Family Vacation

Sorry for the radio silence the last few days. We returned yesterday from our family vacation. We traveled down to Gulf Shores for a family reunion and had a grand time. We caravanned with Kadie’s sister and my brother-in-law and attended a family reunion.

I note the following things:

A caravan can only travel as far as its tiniest bladder. Squealer and his cousin Grace (Grace is the same age as Squealer, and vastly advanced in all manner of things, potty training among them) made constant stops a necessity. This constant stopping goes against the natural inclination of man, dating back, no doubt, to our hunter-gatherer days. I like to travel far distances between stops, but with a potty training Squealer, that was not possible. Or it was possible, but there would be a substantial mess as a consequence. I like my brother-in-law’s dictum: "One stop per state." That seems about right.

I don’t often think of Alabama and apocalyptic literature, but everywhere we traveled throughout the state I saw the license plate that reads: "The Stars fell on Alabama." Isn’t that a bad thing?

Not everyone looks good in a bikini.

There are many teaching opportunities for you and your kids at the beach. "Don't dress like her, don't act like him."

Sand gets everywhere in the condo. When you are chewing gritty gum, you know that it’s time to leave.

Here was an unexpected question. After passing by a Civil War marker, I explained that the North won this particular battle. Skeeter responded by asking "Is it good that the North won?" Boy, what a hard question for a Southerner! Yes, I replied though it was harder to admit than I had expected.

The three greatest devices in the history of humanity are: fire, the wheel, and the portable DVD players.

If your kids climb all over your back while you are wrestling on the beach, You will need to reapply sun screen, or else your shoulders will burn…bad.

Gas is expensive.

Susan Song Baptist Church

Intentional Interim update:

I have now preached twice at Susan Song Baptist church. (Obviously not the real name, but very similar to the real name). I think the church is named after the street where it is located, but it still the first Baptist Church I have ever preached in with a woman’s name.

The first time there were around a dozen present, this time they had over twenty in attendance. As I’ve mentioned, they are still in shock over the departure of their pastor but they are committed to moving forward. They are a very, very sweet community of faith.

The music is simple and sincere and typical of a rural church. The sanctuary is filled with wooden pews while a familiar picture of Jesus hangs on the wall. (Yes, that one). They sing out of a shape note hymnbook and are accompanied by a piano, guitar (played sideways on the lap), a harmonica and an autoharp (pictured at left). All hymns must be transposed to the key of either C or G. Songs from this last Sunday morning included “Come to the Church in the Wildwood” and “Bound for the Promised Land.” Conversation before the service covered cotton and corn prices, as well as our current drought.

There is a cultural gap for me (I have always been a city boy), but I gain much from it. I need to work at translating my academic-influenced reading of the Bible into something of value for them. Teaching and preaching in a rural setting helps to ground me in pastoral relevance. I should know in a couple of weeks if they want me as interim or simply as supply.

Glimpses of Grace

The year is 2003. I attended the funeral of the father of my closest college friend James. I gave him a ride to Waco, Texas and then out into the country cemetery where his father would be interred. His brother, his sister Samantha and their grandmother were also present.

The funeral ended, not so much with a bang, but a whimper. It was a hot day, the kind of day that always accompanies central Texas and summer months. The wind blew hard and the sun and sand would sting your eyes if you didn’t squint hard enough. Mr. Roberts was an air force veteran. The high point of the service was the military salute to Mr. Roberts. First was the incredibly intricate, incredibly solemn, folding of the American flag which had been draped across the casket. Following this careful choreography, the two airmen who had performed this delicate dance carried the flag to their commanding officer. He gently cradled the flag in his arms, and then carried it over to James, Mr. Roberts’ son. The soldier knelt in front of James and said “On behalf of the President of the United States, a grateful nation, and a proud Air Force, this flag is presented as a token of our appreciation for the honorable and faithful service rendered by your loved one to his country."

Following these words, a series of salutes and stances were taken by the soldiers and the requisite twenty and one shots were fired. As the first volley was fired, everyone in the funeral gathering flinched, many as if they themselves had been shot. By the third time, we were accustomed to it and across the central Texas hill country, the shots echoed for a few brief seconds before passing away.

After the salute, casings from the bullets were given to the three surviving children and the veteran’s mother. Then we paused for the end of the service. Although I had not attended a service like this before, even I knew what would be the conclusion. We began to wait for the plaintive wail of the trumpet player, performing Taps. The bugler was a large woman who had stayed away from the others as they prepared to begin the service. I had seen her steal away silently during the funeral and now, as I looked around I saw her nowhere. Safely out of sight, I knew that she was preparing to play. As the commanding officer waited patiently, the hot day grew even hotter as beads of sweat formed on his forehead and dropped down to stain his uniform.

And we waited, all the while hearing nothing but the rustle of the wind across the desolate area. A few of us moved toward one of the gnarled Mesquite trees, seeking a semblance of shade. We continued to wait for Taps to begin. The sons, the daughter, and Mr. Roberts’ mother waited silently, and eventually began weeping. Finally, after an excruciating length of time (though probably no more that five or six minutes), the commanding officer left the grave side and began searching for the lost bugler. Several minutes later, he returned and apologized as he announced that due to the extreme heat, the bugler would be unable to play. The service ended awkwardly.

As we filed back to our cars, I noticed that the heavyset woman with the trumpet was breathing hard by the military vehicle that had brought them out to this country graveyard. She was plainly overcome by the heat and was gasping to catch her breath. I overheard two older men making snide remarks about women not being able to take the heat and wondering “How hot it must be right now in Afghanistan.” Their derision and scorn provided a depressing coda for the ceremony.

But as we passed by the bugler, James’ sister Samantha lingered by the bugler for a moment. Samantha was concerned about the woman’s health and wanted to make sure that she would be alright. The woman began to weep and apologize to Samantha for “Ruining your father’s funeral.” The woman then told Samantha that she was seven months pregnant, but was the only one in the honor guard who could play Taps and she wanted to be there. Samantha hugged her and told her that it was alright, that she understood. I’ll always remember the sight of the two of them crying together as they embraced.

I’ve always been touched by that glimpse of grace. The bugler found out a bit about grace that day as the woman whose father had died so suddenly ministered to another. The bugler too was motivated by grace as she sacrificially gave up comfort and even safety, enduring intense heat for another. C. S. Lewis says that God speaks to us in our pleasures, but shouts at us in our pains. God gently reminded me that hot, summer day, of his sacrificial love for us through these two graceful women.

Props for Kadie

JCAHO stopped by Kadie’s hospital this week. JCAHO is to hospitals what the Gestapo was to your average law abiding German and the KGB to your every day Russian. Not in a moral sense, of course, but in the sense that they inspire fear in the hearts of every hospital employee. They appear at random and quiz the employees on policies and procedures. Their job is to find mistakes. A negative word from them can result in an employee being written up at best, or even terminated if negligence is detected. (To get some idea of the sense of dread their name evokes, Googling the phrase "JCAHO sucks" reveals over 15,000 hits).

[Ed. note: I do fully understand the necessity of an accrediting agency. One of the reasons that we have educational and medical systems that are the envy of the world is because of the strict and rigorous processes of ongoing certification.]

In short, they are scary. This week they arrived on Kadie’s floor and began snooping around. They asked opened a chart at random and asked the nursing supervisor to show them an example of how the staff evaluates a patient’s pain. Now as I understand it (and Kadie rolls her eyes and shakes her head slowly whenever I speak of medical things) when a patient requests pain medication, the nurse must evaluate their current pain level, give the medication, and then a few hours later follow up and evaluate the pain condition again. But as busy as nurses are, at times they do not follow up and evaluate the patient’s condition again. The average nurse assumes that if the patient is still in pain after taking the meds, then they will let the nurse know.

So the JCAHO agent was checking the charts to make sure that the nurse had correctly followed procedure. Well, you can see where this was going. They pulled one of Kadie’s patients and checked her chart. The nursing supervisor said that she was holding her breath as they looked.

Of course, Kadie had perfectly followed proper procedure. Her supervisor expressed relief that they had pulled Kadie's chart. I was surprised by none of this. She is a remarkable nurse and is gifted for that occupation.

Regrettably, she also never reads this blog, so I will score no brownie points with her. I simply want to brag on my fine spouse.

An Impractical Joke

Kevin's query triggered this early marriage memory.

Flashback to February of 1992:

Kadie and I are in our first year of school in Fort Worth. I am in seminary while she is wrapping up her R.N. at TCU. Scooter, Skeeter and Squealer do not yet exist.

It is a cold morning and I am preparing to go to work at the library. We lived in B.H. Carroll Park in one of the two-bedroom apartments. I drove the 73’ canary yellow Volkswagon SuperBeetle and Kadie drove the first love of my life, a 1984 Suburban. (The wifey always gets the best car of course. Although in this case the "best" was certainly relative). Since the weather is cold, Kadie likes to allow the Suburban to heat up in the morning before she gets into it. She would turn it on, lock the doors to it, and finish getting ready in the house. (The parking lot was located very close to our apartment, maybe 25 feet away). The Suburban would then heat up and get toasty warm so that when she got in she would have a comfortable ride to school.

I expressed concern to her that it might not be the safest place to keep a running car, even with the doors locked. Someone might steal it. But we never reached a consensus in our conversation. One morning I went to work but forgot something. When I returned to our parking lot, I saw the suburban gently running, the tell-tale sign of condensation floating out of its tail-pipe.

I actually remember thinking “I’m going to teach Kadie a lesson.” [I interrupt this narrative, from the vantage point of 15 years marriage, to say that a husband should NEVER have this thought, and if he is foolish enough to think it, he certainly should never act on it]. So I parked the Bug down the street and then I returned and moved the Suburban. I parked it on the next block and then I returned to the parking lot, hiding behind some cars and watching our back door.

I shivered and waited about five minutes. While waiting, I planned on what to do next. I had thought she would walk out of the apartment and I would say something like “So, did you lose something?” amidst much laughter. But that is not quite how it turned out. There would be much less laughter than I had anticipated.

Finally, Kadie opened the door and….stopped. She stared for a moment at where the Suburban should be. Then I watched in horror as she turned, went back into the apartment and slammed the door. Now I was struck with indecision. Should I wait here for her to return? But then I realized she might be calling campus security, so I raced across the parking lot and went careening into the door as I clambered into the kitchen.

Now picture this from Kadie’s perspective. The car is missing, so she was worried about thieves. Then she went into the kitchen to call me at work to tell me what was going on. All the while she is terrified that these thieves might still be around. Then I came crashing into the kitchen, slamming open the door. (Who knew you could slam open a door?!). She immediately thought I was one of the car thieves and let out an unholy scream of terror.

She began speaking to me again last Thursday.

Fun Referrals

Ever since Bowden posted on the monkey porn hits on his site (don't ask, read his original post here), I have been keeping an eye on referrals. Today I got a hit from someone who Googled Drew Carey and Jehovah. It referenced Fluidice's comment here. I grow increasingly concerned about America's theology when these two terms are united (and America's taste in comedy for that matter.)

Oddly enough, by far the most hits I've gotten from anything on this site was a post where I mentioned hippophagy (the consumption of horseflesh). Inexplicably, I received a lot of hits on that term from Australia....which has made me a bit wary of my next trip to Outback "Steak"house. Is this the reason that Aussie cuisine has never really taken off the way that French or Indian has?

Two Little Monkeys, Jumping on a Bed...

Flashback: The year is Spring of 2000 and we are preparing to move from Waco to our new home.

We had a rule in our house that jumping on the bed was not permitted. The kids knew that jumping on the bed was akin to the laws of the Medes and the Persians that could never be altered. It was strictly forbidden. One afternoon, Scooter came downstairs with Skeeter in tow. (Scooter would often be the spokesperson while Skeeter stood there as silent and curly headed as Harpo).

Scooter: "Father, may we jump on the bed?"

Taran: "No daughter, you know that it is a rule of the house that you must not jump on the bed."

Scooter: "But Father, jumping on the bed is fun." (Skeeter nods emphatically).

Taran: "It is true daughter, that jumping on the bed is fun. But jumping on the bed is not good for the bed. Because of how badly it hurts the bed, you may not jump on it."

Scooter: "But father, isn't it true that we are buying a new bed for our new apartment?"

Taran: "Yes daughter, we will be getting you and your sister a new bed after we move."

Scooter: "So can't we jump on the bed since we will be getting a new one?"

Taran: (silence...thinking...thinking...silence)

Scooter: PLEASE!!!!!! (Skeeter makes a very pleading face)

Taran: "Yes daughters, you may jump on the bed."

The girls chirped their thanks and bounded up the stairs. I soon hear the little bed squeaking and groaning under their collective weight. Their giggles bring a smile to my face.

Then I ignored them and turn on the Texas Rangers game.

Time passes (minutes, hours?) and the front door unlocks and opens. Kadie has arrived at home.

Before I get in a greeting she freezes and says (like Samuel to Saul) "What's that sound that I hear?"

(squeak, giggle, squeak, giggle)

Taran: "Oh, that's the girls, they're jumping on the bed."

Kadie: (silence...silence...)

Taran: (sensing trouble, speaking quickly) "Well, as Scooter pointed out to me, we are going to be getting a new bed, and jumping on the bed is fun, so I told them..."

Kadie sliced off my explanation with "Taran!" (which sounded like an expletive). It then dawned on me that she was wearing her scrubs. I remembered that she was a nurse. I remembered then that she was at that moment a practicing pediatric nurse. I remembered then that she was a pediatric nurse who often worked with children who have experienced blunt head trauma injuries.

"Taran" she said, and held up her hand to stop my stuttering 'explanation'.

Kadie then took on a tone of voice that she had previously reserved for talking to three-eyar olds. "Taran, the danger is that they might fall from the bed onto the hardwood floors that are, you know, hard wood."

She continued "I am not concerned about the bed, but rather head injuries. Don't you even sing a song to them about it?"

Taran: "Ummm....I thought that was just a song."

The Angry Sermon

Well, I preached the “Angry Sermon” yesterday morning. Actually that was the title of my Word file. For Sunday morning I called it “A Lamentable Monday” where I described last Monday in detail and then looked to biblical texts that help us to deal with days like that. I settled on the lament psalms as psalms that were written for Mondays like last week.

There are more lament psalms than hymns of praise in the Bible. Those who suffer and work their way through frustrating days (like Monday) or awful days for those who experience great loss can find solace in the psalms.

We looked at Psalm 12 (a lament for someone attacked unjustly), Psalm 6 (a lament for a sick person) and Psalm 88, the angriest psalm in the Bible. I called it the Mariana Trench of the Old Testament.

There are four things we can learn from these lament psalms:

1. They remind us that we are part of a community that has experienced these emotions before. Evangelicals in general, and Baptists in particular often ignore the rich religious tradition that came before us. The psalms remind us that others have suffered before us.

2. By praying these psalms we can transform our own prayers. Dietrich Bonhoeffer said “Whoever has begun to pray the psalms earnestly and regularly, will soon give leave to those other, easy prayers of their own because they lack the power, passion, and fire to be found in the Psalter.” Praying the psalms provides a powerful antidote to the “Lord, we just wanna” prayers that characterize so much of church life.

3. The lament psalms push us to communicate with God. Even the deepest, darkest, most painful psalms are still addressed to God. Angry prayers still have a seed of hope in them that God listens and that God can change things.

4. They remind us to be authentic. The psalmists were authentic in their prayers. They unashamedly shared their true feelings. Far too often today we keep our church relationships superficial. (“I’m fine, how are you?” “Fine” “How is work?” “Good!” Etc.)

I am convinced that part of what turns people off to church is the superficiality of church members (including myself).

Our church posts mp3 versions of sermons, contact me if you suffer from insomnia and would like that link.

On Shrimpy (R.I.P) and Bad Surprises

Many thanks to those who chimed in and offered creative (and surprisingly theological) suggestions for cushioning Scooter from the blow of Shrimpy’s demise. I was pleased to discover that I am the first (and surprisingly, only) person in the history of the internet to use the phrase “regenerate tadpole.” In the end, we elected to expose Scooter to the harsh realities of this present age and informed her of Shrimpy’s passing.

Here is how Scooter found out:

The Scene:

The family is driving home from the church after picking Scooter up from pre-teen camp. Kadie is driving (Taran is at work). Squealer (age 3) is “singing” the music for Sesame Street at the top of his lungs, oblivious to the drama about to unfold. Kadie turns the music up to try to cover up Squealer’s (increasingly loud) voice. The girls sit on either side of Squealer.

Skeeter (age 7): “Scooter, when we get home I have a surprise for you…”

Scooter (age 10): “Oh good! I love surprises”

Skeeter: “Well, it’s a bad surprise”

Scooter: “A bad surprise?"

Skeeter: "A very bad surprise."

Scooter, noting Skeeter's expression, "Oh no! What is it? Are Trixie, Boots (our puppies) and Shrimpy still alive?”

Silence…silence…

Mom's voice from the front seat: “Well, … Boots and Trixie are.”

Followed by much wailing and weeping. All the while Squealer is warbling the Sesame Street theme song at 400 decibels.

Now fast-forward ahead in time some, thirty years:

The Scene:

A doctor’s office. A worried patient is awaiting the results of his lab work. The doctor walks in.

Dr. Skeeter (37): “Mr. Jones, I have a surprise for you…”

Meetings and Ministry

The student came by in the morning and the meeting went fine. No chairs (literally or figuratively) were thrown. He was cordial and composed during our conversation. In fact, later in the day, the professor called me on the phone rather sheepishly and informed me that the student had been right. The professor had misplaced his work and the student actually passed the class and did not earn an “F” after all. Well then.

I am learning a lesson that no doubt applies to all people in leadership positions. Crises always come (and this one was relatively minor). I find that it is healthy to expect them and I am better prepared to face them at that time. Over the last two years as a department chair, I find myself often enjoying the problem-solving that so often comes with this job. Well, to be more precise, I enjoy solving the problem.I think that most of the time students need to believe that someone cares for them (a fact I told that student yesterday as well as the waif). Students (and faculty for that matter) simply need to see that someone cares for them and is willing to work with them to resolve their concerns. I think that institutions bounce people around from office to office more than they help them with their problems. (I know I have all too often been guilty of that).

In other news I am talking with a church about becoming their interim pastor. I preached there last Sunday and I am scheduled to preach there again on the 23. Their pastor of eight years walked into the Wednesday night meeting a few weeks ago and announced “That’s it, I’m done!” and gave no two weeks notice and has not been back to the church since.

He didn’t end well.

(I half expect to see his name in the paper one upcoming morning!!). They are a very small, very rural church, quite similar to Lone Oak. They have a message board outside their church which reads “The Little Church with a Big Heart.” Due to the way their pastor left, they are still in a bit of shock. Please keep me in your prayers as I continue to discuss the interim position with them.

Make Him Stop

Please.

http://playlist.yahoo.com/makeplaylist.dll?id=1445131&sdm=web&qtw=640&qth=400

Digital Invective

The echocardiogram revealed that Scooter's heart has a small bit of seepage among the chambers, but apparently that is true for most people. Her doctor's nurse indicated that her heart is fine. Apparently she is prone to fainting spells (if prone means once every three years or so) . I very much appreciate all of those who prayed for her well-being. It is a blessing to hear from brothers in Christ you never knew you had.

Pardon the following extended rant. I don't rant well. Go read Spleen or Screeds for some real quality rage. I’m hoping that the transformation of my rage to pixels will allow it to mellow and depart. (Actually, as I type this now a day later, I'm doing fine). Be aware that there is nothing in what follows that will be either redemptive or edifying.

Caveat lector.

Yesterday began with a severe lack of sleep from the night before. My bride is working evenings right now and our quality time for a “daily dialogue” is between the hours of 11 pm and 12 am.

When I arrived at work Monday morning I discovered that my 5 day old computer hard drive had crashed. Frustration mounted as I realized that I was going to have to reconstruct some documents for a 9:00 meeting. I did complete some of the work, but at the cost of my sanity.

In the meeting we discussed how we would apportion a 5% raise that is the first raise our state legislature has passed in six years. As a colleague of mine said after the meeting, “I feel like we’re a bunch of skinny rats fighting over a crust of bread.”

Following the rat meeting, I found out that an insurance company had not received my medical records from my doctor’s office despite the fact that they have faxed them repeatedly. I went by the doctor’s office and said to the secretary “I need some help dealing with an idiot insurance company.” She replied “Most of them are” and graciously rendered assistance. Then I reminded myself not to use the word idiot.

When I returned to my office, I had a hostile student waiting to talk with me about one of his classes. For a department chair, this is not unusual. Probably four or five times a semester I’ll have a student come by to register a complaint or just vent about their classes. But our conversation revealed that his was a class he took TWO years ago. He had one of my colleagues for the class and wanted to protest his “F”. After an extended conversation revealed that he had not even spoken with his professor first, I encouraged him to do so.

Ironically, while Dave was spending some time with Psalm 78, I was turning to Psalm 30, a beautiful thanksgiving psalm which helped a lot. I then decided to start on my sermon for Sunday (our pastor is attending a conference next weekend, in that state, and he foolishly asked me to preach in his stead). I’ve never written a sermon when I was mad before, and I look forward to seeing how it turns out.

When I arrived at home I noted Shrimpy’s passing. I was unsure if s/he was sleeping or dead, but when I put him/her in the water, s/he floated upside down. Scooter is at pre-teen camp through Friday, so I have until then to figure out how to break the news to her. The time honored sit-com solution (going out and buying a new tadpole) is not an option because Skeeter saw the corpse. Maybe Shrimpy could “get better” all of the sudden…hmm.

Then after dinner I hustled Squealer off to bed and got ready to end my day. I vegged with my new issue of Christianity Today and my old issue of Sports Illustrated from last week.

Then, around 9:45, as I began to drift off to sleep the phone rang. It was the student. The student from earlier. The one asking about his grade. The one who had waited for two years, but couldn’t wait until 8:00 the next morning when I’d be back in the office. We conversed. I encouraged him to come by the office Tuesday morning. He did.

I’ll tell you about my meeting with him tomorrow.

The Sooner the Finished the Better

And no, that's not another Oklahoma reference. It is in reference to today. Today has been most bilious. This is a Monday that cannot end soon enough.

No news on Scooter. Her doctor gets the test results tomorrow…but doesn’t work on Tuesdays, so we might find out something on Wednesday.

My computer hard drive died today.

Not to be outdone, Shrimpy also decided to died.

More tomorrow.

Thar Be Pirates Heer!!

Bowden's daughter wasn't the only one who watched the Pirates of the Carribbean last night. Kadie and I had a wonderful date night as we inflicted the three kiddos on a babysitter and had a nice dinner (a Cajun restaurant) and a movie. At the theater we saw twelve people from our church and got tickets only because I ordered them online earlier in the day. I spoke with a lot of people throughout the day who were going to it, which I guess explains this shocking news!!!!!

A stunning half a mill opening day. I had reasonably low expectations for the film, and they were well met. As busy as I've been, I had no idea that it was the first installment of a two part episode shot back to back (a la the LOTR or Back to the Future trilogies). So it ended in media res, but was still alright. It did remind me a lot of the Captain Blood type of films, where you just suspend your disbelief and ride along for the fun. For a full review by an administrator at the premier Baptist University in the country, read Thomas Hibbs’ take.

I won't risk stepping onto someone else's turf here, but one thing struck me about the film. Jack Sparrow might become one of the more iconic film characters in time. I suspect that he will really resonate with contemporary culture and we will soon see Sparrow references umm, flying everywhere.

Non-Update on Scooter

Scooter had her echocardiogram yesterday and we have not heard the results. We should hear something on Monday and I appreciate all of your prayers. She seems fine and I am optimistic that the test will show nothing amiss.

Walter Wangerin, Jr.

Several years ago, every Sunday morning as I wound my way for an hour from Waco to Lone Oak, Kadie and Scooter would both nod off as we drove along Hwy 84. To break up the lonliness, I would run through the AM dial listening to various preachers. Listening to these disembodied voices has always been a favorite amusement of mine. I recall nearly driving off the road one morning in laughter as a preacher referred to Pilgrim’s Progress by Paul Bunyan.

One morning I came across a narrative sermon that reduced me almost to tears as I heard a simple, evocative, presentation of the Gospel in an elegant way. That was my first exposure to Walter Wangerin, a Lutheran minister who preached on a show called Lutheran Vespers for years. Although he has written prolifically, I have not particularly enjoyed his written words. But his sermons are remarkable.

Last year he was diagnosed with cancer and has been keeping a journal (blog?) about his experiences. They remind me very much of Lewis’ A Grief Observed. I commend them to you for your reading. He is currently the writer-in-residence at Valparaiso University and his website is located here. To read about his battle with cancer, read his archives entitled “For Your Information.” The archives are located here.

I assume that most of you are unfamiliar with him and I only located him by chance. I did find a chapel address he delivered at Valpo on May 22 that is wonderful and available in MP3 format here.

I believe that you will benefit from it.

Is Oklahoma more than OK?

Something has recently come to my attention. I got started along this little blogging adventure last winter when I Googled “intentional interim” and "blog" and received numerous results. Among other web pages, it turned up Bowden McElroy’s site. He has worked as an intentional interim and founded his site as a way of keeping in touch with the church where he served. (Although now he writes about contemporary controversies like Olympic snowboarding). He lives in Oklahoma.

From Bowden's blog, I started to follow the travails of Wade Burleson on his web site. He too is from the state of Oklahoma. Hmm, I sense a trend developing. From there I started reading Wes Kenney's (counter-conventional blog wisdom) thoughts. He is also from that panhandled state.

But the straw that broke the camel’s back was the shocking news that Art Rogers is heading out west!!

So why does Oklahoma wield such tremendous power in the blogosphere? (Some might proffer the explanation that there’s little else to DO in Oklahoma, but I wouldn't say that.) But as native (though now former) Texan I never gave Oklahoma a great deal of thought. (Except on those all too frequent occasions when OU spanked Texas in the Red River Shootout). But I need to rethink these deeply held prejudices. After all, Oklahoma does host the world’s greatest fast food chain, and was the college stomping grounds of my favorite Dallas writer and one of my favorite theologians.

Full disclosure: I was saved some twenty odd years ago during summer camp at the gorgeous Falls Creek encampment. I was baptized by a current faculty member at Oklahoma Baptist University, and my father-in-law is a non-attending member of the Emmanuel Baptist Church in Enid, a fact I discovered only yesterday. My bride, Kadie, was also born in Enid, though quickly left the state afterward. That is the extent of my Oklahoma-related ties.

So what gives? Has the geo-political-theological center of Baptist life shifted from Nashville to Shawnee? And is that a good thing?

Scary Times!

I went in to work for a few hours yesterday morning. The campus is closed down, but it can be a productive time with students (and faculty!) away. When I got home, my brother-in-law and niece were out in the yard with worried expressions on their faces. “Scooter fell off her bike and an ambulance is on its way.”

After I ran inside, I found Kadie with Scooter in the bathroom. Scooter looked very pale. Kadie filled me in on the story. Scooter fell off her bike and received a run-of-the-mill knee scrape and walked inside the house crying slightly. She was sitting down while Kadie cleaned her knee. Scooter then complained that she felt sick and needed to lay down. Before Kadie could move her, Scooter’s eyes rolled up into her eyelids and she slumped forward.

She awoke almost instantly and Kadie (a Registered Nurse, thank God) wiped a cool rag across her face. Scooter then said that she felt dizzy and passed out again. This time she was out for about fifteen seconds and her right arm curled up and one leg raised, just like she was suffering a seizure. Then she awoke again. Kadie asked her sister to call for an ambulance and continued to wipe Scooter’s face for the next five minutes.

About this time I arrived, followed quickly by the EMTs. They took her vital signs which all registered within the normal range. As we told them, Scooter has actually fainted twice before. Once when she was four she was sick and trying to throw up and it triggered a Vasovagal reflex. Then last year she was running across her playground at school and passed out while again trying to throw up, due to a stomach virus.

The EMTs said that an ER trip was really unnecessary and so we went to the doctor’s office. Her pediatrician thinks that Scooter may just be more likely to faint then most. Kadie was a little concerned about the seizure like symptoms, but the doctor thinks that it was not a seizure. She did say some people can faint quite easily, such as when they are startled or angered.

The doctor does want to rule out a heart arrhythmia and gave Scooter an EKG which was fine. Thursday at 10:00 she has scheduled an echocardiogram which is apparently like a sonogram for her heart. That test should rule out any heart problems. Please keep us in your prayers if you think of us.

Life can change in an instant!

Shockingly It Thrives!!!

In order to respond to the thousands of requests one, prompted, request for an update, I will now let you all know how our tadpole is doing. Although we have two real pets, puppies Trixie and Boots, we have also acquired an unwanted amphibian by the name of Shrimpy. (I looked back at the original post and apparently it had not yet been named. Scooter chose the name, which Shrimpy continues to live up to.) I personally think that Shrimpy is too close to an edible name, but it has stuck.

But despite my dark threats, assumptions about the girl's attention span, and presence of Squealer looking menacingly down upon the creature, Shrimpy remains well. S/he continues to grow and has sprouted little legs. S/he looks roughly like this one. Except that the girls keep Shrimpy's water cleaner.

I still am pessimistic about the animal's survival chances, but we shall see.

Just more of the useless archana that makes our lives so meaningful.

A Few Last Memories from Central Texas

A few weeks ago I promised a few more pictures from Hwy 31. First I found this picture from Leroy, Texas fascinating. Apparently in Leroy, the Methodists and Baptists share a building. I don't know anything else about it, but I like it. I mean, its not as ecumenical as allowing your church to be used for bar Mitzvahs, but it is still pretty neat. I wondered if the used the "Artic Edge"? (Full disclosure: Leroy is not actually on Highway 31, but rather on a side road where we I got lost.)

Elvis loved his fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches, Oprah loves sweet potato pie, while Bowden loves doughnuts. But the Taran clan lives for Braum's. There are two Braum's on Highway 31, one in Athens and one in Corsicana. If we time our trip just right we can hit them both.

This unholy addiction is abetted by the fact that there is not a Braum's within an hour and a half of our home, so we must stop when we can. A number one combo and a Limeade make the trip that much sweeter. Then hit the other Braum's for ice cream dessert. MMMMmmmmm...

(Please note the Las Vegas feel of the Athens Braum's at night. That place is hopping--------------------------->)