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At the end of July, I communicated to our church staff and membership that it was “all hands on deck” for August. It promised to be a hurricane of activity, and we needed everyone in place to serve. There are three college campuses and one medical school within 15 miles of us. The student population swells the the county by almost 45,000st 45,000
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Izbrano poglavje ne obstaja! Štetje svetopisemskih vrstic se začne z ¹! Vrstica ⁰ ne obstaja!

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Our August schedule was so marked up with fellowship opportunities, service projects, community and campus events that I think my iPhone got heavier every time I pulled up my calendar.

Yesterday at our staff meeting, I shared with an amazing group of people – both paid and volunteer – how proud and grateful I was to serve with them and the members of our church. We had our first Sunday with two services this past Sunday, and there were few glitches. More importantly, in the last two weeks, we’ve seen God (and it’s been all Him) bring over 200 new people to our church – students and families.

Now begins the joyfully hard work of ensuring that this new crowd becomes a congregration. It is our prayer and deep hope that we will be faithful and diligent to encourage every single person and family coming to our church to love and good deeds in Jesus Christ. (Hebrews 10:24Hebrews 10:24
English: World English Bible - WEB
24 Let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good works,

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A busy August is over. I’m grateful and humbled by the amazing things God has done. I want to enjoy this moment. Simultaneously, this time is also one of great spiritual urgency as we seek to encourage and equip the people God has sent us to be the church.

I plan to take a deep breath over the next few days, gaining perspective and seeking wisdom.  I’d appreciate your prayers for our staff and our church.

This is a followup to my post Unopinionated. In it, I wrestled with the danger and necessity of voicing your opinion about public issues as a leader. I wasn’t referring to issues which are morally or biblically right or wrong but rather those issues that require vision, direction and wise counsel.

One of the precipitating concerns that I have about remaining silent is that our culture in general these days seems to promote those into positions of leadership – both private, corporate and public – who will respond only to opinion. Therefore, we have public opinion polls, popularity indices, etc. These only serve to force a person into nonleadership. He/she is responsive not to ideas and grand philosophies but to the whims of the uninformed, the unhappy, and the frustrated. We know deep down that it’s better to prolong our immediate needs for longterm benefit, but these polls demand immediate satisfaction. We are victims of the cult of the now.

What about you? When you and the leaders – Christian or not – around you remain silent locally on issues that affect direction, well-being and reflect poor stewardship of community resources or tax income, you are not seeking the best for the community in which you live.

One of the problems with voicing your thoughts is that most decisions that are reached happen outside of your regular input or insight. You don’t have the same amount of research and counsel that others have had access to in making community decisions. You hope that “the powers that be” have done their research and arrive at their conclusions after long, careful deliberation of known facts and issues. Occasionally, however, you sense that to not be the case.

When a decision is publicized that is contrary to public or private opinion, it’s often confounding to reconcile known facts and experiences with the decision that has been reached. It’s important to ask why, and to keep searching for answers to how the decision was made and upon what reasons the decision rests.

When you seek to please others by remaining silent in your communities, organizations, or churches, you do not help the overall health of the community. Choosing to get involved and voice your thoughts must be merged with the right channel of communication. You can’t simply post your concern as a Facebook status or Tweet. There are proper channels for public discourse. A tweet has yet to change the world. But commitment, persistence and patient communication have regularly impacted the flow of societal events and ideology. In other words, the way you communicate matters.

It’s vital as you do your fact-finding and voice your opinion, to do so with the right attitude and with a spirit of humility. You won’t press your point far if you’re divisive, vengeful or contentious in how you approach the situation. The Christian, in particular, has access to incredibly wise counsel through biblical teachings on this matter. Ephesians 4.15 urges one’s attitude to be one of “speaking the truth in love.” In Philippians 2.3, one is instructed to avoid anything that involves personal ambition and to practice putting others up instead of down.

You’ll find you go farther in public discourse and influence when others sense you seek theirs and the public’s good rather than simply tearing down what is (or isn’t) in favor of the way you want it. Representing yourself, your organization, your family and your church well in public means that you must guard your heart, control your feelings, and practice humility.

Don’t allow yourself or your leaders to be needlessly influenced by public opinion. Do what is right. When in doubt or in a difficult decision, seek wise counsel. Embrace personal and corporate humility. Choose proper channels of communication. And remember, pleasing people may not be what is ultimately best for them.

This is the tame version of the original quote:

“Opinions are like buttholes; everyone’s got one.”

Including pastors.

Yes, we have buttholes. And yes, we have opinions. (I can sense my mom cringing from here.)

Let’s clarify that I don’t mean opinions about scripture and theology in this column, although it would be just as applicable. I’m referring to cultural or local issues. Things that get the locals hot under the collar. Things that “get out the vote.”

It seems culturally hip these days for pastors to go to one or the other extreme with their opinions. One camp conceals their personal druthers while the other parades it. One camp smiles and wants everyone to be their friend, while the other has no friends. One group embraces politics and soundbites while the other communicates through books and speeches. Think of Joel Osteen and Pat Robertson as being representative of each.

The Smilies

The strategy, unspoken or not, of this line of thought is that it’s more important to be able to relate with everyone than isolate yourself with a strong opinion on a matter. It has its merits. Not every opinion is worth offering, and why would we who seek to offer the joyful truth of Christ have it ignored because someone can’t stand how we think about an issue of irrelevance?

The Smuggies

This camp of leaders is confident of their rightness and often expresses it. No need to whitewash things, they say. So they wield the truth according to them as a sledgehammer. Few are spared, including other mediating opinions that might urge a conciliatory tone.

Where I Stand

Over the course of being a Christian leader (for 20+ years now), I’ve wandered in and out of both of the above camps. I enjoy it when people like me, so I’ve worked up a good smile. On the other hand, I also enjoy being right and at times have even ignored information that might disprove my stance.

Recently in our community of Blacksburg, VA, two strong issues have come up that have provoked my thinking about whether to offer my opinion or not. (Of course, who really cares what I think, anyway?) As I’ve discussed my thoughts with others, it always seems to be those that feel the same way I do. Do you tend to gravitate towards approvers as well? It certainly makes me feel like I’m right when others are nodding. And of course, I affirm their rightness as well. So we leave as happy campers, mutually appreciative of our wisdom but frustrated with “they” and not able to effect change.

It’s that effecting change stuff that gives me the willies, honestly. Change. We had a candidate recently run on that mantra, and he meant it. I won’t offer you my opinion about that… unless you feel the same way I do.

What do you find yourself getting frustrated about that isn’t related to issues of ultimate or eternal significance? When is it appropriate to speak up, to try to change things, to offer an alternative viewpoint? When is it better to keep the peace? As a pastor, I struggle with those questions. I don’t want to lose an ounce of influence that has been divinely won for me by matters that are meaningless.

A few questions I filter as I consider the publicity of my opinions:

• Will they be more helpful in the long run to others or will they simply “stir the pot?”
• By speaking up, would it be possible that I might gain influence or improve the situation?
• By speaking up, would it be possible that I might lose influence and hinder true solutions?
• Is it more important to speak to issues or to befriend those who might shape the solution?

As a leader and an influencer of a small amount of people, I am probably oversensitive to the extreme importance of being a steward of my ideas and thoughts. What I think about things really isn’t important. What God thinks of them is. But does God care about the issues, big and small, that mark our lives and divide our neighborhoods?

I believe He does.

To be continued…

There is a house near the southern edge of Arkansas. That house no longer contains the magic and mystery and comfort that it once held. It sits vacant now. It has done so for several years now. Although its interior has changed little – furniture sitting unmoved since the days of my childhood, its transcendent quality has deteriorated with each passing year, much the same as the wood decays on its exterior.

In days of yore, the house was the epicenter of adventure, dreams, exploration and childhood fantasy. Kids played around, under, over and in the endless pine forests surrounding it. They were often called in to supper, not by voices but by fragrances of fried foods emitting from the kitchen windows of the house.

My father lived in the house beginning sometime in high school, and my uncle and aunt also made it their residence. Although their rooms still bore telltale traces of their young lives, it was the rowdy passage of all their children that left the greatest mark (or marks) on the house.

• A wooden camel figurine brought back from Jerusalem erupted into shekinah glory in the fireplace one summer as an experiment.
• A set of dainty China cups were cracked and shoved to the back of the China cabinet away from casual viewing.
• A shotgun hole in the side of the work shed was handily covered with a leaning plow.
• A porch swing was undamaged but knocked a cousin into the sticker bushes next to the porch when he wasn’t prepared for the speed at which another cousin pushed it back at him.
• Hot Wheel cars logged more mileage down the hardwood floor hall than a farmer’s Chevrolet.
• Rumor has it that there is actually glass still missing from a few picture frames in the house after rowdiness broke them and fear swept them up and threw away the pieces quietly.

It is the house’s emptiness now that saddens all those who once enjoyed it. Grandkids have grown and now have kids of their own. Visits to it now are more like pilgrimages, and the occasional relative departs with a treasure only with the permission of the house’s guardian and heritage keeper. Both of its longtime tenants have transitioned to a better house, one with heavenly rewards.

And so the house sits forlornly in the pine forests of southeast Arkansas. It beckons all, but few come. It offers powerful nostalgia and memorable, albeit musty, ambience for any who would tarry. Its sole activity in these days of dispersed relatives and deceased owners is simply to… rot.

Today I learned that my best friend from high school died Sunday. Classmates Facebooked me literally moments before my mom called.

Bryant Turbeville was a year older than I, and although we were separated by a grade, we were inseparable buddies. We weathered the stormy years of high school together, laughing all the way. In truth, I can’t recall too many moments being with Bryant that we weren’t irreverent or insane.

Though we’ve not kept up since college except for occasional phone calls, Carolyn ran into Bryant at the airport in Little Rock last fall after our move to Virginia. Their chance meeting provoked a long, enjoyable phone call in which we shared life and reflected on how God had led each of us.

I am still a little stunned by his death. He was visiting a friend, stood up and complained of a pain in his leg. It was an aneurysm which went straight to his heart and killed him instantly.

Such is the brevity of life.

Bryant blessed mine with such deep benefit in our friendship. Here are just some random memories:

• Singing all of Chicago 17′s songs from his tape deck in his white 300z at the top of our lungs on Friday nights while cruising Little Rock. I don’t recall our crooning ever successfully resulting in meeting chicks.
• A student council convention in which he, Tanya Siebert, Angie Harrison and myself represented Pulaski Academy in our bid for a state office. I dressed up as Superman and bounded out into the gathered assembly with the other three singing a song to the Superman theme tune:

Pulaski Academy…
Making a difference you can see
A great state council we want to be
When you vote… Pulaski Academy!

• Dozens of movies. In fact, since my folks were sticklers about rated R movies prior to my 17th birthday, I’m pretty sure it was Bryant that I saw Beverly Hills Cop with. It was my first theater R movie experience.
• Physics. We took it together, as I recall, and Dr. King was our teacher. He was a rather interesting character, and one day we were shooting rockets off from the high school football field. It was Bryant who had the idea of dropping grass blades down Dr. King’s exposed butt crack as he knelt sweatily over each rocket to light it. I always wondered if he ever worriedly informed a doctor that he had grass in his stool.
• In college, I found my freshman year that a friend who shall go unnamed (but rhymes with Hitch Lettuce) had a favorite pair of underwear. They were semi-bikinish and grossed out his roommate. I stole them over spring break, and Bryant and I drove all over Little Rock taking pictures of that pair of underwear lying on landmarks from the WWII memorial at the State Capitol to the Old Mill. We sent pictures (copies of which I still have; so Hitch, don’t consider revenge) as a ransom note.
• High school football and basketball games rooting on the Bruins.
• And so many more…

I also remember Bryant’s deep and abiding faith in Christ. He and his family attended First Baptist in Little Rock, while mine went to Immanuel Baptist. It was always a deep encouragement to know my friend shared my faith and love for Christ. Last fall as we visited on the phone, we both marveled at my role as a pastor. Bryant had such affirming and encouraging words for me.

Bryant wanted to be a doctor when we were in high school and pursued his dream with earnest. I too entered college with the idea of being a doctor but changed to communications after my freshman year. He was practicing with OrthoArkansas upon his death. (I’ve used their stock photo for the picture above because mine are all in storage.)

It’s a little surreal to lose a friend that you’ve not been good at keeping up with. However, his grace, joy and love will always be remembered. He was the kind of friend that lasts a lifetime – in spite of distance. I rejoice that I will see him again one day. I can’t help wondering if he’s tried to serenade the Lord with Chicago’s hit song, You’re the Inspiration.

Thank you, Bryant Turbeville. You are missed.

Our church was thrilled and blessed to be able to host the Glory in the Highest Concert in December. Thanks to Legacy campus ministry, we were able to use Burruss Auditorium at VT. It featured Shane & Shane, Phil Wickham and Bethany Dillon.

They were all incredible, and we were amazed at the turnout and how encouraging the response was.

Our worship leader posted the following YouTube video today of a remix he did of Phil Wickham’s song “Beautiful.” I half expected to find Cody telling knock-knock jokes or something when I clicked on the link. However, I was impressed. You watch and tell me what you think:

Just in the past six months, it’s been amazing how the Lord has knitted together an incredible team of like-minded servants in Northstar Church to not only work together for God’s glory but to deeply enjoy one another’s company.

I’m grateful for how God has worked to lead us to Virginia, and I just had to brag on Cody in particular with this post. He’s an amazingly talented, humble, fun, and reflective young man. He and his better half, LaRae just bought their first house. Carolyn and I are celebrating the implications of that purchase as being they truly sense the Lord leading them to continue their ministry among the people of Northstar and the Burgs.

We’re all very fortunate and blessed to have someone who has such talent and a teachable spirit working among us.

Each and every Sunday, the worship service at our church is conducted in a way that inspires heartfelt worship of Christ. If you’ve not had the opportunity to join us yet, I’d encourage you to do so. The preaching is just so-so… ;)

What a year! It was begun fighting cancer in southeast Arkansas, and it is ending with a healthy family in Virginia. We are humbled and amazed at all that has been done in and through our lives this past year.

Before I write an entry on looking forward, I wanted to look back. So I thought I’d sum up our year with 12 blog entries. Peruse them at your leisure! Happy new year!

• January: Chemo hero
• February: Spiritual centering
• March: Fun faith
• April: Rectal 2009
• May: NCourage and smallness
• June: Burned up or burned out?
• July: Increasing gratitude
• August: Sunday in Krakow
• September: Ode to Monticello
• October: An inglorious testimony
• November: The danger of marginalization
• December: Big weekend

Vote

I’d love to know which one you enjoyed the most. Vote here.

Ok… so I can’t come up with something special and fru-fru like “Gladituesday.” Amy is one of our favorite friends from OBU, and she’s surpassed my blog in Carolyn’s Safari bookmarks. Although she blogs about estrogenized topics a lot, I do enjoy lurking and will even admit to a beaucoup of belly laughs as a result. (Not that I’m laughing at women… I’m laughing with them; let’s get that straight!)

Her recent entry about gratitude nudged me out of my blogger’s block. I have so much to be thankful for, and our recent transition to Virginia has provoked moments of heightened gladness – both in looking back and in looking forward. So here goes…

• I’m grateful that there’s a Taco Bell right across the street from our church office and that Chicken Ranch Gorditos (sounds like a maffia investment in Texas) are only 89 cents. On long meeting days, I can dash across the street and eat for $3.73, which includes a medium Diet Pepsi!
• I’m glad today that I am a Mac User. I know that’s corny and you poor PC users are rolling your eyes. But go defrag your hard drive or something. Click here and get a virus. Really, these are good days to be a Mac fan, and I’ve been one since 1988.
• I am excessively delighted to be married to my wife. We had a “date” at Starbucks this morning – she is not a coffee shop frequenter, but she’s gorgeous and makes me look good when I’m out in public. We laugh hard and play well together. We are able to share our spiritual highs and lows, and I am eternally grateful to the Lord for His introduction of me to her.
• On that note, my most supreme gratitude is always reserved for my eternal rescue. Jesus Christ is my Savior, Lord, Redeemer, Rock and Strong Guide. I unashamedly profess my devotion and obedience to Him. I hope you release your life in faith to Him as well. It He is what you’ve been searching for.
• Another gift of God to me is my children. Sam and Adelyn are fun-loving, joyful kids that are growing up way too fast. I’m so glad that I’m a dad – even an imperfect one. It’s a humbling privilege to be a home hero. However, they are experts at making sure I’m not aware of any hero status. Why is it the duty of every preteen son to gloat over his father’s male pattern baldness?
• I’m grateful and glad for life friends in Arkansas. See more here.
• I’m glad and humbled for quick acceptance and respect granted here in Virginia. We are amazed at what God is doing in the lives of the people of Northstar Church, and we’re humbled by their eagerness to serve and learn and press into the future together.
• I am giddy about wonderful brain-candy shows like Heroes, Smallville, Fringe, Lost and now Community. I am thankful that I can sit down and enjoy such fare after long days of counseling and ministry. In addition, I love how Amy said, “I’m glad for fiction. That may sound crazy, but I’m so glad that people make up stories and write them down so that I can have a place to escape from time to time.  Right now, I’m especially grateful for Jan Karon and her little town of Mitford.  My brain’s default mode is very thinky. I’ve discovered that if I spend a few minutes in another story before I go to sleep, I can usually turn off some of the thoughts that try to keep me awake. The Mitford series has been wonderful for me.  The characters are sweet and quirky and I can relax in Mitford. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I finish the series.”
  I completely agree… not about Mitford, but about fiction. I too love great stories and epics. I’m thankful for the creative and the amazing gift of imagination.
• I’m grateful for ministry. It’s an arduous calling (The apostle Paul told his young ministry protege Timothy to “endure hardship with us like a good soldier of Christ Jesus.” (2 Timothy 2.3) Some days it feels like war, and some days it feels like a party. Yet, it is a “fine work.” (1 Timothy 3.1; See here for a great article on The Call to Church Leadership)
• I’m thankful for my scooter. Kevin Wieser gave me my first scooter, which was subsequently stolen. Then the people of Journey Church took up a collection to replace it. Having the Batmoped has been a huge blessing in Blacksburg.

What are you grateful for?

We had a fantastic day at Catalyst today, and I post it thoughts about it later. For now, here’s some video I shot from my iPhone, and if you want to see more, check out the media page at Cat09.

This particular post has been percolating in my head for a long time. I kept waiting for inspirations of majestic verbiage in order to craft an appropriate entry. I wanted people to read this sublime creation and weep in amazement. Unfortunately, I’ve now decided to simply dash off a few words before a small town in Arkansas feels forgotten and unappreciated.

First.. the before and after pictures:

Before

After

The first picture was taken for our first Christmas photo in Monticello, Arkansas. It was the winter of 1995, and Carolyn and I were thrilled to be making a new town our home. We’d arrived in southeast Arkansas via Dallas, Texas after graduating from seminary. That summer and fall we feel deeply in love with college students as we served and ministered alongside them at the University of Arkansas at Monticello Baptist Collegiate Ministry.

The second picture was taken last December, 2008. You’ll notice the two large appendages on the front of our bodies. We call them our kids – Sam and Adelyn. When we moved from Monticello in July of this year, it marked 14 years since we’d arrived. So much had changed. So much the same.

There were two life segments for us in Monticello. Our first 8 years were invested in extraordinary days of laughter, sorrow and life transformation on the campus. Our second 6 were joyfully hard, celebratory days of faith adventure through Journey Church.

This is not a post about all that we learned and experienced. It’s not an entry about what. Rather, it’s an entry about who.

In Dr. Seuss’ classic The Grinch Who Stole Christmas, readers were delightedly engaged with a town called Hooville. He had another book-movie in which an elephant heard a Hoo. In both, it was the small people in the story that made a difference in the life of the central characters. In the same way, Monticello’s people made a lasting and transforming difference in the life of a young couple who became a family in their midst.

There is no way that I could ever begin to name names for the Hoos in Monticello who shaped, contributed, helped, loved, and made our lives full and our hearts grateful over 14 years.

College students

From former students who now have families of their own to students we were just meeting (in Poland of all places) when we left, we have been abundantly graced with the joy of relating and having deep friendship with collegians. They gave to us so much more than we could ever give to them. Here are some things that they gave us: open minds, generous hearts (even when they had empty wallets!), time, babysitting, strong backs for home projects, cars when ours were in the shop (or later when a scooter was impractical because of weather or errands), practical jokes, late nights, video games, Bible studies, memories, friendships, trust, esteem, pictures, and male pattern baldness (at least mine, not Carolyn’s – and yes, I blame it on the students!).

To the students of UAM – past and present – that were/are in our lives – and even some that have passed on, thank you. We are forever changed and grateful because of your partnership in the gospel and in the dailyness of our lives. We’re so humbled by your ministry and friendship that shaped us and loved our children as they grew in your presence.

Members of Journey Church

In 2003, a handful of folks sat around in our living room on Jefferson Street, praying and listening to me share the dream for a new church in Monticello. That small group multiplied many times over, and though Journey was in some ways still small when we left, its people and its influence in the kingdom of God were huge in our lives.

There were those that stepped out of Journey along the way – some moved to other towns; others became disenchanted. With each loss, the Lord led others to step in and continue to help lead the church in its mission to be an authentic, though imperfect, expression of the kingdom of Christ. For those who persisted and trusted and loved and kept the vision, we are so grateful.

To the members of Journey, we love you so dearly. You cried with us. You laughed with us. You allowed us to be your family, even as you became part of ours. We remain astounded by all that the Lord Jesus did in our lives together. We constantly reminded one another that it’s all about Him, and you pursue that truth with tenacity today as you seek the next leader for your vibrant congregation.

To our other heart-friends in Monticello

Besides our family at Journey, the Lord also provided some amazing friends and encouragers in Monticello. Sam and Adelyn grew up with many of your kids. Others stepped into our lives – or were led – by what seemed coincidence. Yet to this day, we are confident it was Providence.

You blessed us so consistently and treated us with such respect. We were constantly encouraged by your smiles, hopes and prayers. With all the ups and downs of church life, health issues, kids, and existence, you were there for us. We tried hard to be there for you as well, but we still wonder if we were truly able to give even half as much as we received.

To the people of Monticello, the ones we shopped with, bumped into occasionally, acquaintances and even strangers…

Your infrequent presence in our life did not endear you any less to us. The atmosphere of Monticello, its people, its personality, its laid-back-ness… we are so appreciative of how the people of Monticello treated us. We loved being able to wave at you as you passed us in cars and have you wave back. We loved that you still prayed at Billies and Pirates games. We loved that Wal-Mart was not a store but a social gathering.

The county fair, Rough and Ready Days, church activities, school events, sports schedules, yard sales, an entire town dressed in camo in the fall, wonderful Christmases, down-home Thanksgivings, hell-hot summers… Through it all, the people of Monticello were there to smile, to help, to share and to impact this Noble couple who in their midst became a Noble family.

Thank you…

Small town nestled in woodland pine

Bustles and hustles during hunting time

Friendly waves at county fair and city square

Didn’t cease though eyes upon a scooter stare

At a small college misnamed U Ain’t Much

Our hearts were lavished by students’ touch

They served and sang, drove and flew

To extend Christ’s gospel to home and pew

Friendships made through thin and thick

Whether birth or death, health or sick,

Gave us joy and helped us stay

Faithful & grateful in the Way.

As fall crowds cheer on reds and blues,

Hunters clean their guns and stir their stews

County fair defies tornado’s messing

One family from afar reflects on blessing.

From misty valleys and cool hollow

Nobles think fondly of Monticello.

I first started blogging back in September of 2005. It’s hard to believe that to date, Notes from the Trail has 1273 posts and 4980 comments! It’s been an amazing adventure into relational creativity. Oh, the places we’ve gone! I’ve so enjoyed the discipline and challenge of regular writing. While some of my favorite blogs that I follow have disabled comments, I have chosen to keep them. Mainly because I love the feedback and occasional ego strokes.

However, over the past four years, one thing has changed. I rarely get linked anymore. From early on, I wrote about the necessity of linking for your blog’s health and networkability:

• Increase your blog traffic
• The importance of linking

In the past year, I’ve noticed a drastic decline in the amount of blog linking. Perhaps it’s because many of the local bloggers that I used to read and run with have ceased blogging. Perhaps it’s because I follow many blogs in Bloglines and Google Reader and therefore rarely leave comments on those blogs. I just don’t know.

On the other hand, my blog readership has slowly, but steadily increased over the past four years. Of course, when you look at the blogging statistics, it’s mind-blogging boggling (stats as of January 2009):

133,000,000 – number of blogs indexed by Technorati since 2002

346,000,000 – number of people globally who read blogs (comScore March 2008)

900,000 – average number of blog posts in a 24 hour period

1,750,000 – number of RSS subscribers to TechCrunch, the most popular Technology blog (January 2009)

77% - percentage of active Internet users who read blogs

55% – percentage of the blogosphere that drinks more than 2 cups of coffee per day (source)

81 - number of languages represented in the blogosphere

59% – percentage of bloggers who have been blogging for at least 2 years

HT: TheFutureBuzz; Source

So here’s what I’d like you to do if you’ve stumbled by Notes from the Trail today…

• Please link this article on your own blog or tweet about it.

Also, I’d love your thoughts on the death of linkage. Is it just too much trouble to outlink these days? Has plagiarism increased, and thus attribution of sources is dying? Has the blog boom busted? Something else?

The following was for an assignment at Ouachita Baptist University during 1990. I wrote it about my experience during the summer of 1988 at Hamburg, Arkansas. It was then that I got to live with my dad’s parents for the summer while I served as the summer youth minister at First Baptist Church of Crossett, Arkansas.

Both of my grandparents have passed away now. I will see them again, I’m confident of this. But that wonderful summer left an indelible impression on me. Sweet tea, Corn Flakes, shelling peas and seeing young lives transformed left my cup running over.

There was a tick crawling on my arm. I sent him sailing through the air with a flick of my middle finger. It was hot. I took another sip of my lemonade, the ice cubes sliding forward to clack against my front teeth. My back was wet with perspiration against the wooden slats of the porch swing.

It was July. Four months earlier, I had been asked to be the summer youth minister at First Baptist Church in Crossett. My grandparents’ home was just 15 minutes away, located in the pine forests south of Hamburg. I was living with them for the summer and commuting to work, rather than trying to find housing in Crossett.

I sat on the front porch swing sipping lemonade, deep in thought. It was my supper break. I had to be back at the church in an hour to open the activities building for the youth. I took a deep breath of the magnolia-scented air. It was still hard to believe I was getting to spend the entire summer with my grandparents, Opal and D.B. As long as I can remember, I have had a special love for their home in the pine forests of Ashley County.

I didn’t experience the wonders of the country alone. I had grown up there with my cousin Robert Allen for two weeks every summer when I came to visit. He was just a few months older than I, and during those few weeks each summer, we had developed a bond that would never diminish, because cousins, unlike childhood friends, never grow apart. They only grow closer together.

Looking back, it seems that a pair of young boys 20 miles from the Louisiana border cornered the market on happy childhood memories. There was no world out there but the one we experienced.

It was a world of superhero action figures and G.I. Joes with kung-fu grip. They always went bald when you got their head fuzz wet. It was the best argument we could think of for not taking baths.

It was a world of war. When we played “army,” our guns had an unlimited supply of ammunition, but neither one could shoot the other. Detente was reduced to two simple words, “You missed!”

Not a single inch of our grandparents’ land had gone untouched or unexplored. We knew every tree, every stream, the garden, chicken house and barn just like we knew who each comic book belonged to.

I remember that on those rare days when it rained, we were sentenced to the confines of the house, including the front and back porches. But even then, there were endless possibilities. We would pull out the Hot Wheels or retreat into the world of “play-like.” We were astronauts, cowboys, cops and robbers in less than an hour, each making a miraculous recovery from five or six fatal wounds incurred during that time. However, this summer was different. My cousin was at advanced training camp for ROTC, and there were few physical remnants of the time we had spent together. In the yard, a few initials cut into trees years ago were still readable. One lion of a set from the Holy Land was sitting on a shelf in the living room. For some ungodly reason, we had thrown its match into the fireplace during a scientific experience. There was still a hole behind the barn that Robert Allen had dug and covered as a trap for me (it had worked). The numerous pictures we had drawn for my grandparents were hanging in frames on the kitchen wall. All gave mute testimony to the fact that two small boys had shared a special moment in time.

None of it was new to me. However, the purity and simplicity embodied in my grandparents’ home and land never ceased to amaze me.

I looked down at my lemonade sitting where I had set it down beside the swing. The ice cubes had shrunk during my brief reverie.

I was now 20 years old. I was used to paved roads and interstates, flouride city water, a gas fireplace and grocery shopping at Kroger’s with double discount coupons. Yet my dad’s parents had a dirt driveway with a cattlegap. They had a well house and a butane tank behind the house and homemade preserves and cakes in the kitchen. And to top it all off, there were deer tracks in the garden.

This summer, I had learned that it wasn’t just Opal and D.B. who had a monopoly on the aspects of country living. Driving to work on any given day, I saw endless emerald fields of soybeans, more expansive than any airport runway. I saw dogs and cats just running around. The only fences were barbed wire to keep in the cows.

I recalled that one morning, when I rounded the corner, there were these dog-sized cattle things just standing around on the road. It was incredible. I was even more amazed to discover that they were goats. I thought they were only found in the mountains. I had acquired some of that country hospitality by then. I stopped at the next house to tell the old man sipping coffee on the porch that his goats were escaping. He laughed and thanked me. I had watched him in my rear view mirror as I drove off, but he never left his rocker.

D.B. had told me one evening at supper that we had rabbits in the garden. He urged me to nail one with the .410 if I got the chance. That next afternoon, I had tiptoed stealthily around the garden, a shotgun clutched in front of me. I felt like Festus on Gunsmoke. I rounded the end of the dead corn rows — their raspy blades rattled in the breeze, covering the crunch of my footsteps on the dry dirt. And before me, just sitting there on his white cotton puff of a duff, was Roger Rabbit. The only rabbits I had seen this close were in the IQ Zoo in Hot Springs. Our moment together was infinite, frozen in time. Hours later, I raised the gun and fired. The rabbit jumped so high that I figured he must have anticipated what was happening and dodged the blast. I was awed at his reflexes, content to let him escape for his skill. Such was the respect between hunter and hunted. But the rabbit never got up after he landed. The ground slowly reddened around him. I had left him lying there as I ran back to the house yelling, “I got one. I got one!”

Several weeks and several rabbits later, I had noticed that I was living in a regular Garden of Eden. I found I could keep myself fed by picking pears, peaches and apples right off the trees. That fact, coupled with the presence of a water faucet next to the back porch, led me to believe that survival of the fittest wasn’t hard at all. As I had sat on the edge of the back porch, looking at the clothes line and munching on a pear, I had calculated that with all the fruit trees around, I could probably make a few hundred dollars by selling their produce to the Big Star in town. I never got around to trying it, though.

I had also learned that bees were evil that summer. They were truly spawns of Satan. I learned this fact one morning while strolling past the three hives D.B. kept behind the garden. One hive wasn’t doing much at all. The others were a, uh, a bee hive of activity. I threw a small rock at the dead one to get them on the ball. I must have run around the house for 30 minutes trying to escape the demons from hell.

I looked at my watch. It was time to go back to work. I got off the swing, drained the rest of my watery lemonade with one gulp, and went inside to eat a snack.

That was four weeks ago. The youth group and I had played volleyball at the activities building that night. The rest of the summer had gone by quickly. Too quickly. The paradox of the activity at the church and the peacefulness of the country gave me a sense of perspective that has stayed with me today.

August 19 was my last day in south Arkansas. I had to be in a wedding in Mountain Home the next day. My send-off was a quiet, though emotional one. Few young people ever have the opportunity to know and to love their grandparents as real people, as individuals. The opportunity and experience gave me insight into my father, my past and my future. It also gave me a respect and appreciation for this world that God has given us.

As my car bumped over the cattlegap, I was sweating again, but this time it was from the arduous task of packing. My grandparents were still there on the porch waving as I drove off. I breathed goodbye to them, my summer and my temporary lifestyle. And as I turned the car north onto Arkansas Highway 81, I began to cry.

I have yet to watch Conan on the Tonight Show. However, a friend on Facebook posted this great excerpt from a show about Conan and his Twitter Tracker. Being an avid tweeter, I had to take a look. You’ll only find this funny if you are also a twit…

At the beginning of 2008, I never dreamed…

• I would walk the streets of Krakow, Poland.
• See Auschwitz.
• Baptize Taylor James.
• Preach in a Polish Baptist church.
• Get published in a book for childrens charity.
• Attend the Arkansas Baptist State Convention voluntarily.
• I’d own a flat screen TV.
• Carolyn would be diagnosed with breast cancer.
• My family would receive sooo much love and prayer support.
• Journey would gain so many new families and friends.
• Journey would also lose a few more folks.
• I’d reconnect with Tim Smith at Exponential in Orlando.
• Olympics in China!?
• Attend another Passion event in Dallas with Carolyn – and have to stay in the hotel with the flu.
• Help develop an informal church planters network in Arkansas
• See Sam go to his first week-long kids camp – by himself
• Teach a seminar on using the internet for godly influence at Glorieta, NM
• Watch Adelyn place first in just about every race she swam in.
• See the UAM BCM building begin construction!
• Attend the last worship service for the BCM in their old building (built in 1954).
• Meet Ed Stetzer.
• Become a Twaddict.
• Get beat in the first round of the fantasy football playoffs.
• Shop unsuccessfully for a Kia Rondo.
• Get a moped stolen from me and have money provided to purchase a new one.
• Fall more in love with my wife than ever.
• Resurrect the old joke about seeing the fortune teller (don’t ask; you have to present to fall for it.)
• See gas go over $4 and under $1.50 in one year. That’s retarded.
• Be prayed for consistently and dramatically and intensely by so many folks from all over the world. (That’s a blog post forthcoming in and of itself.)
• Witness “The Catch” in Superbowl 2008.
• Have some strong aversion to words like bailout, change, and pork.
• See such radical change in national leadership and history made at the same time.
• Live in our house without power for five days due to a hurricane
• Watch Carolyn get her own iPhone and become one of those users she used to lash out at.
• Witness a near-worship service on one of the last shows of American Idol ’08.
• Get to play in foot-deep snow in the middle of March in Arkansas!
• Find a new home for Fancy the chihuahua, get a new dog… have a cat run over… and get a kitten for Christmas… whew. Pet Replacement Year.
• Learn so much about Christ, life and intimacy with God through hardship.
• Preach in Newark, Arkansas.
• See dozens of college students coming to our church.
• Marry one of my former students… (I was the officiating pastor… I’m not from Texas…)
• Admit that PCs are better than Macs… then I woke up in a cold sweat. What a nightmare.

What did you see happen that surprised you? Blog about it and leave a comment and a link!