The Wind

Twin Groves Wind Farm lies in McClean County, just west of where we live. There are 240 Wind Turbine Generators that rise above the flat farm ground like giant pinwheels. They are nearly 400 feet tall from the bottom of the tower to the the top of the arc of the propellers. Gleaming white, the turbines glint in the sun as they swish round and round. As you can tell from the above video - the wind blows with some power making the generators produce electricity. It is fascinating to watch, especially by standing directly under the towers. I recently took my brother from Louisiana out to see them. It was 6 degrees and the wind was howling - not a good environment for a fellow from Louisiana.

The bible talks about the wind. There is something mysterious about it Jesus told Nicodemus. And, the scripture speaks of the Spirit in terms of the wind. I want our church to be like the wind turbines - used by the Spirit, moved by the Spirit, made for the Spirit. And, like the turbines, I want us to be a light on a hillside.

This is a photo of the thermometer in my house this morning, January 16th. When I moved to the north, I expected cold weather. But, I did not anticipate anything quite this cold. There are colder spots on the planet, but none around my house.

And so, the saga of Hoss the Boss dog continues. He has the audacity to want to go outside even when it is -17. And, at 6:22 this morning, with school canceled, I am the only one awake. I had the wonderful idea of having breakfast with someone this morning - the coldest day of the decade. Hoss was ALL AGLOW about heading outside. I can only wish that I could anticipate heaven as much as he anticipates going out. He does the "Hossy Dance" and becomes 75 pounds of wriggling, wiggling dog. His little doggy mind is thinking about rabbits and smells and 15 stops at 15 differnt bushes, and people to bark at, and jerking his owners back and forth. And so it was this morning. But, his perspective was transformed by the reality. It was a strange sight. Hoss displayed his usual exuberance of being outside. But, his outside prance was soon replaced by his tip-toeing around the yard, literally. It is as if a sumo-wrestler put on a tutu and had taken up ballet. Tip, tip, tip we go, delicately, slowly, pirouetting around, till he just stopped. It was obvious that it was uncomfortable for him and that is a bummer. But, one thing is for sure, this trip outside was of a short duration. Hoss usually walks back and forth, back and forth seeking out that one secret spot in the yard. Round and round we go an where we stop only Hoss truly knows. What that particular spot has that all the other yard does not, I don't know. It can sometimes be an agonizingly slow process. Not today. We walked out, danced on tip toes, immediately found the secret spot and headed for the door. The cold weather is aggravating, but there are some benefits.

A while ago I wrote a blog about how refreshing and rejuvenating it was to spend a day at Spring Creek especially when my grandpa took us. He would fall asleep and put no pressure on us to hurry up so he could get back home. There was another place my grandpa would take me that was a bit more exhilarating.Our home was and is about 7 miles from the Claiborne Bombing Range which was primarily used by England AFB as a training ground. Being that close afford us the amazing opportunity to watch F-100s, T-37s and the occasional F-4 (all designations for planes in the Air Force inventory) rolling over my house as they made their bomb/strafing runs on the bombing range. Later it would be A-7s and A-10s. Today it is F-16s and B-52s from Barksdale AFB. I saw my first F-117 Stealth Fighter flying a pattern over Clairborne.

The bombing range was like a magnet to the boys who grew up around it. Watching the airplanes was a draw. And, insanely enough, so was the ordinance they dropped, especially the unexploded bombs and expended bullets we would find. Occasionally we would hear of someone maimed or killed by picking up a bomb and taking it home with them. We knew better than that, but it did not prevent us from going to the bombing range and doing some pretty dumb stuff.

My grandfather would occasionally drive us through the range. There were old trucks and tanks that were used as targets and they were cool to look at. And the whole place had a certain eeriness to it - sort of like a Western ghost town - that would draw us. The road that ran through the range was a public road. It did not dead-in at the range. So, folks would use that road to get places. There was a flag system, as I recall, that would alert locals to the road being opened or closed because of the range being used. Air Force personnel would actually be present on the range as observers. Once, my grandfather was driving a group of us boys through the range in the back of his GMC pickup. He was a slow mover, not overly ambitious, and not too excitable. As we are crunching along on the gravel road a certain sound began to grow. It would have been the same feeling you get if you are paddling on a river and around a bend you hear something that sounds an awful lot like a waterfall. We found ourselves on the range road with jets appearing overhead. I doubt we were in any true danger, but at the time we felt like there was some young Air Force pilot who was bored shooting at old wrecked tanks and became animated by the thought that the Air Force would provide him a moving target that would be more of a challenge to his skills! We felt as if a large red target was painted on the roof of that truck. It was if someone had poured a bucket of angry bees down the pants leg of my grandpa. He stomped the gas and set us to bouncing around in the back of the pickup truck like popcorn popping. We roared down the road slinging gravel and throwing dust. When we emerged on the other side of the range, we laughed the laughter of those who, in our minds, had faced death and defied it. The truth is, the real laughter was probably taking place in the cockpit of those jets. Those pilots had just witnessed a GMC pickup light its afterburner. They could probably see us boys flopping around in the bed of the truck.

The only real danger to us at that point was Grandpa and his ejecting us out of the truck. I don't think we told my parents when we got home.Most of what I have feared most in my life has never happened. And, there is much to fear in life. The more people you love, the greater your fear becomes. The more stuff you have, the greater your fear becomes. The older you get, the greater your fear can become.

Chicago!

The view from my hotel - Marriott Magnificent Mile - this past week in Chicago. I was attending a conference entitled "Following Christ 08". It was sponsored by Intervarsity. The conference was aimed at graduate students, professionals. and professors. There were not many pastors there. And, that was okay. Sometimes it is good to be at a conference not centered around pastors, to be around "normal" folk!

Although, these folks were not necessarily normal, or at least ordinary. Many of them had lots of brain power and education. But, they were saved by grace through faith. Hearing their testimonies and their calling to serve Jesus was exciting.

I met Ruffin and his son Adam there (see below). Dr. Alphin has been in our church twice. They are from Virginia. It was good fellowship and the food was not too shabby either. We ate at a Louisiana place called Heaven on Seven and at a Chinese Bistro that goes by the name of PF Changs. The speakers were very challenging. Sometimes, it takes a while to process everything you hear and even longer to implement it into your life.

I am hopeful that the Lord will continue to stir into rememberance those things He wants me to know. It was a very good three days for which I am thankful. More on it later.

Chinny, Chin, Chin

Andrew, Lydia, Connie and I had just finished ordering our meal at Red Lobster when the cell phone rang. It was Gibson City calling to inform us that our youngest, Aaron, who had chosen not to go out to eat with us, had split his chin open and would need some stitches. The person telling us this was a nurse and I assumed she knew what she was talking about. Connie asked if we needed to come right away or if we could eat our meal. The nurse said there was time and that Aaron was not in too much distress. It is amazing how your view of child raising changes with time. Had this happened with our oldest, we would have blasted out of the restaurant and driven like banshees home. As it was, we enjoyed our food and conversation and then drove through some of the thickest fog I have seen in order to get to Gibson.

The first question from Connie to Aaron had to do with how he was doing. My first question was what he was doing when he fell! Well, said Aaron, I thought it would be fun to ride my bike on the ice. And it was, at least momentarily. However, ice and bikes do not go together and when he fell, he literlly took it on the chin. A gaping would was the result.

When the doctor saw us in the emergency room he told us it had been a very busy day. Lots of folks had fallen on the ice. None, however, had been riding their bike on the ice. It is good to be unique. I was confident he would band aid the chin and send us home. Nurses are always right, however. An hour and six blue stitches later we were on our way home.

There is pleasure in sin for a season, I guess. But, the fall is always inevitable. The stitches are now out and we are waiting for everything to heal up completely. It looks like there won't be much in the way of a scar. Memories of ice skating on a bicycle will remain, however.

Louisiana Trip, Again

I just returned (12/20) from a quick trip to Louisiana. My dad was in the hospital when I arrived. He has a variety of health concerns. He was able to come home the day after I arrived. He was thrilled, but the health problems linger.

It was a rather melancholic trip. The picture above is of the pond behind my father's house. The tree lying in the water was blown over by a hurricane earlier this year. It represents a bit of what is happening with my dad. He has kept an immaculate "place". His joy has been mowing and sawing and raking and burning. But, he is not able to do those things now. I was able to do some. It is very enjoyable for me to run a chain saw - as long as I don't lose a limb. But, I am only there briefly. So, things like this tree in the pond go undone, at least for now. We shall see what the Lord has for the future.

It was good to see family. And, I did have some delicious food. Soon after arriving I had an oyster po-boy at Robbie G's - my favorite Louisiana restaurant. (See pictures below, jealous?) The place is not fancy, but that is not why you go there. The day we were there it was full of Louisiana State Police. The flight home was interesting. I was due to fly out on Friday but everything was canceled going into Bloomington. I did make it to Atlanta the next day but things were looking iffy about flying on home. I thought I had it made when I boarded the plane. However, the girl seated next to me said she was on the same flight the day before and had flown to within 20 minutes of Bloomington before the plane turned around and returned to Atlanta. PTL we made it home! It was wonderful to be greeted by my family and to have a celebration dinner together.

A Firehouse Visit

This past Thursday evening, December 11th, I concluded my Thursday evening class on "Spirituality". Before driving home from Champaign, I decided to take Bill B. up on his invitation to come by and visit him at work. Bill is a Champaign firefighter. It was exciting to go by the station and see his work environment. Station #3 has one engine, shown in the picture above. (The interior of the truck is in the picture below) Bill described the types of calls the firemen receive and how they go about responding to those calls. He also gave me a tour of the facility and explained to me a variety of the equipment he uses. It was all very fascinating and I really appreciated his taking the time to do so. The Lieutenant at Station #3, Jeff L, also spent time talking about what it means to be a fireman.

Walking into the station brought a flood of memories. My father was a fireman. Occasionally I would visit him at his fire station. Climbing in and on the trucks was always exciting. There was also an occasional event in which the families would be invited to a big show with the firemen. We would be standing in an open area and a large puddle of Av Gas would be lit. That, in and of itself, was pretty exciting! Then the fire trucks would come roaring up. It was like the cavalry charging over the hill in a western movie. The firemen would jump out and be dressed in silver suits with full helmets and tinted visors. They looked like astronauts. They would spray the fire down with foam. I always knew which one was my dad because he was so tall. Next, they would light the gas again and the truck would drive up to the fire and knock it down with a boom located on its front bumper. It was a great show - exciting for a boy to watch.

Being a fireman is a dangerous job. It can also be emotionally draining. Firemen sometimes are able to do what they really want to do: help people in some of the most difficult experiences of their lives. Sometimes, however, they are unable to spare people from the tragedy that threatens to envelop them. Serving people is at the heart of what they do. Just like Jesus. He came at Christmas not to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.