The notebook, which my father had shown me a couple of times previously, contained a listing of all the people he had baptized and had joined the churches where he was pastor.  It is quite an impressive list.  A little over a year ago Daddy and I had a good time reading over the names and remembering the folks who had been touched by his ministry.  There was also a journal listing all of the weddings my father had officiated during his ministry.

However, the item that really captured my attention was another journal type book.  The book has a dark red, imitation leather-type cover, embossed with gold lettering and the words, “Pastor’s Record of Funerals.”  I don’t know if pastors still keep these books with the advent of computers, but it was common practice back in the day.  In fact, I personally have a similar book stashed away somewhere on the shelves of books in my office.

It appears that it was purchased in about 1954 at the cost of $1.00.  It has held up well for nearly six decades.  The book lists 118 funerals my father led between January of 1954 and the summer of 2011.  The very first funeral was for Doris Turner who died of a heart attack.  Although she was born in Wichita, Kansas, Doris was buried in Eads, Colorado, where Daddy was the pastor.  Eads was a small town in the southeastern corner of Colorado and during his four year stay, I suspect Daddy did most of the funerals for folks in Eads, Kit Carson, and Wild Horse, Colorado.  The fifteen people in attendance heard his first funeral sermon titled, “Death of a Friend.”

It appears that 1954 was a good year for dying in eastern Colorado as Daddy did eight more funerals that same year.  That is a sizable number for that sparsely populated corner of the world.  In August of that summer, Daddy did funerals, exactly one week apart, for two people who died from food poisoning.  This is the first I have heard of that event.  It makes me wonder if it was the talk of our little town. He also had back to back funerals for infants, not even listing first names other than “baby.”  I imagine it was a very difficult year to be a pastor.

In September they held the funeral of Clarence Cordrey who was killed in a car accident.  Under notations, Daddy wrote, “A wonderful Christian man – earth’s loss – heaven’s gain.”  Apparently most of the people in town agreed with that assessment as 200 showed up to tell him goodbye.  In contrast, only 50 people came to the funeral of Joe John Brown in 1956.  The notation read, “Blind – physically and spiritually.”  Can there be a greater contrast in eulogies?”

A funeral that I was particularly interested in occurred in August of 1963.  I don’t remember the funeral but I do remember the death.  A friend from church, Steve Robison, had gone to Missouri to spend a few weeks with relatives.  I was twelve years old so he was probably about the same age.  I remember one evening when the phone rang and my dad talked for a few minutes.  It seems that Steve had been accidently electrocuted while in Missouri and for some reason they called my father.  He had to go and tell Steve’s parents that their son was dead.  I have often marveled at the difficulty of such a task, telling a parent that their child is dead.

There were other funerals that I am sure were not easy.  Vic Saucerman, described as “a Christian giant” was a faithful member of our church.  George Borland died in June of 1982 and Daddy described him as a “Great Friend!!!”  Another name I remember was George Venerable who was described as “ready to go.”  I have often wondered if such an attitude is ever really attainable.

I clearly remember Elva and Sam Davis who died about seven months apart in 1982.  Sam was described as “a great friend and lover of children.”  One thing I remember about Sam is that during the time when skateboards first became popular (yes, I am that old), Sam was concerned that my brother was too young to ride a skateboard.  He designed and built a skateboard that allowed my brother to sit down and roll down the driveway. No doubt it was completely unsafe but that was back in the day when we were not afraid of scrapes and bruises.  All I know is that it was a thoughtful gesture.

In August of 1992, Daddy preached the funeral of Frank Lewis at the church where I had just left as pastor.  Frank had cancer and when I moved away at the first of the month, Frank had a difficult time telling me goodbye.  He had not told anyone, including his family that he was dying, so when he stopped by my house to see me off, he really was telling me goodbye.  I did wonder why it was such an emotional time for him.  The family asked Daddy to do the funeral because they thought it was too much to ask me to make the long trip so soon after leaving.

The records for the last twenty years of Daddy’s ministry are dotted with the names of people I did not know.  He preached all over the Texas panhandle and conducted services in numerous churches and cities.  As he got older he seemed to have more comments about the individual being a “fine Christian” or “strong leader in the church.”

I don’t enjoy funerals but I have come to the conclusion that funerals are a valuable custom.  It is an opportunity for folks to have good things said about them, even if they are not the best of people.  The most difficult funeral I have ever had was for a man in our community that I did not know of anything good to say about him.  My last encounter with him a few months before he died was when he threatened to beat me up.  His kids were delinquents who occasionally stole stuff from our garage.  I tried not to lie and make up a bunch of decent comments and I took comfort in the impression that his wife and family seemed relieved that he was gone.

I have had some great experiences as funerals.  I was thrown out of a funeral, had to borrow money at a funeral, and got lost once with the hearse driver, among other things, however, I will save those stories for another time.

Daddy taught me a great deal about ministry as I watched him walk with folks through the valley of the shadow of death.  He knew how to be a pastor and it is during times of grief when we most need a pastor.  Daddy told me when I first began that I would never get rich doing funeral or weddings.  He was right if you are simply thinking of honorariums.  But, if you understand that true riches are far more than money, no doubt he would say that his life was much richer because of the opportunity to stand at the side of people during their most difficult days.

I am confident that all of those families experiencing grief would testify that their burden was eased by having someone to direct them to the grace of God.  Without a doubt, His grace is the finest resource we have for dealing with the difficult times of life.

Joe Paterno died this past weekend.  The death certificate will note the cause of death as lung cancer or some other malady associated with the disease.  He had struggled with cancer for a long time.  But, neither his coaching nor his death has been the cause of so many newspaper headlines the past few months. 

The legendary coach got caught up in a scandal involving one of his assistants who allegedly assaulted young boys.  The reports indicate that Paterno was informed of the indiscretions by an eye witness.  Apparently Paterno did what he thought was the right thing and reported the situation to his superiors.  The problem was that his superiors did nothing.  With the value of hindsight, many now blame Paterno for not being more aggressive.  When all of this became public late in last year’s football season, the University fired Coach Paterno and he has been severely criticized by countless folks in the media.

Needless to say, Paterno’s death this past weekend has been big news and the media is looking for comments from everyone who might have an opinion.  One of his ex-players was asked to comment and he said that although the coach had cancer, he really died of a broken heart.  He went on to blame the University that chose to push the blame onto the coach and the media.

It caused me to wonder if it is possible for the media to actually kill someone.

Politicians used to say, “I don’t care what you say about me, just get my name right.”  It was based on the assumption that any publicity, even bad press, was good.  The important thing was to get your name before the public.

That is no longer true.  Bad press is exactly that – bad!  The media has become like a hungry shark, the slightest sight of blood in the water sends it on a feeding frenzy that is not sated until the victim is destroyed. Just ask Rick Perry, who was the savior who entered the Republican race for the Presidency until he messed up at a debate and then he became a Texas buffoon.  Less than a month later he returned to Texas, his political career badly bruised.

This kind of thing has been going on for a long time.  Remember the bombing at the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta?  A security guard named Richard Jewell located the bomb before it exploded and probably saved numerous lives.  However, within days he was listed as a possible suspect.  The press hounded him so badly that he went from hero to terrorist in the eyes of the world.  Although he was eventually exonerated of any guilt, his name will be forever associated with a crime he did not commit.

In this day of an overabundance of information and the immediacy of communication, there are no secrets.  There also seems to be very little discretion.  It is bad enough that if you do anything, it is likely to become public knowledge in the immediate future.  However, what is even worse is when the media attacks the innocent or pounces too hard on the guilty.

In hindsight, I agree that Coach Paterno should have been a little more aggressive and done more than simply report to his supervisor.  But, does that mean we need to have reporters and news cameras outside his house twenty-four hours a day?  Does he need to be the subject of daily news reports for a month?  Is it necessary to destroy the life of an eighty-six year old cancer-riddled man with an impeccable reputation of integrity?

When I first heard his former player accuse the media of crushing his former coach’s spirit and draining the life from his body, my reaction was anger toward the media.  He is correct; the media has way too much power in our world.  Then I realized that the media only has as much power as we grant to it.  The reason the sports networks ran this story continually, twenty-four hours a day is because I want to be able to turn on the sports channel at any time of day or night and get the latest news.  The reason Fox News and CNN scrounge for garbage is because we need them to fill up the time for us.  The reason grocery story tabloids print such scandalous stuff is because we stand in line and read them or put down our five bucks (or whatever they cost) and take them home.  The media is only doing what we ask them to do.

Perhaps our anger at the media should turn to shame toward ourselves.  They will not do better until we ask them to do better.  Until then, they will continue to kill some of us.

It all pales in comparison to what is happening just down the road from me later in the week.  Normally I would not mention the name of the person involved in such an embarrassing event, but he is going to great lengths to make sure folks know about it, so I will help him out.  Ed Young of Fellowship Church and his wife are scheduled to climb up to the roof of their church building in Grapevine and spend twenty-four hours together in bed.  I don’t know why there is a bed on the church roof but apparently it is there.

In a stunt reminiscent of flag pole sitting from early in the 20th century, Ed and his wife will be spending twenty-four hours in the bed.  Alvin “Shipwreck” Kelly originated flag pole sitting and his initial foray lasted thirteen hours and thirteen minutes, far short of the twenty-four hours of non-stop sex planned by the Youngs.  Unlike Kelly in 1924, the Youngs plan to broadcast their adventure live on the Internet.

All of this is carefully orchestrated to coincide with the release of Ed Young’s latest book, “Sexperiment.”  It seems this is nothing more than a marketing stunt to drive customers to Amazon where they can purchase the book for $21.95.  As usual, it’s all about the money.  Don’t we have a term for those who use sex for money?

Young is more than fifty years old so he might need to get a prescription for Viagra before making that climb to the church roof.  Hey, we might get the pharmaceutical company to sponsor the event and generate an even bigger payday.  After all, God wants us to have good sex.  In Young’s own words, sex is about “recreation and enjoyment.” It seems only natural that God would approve of popping a couple of little blue pills to heighten the enjoyment.  I hope they have a doctor on call in case he has one of those four hour problems.

I’ve heard more than one Youth Minister tell me that their greatest fear was finding a couple of high school kids in their youth group having sex in the church basement.  Now it seems they should even be more concerned about the kids finding the pastor and his wife having sex on the church roof.  It’s not all bad news though; at least the pastor is not gay.

Call me old fashioned, but I have a difficult time understanding why we need to have a bed at church.  I’ve seen pictures of Young’s house and it appears there are plenty of bedrooms to be had.  What’s he going to tell his kids when he and his wife walk out the front door on Friday night, “We’ll see you in twenty-four hours, your Mom and I are going up to the church for some fun” as he gives a subtle wink.  Talk about being scarred for life – I hope they have a counselor standing by.

Church members will probably need to turn off the parental controls on their Internet browser before they visit the church website.  I wonder if you will need to verify that you are twenty-one years old before viewing the pastor’s sermons?

Another thing – how does he get his wife to go along with this stuff?  It’s quite common for guys to brag about their sexual exploits but usually women are a little more discreet, especially a pastor’s wife.  To listen to your pastor’s wife talk about her bedroom exploits is only slightly more comfortable than listening to your mother have the same conversation.

I guess the biggest question I have is what does this have to do with lifting up Jesus?  Unless there are some huge gaps in the New Testament record, Jesus never had sex.  The Apostle Paul suggested that if you are not currently married you should stay single to avoid the complications of marital life. I am not suggesting that sex is a bad good thing nor do I mean to imply the Bible has nothing to offer on the subject. But please, can we be a little more discreet?

My passion for the game changed on Sunday afternoon, January 31, 1999, at the end of Super Bowl XXXIII in Miami.  John Elway led the Denver Broncos to their second straight championship and after that game I decided I had everything I wanted from football.  I was satisfied.  The Broncos, the team I had supported since they were organized in 1960, had given me everything I desired from the game.  If you doubt that I was a Bronco fan for so long, look up the names Frank Tripuka, Lionel Taylor, Cookie Gilchrest, or Floyd Little.  I can tell you all about those guys without having to look it up. 

Since that notable Sunday I have had only a very passing interest in football.  I do know the Broncos have done very little since that Super Bowl victory.  I don’t know for sure, but it seems that they have gotten successively worse each year.  It doesn’t matter though, my football cup is full.

Yet, there has been something about the Denver Broncos this year that has caught my attention.  Apparently it has captured the attention of football fans all over the place.  They have a young quarterback, Tim Tebow, who football experts claim is not a very good quarterback.  To be honest, the Broncos having a not so good quarterback is nothing unusual.  Other than John Elway that’s the only kind of quarterback they have ever had.

The interesting thing about this Tebow fellow is that in spite of his football flaws, he leads the team to victory almost every week.  To hear the experts talk, if you listed all his weakness in one column and all his strengths in the other, it would be very one-sided.  The only thing under strengths would be the fact that for some reason his team wins. It doesn’t look good, the football is sloppy, the score is always close, but at the end of the game, the scoreboard shows that his team has the most points.  Go figure!

There is one other thing about Tim Tebow that has caused a great deal of consternation among folks.  He is a very outspoken Christian. Not only does he speak openly about his faith, he is frequently seen in a posture of prayer on the sidelines during a game.  After he scores a touchdown he bows on one knee and offers a quick prayer of thanksgiving.  This is such a remarkable thing that a fad known as “Tebowing” has begun, with people quickly falling to a knee and striking a prayer pose.

As you listen to discussions about Tim Tebow, you notice there are several different camps concerning the proper attitude to this whole “Tebowing” thing.  There are a sizable number of Christians who are grateful for the testimony and feel it is nice that the good guys are doing something positive for a change.  I don’t know for sure, but I suspect a large number of people are jumping on the Bronco bandwagon, cheering for another victory each week.

There are also a number of Christians who are not as excited about this situation.  They speak about inappropriate ways of expressing faith and they talk about cheapening something as significant as prayer.  These naysayers are quick to point out that God is not really interested in scoring touchdowns at football games when there are so many other real problems in the world.  It might sound trite, but I believe God is big enough to care about world hunger and touchdowns at the same time.

Of course, there are those who ridicule the whole situation.  They claim it is just another form of Christian arrogance.  Even a couple of players on opposing teams have made mocking gestures during a game.  These people not only criticize Tebow for being a poor football player but also dislike him for being a Christian.

Obviously I don’t know Tim Tebow personally, but everything I have read about him indicates that he is the real deal.  His faith is genuine and his actions are sincere.  He is well liked by teammates.  In fact, the consensus seems to be that everyone on his team plays harder because of him.  People who know him respect him and that is a very good quality indeed.

I think those who scoff at him because of his expressions of faith are way out of line.  It is evidence of being small-minded to resort to public ridicule of someone who believes differently than you do. For a man to offer a visible testimony of his faith does not infringe on anyone else’s space and is not deserving of a derisive response.  By the way, the same thing needs to be said to Christians who criticize people of other faiths and the way they dress, live, or worship.  We do not need to agree with a person’s beliefs in order to be respectful toward them.

It is disheartening that those who mock the man for being a Christian are allowed to be so vocal.  Some have said it is only because they are speaking out against Christianity, that if they were being ugly toward Islam or some other religion they would be publicly flogged.  I hope that is not the case.  We were told by Jesus that we would be persecuted for our faith and I am sure that adherents of other faiths feel much the same way.

However, there is something about this whole “Tebowing” thing that needs some consideration.  I certainly have no complaint about public displays of faith.  However, Jesus said “Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16).  The light of our faith is to shine bright but it is not to point at us.  Instead, it is to shine in such a way that God is glorified.  When a quarterback kneels for prayer in the middle of a football game, it seems that all the attention is focused on him, not God.

When we get it right, people see our actions and give glory to God.  It is all about getting ourselves out of the way so they can see Him.  It is the difference between being a lamp and being a spotlight.  A lamp primarily shines light on the lamp.  However, with a spotlight, the light does not reveal the source of light but shines on something else.  When a football player does a good work in the middle of an arena, it is hard for the light not to shine on him.

Then we have those pesky words by Jesus about prayer – “When you pray, you are not to be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and on the street corners so that they may be seen by men. Truly I say to you, they have their reward in full. But you, when you pray, go into your inner room, close your door and pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you” (Matthew 6:5-6).  The synagogues and street corners were not nearly as crowded as a football stadium on a Sunday afternoon.

I confess this is a difficult issue.  Like most Christians, I am proud of this young man who is willing to provide a visible testimony of his faith.  He seems very genuine and I wish more folks had his courage of convictions.  However, I am concerned that most, if not all, of the attention is focused on him, not on God.  It would be amazing if the next time he scored a game winning touchdown that he could do something to cause fifty-thousand people to stand up and praise God.  It’s not going to happen.  In such a situation, the quarterback who has few skills other than being able to win games is the one who will get all the praise.

As he aged, it was more and more difficult for Daddy to stand up straight, but on this particular occasion he was as tall as I remembered when I was a kid. Daddy’s size was something that always impressed me.  I don’t know if it was because I was so small and weak, but I considered him to be the strongest man around.  As young children, I remember both Linda and I trying to arm wrestle him but we could never even move his strong right arm.

It is not surprising that when it comes to remembering and honoring his life, strength is the first thing that comes to mind.  Not only did Daddy stand strong, but he was the source of strength for so many other people.

It is hard to comprehend the amount of courage he possessed as he and his fellow Marines stormed the beaches of Iwo Jima. On that seemingly inconsequential volcano in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, he suffered a loss that forever changed his life and impacted the lives of everyone who knew him.  A mortar blast led to the eventual amputation of his right leg and one of the defining moments of his life.

More than three years in and out of the hospital, a tragic automobile accident in downtown Amarillo, a tornado ravaging their home just a few days after Linda’s birth, the emotional struggle of dealing with the devastating effects of polio on his oldest son – none of these events deterred him, they only served to give him additional strength.

Daddy loved his family but he loved the church even more.  I don’t say that with regret or condemnation.  Serving the church was his life.  He heard God’s call to the ministry in 1951 when he had a wife and two very young children, no education, no experience, and no money.  He went off to college but he didn’t have time to finish before God led him to pastor a little church in a nondescript town in southeastern Colorado.

He gathered that small congregation in an auto garage.  He joked more than once that they were the only church in town with a grease rack.  Daddy went to work repairing shoes, a task he knew nothing about, but it was an opportunity to supplement the meager income from preaching. He built that church into a strong congregation and as far as I know it still stands today, sixty years later.

He then took his family to the town of Monte Vista, located deep in the Rocky Mountains.  At least this church had a meeting place but it was a one room building about the size of a good bedroom.  We went to Sunday School in cars in the parking lot.  If you were a visitor you might be told that your class met in the blue Buick on the north side of the building.  He literally built a new building for this church, which was quite a feat given Daddy’s carpentry skills.  I remember one time he told me the only difference between a screw and a nail was that you can remove a screw.

Next stop was East Side Baptist Church in Colorado Springs.  It was called East Side because the building was on the last street on the east side of town.  The parsonage was next door to the church and we often had Sunday School classes meeting in our basement.  I will always remember this church because this is where Daddy baptized me one Sunday evening.  I can remember someone picking me up and handing me to Daddy standing in the water.  He held me in his arms, placed me on a stool in the water, and baptized me.  It was one of the proudest moments of my life.

Years later when this church was celebrating an anniversary or a milestone of some sort, they invited Daddy and other former pastors to the celebration.  They told him that after reading through the church minutes it was discovered there were several Sundays when Daddy didn’t get paid – the church did not have the money.  They made up for it that day and gave Daddy a nice check.  He was grateful for the gesture and the money, although he did say he needed the money a lot more back then than he did now.

From Colorado Springs, Daddy took his family to Thornton, a suburb of Denver.  First Baptist Church was the largest church Daddy served and at the time, one of the largest Baptist churches in the entire state.  Steve was born while we lived there and I remember having to share a bedroom with a little brother, although he was not my “little” brother for long.  During this pastorate Daddy became very active with Colorado Baptists and was placed in several positions of responsibility and honor.  It was not surprising that others recognized his great strength.

This was Daddy’s last full-time church to pastor, moving next to serve dozens of churches in Eastern Colorado as an Area Missionary.  He was extremely well-known, liked, and respected.  It was always an honor for me when I would meet someone in one of Daddy’s churches and they would quickly identify me as “Bill Austin’s son.”  Years later, after I had been a pastor in the Texas panhandle, Daddy and Mama moved to Amarillo.  Whenever Daddy would visit a church they would say to him, “You must be Terry Austin’s father.”  However, that did not last long.  Soon it was reversed and people were again saying to me, “You must be Bill Austin’s son.”  I have never been embarrassed by that designation.

Perhaps the greatest asset that I have to help me be successful was Daddy.  Because he managed with one leg, he understood what it took to accomplish things with a decided disadvantage.  I remember asking him one time if he wished he had his leg.  He said no, with no reservation in his voice.  His answer confused me for many years and I eventually learned that he knew it was a defining experience of his life.

He never allowed me to make excuses or take a shortcut.  When Mama wanted me to go slow and not take a risk, Daddy pushed me out the door.  I remember him saying more than once, “If you fall down we’ll pick you up!”  And he did, every time.

The only time I ever remember Daddy getting angry was when a Cub Scout leader came to our home in Colorado Springs and told us I could not join the Scouts; they were not equipped to deal with a kid in a wheelchair.

Daddy literally taught me how to trust.  Because I could not walk up and down stairs and it was difficult for Daddy to carry me up and down stairs, he would get at the bottom of the steps and tell me just to fall and he would catch me.  That might be easy for a six year old, but trust me; it’s not easy when you are fourteen or fifteen.

At the age of twenty-one, I mustered up the courage one Sunday evening to tell Daddy that I felt like God was calling me to be a preacher.  Once I told him I was confident there would be no backing out.  I knew he would encourage me, but I was surprised when he said, “I’ve known it for a long time.”

As I neared graduation from seminary, Daddy called one day and asked if I was interested in pastoring a church in Colorado.  That had been my plan all along and I knew that if Daddy just said, “My son is ready to be a pastor,” a church would call me.  He said I would need to complete a questionnaire that he asked of all his prospective pastors.  When I returned the completed form, he sent it back to me along with a letter explaining that I had answered a couple of the questions incorrectly.  We had some theological differences that neither one of us was willing to overlook so I never served a church in Colorado.

This really illustrates one of Daddy’s greatest qualities – he never wavered from his convictions, even when it was inconvenient.  It might seem that he was being unreasonable or mean-spirited.  But the reality is that he was willing to act on his beliefs. I was disappointed about not getting to pastor in Colorado, but I am proud that he was unwilling to violate his convictions for my convenience.

But our differences were never a problem between us.  Daddy never made you feel unworthy if you disagreed with him.  When I finally did become a pastor (in Texas, not Colorado), Daddy was always the first and only person I called when I had a problem or a question.  After awhile, I realized his advice was always the same, regardless of the problem or situation.  All he ever told me was to “love the people.”  I could never do it as good as he did but it was always the correct advice.

Loving church people might have been what Daddy did best.  I remember as a kid how he always embarrassed us when we went to a restaurant or somewhere a group of people were gathered.  He could walk into a room not knowing anyone but walk out having spoken to everyone.  He told me once that is was difficult for him because he was basically a shy person.  Few people would ever know that he was shy.

I know people felt loved by him because for years he has constantly had people contact him to see how he is doing.  Folks he had not heard from in years.  People who were in one of his churches.  He was always telling about someone who called or came by.  People felt drawn to “Brother Bill.”

In spite of the fact I was not doctrinally sound enough to pastor one of his churches, Daddy always supported my ministry.  He came and preached a revival for us in the Texas panhandle.  He knew that I had been trying unsuccessfully for years to get one hundred people together for a Sunday service.  About midway through the revival, he began telling the folks that we should try to have a hundred people in church on Sunday morning.  That’s all he did – no big promotion or slogan, just a simple reminder.  Sure enough, on Sunday morning we had a hundred people there.  The first and only time in my thirteen year ministry at that church.

Daddy was always proud of all his kids.  When you spoke with him on the phone he was quick to let you know what was going on with the others.  He always knew what was happening with Linda in Colorado, he kept in touch with Steve’s baseball exploits (in fact, in the final week he called Steve to see how an Arizona tournament was going), and he knew Jeff’s family schedule and kept up with all their activities.

Whenever I write a book, Daddy buys them by the box and gives them away to friends and people he meets.  He always loved to call and tell me that someone told him they read one of my books and they said it was the best book they ever read.  It seemed to give Daddy more pride than me.

That is what I will miss most about Daddy.  Those once a week phone calls asking how I’m doing and what’s new in our lives.  It will be hard when my next problem arises and I will not be able to call Daddy and ask him what to do.  Nor will I hear him say, “It will be ok, God will take care of it.”

I think that is why Daddy was so strong – his unwavering faith in God!  He had learned, through some very hard lessons, that God will take care of everything.  He taught me how to trust God, the most valuable lesson a father can give to a son.  The reason I was able to understand this truth is that I knew if God ever did fail, Daddy would be there to pick me up and help me start over.

When a loved one dies, the family usually selects a memento to remind them of the person they lost.  That will not be necessary for me.  When I was seventeen years old, the doctor put me through a long ordeal in order to do a spinal fusion to help ease the complications caused by polio.  The plan was to chisel some bone from my thigh and lay it next to my spine so it would grow into a solid piece.  At the last moment, the doctor decided I did not have enough bone for the surgery.  Without hesitation, Daddy offered bone from his only leg and it is been a part of my backbone for forty-four years.  It is the only reminder I need of his sacrificial love.

At that Fourth of July rally in New Mexico, Daddy turned to me and asked if I would preach his funeral when he died.  I immediately said, “Let’s don’t talk about that, you’re not going to die.”

However, as I thought about it, I realized what he was saying.  Before we left the picnic I told him I would be honored to preach his funeral.  In fact, I can’t think of anyone who would do a better job.

The main goal in my life has always been the same – to be half the man Daddy was.

In our final conversation, just a few days before he died, I asked Daddy if he was concerned about the outcome of a biopsy.  Without any reservation in his voice, Daddy said he was not worried.  Then he added, “Romans 8:28 has always been true.”

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

A few months ago my right elbow started causing me a great deal of pain when I had to use it for anything significant.  As you probably know, I spent the majority of my life walking on crutches and now using a wheelchair since my legs have never worked properly.  The consequence is that my arms and shoulders have endured more than their share of wear and tear.  The elbow in question is the one I have used for years to help me stand up and to transfer from one seat to another.  To say the least, it has endured a lot of use, so I was not surprised when it began to hurt.

For several years my father has had a painful knee and has gone through the typical pain shots and medications.  Like many people with a worn out knee, he was told the only treatment left was a knee replacement.  He was actually in the process of scheduling surgery when he stumbled upon an alternative.  A clinic near his house advertised an option.  He investigated and was told a series of shots into his knee would eliminate the pain.  Having nothing to lose other than the six hundred dollars for the shots, he gave it a try. 

By the way, the clinic even offered to refund his money if it did not work.  Try to run that one past an orthopedic surgeon.  The procedure is not covered by Medicare.

Within a week his knee began to feel better.  By the time he had the second shot at the end of two weeks, the pain was almost gone.  It has now been several months and he is pain free.  I’ll be honest.  When he told me on the phone that he was going to try the shots, I was skeptical.  However, I know he was not eager to have knee replacement surgery (he only has one leg by the way) so I encouraged him to give it a try.  The six hundred dollars was not going to cause him financial difficulties.

He called and suggested that I find a doctor nearby who could do the same thing for my elbow.  Daddy even offered to pay for the treatments.  Why not?  Nothing to lose.  So, I went online, did some basic research, and found a local doctor who offered the treatments.  I scheduled an appointment in hopes I might experience the same thing.

The doctor examined my elbow, found the location of the pain and confidently proclaimed I was a good candidate to experience pain relief.  He painlessly injected my elbow two times with a mixture of Lidocaine, concentrated Dextrose, Morrhuate, and Vitamin B12.  Nothing magic here.  Look it up – it is essentially fish oil and corn sugar.

He suggested I might have some discomfort in a few days.  He gave me his cell phone number in case of a problem but assured me, very confidently, that I would not.

There was no soreness the first few days which caused me to wonder if it was going to do anything.  However, within a week, my elbow was feeling better.  It still hurt when I used it but noticeably less.  From that point on, the pain has reduced every day.  As I approach the time for a second series of injections I anticipate having the same experience as my father, pain free after the shots.

It’s a good news story, but it has caused me to wonder about the whole medical industry.  Are there treatments and therapy for other conditions that are not promoted by doctors?  Why does medical insurance not want to pay for less expensive treatments?  The nearest I can tell, more than a half a million knee replacements are done in this country each year.  If this new therapy worked on just half of these folks, imagine the cost savings as well as the pain and inconvenience that would be reduced.

I am not one who normally gravitates to alternative medicine but I stumbled onto something that seems to work.  How come stuff like this is not tried more frequently?  It seems like my insurance company would be willing to risk a few hundred dollars in an attempt to save the tens of thousands of dollars a joint replacement operation would cost.

Recently, a friend at church told us about a cancer doctor in Germany who is doing some amazing things that are not allowed in this country.  We have all heard similar stories and I don’t know what it means.  I am not naïve to the factors that have contributed to the hesitancy that exists in our medical industry.  Lawsuits, huge profits for doctors and insurance companies, government regulations, and other factors make it difficult for new treatments and medicines to be utilized.

In the meantime, I plan to enjoy my pain free elbow while I commiserate over the news I received this week that my health insurance premiums will increase by more than ten percent next year.  The increase would more than cover the cost of the treatment on my elbow.  Has anyone ever thought about health care reform in this country?

I was not a stranger to Texas at the time.  Obviously I don’t remember it, but I was actually born in Texas and we moved to Colorado when I was just two years old.  Every year we made a trip to visit relatives so I was comfortable with the Lone Star State.  Having spent most of my adulthood here, I have learned there are some advantages and disadvantages to living in this place.

Advantages:

• The greatest people in the world.  I have not been to every place in the world but I know that Texas people are the kindest, friendliest people that I have ever been around.  This is especially true when you get out in the country and small towns.  Driving down the highway in West Texas, most people wave at oncoming vehicles, even complete strangers.  Even in the big cities, Texas people are very cordial.
• Abundance of room.  Most people in Texas have yards and the houses are larger than in many other places, especially in the cities.  I have been to Boston, Chicago, and New York and seen how people stack up and live on top of one another.  Texas is not close to running out of space.  There are places where you can drive for miles and see very little evidence of other human beings.  In fact, in south Texas there are entire counties that don’t have enough residents to populate a small town.  In the Texas panhandle where we lived for thirteen years, our school district, which covered hundreds of square miles, only had about seventy-five students total.
• Beautiful sunsets.  I suspect the same is true with sunrises but I seldom get up in time to notice.  Sunsets are especially magnificent in the wide open spaces where there are no buildings or trees to block the horizon.
• Good economy.  I don’t know all of the reasons (I’m not an economist) but it seems that many of the economic problems that plague the rest of the nation are not as severe in Texas.  You can still purchase a nice house at a decent price.
• The state legislature is only in session every other year.  This limits the amount of time they have to screw things up, although they do work hard at it.

Disadvantages:

• Dallas Cowboys!  I came to my distaste for the Cowboys while living in Colorado.  To be honest, it is not so much a dislike for the team as it is for the fact that they have so many obnoxious fans.  “America’s Team!”  Really?  The problem is that so many folks here actually believe that.
• Dearth of scenery.  Perhaps it is not a fair comparison since the other two states I have lived in are Colorado and Kentucky, but there is very little natural beauty in this state.  There are a few spots where you might get a quick glimpse of something magnificent if the sun is just right, but nothing like the majestic Rocky Mountains or the rolling hills and fall foliage.  There are actually people who claim that the wide open spaces with nothing to see are beautiful – imagine that.
• Lack of anything for tourists to do.  When out of state visitors come for a visit, once they have been to Six Flags and Dealey Plaza where Kennedy was shot, that pretty much covers the major tourist attractions.  If you like country music then you can always go to Billy Bob’s.

I have lived in Texas for more than half my life.  There is not another place I want to be at this point.  Every place has advantages and disadvantages and I am comfortable with the ones here.  I have had an overabundance of memorable experiences in Texas, most of them very good memories.  I certainly don’t plan to spend another thirty-two years here, but no matter how long God allows, I do feel home on the range.

Because of the times, one of the frequent occurrences on our college campus was organized war protests.  At least every Friday afternoon and occasionally one or two weekdays there were students holding signs gathered around a speaker with an electronic megaphone and a lot of chanting.  Sometimes, the protests got a little frisky because there was a sizable number of Vietnam veterans on campus who were not very sympathetic to the protestors.  It was a small campus so no more than one or two policemen were required to keep things calm.

Protesting is something I have always understood.  I have seldom been shy about speaking up when I disagree or sense the need for a change.  Organizing a protest has proven to be very effective at times.  It is a way for a powerless minority to gain a hearing and make a point.  If you don’t think that protesting can be a good thing, try telling that to the organizers of the Boston Tea Party or to my college contemporaries who expedited an end to the Vietnam War.

Beginning on September 17 of this year, a movement called “Occupy Wall Street” was launched.  The purpose was to protest the influence of corporate America on government decisions.  It was also intended to call attention to the growing disparity between the affluent and the rest of us.  Within a month, the protest that began in New York City, spread to seventy major cities and six hundred communities around the country.

During the past month there has been a great deal of discussion about the efficacy of the Occupy Movement.  It has not always been clear what they are protesting or if the protestors have specific goals in mind.  But, I do support their right and willingness to stand up to something they consider important.  Certainly I do not condone any violence but it seems that violence eventually becomes a part of any protest – remember Kent State, Mississippi in 1964, and the American Revolution.

It does not matter if I agree or disagree with the goals of the Occupy protestors, I do agree with their method of staging a protest.  I applaud their willingness to take a stand when they believe something could be better.  I also support those who disagree with the protestors.  They also have a right and responsibility to take a stand for what they believe in.

The thing that bothers me the most is that so many are critical of the Occupy Movement, not on the basis of the issues at hand, but simply because they don’t like the method of protesting.  It is like they believe protesting is un-American.  Essentially what I hear many of them saying is that if you take to the streets you do not love this country.

In the newspaper this morning, there was a story about the police being called because of a disturbance caused by Occupy protestors.  Apparently a young man was playing an acoustic guitar and singing in the park while other protestors were sleeping.  Three patrol cars were dispatched and eventually the man was arrested on an outstanding traffic warrant.  This event did not take place in a quiet suburban neighborhood but in a downtown park, surrounded by high rise buildings.  Perhaps a bit of overreaction?

If we ever raise a generation that does not have the willingness and conviction to take to the streets over important issues we will be in trouble.l  Often, the only way to get the attention of those who are content with the status quo is to make them a little uncomfortable.  Public debate is a healthy thing and it should never denigrate into name calling, accusations of guilt by associaton, or mean-spiritedness.

Sharon settled in the leather easy chair in front of the television for the last few innings and watched the game with me.  She is patient with my restlessness during a tense game and is very kind not to except much in the way of conversation.  Over the years she has developed an appreciation for the game and even a pretty good understanding of some of the finer nuances.

To be honest, Sharon has been much more supportive of my diversions than I have of hers.  I think she actually enjoys attending a ballgame occasionally and never hesitates when I want to go but have no other partner.  I’m not nearly as accommodating when it comes to musicals and live plays.  I have gone a few times but not as willingly as her acceptance of a baseball game.

The memorable part of the evening occurred after the game, out on the driveway in front of our house.  My van had a small water leak so I called Matthew, my son and favorite mechanic, to see if he could help.  He showed up after the game and as I held the flashlight, he found the problem.  It was a leaky housing for the thermostat, not a major job if you know what you are doing – I don’t. 

Matthew arrived at the auto parts store just as they were closing, talked his way inside and secured the necessary parts.  As he worked on the van and I provided moral support, Jeremy, my oldest son, drove up.  The talk quickly turned to the baseball game.  Jeremy had been able to watch the game and Matthew had listened to it on the radio.  We had a great time sharing about the ups and downs of the game and the joy of the final victory.  We even talked about some of the strategy during the game and made suggestions on what would have worked better.  You know how fans always know what the manager should have done.

It is interesting that the boys have developed a real love for the game of baseball in the past few years.  We always enjoyed games together when they were young, and they both played little league for many years, but we seldom sat down and watched a game together or even talked about it after the fact.  But now they keep up with the scores and are capable of talking about strategy, players, and other baseball stuff.  The time spent with my sons on the driveway last night was just as good as the grand slam that ended the game earlier in the evening.

One of the best things is for a father and son to be able to share experiences in life.  It is really special to enjoy the same things together.  I think that is the way God must feel when His children learn to like and appreciate the things He likes.  When we develop an interest in the things He is interested in, God must be pleased.  It means that we are actually being made anew in His image.

I find that many Christians are more interested in hating the things God hates rather than loving the things God loves.  I have a Facebook “friend” (I’ve never actually met the guy) who recently posted a series of hate-filled political rants in his page.  It seemed rather odd to me since I thought he was a pastor, so I sent him a personal message and asked if he were a pastor.  He responded affirmatively, proudly identifying his church and city.

Then I replied with this message – “Do your strident political opinions ever offend any folks in your community that you might be trying to reach with the Gospel?”  I understand his desire to speak out against the things that might be offensive to God, but I was concerned that in doing so he was offending some of those whom God loves.

I did not receive a quick reply, but in my message box the next morning it was obvious I had struck a nerve.  He wrapped himself in the clothing of Jesus and Paul, defending his stand against evil in such a way that wrong-headed folks (like me) would get the point.  I applaud this young man’s willingness to fight the good fight on behalf of God, but I wonder if it is time that we spend less time and energy trying to defend God and hating evil, and more time loving God and the ones He loves.

I guess it might have been a demonstration of their love for me if Matthew and Jeremy had located someone who does not like me or has spoken unkind things about me and took them to task.  But honestly, as a father, it was so much greater for them to spend some time with me, late in the evening in a dark driveway working on my van, and sharing something that is important to me.  I can’t think of a better way to love God than by loving the things He loves.

Jeremy, Noah, and I went to the Ranger game last night.  We sat down the right field line, close to the foul pole.  These are some of my favorite seats – close enough to get a good look at everything but not so close as to be prohibitively expensive.  I remember sitting in this section when they only cost ten or twelve dollars, which barely pays for parking now days.  In fact, I was sitting in this section very late on a September Saturday night in 1996 when the Rangers won the West Division title the very first time.

When we first arrived at Section 11, we were greeted by the usher, which is not unusual at all.  He was an older gentleman; coming from a guy my age you can assume he was pretty old.  Most of the ushers are retired folks who are either supplementing their retirement income or just enjoying summer evenings at the ballpark.  He was very nice, helpful, and a little too bossy, but I didn’t think anything about it.

Apparently the Rangers organization has instituted a policy to prevent fans from sitting in any seat other than the one listed on their ticket.  Let me say up front, I do not have a problem with a fan who wants to move and sit in another location.  Personally, in times past, I have purchased a bleacher ticket for an afternoon game during a season when the Rangers were just playing out the schedule and nobody was attending the game, and then moved over and sat behind home plate.  I always wait to make sure they have not sold the seat to someone else.  If someone wants to sit in an unsold seat next to me, that is fine with me.  I am not a legalist!

The two ushers patrolling our section last night were tenacious.  They checked everyone who came close to our section – no exceptions.  If someone slipped by without notice, they chased them down the stairs to check their tickets.  If they were not in section 11, they were told to leave.  Women, kids, old men, it didn’t matter, they had to leave.  They even expelled a couple of members of the “Mavericks Maniacs” who were at the game.

The amazing thing is that since it was Tuesday night, the stadium was not full.  Our section was especially sparse.  We were on the back row (where they put the wheelchair seats) and there were six or seven completely empty rows of seats in front of us.  The two ushers worked like a tag team, checking out new arrivals and making sure nobody snuck in from another isle.  They have been doing this together for some time.

Along about the third inning, it hit me that it was refreshing to find a legalist somewhere outside the church.  The next time someone tells me they don’t go to church because of all the legalism, I’m going to suggest they should also quit attending Ranger games.

What Section 11 needed last night was a little grace.  The majority of seats in our section were empty, even compared to neighboring sections that were pretty full.  More than enough people to fill up our seats had been chased away.  In the sixth inning, when they tried to start the wave in the left field seats, it died when it reached our section because there were not enough folks to stand and wave their arms.  These two legalistic ushers were impacting the fan experience for the entire stadium.

I overheard one of the ushers tell someone that people like Section 11 because it is situated where it enjoys a breeze.  Sure enough, that is one of the great things about these seats; the wind comes through and cools things down.  But, only for those of us who had Section 11 on our ticket stub.  Everybody else had to sweat in the stagnant air caused by near one hundred degree temperatures.  These two old guys almost got into fisticuffs with another old guy who wanted to sit in Section 11.  I thought they were going to “throw down” for Social Security checks, but cooler heads prevailed.  Perhaps a strong breeze came blowing through at the right time.

We had a great time.  The Rangers won, Noah got to do something fun on a school night, and Jeremy and I had a bunch of laughs about the ushers.  However, it did remind me a lot about what I have seen too often at church.  Empty seats because people are discouraged from coming in by legalistic gatekeepers, a lack of grace shown to those who don’t have the proper credentials to get in, and the frequent distraction caused by those legalists who keep everyone from participating in the real reason for being there.  Both the church and the Rangers could do things better.

I wish I could be as confident about the Rangers winning the World Series as I am about the church prevailing until the end.