See God through the rearview mirror

Good morning, I pray that the day is finding you well. I woke up this morning to the sounds of crickets chirping; I thought how nice is that. After a few chirps I realized it was my alarm clock going off. I mumbled some things and then turned it off and went back to sleep. A few minutes later, crickets start chirping again. I role over turn the alarm, yes the one that I turned off a few minutes ago, and turn it off again. I guess God wanted me to get up. As I laid there awake early in the morning I realized something.....I have to go to the bathroom! This seems to gain importance as we get older. I look up to heaven and say ok, I'm getting up. So now I am sitting here in Mountain Home Idaho at a KOA camp contemplating things. When we got to the KOA camp my friend Chuck and I asked about Don, he was the guy that used to check us in. The new girl said he is retired and is not doing very well, he has cancer. We met Don a few years ago after a long ride from Yellowstone park. It was a hot and windy day. We had been riding hard and we were worn out, our bikes were out of gas, so this seemed to be the stopping point for the day. We pulled into the KOA looking rode-worn. Don greeted us in his typical Don fashion; you see Don is an old world war two veteran and retired navy. His speech and mannerisms come right out of one of those old films, you now the ones I'm talking about, he is an old sea dog. He has anchors on his forearms and hold-fast tattooed on his figures. I was in dire need of a shower, so I asked Don, "Are there showers here?" Don answers, "We got showers, they're in the poophouse." Now that isn't really what Don said, but I'm not an old sea dog. When he said this my mind immediately went to an outdoor privy with a hose attached. I am not fond of outdoor privy's. Don says, "I will show you where it is." He walks us out of the main office, across the hall to a door with a code box on it. He types in some numbers and opens the door. We walk into the most beautiful bathroom a camp ever had. It had marble floors, very spacious, air conditioned, and the best showers in the world. Don says, "Welcome to the poophouse." and smiles. I look at Don and he laughs. Laurie and I live in a house by a river. We are in the process of closing which is taking long than any of us thought it would take. At first I was wondering why. Both Laurie and I continued to feel that we where still in the middle of God's will regarding the house but could not figure out why the delays. We were coming back from our anniversary weekend, we celebrate anniversary weekends; this may sound over the top but I know someone who celebrates birthday months, so we feel an anniversary weekend is just right. As we walked to the front door we found a package. We opened the package and inside was a book, a house blessing book. Caryn, who by the way is regarded as one of the family now, gave us that book. Caryn is who we are buying the house from. I emailed Caryn to thank her; Caryn emailed back. Caryn is an amazing women of God. She said that two years before her family started praying for just the right people to buy the house. We are no longer worried about the house. It will close, everything will be alright. Jerimiah 29:11 comes to mind. "For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord, plans to prosper you, not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." As Chuck and rode yesterday we thought about Don, we thought about the poophouse. I also thought about the river house and Caryn. It is a funny thing; when you relax and just let God be God and trust in Jesus, it is amazing who you meet. Chuck and I will visit Don before we leave today. We will talk with him and pray with him. Caryn and Laurie will be praying as well, I know that. Will you pray for Don with us? Blessings,

Hootin and Hollerin at the river

Good morning, I pray that the day is finding you well. One of the best things about the house on the river is it is so peaceful. It is a place where a person can sit, relax, and learn how to breathe again. I like to say that it provides a “thin spot” to Christ. Laurie and I have chairs that face the river and we sit in them, listening to the river, reading and watching for the deer that like to cross the river near our house. It is very peaceful. It is very peaceful unless our neighbor’s nephew is having a party. Tuesday night as Laurie and I were getting ready for bed the music started. It was country western and the speakers worked very well, this is to say it was very loud. When I left Wednesday morning for work the music was still playing, Laurie told me later that it finally ended around 9am. Considering the length of time that the music played and the volume which made it impossible to disregard I will have to talk to this young buck about having more than four or five cd’s in his collection. I think I have most of the songs memorized. The thought did cross my mind at 4:30am to go over and tell them to turn the music down and stop “Hootin and Hollerin”. I was not a happy camper. Then my curiosity got the best of me and I wanted to see, just how long this would continue. As I stated earlier, I found out just how long it would go on. Wednesday, Laurie and I watched as cars started to show up at the property. We decided to go have a conversation with this group. We met the young bucks father who was pretty embarrassed and said that it would not happen again. We left on good terms and went home. I was pretty tired and frankly watching the bachelor is not my type of television so I went to bed early. I awoke at 2:30am to more “hootin and Hollerin”. I was just about to walk over and just yell, “Shut up and turn off the music!!!!!!!!!!” I just finished reading, “Walk in the Light and twenty-three tales, by Leo Tolstoy. One of his stories entitled, “A park neglected burns the house” tells of two neighbors who came into conflict over an egg. The story goes on to say how the conflict continued and became so big that eventually both homes were burned to the ground. Forgiveness, it is a word that we often talk about but is so much harder to put into action; Tolstoy’s story talks about how if they would have just resolved the issue with the egg both homes would have stood. Yet, as you read the story you see how easy it is to become myopic and narcissistic, taking a narrow view and think only of yourself. It even goes on talking to the point that the neighbor was only thinking of himself. As Christians, we are to put into action, a better way. Laurie and I have forgiven our neighbor’s nephew. We are not angry, a little tired, but not angry. We will have another conversation with him when the opportunity presents itself. However, we will do this out of love. A funny thing happens when you forgive someone whom you feel has trespassed on you. You stop thinking about it and find humor in the situation. Here is another story from another book. 21 Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?” 22 Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.[f] 23 “Therefore, the kingdom of heaven is like a king who wanted to settle accounts with his servants. 24 As he began the settlement, a man who owed him ten thousand talents[g] was brought to him. 25 Since he was not able to pay, the master ordered that he and his wife and his children and all that he had be sold to repay the debt. 26 “The servant fell on his knees before him. ‘Be patient with me,’ he begged, ‘and I will pay back everything.’ 27 The servant’s master took pity on him, canceled the debt and let him go. 28 “But when that servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii.[h] He grabbed him and began to choke him. ‘Pay back what you owe me!’ he demanded. 29 “His fellow servant fell to his knees and begged him, ‘Be patient with me, and I will pay you back.’ 30 “But he refused. Instead, he went off and had the man thrown into prison until he could pay the debt. 31 When the other servants saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed and went and told their master everything that had happened. 32 “Then the master called the servant in. ‘You wicked servant,’ he said, ‘I canceled all that debt of yours because you begged me to. 33 Shouldn’t you have had mercy on your fellow servant just as I had on you?’ 34 In anger his master turned him over to the jailers to be tortured, until he should pay back all he owed. 35 “This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive your brother from your heart.” (Matthew 18: 21-35) Love and forgiveness, two concepts we fail to totally understand. Love and forgiveness, two concepts that we continually need to work on. Love and forgiveness, two concepts that we simply need to do! Blessings,

The Red Handled Srewdriver Incident of 1974

Good morning, I pray that the day is finding you well. I do not know about you, but many people live under the old Visa moniker of, “Don’t leave home without it.” For my father it was a red handled screwdriver. There was nothing extra special about this particular screwdriver; it had a red handle, it was a Phillip’s head screwdriver with an 8” shaft. It had a logo on it, something like Craftsman or something, but it was covered with paint blotches. My dad was always doing and redoing things around the house. The house was his hobby. For most of us In farm country pliers along with the proverbial pliers belt holder, so named because it attached to one’s belt and held pliers in it, was the tool of choice. Not my dad, his tool of choice was the red handled screwdriver. He used it for: Screwing in screws. Making scratch marks on things when he measured. Opening paint cans, thus the paint blotches. Making the dent required before drilling a hole in something. Tapping a child on the head when needed, usually me. He always had his red handled screwdriver with him when he was doing a project. One day, Dad came into the house yelling, “Clare (my mom’s name) Clare, Claaaaaaaaaaaaaaare!) Mom usually waited until dad yelled, “Claaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare” before answering, I think she did this just to make sure it was not a false alarm and that she was really needed. It was either that or she just liked hearing her name in an extended format. Mom comes around the corner, the bellowing had already brought the rest of the kids into the room, when dad bellowed we would come running, it would be nice to say it was out of reverence but we were not all that well behaved. We usually came just to see what was going to transpire, cable had not been invented yet we were still amazed at the traveler’s mug invention so this was just another form of entertainment for us kids. Mom says, “You do not need to bellow, (I always thought that mom caused this behavior by waiting to answer) what do you need honey.” Dad says, “I cannot find my red handled screwdriver.” Mom says, “Have you looked for it yet?” Obviously, she was privy to some of dad’s behavioral traits that we kids were not. Dad says, “Of course I have.” Dad starts to shout orders. You need to read this next part out load, using a deep, authoritative voice; much like General Patton would have used in the Battle of the Bulge. Kids you look here. Clare you look there. When you find it let out a yell letting the others know that you have it, I will do the same. We will all meet back here in fifteen minutes if we have not found it. Go! Ok you can use your normal voice again. Dad spins on his heals to go look and that is when we found the red handled screwdriver. It was sticking out of his back pocket. He had obviously grabbed it earlier and forgotten that he already had it and had spent the next thirty minutes looking for it before he assembled the troops to look for it some more. We had an option before us. We could either tell dad that his precious screwdriver was in his back pocket, or we could remain silent. For, for whatever reason choice option “B,” we did not say a word. Dad looked for another fifteen minutes, we pretended to look for fifteen minutes, it would not have been much of a rouse if we did not pretend. At the predetermined time limit we reassembled at the staging area. Dad was distraught over the loss of his screwdriver and was beginning to pout, this usually brought on the sandwich that made everything better. That is when Katie says, “Look in your back pocket.” Then she giggles, Katie giggles like Betty Rubble for the Flintstones. If you don’t know how Betty Rubble giggles watch an episode, Katie is spot on. Katie was the chosen spokesperson for our group. She could get away with things that the rest of us could not. It was like she had secret information on Dad that gave her immunity. I am not sure what this secret immunity was because the “Ketchup Treaty of 1978” had not been established yet, but she had something, I am sure of it. Dad looks in his back pocket and sure enough there is his red handled screwdriver. Dad had become paralyzed without his red handled screwdriver. He could not even start the project without it, even though he had other screwdrivers available and a bunch of other tools. The screwdriver had become so important to him that nothing else mattered at the time. It had become his idol. Christ warns us about being too attached to “earthly things.” That having an idol is a bad thing. You see, Christ knows that if we get too attached to earthly things we become focused on the wrong stuff, like a red handled screwdriver. We spend our time looking and not doing. There is another parable of a man who found treasure in a field and sold everything that he had so that he could buy the field because he knew about the treasure. If we have Christ with us, in our back pocket so to speak, we spend our days focused on the things that Christ focusing on. If we cannot find Christ, “A dark night of the soul” experience we should look for Him and when we find Him let go of everything else so that He can be our focus. My prayer is as we go through our day that we recognize the red handled screwdrivers that are in our lives and put them in their proper place, that we let them go and replace them with Christ. Blessings,

The case of the Chicken Cup

Good morning, I pray that the day is finding you well. One of the things that I do is sit with people that are going through a particularly hard time in their life. Many times, it involves a transition of one sort or another. During these sessions, I do a lot of listening. They are looking for answers that I do not have. They always ask the question, “Why?” Growing up on the farm was very different from how we live today. Life was much slower, although we did not realize it at the time. We learned to wait. One day in early October, we decided to take a family picture. No, we did not get a professional photographer we took the picture ourselves, that is how one does it on the farm. It was a brisk autumn day and we all had our coats on. We lined up in front of the house, Boppa, who was the photographer of the day stood in front of us, giving us direction; move to the right, move to left. Katie stop making faces…you know the drill. Mom had her coffee in her hand, she had her favorite cup; when I was a kid there was no such thing as a travel mug with a lid. We all had those ceramic mugs with our favorite picture on it. We got used to drinking only a portion of what was in our cups, as most of it jostled out of the cup before we could drink it. I can still remember when somebody showed up with a traveler’s mug for the first time, “Ingenious, this is simple ingenious.” Was the usual response. “We should have thought of this, we could have made a fortune.” The fact is we were too busy to invent a traveler’s mug. We were too busy spilling our drink, complaining about spilling our drink, going to get more drink…with all that going on who has time to invent anything. Mom was holding her cup that had a picture of a chicken on it. I think the chicken was a Rode Island Red, or something, it most definitely was not Pit Silo. A coffee mug with a picture of Pit Silo picture would not improve the drinking experience at all. Boppa was getting ready to take the picture with his instamatic camera, Tinker, one of our horses who was half Shetland pony and half quarter horse, came walking into the picture; yes, she was lose on the farm. She was part of the family and tended to be wherever we were. Now Boppa had a completely new set of instructions to give us. Finely, Boppa took the shot. He said, “Cheese.” I always thought this was funny thing to say, but then that is just me. The flash goes off. If you are younger than 45 years old, you probably do not remember the instamatic camera with the magnesium flashcubes. I believe these “cubes” were responsible for early onset retinal blindness. Every time one of these “cubes” went off everyone would wander around blinded seeing nothing but dots . I am sure that if some alien was watching they would think, “What a weird ceremony?” People standing very still smiling, than a bright light goes off and these same people start wandering around with their hands out in front of them, bumping off each other and other things. I am surprised that some attorney, (I apologize in advance to all my attorney friends reading this), has not created a class action lawsuit. I can see the commercial now. “If you or any of your family members have ever had your picture taken with an instamatic camera with a magnesium flashcube, you may be entitled to a cash reward. Having one’s picture taken with an instamatic camera with a magnesium flashcube has been linked to rentinalmiophlagination, a disease associated with walking around with hands out front of you bumping off of other people.” When the picture had been taken and we could see again, mom went to take a drink of coffee from her chicken cup. It was empty. The question, “Why?” came up. Back in the old days we did not have digital cameras, we used film. Looking back, having an instamatic was not so instant after all. A typical roll had something like 35 shots on it. I could be wrong, but it had what we thought of as a lot of pictures on it. After you take a family picture, you naturally want to see the picture. I now realize where all those pictures that make you go, “Hmm.” Come from. After you take a set of pictures there was usually a few pictures left on the roll. One cannot send in a partial roll of film and waste those left over possibilities, one shoots up the rest of the roll and then pays for those pictures to be processed. A brilliant conclusion that probably is another indicator why we never invented the traveler’s mug. When I see a stack of pictures that has all these really cool pictures in it and then toward the end of the stack there are 3 or 4 pictures of dad asleep on the couch, mouth agape, arms splayed out, one leg on the floor…those are the pictures at the end of the roll. We would take the picture, finish the roll, drive into town, and turn our roll of film in at the store. The store did not have the ability to process film so they sent the film to Goodland or Denver, somewhere that had the magical film-processing machine. They would process the film, send it back to our store in town and we would pick up the pictures, simple. This process could take up to three weeks. When we got the family pictures back, complete with dad asleep on the couch. The case of the missing coffee was solved. Just when Boppa took the shot, Tinker who was standing right behind mom, reached over very gently and carefully and stuck her tongue into the chicken mug, successfully lifting the entire portion without anyone noticing. We had this really nice family picture complete with a horses tongue in a chicken cup. Often times, when I sit with people who are asking “Why?” I know that we do not have the answer right now. God will eventually, as time goes by let us see glimpses of “Why.” Christ will, if we will only submit to Him be able to use us to help others who may be going through the same thing that we had gone through before. As much as we would like to think that we do; we do not live in an instamatic world, and our faith walk is a marathon not a sprint. As I have grown in my relationship with Christ I have learned to be patient. I have learned to be less interested in “knowing right now” and am content with knowing that Christ loves us, loves me, and no matter what happens He is with us, with me. Blessings,

"A Chicken named Pit"

Good morning, I pray that the day is finding you well. I apologize for not talking with you for a few days. We have family in town and we are still getting settled into our new home; I know this is not an excuse but I guess I am looking for one and this is what I came up with. Many of you have responded to the “Ziplock incident of 1976.” Bread. I do like all the conversation. There is a group of you that seem to be really interested in the “Dreaded red handled screwdriver incident of 1974.” I will have to get around to talking about that one soon. This morning I started thinking about my favorite chicken. Back on the farm, we had a chicken. Actually, we had many chickens, geese, one rather strange one-eyed duck, Guinea hens, horses, a pet pig, sheep cats, and two dogs. The farm had a corral, barn, two cattle/ horse pens, an area that either sheep or pigs could reside in, if they were so inclined, we also had a chicken coup; our farm was more of a petting zoo and all the animals regarded themselves as part of the family. I think this was because we were not real farmers but people that liked living on a farm. We also had a pit-silo. A pit-silo is a silo that goes down instead of up. If you have ever driven along in the country and spotted a tall huge cylindrically shaped structure, that structure is a silo. If it is blue, it is a Harvester silo: one of the expensive ones; kind of like the John Deere tractors, everybody wanted a Harvester silo and a John Deere, not everyone could get them. A pit silo is just like those tall above ground silos but it is dug into the ground. Our pit silo was made out of concrete, I am not sure how deep it went, there was always silage in it. Silage is code for chopped up corn stalks and other stuff that cattle like to eat; I am glad that cattle like to eat silage because I don’ t think it tastes very good, yes I have tried it, and since cattle find it so appetizing mom did not feed it to us. We had a chicken named “Pit-silo.” She was a rather ugly chicken, as chickens go. She seemed to be in a constant state of molting, which made her look like she was not very well. She was very healthy but the bald patches made her look rather scary. We called her “Pit-silo” because she liked to nest right next to the pit-silo. She had the annoying habit of laying an egg, jumping up excitedly and promptly fall into the pit-silo. One of my jobs on the farm was to get “Pit-silo” out of the pit-silo. The silage was always around 20 ft. down from the top. My job was to climb down the ladder that was on the inside of the pit-silo and chase a chicken. Dad’s job was to lower a metal pail on a rope and after I put the chicken in the pail haul the pail up, remove the chicken and tell me to get out of the pit before the fumes would overcome me. I learned three things on my first foray in the pit-silo. First of all it is round, try cornering a chicken in a space that has no corners. Second, there are pockets in the silage. You could be running along, take your next step and poof your gone. Luckily, I sank up to my chest; still it is a bit unsettling. Third, as the silage ferments; yes, silage ferments. I think that is why cattle liked it so much; deeding time was probably “cattle happy hour.” Gases were produced which could replace the oxygen and you could literally suffocate. I was always worried about suffocating, not the suffocating part, but the funeral part. As I chased this chicken around this cylindrical structure, chickens are fast by the way. I kept thinking about my eulogy. “Roger died chasing a chicken around a pit-silo; he suffocated on fermented corn stalks.” This would be a embarrassing way for a 14 year old boy to go. Eventually I would catch the chicken, and as time went on “pit-silo” would not even run from me. She would lay her egg, get excited, fall into the pit-silo and wait patiently for me to come pick her up, place her gently into the metal pail, dad would pull her to freedom and I would climb out. An offshoot of all this pit-siloing was that “Pit-silo” would come up on the porch, and if anyone was sitting on the porch she would jump right into their lap for a pet. The real farmers would come over and just shake their heads at this family sitting on the porch with a featherless chicken on one lap, a cat in another, a dog resting on the porch, and a pig lying on its back in the lawn. As I sit here at the YMCA, my office is right by the welcome center. I listen to the conversations as people come in. Many of the conversations are about lives that resemble my chasing a chicken in a pit-silo. Another way to look at it is, “life on a hamster wheel.” What I love about our welcome center is that after listening to these gripes, which are actually cries for help, the staff talks about how the “Y” is a place to let the world flow off their backs. People come and workout, they come to sit and read, they come to decompress; we are welcoming community of people that are not so interested in what a person looks like on the outside, we are more interested on what they look like on the inside. We look past “pit-silo’s” and see the beauty of the heart within. “Pit-silo” eventually learned to not fall into the pit. Her feathers grew in and she was a beautiful on the outside as she was on the inside. We see the same thing here at the YMCA; people healing inside, people becoming healthy which shows on the outside too. If you have not been in a YMCA lately, check it out. Chances are there is a place for you. 20 “My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, 21 that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. (John 17:20-21) I look forward to seeing you. Blessings,

The ZipStrip incident of 1976

Good morning, I pray that the day is finding you well. I woke up this morning to the sound of pitter-pat; rain falling softly on the roof of our house. I was cozy in my bed and thought how wonderful it is to be snuggly warm with rain falling softly on the roof. That is when I realized that Laurie and I had moved all the stuff from the garage outside so that an inspector could come and look at the garage. A few days ago we had received an email stating that “they” would like to look at the garage and we needed to move our “stuff” outside so that the inspection could take place. The email went on to say that “they” could not properly inspect the garage because of all our “stuff.” I responded that we would be happy to comply, and that we are more than willing to move our “stuff” outside for the event. I reminded them that the “stuff” was our belongings and we would rather put our “stuff” outside on a sunny day. After much scheduling the decision was made for today, since the weather reports showed sunny weather. Last night Laurie and I moved our “Stuff.” In case you are wondering why I keep putting stuff in quotation marks, it is not because I think it is particularly fun to say; in fact, I could find many other words that are more fun and paint the same picture. It is because I found the term more than a little insensitive. The email could have been written, “We would like to inspect your garage. We will not be able to do a thorough inspection because of the limited access that we have. If you would be willing to help us by moving your belongings to a temporary location for the inspection we would greatly appreciate it.” When I was a kid growing up in Kansas my dad would take on projects that initially I would think had a low chance of success. Here is a short list of things my dad tackled: Red; no, not the color but an old appaloosa horse that had been foundered. Foundered is a term used to describe a horse that had become lame because there hooves had grown so long that they actually walk on the frogs of their feet. Needless to say, without going into what frogs are, Red could not walk. Dad bought him, we carried him into the trailer and brought him home. I thought dad was nuts. Changing a duplex into one large home. Stucco; a term that describes a lath and plaster system of ceilings and walls. Just think, “I wonder what they used before they invented drywall, “stucco.” Installing a hot water heating system all by himself. One day dad was stripping paint off one of the window sills of this duplex turned huge house and I walked in. He turns to me and says, “Do me a favor and go to Milton’s and get some zipstrip.” Milton’s was the name of the lumber yard in town, it was named after Milton Lampe, the guy who owned it. Otherwise known as Lampe hardware. As I think back to my little town, most of the shops had people’s names in them. I had learned over time, mostly from the redhandled screwdriver incident of 1974, to ask clarifying questions. I asked, “How much zipstrip do you need?” Dad, who was obviously frustrated said, “You know how much I need, just go get me some blankity-blank zipstrip.” So I did. I drove the pickup to Milton’s. I walked into the office and said, “I need all the zipstrip you can spare.” Milton looked at me, seeing that I was more than just a little tweaked said, “What’s going on Roger?” I recounted the story and told him my plan. Milton laughed and said, “Let’s go to the warehouse.” We loaded all the zipstrip that he had, everything from pint cans to 5-gallon buckets. Milton said, “Just bring back what you don’t need, and tell me how it goes.” I get back to the house and I walk in with a little pint can of zipstrip. Dad who had cooled off while I was gone said, “Thank you.” I said, “No problem.” And went back to the pickup to unload the rest. Dad watched in fascination as I proceeded to unload into the house enough zipstrip to strip the paint on every house in our little town. A smile came to his face and he said he was sorry for overreacting to a simple question; especially since the red handled screwdriver incident of 1974. Dad even went back to Lampe Hardware to help me return the ziptrip. Milton had a good laugh. Dad thought it was pretty funny too. I remembered the zipstrip incident of 1976 as I read the email about our “stuff.” The thought occurred to me that I might find some way to make him pay for his insolence. I am much older now and have hopefully learned a little during my life. One of the benefits of memorizing scripture is it tends to come to mind when you are faced with things. This scripture came to mind. “A kind man benefits himself,
  but a cruel man brings trouble on himself.”(Proverbs 11:17) Laurie and I ran outside and covered everything with tarps, the blue ones. We are grateful that the inspections are being done. We are thankful that Christ is in our lives. Christ gives us the ability to see things differently; to not get upset over trivialities. I thank God that thru Christ there will not be another zipstrip style incident of 1976. Blessings,

Thank God for parking meters...Say what?

Good morning, I pray that the day is finding you well. When I got here today, I was not sure what I was going to talk with you about. I went about my normal morning routine. I talked with staff. I talked with members. I checked in on people, and listened to their stories. I was getting ready for a meeting that I was going to have this morning with a friend. I left the “Y” and drove to my meeting. When I got there, there was a parking spot open close by, and it had one of those old parking meters, you know the ones that actually take coinage. I actually prefer the old ones to the new ones. There are few things more aggravating to me than to put in a credit card for parking. The simple act of putting a dollar or two on a credit card goes against my grain. Throw in the much too often-times-happening; I’m not really sure this is good English, in fact I am quite sure it isn’t, but it was fun to say non-the-less. Scanner malfunction, accompanied by the uncertainty that I am not being charged multiple times as I reinsert my card, over and over again. All the while wondering if some hoodlum is going to come up behind me, hit me over the head, and run off with my card. It’s the hitting me over the head part that worries me the most. I can always cancel my card, which is a real pain, but I can, so the hitting over the head is the real dangerous part of the deal. As you can see, I have many reasons that make me like the old-time parking meters. Even when the occasional meter is broken, I know it immediately and I can move my car, which is less aggravating to me than holding my card out for every Tom- Dick and Harry to see. I park my car in West Vancouver at one of those old-time parking meters, and what do I find? I find a little button on the side of the parking meter. I push the button; that is what buttons are for, pushing, so I push it. Low and behold, it gives me 20 free minutes. How cool is that! I am not really sure of the business plan behind the 20 free minutes; I am sure that there is an MBA out there somewhere ready to critique the whole idea, just as I am sure there is another MBA out there thinking, “Ingenious.” I did not go down any of those roads. I thought, “This is a wonderful blessing, a gift from the city of Vancouver to those that park downtown. I was talking with a staff member the other day and he asked me about faith, and seeing God. We talked for quite a while. I told him that it is easy to see God in blue Skies and puffy clouds. The trick is when you start seeing him in mud puddles, or parking meters. The definition of Grace is, “Something freely given, when there is no chance of obtaining it yourself and no possible method of repayment.” Believe it or not, that parking meter gave me grace. I bet if you look up the business plan for these parking meters the term “Grace period” is in there. If an inanimate object can bring grace to the forefront, I wonder what we could do if we gave it just a little thought. Blessings,