I just filed a story on Sweat Memorial Baptist Church in Waycross and its providing a temporary location for students and teachers from Ruskin Elementary School. Ruskin is dangerously close to the fire and will not be usable for days. This video gives an erie sense of what it's like to drive through the area.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Monday, March 05, 2007
Calling audibles
It's rare that an issue of The Index goes from the start of the production cycle to the end of it looking the same. Months in advance we plan for particular feature stories/series to go in or prepare for stories that relate to that time of the year, such as Easter.
I was working on the first installment of the mental health series in preparation for the March 15 issue when we realized that Easter was coming earlier this year. Joe, our managing editor, is working on a story for that issue (March 29) about a former Satanist. Each year during spring training we run a story about Christians on the Braves. This year, Dr. Harris interviewed a fairly well-known one and wrote about his testimony. That story will be in our upcoming issue.
Something else being held is a story about a member of First Baptist Quitman who died in church but was then brought back to life. We thought it would go better with the Easter issue, for obvious reasons.
I was working on the first installment of the mental health series in preparation for the March 15 issue when we realized that Easter was coming earlier this year. Joe, our managing editor, is working on a story for that issue (March 29) about a former Satanist. Each year during spring training we run a story about Christians on the Braves. This year, Dr. Harris interviewed a fairly well-known one and wrote about his testimony. That story will be in our upcoming issue.
Something else being held is a story about a member of First Baptist Quitman who died in church but was then brought back to life. We thought it would go better with the Easter issue, for obvious reasons.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Upcoming series: Pastors and mental health
This topic is one I've thought the church has needed to address for some time. The stress pastors come under is intense, and the fishbowl they and their families live in is a situation the average churchgoer has no concept of.
We've all heard stories about a minister who lost his temper and didn't handle a situation tactfully, to say the least. At times these events don't just happen due to the stress, but because there is something wrong psychologically that needs to be addressed by a professional. We live in a world where there are more pastors being diagnosed as bipolar or with clinical depression. How is the body of Christ responding to those needing help for a wound that doesn't appear on the outside?
The Index is about to run a three-part series looking at this. I'm working on the first two parts while another writer is taking care of the third installment. My first story is going to be about a pastor who was dealing with these issues and even handed his resignation in to his church ... only to see the church reject his resignation. They stayed with him. Today, 15 years later, he's still there and the ministry has grown.
We've all heard stories about a minister who lost his temper and didn't handle a situation tactfully, to say the least. At times these events don't just happen due to the stress, but because there is something wrong psychologically that needs to be addressed by a professional. We live in a world where there are more pastors being diagnosed as bipolar or with clinical depression. How is the body of Christ responding to those needing help for a wound that doesn't appear on the outside?
The Index is about to run a three-part series looking at this. I'm working on the first two parts while another writer is taking care of the third installment. My first story is going to be about a pastor who was dealing with these issues and even handed his resignation in to his church ... only to see the church reject his resignation. They stayed with him. Today, 15 years later, he's still there and the ministry has grown.
Friday, February 16, 2007
Remembers those lost in Honduras
Our current issue was a tough one to get out. First of all, it was centered around the deaths of three missionaries in Honduras. Two of them attended Tabernacle Baptist Church in Cartersville. In talking to the people there I saw how these two guys, Ric Mason and Perry Goad (Perry's on the left and Ric on the right), were not the type of church members to do nothing but keep a pew warm. They got out there. They were involved. They got their hands dirty.Perry had his own heating and air conditioning business, a venture that I learned he treated as an extension of ministry in itself. His technical skills helped the church through the television ministry – a position that isn't very noticeable until you either mess up ... or you're not there. On the Sunday after his death pastor Don Hattaway said that after services Perry would have to chase him throughout the halls of the church to pass off the DVD of that day's service so Hattaway's parents could have a copy of their son preaching ASAP.
Ric had been known in Cartersville for years as owning a couple of eating joints, the last one being The Meating Place until he sold it. In addition to his work at Tabernacle, though, he was also the executive director for The Etowah Foundation, a group that provides grant money for students to go to college. Everyone seemed to have a memory of him and how he encouraged them to be involved in missions.
The most tragic thing about the loss of these two men is that they were solid family guys – the kind that you don't hear that much about. Service comes with a price, though we often don't equate that price with our lives. I never met either one of them, but every time the world loses men like these who are willing to set the bar a little bit higher, we all feel it.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
When we're wrong ...
In putting together the paper, I basically read over each page at least twice and usually more than that. In that process, your eyes can play tricks on you and mistakes that are there are simply missed. It happens. When we get the finished product from the printer every other Tuesday I have a gnawing feeling in my gut because whatever is in there, is in there. Nothing you can do about it.
That being said, the San Francisco Chronicle has come up with an interesting way for readers to inform Chronicle staff of mistakes called Correct Me If I'm Wrong ... Their first one is an instant classic and will leave you hearing the phrase "pilotless drone" all day. I was crying at the end of it. Listen to it here. Warning: the poor guy on the phone is so irate he uses slang for "tee-tee."
To read what Poynter had to say about it, click here.
That being said, the San Francisco Chronicle has come up with an interesting way for readers to inform Chronicle staff of mistakes called Correct Me If I'm Wrong ... Their first one is an instant classic and will leave you hearing the phrase "pilotless drone" all day. I was crying at the end of it. Listen to it here. Warning: the poor guy on the phone is so irate he uses slang for "tee-tee."
To read what Poynter had to say about it, click here.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Being sure about safety on missions
I've been on a few mission trips, but none in a long time and never overseas. If I were to go, I'd probably think of some of the worst scenarios I could find myself in while overseas. The story I heard from Mark Harrison, pastor of Cumming Baptist Church, confirmed one of those scenarios. It also got me thinking about some basic stuff people should think about doing before heading off overseas on missions.
Last fall Mark and a group from First Baptist Cumming were teaching English at a school in Thailand. Late one night the missionary they were helping out came to their hotel room and told them to turn on the TV. That was how they learned that the country had been taken over by the military.
Interesting enough, the missionary who told them, Rick Kuter, is from Georgia. He learned from his son, who was working in Alpharetta. A co-worker knew his parents were in Thailand and asked him if he had heard about the government being taken over. He hadn't and after seeing it on TV called his parents halfway around the world to let them in on it.
I originally had that in the published story, but because of space restrictions I had to take it out. I also just couldn't find the right place to insert it.
Another element on this I wish I could've included had to do with a member of the team who had a hard time dealing with the uncertainty of the situation. He's retired from a successful business, but just couldn't stop shaking or pull it together for awhile after hearing of the coup. Scary situation. You have no idea how the military could view Americans, especially in this day. He told his teammates later that the experience just made him realize how he was somewhere that his money couldn't get him out and he was totally dependent upon God.
In order to get some more pictures, I did a search on Flickr for photos of the coup and found some good ones. Before contacting the photographers, though, I realized there could be problems with using them. We, of course, give photo credits for pictures we use. More than likely the credit would have been the Flickr sites of the individual. I think we were under deadline at the time, otherwise I might would've checked anyway. However, I didn't want us to be linked to someone and then if a reader went to that page (since we cited it) they might see images that we wouldn't want associated with The Index. It's an avenue I still might explore someday.
Last fall Mark and a group from First Baptist Cumming were teaching English at a school in Thailand. Late one night the missionary they were helping out came to their hotel room and told them to turn on the TV. That was how they learned that the country had been taken over by the military.
Interesting enough, the missionary who told them, Rick Kuter, is from Georgia. He learned from his son, who was working in Alpharetta. A co-worker knew his parents were in Thailand and asked him if he had heard about the government being taken over. He hadn't and after seeing it on TV called his parents halfway around the world to let them in on it.
I originally had that in the published story, but because of space restrictions I had to take it out. I also just couldn't find the right place to insert it.
Another element on this I wish I could've included had to do with a member of the team who had a hard time dealing with the uncertainty of the situation. He's retired from a successful business, but just couldn't stop shaking or pull it together for awhile after hearing of the coup. Scary situation. You have no idea how the military could view Americans, especially in this day. He told his teammates later that the experience just made him realize how he was somewhere that his money couldn't get him out and he was totally dependent upon God.
In order to get some more pictures, I did a search on Flickr for photos of the coup and found some good ones. Before contacting the photographers, though, I realized there could be problems with using them. We, of course, give photo credits for pictures we use. More than likely the credit would have been the Flickr sites of the individual. I think we were under deadline at the time, otherwise I might would've checked anyway. However, I didn't want us to be linked to someone and then if a reader went to that page (since we cited it) they might see images that we wouldn't want associated with The Index. It's an avenue I still might explore someday.
Small church burns, then rebuilds
I truly can't think of why anyone would want to burn a church. It doesn't seem there are too many things worse you could do to get on the bad side of the Almighty. When a tragedy like this happens, though, sometimes it can end up being a positive.
Emit Grove is a small rural church near Statesboro in the southeastern part of the state. It sits adjacent to some cotton fields off a county road. When it burned, a lot of history and sentiment went up with the flames. When I wrote the article for the paper I didn't want to sugar-coat too badly the fact that people were angry. Although there is grace and forgiveness extended to the guy who did it, people were ticked. I know I would've been.
It's cool too see that the church is rebounding though. The new family life center has become more than what it was originally supposed to be. This is opening doors for the congregation in the community.
The only thing I regret about running this story is that we couldn't use the picture bigger. We didn't want to wait another issue, and ads had eaten up our other color space. Too bad. The lady who took this, not a professional photographer, did a really good job with it.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
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.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Finally home with the new baby
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.
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.
Friday, November 10, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, August 28, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, July 07, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
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.
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.
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