The Shelter of His Wings

Sunday, January 27, 2013

My firstborn son, SGT Eli Jordan Patterson, has to return to his unit today. He will be leaving his beautiful wife, Courtney Fisher Patterson and his firstborn son, Heath Jordan Patterson, to serve his country.

But it's not nearly as bleak as it sounds. Courtney's father recently moved from New York to a beautiful and spacious house on the Fulton/Cherokee line, and Courtney and Heath, and Jordan when he can get away from Army duties before deploying to Afghanistan, will be living in the basement apartment. 

Living is not really the word I want to use. I want to use the word, sheltered. But when you hear it, don't think of it as 'homeless shelter,' just a place where the rain doesn't get you wet. Think of it as comfort, sheltering under His wings.

Psalm 91: 4 He will cover you with his feathers,

and under his wings you will find refuge;

his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. 

Courtney's father on earth is a good, loving, strong provider. The term "apple of the eye" has another translation, "daughter of the eye," and as the father of a daughter, I get this, oh, boy, do I ever get this. He and I would both infinitely prefer that Courtney and Jordan and Heath be able to be together, but we both recognize that Jordan is a man who has made a commitment to the security of his country, and is now discharging that duty, and he would not be the man that he is if he were to seek to avoid his duty, no matter that it tears at him to drive away from his sweet, sweet wife and his sweet sweet son.

Listen: you who know me know that I would rip out walls and throw together plumbing in order to provide a place for Courtney and Heath. But even if I were to do that, (hard for me to admit) it would not be the same for her. She is safe and loved in the house of her father.

And I can visit, and hopefully I can baby sit. But when my visits are over, and my baby sitting is done, I can return to my home in peace, knowing that Courtney and Heath are safe and loved in the house of her father.

Feasting on locusts and wild honey,

Pat

Revisiting the scene of the accident

This is probably going to be a difficult blog to write.
Starting about 2002, I began reloading ammo for handguns. It was a way of saving lots of money, but more than that, it was I hobby I took pride in. And that sentence ends with a preposition, but I don't care, this is MY blog. 
I started out just loading for the .45, and as time went on I added different calibers: 9 mm, .38/.357, and even a couple of rifle calibers. I bought more sophisticated equipment, and I cast my own lead bullets. I polished the used brass, tried different powders to see what I could do, and in general just had a lot of fun with the whole project. I did all the work on my work table in the tool shed outdoors, and it was relaxing and productive.
Then I got sick.
But I kept reloading; it was something I could do, and I could get some instant gratification from the loading, and from the shooting, at a time when there wasn't very much in my life that seemed to be working.
And then I got sicker. The insomnia became an overwhelming part of my life; I doubt that there was a single week that went by that I didn't miss one night of sleep, and it got to where my cut-off was four nights; I knew if I had gone that long, I was going to be non-functional. 
But I guess I kept trying to reload, for a while. I certainly wasn't shooting anymore. I still had my guns, but family members didn't really trust me, and so to keep the peace, I stopped shooting. That's not entirely true; it was in part to keep the peace, although the peace was long gone, and the most important part of it never returned; mostly, I guess I stopped because I just couldn't do it anymore. Either pain or meds or insomnia-induced fatigue got in the way of everything I did. I didn't do anything, except go to work and sit. And then they told me I couldn't go to work anymore; and even though it was traumatic, they were right right; I was not functioning as a competent person. At any rate, I stopped going to my reloading bench.
I guess it's been about four years now that I started trying to pull the fragments of my life together. It was three years ago that we finally, formally put an end to a 32 year marriage. And a year and a half ago, I married my gift-from-God, happily-ever-after trophy wife Vanessa. And a year ago, this month, I decided that even though I was still suffering from chronic pain, I wanted to get off the daily doses of narcotics, and try to be more...here. And six months ago, I learned that if I lost weight, I might be able to breathe again, so I started doing that. And I've been trying to do other things as well, to return to a functional life.
And today, I decided I was going to start reloading again. There has been a severe ammunition shortage, and I've got all the supplies I need to make thousands of rounds, and I'm trying to interest my gift-from-God, happily-ever-after trophy wife Vanessa in shooting, and there are probably other reasons; but mostly, reloading would be another sign that I was getting my life back.
So I went out to the tool shed, which I had avoided for years, and I took a look at my reloading equipment; it was awful. I had broken things; I had pieces of equipment laying all over; my supplies, at one time so very well organized and coherent, were chaotic, and I couldn't even get my brass polishing tumbler to work. 
Right now, all that together is saying this to me: this is how sick you were. This is how sick you were. You couldn't take care of your stuff, you couldn't take care of your self, and there was no one who could take care of you, and so it all disintegrated.
Now, that is NOT the final word. The truth? I'm a little bit excited about buying a new brass tumbler, and some of the other new supplies I need to get organized. The tumbler was the only bit of equipment with a motor; evidently I had ordered another handle to the bullet mold as a replacement to the one I broke. And whether my gift-from-God, happily-ever-after trophy wife Vanessa goes shooting with me or not, I know I have some hours of peaceful, productive time ahead of me. So, in a little bit, it's going to be blue skies and sunshine.
But right now, at this moment, I'm having to face how sick I was, and remembering what I've lost ain't no fun at all.

It's Charlie Poor, Not Poor Charlie

You never really know under what circumstances you are going to meet one of the really special ones. Maybe we are all special ones, and there's just too much mud caked on us for it to show. But, at any rate, I met one of the special ones about twenty years ago, and this past Sunday, March  3, 2013, we had his memorial service. Charlie Poor. That was his earth name; his real name was Charlie Overflowing With Riches and Spreading Them Around to Everybody He came In Contact With. 
This is Charlie Poor Story Number One: Charlie wasn't the first of his family I met. That position is held by his son Scott. I met Scott when we were both members of North Georgia Young Men's Vida Nueva #6. My job was to talk about communications. Scott's job was to wait on a table. It wasn't even  my table; but I still can see him, 20 years later, just busting with excitement and joy as he ran around getting drinks and snacks and other goodies for the young men who he was assigned to serve, and Scott taught me in that moment what a joyful servant looked like. 
After that VN weekend, I started working on the teams regularly. And Scott was on the teams regularly, too. Now, there was another young man who was an important part of those early years of the VN movement; his name is Rafe Hyatt. And it was customary for all the adult men talk about what a wonderful young man Rafe was (and he still is a wonderful man, although he really, really old now, heh, heh,heh) and we would say things like, "The only problem with Rafe is that he's not the right age to marry my daughter," and other such witticisms. 
Well after one team meeting, there were a bunch of us, adults and teens, still hanging around, and the Rafe topic had come up, and we were all saying what a fine example he was, and...
....and then I saw Scott sitting in a chair, listening. And I do believe God spoke to me then; and he said "Be careful of how you praise Rafe, because Scott is going to be your Youth Leader when you are Director, and you don't want him to think he is second best." And I got it, I totally got it, and the only real surprise to me was that I had no idea that I was ever going to be a Vida Nueva Director. 
And Scott WAS a wonderful young man, and he is now a wonderful adult man, and I could tell some more stories about him, but I won't because this is about Charlie.
It was maybe a year after God had told me that I was going to be a Director before the V N Council told me the same thing, and I was finally officially in the market for the youth leader. In that time, I had met with Charlie Poor, and immediately discovered I liked him and could trust him. So, I thought to run past him the idea of asking for his input on selecting Scott for the position.Charlie was as straight as it is possible to be. He told me that Scott was like every other teen, in that he had his struggles, but that he had no doubt at all that if I asked him to be the youth leader for VN 11, that he would do a fantastic job. He was right. Scott did a fantastic job. The  single greatest thing I remember about what Scott did: he was supportive of me. He was a paraclete: one who comes along beside to support. Fantastic, solid, humble, cheerful, hard-working young man. And you know what? I learned all of these things about Scott; and as I grew to know Charlie better, it was clear to me where Scott had learned those things. 
This is Charlie Poor Story Number Two: In the fullness of time, Charlie was asked to be Director of a Vida Nueva. And, in the interim, my first-born son, Jordan, had grown into his teen age years, and had gone through VN, and had developed the reputation for reliability and energy that is such a solid part of his character. And I was pleased when Charlie called me and said he was returning the favor: he told me he was planning to ask Jordan to be his youth leader, and he was asking for my input. And I gave Charlie the same report: Jordan, like every other teen, had his struggles, but if Charlie asked him to be the youth leader he would do a fantastic job. I had another request to make of Charlie at the time, though. I told him that if did pick Jordan as youth leader, I wanted to be on the team, too, in a position that was directly subordinate to Jordan. I told him I wanted to be able to show Jordan  submission to authority from the other side. Charlie got it. He totally got it. And he made me Head Table Cha, which I knew how to do from seeing Scott perform as a table cha those many years before, and I got a chance to serve under my son, and it was good. I made T-shirts for all the table chas, with a picture of Grover the Muppet on the front, with the caption "Hello Everybodeee! It is I, your lovable furry Table Cha  (name)!" And on the back of the shirts, I had the visual for Charlie's weekend: the eagle soaring.
This is Charlie Poor Story Number Three: When Richie Casey was Tres Dias Rector, he asked Charlie to be Head Dorm Cha, and I was one of the dorm chas. Charlie wanted us to do some skits for the candidates, in addition to cleaning the toilets, which was pretty cool. And I asked if I could make the t-shirts for the dormchas, and we all agreed that was cool. I scrambled the letters of "dorm cha" so each of us chas had a different name (I was Dr. Macho; somebody else was MachRod, I don't remember the others) and as Head Dorm Cha, Charlie got to be Cheddar O'Ham. And the skits we did were funny; the last one had Charlie introduce each of the others in increasing amounts of protective gear, required depending on how awful the conditions were in the bathroom. And at the end, I started screaming outside the conference room, and then staggered in with ripped clothes, yelling for Richie. They had smeared me with about a dozen brownies, leaving big chunks embedded in  my chest hair; and my story was that I had been cleaning a toilet, when there was an explosion in the next stall that had blown me out of the bathroom. And as soon as I finished saying that, Tony Olivastri came in patting his tummy, and saying, "Well, that feels better!" And I screamed "RICHEY!! I NEED A HUG!" and ran toward him, and Richey ran out of the room. It was funny! maybe you had to have been there...
And this is Charlie Poor Story Number Four, and the last: When Charlie was VN Director, he would call the house to speak to Jordan quite often, and if I answered the phone, we'd chat a bit before I passed it to Jordan. One time, I asked him how it was going with the team meeting process, and he told me that it was okay, but that there just seemed to always be somebody who was complaining about something, and form my own experience, I was pretty sure he was talking about adults who had little patience with teens. So I made a suggestion: "Tell 'em to go pound sand up their butt." Charlie busted out laughing. I guess he had never considered doing that. I assured him that it was a useful strategy to keep in mind. And I wrote him a palanca note at the first team meeting with the acronym: GPSUYB. And then for the weekend, I brought him a leather mallet that came from my father's wood shop and a bag of sand, and a note that said "In case it comes up on the weekend, I want you to be prepared to provide the tools." Charlie appreciated it; and though I CANNOT imagine him ever really telling anyone to do that,  I know that if he did, they would receive it in good spirits. So, if you should happen to be looking trough some of the old palanca Charlie picked up over the years, and you find a leather mallet, either cherish it for yourself, or, tell me to come get it, and I will. 

It can go wrong in a hurry

In my last post, I talked about carrying baggage in war. If ya didn't read it, you should, but to sum up: it's a bad idea. 
Now, there IS a way to take loot that's not gonna slow the troops down, and that way requires that the troops trust the leaders. Instead of each individual trooper grabbing whatever was valuable, if everybody agrees that the really valuable items (in the case of Jericho, that would be gold and silver  and bronze and iron ) will all be collected for the common good, then nobody gets distracted when it's clobberin' time, and everybody knows that the good stuff is cared for until it's distribution time. And that's the arrangement we find at Jericho. All it requires is trust.
And it didn't work, because there was this one guy who didn't trust the leadership. His name was Achan, which translates as "I'm gonna really mess things up for my buddies because I'm selfish and don't trust Joshua to take care of me" (variant reading...). And Achan took some stuff, and  I'll talk about the significance of what he took later.
So: it's after Jericho. With God's help, the walls came a tumblin' down, and Joshua's army (between 20 and forty thousand fighters, depending on how many troops are in an eleph ) stomp Jericho and burn it.  And Joshua sends some troops to check out Ai, and they come back and say: It's too small to take everybody. Just send a few thousand to take it.
And here, it becomes speculation on my part, but it's speculation based on experience. 
What's going through the minds of those three thousand who went to Ai? Don't know; but I do know what would be going through the minds of any groups of people I've ever had contact with under similar circumstances" "Why do WE always get stuck with the dirty work? "
Maybe the three thousand picked to go to Ai were the three thousand who had distinguished themselves in some way in Jericho. In that case: "Oh, so this is our reward for doing well? We get picked to fight again? All those other guys, they didn't do squat in Jericho, we were the ones who stomped it flat, and so now instead of making THEM do the work, they get to sit back and eat pickled herring while we sweat and bleed. "
Maybe the three thousand were the malcontents. Maybe Joshua said to sub-commanders, hey, each one of you give me about a hundred men to go form a new unit to go do some fighting. And each one of the sub commanders told their sub-sub commanders, and so forth, until it got down to squad level, and then who is the squad leader gonna pick? His best fighter? Nope. He's gonna pick the odds and sods, guys who fall over their feet, guys he's happy to get rid of. In which case: "That crummy sergeant has it in for me. He's always picking on me, and now he's trying to get me killed. Well, somebody's gonna get killed, but it ain't gonna be ME!"
Okay, there's no way of KNOWING what was going through the minds of the three thousand, because the Bible is silent on the issue, but we DO know what happened to them. And from knowing what happened we can make a GUESS, just a GUESS (!) about their morale:
Lousy. 
"There's nothing in it for me. Even if I bust my hump to whack this little town, there's nothing in it worth having, and what IS there is going into the common pot, so it doesn't make any difference what I do. And meanwhile, all those guys sitting back at the tents are eating pizza, and they are going to get the same cut as I am, so I'm gonna hang back, just a bit."
Look, it's just a guess, okay?
But whatever was going through their minds before the attack, it's pretty clear what went through their minds after the attack: RUN AWAY!!!!!
And this we know because the men of Ai killed 36 of them on the spot, and even though that was only a little more than one out of a hundred, the rest ran. And people who know a lot more about battles than I do say you always lose more troops in a rout than you do in an actual battle. Troops who have been routed throw down heavy things, like swords and spears and shields and helmets, and run. And they make easy targets for the pursuers, because they aren't even trying to defend themselves; they are just trying to get away. If you are running in panic, you don't look where you put your feet, so you trip on stuff, and fall down, and then get a spear in your guts. If you are running in panic, you don't look around to see what's happening back there because you are too terrified, so you don't zig-zag, so the spears and arrows and rocks hit you. If you are running in panic, and there is a cliff in front of you, you don't see it until you are doing the Wiley Coyote.
Okay, that's the history part, it's all in Joshua 7.
Now, am I supposed to tell you about the modernspiritual applications, or are you supposed to figure it out on your own?

Feasting on locusts and wild honey,

Pat

Carrying baggage in war

You know how much weight an infantryman packs? A lot. There are three basic conditions for load classifications: Fighting load, for when imminent combat is expected; the Approach March load, used when they have to get somewhere and take some food along; and the Emergency Approach March load, when they have to carry everything because re-supply may be a problem. Fighting load weight: 62 pounds. Approach March  load weight: 95 pounds. Emergency Approach March load weight: 128 pounds. (For more details, read my source, The Modern Warrior's Combat Load, http://thedonovan.com/archives/modernwarriorload/ModernWarriorsCombatLoadReport.pdf)

Now, back in the old days (like pre 1900 for modern armies), the troops frequently supported themselves off the land, both in terms of what they ate and in terms of their pay. Rudyard Kipling wrote about it in "Loot": 'That's the thing that makes the boys get up and shoot.' Now, by the time he wrote it, it wasn't policy of the British Army to do that, but evidently the tradition lived on.
And some of the old armies had these massive trains of hangers-on, who made their living off the army, providing various (ahem) services, and some of them just functioned as a way to turn the loot into cash or jewels or something else easy to carry. That's because loot was often pots and pans and chairs and tables and bed frames and laundry and geese and cows. Pretty difficult to lug around. But if the troops DIDN'T lug it around, then somebody else was going to steal it while they were out fighting. So, getting the loot was the first task, getting it turned into something portable was the second task. Why did pirates wear ear rings? It was a handy way of carrying their loot.
And in more than one engagement, an initial victory was turned into defeat because of loot. In the Civil War, Confederate general Jubal Early's men stomped Union commander Phil Sheridan's troops into the ground at Cedar Creek (October 1864), sending the Union troops running. HOWEVER!!!! they did not pursue, they stopped to loot the camp (they were, in fairness, on starvation rations) and Sheridan rallied the Union troops, counter-attacked, and handed Early a huge defeat. Had Early's men pursued, they could have just about had their way with the fleeing Union troops; people who know warfare a lot better than i do say you always suffer more casualties in an undisciplined retreat than you do in a battle.
Which brings me to Jericho and Ai. 
Jericho was a walled city. That doesn't mean so much to us, in the time of bombers and artillery, but if you've ever seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail, you'll remember the scene where the knights run up against the castle and hit the walls with their swords. That's kind of what it would be like to assault a walled city. Run up on it, and get nasty things dumped on your head, or worse. 
So, leave it alone. Right? Well, not so much. Ya see, if ya leave a stronghold behind you, your enemy can ALWAYS launch an attack from there. You either have to completely cut off the city, and starve it out, which takes a long long time, or you force the walls or find a secret way in (like David did through the water tunnels) or get somebody to betray the city from you, or if you are at Troy, you build a wooden horse. Or if you are in a Monty Python movie, a wooden rabbit. Or badger. But you CAN'T, you CAN'T leave a strong point in your rear. The enemy will use it to collect their troops, who get to sleep inside and eat home cooked meals and have the blacksmith sharpen their weapons, and then when they have gathered enough guys, they come in and smack you down and dance. 
Now, Joshua had the city, because God gave it to him - and the walls came a tumblin' down - and he took care of business. Almost perfectly. See, God had said: don't take any of their stuff. Kill it, burn it, leave it. Lots of other guys have taught lessons on not being tainted with the goods of the city, and I won't go into that. I'm just thinking about...the impact of looting on a mobile army. Sure, it makes sense to us (if we are in the second grade) that we shouldn't take the idols of the city of Jericho...but why not take the sheep and goats and cows and chickens (no pigs, please, we're Jews)? Well...how fast can your mobile army move? If you are carrying the Fighting Load (remember that?), you can move pretty fast. But what if you are carrying, or even herding, the sheep and the goats and the cows and the chickens? Well, bud, you are moving at the speed of a chicken. Ever tried to herd a flock of chickens? Remember all those movies where the car chase gets interrupted because the sheep are in the road? Take the livestock, and you just transformed from a mobile army into non-mobile herders. And that's a great way to become extinct.
BUT, I'll talk more about that next time, when I talk about what happened at Ai.

Feeding on locusts and wild honey,
Pat

I go to church with my gift-from-God, happily-ever-after trophy wife Vanessa and our two munchkins Kenneth (8) and Alicia (6) on Saturday at 5 PM. That's because our church has services once on Friday, twice on Saturday, and four times on Sunday, and you pick which service you want to belong to based on where your friends are, or when the youth meet, or when you want to go over the river and through the woods to visit somebody. Each service has a different name; the name of my service is Five Alive.

Last week, it wasn't easy getting to church on time on Saturday. I had a really good reason to be late, but my gift-from-God, happily-ever-after trophy wife Vanessa wouldn't cooperate, so that didn't make us late. So then Vanessa had a pitiful reason to be late (stopping to buy food for home group), and I cooperated, but she was pretty quick, so that didn't make us late.

So even though it wasn't easy, we weren't late. Or not by much.

But then Vanessa sat way in the back. Look, I said, there's Liz. Why don't we go sit with her? We can scoot down this row, and go up the side aisle, and sit right next to her. 

So she gave me a look, but she cooperated, and so we did that.

And then I was standing singing praises, and noticed Kenneth was sitting down, so I poked him with my stick. (I really like my stick. It helps me get around, makes people cut me ALL KINDS of slack that I don't really need, is a great kid poker, and since it's a 1" oak rod, I can whack somebody with it if I need to. Or want to.)

So, anyway, I poked Kenneth, who was sitting down, with my stick.

He looked at me. It's a natural reaction when you are eight and get poked in the ribs with an oak stick. 

I told him, Do what I do.

By which he understood that I meant, stand up when I'm standing up, and sit down when I'm sitting down.

And he stood up.

End of story.

Well, not so much.

See, when I told him "Do what I do," he understood my meaning of 'stand when I stand, sit when I sit.'

But what I understood was that I was re-stating my parenting responsibilities to him.

You want to know how many times as a child, teen, and young man I heard "Do what I say, not what I do?" No, of course you don't want to know that. Why would you want to know how many times I heard something really stupid and perfectly designed to strip away the moral authority of the person who was saying it to me?I don't even want to to know how many times I heard that. What's more, I DON'T know how many times I heard it, but I heard it enough to learn to hate the phrase.

So when I told Kenneth, "Do what I do," I was not merely providing him with an instruction; I was providing myself with a righteous standard. I was affirming that i wanted to live my life in such a way that Kenneth would WANT to emulate it, and that would help him to keep on the good side of a LOT of the "if only " statements: "If only I hadn't;" "If only I had."

And so I thought about that.

And then we sang the chorus, "I give myself away, I give myself away, so You can use me."

Lovely song.

It moved Katrina Campbell, one of our care pastors. And she took the microphone and said, sing it again, and if you need to really do that, then do it. And if you need to come down front to give yourself away, then do that, too.

She said it better than I just wrote.

And some people went down front.

And I didn't think about it too much; I just grabbed Kenneth, and said, help me get down front. And I leaned on his bony little eight year old shoulder with one hand, and my stick with the other, and Kenneth proudly helped old man Papa Pat down front, and then helped me stand up while I sang, I give myself away, so You can use me.

And I thought some more. And then I had something I wanted to share, but Andrew (the elder who administers our home group) got to the microphone before I did.

And what he said was that a lot of us may feel ground down by the sand, and smashed on the beach, but the truth was that there was all this lovely water that we were to float in, and that would move us along. He said, SURF'S UP!

He said it better than I just wrote.

And then I took the microphone, and pulled Kenneth in front of me so everybody could see him. And I told everybody that I thought children should be attentive and respectful during worship, and so I poked Kenneth with a stick. And then I told them about how I realized that in telling him to do what I do, etcetera, see above paragraph for complete exegesis.

And then I told them about my reaction when the Lord moved Katrina (I almost cried, but didn't) and came down front, and sang; and how I NEEDED Kenneth to provide me with the incentive and the strength to be the man that he would want to emulate.

And then I told them about how I realized that I was singing, I give myself away, so You can use me, and how when I realized what I was singing, I said to myself, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FREAKIN' MIND? YOU ARE ASKING GOD TO USE YOU! YOU ASK GOD TO USE YOU, AND HE JUST MIGHT DO IT!!!!

And then I told them that I would really prefer just to take it easy and not do anything, but that I eally didn't have that as an option, because Kenneth needed to have an example of how he should live. So with him as an incentive and as a help, I was just going to have to get with the program. And I turned to Andrew, and said, SURF'S UP, BABY!

I didn't say it better than I just wrote.

So then I sat down.

And in the next couple of minutes, two things happened: 

1. A young woman, don't know her name, but she uses a cane, tapped me on the shoulder, and told me how she had seen me poke Kenneth with my stick, and how it ministered to her. She had been a single parent for a while, and she really wasn't sure if she was doing the right things to raise her son. And I shared with her how it wasn't until my mid 30's that I saw mature, godly, righteous men, lifting their hands and singing praises to God, and I realized how that was an example for ME.

2. Spencer, one of the other care pastors, said, We have a second time visitor! Welcome, Matthew! And I turned around, and it was Matthew, Vanessa's 29 year old son. So Matthew was there to see me talk about Kenneth and being an example. And he heard the youth pastor Stefan give the message from Psalm 2 about being defiant toward God, and how God's power manifested itself, and how people who live in accord with God's will are stable. And I prayed with Matthew afterward, he wanted some stability and some good influences in his life. So we prayed that. And then I got one of those thoughts, which I shall state in a moment.

AND then we went to home group, and Matthew went with us; the video was Andy Stanley teaching about when it's not time to pray, but to do; and how when someone is being irresponsible, we don't need to pray about it, we need to confront them about it. It was an uplifting message, not a condemning message

And then we went home.

And when we got there, I told Vanessa about the thought I had while talking and praying with Matthew, which is, why don't I take Matthew for breakfast every week or so? And she grabbed me and kissed me so hard my lips bled.

Not really. But I could tell she was thinking about it, because the idea spoke to her deep desire to be able to do something meaningful for Matthew. 

So she told Matthew about it when he called her on Monday, and he called me the next night, and Tuesday at 11:30 Matthew and I had lunch at the Waffle House after he got out of his morning class.

MORAL OF THE STORY: Even though you can worship God out in the woods, it's not very likely that Katrina and Andrew and Stefan and Andy Stanley and a lady with a cane and a worship team and a person to eat lunch with are going to be in the same woods at the same time. So, cooperate, and go to church.

Feasting on locusts and wild honey,

Pat