Football

This weekend started the phenomenon that is college football, again. As always, there are observations to be made. Both the professional college team I root for (Auburn) and the college team I love (UAB) lost. I didn't watch either, although I tried to follow the GameStat feature on ESPN online because it wasn't televised. Is there a pattern here? I doubt it, but it is fun to say that if they had only had one more supporter watching...

Did anyone tell UAT that one game doesn't make a season? So they beat the snot out of a Big 11 Team. Isn't that what they do in bowl games, and wasn't a game between Alabama and Michigan played in Texas a bowl game?

I saw that Penn State was on ESPN early Saturday. All those vacated victories, penalties, lost scholarships, but still on television? Yeah, that'll teach 'em.

In addition to writing, I haven't been doing much on social media either. I had practically a conversation on Twitter before kickoffs started, and viewed Facebook throughout the day. College football is undeniably king in Alabama, and much of the South. It seems that everyone is watching it and most have a team that they root for so hard that they can't understand why anyone would pull for another team. Funny thing to watch is how people talk about "how we won" when their team wins and "how they lost" when their team doesn't.

Sometimes I wonder if college football is followed better just because we have so few professional teams in the South or just because we have smaller populations. The truth is probably much less sexy. In the South we follow "our" teams with such die-hard fervor because it is ingrained in us. Not to support one team over another, but to support each other. Family, church, hometown, college, the military, the country, the love and support of things we love is not just a way of life, it's taken for granted. At times it is even overpowering.

Unfortunately at this time of year, that fervor is often misplaced and football becomes a god in the South. People that would never get out of their seats to sing in church never touch their seats in the stadium because they're on their feet singing the fight song, or Sweet Caroline (which I do have to admit is impressive watching 100,000 people in Bryant-Denny sing). The same person who is too "sick" to go to church, but still goes fishing that afternoon wouldn't miss a tailgating event before a home game if they had double pneumonia. Wind and rain can keep you home on Sunday, but on Saturday it's just football weather.

Alright, I can admit this has turned into a rant rather than a post. In no small part because I have always been a bigger fan of professional football. Both of my grandfathers were college football fans, numerous uncles and aunts, I have more cousins than I can shake a stick at most of which are college football fans. I can reason out now why I'm a fan, with the BS System (I dropped the C years ago) doing exactly what it was founded for--not to crown an ultimate champion but rather to keep college football the talk at the water cooler year round--and a bowl game system that would allow for a team to finish below .500 by playing in the "Who Gives a Crap Bowl" it is easy to believe in a playoff system that truly crowns someone who withstood the test. So how did I become a professional football fan? I can't really say, but I do know that growing up in the flukey church we went to we met on Tuesday or Wednesday nights. There was no Sunday church for me unless I went to church with my grandparents (or with my Scout Troop).

Maybe I have my answer.

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Gap

In the gap of time between my last two posts a lot has gone on. We, my family and I, packed everything we owned and moved 300 miles. We closed on a house between the time our stuff was picked up and dropped off, but it wasn't smooth sailing. It may have seemed it to the dog, but it was rough. Then, after 2 weeks in the new house I had to make a trip for some training. Also seems simple enough. It wasn't. The flights were smooth, but the getting to the flights were rough. Even the getting away from the flights was rough. The training, however, is going smoothly. Of the multiple stories mentioned here, I'm going to share the one about how I got to San Diego. It seemed easy enough. A 1015 flight out of Mobile to Atlanta then on to San Diego arriving in enough time to find the hotel and the classroom I'd be in for the next 2 weeks before the sunset over the Pacific. But that wasn't what happened.

After arriving at the airport about 8 am, because having never flown from Mobile before I had no idea there'd only be one guy in front of me for the security checkpoint, I discovered that I was very early. The security line was just the two of us. But we had been having unseasonable monsoons since Friday evening. Sunday morning was a wet one. The 9 am flight to Atlanta was diverted to Montgomery before it could even arrive to Mobile to be late. By 930 I had gotten a magazine, some M&Ms, and a bottle of water before the call came that my flight was delayed 45 minutes. No surprise since the 9 o'clock flight still hadn't gotten a plane, much less departed. Then, 10 minutes later, my flight was cancelled. I rushed out of the terminal back to the ticket counter and got on a 1600 flight that left Atlanta at 2200. No problems, except that it was 10 in the morning, and I had to re-travel through security, with my unopened bottle of water. I made it, the water didn't.

The weather that canceled my flight continued up north until it delayed my flight into Atlanta. My 4 o'clock flight left promptly about 6:30. By that time my 10 pm flight was delayed to 11 pm and I would get into San Diego about half past midnight local time.

At that puntctual hour of almost 1 am, I discovered that my bag was still on Central time, which meant that after getting my rental car I would need to find a 24 hour store to buy clothes for the next day as I couldn't go in my blue jeans to class.

Guess what else, the rental place closed at midnight. So I had to scramble for a different car company. This is where things turned around a bit. The rental guy had me all hooked up with a vehicle when I mentioned the need to find a clothes store at 2 am. Without asking he canceled my car and gave me one with GPS in it. A convertible 2012 Mustang.

So short story long, I arrived completely worn out in time for my class the next day. It had taken 20 hours to get me from the airport to stopped in the hotel. Had I started praying sooner, it may have been less, but about the time the first flight was canceled I began to pray that if He wanted me in San Diego that I'd make it, otherwise I'd be sleeping in my new bed again. When my bag didn't make it, I laughed out loud. At 1 in the morning it isn't like there were many who could stare or laugh at me. While I prayed that I would make it, I never asked for my bag to make it.

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What Matters

I smile, a lot. When I was in the army others asked me why I smiled so much. I even had 2 people tell me I needed to be tested for drug use. What I told them was that there were 2 choices, to be here and be happy or to be here and to be mad. Either way, I was going to be there, so I might as well be happy because the only one who suffered would be me. Even that lesson didn't reach the depths of the saying, though. Whether we are right or wrong, unless we are actively engaged in a conversation with someone else it almost never does any good to harbor a grudge. Getting mad about what was done wrong to you just leaves you stewing in your own juices. In other words, you're going to be there regardless. Do you want to be there happy or be there mad?

Several years back I was going through a very rough time with the most important things in my life. While I didn't always make the right choices, what I did uncover in the depth of it all was a simply fact about what matters.

My wife matters, my daughters matter, my faith allows me to build both of those. Other things are less important, but above all I learned the very simple truth of how I need to react to things.

The mantra I began to reiterate inside my head was this:

It doesn't matter that I was wronged, it only matters that I was wrong.

The next time you get mad at someone in traffic, or in the grocery store, try remembering this point. The most important commandment is to love your neighbor as yourself but so often we only remember that we were in the right and they wronged us first. Would you rather be happy or right? It's a state of mind and a choice.

This blog from 22 Feb got me started thinking about this subject http://www.leahadams.org/i-have-not-learned-yet/

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What's the Rest of the Story?

Between the time I started composing 2 Tales of Providence and this post an extraordinary event occurred. Late Thursday night, my father had a heart attack. Recall that I had gone back to my true home to surprise my wife Wednesday night, yet now I was needed back in Biloxi. Friday was another packed day, with doctor's appointments and me trying to take care of any of the weekend's work I could before I could leave. By the time I could leave it was so late I slept and left Saturday morning, feeling like a bad child as it was 36 hours since I had heard the news before I got on the road. By the time I got back to the Coast, Dad was in a room, had rested some and had lower blood pressure then he had ever had since before I was born. They added a stent and stopped the heart attack and all was good. All that remains is the why?

So often when people experience life threatening or changing events they rail against God asking "Why is this happening to me?" It is a good and valid question, but most won't like the answer if they heard it because sometimes bad things happen to good people so that they (or someone else) is put into the path of someone who needs to hear what they have to say. For any who think that God wouldn't kill someone, endanger their lives, or give a terminal disease to someone to affect someone else remember the parable of the lost sheep. Well, that and 2 Peter 3:9, but mostly the lost sheep. The best we can do is to see what situations do to us that could have been the point.

In my case, I'm still not sure. I was down here on a weekend which allowed me to do a few things around the house that needed doing that I hadn't been able to get to during the week? Was that it? I had stuff that needed to be done back home that didn't, so I doubt it. Dad's dog, McDuff, bonded with me since Dad was away, including spending time in the room with me (which he never does when Dad's here) and sleeping on the bed with me. Was that it? I doubt it too.

This weekend has allowed me more time to talk to my nephew then I have had the entire 6 months I have been working on the Coast. Was that the reason?

All week long I had been pondering how I would be driving back down. Either I would need to skip church and drive home early to make it before kickoff for the Super Bowl, or I would have to leave very late (or early Monday  morning) after the game. I made it to the Coast, with my traditional Super Bowl menu fixings ready for kickoff over a day early with absolutely no reason to keep me from seeing the game AND being in Biloxi for work Monday morning. Could it be so easy? 

So what is the reason? I don't know, but I'm anxious to find out ~~~~~~~~~~~

Redundant Repetition

This is a post on a post. Yesterday's post to be precise. I had some reservations in posting yesterday partly because of its length and partly its content.

It grew long because of the back story, yet it was needed for the benefit of those who read my posts that don't go to church with me. I believe that most of you can relate to similar issues in your own churches. If I were politically correct I would apologize to the agnostics and atheists who may read this post, but I'm not, and I won't. Political correctness is based on the idea that you can pick up a turd by the clean end. I'd rather be biblically correct than politically correct any day of the week, so thanks for reading atheists and agnostics, but not sorry you can't relate.

In the end it is the literary content of the post I loved the most and made me publish it. The title is appropriate because that is what the guy Sunday was trying to say. As if we should have cut off our prayer, or even our lesson simply because the hands on the clock were in a certain position. Sometimes Jesus taught in the middle of the day, but some of the most memorable are when he spoke at night (see most of his boat rides). I loved the irony of the name and the length of the post. There are other parallels, but these were the most obvious.

Overall, the message of my post mimics the reason and my desire for writing. It accentuates the goal I have for this blog in that I hope to speak in many different ways to get us to review and re-evaluate our take on why we do what we do for Christ. Plus, anytime I can reference a Ted Dekker book, particularly my favorite one, it has to be good. Dekker also mimics this non-fiction theme in his first published books, one of them that ranks high on my list of books is When Heaven Weeps. If you have never read any of his works take the time, you will not be disappointed. We share a passionate love and writing spark in CS Lewis' essay Christian Apologetics. Reading that did not change my life, but it focused my walk and pushed me toward where I am headed.

Many authors think it cheapens the work to have to explain what was intended. I didn't hit on all the symbolism from yesterday in this post, that was not my point. I hoped to simply open your minds to the hidden undercurrents. Look for more, we can talk about them in the comments, but ultimately I hope you take away more from my writing than just the anecdotal stories of a prolific typist.

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• Cut It Short (byrdmouse.com)
• Interpretative Labeling (byrdmouse.com)

Cut It Short

'I made this [letter] very long, because I did not have the leisure to make it shorter.' Pascal

It comes as no surprise to some, but I'm not very widely liked at church. Especially in the older crowd, or as I have heard them called (and often repeated) the Blue-Haired Crowd. Mind you I am not accusing all of the older generation, many of them are more God-fearing and righteous (in the right manner) than I am. In fact, there are still many I look up to. The reason for this is that unlike most in my age group, I show up at the business meetings, and I open my mouth. When I do it makes those who are comfortable in their status quo relationships at church uncomfortable.

The town I live in is one predominantly made of outsiders. People from all over come to live on the lake. Long ago I stopped asking people if they were from here and rather started asking them where they were from. My ability to discern they weren't from here was amazing to them--at least until they figured out how I did it. The church I attend, however, is full of people who ARE from here. I have had many conversations with other transplants, including some of the leadership of the church, about how difficult it is to "break-in" to the inner circle. Briefly recapping what I just said, I live in a town full of outsiders that embrace outsiders, and attend a church of insiders who don't always embrace outsiders. About 3 years ago I considered leaving, and had a friend tell me that if my family went somewhere else in a matter of 5 years we would see that things were the same there, at least here we know who is what. It was really then that I started to open my mouth.

One of my favorite authors, Ted Dekker, wrote a book entitled The Slumber of Christianity in which he described exactly the situation I see happening in the church as a whole, and my church in particular. People who get so comfortable in their Christianity and their status that they cease to zealously strive for Christ. Churches become a place to go socially, to connect with other like-minded individuals and not a place to rock the boat. They have been in the church for decades, and choose to run the church the way they want regardless of if it is the right way. Again, I do not mean that everything they do is wrong, but more often than not the decisions appear to be more self-serving than not.

An example is what happened in our recent recession. As the economy soured and money, particularly offerings and tithes, dwindled we were constantly called upon to "give sacrificially" or "give 'til it hurts." At the same time, the budget was amended to stop spending on things such as sending the staff to more conferences, less literature for the library and eliminating scholarships for mission trips.The message here was that members were to give until it hurts, but the church would be wise stewards of the money and not spend it on frivolous activities. Not only did I see this as a problem, but we had a speaker at our revival that year who specifically called out the same areas as things that were important that needed to not be cut out just because times get hard.

The lead group in this matter is one Sunday School Class which remains nameless. As mentioned a few times, not everyone, even in this class, is a part of the problem. There is a Sunday School Class of people my age that I have long joked will become the new class that does this, and I had to bite my tongue when I happened to be around when they were told they should move their class into the same room due to size (one meets while the other is in church then vice versa). This Sunday my small men's class joined them because their teacher was absent at the last-minute. Between getting started late because of this last second change and the subject we were speaking about (which in some ways hit upon some of the topics in this post) we spent 5 to 7 minutes praying at the end, and ran way longer than we should have. This in turn caused the older class to be late getting in.

As we broke up and the other class entered, I was standing in the back and a gentleman asked me who had taught today. I commented that at the last second my teacher had been called up off of the bench, smiling and being cordial. This gentleman was not very cordial or smiling and asked me if he knew he was supposed to be done fifteen minutes before. As my own mood began to change I told him no, he didn't and also that the guy in the yellow shirt was the one he would need to talk to. He told me he would just talk to the Associate Pastor (whose hats include Education Minister).

I walked away quite angry. So angry that on my way to the MPR where our contemporary service is held I decided quickly that I would not participate in the Lord's Supper (normally done on the first Sunday of each month) because my heart was not in the right place. We ended up not having the Lord's Supper, and I did calm down. Perhaps this whole post is just me ranting to get over it, I can't deny the distinct possibility of that. Part of me thinks that if he had made the comment to anyone else they would have allowed it to fall like water on a duck's back while I took it as water under a duck's butt.

It seems best for me to have been the one commented to, because I don't know what anyone else would have said or done. And that is a whole lot better note to end this rant on. In case you wondered though, the difference is that water on a duck's back falls harmlessly, water under a duck's butt sometimes gets crapped on.

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Shrapnel Lands at Home

Last week I shared an incident with a friend's grandson in Blast From Afar. This post is in some ways an update, but in others it speaks of God's Providence as well.

Jeffrey's mother lives near a town that is literally a crossroad with a gas station on one corner that only has one pump. Last Wednesday, the day after the family found out about His injuries, she was headed to the store and noticed a DAV van outside. After she finished her shopping she asked about the van and the cashier said they were setting something up out back. She went and talked with them. The Marines and other services are good about supporting their fallen troops, but the Disabled American Vets group told her that at some point she would come upon a question that no one would answer. When that happens she should look them up. They chose to take their road show to a little town in Texas, not knowing who they might find and stumbled upon someone who not only needed them, but who only just found out she needed them.

This second incident is as powerfully Providential and potentially more prophetic. Wednesday morning Jeff, his father, got a call from an odd area code. Thinking it was someone from the Marine Corps again he answered to hear, "Hello, Dad!"

After a short while, he found out that Jeffrey was in a field hospital but would be transferred to an Afghanistan hospital, then one in Germany, finally coming to Maryland (where he currently is). At the end of the call, Jeff called his brother Kenny, who was also a Marine, and found him riding his bike on a mountain trail in Georgia. Kenny rode 40 miles working out his anger and aggression over hearing of his nephew's injury. He pulled to the side of the trail and as he hung up to return to riding, he saw a couple riding up. He waited for them to pass before reentering the trail. The male rider had two prosthetic legs below the knee. Kenny decided to chase him down to talk to him, but as hard as he could pedal he never caught up with the double-prosthetic limbed biker.

God answers prayers all the time. He doesn't always answer them the way we think He should, or even sometimes in ways we think He did answer them, but they all get answered. I still don't know what the future holds for my friend's grandson, but whatever it is, I know it has God figured prominently in it.

In a comment on this blog I shared a. Einstein quote in which he said that there are two ways to view the world. One is as if nothing were a miracle, the other as if everything is a miracle. That has never seemed more appropriate to me then now.

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When Is It Right to Call Foul?

Back in high school I had a friend that called foul on the Student Council Elections. I first met him in 2nd Grade. We went to school together for 11 years, had many classes together, talked regularly, right up until our senior year.

That year, George noticed after the Student Council Elections that the council was as white as rice. He called foul. As a result he was rewarded with a seat as "Student Council Liason" a position created just to add an American-African to the council to break up the all white group. The thing is, no one deliberately selected an all white council. The conspiracy that would have had to be in place for that would be so widespread and devious that when they accomplished their goal it would be trumpeted and touted loudly. People who tend to think that way aren't the quiet kind. There was no concerted effort to eliminate racial diversity from the Student Council, but George was rewarded for saying their was.

To this day I haven't spoken to him again. Granted, it got a world easier after 12th grade because I moved away to school, then the army, etc. But that last year, still in the same town, the same school, some of the same classes, and no further talks. Now, George and I were not best buds who did everything together, just ships passing in the night. Ships that had been in the same ports, traveling the same routes, just painted different colors.

Both my wife and I have been "taught" that it just is not right to sue because you get your feelings hurt. It has been discussed in Sunday School and church gatherings, though it is not a part of the Baptists dogma, or backed by scripture (unless you consider that Jesus never selected a lawyer as an apostle). Some of that bias entered into the decision to not associate with George, but it continues today.

I am a bit of an odd character in that I have been followed by police while driving through parts of town, pulled over for driving while white, I have been involved in situations where I was discriminated against because of my race and gender. These inconveniences have not risen to a level above simple annoyance except for 2 incidents, and I do not mean to indicate that they are equal to the more common flip side of this issue. I did actually report the first incident which occurred about a year before I got out of the army. In the end I called no-joy on my own before a written report was filed or action was taken despite the fact that the individual in charge's assurance that he would move forward with it if I so desired. It would not have solved anything, I was removed from the situation, and it would just look like I had sour grapes over it.

But where do you draw the line? If you are discriminated against because of your color, or gender, or other factors, without reporting it to have it investigated how do you know that was the actual root cause? There are real drawbacks to calling foul in such a manner, even if it turns out that the discrimination was the root cause. The person calling foul is labeled as a poor-sport, or will forever be known as someone who only got ahead by calling foul. Yet it is important to call foul if it is truly the reason for discrimination because it keeps people from stepping on the next person in a similar manner. If no one complains, the status quo continues.

So when is it appropriate to call foul? If you find yourself in a situation where something that makes you different, that is explicitly written in everyone's equal opportunity statements, where is the line drawn over which you have to step?

About an hour and a half after this posted Rick Warren tweeted: "Christians must vocally oppose tyranny everywhere:"SPEAK UP for the poor &helpless.See they get justice! Pr31:8." So when do you know it is for others and not just for you personally?

Blast from Afar

I have nearly completed what I thought would be the post for today, when I got word from a friend that his grandson had been injured in Afghanistan. He is in stable condition, but has lost both legs below the knee, part of a hand, and may lose his arm. There has been no word yet on when this occurred. It could have been yesterday or several days ago.

Jeffrey (I may not even be spelling it right) is a Marine, despite his Grandfather telling him to join the Navy, like his father was. He had served a tour in Afghanistan already, and was not supposed to go back, but someone else died and he was called to go. Before he left he got married. Also before he left he started a prayer group with other Marines in his unit.

As the leader of a team investigating IEDs, he went in first and presumably that is why his injuries are so severe. I have never met Jeffrey, but I know his Grandfather well, and I know his type well also. It was his job to do, it was his mission. By going in first he may well have saved someone with less experience as the may well have died instead of getting out with severe injuries.

This post really is about saying why I didn't post something today. It isn't a post to drill up support for getting our troops home, though I am in favor of that once it is safe and we know the country won't collapse behind them. It also is not about getting support to end the war now. As a disabled vet I wholly support our troops, especially Jeffrey. I am ashamed to call myself a disabled vet compared to those like Jeffrey. My injuries were sustained in the course of a short career served completely stateside. Despite volunteers from my unit being deployed multiple times, and the unit itself being deployed once, I never went. Most would think this lucky or good, but I, like I suppose Jeffrey to be, was ready to go and would have gone in a heartbeat if only they had needed me.

Some may take this to be an ignored prayer, or a sign of God not caring. Instead, I take this as God choosing to use Jeffrey in a way that I do not yet understand. My posts have not yet generated a lot of comments, and it is probably a bad thing to say that I will delete comments. Especially since there are some comments that I have thought very seriously about deleting. However, if anyone comments to this post and says anything against the military or its mission I will not allow it to remain.

Tomorrow the regular blog from the Hole on the End of the Bible Belt will return. Until then, I hope that everyone takes a minute to consider our troops, those deployed, those injured, those killed, and those that will come home changed. Remember them, kiss your own children, or parents. Thank a vet, whether serving or having served. Pray for them and pray for God's will, purpose, and Providence to shine forth.

Update late Wednesday: I did spell Jeffrey correct. He has lost both legs below the knee and some fingers. He must be made stable then he will be transported to Germany. If he continues to stablize, he will be transported to Bethesda Naval Hospital in Maryland. Remember his family also, he has a wife. They were married just before he shipped out.

• Shrapnel Lands at Home (byrdmouse.com)
• Blast Waves (byrdmouse.com)