Lunch on Noble

Every now and then, I experience something that makes me wonder just how many times in my life I cheat God out of the opportunity to demonstrate his promise to provide by not giving Him chances to work through me.

In 1998, a member of the Trinity Episcopal Church in Guthrie, Okla. — a church of about 60 — learned that there were a number of homeless people in town. He was told they were sleeping under bridges at night, in abandoned houses, or wherever else they could find a place to come in out of the elements. He might not be able to solve all their problems, but through the church, together they could at least give them something to eat, he reasoned.

And that's how Lunch on Noble began.

That member has since moved away from Guthrie, but his vision still lives at Trinity Episcopal through people like Dorothy Ruth Knight — D.R. as she's known to friends. D.R. was part of Lunch on Noble from the beginning. After coaxing the church to give the volunteers $100 in seed money to start the free lunch program, they went to work. They printed flyers advertising the program and posted them under the bridges and other places in town where the homeless were known to congregate. They contacted DHS and told them about the program, hoping DHS could refer some people to them.

It started with a simple philosophy. Ask no questions, pass no judgements. Let the people who come through the door know that someone cares about them. And whoever comes through the door hungry gets fed. So in August, 1998, Trinity Episcopal threw open the doors for whosoever would come. The first day, no one did. The second day, no one did. Finally, on the third day, a mother referred by DHS brought her children, and they ate.

Soon, word spread, and eaters came. Other churches learned about the effort and joined in. The First Christian Church kicked in $200 and sent volunteers. Other churches started donating food or help. They got a grant from Wal-Mart. The local grocery store started helping out with food. Today, Lunch on Noble averages about 35 guests per day, Monday through Friday. Most of them are regulars, and D.R. knows them at least by first name. Those who come get a prepared hot lunch, complete with salad and dessert. Andwhen they leave, they take with them a sack meal — two sandwiches, either bologna and cheese or PB&J, plus cookies or chips or fruit — so they have something else they can eat later in the day. Lunch and Dinner on Noble, if that's what the need is.

By my count, Lunch on Noble has opened its doors more than 1,500 weekdays since 1998. And they've never not had enough food to feed whoever came. Oh, there were some close calls, D.R. remembers. Like the time the eaters kept coming and coming, and the prepared food kept going and going, and it was clear pretty quick there wasn't going to be enough. Until a neighboring church called, saying they had some food left over from a church dinner the night before. Did Lunch on Noble need any extra food? Or the day they simply didn't have any dessert to serve with lunch. Until a woman from another church who'd heard about the program showed up with two cakes.

The problem, D.R. says, has never been not having enough food. God provides. They've learned to plan as best they can, and leave the unforseen to God for Him to worry about . The problem these days is volunteers to help prepare and serve. Many of those who started the program were seniors back in 1998. Some have passed on; others are in bad health. D.R. was just a spring chicken in 1998 when she started with Lunch on Noble. She was a school-girlish 73 years young back then. Today she's 81 and has emphysema. She can't stand up for long periods anymore, and every now and then has to take a puff from her inhaler. She's sick. She's tired. But she still coordinates Lunch on Noble, and at least three days a week, she's at the church, helping to prepare, serve or clean up.

Ordinary people. A simple "Jesus" vision to feed the hungry. And an extraordinary God who provides because they give Him a chance.

Life Should Imitate Art

Copyright 2005, The Edmond Sun. Reprinted with permission.

In the book version of C.S. Lewis' "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe," sisters Lucy and Susan have to make a decision.

The Daughters of Eve had met Aslan, the great lion. They were reunited with their brother, Edmund, who betrayed them and cast his lot with the White Witch, taken in by lies of becoming king -- and a generous helping of Turkish Delight.

When the witch confronted Aslan about the magic of Narnia and demanded Edmund's blood as the magic required of traitors, the girls watched Aslan and the witch quietly negotiate Edmund's life. They followed Aslan as he walked deep into the woods, and watched the witch's servants bind the lion, shave him and drag him to the stone table to be slain by the witch's knife. Grieving Aslan's death, Susan and Lucy saw Aslan reappear because of the deeper magic, and they watched Aslan restore Narnia, breathing life back into those turned to stone by the witch's wand.

But the conversation that couldn't be avoided in the book was skipped in the movie. Should they tell Edmund what Aslan did to spare Edmund's life? Susan didn't think so. "It would be too awful for him," she reasoned.

Say what?

There are many excuses for why I haven't shared the truth along life's way with some who desperately need to hear it.

"Oh, they don't live in a vacuum. They've heard it before. They haven't listened then, why should I think they'll listen now?"

Or "their lives are too perfect. How can I ever make them see that they need a savior?"

But never "it would be too awful for them" if they understood Jesus' sacrifice.

I'd be a better man if my own recognition of that sacrifice was harder for me to handle than I allow it to be.

The movie's not as good as the book, but I recommend it regardless.
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I hope you've noticed changes in recent weeks in the Edmond Sun's coverage of religious news and events. My goal is to share the stories of the people in Edmond's religious community. I'm guessing half or more of Edmond's population worships regularly somewhere. As newspapers try to reconnect with readers, better coverage of the religious community is one effort we're making to that end.

In 2006, The Edmond Sun will, through the religion section published Friday, encourage readers to read through the Bible during the year. We'll publish on Friday the list of scriptures to be read each day during the coming week. You can easily clip the list and participate, even if you don't have a one-year Bible. If you don't have any Bible and need one, call or e-mail me. Churches in the Edmond Ministerial Alliance have agreed to get a Bible to you if needed.

I've also assembled a team of writers --local pastors and ministers -- who will furnish a column each week about one of the passages or stories you'll read in the Bible that week. I have 15 pastors who have committed to help on a rotating basis. I'm looking for more. If you're a pastor who'd like to participate, e-mail me at mailto:atdhartman@edmondsun.com.
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I need your help. There are hundreds of stories to tell of people in the religious community in Edmond. Problem is, there are more than 70 churches and religious organizations in Edmond, but only one of me. So if you wait for me to come to you, you might wait awhile.

If you have a story idea, send it my way, along with your name and a phone number so I can contact you for more information.

Thanks.

(David Hartman may be reached via e-mail at dhartman@edmondsun.com.)

The Sins of My Youth

I have a confession to make. It'll likely make you think less of me, if that's possible. But they say that confession is good for the soul, so here goes:

I've never read C.S. Lewis. As in none of C.S. Lewis. I'm 0-for-Lewis.

It's hard to explain why, exactly. Most of my friends started reading C.S. by 11 or 12 or 13. But I was different. At least I wanted to be different. Growing up in the home I did, I couldn't express my individuality by coloring my hair pink, getting a tattoo or piercing various and sundry body parts. Not that I wanted to.

So it wasn't uncommon for me to be different by doing things other kids didn't do, or by not doing things others did. Yeah, I took shop in high school, but I also took a sewing class. Made me a pretty cool shirt, pockets with snaps, buttons, western-style yoke, the whole nine yards. Needless to say, I was the only boy in the class. And most of my friends read Lewis, which was a perfect reason for me not to.

But I'm sure rebellion wasn't the only reason I said "no" to Narnia. It's kinda funny...I didn't watch a lot of TV growing up, but I still have the rather short attention span, especially when it comes to entertainment, as if I'd grown up in the 80s. I read back then, but I read newspaper columns, not books. And I wasn't into fantasy or make-believe, so the thought of reading about make-believe places with make-believe cartoon characters just didn't do much for me when I was a kid.

So now I have a lot of catching up to do. I have to admit, I'm kinda looking forward to the movie release of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe in December. Not that I've read the book. But to prepare for the movie, which I'll no doubt write stories about for the newspaper, I did buy the story on CD, a dramatized reading produced by Focus On the Family. I was impressed. The Magician's Nephew, which I bought next, didn't do quite as much for me, but The Horse and His Boy is already copied to my Dell-pod, waiting for me to spend some time in the car to start that story. I reckon that I'll listen to the entire chronicles now, and when I know my Narnia, I'll probably move on to other Lewis works. Don't know which ones yet. Depends on if any are available in audio format, or if I have to buy a book.

My Lewis literate friends, provided the choose to still claim me, can feel free to recommend which titles I should explore first.

Turn me on, dead man

Decades ago, when the Beatles were at the height of their popularity, an urban legend circulated that Paul McCartney was actually dead and had been replaced by a look-alike. Fans went so far as to say that the Beatles planted clues about Paul's death in their music. It was said that if you played Revolution Number 9 backwards, you'd hear the phrase "turn me on, dead man."

I never owned The White Album as a kid, so I never had the chance to spin the song on my turntable to see if it was true.

Regardless, it looks like I'll have a new weekly feature in my day job that has nothing to do with religion. Currently, I have to write a weekly parenting story for our features section on Sunday. But soon, I'll pass the parenting to someone else and write a weekly feature about someone in the community who has died within the last 7-10 days. I'll browse the obits, find a dearly departed that interests me, and start calling the relatives to probe into the deceased's life and tell his/her story. We'll see how it goes, but it has to be better than writing stories about how to pick a daycare, for example.
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But speaking about parenting, perhaps you saw news accounts earlier this month about the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals' (San Francisco, which explains a lot) ruling that determined that parents don't have the fundamental right to determine when their children learn about sex in school. If you haven't heard, and if you're a parent, this ruling should bother you.

The court ruled that "“there is no fundamental right of parents to be the exclusive provider of information regarding sexual matters to their children, either independent of their right to direct the upbringing and education of their children or encompassed by it."”

The ruling stemmed from a case filed by parents of students at Mesquite Elementary School in the Palmdale, Calif., school district after a survey administered at the school asked first-, third- and fifth-grade students questions of a sexual nature.

Seems the parents were told in a letter from the school that their first-, third- and fifth-grade students would be participating in a survey designed to establish a community baseline measure of the students' exposure to trauma, and to identify internal behaviors like depression and external behaviors likaggressionon.

Parents weren't told in the consent letter they were asked to sign and return that some of the survey questions would focus on sex, including questions about "“touching my private parts too much,"” "“thinking about touching other people'’s private parts"” and "“having sex feelings inside my body."

Needless to say, a few parents were unpleasantly surprised when their kids, ages 6-10, told them about the questions after the survey, and they filed a lawsuit against the school district. The 9th Circuit court rejected the claim, stating, "“We also hold that parents have no due process or privacy right to override the determinations of public schools as to the information to which their children will be exposed while enrolled as students."

Even though Oklahoma isn't under the jurisdiction of the 9th Circuit, Oklahoma Baptists this week passed a resolution against the court's opinion. You may not be under the 9th Circuit either, but if you're a parent of a child in public schools, this is a ruling you should be aware of. I'm only an adjunct parent at best to a five-year-old, and the last thing I want is him learning about sex in the first grade.

Won't Blog for Food

Many years ago, fresh out of college and still unemployed, I spent a day standing at one of the busiest intersections in Oklahoma City holding a sign that read "Will work for state fair tickets." That gig paid me $40 if I recall, and did draw some media attention, which was the state fair's purpose for having me do it, anyway.

A friend of mine and one of my loyal readers suggested I add a "tip jar" to my blog, where visitors/readers can reward me with pictures of dead presidents through my PayPal account. I'm flattered that she thinks I'm good enough to get paid for what I offer here, I'm just not convinced I agree. Besides, it raises a lot of issues.

If I blog for cash, I blog what sells, not necessarily what I want to say. I already get paid to write, albeit in another forum. And this is the one place I can say what I want without having some "editor" -- to use the term loosely -- coming in behind me and messing with my work.

So I don't think I'll be adding a link to my PayPal account anytime soon, though I'm smart enough to reserve the right to change my mind down the line, especially to raise money for specific causes, like the Norske Nook Pie Fund, for example.
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Was shopping in the hardware section at Wal-Mart the other day and found some adhesive bandages there made from duct tape. Pretty sweet. They were on clearance, so I got several packages. They'll be great -- and manly -- for use at camp.
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They're not exactly the tools of great price, but they're not cheap, either. So when I thought I had lost not one, but both of my Leatherman tools recently, I tore up the bedroom looking for them. Best I could figure, I left the Crunch in the glove box of a car I sold months ago. And I believed the Wave was left at the preacher's retreat. As fate would have it, I found both of them last weekend. The Crunch was in my dad's tool box; the Wave was hidden in the suitcase I took to the retreat.

That's good news for me, but not so good news for my friend Monica Hosler, who works for the president of the Leatherman Tool Group. She just about had me convinced I need a Surge, one of the newer models. Oh well. It's not like they won't get more money from me in time. Leatherman is releasing a new line of knives, not tools, and I reckon I'll "need" one of those down the line.
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Jerry Falwell was a no-show at the Oklahoma Baptist Convention this week, so I didn't get to hear him speak. But popular Baptist author John MacArthur was there, and gave a great presentation on prayer. J Mac has written a set of commentaries, has his own study Bible, and has written a slew of other books. He's on my list of authors to read now.
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Hope you're enjoying 40 Days of Free Indeed. I know I am. And I think I've remembered to change the song every day so far. Of course, writing that probably jinxes it.

I'm Shallow, Too

I've mentioned Gary Cleveland's blog here recently. One of my favorite entries on South Moon & A Cup of Java is one of the earliest, so you have to search the archives for August to find it. It's titled "Way Down Deep I'm Basically a Shallow Person." I enjoy that entry because I've often thought of myself that way.

Some of my friends are academicians. I admire them. It just makes my head hurt sometimes to try to be like them. I've concluded that some of us are destined to be deep thinkers, and others of us were made to appreciate deep thoughts. I'm with the second group.

Maybe it's not so much that I can't/don't think deeply, it's just that I don't do it quickly. I'm what happens when you replace the incandescent light bulb with a flourescent one — the light just comes on a little slower after you flip the switch. I'm definately a crock pot rather than a microwave.

So even though the event in this entry is almost 100 days old now, and though it's not particularly deep, it needed some time stew in the mental crock pot for me to figure out what it all meant. My profile mentions that I spend two weeks every summer counseling at a Christian youth camp in Wisconsin. I've done it for many years. Except for this last summer, when I needed to stay home. Many of my closest friends meet me in those woods the first two weeks in August every summer, and I missed them deeply this year. Wasn't a waking hour during the session that I didn't think of them.

One of the moments that defines our camp session each year happens on the second Thursday of the session. We call it an annointing. It's a tradition that started....I don't know, eight years ago maybe, if that long, yet it's hard to remember camp without it.

It's remarkably simple, and it works like this: a couple of bowls of oil — baby or olive, doesn't matter, the magic's not in the oil — are placed on a table in the center of the Great Hall. You dip your fingers in the oil, and go find someone in the room you want to annoint with love. When you find your person, you rub that oil into their palm and tell them what you want to say. And it's a speech, not a conversation. Only the annointer can talk. If the anointee wants to annoint the annointer, he has to go get oil and repeat the process as the annointer. For about two hours, campers and staff navigate through the maze of bodies in the Great Hall, looking for the ones they want to annoint.

Simple, but powerful. It's an emotional time, and frankly, I often find myself dreading it for that reason. I've never yet made it through an annointing night without having to walk outside for a few minutes to get some air and clear my head before going back for another run at it. The evening is intense, and worth it. Campers and staff alike love it, and I pity the person who somewhere down the line decides to put that tradition to rest.

Of all of the days I was away from camp this year, that Thursday was the hardest, because I knew what I'd be missing. All day long there was a gnawing somewhere in my stomach that wouldn't go away. I felt like I was missing out on something I badly needed.

One of few neat things about missing camp was it gave me the opportunity to participate in an outreach program at my church here in Oklahoma City that before I never got to experience because of camp. Our church is located in a rather poor neighborhood of the city, and a few years ago, we started providing school supplies for neighborhood children who needed them. And there are a lot who need them. We hand out flyers in the neighborhood door-to-door on a Saturday to advertise the giveaway, then the following Friday and Saturday the parents and children come to the church to pick up their school supplies.

So on Friday — the last day of camp and the day after the annointing — I volunteered to help pass out the school supplies as people came to get them. In addition to bags of paper and pencils and binders and stuff, we also offered Bibles to families who wanted them, and an opportunity to pray with a minister or elder from the church.

It's a sad indictment on me I guess that I don't even remember her name. But she came into the church with her children to pick up school supplies, and she wanted to take us up on the offer of prayer. Trouble was, all of our ministers and elders who were there that night were currently busy praying with other customers. She would have to wait for the next available minister to hear her call.

I could tell she was getting a little impatient — it's hard when you have three small children with you and they're bored. But I didn't want her to give up waiting and just go on home. So I went ahead and asked her: "You know, if it doesn't matter to you if the person you pray with isn't a minister, I'll be glad to do it." It didn't matter to her, so off we went to the training room outside the auditorium — a quiet place to talk and pray.

I remember the story about how her brother died in the spring. Suicide. I remember her talking about being a single mother, about her anger toward God for her brother's death and how she didn't want to take those frustrations out on her kids. And then we prayed, hugged, and on her way she went, kids in tow. Ten minutes, tops.

It took awhile, weeks in fact, for all the carrots and potatoes and meat of that encounter to become stew in the crock pot of my head. Shouldn't have been a big deal to me, but I couldn't get it out of my thoughts. Eventually, I figured it out.

God provided the annointing.

He knew what I needed and made it happen, even if it wasn't the way I was used to having it happen. In the act of listening to and praying with the woman, I was annointing. And in that simple act, the oil was turned on me by God Himself.

Different place, different people. Same mercy and grace. He is good.

Riters bloc

I haven't posted in awhile. Been busy at work, and just haven't been or felt creative.
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Africa is in the house! According to Stat Counter, someone in Cote d'Ivoire had visited wysiwyg twice now. I didn't know there was such a place, so thank goodness for Google.

Turns out the little country in western Africa — about the size of New Mexico — has about 17 million people and produces oil and diamonds. It's a French-speaking country where the males live to about 48.62 years of age, and the females about 51.27 years. About 570,000 of the country's adults are living with AIDS, I'm told.
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Jerry Falwell is coming to my town. Seems the popular evangelist will be preaching Monday at the Pastor's Conference that's part of the Oklahoma Baptist Convention. I look forward to what Jerry has to say.
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Speaking of Baptists, the folks from the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas, were in my town this week picketing the funeral of a local soldier killed in Iraq. It really isn't fair to link them to other Baptists, since I haven't been able to find another Baptist church that claims them. And anyone can call themselves whatever they want.

If you're not familiar, Fred Phelps started the church, which consists mainly of his dozenish children and 50+ grandchildren. Some — encouraged by Fred himself no doubt — say Fred is a prophet.

Fred's/Westboro's message to the world is very simple. God hates fags. In fact, they feel so strongly about it that the address to the church's web site is www.godhatesfags.com. They have another site, godhatesamerica.com, which is a little different than the first but the same rhetoric of hate.

In Fred's mind, it's real simple. God hates fags. And He hates people who enable them. And since America has, in Fred's estimation, turned itself over to them, God has turned his back on America and America is irreversibly doomed. They picket soldiers' funerals with their signs because if you fight for America, you're fighting against God, and you're in Hell when you die.

Ordinarily, I wouldn't suggest people expose themselves to this stuff if they didn't have to, but I'd encourage you to check out www.godhatesfags.com. You have to see it for yourself to believe it. If you have an hour of your life to waste, listen to one of Fred's sermons, links to which you can get from the website. I listened to the one he preached on the Sunday after the last space shuttle explosion. A real piece of work.

Saddest for me was that of the six Phelps protestors who showed up to picket the funeral this week, three of them were kids, including one boy who was only 8. There he was, in his blue t-shirt with bold white "God Hates Fags" printed on the front, holding a sign of hate high in the air. I pray for those kids. Not so much for their parents, though I know I should do that, too. But I hurt for those kids.

Love Of My Life, Show Yourself

Time's a-wastin'.

My friend Julie, previously written about in the blog and referenced as "Nurse Lady," frequently forwards me chain e-mails of various types. Sometimes I read 'em, sometimes not — but I do have to admit I have a pretty good history of breaking the chain. I'm just not good about forwarding stuff on to other people.

But I've been bugged by a stomach virus or something the last couple of days, and when I got the Feng Shui Horoscope from Julie, I decided to play the game. Might perk me up a bit, I thought.

Let's take a look at the "horoscope," what it says about me, and whether it's remotely accurate:


1. Which is your favorite color: red, black, blue, green, or yellow?
2. Your first initial?
3. Your month of birth?
4. Which color do you like more, black or white?
5. Name of a person of the same sex as yours.
6. Your favorite number?
7. Do you like California or Florida more?
8. Do you like a lake or the ocean more?
9. Write down a wish (a realistic one).

My answers:
1. blue
2. D
3. Dec.
4. white
5. Tom
6. 7
7. Florida
8. Lake
9. Get married before I die.


1. If you choose:
Red - You are alert and your life is full of love.
Black - you are conservative and aggressive.
Green - Your soul is relaxed and you are laid back.
Blue - You are spontaneous and love kisses and affection from the ones you love.
Yellow - You are a very happy person and give good advice to those who are down.

I picked blue, and right out of the chute this horoscope has credibility problems. Oh, I've been known to be spontaneous now and then, and I've even smooched on a girlfriend or two in my day. But beyond smoochin' on the girlfriend, I'm pretty much a hands-off guy. Don't be touching me without a good reason. The quickest way for a waiter or waitress to forfeit their tip is to put their hand on my shoulder while taking my order, or even worse, skooching me over in the booth so they can sit down next to me whilst I order.

 
2. If your initial is:
A-K - You have a lot of love and friendships in your life.
L-R - You try to enjoy your life to the maximum and your love life is soon to blossom.
S-Z - You like to help others and your future love life looks very good.

Since I'm a "D", I have a lot of love and friendships in my life. I'd say that's fairly accurate.


3. If you were born in:
JAN - MAR: The year will go very ! well for you and you will discover
that you  fall in love with someone totally unexpected.
APR - JUN: You will have a strong love relationships that will not
last long but  the memories will last forever.
JUL - SEP: You will have a great year and will experience a major
life-changing  experience for the good.
OCT - DEC: Your love life will not be too great, but eventually you
will find your soul mate.

So my love life is pacing itself. Tell me something I don't know. But even this is a problem for the horoscope, as we'll discover further down in the survey.


4. If you chose...
Black: Your life will take on a different direction, it will seem hard at the time  but will be the best thing for you, and you will be glad for the change.
White: You will have a friend who completely confides in you and would do anything  for you, but you may not realize it.

I chose white, but I don't understand the revelation. I have more than one friend who would do anything for me, and I know it, and appreciate them deeply for it.


5. This person is your best friend.

Swiiiiiiiing and a miss. I picked Tom because it's the first male name that came to mind. But I don't have a best friend named Tom, nor anyone named Tom on the short list, that I can think of.


6. This is how many close friends you have in your lifetime.

I picked 7 because it was lucky. But I don't really have a favorite number, other than 150,000,000, the amount — after taxes — I win in the Powerball, not that I'm holding my breath or buying any tickets.


7. If you chose:
California: You like adventure.
Florida: You are a laid back person.
  
I'd say I'm fairly laid back, yes.


8. If you chose:
Lake: You are loyal to your friends and your lover and are very reserved.
Ocean: You are spontaneous and like to please people.

I reckon I'm loyal and reserved.
  

9. This wish will come true only if you send this to 1 person in one hour. Send it  to 10 people, and it will come true before your next Birthday.

Well, now here's where we've got problems. Even though I haven't actually forwarded the e-mail, to 10 people, I have put it here on wysiwyg, which is viewed by more than 10 people per day, so I think that should count for something.

Per question 3, the love life aint looking so hot in the immediate future, and yet I have a birthday in less than 50 days. That's a little quick for a courtship and planning a wedding, I'm thinking.

But wait....there's a compromise....maybe I don't marry for love. Maybe I marry some rich old woman with an estate valued at $150,000,000 — after taxes — and after a brief, six-week marriage she dies and leaves me the cash!

Maybe there is something to this Feng Phooey stuff after all....

The Spam of the Spirit

If only I had a nickel for every dollar I've won in some international lottery I never entered. Just a nickel for every long-lost distant relative who has died in some African country, and after an extensive search for heirs, I finally was located so I could inherit the estate left behind. Oh for pennies on the dollar every time someone needs to move an obscene amount of money from a foreign bank account to an American account, with a generous cut of that money for me if I'll do nothing more than be the American account the money is transferred to....

I used to keep a file where I saved all of the e-mails I got like that. But I got so many, that I quit saving them. Today's spam was different though. It's the first one I recall that came in the name of religion.

For your reading enjoyment, today's spam, from a Reverend Jones Smith:

Dearest in Christ, Calvary greetings in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. I am Revrend Jones a member of Redeem ministry, basically a prayer and deliverance ministry. During a Prayer and fasting session in my Minstry, I asked our Lord Jesus Christ to give me the oppotunity to redeem my life and purify what remains of my wealth. God deliverly revealed to me to Invest in His Kingdom through you and your organisation and also give to the needies,orphanages,widows,and charites. You should immediately get back to me so that i can go ahead to send the funds according to the will of God so that you can distribute to the needys and hence further the works of the lord. Remain blessed Revrend Jones.

Rev. Jones Smith. How clever. Of course, that's not the most glaring giveaway that this e-mail is a fraud.

When was the last time you ever heard of a preacher doing the prayer/fasting thing and when he's finished, start looking to give money away? I mean, every time Oral Roberts holes himself up in his tower on the ORU campus in Tulsa, when he's done, he comes down asking you to give money to him. It's the American way. Sometimes Oral even threatens to stay in the tower and starve until we pony up the dough necessary to nourish his spirit. And for some reason, folks in Oklahoma always seem to fall for it.
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In the mailbox yesterday was my recently-ordered copy of Beginnings, a CD produced by the praise team of the Northtown Church of Christ in Milwaukeeish, Wis. (They might be in Waukesha, I don't remember.) My understanding is that it's the group's first recorded effort, and it's not bad. They credit Free Indeed as inspiration, and there's certainly some FI influence in the music. It's a little lite, only eight tracks and 26 minutes of music, but at least the price was lite too -- just $10 from the place I ordered it.

It was worth every dime if for no other reason than the song Someday, a standard at WCYC and a favorite song of one of my favorite people, Roger Dunnam, who has counseled there since I was a camper. One day I'll write in this forum more about Roger, which I can easily get away with because Roger's a technophobe. He has no computer, and will never see this blog. But I'll refrain from posting about Roger until I can get a good picture of him to include with the post.

At any rate, while I don't usually play songs on the blog before I get permission from the artist, I'm thinking that Northtown isn't likely to sue me anytime soon, so I'll loop Someday from Beginnings for your listening pleasure.

Enjoy.

Blog this

I learned this week that a good friend of mine in Wisconsin, Gary Cleveland, has entered the blogosphere, and I'm adding a link to his blog in my links list. I encourage you to check it out.

Seems like Gary and I have been friends forever, but our relationship dates back only about a dozen years or so. At the time, he was directing the senior camp session at Wisconsin Christian Youth Camp, and I was putting down roots in Oklahoma City after graduating from OC a few years earlier. I was a camper at WCYC in high school when my family lived there, and counseled for a couple of years while in college. But when it came time to work for a living, with limited vacation time that you had to actually earn before you got it, it had been a few years since I'd been to camp.

The more I talk to folks associated with other Christian camps, the more I come to appreciate WCYC and often find myself in awe of what takes place there. Unlike most Christian youth camps, we offer a two-week session per age group. Many just offer a week. And unlike many camps, our staffs are 100 percent volunteer. From the director on down to the college kid scraping trays and running the dishwasher in the dining hall, no one gets a dime. That way, overhead is lower so more campers can afford the experience. I always get a kick out of seeing the looks on the faces of counselors at other camps when they find out we do what we do for nothing, while they're getting paid for their work, even if it isn't a whole lot of money.

The remarkable thing to me is that it takes a staff of about 25 to pull off a two-week camp session for 90-110 kids. Most of our staff work both weeks. You'd think that if you're asking someone to give you two weeks of their life for no money, you'd have a hard time filling up a staff. And yet most years I'm told we have to turn away some folks who want to be on staff because we simply don't have roles for them to fill or beds for them to sleep in.

I don't know if way back in the early 90s Gary Cleveland had to turn someone else away -- maybe someone he already knew and trusted -- to take a chance on some guy from Oklahoma whom he'd never met before. But because of that opportunity he gave me, some of my most cherished friends on earth are the folks who give themselves selflessly to that effort every year. It's hard for me to imagine who or what might be filling the void in my life had those relationships never happened. I'm not sure even Gary understands the significance of that gift -- that opportunity -- that he gave me.

At any rate, I encourage you to check out his blog, South Moon.

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If you like gospel music and if instrumental accompaniment isn't a Heaven or Hell issue for you, I highly recommend Randy Travis' Glory Train, released this week.

I'll be seeing Travis in concert this weekend at Crossings Community Church, where he'll perform an inspirational concert -- as opposed to a country concert -- drawing largely from this new CD. On some of his other gospel CDs, like Rise and Shine, Travis sing songs with Christian themes. Most of them are good songs, but not necessarily songs you've heard before. On Glory Train, you get a good number of traditional and folk gospel songs you already know and love, like Were You There, Precious Memories, Are You Washed in the Blood, Precious Lord, Take My Hand, Nothing But the Blood and He's Got the Whole World in His Hands. In other words, songs you can sing along with the first time you spin the disk. I knew from the first listen that 13 of the 19 tracks from Glory Train were going to be transferred to my DellPod.

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My stat counter service tells me that someone in Slovakia loaded wysiwyg on Tuesday. Twice. Cool.