In an instant she was gone.  And, I panicked.

My mom's apartment is on the third floor.  My little 3-year-old granddaughter loves to press the buttons to go up and down the elevator.  She is quite proud that she can manipulate the buttons on her own.  And so we were leaving mom's apartment with plans to go out for lunch.  The little girl ran down the long hallway and turned the corner.  I did not think too much about it, for she also likes to show Papa how fast she can run, and she always waits at the end.  Mom was moving a little slow.  She's 89-years-old, so I patiently walked alongside.  When we rounded the corner, Skylar was not there.  And the elevator was gone.  I quickly surmised she had pressed the button to the first floor, and would likely be there waiting.  So we hurried onto the second elevator and made our way to the bottom.  No Skylar! 

I became very concerned.  This is a large building with lots of floors, hallways, and corridors.  There are closets with chemicals, and stairways with steps dangerously steep for a little one.  The elevators are old, with shafts accessible to the arms and legs of a child.  My mind was conjuring the worse.  I felt the need to hurry up to each floor to systematically check for my baby.  The stairway was far away.  And to my irritation, the elevator decided not to move.  I guess my rapid-fire pressing of the buttons had confused the circuitry. 

And so in exasperation I said, with a long and loud exhalation, "Damn it!"

It seemed an eternity, but in reality only a minute or so, that the elevator again functioned.  I checked the second floor- no baby girl.  I checked the third floor, and there she stood with two little ladies.  Thumb was in her mouth and eyes were red and soaked with tears.  The white-haired woman informed me that Skylar told her she wanted her mama.  I picked her up and held her tightly, as if a thousand pound load had fallen from my back.

As we returned to the main floor, I was immediately confronted by the security guy.
"You shouldn't talk like that"
"What?"

I took two steps toward the doorway when the Manager met me.  Her face was white with stress and hands quivering.
"How dare you talk that way in my building."
I was still quite upset over the last ten minutes of sheer terror.  Out of the fog I could see her angry face and hear the conviction of her voice.  It had a similarity to me, reminding me of the revivalist who would stand before the church denouncing sin.
Shaking my head, mostly to clear my focus back to reality, again I said "What?"

We do not use language like that around here.
Mam.  I do not recall cursing a blue streak.  I remember being upset, even terrified, because my granddaughter was missing.
That's no excuse.  We're Christian people around here.

It entered my mind, the best I could recollect, this was not a religious community.  But I decided not to go in that direction with my comments.  And then I became angry at this holy, righteous, Old Testament prophet who was so deeply offended by my verbal indiscretion.

Lady, when you can give me proof that you've achieved perfection in life, then you can stand here and lecture me on my misuse of the English language.
Well, you can just not come here anymore.

Quickly I surmised this was about power.  And control.  In Christ she can do all things, like ban from the building evil and Satanic persons- like me, a guy who cursed!

You can't tell me that!

I went out to the car, got mom situated and strapped Skylar into her carseat.  And then I asked them to wait while I went back to the office.

Please, mam, try to understand.  My granddaughter was missing.  I feared for her safety, even her life.
That's no excuse.  You had me very upset.
Have you never been in a situation where a child or grandchild was suddenly missing?
Yes I have.
And in that moment, did you not respond with panic, adrenaline, and emotion?
I never talked like that.

I want to assure you such is not my usual use of vocabulary.  I was terrified.  My granddaughter was missing!
I don't care about your granddaughter.  I care about the profanity.

And that was the most revealing of statements. 
She did not care about my granddaughter...
Her arm could have been severed by an elevator shaft. 
She could have fallen down the stairs. 
Abducted by a pedophile. 
A lost and upset and crying little girl. 
And a grandfather who loves her more than life- terrified, thinking of nothing else but to find her, to leap any obstacle in the way.

The safety of this child was not of primary concern.
The aching of a panic-stricken grandfather elicited no empathy.
Her righteous, holy ears were offended by a curse word.

So I knew right then that she was incapable of understanding.
She had God on her side!  This was her spiritual stand against darkness.  She had set her righteous jaw, and she was determined to win this battle of good and evil.

Mam, I am sorry that I have offended you.  Please pray for me.
She nodded, and motioned for me to walk out the door.

This kind of Christian makes me sick.

Mom, Skylar, and I recently dined at the Big Chicken in Marietta.  Basically it is a KFC with a big, gaudy, metal chicken serving as the roof.  The eyes rotate and the beak opens and closes.  My three-year-old was impressed.  Mom did not seem to notice.  I think she considered me as being cheap for taking her to a fast-food restaurant, instead of her preferred buffet.  I simply wanted to do something a little different.  Inside are big steel posts painted as chicken legs.  Various souvenirs are offered, and of course, chicken.

Mom, what would you like to eat?
Oh, I don't know.  I'll take a hamburger.
You don't go to a chicken place and order a hamburger.
I'm 89 years old.  I'll order whatever I want.  Now, get me a hamburger.

Skylar, what do you want?
Hamburger.
Skylar got a kid's chicken meal.

We will be having lunch with mom again today.  Skylar wants to go to McDonald's, strictly for the playground.  Mom will probably order chicken.

As Bobby Jindal walked to the microphone to give the Republican response to a speech by President Obama, Chris Matthews of MSNBC was heard to exhale a wry “Oh God!”.  I was watching on another network.  I was most interested to hear and see this minority alternative to Obama, a rising star of the Republican ranks.  For me, for the purpose of presentation, it was more than a bit disappointing.  The choreographed moment looked strange.  This slight little guy tried to walk so casually up to the microphone and then proceeded to dictate a boring speech.  Why the attempt of a grand entrance?  It sounded far too canned, as if written by someone else.  I sensed what this guy had to say simply did not come from the heart.  It would have been much more effective to mimeograph the presentation.  Surely Bobby Jindal is a good communicator.  Born of Indian immigrants, he has overcome many cultural obstacles to become Governor of a conservative state and the darling of the Republican establishment.  Such does not happen without charisma.  But I sure did not see it on my television that night.  Maybe next time he will tell his media handlers to go away?  Now, that would be refreshing. 

Matthews tells us that his vocal indiscretion had nothing to do with personal politics or a dislike for the man.  Simply he was taken aback, like many of the rest of us, by the strange opening scene.  And I believe him.  It is somewhat humorous.  This time I will give a break to the liberal, leftist, Democrat-loving journalist.

I do find it telling how casually this public personality chooses with profanity to invoke the name of deity.  I wonder how many God-loving viewers find this to be inappropriate, even offensive?  This is a man gifted with words, with a rich vocabulary, and yet with a spontaneous outburst he naturally selects to profane the Lord.  I know nothing about the religious persuasion of Chris Matthews.  Apparently he has no problem with such language.  Likely he is surrounded with people of similar persuasion.  Perhaps it is a trait of expression that he uses regularly?  Lots of people use profanity.  Most are not deliberately intending to blaspheme the name of God.  And I understand that.  While I would be quite upset to hear a regular church member talking in such fashion, I accept as a part of our secular culture that people on the periphery of the church often have a tendency to curse.  What I would like to see from a media personality like Matthews is more decorum, even respect, for the members of his audience who talk differently and are offended by such a reference to deity. 

I wonder if NBC and Chris Matthews have even considered the matter?

I am having a bit of a debate on the Windows Live Hotmail Feedback Forum .  And if I do not get satisfaction, I may have to challenge someone from Microsoft to a duel.

They have basically ruined the Hotmail Inbox by placing a huge advertising banner on the right side of the screen.  Not only is this irritating with its gaudy presence, but it blocks me from knowing the full titles of my e-mails.  I do not know what to read and what to erase, and run the risk of opening such things as porn and viruses.  Windows actually deserves credit for allowing the vigorous string of criticism that has ensued, including about a half-dozen pieces of my mind.  The Moderators feign ignorance and give assurance that our feedback is important.  And I am more than a bit pessimistic about the probability of positive change.  Of course the bottom line for Hotmail is to make money.  And the right-hand side of the page is prime real estate for advertising.  Since I pay nothing, directly, for the use of this e-mail service, it is highly likely they have little concern for my criticism.  So, I guess I will gravitate to another e-mail client, perhaps G-mail or Yahoo.  This will be a hassle, since I have been using Hotmail for over ten years!

In April I will be flying.  There will be a couple of stop-overs along the way, and likely these will be connecting hubs with flights to and from Seattle.  Who know who I might encounter along the way- in the snack bar, or sitting in the aisle seat?  My understanding is that Bill Gates is a bit tall, but not very muscular.  I'm in no mood to be nice to him.

Last night we turned out all of the lights and explored the dark house with a flashlight.  With light in one hand and Papa in the other, we would cautiously turn corners and laugh with delight at every new discovery.  Later we lay upon her pallet and she would suggest stories for us to tell together.  Inevitably the subject would turn to a little girl named Skylar.  My favorite storyline is about how the little girl finds herself in a predicament, only to be rescued by the courageous Papa.  She seems to never tire of those stories.  Neither do I. 

This morning as I was preparing for work, she came into the room.  On mornings I can be grouchy and need my private space.  But she is always a welcome intrusion.  She had dressed herself to the max as she understood it.  Hat, sunglasses, scarf, and bracelets- she was a “king”.  I did not bother to correct the gender.  We laughed and played a little.  And once again I thanked God for her.

Soon she will be three.  Me?  I seem to be getting younger.

I went to the mall today and got lost.

My intentions were good, to buy my wife something nice for Valentines Day.  Now I have a habit of leaving my car in a parking lot and being oblivious to where it is parked.  It is a one-track-mind.  And this lack of bearings was in full-gear a few hours ago.  Roaming around the mall, I knew what I wanted.  Pajamas.  No, not the pink-laced teddy bear stuff.  We have been married for 27 years, and if I am going to continue to sleep next to this lady, then I want her to be wearing something that will keep me warm.  So I was searching for thick, flannel pajamas with a nice valentine-y theme.  And I found them.  Interestingly, the skimpy stuff appeared to be selling from the racks rather quickly, while the pajamas I wanted were marked down 40%.  The young guy standing in front of me was buying some red little gartered outfit, and I could not help but notice the forbidding price tag.  But he did have a big smile upon his face.

Leaving the store, I could not remember where I was parked.  This is a more modern-type mall facility, with lots of corridors, bends and turns.  It is nothing like the old type malls, which consisted of one long building surrounded by a giant parking lot.  So, I started walking around, looking for stores that I would remember.  I saw Fredrick's Of Hollywood, displaying the pajamas I was not wanting to buy.  And I saw several smiling guys entering that store.  I saw an ice cream shoppe, and bought a $4 double scoop.  Chocolate and butter pecan, I do remember.  Nothing else prompted my memory.  So I began a systematic journey around the periphery, checking every exit.  This took at least 30 minutes.  Next I walked outside, with the intention to circle the mall and watch for my car along the way.  Soon I realized this would not be a good idea, since in many places there are no sidewalks, and it would be at least a two mile walk.  I contemplated calling someone and pleading for help, but realized such would make me look rather foolish, and especially if said rescuer recognized that I bought my wife flannel pajamas.

Then it hit me that probably the reason I could not find my entrance/exit was because I had entered through a little used corridor.  Yes, that was it!  Faintly I remembered a long bare wall, and several closed stores.  I rounded the corner from Belk's, and there it was!  Quickly I zoomed out the door, relieved and rejuvenated.  Then I realized my car was still lost, somewhere in a sea of about a thousand look-alike vehicles.  So I started walking up and down, row after row of cars.  About an hour later and I was home, feet hurting, and pajamas in hand.

Isn't that pitiful?

But, I can't wait until my wife sees her new pajamas.  You know what?  Looking over these things.... they are pretty with big pink hearts.  I just grabbed a pair, without considering size.  These have XXX-Large on the tag.  She will not care, will she?

Part 5, Toward A Better Understanding Of Substance Abuse

On March 15, John Jones will be at the church I pastor to give a concert.  He will also share his story of how his faith in Jesus Christ has given him strength to overcome the grip of alcohol addiction.  I have known John for several years.  As far as I can tell he has been faithful to his Christian commitment, music ministry, work, and family.  And I think he would be the first to tell you that, although he is a man of strong dependence upon God, his battle with addiction is still an ongoing process.

Others I know, facing alcohol and drug dependencies, do not have lives that lend themselves to such a story of inspiration and victory.  Recently I attended the funeral of a man who truly sacrificed his life to a bottle.  All through the years he left a trail of unrealized potential and broken people.  He lay there in the casket leaving very little good to be said.  I sat in the audience thinking I was glad that I was not the stumbling preacher who stood before us, pitifully trying to bring closure for those this man left behind.

As I finish this series, at this time, in no particular order I will pass along some personal thoughts:

The Big Guy
All addictions are not equal.  I have addictions, such as caffeine, sugar, and blogging.  They have varying and sometimes adverse effects upon my life; they are annoyances, and I’ll likely not die from any of these.  Drug and alcohol abuse, if allowed, will surely kill you.  It is a monster, no matter how cute it trappings may seem.

Love Hurts
To love someone requires that you open your heart to that person.  There is always the possibility to get burned, and the probability it will periodically happen along the way.  The reward is to truly connect with someone, and by loving him to actually make a transformational difference in his life.  I think the risk is worth it.  If you know someone battling with addiction, then the best thing you can give him is your unconditional love, albeit always tempered with wisdom.

Not A Solo Flight
If you have an alcohol or drug addiction, then you need help.  Every now and then I will come across someone who purports to have overcome a deadly addiction with no help from others.  Invariably, a few moments of conversation will reveal otherwise.  This individual may not use the proper vocabulary to describe his journey to sobriety, but likely it involves friends, faith, family, dedicated organizations like AA and Alanon, and resources such as books, pamphlets, videos.  History and human nature make it clear you cannot win this battle on your own.

I Am A Rock?
There is liberation in letting your guard down, and being vulnerable.  Where did you get this idea that you are a rock, anyhow?  Surely you need to be careful with whom you open up and seek help.  Some will use and abuse you, and ultimately make you worse.  But many have earned the right, and will find joy in helping you to become whole and strong in your life.  So, swallow your pride and get help.

To This One, It Means All The Difference In The World
You cannot save everyone.  But you can save some.  Some will use and abuse you, lie to you, and ultimately travel the road to utter destruction.  And it will break your heart to watch it happen.  Others, though, will be saved.  The journey will be inexact, and along the way you will get dirty.  But it will be worth it.

Part 4, Toward A Better Understanding Of Substance Abuse

Recently I journeyed about 2½ hours to a remote little town in the northeast corner of the state to spend some time with Tim.  It was a nice drive along the blacktops and rolling hills of Appalachia, a reminder again that most of the world is not like this far-too-busy place where I now live.  I zoomed past "smokey" a few times, and he generously granted me the grace of 5-10 mph over the speed limit.  And I encountered more than a few oncoming drivers with the curious and slightly annoying insistence that I throw up a hand and wave to complete strangers as we pass.  As usually happens when I venture to places such as I knew from long ago, I began to wax a bit wistful and homesick.  Maybe, just maybe, I will move back to a place like this, one day…

Tim is residing for a few months at Penfield Christian Home .  I have the greatest of respect for such a practical effort to make a difference in the lives of hurting people.  In my opinion, this is something we as evangelicals do not do enough.  Sometimes, we are guilty of trivializing everything else about a person in our rush to save his soul.  Indeed, as I visited a little with some of the current residents, I found out that some of them were quite versed in the Baptist religion.  Apparently, being Baptist did little to shield them from drug and alcohol addiction.  Mamas and preachers did well the job of instilling the messages of fire and damnation, and little about practical matters like loving self and finding strength to say “no” to temptation. 

These men, about 20 current residents, admittedly were on the brink of self destruction.  They ranged in ages from 18 to 72.  That’s right.  At first I thought he was a Facilitator, but Tim told me the man was a fellow resident- 72 years old.  I felt initial pity for this man whose life was now in twilight as he made this last clutch for sobriety.  And yet there was also respect that he was willing to try, yet again.  And I wished him well.

Tim had stories tell.  The days were very structured, even regimented, which was an effort to instill discipline.  Apparently, these men had allowed their lives to drift far from such structure.  There was little privacy, for the rooms were always subject to surprise inspections.  About a week ago, two of the residents slipped out in the middle of the night to purchase beers at the convenience store down the road.  They were quickly dismissed.  No second chances.  And Tim sounded quite willing to admit his problems.  This place was his last and best chance to find a different way of living.  He was determined to make it work.

We interacted for several hours and I could not help but feel compassion for the man.  This hulking man of bulging muscles and soft voice now seemed broken.  But I continued to be a bit wary, for I also knew him to be a good salesman/con artist.  I wondered if he had reached the point of true change, or if this was a continuation of an effort to bluff his way through life?  Of course, in the final analysis, who knows such matters but God?  So we had dinner together at Steak And Shake, which he said was a nice change from the cafeteria meals.  I helped him pick out a Bible for his daughter.  We ran a couple of errands.  And we had a time of prayer together.  I dropped him off with a prayer and a promise to stay in touch.  And, an earnest hope that he would win this battle.

Where will this guy be, a year from now?  I guess… it is up to him.  And God, if Tim will so allow.

 

Part 3, Toward A Better Understanding Of Substance Abuse

Today, I would like to introduce you to Tim.  We will spend a few days getting to know him.  He is a nice guy, a drug abuser, and for a while he played me like a fiddle.  Sometimes I wonder if he is still playing others, and playing the system?

Tim was a bit intimidating to see.  He liked to project himself as a Bad Dude Bouncer.  He was bulked-up from heavy weight lifting, his head shaved, and sometimes he would wear safety pins as earrings.  But all you had to do was talk with him for a few minutes to realize he was a nice guy- soft spoken, polite. 

Sometime he would drop off his daughter for church activities, and sometime we would hire him for landscaping.  Often he and I would stand in the parking lot to talk and laugh.  And I prayed for Tim.  But he never attended a worship service at my church.  My intent was to make sure we had lines of communication, trusting God was working in his life and bringing him to the point of true interest in matters of personal faith.

Several months ago he called me on the phone.  He gave me a long and rambling story of his challenges: lost his home and business, living in an extended-stay motel, behind on child support, and in others ways victimized by life.  His understanding was that he was a good-natured and nice guy, mistreated by a lot of folk, and now facing an unusual streak of bad luck.  After listening for a while, I asked if there was any major part of this story that he was not telling?  He assured me he was doing everything right.  I arranged to help him out as much as I could, and we made plans to sit down and talk.  It confused me that he never made it to our appointments.  Once I loaned to him the gas-powered trimmer of the church, and he never returned it.  But he continued to call periodically for words of support.

Then one day he called, telling me the next day he would be going into a rehab facility for drug and alcohol dependency!  I responded with a long and silent pause.  For the last several months, over the course of dozens of conversations and prayers, absolutely nothing was said to me about this major part of his life.  He was cool.  He had it all together.  He was just having a hard time.  All along, he was missing work, draining his funds, and losing his friends and family because of drugs.  I felt deceived and used.

The next day he was gone, headed for a six-month stay at a rehab facility funded by my church and denomination.  And I had a decision to make about whether I wanted to continue a relationship with someone who could so readily and convincingly lie to me?  Probably, you know my ultimate response.

One thing is for sure.  His substance abuse certainly made him a good liar, and made me feel pretty stupid.

Part 2, Toward A Better Understanding Of Substance Abuse

She and her daughters have visited my church a few times.  But, I do not know either very well.  So, I was surprised when she walked up to me at a restaurant and asked if we could talk in private?  We walked back to a corner area and sat down at a bench.

She asked if I was aware of the trouble her young adult daughter was experiencing?  I remembered the young lady as being popular and involved in High School, and recalled she had moved somewhere up North to pursue pretty good job offer.  And I also faintly remembered that she had some unpleasant experiences with a gang a few years back.  So I asked the mom if this was what she was referencing?  No.  That matter had been resolved and was no longer a concern.

And then she relayed to me the sordid story.  Her daughter was out late, one night, drinking with some of her friends.  The person with whom she rode to the bar was now too intoxicated to drive, and asked the daughter to take the wheel.  Along the way they came to a four-way-stop.  Another vehicle arrived at the same time, and somehow both cars collided in the middle of the road.  It was a violent crash, and the driver of the other vehicle was killed.  Now, this lady’s daughter must stand trial for vehicular homicide and faces twelve years in prison.  The DA’s office in our community is know to take a hard approach to such matters, and will likely press for the full sentence with no mercy.

The mom, with tears in her eyes and halting voice, asked if I would write a letter to the Judge and District Attorney attesting to her character and pleading for leniency?

I have been thinking a good bit about this matter.  What if it were my daughter?  Certainly I would not want her to spend twelve years in prison.  Youthful indiscretion and foolishness are certainly understandable.  But, what if it were my daughter who was killed by a drunk driver?  I would certainly want justice, and likely want revenge.  I have found, as I journey deeper into life, that I tend more and more to err on the side of mercy.  So I will probably write the letter.

For sure, a foolish decision to drink-and-drive is now the ruin of many lives.  I can hardly imagine a bigger fool.

This is Part 1 of an ongoing series I entitle Toward A Better Understanding of Substance Abuse.

Recently, in my role as pastor, I have interacted quite a bit with persons struggling with substance abuse.  It is a disconcerting thing to see otherwise smart and even good people with lives so disfigured by this cancer.  I clearly see that it a huge, ugly, and ferocious beast.  And, for many of us it is a riddle how these people could let this happen.  Why are they so weak?  Why do they not try harder, and pray more, and beat this thing?  Of course I know it is a more complicated matter, and those who fight this war deserve more respect even if they wage their battles with foolish weapons and strategy.

Throughout my life I have had an aversion to alcohol.  At most I have consumed maybe two beers!  I do not like to be around it.  Admittedly this has much to do with religious convictions.  But, there is more reason.  On my mom’s side of the family seems to be a track record of alcohol abuse.  I tried to talk with her about this one time, and she feigned it to be ridiculous.  But I remember as a little boy seeing, at different times, different uncles and aunts in various states of inebriation.  I was curious as to how they could behave so silly, and of how they could turn from being nice to being so mean and foul-mouthed?  And along the way I made up my mind to avoid the stuff.  And that is likely very good, since I now understand that abuse of alcohol is likely a genetic predisposition.

Otis Campbell may be funny on The Andy Griffith Show, but real-life drunks are not.