Notes from the Trail

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The unthinkable and ridiculous happened this past Saturday night - Sunday morning. Another scooter was stolen from our carport. 

Yup.

This time, it was Sam’s electric scooter that he had received for Christmas. Adelyn’s identical pink scooter was parked right next to it (and has since been moved from the carport). 

I can’t even begin to tell you how aggravated I am about this. We’ve lived in this house for almost seven years, and this is the first time we’ve had to address the issue of security and locks and cameras. Monticello has always been the kind of town that you can leave your doors open and your car unlocked. No more, apparently.

In the past few months, we’ve had good friends who go to Journey (and live next door to one another) have push mowers taken from their carports. The crime wave (and I would have thought it ludicrous before these events to call it that) that has settled in on our community seems to have crashed into a shore of disbelief and inaction.

Daily, we are seeing stories reported in local media about drug busts. Recently, we lost a teenager to a stabbing at a family event over the July 4th weekend due to senseless and uncontrolled rage. Some local youth were caught stealing electronic equipment from businesses and churches. Another man was arrested for sexual indecency with a child. Another group of young adults was arrested for stealing prescription drugs from a local pharmacy. In a town of 10,000. 

In response to the stabbing (and probably the collective feeling of fear and loss of security), some members of the community have organized a “Stop the Hate” rally where there will be singing, a candle-light vigil, and speeches from local pastors and community leaders. I applaud their intent. Hopefully, it will be the first salvo fired in our community’s fight to reclaim its moral center.

However, a rally cannot replace our responsibility to be involved. Involved in our community’s welfare. Involved in people’s lives. We must be intentionally involved in life. For some of us, that may mean running for office in the future. For some of us, it may mean holding our existing political leaders accountable for proactive, visionary leadership. For some of us, it may mean confronting dead-beat dads. For casting a personal vision for kids and teens that is greater than what they see on TV, in the sports world or through fashion.

This loss of security we are all feeling in our community should provoke acts of heroism. For many, it simply means speaking up. Whether in confrontation, encouragement, suggestion, or contribution, your voice, vote, and values can only count and make a difference if you speak up and follow through.

Now… if anyone wants to contribute to the scooter fund… ;)

That’s about the odds of my moped showing back up at this point. Ghost was stolen from our carport sometime between last Thursday night and Friday morning. I’ve now been the recipient of much moped pity. I didn’t know there was such a thing until Linda Vallance explained it to me on the phone this afternoon.

She had called to say she’d seen a scooter under its rightful owner, and she thought of me. I really have been amazed at how many folks have called and offered help.

• Jeremy has even allowed me to keep his car while he trains for a triathalon.
• He and Becca also came over Sunday and walked the block with us in search of Ghost.
• Michael came by Monday evening to go on a brief Ghost Hunt - tromping through the woods near our house in case the thieves had ditched Ghost there.
• I’ve had some early donations on the Pastor’s Scooter Fund for which I’m deeply appreciative.
• Clayton even offered to shake some folks down (if that’s the right trooper terminology) for information on the scooter.

All in all, it has been a rather frustrating situation, but the more reflection time I have on it, the more I realize that I don’t have any right to be truly angry about things. Job said, “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. May the name of the Lord be praised.” (Job 1.21) His amazing confession of faith and trust came after losing things that were incredibly precious to him, including his children! What right do I have to mourn the loss of a scooter that was a gracious gift to me in the first place by a friend?

The more a person meditates on God’s glorious grace decision - how He chose to forgive me - you - of all our rebellion and horribly selfish life choices in the cross of Christ, one must check all complaining at the door. In fact, it’s such focused reflection that quickly turns an attitude of entitlement to one of enjoyment. I can choose to change my mind and be grateful for life - real life. It matters not whether there’s a moped in the picture.

So I’m daily reminding myself that there’s no point moping over a moped. I am hoping to replace it one day. In the meantime, however, we get to tell our kids “there’s no such thing as a Ghost.”

I can’t believe this… We were packing the vehicle for Little Rock to see my folks on the Fourth, and I finally noticed that Ghost, my scooter, was missing from the carport. Now this might not have been unusual, given the friends that I have, but after a quick call to the most ornery ones, I finally allowed my stomach to get sick.

We think it’s been stolen, and are now waiting on the Monticello Police Department to come and file a report. Not a good start to a holiday weekend.

Carolyn took these pictures at the Chase’s pool recently:

Carolyn was swamped getting ready to go take pictures, and it was lunchtime. Adelyn and I are the only other ones in the house, with Sam being at children’s camp with First Baptist. I popped some leftovers into the microwave for myself, and Adelyn said she wanted a PBJ. No problems there, I thought.

Until I opened the fridge. 

We were totally out of grape and strawberry jelly - a big no-no around here. It’s almost as bad as being out of toilet paper, only less messy. 

I could hear it now, “Where’s the jelly?!” She doesn’t do plain.

I found it sitting behind another jar of BBQ sauce - a jar of apricot preserves. Kind of jelly like. I had already done the peanut butter on the bread, so I thought, “Maybe she won’t even notice. They’re kind of sweet.”

I called her to lunch, and we sat down to a nice daddy-daughter lunch. I was anxious. I felt like I was hooked up to a polygraph machine.

“Hey! What’s this?!” she demanded after the first bite. The polygraph jumped dramatically.

“What do you mean? It’s jelly.”

“But what kind?” she persisted with an accusatory stare.

Sweating and getting nervous, I lied, “Uh, I don’t remember.”

“Weeeelll, it’s nasty,” she declared and promptly slam dunked the poor sandwich onto her plate.

“Oh cmon,” I said, “Just try it. It’s good,” and I took a bite to prove it.

Doubtfully, she took another bite. “Nope. It’s nasty,” she judged finally.

On her way out, Carolyn passed through the kitchen and pronounced a mommatude without knowing what was going on, “Adelyn, don’t waste food. Eat it.” And she breezed out.

Adelyn and I sat and stared at each other. I was trying my very hardest not to crack. Finally, I burst out laughing. With a curious tilt to her head, she said, “Why are you laughing, Daddy?”

I explained to her the whole attempt. I knew she wasn’t going to like it, but I had tried to pass it off on her. A poor attempt. She giggled and promptly jumped up to get a plain piece of bread. As she began to chew, I said, “Don’t you want something on it?”

“No, that’s OK. I like bread.”

Reflections:

Instances like these make me wonder if God doesn’t sometimes shake his head in consternation when we do things that we know in our hearts He isn’t going to like. We try to pass it off, rationalize our actions, etc., but the fact remains, you know what pleases Him and what doesn’t. 

Life (and lunch) would be so much easier if we got things right the first time.