The Picture Seen Across the Pond

Photography is my passion. A picture can evoke an emotion in anyone that sees it (often different emotions in different people). As a portrait photographer, I like the challenge of trying to capture someone’s true personality in a photograph. Using my camera to "make" someone's picture is my way of celebrating God’s most beautiful work—which, of course, is people. Any people. I especially love photographing newborns. Every time I photograph a baby, I marvel over those tiny, chubby little toes and those dimples where their knuckles will be one day. I can get lost in the artistry of a tiny fingernail. A picture really is worth (at least) a thousand words.

In December of last year, I decided to document my year (2012) with a 365-project: taking one photo each day and sharing them on my Facebook page. Sometimes I shoot the daily images with my good camera, but more often I just use my phone camera (and Instagram). My subjects have ranged from mundane (carrot raisin salad) to beautiful (Florida sunsets) to unusual (a Chihuahua in sunglasses) … and, yes, a few faces.

My subjects are images that inspire me, move me, make me smile or just capture my attention. This particular photo (right) was my 365 image for last Sunday (9/30/12). It features 100+ small crosses that are part of a display in front of a local church. Each cross represents a child lost to abortion last year, just in our county. This is the image that moved me that day.

Believe it or not, I did not post this photo as a political statement.

But timing is everything … especially with a red hot election looming just weeks away. So, of course this ignited some political exchange on my Facebook page. As a rule, I try to completely avoid political statements on my Facebook page for several reasons. First and foremost, I try to respect all of my friends, family and acquaintances—whatever their beliefs may be. I love them for who they are. I would never ever want to intentionally hurt someone.

But there are a couple things you might (or might not) want to know about me. I am not a Democrat nor a Republican. I never met a politician that walked on water. If I carry the flag for anyone, it’ll be for God. And my God has many names. He is 100% love. He is 100% merciful. That cross I wear around my neck isn’t to show you that I think I’m good or holy or anything even close. It’s a reminder TO ME that, IF I’m going to call myself a child of God, my job is simple: to love. Everyone.

Judging isn’t part of my job description. I believe that no one should go through life lonely. I don’t care whether you spend your life with a man, a woman, a dog or a television. I want to know you for who you are, what you are passionate about and who you trust. Like MLK, I’m interested in the content of your character. I hate labels. I hate being pigeon-holed, just as much as you do. I believe that we all make mistakes. I, myself, make them every minute of every day. I believe in a universe of opposites—so I do believe there is evil. And it scares me. But I believe God is bigger than any religion or anything evil. He is a creator … of breathtaking sunsets, Chihauhaus in sunglasses and, yes, babies.

So when I snapped that photo, this is what I thought: This makes me sad. My heart breaks for those mothers (whatever their ages and circumstances) that thought they had no other choice. I can’t imagine a decision more painful and burdensome than what they had to face. It makes me sad for those men that couldn’t/wouldn’t live up to the definition of the word Father. And it makes me sad for all those lost little baby toes, dimpled knuckles and precious, tiny half-moon fingernails.

So I just became sadder when the debate raged on my Facebook page. Because, while I realize this is a hot political topic, that’s not what I saw through my camera lens. And I just wanted someone else to understand, if only for a moment ... to see what I saw. Then I noticed a comment about the photo on my Instagram account. It came from a talented  photographer who lives “across the pond” in Ireland. (I’ve long admired his work for its beauty and simplicity.)

His comment? 

:(  :(  :( 

My point exactly.

Vanity: Thy Name is Popular Opinion ... ?

During my freshman year of college, I worked at a restaurant/ice cream parlor. We wore silly costumes. We sang loud songs for guest birthdays and anniversaries. The menu featured a GIANT ice cream sundae that waiters ran around on a mini-stretcher—giving star treatment to the party that ordered it. Our job was to make sure everyone had fun (the customers, anyway).
Right after I started, I heard people talking about a waitress that I had yet to meet. “Have you worked with Kathy, yet?” They asked. They buzzed about how much fun she was, how much energy she had and how she dated the cutest waiter there. I began to think of her as the head cheerleader/homecoming queen of ice cream world.

One day I met her. She was a beautiful blond with effervescent energy and joy ... but there was one thing about her that no one else had ever mentioned. On one side of her beautiful face was a large port-wine birthmark. It didn’t seem to be something that she was self-conscious about nor did it seem to be something that anyone who knew her noticed.

Over the next six months, Kathy and I worked many shifts together and we became friends. Her energy was infectious, she made me laugh and I began to look forward to shifts that we worked together. Work became FUN! By the end of the year, I left my job at ice cream world. During my last week, I remember some new waiter asking me about the girl with the birthmark on her face. “Who?,” I asked him, with absolutely no idea who he was referring to. “Kathy,” he said. I’d honestly forgotten all about that.

I’ve been thinking about her lately. I had some surgery earlier in the summer which resulted in the loss of most of my left eyebrow and having the left eyelid “rebuilt.” In other words, it’s not at all pretty. My eyes look off-balance when I look in the mirror. Unnatural. Like an aging Hollywood actress that’s been pumped up with way too much Botox and can’t control her expressions anymore.

The doctor tells me that they will do some plastic surgery to smooth things out, but the fact is that it’s highly unlikely that it will ever look normal again. I’m trying to not be vain or petty about it. I remind myself that the whole thing started with a cancer scare that they thought was originating from somewhere deep inside of me. After months of tests, I got off lucky – with just a little bump they were able to remove. The gimpy eye is my reminder that, unlike many others, my war wound is minor. Grace had me covered. And I know that I am not my eye. I’m not even this shell of a middle aged body that I’m living in. It’s the work on my soul that should be my focus.

Still I know that this “lazy” eye will be the first thing people see when they meet me—and that much of what I say initially to those new acquaintances will go unheard because of this. I’m not being paranoid or vain here, I’m being realistic. I’m human too—and although we may not want to admit it, we immediately notice those physical characteristics in a person that are off or not “normal.”

So I’m trying to channel Kathy. I’m trying to let my inner soul and joy for life bubble up a little more. My hope is that when people talk about me in the future they will describe me by my joy, faith and energy and not some silly little imperfection. Like Kathy, I want to be the person that inspires people to remember that each of our souls is oceans bigger than the limitations of our physical world.

Four-Legged Prayers

I caught up with a friend today during a short phone call. Although we live/work in opposite corners of the state and haven’t seen each other in a few months, we managed to cover quite a bit in 10 minutes. A lot has happened since we last chatted including (scary) health challenges for both of us and some major changes in the industry upon which we’ve both built our careers. I consider her to be among the most professional people I know and among the smartest. We met through an industry educational forum a few years ago and found we shared a passion for what we do (as well as a warped sense of humor). Her laugh makes me laugh, but it is her faith that I admire most of all.

Over the last six months, something unexpected happened. We discovered a new common thread among a small core group of industry friends: faith. Living in my own little world most of the time, I noticed it during a time when I was coming apart at the seams. There were summer weeks that went by in a blur, days when it took everything inside of me to just get through 8 hours with my “normal” mask on. What I do remember from those weeks are my friends looking me straight in my teary eyes and saying, “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to pray. We got this.” And I believed them.

On occasion, I would chat with or text this particular friend. She would ask about my health, wanting all the details. Then she told me that she and her dogs prayed for me every morning. And I believed her.

Today, we were chatting about another member of our fearless little faith club. “Have you talked to her? How is she?,” My friend asked. “I’m not sure. I haven’t actually talked to her, except for a few emails. I’m a little worried,” I answered. “Well, the girls and I will pray for her,” she said. (The ‘girls’ being her dogs.)

She tells me how they all snuggle on the bed in the morning. Then, the older dog often loses interest in the routine and leaves for the living room. But the little one really seems to like it. She cuddles against her owner, then stares out the window, contemplatively. My friend is laughing as she tells me. And so am I, but I’m also wiping away tears. Because I’m picturing this daily scene, because I love my friend even more for her fearless faith and because I, too, believe in a God that could never, ever resist four-legged prayers.

The Price of Gold

I’ve been feeling disconnected. With pretty much everything. So, I decided to start reading the Book of Matthew this week. Really. Slowly. I'm only on Chapter 2 and I'm amazed at the symbolism and how everything old is new again. Take the wise men's gifts to baby Jesus.

Gold. Did you know that gold is at a record high? I know this because it’s being broadcast on signs at every street corner right now. It appears that even McDonald’s has gone into the gold purchasing business. (I think they are planning on adding it to the list of 38 other ingredients in the chicken nuggets. Get it? Nuggets.)  Have you noticed that EVERYONE seems to be buying gold?  The corner gas station. The dry cleaner. All this feverish greed for something “precious.” Hmmm. Maybe we’re (still) missing the point of what’s really precious? Just sayin.

Frankincense (back in the day) was "burned, symbolizing prayer rising to the heavens." Did you know you can buy Frankincense oil today? It's expensive but said to help with Spiritual healing. Wow. Maybe doctors should add this to our list of Recommended Daily Allowance of vitamins and minerals. It could be part of our new national health care plan. We could use some spiritual healing.

Myrrh is noted for its intoxicating fragrance. Once upon a time, Myrrh symbolized death. A mixture of Myrrh and wine was offered to Jesus at his crucifixion. Sad that this was the same stuff they gave to him during his first hours on earth as a baby gift. But He didn't need it anyway.

Even the process of extracting these oils today seems ironic (this is according to “HowStuffWorks”):

The processes for extracting the sap of Boswellia (for frankincense) and Commiphora (for myrrh) are essentially identical. Harvesters make a longitudinal cut in the tree's trunk, which pierces gum resin reservoirs located within the bark. The sap slowly oozes from the cut and drips down the tree, forming tear-shaped droplets that are left to harden on the side of the tree. These beads are collected after two weeks.

"Left to harden on the side of the tree." Sigh.

Some days it’s difficult not get caught up in how cold and unfeeling the world seems. For all our technological advances, sometimes it seems like we’ve forgotten the basics. Like treating each other with respect or checking in with our neighbor to see if they are okay. Or turning off the electronic devices to connect with your kids or friends. I know I’m guilty of it.

Perhaps it’s a good time to remember that the greatest gift was never the gold. Or frankincense. Or even the Myrrh. It was the Baby--and the promise He made.

Quilt House

In my neighborhood, there is a run-down Victorian house that wears chipping gray paint, falling down gutters, a sagging front step and the most beautiful collection of quilts I’ve ever seen.

On my evening walk, I look for the newest masterpiece that hangs on the gray house, under the eaves of the wrap-around porch. Each month, the owner displays a new full-size, handmade quilt showcasing brilliant patterns and vibrant colors. They are masterpieces.

One night while walking by, I noticed a young disabled woman sitting on the front porch. “Are you the quilter?” I asked. “No, my mother is,” she answered. “They are beautiful,” I said. “Thank you,” she replied.

Tonight I noticed a new appliquéd quilt adorning the porch. I thought (again) how I’d like to meet this woman. I know already that I like her. I feel we may be kindred spirits. I understand the ingrained need to create. I can’t go long without acting on it. Otherwise, things get really ugly with me.

It’s been four days now. I’ve surpassed ugly. I’m no fun to be around. I know this about myself. This happens most every Thursday. I race through the first part of the week trying to accomplish everything on my “To Do List” (and everyone else’s “To Do List for Me”) and I fail miserably. Then I start kicking myself for not being the version of myself they want me to be.

In the book The Happiness Project, author Gretchen Rubin suggests that we each make a list of our own personal Ten Commandments. Her #1? “Be Gretchen.” I liked that. In fact, when I read that while on vacation, I decided my #1 would be: “Be Mary.” (Ah, the best laid plans are always made on vacation, huh?) So, yeah. I’m not doing a very good job at that lately.

Who ever would have guessed that being ourselves would become so difficult? Kids don’t have a problem with it. The big challenge (as adults) is trying to be ourselves while trying to balance real life. Bills. Jobs. Needs of our dependents. Laundry. Dinner. Groceries. Cleaning. Etc. Who has time (or energy) after all that to nurture oneself? Shheeesh.

I was thinking about all this when I passed the Quilt House tonight. That house reminds me that it’s okay to let the paint peel and front porch sag a little—as long as you are giving yourself permission to show your true colors. That’s the only way we can shine. That's the only way that we can become the brilliant and amazing individuals that God envisioned when He created us. Become the masterpiece and happiness won't have to be a project anymore, right? How are you going to let your light shine today?

The Falling Down House

There is an abandoned house down the street that is falling down around itself. To be honest, it was never a pristine property– but it’s really looking sad now. Gutters are falling off, paint is peeling, the front porch is falling in and the grass and shrubs are overgrown. Tiny plastic toddler toys sit in the backyard waiting for some little people to come play. You can’t help but wonder the story behind the sad house when you see it. But I noticed something while walking by the house one night earlier this week. There is a wild rose bush on the south side of the house that has burst into blooms. Big pink roses cover the shrub as it reaches its beautiful branches in countless directions. This remarkable gift of nature is such a contrast against the falling down house. If someone lived here, the rose bush would be pruned. Controlled. Restrained.

There is someone I know that is facing an unforeseen tragedy that is painfully beyond anyone’s control. Despite it all, she is stoic. Controlled. Restrained. She soldiers on doing what she must do effectively and efficiently each day. Keeping everything in order. I want to throw my arms around her and give her a big hug. But protocol, our level of acquaintance and her manner of conduct forbid this. Mostly, I just want her to cry. I want her to give herself permission to be human.

It seems to me that we spend so much of our lives fighting back our emotions. Boys are raised to always “suck it up” and never cry—for fear of showing weakness. Girls today are taught to be competitive and grow tougher skin so as to succeed successfully in the workplace. Cultivating a “Poker Face” is considered to be a coveted skill. Funny how society keeps getting it wrong, huh?

If God had wanted us to go through life being stoic, restrained and controlled, he wouldn’t have given us emotions. Or tear ducts. There would be no need for community, friendship, families or love. And we would be missing all the best things this life holds.

Letting go is so scary. We don’t know for sure what will happen after the fall. But sometimes the only way beauty can bloom is when we stop restraining it and see where the branches extend.

For the Road Ahead: Mommy Wisdom to my Baby

Hi One:

Big day. Can’t believe we’re here. I’m pretty sure it was just last week that we were on the way home from the hospital with tiny you, disappearing in an oversized car seat … and now (as you so aptly put it yesterday), you are getting “spewed out into the real world to fend for yourself.” Good thing you inherited your Dad’s sense of humor.

Given my talent for lecturing you, my need to write and the simple fact that I am, after all, the only Mom you’ve got … I thought I’d share a couple words of wisdom. Stop rolling your eyes. I promise to try to keep it short.

I’m confident there are many things you are tired of hearing me say over and over again. (I’m tired of hearing myself say them).
Top 3 Phrases We Both Hope I Never Utter Again:

1) “Take the trash out. Now.”

2) “Did you do your _____ (Algebra/English/fill in the blank)___?”

3) You: “I’m going to need some gas money.” Me: “I’m going to need you to get a job.”

I know it seems like my nagging has magnified both in volume and frequency over the last few years—but, I think that’s par for the Mom/Kid course of life. Still, I realize I could’ve done a better job at telling you those things you need to hear.

Top 3 Things I Should’ve Told You More Often:

1) You can do ANYTHING you set your mind to do. And I’m not just saying this because I’m your Mom.

2) Whenever I’m with you, there’s no place else I’d rather be. Ever.

3) In all of history, in all the galaxies, in all the worlds—there could not possibly be a Mom who is more proud of her child than I am of you. Sometimes I think to myself that you are the one thing I did right in my life … but then I realize that I didn’t do anything. You are God’s work.

Finally (and you knew that I was going to include at least a little pontification here), there are a few basic principles of life that took me decades to learn. I share them with you in the hope that you might stick these tools in your imaginary Backpack-for-Life and use them when necessary.

Top 3 Things Mama Said to Always Remember:

1) All we have is each other.
Truth is, we spend most of our life chasing stuff. Big TVs, cool cars, nice houses, great jobs. Then, one day, you wake up tired or sick or missing someone who isn’t there anymore—and you realize that you’d trade every last bit of all that stuff you’ve accumulated just to be with the people who love you—and those who bring the love out of you. Cherish them. (Even when they irritate you.)

2) Keep your feet on the ground.

There will be those times in your life when you are on top of the world and everything is going your way. You’ll feel invincible, like you can do no wrong. Caution: life is balance/ yin and yang. In those moments, you won’t have to look very far to find someone who is at the other end of the rope. Maybe it’s a co-worker, a family member or a next door neighbor who is facing a terrible tragedy or challenge. They are hanging on by their fingernails—and it’s up to you to step in and help. Right then and there. We cannot appreciate the light without knowing the dark. We are here to serve, plain and simple.

3) Give it to God. Daily.

Bottom line: there is very little in life we can control—but we keep thinking otherwise. We live in these tiny little imaginary worlds that revolve around me, myself and I. (Wrong Holy Trinity.) God’s the master designer here. It’s HIS plan … and it’s very likely that it has nothing to do with YOUR plan. But His plan includes wonderful blessings and graces that you could never, ever even conceive of—all for you. Just let go of your plan and wait for His to unfold. All He wants is to hear from you. Talk to him, daily. Tell Him thanks. And tell Him your Mommy sent you.

Finally, I’ll tell you the same thing I’ve been telling you (almost) every day since you were in preschool—because it bears repeating. If you forget everything else I tell you—please remember this one … long after I’m gone: I love you, I love you, I love you … with every fiber of my heart and soul.

-Mom

Faithful 100 Percent

When my son was a preschooler, one of our favorite bedtime stories was Dr. Suess’s Horton Hatches the Egg. As the story goes, the lazy bird Mazie asks Horton (the elephant) to sit on her unhatched egg while she flies south to warmer climates for a little vacation. Horton agrees, climbs up and balances himself on the tiny next and stays there. And stays there. Neither wind nor storm nor traveling circus scouts can distract him from his task. Through the duration, his mantra is: “I meant what I said and I said what I meant, an elephant’s faithful 100 percent.”

Lately, I’ve been thinking about Horton. There is a pigeon that has taken over a vacant nest above our porch that was abandoned by some other birds last year. About two weeks ago, she and her mate moved in on a Saturday. From the living room window, I could see her working feverishly for most of the afternoon, rearranging the place and, well, nesting. He watched over her that first day, then disappeared. But she hasn’t moved from that nest. Like Horton, she’s stuck to her objective through high winds, a snow storm, cold temperatures and many days and nights. Truth be told, I’m in awe of her perseverance.

When Lent started four weeks ago, I made my usual commitments to give up sweets, then proceeded to fall off the wagon. (The next day.) Then I told God that—forget the sweets (they weren’t really important after all)—I was going to make a commitment to do an act of kindness for someone every day during Lent. Then, I got wrapped up in myself and my daily to dos and forgot about that. It seems like every day for the last four weeks I’ve been saying, “I’ll just start over again tomorrow.”

Then it occurred to me that maybe the entire exercise of trying to sacrifice something during Lent is just to help give us a little perspective on what true faith really means—and remind us that we are only human. Think giving up sweets for 6 weeks is tough? Imagine knowing you were going to suffer and die by crucifixion, yet trusting The Plan because you know God loves you (and his people) that much--and that better things are ahead. THAT’s Faithful 100 percent. And that’s the kind of faithfulness I want.

“Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.” ~Hebrews 13:5

The Whining Clown

A few years ago, I was photographing the St. Patrick’s Day parade activity for my job. I was having a blast. Participants were dressed in their o’finest green, smiling and feeling the Irish attitude. I came upon this group of three colorful clowns who were laughing and dancing. I snapped a couple of photos of them. As two of the clowns wandered off, the third came up to me and started whining about the other two. “I’m not really with them,” she said. “They are giving me a hard time and aren’t working with me.” To be honest, I tuned her out after her first sentence. I didn’t mean to, but one overwhelming thought flew into my brain and stopped all other traffic: “Dude. You’re a clown. Be a clown.”

I think about that clown on occasion ... mostly when I’m whining. I whine even though I KNOW this life-truth: People don’t want to listen to you whine. Recently, I heard myself whining to an industry peer over some little injustice heaved onto my fragile little ego. I heard my mouth flapping as I watched my poor friend physically recoil, drop eye contact and busy herself with some mundane task. Hmmm, I thought to myself,  Self: quityerbellyaching.

Basically, I think it comes down to this: everyone is carrying their own laundry basket full of crap. Theirs is heavy, too. They don’t need anyone else contributing to their load. What they DO need is someone to help lighten the load—bring them a smile, share a laugh or a little sunshine. I’ve decided I’m going to try and work on being that person.

It’s going to take some effort. I have to work at being happy. Sometimes I just don’t want to be cheery. Sometimes I want to whine about how unfair life is, how politics suck, how I’m always broke and so on. But I’ve realized that’s not working for me. I’m tired of taking two giant steps backward for every baby step forward. So I’m trying to shift my sails.

In the book, God Never Blinks: 50 Lessons for Life’s Little Detours, author Regina Brett sums it up best in Lesson #46: “No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up for life.” Just not feelin’ it on a certain day? Go on auto-pilot, if necessary. I know from experience that sometimes those days—the ones where I’m too discouraged to plan or too tired to battle for control—turn out to be the BEST days ever. God’s plan for me is always better than mine for myself. Really. Makes me wish I could just adopt a happy-go-lucky attitude every day where I would just go with the flow and believe it’s all going to be grand. Because that's what it's about ... believing.

So, that's my goal. First thing tomorrow I'm going to look myself in the bathroom mirror and say: “Dude. You’re a clown. Be a clown.”

Superbowl Christmas Game: Good vs. Evil

My sister says that every time you try to do something good, beware. The devil throws road blocks. I’ve come to believe there is truth in this. I thought I was ready for it yesterday—as our little family trio set out for my favorite Christmas tradition, “Acts of Kindness Day.” I just didn’t expect the darkness to begin to steal my Christmas joy.

I schedule our annual Acts of Kindness Day outing smack-dab in the busiest part of the season—when we are all likely to be caught up in the frenzy of what we have to buy, what we want to get, and what we have to bake, wrap or do. Family participation is required. (Insert lots of eye-rolling, tongue clicking and whining here.) Then, we load up on supplies and head out. But this year, it seemed that each time we stopped to do a kind deed, we noticed some sly little act of evil happening nearby. It was my husband who noted that maybe the devil was trying to thwart our efforts. It was starting to feel like a game of good versus evil.

We walked into a store in a poor part of town to accidentally drop some change and dollar bills (lots in the toy aisle) and found a woman arguing with the young male cashier. She was doing a verbal version of the shell game, combining it with multiple purchases—then bullying the guy into giving her change she wasn’t owed. I didn’t realize what was going on until after she flew out the door with a handful of ones. The poor cashier was muttering, “I shouldn’t have done that. She totally confused me. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m gonna get in trouble.” Score: 1 pt. for good (our change). 1 pt. for evil (theft).

Next stop was the humane society. We dropped off cans of cat food (donation) and visited the dogs, stroked the kitties and talked about someday owning a big farm and adopting them all. As we left, an old shepherd mix sat alone in an outdoor holding pen, crying in the cold. “That’s the saddest wail I’ve ever heard,” Tom said. We tried to console her, but she ran from one end of the pen to the other as if she was searching for someone or something. “Why is she out here?,” we asked one of the workers. “Someone just dumped her here, out by the road a couple of hours ago.” We left feeling deflated. Score: 1 pt. for good (cat food donation). 1 pt for evil (lack of compassion for God’s creatures).

We forged on through our day, joking about how we weren’t going to let anything or anyone suck the happiness from our “joy wagon.” We bought a fast food drive-thru lunch for a young mom and her son; dropped off t-shirts and cookies at the police and fire stations; dropped more change at the grocery; took cookies to the library staff and fruit to a homebound woman, and left a big tip for our waitress at lunch. Score: Good – 6 pts. Overall, it was a fun day—but left me feeling a little disappointed in mankind.

In reality, I think my funk was ignited three days ago when I overheard an acquaintance telling someone that he and his wife “do” an Advent calendar with their kids. “The kids love getting the treat each day, but they don’t understand what it’s really about—a countdown until Santa arrives.” Oh boy, I thought. We’re in trouble. Score: Evil – 1 pt.

The combination of all these incidents left me feeling sad. This is the Christmas season, after all. Whatever happened to “Good will towards men?” I started thinking about how many people are out there in the world, that don’t know or chose to acknowledge the REAL reason for the season. That was a big hope-stealer. Score: Evil – 1 pt.

So, I went to talk to the BOSS about all this today, at church. I prayed that we might all remember to keep the Christ in Christmas. I prayed that He might make us all realize that when you take all the pretty packages and toys away, all that we have is each other. And Him. And hope. I asked that He might give us a bigger edge in this Superbowl Christmas game of Good versus Evil. I’m no quarterback, but I’m willing to punt. I just need my Coach to guide me.

As the crowded mass dispersed, we stepped out onto the front steps and turned up our collars to the cold. Some guy drove by in his beat-up old Pontiac, leaned out his open window and screamed profanity at us all … ‘GO TO HELL, YOU X@$&$& &#(@(+_!!” Then he laughed and drove away. Score: Evil – 1 pt.

But, then I heard my Coach say, “There are about 1,000 people leaving this mass with you. There were two services before you and one more after you—each with about the same number of believers. And that’s just in one church. On one day. In one tiny city in Ohio. In one country. In a big world.” I smiled to myself. Score: Good – 3 billion pts. Plus the hopeful promise of many, many more to come. This game’s not over yet.