30 for 30: Part VIII

15) Today, Maggie and I had a great conversation about her day at school. Like all good fathers, I asked her what she learned about today. She's not yet jaded enough to mutter the non-committal "nothing" that I'll get from her in a few years, so she told me that she learned about the news. In Maggie's world, the big news of the day regarded hurricanes. Apparently they learned about Irene and, in the course of discussion talked about Katrina. Like most 5 year-olds, Maggie's chronology is a little off. She was uncertain if Katrina was an ongoing event or if it happened "back in the old days". (As funny as this sounds, Suzanne was pregnant with Maggie during the storm, so I guess those were the old days) As she mentioned Katrina, I looked at the date and realized that today was the anniversary.

And what an anniversary. Suzanne and I were still newlyweds, awaiting the birth of a little girl. I had just begun my last year of seminary in New Orleans and we were counting down the days until Maggie's arrival. We knew that there was a storm in the Gulf, but being well-seasoned residents of the coast, we didn't give it a lot of extra thought. During church Sunday morning, Bro. Teddie received word that the storm had strengthened to a Category 5 and we knew we had some decisions to make. I've never been one to evacuate, as I've always lived on high ground and in a well-built home. As I thought about Suzanne's delicate condition (7 1/2 months along) I decided to leave. We hopped in the car Sunday night and headed northeast to beautiful Albany, GA where we rode it out the storm with some of our family.

We got a good night's sleep on Sunday night and did everything we could find to do in Albany on Monday morning. Unfortunately, everything we could find to do occupied us for about 45 minutes. So, by 10 am we were back on hurricane watch. I was able to watch the local broadcast online, and the Weather Channel was available in the hotel. We watched the drama unfold from afar, with no real knowledge of what to expect when we got home.

You know the rest of the story, probably better than I do. We only lost a few shingles, while others lost everything. Along N. Wintzell and points South, some of my favorite spots and sights had been reduced to rubble. I felt like I'd been dropped into an alien world where home was there but would never be just the same again.

I got a message from the seminary the next day. The campus had received little significant damage and we would go back to class at the start of the next week. Then, the levees broke. I wouldn't return to New Orleans until May, this time as a member of the "Katrina class". We had finished our studies online, through correspondence, and at extension centers. Nonetheless, we were graduates. If seeing the Bayou after Katrina had been a nightmare for its familiarity, New Orleans was as bad for its scope. The only hotel rooms we could find were in the French Quarter, so with my wife and new baby in tow, we headed in for the night, preparing for a big day on Saturday.

Normally, I have no trepidation about the Quarter. I know it well. I've visited often. I'm just not the skittish type. This night was somehow different. New Orleans felt strange and different. The majority of the folks I encountered seemed like survivors of an apocalypse, discovering meaning a landscape that had been forever altered by the times and tides of nature. The next day, the seminary chapel was open for business for the first time since the storm came ashore. It was a day of celebration and tears, like all graduations. Naturally, all of those emotions were intensified as many of us were reunited for the first time, post-Katrina.

The night before graduation, we had the opportunity to join two dear friends and their wives for a night out to eat at on old favorite haunt in the Quarter. It was a good night with good friends but we all commented on the state of the Quarter. What was it that was so different from any other trip I had ever made? Then I came to the moment of realization: The smell was gone.

16) If you've ever visited the Quarter, you know what I'm talking about. If you've not, one of the peculiarities of the French Quarter is its distinctive smell. I'm not sure that anyone knows what all of the major components of this smell are, but none of them are particularly pleasant. In combination, they produce a stench that more sensitive nostrils will find particularly disagreeable. For all of the ambiance that this district offers, the smell can be difficult for a first-time visitor to overcome.

On this night, the smell was gone. It seemed that the flood waters and recovery had taken it away, if only for a little while. As the waters receded, they left behind a scent of hope. Everywhere I traveled in the days following Katrina, up and down the Coast, you could sense it. Even in the midst of destruction beyond my feeble imaginings, people were finding hope.

Maggie has had some questions about hurricanes, and I'm afraid I don't have very many good answers. She's never experienced one and can't understand why they happen. Neither can I. I've received good theological training and I know the textbook answers. I figure God doesn't need me to defend Him. He does a pretty good job of that on His own. Like everyone else, I find myself in the wake of tragedy wondering about the why. Then I find it. Not the why, but the hope. I don't know why God floods my little plot of Earth sometimes, but when the waters receded, we always found hope.

Sunday night, I preached about Noah and the Ark. Regardless of your position on biblical inspiration and inerrancy, Noah's story is fascinating. In a day where God flooded the entirety of the earth and delivered out one man and his family alive, I imagine that hope was hard to come by. When Noah and his boys emerged from the ark onto dry ground, I can't imagine what they were confronted with. I suppose if it were me, a flood of emotion would overwhelm me as I faced the reality of a home that would never be like it was. Noah found hope, a new order, a covenant with God, and a promise of unending faithfulness. Perhaps, for the first time in a long time, the smell was gone.

Tonight, as I think about the destruction of a region, the death of over 1,800 people, and the psychological impact of the devastation, I'm thankful that there's hope. I find myself wondering what in the world is going on in the world from time to time, but then I remember hope. Hope for today and for a future. For the promise that the day is coming when all of the storms will have passed:


16 So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. 17 For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, 18 as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.
2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Another storm will come, let's hold on to the hope of the unseen.

30 for 30: Part VII

13) Saturday night, we had the opportunity to participate in one of the great fellowship activities that were once a staple in the churches of the Deep South: The Saturday night Gospel Singin' and Fish Fry. If you've never had the opportunity to participate in one of these events, I pity you for having never really lived. Congregants at the Gospel Singin' and Fish Fry can be divided into two primary categories: the music lovers and the foodies. The music lovers just love to hear a good old gospel song and will be at whichever church is going to be having some good live music. The foodies are there for the fish, which are generally the star attraction. One subset of these foodies are the cooks, which are primarily middle-aged and older men. There's a certain level of expertise that's necessary to properly fry fish. Each of these cooks will have his own opinions on the process, quality and variety of fish, and the appropriate number of samples per cook. This is a highly scientific process, and the cooks should never be questioned.

Towards the end of the singing, Joseph started get tired. He made his way towards the front pew where I was sitting and he laid down with his head in my lap while we listened to the final number. As we prepared to dismiss for the fish fry, I spoke to several of the evening's musicians and I noticed one of the men looking at Joseph with a little glimmer in his eye. He told me that he couldn't help but notice me holding my boy and it reminded him of when his son was the same age. His son will go into harm's way as he is deployed to the Middle East in the next few weeks.

14) As he told me about his boy, I couldn't help but think of mine. Today we're playing dinosaurs, tomorrow it will be high school, and the next day I'll have grandchildren. Maybe one day it will be my boy who wears a US military uniform and defends my freedom. Regardless, adulthood is around the corner and the remaining hours of his childhood are fleeting and few. I wonder if I'm making the most of them. Does he get the best of time and attention? Does he find in his father a man worth emulating? Has he seen in me the hero that he can one day measure his life by? Will I be that man, before it's too late? I hope so. That day will come too soon, but tonight I've got a little guy to hug goodnight.

30 for 30: Part VI

11) I had one of my favorite suppers after church tonight. Yesterday at lunch, the family and I joined my parents, aunt, uncle, and sister at a restaurant in Baldwin County. Yesterday's meal: Mahi-Mahi tacos. I like fish tacos and was really looking forward to these. Grilled fish, corn tortillas, black beans, cheese, cabbage, and a spicy crema all combined for a meal that was, in all honesty, just pretty good. Tonight, I had a hot dog and it was divine. I like food, in all its many varieties, but the older I get, the more I'm drawn to simple flavors. Perhaps the problem is that my palate isn't sophisticated enough to enjoy 43 different flavors at one time, but I found myself wanting to deconstruct my fish tacos. Taste bud confusion overwhelmed me. My hot dogs (with chili and cheese) caused no such problems. I know that many of my more cultured readers (who am I kidding, none of my readers are cultured!) may have a negative attitude toward the hot dog, but I'm a big fan personally. I don't know that I could have been more satisfied by a ribeye than I was by my hot dog. Maybe all of that stuff about the simple things in life is right...

12) I've spent a lot of time this week thinking about the issue of contentment. I'm not good at finding contentment. I want to make things better or have more or improve things. Nowhere is this more evident than in my cooking. If a little bit of salt and pepper is good, then a lot of kosher salt and cayenne pepper would be better. When I cook, excess is the name of the game. On the plus side, when I cook we never run out. On the negative, sending me to the grocery store is a nightmare. Suzanne does her best to send me with specific instructions, but anything that catches my eye is up for grabs. I can't begin to tell you how many things I've snagged without my wife's consent. (We have a pack of couscous in a drawer at our house. It moved here with us. I saw couscous on sale and decided that I would cook it. The only problem with this plan was that I don't particularly care for couscous.)

Perhaps I should learn from my excess. Would I do well to enjoy more hot dogs and not invest in the Mahi tacos? Can I embrace the simple tastes and pleasures that I find more fulfilling? Will I learn moderation, after 30 years of roundly rejecting it? These questions and more, to be answered in my next 30 years!

30 for 30: Part V

9) I've got great kids, but they're growing up too fast. Tomorrow will be a big day in the life of the Landry family. With the start of the new school year, Suzanne will be heading back to work, Amelia has begun her day-care career, and Maggie will begin kindergarten. After daycare and preschool at Dixon last year, the moment has arrived and she will walk into her first big-girl classroom. Unexpectedly, we found out last week that Joseph would also be going to "big boy" school. The door opened for Joseph to participate in pre-K at Collier Elementary School and we were excited for the opportunity. Friday, I took Joseph to register, meet his teacher, and see the school. He did great, but I was a little overwhelmed.

Preparation for the school year has caused me to reflect on my relationship with my kids. I don't know that I would classify myself as father of the year material, but I hope that I'm doing a good job. One thing that is certain is that they have my heart. Tomorrow, they go to a place that is outside of the realm of my control. As it turns out, I know both of their teachers on a personal level and have every confidence in their ability to care for and nurture my children emotionally and intellectually. I'm excited for them, but I'm a bit nervous at the same time. How have you parents of adults done it?

10) I guess that letting go is harder than I ever thought it would be. I suppose that tomorrow marks a moment in my children's lives in which they will begin to make their own way in the world. They will begin to establish identities separate from their parents. I'm excited and have no doubts that they will do well. As their father, I'm certain that my kids are the brightest, most beautiful, and most lovable children that have ever graced our planet. I can't imagine them not excelling. I remember going to school once upon a time, though. Someone will be mean. There will be fights, scraped knees, hurt feelings, and subjects that are difficult to grasp. I'd give anything to be able to protect them from all of it, but I can't.

So what can I do? As best I can tell I'm limited to three things:
A) Instruction: What am I pouring into the lives of my children? Have I directed them into paths of righteousness? Am I teaching them the right way to live? Will they know how to treat others with respect and to follow instructions? Will I continue to correct and discipline moving forward?

B) Love: Have I offered my children unconditional love? Will I be willing to love them through listening? When they hurt, will they recognize that they can come to me and experience my love, before they listen to my wisdom? Will they carry hearts so full of their parents' love that they will be difficult to injure?

C) Prayer: I did something I don't usually do with my children tonight. We try to have a regular nightly prayer time with our kids, but this evening I called them to come sit in my lap and told them that I wanted to have a special prayer for them. I laid my hands on those two babies and prayed specifically for each of them and the start of their new school year. This won't be the last time that I do it. Will my children experience God's blessing as a result of a father who is faithful to intercede on their behalf?

30 for 30: Part IV

7)At 30, mowing the grass has taken on a whole new significance in my life. Today, I was excited about mowing grass after work. How did I reach this place? As a young boy, I was fascinated by this activity. As I watched my dad mow the grass, it seemed like a great opportunity to display my mastery over both lawn and machine. Mowing grass appeared to be a very grown-up thing to do. Not long afterwards, I got the opportunity to move from spectator to participant. At 7, I had my first opportunity to operate the Yazoo. If you've never had the chance to use a Yazoo pushmower, you've missed out on the Cadillac of mowers. I quickly discovered that, regardless of the quality of the equipment, mowing is a lot like work. In Bayou La Batre, Alabama, it is particularly hot work in vegetation that could best be classified as Amazonian. I rebelled against yardwork. Not actively, but my passive-aggressive streak helped me to do the job poorly and with a negative attitude. I did the best I could to avoid the task by any means necessary. I also pouted. This inspired one of my dad's often repeated phrases: "You're going to do it and you're going to like it".

I'm no longer a preteen and nobody is lovingly instructing me to get my behind in gear and mow the grass. I'm blessed by a wonderful church where people regularly offer to mow the grass at the pastorium. I seldom take them up on the offer, because I enjoy my time on the tractor. For a few hours this afternoon, I was able to relax and enjoy a bit of time working outdoors and accomplishing a necessary task. What in the world has happened to me?

8) I think that maybe on some level what has happened to me is that I am beginning to understand the concept of dominion is recorded in the Genesis account of Creation.

And God blessed them. And God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth.” Genesis 1:28

I grew up surrounded by people who were close to the earth. On my mother's side, the family earned their living off of the bounty of the land. Over the years, I watched and helped as Grandpa raised soybeans, corn, and cotton. At the shipyard, we were dependent on the bounty of the sea to bring in business, and Dad paid careful attention to the state of each season's haul. In south Mobile County, our traditional means of livelihood are closely intertwined with the harvest of the earth and seas.

I've lost most of that connection. My vocation doesn't require it. I don't have a garden and I only fish recreationally. That leaves me with my yard. My only opportunity to exercise dominion over creation and subdue the earth occurs on this plot of land. Hopefully, I've done my part to keep the second commandment to mankind today!

30 for 30: Part III

Part I:
Part II:

5) Life calls for a few indulgences. I really do wish I was more disciplined and I have a great admiration for people who demonstrate a high-level of personal discipline on a regular basis. I attempt to discipline myself and I'd like to think that I do well in certain areas. Today was an ice cream day, however. I volunteered to help with supper tonight and made a quick trip to Greer's to pick up a few things for the meal. Upon exiting the store, Suzanne called to remind me to get Pedialyte for Amelia. You see, after Suzanne had an appointment today and Maggie got a cap on her trip to the dentist, Amelia was diagnosed with a nasty case of hand, foot, and mouth disease. I headed down to CVS to pick up the Pedialyte and came to an important realization: My family needs ice cream tonight. As luck would have it, the Edy's was on sale, so we got ice cream. After supper, Maggie and I sat down to share a bowl of dulce de leche. It wasn't all that great, but I'm a firm believer that the only bad ice cream is that which is not found in my bowl. Tonight, my daughter and I shared a few moments of bliss. It was a waste of money and a waste of calories. It kept her up past her bedtime. It was completely worth it and I plan to do it again soon. I hope that I will embrace a more disciplined life in the days ahead, but I also hope that there will always be room for ice cream.

6) I wish that reality tv would die a quick painless death. Others have said it more eloquently, but I'm deeply saddened that my children will never know what a regular tv show looks like. As I write tonight's observations, the Food Network is playing in the background. I love the Food Network, but I would give anything if they would get rid of all of the horrible "competitions". I don't need to see anybody else make a big overly decorated cake or cupcake tower. I don't care about any of the interpersonal drama that gets "cooked up" (so punny!) on the show. I'd like an entertaining and informative look at where food comes from, how it can be prepared, and/or places that it is served. Also, Guy Fieri looks like Ed Hardy has decided to produce its own line of middle-aged men who are trying too hard to be edgy. But, I digress. People like Martin Luther King, Jr. had really important dreams, I just dream about a world without reality tv. Is that too much to ask for?

30 for 30: Part II

If you missed part I you can click here to find out what's going on

3)This summer has helped me realize the importance of the weather. As a child, I never gave much thought to the weather, as it usually came in four varieties: hot and wet, hot and humid, cold and wet, or cold and humid. Mom made sure that I was dressed appropriately for whatever situation arose and my only concern was whether or not the weather would prevent me from going outside to play or not. As a teenager, my interest in the weather increased ever-so-slightly. By this time I (mostly) dressed myself, but was in the fog of adolescence that prevented me from caring about staying warm or dry. No, my interest in the weather was a consistent prayer for rain. Exceptionally bad weather would mean that football practice might be cancelled or moved indoors. A rain-out at work would mean a day off. For those of you familiar with the weather pattern of south Mobile County, I'd find myself sitting in math class during Spring training while we experienced a miniature reenactment of the Deluge outside. Hoping beyond hope that practice would be called off or moved, I would watch in despair as the rain stopped just in time for the start of practice. Not only were we able to practice, but we had the added benefit of doing it in sauna-like conditions. At one point during my junior year, I found myself thinking that if I could just land in the right spot I might be able to take a quick swig from the mud puddle and stave off Death for a few more minutes.

At 30, which I am, as of today, I pay a lot more attention to the weather. I'm not exactly sure why, though. I don't farm or have a garden. The extent of our greenery are the two ferns on our front porch. Regardless, I found myself paying attention throughout our most recent round of drought, counting the days and praying for rain. Maybe this was empathy for those most affected, or perhaps I noticed that all of the grass was dying. Regardless, this would not have bothered me 10 years ago. I'm also interested in the tides. I don't fish all that often, but when I do, I try to take a look at the tide tables and I'll happily report on the phase of the moon and discuss the rising and the falling of the tide. I'm not all that sure what it really means or what in the world it has to do with fishing, but I feel much more knowledgeable when I do. My attempts to discuss things that I have no comprehension of will probably merit another point in this series.

Regardless, I wonder why the beginnings of middle-age have brought on a weather fascination? Will I soon find myself watching the Weather Channel? My wife used to do this. Is that as weird as I think it is? To this point, I've only found it acceptable to watch the Weather Channel during Jim Cantore's hurricane coverage. (Life rule #1 if Jim Cantore is reporting from anywhere near you, seek shelter immediately) It's not a real hurricane party if Jim's not on the tube. Is it possible that my priorities are shifting towards weather-related items? Maybe I'm more observant than I used to be. Friends and readers, will this get worse with age?

4) Item #4 is somewhat related to item #3: The rains will return again. We've been through a little drought here, south of Highway 90. For any of my readers who are not from this area, Highway 90 is the dividing line for Bayou La Batrians. If you live north of 90, you're a Yankee. We've had the driest summer that I can ever remember, marked by lots of hot dry air, all through May, June, and the first half of July. After many weeks of waiting, worrying, and praying, an amazing thing happened: it rained. And it rained, and it rained, and it rained. I'm sure that we've not caught up on our rain yet, but the last two weeks have certainly helped. Things seemed to last forever when I was a child: waiting for Christmas or the end of school, getting my driver's license or leaving for vacation would just never come. Unpleasant situations, poisonous relationships, and broken hearts felt like they would never mend. I just knew that whenever that endpoint would come, then everything would be OK. I've discovered an important truth: It all comes around eventually and the new day will carry it's own troubles. I'm thankful for people who are walking the road ahead of me, because I'm blessed by their wisdom. As often as I told my Dad "I can't wait for..." he would always tell me, "Son, don't wish your life away". He was right.

The rains will come again. Vacation time will be here before you know it. You'll be married soon, then your kids will be grown, and you'll be retired. Don't wish it away. I hope that I've got plenty of years left to enjoy and use this life to the best of my ability, but time will march steadily towards its conclusion whether I'm ready for it or not. My hope for the next 30 years is that I'll spend less time waiting for the rain to come and more of it making the best of the days of drought. God, grant me the grace to trust your mercy to make the days of waiting days of joy.

30 for 30: Part I

In which my readership indulges my ramblings about whatever happens to pop into my head at the moment...

1) Birthdays are funny things. I'm not sure why we place so much emphasis on the passage from one year of life to the next or the significance of the move from one decade to the next. I was born on July 30th, 1981 at Mobile Infirmary, the first child of Claude and Kay Landry. I was named after both of my grandfathers. The choices were Joseph Clinton or Dillard Claude. I'll let you figure out which one they chose. None of us gets to choose our birthday, but if I had been born a day later, I could have shared my special day with Harry Potter (7/30/80). Instead, I'll have to share my birthday with Arnold Schwarzenegger (7/30/47), Sid Krofft (he of HR Puffnstuff fame 7/30/29), and Lisa Kudrow (7/30/63). On a personal note, I share a birthday with my favorite TV chef, Alton Brown of Good Eats fame (7/30/62). The only famous person born on 7/30/81 was US Women's soccer star Hope Solo. Clearly, as a July 30th baby, I'm in good company.

2) Apparently, no great portents heralded my entrance into the world. According to Wikipedia, exactly nothing worth mentioning happened on July 30th, 1981. After a little bit of research, I found that BB King was the special guest on Johnny Carson. Much of the world was tuning in to watch the video of Charles and Diana's little wedding in the UK from the day before, the search had just begun for 6-year old Adam Walsh after his kidnapping and subsequent murder from a Sears store in Hollywood, FL, and Dawda Jawara was deposed as president of the Gambia. Apparently, my arrival made some difference in the world, as Major League Baseball ended its strike the next day and within 36 hours a few thousand cable subscribers in northern New Jersey were able to watch an MTV that featured actual music videos.



Exit thought: Based on the video evidence, the 80's were strange but wonderful times.

A Preacher Looks at 30

"The only time you really live fully is from thirty to sixty. The young are slaves to dreams; the old servants of regrets. Only the middle-aged have all their five senses in the keeping of their wits." - Hervey Allen

It's the big week here on N. Wintzell. Saturday will see my 20's come to a close and I will step into the beginnings of middle age. I don't expect much to change between Friday night and Saturday morning. Many of you who have known me feel like I've been 30 since I was 5. The occasion of my 30th birthday has given me reason to pause for introspection and over the next few weeks, I hope to share some of those insights with you. They'll probably be narcissistic, absurd, self-indulgent, or cliched. But then again, it's MY BIRTHDAY!

So, be on the lookout in the days ahead for my own 30 Thoughts for 30 Years.

One Year Ago...

OK, so it's taken awhile to write this one. It's hard to believe that just over a year ago I started my current journey down N. Wintzell, and I must say that the ride has been a blast. Over the past year, I've had the opportunity to serve a great church, come back to a hometown that I love, and get closer to a family that I've missed over the past few years. We've welcomed a new addition to our family and we've seen our church family grow as well. I don't know what the next year holds for any of us, but I just don't know how it could be any better than this year has been.

One of the highlights of the journey has been writing this blog. I've never really considered myself a writer but I've enjoyed the opportunity to share my thoughts, memories, and experiences with all of you. Hopefully, life will slow down in the days ahead and I'll be able to give the blog a bit more attention. Writing has been good for me and I want to do it more often. Thank you for indulging me and thank you for the many words of encouragement that I've received as I continue to write. If the measure of a man's life is the quality of his friends, than I believe that the last year has proven just how blessed I am. I'm surrounded by some of the best folks a person could ask to associate himself with and I don't take that lightly. I've been taking a look down N. Wintzell and I believe that the view is mighty fine!

A Late Father's Day Thought

I know, I know, the moment's passed. We had the opportunity to celebrate Father's Day Sunday, and I hope that you enjoyed your day as much as I enjoyed mine. Dads are special people (I'm biased, I know) and I know that I've been blessed with a great one. Dads are never more special than when you are five years old. At that point, they carry near-mythic powers. I heard this account of a conversation between a group of five year-olds that I believe is instructive on the subject.

"Three five year old boys were discussing which one of their dads was the smartest. The first little boy told his friends, 'My Dad is so smart, he writes a few words on a scrap of paper, calls it a poem, and they give him $100 for it.' Not to be outdone, the second little boy said, 'Oh yeah! My Dad is so smart, he writes a few words on a scrap of paper, calls it a song, and they give him $1,000 for it.' Finally, the pastor's son spoke up: 'My Dad's smarter than anyone of your dads. He writes a few words on a scrap of paper, calls it a sermon, and it takes four guys to take up all the money!'"

In my mind's eye, my Dad will always be 27. He's not anymore, and when I look at him, I can tell it. But when I think of him, he's always a young guy with dark hair (hair! and dark...)who has just come home from another day of hard work at the shipyard. My kids see him at work today and think he gets dirty. I remember when he came home so nasty you could only see the whites of his eyes. I wanted to play baseball, but my total lack of hand-eye coordination made it difficult. I was never the worst kid on the team, but I was never far off either. Regardless of my lack of skill, he was patient, going out in the backyard to practice with me as often as we had the opportunity. I never became a good baseball player (list this as reason #4,312 for why I am a pastor), but I did get better. It's important that every young boy be able to throw, catch, and hit well enough to not wear the dreaded "swings like a girl" label. I managed to avoid that, and it's all thanks to dear old Dad.

Over the years, he remained patient with me. Whether it was at home or at work, he did his best to teach me the manly arts. Some took, some did not. I'd like to think that the area where the lessons were best learned regard the art of the grill (an article for a later date). While I'm not all that handy, nor particularly proficient at anything requiring much skill, I can do enough to get by. Knowing my skill base, the fact that I reached this point at all should be a great testimony to Dad's patient instructions.

I still count on him. He's still patient. Slowly but surely, I'm learning new things. I'm staring down the barrel of 30 and I have three kids of my own. My Dad's still there for me. And though I've aged and he has too, I still see him as the same young man who filled his son's life with so much wonder. If I'm able to inspire in my children half of what he's inspired in me, I'll be able to look back on this life and say that my job was well done. Here's to you, Dad. Enjoy (a few days late) your day.

I think I'm going to find my boy and go play catch. Try not to be too impressed by my display of athleticism, as you take the drive down N. Wintzell.

VBS Time

If, like many of my readers, you grew up in a small town in Alabama (or really, most anywhere across the region) you probably had the opportunity to participate in one of the Summer's great traditions: Vacation Bible School. We're gearing up for our own VBS here on N. Wintzell, and I'm looking forward to it. If you have children or grandchildren in Kindergarten-6th grade, we'd love to have them come out and participate June 20th-24th from 8:30-11:30am. It'll be a good time!

Now that the commercial is out of the way, a few observations on VBS:

1) At a real VBS, you march in, say pledges, and learn the motto and memory verse for the week. The real key to all of this is the march. My dear Aunt Helen insured that each morning's opening assembly began with a processional into the church from outside. I'm not sure exactly why we have a processional, but we do. Maybe it's because everybody looks forward to the chance to participate in a parade? Regardless, standing around outside in the morning sauna in south Alabama is an important character-building experience that every child should participate in.

2) You can make almost anything with popsicle sticks and pipe cleaners. Over the course of my years as a student at VBS, we made things out of pipe cleaners and popsicle sticks that would have put MacGyver to shame. This is especially important given the fact that I may have been the worst craft-maker in the history of VBS. My poor parents would walk into my classroom each year on parent night to "see what I had made" at VBS this year. Thank God that they always smiled and told me it was great regardless of how poorly I had done. Leave me to memorize Bible verses and answer questions, thanks. I did always wonder, however, what in the world kind of pipes you cleaned with those pipe cleaners and who got to eat all of those popsicles?

3) Snack time was always a real highlight of VBS for me (Surprise!). But the greatest year of VBS I can remember was the year that we rented a sno-cone machine. Unlimited (ok, limited to one) sno-cones right there at my finger tips each and every day... It was heavenly. No begging to stop at a sno-cone shop, I could just go to VBS each day (not that I really had all that much choice in the matter) and when snack time came around I could enjoy my own icy treat. Other favorite snack options include cookies and kool-aid.

4) VBS was also a great opportunity to play with kids that I knew from school and wouldn't otherwise see all summer. There were always lots of kids who came to VBS that didn't usually attend our church and it was a fun time.

5) For one week each summer, a lot of fantastic adults poured out their love for Jesus into my life. Working with kids isn't easy, and at times it can be downright frustrating and disappointing. In the midst of all that, I got to experience the care and affection of good men and women who wanted me to know Jesus the same way that they did. Those weeks of VBS helped shape me and mold me. Now, I get the opportunity to return that investment, as I serve some of those same folks as their pastor. (Be careful what you teach those kids and VBS, they may preach it from your pulpit one day!)

If you're one of those faithful volunteers, thanks for what you do. If you're not, you should be! If you've got kids, grandkids, or great-grandkids, get them out to VBS at your church this summer. In the meantime, I'd really like one of those sno-cones, here on N. Wintzell.

About Those Unsightly Extra Pounds

Battle is raging today, here on N. Wintzell. It's that time again, as after nearly two years of convalescing I am engaging again in the Battle of the Bulge. For two consecutive nights now, I've gotten out for a run. I hope to drop a few pounds and improve my cardio health and stamina. Lest you think this move is inspired by vanity, well, it is at least a little bit. On the other hand, I hope that this latest move is inspired by a desire for long-term health. A few observations about the current state of my health:

1) I'm not in quite as bad a shape as I thought I was. Running has not been pleasant, by any means, but it hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be. Then again, I'm not running very far or very fast...

2) I think the difference is my Nike Dri-Fit t-shirt. While we were on vacation in Pigeon Forge, we engaged in that most American of pastimes, visiting the outlets. At the Nike store, I found some great deals on the aforementioned Nike shirts. I may not be very fast, but at least I run wearing a cool looking t-shirt. My Reebok pumps in 1991 may not have made me jump any higher, but I definitely think these shirts are boosting my running performance.

3) I like to eat way too much, and my hometown has provided too many opportunities to indulge. I blame all of you fantastic cooks for my current situation. In every church and community I've ever been in, the folks there thought they were the best cooks in the world. Citizens of Bayou la Batre, you win. On a trip to New England a few years back, Suzanne and I found ourselves in Burlington, Vermont on a Saturday night looking for supper. I was the fattest man in the entire city. After we finally found supper, I realized why. If I had to eat that slop three meals a day, I'd be thin too.

4) I sit around too much. Unfortunately, I do sedentary well. Don't get me wrong, I like to be active, but I also like to read, study, and relax. At the end of my day, one of the latter options is most likely to win out. Discipline and motivation are hard.

5) This really matters. As much as I wish it didn't, I know that I need to establish some healthier parameters in terms of my diet and exercise. I'd like to get as much out of the years I have as I can.

6) I could use some accountability, so if you see a fat guy running down N. Wintzell, yell something encouraging! Also, please don't throw anything at me.

7) I eat at Subway a lot, so that should count as healthy, right? What do you mean the chicken shouldn't be slathered in bacon and ranch dressing? What if I add spinach, is this a fair trade?

Hopefully, I will be providing updates on this journey in the weeks and months ahead. My goal is to parlay this effort in to running some kind of race (I'm mulling options now). Until then, it's off to bed with my tired legs and time to recover before I'm pounding the pavement again, here on N. Wintzell.

Quick Update

Greetings,

Sorry it's been awhile since I last posted. I want to take a moment and thank all of you for the tremendous outpouring of support that I've received here at N. Wintzell. I'm glad to hear how much you enjoy the blog, and I look forward to posting more often as we move into the summer. With that in mind, I wanted to let you know that I am also posting on another blog. In fact, it's The Happiest Blog on Earth. In it, I'll be joining with a group of bloggers as we share about our interest and fandom for all things Disney. Hopefully, you'll like it as much as the reflections provided here on N. Wintzell. I'm not giving up this blog, and if anything, I hope that this project will spark the creative juices and inspire me to write more often here. And as always, thanks for your support!

Now, I get the chance to write about my two favorite places on earth, and any way you look at it, that's a good thing. That's my view, from N. Wintzell to Main Street U.S.A.

Travels Abroad (or Tennessee) Part I

Greetings!

It's good to be back home, here on N. Wintzell after a week of travel. Last week, we took the opportunity to spend a few days away during Suzanne's spring break and, as always, we had quite the adventure. For this trip, we decided to go somewhere a bit different than our usual haunts, so we headed north to the mountains of eastern Tennessee for our time of rest and relaxation. If you've never visited the Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge area, you've missed out. I had never been there myself until just about 4 years ago. We were Disney World people (a story for another day) and never made the trek north. Each trip to the mountains fills me with a fresh perspective on the experience and this trip was no different.

Gatlinburg

No trip to the mountains would be complete without a cruise down the Parkway in Gatlinburg. One of the things that I appreciate about Gatlinburg is that I always walk away with my ego boosted from the trip. I'm a bit on the hefty side. While I'm not completely obese, I could definitely stand to lose a few pounds, and moving closer to Mama's cooking hasn't helped. A few years back, Suzanne and I took an anniversary trip to New England and found ourselves enjoying the scenery on a Saturday night in Burlington, Vermont. It was a beautiful place and I loved our time there. Burlington was also filled with thin attractive people. I was the largest man in the city. This is not the case in Gatlinburg. While the good people of Burlington looked at me with disgust over their grilled chicken salads, the visitors to Gatlinburg I saw looked up from their plates of pancakes and bacon as if to say, "come join us son, you're looking a little puny". In Gatlinburg, I'm truly amongst my own.

If we are what we consume, then my time in Gatlinburg scares me more than a little bit. If you were unaware, the entire economy of this fair city must be based on fudge, airsoft guns, and airbrushed t-shirts. The fudge I understand completely. Who doesn't love overpriced candy? (as for me, I prefer my tourist-trap confections in the taffy variety) I can understand the appeal of airsoft guns for young boys on vacation, but I can't for the life of me understand the thriving airbrushed t-shirt industry. (Disclaimer: I've never owned an airbrushed t-shirt) After observing my fellow travelers for a few hours, I felt like the airbrushed t-shirt was a cultural ritual worth participating in. I also believed that it would be better if my beloved and I got matching airbrushed t-shirts. Unfortunately, I was unable to convince my bride that we would be easier to keep up with in Dollywood with matching airbrushed t-shirts. As we passed by the shops, I gave significant consideration to what we might be able to get. At last, I decided that the perfect design to express my love of my wife and pride in my culture and heritage would be a buck and a doe standing side-by-side at sunset on a hillside covered with a Confederate-flag. I can't understand why she didn't want one either. Maggie let me know that she wouldn't be seen with me if I got an airbrushed t-shirt. Harsh words from a 5 year-old. At least Joseph thought the SpongeBob one looked cool.

That's all for today, but I'll be back soon with more on my trip report!

Easter Eggs

It's that time of year again. Here on N. Wintzell we're preparing for Easter Sunday, and I hope that it will be a good one, as we celebrate the Resurrection. This Saturday, we'll be hosting an Easter Egg Hunt at 10:30, and we'd love for you and your children to come out and be a part of it. A lot's changed since I hunted Easter eggs. Back in the good old days, we actually dyed chicken eggs. Instead of being stuffed with candy or *gasp* money, they were stuffed with hard-boiled egg yolks and whites. As a non-egg eater, there's nothing particularly appealing about finding these kinds of eggs, other than the thrill of victory and the opportunity to throw rotten eggs at each other down the road.

Regardless, Easter's a special time of year, filled with its own traditions, including making your children wear matching clothes. Mama made us wear matching clothes and now we're passing on the tradition to our kids. There's a picture out there with me in a Kelly Green sports coat from 1989 that I hope never sees the light of day. To share in the fun, my boy will be in orange plaid shorts this year. For those of us privileged enough to be of a certain age and to have been raised in this little patch of Alabama, we had the opportunity to share in one particularly fine Easter tradition. All over the world, children will get Easter baskets on the big morning, but for many of us, those Easter baskets came from my Aunt Gernes' store, Landry Dry Goods.

If you never had the opportunity to shop with Aunt Gernes, your life is poorer for it. The store had a little bit of everything and nothing was ever thrown away. Books could be filled with the stories of people who searched all over only to find what they were looking for at Landry Dry Goods. During this time of year, the shelves would fill with Easter baskets, and as a child, I knew that candy time was just around the corner. At the register, there would be a small box filled with a candy treat, appropriate for the season, the Cadbury Creme Egg. You know the ones I'm talking about. Every trip to Aunt Gernes' would find me begging Mom for one of those eggs. I'd seen the commercials and knew about the chocolate shell and the promise of rich, creamy goodness on the inside.



Occasionally she cracked and bought me one. What a let down. Cadbury Creme Eggs wrote the book on overpromising and underdelivering. It all seems so right, but when the fateful moment comes, the reality is that those Cadburys just aren't very good. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since those days and Aunt Gernes and the store are gone, but I haven't changed all that much. Just last week I found myself at CVS and saw a bin full of those eggs. I just had to try one, to see if I'd like them any better now. They taste just like they did last year, and the year before as well. They never fail to disappoint. Just thinking about those Cadbury eggs is downright depressing,

Thankfully, those Easter baskets had something better in them:


Behold! The perfect Easter candy.

Year in and year out, my baskets would have those old Elmer's Heavenly Hash eggs in them. No commercials, no quacking rabbits, just candy goodness. They never let me down. They're dependable. I've learned to trust them. No matter how many I have, I always want more. No substitute will work: I need Heavenly Hash.

This year at Easter, we're offered many substitutes for the Resurrection. We're invited to believe in a god who is heaven's wishgranter and a Jesus who is little more than a wandering prophet who said nice things and made people happy. A Jesus whose greatest desire is that all those who follow will engage in self-actualization and be healthy, wealthy, and wise. We can go to church on that Sunday and hear again the message of the Cross and the hope of the Resurrection and walk away from it to the comforting embrace of old habits and a life without faith that calls us to "come follow me".

But it wouldn't be very tasty. It's a faith that overpromises and underdelivers. Its the Cadbury Creme egg of beliefs. I don't want it. I'm tempted by it and occasionally I find myself desiring it, but I know that it won't deliver. Give me the Son of God sacrificed on a cross, bearing my sin. Give me a risen savior who calls me to forsake all to come after Him. Give me someone who has loved me with a steadfast love beyond my own understanding.

And give me another Heavenly Hash egg.

That's what I'm ready for, here on N. Wintzell

Praying for Japan

So, it's been awhile since I last updated the blog here on N. Wintzell. I hope that this writing finds all of you well. A few things have changed around the world since I last wrote. Unrest in the Middle East, rising gas prices, and now an earthquake in Japan have a lot of folks on edge. The unrest in the Middle East is all too familiar a phenomenon to cause me too much anxiety. Gas prices hit my wallet, but I made a decision about those several years back. In the wake of Katrina, with my wife 8 months pregnant, I found myself struggling to get life back to normal. If you live here on the coast, you probably remember what I'm talking about. Thankfully, we suffered no significant damage and we got power back in a relatively short amount of time. My one outstanding memory of that time was the gas shortage. I can remember driving all over the county to try to find gas and coming up empty, or hearing a rumor that a local station was going to get gas and sitting in line for hours waiting on the truck. During one of those waits, I promised God that as long as it was readily available, I wouldn't complain about the cost. So far, so good.

When I heard the news last week about the unfolding events taking place in Japan, my heart broke. Back in the Winter of 2003, I had the opportunity to travel to Japan as part of a team from the University of Mobile and it was an experience I'll never forget. From the view of Mt. Fuji, to the drive under and across Tokyo Harbor, to our visit to the Imperial palace, I was awed by what I saw there. In our work with the churches in Tokyo and Yokohama, I was blessed by the warmth of our brothers and sisters as we shared with each other. One of my favorite memories of the trip was the opportunity to preach at a New Year's Eve service for one of the local churches. For a kid from the Bayou, the chance to encourage these believers was the opportunity of a lifetime and an honor that I'll cherish forever.

I've not returned to Japan, but it's a nation that has often been on my mind. I loved my experience there and considered returning for a short-term period of service. As I watch the news and see the devastation this beautiful country is experiencing, I weep for the people of Japan. I think about those folks who are left to pick up the pieces as the news appears to grow bleaker every day with financial peril, nuclear danger, and other problems arise. I'm grateful for people who are on the scene responding to the needs. I'm a proud patriot and while I don't love everything about my country and its policies, I'm blessed when I see our people, privately and publicly respond to the needs of other nations.

Often, I hear people parroting a few familiar phrases: "We've got enough hurting people in America, we just need to take care of our own" and "I bet nobody else would come help us if that had happened in the U.S." To the former: we do have hurting people in our country, but very few of us are facing the kind of destruction that the folks we've helped are. Remember that gas crisis that I mentioned earlier? To hear people talk you would think that $.50/ gallon was going to cause all of us to starve to death. Here's the reality: the vast majority of us will rest our head in a warm bed tonight with a full belly. We may have to cut back on vacation time or have a few pots of lima beans instead of ribeyes, but we'll be ok. Very few of us in our nation, particularly those of us under 70, have any real idea what it means to suffer total loss. Many of the folks that I hear say this are doing quite well. I hope that they're dedicating their resources to helping our local folks that are in need.

To the latter statement: Thank God! Thank God that we have the privilege to live in a nation that's chosen not to be just like all the rest. I'm reminded of the repeated conflict between the Lord and Israel in the Old Testament. What does Israel want? Whether through its idolatry, injustice, or it choice of king, Israel just wants to be like every other nation. At the same time, the Lord is constantly calling Israel out to be a people separate from the nations of the world. He wants them to be a peculiar people that He uses to show the world His glory. We're not Israel, nor do we have its place in the history of redemption, but I hope that we always seek to be a nation that is willing to share the blessings of life, love, and liberty with those who are in need. I'm praying for Japan, as I know so many of you are. What else can we do? God help us to be willing to go the extra mile to be a help to the hurting.

That's my view, anyway, from here on N. Wintzell.

A Fish Tale

If you're from the Bayou, you're probably familiar with these guys...

My son is officially a Bayou La Batrian now. This past weekend was relatively quiet on our little plot of N. Wintzell. My eldest spent the weekend away with my in-laws at the Cheersport national competition in Atlanta. Needless to say, the absence of his favorite playmate left Joseph more than a little bummed out. To attempt to balance things out a little bit, we tried to do some things that he wanted to do over the weekend. For some time now, Joseph has been wanting to go fishing. He loves seeing the fish when his Pop and I catch them and he loves to pretend fish so, first up, we took a fishing trip.

Friday afternoon, Joseph and I headed to the Bayou with a light, our rods, and a little bit of squid en route to our first father-son fishing trip. If any of you have ever fished with an almost 3 year-old you know what an adventure this can be. (Protective eyewear should be worn at all times when fishing with an almost 3 year-old) He and I had different goals for the fishing trip. When asked what he hoped to catch, Joseph replied "like a thousand sharks". Needless to say, this was not my plan. I hoped to catch something that would require as little effort as possible and be insignificant enough not to feel bad about throwing back. So, with that in mind, we went to work with little success. By little success, I mean "not so much as a single bite". After moving locations a few times around the shipyard, I made an executive decision to set up a light and take a break until dark. We made a bug juice/Coca-Cola run to the Raceway and waited on night to fall.

By the time we made it back to the yard, it was good and dark and the light was beginning to attract some minnows to the top of the water. We were ready to try it again. Almost immediately, I felt a tug at my line and I knew that I had hooked something small. My catch? A croaker. (For any of my out of town readers, check out the picture above) I cast again and over the next few minutes Joseph and I caught 3 croakers. They were perfect. He got to help reel them in, they were biting pretty quickly, and I had no desire to keep them.

Joseph was quite excited by the catch, but after nearly 3 hours of fishing, he was about ready to call it a night. I started to gather our things to head home, when he stopped me and said "Thank you Daddy, for letting me come along with you". It hit me then that he didn't know what I was doing. He had no idea that the trip was for him. I wasn't going fishing that night for me, but I was doing it for him. I was being intentional about blessing him, but he was just happy for the chance to be with me.

How often do we miss it? Maybe they don't come everyday, but our lives are full of opportunities to give people the greatest gift we have- time. Moms and Dads, Grandmas and Grandpas, and even you kids out there. Don't miss the chance to spend some time with those that you love. It doesn't have to be anything that special. You can just go catch a few croakers down on the bayou. Just do it together.

That's the view around here, on N. Wintzell.

A Lesson Learned (Hopefully)

As a parent, it's amazing the things that I learn through watching my children. The farther I go along the more I recognize that the basic problems of humanity don't discriminate by age. Last week on N. Wintzell, I had just such an experience. My son, Joseph, is getting ready for his third birthday this month, but in the meantime, he's still stuck in the terrible twos. Because as soon as they turn three kids don't have anymore problems, right? Overall, he's a pretty easy kid. He responds well to discipline and is pretty good about following directions. Occasionally, however, his temper gets the best of him and last week he learned a hard lesson about the cost of anger.


Christmas 2011

The toy pictured above was one of my son's favorite Christmas presents. It's a VTech Mobigo and I have to say, we've come a long way from the Tiger electronic games we had when I was a kid. It's a pretty impressive setup with some quality educational games. Joseph loves this toy. I'd find him in bed underneath the covers playing it while he pretended to sleep. It included a Toy Story 3 game, and as Woody and Buzz are two of his favorite characters, the Mobigo and Joseph were a perfect match.

All of that changed last week. Joseph was having a two year-old moment. I gave him an instruction to follow. He refused. I repeated the instruction. He got angry. I repeated the instruction again, with defined consequences for his inaction. Then the fateful moment came, he spiked the Mobigo. (As a sidebar, throwing things in anger is a grand family tradition. We never throw things at anybody, we just chunk whatever is handy. There are probably thousands of dollars worth of wrenches and hammers in the bayou around Landry Boatworks. Once, I even managed to toss a Yazoo pushmower.) Oddly enough, those things weren't intended for that type of use.

The favorite toy is now broken and Joseph is dealing with the consequences of his actions. I hate life lessons. Every now and then, Joseph goes and picks up the Mobigo and wonders what it would be like if it still worked. Watching him, it breaks my heart for him. I wonder if this is how God feels when he looks down at me and watches me deal with the consequences of my own actions?

The Bible has a lot to say about anger, and very little of it is positive. While there is an appropriate type of righteous anger, I believe that it is the exception and not the rule. I'm reminded of Paul's words on the matter:

26 Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, 27 and give no opportunity to the devil. 31 Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice.

Ephesians 4:26-27;31

For everyone of us, we can probably look back to some person, some thing, some organization, or some relationship that we have helped to break as we have acted on our anger. Let's take care that our lives aren't dominated by anger. Otherwise, there will be lots of broken pieces to sift through. When anger controls us, ultimately, the person we destroy is our self.

Of the 7 deadly sins, anger is possibly the most fun. To lick your wounds, to smack your lips over grievances long past, to roll over your tongue the prospect of bitter confrontations still to come, to savor to the last toothsome morsel both the pain you are given and the pain you are giving back--in many ways it is a feast fit for a king. The chief drawback is that what you are wolfing down is yourself. The skeleton at the feast is you.

-Frederick Buechner

That's the lesson for the day, from my spot here on N. Wintzell

Clean Hands?

Greetings from N. Wintzell! Last week was a good week around the church, and I look forward to see what the next week holds. If any of you out there grew up in a country church, you know that last night was an important time in the life of our church, as well as many others. January 30th was the fifth Sunday of the month and fifth Sundays mean Sunday night singin'. We had two special guests on tap for our singing last night, but unfortunately both fell through at the last minute. So, at the zero hour we made plans to fill in with some of our own talent and I prepared a brief devotion to go along with the music.

In preparing for the devotion, I visited one of my favorite passages from the Psalms.

3 Who shall ascend the hill of the LORD?
And who shall stand in his holy place?
4 He who has clean hands and a pure heart,
who does not lift up his soul to what is false
and does not swear deceitfully.
5He will receive blessing from the LORD
and righteousness from the God of his salvation.
6Such is the generation of those who seek him,
who seek the face of the God of Jacob.
Selah

Psalm 24:3-6

As I've shared on here several times before, my first real job was working for my Dad over at Landry Boatworks. If you've ever worked on or around boats, you know that it can be dirty work. I hate trying to anything with dirty hands. Through the course of the day, as my hands got dirtier, I would do what came naturally to me: I'd wipe my hands off on the most convenient spot. Within a few hours of being on the job, I'd be completely filthy, whether my particular job was that dirty or not, because I had wiped my filthy hands all over my shirt and blue jeans to try to get them clean. While it removed some of the grime from my hands, the overall effect wasn't too pleasing. In fact, the harder I worked at cleaning myself up, the worse shape I got in. No matter how hard I tried, I just got dirtier.

I discovered along the way, that the only way to really get clean was to go wash my hands. I needed some outside intervention. The reality was that it was impossible for me to have clean hands without some help. My efforts to wipe them clean only made the situation worse.

I'm convinced that many of us are going through our spiritual lives with the same problem. We carry with us the guilt of sin and rebellion and rather than choosing to clean our hands we try to wipe them off on our pants. The baggage grows heavier and we find ourselves spiritually, physically, and emotionally broken down by the weight that we are carrying, and no matter what we do, the situation only grows worse. Some try to ease the pain through substance abuse, intimacy, or even isolation. Some try to absolve themselves through church participation or volunteerism. But at the end of the day, they never find peace.

How can a man stand before God with clean hands? Is it through perfect sinlessness? None of us could achieve that. I believe that we find the answer in God's call to confession. As we admit our failures to God, our hands are cleaned and we receive the freedom to walk in fellowship with Him. Folks, God's a forgiving God and His desire is for His children to walk in the light of that grace. He doesn't want a bunch of servants walking around with filthy hands. John reminds us:

If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us of all unrighteousness.

1 John 1:9

Here on N. Wintzell, I'm resolved to be a man of clean hands.

Welcome Home!

Welcome home, indeed.

Lest you think that the picture is somehow mistaken, it is related to this blog post.

I like going to Disney World. A lot. A lot more than most any other grown man I know would willingly admit. I've been there a few times. OK, maybe more than a few times. When I was a kid, we went there on vacation. A lot. Every year, my parents would try to get us to broaden our horizons and my sister and I would beg for another trip to the World.

Since I've made the transition from son to husband and father, the affliction has only grown worse. Walt Disney World has a strong pull on me that fills me with a sense of nostalgia for attractions long extinct and trips long past. When I'm there, it's 1986 all over again and I have just won a lighted 15th anniversary visor. Sadly, my Google image search for this visor failed to bring you a visual. The World is not only a place that connects me to my roots, but it's a place that I enjoy sharing with my wife and children. I'll never forget taking Maggie on her second trip in 2008, the first one where she was really aware of what was going on. We arrived at the Magic Kingdom, and as we began our trip down Main Street, U.S.A. I knelt down beside her and pointed to Cinderella Castle across the Plaza. As she caught sight of it, she put her arm around my neck, gasped, and told me, "Daddy, it's beautiful." No squeal of delight or dance of joy, just an awe-filled sense of wonder at what she was seeing: a fairy-tale land come to life.

At my core, I'm an EPCOT Center geek. You see that silver golf ball and I see Buckminster Fuller's geodesic sphere realized in its fullest form. Inside, the history of human communication is unfolded in a narrative inspired by Ray Bradbury. While the park has changed quite a bit since its heyday in the 80's, its still my favorite. My fandom runs deep. Thanks to the wonders of the Internet (thanks Al!) I found out there were others like me. Through podcasts, forums, and blogs, we share our fandom. We have our own language where we talk about ADR's, touring plans, and Tonga Toast. We distinguish EPCOT Center from Epcot. We participate in endless debates about the relative quality of current attractions versus their earlier incarnations, but at the end of the day, we share a common love.

In case you needed some quality 80's cheese today

I think the genius of what the resort offers can be summed up in the phrase I hear every time I check into a WDW resort. As I walk up to the counter and begin the check-in process, the person behind the desk will inevitably tell me the same thing they always do, "Welcome home, Mr. Landry". It's not my home, but it conveys to those of us who love it a sense of belonging and longing that can only be called homesickness.

When I'm not in WDW, it's usually not far from my thoughts. I have an app on my phone, just in case I need to know what the wait is for Space Mountain today. I read blogs and forums, and listen to podcasts about my favorite vacation destination. I'm always scheming how I can get back down there. It is present in my thoughts at all times and often dictates the decisions that I make in my daily life. In fact, it affects every decision of my life!

OK, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit. But when I think about the love that I have for my home away from home, I'm reminded of the desire that I should have as a believer for the homeland that I'll be going to soon. Faithful Abraham lived with that homeland in mind:

13 These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. 14 For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. 15 If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. 16 But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.

Hebrews 11:13-16

What my life look like if heaven were at the forefront of my life and its daily activities? I have a homeland that I look forward to going to, but I forget about it sometimes. In my current Sunday night series, we've spent a lot of time talking about heaven, and I'd venture that in the past few months I've spent more time looking at heaven than in the rest of my ministry combined. Unfortunately, I too often live and act as though this earth is all that there is. What about you? Where do you call home? Are you ready to go there? Do you live as though you are planning on going there? Is your aim heavenward? I'm reminded of this quote from C.S. Lewis:

Aim at Heaven and you will get Earth thrown in. Aim at Earth and you get neither.

What are you aiming for?

Found!

Well, after several weeks on radio silence here on N. Wintzell, I've emerged from hiding to update the blog. Actually, I haven't been hiding, I've just been incredibly busy. In the wake of the holidays, I spent most of my free time preparing for a seminar that kept me in New Orleans most of last week.

If you're like me, you often question why you do what you do. Several times over the past few weeks when I found myself up late working on another book review or paper, I wondered why in the world I was back in school. My 20's are in their death throes now. I'm married with 3 preschoolers. I've started a new ministry and now I was making preparations to travel to New Orleans to sit in 24 hours of class.

On the way home from the seminar, I had no doubt I was doing the right thing. I was challenged by the books that we read and I gained insight from my instructors that I'm sure will be helpful in my ministry, but the greatest joy that came out of my class was the relationships built with my classmates. I came away from the experience encouraged, challenged, and looking forward to the next seminar. The Proverbs remind us "As iron sharpens iron, so let one man sharpen another" and I experienced that through the fellowship I enjoyed with these brothers in ministry.

So, now after a week of playing catch-up, I hope to be able to update the blog more regularly in the weeks ahead. So far, my new year is off to a good start, and I hope yours is as well. If you're looking for a church home, come by and check us out at First Baptist, Bayou La Batre, conveniently located at 13500 N. Wintzell. On Sunday mornings we're looking at some things we can do to make 2011 as good a year as possible, so come out and be our guest this Sunday at 11am!