handsome......
                    

                    

sweet........

beautiful.........

stunning.............

I Shot The Sheriff

I didn't want to do it. Not at first. He was my friend - or so I thought. He was exactly what my family needed - but I was wrong...dead wrong. When confronted with the facts there was really only one thing to do. So I shot him...I shot the sheriff.

I wish I had seen it sooner. He'd been a part of our family for over 8 years. He was an acquaintance longer than that. But when I heard how he talked to my family - I mean really heard him with open ears AND open mind - I had had enough. I can still hear her crying.

It wasn't her fault. She didn't deserve that kind of treatment. Gracie didn't want hot dogs for dinner. She said her belly hurt. The sheriff didn't seem to care. He told her we were having hot dogs or nothing! She frowned and cowered a little at his sternness and then timidly complied.

When my wife came to the table she had a ham sandwich. Ham is a little easier on Gracie's stomach, so she asked, in kind of a whine, if she could have some ham. Her mother graciously said "Yes." The sheriff didn't like that at all. He hated it when someone contradicted his wishes - his demands. That was his first rule, sort of an unwritten one - never defy the sheriff.

As Gracie ate quietly and gingerly, still aware of her upset stomach and the glare of the sheriff, the sheriff said, "Well Gracie - I guess you got what you wanted." Sick or not, she had gone against his wishes. And with one heartless turn of a phrase he had taken care of her willful disobedience and her selfishness. What happened next makes ME sick. Gracie bowed her head and let her hair cover her face (she got that from her mother). Then came the tears. One by one they fell - like great drops of rain. Down they came - tears, countenance, spirits. That's when I decided that the sheriff had to go.

Once he was gone I was able to see all the damage the sheriff had done. It would take a lot to heal the hurt, drive out the fear, and restore our home to health. So I hired a shepherd.

You see, a sheriff bends and breaks the will over the law - but the shepherd binds the heart to the Chief Shepherd, the Good Shepherd, the Great Shepherd. Don't get me wrong, the shepherd has rules. He uses his rod to guard and to discipline - a rod that is in his hand quite often around our house. But he also has a staff to guide. And both are powered by love for those needing his guarding, discipline, and guidance.

The shepherd had a date today. It was with that same little girl the sheriff berated a few weeks before. I think some things are being restored. Time will tell.

And the sheriff? He tried to go along. Apparently he wasn't mortally wounded. That's ok. The shepherd had his rod.

And love covers a multitude of sins.

ct

"Are You Listening To Me?!?"

The other night my wife and I were in the middle of a conversation - actual "big people" talk, something almost unheard of around our house - when Bella had had enough. She was ready to enter the conversation and began the barrage. She leaned in real close to Beth, talking just above a whisper. When that didn't work, she talked at the top of her voice - in fact, you can probably still hear the words echoing around our dining room. Still, Beth and I kept our conversation going, desperate to keep the "big people" talk alive. Bella stood up in her chair, leaned in real close, grabbed Beth by the cheeks, and said, with a gleam in her eye and a grin on her lips, "ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!?"

I know where she got that. That's a phrase that has crossed my lips many times, though none have been as comical as the one that night. But anytime I need to give the kids some sort of training or instruction, I find myself HAVING to ask, "Are you listening to me?" Now Bella wasn't just rattling off a phrase she got out of the book "Ten Phrase Every Parent Should Know and Overuse". She was not offering training or discipline. She wasn't interested in critiques on diction or a vocabulary lesson. She had a greater concern. Her question went beyond whether or not we were listening. In fact, the words of the story really didn't mean much. When you strip away all the layers, all the words, her eyes, her little hands clutching my wife's face - all of it - was easily translated into one simple cry. Notice me.

I have the same desire. I was reminded of that this morning. You see, today is my birthday. I haven't really done much on my birthday for quite sometime. This morning was no different - no big plans, no expectations - or so I told myself. I went to work not expecting anything extravagant - just another day. Then some friends gave me a birthday card. My wife and children called to wish me a happy birthday and all four of the kids sang 'Happy Birthday', with an encore presentation by Bella a little while later. As the birthday wishes poured in from all over, I began to walk a little taller, with more spring in my step. The day just kept getting better and better - I was on top of the world.

Why? Because of all the birthday money? Nope. Because I had been anointed "World's Greatest Dad, Youth Director (thanks Joe), Employee, and All Around Good Guy"? Nope. I had been noticed.

Isn't that the question asked verbally and emotionally by everyone, everywhere? The baby crying in his crib, the toddler's endless questions - are you listening? Your husband's failed attempts to clean the house, your wife's new hairdo - Did you notice? The cashier at the grocery store, the server at the restaurant, the tattooed and pierced teenager. That co-worker who is the life of the party - or the one with her head down, eating by herself in the cafeteria. Are you listening? Do you notice?

I wonder how many stories we have missed because we haven't been listening? I wonder how many opportunities? The world IS listening. False teachers ARE listening. Too many Christians are not. There is an old saying - "They don't care how much you know until they know how much you care." It's simple, but to the point. We talk about world evangelism. We talk about deliberate evangelism. We talk about holy living. We talk about everything under the sun. But we don't listen. We don't notice the very people that we are charged with telling the glorious news of the gospel. We have missed it.

There is no doubt that we must earnestly contend for the faith. There is no doubt that we should strive lawfully. There is no doubt that lines must be drawn. I am not for weak, anemic Christianity that just seeks to fit in. But this is not about fitting in or rubbing shoulders or compromise. It's not about condoning sin or watering down the gospel. It's not about giving the world a religious imitation of itself. It's about actually listening to what people are saying - and what they are not saying. It's about hearing between the lines.

People everywhere are crying out for something, anything to help in their time of need. The world listens and gives them booze, drugs, and fornication. The false teachers notice and give them a watered religion instead of a relationship with the Lord Jesus Christ. We have the answer - we KNOW the ANSWER! His name is Jesus. They need who we've got!

But when they cry out for whatever it is they think they need - are you listening? Do you notice?

Do I?

You Had Me At High Speed

So Beth and I had this great idea to start a blog as a way to share photos and family stuff with all the family and friends we have around the world. Sounded like a great idea. The only problem is that we would have had to hire someone full time to post the pictures, etc that we wanted to post. Our dial-up connection, although fast for dial-up, was incredibly slow when it came to uploading and updating our blog. So the blog went by the wayside. One post, one follower. Maybe one day we can finally figure out a way to upload things and update things faster. But how? Do they have something faster than dial-up?

Then we found it. High speed internet. Oh wow. It's not the fastest thing out there, but it is waaaaay faster than dial-up. I have had to work on time management now. I don't know when I'll find time to do all the stuff I used to do while waiting for the page to load or the photo to download or upload. But, you know, what a great problem to have! This high speed thing is incredible! The first night I just loaded page after page watching the speed. Admiring the speed. Fearing the speed.

The next day I told a couple of my co-workers about the great blessing that had been bestowed on me and my family - this wonderful lady, High Speed. I was met with bewildered looks and rolling eyes. A few smirked and a couple actually LOLed. Were these barbarians scoffing at the idea of high speed? I began to feel a little like Galileo when he KNEW the world was round, yet was laughed at by every other scientist and astronomer. I began to feel like the guy who picked Stanford over USC! We all know how that one worked out. Maybe my skeptical friends just needed a demonstration of the awesome power of high speed. Maybe seeing would be believing for them. Maybe I could help a few weary dial-up travelers on their journey to information overload. I relished the thought that I could be chosen for such a daunting task - to tell the world of high speed internet access. I felt a sense of pride with a dash of inadequacy. Could I be a hero?

Then some friends swallowed their laughter and smiled that smile. You know the one. The one parents give their son when he tries to glue the crayons he broke back together. The smile people give an elderly gentleman who holds the door for his lovely wife. The smile people give hapless Buccaneer fans as they scurry on their way toward a 1 and 15 season. That smile that says, 'How cute is that?' I was made painfully aware that people have been blogging and uploading and downloading and updating and posting at high speeds for months. Years, even. Dial-up was a thing of the past. High speed wasn't even the fastest thing out there anymore. Now they had FIOS, which could move faster than high speed but wasn't allowed to cross the street. Those looks of bewilderment and rolling eyes weren't from scoffers. They were from pitiers,. They were looks that said, 'Oh look at the cute almost middle-aged man who was stuck on the wrong speed. How cute is that?'

That was not what was supposed to happen. That was not in the script. I was the hero. I was the prophet of high speed. I was....

I was finally welcomed to the 21st century. Oh high speed. Where have you been all my life? Apparently every where but my house.