Back in the summer of 1994, I worked for the Alabama Baptist State Convention. I traveled around the state with a guy named Mike; he was a worship leader, and I was the speaker for a series of revivals all over the state. We worked with several small and medium sized churches from one end of Alabama to another. One of those churches was Little River Baptist Church in Chrysler, Alabama. Chrysler is located due south of Uriah, Alabama, which means it is smack dab in the middle of nowhere. However, it is within driving distance of Atmore, where my grandfather lives.

That summer, my grandmother was still alive, though just barely. She was completely bedridden with Parkinson’s and dementia. Parkinson’s was destroying her body, and dementia was ravaging her mind. Frankly, I am not sure she even knew who she was during those eight years she spent in the back bedroom, much less who we were. God used that eight years to transform my grandfather. He went from being a particularly gruff man to an incredibly tender caregiver who refused to even consider a nursing home as long as he was able to care for her at home. He didn’t get out much during that time.

But he did make plans to come to Little River Baptist Church to hear me speak. In fact, he even drove over during the day before coming over that night: he wanted to make sure that he knew how to find the church. He came in right after the service began, so I didn’t get a chance to speak to him. I did acknowledge him before I spoke by introducing him to those in attendance that night.

After the service, the members of the church were very friendly as they welcomed my grandfather and told him how they had enjoyed having me there that week. In fact, I had to wait my turn to get to speak to him. As I approached him, I was mindful of his less than affectionate nature, and I just stuck out my hand to shake his.

He took my hand in his, and for the first time, he pulled me into a hug. He told me how much he had enjoyed the service and how proud he was of me. His face was beaming that night, and I will never forget the pride in his eyes or the way he hugged me.

Grandaddy is not doing well. We have been noticing his mental decline over the past months, and we know that he is now experiencing Alzheimer’s firsthand. Two weeks ago, he had surgery on his feet and was kept in the hospital in Atmore for observation and antibiotics by IV. While there, his lungs began to fill with fluid, and he experienced congestive heart failure. A doctor there was able to revive him, and he was airlifted down to Mobile. He was in ICU for a week and half, and only two days ago was placed into a regular room. He has been stabilized, and his lungs and heart seem to be functioning better. In fact, they are now looking at transferring him back to Atmore.

Unfortunately, many times when an Alzheimer’s patient experiences a physical problem like this, it speeds up the mental decline. Thus far, it seems like that might be the case. We are hoping that part of the confusion might be from the drug-induced coma he was in for over a week, but we just don’t know. Only time will tell.

If you pray, keep him in your prayers.

Six Things About Me You May / May Not Know

1. I drove an ice cream truck one summer. My parents had a friend who was always coming up with one scheme or another that was going to be his ticket to fame and fortune. One summer, he decided that an ice cream truck was what my small southern town needed. The truck was big enough that I could pick up friends and let them ride around with me. That was a great summer!
2. I am an avid Apple guy. My first computer (which I got none-of-your-darn-business years ago) was an Apple IIe, and it lasted me for years. At some point, I bought into the lies of the evil empire (Microsoft) and started using Windows machines. I have seen the error of my ways. For the past year, I have been using a MacBook that I purchased through the school, and I will be buying my dream iMac later this week. I can’t imagine life without my iPod, and I can’t wait for my contract to expire with Alltel so that I can buy my iPhone.
3. I am inked up. I have two tattoos, and I am already planning my next one. (Really, I have three, but two of them are combined into one.) My plan is to have a complete sleeve on one leg, that way I can cover it up and look all professional.
4. I suffer with OCD about crap that really doesn’t matter. I can’t handle it if I notice that my fingernails are in need of trimming. It doesn’t matter if I am running late for work, I will stop at a gas station and buy fingernail clippers even though I am pretty sure that I have two pair in my top desk drawer. Also, if I am putting ice in glasses for a larger gathering (my extended family, for instance), I have to make certain that each glass has the same number of ice cubes. Crushed ice is a great thing because I don’t have to worry about the number of cubes.
5. I am a voracious reader. I have hundreds upon hundreds of books in my classroom, and more at home. I read almost every night before going to sleep. I don’t care if I am already up too late… I must read to turn off my brain. If I am in a particularly busy season of life (for example, drowning in grad school), I still read, I just pick a book I have already read. This way, I have no problem putting it down to go to sleep. In other words, I not only read, I re-read.
6. I am messy. Way messy. I am glancing over at my side of the bed as I write this, and I see the following:
   On my nightstand -
   three books
   one CD
   one DVD
   a bottle of generic Benadryl
   a package of Nutter Butter cookies
   an empty Diet Pepsi can
   a large Cherry slush from Sonic
   my cell phone
   a Leatherman tool
   a PedEgg
   two small boxes of CDs with Mac software
   On the floor-
   two three pairs of shoes
   five pillows
   two pairs of dirty socks, a t-shirt, a pair of shorts, and a pair of pajama pants
   three books
   last week’s Entertainment Weekly
   my backpack  

   For the record, I will totally step around and over all of this stuff until Miranda gets pissed enough that she makes me clean it. (She really wishes I was OCD about cleaning up some of it!) My desk at work looks just the way you imagine it.

One of my assistant principals is the pastor of a church in Montgomery, and he had previously invited me to visit his church. When the assignment was made, I immediately thought of him and his church. I asked him about it in passing, and his face lit up. He seemed as excited about the possibility of my visiting as I was.

So, this morning, I taught my class at my church, and then I jumped in the van and drove down to Montgomery to visit my coworker’s church. I will end up writing up the experience for the class, and when I do, I will focus on the experience as a whole. Tonight, I am focusing on one particular aspect - the fact that I was blessed with the opportunity to see a coworker, a man that I have known for the past year, in a whole new light. There are several images that I will never forget.

Anderson smiling as he visited with his church members before the service. At school, he has to wear his assistant principal hat. Whether he is dealing with students or with faculty members, he must constantly wear the hat of an administrator. The role of pastor is quite different, and I am glad I got to see him as he reached out to those he shepherds.

Anderson speaking with the children about light and darkness. Since several of the kids either lost power or had it blink off and on during the storms last night, the time was perfect to talk about living a forgiven life as walking in the light versus walking in darkness. My favorite part of this scene was watching Anderson as he hugged each of the children, smiling and laughing the entire time.

Anderson as he preached. Considering the communication skills I had already observed, I wasn’t surprised at all by his eloquence or passion. I was, however, blessed and challenged by it.

Anderson as he stood by a young man. There was a young man who responded to the invitation, coming forward and sitting in a chair as one of the elders of the church stood beside him. Anderson came around, knelt by the young man, and shared with him quietly. There is no way I can accurately describe the look on his face as he stood beside the young man with his arm around his shoulders and his head bowed, but I am glad I witnessed it.

Anderson as he stood with his arms outstretched, praying a benediction over the congregation. ‘Nuff said.

Prior to this morning, I knew that Anderson was a follower of Christ and a pastor, but that knowledge was theoretical. Today, I got to see it being fleshed out. Today, I was able to see a totally different side of a man whose office is just two doors down.

I was blessed by what I saw.

According to the Farmer’s Almanac, summer isn’t over yet. According to my school calendar, it technically ended last Tuesday, and it for real ends tomorrow. Even though I have been working in my classroom for weeks now, teachers officially reported back to work last Tuesday, and the students report tomorrow morning. After hours upon hours (I was in my classroom until 1:30 Saturday morning), I am ready. Well, as ready as I am going to get.

As I reflect back on the summer of ‘08, several things stand out. I am not sure if they are worthy of sharing, but they are all I have. If you get bored, go check out Los, Heather, or David. They are sure to entertain.  So, as the Summer of ‘08 goes out with a whimper, I realize that this has been the following:

The Summer of Ninja Warrior Miranda and I got hooked on this show after we ate at Texas Roadhouse Grill one night. They were playing the show on the TV behind the bar, and I finally had to look to see what was making the masses around the bar groan and cheer in unison. I caught my first glimpses of this Japanese show featuring 100 participants and a grueling four level obstacle course. We are now hooked, and the show takes up a large portion of the memory on my Tivo.

The Summer of Dresden Files I watched this show when it was on SciFi, but only this summer did I get hooked on the novels upon which the show is based. I didn’t have a lot of time for leisure reading, but what time I had was spent reading the first nine novels that Jim Butcher has knocked out for this series. The series features a mystery solving detective / wizard, and I find Butcher’s treatment of the supernatural interesting. What I have found of particular interest is his treatment of the Christian faith. Christianity and the traditional view of spiritual warfare are not to be found within these pages, but Butcher seems to possess a grudging respect for the faith. When I find time, I hope to email him to learn more about his own worldview. I’ll let you know if he answers.

The Summer of Twitter Okay, I am hooked. Twitter.com is a site that offers 140 character status updates, nothing more and nothing less. There are several intriguing features of the site. One is that you can tie it to your Facebook account and update that status when you update your Twitter status. Another is the ability to update your status using text messaging as well as receive updates on selected friends by text as well. I love me some Twitter!

The Summer of Service For the first time in a while, I am teaching in church again on a consistent basis. I have done the occasional preaching thing and the occasional fill-in teaching gig, but this is the first time I have taught on a consistent basis. I have enjoyed it, and I am excited about the series that I will be starting next month. Plus, Miranda and I will be hosting a small group in our home. Good stuff, good stuff.

What about you? What have you enjoyed this summer? 

Dear Mr. Vernon,

We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong, but we think you’re crazy to make us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us… In the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain… and a criminal… and a basket case… a princess… and an athlete. Does that answer your question?

Sincerely yours,

the Breakfast Club

This weekend, my bride and I decided to watch a couple of older movies. We started with an absolute classic -Breakfast Club. Sure, it might not rank up there with Ben Hur or Casblanca, but for any child of the eighties, this movie ranks right up there with Sixteen Candles or Ghostbusters.

As we watched it, I began to realize that there were some deep reasons why I truly love this movie.

This unlikely group experiences true community. Don’t get me wrong, they weren’t having Bible study over coffee at St. Arbuck’s or anything, but they still experienced deep community. They sat together and honestly shared their hurts, their fears, and their frustrations. They opened up to one another and ran the risk of being mocked, ridiculed, or rejected. But for that one Saturday morning, they took off their masks and got real with one another.

They said tough things to one another. On more than one occasion when one of the characters stepped out of line, one of the others would step up and speak truth. Sometimes the truth was spoken lovingly, other times it was spoken harshly, but sometimes the truth needs to be spoken boldly. This group didn’t sit around and blow sunshine up one another’s skirts - they challenged each other.

They saw the potential in one another. One of my favorite scenes is toward the end of the movie. Claire (the preppy little princess) sees the potential for beauty in Allison (the basket case). She takes her aside, brushes her hair out of her face, helps her put on a little make-up… and voila, the beauty of Ally Sheedy is revealed.

Who would have thought that John Hughes film from 1985 would inspire me in such a manner? Who would have thought that it had the potential to remind me of what we have been created for?

See, I believe we have been created to live in community. We have been created to live life without the masks we so carefully construct instead of being being brutally transparent and open with one another. Sometimes that openness requires brutal honesty in return. We must be willing to call one another out on the lies that we sometimes choose to conveniently accept as truths. And we must be willing to look beyond the surface to see the potential in others and then do all that we can to bring that potential to the surface.

Who would have thought that John Hughes would remind me of the kingdom of God as it is supposed to be?

StuffChristiansLike.net is one of the blogs I check out daily. Jon, the creator / author / creative genius behind Stuff Christians Like took another guy’s great idea in a whole new churchy-direction. Some time back, Christian Lander debuted his blog, Stuff White People Like. By the beginning of July, his book was available in bookstores nationwide. If I understand the history of SCL (the accepted acronym for Stuff Christians Like), Jon was inspired by the White People website, thus, SCL was born.

A few weeks back, Jon decided to host a Tattoos for Jesus contest. Now, I am not a pro like Los, so I am able to enter. I emailed Jon a picture of the Celtic cross on my leg and sent it in. Of the hundreds of entries, his panel of judges picked what they considered to be the thirteen best.

I’ll be honest, I don’t know that the simple Celtic cross on my leg is that serious a contender. I love it, but I don’t know how it will compete against the dude with an angel on his back, the dollar inside an icthus fish, the Jesus outline around a dove and couple of roses, the guy with alpha AND omega on his forearms, the stained glass angel stomping Satan’s head, or this flaming dove (my personal favorite). 

So, my leg is now featured on Stuff Christians Like. If you want, you can even vote for me by going here and leaving a comment for tattoo #10.

I have been challenged by this man and his words. The fact is, all of us will one day die… but some of us never truly begin to live. To quote Thoreau,

“…I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

Pausch had the privilege of knowing that the end was near. My father-in-law did as well. (He was diagnosed with cancer and lived eleven months before dying. He was only expected to make it for six.) Some of us will get a diagnosis, but for others, death will come quickly without warning and without asking for our permission.

Because of this, I encourage you… don’t leave anything unsaid. Don’t leave anything undone.

I would write more, but I am going to hug my kids.

P.S. - I have excerpts from the video over there to the right. Check it out if you haven’t already seen it.

Last fall, my bride and I were watching an episode of L.A. Ink on Tivo when this guy got what had to be the most awesome piece of the night. He came in and explained to Hannah that he wanted an arm piece that showed the conversion of Saul. He had some artwork that served as her inspiration, and was she ever inspired by it! He explained part of his story over the course of the segment, and he walked away with what has to about the coolest tat I have ever laid eyes on. (My idea for a big “M” on each buttcheek pails in comparison, even though it would allow me to do naked cartwheels while spelling out “WOW MOM WOW MOM. For the record, I have shared this idea with my mother… she was quite underwhelmed.)

So, fast forward to some point this past spring. I was checking my Google reader, and someone had posted a link that day to RagamuffinSoul.com. How in the world had I missed this blog up until this point? I consider myself somewhat tech savvy, and I have been following blogs for a while even if I have been negligent in posting on my own. How in the world had RagamuffinSoul.com and Los flown under my radar?

For those of you who don’t know, Los is the nickname of Carlos Whittaker. He was on staff with a church in California for a decade before moving to Atlanta to join Buckhead Church, one of Andy Stanley’s campuses. He is the blogger behind RagamuffinSoul.com, a little corner of the web with about 5,000 daily readers.

I added the site to my feed and began to check it daily. After he mentioned his bride several times, I added her blog as well. (That has been interesting, because it is always fun to get two sides of the same story.) I eventually started following him on Twitter, and I eventually added him as a friend on Facebook. It is time for me to admit it.

I totally have a man crush on Los.

Now, don’t go freaking out, I am still the same heterotiger I have always been. This isn’t a sexual thing in the least… it’s just a mancrush. 

You might find yourself asking, “Why?” I offer the following as some of the reasons I have identified.

• He started out as a teacher. (I can definitely identify with that. I am still in the classroom.)
• He was on staff at a church that required him to set up chairs in a gym. (Hello? Church at Silver Springs meeting at Fitness South. I was glad when we moved to a theater simply because those seats were already in place!)
• Previously mentioned way-cool arm piece. (Check out the video over there on the side bar.)
• His bride has his initials tattooed on her. (I have been trying to convince Miranda to do something similar. Heather did it willingly… Miranda is coming around to the idea!)
• He is a Mac user. (Have you made the switch?)
• He has mad video-editing skills. (I’m learning, I’m learning!)
• He shaves his head. (After seeing a picture of Mike Weaver, I tried to convince Miranda that I could pull it off. “I’m not nearly as big as he is! He shaves his head and wears funky glasses… I could so make that work.” She then informed me, ever-so-lovingly, that the back of my head would look like a pack of Oscar Mayer Weiners. I never did it.)
• Daytime sex is still on the menu at his house, even with the kids home. (Sigh)
• He longs for nothing more than to be a part of an authentic body of believers living life together.

That’s the real reason… the last one. That has been my heart’s cry for years now. I have been granted tastes of such community… and they only make me want more. I long for it, I search for it, and I pray to be used as an agent to help create it. 

I originally shared this story as a comment on another post. After what D$ has been posting over on Clouds in My Coffee, I decided that I needed to share a story of my own. I have taken the original post and updated it just a bit. Again, I offer this disclaimer: This story, like many, truly deserves to be told and not merely written. Furthermore, it should be told by my sister as she brings a unique perspective.

A couple of years before I got married, when I was still in college, I had a date. This was not just a date, mind you, it was a first date. I was supposed to pick up Tiffany Abbott at her home in Enterprise. From there, we were going to go to a wedding in Troy.

I know, I know… a wedding isn’t exactly the ideal setting for a first date, but it was a church member and as a staff member at a small country church, I was expected to be there. After the wedding, we were going to Montgomery for dinner and a nice evening together.

At the time, I drove a 1984 Buick Park Avenue that looked a lot like the one pictured above. I had many affectionate names for this car that would seat 8 comfortably… the land yacht, my little ghetto sled… but I generally referred to it as my Hoopdee. That Saturday afternoon, I washed and waxed the Hoopdee, filled it up with gas, got a shower, and went to pick up Tiffany. (Incidentally, the Hoopdee got about 12 miles per gallon. At today’s gas prices, that is about three miles per dollar.)

The church was about a half hour or so from her house, and we had a pleasant enough conversation on the way there. I was witty and charming, and Tiffany laughed at all the right times. There wasn’t a single bit of that awkward silence that often accompanies first dates.

About halfway to the church, I noticed cute little clouds of smoke seemed to be coming from the rear of my car. Dad has always stressed the importance of watching one’s gauges, so I did. They didn’t show a darn thing.

About two-thirds of the way to the church, the cute white puffs of smoke became great big, black, billowing clouds. I was killing mosquitoes in three counties and doing irreversible harm to the ozone layer. I noticed that the gauges still showed that everything was fine, but even I, the single most mechanically-retarded person you know, could tell that the gauges were obviously missing something important. Where the heck is the Big Black Billowing Cloud Button, anyway?

I pulled over to the side of the road and popped the hood. Sure enough, there it was… an engine. That is about all I could tell… except that it smelled pretty bad. I wasn’t sure what I had done, but I was pretty sure I was going to hear the phrase “burnt up an engine” later that evening from Dad.

Some kind people picked us up and gave us a ride to the church. Everyone I knew in the community was at the church for the wedding anyway, and my parents had gone out of town for the day. I was pretty much stuck until after the wedding.

I sat there during the whole wedding dreading the conversation I was going to have with my father. “Dad, do you remember my car?” “Yes, son.” “Dad… do you remember the engine that used to be in my car?”

Tiffany was great. Throughout the whole wedding, she kept patting me on the hand and telling me that everything was going to be fine. “Don’t worry, Blair. I am sure everything will be okay.”

She lied.

After the wedding, we walked out the front of the church. One of the my deacons came up to me and told me, “Blair, that man over there is looking for you.” I looked in the direction he was pointing and didn’t recognize the man who was apparently looking for me.

As I walked up to him, he hitched up his overalls as heasked “Are you Blair Andress?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

He continued with, “Did you leave a car parked down the road?”

Oh, crap. I knew I had pulled the Hoopdee completely off the road, but somehow or another someone had hit it. Not only had I burnt up an engine, but someone had hit my Hoopdee. Dad was going to kill me.

As soon as I could speak, I told him, “Yes, sir… I left my car down the road.”

“Well, son…. it caught on fire and burnt up.”

It caught on what and did what?

The most intelligent question I could come up with was, “The whole thing? The whole car… burnt up?”

“No, son… just the front half of it.”

We got in this volunteer fireman’s truck, which smelled like a curious combination of fishbait and hot garbage. A spring from the seat was attempting to violate me, and Tiffany and I both had our feet on a tacklebox. As he drove me AND MY DATE back towards the remains of the Hoopdee, all I could do was shake my head numbly.

Tiffany had given up trying to reassure me.

As we got closer, I could see the pillar of smoke. We came over a hill and around a curve, and there she was. The burnt remains of my Hoopdee. The front tires had exploded. The paint had been baked off the entire front half of the car. The front windshield was smoked up and cracked. In short, the Hoopdee had gone out in a blaze of glory.

I ended up borrowing a car from a friend, and I took Tiffany with me back to my parents’ house. My parents weren’t home yet, but I wanted a witness with me. (I felt like Dad would be less likely to kill me if there was someone else around who might be called on to testify.) Once I was home, I called my sister, who lived next door. I tried to explain what had happened, but I struggled to get the words out. She finally figured out what I was talking about and told me to take Tiffany home. I did, and Kim came over to keep me company until my parents came home.

Dad called before they actually made it home, and he could instantly tell something was wrong. When he asked, I told him, “Dad, we’ll talk when you get home.”

“Son, I think you need to tell me now… so get started.”

So I told him. I had just gotten to the part about the white puffs becoming big black clouds, and he interrupted me.

“Crap, son… you burnt up an engine, didn’t you?” he asked loud enough for my sister to hear.

Kim literally fell in the floor as she laughed and told me, “That’s not all you burnt… tell him, Blair… tell him!”

Obviously, Dad didn’t kill me. I assured him that I had kept check on the oil, coolant, and everything else I could possibly check. I convinced him that this was just a freak accident that defied all that we know about mechanical things. He convinced me that white puffs of smoke are bad, even if the gauges say otherwise.

At this point, I have to explain why my sister’s version of this story is so much better than anything I can write. You see, when I had started telling her what had happened, she totally misunderstood. I didn’t know this until years later, but for some reason, she got the impression that I was calling her because I had been on a date and had a horrible sexual experience. I am not sure exactly what she was thinking, but apparently her mind was in the gutter when I kept moaning and saying over and over… “Kim… the Hoopdee burnt! It burnt, Kim… I can’t believe it.” I am not sure what she thought the Hoopdee was, exactly… and I am not sure I want to know.

When I began to tell her that I was scared of how Dad was going to react, she replied, “Now, Blair… you don’t have to tell them everything…”

“Kim, I think he is smart enough to NOTICE!”

“Not necessarily, Blair….”

When she tells this story, she can draw it out forever. People that know Matt and me have a hard time believing it, but she really is the loudest of the three of us, and possibly the most dramatic as well.

For the record… I never went out with Tiffany again.

I promise to answer the next twenty questions posed to me in the comments section of this post. No matter how off the wall, outlandish, theological, or personal they may be… I will answer them…. honestly.

Leaving a question is simple. All you have to do is fill out the comment form with your question, including your name and email address (which will not be published), then click on “Submit Comment.”

So who will be first?