Happy birthday

Today is Memorial Day, an especially poignant one because it is also my father's birthday.

Dad would have been 88 today. He died 10 years ago -- can it really have been that long?

When I think realistically about how old he would be getting now (and my mother as well), I realize it's a little absurd to go down the road of "If only ..." I mean, how many people live to be 88 anyway, and what would his quality of life have been at that age, with his diabetes and high blood pressure and brushes with cancer? And worst of all, no Honey (my mom).

But I still miss them both, and I'm not one bit ashamed about it.

We always had his birthday party on Memorial Day, whether it fell on the 26th or not. He would (over)cook hamburgers on the grill, and we'd have Jay's potato chips and baked beans and Vernor's ginger ale, and of course cake and ice cream. Some Frisbee, some Jarts, some "NBA" (that's what we called basketball the rough, physical way we boys sometimes played it in the driveway), a couple of shoving matches and lots of laughter until long after the sun went down.

And the flag hanging from the big front porch. My folks flew the flag every day, not just on national holidays -- one of those Bennington flags, with the big "76" on it. Dad was a Navy veteran of World War II. He served aboard the destroyer USS Patterson in the South Pacific, which thankfully didn't see a lot of heavy action. I'm sure they had their moments, but Dad didn't really dwell on it or talk about it much. He had a family to generate and raise and a God to serve.

I have a flag that has been furled in a corner near the front door ever since I moved here. Yesterday I finally got around to finding the mounting bracket and installing it on the front of the house. First thing this morning I unfurled the flag and set it out there to wave in the sun.

Yes, I did it for our nation's honored dead. But mostly I did it to honor Dad. Happy birthday. I still love you.

Old friend, new life

So I was reading the local paper (the Atlanta Journal-Constitution) one day last month, and I saw an item about a band called Blue Flashing Light from Athens, Georgia, that had just completed a two-week tour of China.

The item quoted the band's frontman, Ian Schwarber, who said a Chinese cultural committee had sought out bands from Georgia to help celebrate Chengdu's peach festival. Apparently the famous Georgia peaches are in fact a variety that originated in Sichuan Province, where Chengdu is located.

(Chengdu is the place where Monday's devastating earthquake occurred. Please join us in praying for the folks there, and donate to a relief organization if you can.)

Accompanying the article was a tiny headshot of Schwarber. I glanced at it and kept reading. Then I stopped and went back to the photo. Then back to Schwarber's name. Then back to the photo.

I asked My Lovely Wife, who was sitting nearby, "What was the name of that kid who worked at that coffee shop back in Ohio and had a band?"

She thought for a moment but couldn't come up with it immediately.

"Was it Ian?"

"Yeah, Ian. Why"

I showed her the paper. "Isn't this him?" (I know, I should have said "he," but who talks that way?)

Her eyes grew wide and she grabbed the paper out of my hands. "That is him!" she confirmed. (Ditto.)

See, not only does Ian make a nice caffe latte and write pretty song lyrics, but he's a good-looking sonuvagun too. Here's proof:

Anyway, it turns out Ian and the boys moved from Ohio to Georgia about the same time we did, starting over in a booming college town known as a cradle of talented bands. And things seem to be going well.

You can learn all about Blue Flashing Light and hear samples of their songs at http://www.blueflashinglight.net/ or http://www.myspace.com/blueflashinglightEMup .

One of Ian's little secrets is that he is obsessed with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. A deeper secret is that it was My Lovely Wife who first turned him on to Buffy through some coffee-shop evangelism.

After we discovered they were here in Georgia, MLW Googled the daylights out of BFL and learned they had an upcoming gig in the ATL. We determined to go to that show and surprise Ian. MLW even had a T-shirt made that says "Buffy Y BFL."

By the time the show date came around (last Friday night), MLW had spoken with Ian and he knew we were coming, so the element of surprise was lost. Yet and still, as they say down here, he was thrilled to see us and our faces were rocked.

Then on Monday Ian went solo and competed in the famous open mic night at legendary listening room Eddie's Attic (http://www.eddiesattic.com/) in Decatur. There were 21 singer-songwriters, and Ian unfortunately went first. He wasn't chosen as a finalist, but Eddie took him aside and said he was exercising his authority to invite Ian back to the summer shootout as a wildcard.

I don't think Ian's going to make us any more cappuccinos, but he's making great music and that's even better. And we've reconnected with an old friend who is a really good guy, which is best of all.

Fugly is as fugly does

I broke my fugly lamp.

This … thing … was sitting under a tree next to a huge pile of leaves when we moved into our house in December 2006. I think the previous owner had set it out there hoping that thieves or coyotes would carry it off, but no one would have it. It’s a big responsibility to bring that kind of ugliness into your home, and not everyone is up to the task.

Still, for some reason I stuck it in my shed rather than get rid of it. That sort of bulky grotesqueness has a burlesque attractiveness all its own, and over time I began to believe someone out there might not only want it but be willing to pay for it.

While moving it out of the way for the tenth time last week, I noticed the base was stamped FALKENSTEIN 1919. Hey, I thought, maybe I do have a find here. A quick Google search revealed that Claire Falkenstein was a lamp designer from the late 1950s to the 1970s, and collectors aren’t especially impressed with her work.

Finally this week I took it to an antique shop in Decatur that specializes in mid-20th century furniture and décor. The proprietor there acknowledged that she had never heard of Claire Falkenstein and agreed that the lamp was, indeed, very ugly, and no, she would not be interested, thank you and have a nice day.

On the way home I stopped at another antique shop for a second opinion. The woman there also had never heard of Claire Falkenstein, also agreed that the lamp was, indeed, very ugly, and oh, by the way, it’s broken.

“Broken?” said I. “How can you tell?”

“There’s a big hole in the globe -- there, on the other side,” she informed.

And, sharp-eyed appraiser of antiquities that she is, she was right. Big hole in the shimmery red globe. Brand-spankin’-new one.

“Well, there goes that eBay lottery hit,” I lamented. My fugly dream had gone aglimmering.

But hey, now I have a lot more room in my shed.

Out to lunch

Dear Reader (you know who you are),

Please accept my apologies for not posting here for the last seven weeks. Today's excuses of choice include spring-related busyness and, paradoxically, an extended bout with fatigue.

While I'm not so foolish as to promise to post every day henceforth, I will pledge to be better about it than I have been lately.

Thanks for waiting me out.

Tornado

We're fine. Friday night's tornado made a mess of downtown Atlanta, but out where we live there was just lightning and thunder. Getting to work on the train today wasn't just a ride, it was an adventure. But I made it, and everything at the workplace is working despite a few broken windows. All is well.

An issue of blood

The best example of someone going to Jesus and literally grabbing hold of his healing power is the woman with the “issue of blood.” Her story is told in the fifth chapter of Mark and the eighth chapter of Luke.

This poor woman had a condition that was not only physically painful but also socially stigmatizing, and it had been going on for years. She had nonstop menstrual bleeding, which under Old Testament law kept her perpetually “ceremonially unclean” (Leviticus 15:25-27).

Think for a moment about the isolation and loneliness this would mean. No one could touch her without becoming unclean, and anything she touched became unclean. Think what it would be like for you if you could never give or receive a hug, or even a handshake or a pat on the back. Or use a shopping cart. Or pick up produce at the market and put it back down. Or walk on a crowded sidewalk. Or get your hair cut. Or go to a concert or a game. Or a restaurant. Or school. Or work. Or church. And forget about meeting someone special, falling in love and starting a family.

You are condemned to life in solitary confinement with invisible walls.

Imagine the shame and degradation that would come with that kind of shunning, along with the fear of embarrassingly bleeding through her clothes. Not to mention the terrible cramps that must have been a source of constant misery.

The medical treatments of the day were probably quite crude and excruciatingly painful; the NIV says she "had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse."

And the Word says this went on for twelve years. A lot of people would kill themselves under that kind of stress, and who could blame them?

But this woman chose life, and she knew where to find it.

Can you imagine the courage it took for her to leave her house and venture to that crowded marketplace where Jesus was visiting? To press through the throng, this mob of strangers who would revile her and recoil from her if they knew her terrible secret?

But nothing else had worked, and she was desperate. This might be her only chance. She waded into the crowd and pressed through. She didn’t seek to speak to the man or ask anything of him, but just hoped to grasp the hem of his garment.

And she did it. The Bible says she was behind Jesus and touched the edge of this cloak, and immediately she felt healing flow from him into her body.

She thought that would be the end of it, that she could disappear back into the crowd and slip away, but with Jesus you always get more than you bargain for.

He took notice of her.

“Who touched my clothes?” he said (as if he didn’t know). His disciples practically laughed at him: “You have all these thousands of people pressing in on you, and you ask, ‘Who touched me?’”

Yes, thousands were pressing in on him, but only one had truly touched him.

Have you reached out to Jesus with a passion and a fervor that will make you stand out from the crowd?

I’ll have more about this in a future post.

Take your healing

The Lord revealed something interesting to me this morning while I was doing my daily Bible reading.

When they [Jesus and his disciples] had crossed over [the Sea of Galilee], they landed at Gennesaret and anchored there. As soon as they got out of the boat, people recognized Jesus. They ran throughout that whole region and carried the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went – into villages, towns or countryside – they placed the sick in the marketplaces. They begged him to let them touch even the edge of his cloak, and all who touched him were healed. -- Mark 6:53-56

What jumped out at me was the last phrase: “... and all who touched him were healed.”

He didn’t touch them, they touched him.

He didn’t touch them, they touched him.

Jesus went to “the marketplaces” – public places where everyone went every day. No one had to look very hard to seek him out. He made himself available where anyone – in villages, towns and countryside – could find him.

Those who needed healing – and doesn’t everyone need healing of one kind or another? – came to him. And those who were too weak to get themselves there were “placed” there by other people who cared about them.

We often hear complaints that Jesus didn’t intervene in this or that situation, and often he doesn’t, for his own reasons that we are incapable of understanding.

We expect him to come to us, when what is needed is for us to come to him.

But I wonder how many times we miss blessings – how many times we don’t get healed – simply because we fail to reach out to him. We expect him to come to us, when what is needed is for us to come to him.

He isn’t hard to find. He makes himself available in all situations in all places at all times, out in the open. It’s up to us to go to him, to reach out to him and to take the healing. He carries the healing with him wherever he goes, but it takes action on our part, not his, for us to receive it.