I found this fascinating.


The dude is so likeable. And funny. And brilliant. This guy needs to continue this. Get out there. Explain and defend the "originalist" perspective.

It's amazing to me how many people don't get it, even after he explains it. People actually said he defended torture after watching this. He doesn't. He's just a rigid originalist, even when it goes against his personal views.

"What makes a principle a principle is one's willingness to apply it to one's own disadvantage." - Stephen L. Carter, Yale Law School

Scalia is a principled man...oh, and did I mention, HE'S COOL! I nominate him for honorary thinkling.

Go watch all four parts.
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

This is love.



If you don't think that there is any way that suffering through the tragedies of life can glorify God, watch this video. It's absolutely beautiful. There's a heartbreaking joy in this, and a deep Christ-likeness in this young couple expressed in their love for their baby.

I'm overwhelmed.

[Grateful hat tip to The Anchoress]

At Starbucks this morning, Grace dropped her tall vanilla bean frappucino on the floor. The barrista promptly made her another without prompting.

Awesome.

I know this may not sound like that big a deal to some of you guys, but when you're as accustomed to awful service pretty much everywhere we eat/shop around here, this extra effort was greatly appreciated.

Thanks, Starbucks in Green Hills, Nashville.

It's a Boy!

I don't know the details yet, but Blo (Mark) and his better half Dani have added number 5 to their brimming brood! Benjamin Levi was born late last night or this morning.

Congratulations, Blo and family!

Bonus points if you know who that is...

It was my first real action movie. Rambo: First Blood part 2. I was a young teenager, and Rambo was the man! My mom had to buy me and my friend the tickets since we were underage. It remained my favorite movie until I was in my 20's (and I switched to "Princess Bride". My ,how we change.)

I've read the novels for all 3 "Rambo" movies and have been a fan for longer than some have been alive, so I figure that qualifies me to make some comments... (I also used to have a Rambo fan magazine and covered my locker and notebooks with Rambo pictures. And I'm not even going to tell you about the lifesize Rambo standup that I had in my room, that I finally let my parents throw away last year...since it was taking up space at their house.)

Here is the order of the "Rambo" movies:
First Blood (1982)
Rambo: First Blood part 2 (1985)
Rambo III (1988)
Rambo (Opening Tomorrow)

As a fan, can I just say that the titles bug me? The third on should have been called Blank: First Blood part 3. I know what happened. "Rambo: First Blood part 2" became known as "Rambo II" so it was natural to name the third one "Rambo III" but it's still incorrect. So the movie opening tomorrow is actually the second movie to be called "Rambo". Weird, huh?

It's pretty obvious what Stallone is doing. He's trying to squeeze the last bit of life out of his two most famous characters. He did it last year with Rocky Balboa, and now here comes, Rambo. The parallels are not very subtle.
Both series became known for sequels that were far different than the original. And now these two final chapters bear the name of the character only with no numbers after it.

Best of luck to him though. I say it as a fan. I think he's trying to follow another trend...people who bought tickets for "The Passion of the Christ". Oh, yeah, I'm serious. Promoting "Rocky Balboa", Stallone made the circuit of conservative radio talk shows, emphasizing Rocky's "family values" and "wholesome entertainment". Now with the "Rambo" plotline being about him rescuing Christian missionaries, I'm sure I'm right.

He also talked about how current movies seem to ignore baby boomers. These two movies are like an aging Baby Boomer's carnal scream, "We've still got it!"(Cue Walt Whitman: "I unleash my barbaric YAWP on the rooftops of the world")

The first movie "First Blood" is amazing. Go watch a clip on youtube or put it in your Netflix queue. It's nothing like the sequels. Like Rocky, Stallone OWNS the character and shows some serious acting chops. Rocky I and "First Blood" are both more like dramas with action sequences. (And the hero loses in the end of both, but not without making a "statement".) All the sequels are just action movies where the hero wins.

"First Blood" was based on a novel by David Morrell (who writes like Robert Ludlum if that's your cup of tea. I went through a Morrell kick after I read "First Blood" and was seriously impressed. He writes great suspense, spy thriller stuff.) Yes, the book is better than the movie, and the movie is good. It's very different than the current "Rambo" persona. (Rambo dies in the end by the way.) First Blood is definitely a commentary on how vietnam vets were treated after the war.

Anyway, I don't watch "R" rated action movies anymore, but there will always be a soft spot in my heart for "Rambo". (Hey, to a teenage boy, the dude's awesome.) I hope this one does well, because I'm still a Stallone fan. (And Reagan liked Rambo too!)

I will always remember the moment in "Rambo: First Blood part 2" when the camera focuses on a muddy cliff and then eyes open. Whoa.

Right about now I can't think of many guys more to be admired in the blogosphere than Reggie Kidd.

Kidd is a professor at RTS Orlando, and recently one of his blog posts made big waves in the (reformed) blogosphere when he called out some of his brothers for what he saw as unnecessary and self-destructive infighting. He did not mince words.

He cited Herodotus chronicling the cooperation of Athens and Sparta to defeat a common foe, who wrte in part: "the evil of internal strife is worse than united war in the same proportion as war itself is worse than peace."

He then asked: why don't we get it?
Read the rest of this entry . . .

Feeling a bit nostalgic tonight . . .

1. Eric - 05/05/2003 7:31 am CDT

I'm asking for the color of the liquid inside the bottle.

. . .

13. Jared - 05/05/2003 12:24 pm CDT

Is this some sort of trick question? When you write "What color is this?" are you really asking what color the word "this" is? If so, I change my answer to blue.
;-)

14. Jared - 05/05/2003 12:56 pm CDT

Okay, now I'm reviewing the comments and see you say "The liquid inside the bottle."
So, I guess my answer is green again.
UNLESS
That is still a trick and you want the color of the words "the liquid inside the bottle." In which case my answer is black.
So my answers are green, blue, and black. To cover my bases.
Am I overthinking this?
Am I obsessing?
PLEASE TELL ME WHAT THIS MEANS?!!!

Serenity Now!

15. Bill - 05/05/2003 1:37 pm CDT

I'll tell you what this means. Bird is toying with us. That's what it means. After he has collected 40 comments or so he's going to reply "The liquid is green",

He is evil.

16. Eric - 05/05/2003 1:52 pm CDT

Ok, here's the deal. My theory was that chicks usually see the lemon/lime gatorade as yellow, and guys see it as green.

I think it's green, totally green.

Brandi swears it's yellow.

I remember Danielle (the wife of Blofoot) said it was yellow, and Blo said it was green.

At first, your responses intriqued me because Becky said it was Yellow and Rod said green.

I think it's green.

17. Eric - 05/05/2003 3:43 pm CDT

Brandi claims the only color ingredient in lemon/lime gatorade is Yellow 5. Forget that, I don't care, it's still green.

Here's proof: My son, Nathan, without prompting one day called it "green juice." Now whenever I bring some home he asks for "some green juice, please."

I guess my theory on chicks thinking it's yellow is off since Sha (who is not a chick) called it yellow. What's up with that, Sha?

18. Bill - 05/05/2003 3:52 pm CDT

But Sha's the only one. Not statistically significant. Your point still holds up.

Too bad Blo didn't weigh in. We could see what color mythical creatures thing Gatorade is

19. Jared - 05/05/2003 4:33 pm CDT

Dude, it IS green.
Becky says, "Yeah, like men know anything about color." Then she adds, "It's probably more like chartreuse."
Man! Chicks.

20. Jared - 05/05/2003 4:39 pm CDT

May I summarize the results?

The Gatorade is green.
Chicks are, generally, mistaken.
Eric is evil.
Sha is a chick.

21. Eric - 05/06/2003 4:07 am CDT

Rod, I hear you! I can't believe that anyone (chick or not) would look at that bottle and say it's yellow. It's green! Sure, it's a lighter shade of green but it's still green!

22. Bill - 05/06/2003 4:13 am CDT

My wife wasn't so sure this morning. warning: sexist generalization coming: but have you noticed that chicks can never just call something "Green" or "Blue" or whatever? It's always gotta be "eggshell" or "goldenrod" or "chartreuse" [sic].

23. Jared - 05/06/2003 5:32 am CDT

I just asked Macy what color the Gatorade was. She said "yeyo."
Chicks!

24. Eric - 05/06/2003 5:33 am CDT

That proves my theory! Chicks think it's yellow and guys see it as green, it's true color!

And on it went . . . Man! Those were the days . . .

D. James Kennedy has gone on to be with the Lord.

I can't say that I was ever a fan of his preaching style, and of course that leaves me firmly in the minority. But I have to hand it to the guy. He stood for some pretty important things.

-- Longevity. In a world where pastors, even (especially?) the really good ones get around, he pastored the same church for 48 years.

-- The Gospel. Yes, Calvinists do evangelize. But mostly because of his Evangelism Explosion.

-- Influence without seeking the spotlight. Rolling Stone called him "the most influential evangelical you've never heard of." Read the obits to see how the secular media has to strain to turn him into a controversial figure.

Eighteen years ago at this time I was a nervous young guy waiting through the hours of labor at my young wife's side. Our lives were about to change forever.

Andrew took a long time to arrive. And he had to "blaze the trail" so to speak, which is the lot of the first-born. If he had been informed at the time that he was about to be put in the care of two completely inexperienced parents, what would he have thought?

He was too busy, though, just trying to get out into the world. Dr. Setzler eventually had to "spoon" him out with forceps. I'll never forget it - all of a sudden there he was. I had a son.

I had a son. It began to sink in. I was a dad. I had a son!

After the initial after-action work, the doctor decided it was time to take Andrew to the maternity ward nursery. Andrew was the only kid on the ward that night, and I was allowed to carry him out the door of the LDR, through the (smokey) nurse's break room and into the nursery. I held Andrew in my arms and began the short journey. And I'll never forget it - I looked down at him, and he looked up at me. Our eyes met, as I wondered at the miracle, and he sized me up.

I've never felt prouder. I felt like lifting him up and presenting him to the heavens, like Kunta Kinte! I wanted to shout. I was a dad. I had a son!

Today Andrew turns eighteen. He's a senior in high school, he's got a beard, he's taller than I am, his voice is deeper, and I believe his mind is deeper too. And I'm left marvelling at what eighteen years can do.

If you know Andrew, you know he has these traits: intelligence, introspection, whackiness, humor, and a personality like deep waters. He's a reader and a thinker, and he's becoming an excellent writer. He has an encyclopedic knowledge and appreciation of literature, music and history. And he's got great musical talent at guitar and vocals. Andrew has been blessed to be a worship leader for the past few years at our church, and he's gone beyond anything I would have imagined in that area. And, though sometimes reluctantly, Andrew constantly finds himself in positions of leadership. It's just the way he's built.

Andrew is also blessed to have good friends who really love him. As Clarence Oddbody once said, "no man is a failure who has friends", and by that measure, Andrew is a great success. Last Saturday we had twenty or so of them over to the house for a birthday party, and our house filled with laughter, shouting, music, and conversation. I went to bed happy that night.

So now we find ourselves in the home stretch of Andrew's childhood, nearing the day when our relationship to our first-born will move permanently away from parent-to-child and will become adult-to-adult. Andrew is becoming a man.

And, just like me, he still has miles to go. But I am content, and joyful, and hopeful on this day. God has always had his hand on Andrew, in ways that have been marvelous, and frightening, and awesome, and real. Being Andrew's dad is a "humbling honor", and I'm constantly driven to my knees in both deep supplication and deep praise for him, for his life, and for the privilege it is to be his dad.

Happy birthday Andrew! I love you.



Our four: Bethany, Andrew, Molly, with Blake up front

1603 - James VI of Scotland was crowned King James I of England. He then 'authorized' an English translation of the Scriptures, first published in 1611 and known since as the 'King James Version'of the Bible.

1741 - English revivalist George Whitefield wrote in a letter: 'Venture daily upon Christ, go out in His strength, and He will enable you to do wonders.'

1869 - In England, the Disestablishment Bill was passed, officially dissolving the Church of Ireland. (Organized opposition to this legislation coined one of longest words in the English language: antidisestablishmentarianism.)

(From the 'Almanac of the Christian Church by William D. Blake)

Thank you, gentlemen. We owe you more than we could ever repay.



[Hat tip for the picture to Lone Star Times]

Below is the full text of the speech Martin Luther King Jr. delivered on August 28, 1963, at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington D.C.

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.

We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.

We cannot turn back.

There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by a sign stating: "For Whites Only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream."

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest -- quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.

And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."²

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,

From every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.

And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.

Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that:

Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.

From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:

Free at last! Free at last!

Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!

Many of you have seen this already: this site has signed up 2,996 bloggers (and then some, I believe) to pay tribute to the people who were killed by jihadists on 9/11.

2,996 is a tribute to the victims of 9/11.

On September 11, 2006, 2,996 volunteer bloggers
will join together for a tribute to the victims of 9/11.
Each person will pay tribute to a single victim.

We will honor them by remembering their lives,
and not by remembering their murderers.

My better half has her post up honoring Katsuyuki Hirai, 32, of Hartsdale, New York. He worked at Chuo Mitsui Trust and Banking on the 83rd Floor of 2 World Trade Center.

It's All Saints Day.

And it's Jared's Birthday!

But now I'm just being redundant.

Happy Birthday, Man!

James Doohan, AKA "Scotty" from Star Trek died.

James Doohan, the burly chief engineer of the Starship Enterprise in the original "Star Trek" TV series and movies who responded to the command "Beam me up, Scotty," died Wednesday. He was 85.

Doohan died at 5:30 a.m. at his Redmond, Wash., home with his wife of 28 years, Wende, at his side, Los Angeles agent and longtime friend Steve Stevens said. The cause of death was pneumonia and Alzheimer's disease, he said.

Actually, no one ever said, "Beam me up, Scotty" in the series. Nope. Not even once. Captain Kirk said, "Three to beam up, Mr. Scott" and some other similar things, but no one ever said the famous phrase as is. (Similarly, "Play it again, Sam" is never said in "Casablanca" either.)
Sometimes we don't really find out about people until after they died. Did you know that James Doohan was a combat veteran?

At 19, James escaped the turmoil at home by joining the Canadian army, becoming a lieutenant in artillery. He was among the Canadian forces that landed on Juno Beach on D-Day. "The sea was rough," he recalled. "We were more afraid of drowning than the Germans."

The Canadians crossed a minefield laid for tanks; the soldiers weren't heavy enough to detonate the bombs. At 11:30 that night, he was machine-gunned, taking six hits: one that took off his middle right finger (he managed to hide the missing finger on screen), four in his leg and one in the chest. Fortunately the chest bullet was stopped by his silver cigarette case.

I do remember reading about his children that he had at, shall we say, a very mature age.

Doohan's first marriage to Judy Doohan produced four children. He had two children by his second marriage to Anita Yagel. Both marriages ended in divorce. In 1974 he married Wende Braunberger, and their children were Eric, Thomas and Sarah, who was born in 2000, when Doohan was 80.

Sometimes an actor plays a role so well and is so memorable, that's all he's known for. Such was the case here. But apparently, Doohan went from resenting it...to embracing it.

In a 1998 interview, Doohan was asked if he ever got tired of hearing the line "Beam me up, Scotty."

"I'm not tired of it at all," he replied. "Good gracious, it's been said to me for just about 31 years. It's been said to me at 70 miles an hour across four lanes on the freeway. I hear it from just about everybody. It's been fun."

Today is Thinkling Kenny's Birthday.

Happy Birthday Man!

I have been telling people for years...and I'll say it again, don't think of it as "getting older". I don't even know how old you are. It's just a number. So what.

Instead, think of it as the day that the world (well, at least your family and friends) celebrate the anniversary of your arrival in the world.

So today is Kenny Panduku day. (pronounced "Pan-DUKE") The day the rest of us pause for a moment and say...

Kenny, we're glad we know you. We're better off for knowing you. Thank you for being my friend. And thank you for being you.

Kenny and his wife Anna are far away (mileage wise) from my wife and I now. And frankly, we miss them. Kenny and his wife used to come over to our apartment and hang out...all the time. We had a weekly ritual of watching X-files together. And our conversations...can't be duplicated. The four of us could say things...well, that you couldn't say anywhere else. I still remember Anna's classic quote that summed it all up..."We're all friends here, right?"

Kenny is one of those unique individuals who is a brilliant, compassionate thinker and a regular guy at the same time. You can laugh your head off with him one minute, and then talk about the deepest truths of the universe in the next. I'll bet he's a great dad. I wish I could be a fly on the wall at their house.

I could go on and on...but here's my two-fold point:

1. Kenny, I love you man. Happy Kenny-Day!
2. We should all pause at least once a year and pay tribute to our friends. They are a gift from God.

...which is June 19th, a day to celebrate the end of slavery. It has a fascinating history.

Juneteenth, also known as Freedom Day or Emancipation Day, annual holiday celebrated on June 19 in the United States to commemorate the ending of slavery. For more than a century, Juneteenth was observed mainly in Texas and parts of Arkansas, Louisiana, and Oklahoma. In recent decades, communities across the nation have adopted the holiday.

June 19 marks the day in 1865 when word reached African Americans in Texas that slavery in the United States had been abolished. More than two years earlier, on New Year?s Day, 1863, President Abraham Lincoln had issued the Emancipation Proclamation. Delivered during the American Civil War, this proclamation ordered the freeing of all slaves in states that were rebelling against Union forces. The proclamation had little effect in Texas, where there were few Union troops to enforce the order.

News of the proclamation officially reached Texas on June 19, 1865, when a Union general backed by nearly 2,000 troops arrived in the city of Galveston. The general, Gordon Granger, publicly announced that slavery in the United States had ended. Reactions among newly freed slaves ranged from shock and disbelief to jubilant celebration.

You know what? We all ought to be glad for that day. One of the worst evils (maybe the worst) our country has ever been guilty of was ended.

If slavery were still around today, then those of us who claim to be God's children would have to fight against it, even at the cost of our own lives. Right?

We got him about 5 years ago. He had been abused and we rescued him from a shelter. He was an incredibly loving and playful dog. He would not stop catching the frisbee until he was exhausted. Then he'd take a 1 minute break, and get up again. He was loyal to the end. He was very protective of his family. Once when a stranger entered the yard uninvited when the children were playing...he put a stop to it. (I can't say anymore. :)

We had to have him put to sleep last week. He was the third dog I've lost, but he was the first dog to be mine. Really mine. I'll miss him. He developed some sort of mystery illness that eventually got him.

When my first dog was put to sleep, I was 16. The most difficult part was that I didn't say goodbye. Regret makes grief worse. (A lesson for us to remember when we lose people too!)

I said goodbye to Rascal. I told him what a good dog he was, and I thanked him for protecting my children. He licked me weakly and flopped his tail for me as I left the room. He was loyal to the end.

Why is it that we grown-up manly men keep it to our selves when we mourn the loss of a pet? Are we embarrassed? I'm willing to be vulnerable here and admit my grief. I think God gives us animals and the attachment we develop is a gift too. In them we see a small (and fuzzy) picture of loyalty and love without conditions.

The hardest part this time was explaining death to my three year old. I was honest with him. I didn't tell him that Rascal "went away" or that he went to heaven. I said that Rascal died. Joel said, "OK, can I play on the swingset now?" The next day Joel asked when Rascal was coming home. I explained that he wasn't coming home. And that "died" means that the body stops working. He asked where Rascal was, and remembering that children need concrete answers I said, "in the ground". Then he said he missed Rascal. That's when I redirected. I said we could remember how good Rascal was at catching the frisbee in the air. I also said that Mommy and I had a prize for him. (Melissa had called me at work and told me Joel was crying about Rascal. I drove home and told her to find a picture of Rascal and put it in a frame.) So at the end of our conversation I presented Joel with a framed picture of Rascal and said that whenever he wanted to remember Rascal all he had to do was look at the picture.

It worked! Joel was so excited about putting his picture of Rascal in his room. And every now and then he'll say something about Rascal and look at the picture. Yesterday a neighbor lady, meaning well, asked Joel if Rascal was in heaven. Joel pointed at the picture and said, "He's right there." :)

Things are getting back to normal at our house. We all seem to have gotten past the hard part. But we'll always remember Rascal.

Who do you remember?

So says Rick at aintsobad.

He was the keynote speaker in Dallas over the weekend for an event called "Epicenter". Rick was the host and planner. I wish I could have been there. Rick writes:

In case you did not know, Dallas Willard is the real deal. He communicated deep truth in a crystal clear fashion with humor and verve.

I know this may not mean much to you but he attended every minute of every session whether it was his time to speak or that of someone else. He participated in the music worship, took notes of the other speakers and stayed with us the whole time.

When he was through speaking he stepped off the front of the platform and stayed until the last person came to him, shook his hand and talked endlessly about whatever.

This may not seem like much to you but after three plus years I am accustomed to the Christian star set of celebrities. To meet a working servant is the stuff of dreams.

Dallas Willard just blew me away.