It didn't really occur to me until much later. I woke up on November 6 achy all over. I mean, we all have our aches and pains, but this was different. I just hurt everywhere. This went on for a few days and then, Saturday night, the 9th of November, I got extremely nauseous. I was so sick I had to cancel worship on Sunday morning. (We have no Elders or deacons to call on, so we called it off.) Sunday and then into Monday I was terribly sick. When that abated, I became congested and started living on NyQuil. This past Sunday came and we had worship, but I didn't allow anyone near me. Monday I went to the store, but that little activity just about killed me. I had a regular doctor's visit on Tuesday morning and I thought about canceling. But on Tuesday morning, after almost two weeks, I felt a little better. So, off to the doctor I went.

Halfway there, the thought popped into my mind, 'maybe this was COVID!' As I thought about it, I remembered Christmas last year. I did have COVID then with the same symptoms and for about the same amount of time. Immunity and inoculations do not work because they tell us the virus mutates. Whatever. But I realized I needed to tell them at the office of the symptoms.

I got to the doctor's office and went to the counter and announced I was there for my appointment. The girl behind the desk asked the standard question, HAVE YOU HAD ANY COVID SYMPTOMS OVER THE LAST TWO WEEKS? So, I told her my tale. I mean, I was standing there wiping my nose. Hard to lie in that circumstance. When I was done, this bright, young lady stared at me for a second or two, and then said, "Well, we aren't going to make a big deal out of that."

I went and sat down and an older gentleman, who had heard the exchange, laughed and said, "Four and a half years ago someone in a haz-mat suit would have slapped you on a gurney and shoved a swab up your nose while someone else warmed up a respirator! Times have changed!" We sat there and talked for about ten minutes about how things have changed. Some of it was laughable, most of it was sad and some of it, like the COVID scare, was just silly.

On the way home I worked it over in my mind again. Donald Trump was elected in 2016 and immediately upon taking office, he set about putting people back to work. The economy had been sputtering, but within two years people were working. African-Americans reached their highest employment rate in decades. There was a real pride. America was working. Detractors made up stories about Mr. Trump, which were later debunked. But there was nothing else to attack with. 

And then COVID came. No one knew how to react, so the extremists won the day. The country was shut down. Many of those new jobs were in start-up companies, and they didn't have the financial ability to wait out the shut down, so many, many closed up. Jobs were lost, the economy crashed. Government began issuing stimulus checks. Mr. Trump was blamed and he lost his re-election bid in 2020. A huge segment of society reverted to letting government sustain them and pride in country dwindled.

Another political blog? Not at all. The above is just a listing of facts. I really do pray the country rights itself. But there is something here for all of us, as well. The doctor's office is in Willoughby, Ohio. As I drove out of Willoughby, I passed a church I had once served as an interim pastor at during my time at the funeral home. It was a church in trouble. Right on the main drag in a bustling town, it was in danger of closing due to people leaving. The big argument was traditional/contemporary music. And, do we put the songs and announcements on the big screen. It was getting pretty heated. So, in the time I was there, we had many meetings. My answer was always the same; if you want to grow, you have to actually get out and witness. Share the Gospel. Don't expect your 90 minute Sunday morning to grow the church. The government was in the same malaise then that we have seen the last four years, and I compared the government to the church and the people. Most people will take anything the government will hand out to them and they are satisfied. And, if the church can grow without any effort coming from the people, they will take it. The arguments in that church all ended with, "if we do this, folks will come!"

Praying with a co-worker, slipping someone a $20 dollar bill so they can put gas in the car to get to work, cutting someone's grass when thy cannot. And, of course, telling someone about the saving power of Jesus. If you tell the story, the Spirit will begin to work.

As I passed this church, I thought about what I had recently heard. By selling off some property, they had bought some time. Their denomination was helping some. They dropped the name of their denomination because they figured the bad press of the denomination was to blame. They finally settled on music, and half the church left. They had done everything the way the new growth books said to do them. And the church is still gasping for life.

Over the last year I have seen so many pictures of grandkids! Yes, here, see my grandson! I am so proud of him! And that is all good. But there needs to be a renewal of pride in our Savior.

Be proud and tell the story.

         I have a fascination with cemeteries. No, that isn’t really normal. I like to wander around and read the headstones. Here will be a little grouping of a husband, his wife and their child. Maybe 100 years old. The child might have died on the same day of birth and the mother three days later. The father twenty-five years later. That tells a story. Youngish couple, she is pregnant and has a child. The child is either stillborn or dies quickly. The mother was apparently having problems with the pregnancy and, in three days, it takes her. Because there is no second wife or other children in the grouping, I would assume the husband never remarries. Since he dies in his forties, I envision him carrying his grief for the rest of his life and dying, in his time, of a broken heart. Of course, I am probably wrong on several counts, but I like to wonder as I wander.

          Many, many hours have been spent in different cemeteries in a number of different states. Walking in the day is a joy, but walking in the night is more interesting. In Florida I encountered an armadillo. I think it is fair to say that we both screamed in our own language. On another night in the same cemetery I came across two young men standing and talking. Since the armadillo thing I had taken to carrying a flashlight. I didn’t have it on as I walked and nearly bumped into the two teens. “Who are you,” one of the young men snapped. “I pastor this church! Who are you and what are you doing in my cemetery at one in the morning?” Hey, humans I can deal with. Armadillos can scare the daylights out of me, but humans in the dark in my cemetery at one in the morning better have an excuse. “Uh, well, sir, were visiting Granny’s grave.” “Uh, yeah. Granny’s grave.” They both took off their hats folded their hands in front of their ragged jeans and looked down, as if they were in prayer. “You boys must miss her a great deal, to be out here so late.” “Oh, yes sir. It is just killing us.” I played my light over the headstone and said, “Well, I would have thought that after 75 years it would be getting a little better. Why don’t you fellas leave.” “Uh, yes sir!”

          I was at McKinley Community Church in Warren, Ohio for ten years. There were a number of small cemeteries scattered around the area. The community had originally been settled by pioneers from Connecticut. When they came to the area, they brought their own pastor, a Presbyterian minister. Many of those first settlers are buried together in a small cemetery just outside of the current city. On the pastor’s headstone, in worn letters, are the words, “Still serving my Savior.” Probably more than any headstone ever, that one really got to me.

          Working at a funeral home gave me ample time to explore cemeteries. Some of those wanderings were not good. Once a lady and I were looking for her husband’s grave, who had just been buried the day before. There was no headstone yet and his was the first grave in the new section and it was winter and a lot of snow had fallen overnight, so finding the grave was a problem. I found it by the unlucky happenstance of stepping into it. The dirt was very loose and very soaked and I sank like I had stepped into a swimming pool. I went down until my foot hit the top of the vault that the casket was in. I was seriously in some deep trouble (pun intended). Another time, with the cemetery full of people and about a foot and a half of fresh snow, I disappeared from sight because I stepped into a hole where the cemetery workers had dug out a tree a couple of days before and had not filled the hole in. I walked into the hole on one side and walked out of the hole on the other. Now that I think of it, the armadillo wasn’t so bad.

          But it is the story on the headstones that captures my imagination. I had read about the Presbyterian minister in Warren, so I knew something of him. And I have visited the graves of several presidents and other notables, but the regular folks in the regular graves……

          I didn’t realize it until I was an adult, but my mother shared the same fascination as I. She and Marsha’s mother came to Florida for my ordination. This was at the church with the cemetery with the armadillo. Mom wanted me to walk her around the cemetery and we spent several hours reading headstones. She did the same thing I had done, working up a story of the lives based on the little information on the headstone. It was surprising how close our stories were. One section was given over to a family with the somewhat unfortunate name of Butts. In this section there were the older stones from the time of burial but also a much newer stone detailing that particular family. The father, Mr. Butts, was born in the 1700s. He married a native American named Lehey. For some reason, Mom saw the Lehey and thought it was Leathery. She said Leathery Butts just wasn’t a good name. My mother didn’t have a real refined sense of humor, but when she saw it was Lehey, she got tickled at herself. Anyway, the stone said they had 18 children. Then it listed their names in their birth order. The first child and the last child had the same name. When Mom saw all the names on that stone, she said, “Well, I don’t think I have ever seen so many Butts in one place.” So, there we were, two adults standing in a cemetery laughing like a couple of loons. When we had settled down, I pointed out the same name for the first and the last. “Do you suppose they just ran out of names and started over?” She sobered quickly and explained to me that the first one probably died shortly after birth. Lehey had many more, but probably always missed the first born. So, she gave the same name to the last as a way of remembering the first. She had a whole scenario created and she was probably pretty close to the truth.

          Our time here is limited. In a hundred years someone will wander through your cemetery and observe your grave. They will not know who you were or how you lived your life. But maybe, if we are faithful, it might be that their life was affected for the Lord by someone who was affected for the Lord by someone who was affected for the Lord by someone and going back until it gets to you. Or me. We have no other more important job.

          Our pastorate at Park Street Christian Church in Geneva, Ohio was an example of all the right puzzle pieces coming together and making an awesome ministry. I pray all of you will experience that someday. But I knew that within a few years of my departure I would be mostly forgotten. I never cared about that, but I wanted to leave my stamp on the Spiritual aspect of that church so that for generations to come the Word would be preached. On my last Sunday there I asked the choir to sing a song by Steve Green, “Find Us Faithful”.

We're pilgrims on the journey
Of the narrow road
And those who've gone before us line the way
Cheering on the faithful, encouraging the weary
Their lives a stirring testament to God's sustaining grace!

CHORUS

Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful
May the fire of our devotion light their way
May the footprints that we leave
Lead them to believe
And the lives we live inspire them to obey
Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful

Surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses
Let us run the race not only for the prize
But as those who've gone before us
Let us leave to those behind us
The heritage of faithfulness passed on through godly lives
CHORUS
Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful
May the fire of our devotion light their way
May the footprints that we leave
Lead them to believe
And the lives we live inspire them to obey
Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful

          The only footprint we leave behind that really has importance is the footprint that blazes the trail that leads to Christ. Just like that Presbyterian minister, “Still serving my Savior.” 

I have no idea.

As I write this, I have no idea as to who the next president of the United States will be. I have no idea of who the winner of the Senate seat of my state is. I have no idea of the outcome of the ballot issues of my state and county. I just have no idea.

We may not have the answers to these questions for some time yet. It may be that as you read this, you have the answers to all the questions because it is Wednesday or Thursday. You may feel pain, or you may feel joy. Frustration or justification. Fear or confidence. 

However, I do know that the evil and hateful political ads we have been treated to are over by the closing of polls tonight. The yard signs and billboards will soon disappear. Thanksgiving is coming and Christmas is on the way. Life is just about to go on.

We all feel we are right and the 'opposition' is wrong. We have been told that there has never been an election as critical as this one. And we are told that the nation has never been this divided. However, I have lived through thirteen presidents (Really? That doesn't seem possible, even to me!) and I have to admit I have been surprised at times. I have heard over and before every presidential election that there has never been a more important election. And the nation has been more divided. After all, we did have a civil war.

So, for a bit, let's put the hyperbole aside and look at something else.

How would Jesus vote?

If you support former president Trump, you are a conservative and you would say conservative values are all about Jesus, so Jesus would wear a MAGA hat. If you support vice president Harris, you are a liberal and you would say that liberalism is all about love and that Jesus was all about love and so Jesus would vote Harris. But what does the Bible say?

I know what some of you are thinking. "Here he goes again, always using the Bible to connect the dots." Good! That is the way I want to be remembered! That is good! So again, what does the Bible say?

Romans 13:1-7, 1 Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. 2 Consequently, whoever rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgment on themselves. 3 For rulers hold no terror for those who do right, but for those who do wrong. Do you want to be free from fear of the one in authority? Then do what is right and you will be commended. 4 For the one in authority is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for rulers do not bear the sword for no reason. They are God’s servants, agents of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer. 5 Therefore, it is necessary to submit to the authorities, not only because of possible punishment but also as a matter of conscience. 6 This is also why you pay taxes, for the authorities are God’s servants, who give their full time to governing. 7 Give to everyone what you owe them: If you owe taxes, pay taxes; if revenue, then revenue; if respect, then respect; if honor, then honor.

Wow! This creates all sorts of questions! What do you do if the government is unjust? What if the government bans Christianity? What if..... Well, those questions certainly deserve study. But let's look at the time this was written. Rome was unjust. Rome did ban both Judaism and Christianity for a time. And yet Paul tells these people to follow the laws and the rulers. What goes on here?!!?

IF Christians did their job, people would be turning to the Lord and accepting Christ and the governments would change. It is not government's job to cater to Christian concepts, it is the job of Christians to bring all to Jesus. When persecution against Christians was at its highest, the church in Jerusalem and Rome and all the others began to grow and grow. When the Catholic church persecuted true believers, the underground church blossomed. When communism tightened down on Christianity in China and the Soviet Union and places like Cuba, the underground church thrived. Christianity gets better and better when the persecution gets tougher and tougher. 

How would Jesus vote? 

Clearly, He has. Verse one in the above passage tells us that God gives the authority. Not man. God. God, and therefore Jesus, desires us to be a fruitful people, to share the Gospel and to be a light to the world. Since human nature has shown us that when times are good, we get weak, God has allowed the hard times to come so that we would be stronger. The parade of presidents and prime ministers and kings and all the rest have served the purpose of the Lord.

So, if it is all in His hands, why vote at all? Well, He allowed this democratic republic to be created. He has blessed us to live here in the safety of this democratic republic. He gave us the way to be involved. We do the citizen thing.

But our ultimate citizenship lies elsewhere. We have a responsibility far greater to the Kingdom of the Lord's than our little earthly home and we have been given a job.....bring the light to the lost.

I took a call this evening from a dear friend, a person who has walk along my rough roads with me as I have walked along her rough roads. She asked who I thought would win. My answer was, I have no idea. But just tell me your gut reaction! I have no idea. And I don't. But I do know that Christians need to wake up and start acting the way they talk. Change will only come through Jesus and the world will only hear of Jesus if we tell them.

The Lord is in total control.

    We hear at Christmas and Easter time that it is all about the kids. If that is you, shame on you. The virgin Birth and the ultimate Sacrifice and Resurrection are for all and especially for the adults. If the adult keeps the Birth and the Sacrifice and the Resurrection holy, then the children will, as well. Or at least they will be inclined to do so if they can stand against the world's onslaught. 

    Halloween, on the other hand, is for the kids. Yes, it certainly has at its roots an evil origin, but it has evolved into something fun for kids. While I abhor the watering down of the Advent and Lenten seasons, I rejoice at the watering down of Satan's holiday. You may be one who never lets their child participate in Halloween, but there are many, many things that will draw them into evil. If, however, we water down the Birth, Sacrifice and Resurrection with all the worldly aspects, we take away the best of opportunities to bring the Gospel to our children. 

    Having said that, it is important how we approach Halloween. Church sponsored events are best. Trunk or Treats are great and can bring the Gospel to a child's level. Before Trunk or Treat, many Christians gave out a little Ziploc bag with maybe five good pieces of candy and a Gospel tract made for kids. We did that at our home for many, many years. And then, while I pastored in Geneva, Ohio, the local churches took it up a couple of notches. And this is where the story gets good.

    The evangelical churches in our small city got together and devised a 'Kid's Party.' The idea was simple. Rent the Community Center (a large venue usually used for wedding receptions and that also served as the home for the Food Pantry and the Seniors' Center). Let the Youth from the various churches devise games of chance and have the churches buy TONS of candy. The pastors and some of the other adults from the churches rode herd on it all. It didn't cost the little ones so much as a penny and, win or lose, they all got candy. As they entered, they gave their name and address and they were each given a ticket, like a raffle ticket, and told to hold it until the end when there would be a drawing for one new boy's bike and one new girl's bike. (The bikes were donated by a local hardware store.) The only thing was, to win you had to be there. The drawing was to be at the end of the program and the Gospel message. Everywhere around there were signs telling what churches were involved and who would be presenting the Gospel message. Every year the pastors voted on the most child-like pastor to present this message, and it was, for some reason, always me.

    This was actually quite expensive. The churches wrote it into their budgets. Not only the party, but we incurred expenses in follow-ups. It was really a good situation.

    And then came the year.

    Everything cooked right along. It was a snowy night, so the little rugrats showed up in droves. The Youth did a great job (especially mine) and the candy flowed like water. It was the first time we actually ran out of candy. Several hundred kids had stuck around for the drawings, which meant they also listened to the Gospel message. While we were doing all of that on the south end of the huge room, the parents of the little darlings were at the north end chowing down on free cookies and swilling hot chocolate like it was going to be outlawed the next day. When the message was over and the drawings done, the little ones ran to get their parents. One little guy, about nine, came to me and told me he had accepted Christ. Then he turned and ran to the parents.

    Suddenly there was a massive eruption. "WHAT! WHO?" I looked in time to see a very large woman, cookies in hand, stomping across the floor toward me. Her face had gone beet red as she hustled over, still chomping on cookies.

    "YOU!" she screamed. I knew what was coming. I pointed to myself and sweetly said, "Me?" "YES YOU, YOU #%^^@! WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO TELL MY SON THAT LOAD OF #%^#?"  "Why you did, ma'am. There are all kids of signs and it was explained that there would be a Gospel story." "NO ONE SAID YOU WOULD BE FILLING HIS MIND WITH %#$^%&&! THERE  IS SUCH A THING AS CHURCH AND STATE! I AM GONNA HAVE ALL YOU it$##$%^ ARRESTED! WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT?" "Well, actually, ma'am, the Community Center is a not for profit organization run by a board of directors. It is privately owned and there is no government organization involved. So, no division of church and state."  "WHAT!? THIS IS ILLEGAL! BOARD OF DIRECTORS? WHO IS IN CHARGE OF THIS BOARD OF DIRECTORS? I WANT TO TALK TO'EM!" Of course, the building was quiet now as a graveyard. "Well, ma'am, as it happens, I am currently the president of the board. Would you like to talk?" Her face went purple. "YOU!!?" You could see the wheels whirring in her hear. Or maybe that was her ears spinning. "LOOK YOU LITTLE @$@#%$#! THE FOOD PANTRY RUNS OUT OF HERE AND THEY ARE BIG IN THIS TOWN. I'M GONNA TALK TO THE HEAD OF THAT!" "Well, ma'am, that would be fine. The Food Pantry is run by the churches in town and I am also the president of that board. When would you like to meet?" 

    She was ready to stroke out. Just then, one of the local cops put his hand on her shoulder to talk to her and calm her down. He was volunteering his time that night. A young man and a member of one of the churches, he was there to be a presence. He never expected to run into a crazy woman. She exploded all over him. He escorted her out. I never tried to find out what happened.

    The pastor who had organized it walked up to me. "Same time next year, buddy?" "Oh, I wouldn't miss it."

    Hey folks! Don't just give candy! Give the Gospel.                                                                                          

Most of you who know me know that I am not a big backer of Mr. Trump. However, he has been called, several times by people who have no real concept of what they are saying, a fascist, like Hitler. Now, I was going to post this on Facebook, but I knew they would clamp down and delete this and put me in FB jail. I have been there before and it is no big deal, but I wish to get this out.

Before we really get started, here is a definition right out of the World Wide Web dictionary.--- Fascism is a political philosophy and movement characterized by centralized autocratic government, nationalism, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition. It is led by a dictator who controls all aspects of society, suppresses dissent, and often promotes racism.--- So, let's examine who the fascists really are.

First, centralized autocratic government; Democrats. They want DC in charge of everything behind one leader who, if you oppose him/her, you are racist, sexist, homophobic or whatever. To them, it is never about the issues but always about your personal intolerance.

Second, nationalism; Democrats again, but only if the nationalism is like they want it. Like it or leave it.

Third, severe economic and social regimentation; once again, Democrats. They want to tax the economy to death, stifle business and govern and clamp down on media and social media and cause them to follow their vision.

Fourth, forcible suppression of the opposition; well, again, Democrats are guilty. How many lawsuits against Mr. Trump? How many assassination attempts? How many illegal aliens were allowed to sign up to vote until somebody hit them with the law?

Fifth, it is led by a dictator who controls all aspects of society, suppresses dissent, and often promotes racism. Mr. Obama sat in the Oval Office for eight years. During that time he made the effort to control society. He wanted to disarm the nation, he wanted to force the citizens to get abortions and pay for the health care of others, even it they chose not work or contribute. That list goes on and on. Conservative radio, television and media people were mocked. And promoting racism? Our first African-American president made you feel racist if you voted for the white guys. And when he was leaving office, his heir-apparent branded those who opposed her agenda as deplorables. Mr. Obama and Mrs. Clinton were US Senators before stepping into the big ring. But what did they do before that? I doubt nine out of ten even know.

Mr. Trump is a bag of wind, to be sure. I wish the Republicans would have put someone else up. But, a fascist? One thing I have learned over the decades working with people is if someone accuses another, it is because the accuser is actually guilty of what they are accusing the other person about.

And this ends my once in a lifetime political rant.

    She was tired. The struggle was overwhelming. Still, she managed a smile and a weak laugh. Cancer kills in a nasty way, and brain cancer is among the nastiest. A dear saint of God, a true believer, winding down to the end of this earthly existence and looking forward to the next step.

    I had known Marian and Tom a little bit while I was pastoring in Geneva, Ohio. They went to a different church, so it was just a passing acquaintance. However, they both retired and their long time home became too much to handle, especially once Tom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. They searched around for an apartment that would be nice and where Marian could devote herself to her husband. As it worked out, they moved into the seniors' apartment facility where I live, and Marian started attending the worship service I started. A nice little happenstance.

    And then...brain cancer.

    Day by day, the struggle increases. Her son and daughter are working their time out so that one or the other can be at the apartment. Time is drawing short. Mom is getting sicker and sicker, daughter and son are becoming exhausted and Dad stares at the TV, whether it is on or off. This scenario plays out all over the world in one manner or another. Most families have such a story within the last three generations. Still, in apartment number 119, it seems unique because it is personal.

    Last Sunday, after our worship service, I walked down to 119 to spend some time. The daughter was there and I spoke with her when she answered the door. I took Tom's outstretched hand and asked him if he was going to watch the Browns. He smiled and rolled his eyes. I don't think he knew me, but he still remembered the woeful Browns. Then I sat down next to the hospital bed and took Marian's hand, and we talked for a bit. She is ready to go, to meet Jesus. Her fears are calmed. She can no longer express her love to her family with a hug or a wonderful meal or a joke, but she rests easy because they express their love to her by seeing to her needs. We talked a little of people we both know, and we talked of that which is coming very soon. But she was tired. After a time, I prayed with her and then rose to go. She held onto my hand and said something in a fading voice. I leaned over to hear better and she spoke it again. "You are a good man!" I thanked her, said my goodbyes and I left the apartment.

    I pondered her final words as I walked along. You are a good man! Interesting. I know my own faults and failures. I do not see the 'good man' part. What I see is a man with faults who has just tried to serve the Lord. I thought about the beginning of this journey and the high goals and how those goals went by the wayside as I looked to follow the Lord. We never know where the Lord will take us. 

    I got on the elevator and looked across the hall before the door closed. There were the windows that look into the community room where we have our worship service. I smiled a little. It was meant to be a worship service. A little singing, a little prayer, a little preaching. Somehow, some way, I have reverted to being the pastor. Illnesses, concerns for adult children, worries about increasing rent and the costs of living. People will see me in the hallway and we will wind up talking of needs and concerns. A pastor always.

    And I don't care that I never pastored that mega-church or wrote books or whatever. My heart is breaking for an adult son and daughter who are facing a death of one parent and the slow and crippling passing of the other. I hurt for that husband who is soon to be without his anchor. The sadness of apartment 119 is heavy on me. But this is my path, and I am grateful the Lord is letting me to continue along the way.

    I sometimes wonder about my classmates from college and seminary who had their futures worked out in their minds. What happened to them when the Lord's reality struck? The path can be wearisome, but it is good.

    Rejoice in the Lord alway, and again I say rejoice! 

I wake up almost every morning in a good mood. Life can be stressful, bad things can be happening, whatever it is, but I wake up just fine. I go to sleep thinking and I wake up thinking. A lot of the time if I fall asleep mulling over an issue, I find I have resolved it by morning. Often, I will wake up in the wee hours with someone on my mind and I will pray for them right then. Then, at peace, I will go back to sleep. Sometimes I don't sleep well, but I still wake up in a good mood. Another day with Jesus here on this planet! I really can't explain it. In a year's time I will wake up in a sour maybe five or six times.

I woke up this morning at 4AM in a bad mood.

My eyes opened and I was instantly awake. I knew it would be a grouchy day and, what was worse, I didn't care. I was meeting at 10AM with a group of folks in the faclity and I knew I was going to be difficult. I would be on the phone later and I knew I would be snarly. I didn't care. I was not in a mood to be trifled with.

I had no idea why I felt as I did, and that bothered me. But again, I DID NOT CARE!

And then I heard it and I understood. I didn't swear. That would indicate a nuclear holocast. But my mood was such that if I had thought to swear, I might actually have done so. The SOUND! I hate the SOUND! I don't always hate the sound. March or April...I can live with it. But not this morning!

At 4AM this morning, sleet was peppering my window.

Just to make it clear, sleet and hail are two separate things. Both are frozen precipitation, but hail is formed in a thunderstorm. The thunderstorm, usually in the summer, is caused when cooler air and hot air run into each other. The resulting storm causes updrafts which will catch falling rain and drive it back to great altitudes, where it starts to freeze. Then it falls, only to be lifted high again. The size of the hail when it finally hits the ground indicates how many times it went through this uplifting experience. Tornados usually produce a lot of hail on the other side of the tornado. (Yes, I know. I am a weather nerd. Proud of it, too.) Sleet, on the other hand, is caused when rain falls and the drop freezes before it hits the ground. No uplift. Just air so cold it freezes the rain. When you see hail, get to a safe place. When you see sleet, you are doomed. Snow is coming.

I grew up in snow country. I lived in snow country as an adult. You deal with it. Depending on your age, you might even like it. I also lived in Indiana where a six inch snow fall shut everything down and I lived in Florida where the natives would make trips north just to see snow. But where I live now, where I grew up and where I spent most of my adult/ministry, it seriously snows. 

Everyone here has their own snow story. For the youth, and even the young adults, the story involves laughter. Sledding, snowball fights, snowmen, ice skating. Fun stuff. But when you hit 35, the stories turn. Sledding is when you lose control on the interstate and you sled into a guard rail. A snowball fight is when some overhead branch releases a load of snow that falls down the back of your jacket while you are shoveling the most recent foot of snow from your driveway. The snowman is actually you when you come in after shoveling that foot of new snow that wasn't there that morning. And ice skating usually involves falling on your backside and sliding down the driveway while you try to maintain control of two bags of groceries.

Around here, people in their forties and fifties can often be heard to say, "I love snow until Christmas is over." To which I snort in disgust. Snow is never, ever welcome at my door. It makes me grouchy. I am truly a Grinch.

That is not to say it is all bad. The other morning I went to the car early to go get my groceries. I was in shirt sleeves, short sleeves at that (the cold doesn't faze me, just snow), and I encountered a smallish figure who was so covered in coats and gloves and scarves and hats that I couldn't see the face. However, the dog gave her away. The dog, Blaze, was enjoying the cold temps and wind. Blaze almost pulled his owner over to get to me because he really likes me. I gave him the required head and belly rubs and then turned to Sandy, his owner. "Sandra, are you in there?" "Pastor! You are going to catch your death dressed like that!" Sandy and Blaze moved here in July to be near her son who was transferred here. Sandy has never lived anywhere except Dallas, Texas. Blaze will love it, but Sandy is going to be fun to watch. She goes to our worship service and I am pretty sure she will be the first to want to pray that it warms up.

But is that enough to make me happy to hear sleet on my window? Not at all. 

At one point, years ago, Marsha and I lived about 200 yards from Lake Erie. One evening we sat watching the news. We sat there, each with our own blanket and sipping on coffee or cocoa, and the program came to the weather. I was interested in this because I worked at the funeral home and I had a funeral in the morning. The weather presenter told us that if it all set up just right, we could have up to a foot and a half of snow by morning. She went on to say that near the Lake it could be substantially more. Marsha said, "Well, that won't happen. This lady always makes it sound worse than it is." To which I agreed, but I decided to get up extra early to clear the driveway if necessary. So, I got up at 3:30 and walked to the kitchen to look out. I couldn't see my mailbox or any other mailbox on the street. They weren't covered by the snowplows, either. The road hadn't been cleared yet. I got dressed to go outside. Marsha woke up and asked me what was going on. I told her the weather lady was wrong. It was even worse. It was a medium/long driveway. I pushed the door open and struggled to the garage, which was behind the house by quite a bit. I got the snowblower up and running. The snow was way higher than the blower, so it took a long time and a lot of struggle. At one point Marsha took a picture. Because I had cleared the driveway, the snow was higher than my head. All you could see in the picture was the last of the snow flying up on the pile.

I got to the funeral on time, then to the cemetery. The cemetery roads were cleared and there was a track leading to the grave for the pall bearers to carry the casket and the folks to follow. Our cemetery guys are the best. Anyway, when I got home I had to park on the street until I could clear the driveway again because it had snowed all day.

Tomorrow morning (Wednesday) it is to be 39 or 40 degrees with rain. I am so excited I could just be sick. However, in Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 the Bible talks about seasons. Of course, it is talking about the seasons in life and how they change, but we can put that same thinking to the seasons of the year, as well. Snow season is fleeting, Spring will come. But if you have reason to communicate with me before April 1, do not expect me to be happy!

Blessings and warm days to you all.