a journey

Several years ago I served as pastor of a church in Alabama. I was energetic and frequently visited people door-to-door style like a candy bar salesman. During one such encounter a husband and wife (Let’s call them Bob and Susan.) invited me into their home. The couple’s house was adjacent to our church property, and from their living room window you could see right into my church office. I was exuberant as I presented my pitch to the party. After a few minutes of my exquisite presentation, I extended the invitation for the couple to join us for worship. As I paused and pondered the precision of my performance, Bob quickly enlightened me concerning the dysfunctional nature of our church. Bob said that they no longer attended church (our church in particular) because people in the church are hypocrites. He cited numerous examples of hypocrisy including Sunday school teachers who frequented bars. He saw people from our church at these polluted places that he also patronized for…uhm… rese

My wife, Nancy, has creative ways of reminding me to do things that I already know that I need to do. I assure her that I am not a kid, but my actions sometimes prove otherwise. I often forget to do little things that I really should remember. I have struggled for years with remembering trash day. Our trash is collected on Thursdays in Roanoke County, and I typically forget to either move our trash can to the curb or I forget to retrieve the receptacle after our trash has been collected. This past week my neighbor returned my trash can for me, and I only noticed it because it was turned differently than I normally have it. Nancy usually reminds me by simply telling me on Wednesday nights when we get home that I need to move the trash can. Sometimes she calls me from work on Thursday mornings to jog my memory. Occasionally I will get an email from her reminding me about trash day, and she has even sent me an e-card so that I won’t forget the all important day. Why do I forget som

Several years ago I developed a crazy notion to start running. I was in my mid to late-twenties, and I discovered that my once athletic body was now more suited for Kevin James look-a-like contests. I could think of many reasons why I wasn’t taking care of myself – grad school, multiple jobs, Seinfeld reruns, etc. But, I knew that I had to do something. Running had been viewed as a necessary evil to accomplish my goals. As a teenager, I ran for conditioning for other sports. Running was effective, but not truly enjoyed as a sport unto itself. I decided to resume this tortuous practice and redeem my athleticism. I soon discovered the horror of my physical neglect. After strapping on my running shoes and running shorts and shirt, I hit the open road ready to reclaim my honor. Within a few minutes my heart was pounding, and I was breathing harder than I could ever remember. What had happened to that strong, all-district middle linebacker who could play an entire game without exha