those unwieldy initials stand for. Sadly, my convention home is not the bastion of integrity I once knew--or thought I knew.

Somehow that is all right with me. The cynic in me always knew what was going on. I was the best friend at the moment because I would ask the question no one else would ask and make the public comment no one else would make because it might come back on them politically. I was not politically naive, I just had no political ambitions. It is amazing how free that leaves one.

My folks will miss me and I will miss them deeply. Church family is just that, family. I will never forget them or get over them.

And across the coming years, I won't be surprised if a few of their feathers fall out on the floor of the new house where we live.

The House at the End of the Lane

2008-07-23T08:13:00.002-05:00

My mother-in-law has Alzheimer's.

To the extent this disease can be diagnosed, Bonnie was diagnosed after a debilitating stroke four years ago. As with most folks, the path has been steadily downward with lots of bumps in the road.

We are moving closer to her and my wife's sister to help with the care that is required at this time of her life.

Bonnie,(my mother-in-law) has found us the perfect house to live in. It is a two story one down the lane from her house. She has already told her youngest daughter it would be perfect for us: lots of space and close to her. The only problem is there is no house at the end of the lane. The house at the end of the lane is the one in which Bonnie lives. Course she knows some of that now, because recently, someone came and moved the house so it is no longer there. Had it been there, it would have been perfect for us. However, Bonnie can't help wondering who it was that took it and when they moved it. It is all a confusing mystery to her.

Such is Alzheimer's. I compare it to Swiss cheese which I happen to like. Real Swiss cheese has those trademark holes throughout. Imagine your brain like that. Imagine that processing and memory are like that. One has a new experience and it is filed away in the cheese or sometimes in the hole. When one goes back to get the information, sometimes it is there and sometimes it is not. What is more confusing is when part of the memory is stored and part goes in the hole. Yep, it all gets rather mixed up.

Alzheimer's is all about the mind getting all mixed up. There are great medical explanations and great psychological explanations, but there is confusion, blank spaces and slowly all of that turns to darkness.

For Bonnie right now it is the house at the end of the lane. It is the house that isn't there.

Over time, it will become the person who isn't there.

Second Song, partial verse

2008-07-22T17:20:00.004-05:00

I am a man who can live for a little while with partial answers to questions I did not ask.

I did discover in my search for understanding of the $27,000,000 that slipped quietly away from Texas Baptists under the last administration several things. First, I discovered what I already knew was something I already knew. The budget we passed at our last convention was unsustainable and the administration knew it when they presented it to the Executive Board which allowed itself to be coerced and cajoled into passing it on to us. Hence some of the reasons for my motion of censure for the Executive Board which was stopped by a parliamentary trick by a board member of the Free and Faithful Baptists of Texas (Texas Baptist Committed). Their battle cry has been, "Baptists have been free to discuss and decide." What I have learned over the past year is that just like the fundamentalists, they decide what is discussed and when it is discussed--if ever" Which, in my beady little mind make them another kind of spiritual tyranny I don't much care for. Spiritual tyranny is spiritual tyranny no matter what the flavor. In Texas, we don't have the Page Patterson kind, we have the TBC kind. I don't much care for either.

I also learned what I most feared and that was another causality of the last administration was a rather robust Minister's Counseling program. During the previous administration, ministry families were helped in great and small ways. Families in crisis found assistance for counseling. Terminated ministry families found help for moving and insurance and just basic needs when such a tragedy befell them.

I knew that the ministry was shrinking because I followed their budget allocation as best I could. The shell game made that somewhat daunting, but I tried. When the BGCT finally terminated the couple in that area, the broad, robust ministry was down to one couple in Dallas available to anyone who could reach them. The list of referring counselors had not been updated in years, and the curtain came down on what once was a great help and was now a hollow shell of a sham.

So, not only was money wasted in the Valley and who knows where else (I am waiting for the report) but hurting families were ignored or worse--pushed off on sympathetic counselors who would continue to see the family after the piddling BGCT reimbursement ran out ($40 for four sessions for a yearly family total of $160).

I cannot begin to express my disgust over the mismanagement that was permitted to take place over the last few years in our convention of churches. The results of that failure to face, contain, and stop the misuse of tithes and offerings will continue to bear the most toxic of fruits for years to come. It will not just be in trust lost but ministry families destroyed because enough assistance was not available. Gone are the ministry marriage retreats, gone the terminated minister's retreat, gone the emphasis on minister's mental health, gone, all gone! And why?

The administration was too busy robbing the treasury to help anyone with anything.

The attic where I live

2008-07-22T16:51:00.004-05:00

Last night we got into the attic.

To be precise, my wife got in the attic and I held the ladder. To be honest, I have never liked our attic. It has never had that homey feel that one wants from their attic.

Our attic is as old as the house and is dusty and hot and full of creepy things that I don't much care for and would rather not believe share the same address with me. That's why my wife was in the attic and I was manning the ladder. However, I did take what she picked up and passed it down to our son who was on the floor making disgusting faces.

I only screamed once and that was when I thought a bat was escaping through the portal. It was just a piece of black plastic from a rotting garbage bag. But as it fell, it gave the impression of being a bat disturbed from its nest.

I can stand toe to toe with intemperate deacons, but put a flying bug in my zone of personal space and I have been known to freak out. We all have our Achilles's heal and one of mine is bugs that fly and can sting. I once exercised an extreme amount of energy for a man my age when I discovered a spider in my bed. We had been jetting around Eastern Europe making home visits with missionaries when I fell into this inviting bed. I just as quickly jumped out when I saw the spider. In my youth, such a jump would have garnered an Olympic medal, but at this advanced age, it simply represented safety from a creepy, crawly thing in my bed.

So, we passed down years of memories. My grandmother's old make-up case and set of luggage. She died when she was 97 and that was back in 198? Then there was my luggage, given to me by my parents when I graduated from high school. My dad used to tell people, "I gave each one of my sons luggage when they graduated from high school and none of them took the hint!" Several boxes of records dating back to the 1980's which bore witness to my phobia of the IRS.

And then there were the boy's clothes. It puzzled both my wife and I why our sons' middle school clothes should be stashed in the attic, but perhaps we planned to let them live up there unless their bedrooms looked less like an attic and more like living space.

And finally there was the last item. I don't remember what it was because it dumped dirt down the back of my shirt.

Up to that point, it was a thoroughly enjoyable experience, holding the ladder, I mean!

The last mailbox at the end of the way

2008-07-20T20:26:00.004-05:00

For some time, our office staff has known with a sense of sadness our mail route was the least desirable in Abilene. I am not sure why. We try to be nice, with coffee in the morning, cold water in the afternoons and all the bathrooms any living person could want. But, sadly since our long term mailman retired seven years ago, we have been passed from carrier to carrier. No one has carried us long.

So, it was with a mild sense of betrayal that I went downtown last week and found our newest route man working in the "information/passport" office. I knew what that meant. We were dumped again.

So, I was in the office when the mail was brought later in the week. A nice young man stopped in and asked if he could use the facilities and we pointed them out. He came back with our mail and I asked him if we were losing our carrier again. He acknowledged what I already knew. We were orphaned again. However, to help us feel better, he said that although he was not the regular route carrier, he was familiar with our route.

I guessed that was meant to make us all feel better.

However, it went south when he said, "I used to deliver mail when the old pastor was here. I would bring it from next door." Our secretaries were standing there chatting with him and Helen (our receptionist) explained that the house next door was ours and missionaries often came and went and mail delivered to them after they left the residence was brought to our office.

I looked at this young man who must had been in his late twenties and quickly did the math. I asked, "You brought mail when the old pastor was here?" He replied, "Yes, that was three or four years ago."

I smiled as did Helen. I have learned to put up with a lot over the years being prematurely bald and prematurely gray and prematurely everything. I called his name and said, "I have been the pastor here for 15 years, and, well, _______ I am the old pastor who was here!"

Sadly, I fear, there goes another carrier.

One less friend to love

2008-07-18T00:28:00.003-05:00

This Saturday, we will have a memorial service for a dear friend and gracious lady. Trained as a radiology technician, I knew her best as a modern day Job whose body buffeted her soul but could not win. A cancer survivor several times over, she and I visited in passing as she came to church sometimes with family and sometimes alone. Rita was occasionally in the hospital, but those stays were always serious.

I was by her bedside in the Spring of 2004 as she recuperated from a stroke. With her diabetes, TIA's and cancer, this stoke was a big hurdle for her to overcome to make a mission trip to Africa. She explained to me that she always wanted to be a missionary and go to Africa. She had been once in the 1980's and wanted deeply to go back.

So, I asked her, "Rita, are you going to be able to go in a couple of months?" She moved her partially paralyzed body around in the bed. "I will be ready."

And she was! With a little help from the team, she had the time of her life and her presence was more powerful than any could really appreciate. She stood as the quiet conqueror who found Jesus sufficient for everything.

And then Rita came home to face more cancer, and finally complications that took her life.

Rita loved people of which I was one who was blessed.

Saturday we will sing her praises, but she wants us to talk about Jesus. And then she wants some of her ashes scattered over Africa. That we can do, for a lady who was a missionary everywhere she was--even in Africa.

For jail, this ain't that bad!

2008-07-16T16:39:00.005-05:00

I went to jail today. Yep, got picked up, hauled off to the hoosegow, was mug-shotted (and what a mug) and led away to a booth.

My infraction was so bad they arrested my secretary too.

Now, I have to say, I have not been treated like this before. I consider myself laid back and reasonably respectable, but I was treated--actually really well. How I have managed to escape jail this long, I don't know. But, it happened.

This was the Muscular Dystrophy lockup and folks who agree are picked up, photographed, and given a booth at (ok this is really tough) Texas Roadhouse. While I am calling friends and family, they bring me a cheddar burger. Ok, so I am not a high class criminal. This is as close as I want to get to a real jail.

I was surprised by the responses I received. It seemed that when I told my friends I was in jail, they though it was a good thing, and wondered how they could keep me in longer. Such friends as one collects over the years!

My younger brother was the most surprised. I am grateful for that. Sometimes one needs someone to believe in you enough they are amazed that you have landed in the hoosegow. And generous he was in helping me raise my bail.

And then there was my oldest niece. She saw it was me calling and let it go to voice mail.

I think what I learned from this is that in a crisis, never call my niece because I will be dead before she decides to call me back. My younger brother, on the other hand, is always good for a little bail money. These days, that is good to know.

Same Song, Second Verse?

2008-07-16T16:22:00.002-05:00

A couple of months ago, I received a letter from the new CFO of the Baptist General Convention of Texas. She stressed the fiscal responsibility of the new regime.

So, I gave her time to settle in. Then I sent an e-mail to her asking for an accounting of the $27,000,000 in reserves that disappeared during the last administration. I stressed that I knew she had nothing to do with it, but certainly a paper trail could establish broad categories of where the money went.

To this day, I have had no response to my e-mail--not even a "we'll get back to you on this, thanks for writing." Nope, nothing! Nada! The address is correct, at least it is what was at the bottom of the letterhead.

So, I wonder,"Is this new administration really going to make a different in the trust level of the churches?" If they don't even acknowledge the receipt of mail, how can we move forward. At least the last administration bothered to give one the run-around. This one, nothing.

Why is this important? Well, for several reasons,actually.
First, it is important because the actual amount of misuse and fiscal irresponsibility is larger than $27,000,000. Up to $3,000,000. was wasted in the Valleygate fiasco. Now I sit on a board of trustees that is affiliated with the BGCT and I was notified last week their portion to us was dropping yet again. This time it will settle out about a little under what was wasted in the Valley. So, the point is that institutions are moving through cuts in support from the BGCT because money was misused, churches have reacted with mistrust and withholding funds and the institutions must tighten their belts. The $27,000,000 is also important because these reserves represent over half of the annual BGCT budget just flittered away.

While it did not happen on this administration's watch, they have questions to answer to help folks like me trust again.

Apparently, I am not alone. The money is not rushing in. I suggest it will not unless or until all the leadership truly demonstrate fiscal transparency by telling us where all the money went. From my point of view, even if one had little to do with the redirection and misspending of tithes and offerings from the churches, to know what happened and remain silent is to be a part of a lingering conspiracy--which will taint the BGCT for years to come.

If the current leadership waits too long, they will face the unrestrained tide of irrelevance.

The Cross-Dressing Convention

2008-07-07T10:50:00.007-05:00

Cross-dressing is also known as transvestitism. Basically, it is a male dressing as a female for obvious reasons more obvious to some than others. My first experience with this phenomenon was a tale told by a rather bawdy uncle who enjoyed telling stories of his WW II experiences, some of which only occurred in his mind. On this one occasion, according to him, he had left a nightclub with a beautiful young woman on his arm. He hailed a cab and both got into the back seat. Quickly they began to do some lip-locking exercises when at some point Uncle discovered the person at the other end of his kisses was anatomically identical to himself. He hurriedly stopped the kissing, started the pounding, smearing the young lady's make-up and somehow ripping her dress. Both screamed and Uncle bailed from the cab deeply embarrassed.

It has crossed my mind that my convention has engaged in a bit of cross-dressing itself. In doing so, it's sole purpose has been to lure those young pastors who find denominations and conventions unattractive and undesirable into the fold.

Now the convention has done it's research. In fact, that may be where the $27,000,000.00 (yet unexplained)has gone. Somewhere in the bowels of the Baptist Building there is a priceless library saying young pastors prefer networks to conventions and denominations.

So, the BGCT dresses up like a network in order to appeal to this younger crowd.
At the same time, they have told the "over 50" crowd to "Get Lost." Like so many things, it has slipped pass the easily panicked leadership of the BGCT the "over 50" crowd has helped pay the rent for twenty to thirty years while the younger set is spreading their money among their networking friends, of which the BGCT is not one. Hence, the cross-dressing.

To believe this cross-dressing will seduce anyone is not unlike believing the fat lady in the circus can be re-billed as the "Human Zipper." 4,000+ churches and 20+ institutions is a lot to stuff in a skimpy networking dress and be the least bit believable.

But then, things have not been believable in BGCTland for a long time!

Xeriscapinging gone wild

2008-07-06T17:40:00.005-05:00

In our part of the world, it is always a challenge to have enough water for the population. The summer it became a choice between water to drink and watering the yard, I began to let the grass die.

Then I discovered xeriscaping. Xeriscaping comes from two Greek words: "scaping" meaning all that one can see. "Xeri" meaning living on air. So xeriscaping is the art of turning one's yard into specific plants that can live on air. Thus one solves the water problem.

So with the money that we could have used to travel to the moon, we set out to possess a perfect xeriscaped yard.

Our efforts began with measuring the space in the back yard to be 'scaped. Having successfully staked out a large portion of the middle of the yard, I realized it was too much work for a man my age and promptly hired our yard man to do the digging. He and his wife are roughly the age of my mother. That is why we used the back yard. We have a small language barrier with our yard man so I carefully took staples and heavy string to mark out the exact places I wanted them to dig. Our dog, watched as I meticulously stapled and strung, stapled and strung. Finally, with that done, I stood as erect as I could to survey my surveying. The dog watched all of this, then with the speed of a bullet got up from her reclining position and tore through all the string within seconds. She was a marvel to behold: the speed, the agility, the completeness of her work. Murder was not an option because by this time, we had too much invested in the dog and I understand there are laws against such things unless you take them to the vet and paid them lots and lots of money to put the dog to sleep. The dog looked at me with a knowing grin that seemed to say "Gocha!"

Other slight problems arose. When, finally, the ground was partially prepared, my wife informed me she was not going to walk around the bed to carry out the trash, so, with some quick thinking, I staked out a walkway that appeared at first to be equally dividing the flower garden.

One of my many failing, I freely admit, is my inability to measure with any accuracy any item or space of any kind. I fail at measuring a three foot measuring stick. Go figure! I have purchased the best measuring tapes, electric eye devices, and still, something goes wrong. So, the walkway became a meandering strip of gravel dividing two unequal portions of a project taking on the cost overruns of a government contract.

So, with the digging done (actually purchased at a premium) I found that our local Master Gardeners were emphasizing carefully screened roses for our area to help us with our xeriscaping. I was a sucker and bought 15 of these disease resistant, pest resistant roses. One of them was a climber that survived three weeks of salt water during the hurricane Katrina. How could I go wrong with roses like this? The rest of the batch were different kinds of roses and different colors.

Next came the weed sheets. These are scientifically designed sheets of something scientifically made that cost a lot and promise to help one control weeds in their garden. Guaranteed to last for years, we tried to put these sheets down everywhere including our bathrooms and bedrooms. When one is preventing weeds, one can never be too careful. The sheets actually went down better in the house than in the back yard. Did I mention that one of the other problems we have in our area is high winds?

Now the sheets were down to prevent weeds which seem to be the only thing that grow during droughts. Next we bermed (which is a highly technical term us gardeners use for piling up mounds of dirt) the beds to reflect an artistic flair no one in our family possessed. And frankly it looked like an effort by an inartistic person to look artistic.

Finally, the beds were ready and the roses went in the ground and immediately began to die. Even the Katrina rose began to show signs it was not long for this world. I was somewhat stressed and even more distressed and more than a little depressed. All this work and expense to create a masterpiece of gardening nirvana and now it was dying before my eyes--well except for the rock walkway which the dog had developed a fondness for pooping on.

I searched the internet to find the solution and it became obvious that I was loving my roses to death. I was guilty of over-watering. I guess the concept of xeriscaping had not fully soaked in to my beady little brain. So, I started loving my roses less, watering less, and now I am the proud owner of a garden only the wealthy possess. Except, for some reason, after they have this kind of garden, they are still wealthy.

Kiosk Flying

2008-07-01T21:27:00.004-05:00

Northwestern introduced "complete" kiosk ckeck-in in Memphis Tennessee International airport. It was a fiasco--to put it mildly. I asked for the non-kiosk check-in and the lady present said, "There are none." Yes, there was a person present. I presume that Northwestern believes at a time in the near future, the woman who pushed all the screens will no longer be needed because we will all learn how to check ourselves in.

Bad idea. First, there is a certain percentage of the population (count me as one) whose anxiety level shots through the roof when I see a touch screen method of getting my boarding pass and checking in my luggage. Now this kind lady saw that I had none of the things the kiosk called for so she asked me for a credit card. I gave her my "what do you take me for--a fool" look. I was not about to allow an airline that had gone through bankruptcy to have access to my credit card. Why they might charge a fill-up on one of their 747's. I gave her my library card. She said, "Mr Chancellor, I am glad to know you are a reader, but I need something with a magnetic strip on the back." I happily turned the card over and showed her the magnetic strip. We people in Abilene are right on the cutting edge of technology. It actually worked. And up came my reservation. She walked me through the process of checking in and out came boarding passes, bag slip and it was just like being waited on by a human. Oh, wait, I was being waited on by a human with a very expensive kiosk propping her up as she waited on me.

If Northwestern thinks that I will fly enough and fly Northwestern enough to remember how to check-in on their kiosk, they are crazy. The only thing I will remember is whatever needs to be done can be done with my library card.

I will confess that when I got home, I went to the library to see if 1,000 books had been checked out on my card. I have a really low level of trust when it comes to those magnificent men in their flying machines.

Supervise Your Luggage

2008-07-01T21:07:00.005-05:00

If you travel anywhere these days and you start from the US, you will hear these words or something like them, "Federal Law requires all passengers to supervise their luggage. The alternative I have heard exchanges "supervise" with "control."

Now I am a good American and if Federal Law requires it, I will do my best to see that it is done. So, Anna and I have spent years trying to supervise/control our luggage. First, we sent our luggage to "luggage obedience school." We both were required to attend because one never knew when we would not fly as a couple. Then we had to take several supervised outings before we could be given a certificate showing our luggage and ourselves had passed obedience school.

Now, I travel with confidence because Anna and I both know how to control/supervise our luggage. I have actually added one little thing that was my own idea. I bring along a piece of chalk and outline where I put my luggage. This is important for controlling one's luggage, because while we are not watching, our luggage may shift or fall over. I will always know by the chalk dust on the outside of the bag. Smart huh! The offending bag is duly reprimanded usually in the bathroom because luggage has feelings too. I don't want to break the spirit of my luggage, I just want to gently discipline it so that we do not get in trouble over unruly bags.

The problem is I have this one duffel bag--black but highlighted in midnight blue, that constantly causes me problems. It is my favorite bag and when we have to travel internationally, it is the first one I reach for. The problem is, it is a little stinker, because it is good when with us, but at the precise moment it leaves our sight, and the airlines take over it is impossible to deal with. It takes off to destinations unknown, wrong planes, wrong cities, wrong countries. It is impossible to control or manage. It always, always ends up at our destination a few days late with the only explanation from the airlines, "the bag was delayed."

Now I know this is harsh, but I have put my favorite bag under the bed in the dark, until I can be promised it will not misbehave out of our presence. On this trip we took a trusted and tried old army duffel bag. No problem! It knows how to behave and has nary a chalk mark upon it.

If we all did our part, and did a more serious job of supervising our luggage, I am sure air travel would not be so expensive, or be so wearisome.

Airline Travel and the Amusement Park Model

2008-06-27T05:02:00.004-05:00

Apparently, airlines have decided to use amusement parks as their models of how to run airlines--into the ground. The ticket only gets you into the door and free bathrooms. Everything else costs extra.

The amusing thing about this model is that it is not amusing in amusement parks and it is certainly not amusing with the airlines. The airlines are running billions of dollars in the red and their answer to their problems is to sell you a $3.00 soft drink. Never have airport vendors had such a profitable year. Now, everyone is taking everything on board: fried chicken, soft drinks, coffee lattes, and lots and lots of bags formerly checked but now costing money to check. AA has not been joined by other airlines on the $15.00 charge for the first bag, but I can understand why they would do that. As Mike Chancellor's hands down, worst airline to fly, the $15.00 charge helps locate the bag they lost between DFW and Abilene which is a non-stop flight.

This last weekend trip went fine to Memphis. That we had to fly to St. Louis from DFW in order to get to Memphis makes no sense, but much of airlines operating policy today makes no sense. I have observed as have many others is the cheapest seats keep you in the air longer with the largest number of airports visited. Now in my world, if someone purchased a cheap ticket, I would want to get them there as soon as I could because the longer I have them, the more they cost me. That is not airline thinking(which is an oxymoron like military intelligence) Airline thinking is the cheaper the seats, the longer you keep them in the air being shuttled from airport to airport(which the last time I noticed burns valuable fuel which is why they are bazillions in the red)

Coming home from Memphis was not as fun. Perhaps it was because on the way to the airport, I made some disparaging remarks about Elvis and Graceland. One should never say ugly things about the patron saint of a city and expect to escape unscathed.

So, things went well to St. Louis. Course we were flying Northwest. At St. Louis we met up with American Airlines and the world worst planned airport with the possible except of Atlanta and Los Angeles. Going from terminal A to terminal C meant one had to leave a secure area and then re-enter through security again. The rather humorless woman who checked my boarding pass attempted to ignore me when I asked, "I thought the map in terminal A showed a secure way to get terminal C." She kept her head down and looked at my boarding pass for some reason to throw me out of the airport. I hate being ignored, so when she finished she looked up at me with that "You stupid insect" look, and I looked back at her with that "I will not move until I get a civil answer to my question." We stared each other down, and she finally cracked, "There is no way to get from one secure area to another in this airport." I replied, "Thank you." One minor victory for all the minions who fly and are treated like dirt.

When I arrived at our American gate, which is more like a holding pen than any holding pen I have ever been in, (And yes, I have been in holding pens and have the manure covered boots to show it) we joined hundreds without seats waiting on their planes of which 4/5 were late. It is an AA trademark. They are chronically late. Their pilots have a bad hair day, their planes have a bad hair day, their CEO has a bad day at work. For some reason, AA likes being late. So, most all the planes were late. When we finally boarded, this group of flight attendants had not read the memo about inflight beverage service. In fact, they had not read their memos for the last five or so years. We got pretzels and a beverage with ice. No charge.

However, when we got to Dallas, someone, a big 767 was sitting at our gate, so we decided to wait them out. It would be too much to pull into another gate (American Eagle does this with alacrity) so we sit on the tarmac until the last flight to Abilene has been scheduled to leave. They pull up to the gate, we race against hope to the gate we were told American Eagle would use. No one present. But a plane is at the gate with an engine door open. I check the monitors and sure enough, gate change for AE. We race to the gate where everyone going to Abilene is sitting quietly as the mechanic tries to fix the plane. The plane that was to depart at 8:55p.m. left at 10:00p.m. without cabin pressure and flying at 8,000 ft. at half speed. One poor misguided soul asked for a blanket. The elderly flight attendant said in her Norwegian English, "We are happy to sell you a blanket for $5.00. It comes with a nice hoody." Hoots went up through out the plane.

So we landed, I went to retrieve my one checked bag, only to find out it was not there. I went upstairs, (it is now about 11:00 p.m--arrival time was 9:45)and waited and waited to report my missing bag. The desk agent finally arrived and asked what color my bag was, and I told them it was power blue. They smiled and said, "Why, it came in on an earlier flight, we have it right here."

Welcome to Six Flags Over American Airlines!

Vacation Bible School and the Wrath of God

2008-06-26T05:50:00.007-05:00

This week is Vacation Bible School at our place.

I believe VBS is God's punishment on adults for their unconfessed sins of childhood. It is Baptist purgatory--if you will. I once did six Bible Schools in six weeks. I was a wicked, wicked child--apparently!

In the 58 years I have lived, at least 45 of those have been spent in some form of Vacation Bible School. The first 12 were as a student. It was so much fun going to two week VBSs that Mom took us to two a summer. That covered one month of boredom. Then when I got older, I was "mature" (looking back, the word was stupid)enough to help in VBS, because volunteers were catching on and dropping out like flies. No bother, energetic youth were in ready supply so VBS could go on forever-- or it just felt like that.

Now we have today and our modern incarnation of Vacation Bible School. Things have really changed. Ours is four days long. It takes the rest of the summer to get the building back in shape after four days of hellions( I mean little children eagerly wanting to learn about Jesus)in the building. And that doesn't count the damage done by the children who never grew up--usually assigned to the recreation team(shortened to Rec) for a reason. Last night the Rec crew brought water pistols to church for the activity part of the children's time outside. I just hid in a closet until 10:00 p.m. It is not that I have a deadly fear of water pistols or of guns in general, it is just that careless watering ruins my hair.

I was actually assigned the rather harmless task this year of accompanying the bus driver as we picked up kids. This is a rather benign work, unless you back over one of them, then well, you figure out what happens after that.

We had a small bus, actually a Suburban, which I don't even want to think about how much it costs to get this monster up to cruising speed. We made two trips. The first stop was five children, one of which was caught in the act of doing something with mud. I was not too alarmed about him crawling in the car since it was not my car or my child. We just brought him as he was. I knew his teachers would correct anything amiss. Sure enough when we took him home, he was only half as muddy but twice as wet, and the door prize for being good in the bus was another water pistol.

Over the years, VBS has become shorter and shorter, and the cookies have gone from being all home made to mostly store bought. The interesting thing is the children prefer that. Years ago, when we hauled out the cookies at refreshment time, the homemake cookies were examined like one would look at a cow patty. In the eyes of the child you could see, "I ain't putting this thing in my mouth, what are you trying to do, poison me!" Of course, that would seriously damage our averages, so we were not about to do that. However, they did not know that, so they reached over cookies to die for and took the store bought cookies. Looking back I can see a lot of where my extra weight came from as the years rocked on.

But, it worked out well: the children ate the store bought cookies, and the adults (already larger than life size) feasted on the homemake cookies. The cookie makers never knew the difference. It really was quite the racket, now that I think about it. No adult would ever bake cookies just because you asked them too, but for VBS, nothing was too good.

So, back to now and we are down to two nights. That is one of the other big changes. All morning schools have gone to night schools, because we are raising a smarter group of teens and they aren't buying what we are selling. Rather immune to guilt at the adolescent age, we have had to revert to the pool of adults who could be goaded into doing this for their children and their church and bringing cookies to boot.

So, I am back running the bus as shotgun. Since our theme is the old Wild West, it is appropriate that I should have this position because I don't want anyone kidnapping these precious little darlings all covered with chocolate, tempera paint, chalk, mud, and water. However, I have noticed each evening that some parents are not happy that we have delivered their children back safe and sound. I get the feeling that some parents hope we would lose their children in the shuffle. But, they can rest assured, these are the very children that will be returned safely home.

I do remember the mother(several years ago) that left her kid at Vacation Bible School until we were thinking about calling the police. It was an hour after Bible School was over, no address, no phone number, and the little bundle of joy could not remember her last name or where she lived. Being the cynic that I am, I began to suspect a plot to dump this child on the one group of people who might just not bring her home. WRONG PEOPLE!! Whether it was remorse, or thinking about consequences, or the boyfriend left, she showed up and we learned a valuable lesson. No child was ever dropped off again without a last name, a working phone number of someone on the planet, an address, finger prints, and a gentle reminder of when VBS is over. It didn't hurt that in bold bright neon shiny lights was the CPS hotline number over the registration table and an old grouch standing poised with a phone in his hand ready to dial the magic number. We usually recruited our crankiest member who didn't see the need for such foolishness in the first place, and in the second place in his day they did all this without air conditioning using two sticks and one apple between them.

This year we tried something new. We have a VBS band. Now I know that electric guitars, drums, and screaming voices sound a little unlike the wild west, but it beats shooting up the place and chasing Miss Kitty.

The VBS band is leading worship Sunday. I will be in Taiwan. I sure I can hear them from there!

The Child Formerly known as Joseph

2008-06-25T08:46:00.004-05:00

We are familiar with stars changing their birth names for artistic reasons, however, some change their birth names for other reasons. Case in point, Joe.

Joe(the oldest youngest child formerly known as Joseph) has not always been the oldest youngest or always been Joe.

I have lived the larger part of my life as a father calling Joseph Andrew Chancellor, Joseph. He wanted it that way and I wanted it that way. It was only after the child’s name was etched in stone (approved by all parties past, present, and future) I discovered that Joseph could be shortened to “Joe,” and most likely would. I was aghast. First, that I was so stupid as to saddle my son with a name what would immediately become a nickname known for just referring to anybody. And second, that I would have a son named Joe.

So, the slow war began to resist the temptation to shorten “Joseph” to “Joe.” For the first three years, it was the parent’s battle. After Joseph could speak, he made it a mission in life to be known as Joseph. He had no fear of correcting people of all ages and walks of life. “My name is Joseph,” usually went the rebuke. And it worked. Against all odds, Joseph grew up without his name being shorted to “Joe.”

Then came China and Mandarin. Apparently, “Joseph” is difficult if not impossible to pronounce in Mandarin. So, not long after Joseph moved to spend a year in China, what years of friends and strangers could not do, Mandarin Chinese accomplished. Apparently, “Joseph” in Chinese, became something like “Yosefu.” For many Chinese, it was unpronounceable. So, instead of becoming the “Yank whose name one cannot pronounce,” “Joseph” became “Joe.”

Joseph became the “oldest” youngest child around another event in his parent’s lives.

After we had fallen in love with James, it became apparent that we would need to talk with our children about adopting the 10 year old. We were in the midst of Christmas shopping by e-mail suggestions, and I just dropped the sentence, “How would you feel about being the middle child instead of the youngest?”

Joseph e-mailed back, “I will call you tonight.”

Now grown children are rather funny about matters of sex and their parents. They evolve from not knowing anything about the subject, to curiosity about how they came to be, and the difference between boys and girls. Then, as they move into adolescence developing their own sexuality, the idea their parents might have sex is revolting. I remember reading a text book for my counseling degree. The class was “Human Sexuality.” As I recall, I left the book open on the dining room table. The particular subject was social diseases and my son walked by. There were pictures. And he was grossed out. “Dad, would you close that book and put it up! One of my friends might see it.” The notion that people older than 30 might be having sex, was equally revolting–especially if these older folks are your parents.

So Joseph calls and what follows is a long distance exercise of sputtering attempts to ask a very delicate question. “Dad, I, uhhhhhh, well, I thought you and Mom, uhhhh, how could you at your age, uhhh. . .” It was rare for me to find my son speechless and sputtering so I just sat back and enjoyed the misery. He finally wound down, and I said, “We are thinking of adopting a 10 year old boy who needs a home. You mother is not pregnant except with love and a burden. Joseph relaxed and became quite the little cheerleader for our adoption. And he became the middle child.

Fast forward a couple of years and Joseph is enrolled in the Master’s program in psychology at Pepperdine University at Riverside. On one family occasion, he snuggled up to me and said, “You know this whole middle child thing has completely scarred my psyche–perhaps forever.” Being the incredibly empathetic counselor that I am, I responded, “Well, you’ll just have to get over it won’t you?”

So I have hit upon the idea of minimizing the damage by restoring Joseph (now Joe) to his former glory as the youngest child. He is just the oldest youngest. Somehow that works for me.

Something smells in BGCT Land Part II

2008-06-22T06:22:00.003-05:00

When last we left our dwindling erstwhile convention, they were being challenged by their new Executive Director to reach Texas's 11 million lost persons with a simple, understandable witness, and meet the human needs within our state.

This blog explores our part in the challenge of sharing Christ with the lost in our state. Let me simply proceed along three lines: our churches; ourselves; our convention.

If we were to witness in simple ways to 11 million lost in our state, one would expect many of those persons to seek a church where they could grow up in Christ. We might have a slight problem here. Many Texas Baptist churches are not really ready for an influx of new Christians. There is space, but not room.

Too many church are not healthy enough to have new spiritual children in their midst. In fact a cynic's view of Texas Baptist Churches is that large numbers of them are either settling in a new pastor; growing discontented with the pastor they have; actively attempting to run off the resident pastor; and/or fighting amongst themselves. What a great environment in which to bring a new Christian.

Additionally, many of our churches are self-focused (hence the continuing worship wars) and really find themselves very uncomfortable with strangers. Overgrown with power structures that have been in place for years, such churches are actually hostile to outsiders. But they are being counted as resources for the challenge.

Too many pastors and ministry families are not spiritually healthy enough. We still have an unchecked stream of men and women leaving ministry because they are tired of being beat up, beat down, argued with, and generally disrespected. Add to that, personal moral failure and continuing church conflict, and these are the front line leaders we are depending on to lead the charge.

Church members are on board theoretically, but practically, most don't have the time or the will to set out to be a part of reaching either goal. Our million Baptists is quickly dwindling into a smaller and smaller group.

And then there is the State Convention. What smells in BGCT land is this grand challenge at this time. In less than three years, we are going to pray, sell, mobilize, educate and do these two great challenges. In my life as a Texas Baptist, such great challenges usually took about a year to plan, a year to get the churches ready, and a year or more to conduct the emphasis. Those were the good years when we liked each other and worked together. Those times are not now.

That is what smells. We have a big crack in our Baptist foundation and we are going to paper over it with sounding the challenge around two cherished themes (one more cherished than another): evangelism and human caring. Honestly, these are days of low trust between us and low trust between pastors, churches and the BGCT. It seems we will try anything but face this mistrust issue head on.
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In my reading of great moves of evangelism, it seems to me such efforts have always come as a result of a mighty move of God within the church--first! That makes sense. If the church is not spiritual healthy, spiritually refreshed, in love with Jesus and holy living, any disciples we would train would be two and three times as much sons/daughters of hell as we are. Thank you but I think we have enough of that. Remember "1 million more in '54". If you don't, one wit put it this way, "A million more like we got in '54 and we will be out of business."

In fact, this whole challenge thing has the cart wrong way around. The natural out flow of the inrush of the Holy Spirit into the fellowship of the church is evangelism and compassion. It has always been and shall always be. The fact is that we are more in Acts 1 than 2. We are more saturated and mired in "what's in it for us" than people with bold kingdom hearts. In fact, in the life of many Baptist churches pastors and people have hearts that are two sizes two small for the world in which we live.

So, we are we to do with this bold challenge? I would suggest we set a goal of having our churches more healthy by 2010 so that we are ready for reaching more than 11 million people with the simple gospel. We don't need to put off the second part of the great challenge. Getting one's hands dirty in the mud of human need has a way of softening the heart that pictures and videos cannot do.

Our Convention aught to lead the way with repenting and asking for forgiveness for what has happened over the last 8-10 years. Doesn't revival begin, always begin, when God's people begin to humble themselves and pray and seek the face of God and turn from our wicked ways? Then let our BGCT leaders show us up close and personal what that looks like. It can be a non-showy, sincere, model of Biblical repentance.

You see, that is what smells in BGCT land. I think we are rushing to a great work, in order to refocus our attention away from what has been left undone. To invoke the name of God to cover one's unconfessed sins borders on, if not in fact is-- presumption!

Something smells in BGCT Land Part 1

2008-06-19T17:24:00.007-05:00

While Yisrayl Hawkins, head of the House of Yahweh religious sect in Abilene, was proclaiming the end of the world, Dr. Randel Everett was issuing a bold challenge to Baptists of the Baptist General Convention of Texas. As I understand it, by 2010, Dr. Everett wants Texas Baptists to have communicated the Gospel in a way that every person in Texas who is not a Christian (11 million) can understand. And, have reached out to assess and respond to the human suffering of those in Texas that are poor and without the basics of life.

I understand why Hawkins wants the end of the world to come, for he is most likely going to jail. The date has come and gone and we are still here. So, once again, the cult leader has been proven wrong, but still folks will look past his false prophecies and continue to follow him.

Dr. Everett's challenge is not a prophecy, just a challenge, but an interesting challenge none the less. Many have extolled the breath of this vision as being-- well visionary. But I must ask, why this, why now?

I am not opposed to either goal. As poorly as we do evangelism, our church has 6 waiting baptism--three of them Hispanic. As to goal 2, our small congregation gives thousands of dollars of food out each year through our food pantry free to those in need. In addition, through the Angel Food Network, we have assisted families across the Big Country buy affordable food for themselves and their families. Added to that, this ministry has allowed us to give away thousands of dollars worth of food to flood victims, returning soldiers, and families in crisis. Recently, we added a volunteer who has retired from the Department of Human Services after 30 years of God called service. Her responsibility is community ministries and she has come to our church for such a time as this for helping us identify and respond to social needs. Already in less than a year, thousands of dollars have been given to people for prescription medications, rent assistance, utility help, and basic life needs. Our Texas Baptist Offering for World Hunger has not only been something we contribute to, but something that comes back to us in the form of a grant to help our social ministries programs in 2009.

Why now? Why this? Crescent Heights is a transitional church. That simply means we find ourselves where hundreds of church across Texas find themselves: the neighborhood is changing and our church as we knew it is dying. Everything we have tried for the last 40 years has not worked, or worked long. The dying has been slow and frustrating. With this transitioning, has come a painful transitioning in the budget. Fewer people, fewer dollars. But you wouldn't know it by what we attempt each year. This year our frustration took a turn that has proven interesting. Following the lead of Henry Blackaby (What the Spirit is Saying to the Churches) we have divided our budget into two categories: what we think we can provide through tithes and offerings; what we need God to provide. For the first time in a long while, our budget is on track with nearly all our mission commitments honored from the first of the year. All of this by praying for God to provide His part as we provide our part.

Now, such an approach strikes me as a way of thinking about this Bold Challenge of Dr. Everett's. However, when I think in those terms, I believe Texas Baptists may be bordering on presumption.

There is no doubt that God could bring the whole state to Himself without our puny help if He so chooses. There is no doubt that Biblically, God wants all of Texas to hear about Him and come to Him. There is no doubt that God grieves whenever a child goes to bed hungry in Texas, without the basic needs of life met. There is no doubt about any of this.

I don't believe there is any reluctance on the part of God to do what God has been doing for hundreds and thousands of years. So what are my reservations?

They actually run along several lines all having to do with this paradigm of our part, God's part. I am not saying this is the only way to think about something like this, but it is a way to get a handle on such a sweeping challenge.

First, our part. We are perfectly able right now to undertake part II of this bold challenge, except for one slight problem. Many of our Baptists don't have the heart for it. Our hearts are not broken but incensed at the poor. The poor combine all the groups we don't like as God-fearing Christians: those people that don't belong here; the mentally ill; and those who won't/can't work for a living. That is why we continually elect legislators who underfund Human Services to a damnable degree every time they meet. Only when they are driven by the courts or the courts of public opinion, does change finally come, and then it is with the foot dragging and grumbling of an obstinate teenager.

O.K. let's think about our part on the First Part: sharing Christ with 11 million unbelievers in Texas. Let me phrase these in terms of challenges not obsticles.

First, there is the challenge of culture. Over 100 different languages are spoken in Texas. I believe, we have small but vital works in most of these language groups. Some of these churches are more vital and alive than the English speaking churches that gave them birth. However, at least one ethnic group is a formidable challenge for several reasons. Hispanics now comprise over 40% of the Texas population. Not all of them are limited to Spanish, but many are. Basically, we are asking our Hispanic Baptist people to reach 40% of Texas. We can throw in a token amount of Anglos who understand the language and the culture, but mostly Hispanic Baptists are on their own. While work with and by Hispanic Baptists is old, it is still weak and uneven, with not enough good leadership to go around. 40% of Texas!

This doesn't even begin to address the other cultures of which we are less familiar.

Then there is religion. Sharing Christ in an understandable way is more than just going through the words. 100 language groups means a variety of religious experiences many of which have no real experience with Scripture or the concept of sin and the Savior. Communicating Christ in an understandable way to a Buddhist, or a Muslim, is not the same as sharing Christ with someone who has never been in church. Texas is now home to the religions of the world, and the home grown cultic religions of the United States. Can God break through and bring understanding--YES! But, this has never really been about God. The work of God is never about the willingness or the ability of God. The Work of God is always a saga about the willingness and the ability of people to be obedient: obedient to the will of God to do the work of God.

So, at this point, I think, we have ever so slight a problem.

Names are everything

2008-06-19T05:00:00.002-05:00

Getting pregnant is fun.

Naming the baby after you have had your fun is not. It is one of the great, tortuous activities any marriage can experience and hopefully survive.

There is a reason why women are pregnant for 9 months. It takes that long for husband, wife, in-laws, and close friends to approve of what this little bundle of joy will be called. And then after all that work, baby gets a nickname.

Anna and I began our quest for the perfect name by purchasing books of names. This was before the internet, computers, or the advent of couples putting thought into the names of the children. Somehow, Chastity, Heather, Chad, and other names like that, left us cold.

My desire was to name my children with two goals in mind: First, I wanted to name my child something grand. So, I looked to the theologians I was reading and I noticed that anyone of note had three names before the last name. There was John R.W. Stott; D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones. Anna promptly vetoed that idea. She felt making our child fill out government forms the rest of their lives with such legal names would be a burden too great to bear.

More than that, those long names were probably family heirlooms, and looking back into our family, things were pretty sparse. My dad was named "J.L." That's all. Nothing else. Apparently during the depression his parents were too poor to afford a proper name. Imagine going through the Marines with your dogtag saying "J(only)L(only)Chancellor". It would not be long before he was called "Jonly Lonly Chancellor." So, back another generation and we picked up "Pickens." That was my grandfather's name and it always sounded too much like something else as in, "What is he doing?" "He's pickens his nose."

Anna's side was not much better. "Barnhill" was pretty much a non-starter for me. Naming your child "Barnhill" is what gets you murdered in your bed. A good attorney could get the kid off for that offense, as well they should.

So, that idea was vetoed. The next was not.

The other criteria I had was that what ever we named our child, it had to scream well.

I believe in "total depravity" and I believe we see it best in our children. There is not anything a child will not do, try, taste, or say. So, occasionally it becomes necessary to raise one's voice with emphasis. Years ago we called it screaming. I did not want to give my child a name that would not scream well. I had noticed the only time my middle name was ever used was when I was in trouble and being screamed at.(With three boys, that happened a lot--which may be where my hearing loss first started)

So, bottom line, I wanted names that I would not trip over when I needed to raise my voice with emphasis. Little did we know that we would have two boys, and such an endeavor would occasionally be necessary in the rarest of situations.

I won that argument. They are not grand names, but they do scream well. In marriage, 50% is always a win.

Stream of consciousness

2008-06-18T11:09:00.003-05:00

My oldest youngest son told me yesterday my blog resembles a style of writing called "steam of consciousness." Apparently, people who write in this style go on and on with sparse use of punctuation or the rules of English.

I can live with that. After all, it is my blog, and I can write any way I want to. After all, no one is going to read it but him. It is like writing a diary and hiding it in plain sight. It's cool.

The truth is that my writing is like my life: a stream that runs where it will, when it will. I don't know that I would acknowledge to always being conscious during the process, but on life went anyway.

The fun thing about my thoughts is I never know where they will take me or where I will end up. But, that is all right, because I am not writing the great American novel--I've given up on that--it could be this stream of consciousness thing.

I have spent my life learning to follow the rules and to live by grace. Most folks call this a paradox. I call it silly. On the one hand, rules matter, on the other hand, grace trumps everything.

So, in this blog, how ever it comes out, wherever it ends up, however it sounds, it is because it is a stream, and most of the time, I am conscious.

Flying on a Lie

2008-06-18T10:49:00.006-05:00

You do know that every time you get on a plane since 9/11 your luggage and only your luggage is supposed to be on the plane. I know because I have sat on the tarmac while the luggage hold was searched for some luggage of a person who did not make their connecting flight. No passenger--no luggage.

You also know we are experiencing one of the worst years on record for customer satisfaction, on time arrivals, and bags arriving with the passengers at their destination.

Now, think about this. I do because when the airline--any airline takes hold of my luggage, they misdirect it. Somewhere on the bag are specific instructions--misdirect this bag. It has gotten so bad when we left Prague, they sent my bag to Addison International Airport, Addison, Texas. The last time I checked, there was no international passenger service at Addison, but my bag went there, and languished there until someone realized it should not be there. It only took five days to catch up with me. Fortunately, we were at home.

Here is the question. If you can only travel with your bags, and no passenger, no bags, what happens to all the misdirected bags the airlines send to the wrong place every day? How do they get back to their owners? Do the airlines send them by FedEx?

Or, which is more likely, am I sitting on top of someone else's misdirected bag which means someone is sitting on top of my misdirected bag? Yep, you got it.

Now, our struggling airlines are going to charge us extra to mistreat our bags, shatter the contents,and send them to the wrong place.

Another service that was once free!

Packing My Bags Yet Again

2008-06-18T10:16:00.004-05:00

Yesterday, I was speaking to my oldest youngest son about our upcoming trip to Taiwan to meet the future in-laws. It seems it is customary to take lots and lots of gifts to the family and in turn they will spend boat loads of money hosting us. Don't you just love cultures? They offer a thousand different ways to look the fool, in languages you don't understand so they can talk about what a buffoon you are to your face all the while smiling like they like you.

If this sounds like personal experience, it is. It is not by choice that I have found myself the world traveler that I have come to be. In fact, my international traveling is proof positive that God has a great sense of humor--kind of like when you look at a giraffe.

I have no language skills, my luggage is uncontrollable, and I have been known to get lost in my own neighborhood. So, doesn't that sound like the makings of a world traveler? I am not a dietary adventurer, and prefer to eat only what I can recognize and what does not offend the nose. My nose goes with me everywhere and is easily offended by smell, and my mouth by texture. When out with English speaking folks in other cultures, I have learned the direct approach is best. "Go on Mike (Dad) try it, it won't hurt you." To which I have learned to say, "If you want to see me throw up all over this table, push that one inch closer!" The results are amazing.

I remember being in Lejuine, China, around an electric hotplate for "hotpot." I came to refer to it as "death in the pot." It seems the local custom is one gathers with one's friends around this hotplate with a boiling chicken broth in a cast iron pot. Then with menus in hand,members of the group decide what one wants in the pot. There are luscious things like rooster combs, chicken feet, and tree fungus. Being the simple man that I am, I vetoed the feet and combs, but stuck with the tree fungus. I noticed that a part of the ritual was alcohol for everyone in generous portions. There have been few times that I have envied the drinker, but I suspected that this was a dish that went better with being swashing drunk. It also helped if you had to go to the bathroom, which was a squattie. For you unfamiliar with such devices, they are quite simple. There is a hole in the ground that you have a variety of opportunities to hit. Most don't. So, going to the bathroom is really a great appetizer for an unappetizing supper. It will take your appetite away. Problem solved at both ends.

So, this week I go shopping for gifts to pack in my luggage which will magically disappear once it leaves my hands. If we are lucky, our luggage will show up some time during our stay in Taiwan. If not, all the gifts are mine--which is a great incentive to shop wisely.

Heroes of the Week

2008-06-18T09:09:00.003-05:00

In the Baptist Building, there are men and women who have worked through the "Middle Ages of Spiritual Darkness" that accompanied the last failed administration. Most of them showed up with the right attitude, the right spirit, never losing sight of what was really important. They are my heroes.

In every large organization one has his personal favorites--his pet causes--and I have mine. Very close to my heart is Christian Education. I guess because I was turned in the right direction by a Baptist College. While I served on the Theological Education Committee, I saw the figures that indicated that 44% of persons headed to ministry and missions across the whole SBC came through our 8 institutions. I know Dr. Bruce must had been deeply frustrated at the extravagance with which the last administration burned through money with nothing to show for it. A million here and there could have really helped a lot of our 27 institutions.

I also love the Christian Life Commission. Chronically underfunded, my personal favorites of their job description is lobbying in Austin for those who have no voice, and the Texas Baptist Offering for World Hunger. (As an aside, I can just see Governor Pretty Hair announcing his re-election bid in the middle of the ashes of the Governor's home--sort of a metaphor of what he had done to Texas.) This Commission was almost "assimilated" during the last "mis-organization." But it did survive. A few million would have really helped in this area.

And then there is the area that does not exist any more: the Minister's Counseling. The first mis-step was calling it at some point "Counseling and Psychological Services." That pretty much killed it for a lot of folks seeking help. Even at this late date, many of our conservative pastors don't believe in "psychology." Following the adage, "What can you tell a Baptist?" "Not much." Far too many pastors are still suspicious of "psychology." Anyone really competent in working with ministry families in Texas would have known that! Things sort of went downhill from there, and now we are at the point of "outsourcing" this service.

I have this running conversation in my mind about that:
The phone rings in Calcutta and is answered by "Ben," which is short for Bensharaninisishahistan. At the other end is a distraught pastor who is turning to his state convention for help. Ben speaks in that nice, clipped, British, English accent that we have come to recognize as the sound of "outsourcing."

"Ben, I need help, my wife has just left me. . " To which he is cut off.
"Sorry, John, I am not equipped to help you but give me your zip code and I shall give you great help!"

"Well, my zip code is *****."
"Sorry, John, no counselor in your area. John, I can offer you one other option. John, Kit Kat bar has great bartender good listener. John, instructions say come between 2 and 4, sit at dark end of the bar. John, ask for a large Coke Light with a shot of Ginger Ale. This drink is horrible and will tell who you are. John,you can tell your problems to him. John, park in back. If listening doesn't help, John, he will switch you over to Vodka and see that you are dumped in front of your house. Your car will be hauled away and windows smashed to give evidence for your story of being kidnapped by aliens. Do you understand, John? Call back if you need more help, John. My name is Ben and I have enjoyed serving you today."

Doesn't that just make you feel warm and fuzzy all over?

Baptist Building employees, know that you are loved and appreciated and that perhaps what lies ahead will be better than the darkness through which you have moved. You are true survivors--and I don't use that word lightly.

"It was a dark and stormy night"

2008-06-17T08:42:00.004-05:00

Those of you who are "Peanut" fans will recognize the title as the first line of the book Snoopy would start writing on his doghouse.

Sunday was not a dark and stormy night but it was Father's Day. Now, I have always had a love-hate relationship with Father's Day as have many men. First, I think I am jealous of the attention that is paid to the women in my life on Mother's Day. They get taken out to eat, preacher always extol them in sermons, and gifts, they get such gifts and flowers as to be shameless in their excess.

Then Father's Day comes along, and its like opening a "past sell date" bottle of pop. There is no fizz and no sizzle. For years, I got the mandatory tie that often glowed in the dark. I only know of one local funeral director who would wear such a tie and only if it had a semi-nude girl on it. I thought that when I died, I would ask the presiding funeral director (not the one with the semi-nude tie) to put all those ties at my feet, so that no other man would risk receiving such a thing. But time passed and largely Father's Day was sort of another day with just a touch of fizz to let me know I was appreciated in a semi-fizzle sort of way.

I also join a host of other father's who feel guilty about their presence and perhaps their lack of presence when their children were growing up. For me, I was gone a lot, and in the second church worked six days a week, early morning till late at night. I was not there as I should have been. I made adjustments, and was more present, but still not like I should have been. So the gaudy, garish tie was a commentary to me on my fathering. So, Father's Day is both envy and guilt--what a day to look forward to!

In my older years, I have grown, I hope, a little wiser.

For the problem of envy, I started shopping for myself on Father's Day. This year,Father's Day started with a new sport's jacket, three new shirts, and a beautiful tie. I might be buried in it, not on it, if that time comes soon.

For the problem of guilt, I sit back and listen to my children. It helps more than they will ever know. Last year the whole flock, brood, herd,(whatever one calls such a group)was home and it was the best Father's Day ever. The grandchildren peed in my bed, we laughed and had fun, and cooked outdoors and it was super.

This year, it was just the three of us,(Anna, myself, and the youngest youngest child) but it was good. The oldest son called. He works several jobs but mainly he is a police officer. It is always good to hear from my children. The oldest youngest child called and sent presents: hence the title of this blog.

Joe(the child formerly known as Joseph and formerly the only youngest child)had sent his mother a hand decorated mug for Mother's Day. Joseph is an artist and a wonderful cartoonist. So, he sent his mother a huge mug with a black and white caricature of them on it. This year on Father's Day, I GOT A COLOR mug with a caricature on it! As we say in my family as one sticks one's tongue out, "Nanny, Nanny, boo, boo." It is usually followed by something like, "My gift is best!" So much for the envy.

However, the handle was broken, but the caricature was priceless. Joe has his arm draped over my shoulder in a male token of affection, while, when you turn the mug around, he is lifting my wallet.

Now, Joseph and I have always (until the last few years)had a stormy relationship. Everyone says it is because we are so much alike. I beg to differ. I think it is because he is so much darn smarter than I am that it brings out the worst in me. Before the words are even on my lips, he has anticipated them, and spoken the rebuttal. So many of our discussions were not discussions, but rather me sputtering, "But, but,but, but wait just a moment, slow down!"

However, this picture on the mug, brings back an ongoing conversation that Joseph and I had across the years of his youth. He would ask for money, I would say, "Where am I going to get that kind of money? Do you think I have a tree in the back yard that I go out and pick dollar bills off of?" To which he would reply, "Show me the tree and I can do it myself!" So, Joseph began to ask for money like this, "Dad, you know that tree in the back yard?" To which I would say, "What tree?" To which he would reply, "You know, the tree that grows money! Well, I need a little off it."

Fast forward a few years and Joseph is in Chiang Mai, Thailand and he has miscalculated his bank balance, so from half way around the world, Joseph(name change has not happened yet) I get this short e-mail: "Dad, have miscalculated my bank balance, am out of money, can you deposit some money in my account till I get paid."

Now I have to tell you that such a message could have said several things and not cut to the heart as deeply as that note. It could have read, "Being held by a band of renegade mobsters with low monetary expectations, please put $50 in my account for ransom. All I could see was my poor child homeless on the streets, half way around the world starving to death. Quite the opposite, he had a nice bachelor pad, transportation and a world of really cheap food. But, that was the note. So, I rush out and put some money in his account, and send the following message back, "Have gone out into the back yard and picked off a couple of leaves, you are safe for now!"

The response I get back is one sentence,(did I mention he was the IT guy for his office) "Thanks Dad, is that tree still alive?"

So, the mug tells the story. At the bottom of his box were two "Peanuts" books that he had found out shopping. He wanted me to have them for all the ones he and his brother destroyed. Enclosed was a deeply touching note(the best part) and what was left of the mug handle.

Then, in irony of ironies, James and his mother bought me a wallet with gift card in it. I had the fleeting thought, "I am so glad Joe is half a continent away!" But frankly, he is well past those years and the money now flows the other way.

So, it wasn't a dark and stormy night, it was a wonderful Father's Day. "Nanny, Nanny, Boo, Boo!"

The BGCT and the worm in the Apple

2008-06-17T07:04:00.005-05:00

There is a worm in the apple from yesterday's post.

This money did not start out as our money. It was God's money. The misuse of God's money is called "robbing God." (Malachi 3:8)

I find, for me, at least two times in Scripture that parallel our times in the BGCT.

The most obvious time is the time of Nehemiah who came to be given an awesome task. Years of petty infighting, enemies outside and within, and weak leadership had left the remnant paralyzed and defeated sitting on the very land that a once great city and temple had stood. While conventions are not mentioned in the Bible, they could be see as a quasi-nation. Called into existence for the purpose of glorifying God, and doing His work at home and around the world. God as Sovereign, Scripture as truth being our guide, we join together for this great task. What happens when a convention, once great, having lost its way, sits in the rubble of the past?

The second time was the time of Josiah (II Kings 22) Again, years of bad leadership had taken its toll. The very nation whose existence was for the praise and glory of God had so lost its way it was like all the other nations around it--only worse. How could they be worse? Surely they were not as brutal, as corrupt, as heathen as the nations that surrounded and conquered them? Yet, they were worse because the nations around them were doing exactly what they committed to do. Judah did not. She was rotten to the core. And then Josiah found the scrolls of the law.

What do these incidents have to do with the BGCT? Before we can ask for one another's forgiveness, we have to ask God for His. After all, it was His money set aside, His money sent to Dallas, His money siphoned off and squandered for purposes other than what they were intended. In other words, while there has been a breach of trust with Baptists of the BGCT, there has been a great breach of trust between the BGCT and God. Woops! That is the worm in the apple.

There are two different but similar approaches that Nehemiah and Josiah took.

Nehemiah repaired then called the people together for a festival of the Word of God. Why did he do this when so much time had already been lost? Perhaps it is that Nehemiah learned by spiritual instinct what we come to see later articulated in the Word of God. Ephesians 5:26 uses the analogy of "cleansing her (the Bride of Christ--the church)by the the washing with water through the word. . ." So Nehemiah calls the people together for a festival of the Word of God. From daybreak until noon Scripture tells us that Ezra and the priests read the Law and the people cried. Why did they cry? Because they were inwardly being washed by the Word. Guilt and rebellion and sins of every description were being washed away in the flood that only comes from the Water of the Word. When a nation or convention betrays the Lord, by misusing His money, betraying His trust, disregarding His Word, and basically betraying their spiritual charter, the only way back is for God to wash us clean through the Word of God.

But Josiah had another approach, similar but different. Josiah called the leaders of the nation together (II Kings 23) and renewed the covenant with God. It was a moving time of confession and repentance that signaled his intention to lead the people rightly.

So, in my previous post, I stand by what I said, but first, we have to deal with God. We all have to deal with God. Every leader for the past eight years collectively has to move through a time of renewal and repentance.

After all, it was all His, and remains so; misused as it was.

The BGCT and the world of Tomorrow

2008-06-16T15:54:00.005-05:00

Although an obscure blog, the invitation to receive any information about outstanding fiscal improprieties has not been taken. So, I will move on. But how shall we trust a convention that has so blatantly betrayed the trust of the people it was created to serve and channel important gifts to entities congregations and pastors support?

For pastors and churches, I would say, "Go slowly and cautiously!" The problem with corruption and incompetence is that it takes root quickly and is rooted out slowly. I have no doubt the BGCT has some distance to go before it is completely trustworthy again. Years of fiscal responsibility have been wrecked by a "Middle Ages" of dark misuse of God's money. Slowly proceed, and slowly trust.

For the administrative employees of the BGCT, this fiasco is not of your making but you knew about it when you came to the position. No whining about mistrust! What the churches and pastors of Texas have experienced is a supreme betrayal by the least likely entity--their own convention. There are those of us who risked much to keep Texas from the grip of fundamentalism. It was a joint effort. Now those who were trusted and elected and paid to served betrayed the leadership of churches and the churches themselves. If you do your job well, live transparently, tirelessly work at building relationships damaged or destroyed by the last administration, then you will see fruit. I am afraid I remain skeptical of the new emphasis because I don't think there has been repentance.

I believe the leadership(paid and elected)should release an apology that runs something like this: "We recognize that we have all come through a difficult time that has brought division within the camp. We also recognize that some of that division was our fault for allowing monies entrusted to us to be diverted and perverted for other causes. We stand before you to ask your forgiveness. We stand before you to pledge that on our watch such things will not happen again. As much as is humanly possible, we will vigilantly guard each gift as a sacred trust and it will go where it was intended for the purposes for which it was intended. With your forgiveness, we will move forward. With your forgiveness, we will do our part to rebuild trust and unity. With your forgiveness, we will pray together to ask God to once again bless our efforts and endeavors."

To the elected leadership and the Executive Board, I would say, "Lead and govern!!" It is sad that you were elected to govern during an administration that could not be trusted, but you were elected and you accepted. So, on your watch, you allowed corruption and perhaps even graft and surely incompetence to continue unabated. That is not good enough. You are the ones that carry fiduciary responsibility for all the monies entrusted to the BGCT. You must make the paid staff account for every penny. And, no excuses. Be deliberate and skeptical and meticulous of everything until this administration has shown themselves worthy of trust and confidence. Let your guide be transparency. Let no question be unanswered or squelched. You are elected to govern, then govern!!"

To Texas Baptist Committed, I would say that your inaction because of your wide influence has cost Texas Baptists millions. You knew early on a bad choice had been made and yet TBC Board continued to prop up a mediocre (at best) regime. All the time they were burning though money faster than a contractor in Iraq. The only problem was this was not tax dollars, this was God's money. You allowed an administration to lie to pastors, to churches, to elected leadership, to its own employees, to its Executive Board, and I guess ultimately to God. You cannot escape some of the responsibility for what happened during the Dark ages of this convention. You must decide that incompetence and corruption are as large an influence for evil as is fundamentalism. So, if we are going to move forward, TBC needs to regain some trust throughout the state that has been lost through inaction and cronyism.

If I sound harsh, it is because I have watched a convention that started my ministry become something I neither recognized, trusted, or looked at with pride. All my pleas and all my efforts to get answers were rebuffed, redirected, or passed off as just an old sore head. Now, we are about $30,000,000.00 down and counting. This was God's money and at this point we have no idea where $27,000,000.00 went.

I have a single, pensioned, childless widow in our church who walked with pain and a cane. She is faithful in Sunday School and church. She lives in a modest home yet is always faithful to give. When I think of how she struggles to live during these days, I am furious at how our gifts and tithes to God were wasted.

So, Dr. Everett, you want to reach Texas for Christ by 2010? You would be wise to have us all with you because we trust you and our churches trust you. For me, I am not there yet!

So, from one Texas Baptist, that is the shape of the BGCT and world of today. What is done now, for me, will shape my relationship with the BGCT and the world of tomorrow

The BGCT and its Phobia of Fundamentalism

2008-06-11T08:50:00.006-05:00

When one survives the big "C" as some of us have done, there is often an interesting reaction that plays out in some folks. Some get hyper-vigilant and afraid. Every change in their body, every change in their fluids, every change, may mean a return of the dreaded disease. So, they worry, they fret, and they may worry their physicians.

Other folks look on survival as the end of a successful war campaign. The battle is over, they have won, now on to other things. They ignore signs and new symptoms, they miss their checkups, they get on with their lives often with tragic results. The cancer rebounds with a vengeance.

So, which is the BGCT? The title would seem to indicate the former while my experience says that some are very much the latter.

I believe the BGCT does have a phobia about fundamentalism. It is fueled in some measure by Texas Baptist Committed that despite all its talk of "free and faithful Baptists," I have found at points we are neither "free" nor "faithful." In order to protect the right to be different, we have to curtail the rights of some who are different. That may not make sense, but look at our whole world-wide discussion of immigration issues. Countries are becoming less free in order to protect the freedoms of those whose liberty is "being" threatened.

So, "free and faithful" has a look about it. If you are an "inerrantist"(my word processing dictionary tells me I cannot even spell the word) you are suspect. If you hold strong views of creation vs. evolution weighing down on the anti-evolution side, you are suspect. In fact, if you don't fall within a preset narrow range of views, you may be a fundamentalist. Following the dictum: "if it walks like a duck, smells like a duck. . ." And after all, it is better to be safe than sorry. So, we cut them off and tell them they have a convention go there. It reminds me of a Hispanic man who came to see me in my former church. He began the conversation with, "You don't know how hard it is for me to walk into this church." I asked why. He said, "I got saved and just wanted to worship the Lord so I went to the biggest Baptist church in town thinking I could worship there. They told me, "You have a church across town, go there!"

Such is the phobia of the BGCT. The memory of the wars, the battles, the tensions, the pressures, all haunt some of us older folks, and we had rather have less, than return to those days. The only problem is that we really don't have a lot to talk about or discuss if we all hold the same views. Perhaps that is the one thing the last administration figured out. We had become so homogeneous we could sweep away everyone but a disoriented Executive Board who hadn't learn to watch for the slight of hands about everything.

But, then there are others who believe the battle is over. The only problem is that SWBTS is turning out far more graduates( or disciples) if you please than the BGCT. And I am sorry to say, some of these graduates share a common trait. They are so convinced that doctrinal purity is foremost in the heart of God, they will lie to achieve their ends. Now, I kind of think a lying pastor, or youth minister can undercut one's ministry, but apparently, fundamentalism does not. It is the cause, not the methods that matter.

I believe there is a way to move forward without fear, without letting our guard down, and frankly without demeaning "tokenism." If (as is often said) fundamentalism is more a state of mind and a way of looking at the world, why do we continue to punish those whose opinions and loyalties vary from our own. Right now, at this very moment, even as I write, I correspond and help IMB missionaries who look to me for spiritual counsel and psychological counsel. I also volunteer my time with CBF to be one of their Member Care team(as does my wife) providing free counseling and support services for CBF missionaries overseas. We love our work and God continues to send us opportunities.

Isn't the Baptist Way, the way of furious discussion, open debate, consensus and compromise? Then why are we not sifting for that instead of checking personal views. With over 3,000 churches in 3,000 different situations, it is about time we started talking to each other about the issues that face our churches and building alliances to address those problems and issues. Frankly, I don't care if the Baptist pastor down the street is an inerrantist(he is) what I care about is that he loves Jesus, tries to support the Texas Cooperative Program, and has a heart for the neighborhood that is beating us all.

I don't go to meeting much and it is not the high price of gas. We all look alike, talk alike, and really have nothing to say to each other unless we talk about our families and what is going on with them. How very, very foolish to have it come to this.

One final note which I am sure I will live to regret. If you have solid, information about more financial maleficence in the BGCT, you are free to forward it on to me. No rumors, no punitive agendas. Solid facts and information. Why would I do this? For 34 years, I have pastored churches and done my part in the BGCT. I cannot add up how much money has gone from the churches I have served through and to the BGCT. If my folk's dollars have been more misused than already exposed, I want to know about it. I also don't ever want this to be repeated.

My Hero of the Week

2008-06-09T20:29:00.005-05:00

You know those letters you never, never want to get from the IRS? I got one last week, after I got my "stimulating" letter. This letter was not stimulating except in a bad way.

I have only gotten three of these letters in my adult life. Each is etched in my mind. The first came shortly after I came to Abilene. It noted that I had declared some farm income on which I had not paid taxes.

I scratched my head. I have, over the years, enjoyed my yard, but anything I would do would not rise to the level of calling it a farm. So, off I go to the filing cabinet and pull my return. It did not take long to spot the error. There was not place on the social security form to declare the fair rental value of my house for social security tax purposes. So, I scratched out a line and replaced it with neatly written words, "Fair rental value of parsonage." Well, the amount I put down was picked up and the words I had scratched out was "profit made from farm." Or, something to that affect.

So, I get to call the IRS and explain to them that I have never owned a farm and frankly have never known a farmer who said they made a profit. We got that straightened out after I wrote a letter explaining how I did not acquire a farm during the previous taxable year and how it didn't make a profit because I didn't have a farm to begin with. What I did have(really occupied)was a parsonage and I was making an honest effort to declare its fair rental value.

My second letter came the year after we adopted James. It noted simply that Jame's social security number did not exist so send them boatloads of money. I panicked. I don't own a boat and certainly could not fill it with money. If pennies would work, I could possibly fill up a small children's bathtub dingy, but beyond that, nothing.

I called the IRS again. There was no such social security number. I rummaged through all the paperwork I could find (and there were tons) and the one social security card I could find had been copied so many times all one could make out was a dark spot on one side of one page. The lady at the other end said, "Mr. Chancellor, we will work this out, take a deep breath, let it out, take another deep breath, let it out." She gave me the procedure--which always involves writing a letter and twelve weeks to process, all the while you are getting these increasingly threatening letters from the IRS. I was told to ignore them. But I ask you, when they promise to take all your money, your family, and do unspeakable things to your body, how can you ignore such letters?

Last week was the third letter. It seemed I had made no quarterly payments and therefore I owed the IRS(that is you and me buddy!) more money than I care to write down. I puzzle, I ponder, I panic. So, I pick up the phone and I get Mrs. Tucker. Mrs. Tucker had the misfortune of getting me in the rotation. I try(without hyperventilating) to explain the letter, and having previously pulled up my return I found the problem. I had written the right amount on the wrong line. It appeared on the line below where it should have appeared.

Now our tax return is about a half a ream of paper because my wife and I do counseling in addition to my pastoring. She makes money, I do not. However, the paperwork is enormous. I am glad I came along after the "Paperwork reduction Act," or I would send my return by truck. I also use a tax program that I have grown to love because, well, it helps with the countless hundreds of pieces of junk that goes into filing our return. However, this year, the right amount got put on the wrong line.

I don't know if you have ever had nothing to do and counted the lines on an average tax return but there are a few hundred, most of which don't make sense. "Put in $1800 on line 26. On line 26A put in a round number from one to a thousand. On line 26a, put in another number. On line 26aa break your pencil in half, etc." So the right amount on the wrong line equals nothing. The money one paid in does not exist. It vanishes from the vision and records of the IRS.

I start breathing like I was coached to teach Anna how to breath during our Lamaze classes. And then I begin my story. Mrs. Tucker says, "Well, Mr. Chancellor, let's take a look." Her voice was soothing and encouraging. She comes back and says, "I see the statement you were sent and it says you paid no quarterly payments." To which I respond, "Can you look at the return itself?" She surprising said, "Just a moment and let me pull it up." Elevator music for just a few minutes. "Yes, Mr. Chancellor, are you still there?" (It sort of depends on what 'there' means) "Yes, I am."
"Mr Chancellor, I see the problem. I think I can fix this right now. Can you wait just a moment?" Can I wait just a moment? Can I wait just a moment? She can fix it now! No letters, no waiting, no threats. Can I wait just a moment? "Mr Chancellor, I have the problem fixed and everything will be processed in about three weeks. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Mrs. Tucker, you are my hero of the week, but just in case, I will keep your badge number a secret. I want you around the next time the wrong thing ends up on the wrong line. I'm asking for you in person.

To Hell and Back without leaving town

2008-06-09T16:04:00.005-05:00

I have been to hell and back and I didn't even have to leave town.

Rather, I answered my jury summons. It seems that jury duty is getting so popular in these parts, the county has to send out 1500 "invitations" in order to impanel four juries totaling 48 people.

But, one only has to take a stroll through the process to see why when the oversized green form makes its way into one's box, one runs the other way or puts one's house up for sale.

And quite a stroll it will be. The only place that moves slower than a county courthouse on impaneling day is the trauma center at midnight. We were admonished to show up at 8:30a.m. While we wait like opening night theater goers, the judge comes in at 8:45a.m. to announce the bench is now open to hear good reasons why someone should be excused from this plague upon their house. Most of the reasons the judge allows are rather intractable reasons and could have been handled in a more efficient way: some way invented since the telegraph. But no! The three hundred or more (not 1500) wait as the Judge listens to each person state the reason why they are better than the rest of us and should be excused. Such a parade takes about 45 minutes.

At that point, we take a break. Judges are fond of breaks. I don't know if they have weak bladders, or they get a part of the concessions in the courthouse. The alleged reason for the break is so that everyone who is left, can be entered into a computer where they will be randomly sorted for the four juries to be picked. Apparently, numbering 1-2-3-4 in not judicial enough. So, we take a thirty minute break.

Forty minutes later we are asked to take our seats, where we are promptly reshuffled according to the computer's random picking. I get picked for the first pool. I have rarely been so honored. Every name is called, every person seated, every person put in their proper seat. Then having labored so intensively, we are directed to the court room where we are to appear, and we take another break. Our courthouse is four stories tall and can be reached by elevator or stairs in a matter of minutes. There are rest rooms on every floor so long breaks are just wasting time. But we take a 20 minute break which gives us time to reach our destination.

Then we are seated, where we undergo a group cross examination that is a cross between a poorly done lecture on the judicial system, an informational session on what the case is about, questions to prospective jurors that go from the mundane to the insane and chit-chat that will help us like the attorney. Then, because we have taken so many breaks, we break for lunch. But, only for an hour.

One hour later, we are in our places outside the courtroom: all except the token later arrivals who are compelled to be late. Just as surely as the judge must be late, the process slow, the seats uncomfortable, these folks must be late. And they are. Now if the judge were on time, it would be a true act of justice, perhaps the first in the history of the courthouse, to fine these people for wasting our time, but if he did that, then he would have to fine himself, and where would it all end?

The defense attorney starts her list of questions, but since the prosecutor has done such a good job of asking her questions, the defense attorney only has about 400 more. Things do not appear to be going well in the Chancellor seat, and it appears for the first time in his adult life, he might be picked to serve on a jury. So, with a careful slight of hands and crafty words, he looks the defense attorney in the eyes--all three of them (oh wait, that is just my glasses on crooked), and tells her why he would not feel himself willing to serve on this particular jury at this particular time. So what do we do? We take a break. Everyone is to stand outside the court room until we are summoned back in. We leave like sheep and return like sheep.

Each person is sitting waiting to see if they have won the jury lottery. Slowly, the names are read. Slowly the person's shoulders slump and they slowly rise from their seat and glare at the defendant. (He is already guilty, and you can read it in their faces) Slowly the twelve chairs fill up and just before I pass out from holding my breath, the last name is called and the jury death angel has passed over once again.

I have no problem with serving on a jury. But this particular jury, on this particular subject was more than I could handle.

So, after wasting a day,(I exited the building at 3:00) I went to my car knowing that I had contributed to the convoluted system of American justice by sitting in several chairs, using the concession machine, using the facilities, and walking up and down the stairs. And best of all, taking breaks!

Did I mention I also earned $7.50 to boot?

Spiritual heavy lifting--not!

2008-06-06T11:07:00.005-05:00

Some have visited this blog and found it strangely remiss of anything spiritual. Since it is being authored by a pastor, the assumption is such a blog should be full of Scripture, analysis, uplifting thoughts, and sermons out the wazoo.

Sadly, they have been disappointed. Aside from a few articles about the Baptist General Convention that I once knew and loved, mostly I have written about the quirky side of life. I have lots of gifted friends whose blogs are helpful in profound ways. One friend is so profound I have yet to figure out what he is talking about, but I am sure that like my blog, he knows and understands.

I have always looked at life through a different lens. Call me a Christian absurdist if you will. I am a devoted follower of Jesus Christ and that gives my life meaning and direction. But I also notice things in a rather different way. I notice the use of language, the way people relate, the things people say, and the interesting way some things happen and signs--I love signs and bumper-stickers. I chuckle a lot and laugh even more.

I have learned in my travels to see the humor of the situation. If I did not do that, I would probably have a stroke. So, that is what I write about: the quirky things that keep me from stroking out in life, but keep me chuckling instead.

I also feel no need whatsoever to end up where I started or to use perfectly good grammar. I am old enough to thumb my nose at the grammar teacher. I only care if it makes sense, not if it is grammatically correct. I try to save that for sermons.

If you are along for the ride, welcome. I hope you enjoy some of what you read, and perhaps leave with a chuckle yourself.

And always feel free to drop me a note.

Memphis instead

2008-06-06T09:48:00.005-05:00

I went to a spiritual awakening conference and ended up in Memphis instead.

Now I have absolutely nothing against Memphis, nothing! It is a beautiful city and some of the best ribs I have ever tasted. I wore several away on my shirt.

Now, it wasn't just that I ended up in Memphis, I ended up in front of Elvis's house( or as some of us like to think "the house formerly occupied by Elvis"). And I was not alone. I was with about 300 other kooks--yes, I would classify myself as a kook for being talked into going to Graceland. Judging from the crowd there were at least two different groups at Graceland, some staring through the fence. First, there were those older women who were in the audience years ago swooning over Elvis when he would sing and shake his hips. These women have since grown old, but they have not let the fire of devotion die for Elvis.

The other group I noticed were husbands humoring their wives. You could see the glazed look on their face, the smirk that sometimes passed between one knowing man and another, and the camera in the relaxed position. These men had been dragged against their will to Graceland to see the sacred place where Elvis lived. By the look on some of the husband's faces, it was a good thing Elvis was already dead. They had murder on their minds.

Middle aged men have a rather curious place in modern America. The guys I know have been married long enough to know certain things. I call them survival skills for the jungle of marriage. What are those skills, you ask? Are they skills you might need to know and practice? Well, I don't know but after 34 years, I know they work for me.

I have learned that sometimes the pants aren't worth fighting over. Who wears them is immaterial. The man who brags that "he wears the pants in his family" is delusional and is married to a very sly wife. Unless you are a part of the YFZ compound, women have gone to this secret school where they learn to get their way and make us think it is our idea. Now, I just accept that and take credit when things go well.

I have learned the wonderful value of an enduring phrase, "I'm sorry, I'm stupid." Now, you may think this is horrible to say, but the truth is your wife already believes this about you. When you say these magical words, every thing begins to be set right. The world returns to its natural orbit, and you go on with your pathetic life. In addition, this confession endears you to your bride. She doesn't think less of you, in fact, she thinks more of you because you finally understand your limitations.

I have also learned the value of division of labor. When we are traveling, and we do that (unfortunately) quite often, we have arrived at an understanding that is both trend setting and in way, self evident. When we are lost, and my wife realizes we are lost, and alerts me to what I have been trying to deny for the last four hours, then we stop and she goes and asks for directions. This is great!

When we were dumped in the town square of Bergen, Norway with only our luggage and the name of our hotel, I was clueless as to which way to proceed except that at that point any road led to "more lost." Foreign country, foreign language, strange city, heavy luggage, streets running everywhere, what was one to do? My wife agreed to go into this swanky hotel(obviously not ours) and ask for directions to our not so swanky hotel. Five minutes later, we were looking up at our place for the night. Wife happy, Mikey happy, problem solved.

I don't know if most husbands realize this or not about their wives, but most of them have a real soft spot for hopeless cases, lost animals, wounded pets, and generally the helpless. The more helpless the better. Now some women take this nurturing to the extreme and actually marry helpless, lazy, useless men. However, I am not talking about that population.

Rather I am speaking of the hardworking, hard charging, get things done kind of guy. Sometimes, you just need to slow down, be lost and helpless, and let your wife come to the rescue.

That can be a real turn on!

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

2008-06-05T08:04:00.004-05:00

For some years, the Radical Right has had a strangle hold on politics in the Republican Party, which by association became the party of God.(Does that sound eerily familiar?)

However, with the ascension of John McCain as the Republican choice and Barack Obama as the Democratic choice, some things may change in Washington. Now, I am a cynic. I wear the badge proudly and it is deep in my DNA. So, I believe not much will change but some things might change.

For one thing, in a McCain presidency, pork barrel projects might be spotlighted to the point that some get vetoed and that money gets redirected to domestic programs like health care for the poor. Bush's "no child left behind" actually meant,"no child left behind as they were marched into a big closet where they were promptly forgotten." Texas Governor "Pretty Hair" did a better job than most in forgetting the poor. So, there is hope--not much hope, but a little hope.

With an Obama presidency, there could be a return to Democratic values that push the poor forward and start initiatives to help them in school, in health care, and in jobs. For the middle class, we might begin to fix health care in such a way that people can once again afford insurance and not go bankrupt getting medical care.

What ruined the Radical Right was their unwillingness to compromise in a city where things get done by compromise. When one gets their marching orders from God, there can be no compromise. Compromise is sin, and sin is to be avoided at all costs.

That is part of the problem of wedding religion and politics which our wise forefathers carefully avoided. Personal holiness must be without compromise. But personal holiness is something Christians strive for, not require of a nation of pluralistic religious experiences. My definition of personal holiness, and Islam's definition of personal holiness are worlds apart. So, there is the problem of the failure to compromise. No compromise, no moving forward, no moving forward, boondoggle.

And that is what we have had in Washington for far too many years. Too many people with very narrow agendas that will settle for nothing less than getting the whole list.

Perhaps now, everyone will get to play and everyone will have to compromise and we will learn to play together nicely. If not, perhaps we should send in a few 5 year olds to reteach that basic lesson of life.

James

2008-06-04T23:51:00.003-05:00

We have two youngest children.

It is not a Larry, Darrell, and Darrell sort of thing. It is rather an interesting story of the heart. One might say that my wife and I had a heart attack at the same time.

My wife Anna is an Amazing woman. It is widely held that many men marry up, but I freely admit, I got a 12 foot ladder to reach her and climbed all the way to the top. At least that what her step-dad thought. He though I was as far down as I thought she was far up. Over the years, Anna has endured so much suffering and tragedy, yet she has allowed it to shape her into a lady of unusual grace.

When we married, she worked for the Welfare Department while I finished seminary. We moved to the first church and she never finished her Masters. When we moved to Abilene, I asked Anna to go through the counseling program with me and(and get this, I promised) if she did, I would carry her books. Lame, but we were already married so one doesn't work so hard on one's pick-up lines. We graduated with counseling degrees--she did better than me.
And then she went to work. She worked with some of the hardest people in the world to work with--poorly motivated mothers who are about to lose their children for abuse or neglect. From there Anna went to private practice where her clients were foster children, shelter children, and a few odds and ends for good measure.

At the time, Anna and I were practicing out of the same office (yes, at different times)in a small practice. Anna was seeing this child whose deepest desire was to have a real home. CPS's deepest desire was to dump him on someone, anyone who would take him and they thought they had a taker. Against policy and good judgment, this child was making home visits and had begun to bond with the family when the wife called the adoption off.

Anna and I were eating at a local restaurant when she got the call the adoption was off and like the bungling CPS that they are, Anna got to tell the boy. She broke into tears. "Mike, if you could see this boy, and hear him talk about what he wants, it would break your heart." We sat in silence for just a while, as I dipped chip after chip in hot sauce (nothing like chips and hot sauce to put things in perspective)"Well" in a voice that sounded strangely like mine, "we could always adopt." She looked up at me and said, "You would do that?" (Now talk about a pick-up line) And that's how it started.

This blue eyed boy and I met in a casual way at the office. He was coming for his appointment and I made a point to be there. When Anna gave the sign, I opened the waiting room door and looked down. The chair by the door was occupied by my future son. He stuck out his hand and said, "Hi! I'm James!" I said, "Hi, James, I'm Mike" He said, "Yea, I know."

And that is how we got two youngest sons.