Pastor Stan Wilkins 1953-2006

Stan Wilkins, director of the Davis Ministry Center at Shorter College and interim pastor at Cartersville First Baptist Church, died Nov. 29 at Atlanta Medical Center due to head injuries suffered in a fall at home. He was 53.

I write obits all the time at The Index, but this one was very different. See that baby being held in the picture? He's our adopted son, Jackson Reese, all of 16 days old at the time. He's being held by our interim pastor during baby dedication Nov. 19. Nobody knew this was going to be the last time Stan would teach us from this stage. Nobody knew that in just over a week this man of love and honor would be going home.

Like everyone else, I've gone through a slew of emotions since the mule-kick-to-the-gut news that Stan had fallen off a ladder at his house and was in serious condition. There was the high of hearing improvement on Sunday before bad news on Monday and Tuesday and then getting the wrenching news Wednesday morning.

It didn't seem fair. He had too much going on. How could this possibly be in God's plan? It felt like the last third of a really great novel had been ripped from the book's spine, leaving jagged and ripped bits of paper screaming for the ending of a wonderful story that would never be told.

Following his death it seemed like everyone had a Stan story. That showed an important trait about him: No matter who you were, he had a knack for making you feel like you weren't just another face. No one was kept at arm's length. You could only get as far as the crook of his elbow as he slapped his arm around your shoulder.

He could love you and be rough with you at the same time, befitting a pastor with the initials SAW (prominently displayed on the tag of his truck). He's the only pastor I've seen call his congregation geezers and hypocrites from the pulpit and get away with it. We knew it was in jest, but it also came with a dose of truth. He talked about being Christocentric. He spoke about living for Christ. He introduced us to the phrase "hair unit."

On the last Sunday he preached, he talked about giving thanks. He said gratitude isn't exclusive -- we're to give thanks in everything. It's not emotional -- emotions will fight against gratitude, but give it anyway. Most importantly it's Christ-centered, not man-centered -- it comes from what God has done for us, not what we can do for ourselves.

It may seem like Stan was preparing for some big things coming up in his life, but the fact is that he was doing the big stuff the whole time. In mentoring seminary students, counseling church members, or assisting pastors through the association, his ripple effect will be going on for a loooooooong time. I'm grateful for the time God put him in my life. I'm grateful for the time he was willing to invest in me and my family.

Stan can keep on teaching through all the things he taught us. I can be caring and genuine the way he was. We all can. Maybe the ending of that book isn't ripped out after all. Maybe it's up to all of us who loved Stan to carry on and write the ending ourselves through whatever ways Christ has blessed us. It's a great way to honor an honorable man.

Finally home with the new baby

Leaves with Jackson 021
Originally uploaded by sbarkley.

I'm back home with our new son, Jackson Reese Barkley. Right now, he's asleep in one of those little seats for babies that vibrate, snoozing while the rain comes down outside. Not a bad life.

Even though he's only been here a few days, this is a popular little guy already. Family and friends are making their way to see him and add to the already-mountainous pile of clothes for him. We anticipate a power struggle between our parents as to who gets to babysit him first and take him out on the town to show off to friends. I've already put down the deposit on a U-haul for the Christmas overload waiting on him and Rylee.

In all the happiness we're experiencing through this, my mind goes back to his birth parents from time to time. Amy and I got the chance to have dinner with them the night before the mother was induced. They are both great, laid-back people who had to make a tough, and brave, decision based on where they were at this point in their life. We'll be grateful to them forever for the trust they've put in us.

While in Texas, where we adopted him, I had a week alone with Jackson. Amy had to fly back early, leaving me to wait on the paperwork to clear. I was a little nervous, some people would say scared, at first. With our first I'd basically done the man thing and hang out in the background until Amy needed a break. This time it was all me.

We made it through fine. Only two instances where a urine spray went awry. I stayed with two different families while in Texas. Both were great and watched Jackson every now and then to give me a break.

Now that I'm home, I have an even greater appreciation and love for my family. It's a responsibility God's given me in being a role model for my children, working to be the best daddy possible and love their mother as Christ loved the church. It's a calling, but the greatest honor I can have.

What a week ...

It's Friday, Nov. 10. One week ago today my son, Jackson, was born in a hospital in south central Texas. I'm still in Houston, staying with people I just met today, waiting on the paperwork to clear so I can fly with the new member we've adopted in our family back to Georgia.

The past two month have been a whirlwind that I'm just not sure I have the energy to write about now. Long story short, Amy and I sought out an adoption plan and almost instantly were matched up with a baby. The birth parents saw our profile and wanted us to adopt their child. In addition to getting our paperwork done and making appointments for checkups and getting fingerprints recorded and having interviews made and getting references sent out and making plans for Rylee to stay with someone while not missing too much school and getting travel plans set, we also had to stay busy with our full-time jobs and prepare plans for our absence.

Pause. Inhale. Exhale.

Amy had to get back home in order to get Rylee to school and go to work herself. I'm still in Texas waiting clearance to transport our baby across state lines and go home. Rylee's excited about seeing her baby brother. Our families can't wait to see him as well. Everyone's jealous because for the time being he's all mine. Scary. Only one major fountain eruption during a change. That happened tonight and my new friend, John, was there to be my wingman in the cleanup.

The wife of the couple I'm staying with is the sister of a friend of ours at church. Like I said before, today was the first day I met them. Hours later they've opened up their home to me and my newborn. Like others we've met in this adventure, they're good people who could easily have come up with a reason we couldn't stay here, but didn't. We're thankful for them.

The previous few nights I've stayed with some relatives of Amy's near San Antonio. Same story. They were great enough to give me a place to stay. Not just that, but the mom and dad moved out of their own bedroom and let me have it. A king-sized bed to myself while the mom slept in a recliner in the living room and the dad crashed on an inflatable mattress in a guest room.

There are a lot of people for us to thank in all of this. Our church has been magnificient. So many people have provided gifts and time for us while we were gone. A group of ladies Amy works with at the church bought toys for Rylee each day we were gone. I've gotten wind of guys in our age group actually contemplating flying our here to help me out after Amy had flown back. My brother volunteered to drive out here if it helped get me back sooner.

I can't wait to thank these people personally. For the time being, it's a waiting game, though. I'm looking forward to that wait coming to an end.

Several story ideas

I'm working on a few stories for future issues of the Index. One will give a little more background and information on the Georgia Baptist Foundation. It's a part of the Convention that many people don't know about, but from talking to a couple of guys there today, it sounds like the best choice for anyone wanting to donate money which will benefit a GBC entity. People who gave money for a cause back as early as the 40s are still seeing that cash generate funds.

Another one is going to center around gas prices. I hope I'm not too late with this, because it appears the cost at the pump is going to start trickling down -- we may have hit our peak for this year. However, it's still a pinch for church budgets. One area I'm going to look at is to see if churches have changed up their travel expense rates for pastors with the increase in gas prices. Five years ago the gas in Georgia was less than a buck per gallon. With it three times that now, it makes a difference.

There was another story topic that came my way recently I hope can be worked on. It's going to require permission from the subject. Should I get the green light, it will highlight a level of grace rarely seen in churches today.

When your brain seems to work against you ...

I have quite a little commute when I go to work. If an Atlanta news station ever wants to do a story on commutes and whose is the most insane, I've got to be in the top ten.

When it comes to mileage, my car is Madonna and Tara Reid rolled into one. I bought the little 92 Accord for the sole reason of the drive back and forth to work. This was back when filling up my tank required only a small loan. Pretty soon it'll be getting to the point where I'll actually be paying for the privilege to go to work.

That's neither here nor there. Have you ever literally out-smarted yourself? It's like there are actually two brains locked in mortal combat in my head sometimes. One brain has gone through the hard lessons and knows what to do, in this case where to drive and which route to take. The other brain is a rebel, a loner. He's the rapscallion who is always talking me into doing things that make little sense but could pay huge dividends if things work out.

I'm not schizo. I want to say I heard an Indian metaphor about this on a movie or something where it's like two dogs are inside a person fighting, and the strongest one will win. I think I prefer the rant Paul goes on in Romans about doing what he wants to do but doesn' do it, not doing what he should, etc.

Driving today to work, I try a different route. This route took me through a city north of Atlanta where seemingly every waking soul decided to inhabit the same two-lane road at the exact same moment. I ended up being in a 10-mile, 45-minute parade. Time to work: 1 hour, 50 minutes.

The rebel half of my brain was going strong for the trip home as well. Altered my drive a little to avoid a couple of lights and gained about 10 minutes to my drive. All told, I spent about three and a half hours on the road.

I'm thinking about knocking out the back seat in my car and putting in a little bed like they have in 18 wheelers. I'll listen to Sirius and get my news that way. A small microwave and fridge can be back there as well. I'll miss my wife and little girl, but I can see them a couple of times a week before coming home on the weekend.

When I start thinking about this it brings me to one of my greater disappointments of the 21st century: Where are the flying cars? I grew up watching the Jetsons zip around in their little ship -- the one that looked like a VW and a crystal ball had a baby -- and couldn't wait to have my own when I was older. The year 2000 was supposed to be the point where we would have all these futuristic gizmos and start wearing silver jumpsuits, as mandated by the movies made in the 80's set in the future.

Filmmakers were really on opposite sides of the aisle back then when coming up with a scheme for the future, weren't they? Either we had the silver jumpsuit deal going, or the entire world was just trying to survive by living in these little communes while hoarding their gas and wearing football equipment as everyday attire.

She's a jealous little mistress, my car. I spend way more time with her than I do my own wife. If I drive my wife's car, the next morning we find the sponge used to wash it boiling on our stove, with a note from the Green Accord say it won't be ignored. So I drive her again to work and it makes her (the car) happy. These days she's desperate for, and happy to get, any attention that comes her way.

Kind of like Madonna and Tara.

One great movie

Today I saw one of the best movies I've seen in a long time. When I say that, I'm not necessarily speaking in terms of special effects or star power, but by a standard a little more ambiguous.

Facing the Giants is a film that won't be out until Sept. 29, but a preview of it was given to employees of the GBC and others. It had a few elements that in almost any movie are guaranteed to get me misty, namely sports and father-son themes. But with the film being produced by Sherwood Baptist Church, there was a faith element that takes its impact a step further.

I keep playing that particular theme over and over in my head: Do I give God my best? It's easy for me to say I do, but I know I don't nearly as often as I could. The problem is that to do the best I can do, I have to risk failure. I have to aim higher than is comfortable for me. I have to be willing to fail.

That takes the final results more out of my hands. If I aim low, I have more control of the outcome. My success is guaranteed, up to a certain point. Once things get a little tight, I can call ball game and declare myself a winner. But am I?

Doing my best for God in everything I do requires I go to a point where failure is a definite possibility and my own weakness and limitations become exposed for everyone to see. It demands that I die to my own pride and put myself out there for God to finish something I can't complete or accomplish on my own, as much as I would like to retain all the glory for myself, I'm unable to if I achieve something beyond the realm of my own talent and skill. Things that are given to me by God, anyway.

For me to do better than I ever have, I have to be willing to trust in something bigger than myself. In falling, I have to learn the lesson provided and gloriy God for the experience. In succeeding, I must be willing to do the same.

The Meth danger

I finished up a story the other day that will appear in next week's issue of the Index. Sometimes I'll get ideas for stories from other people or just perusing the papers. Other times it can be a topic I know we need to address. An example of that is an article on MySpace that will also be in the Aug. 3 issue.

Other times, I'll find ideas from a report built around the associational missionaries in Georgia. This report is sent out periodically and contains a few words from the AMs about what is going on in their area, their needs and any prayer requests. One I got awhile back mentioned that Carrollton Baptist Association was going to take part in a summit on the Meth epidemic in that area.

I got interested and contacted Dan Dockery, the AM there. He put me in touch with a few other guys. My main contact for it became Jesse Hambrick, lead investigator for the Douglas County Sheriff's Department. What I learned scares me to death. I knew Meth was a big problem, especially in rural areas. But I had no idea just what it did to people and who is susceptible to it. Jesse has written a book about it and maintains a website that goes into much more detail, including several testimonies from people who have struggled, and still struggle, with Meth addiction. It's something people rarely get away from.

When I taught high school, there was at least one time I remember a kid, a wrestler, getting caught with Ice. He was also a student in one of my classes. I never would have thought he was using the stuff.

This article wasn't like many we put in the paper. It's a wake-up to a real problem in our society that the church has to face. I'm hoping I communiated that in the way I wrote it.

When you don't want to do the Christian thing

The other day I began thinking again about a guy I talked to about a month ago. His name is Paul Casola and you may have heard about him when his wife, sons, sister-in-law, and niece were run down in the parking lot of a McDonald's. I tried getting in touch with him a day or so after it happened, but understandably, his calls were being screened somewhat by the music minister at his church.

The result of the attack was the death of Paul's two-year-old niece and hospitalization of everyone else. I later wrote an update on everyone. Paul's the pastor at Passion Community Church, and you can understand the eyes on him and his reaction to all of this, which was one of a guy who said all the right things, but you could tell was fighting anger at the perpetrator. When I finally interviewed him, I had absolutely no way to break the ice. Saying I know how he felt would've been a lie. Saying I'm sorry didn't seem to be enough.

What came to my mind was I think went through all fathers' minds when they heard the story the first time. Oh, would I love to have 15 minutes in a room with the guy who did it. The purpose wouldn't be to witness, either. No one would blame Paul if he would have handed the guy a tract just before plowing him through a wall, then maybe handing another tract to him.

When I hear my wife or daughter cry, I first determine if I'm the cause of it or if(in my daughter's case) she's just being a three-year-old. If those two turn out negative, I morph into this upset papa bear that must punish whatever caused their pain until it's pain is returned at least threefold. (A practice I will adhere to when Rylee is a teenager is that if a boy makes her cry, I must see to it that said boy cries as well.). This policy has resulted in our cat, Sasha, making a 15-foot unexpected air trip into the front yard when she scratched Rylee once. They do land on their feet all the time, by the way.

This is one of those internal struggles I deal with as a follower of Christ. My desire to see justice can sometimes overshadow the need for mercy and grace. I need the latter two on a daily basis from my father in heaven. I should be more willing to extend that same grace to others. As a husband and and daddy, though, I will stick more to that role of protector.

First time at the BCAs

Spent last week in Richmond, Va. visiting family and attending the annual Baptist Communicators Association conference. I missed out on it last year when it was held in Denver, but entered some stories and was actually part of the haul of honors brought in by the Index. I was given a "Finalist" honor for my story last year about Christians in public schools. Basically it was like a second-runner up placement. Yes, more than three people entered my category ... I think.

It was a great time up there and I got to meet a lot of cool people in my profession. I'm looking forward to my involvement in BCA for a long time. For a couple of days prior to the conference, thought, myself and the family hung out with my cousin and her family. Usually when we see them, it's when they're passing through on the way to Florida or something, but with BCA taking place literally down the road from their house, I thought I'd take a vacation day or two and visit with them. Amy, Rylee and myself went to Colonial Williamsburg for a day (pretty authentic, right down to the horse poo in the middle of the street) and checked out a little of downtown Richmond. Got turned around a little due to road construction, but got to drive on the cobblestone streets there, if only by accident.

Drove there in two days, but had to get back in one. Ugh. How's 12 hours sound to ya? With a three-year-old, we had to extend our breaks a little. Poor kid. Back in the day you could stretch out on the back dash and get a nap, but no more. Get back in the double-strap restraint seat.

Preaching NASCAR style

I went out to Calvary Baptist Church in Rome last month to write about something that I've heard other churches have done -- a series relating to NASCAR.

This was something I wouldn't have associated together -- church and racing. Growing up my family joined in with a few others and we all went to the infield at Talladega twice during the summer. A young boy could get quite and education if he kept his eyes open in the infield during those days. I've heard they've cleaned things up quite a bit since going corporate.

The principles taught over the six-week series mesh together. I was a little disappointed in my photography on this story; it's something I'm working on. It's not often that I go out to cover a story and take the pictures. Steve, the pastor, said they were hoping to have a car out front the Sunday I was there (they did for a prior message) but it didn't pan out.

Armstrong Atlantic BSU member finds cash in wall

This is one of those quandries that come with being a bi-wwekly. It was actually possible to get this story in when it broke this past week. However, our next issue isn't until the 30th. By then a story saying "Hey, did you hear about this student who found a wad of cash in a wall in New Orleans?" would be met with "Yeah, I did, a week ago."

I talked with Marty Youngblood, the campus minister at Armstrong Atlantic State University in Savannah, Thursday. Obviously, I need to find a way to cover it that hasn't been done yet, or at least hasn't been overdone. Marty said it's been pretty much nonstop and if the anonymous homeowner decides to come forward that could start the cycle up again. The school's Web site has a video of Trista, though I was unable to open it and have to figure out what the deal is with my media player.

No, they don't live in a shoe ...

When I first heard about Andy Hammack and family last fall, it was through the regular column by GBC Executive Director J. Robert White. I only had the copy of the article first and hadn't seen a picture, so when I learned they had 10 kids, I assumed there were some twins or even triplets in there to help things get to that number, but no there weren't.

Something I can't believe I left out of the article is that neither Andy nor his wife, Elizabeth, come from big families. I want to say (from memory) that both of them had one sibling. Writing it up, I kept coming back to sports analogies. When I would play baseball with my brother and our neighbor growing up, we'd always use "ghost man" to fill in for us. In other words, one guy would bat, another pitch, and another field. If you hit a double, you called ghost man to run from second while you went to bat again. Rule was, though, that he could only advance as many bases as you got on the next hit, so for Casper to score from second you had to hit another double. Worked fairly well, actually.

Getting the lead on this one, I wanted the reader to get a feeling of being overrun. That's why I listed their typical order for McDonald's. Didn't make that up. Andy told me matter-of-factly. For a crew their size, I expected him and Elizabeth to sound a little more tired than they did. On the contrary, both had good senses of humor. I mentioned that today to get any kind of recognition for a high number of kids, they have to be born all at once following a merry-go-round of fertility drugs. If memory serves, the number to beat is eight. I don't even know what you'd call nine kids at once. Nintuplets?

That assumption I'm sure came from me taking everything about my three-year-old and multiplying it by 11. When she was an infant, it seemed I had more bags of weight on my back than Juan Valdez's pack mule just for us to go somewhere. The amount of plastic little possessed toys (see previous post) must be mind-boggling.

Both Andy and Elizabeth were quick to give a lot of credit to their older kids, particularly Nathan, Bethany, Mary and Sarah. I talked to Nathan and Bethany and they both seemed like good kids. I mentioned how Bethany and the older girls have taken to sewing which helps out with costs. It's not like they're made to though, it's just something they like to do, and have a knack for. Nathan likes baseball and is an Andruw Jones fan, a tidbit I wasn't able to fit into the story. For sure, they both are miles ahead of where I was in maturity and responsibilty at their ages.

Something else I picked up from writing this was the importance of perspective. To a lot of kids who get everything, they would cringe at the idea of having to share so much. A lot of parents, including myself, would initially think of things such as buying birthday/Christmas presents and how in the world to pay for everything rather than feel blessed with 11 beautiful kids. This family truly makes it with a team effort and closeness others on the outside wish they could have.

That being said, I still think I could only handle two, maybe three.

Movies

Movies
Originally uploaded by sbarkley.

Yesterday was easily one of the worst days of my life.

At around 9:30 in the morning, I hear my phone ringing at work and on the caller ID notice it's my wife's cell number. She had gone to see the doctor that morning for a 12-week checkup on our baby due in October.
Whenever I see it's her number I don't go through the formal "Christian Index, this is Scott" biz. A simple "hey" or "How ya doin'" is fine. This time I picked up and asked, "How did it go?", referring to the appointment.

After a moment of silence, she softly said through her tears, "It's not good."

A moment later she told me that the doctors couldn't find a heartbeat. She had miscarried the baby. It's cliche, but this is one of those things that happens to everyone else. Not you. I instantly started crying, said a few more things before letting her know I was on my way. Hung up. Cried some more. Told my co-worker, Kelly, what had happened. Got my stuff. Asked her to tell everyone to be praying for us, and walked out the door. In the parking lot I broke into a run toward my car. I had to get to Amy.

On the way home I turned the radio off and sat in silence. Crying came and went. They were those cries where you hit the dashboard and don't know snot is coming out of your nose until it reaches your lip. She had to stay at the hospital a while longer, so I actually beat her to the house. When she got there I went to her and we hugged each other, cried and apologized. For what, we didn't know, but that was about all either of us could think to say.

The rest of the day was long and a blur at the same time. Phone calls to our families. I called a guy in our church small group, Gregg, who let me know he and his wife, Lynn, had gone through the same thing. Even though he was at work as a middle school guidance counselor, he prayed with me over the phone. Amy had to drive back to the hospital to schedule a D&C to remove the baby, so I went to our daughter's school to pick her up. While there, I learned from her teacher how she had gone through a miscarriage and underwent the same procedure Amy was scheduling at that moment.

Getting home, I gave Rylee and her friend, Reese, their lunch and put them down for a nap. First though, I explained to Rylee as best I could what happened. We didn't want our families to get there (they were on their way) and Rylee be confused as to why they were sad and start asking questions. I felt clumsy telling her (Amy did a much better job when she got home). I explained that the baby went to heaven. She asked why. I said something was wrong with it and God took it to heaven, but mommy will have another baby soon. Other stuff was said, but that was the main part. I held it together okay until Rylee started to tear up and say that she wanted the baby (calling it "her" baby) that mommy already had. She had already been excited about being a big sister.

My folks and younger brother arrived. Hung around. To try and just do something, my dad, brother and I go outside to work on my Jeep. That night we all went out to eat.

A storm of emotions have gone through me. I've realized that I experience a concoction of feelings whenever I hear Amy or, when it's not just a 3-year-old's temper, Rylee cry. First comes guilt, because if they are sad I didn't protect them. Anger follows because whatever caused this must pay. Also mixed in there is sadness due to the fact that they are unhappy and a try-and-fix-it mentality that often does more harm than good. There's some kind of papa bear mentality in me that stirs whenever my daughter or wife are hurt, be it emotionally or physically.

We understand the basic rationale for miscarriages. Something was wrong and it's the body's natural way to end the pregnancy. Doesn't make it any easier. Through all of this, though, we both know Jesus grieves with us and holds our future in his hands. God has loved us through the many people who have called and told their own stories of losing a baby. Friends have told us to let them know if there's anything, anything they can do. People just say that, but I know these folks are really there.

It's a rough time. Right now the emotions are still raw. It's hard to believe getting past it, but I know we will.

An article that didn't make it

Awhile back the Index was sent some DVDs for a prospective review to be put in the paper. Rylee and I watched two of the movies made for kids and came up with the following story, written from her perspective. The review in this form will never see the light of day in print. I guess that's what blogs are for.


Recently, new DVDs sent to Index production editor Scott Barkley were viewed by himself and his three-year-old daughter, Rylee. Both watched the DVDs, produced by Wacky World Studios (wackyworld.tv), with Rylee reporting what she observed.
The first video, Don’t Miss the Boat, was told from the perspective of two grandparent roaches retelling the time they spend their honeymoon on Noah’s ark. The second video, Slingshot Slugger, related the story of David and Goliath and teaches kids how no matter your size God is bigger than any obstacle.
Numbers represent the minute mark of the video.

New Roach Approach movies teach kids about faith
By Rylee Grace Barkley

Both of the movies daddy and I watched were about cartoon roaches that do these funny things and have adventures. During the movie they also talk about God. A man named Bruce Barry made them. There's one part on the DVDs where he teaches kids they can draw bugs, flowers and faces if they can just start by writing the number 2 or things that easy. That was one of my favoritest parts.
The first movie we watched was called Don't Miss the Boat! It was about 38 minutes long. In it a little boy cockroach named Squiggz is told by his granny and paw paw about the time they were on Noah's ark.
:02 Daddy says the cockroaches look a lot like the little aliens in Space Jam.
:14 The granny and paw paw – their names are Nana and Lou – have talked about how they had just gotten married and now were on the big boat a man named Noah made. People laughed at him for making the big boat – daddy says it's called an ark. Anyway, this thing just ate up Lou and then spit him out. Daddy says the thing is called an aardvark. It's funny-looking. I ask why it spit out the bug and daddy said 'cause God didn't want it to eat him.
:15 Daddy says," Movie line alert" when Noah is worried about the animals not coming to the ark and God says, "If you build it, they will come."
:21 The funny-looking-elephant-aardvark-thingy thought a plug in the bottom of the boat was a doughnut and tried to eat it! They have to put it back in! Okay, they do.
:23 Daddy, where's the mommy and daddy?
I don't know.

Is that the big boat?

Yes.

That Noah built?

Yes.

Where are the animals?
Inside.

Where inside?

Just inside. Now watch.

:25 There's this little bug who was a bug at the start but now she's not a bug she's in this brown thing hanging from the ceiling of the ark I think she's going to come out a butterfly.
:31 I got it right! She was a butterfly. She had helped the two cockroaches. Even though all the animals got scared and tired being on the boat God took care of them.
:38 I liked this movie. Noah listened to God even when people made fun of him. Daddy said that sometimes we have to do the right thing and listen to what God tells us, even if that means some people laugh at us. There were some times on the boat when they were in trouble and it looked like the boat was going to sink, but daddy said God was in control and took care of everybody.
The second movie we saw was called Sling Shot Slugger and was more about Squiggz. Lou, his paw paw, is in this one too. Daddy said this one was going to be about David and Goliath. David was a little boy and Goliath a great big giant.

:03 Squiggz is skateboarding around. My uncle Taylor does that. Taylor is better at it than Squiggz.
:08 A big, dirty 'sterminator with a big belly is coming to get Squiggz, his friends, and even his grandpa, who is trying to fish in a crab tank. Daddy and I go fishing, but not for crab.
:09 The 'sterminator says "Hammer time" and starts to dance around pretending to crush bugs with a hammer. Daddy thinks I can't hear him but he starts to sing really softly: My music hits me so hard, makes me say "Oh my Lord," Thank you for blessing me, with a mind to rhyme and two hype feet, it feels good when you know you're down, a super dope homeboy from the Oaktown, and I'm known as such, and this is a beat, uh, you can't touch ...
:14 Now Paw Paw Lou — in the movie I think he's called grandpa, but I like paw paw — is telling Squiggz about David and Goliath. That's because Squiggz is scared of the big 'sterminator. Lou is telling how Goliath was a lot bigger than David. David's favorite sheep – he was a shepherd, and they took care of sheep – was named Shemp. Daddy wonders if Shemp was the replacement for a more talented, funnier sheep, whatever that means. I shush daddy. He talks too much sometimes.
:17 The 'sterminator's belly is really big! I think there's a baby in there. My mommy has a baby in her belly ...
:29 Daddy! That little boy stopped the big man!
I think I liked this one even better than the other one. Even though Squiggs was a lot smaller than the 'sterminator, he beat him. When David beat the giant, he bopped him on the head with a rock even though everyone thought Goliath would beat him up. God helped David and the little guy won. Hey, I'm little. God can help me do big stuff too! Both of the movies were real good. My best friend Reese comes to my house every day. I'll tell her about them and watch them with her.

Baby on the way

Only six weeks in the process, but he/she is doing fine along with his/her mommy. He/she is the little blob in the lower-right.

24 update

This week's episode was one of the better ones simply to see Gamgee the CTU director get hauled off.

4:04 The first lady jumps into the motorcade. Don't you wish the prez was half the man his wife is?

4:07 Why can't they just redirect the motorcade? A pimply teen can call in a fake fire that causes a road to close, but President Gumby and Mike can't?

4:08 The hobbit is yelling at Edgar. A tenspot says Big E could do a few atomic elboes a-la Dusty Rhodes on him.

4:23 What? Did I just hear that Jack and that other guy are going to a bunker?

4:30 Ooooh! Chloe looks ready to run over Rudy like Mateus did that one time in practice.

4:38 Curtis is currently my hero of the universe! That was one of the greatest beatdowns of little man syndrome ever! Send Gamgee to his tiny mushroom-shaped cell.

4:48 Okay. Who ever runs the presidential ticket of Curtis and Aaron Pierce in '08 gets my vote.

4:56 Isn't Jack's mentor the same guy who was Robocop?

It looks like in the previews for next week (2 hours!) that Jack gets to Robocop while Mrs. Robo looks on. Tony returns. Pierce is told that the Prez actually had handed over the Russian president to the terrorists. Oh yeah, and Wile E. Coyote ... er, Kim comes back to get caught up in little tragedies that have nothing to do with the rest of the plot.

The Evolution of Toys

My three-year-old daughter receives a slew of toys every Christmas and birthday, not to mention most days in between. It’s not that her mother and I feel the need to smother her with things, it’s that she is reaping the benefits of being the only grandchild of both sets of grandparents. On top of that, my wife was the only girl among seven children between Rylee’s Nana and Grammy. That has resulted in a giant wave of estrogen released upon us in the form of dolls, little pink dresses, and Cinderella paraphernalia.

The amount of toys isn’t all that bad. We may have to move into another house to accommodate all the stuff, but it’s not what really concerns me. It’s the level of technological wizardry which has gone into the toys, dolls in particular.

Talking toys are okay. I can deal with that. It’s the toys that begin talking on their own which seems to cross some sort of line. When Amazing Amanda wakes up on her own at eight o-clock every morning and says in that belongs-in-a-Stephen-King-movie voice “Say my name, mommy.” I’m weirded out just a tad. On Dec. 31 my wife “woke” her up (You do that by hugging her. Lugging Amazing Amanda, Dress-up Dora, and assorted boxes upstairs after Christmas, I squeezed the little cyborg to make her ask me if I was her mommy.). After Amy woke up Amanda, my wife was greeted with “Happy New Year’s Eve, mommy.” The doll knew what day it was. Something else: Amanda will ask to go to the potty. Once you place her on her little toilet that was included you hear grunts and little watery kerplops. Lovely.

Okay, that can be a neat trick in programming the toys to know the days of the year and wish Happy whatever, but this is the beginning of the end. A few years ago America seemed to go through this battle-bot faze where nerds would build souped-up rock ‘em sock’ems that would beat each other up with saws and flame throwers in a metal death ring. Take that with the increased intelligence of these talking dolls and Care Bears (one came to life while I was vacuuming my daughter’s room and wanted to read a story to me) and in a millenia or so robots are going to be sent back in time to destroy the mother of the human race’s last chance for survival.

I feel my daughter’s only hope may be to shut her into the toy section of a Cracker Barrel and force feed yo-yo’s and slinkys to her. That way I can mount an offensive against the sinister toys who wish to live.

That might have to wait, though. Right now Amanda wants me to make her an omelette before combing her hair, and she can get pretty cranky when her breakfast is late.