A Tear for Gary; A Kiss for Janie

When I wrote about black church names last time up, I didn't realize I'd be worshipping with black folks within the week. It turned out to be a bad, good thing. No maybe a good, bad thing? I don't know. Let me 'splain...if I can.

I got a text from Otis, my good friend from high school. Otis now coaches the Mighty Milford Bulldogs, the school we played for a thousand years ago. His text was to tell me that a classmate\teammate of ours, Gary, had passed away. This was sad with several layers of sadness. Gary had just turned 60, too young the way I look at it. He apparently had diabetes which affected his heart and died from these ailments. With better medical care he probably could have had many more years. Sad again. Gary died in prison, no way around that. He killed a man in a fight twenty or more years ago. That is what he wrote to me about 18 years ago. I never knew where Gary was after graduation and one day a letter finds me in west Texas at my church. It was from Gary in prison. He writes with great detail his side of the story. I have no way to measure, but the state measured out 20 years to life. I don't even know how accurate that is, but I do know that 20 years in prison turned out to be life for Gary. Sad again. We had corresponded off and on for a few years. I sent him some money for the commissary in prison now and then. He needed some basketball shoes once. Some money for ice cream and candy ( I didn't know about the diabetes). He hoped I could get him a good lawyer. Well, I could afford ice cream. I moved and we lost touch. My fault. Another layer of sadness.

Gary swore to me in those letters that he was a Christian. Maybe he wrote that because I was a pastor and thought I'd like to hear it. Maybe he wrote all those Bible verses and talked so glowingly about Jesus because he wanted ice cream money. Maybe he wrote it because it was true. His family was and is full of believers. It was his nephew or cousin that preached his funeral. Gary put thoughts and scriptures together in a way that seemed real, like he really knew Christ. I want to believe he did. I'm not sure if the family and friends of the man he killed feel that way. I hope they forgave him. Gary swore that God had. I decided on my part to believe him.

So I went to the funeral last Saturday in Waxahachie. The brothers and sisters were resplendent in their expressions of life and hope. I felt like I was back home in high school a minute. I was the only white guy there. The music man played the organ in a wonderfully blues-ee and jazzy way. He sang Tamela Mann's "Take Me to the King." It is a beautiful spiritual, sharing a longing from a broken life and where to find hope.
             Take me to the King, I don't have much to bring,
               My heart is torn to pieces, it is my offering.
                 Lay me at the throne, leave me there alone,
                  To gaze upon you Jesus, and sing to you this song.
                   Please take me to the King.........

The bishop was telling us that "It Aint' Over" and making heaven sound so good but I got to coughing and excused myself with a few minutes left in the service and drove over to Target. In a few more minutes my phone rang. It was Otis...."where are you, man? A bunch of folks want to see you and the family want to say something." So, we drove to Milford for the interment. The pastor read scripture. The family thanked everyone and invited all to the repast. Then several of us pitched in to lower the casket in the grave. They didn't have a "lift" for the job; two straps and four of us slowly letting down the casket into the ground. I thought of the irony of the picture. One of my jobs on the basketball team was to pass to Gary. I recorded several assists each game to him and Otis. This would be my last one.

Now it was time to visit and reminisce. I paid respects to the family and caught up a little with a few old friends I knew long, long ago. I actually remembered nearly all the faces, but not all the names. But then there was Janie. Janie and I were in class together with Otis and Gary and about a dozen others since Milford integrated the schools in 1967. For the first four years of junior high and high school, Janie and I were oddballs. She was the only black girl in our class and I was the only white guy. She got a soul mate about the junior year when Regina moved to Milford. Somehow we made forced integration work and forged good memories and friendships with few regrets and many good memories. I tried to fix one regret I had at the cemetery Saturday. Otis was talking with JoAnn, Gary's sister about being King and Queen at the homecoming in 1972. She wasn't remembering it but Otis was refreshing her memory. It brought my regret to mind. Janie was nominated to that same homecoming court. I was her escort. I remember standing there in my football uniform and she on my right arm. All the girls got flowers and the escorts presented them and gave them a kiss--all but one. I froze. Should\could a white guy kiss a black girl, even just on the cheek, in 1972 in Ellis county? Thoughts and ideas flooded my brain. I should have decided beforehand but it didn't even dawn on me. I started thinking about why it was a good idea, then a bad idea, and then the moment had passed. I didn't kiss Janie, my friend and classmate for six years, at homecoming. At the cemetery Saturday with Otis, JoAnn and others standing there listening, I put Janie on my right arm and stood beside her. I told the story of not kissing her 42 years ago and apologized. Then I kissed her right on the cheek. Someone said that was sweet. Several of us spent the next 45 minutes standing in the graveyard talking and laughing. There was life in that cemetery that day, in living color, and black and white.

It was a good, bad day.

Cos

Name That Church

Church names can be intriguing, compelling, funny, unfortunate, and tell a story or at least hint of a story behind the name. Some church names that come with the area or town make for an interesting name. In the community of Half Way in an unnamed state is Half Way Baptist Church. If you are in Maryland, you may want to join the Boring United Methodist Church. So much for intentional ministry at the Accident Baptist Church. At times it is not the place that puts a twist on the the church name but the play on words or intent to convey a message in the name. So there is the Lover's Lane Methodist Church, don't ask their teens about the submarine races. In one church, they either don't need faith or there's no charge for it at the Faith Free Lutheran Church. What's the story of the First Church of the Last Chance? I would like the visit the Original Church of God but will not go to the Perfect Church in Atlanta, as soon as I walk in they would have to change their name. Another interesting church name, not so thirty years ago, because of the way language use changes over time, jumps out at you---how would you like to attend the Flippin Church of God?

My favorites are the black Church names. They are descriptive, Biblical, hopeful, aspiring, and downright beautiful in many cases. The African American church in America, because of slavery, racism, and oppressive poverty issues, had much to overcome and deal with in the larger culture. They met many of the challenges with hope, faith, and love born out of their relationship with Christ as they looked forward to better days. This is seen in their church names which point toward Jesus and the Heavenly home He has promised. They picked Biblical names to reflect or identify with a story of inspiration, overcoming faith, and meaningful life. So an Antioch Baptist church reminds us that the disciples were first called "Christians" in Antioch-a place where there was opposition but where faith took root and grew deeply. A Mt. Zion Church in the community remembers the biblical Mt. Zion and the history of commandments, tabernacles, temples, and where Jesus, some believe, will return for His church. There are "Mt." churches in nearly every black community: Hebron, Moriah, Olives, Calvary and Pisgah. A church with Pisgah in its name remembers the original redeemer from slavery, Moses, and all he saw before his death as he looked from its heights onto the promised land. Can't you hear and see the images of freedom and promise in that church name?

Black communities often have "Macedonian" church names derived from the vision the apostle Paul had to go into Macedonia and take the gospel to a new people in a new land. The hope of the gospel and mission activity are caught up in the Macedonian name.  There are Jubilee churches from the old testament jubilee when all debt was forgiven, all land went back to original owners, and slaves were freed- the whole gospel testimony in one name. I also like their use of a few superlatives. To point toward higher, greater, better days, put the word "Greater" in front of an old name. Mt Zion church becomes "The Greater Mt. Zion" church and Greater Macedonian church is, well, greater than the plain old Macedonian church. I would suppose some politics and splits show up in names now and then, also. But from the grand CME (Christian Methodist Episcopal) to the COGIC (Church of God in Christ) to the Black Baptists to the independent black churches their names meant something, said something, pointed to something or better, Someone. Lord bless 'em for that.

I always felt "out-named" by black churches. "First Church" usually just meant early arrival or "Something Ave." just meant Mr and Mrs. $o and $o"  gave land to put a church there. Not that great ministry and missions didn't take place, but not much imagination, inspiration, hope, or aspiration was expressed in the name. I once proposed calling one of the mission churches I pastored, "The Glad River," church. It was the name of a popular novel by Will Campbell and came right out of scripture from Psalm 46:4 which says, "There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the Holy place where the Most High dwells. " We would stream out into the community making people's lives glad with the gospel. The church voted for "West Oaks," it was on the west side and there were lots of oaks around. One detractor to my proposal said it sounded like a black church. I took it as a compliment.

I suppose white folks could learn something from our black brothers and sisters in naming churches. But given history, culture, time, and paid consultants,  probably not much will happen. Maybe the best thing any church can do, even if they are "out-named," is live in such a way that the people and culture around them know who owns them, directs them, redeems and loves them. May all churches be known by That Name.

Cos


*actual church names

Taste Buds

Tastes change as we progress through life. Oftimes that is a good thing-- think leisure suits, wide lapels, wide white belts, and brightly colored shirts with matching socks. Yes, I sadly confess I wore all those in much, much younger days but in my heart I still favored Wranglers and Justins.

Apparently, my taste buds have changed, too. I no longer retch at the thought of tomatoes, although not on my hamburger, please.  I can't imagine salsa and some Mexican dishes without them.  I've grown so fond of broccoli that I include it in my monthly eating of something green. Brussel sprouts are still a 'no go.' Mayonnaise is tolerable now in small spreadings. For fifty-something years if given the option, my salad would be 'dry.' Now I've found a few salad dressings I enjoy. In case you are wondering, "No, not that one."  I'll very selectively pick my own. I've always enjoyed Chinese food since my first all-you-can-eat lunch buffet in my 20's, now I find through my youngest son, that I enjoy Thai food also. It seems that every few months, either accidently or occasionally purposefully, I find a new food to enjoy that previously had been on the "no fly past my gullett list."

What precipitated this new-found gastronomic adventure? Not sure. The Food Channel shows and  'Bizarre Foods' may have helped.  Watching friends and family enjoying foods I thought anathema probably contributed. But I think something about the aging process that deadens some parts of the mind (and tongue) and opens some others must have played a large role in even trying new foods. Age also teaches you that you can live through more stuff than you would ever have imagined, although brussel sprouts may be pushing it. So there is more willingness to experience new things.

Have you ever wondered if God has spiritual experiences spread before us like a banquet but we are afraid to try them?  The Psalmist said in 34:8 to "Taste and see that the Lord is good...."  But like food, we don't discover the goodness of the Lord's spiritual food unless we are open to trying new things. People who don't rely on prayer never taste the peace of His presence when the 'earth gives way, the mountains quake, and the oceans roar and foam'' (Ps. 46).   People who don't tithe may have never learned to enjoy the adventure of dependence on Jesus and see His provision beyond their bank accounts. What depths of insight may be ours if we really dig into His word for more than  a sweet devotional thought? We tend to want a donut hole when He is offering steak. How might we acquire a taste for social justice and understanding poverty unless we spend some time working at a food bank, homeless shelter, or free health clinic?

Try a dangerous thing, pray a dangerous prayer. Ask the Lord to help you discover a new taste in His kingdom.  Ask Him to help you taste His goodness in ways and experiences like never before. Look around, experience Him and His kingdom in new ways of love and service. I must warn you, however, He will answer that prayer, but you may very well discover a smorgasbord of grace spread before you like a feast. Your spiritual taste buds will thank-you.

Bon 'Appetit,

Cos


    

The Escape Plan

Last time up to write I shared about rhythm, the rhythm of life that God has put into our souls and our world.
It is a good thing. Rhythm fits with the way the world and humans were made in God's image and it helps us fit into His world and kingdom. When we follow needed rhythms of worship, rest, work, creation, and recreation we will find the joy He so graciously gives. Ecclesiastes 3 echos these rhythms.

In not acknowledging or following the rhythms in life we set ourselves up for burnout, failure, frustration, and inefficiency. For example, the farmer who plants his crop in the brutal cold of winter may work harder than anyone but he should not expect the seed to germinate. He has not acknowledged the rhythm of the seasons where nature itself has times for planting, growth, harvest and rest. The Christian who would grow in her love for and service of her King should acknowledge her need to worship, serve, rest, celebrate and other disciplines which would put her in position to truly live and enjoy life with her Lord. It is to her personal and corporate detriment that she doesn't seek to discover these sacred rhythms.

But, we need to exercise caution that our seeking and following the rhythms of life does not become ritualistic routine. We must never confuse rhythm with routine. Routines can be good, of course, but they can be done without thinking, without too much effort, without much sacrifice. We routinely brush our teeth, take a shower, drink our morning coffee, all good. To keep the sacred rhythms of life from degenerating into routine, however, is essential. To do less makes the Christian seem life the "walking dead" (not to be confused with the "waking dead"--folks who endure my sermons), Zombie-like existence with no real living in life. Where is the escape from routine that sucks the life out of life to discover the rhythms that put life and love into living?

Variety! Newness! Movement! Flavor! Look around at the world! We all need to eat to nourish our bodies that we may function as a human body should. But the good Lord gave us variety: peaches, corn, asparagus, blackberries, black-eye peas, pinto beans, rabbit, fish, lamb and beef etc and so on. Even variety within the varieties are ours as we enjoy different kinds of meat, fish, fruit and nuts. Take music as another example--jazz, symphonic, the blues, bluegrass, gospel, country and rock. Consider what the minister of music does each week. He doesn't use the same hymn with the same count. The rhythm we need is to worship but variety helps us worship with praise, celebration, lament, aspiration, or even mourning. If your worship isn't a boring routine thank your music director for variety in the rhythm of worship.

In much of our lives we need to take charge, no correct that, we need to be good stewards of our rhythms and bring the varieties, newness, flavors, and movements in our sacred routines into play. So we read the bible but read different books and themes within it. The Psalmist commands us to put a new song in our heart or sing a new song. This applies to all of life as we seek expressions and experiences that are new, fresh and different but keep us in sacred rhythm that honors God.

Okay, but how? To almost quote Paul Simon, 'there must be fifty ways to love your Savior.'
Find a new way to enjoy His creation-observe it; walk in it; photograph it; listen to it; plant it; dig it; adopt a squirrel.
Find a different genre of music from your usual likes and listen to it. Then do it again if you still don't like it.
Read a hard book; read a rare book; read a book from someone from a different political party; read a silly book; read a serious book; read a biography; read a history book; read books from the Bible you haven't visited in a while.
Eat a cuisine you haven't eaten before; eat one you haven't tried in a long time; eat a food you hated as a kid; tell your spouse why you still hate it; eat in a new restaurant; eat Tuesday night meatloaf on the good china at the big dining table. Sing your prayer before you eat instead of saying it (Doxology works).
Find a person or couple at church of a different age you don't know well and ask them to meet you for coffee or a coke. Say "hello" to a teenager with tats and face hardware, smile at them, and ask how they are doing. Get off Facebook and sit down and talk to a face; sit in a park or airport or mall and watch people; pray for them; pay for the person's food behind you in the drive thru;

You get the idea. The rhythms are the same. The days are 24 hours. There is night and day. There are four seasons. There are times to rest, to play, to love, to work, to worship. But within the sacred rhythms are endless ways to seek, know, enjoy, and love your Savior.

And there was evening, and there was morning....

Cos

Rhythm

In this new year that is now a week old I have some good news and some bad news. The bad news is I'm now a week behind on everything. The good news is I am only a week behind.

I suppose in reality that there is little difference astronomically, meteorologically, geographically, or any scientifically measurable way between December 31 and January 1. But from a philosophical, psychological, and hopefully spiritual standpoint it can make a meaningful difference. In fact, declaring a time to end, a time to start over, renew,  and refresh can be a life-changing thing. The Roman Emperor Julius Ceasar declared Jan. 1 the beginning of the new year about 46 BC. The Roman god, Janus, had two faces, one facing forward and one backward. Janus was the god of doors and gates. Julius felt that the month named after Janus, January, would be a good "door" to the year and declared it so.

Dates of celebration in differing cultures are often picked because of science (equinoxes), politics, and religion. Did you know that after Christianity became dominant, the middle ages in Europe celebrated the new year on March 25 since it was believed the angel announced to Mary her upcoming birth of Jesus at that time? By the middle 1500's it went back to January 1 even for Christians.  The Jewish new year, Rosh Hashanah,  is celebrated somewhere mid to late September. The Chinese new year happens late winter, early spring based on the ancient Chinese lunar\solar timetable.  This year is the year of the sheep, by the way. That is how folks arrive at a new year celebration, as far as history goes, but why we do it is a better question.

Why? Because we need it. God has built into to humans and humanity certain needs. These are universal from culture to culture, race to race. There are rhythms to life and living. We need to work, we need to eat, we need to love, we need to socialize, we need to celebrate, we need to mourn,we need to rest, we especially need to worship. (see Ecclesiastes 3) The healthiest and happiest cultures keep these human needs in balance. The rhythms needed occur in different sequences, some daily, some spread out more on our calendar to weeks, months and seasons. But if a person or a people neglect these rhythms, there will be suffering to the person and their society.  Studies on Americans say that upwards of 30 to 40 percent are sleep deprived. Social science tells us that in an age where there are 1.2 phones for every person in our nation, people are more disconnected from meaningful relationships than ever. The average workweek according to the Washington Post in a Sept. article is now 47 hours. Jim Denison quotes John Dickerson, author of The Great Evangelical Recession, whose research says that only 7 to 9 percent  now believe that the Bible is the authoritative word of God. Young people don't worship corporately much anymore. Clearly, the rhythms needed to sustain, enhance, beautify, and help us enjoy life are too greatly ignored and abandoned. These rhythms flow from the truth of a loving and fully involved God who wants the very highest for His highest creation, they help point us to this loving and merciful God, and help us connect to Him and His grace in ways that bring joy to living life.

So what do we do? We pay attention, we follow what God shows us, we keep His rhythms as best we can and as best we understand them. We do what Haggai admonished us to do in chapter 1 verse 5: "Consider your ways!" And, understand this, His rhythms are physical, emotional, spiritual, relational, sometimes joyous, sometimes mournful, both exuberant and quiet. You need rest every day, so sleep or learn better how to sleep.  You need to worship privately every day so read your Bible and pray. You need to worship corporately because you are not meant to live life as a lone ranger, so go to church. You need a Sabbath every week, so worship and extend your rest and time to deliberate God's word and message. You need time pondering meanings in life, contemplating this world and this life. So incorporate solitude into your rhythms of life. See it as a gift. You need the rhythms of celebration so attend the fellowships, birthday parties, graduations and anniversaries. They can be a hassle, but also a blessing. I see many sad people and occurrences as a pastor. One of them is the person who cannot be alone, even with God for an extended period of time. Another sadness is seeing the person who cannot be with a friend or friends for their own fears or feelings of worthlessness.

Find your God given rhythms this new year. Start afresh and find in His rhythms for you some awesome wonders. In His rhythms of worship, work, service, sacrifice, solitude, celebration you will find that you are loved deeply. In your private, quiet times, hear Jesus' heart speaking to your heart. "You are loved, you are wanted, you have meaning, your future with me is secure." In your corporate celebration hear Him say you are loved not only individually but in community. You are part of a family. Hear His heart in the heart of others. You are loved and useful in His family. And make sure that you affirm His love for others in your own heart by rhythmically expressing your thankfulness, appreciation, and care for and to others.

Where do you start? Take your pulse. Literally, press your finger to your neck or wrist and feel every beat. God has put that rhythm in your physical heart. Let Him show you a hundred or more other rhythms of life in His Spirit and enjoy the gift we call this year.

Rhythm but no rhyme,
Cos

Next Week: Rhythm II  The Escape

Christmas Places

The house I grew up in seemed so large to me as a little kid, it now appears rather small as it sits out on a farm. I see it occasionally when I drive by just for nostalgia purposes. Nearly everyone feels that way about some aspect of their childhood that appeared so large in life that takes on a comical remembrance as its true size is now apparent. Another chuckle arises when I think that I could never find my Christmas presents in that small farmhouse. I know they had to hidden somewhere but I could never find them. A few presents were wrapped and placed under the tree like socks and underwear and such. But the really cool ones I wanted were somewhere else. It wasn't for lack of looking, I just could never find my Christmas presents in that house. I could not imagine there being any place not accessible to my stubborn persistence and curiosity.
Evidently there were.

In the fifty or more Christmases since those adventures into the attic, under beds, in dark closets and forbidden drawers, I have learned that the best things in life are like that--they are  not possessed by simply great effort and probing. They are discovered as gifts in places both unexpected and in full view. In fact, in the Incarnation of Christ, His gifts are found in places we would never venture to look. Yet, often the greatest surprise is there waiting. What sort of places could hold a treasure from the Lord Himself?
Believe it or not, darkened places. Isaiah 9 even predicted it: "The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned." Christmas time is a dark time for many people. Family brokenness, financial fears, stress from trying to please too many and not enough time or money or faith leaves a dark mark on some people's Christmas. And the bible tells us that because of sin, we all walk in darkness. Yet into the darkness Christ came. He brings to our sin darkened, stress filled, question filled lives His light. It is the light of hope. It is found even in darkened places, there it shines bright for all who will open the eyes of their hearts and see.

Another unexpected place to find the gifts Jesus brings are the broken places in our lives. Psalm 147 and Isaiah 61 tell us that the coming Messiah will bind up the brokenhearted and restore and rebuild the broken places. A person can't live too long in life without experiencing some kind of brokenness. It may be an arm or foot or it may be first loves first broken heart. It may be career hopes, family dreams, health or finances. And even if by some small chance none of these are experienced, no one escapes spiritual brokenness. Our own version of holiness just doesn't amount to much, yet here and in other broken places, Jesus enters. Binding, soothing, healing, leading us out or standing with us even in our brokenness is the sovereign Lord. Restoration Hardware, it turns out is not a store for high-end new vintage house parts. Restoration Hardware are the tools of  manger, cross, and a rolled away rock that Jesus uses to promise healing in our broken places.

Jesus shows up in our forgotten places, too.  In living life we forget how to worship God, discover His forgiveness, serve Him sacrificially, enjoy His presence, relax in His grace, luxuriate in His love. In forgetting these essentials we forget how to live. It becomes all about us, our family, our happiness, our schedules, our feelings etc. and so on. Then we awake one day and have forgotten even who we are because we forgot whose we are. In these forgotten places Jesus shows up.  Not sure about that today? Just remember His birth. It had been 400 years since the prophets spoke in the Old Testament (as we know it). Had God forgotten? No more than He had forgotten Joseph in Egypt for 40 years....no more than He forgot Moses for 40 years in the desert...no more than He forgot Abraham was 100 years having a kid. God's timing is different from ours but He doesn't forget. Just check out a manger in Bethlehem. Any forgotten places in your life needing a Savior? Keep looking, He will be there.

I'm glad Jesus also shows up in fearsome places. Why? Because I have them and don't know very well what to do with them. Mary, Jesus' mother found herself in a fearsome place in Luke 1: 26-30 when an angel pops in for a visit. His words "fear not, were followed by "you're going to have a baby"  Joseph is in a fearsome place in Matthew 1 when faced with a pregnant fiancee not of his doing and an angel shows up and says, "fear not...." The shepherds in Luke 2:10 get the same message, "fear not..." We hear fearsome words on the news, from the doctor, from the spouse, from children and grandchildren, financial advisors, the president and the news all the time. It's enough to make us want to run off to broken, forgotten places and hide. But the same message finds us today as it did them at the birth of Jesus, "fear not." What fear is speaking to you today? Is there Another voice with more authority  you need to hear?

To sum it all up, Jesus shows up in impossible places to bring His impossibly good news of salvation for all who believe. Bethlehem, not Rome, shepherds not Sanhedrin, old prophecies long forgotten, loud singing angels, wandering stars, a virgin, a stable, a manger, a BABY?....Really? Seriously?  No begging, no searching, no frantic bargaining, no self-effort? No, of all the ways and all the places you would never have expected Him to show up, it is in those places and in those ways He brings Christmas. All that to let us know He desires to spend Christmas in one special place: your heart.

Is there room?

Cos
Christmas 2014

Pastor Hayward Skips Church

Pastor Hayward didn't plan it that way, it just sorta happened. He had to skip church last Sunday. Death is never convenient and he had to officiate a funeral on Saturday, the day he and his lovely wife Jan originally had planned to leave. It was really okay. He was happy to help the family during their loss. Besides, leaving early Sunday would get them to the ski lodge in fine time, just not in time to go to church on Sunday morning at the ski resort chapel. So he and Jan got up early and left Sunday morning, skipping church with his guilt packed with his boxers.

About three hours in and through one thermos of coffee, they needed to stop. One, for the obvious reason, and two, well heck, they never got to eat breakfast out on Sunday and both were hungry. So guilt aside Pastor Hayward pulls off the interstate and into the County Line Diner. It was 9 AM and packed. Instead of waiting on ushers and choirs to do their part in the service they waited on a table for about seven minutes before their buzzer went off. Their table was right in the middle of the restaurant, right in front of the fireplace. Pastor Hayward had a good view of everyone.  Jan ordered  first: one egg, over medium with a side order of wheat toast. She noticed the Pastor's raised eyebrow. She knew he wasn't exactly thrilled with her choice. Hayward took advantage of being sprung from church and diet for a few days and ordered the County Line-backer: 2 strips bacon, 2 sausage patties, 2 eggs, 2 biscuits, and 2 buttermilk pancakes. Both of Jan's eyebrows went up.

Pastor Hayward sat back and sipped his coffee. He knew his breakfast might take a while since the County Line was really busy. He surveyed the scene. "So this is where people go who aren't in church," he thought to himself.  His eyes caught  a nice large family over in the corner. Must 13 or 14 of them....the little boy looks like Ralphy in A Christmas Story. 'Be careful kid, you'll put your eye out....'  They were happy in each other's company. A few tables in front of them was an old couple getting up to leave. He rocked, once, twice, and on the third rock forward the old guy was able to push\pull himself up. He shuffled by on the way to pay. Pastor Hayward thought about having to be on the highway with him and hoped he was a local. A very tall, graceful, black man came in with his wife and were seated to the right of the Haywards.  They were dressed like they had just come from church. Pastor wondered if he played basketball and chided himself for such stereotyping thoughts.   Just because a man is tall and black and moves so gracefully doesn't mean he played basketball. Still, Pastor Hayward figured he did and was very good at it.

There was a twenty-something couple over in the corner. They were cute. He was kind of a cowboy with an Aggie cap. She was tiny, blond and liked to twirl her fork between bites. Here comes a couple in their 60's and a man in his 70's with them. They had obviously been to church. They handed the waiter their church bulletin for a 10% discount. Pastor couldn't help but wonder if the single man was widowed or an old bachelor, single just for the day, or was related to the couple. He looked out of place, alone even, in a room with a hundred people. Pastor felt sorry for him. Then the large table right next to him and Jan began to fill in with a young family with three boys under six years of age. One looked 6, one just under him, maybe 4 or 5, and a little guy less than 2. This was a gorgeous young family. But about the time Pastor Hayward quit thinking about how pretty those boys were, how sweet the wife looked and movie star qualities the dad had, in fear he figured he was about to lose his one chance for a quiet breakfast on a Sunday morning. He needn't worry. Those boys were better behaved than 90% of the kids he saw at church. There were kind, loving eyes all around. Polite, sweet words were spoken in English and Spanish. It was great to see.

Pastor's and Jan's food arrived. Jan looked a little like Cinderella stuck in the corner with a little plate of one egg and some toast. Pastor's plates took up the rest of the entire table. He went to work on it, but he couldn't quite finish it off. Part of one biscuit and most of one pancake would have to go home to the cook's dogs. The family next table over received their food. Mom and Dad had regular breakfast plates that they shared back and forth. But the boys, with all that big menu before them had ordered Fruit Loops. Red, green, yellow, and orange Fruit Loops. The boys seemed to love them. They smiled at their dad, their mom winked at them and they dug in for more Loops.

It was time to go. Pastor started to get up but didn't make it. He rocked back and pushed up again but not quite. On the third time he was up but staggering. Jan mentioned she better drive a while. Pastor waddled to the car, fell into the front seat and was ready for a nap. He felt a little guilty he had skipped church this morning. But he knew something else, too. All these people he saw this morning had something in common. God wasn't mad at these people, in fact, He deeply loved them. From tall, graceful black men to a fork twirling 20 year olds to Aggie cap wearing cowboys, to dressed up church goers to Ralphy-look-a-likes to a family of five or a couple about 85-God loves them all.

Jan started the car and looked at her husband. ''You know, Hay, I almost feel like I've been to church this morning. You don't feel too bad about skipping do you?"  "No, in fact, I think the Lord preached me a good sermon without words. Drive careful."  Pastor Hayward popped a couple of tums. As he drifted off he reminded himself the next time he skipped church and went to breakfast, order Fruit Loops.

Cos