| Saturday, April 30, 2005 |
| Love That VH1 |
Before we head off to church this evening, we're getting some Saturday chores done while the tv is on. On VH1 right now they're playing a show called the 40 Least Hip Hop Moments; I'm loving it. Making the list was Will Smith's "Getting Jiggy With It" and Kris Kross's backwards clothes wearing habits. I can't wait till they pull out the Color Me Badd.
Remember years ago when VH1 was the "uncool" music network? It was music for old people. Then came Behind The Music and they've been getting younger and younger in the music they cover. They making a living out of these culture and list shows [I love watching Best Week Ever]. Unlike MTV, at least they have actual music on their station.
I have to admit, it's one of my favorite tv channels. But maybe it hasn't changed as much as I've gotten older. |
yet another musing of steve-o @ 1:51:00 PM
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| Friday, April 29, 2005 |
| A NEW BEIT CARR |
| I decided that six months in, I needed some kind of change with the blog appearance. There's not much to chose from when it comes to Blogger [whose server space I use] so until I go big time with this thing and start paying for server space, I'll take what they give. I played around with some other free templates, but they had these little glitches that were driving me crazy, so here's the new look. Hope it works for you. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 12:12:00 PM
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| I Need Your Help |
I have a social experiment I want to conduct.
I'm the webmaster of our church's website. Recently I've been accessing the stats on pages views, to see where people go when they come to the website. Just for fun, we checked out the staff bios that people check out. Here is the ranking of the ministers:
1. Tom Moll [obviously, he's the man]
2. Troy Clark
3. Mary Jane Burgess
4. Nate Grella [the newbie minister]
5. Howard Pauley
6. Me
7. Max Boothby
8. David Lautzenheiser
9. Mike Allen
Sixth place, people! Sixth place in a nine man race! That's just not acceptable. So here's the deal: there's no way I'm going to surpass the hits that Tom gets [everyone wants to know about the preacher], but second place is definitely attainable. Go to the staff page on our church's website [http://www.ccmason.org/staff.htm] and click on my bio on the page. Do it once or twice a day for the next couple of days. I'm betting if all of you reading this just went and did it, I'd be right behind the boss in no time.
Some of you might think this is the stupidest request in the world but hey, even the newbie is getting more hits than me. I just want to see what effect me posting this on my blog has on my hit counter. And I know some of you will feel guilty about poor little Mike Allen being in last place, so go ahead and click his bio too. Just don't do me wrong here. He can grovel for his own support on his blog. I'm going the distance! Rudy! Rudy! Rudy! Remember the Titans! Nobody puts Baby in the corner. Peace in the Middle East. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:08:00 AM
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| Thursday, April 28, 2005 |
| "Whoa, we're halfway there . . ." |
I was thinking about this blog this morning and I looked back into my previous posts . This past Monday was the six-month anniversary of Beit Carr**. I guess since I've made it this far, I'm in it for the long haul.
My wife told me this morning that I inspired yet another convert into the kingdom of blogdom. This is only the second person I know about that started because of me, but I swear, we're starting a revolution [Jesus only started with 12 people, so poop on you skeptics. NOT THAT I THINK I'M JESUS. I'm just making a numerical point here. I think I'm losing my mind]. Anyway, I left a post on Brynn's new blog to get things started for her. Here's part of what I wrote:
I love the bloggin'. Not only has blogging helped me learn more about who I am, but it introduced me to a brand new audience of people I can offend. I've only been at it six months, but here's my simple advice for a good blog.
1) Be careful who you bash. There are tons of bloggers out there who make a living ripping on other people. That's the epitome of uncreativity. Nobody likes hanging around a critic because they never know if they might be the next one criticized.
2) Watch your p's and q's. Even though I use spell checker, I still mess up grammar every once in awhile. There's nothing more painful than to look back at something you posted the day before and read something stupid you wrote like, "I is for me tummy."
3) Don't try to hit a home run every time. It's tough to manufacture humor and depth everyday, so sometimes I just throw stuff out there that is neither. You'd be surprised how interesting a short post on paper cuts can be.
So hopefully you enjoy the stuff I'm putting out there. Even if you don't, I'm not sure that I care. I'm just trying to be me, man- keepin' it real and gettin' paid. So here's to another six months of this great social experiment playing out before the masses. Who knows where it'll take us.
**Something I never knew until my wife made aware to me a few months ago is that my blog's name is in the Bible in I Samuel 7:10,11:
"While Samuel was sacrificing the burnt offering, the Philistines drew near to engage Israel in battle. But that day the Lord thundered with loud thunder against the Philistines and threw them into such a panic that they were routed before the Israelites. The men of Israel rushed out of Mizpah and pursued the Philistines, slaughtering them along the way to a point below Beth Car."
"Beth" is the NIV way of spelling out "Beit," the Hebrew word for "house." I didn't know it was in the Bible when I named my blog. But I think that just reaffirms my spiritual depth as the Bible pours out of me even when I don't know it. I guess it's interesting that a slaughter took place there. Sorta sounds like my style. Welcome to Beit Carr. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 10:42:00 AM
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| Wednesday, April 27, 2005 |
| About Kentucky . . . |
WARNING: This post will get me in trouble!
Howard Pauley [our Seniors Minister], Mary Jane Burgess [our Childrens Minister] and I are heading down to Louisville tonight to see Drew Humphreys [longtime CCM intern] get ordained. Actually we're not going TO Louisville. We're going THROUGH Louisville to New Albany, Indiana. But honestly, it might as well be Louisville since it's right across the Ohio River.
Louisville is a nice city. As a University of Cincinnati fan, I have strong disdain for the Louisville Cardinals, but I'm cool with everything else down there. Interestingly enough, Kelly and my's first vacation after our honeymoon was a couple of days in Louisville checking out the interesting sights around town. There's Churchill Downs, a beautiful riverfront area, good restaurants; overall it's a cool place to be. If you're ever down there, just make sure you pronounce the city's name correctly: it's Lou-uh-ville. Seriously, the locals will respect you for it.
I'd like let those unfamiliar with Kentucky and Kentucky living in on a little secret. If I were to ask you, "In what state are Louisville and Lexington located?" you would probably answer, "Kentucky." I would then tell you that you are wrong. Louisville and Lexington might be located within the state boundaries, but they're so not Kentucky, just like Northern Kentucky is not Kentucky. Trust me, my family roots are from Kentucky, I married a Kentucky girl- I know what I'm talking about here.
Yes, there are pockets of true Kentucky within these urban areas- just visit a Wal-Mart[but then again, if you visit a Wal-Mart in Hamilton, Ohio, or even off Fields Ertel road, it'll feel like Kentucky, so that proves nothing]. Louisville and Lexington are far too refined to be considered Kentucky. These are places with the latest stores and restaurants. The people dress in the latest fashions and drive beautiful cars. There are certain stereotypes that we Northerners keep concerning Kentuckians [shoeless, toothless, mullet laden] that are completely absent from these metro areas. I SWEAR, IF YOU SAW ONE OF THEM ON THE STREET YOU WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO POINT THEM OUT BECAUSE THEY LOOK JUST LIKE US! I know I might take some grief from my in-laws and wife for stating this, but it's all meant to be a compliment. Any of you could easily pass for Northerners . . . well, except for the accents. This isn't just mindless Kentucky bashing- I really love the Bluegrass State. I'd much rather drive through Kentucky than Indiana [don't get me started on them stinkin' Hoosiers]. I just thought it was about time that someone set the record straight. Maybe they can finally fix those geography books and claim Lexington, Louisville and Northern Kentucky as what they really are: Kentucky territories. Let's leave the designation for true Kentucky places like Maysville, Pineville, Grayson and yes- Hazard [ insert General Lee Horn sound effect here]. Dang it! I forgot my passport! Guess I'll have to run home and get it before heading south. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 4:19:00 PM
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| Tuesday, April 26, 2005 |
| Best TV moment of the month |
We're sitting here watching the Amazing Race. One of the leading teams has been a dating couple named Ron and Kelly. Kelly was a former beauty queen, and Ron fought in the Iraqi war and was taken as a prisoner of war in the conflict. Kelly begins a tirade on how Ron never finishes anything. The conversation goes as follows:
Kelly: That's your problem. You don't commit.
Ron: Sure, that's my problem. I only committed by joining the military.
Kelly: Yeah, and you found a way to get out of that.
Ron: What do you mean?
Kelly: You were a POW, so you didn't have to finish.
Ron: That was my plan all along. Get taken prisoner and be tortured so I could get out of the military.
Classic.
I doubt that Kelly will be speaking for any veterans' gatherings in the near future. Hence the beauty of reality TV. People say the darndest things and we get to watch. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 10:02:00 PM
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| Rainy Days and Wednesdays . . . |
I didn't go to work today. No, I'm not being rebellious. Tuesdays are my day off. Life in the ministry is a little different, having to work weekends, so I get a day off during the week to make up for it. When I was first in the ministry [the Madeira Church of Christ, in case you're wondering], I took Fridays. It was pretty cool because Kelly was finishing up at Northern Kentucky University and for one semester she didn't have classes on Fridays. And since we didn't have services on Saturdays, we were able to spend two days together without having anything to do. It was a great way to start off our marriage.
While working at Cincinnati Bible College or Cincinnati Christian University or wherever the crap I worked, I worked Mondays through Fridays which gave me the taste of how real people live. I actually had a weekend. If we wanted to run away for a Saturday and Sunday there was nothing stopping us. It was sort of liberating, but since we were heavily involved at Oak Hills Christian Church, we really didn't run away that much. But still, Friday nights were great, as the weekend was ahead of me and Sunday nights were dreadful, as the work week laid waiting.
Since I've come to CCM, I take Tuesdays off. Some people are surprised that I chose that day, but I really was just being flexible. Those staff members who have families like to take Friday to give them some kind of weekend feel, so I just picked a day the "family guys" don't take. Since all of us are in on Mondays for our staff meetings, I was left with Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday. Of these three days, which day did I least want to be in the office? Tuesdays.
I love Tuesdays. They're awesome. Tuesdays are my Saturdays. And Mondays are no longer bad because Mondays are my Fridays. I guess that makes Wednesdays my Mondays, but honestly they don't feel like Mondays. In case you're wondering, Thursdays still feel like Thursdays and Fridays still feel pretty Friday-ish, but not so much. And forget about Sundays- I have no idea what those are like.
So if I ask you what day of the week it is, it's not that I'm absent minded. I'm just on a different calendar. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 6:03:00 PM
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| Monday, April 25, 2005 |
| For My Wife |
I could tell Kelly wasn't sleeping well last night. And I knew this morning when she wasn't getting up that she was out of commission. Yep, I have a sick wife at home.
Now I'm not trying to cause any trouble with my fellow men-folk, but it seems that we of the testosterone-driven persuasion handle illnesses worse than them estrogen-laden creatures do. I know, this is me releasing a stereotype to the general public, but I believe it to be true: men milk sickness for everything it's worth. My saying this might be breaking some sort of man code of silence about the issue, but we should fearlessly admit our short-comings so we can meet the future head-on! Trust me, men! We must diffuse this weapon of mass destruction that women can [and have been able to] use on us. Let's get it all out on the table: We're babies when we're sick. We want women to sympathize and take care of us. It's tough being a man! Now get me some stinkin' chicken noodle soup!!!
Case in point: the week before last I had some kind of ear infection type thing that gave me the sniffles for a few days. One of those days I had to go into work while I had a fever. I claimed victory over the sickness, unwilling to let it hold me down. My temperature was a blazing 99.1 degrees, but I was able to persevere. Just to keep people informed, I sent around one of those prayer emails that read like this:
"Please keep me in your prayers today as I'm suffering with some sort of severe illness. I'm not sure exactly what I have but I refuse to seek medical attention for it, as there are other people in more dire circumstances than I. I do not know what will happen as a result, but if the Lord calls me home today, don't feel bad for not taking me seriously. I find inspiration from the words of the great poet Gloria Gaynor: 'I will survive.'"
I installed a web cam in my office so people could monitor my progress throughout the day. Channel 9 News did a story on my entitled, "The man who refused to quit." By the time I got home that night, Kelly had seen "Save Steve" spray painted on the Warren County water tower and knew my condition was serious. She waited on me hand and foot the remainder of the evening; the chicken noodle soup flowed like water in a flash flood, my friends! Luckily, I survived.
Conversely, I find reactions to illness to be different with most women. My mother would be sick about two days a year and she usually faked being well so she could get stuff done. I honestly can't remember a time where she was sick for consecutive days; I'm sure she was, but never let it show. I think the day after my sister was born she left the hospital and proceeded to build our house with her bear hands. Kelly's cut out of the same mold. That's why I know she's not feeling well today, because she'd be at work if she could. She's gotta have something like malaria. Is that contagious?
So my wife's at home today feeling horrible and I'm at work feeling fine. While I do feel a bit guilty about not being sick with her, she'll have to go this one alone. Fortunately I just added Apple's Airport Express at home, so she can get on the laptop wirelessly while she's bed ridden and surf the web. And she'll probably get some work done this afternoon while, if I was home sick, I'd be messing around with fantasy baseball stuff. Yep, typical male.
Hope you feel better, baby. You're the champ. Promise I'll take care of you when I get home- and all the chicken noodle soup you want. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:46:00 AM
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| Can I get a refill? |
Some of you remember a post I did a few months ago [February 21st to be exact] about my fountain Diet Coke obsession. I'd like to make an addendum to my list of best places to get a good DC fountain beverage. Allow me to introduce the Marathon Gas Station at the intersection of Route 42 and Snider Road in Mason. I was tipped off about it by some people in one of my Sunday School classes. They have Diet Coke and Cherry Coke on tap [mixed perfectly, they form a lethal combination] PLUS the small ice cubes that you find at Frisch's. Oh, it's just about perfect. I see only two draw backs: 1) Location. It's nowhere near the paths that I ususally traverse, so I have to make a special trip. 2) Styrofoam cups. I've never really liked styrofoam cups. There's something unnatural about it. Yes, it'll keep your beverage cold, a definite bonus. But if I accidentally scratch the cup with your finger nail, it's likely that I'll have goosebumps for five minutes afterward.
So give me a plastic up and relocate the place to Mason Montgomery Road and it'd be heavenly. I give it an eight on a one-to-ten scale. The place is right next to the post office there, so maybe I'll offer to make some mail runs in the near future. Me loves the Diet Coke. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:29:00 AM
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| Sunday, April 24, 2005 |
| Let It Snow? Part 2 |
Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow this year, and I was ticked.
Just in case you didn't know, if that stupid groundhog sees his shadow on February 2nd, there's supposed to be six more weeks of winter. This year he did. But I went back and checked the calendar and we're now twelve weeks removed from Groundhog's Day. So I'm rather confused that it's one week until May and there's snow on the ground.
So anyway, I'm usually out of the house by 7:00 on Sunday mornings. I like coming into church when everything is really quiet. And ususally this is the best time of year to do it with pristine spring mornings, soft sun rays peaking through the clouds, the sound of birds biding the day come as flowers and trees continue to bloom. And I stare out the window this morning, wearing a winter coat and a sweater, doing my best to stay warm. Kelly "changed over" her closet last week, packing away her winter clothes and bringing out the spring and summer attire. I didn't, so it was a piece of cake finding something appropriate to wear in these artic conditions.
I never considered myself to be one of those cold weather wussies, but apparently I am. I can handle the cold, but I prefer to wade into it rather than dive right in. And actually, it's not that cold out, but this stretch of warm weather we had makes it seem much colder than it really is. If it was January and we had this kind of weather, it'd be no big deal. But give me this stuff after a few gorgeous weeks of spring and I get downright bitter.
Stinkin' freezing weather. Makes you want to choke a groundhog, doesn't it? |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:14:00 AM
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| Saturday, April 23, 2005 |
| Let it snow? Part 1 |
| It's spring. The month of April, to be exact. Baseball season is well underway. Last week it was eighty degrees. And it's snowing outside. Brilliant. I love Cincinnati weather. If you don't like it, wait fifteen minutes and it'll change. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 10:43:00 PM
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| Friday, April 22, 2005 |
| You Never Know |
I've been on this kick lately trying not to judge people's irrational and idiotic actions because I don't know what they've been through or are going through in life. Yes, I struggle with being judgmental. It really seems to come out when I'm driving. People's entire demeanors transform when they get behind the wheel of a car, and they do some ridiculous things on the road. So when some turd-bucket cuts me off on the expressway and proceeds to hit their breaks, I've tried to refrain from naughty words, telling myself "maybe they're going through a rough time." Don't get me wrong- I'm no saint; I'm still judgmental, but at least I'm working on it.
I went down to CCU this morning to play basketball again and, halfway down I-71, it started to pour. Since it was still dark outside, you could barely see twenty yards in front of you. By the time I reached campus I just wanted to find a parking place near the door so I wouldn't get drenched. There was an open space up front so I backed in, grabbed my stuff and ran inside- barely getting wet. By the time I left an hour or so later, the rain had stopped and it was lighter outside. I then discovered why the space so close to the door was available: it was a handicapped parking space. When I pulled in, it was dark and rainy and I had no idea I shouldn't have been parking there. Also, in my defense, they didn't have a sign up [it was only spray painted in white in the actual parking spot] and when I attended/worked there it wasn't a handicapped spot. All morning, though, I've been feeling like a jerk. I'm pretty sure no one needed the spot because it was pretty early, but you know someone drove by, saw my Explorer without a handicapped parking permit, and had the urge to slash my tires. That's how I feel when I see people who do what I did.
But maybe this is how God chose to reinforce the lesson he's teaching me. It's incredibly easy to point fingers of blame at people but sometimes you have no idea what's really going on. If I would only grant as much grace as I expect others to give me, I could turn out to be a good guy. So "judge not lest ye be judged yourself." Unless you're actually a judge. That would make it difficult for you to do your job if you didn't judge. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:43:00 AM
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| NO WIRE HANGERS EVER! |
It's taken me almost thirty years to realize that I don't think like most people do. That's not a bad thing, but sometimes I'll try to explain a concept that makes perfect sense in my mind that apparently makes no sense in the real world. For instance, a few months ago I tried to relate the concept of wanting to be in "God's flow" to desiring to jump into a storm drain after a huge rain. "Haven't you ever wanted to do that?" I asked the class. Blank stares. It didn't register. But I felt a sense of vindication when we were in Israel and Kelly and I saw a fast moving stream and she said my concept of "God's flow" finally made sense to her. That's why I married her; she gets me. And when she doesn't, she lets me know it. That way I only look like a partial lunatic.
OK, so what was the point of that last paragraph? I needed to admit my personal weirdness so that you understand that I have random thoughts in my head. I sometimes ask questions that no one really cares about. The rest of this post is the result of one of those random questions, so bear with me.
At our house we hang all of our clothes to dry indoors because the fascist neighborhood association won't allow us to have a clothes line. This means we have hangers out the wazoo. Most of them are plastic, but the wire ones a perfect for hanging pants if you use a couple of clothes pins [Kelly taught me the trick when we were first married]. If you're ever over, you're bound to step on one because they're everywhere. So last night as I maneuvered through a mine field of hangers, I thought to myself "I wonder who invented the hanger." It's a genius invention, really. Very practical and it wouldn't have taken a huge budget to mass produce them. I'm sure someone made a killing on it. This morning when I came in I Googled "Who invented the hanger" and I found this website.
Apparently this guy named Albert Parkhouse was angry one winter when he came back to lunch and there were no more coat hooks left; he didn't want to have to lay his nice jacket lying on the floor. He worked in a business where people created inventions out of wire so he grabbed himself some and fashioned himself a hanger for his coat. A couple of months later, the company he worked for applied for a patent on the hanger and Albert, the guy who actually invented it, was never given credit. But when you walk into your closet today, I urge you to give a little shout-out to Big Al, who insured that slobs everywhere have no excuses for throwing their clothes on the floor.
Hang 'em high, my friends.
***By the way, if you've never seen the movie Mommie Dearest, you might not have understood the title of this posting. When we were at Spring Break in Panama City, Florida, a bunch of us college guys watched the movie. Yeah, there wasn't much on TV. But there's a certain scene in it that's just epic, and it has to do with wire hangers. If you know what I'm talking about [and even if you don't], then you must click on this link to this website. I was sadistically laughing to myself for minutes while letting it play. Could be the best website ever. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:33:00 AM
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| Wednesday, April 20, 2005 |
| Habemus Pom-Poms |
Here's my pope thought of the day, but I want you to think about something first.
Gerald Ford is the only person to be President of the United States without having been elected. True, there are a few Vice-Presidents who became Commander-in-Chief after the death of the previous President, but all those Vice Presidents but Ford were at least elected to be Vice next in line. Ford was appointed Vice President when Spiro Agnew resigned and then became President when Richard Nixon resigned. So the public never really chose Ford; he sorta slipped in there. Now I ask you: would you still want the job knowing that no one really wanted you there? I guess you would; you'd still get to ride around in limos and helicopters, and bands play intro music whenever you enter a room. And I hear the living arrangements are pretty sweet. All in all, I can see why you wouldn't mind. I just think it would be like the kid picked last for kickball getting to pitch and bat top of the line-up- a total sham.
In my opinion, this is what it's like with new Pope Benedict XVI. At the age of seventy-eight, he's the oldest elected pope since the 1700's. The word out on the street is that the cardinals knew anyone who would have to fill the shoes of John Paul II would have his work cut out for him, so they deliberately picked an older guy to be a "filler pope" for a few years; he'll be able to distance the next pope from JP2's popularity. Of course, this isn't how the Vatican is spinning things, but read between the lines. This is really what's going on. And it's a smart idea. I wouldn't be surprised to see Benedict pick some younger cardinal [in Catholic church years: a guy in his fifties] to be his right hand man to groom him to be next pontiff. It's all part of a plan. I'm sure of it.
But how do you feel if you're Benedict?* You're now in one of the most powerful positions in the world and the reason behind it is, "we picked you because you'll die soon." I don't know if I'd want that job under those conditions. But once again, I guess the perks outweigh the lame-duck status. Think about it: nice robes, lots of things to bless, Pope-mobile.
And he still gets to wear those hats.
*I do find it weird that for the past few weeks we've been calling this guy Ratzinger and now we're supposed to call him Benedict and everyone's going along with it. It took Prince years to get people to address him as that symbol and he finally gave up and went back to his old name. Anyway, I actually like Ratzinger better. He already has a logo! He could have a vicious rat put on all his robes. It would rock. What kind of logo can you make for Benedict? |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:27:00 AM
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| Tuesday, April 19, 2005 |
| Cradle to Grave |
I don't know if there's a point to this, but I had a strange day.
This morning I conducted the funeral of my friend Sydney's father. This was the first funeral where I did everything- from conducting the message, all the way to the grave side. His name was Murray. It was tough because I only met Murray one time. It was a year ago while he was in a nursing home, just a shadow of his former vigorous self. I think I did as well as I possibly could.
Not to get too morbid here, but have you thought much about your funeral? What music you want included or what Scriptures you want read? Twist your mind around this thought: maybe the people who will be most important to you at the time of your death are strangers to you today [maybe they're not even born yet]. And how weird is it that someone that you don't even know could end up doing your funeral? I had nothing to go on in preparation; just a few stories from family members. Sydney's dad was actually born Jewish, so he might have always thought that a rabbi would've conducted the ceremony. Yet there I was, a Gentile, reflecting on the life of a person that I didn't even know.
There are many benefits to being in the ministry. You get to see people through the most important events of their lives. Sometimes you know them, sometimes you don't. But you're there. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:33:00 PM
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| Monday, April 18, 2005 |
| Holy Smoke! |
Part of my morning wake-up routine is to catch the first fifteen minutes of Good Morning America. Today they ran a short piece on how the conclave in the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican will insure that they can produce the black and white smoke needed to announce that there's a new pope. As many of you probably know, after each vote by the cardinals, the ballots are burned in a special oven with black smoke meaning no decision and white smoke signifying "we have a pope." They used to burn wet straw to make the smoke black, but the color it produced was sometimes confusing. So they said they're taking steps to get the color just right.
So apparently GMA figured out that the sure fire way [pardon the pun] to get black smoke is to burn styrofoam with the fire. Brilliant. Last time I checked, burning styrofoam produced toxins in the air and, within a confined area [like . . . oh, I don't know, a chapel?], could very easily cause death. With the possibility that they could burn up to four groups of ballots a day for multiple days, we could have a room of dead red birds on our hands. Thanks Good Morning America and ABC News for launching an all out attack on Roman Catholicism. I'm not quite sure this is what they mean in journalism class by media impartiality. Killing of the remaining leadership of a world religion might appear to show bias. I think they just want Peter Jennings to become pope in order to boost their ratings.
I'm sure Dan Rather never would have done this. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:31:00 AM
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| Sunday, April 17, 2005 |
| I isn't as smart as I think I were |
I don't know about you, but I always wanted to be smart. Not that I had to be the smartest, but I don't want smarter people to have to talk slow so I can understand what they're saying. I rescheduled my day off last week so I could attend a thing called the Stone-Campbell Conference at my alma mater. The conference is for academics within the Restoration Movement Churches [the churches like CCM in which I minister and where I grew up in] to discuss deep theological papers about a variety of different topics. I knew going into it that it would be a little over my head because I'm just a hack theologian/Bible scholar but hey, I've read a few books. I thought I'd be able to hang. But apparently I overestimated my ability.
They're were only about seventy of us dorks . . . er, I mean intellectuals, at the conference. I went to about six different sessions on Friday. Now this is how these sessions would work: You'd find out what the person did their paper on, go to their seminar, listen to them read it for about half an hour and then ask questions afterward. To give you an idea, here were some of the titles of these papers:
-asymmetrical Continuity of Love and Law Between the Old and New Testaments
-Discovering a Christology from Praxis
-Narrative Theology and the Eclipse of the New Testament Kerygma
Yeah, how 'bout dem apples? I did understand a few things that were said and found out some fascinating Biblical tidbits, but mostly I had not idea what the crap they were saying. For instance, I had to ask someone what an "aphorism" is [by the way it's "a concise statement of a principle"] because this dude used the word thirty times in his speech and I had no freakin' idea what it meant. Here's one of the phrases from these papers: "According to the 'prophecy historicized theory of Crossan, the generative force for the Christological convictions of the text- such as the innocent sufferer interpretation of Mark- is the 'Sitz im Leben' of the early church." Yeah. That's just one sentence. It led me to spontaneously shout out "BOO-YAH SUCKAS! STEP BACK!!!"
There was one session that, even forty-eight hours later, I still have absolutely no idea what was said. All I know is at the end of the seminar, during the Q&A time, people kept saying "great paper" like you'd tell someone "good game" after a sporting event. So as I left the room I told the guy who delivered the paper, "good game, G-dawg," spit my sunflower seeds on the floor and wacked him on the butt. Oh he knew what I meant. I think I heard him utter as I left the room " . . . it feels good to be a gangsta".
OK so I was out of my league, but that's OK. It's not so much that you understand what's going on, but that you're able to fake people into thinking that you understand what's going on. I accomplished this through active listening skills- then people have no idea you're clueless. Here are some practical things you can do just in case you're ever in a situation like I was in:
1) Maintain good eye contact with the speaker
2) About every three minutes, nod your head in agreement
3) About every minute after the head nod, jot down a few notes on a sheet of paper.
4) Pretend you're entering valuable info on your PDA [while you're actually playing Solitare]
5) If possible ask a question about what the internet has to do with the speech [that's a shout out to my buddy Adam Tornberg who used this method successfully when we were in college].
6) Always say "Good job with that" to the presenter when you leave the room.
The good news is, you can't tell how smart someone is just by looking at them, so there's always room to fake it. To make myself feel a little better I'm off to play Bible trivia with the 1st grade Sunday School class this morning. At least I can smoke them.
" . . . it feels good to be a gangsta." |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:24:00 AM
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| Thursday, April 14, 2005 |
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Why must you taunt me goose?  |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 10:05:00 AM
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| Poor Little Critter |
I used to think Canadian geese were majestic creatures. Then I moved to Mason. I've never seen a bird that struts around like it's better than you. For the past two days this goose has been perched at the top of our driveway overhang in the front of the church. And then about every half-hour he calls out. I would so like shoot at the sucker. I don't necessarily want to kill him, but I swear he's mocking me. He's looking at me right now. Shut-up goose!
Last night Kelly told me about this website they showed on NBC Nightly News earlier this week. Apparently this college kid [who's wisely keeping his identity a secret] found a rabbit underneath his front porch that was injured and he nursed it back to health. While he likes the little bunny, he claims that unless he receives $50,000 by June 30th, he's going to eat the rabbit, whom he's named Toby. It's all on this website: Save Toby. Included are pictures of little Toby, rabbit recipes and some of the hate-mail he's received from PETA members [what's interesting is they're trying to take care of it through legal circles, but there's nothing they can do. It's not illegal to eat a bunny]. Beware if you check out the hate-mail because the language is pretty hardcore.
I know it sounds cruel but it's a brilliant. You know the guy's not going to actually kill the bunny, so why not use the animal to make a little cash. I mean, what else can you do with a bunny rabbit? It looks like he ripped off the idea from a European website. And it's working. Through sales of t-shirts, mugs, and straight-up donations, he's raised almost $25,000. I'm just jealous I didn't think of it first.
Maybe a can develop a "Save The Stupid Goose From Steve Shooting It" website. But who would want to save a Canadian goose anyway? I hate you goose. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:54:00 AM
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| Wednesday, April 13, 2005 |
| Seriously, I'm telling the truth . . . honestly |
One of the deficiencies always brought up about the Carr family is that we have a tendency to stretch the truth a tad. Some would call it lying. We would refer to it as Westside storytelling. Either way, I'm always having to watch myself because it's fun to embellish stories a little to make them more interesting. So if you ever think you need to call me out if a story seems too outlandish, I give you full permission. This is why:
Mitch Albom, a columnist for the Detroit Free Press and the author of books Tuesdays With Morrie and The Five People You Meet In Heaven, is under fire because of an article he wrote during Final Four weekend. He talked to former Michigan State basketball stars Mateen Cleaves and Jason Richardson about their plans to attend the Michigan State/North Carolina Final Four game. He interviewed the two on Thursday and Friday before the Saturday game, while the article was due out that Sunday. Both Cleaves and Richardson said that they would be attending the game and Albom, facing a Friday night deadline for the Sunday printing, wrote about them going to the game in the past tense [as if it had already happened, because by Sunday the game would have already been played]. Things went bad for Albom when the two decided not to go to the game and the article came out saying that they had. While he wrote an apology, citing how awkward it would have been to write things like "they're planning on going to the game that already happened," Albom is getting condemned by journalists throughout the country for this fabrication.
But before you start to feel too bad for Mitch, here's where it gets really fun: two years ago Albom wrote an article criticizing New York Times reporter Jayson Blair for plagiarism. "Criticizing" might be too kind of a word. Perhaps "flambé" would work better here. He ripped open a can and went double-barreled on Blair. It wasn't pretty. Journalists have a short fuse when it comes to journalism ethics, and Albom proved it. And now, just two years later, Albom is pleading for people to ignore his mistake.
I find it fascinating that, in our age of slipping morals, journalistic integrity is still valued as a priceless American ideal. I know many of you would think this whole issue to be stupid. From a worldly perspective, Albom didn't do anything that bad; he didn't smoke, drink, kick or kill anything. He just typed a few words- and they weren't even hateful words. But there is an incredibly high standard held by journalists. You can be biased, but you'd better be factual. Dan Rather's storied career is permanently blemished because of the false documents he claimed were true on 60 Minutes. It just shows you how seriously media people take this stuff. If you're really interested, you should do a Google search to see what other reporters are saying about this. Here's one from Mitch's hometown.
If this happened to any other reporter, they'd be fired by now. Albom should be thankful he spent all those Tuesdays with that old guy or he'd be out on the street. Maybe this whole thing will lighten Mitch's mean streak up a bit. *Sidenote here: I've never really liked newspaper columnists or talk show hosts- people who get paid to harshly criticize other people. It's not that impressive to make a living by ripping other people down.
To me, this whole incident is a good lesson to be careful how intensely I criticize other people's flaws. At some point, it all comes back around. You know, when you point at others you have three fingers pointing right back at you . . . unless you were in a chainsaw accident where you lost some fingers.
I had one last story I wanted to share about this, but it never really happened. So I'll just keep it to myself. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:19:00 AM
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| Tuesday, April 12, 2005 |
| “You’re Good Enough, You’re Smart Enough . . . ” |
Listening to sports talk radio is one of my favorite driving activities. This morning on 1360AM they were talking about the recent trend of not keeping score during children’s sporting events. We had an Upward Basketball League at our church this past spring where they don’t keep score for games unless you’re in 4th or 5th graders. “We don’t need to be putting that kind of pressure on the kids” is the common defense of this “Everybody Wins” approach to youth sports. I guess this trend of not keeping-score has been born out of the influence of child psychologists who want to strengthen the self-esteem of children. This is the opposite of when I grew up and we kept score as early as the t-ball years. I always knew when we won and when we lost. And I’ve dealt with it well over the years. It’s not like we were abused by the coaches when we lost; either way we still got orange slices and Cokes. Rock on.
As I wrote in a posting a few days ago, I didn’t discover athletic coordination until my college years [my constantly bringing this up makes me wonder if I’m obsessed with overcoming my unathletic past]. Because I had no skilz [word] I was always last in the batting order and sat the bench until we were up five runs going into the last inning. I pretty much knew by the time I hit junior high that God hadn’t blessed me with the athletic abilities to be a superstar. Yet if I had grown up under the current regime of positive encouragement sports, it would’ve been completely different. I probably would have batted in a spot in the line-up that I was not worthy of. Even while striking out and dropping fly balls, I would have heard encouragement “unlucky bounce there, Steve,” or “Good effort! You try so hard!” Strengthened by this false hope, I might have insisted on pursuing my dream of becoming a professional baseball player. Now at some point, someone would have to be honest with me and say, “Steve, you suck.” Then, one of two things would’ve happened: 1) I would walk away dejected, crushed that I never knew how bad I really was or 2) I would wade into denial and proclaim that those stupid coaches have no idea what they’re talking about.
All of this brings me, oddly enough, to American Idol. You wonder why this show is so popular despite having the tendency of being rather cheesy. Perhaps American Idol is so alluring because it’s returning realism to our society. I usually enjoy watching the show at the very beginning of the season when they do the auditions. Like most of you, I don’t give a rip about the good singers, but tune in to see the horrible ones. These people strut into their audition divaishly [new word I created meaning “diva-like”] proclaiming that God gave them the voice of an angel; when they’re finished, you’ve concluded that there are definitely voices in their head, but not from God. It never fails that someone says to Simon Cowell, “Well, people have been telling me for years how awesome my voice is, so you’ve got to be wrong you . . . [insert appropriate curse word here].” Although he comes off as cruel, many of us resonate with the sentiment expressed by Simon because at least he’s truthful. And maybe there’s the problem with American society today: there are too many Paula Abduls in the world today [if my teenage-self ever knew that my adult-self would write such a blasphemous statement about Paula Abdul, there would be a fight].
It’s not brutal to tell an older child that they’re not quite as good as they think they are; in fact, it can be downright helpful. Otherwise, when they hit the real world and an over-inflated self-esteem rules their consciousness, how will they be able to handle rejection? Can you imagine when these kids, who’ve been told for years that they’re the best thing since sliced bread, hit their twenties and can’t get a job? Rejection is difficult enough to handle when you already know you’re not good enough. Listen, I really love kids and you want to see them succeed. But setting them up for future disappointments by “blowing smoke” is hurting them more than helping them. We should still encourage them, hug them, and tell them that they’re loved, but keep the praise realistic. And by the way, from a minister’s standpoint, the gospel has nothing to do with self-esteem. If you really examine Scripture, you’ll read nothing about us needing to develop our self-esteems; you’ll actually discover the opposite- that we should consider ourselves less than we actually are as we follow Jesus. So if you’ve adopted a “health and wealth-based Christianity” [see Joel Olsteen and many other Pentecostal leaders] you might be missing the point a little bit. Losing is a part of life.
And start keeping score again. We need to teach kids how to lose. If you can’t learn how to lose by playing sports, then where else do you learn it? To this day you see grown men playing sports who don’t know how to lose. They throw temper-tantrums [and objects] when the game doesn’t turn out their way. How sad is that? At this rate, when all these kids who’ve been reared on this no-score nonsense finally grow up, church softball leagues will become killing fields. Our society will crumble to pieces! Not one of us will survive! “Rivers and seas boiling! The dead rising from the grave! Human sacrifice! Dogs and cats living together . . . mass hysteria!”
OK, maybe that’s a tad overdramatic, but at least I got to throw in my favorite Ghostbusters quote to end this post. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 9:46:00 AM
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| Monday, April 11, 2005 |
| TIGER SHOT! |
For most of you, watching golf on television ranks somewhere between voluntary dental surgery and removing thirty-year old wallpaper: just not worth the time. I, however, absolutely love it. I'll admit that it can get boring at times; some of my best Sunday afternoon naps have happened while the TV was tuned into golf, but it can also be extremely riveting. If you were watching yesterday afternoon you know exactly what I'm talking about.
The Masters Tournament, held every year in Augusta, Georgia, is the most beautiful venue in all of golf. It's absolutely gorgeous in April and since it's the only one of golf's four major tournaments that takes place on the same course every year you can memorize the layouts to the holes. So many great golf moments have happened there that every hole owns some sort of history.
Making it even more interesting was that Tiger Woods was in the lead going into the last round. Hard core golf fans dislike Tiger as much as redneck NASCAR fans hate Jeff Gordon, but he's my guy. Tiger and I were born on the exact same date: December 30, 1975. So whenever they talk about him breaking some new record at such and such an age, I know exactly how old he is. I've been charting his professional life against mine and I feel pretty sorry for him; I guess he'll never be able to live up to all I've accomplished. At least he has his money to console him.
On the sixteenth hole par 3, up only one stroke to Chris DiMarco [who had just hit a beautiful shot just ten feet from the pin], Tiger hits a horrible shot off the back of the green that lands on the edge of the second cut. Hitting a ball lying there, lying right on the edge of where the grass gets longer, is difficult for anyone. But to be clinging to a slim lead with just two holes to play in the biggest golf tournament of the year, the stress level doesn't get much higher. All the television commentators were spelling out gloom and doom for Tiger. They said he'd be lucky to get it even close. Tiger proceeds to hit the ball away from the hole and allow it to roll down the green ala something you'd do at a putt-putt course. HE SANK THE SHOT MAKING BIRDIE! If you watched any sports news in the past twenty-four hours, you were sure to see it. The coolest thing was it just hung on the lip of the cup for a second, teasing you on whether or not it would fall [giving The Nike Corporation some great advertisement when they zoomed in on the swoosh logo on the ball], and it just dropped in. Tiger proceeded to lose two strokes on the last two holes but came back to win in a playoff.
The drama was amazing. I think it just goes to show us that you don't need something incredibly fast-paced to make it dramatic. In our world of ever increasing technology and speed, we think it takes more and more to get people's attention. We keep calling for louder and larger, more bang for our buck, and go big or go home. I was enthralled yesterday by grown men walking around a park hitting a little white ball with sticks. Maybe it doesn't take as much as we think it does.
Or maybe I'm just a loser who loves watching golf. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 8:08:00 AM
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| Sunday, April 10, 2005 |
| Do You Hear What I Hear? |
When I lead worship for our Saturday night Focus service here at church, I use in-ear monitors [Thanks Jeff Lyon for the hook-up]. In-ear monitors are those headphone-type things you see a lot of famous musicians use. No, I'm not trying to be a rock and roll stud for Jesus. It's all rather practical. For those of you unfamiliar with how it all works, let me explain.
You need monitors to hear what your band is playing. Monitors are those speakers that you see facing the band on the stage. From those speakers, the sound techs give you a mix of all the instruments and vocals so everyone can hear each other and stay together. The problem we've been having with our Focus service is that having five or six monitors on the stage makes it extremely loud up there. In order to tone this down a bit, I've gone to using these in ear monitors, which take the place of one of these speakers, mixing the sound into those headphones. Our drummer Brian Coates [yeah, I gave you a shout-out] uses them as well. It's still loud on stage, but there are two less monitors up there blaring out music, so we're making inroads.
I've been struggling here and there as I've been getting used to using the in-ear monitors. Included in the mix, with all the vocals, drums, bass and electric guitars, is the sound of a click track that Brian uses to help stay on rhythm; it sounds a little like the ticking clock sound from the TV show "24." So with all that happening in your ears, you have to really concentrate in order to keep in sync [Bye, Bye, Bye]. For instance, during the past two weeks I've been in the middle of a song and couldn't hear the sound of the drums. This tends to freak me out because if you lose the drums, you can get way off and look and sound ridiculous. I know, I always look ridiculous, but that's another posting.
So last night, as we were practicing, I lost the drums again. I wanted to make sure we nailed so I immediately stopped the band and half-yelled to Jeff and John Handel, who were mixing the sound at the soundboard, "OK, guys. There it happened again! I CANNOT HEAR THE DRUMS PLAYING!" I turned around and looked at Brian who calmly said, "I wasn't playing. That's the part where the drummer doesn't play." Jeff and John back at the soundboard took it all in stride. They just smiled and laughed. They understand that I tend to yell like an idiot when things freak me out. And they still like me.
So thanks Jeff and John for putting up with me when you're mixing the sound. You take a lot of crap and do some incredible work. I'll try to keep my diva attitude at home on Saturday nights. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:40:00 AM
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| Thursday, April 07, 2005 |
| My Aunt Barbara |
Dear Barbara,
Since you passed away Sunday night, it’s been difficult dealing with all these emotions that we have within us. I think the best way to do so is to talk about you. There are too many stories about you to tell. I’ve been receiving calls and emails all week from people who knew you who had no idea that I was your nephew; each person seems to have their own story about you. I’m sure during the months and years to come, we’ll remember even more. I really need to tell a few of them right now. I apologize if I mess up parts of these stories; you know how we Carr’s are prone to bouts of exaggeration.
The other day Uncle Roger told me a story about you from your childhood days. Hanging out at the Dempsey Pool in Price Hill, an older girl came up and bullied him around. He went and told you about it and you, despite being much shorter this girl [I don’t think you were ever five feet tall, were you?], beat the girl up. Then you warned all the other kids that if anyone else messed with her brother that they would have to answer to you. And Roger said that after that, no one dared touch him. I can’t believe you were such a punk! You were so cool. And so Westside.
You always wanted everyone to feel special. On my brother Chris’s birthday you threw him a party and invited our cousins. I guess this wasn’t grand enough for you, so you invited a bunch of kids from your church and your neighborhood to come too [I guess it didn’t matter that Chris didn’t know half the kids at his own party!]. You decided to take everyone to the park in your van. On arriving you realized someone was missing. It was me. Aunt Barbara, you had remembered all those kids and drove off without me, leaving me at your house! I was four-years old at the time, left Home Alone. They later made a movie about it. It starred Macaulay Culkin. I never saw a dime of that money. I’ve told that story a lot though, so thanks.
When our parents left town for a weekend getaway and needed someone to watch us, we always asked for you. You’d take us to Supreme Nut and Candy on Glenway Avenue and give us a dollar to spend. Speaking of a dollar, you could stretch one like Silly Putty. You knew how to get the most fun at the lowest possible price. We always had the best times when you were took care of us.
I always saw you at the North American Christian Convention because of Uncle Gary’s job. When we were playing Bible Bowl, you always offered your hotel room as a place to hang out [did you have to wear those old pajamas though?]. At the convention, I usually participated in the preaching competition. You’d show up and listen attentively and tell me what a wonderful job I did. I did so bad sometimes that I was sure you were lying. But I know you were sincere. You were just proud of your nephew.
Every once in awhile you’d give us a kiss on the cheek while wearing the brightest red lipstick ever invented. That lipstick was impossible to get off. I have to admit that it was icky. But for some strange reason, we didn’t seem to mind as much because it was from you.
Just recently you stopped by my brother and sister-in-laws house. My nephew Samuel loves pickles and you made sure to give him one. Who stops by someone’s house to give a kid a pickle? Only you.
Thanksgiving will never be the same without you. One Thanksgiving years ago my brother Tim was showing off the new stereo he had in his room in the basement. It quickly turned into a dance party when you got involved, dragging the rest of the family in there. Only you could have had Grandma dancing around on a waterbed while Billy Ray Cyrus sang, “Don’t Tell My Heart, My Achy, Breaky, Heart . . .” Somewhere there’s a video tape of this. It would be priceless to watch. Thanks for proving that we Carr’s have rhythm.
Another Thanksgiving, just a few years ago, my sister Becky was complaining of some pains. Now Becky, even to her own admission, can be a tad dramatic at times. It soon escalated to the point that she was writhing on the kitchen floor in pain. Dad, in tune with how Becky was, told her to stop playing around. But you went over, holding on to Becky, saying that they needed to rush her to the emergency room. Apparently she was passing some kidney stones. I guess you were right. Even if Becky wasn’t sick, you still would’ve reacted the same way.
While there are tons of other stories out there, this is the one I will cherish forever. Growing up I was a huge Pete Rose fan, but since the Reds traded him to the Philadelphia Phillies in the late seventies, I had never seen him play in person. I guess you knew how much I liked him because when I was seven years old you, Uncle Gary, Grandma and me went to Riverfront Stadium to see him play when the Phillies were in town. I remember it was a school night and it was probably the latest I had ever been allowed to stay up. Afterward we went to the Frisch’s on Central Parkway. All of this so I could see Pete play ball. I’ll never forget that night as long as I live.
If I could pick one object to describe you and what you meant to the our family, it would be Elmer’s glue. Over the past twenty-five years our family has been through a lot. Through thick and thin, you were the constant, trying to keep everyone together. That was so selfless of you. You always cared about other people. You were such an includer, not wanting anyone to feel left out. No matter how bad things were, it was impossible not to smile when you were around.
Your personality was magnetic. Your laugh was intoxicating. Your smile was illuminating. There will never be another Barbara. Our lives have been truly blessed to have had you in it. I’m sorry I never told you this while you were with us. But I know you know how I felt. I’ll miss you more than you could ever have imagined. I’ll do my best to keep the stories alive so that other people can see how truly amazing you were. I love you.
See you soon,
steve
*** If anyone reading this has a good Barbara story, feel free to add it by clicking on the Comments button below. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 9:45:00 AM
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| Wednesday, April 06, 2005 |
| For The Love Of The Game |
We weren’t much of a sports family growing up. I was the only person in the house really interested in sports at all. This meant I watched a lot of Ohio State football on a black and white TV in the basement. When my grandparents, who liked baseball, moved in with us I would watch Reds games with them. And when it came to actually playing sports, it was even worse. No one ever really taught me the fundamentals of sports, so I would do my best to pick up what I could. My dad did buy my one of those baseball practicing things that wrapped around a pole so when you’d hit the ball it would come back to you. But our basement really never had the height where I could swing a bat without hitting the heating duct, so I was afraid to use it. I’m not whining here. I had a great childhood that I wouldn’t trade for anything. It’s just that I was never very good at sports until near the end of my college days. You know how there’s that point in a child’s life where they finally get their coordination? Yeah, I got mine at age 19. Fortunately now, none of these people I play sports with know how truly horrendous I was while growing up.
Um . . . except for basketball.
This morning I woke up before dawn and headed down to CCU to play basketball with some guys there [I’d much rather save the half hour drive and play in our gym here at church, but there are never enough guys to get games going]. If you’ve ever seen me on the court you can testify to this: I can’t play basketball. I to this day have never learned how to shoot- I use a two-handed jump shot. I shoot more like a girl than Kelly does. People who don’t know me stare at me when I shoot and then ask if I’m serious. I swear, I’ve tried to learn the “proper form” but it’s pointless. I’m too far gone to try to fix it now.
Regardless of my dumb-looking shot, I still love to play and refuse to let it keep me down. The one redemptive thing is that basketball allows you to make up for it through hustle and defense; even at 29, I can outrun some of these college guys with my speed. But it’s still demoralizing to shoot as poorly as I do. Reflecting on my performance this morning, I’ve decided to share my shooting line from this morning with you so you can get an idea of what I’m talking about. We played 3 games to ten points a game, counting field goals as one point and 3-pointers as two.
4 for 11 shooting, 0 of 2 from behind the three point line. Two turnovers.
Yeah, pretty bad, especially considering that 3 of those misses were lay-ups. I did cause six turnovers and I made about six rebounds. But of course, this is pick-up basketball, so I guess I’m a loser for even telling you. But no matter how bad I suck, I’m gonna keep going out there, fearlessly embarrassing myself. Because I’ve got spirit. Yes I do. I’ve got spirit. How ‘bout you? |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 10:02:00 AM
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| Tuesday, April 05, 2005 |
| I'm a pastor |
I’m in my seventh year of full-time professional ministry. I first realized that I wanted to become a minister after my sophomore year in high school. I didn’t get struck by a lightning bolt from God or hear his voice audibly calling me. I just liked the idea of getting paid to speak. Being from a small church, I was able to preach my first sermon at the age of ten which allowed me ample opportunity to develop my public speaking tools. That’s why I wanted to go into the ministry: I wanted to preach.
So I graduated Bible College and was unable to find a preaching job. Well actually, that’s not entirely true. I could’ve taken a preaching gig if I wanted to relocate to an area of the country where the banjo is the instrument of choice and lard is the fifth food group. I chose, however, to stay in the city and do youth ministry. After that, I went back to work at the Bible College [or the Christian University, if you prefer] and finally ended up here at Mason. Seven years after graduating school with a preaching degree, I am still not preaching. Good work, Steve.
That used to bother me, but now I could care less. God’s been working on me, redefining what I saw as ministry. I thought anything other than preaching wasn’t doing real ministry. But during the past few years God has taught me the value of being a pastor. The terms might sound the same: minister and pastor. But pastoring people is altogether different than just being a minister. It’s all about investing in people’s lives; seeing them through the highest highs and lowest lows; sharing in their laughter but joining them in tears- urging them to draw them closer to God. It’s a lot of low-profile, never-ending work that’s exhausting: weddings and hospitals, births and deaths, one after the other. I’ll admit, that if you went back in time, to the end of my sophomore year in high school and tried to sell me this job, I don’t think I would have signed on. But during these past few years God has shown me how rewarding it can truly be. I’m grateful I’ve been able to do what I’ve done.
My aunt took her own life Sunday night. She was the most amazing Christian lady you’d ever care to meet [I’m going to post something about her during the next few days]; it was so unexpected. Yesterday I was with my uncle early in the morning, praying with him in this horrendous time. Then I had to break the news to my grandmother that her daughter had died. It was one of the darkest days in my life but, please don’t take this wrong, it wasn’t too bad. God has been preparing me to pastor, and it sorta flowed out naturally yesterday. It’s been a hellish time for our family, and I know it’s just beginning, but I’m extremely thankful that God has prepared me for this. I guess He’s known all this time what He’s been doing in my life.
There’s no other job I’d rather do. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 9:20:00 AM
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| Sunday, April 03, 2005 |
| John Paul II |
It's difficult for a Protestant to offer reflections on the passing of a pope, but being from the westside of Cincinnati I'm probably as qualified as many Catholics are. Despite the fact that I've lived "under the reign" of three popes, the only one I remember at all is John Paul II. It's been said that he was the most widely traveled pope in the history of the office [which spans almost 2,000 years] and that he has blessed more people during his papacy than the combined total of popes for the last 200 years. And with the advent of cable/satellite television and the internet, this was the most visible pope ever. Unfortunately, this left John Paul's declining health fully exposed for the whole world to see, but he managed to handle it with unparalleled composure. There's already a rumor that he died while staring out at the throngs of visitors in St Peter's Square, offering a blessing to them all and concluding his life by uttering the word "Amen." Sounds a little contrived, but with this guy, I actually believe it.
You have to respect the way that he stood for his church's convictions in the midst of a changing world. There were plenty of opportunities for him to be the pope that destroyed long established Catholic church teachings concerning celibacy or birth control or even homosexuality for that matter. Doing so would have made him immensely popular worldwide, but it would have damaged the reputation of the papacy.* He had a keen understanding of the world and how to get what he wanted. Just look at what he was able to do in his homeland. Many historians say that he was the catalyst of the Solidarity movement in Poland, crediting him for driving out communism there.
As much hatred there is out there for the Catholic Church, no one was able to launch a successful attack against this pope. Sinead O'Conner tried to and it killed her singing career [or was it her music that did that?]. John Paul did his best to stay above reproach and it looks like he was successful.
This next few weeks are going to be fascinating as the Roman Catholic church attempts to find someone else to step in and fill his shoes. I predict that it will be impossible. There will most likely be no other pope is influential and popular as John Paul II in my lifetime.
* I know it might seem humorous to discuss damaging "the reputation of the papacy" when there are plenty of occurrences of misdeeds performed by popes over the past two-thousand years. There were teenage popes and even those that fathered children. Yet this part of the past is either widely ignored or unknown by Catholics, so one would have to say that in 2005 the papacy has a good reputation. Perhaps this is another affirmation of the influence of John Paul II and of the power that he wielded while in office. It looks like he was even able to reform history. |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 7:52:00 AM
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| Saturday, April 02, 2005 |
| Regergitating the past |
I almost threw up last night. Just thought you needed to know. I tell you because it's somewhat significant: I only puke about once a decade.
Last time: 1995. I was in college. It was a Wednesday night. Went bowling at Western Bowl and decided to get a couple orders of Nachos. I had an indoor soccer game, then afterward stopped off at Frisch's for a hot fudge cake. About 1:30 in the morning I was worshipping the porcelain gods at a toilet in the dorm.
Time before that: 1981. I was in the first grade. It was a weeknight. Ironically, my teacher that year was Mrs Barth [I couldn't make stuff like that up]. I don't think I had even had the chicken pox yet. I was lying on our living room couch, not feeling too well because I was running a fever. I hadn't eaten anything but soup, so there wasn't too much damage done. The good news was that hurling was an automatic no school for the next day. I'm sure I upchucked a lot more before 1981, but since then it's only been those two times.
That's why I seriously thought Friday night was it. But my lack of vomiting experience might have hurt me in the long run. At what should've been the moment of truth, I came up zeroes. I camped out by the toilet for half an hour and then fell back asleep in the hallway.
Anyway, I'm on a once a decade schedule here. So far I'm halfway through this one and I have yet to produce. I'd start a betting pool if I were you; I have this strange feeling about October 2007.
Wonder how I'd do on Fear Factor? |
| yet another musing of steve-o @ 11:30:00 AM
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