A Poll: Birdie on Hole 4

This morning I tossed the “b”...I was approaching the basket on Hole 4. A par 3. My initial drive was sweet. Walking toward my disc for my second shot, I guessed I was about twenty feet or so from a birdie.

I’m not very good at judging distances.

“Birdie” was a lot bit closer than twenty feet.

It was the biggest pigeon I had ever seen. A fat grey hawk of a pigeon. A Texas sized pigeon! I wasn’t sure if the initial swoop at my noggin was deliberate so the first feeling was excitement. It was thrilling a blast of air over my head.

Ok I lied, my first feeling was, “Holy Caca!” But excitement was second.

Fear third.

Terror forth.

Then excitement again. For a second I had a thought…“Maybe some dude with a video camera has caught my disaster out of the corner of his eye while taping his daughter feeding the ducks by the pond and is getting the whole thing filmed and will send it in to be the winner of the When Animals Attack or American’s Funniest Videos television show and then split the big money with me.”

Back to terror. Turns out the first swoop was intended. So was the second. By now I had my frisbee. A little self-defense. I ducked, holding one arm over my head, waving my disc in the air with the other.

I wonder if birds laugh.

I began to run away from the hole. But not fast enough. Freak pigeon took another dive at me. That’s three. Again I threatened it with my long distance driver and turned toward my vehicle. I sprinted like a bat out of…like Batman out of the Bat Cave.

I stood there stunned staring back at psycho bird soaring over the air space of McKenzie Park’s disc gold hole number four. Watching it glory in its victory.

Suddenly I had a flashback to my shanked approach on hole 1. I missed the basket completely sending my disc spiraling into a pole that happened to be a perch for some lazy bird. I remember thinking, “I bet that bird just crapped itself” and laughed to myself.

Hmm. I think I have a motive.

Was that the bird that attacked me? Was my misfortune a product of revenge? It could have been. Or was that overweight turtledove just a mom or dad guarding its nest of babies?

What do you think? Leave a comment and vote. Pissed-off pigeon payback or parent pigeon protection?

One Ounce Action Beats a Ton of Words

I saw him there on the side of the road with his turquose dufflebag thrown over his right sholder, left hand held high in the air, thumb out. At seventyfive miles an hour I did not have much time to make a decision. My mind began a debate with itself.

“He probably smells.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“He may have a knife, a gun, or deadly right jab.”
“Maybe he just needs a ride.”
“But what if he steals my truck.”
“What if he really needs my truck more than I do.”
“What if…”
“Maybe he’s Jesus.”

I needed time to think this over, to hold a pray meeting, to get a air freshner and selfdefence classes. So I stopped at the next gas station and “dropped the kids off at the pool.” A good place to process. After much deliberation, I stepped through the door with verdict in mind. I got back in my truck and determined that if he was still there I would pick him up.

But I had my pocketknife ready just in case.

Turns out it was a good fight. And I still have one functioning arm (which makes typing this blog interesting). He got one shot off (my left arm) before I put a blade in his splean and kicked him out the door with my right flipflop (I’d like to thank Old Navy). Just kidding. The only battle that went on was in my head. Tom didn’t try to kill me. He was (is) just trying to make it from Dallas to California to see his Aunty who is sick. He told her, “I don’t got any money, but I’ll be there in a couple weeks.”

I wonder how long it took Tom to make that decision. Did he calculate the risk (he could get run over, hungry, or sunburned) or write down pros and cons (saftey or Aunty)? If he did it didn’t take long and he didn’t need to “sleep on it”. He walked all night after the phone call with his Aunty. Tom was so tired that when he got in my truck he mumbled a few words I couldn’t understand and fell asleep for four hours. That’s determination. That’s faith backed with works. That’s love. That’s what I want.

How long will I let “It’s not safe” keep from loving people? How long will I have conversations with myself? How long will I be like a wave in the sea blown and tossed back and forth by the wind?

That’s it. I’m not going to do this anymore! No more hesitations. No more second guessing. No more loving comfort more than my nieghbor. I’m gonna pick up the Holy Spirit’s phone call on the first ring. I’m gonna to be singleminded. I’m gonna ask for opportunities to love people and when they come, no matter the cost or danger, I’m going to take them with courage.

Maybe.

Two Thumbs up for Texas

An update from Lubbock, "The Giant Side of Texas": I've been spending a lot of time with the fam here. I live with my grandma (wearing the trucker hat). She makes the best fried chicken this side of Texas. I work at the Furniture Connection, a family owned Sauder outlet, for my uncle and aunt, Rich and Nancy. I do assemblies and a little retail. I make sales with ease because of my charming midwest accent (actually they point and stare when I say "you guys" instead "ya'll" and "I'm going to" instead "I'm fixin' to"). My aunt Sherie works at the store too. She laughs at customers alot. My unlce Marty and I enjoy making grandma nervous. During some almost golfball size hail we ran outside with baseball gloves on our heads to cover his van with a blanket. Hurts like paintballs. I make a weekly habit of tossing the "B" (disc golf) with my cousins Paul and Jacob. Not sure what to say about my cousins Lidnsey and Natalie. Uhh...they just got sun burned real bad the other day...and they're pretty cool. My great uncle Peanut and great aunt Fronsie got us on a Texas Hold 'em kick. Now we have weekly poker night.

I still haven't called Dr. Cherry about finishing up that worship practicum...I guess I'm trying to earn that "F". I hope to do some subsitute teaching here in Lubbock this fall to see if I really want to get an education degree.

I saw Bobby Night's house the other day. It's big, real big. (While writing the blog I entertained the idea of ommiting this last comment, because really, who cares?! But then I thought of the greatest Hoosier fan in the world, my former roomate, Patrick Cooper. He would care. So Coop, for the slight chance that you may reading this, I did see Bob's mansion. Go Indiana.)

I've been going to church at Live Oak, a Willow Creek plant. Just started playing guitar there. Not sure if its my place. I'm still haunted by that DeNeff sermon when he said, "You will find your place when your greatest joy meets the greatest need." Joy...check. Need...not sure.

I get to see my Dad this week in Dallas. Texas Motor Speedway. May the force be with Sam Hornish Jr.

Tim Founds, Phil Stuller, and I are going to the Grand Canyon in couple weeks. Phil is going to make me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (That's a joke for "Team Cankles", those who went to Sri Lanka...Keep praying!)

You can see for miles here. A beach of red dirt and a sea of blue sky. Watching the storms roll in like a giant wave strikes enough fear and wonder in my heart to trust the God who moves them. I do miss the trees though, but I'd trade them all for West Texas sunset. And the nights. I never knew there were this many stars, and I've only seen the moon so bright one other night...I'm seeing another side of God here, a beautiful, not necessarily better, but excitingly differant view of Him.

Miss and love all of you. Rebel against your own indifference...Beck

The Wisdom is in the Trees not the Glass Windows

I dropped some cardboard off at the “Sold Waste Management Facility” the other day. I think that is what the conservative republican West Texan’s here in Bush country call recycling centers so they can convince themselves that they are not really recycling, just “managing solid waste” so they aren’t accused of hugging trees or confused with being environmentalist war hating democrats like Kerry and those Dixie Chicks they kicked out of their state. But that is just my theory. Anyway, there at the “recycling center in disguise”, I met a man named Cliff, who worked there. He wasn’t good at talking, but he said a lot of interesting things. His real name is Clifford, but his friends call him Cliff. He told me I could call him Tom. That’s his middle name. He said it’s easier to remember than Cliff because all I’ll have to do is remember my favorite drink the “Tom Collins”. I’ve never had whisky or gin or whatever is in the “Tom Collins” cocktail, but I remembered Cliff and Tom because that was quite the introduction. I won’t forget his office either. Looked like a storage shed without a door. In the process of giving me directions to another recycling center closer to my house, he took me inside to show me around his place. “Lookit here,” he said, drawing my attention to the news program he had on. “I fixed that television someone threw away. And watch this,” he turned on a fan, “Works like brand new. And this here’s my new fridge I pulled out of the junk pile…” With joy he proceeded to show me functioning appliance after appliance that someone had thrown away as junk.

I’ve thought about Cliff’s trash treasure for a couple weeks now, and I just finally finished reading Ron Cider’s book, Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger (I think he made it really long on purpose so the Truth inside would be harder to forget). Before Paul and Amanda Stonehouse, SEEDS, and Townhouse 602, recycling meant nothing more to me than the memory of how the couple bucks I got back for aluminum made up for the few minutes my Dad made me smash cans on Saturday mornings when I was kid. I know now that it is about more than pocket change and even political parties. There are deeper issues—the sins of materialism and consumerism. Materialism hates God’s people. Consumerism hates God’s creation. I hope to write more on materialism in a couple days, but here I want to talk about the trash heaps we are producing.

Its about 100 pounds a week added to the landfills for every American family. Imagine the devastating effect on our environment that will create for future generations if we continue this pattern. Where will all that trash go? Many Christians would say, “I don’t know and I don’t care. I’ve got more eternal things to think about.”

But I think we should know and we should care, because it has a lot to do with eternity.

God reveals his greatness through His creation. Have we deemphasized the power of nature in the salvation process as the Church? I think so. And I would suggest that recycling is a powerful means of evangelism. Stewardship of our planet gives the opportunity for people to know the Creator. Yes I know that we are saved in community, that people are more important than trees, and that God will someday destroy this earth. But God put us in a garden for a reason. He gave us the Rockies, the Atlantic, and Big Dipper for a reason. He was trying to say something about Himself. What else could describe the extent of God’s love than the immeasurable distant to the heavens, and His faithfulness than the vast skies. Without the mountains to what could we compare His righteousness? Besides the ocean depths, what could capture His justice (See Psalm 36)?
Sure, if there was no beauty left on earth, we would still have His Word and we would still have His presence when we gather. But would we still know His greatness? Would we forget how big He was? What would our view of God be like if we could no longer gaze up at the stars at night because a thick layer of smog was blocking our view. Or if we could no longer see a sunset, because a new landfill was placed in our back yard? Or if we could no longer walk with Him in the woods because there no longer are any forests?

“The wisdom is in trees not the glass windows” (Jack Johnson).

So recycle your cans, ride your bike, simplify, plant a tree, vote environmentally conscience, next time you go to park bring a garbage bag, and quit buying soon to be obsolete crap you don’t really need that will soon end up in the dumpster. Take a hike, visit a National Park (like the Grand Canyon with a couple guys named Tim and Phil), dance under the stars, smotch your lady during a sunset, climb a mountain, or watch storm. And when you tell that awesome God or yours that you can’t get used to Him, remember that it is Him, the Creator, who made you, loves you, and wants to have a relationship with you.

For more ideas read Rich Christians in Age of Hunger or visit www.sierraclub.com. Be creative and befriend your neighborhood recycling center worker.