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"I always think I'm right, but I don't think I'm always right."

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"You have been chosen, and you must therefore use such strength and heart and wits as you have."
Gandalf to Frodo, 
LOTR i.2

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"Oh, miracle -- thus to be able to give what we ourselves do not possess, sweet miracle of our empty hands!"
Diary of a Country Priest

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"This is not pleasant to you, Emma--and it is very far from pleasant to me; but I must, I will,--I will tell you truths while I can; satisfied with proving myself your friend by very faithful counsel, and trusting that you will some time or other do me greater justice than you can do now."
Knightly to Emma

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My writing is like Shakespeare's.  At lease in the sense that I use many of the same words.

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Roddick is out in the first round??!!  That boy needs to figure out what to do next.  Of course there's nothing wrong with being a top-five tennis player with the world's fastest serve, and he does make a comfortable living.  But it begins to look like he doesn't have the focus and strength of will to be a true number one.  Roger Federer needs a serious rival and after a while we quit wondering if Andy is it.  Scoville Jenkins won his first round match, and if could upset world #2 Nadal in the second round, he might have a nice run.  I like watching him play, what little I've seen of him.  He looks like the next best up and coming U.S. prospect.  And like it or not, world tennis needs an American star.  If the final of the U.S. Open is a Swiss against a Spaniard, the suits in the front office get nervous. 

Well, maybe Agassi has another slam in him.  He's got the talent and the savvy, but at age 35, he probably doesn't have the physical reserves to play two weeks of 5-set tennis at the most demanding of the slams.  But I always root for Andre.  We old bald tennis players have to stick together.

I'm preaching John 6 in Grand Island September 11.  Some of the least favorite verses in the American Evangelical Bible.  ""Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. [54] Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day.'"  

We are not comfortable speaking of the sacrament thus.  And if we are shy of using Bible language in our theology, well, the problem is not with the Bible language.

At the annual awards potluck of the Ace Bandage Tennis League last night, I was pleased to win the "Mr. Howitzer" award for "biggest strokes" voted by players in the B division.  As the emcee noted, my tennis philosophy is "hit hard, hit out."  My award consisted of an attractive certificate and a box of Bazooka bubble gum.

I was also pleased that I was able to open the audio-visual cabinet in the Zion coffee house and successfully figure out which three devices to turn on and which of five remotes to use and which of 8 program modes to choose so that we could watch on the big screen the ABTL highlights DVD produced by our intrepid commissioner.  He does a great job of editing things together, using slow motion and repeat loops, silly titles, rifle shot and light saber sound effects, and dramatic musical scores ripped off from Star Wars and Lord of the Rings.  He's a very funny guy, and it all sets just the right tone for this not-too-serious tennis league, which nevertheless, has some excellent players -- at least in the A division. 

My day job is on the 11th floor of the Sharp Building in downtown Lincoln.  Outside the window Thursday morning, hanging on the brick wall, was this cute little critter:

Click on the first picture above for an ENLARGEMENT (141 Kb)

What you believe is mostly made up of what you want to believe.  If you don't want to believe something, no amount of argument will persuade you.  Don't bother with the facts: your heart has to change first.  The mind justifies whatever the heart wants to believe.  Wisdom is justified by her children.

This, by the way, is why our theology teaches us that God has to regenerate us before we ever come to faith.  In other words, as long as we are dead in trespasses and sins, we do not have the capacity for faith; God has to do the miracle of regeneration first.

For instance, I walk out of a movie like The March of the Penguins marveling at God's creation and laughing with my friends how anyone could see that movie and contend that the penguins are the way they are because of millions of years of chance evolutionary variations.  How big an idiot do you have to be to believe that?

And yet, Roger Ebert, who is a very bright and enjoyable fellow, walked out of that movie having been strengthened in his belief in evolution.  He calls this movie

... the story of an evolutionary success. The penguins instinctively know, because they have been hard-wired by evolutionary trial and error, that it is necessary to march so far inland because in spring, the ice shelf will start to melt toward them, and they need to stand where the ice will remain thick enough to support them.

As a species, they learned this because the penguins who paused too soon on their treks had eggs that fell into the sea. Those who walked farther produced another generation, and eventually every penguin was descended from a long line of ancestors who were willing to walk the extra mile.

Uh, right.  See, not even the penguins will change Ebert's mind, because the mind follows the heart, and in his heart he is dead set (hmmm... interesting figure of speech, that) against giving honor and glory to God who has created all things according to his wisdom and pleasure.

There's some kind of lesson here about being wary of your heart's inclinations.  One would hope that if we realize how easily and falsely our heart can lead us (all the while we are perfectly convinced of our correctness), we will be all the more careful about things.  "Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life."

One would also hope that the whole thing would make us cast ourselves in helpless humility on God's mercy.  Let not my heart betray me to foolishness, but lead me in thy truth.  When you encounter a fool in his folly, that is, a man who is set in his heart and whose ears are stopped, well, you'd have a better time messing with a bear robbed of her cubs.

 

August 24

Sam got a phone in his barracks room and called us early this morning just before bedtime (sic).  He's been busy with orientation classes and is starting to take Japanese.  He hasn't been off base much, nor has he really had much time with the rest of the band yet.  He thinks they are working towards a local marching band competition in October that will, of course, involve a lot of local Japanese groups.  

As daughter Kate gets ready for a year in France, I have watched two French movies with her this summer; both star Audrey Tautou (who is also currently working with Tom Hanks and Ron Howard on that offensive collection of heretical lies known as The DaVinci Code [may it stink at the box office]).  Last night I saw most of Un long dimanch de fincailles (A Very Long Engagement).  Tautou plays a young cripple who refuses to give up hope when her fiancé is reported to have been killed in World War I.  She believes he must still be alive somewhere, and devotes all her energy to finding survivors who knew him and piecing together clues from the stories of those who saw him last.  

It's an interesting and well-done movie, with a very strong narrative style.  (Plus a sequence featuring Jodi Foster speaking French, as a Polish war widow with a story of her own.)  But remember this is a French movie, and that means a casual indifference to elements that would give it a pretty hard R in the U.S.   What is is with les Français, anyway?

I also looked at the material associated with the movie coming out in January called The End of the Spear.  It's a follow-up to the well-known story of Jim Elliot and Nate Saint, the missionaries martyred in South America in the 1950's by the Auca Indians.  If you haven't read the book or seen the movie Through Gates of Splendor, that is an amazing story.  

Well, the next piece of the story aspires to be a dramatic re-telling, with actors and production values and everything.  The production group is sending screening kits to interested churches in order to generate some advanced audience interest.  I think we'll be able to use it at Zion, giving it a turn in each of the AFC's.

Linus got through the gate once.  Adjustments necessary.

Dodge Caravan totaled.  Other guy's insurance sent me a check.

Jana and Kate returned from KY excursion.  I like it when they're home.

There and back on Sunday to preach at Redeemer Presbyterian in Des Moines.  

Shakespeare casette tape-to-MP3 conversion almost finished.  But now I decide that I don't like the signal level I was using and will re-do most of them to fix a slight distortion problem.  It's a job that runs easily while I'm doing other stuff, and I've got the technique down now.

Took the car settlement $ to the Chevy dealer and bought an "Aveo" (uh-VEE-o?  ah-VAY-o?  AH-vee-o?)

I might have bought a Kia Rio instead, but the Lincoln Kia dealer doesn't carry the Rio -- just the more expensive models.  I also would have looked at the Toyota Echo, but the Lincoln Toyota dealer doesn't carry the Echos.  Likewise, the Hyundais in town also seemed to leave the least expensive model spot vacant.  I guess nobody likes to sell the cheapest cars.  Anyway, the Aveo is all-Korean and looks to be a decent little set of wheels.  We decided that the new Aveo gets the driveway, which has been the exclusive domain of our "nice" Plymouth Voyager, which will now park on the curb.  Now we're calling the Aveo "Copper" and the Voyager "Chief" after the dogs in Disney's The Fox and the Hound, because the new puppy took the old dog's favored spot.

Jana and I saw March of the Penguins.  Marvelous.

I will win against my dog.

Our pet beagle Linus is supposed to stay upstairs (away from the good carpet and furniture) while we are out of the house.  For quite some time we have used a toddler gate at the top of the stairs which has worked just fine.

But for some reason, this dog has decided that he is not content to stay upstairs and he has figured out that with some bullying, he can knock the gate lose.  We come home, the dog has been sleeping on the good sofa (and who knows what else) and the gate has been knocked down.  

Well, we could take him out and shoot him (a right which I reserve), but first, let's try to get a smarter barricade.  The toddler gate was always more of a psychological barrier, not really being wide enough for the stairway.  So I have put my mind to it and the war is on.  I am determined to devise a scheme that Linus cannot penetrate.

Using the pieces of the toddler gate (which used a collapsible slide-pressure design), I made a single non-sliding piece that is wider than the stairway opening.  At first I thought that would do the trick, if we just held it in place with a handy chair, but in the first test, Linus nudged it out of the way.  

So I have escalated to hardware.  Now the gate hangs against the opening with hook and eye fasteners.

To get the gate off, you have to pull the bottom towards you, which I'm betting Linus won't figure out. 

But I just dare him.  Doesn't he know I have only BEGUN!!??

I called the American Family insurance adjustor (the at-fault guy's insurance) and she had "misplaced" our claim, and thus never got around to sending a field man to look at our van.

Aaauhgh.

But she did say she'd pay for an Enterprise car rental.

Well, OKAY then.

You know that your daughter is really settling in to her first apartment when she says, "Do you know how much laundry detergent COSTS?!"

I have several of Shakespeare's plays on audio cassette.  Now with the iPod, I really want them on MP3, so I've started playing them into the computer, capturing .WAVs with a program called GoldWave.  Last night was Hamlet.  Since I have to be nearby to babysit the equipment, I got to hear much of the play again.  It's really quite good.  I'm reminded of the fellow who saw it for the first time and said "not bad considering its mostly just a series of famous quotations strung together."  

This particular BBC radio production features Paul Scofield, first known to me for his work in the wonderful A Man for All Seasons.  In this Hamlet, the dramatic quaver in his voice seems a bit overused.

I was out of the room for a couple of phone calls.  One from son Sam who has arrived at Camp Zama in Japan.  All the details of his connections went well, and he was ready to do his in-processing.  He is +14 hours on the clock, so at 9 a.m. here it's 11 p.m. there.  

Good night, sweet Sam, and my flights of angels ... 

Oh, nevermind.

It was nice that Sam called before Jana did, having arrived safely in Somerset, KY, so I could pass on the news from Sam.  Kate's business with the visa and passport went well enough on their bureaucratic side-track to the U.S. government office in Chicago, but my two brave girls were glad to be quit of that traveler's headache.  

The wind sat in the shoulder of their sail ...

 

August 11

I got better.

I'm behaving better since talking to the correct insurance adjustor and have some sense that wheels are turning (though still not the ones on my wrecked Caravan).

Jana and Kate are in Chicago this morning trying to walk Kate's papers through the bureaucracies necessary to get the correct visa for her year in France.  Then they travel on to KY.  

Watched Amelie last night.  Kate has had this around for a while, but I had not seen more than short pieces.  In French with English subtitles.   Daughter Bess and I enjoyed it.  It's hard to recommend because of the French's complete lack of any moral sense on the subject of sex, and I just can't quite let it pass and get on with the story.  But the story is quirky and sweet, and there are some absolutely delightful moments.  Nothing of much real substance because it just can't rise any higher than a sort of melancholy existential determination to enjoy the wonders of this life and find some happiness by seeking to please others.        Okay.

Really cool Harry Potter 6 theory.  Major spoilers, of course.

 

August 10

Catching Up

• Went to Heartland Presbytery; meeting this time at Harvest Community Church, PCA, in Omaha.  I often wonder what I'm doing there.

• Had a stopover party for son Sam Saturday night at my parents' house.  Noticed that that the neighbors have a scarepigeon on their roof.

• Moved daughter Anne to Auburn and got her mostly set up.  I was inexcusably negligent in the hose connecting department, and she had an unfortunate water incident the first time she used it.

• Got son Sam ready for Japan.  Found a terrific spider in the basement as we were going through things.

• Delivered Sam to OMA airport.  His commercial flight goes from OMA to Houston to Seattle.  Thence he travel US military to Japan, arriving "tomorrow" afternoon, whenever that is here ...

• Got royally whupped by a good player in the first round of the ABTL tournament.  6-0, 6-0.  I actually "won" about three points in twelve games.

• Gnashing teeth and dealing with anger issues; some clown wrecked my sweet little 1993 Dodge minivan (only 108,000 miles) and the phone number for his insurance goes nowhere.  His Ram pickup has a scratch.  And I'm walking everywhere!!?? His home phone number doesn't work and I don't know where he works.  My insurance company won't chase him down because we don't carry collision and comprehensive on that vehicle. YRRRGH!!!@#$%. 

• Wife Jana and daughter Kate leave today for a long week's trip to Kentucky, with stops in Gridley Illinois and Chicago.  Son Joe and I would be 100-percent on foot for a week (lacking the 93 minivan, see above) were it not for the pity of daughter Bess who seems agreeable to move in for a week and "do for the men folk."

How to Leave

At this point in history, our church situation is an immature mess.  Churches generally hold themselves apart from fellowship with one another, eye one another with suspicion, and have no regard for the discipline of members that other churches apply.  And since the leaders don't get along, the members are just as bad.  The typical church member holds his membership very lightly, has no serious intention of submitting to the rule of his elders, and is ready to jump ship on short notice.

Admittedly, it's hard for leaders to give full credence to everything done by leaders in other churches because of the monkeyshines in grossly disobedient churches where they do things like ordain unrepentant homosexuals, or in extremely sectarian churches, where they excommunicate you if you've got the doctrine of predestination wrong.  Likewise, it's hard for members to endure and submit when church leaders treat the church like a business, or a social agency, or a theater. So I'm certainly not saying that it is always a Christian's duty to stick it out with his congregation no matter what.

So if we admit in principle that there is a right way and a right time to leave, how do we know how and when it comes?  "When" to leave is tricky: there is some threshold issue that triggers the impulse.  I'll skip that discussion for now, in order to consider one aspect of the "how" to leave.  

Among the wrong ways to leave is "with anger."  I saw this comment in an online discussion recently that is very helpful: 

If my church decided to start using contemporary music, I would instantly leave. But I would not toss any grenades. I'd just say, "Sorry, but I can't stomach this," and go elsewhere. It's mainly the grenade-tossing that's the problem. ... The reason people have to find a BIG reason when they leave a church, is because local church membership really is covenantal. It really is a kind of a marriage. It's hard to break up and leave without pain, without crisis. So, if a couple is unhappy because the new pastor does not smell like the old one, they can't just quietly leave. They have a psychic need to come up with a reason that is at the same level as the pain they experience leaving. If they weren't much involved in the church in the first place, leaving will be easy, and the new pastor's cologne will be enough. But if they were highly involved, then there will be a lot of pain, and they will feel the need to come up with a justification for leaving that matches their level of pain. So, the new pastor is a heretic. Or, he's destroying the church. Or, he screamed at an old lady. Or, whatever. That's why these things happen.

What if we made a rule that anyone who leaves one church for another must resolve never to say anything negative about his old church?  That would be one way of revealing the sinful impulse to snipe and vent. 

Did I gripe about the store clerks at Best Buy yet?

This is how I shop.  I have an objective.  Usually pretty narrow.  I want Thing A, and I have an idea that Best Buy will have something pretty close, and I've a general idea where in the store to look.  So I go, and I have no trouble finding my place and I am looking at the options and thinking about this and that, brooding pretty intensely, doing just fine, and the blasted clerk interrupts me to chirp at me about helping me.

I'm sorry, do I LOOK like I'm at a loss?  No.  I'm just fine.  Don't interrupt. Don't hover.  Give me room.  Maybe I just want to browse.  Is that okay?  Do I have to tell you that before you'll let me do it?  It's like the customs police: what is the purpose of your visit?

Now, there are times when I want and welcome help.  But let the clerk who really wants to help wait until I'm ready for that help.  And that clerk will know that I am ready to welcome his ministrations when I look away from the merchandise and look around for the blue-polo's.  When I seek you, then you'll know I want you.

I know these poor kids are just doing what their manager has told them to do, and that that manager is telling them to do it that way because corporate Best Buy has some boneheaded policy of instant intrusion, but I wish they knew how it makes me just want to run from the store.  In fact, I have recently been making more purchases across the street at Office Depot, where they are either understaffed or  have a less predatory clerking philosophy.  

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