Humour

At least one way of measuring the freedom of any society is the amount of comedy that is permitted, and clearly a healthy society permits more satirical comment than a repressive, so that if comedy is to function in some way as a safety release then it must obviously deal with these taboo areas. This is part of the responsibility we accord our licensed jesters, that nothing be excused the searching light of comedy. If anything can survive the probe of humour it is clearly of value, and conversely all groups who claim immunity from laughter are claiming special privileges which should not be granted

- Eric Idle -

Evil and Anger

The knowledge of evil is something which the first man acquired; it was not something that the prophets had to discover. Their great contribution to humanity was the discovery of the evil of indifference. One may be decent and sinister, pious and sinful. I am my brother's keeper. One of the meanings of the anger of God: the end of indifference!

- Abraham Joshua Heschel -

Evil

If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?

- Alexander Solzhenitsyn -

Parting with Tradition

Bayer Corporation has stopped putting the cotton wads in their Genuine Bayer bottles. The company realised the aspirin would hold up fine without the maddening white clumps, which it had included since about 1914.
"We concluded there really wasn't any reason to keep the cotton except tradition," said Chris Allen, Bayer's vice president of technical operations. "Besides, it's hard to get out."
Longstanding traditions in the church may well create more hardship than help.

Vegetarians Who Like Sausage

Are you interested in being a vegetarian, but concerned that you might not be able to adjust? Not to worry… you can become a flexitarian.
As vegetarianism gains in popularity and increases its market niche, a variation has developed. The flexitarian is a person who eats primarily vegetables, but also indulges occasionally with meat.
The designation fits people like 28-year-old Christy Pugh, who says, "I usually eat vegetarian. But I really like sausage." Christy says, "Sometimes I feel like I'm a bad vegetarian, that I'm not strict enough or good enough. I really like vegetarian food, but I'm just not 100 percent committed."

source unknown

Stewardship and the Swiss Watchmaker Slogan

Known for their luxury watches, Swiss watchmaker Patek Philippe has also become well-known for its clever advertising slogan: "You never actually own a Patek Philippe; you merely take care of it for the next generation."
So it is with what we "own": money, gifts, ministries, time, and our very lives.

source unknown

A Greater Power

Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around

- Leo Buscaglia -

Olympian Hits Wrong Target

Matt Emmons had the gold medal in sight. He was one shot away from claiming victory in the 2004 Olympics 50-metre three-position rifle event. He didn't even need a bull's-eye to win. His final shot merely needed to be on target.
Normally, the shot he made would have received a score of 8.1, more than enough for a gold medal. But in what was described as "an extremely rare mistake in elite competition," Emmons fired at the wrong target. Standing in lane two, he fired at the target in lane three. His score for a good shot at the wrong target? Zero. Instead of a medal, Emmons ended up in eighth place. It doesn't matter how accurate you are if you are aiming at the wrong goal.

source unknown

Need for fathers

Famed rapper Tupac Shakur is profiled in a raw documentary detailing his short, tragic life. Raised in a New York City ghetto, Shakur personified the violent lifestyle depicted in his music. In 1996, Tupac was gunned down in a drive-by shooting.
What was the reason for the drugs, shootings, and prison time? Shakur said, "I blame my father, 'cuz he left me.
"My real father was a Black Panther. But when I was growing up, I never knew who my real father was, for sure. My stepfather was a gangster, a straight-up street hustler. My mom got a kid, but he didn't even care: 'Oh that's my son.' He took care of me, gave me money. But he was a criminal too out there doing his own thing. And he came and brought me money and left. I know for a fact if I had a father, I'd have some discipline. I'd have more confidence. Your mother can't calm you down the way a man can. Your mother can't reassure you the way a man can. Your mother can't show you where your manhood was. You need a man to teach you how to be a man."

source unknown

The Count of Monte Cristo

Set-up: The Count of Monte Cristo tells the story of Dantes, who is unjustly accused and sentenced to life in France's most dreaded prison. After 13 years he escapes, becomes wealthy, and then seeks revenge on those who ruined his life. Throughout the movie Dantes struggles deeply with his belief in God, moving from a simple faith to a loss of faith, and finally to a mature faith.
During his years in prison, Dantes makes friends with a priest whose godly influence has great impact on Dantes' spiritual understanding. Together they dig a tunnel to escape, but just before it's completed, a cave-in injures the priest.
As he lies dying on the stone floor of his cell, the priest gives Dantes a treasure map that he'd hidden all his years in prison, which later makes Dantes wealthy. But it's the priest's final words that stick with Dantes forever.
Scene (show or tell): "When they asked me about the treasure of Sparta, I lied," the priest confesses.
"You lied?" Dantes asks.
"I'm a priest, not a saint." [Then the priest tells Dantes how to use the map to find the hidden treasure.]
"When you escape," the priest continues, "use the treasure for good. Only for good."
"No," Dantes says angrily. "I will surely use it for my revenge."
"This is your final lesson. Do not commit the crime [the priest struggles for a breath] do not commit the crime for which you now serve the sentence. God said, 'Vengeance is mine.'"
"But I don't believe in God," Dantes says.
"It doesn't matter," the priest responds with a smile. "He believes in you."
Conclusion: Moments later the priest dies and Dantes escapes. Not only do the priest's words help Dantes discover the treasure, they help Dantes rediscover the God who is faithful even when we are faithless. As Romans 8:31 says, "God is for us."

source unknown

Husband Uses Air Raid Siren to Silence Wife

A man from Berlin, Germany, took an unusual approach in trying to bring peace to his marriage. CNN reported that the man was using an old air raid siren to stun his wife into submission.
"My wife never lets me get a word in edgeways," the man identified as Vladimir R. told the police. "So I crank up the siren and let it rip for a few minutes. It works every time. Afterwards, it's real quiet again."
The 73-year-old man's 220-volt rooftop siren was confiscated by police after neighbours filed complaints.
 As for his wife of 32 years, she said "My husband is a stubborn mule, so I have to get loud."

"Man Uses Air Raid Siren to Quiet Wife", CNN.com (April 19, 2003)

Super Bowl Ads Warn Against Snap Judgments

Two of the best commercials shown during Super Bowl XXXIX were sponsored by Ameriquest Mortgage Company. Both had the same message: "Don't judge too quickly."
In one ad, a convenience store shopper is standing at the counter and talking on his cell phone. He says to the person on the other end, "You're getting robbed."; The two clerks hear those words and react by squirting the man with pepper spray, slugging him with a baseball bat, and then zapping him with an electric cattle prod.
In the second commercial, a man is preparing a romantic dinner. He chops vegetables with a large knife, while tomato sauce simmers on the stove. A white cat knocks the pan of sauce onto the floor and then falls into the mess. Just as the man picks up his tomato-splattered cat, his wife opens the door. She sees him holding a cat dripping with red sauce in one hand and a large knife in the other. The scene appears to be unmistakably horrific. As these ads show, things aren't always as they first appear.

source unknown

Thai Tribe Saved from Killer Tsunami by Elders

The Morgan sea gypsies are a small tribe of 181 fishermen who spend much of the year on their boats fishing in the Andaman Sea from India to Indonesia and back to Thailand. In December, though, they live in shelters on the beaches of Thailand. In December 2004, in the hours before the killer Tsunami crashed ashore, the Morgan sea gypsies were living on those beaches. They were in harm's way and would have likely all perished—had they not listened to their elders.
For generations, the elders of the tribe had passed along one piece of wisdom. The tribe's 65-year-old village chief Sarmao Kathalay says, "The elders told us that if the water recedes fast it will reappear in the same quantity in which it disappeared."
And that is exactly what happened. The sea drained quickly from the beach, leaving stranded fish flopping on the shore. How easy it would have been for those who live off of the sea to run down where the water had been minutes ago and fill every basket available with fish. Some people did just that in other areas of South Thailand. Not the Morgan sea gypsies. When the water receded from the beach, the tribal chief ordered every one of the 181 tribal members to run to a temple in the mountains of South Surin Island. When the waters crashed ashore, the 181 sea gypsies were safe on high ground.

"How 'Sea Gypsies' Survived the Tsunami."

Associated Press, December 31, 2004, http://cbs2chicago.com/topstories/topstories_story_001002424.html

Joni Eareckson Tada's Wedding Day

Joni Eareckson Tada, who was paralysed in a diving accident as a teenager, draws parallels between her wedding day, the Christ's love for his church.
I felt awkward as my girlfriends strained to shift my paralysed body into a cumbersome wedding gown. No amount of corseting and binding my body gave me a perfect shape. The dress just didn't fit well. Then, as I was wheeling into the church, I glanced down and noticed that I'd accidentally run over the hem of my dress, leaving a greasy tire mark. My paralysed hands couldn't hold the bouquet of daisies that lay off-center on my lap. And my chair, though decorated for the wedding, was still a big, clunky gray machine with belts, gears, and ball bearings. I certainly didn't feel like the picture-perfect bride in a bridal magazine.
I inched my chair closer to the last pew to catch a glimpse of Ken in front. There he was, standing tall and stately in his formal attire. I saw him looking for me, craning his neck to look up the aisle. My face flushed, and I suddenly couldn't wait to be with him. I had seen my beloved. The love in Ken's face had washed away all my feelings of unworthiness. I was his pure and perfect bride.
How easy it is for us to think that we're utterly unlovely—especially to someone as lovely as Christ. But he loves us with the bright eyes of a Bridegroom's love and cannot wait for the day we are united with him forever.

This We Believe: The Good News of Jesus Christ for the World, (Zondervan) p. 222

Pickler Finds Satisfaction in the Process

Rick Field is a 41-year-old bachelor, with degrees from Andover and Yale, who has decided to spend his life making pickles. The career change came after losing his job producing a National Public Radio program.
When Field announces his occupation at parties, the responses are interesting. "People will come up to me and say, 'So what do you do?' and I'll say, 'I'm a pickler,' and they'll say, 'But I mean, like, what do you do?'"
 His foray into pickling began as a hobby, "immersing cucumbers, cauliflower, string beans and other vegetables in experimental brines infused with ingredients like rosemary, wasabi or curry. One of the inventions now in his line is a sliced bread-and-butter pickle called Bee 'n' Beez that derives its sweetness not from sugar but from coconut, dried cherries and ginger."
At the International Pickle Festival, Field has won best in show 10 times, the first was for his Windy City Wasabean, a string bean incubated in a brine flavored with soy and wasabi. One of his few failures came when he gave in to the demand for an especially fiery pickle. Field used hot peppers, including African bird's-eye chilies. "They were awful," he recalled, "and what I wound up with were two cases of paperweights."
Field's method of pickle creation involves heating the brine to 190 degrees. The brine is poured into a Mason jar with the vegetable. The jar is then put in a bath of hot water, sealed, and stored. The pickles are ready for consumption in a few weeks.
Giving his perspective on pickles, Field said, "The world is incredibly crazy and complicated, and at some point I started to feel as if there was something very satisfying about putting something in a jar, looking at it, closing it, tucking it away, watching it, giving it to someone and moving on." This is not unlike what God calls us to do with our burdens, failures, and anxieties. Gather them up, give them to him, and move on.

source unknown

Coma Patient Miraculously Recovers

Lindsey O'Connor was in the midst of a two-month coma, brought on by complications from childbirth. Her family was told to expect brain damage and believed her death was only a matter of time.
Her husband Tim faced the possibility of a brain-damaged wife, and caring single-handedly for five children, including a newborn. Meanwhile, Lindsey lived in a shadowland of nightmares, awareness and utter frustration. She writes:
I remember Tim holding one of my hands, a neurologist the other, and telling me to squeeze their hands. Unable to do so or to speak, I felt my brain screaming, "Why can't I do this? Maybe I'm dying." Later, my inability to use the call button left me banging a spoon on the bedside table for an hour and a half. No one came. They thought it was the repetitive motor response of a brain-damaged woman.
Two weeks after the initial dance on the edge came a death vigil. As I lay dying, the respirator whirred, pumping air into my lifeless-looking body and then sucking it out. … My limbs were blue and as cold as refrigerated meat. It did not look like I had any upper-level brain function. I was expected to die before morning.
I later learned that 40 or more friends and relatives stood vigil in the waiting room. … Susan, one of my best friends, looked at my gray, barely recognizable body and said, "Death is ugly, isn't it?" … My dad touched my feet and said, "I taught these feet how to walk." He agreed with Tim as he made end-of-life decisions.
Tim anguished over what to do, issuing conditional Do Not Resuscitate orders and rescinding them repeatedly. Then one day, Lindsey woke up. It was weeks before she could speak, but she was going to live.
I went into the hospital on August 30, 2002, and came home just before Christmas, still unable to walk or breathe on my own. In spite of daily physical effects of the trauma, I've learned that radical obedience (in my case, having a baby at 40) is worth any cost, that prayer is inconceivably important, that miracles still happen, and that I have a faith worth dying for. 

Lindsey O'Connor, "While I Was Sleeping," Christianity Today (February 2004), p. 44

Blind Faith Takes a Back Pew in Wellbeing List

by Linda Morris, Religious Affairs Reporter; Age December 11, 2004

Churchgoers who carefully wrestle with their faith have a greater sense of wellbeing than those who uncritically hold to their beliefs, groundbreaking research has found.
The first comprehensive Australian study to investigate the relationship between community wellbeing and religious and spiritual orientation supports a growing body of overseas evidence that a spiritual framework is good for your personal health and that of the community.
But the benefits might be more marginal for those who have blindly inherited their faith from parents or have adopted them from another culture.
The study, a project of the National Church Life Survey, Edith Cowan University, Deakin University and Anglicare Sydney, surveyed 1514 people across Australia to map the relationship between spirituality and wellbeing.
It concluded that those with a spiritual outlook were more positive, more generous with their money and time, and exhibited a greater sense of purpose in life than those with a "here and now" mindset.
Peter Kaldor, the principal author, says the exploration of spirituality appears important to a healthy society. But the more eclectic nature of alternative religions might not provide as clear a framework for living as mainstream faiths.
"Of all the groups across the spiritual spectrum, it is those who are reflectively religious who have the highest purpose in life. They are also the ones that are going to give voluntary service and give to charities," Dr Kaldor said. "They also register higher than average levels of personal growth."
But how a person arrived at their beliefs appeared important to their likely levels of growth, sense of purpose and contribution to others in the community, he said.
"There is a caveat, and the caveat is that those who are non-reflectively religious have much lower levels of personal growth, lower levels of purpose in life than the reflectively religious and are nowhere near as involved in giving to community life.
"While a smaller group than the reflectively religious, and still with a greater sense of purpose and contribution than those with a here and now mindset, this group shows how different the various approaches to spirituality may be."
Increasingly, Australians were "looking around the spiritual supermarket" for things that made sense and gave them an anchor, he said.
"We are trying to go on a journey that in times past may have been inherited, we may have been born Presbyterian or we came from a certain culture."
Some people "go on a journey carefully and reflectively like sitting beside a placid lake and some of us might go on a spiritual adventure more like bungee jumping; 'let's journey to the edges for the experience of what we might find out there'."
Most Australians (74 per cent) believe in God or a spirit, higher power or life force, two-thirds say a spiritual life is important to them and a third pray or meditate at least weekly.
However, the churches argue that the decline in active religious life has coincided with rising rates of divorce, greater isolation, less involvement in community organisations, declining levels of trust in organisations and a widespread sense of insecurity.
The national president of the Uniting Church, the Reverend Dean Drayton, said the survey served as a telling reminder to the church that getting people to engage in the journey was as important as the journey itself. "We know that today people still search for that something extra in their lives," Dr Drayton said. "Despite the growth in material wealth and consumerism, people still sense the emptiness and lack of fulfilment they did 2000 years ago."

Trade-offs?

How would you describe the difference between modern war and modern industry - between, say, bombing and strip mining, or between chemical warfare and chemical manufacturing? The difference seems to be only that in war the victimisation of humans is directly intentional and in industry it is "accepted" as a "trade-off"

- Wendell Berry -

Missing King Kong

Why do some people see opportunities others miss? In the book Did You Spot the Gorilla? psychologist Richard Wiseman describes an experiment that provides a clue: Volunteers watched a 30-second video of two teams playing basketball. They were asked to count the number of times one of the teams passed the ball. What they weren't told was that halfway through the video, a man dressed in a gorilla suit would run onto the court, stand in front of the camera, and beat his chest. Amazingly, only a few of the volunteers spotted the man in the gorilla suit. Most were so intent on counting passes that they completely missed the gorilla.
Wiseman concluded that most people go through life so focused on the task at hand they completely miss "gorilla" opportunities.
He gives the example of a team of 3M researchers who were trying to develop a high-strength adhesive. One of their attempts produced a product that was actually the opposite - a very low-strength adhesive. Most of the team thought the result was a failure, but one saw it as an opportunity. That failure became the glue on 3M Post-It Notes.
If we aren't careful, we can be so fixated on the mundane, that we miss God-given opportunities of significance.

source unknown

Call Him Superman

If your name was Superman would you expect to get picked on? Swedish tax authorities thought so and declined a request by Sara Leisten to name her newborn son after the superhero. The officials were following legislation giving them veto power over names. They nixed Staalman (Superman) citing its potential to attract ridicule later in life.
The decision prompted complaints of inconsistency in applying the law. Previously, names such as Batman, Tarzan, and Bebben (after a soccer star) have been permitted. Other names refused were Bajen (a soccer team) and Asterix.
The boy's parents wanted this name for their son because he was born with one arm pointing skyward, posed in the way Superman flies. Leisten plans to re-apply, this time with the name Staalmannen (The Superman). If it is approved, one thing is clear, little Superman would have a name he can never live up to.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/3701802.stm (September 29, 2004)

Disabled Surfer Stays Joyful Amidst Adversity

Bethany Hamilton, once ranked as the best amateur teen surfer in Hawaii, lost an arm to a tiger shark in October 2003. Both her compassion and competitiveness, however, have reached a new level.
Soon after the attack she began to raise money to restore a man's eyesight. While visiting New York City, she gave her ski coat to homeless girl. When asked about the gift, she said she had more than she needed in life.
Referring to her competitiveness, the story in USA Today states: "As always, Hamilton remains undaunted. She has told her father that if having only one arm proved detrimental to reaching the top in competitive surfing, then she'd see about playing soccer."
Her pastor, Steve Thompson, said, "She's looking forward to the future. She's asking herself, 'How can I show the world I still have a life, that I enjoy my life, and that my life is filled with joy?' She has an underlying trust that God is taking care of her."

Jill Lieber, "Teen Surfer Riding Wave of Amazing Grace" USA Today (March 19, 2004)

Destiny

I don't know what your destiny will be, but one thing I do know: the only ones among you who will be really happy are those who have sought and found how to serve

- Albert Schweitzer -

Billy Graham's Prayer Changed Flight Patterns

I remember the first time my older son Jim and I worked as counselors with the Billy Graham Crusade. It was at Shea Stadium in New York. The airplanes from La Guardia Airport flew over the stadium, dozens by the hour.
On the opening night of training, the Reverend Billy Graham started talking with us from the podium as the engines roared overhead. He paused, glanced up and quietly said, "We'll have to do something about this noise. This just won't do." He bowed his head and said a simple prayer to the effect: "Lord, we ask you to shift the wind and send these planes in another direction. Thank You. Amen."
Well, we were believers, but this was a tall order. We weren't sure what, if anything, to expect. But God did it—he answered our prayers in a wondrous way! The morning newspaper reported that the winds had changed during the night, and the airplanes over Shea Stadium had to be routed another way. For several days thereafter, thousands of people came to Christ under this anointed leader's preaching. At the conclusion of the crusade, the winds reverted to their normal flow, and the airplanes returned to their normal flight patterns.

Bobbye Byerly, Miracles Happen When Women Pray (Regal, 2002, p. 20)

Words at Home

The words a father speaks to his children in the privacy of the home are not overheard at the time, but, as in whispering galleries, they will be clearly heard at the end and by posterity.

- Jean Paul Richter

Just one...

I am only one,

But still I am one.

I cannot do everything,

But still I can do something;

And because I cannot do everything,

I will not refuse to do the something that I can do

- Edward Everett Hale

Error

We do not err because truth is difficult to see. It is visible at a glance. We err because this is more comfortable

- Alexander Solzhenitsyn -

Cure

The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea

- Isak Dinesen -

Loyalty

To be sure, the dog is loyal. But why, on that account, should we take him as an example? He is loyal to man, not to other dogs

- Karl Kraus -

Where Did My Mind Go?

How one pastor faced the loss of … well … ah …
by Chris Maxwell
He spoke with honesty. Confessing what he can no longer do, describing how his gifts have departed, admitting new fears and weaknesses, his testimony did not proclaim peace. It told of pain, of pressure, of depression.
"Why do I have to take this medicine?" he asked. "I've prayed for many others to be healed, then watched God miraculously change them. He healed them. Not me."
His name is known. His accomplishments have amazed people. Now he struggles to perform tasks that felt so simple before. Doubt and defeat appear housed nearby.
I listened. We cried.
I encouraged him to release those hurts. I have him keeping a journal to avoid denial or despair. He meets with friends who accept the new man as he is.
And he talks to me. Why? Because of my counseling degree or my gift of encouragement? No. My talents or title didn't open his heart. My sickness did. When he heard me speak about a life-changing experience, he felt I would relate.
My new unwanted identity That's the way it is now. People call me because I've lost my mind, or a least an important part of it. TV and radio hosts interview me and promote my book, Beggars Can Be Chosen. But what do they really want to know? About my brain damage, about how it feels to have seizures, about my MRI results, about my forgetfulness.
I'm not asked to speak about how I've maintained good relationships with my three sons or how I communicate consistently with my wife. Reporters and editors, pastors and congregations want to ask: Does it embarrass your sons to regularly remind you of their names? How does your wife feel when you pause in a conversation because you can't pronounce a simple, common phrase? What do people in the congregation think when they call and hear, "No, the pastor isn't available now; he is resting"?
Several years ago an illness changed me. I had viral encephalitis. Ten days in the hospital, months of therapy, a lifetime of tests and medicine. Now, under the category of epilepsy, the "new me" is a man I would not have chosen to be.
Now I know about aphasia: because of injuries or disease, weakness mentally to grasp or gather.
The former me had no trouble spelling. The new me thanks God for spell check. This brain once had no trouble remembering names or memorizing Scripture. Now? Our members remind me of their names; my three sons repeat what their father forgets; my wife works to accept her new husband who goes by the same name but isn't the man she married.
Know more by knowing less? What a learning experience. New words. Illustrations. I play games to track numbers, rules, or order. The poster at my clinic gave this prophetic utterance: "An impairment of the power to use or comprehend words, usually acquired as a result of a stroke, and sometimes from head injury or brain tumor." They needed my picture beside it.
V.S. Ramachandran's words in "Phantoms in the Brain" mirrored my thoughts: "Parts …. had forever vanished, lost in patches of permanently atrophied brain tissue."
Therapists evaluated, tested, tricked, trained, and drilled my removal of skills. They reached conclusions: "Mr. Maxwell demonstrated mild anomic aphasia marked by word retrieval difficulty, reduced spelling ability, and difficulty taking on new information. Mr. Maxwell needs speech and language treatment to target these deficit areas."
Viral encephalitis affected my left temporal lobe, causing deterioration of nerves within the brain. My new weak points included language, learning, and memory. A friend said, "He is more real, more sincere."
How can brain infection, abnormal electrical discharge of neurons, and flaws in perception and memory make a man more real? Good question.
New obstacles, new limits I have many of those and other questions.
Will I remember to order chicken soup when the waitress calls my name? Do they giggle at my rhythmic reminder as I order a six-inch-turkey-sub-on-wheat with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, oil, and oregano?
How many times will I walk around a baseball stadium, an airport, or a business center searching for my car?
During my sermons do I admit that I can't remember what to say next, or do I pretend the Spirit inspired my stall? Do people realize my PowerPoint presentations help me, the speaker, more than them, the listeners?
Are my three sons holding anger because their dad gives them a look, expecting them to tell him someone's name?
My wife, Debbie, described my illness to those who never knew the prior me. I was pleased she talked with honesty. I thanked her as I typed and cried.
"This is my second marriage," she said. "God switched husbands on me in the fifteenth year of our marriage." I later wanted, or thought I wanted, to know more. I asked Deb, "Describe your second marriage."
"You have a totally different sense of humor," she said. "You go to bed early instead of watching movies at night. We go to meetings in separate vehicles because I want to stay longer than you can. I need to fill in the blank and depend on my memory more because you forget so often. You have the most trouble remembering peoples' names. You are more emotional, crying more often than you ever did. It is difficult communicating."
Okay. I asked, "Is that all?"
"No," she answered. "You are not flexible at all about schedules."
Since men need a little ego boost, and since I was desperate for at least one positive point, I pleaded for a more balanced synopsis.
"Yes, in some ways you are better. You're less inhibited; you are willing to say anything you feel you should say, but you say it carefully. You are more aware of what you eat."
Dr. Hal Pineless, my neurologist, described my new situation and some of the intangible factors: "Faith in God gave you the realization he would get you through. You were motivated. Stubbornness helped. You set goals, letting nothing get in your way. You also have a supportive wife, family, and church."
He said, "You now have epilepsy. You need to use memory devices like your Palm Pilot. Remember what Clint Eastwood says in the Dirty Harry movies, 'man's got to know his limitations.'"
My first reaction is that the word limitations is a curse. How can I view it as a blessing? A divine calling, a sincere desire to do good, and an inner longing to succeed all inform me that limitations must be overcome. I can't accept it. This "limitation" is sheer disability. To accept it feels like giving up hope, giving up my calling as a pastor and leader. So at first, I want to act as though I'm not what I am.
In time, however, I realized that each of us, in our own areas of sickness and weakness and doubt, relate to the apostle Paul as he correctly faced his own limitations. I noticed that he had serious setbacks while still remaining true to his Director. Though I struggled to read, Paul's confession (2 Cor. 11:24-30) hit the headlines of my new mind: lashes five times, rods, stones, shipwrecks, swimming in the sea at night, on the move, in danger, needing sleep, starving, naked? Elsewhere he describes a "thorn in the flesh" that God did not remove, despite his repeated prayers.
So now I work to join Paul, boasting of weaknesses, acknowledging the sufficiency of God's grace, and trusting the God who "chose the weak things of the world to confound the strong."
What I want to do, I do not When blood flow, neural activity, and mental modification seem to labor in vain, what is occurring? Brain cells arrive at birth in a lifetime supply. Portions of mine remain permanently on pause. A word I expect to say transforms into an unrelated word before my mouth tosses it through the air. A name I said four sentences before sits, hides, and refuses to allow me to locate it until I ask for help, feel embarrassed, and wonder why others think it is no big deal. Previously memorized Scripture keeps its distance.
I'm a different, unique me. But what are the real positives?
I previously taught a congregation to care, to use gifts, to serve. Then, during a season not planned or directed by our strategic visionary management, they got their chance. And many of our people applied those principles as I stuttered, struggled, and wondered why.
A speech therapist reworked my thinking on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Doctors rescued me and became my friends.
Garrett had attended college with me and then served as a leader in our church. When I returned home from the hospital, he watched me weekly, like a babysitter. Maybe he just enjoyed the food our friends brought. Or maybe he knew Debbie needed time away from her new husband.
People cared. Mowing grass, writing letters, cutting hair, serving food, driving this new Chris who wasn't allowed to drive for five months. None cheered when I drove three months too soon. Their rebukes revealed their love.
How do vanished parts of a pastor change a church?
My congregation knew me. At least, the old me. Suddenly, without election or debate, they had a new pastor. Same name, same wife, same sons. Similar, but unlike their former Chris. This one cried daily, paused often, and struggled to remember. This teacher needed to be taught. PowerPoint outlines, Palm Pilot dependence, no calls at certain times: my college professors never informed me we would one day make radical changes for mere survival.
Mary, a writer and counselor and friend, described her new pastor: "It is the strangest thing I have ever seen in my life. Chris can't remember names or words. It's like the 'name file' on the computer of his brain has been deleted. He would know you if he saw you. He just wouldn't be able to remember your name."
The church staff watched me weep, listened to me ramble, helped me spell, and reminded me of names, words, plans. Our secretaries didn't just type and answer calls and copy. They tried to discern how to help. Ministers, leaders, parishioners, prayer warriors, and those who rushed away when their pastor lost his mind all facilitated by reminding me of reality. Sadness and confusion blended with acceptance. Rejection stood beside agape love.
New opportunities God, though, had more medicine I needed. I still need it. I've finally learned to use this emotional madness in the river of gladness. Laughter really does do good like a medicine.
Relatives sent a t-shirt. It announced the new me: "Insufficient Memory at This Time." It should have included my picture. We laughed.
Others mean well when telling me, "Oh, I forget all the time," or "I never could remember names," or "It's not your illness; you are just getting old." My face smiles. My heart doesn't. I think, Age didn't do this; it happened to a man in his thirties; it dove in quickly, altering everything.
But instead of pouting, I joke. Often I'll tell the true story of me walking out during the night of my "near-death experience," carrying tubes and preaching sermons no one understood. I wasn't, let's say, dressed for the occasion.
When I visited that hospital before my illness, the hospital staff called me "Reverend." After that midnight madness, they called me "the preacher with the cute butt." They still laugh. So do I. I forget for a moment about my forgetting.
Naps? People from many countries let America's work-all-day philosophy rob them of their traditional, midday Sabbath. I have no choice. I fade. I shake. I know. Those around me know: naptime. An honor? A privilege? When a person tells me they wish they had such an excuse, I want to shout, "You do not want what I have." But they mean well. I laugh. And fall asleep for twenty-two minutes.
For many in my Charismatic tradition, illnesses like mine cause countless problems. Some hold to the naming-and-claiming doctrine that blames pains on doubt, but others have an unwavering faith that even mess-ups might cause mass revival.
So while speaking at a convention, I said, "If I pass out while speaking, I hope the not-so-spiritually-inspired have the courage to call 911 while revivalists assume I'm slain in the Spirit. My twitches and mumblings might not be an outpouring either. Those seizures always keep us guessing. Medication, instead of an interpretation or revival, should follow." It got their attention. It reminded the new me to laugh.
Dr A. D. Beacham, Jr., a leader in the International Pentecostal Holiness Church, wrote a note answering many of my questions, "I rejoice that God has spared your life. You may, like Jacob, speak and think with a limp, but I suspect that God will use that in a special way."
I believe him. I also seek to achieve continued improvement. Now, though, I must know the new me is the me I am. To remember, I paste it in my Palm Pilot: "Face it! Let God grace it!"
Last month I thought it through again when I was asked to speak at a hospital leadership conference. Maybe my writing informed them. Maybe my speaking inspired them. Maybe my leadership interested them.
No. I knew better. My illness and recovery intrigued them. They could glance at my MRI results and wonder what I might say. They wanted a brain-damaged preacher to stand and speak while they watched, listened, observed.
I chose to say yes, even though I knew. I wasn't saying yes only to them. I said it to my Sovereign Doctor who instructs me to face the fact that my cheese has moved, to face my own disappointment with God, to face my table in the presence of enemies, to face my sinking in the water, to face the new me and still tell the old, old story.
I pray that, like Jacob, I will be blessed in this ongoing midnight wrestling match. And I hope I share it with a world of people whose names I can't recall.

Chris Maxwell is pastor of Evangel Assembly in Orlando, Florida

High School Football Player Scores Touchdown of the Year

Sports Illustrated columnist Rick Reilly called it the "Play of the Year." A local newspaper called it "the touchdown heard around the world." Sports shows everywhere told the story.

Jake Porter, 17, a member of the Northwest High football team in McDermott, Ohio, was born with chromosomal fragile X syndrome, a common cause of mental retardation. He couldn't read. He could barely write his name. But he loved football, and he faithfully attended every practice.

Northwest coach Dave Frantz wanted to do something special for Jake. So before a game against Waverly High in the fall of 2002, Frantz called his friend Derek Dewitt, the head coach at Waverly. Frantz suggested that both teams allow Jake to run one play at the end of the game, assuming the game wasn't on the line. Jake would get the ball and take a knee, and the game would end.

So, with Waverly leading 42-0 and five seconds left in the game, Frantz called a timeout. Jake trotted out to the huddle, and the two coaches met at midfield. Sports Illustrated's Reilly picks up the story:

Fans could see there was a disagreement. Dewitt was shaking his head and waving his arms.

After a ref stepped in, play resumed and Jake got the ball. He started to genuflect, as he'd practiced all week. Teammates stopped him and told him to run, but Jake started going in the wrong direction. The back judge rerouted him toward the line of scrimmage.

Suddenly, the Waverly defense parted like peasants for the king and urged him to go on his grinning sprint to the end zone. Imagine having 21 teammates on the field. In the stands mothers cried and fathers roared. Players on both sidelines held their helmets to the sky and whooped.

Apparently when the coaches met before the big play, Frantz had reminded Dewitt of the plan, that Jake would simply take a knee. But Dewitt wasn't satisfied. He said, "No, I want him to score." Frantz objected, but Dewitt insisted.

Dewitt called his defense over and said, "They're going to give the ball to number 45. Do not touch him! Open up a hole and let him score! Understand?"

Jake had the run of his life, scoring the touchdown heard round the world, on the Play of the Year. All because of Dewitt's unselfish decision: "I want him to score."

Like coach Dewitt, God has high purposes for each of us. God wants us not just to get the ball and touch a knee to the ground. He wants us to score a touchdown.

Sports Illustrated (Nov 18, 2002)

How Do You Live Your Dash?

I read of a man who stood to speak

At the funeral of a friend.

He referred to the dates on her tombstone

From the beginning...to the end.

He noted that first came her date of birth

And spoke the following date with tears,

But he said what mattered most of all

Was the dash between those years. (1934 -1998)

For that dash represents all the time

That she spent alive on earth...

And now only those who loved her

Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own;

The cars...the house...the cash,

What matters is how we live and love

And how we live our dash.

So think about this long and hard...

Are there things you'd like to change?

For you never know how much time is left,

That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough

To consider what's true and real,

And always try to understand

The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,

And show appreciation more

And love the people in our lives

Like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,

And more often wear a smile...

Remembering that this special dash

Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy's being read

With your life's actions to rehash...

Would you be proud of the things they say

About how you lived your dash?

- Author Unknown