NEW LIFE BEGINS WITH A SPLASH

   

     It is Easter.  A day of joy and hope and remembrance.  We see new life all around us in the trees and flowers, and we celebrate new life in our faith.  In my denomination, when we make a decision to give our lives to the Lord, we symbolize it with baptism. I'm not talking about a half-hearted sprinkle, I'm talking about a full-bodied dunking. You can't sneak in a little baptism without anybody noticing, you emerge from the baptismal pool soaking wet!  It takes commitment, and courage.  It is a day of great seriousness and life-long meaning.  But by it's very nature it lends itself to snafus!
       I remember the Sunday I was baptized.  I was a child, and younger than most when I made the commitment.  It was a heart-felt decision and completely genuine, even though I was smaller in stature than most baptismal candidates.  They placed a large wooden block at the bottom of the baptistery  so that my head would poke out above the water until the time of the actual dunking.  (It is never good when someone goes under before their cue).  I excitedly walked down the steps of the baptismal pool, but the block was too far away for me to reach until I took a few steps.  Rather than wait in a dignified manner to be helped to the block I did what I always did in a swimming pool that was too deep for me, I bobbed enthusiastically from my toes as I swam/jumped to the center and my safety box.  I did wonder why the usually serious crowd was laughing, but I was too excited to care.  The rest of the event went just as planned.  I was thrilled.  It makes me happy to remember the funny moments like this because I happen to know that the inventor of the sense of humor is God, himself.  Don't you think it makes him smile when we enjoy life? 

       Since he is already in heaven with Jesus, I feel safe in sharing another baptismal story that took place long ago in Texas.  This is a true story and I love telling it.  Many Americans have heard of Sam Houston.  If you haven't just know that he is the guy that the city of Houston is named for and he was a Governor of the State back in it's infancy, and most importantly, the President of the Republic of Texas not once, but twice!  What many Texans also know is that he was a notorious womanizer and drunk.  He had a serious problem with alcohol.  Then he met a sweet young Christian girl who introduced him to a true relationship with Jesus Christ, and his life was radically changed.  When the day came for his baptism at the River (I heard the Brazos, but I don't know if that is correct), the preacher dunked ole Sam in the river and raised him up again saying, "Your sins are forgiven!"  Sam Houston looked the preacher in the eye and emphatically said, "Then God help these fish!"
It seems to me that someone like Sam really understood the gift of love from God.  Not one of us can really claim to deserve the new life that He offers, but I am so glad He offers it anyway!  There are many other funny stories that I have heard from my father (a missionary in Japan) and my grandfather (a West Texas pastor for many decades) of Baptisms run a muck, but let me finish with another river baptism story told by a former youth minister at my church in South Carolina.
        My sketchy memory wants to attribute this story to Rick Thompson who told us this happened to him when he was a young seminary student, pastoring a small congregation who did not have a baptistery   To the joy of the church, an elderly man in the community came to know Jesus and was to be included in their baptism at the river.  The man was quite old and frail, but excited to be baptized.  When his time came, he waded out to where Rick was standing. Not an easy task since there had been recent rains and the river was moving along at a brisk pace.  Rick grabbed his arm to help him in place and lowered him in the water proclaiming, "Buried to new life in Christ...." But as he tried to help the man up out of the water, he could no longer feel him.  HE WAS GONE! He frantically looked all around and suddenly 20 feet down stream the old man popped up out of the water!  Rick pointed his arm at him and confidently shouted, "Raised to walk in newness of life!"
         I love thinking about how much God must enjoy our moments like this!  On this Easter I pray that you will have a day filled with joy!
         

BATH TIME SABOTAGE

  
          I remember bath time with my little boys (15 months apart) who were one and two and a half.  Both boys were blessed at birth with more creativity in their pinkies than most people see in their entire lives. And yeah, yeah,  I know I'm biased, but that does not mean that I'm not accurate! Creativity is good when tempered with sound judgement.  May I say that a one year old and two and a half year old have not quite attained their good judgement yet?  But they did ooze creative (and dare I say...destructive) ideas that bounced off the walls like their happy meal toys.   Evening bath time was the joy of my day.  They splashed and played with their harmless water toys while I was able to gather nighttime diapers, footie pajamas, and their bed time books. One night I sat on the foot of my bed listening to the giggles and shouts of joyful laughter coming from the bathtub.  I was blessed.  I had three (later to be four) happy, smart children.  I loved hearing the laughter of the little guys.  

         When at least 5 minutes of uninterrupted laughter continued to erupt from the bathroom, my "Mommy Radar"  started to beep suspiciously.  Not a single argument for 5 minutes?  There was something amiss!  I poked my head around the door and was met with the most shocking transformation. The walls of the bathroom were covered with huge white globs every few inches!  Splat!  Here came another one!  I looked at Stephen and Preston proudly standing in what can only be described as a tub full of white gravy!  It was this substance that they were gathering in their hands like sloppy snowballs and heaving at the tiles.  Each Splat was followed by happy, congratulatory laughs.  What had transformed their bath water?   My eyes landed on the toilet and I had my answer.  A large sanitary napkin draped halfway out of the toilet.  I remembered that I had purchased a box at Sams large enough to last until menopause.  The previously unopened box was now empty.  I'm sure my creative geniuses opened the box delighted to find an endless supply of boats.  Then there was the added bonus that when submerged in warm water long enough, they turned into a white gelatin-like gravy.  Would the fun never end?
         I'm pretty sure that none of my parenting books had a chapter on how to react to sanitary napkin destruction.  Of course, now I know what I should have done.  I should have dropped everything and found the camera.  Think about how normal most family photographs look.  In truth, these are the moments that SHOULD be captured on film...forever immortalized.  But the shock and uncertainty that face a young mother at moments like this prevent the clear thinking that would have eventually led to the camera.  Oh well, trust me when I tell you it was a unique moment for our little guys.
         Have you ever tried to empty a bathtub full of gelatin?  It was a slow process that required Mommy to continuously strain the substance and throw the globs in a bucket.  Then the water would move about a half inch.  Strain...slap in the bucket....water moves....repeat.  As my little angels soundly slept the satisfying sleep of one who has accomplished much, I was still in the bathroom....strain.....scoop in the bucket....water moves....repeat.  The toilet wasn't quite as bad, but it was obvious that the plunger would need to be part of the toilet ritual for a few days.

          As I eagerly wait for the arrival of my first grandchild I finally feel free to release these stories.  It is too late for Sandra and Mark to change their minds.  The baby is almost here.  For those without children or grandchildren perhaps we should post these stories with this warning.  ATTENTION:  Contraceptive side-effects.  

THE NIGHTMARE EXPRESS

     When I think of Daddy Fogle in Marshall, TX, I think of a quiet, brilliant, self-educated and self-made Renaissance man. I think of gorgeous blue eyes with a perpetual twinkle and a sharp mind that did not diminish in his 97 years.  I would hate for any of the following narrative to besmirch his good name in any way. Nevertheless, I feel compelled to tell you that it was on the occasion of his passing, that our family innocently stumbled into a life changing, "hell-on-earth" travel nightmare.

      The logistics alone for packing up four children ages 4, 7, 8 and 13 into a Suburban with luggage enough for a week,  travel entertainment, dressy clothes for the funeral and bedding for sleeping in the car is a particular challenge for a Mom who might be described as "scatterbrained". Humph! (Did I mention 16 hours of driving?)   One secret weapon we carried in our arsenal of travel tips was to leave South Carolina in the evening, thus ensuring maximum sleeping time for our four sweet little angels. Steve and I would take turns driving through the night. How were we to know that there was a massive roadblock on I-20 for the purpose of drug screening? This means that our children had already been through an entire Disney movie before we even cleared the Columbia city limits.

             Finally, at 11PM we were on our way! By the time the "burb" got to Augusta, GA, all of the children and Mommy were already dozing.  Steve explained that he was stopping for a restroom break, and a snack to get him through the long night. I opened one eye to acknowledge his words, then sank back down into my lovely dream.  In the quiet interior of the car came Jessica's sweet voice asking if she could go to the restroom. Wasn't that just like our oldest to get permission first? She has always been thoughtful and responsible.  "Of course," I mumbled, barely moving my lips. Then, back to the bliss of deep sleep.  How rare to have a car full of such cooperative little sleepers!
     Eventually Steve got back into the driver's seat, and the gentle rocking of the Suburban as it cruised down the road ensured  that the rest of us remained relaxed. As the miles flew by, a smile curved my lips as I congratulated myself on the brilliance of our plan and the perfect ease of our travel as compared to those poor schmucks who insist on daytime travel with screaming, arguing little hellions.  I glanced back at the car full of blankets, pillows, and sleeping children.  My happy musings were interrupted by the unmistakable sounds of a siren directly behind us.  Steve was genuinely puzzled as he made his way to the side of the Interstate in Atlanta, GA. 
     "Was I speeding, Officer?" Steve asked in disbelief.  The Patrolman examined his driver's license slowly...suspiciously.  Finally he reluctantly handed it back and said, "I believe you left a child in Columbia county."  Now I knew that he was just mistaken.  "Oh no sir, she is right here!" I happily proclaimed as I reached behind me to rouse Jessica from beneath her big comforter.  Something was wrong!  My hand kept squishing down on the comforter, and NO ONE WAS UNDER THERE!! Suddenly, Jessica's sweet little voice flashed through my memory. Oh no!  We left her in Augusta, almost 3 hours behind us!  The thought of my beautiful, sweet little girl left alone at a convenience store/gas station in the middle of the night was painful.  The patrolman gave us the exit number, and phone number of the policeman who was keeping her safe, and sent us on our way....back the way we came. 
     Not only were we desperately anxious to be reunited with our poor child, but we realized that we were going to have to back track almost 3 hours, and then cover the same ground AGAIN.   It would be more than five hours before we could advance one more mile.  In our desperation we wondered, 
"would they be willing to meet us half way with Jessica?  If so, we would be reunited so much faster, and would not have to drive quite so far out of the way!"  
     We had a plan!  We got off at the very next exit to call the Sheriff who had our daughter.  A Waffle House parking lot with a phone stand looked like the perfect place to implement our plan! (Can you believe what we had to do in the days before cell phones?)  We stopped the car just two feet in front of the phone stand.   Steve opened his door to get to the phone and I also attempted to exit the car with little Sandra who sleepily informed me that she needed a restroom break. I bundled her in my arms, stepped out of the car, and was met with the flashing lights, screaming sirens, and screeching tires of at least three cop cars surrounding us. Seconds later, the deputies crouched behind their open car doors and shouted out orders. To Steve: "Keep your hands where I can see them and don't move!!"  To Me:  "Get back in that car!!" I attempted to explain that we needed to go to the bathroom, but he was not impressed, and firmly reiterated his orders.

     It seems that as word spread from county to county that we left our child in Augusta, the wording changed a bit to "abandoned their child".  This is never a good thing.  But add to that the recent event of Susan Smith drowning her children in Lake Marion and Law Enforcement was not going to let one more child be forsaken.  After an explanation from Steve, the deputies were extremely helpful.  They actually worked out a system where Jessica would be hopscotched from county line to county line by deputies from each jurisdiction.  They encouraged us to just wait there.  Hanging out at the Waffle House in the middle of the night was a treat for our 7 and 8 year old sons.  By the time our poor bedraggled daughter was reunited with us, her brothers were on a sugar high guaranteed to last the remaining 14 hours.  I just wanted to hold on to her and hear every detail of her experience, but she wanted nothing more than sleep! We drove through Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana in a state of shock. In all likelihood,  at least three of our children were  screaming, arguing and hanging from the windows, but we were too shell-shocked and sleep-deprived to notice.
      To this day I believe Jessica (now a beautiful, married professional) would rather forget the experience.  But the experience is how many people identify us.  It was certainly the topic of conversation at the funeral in Texas.  People in at least two states tend to remember the event. 

      I have heard that once struck by lightening, a person actually has a greater propensity to be struck again than one who has not. I am here to testify that after loosing one of my children, we acquired the tendency to loose them all. Strangely though, that only happened when they were 13 years old.

THE KINDLE CRISIS

                                

     It was a crisp, clear, sunny Sunday morning, and nothing could diminish the excitement. My husband, Steve, and I were going to drive to Charlotte for a much too rare visit with our little boy who would soon be 27 years old.  Just two weeks before Christmas, I knew that church goers at our home church would be all decked out in their most festive Christmas finery, so I donned my neon green sparkly knit top framed by my long red swingy sweater. (I can hear you saying, "who cares what you are wearing?" but bear with me, it is relevant) 

     Visiting our son in Charlotte on Sunday means that we also get to visit his church.  (Some of you are groaning, I can hear it)  This most likely does not resemble any church you have ever attended.  It is an experience created to grab the attention of young un-churched hipsters and professionals, with the highest level of excellence in music, media and message.  The messages are in no way watered down, nor do they compromise the truths of scripture.  But they do present a relevant message in an unforgettable package. 

      Since there is only one pastor, but at least six different campuses of the church, Steve and I never really know if the pastor will be preaching live, or if it will be simulcasted from one of the other locations on large video screens.  As proud parents, the important thing to us of course, is the bass player in the praise band.  We go to see him live. He is our little boy. The rest of the church experience is a bonus.

      By an odd stroke of luck we arrived a little early and were ushered up to the second row!  How wonderful!  A perfect view of the bass player.  As we walked through the crowded facility I realized that my bright Christmas colors seemed to shout to all the young hipsters in their dark skinny jeans that I was indeed old enough to be their mother.  That is when I reflected on the odd irony that young people often feel singled-out or condemned when they go to traditional churches in their dark skinny jeans, but now I felt like the proverbial square peg in my bright colors that radiated from an ocean of black as I swam forward in the auditorium.  "At least", I reflected to myself, "I'm advanced enough to bring my Bible in Kindle form instead of my big giant volume that I used to carry."  I must admit the thought made me feel a little younger...a little smarter....a little more superior.

     Settled in our seats I breathed a sigh of relief.  I was no longer the one-woman Christmas parade.  I could enjoy the worship experience, practically on the front row.  

     As the music exploded on the stage enthusiastically  engaging about 1200 darkly clad young hipsters, I joyfully opened the little package of ear plugs that they thoughtfully provided for those of us who are striving to preserve what is left of our hearing.  The jumbo screens were incorporated as the many cameras creatively changed angles.  I had a close up view of a huge boom camera just a short distance from me on my right.  It was like watching a dancing crane.

      When the music faded we were so thrilled to see that the pastor himself was in the house.  He would be preaching just a few feet away from me.  I knew that his powerful message would be even more impactful.  I pulled my Kindle out in anticipation of the upcoming scriptures.  As he spoke, it became clear that this would not be an ordinary Sunday (if there is such a thing) On this day the church was going to hear a testimony and a message concerning one of the most painful experiences in life. The pastor gave an introduction to  the video testimony of a grieving family in the church. As he did so he instructed everyone to open their Bibles to Acts chapter 20. I opened my Kindle only to find that it had not connected to the wifi. I subtly touched the wifi button to determine the problem.

      Suddenly loud introductory music started playing with the voice of one of the staff members of the church introducing a previous sermon. My husband and I stared, riveted and horrified at the Kindle as it screamed its own agenda. The screen of the device did not even have a play or pause button on it.  It was possessed! Now it was not just Steve and I staring at the offending device, but dozens of young hipsters. My fingers never stopped trying to turn off the sound.  The pastor was now leading in prayer, not just to this congregation of 1200, but to the five other locations who were watching his broadcast. He was having to compete with  the sound of the Kindle which was by this time playing some of the very loud music that is a part of every service.  Somehow my Kindle was determined to play a downloaded podcast of one of the church's previous messages. Not even the power button would turn it off.  My husband came up with a brilliant idea. "Sit on it!!" he whispered urgently.  I quickly stuffed it under my legs.  Not only was it still extremely loud, but the church was getting quieter and quieter.  I realized with a sinking heart that I would have to excuse myself and take the offending device out of the auditorium.  I looked to the left.  That would NOT work.  That led to the center aisle, directly in front of the pulpit and the entire church.  I crouched down and made my way to the right only to realize that there was no aisle on the right, and my path was blocked by the large boom camera.  I looked desperately at the twelve year old who was manning the camera.  I urgently whispered, "It won't turn off."  He was from the same generation as my device and he knew enough about high techy things to operate the sophisticated camera.  Surely he could help.  But he just stared at me as if to say, "What am I supposed to do about it?"

       I was trapped! Crouching down on the first row dressed like a giant Christmas ornament, and holding a blaring device that was distracting at least 400 of the nearest attendees.  The lights were beginning to dim as the somber video was beginning.  The pastor's personal body guard tiptoed over to me and very kindly asked me what was wrong.  I pushed the Kindle in his hands and explained that it would not stop.  He smiled and took it with him as he exited through the stage.  I fully expected to hear him discharge a firearm back stage to make it stop.  But somehow it was returned to me later (turned backwards in it's case), without a scratch.

     I discovered later that the band, back stage during the ruckus heard that some lady's phone went off on the front row and she refused to turn it off.  To add insult to injury, they said it was playing "Gangnam Style".

      Three months have passed.  I have determined that I cannot go back to my son's church until I have lost 50 pounds, dyed my hair blonde, and bought some black skinny jeans.  It may be a while.