The Wild Side of Curling

Who were those guys with the Loudmouth pants? 


And who ever thought up this crazy game?


During the 2010 Winter Olympics. the Norwegian Men's Curling Team gained notoriety for their red white and blue diamond pants. A Facebook fan page created for Norway's pants drew more than 500,00 fans during the games.


Many Americans knew little or nothing about curling until the Winter Olympics. By now we have perhaps forgotten the little we knew.

Like golf, curling originated in Scotland in late medieval times (before 1500 AD). One of those old guys said, "Why don't we start sliding 40-pound stones across the ice?" And a second guy said, "Great idea!  I'll get me wife's broom and sweep away those ice chips along the way!"


Traditionally, all of the granite for curling stones comes from the island of Ailsa Craig, on Scotland's west coast.


Firmly established in Canada (perhaps our second-most-played ice sport), it provides a good excuse for people to get together and drink alcoholic beverages. Popular as well in Minnesota, Sweden, Switzerland, and now New Zealand and Australia. World championships have been held since 1959.

Those wild pants were created by Loudmouth Golf, an American company (check them out on Wikipedia -- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loudmouth_Golf ).


Let's get together and play an end sometime! 

Anne Rice: Journey to Faith in Jesus Christ

I am not a fan of vampires or of Anne Rice. 


But I recently read her audio book "Called Out of Darkness: A Spiritual Confession," in which she recounts her spiritual journey from strict Roman Catholicism to atheism to faith in Jesus Christ.


It's an interesting story. For a number of years she yearned for a God in whom she could not quite believe. But her atheism was slipping away, and she was powerfully drawn toward Jesus Christ Himself. She writes: 


"In the moment of surrender, I let go of all the theological or social questions which had kept me from [God] for countless years. I simply let them go. There was the sense, profound and wordless, that if He knew everything I did not have to know everything, and that, in seeking to know everything, I’d been, all of my life, missing the entire point. No social paradox, no historic disaster, no hideous record of injustice or misery should keep me from Him. No question of Scriptural integrity, no torment over the fate of this or that atheist or gay friend, no worry for those condemned and ostracized by my church or any other church should stand between me and Him. The reason? It was magnificently simple: He knew how or why everything happened; He knew the disposition of every single soul. He wasn’t going to let anything happen by accident! Nobody was going to go to Hell by mistake." (Called Out of Darkness: A Spiritual Confession, p. 183)


In a Washington Post blog (http://newsweek.washingtonpost.com/onfaith/guestvoices/2008/03/go_tell_it_on_the_mountain_aga.html) she writes:

Look: I believe in Him. It’s that simple and that complex. I believe in Jesus Christ, the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity, the God Man who came to earth, born as a tiny baby and then lived over thirty years in our midst. I believe in what we celebrate this week: the scandal of the cross and the miracle of the Resurrection. My belief is total. And I know that I cannot convince anyone of it by reason, anymore than an atheist can convince me, by reason, that there is no God.

A long life of historical study and biblical research led me to my belief, and when faith returned to me, the return was total. It transformed my existence completely; it changed the direction of the journey I was traveling through the world. Within a few years of my return to Christ, I dedicated my work to Him, vowing to write for Him and Him alone. My study of Scripture deepened; my study of New Testament scholarship became a daily commitment. My prayers and my meditation were centered on Christ.

And my writing for Him became a vocation that eclipsed my profession as a writer that had existed before.

Why did faith come back to me? I don’t claim to know the answer. But what I want to talk about right now is trust. Faith for me was intimately involved with love for God and trust in Him, and that trust in Him was as transformative as the love. . . .

Before my consecration to Christ, I became familiar with a whole range of arguments against the Savior to whom I committed my life. In the end I didn’t find the skeptics particularly convincing, while at the same time the power of the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John swept me off my feet. And above all, when I began to talk to Jesus Christ again it was with trust.

On the afternoon in 1998 when faith returned, I experienced a sense of the limitless power and majesty of God that left me convinced that He knew all the answers to the theological and sociological questions that had tormented me for years. I saw, in one enduring moment, that the God who could make the Double Helix and the snow flake, the God who could make the Black holes in space, and the lilies of the field, could do absolutely anything and must know everything — even why good people suffer, why genocide and war plague our planet, and why Christians have lost, in America and in other lands, so much credibility as people who know how to love. I felt a trust in this all-knowing God; I felt a sudden release of all my doubts. Indeed, my questions became petty in the face of the greatness I beheld. I felt a deep and irreversible assurance that God knew and understood every single moment of every life that had ever been lived, or would be lived on Earth. I saw the universe as an immense and intricate tapestry, and I perceived that the Maker of the tapestry saw interwoven in that tapestry all our experiences in a way that we could not hope, on this Earth, to understand.

This was not a joyful moment for me. It wasn’t an easy moment. It was an admission that I loved and believed in God, and that my old atheism was a façade. I knew it was going to be difficult to return to the Maker, to give over my life to Him, and become a member of a huge quarreling religion that had broken into many denominations and factions and cults worldwide. But I knew that the Lord was going to help me with this return to Him. I trusted that He would help me. And that trust is what under girds my faith to this day."

I am fascinated that Jesus is still winning over converts to Himself after two thousand years. He won me over as a young teen, and I today feel His grip more strongly than ever. I am a prisoner of love.

Irish Heartbeat: Van Morrison & The Chieftains

This CD was my "gateway drug" to Irish traditional music.

My friend Rick gave me a copy in 2003, but this album was recorded in 1988, a collaboration between Belfast boy Van Morrison and trad kings The Chieftains.

The songs are mostly traditional Irish (with the Scottish "Marie's Wedding" thrown in), tunes played heartily by the Irish masters, and lyrics growled affectionately by Morrison.

Van Morrison is acclaimed by many as a great singer and songwriter, and while this album may have been a digression for him, surely his rendition of  "Carrickfergus" must rank with the best of his efforts in any decade. (One of the great things about Amazon.com is that you can listen to samples by going to their product page for this album.)

For The Chieftains, this was the first of many collaborations with big-name musicians (Sting, the Rolling Stones, Joni Mitchell, Linda Ronstadt, Alison Krauss, Ricky Skaggs, the Corrs, Elvis Costello and many others). Some of their best collaborations are included on "The Wide World Over: A 40 Year Celebration" (with audio samples available at Amazon as well).

Growing up as a fan of white Gospel Music (the Blackwood Brothers, the Statesmen, the Speer Family), I graduated in 1972 to Contemporary Christian Music (the Imperials, Andrae Crouch & the Disciples, Love Song) and in 1987 to Praise & Worship (Vineyard Music, Integrity's Hosanna! Music). But this music opened the door for me to World Music in general and Celtic Music in particular.

I'm glad the door was opened!

Two New Hymns

For my hymn-singing and hymn writing friends...
(Feel free to adapt and use for free)

O THE MERCY
can be sung to NETTLETON 
(Come Thou Fount of Ev'ry Blessing) 
traditional American melody; 
John Wyeth’s Repository of Sacred Music, 1813


1. O the mercy of my Father
What He ever saw in me
I had turned away from kindness
In my blindness falling free
Though I ran from home and blessing
I recalled His mercy mild
He embraced me in my weakness
Welcomed back His wandering child.

2. O the mercy of my Saviour
What He ever saw in me
So to lay aside His glory
So a man in flesh to be
How He knows my inner weakness,
Feels my deepest hidden pain
Then He died the death I earned Him
Give me back His life again.

3. Alleluia, Alleluia!
What He ever saw in me
I can never full repay Him
For the debt that set me free
But with love I want to follow
And to offer Him my life
Join His great eternal purpose
As a living sacrifice.
----------------------------------------------------------



YOUR HOME IS MAGNIFICENT (Psalm 84)
may be sung to the Welsh hymn tune ST. DENIO
(Immortal, Invisible, God Only Wise)

1. Your home is magnificent, LORD of the skies
From here in Your courtyard I lift up my eyes
The views are delightful, my eyes drink them in
My heart sings for joy at the beautiful scene.

2. The sparrow has found here a peaceable home
And even the swallow, a place for her young
For here on Your altars they placidly rest
While angels are watching they feather their nest.

3. How happy are those who call Your house their own
Their strength is in You, and to You they can run
Far better one day here than living with kings
I rest in Your presence, my happy heart sings!

"Walmart Thinking" in the Church

On page 150 of his book "Church Unique", Will Mancini makes a connection between Walmart and "Seven-Days-A-Week" churches:

"It happens every week. I talk to church leaders who think the answer to reaching more people with the gospel and growing more people toward Christ-like maturity  is adding more minitry stuff.  You name it: more staff, more programs, more events, more buildings, more, more, more. 

I call it “Walmart thinking” because the basic strategy is to put more stuff on the shelf in hoping to attract more people. 

The good news is that when the “7-day-a-week-church” strategy that worked in the 80s rolls around again, your church will be ready! 

Here are the six signs that your church is suffering from this “more is more” deception:

#1 The church is stuck thinking that more programs translates to more life change

#2 The church is deceived by the myth that people want more choices

#3  The church inadvertently thinks that time at church equals spiritual maturity

#4 The church can’t say no to their peoples’ ideas even when the ideas are ineffective

#5 The church allows immature, knowledge-centered spirituality to dictate program offerings

#6 The church contains more religious consumers than growing followers of Jesus

Never forget the cardinal rule of being the church on mission: Programs don’t attract people, people attract people. Most likely your church doesn’t need more things to do. It needs a few things it must do, defined by a clear, simple strategy."

Letter To My Parents

Today is my mom’s birthday.

My parents live 1000 miles away in eastern Canada, and I normally see them once a year, but I call them once or twice a week.

I am involved with some men at my church in writing Letters of Blessing to our wives, children and parents.

This morning I called Mom and Dad, and read them the following letter.

I plan to send a hard copy to them this week, framed to hang on the wall if they’d like to.

Thanks to Mom and Dad

On this day, March 24, 2010, Mom’s 79^th birthday, I want to express my deep gratitude and thankfulness for all that you have given to me as parents. My words are insufficient but I want to express the deep appreciation for you that I have in my heart.

I am thankful that you raised me in a Christian home and led me to my Saviour, Jesus Christ. This is the most important gift anyone has ever given to me.

I am thankful for the godly heritage that you have passed down to me, and to my children and grandchildren.

I am thankful for my wonderful memories of childhood fun with both of you.

I am thankful that you disciplined me when I needed it, but always out of love, never out of anger.

I am thankful that I inherited the gift of music (and so many other good things) from either one or the other of you. Thanks for your encouragement in music in the early years. Music and singing have provided great joy for me all throughout my life, and financial provision for many years.

I am thankful that you were willing to provide financial help when it was needed.

I am thankful that, besides me, you raised Don and Nancy, a brother and sister whom I love and cherish. They are now adults with high ideals and strong moral character.

I am so thankful that you have loved and welcomed Connie into your family. She is a wonderful blessing and treasure to me.

I am thankful for your friendship, love and wise counsel all through my adulthood.

I look forward to fellowship with you in the years ahead, and fellowship with you in heaven. I pray for God’s blessings on your life. Your reward will be great.

I love you,

Gary

World Water Week

I'm a big fan of ONE.org , an organization that seeks to end extreme poverty on our planet.

Any organization that includes both Pat Robertson and Al Sharpton must have something going for it!

This week, ONE.org is promoting World Water Week, and I encourage you to:

(1) read about it online.

(2) pray for people around the world who need the Jesus' living water, and clean H2O as well.

(3) do something tangible to support this important effort.

Google News will be a good place to start.

And check out both ONE.org and water.org for more information.

Have a wonderful day!

Racial Diversity: Dunkin Donuts or First Church?

Last Saturday I stopped at Dunkin Donuts at 7:30 am. I had a few minutes to spare, so instead of running through the Drive-Thru I went inside. It was a very busy place.

A young woman was getting a large order that included two Box O'Joe containers filled with coffee. An old man sat reading the newspaper. There was a steady stream of customers inside, and cars at the Drive-Thru wound around the building. I ordered a large coffee and waffle sandwich with bacon and egg. Then I sat at a table in the corner, watching people.

Eight employees were working behind the counter, four men and four women. None of them were teenagers -- they all appeared to be between 25 and 40. All of them were lean and attractive, neatly dressed, pleasant and courteous. Four wore headsets.

Only one one young man appeared to be a white American. Three of them (two men and a woman) were Pakistani or Indian. I assumed they might have been related to the owner of the restaurant, since many Dunkin Donuts in our area are owned by Pakistanis or Indians. Two of the young women were ethnically Mexican or Central or South American. Another appeared to be Chinese. The fourth young man was African-American. (My apologies if I have been racially insensitive in this paragraph.)

I marveled at the racial diversity. Everyone seemed upbeat and happy, the women conversing with one another when they had a few moments, smiling and laughing.

The scene says much about life in Frederick, Maryland in 2010. Many other restaurants and businesses would provide similar scenes. We're pretty diverse here. My next-door neighbors are from Sierra Leone and Mexico.

Does the Church reflect this diversity? Well, yes and no.

Our county is home to about 300 churches, and we identify many of them by race or culture -- white, African-American, Korean, Chinese, Mexican, Salvadoran, Burmese, Haitian, etc.

But it is doubtful if more than a handful of local churches are racially integrated (that is, having 20% of their attenders coming from a minority group.) One of the local Catholic parishes comes to mind as a place of significant racial diversity. And one of our large Pentecostal churches is a model of racial integration, with a staff of black and white pastors .

We might all welcome individuals and families of other races into our fellowships, but many of us seem more comfortable with those who are racially and culturally "like us".

Have you seen the bumper stickers that say, "Welcome to USA. Now Learn English"? I wonder if the drivers of those vehicles identify themselves as Christians. I wonder if their immigrant ancestors were welcomed to these shores by American Indians insisting that they learn Iroquois or Huron or Cree.

What does it say about us that our schools and workplaces are racially integrated while most of our Christian churches are not?

Earth is a place of beautiful ethnic diversity. Increasingly, we live in a global village, and the nations of the world are coming to North America.

I want to befriend and worship and work with persons of many races, languages, and cultures. There are joys that we miss by our de facto segregation.

More Than Green Beer & Leprechauns

(My daughter, Aleen Tindor, is today's blogger. Here she is outside a pub in Dingle, Ireland in July 2004.)

Ireland is more than green beer and leprechauns.

It's a patchwork of countless shades of green divided by fence after stone fence.

It's postcard clouds making shadows on craggy mountainsides

with sheer cliffs untamed by tourists and guardrails.

It's a love of life, a passion, a verve, charisma, sarcastic wit, and mischievous eyes.

It's people-centered, slower-paced hospitality served with midnight tea.

It's pride in being mistaken for a local and being told "You look the part".

It's the endless rocky Burren, each step more intriguing than the last.

It's the salty spray of the ocean mist pounding the rugged shoreline.

It's the sunshine reflected in tiny diamonds on the surface of the sea.

It's thunder rumbling from the skilled feet of dancers

accompanied by bodhrans, harps, fiddles, concertinas and flutes.

It's the musical lilt of dialect.

It's laughter from deep within as I'm pulled onto the dance floor and spun around on the pub floor to live jigs and reels with the crowd cheering me on.

It's a party late into the night with people of all ages

wearing business suits, halter tops and everything in between- everyone with a story.

It's some "blarney" (BS) mixed with "troot" (truth).

It's craic (good times) and adventure

contrasted by ancient cathedrals and celtic crosses among misty ruins ages old;

graves made smooth with time.

It's perfect strangers becoming friends and friends becoming family.

It's potatoes, turnips, soda bread, scones, tea, digestives,

bangers and rashers (bacon and sausages), and fried tomatoes.

It's narrow hairpin turns on crazy roads, colored Georgian doors,

Donegal tweed hats, and the smell of peat fires.

It's the place of my roots whose song echoes in my heart.

This is Ireland.

Saint Patrick's Breastplate

Today I put on a terrible strength
invoking the Trinity,

confessing the Three, with faith in the One
as I face my Maker.

Today I put on the power of Christ's birth and baptism,
of his hanging and burial, His resurrection, ascension,
and descent at the Judgement.

Today I put on the power of the order of the Cherubim,
angels' obedience, archangels' attendance,
in hope of ascending to my reward;
patriarchs' prayers, prophets' predictions, apostles' precepts,
confessors' testimony, holy virgins' innocence and the deeds of true men.

Today I put on the power of Heaven,
the light of the Sun, the radiance of the Moon,
the splendour of fire, the fierceness of lightning,
the swiftness of wind, the depth of the sea,
the firmness of earth and the hardness of rock.

Today I put on God's strenghth to steer me,
God's power to uphold me, God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye for my vision, God's ear for my hearing,
God's word for my speech, God's hand to protect me,
God's pathway before me, God's shield for my shelter,
God's angels to guard me from ambush of devils,
from vice's allurements, from traps of the flesh,
from all who wish ill, whether distant or close, alone or in hosts.

I summon these powers today
to take my part against every implacable power that attacks my body and soul,
the chants of false prophets, dark laws of the pagans,
false heretics' laws, entrapments of idols,
enchantments of women or smiths or druids,
and all knowledge that poisons man's body or soul.

Christ guard me today from poison, from burning,
from drowning, from hurt, that I have my reward.

Christ beside me, Christ before me,
Christ behind me, Christ within me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me.

Christ on my right hand, Christ on my left,

Christ where I lie, Christ where I sit, Christ where I rise.

Christ in the hearts of all who think of me,
Christ in the mouths of all who speak to me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

Today I put on a terrible strength,
invoking the Trinity,
confessing the Three, with faith in the One
as I face my Maker.

The Real Saint Patrick

Patrick was a real person who didn’t drink green beer or kiss the Blarney Stone. He didn’t believe in leprechauns or play the accordion, as far as we know.

We should know about him today because he’s a real Christian hero. He was a man of action who obeyed God against overwhelming odds. He was a missionary saint who carried God’s love to a violent pagan culture.

Patrick lived 400 years after New Testament times. We have two surviving documents written by Patrick. One is his CONFESSION – 62 paragraphs that outline of his life.

He was born in western Scotland or England, into a Christian family. But he says, “I did not, indeed, know the true God.”

At 15 he was kidnapped by pirates and sold as a slave in Ireland. He was put to work as a shepherd, and in desperation began to seek after Christ.

He writes, “More and more did the love of God, and my… faith increase, …so that [I said] …up to a hundred prayers [a day], and in the night a like number; …I used to stay out in the forests and on the mountain and I would wake up before daylight to pray in the snow, in icy coldness, [and] in rain…” He says, “…the Spirit was burning in me at that time.”

After six years, Patrick escaped from Ireland, and returned to his family. One night in a vision he heard “The Voice of the Irish” calling to him: “…holy youth, …come and… walk again among us.” He tells us of three other visions by which he was convinced that God was calling him to take the gospel to the Irish people.

Patrick spent 20 years preparing for his Irish mission. He became a priest, and later, a bishop.

About the year 432, he returned to Ireland with a small band of workers. (Perhaps these were the original Irish Rovers.) He was already in his late 40s. (That gives hope to some of us who find our life’s purpose after our youth is gone.)

The religion of the early Irish involved many gods and human sacrifice.

One of my Top 25 books is HOW THE IRISH SAVED CIVILIZATION. In it, Thomas Cahill says, “It would be an understatement to assert that the Irish gods were not the friendliest of figures. …there are few idols that we have retrieved from barrow or bog that would not give a child nightmares and an adult the willies. …Archaeological finds… serve…to underscore the monstrousness of the Celtic [gods]…” (p.126)

Cahill writes, “Patrick declared that [human] sacrifices were no longer needed. Christ had died once for all. [Perhaps] he quoted Paul, his model, who… recited…the oldest Christian hymn of which we have record:

(It goes like this) “…[Jesus] was obedient to death… upon a cross. / …therefore God has raised him up And… given him the Name-Which-is-above-all-names, That at the name of Jesus all / In heaven high shall bow the knee / And all the earth and depths / And every tongue of men proclaim / That Jesus Christ is Lord… to the glory of the Father.”

Cahill continues: “Yes, the Irish would have said, here is a story that answers our deepest needs – and answers them in a way so good that we could never have dared dream of it. We can put away our knives and abandon our altars. These are no longer required. The God of the Three Faces has given us His own Son, and we are washed clean in the blood of this lamb. God does not hate us; he loves us [!] … It is our lives, not our deaths, that this God wants.” (pp.141-142)

For thirty years, Patrick told the story of Jesus at every opportunity. There were threats and attacks, and occasionally he was imprisoned. But thousands of the Irish people trusted in Jesus Christ. And Patrick and his team baptized thousands of these converted Celts. They set a course which turned the life and culture of Ireland upside down within a generation or two.

I said earlier that Patrick is one of the great missionary saints. He took the Great Commission of Jesus seriously. We need to take Jesus seriously as well.

He said, “…go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you…” (Matt. 28:19-20)

In this world of 6.6 billion people, there are still over 6,800 Unreached People Groups without an indigenous Christian church in their culture. As followers of Jesus, we are commanded to “make disciples of all nations”. We can pray, or we can give, or we can go. What are you doing to obey this command of our Lord?

Family Skate Night

Last night I went to the rink with 100 other people from our church for Family Skate Night. This is a once-a-year event, and a good fundraiser for youth ministries, so I was glad to go, even if neither of my daughters nor my wife would join me.

Did I say that I love to skate? Even though I was never a jock, hockey was my game growing up in Canada, and now that I'm in Maryland I'm usually one of the best skaters at events like this.

I put on my Canada hoody and my Montreal Canadiens baseball cap, and did my best to represent my nation well. They played contemporary Christian music, and we skated in a counter-clockwise circle the whole time. After awhile my left hip began to tire, but I pushed on gamely. Every now and then I would skate backwards for awhile -- that's sure to impress.

I visited briefly with several of the dads and realized that I was the oldest person there. So I was an oddity. The teenagers were interacting with one another, pairing up, tripling up, forming skating chains and so on. By the time I had skated about ninety minutes, I realized how much less enjoyable this was than it might have been had Connie or one of the girls been with me.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I went, and my brief conversations were fine. But many things are supposed to be done with close friends or family.

How impoverished my life would be without the love of these persons who are dear to me, these dear ones whom I treasure.

I thank God for family, and for the life we share together. How thankful I am for our shared memories, our shared history. We were made for these relationships.

What about you? What events have you experienced that made you realize the importance of family?

How Have Modern Media Impacted the Church? (Part 1)

How have 20th century media affected the Church in the West, for good or for ill?

What was the effect of radio on the Church from the 1920s through 1940s?

What was the effect of television on the Church from the 1950s until now?

How has the personal computer (and specifically the internet) impacted the Church?

What is the upside for the Body of Christ?

What is the downside?

What do YOU think?

Oyster Dinners -- A Slice of Americana

For two Saturdays in a row, I've gone with my father-in-law to an Oyster Dinner. Frank is in his eighties, loud and feisty -- and for years he's gone to every oyster dinner he can get to. Here in the Mid-Atlantic, the Oyster Dinner is a common fundraiser for fire departments and churches.

Last week, it was the Urbana Volunteer Fire Department. This week, the Jefferson Ruritan Club. Several hundred of us sat down at table together and were served "family-style" -- pass the plate, please -- country ham, turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, cranberry sauce, pickles and applesauce.

We sat down with people we didn't know -- a man with a flattened nose, a married couple in their sixties, another couple in their thirties.

And you make conversation (this is a great exercise for the timid and introverted among us). Frank eats virtually nothing but oysters, and quips loudly with those across the table.

This is Americana -- baseball caps and muscle shirts, mullets and tattoos, white hair, grey hair, no hair -- you can taste the flavor, quite apart from those watery shellfish.

The Church is kind of like this -- the body of Christ, all shapes and sizes, all ages and races, sitting down together at the Lord's table. Often you don't get to choose who you sit beside -- or who sits beside you. You eat together what has been graciously provided for you, and you begin to speak to one another, awkwardly at first. You find out that your table mate is a Catholic while you're a Methodist. They're a Democrat and you're a Republican.

But if you visit long enough, you find you have much in common...

What do you think? What slices of Americana have you experienced?

Is the Benefit for Haiti or Me?

I'm part of a Celtic Music Benefit for Haiti tonight. I want to help Haiti. But -- let me be honest -- what I'm looking forward to most is playing "Irish" music with my people. I'm glad to know that Catholic Relief Services has raised over $90 million for Haiti, and UMCOR has raided $14.5 million.

I want to help Haiti very much, but tonight I'm mostly looking forward to playing music. And I hope for a good turnout, so that my preparation work for this event is not badly reflected on.

Do you see how much of this revolves around me? My thoughts and words and deeds -- 90% of them revolve around me. And I suspect you're much the same.

We were created in the image of God, but that image has been marred by sin. We are a bundle of contradictions -- good hopes, good aspirations, good dreams. But even our best motives are mixed so much of the time.

What do you think?