I like cheap stuff. And so, with that in mind, the search was on for a vacuum cleaner. Our latest one just died. It lasted almost a year and I hated to see an old friend go. It was a banana yellow behemoth, a reconditioned unit purchased from Big Lots, my favorite outlet of cheap merchandise. I was proud of the purchase, on a weekend sale with a coupon clipped from the newspaper and further discounted because it was an opened package. While it lasted it was an amazing sucker, able to pick up a bowling ball or the living room rug. Unfortunately it had a few design flaws that rendered it unusable to my wife, or at least that was her story. It clogged every five minutes. And the removable cup, boasting to save the cost of disposable bags, basically was not removable except for the assistance of a steak knife and hammer. Also, the rollers sometimes would not roll. But, at least it was cheap.

This unit was found at the same discount store, where the clerks know me by name, and bought on the spot. I liked the packaging, and the price was right. Unfortunately, it too has a few problems. Notice the strange, looping handle? It scares my dog who seems to think it to be a canine noose. It clogs every five minutes and the removable cup does not remove. This thing has a neat-looking, disposable filter. The problem, which I now realize, is that the filters will be impossible to find. This morning I was vacuuming because my wife won’t touch the thing. She stared as it refused to pick up a piece of paper. I told her that, at least, it was cheap.

How do you like this watch? I made a diligent search and was proud to find just what I liked at the local Walgreens, at an amazing price. It was thin and lightweight, and just for good measure I went to Target and added a great watchband. For $8! I proudly showed it to my wife. She seemed less than impressed. She used the “c” word. When I told her I was disappointed with her opinion, she gave it a second look. “Well, maybe the watch is o.k. The band is what makes it look so, uhh… thrifty.”

*Yes, I drive a Chevy Aveo. It is not a Cadillac.
*I get my books from amazon.com, and my glasses from Sam’s Club.
*My clothes come from a rack, not the local haberdashery. Sometimes they come from Sam’s Club, which doesn’t have a dressing room. You try them on at home, and bring them back if they do not fit!
*I eat at McDonald’s. Usually I manage to take home some napkins and a few packets of ketchup.
*I go to old movies at the dollar theatre. They recently raised the price of a ticket to $1.99, and I am threatening to go elsewhere.

Proudly, I am the King Of Cheap. It is emblazoned upon my thin, irregular t-shirt with iron-on lettering.

We are out of gas around here.

All week I've been watching my fuel gage steadily edge toward the "E".  Thinking about getting gas, I would drive by a station and see that either the pumps were empty or a long line of cars with drivers impatiently waiting for their chance at the precious liquid.  And so I would continue down the road.  Three thoughts would go through my my mind:

(1) Look at all those crazy people in line.
(2) Surely there will be a station down the road with gas and without a line.
(3) Our Governor, who surely knows what is going on and would not lead me astray, assures that in a couple of days this will pass.

I'm supposed to pick up my wife at the airport tonight, which is about 25 miles away.  So, last night at midnight, I went out into the darkness in a search for gas.  I knew of several all-night stations, and methodically checked them all.  A dozen were empty before I came across a Race Track with a sign indicating the Unleaded was still available.  So I waited in line for about 20 minutes, not so bad I thought, and pulled in to the pump- only to discover the last drop had just been drained.  Great timing!  I found a couple of other stations still with gas, but their parking lots resembled the mall during Christmas rush.  At 12:30 in the morning!

So, I got up this morning at 7 a.m. to see if the local Quicktrip had perhaps gotten a new batch.  Amazingly, they had gas.  Equally amazing, literally 300 vehicles were ahead of me.  So, I waited for over an hour to fill my tank.  Quicktrip is actually the best convenience store around- I compare them to McDonald's in the fast food industry.  And they were not gouging with the price; it was $3.87/gallon.  I heard about a station nearby that was charging over $8.  Within a free market, I am usually opposed to price controls, believing you can always shop somewhere else if you do not like the price.  But this is a bit scary.  Gas is a necessity, and it is hard to find.

Tonight is a big football game in Athens, about two hours from Atlanta.  There will be 100,000 fans in attendance.  Athens is a small town in a rural area, and I am sure there will not be enough gas stations.  I'm predicting a lot of people, probably thousands, will be stranded.  And do you know who will be blamed for the mess?  Somebody other than the unwise football fans who should have known better.

As I was waiting in line for gas, I was pleased with how well a bunch of strangers dealt with the stressful situation.  Lines moved fairly well, and I did not notice anybody cheating.  The pumps were running slowly because of the volume.  The guy in front of me was filling the tank of a cargo van, and it took at least ten minutes.  Now, the lady next to me left her car to go inside to get an order of nacho chips, and maybe she needed her tires to be slashed?  Just kidding.  Kind of.

When Mother Nature sends a hurricane into the Gulf of Mexico, oil production is going to be hampered.  I'm not sure George Bush could have prevented it, although some politician surely disagrees.  Around here, right now, human nature is the problem.  People are topping off their tanks, and filling their portable containers, and thus unnaturally draining the supply of gas.  And that reminds me- I've a couple of milk jugs that I need to take down to the Quicktrip...

I'm supposed to pick up my wife tonight, at the same time as the very important football game that I very much need to watch.  Let's see.... If I am a couple of hours late, she would be safe at the terminal.... I could blame it on the gas crisis....or Barack Obama?

I went to see my mom on Monday.  She lives in north Alabama, about three hours and a world away from here.  I like the place and it is a good visit.    Especially do I enjoy the drive, intentionally slowing down along the way to soak in the familiar culture.  An old guy in a fedora hat, driving an old beat-up car, waves as we meet.  That does not happen in Atlanta.  Kids ride bikes along neighborhood streets, buddies out exploring the community on a lazy afternoon.  Sometimes I spy a cross on the side of the highway, likely marking the spot where a loved one died in a traffic accident.  Neighbors gather on a porch to drink tea, or beer, and talk about nothing in particular.  There is a high frequency of pretty-little country churches.  And I like to read the homemade religious signs that periodically pop up beside neat country homes.  “Tell 3 People Today That You Love Them”, “Jesus Is Coming Soon”, “Jesus Shaves”.  I misspelled the last one intentionally!

Whenever I drive back home and spend some time, I find myself once again with a renewed wistfulness at the reality that I no longer belong. 

About 20 years ago I took on a small pastorate near my hometown.  Nothing seemed to work.  They did not like my preaching- not fiery enough.  They did not like my opinion about just who in the community should attend their social gatherings, also called worship.  They didn’t like my wife and kids- who did not fit the mold, no matter how hard we all tried.   And they decided rather quickly that they didn’t like me.  “Too much Yankee,” they said.  I did not understand, and more than a bit broken, moved on to Atlanta.  Most of my life has included trying to find connection with this people and lifestyle that is at the root of who I am.  It has not been very successful.  Still I hang around.  We’re a mystery to one another.  At least, now I am smart enough to simply visit, and not live there.

On my way home I pulled into the McDonald’s in Piedmont, Alabama, a bright and shiny facility similar to all the rest.  Upon walking inside, it was obvious this was someplace different.  Two gentlemen sat to the side, munching fries and playing checkers.  The lady in front of me was talking with the counter person about families and local folk, neither in any hurry about placing the order.  And they were oblivious to the little electronic timer in front of the register, clicking with red numerals the average time of service.  It was now showing four minutes, and counting.  Finally I was allowed to place my order, and when it was obvious the cooks were also in no hurry, I walked back toward the restroom.  Accidentally I bumped into a little old lady, who was walking around visiting with various people at their tables.  “You’re not from around here,” she cheerfully queried?  “No,” I replied with a tiny bit of sadness.

In a few minutes, I drove on down the road, Quarter-Pounder-With-Chee se in hand.  I like to eat while I drive, which is dangerous and likely illegal but still a favorite activity.  I tried to catch up on some talk radio.  No luck.  Nowhere on the dial could I pick up Rush The Truth Detector, Clark The Pocket Protector, or even The G-Man.  These were the rolling hills of north Alabama, and selections on radio were limited to Sports Talk, Country Music, and Religion.  So I listened for a bit.  Sports conversation was dominated with Crimson Tide football.  After several dismal seasons the team has won it first four games, and rabid fans convinced they can now beat everybody including the New York Giants.  Having enough of this religion of Football, I pushed the button for another station.  Quickly I found myself making note that country music, as much as the singers appear more hip, has not much changed.  It is still largely about “my baby leavin’ me”, “bein’ country and lovin’ it” , and lovin’ Jesus and beer.  And religion?  Who listens to preachers on AM radio, on Monday afternoon?  Apparently, a lot of people in north Alabama!

There is a favorite spot that I drive by.  It is a little white house next to the rolling bend of a creek, amidst a tiny town in the mountains.  One time I saw a “For Sale” sign next to the house.  I’m pretty sure the house could be bought for a very reasonable price.  Sometimes I think I would like to pack up and move to that place.  There is work to be found somewhere, although it would not pay much.  Surely I could find a small church to pastor, for no doubt in the vicinity there sits a dozen pretty little houses of worship.  It would be ideal! 

And then I shake my head, and slap my face.  You can paint a picture, but sometimes no matter how pretty it may appear, it does not reflect reality.

While dining together, recently a lady expressed her concerns about the upcoming elections.  She was a member of a minority community, a group of people who seem to me to be busy working very hard to be successful in their work and raise good kids, and not too concerned about politics and government.  This lady was bright, and had a refreshing grasp of the issues before us with the coming elections.  I was surprised to find that she was not registered to vote, and asked if she would like for us to help her to register?  Enthusiastically she agreed.  We brought her some forms from the local library and helped to fill them out.  Recently she called and said she had five friends who also wanted to register!  We’ve taken care of that. 

These elections are important.  I want to thank my fellow t-Blog community for heightening my awareness and resolve to make a difference.

A young man, quite religious, asked me to help him make a decision about which job to take.  One was an entry level, career position, providing good pay, benefits and a healthy work environment.  The other was a temporary Summer job, working at a camp along with his girlfriend.  The choice to me seemed obvious.  I was in the midst of explaining why I thought he should value this first opportunity, as he was looking my way with skepticism.  Then he hit me with a bomb.  "I feel God wants me to work at the camp."  I stopped, hesitated for a second, and replied, "I guess that puts an end to all discussion."  I mean, who can argue with God?

Now Summertime is over and he is without a job.  The supervisor, whom I know and respect, was doing this guy a personal favor in making the initial offer.  He felt a bit insulted and now tells my friend there are no positions available.  The young man is having a hard time, and is trusting God to take care of his needs.

Does God have a specific will in every matter of life?  Or, does He sometimes say to us, "I'm flexible.  You decide."  I vote for the latter.

Before I met my wife, she was told by another man that she was "God's woman" for his life.  He was rather strange, and she did not agree with his spiritual insight.  Later we married and have traveled through life together for 26 pretty good years.  Perhaps I could have done the same with another woman, but I know myself to be a difficult person and she seems uniquely qualified to connect with me.  Throughout life I've made some wise decisions and some stupid decisions.  And both categories have been populated with matters that I discerned to be God's will.  Life is difficult and God can certainly be puzzling.

There is a Minister around these parts who has asked us to pray for Barack Obama to be elected as President.  I will not.  And neither will I pray for McCain to become President.  I have personal convictions about who would make the best leader for America in these times and it is pretty obvious where I fall.  But I will not be so presumptuous as to insist that my preference equals God's will.  If the other guy is elected, I do not think America will fall apart.  Likely he will do his best, Congress will continue to be inept, some things will get better and some will get worse.  Foreign policy will not change that much.  And, success or failure in my personal life will continue to be largely up to me.  In my opinion a Minister has no business telling his paritioners for whom to vote.

As a side note, this Minister told me I am racist because I do not support his distinctive call to prayer.  He must consider himself to be quite a divine seer.  He knows who God has anointed as our next President, and he can discern the thoughts and intents of my heart.  Wow.

Pray for Barack Obama?  Certainly.  And John McCain.  For good measure, throw in Bob Barr, Cynthia McKinney, Mike Gravel, Wayne Allyn Root, and Alan Keyes.  Prayer is good.  Presumption, not so good.

I Kings 12 begins the story of Jeroboam, the king of Israel after the death of Solomon.  Correspondingly, it starts the chronicle of the decline and eventual dissipation of Israel and Judah.  Jeroboam may or may not be a bad person.  But, he is a bad king.  He uses religion for personal, political benefit.  The people adapt and tolerate for as long as they can.  Eventually they turn, en masse, against him.  Most serious, to me, God sees through his charade.  His opposition to this most religious of kings is instant, and fierce. 

The kingdom is split between Israel and Judah.  Jeroboam is afraid his subjects will forsake his command and return to Judah.  A big threat for him is that Jerusalem, the capital of Judah, is also designated as the place for regular religious sacrifices and rituals.  So, for political expediency, he changes the religion!  He sets up altars at Dan and Bersheba, located in safe territory and far from Jerusalem.  He interviews and appoints his own priests- none from the designated and sacred tribe.  And, he even has the audacity to adorn the sacred garments and perform the sacrifices, himself, when he deems it advantageous to do so.  He is bold and brass about the matter, apparently with no real fear of God.  Sadly for him, as the story develops we find that God actively works in opposition to this man, and eventually brings about his violent demise.

We have lots of talk about religion from political candidates, these days.  For years Republicans have mastered the art.  This time, the Democrats are fighting back.  And for sure there are issues of religion that come to bear in the ballot box.  But we need to look hard, and long, at the true basis of such religious appeal. 

------------------------- ------------

Here are some lessons I believe we should heed:
*Ask yourself: Are my sincere religious convictions, in final analysis, shrewdly being played for political gain?
*What is the track record of this person, and party, for following through with religious rhetoric?
*Be very careful of any politician or preacher who publicly uses religion for personal, political benefit.
*See through the guise of the man or woman who conveniently involves self in public religious ritual in order to gain or hold onto political power.
*Run fast and far from any candidate who alters personal faith for manipulative purpose.

Considering the fate of Jeroboam, I would not want to be in the shoes of a modern-day, manipulative religious con-artist posing as a political candidate, Republican or Democrat.

Lyrics to Hallelujah, by Leonard Cohen
Wonderful performance by Allison Crowe

As part of our worship service on Sunday morning, a young lady performed the song Hallelujah, by Leonard Cohen. She is a voice student of our Minister of Music and she did a good job with the vocals. It seemed to me a tough song, requiring that it come from the heart for it to really connect with the audience. I was not sure at the time that she really knew or considered much about the message of the piece she was singing. And the more I thought about it, the more I concluded that I was not sure what was communicated with the song. Was it worship? Was this even an appropriate song for church?

I will admit, once again, to not be overly savvy with the nuances of complicated poetry. Upon first and casual listen, it seemed a ballad about how messy love can be. And that is o.k. for something on your ipod, but we worship God at church. So I was strongly thinking about talking to our Minister of Music about the need to more carefully screen the songs that will be presented in church.

Before doing that, I have decided to check out the lyrics and think about them a bit. And after doing so, I’ve concluded that it is a fitting song for worship.

I do not think that Leonard Cohen is part of the Evangelical Christian community. Of course I do not know him, and his standing before God in the final analysis is not dependent upon my judgment. It seems that somewhere I read that he has evolved from a Jew with an abiding interest in Jesus, to now being a Buddhist monk.

The song makes a good bit of direct reference to the Bible, particularly the fall of David and Samson. And we know that both were mighty men of God who compromised their faiths and irreversibly complicated their lives because of human love. The song masterfully interweaves what seems to be an intimate love connection that seems to still be there, but has grown cold and distant with time. The one who sings is sad. His love has been messy, not easy. And now, the relationship is not simple and not what he would want it to be. Still, he holds on because he knows in the final analysis it is somehow good.

So it is a good, albeit anything but simple song, about love. And clearly there is direct analogy given to our love-relationship with God. It, too, is anything but simple and easy. On a personal note- I know that! God is in many ways a riddle to me. I know Him, and our relationship is intimate. Conversely, in many ways He is a stranger. And it all does not make sense. But, alas, there is nothing better. Indeed, in many ways it all reminds of a messy and complicated and frustrating relationship with a woman!

Recently I spent some time with a couple whose story of love is anything but fairy book.  They are in their 60's and she will likely soon die of cancer.  They have had a lot of up's-n-down's in their relationship, and it does not compose a pretty picture: adultery, divorce, lawsuits, and lots of wounds yet to be healed.  So why are they now together, holding hands as life gets even more complicated?  It seems to me a tribute to the enduring quality of love.  Messy, beautiful, ugly, nothing-else-like-it love!  The kind of stuff Cohen sings about.

 

I’ll leave alone our young Minister of Music. It was a good song.

Sometimes you see something that is so ludicrous, so ridiculous, that you simply feel compelled to get up and walk away.  And so I just had to turn off my television.  No more.  I could stand no more.

I truly wanted to watch some sensible coverage of Hurricane Ike as the monster storm slammed into the Gulf Coast.  And with that in mind I stayed up late, scanning the news channels for information.  So I found Geraldo Rivera, he of the handlebar mustache and strange connection with Fox News.  There he was in Galveston, standing upon a dock in the middle of the storm.  The winds swirled, waves dashed, and the video feed blinked on and off.  He was standing at about a 45 degree angle, explaining the coming devastation as the winds were reaching 127 miles per hour!  Then, the next thing I know, SPLASH- he lost his balance and was blown into the water.  Crew ran to his rescue as I viewed his cheesy smile emerge from the surf.  And I could stand no more.  Time for bed.

Surely these guys do not need to wind surf in a hurricane to report the news?  Besides, if I am a network executive who feels the need to send a newscaster to report from the point of impact of Hurricane Ike, I would want one with a bit denser center of gravity, like maybe Al Roker.  Or Willard Scott.  At this point, he's expendable.

Please.  For the sake of some shred of professional decency and dignity, bring back the television weatherman in the bad suit, the one who stands afront a blank screen and pretends to point to a weather map.  He may be boring, but he does not fall into the surf, and he manages to convey the needed information in about five minutes.  It does not take Geraldo to do that.

I just finished a new Seven-Minute-Message on my ministry site. Please click on the link and give it a listen:


I've had a presence on PodBean for about a year, but it has been a long time since I have added content. It is a neat and fairly intuitive site, and I recommend it if you want to venture into audio or video blogging. My site has a steady stream of hits and downloads.

My intent is to improve the technical quality. For several of the previous presentations, I used a Digital Voice Recorder (Olympus VN-1000), a fine little tool for recording my thoughts while on the go. The problem? It records in mono, not stereo. So, it plays back in only one speaker! I guess that is not too much of a problem for listening, but it certainly is not professional. The last two messages, which I uploaded today, were recorded with my ZEN. I love this little device! And, it records in stereo. However, it obviously does not do a great job. So I am interested in your recommendation of a portable device for recording these audio blogs.

Why the turtle cannot fly? With this presentation, I attempt to give answer to the greatest question of life- why we are here. Check it out. Give me some feedback.

I am caretaker of my son's car while he is off in the military.  So, I drove it as I made my rounds today.  The vehicle has several eccentricities that endear it to my son, but tend to be irritating to me.  It's a Jeep Cherokee, high enough off the ground to maneuver floods and creeks and scrape my knees as I climb in.  The door on the driver's side will not open from the outside, so I have to climb in from the passenger side to open it.  My son sees it as a bonus safety feature.  And it seems I can actually see the fuel hand move to the left as I drive down the road.  He says the car is for performance, not economy, which is easy for him to say when I am buying the gas.

It has an impossibly complicated stereo system.  The only feature I have managed to manipulate is the pause button.  It is booming out a homemade c-d of his favorite music.  Today I listened, seeking to more appreciate his surprisingly eclectic tastes.  I made it through six songs.  There was "Hell's Bells", an ear-cracking jumble of noise and I'm thinking profanity, although I could not exactly make out the words.  There was a song with a theme something about "Like An Egyptian", which I am hoping was not Britney Spears, because I do not want to waste four minutes of my life listening to her music.  Then, from nowhere, came the Star Spangled Banner.  It was a nice reprise from the head numbing revelry, and I found myself with one hand over my heart and singing along.  Then came a catchy song in which the performer kept declaring his intention to "get away, to flyyyy away..."

I was most surprised to hear The Eve Of Destruction, by Barry McGuire.  It is a war protest song produced in 1965.  I was a teenager in the mid-70's and barely remember the song, although I certainly remember the anti-war movement.  Interestingly, Barry McGuire is now a Christian performer, and you can check out what he is now up to at this link .  I am not sure why my son, gun-ho Marine and steadfast political conservative, would like this song.  Maybe he has not considered the message of the music?  It has a nice, fun, catchy little beat.  And if we are not careful, we can find ourselves walking around singling something quite inappropriate simply because it sounds good.  I doubt that his Marine Sargent would appreciate The Eve Of Destruction.

I will not print the lyrics .  However, I would like to interact with a few of the themes.

"You’re old enough to kill, but not for votin’
You don’t believe in war, but what’s that gun you’re totin’"

Yep, if an 18-year-old can kill on behalf of his country, he'd best be able to vote.  Of course I'm more than a little skeptical, thinking old men and politicians send kids off to war to do their dirty work.  By definition, an 18-year-old is idealistic and naive and probably has not thoroughly developed a mature philosophy of war, and so is subject to manipulation by smart and sometimes evil men.  But, that's just the newest opinion of this soldier's dad!

"Don’t you understand what I’m tryin’ to say
Can’t you feel the fears I’m feelin’ today?
If the button is pushed, there’s no runnin’ away
There’ll be no one to save, with the world in a grave
[Take a look around ya boy, it's bound to scare ya boy]"

This was written 43 years ago.  I remember fallout shelters!  I think it is still a legitimate fear.  I will make a prediction.  There are enough weapons of mass destruction throughout our world, and enough rogue and "righteous" men with their hands upon the triggers, that I believe within my lifetime there will be a major and catastrophic nuclear event.  It won't destroy the world, but will forever alter it. 

Yeah, my blood’s so mad feels like coagulatin’
I’m sitting here just contemplatin’

Now, that's some bad poetry!

I can’t twist  the truth, it knows no regulation.
Handful of senators don’t pass legislation
And marches alone can’t bring integration

Amen, and amen.

You can bury your dead, but don’t leave a trace
Hate your next-door neighbor, but don’t forget to say grace

Earlier, the song asks why we are so preoccupied with the evil of Red China and yet seem to overlook what is happening in Selma, Alabama.  I've traveled through Philadelphia, Mississippi, which in my semi-ignorance I think is the reference of the first line above.  And I have been to Selma.  I've driven across the bridge where King and his associates were beaten.

"Hate your next-door neighbor, but don’t forget to say grace."
Oh my, but this strikes between the eyes.  It is just an impossibility to hate your fellow man, and with the same heart proposition a prayer that reaches the ears of God.  Isn't it?  Isn't it?

So, a good song.  I'm glad my son listens to it.

I know a lifelong Democrat who will be voting for McCain.  And, it bothers me.

This man is a 75-year-old retiree and strong Union supporter.  He and I have had many discussions in the past about politics, and always of a good-natured variety.  He would find a way to blast George Bush and the Republicans, and I would find a way to counter.  With this election he was a strong Hilliary Clinton supporter.  And so I was a bit surprised when he told me he would be voting Republican with his November ballot.  I asked why?

He’s got some reasoning behind his selection.  I think it is faulted, ignorant, and racist.  I’ll pass it along as best I can remember:

Republicans put Obama on the ballot by crossing over to vote for him.  So, my friend is just going to be returning the favor by voting for Obama’s opponent.

I’m a Republican voter.  And I think I am speaking for at least the majority of us when I say that I would much rather face Clinton than Obama.  Surely polls would prove that the majority of underhanded crossover votes were scored for Clinton?

Blacks have violent blood.  Just look at the crime and violence in America that is mostly fomented by blacks.  The last thing we need to do is encourage them.

I heard this, and was shocked to the point I could not immediately respond.  So I asked him to repeat it, which he did verbatim, while I considered a response.  I told him I was not sure that was a good reason for his voting decision.  I said that I, too, was voting for McCain but not because of the color of his opponent.  I have policy and philosophical differences.  And I said that, while crime statistics tend to point toward minorities, there are reasons other than skin color for this to be true.  But, I was not very convincing.

I feel angry and ashamed that anyone would choose to cast his vote because of color of skin.  And especially do I consider this to be true when I see it displayed by someone I have considered to be a friend and a Christian.  Finally, I’m a bit upset with my tepid response to this man.  I’ve dealt with this type of person many times.  I know there to be little room for reason and almost no room for change, and if this man were pushed, he could become a vicious enemy.  And that is why I did not respond with clenched jaw and fiery words.

Perhaps I should have? 

The old adage: Sometimes you can tell more about a man by his enemies than his friends.

Look at him. So serious, so tough.

Yesterday he was a kid. Now I'm thinking we didn't play enough, we didn't talk enough. I didn't hold him and simply love on him enough. And now he is a Marine. He told us at graduation ceremony that it was against regulations to embrace. We did anyways.

He's just a kid. Right? Three months ago he graduated from High School. I wanted him to go to College. Or, Technical School. Heck, anything but military service in a time of war. But it has been upon his heart to be a Marine for years. Try as I did, repeatedly and with intensity, but I just could not shake him from that crazy idea. So, about a year ago, I gave in. I do not think it was acquiescence to weakness, but to love. My wife and I decided, with collective sighs, that the most loving thing to do would be to encourage him to pursue his dream.

So, 14 long weeks ago, he left for boot camp. And as we toured together the facilities at Paris Island, I gained understanding that he had been through many weeks of intense challenge. He has been pushed almost beyond endurance physically and emotionally. And he made it!

Now I've watched my boy stand tall and proud, and carry himself with a confidence never before present. He speaks with sincerity. He responds with politeness. He makes his bed! He tells me he is different because he is a Marine. And I believe him. He wore his uniform to church this Sunday. Instead of sitting in the back, he sat tall and straight next to his mother. He sang the hymns and held his Bible in hand, carefully following the scriptures. He greeted the ladies with a hug, and the men with a firm handshake.

Who is this boy? I must correct myself. He's now a man. He's a Marine.

And, by the way, he doesn't need a uniform or a military rank for me to be proud of him. Marine is a good word for him. However, I prefer Son.