By Kieran Lin Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

Utterly baffled.  That’s what we were.  Wednesday morning Jeff and I stood, shivering violently, in the rental car garage at the airport in Omaha, Nebraska.  We had rented a car but, due to a series of unfortunate events, (Belonging to the rental company, not us.) we were still waiting for our car 30 minutes after signing that final, accident insurance, “we can mess up your life so you’d better just accept - or you will die” waiver at the rental counter.

It didn’t help that Wednesday was one of those classically cold, raw days that screams “SPRING” in Nebraska-speak.  The weather report when we left home had promised that our trip would be a fair-weather one.  So, of course, we believed them and dressed the part of the clueless tourists — wearing t-shirts and light jackets.  The report had said nothing about the seemingly gale-force winds that were whipping through the parking garage, making our fingers numb and our faces raw.

But it wasn’t the weather that baffled us.  Forecasts get blown all the time.  It wasn’t the the speed (Or definite lack thereof.) at which the rental car company was dispatching our car.  They already had our money.  Why on earth should they feel any urgency? 

No, what baffled us was the personnel at the nameless rental car company.  Apparently, the bulk of their customer service training was in the fine art of pushing hot dogs.

“Our car wash just got fixed.  They’re running your car through right now…would you like a hot dog?”

“I just came from the lot.  They’re bringing your car right over.  How about a hot dog?”

“We understand that you’re frustrated and have hypothermia, Mrs. Rich.  We would like to have the opportunity to make it up to you.  Would you like relish on that hot dog?” asked the Head Weiner Pusher.

Ok…so I made up the last one…but we honestly were offered hot dogs by no fewer than three different “Customer Care Specialists” as we stood waiting for our car.  Gracious, people!  When, and more to the point WHY, did you merge with Oscar Mayer?

In my mind, I pictured their customer service training.  I could see a white board full of if/then statements:

IF customer doesn’t get the right car THEN offer them a hot dog.

IF customer’s reservation is lost THEN offer them a hot dog.

IF there is no rental car to be had THEN offer hot dogs ad nauseaum until we are able to build customer a car or at the very least rent a car from Avis. 

IF customer got up at 2 AM to get to the airport in time for a 6 AM flight AND they are tired and angry because they have been waiting for half an hour for their car to be washed AND are frozen to the bone because it’s spring in Nebraska THEN offer them a hot dog.

We finally did get our mid-size SUV.  And we got it for the price of a compact car because yours truly had a micro-burst of temper after the third hot dog offer.  I was good…honest.  All I said to the Customer Care Specialist was, “This is getting ridiculous!”  And it was.

We drove away from the airport shaking our heads and wondering how it was that a rental car company came to be hot dog pushers.  In the “What I Wish I Could Have Said” game that we tend to play after frustrating experiences, Jeff’s best line was, “If I wanted a hot dog, I would have gone to a hot dog stand.  I wanted a rental car…that’s why I came to a place that is supposed to rent them!”

And I wished I could have told them in the midst of our long, cold wait we had decided to forgo the SUV entirely and could they please just fork over the keys to the Weinermobile?

So, with the aid of a car rental company and their hot dogs, Jeff and I made yet another lasting memory.  We also have a new semi-private joke between us.   As I was complaining about a workout injury a few nights ago, Jeff’s sympathetic response was, “Would you like a hot dog?” 

Yesterday, we went to a local bookstore to get Jeff some new reading material.  I love bookstores and was enjoying my time of simply wandering among the stacks.  However, I was totally amazed at the sheer number of self-help, “fix-your-life-by-buying-this-book”  books.  It was insane.

And then I thought about the talk shows and the vast number of people that believe if they heard it on Oprah, it must be so.

Then my mind jumped to a book that I’m reading.  One of the characters is a young teenager who dyes her hair blue and eats until she throws up in a futile effort to fill a fathomless void that she feels in her soul.

And all these things make me ask one question.  Why?

 Why do we look for answers in the latest self-help book?  Why do we believe the gospel of Oprah and shun the Gospel of Jesus Christ?  Why do we repeatedly seek forgiveness from those who won’t give it; and yet refuse to confess and ask for absolution from the One who is aching to cleanse us from all unrighteousness?   Why do we believe that comfort and security come from friends or family or activity or busy schedules or wealth or possessions or food or alcohol?  Why do we look for things where they are not?  Just…why?

 I’ve spent a lot of my life searching for answers where no answers exist; and peace where only chaos reigns.  But there is one rule that I have learned and try really hard to put into practice.  Comfort and peace and security and safety and love and about a million other things can be found  in the strong arms of Jesus.   To look anywhere else seems foolish at best and makes about as much sense as going to a rental car company for a hot dog.

Have a good week but if something does go wrong…just have a hot dog!

By Kieran Lin Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

Note:  This blog has been kicking around in my draft file for several months now as its subject is something I truly struggle with and am not exactly comfortable writing about.  Every time I’ve written on this file, I kept asking myself, “Do I really want to put all of these raw thoughts and feelings on the world-wide web?  The answer was invariably “no” so I would just save the file and allow it to get lost in the depths of my draft folder for a few more months before the process would start all over again.  However, since February’s default theme seems to be living courageously, I decided that maybe it was time to have the courage to finish this blog.  And away we go…

Planning a wedding can be overwhelming and just flat-out stressful at times.  There are so many decisions to make, so many plates to keep spinning, so many opinions and ideas to incorporate — no wonder a large number of brides cry on their wedding day.  For the record, I did not cry on my wedding day.  Jeff graciously handled that little responsibility for our family. 

People use all sorts of tricks to simplify and de-stress the nuptial planning process.  For instance, I have a friend who has already started to plan her daughter’s wedding — even though the identity of the groom is still completely unknown to everyone but God.  Gotta love that pre-planning!

Another trick that is often used is choosing a quote or a saying as a kind of a ready-made wedding theme.  I have to admit that Jeff and I were seriously lacking in the pre-planning department.  The process of putting our wedding together felt an awful lot like a stint on “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride”; but, when it came to choosing a quote?  We jumped all over that one.

However, our quote was a little different as it did not come from the Bible.  It did not come from Plato or Gandhi or Socrates or even Shakespeare.  Our quote came from what many may see as an unlikely source.  Dr. Seuss.

As our wedding day approached and I was grasping to find a way to sum up my feelings about our impending marriage, the good doctor once again gave voice to exactly what I was feeling when he said this:

“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.”

As a little girl, I used to lay in bed at night and plan my perfect wedding right down to the final detail.  I would pick the dress, the wedding party, the venue, the flowers, and the music.  Why, I would even piece together the perfect groom!  In case you’re wondering, the groom usually looked a lot like  G.I. Joe.  I didn’t want to make Barbie jealous by marrying Ken!  My groom had the humor of Alan Alda, the charm of Christopher Plummer, and the money of an Egyptian king.  What do you expect?  Pulling off my perfect wedding was going to take some serious cash!  With all the details in place,  I would fall asleep and have beautiful dreams of my wedding in vivid technicolor.

The trouble with dreams though is that you have to wake up to reality and reality was always such a rude shock.  Why do I have to take a spelling test?  Spelling is totally underrated anyway.  What do you mean my brother is trying to clobber me again?  Tell me something I didn’t know.  Baseball practice?  Please!  Who has the time?  I have a wedding to plan here!  There were many, many days that I would find myself counting the minutes until I could once again enter the delightful world of my dreams.

And now, in all those days between then and now, reality has become better than my dreams.  Most of the time I still go to sleep feeling like I’m living a fantasy — like I have stepped into someone else’s life because incredibly good stuff, like a wonderful marriage to an amazing man, just doesn’t happen to me.

No, it hasn’t been all bliss.  There have been days when I didn’t like Jeff much and I know he’s felt the same about me.  We fight about stupid things and manage to hurt each other without ever trying.  But “like” and “love” are two very different things.  And it’s that deep, rich, enduring love that  has me reaching for Jeff in the middle of the night to make sure he’s really there and not just some imaginary friend I’ve conjured up after going to sleep with a full stomach.

My 6 faithful readers, as well as any guests who may have accidentally stumbled across this blog, are probably gagging uncontrollably by now.  But I really mean it.  I’m completely, totally, inexplicably in love with Jeff.   He is the man God created for me to be with.  He is my other half.  He is the one who completes me.  I know all these things without a doubt.  My marriage has been the single biggest blessing of a life that has, at times, been very difficult.

So what’s the problem?  Why am I writing a blog entry entitled “To live with fear?”   Well it’s because I’m so darn happy, of course! 

Let me try to explain…

I live in fear because I don’t want my life with Jeff to ever end.   I got married late and there is quite an age difference between Jeff and me.  The movie we watched for our date night this week had a scene where a middle-aged woman held her older, frail husband as he struggled through the last days of his life.  Jeff made the light-hearted comment of “That’s us in 20 years.”

But his comment made my brain explode in an internal tirade that mostly consisted of the word, “No!”  I don’t want 2 years or 20 years.  I want 200 years.  I want 2000 lifetimes.  I want forever.

And I am afraid.

Afraid of Jeff being taken from me.  Afraid that the wonder of our marriage will be stripped from my grasp.  Afraid that the happiness we have found together will simply evaporate.  Afraid that I will wake up one morning and he will be gone.  I am afraid.

So what happens when fear controls my life — or even a portion of it?  Joy receeds.  I step back from God.  Satan steps in.

That’s where I am right now.  Fear is keeping me from truly enjoying my marriage and my husband.  Fear is allowing satan to get a foothold in my life.  Fear has grown from a grain of sand to a pebble to a rock to a boulder to a mountain between God and me. 

I do believe in eternity and I know, without a doubt, where I’m going when I die.  I also know that I will see Jeff there but again, fear grips me because in my feeble, human mind, I cannot grasp what heaven will be like.  I cannot wrap my brain around the thought that eventually I will get to spend forever with the man I love in the presence of God who breathed life into us.  I can’t imagine what it will be like to see Jesus — the One who willingly suffered and died so that I might live forever — in spite of all of the evil things I’ve done in my time on earth.  I cannot fathom any of this so I fear it instead.

I am finally beginning to understand, as dense as I can be sometimes, that the opposite of fear is faith.  Faith is knowing that if Jeff dies today or tomorrow or 60 years from now, that God will sustain me.  Faith is understanding that God wants only His very best for me and if I get out of the way and allow Him to work, He’ll give it to me.  Faith is deciding to step out from under the shroud of fear and truly begin to enjoy whatever time we have.

So today, I will reach back toward God and allow Him to remove the mountain of fear that has come between us.  I will live courageously and rely on God for my every need and I will continue to love Him above all else.

Even if my earthly life with Jeff ends tomorrow, today it feels great to be alive and to be here with him, enjoying the gift of the precious present.  Whatever tomorrow or the next day or the day after that brings, my world will not end.  So today, right now on this beautiful, amazing, almost spring-like day, I’m going to go enjoy the company and laughter and touch of my husband and I’m going to love every minute of it without fear that it will end.  Today, I will live with courage and faith and comfort in knowing that this is the way God intended life to be lived.

But because of His love and providence and the amazing gift of this life that God has given me to live,  reality is finally better than my dreams.   And I am so incredibly thankful.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

I was feeling a little under the weather yesterday morning.  So instead of doing my usual Saturday stuff, I sat on the couch with the remote, a big fuzzy blanket, and two even fuzzier cats.  Feeling gross always makes me reach for the familiar and the comfortable.  Yesterday was no exception as I surfed through the channels looking for Saturday morning cartoon re-runs.  Everything from my childhood seems to be coming back into style including, unfortunately, leg-warmers , so I figured my search for mindless brain-candy would be short.

The search itself was indeed short.  The results were too.  I didn’t find anything.  As I lay on the couch weighed down by 20+ plus pounds of feline love,  I wondered, “Where has all the good stuff gone?”  The only cartoons I found were totally obnoxious.  The characters were rude and annoying.  The story-lines were not the least bit clever or engaging.  Every show that I flipped through seemed to be about as entertaining as a root canal.  My retro-wannabe self was thoroughly disgusted.

I finally turned off the TV and drifted off into a half-sleep kind of haze, thinking all the while of my childhood — back in the day when Saturday mornings were special and fun.

If you were a kid in the 70’s, chances are you watched something from the creative brains of Sid & Marty Krofft.  I loved pretty much everything they ever did.  “Wonderbug”, “Sigmund & the Sea Monsters”, “H.R. Pufnstuf”, and “Land of the Lost” were some of the staples of my Saturday mornings.  Wrapped up in all of their disco-era, psychadelic glory were some really good life lessons.  Dinosaurs bad.  Wonder Bug good.  If you find a sea monster, hide him in your closet.  Beware of kooky old witches — especially if you have a magic, golden flute.  And most importantly, I learned who my friend was when things got rough.  Why it’s H.R. PufnStuf, of course!

While I loved the real-life action, story-lines, and amazing special effects of the Sid & Marty Krofft shows, the simple animation and humor of the Acme PowerHour made me a devoted follower of that too.  If you’re not familiar with the Acme PowerHour, let me sum it up for you.  Wiley E. Coyote sets his sights on having road runner for dinner.  Wiley spies THE Road Runner.  A fictitious Latin caption, such as “Burn-em upus asphaltus” comes up on the screen to describe the Road Runner.  And then for approximately 6 minutes, Wiley chases the Road Runner with help from Acme — a company that makes torpedoes, bombs and, jet packs — all necessary things for capturing a road runner for dinner.  However, at the end of the day, the Road Runner is still “beep, beeping” and Wiley is still hungry.

EVERY episode pretty much went like that and yet I watched every one of them and never got bored.  There was something very intoxicating about waiting to see what Wiley would come up with next.   His schemes were extremely intricate and creative.  However, I think if he was terribly honest with himself, Wiley would admit that he was never going to catch the Road Runner.  But he still schemed and he still chased and I still watched.  Every week.

Poor Wiley.  You would think after a while that he’d get a clue.  He would come up with these plans,  he’d fly through the air strapped to a rocket or shoot off a cliff with jet-powered roller skates.  And finally, FINALLY he would catch up to that pesky Road runner.  But then something would happen.  Wiley would commit one terrible mistake.  He would look down.  He would simply look down and for the first time he would realize that he was in mid-air with no safety net — which would cause him to plummet unceremoniously to the earth. 

I do consider myself to be somewhat scholarly so it pains me to admit to my 6 faithful readers that I was in college before I discovered that “acme” was a real word with a real definition.  It wasn’t just a company that supplied explosives to crazy, calorie-deficient coyotes.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Wiley lately because of a personal goal I have for 2009.  I want to run a 5k.  To that end, I started a training program about a month ago.  The program takes you through the steps of conditioning a body to run a competitive race.  It’s been a really good experience.

Each step of the program has a specific formula of time spent walking and time running.  You do the workouts three times on non-consecutive days and then you move on to the next step.  I found out early on that I can’t allow myself to look ahead at the workouts.  For me, that was simply surrender waiting to happen.  So now, I look at the next workout the night before I actually do it.  And my reaction every time is exactly the same.  I read the workout.  I blink.  I shake my head.  I re-read the workout and then I say,  “I can’t do that!”

But then I get on the treadmill and I follow the program and at the end, I’ve found that not only CAN I do that workout, I can do it well.  And I can do it two more times and then next week, I can do a harder workout.

Has it been easy?  Not in the least!  I’m a little over halfway through the program and have found it very interesting that the physical portion of the experience has been a piece of cake compared to the mental portion.  I’ve learned that my body is in much better shape than I’ve given it credit for.  I’ve also learned that my brain stands ready to override and sabotage my body at every turn with two simple words, “I can’t.”

If I’m not focused on the distance or how many minutes I still have left in my run, time moves along in an orderly fashion; but only if I make myself keep my eyes straight ahead.  Because if  look down, even once, to check my progress, time stands absolutely still and my mind begins to make my body think it’s going to shrivel up and die.   The real trick, I’ve found, is not making my legs run, it’s making my brain shut-up and just go along for the ride.

I’ve always thought that, out of all of Jesus’ original 12 disciples I was probably the most like Peter.  I love Peter.  He was such a mess of wonderful contradictions.  He was prideful at times and easily lost sight of what was important.  Even when he wanted, with all his heart, to give up everything and follow Jesus, he failed.  I am an awful lot like Peter.

There is a familiar story toward the end of Matthew 14 in which Peter and the other disciples are out in a boat when a storm comes up.  In the midst of the crashing waves, Jesus begins walking toward the diciples’ boat.  The disciples are certain that they have seen a ghost and are very afraid.  But then Jesus speaks to them saying, “It’s Me!  Don’t be scared!”

But Peter, being Peter — he has to have proof.  “Lord, if it’s really you,” Peter says, “Tell me to walk to You.”  Which Jesus does and Peter begins to walk on the water.  But then something happens.  Peter takes his eyes off Jesus, looks down at the crashing waves, and like a rock, begins to sink.

Jesus, of course, reaches into the water and saves Peter; but not without a little life lesson.  “You of little faith,” Jesus said, “why did you doubt?”

That’s a really good question.  Why did Peter doubt?  Because he was afraid?  Because he lacked faith?  Because he lacked trust?  Was it satan?  Did Peter get a fish caught between his toes?  There are so many potential reasons that it’s hard to pin his reaction on just one.  But whatever the reason, Peter made one crucial mistake.  He took his eyes off Jesus and he looked down.

I’m trying to learn from Peter and not take my eyes off Jesus.  It’s impossibly difficult at times when so many things vie for my line of sight — even good things like writing Sunday school curriculum and training for a 5k.  At times, I feel like I’m drowning in a sea of details and “to-do” lists while the voice inside my head repeatedly screams, “I can’t!”  There are definitely times when I wonder if it’s worth it and I just want to throw my hands in the air and quit.  But every time I do, Jesus is there, reaching into the water, pulling me out, and asking me why I doubted in the first place and imploring me to keep my eyes focused on Him.

And so I begin 2009 with a goal, a lesson learned, and a brand-new motto — courtesy of two great teachers:  Peter and Wiley E. Coyote.  Don’t look down!

Happy New Year!

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

Outlook went nuts this morning as it began downloading all of my email.  My box was absolutely jammed!  I was feeling very popular and really excited until I started wading through my inbox.  With the exception of a reminder from the library about some books I have due next week, every other piece of mail (All 29 of them.) was to remind me to “Hurry!” because I “Still have 2 shopping days until Christmas.”  You’ll probably be very happy to know, that if I order today and buy my stuff a plane ticket (Or the cost-equivalent thereof.) those helpful retailers will miraculously get my order under the tree by Christmas morning.  Wow.  I have never felt so cared for.  :::insert eye-roll here:::

I have recently been writing some curriculum that deals with the lies that society tells our kids.  The most startling thing I have learned in this writing process is that society ain’t just lying to kids — it’s feeding me a whole lot of bull too.  And, as much as I am ashamed to admit it, I have been consuming far more than my fair share of bull burgers.  And how did this happen?  I am pretty embarrassed to say that I really have no idea!

In response to this “bull burger” realization, I have begun to take a serious look at my life — beginning with my Christmas list.  For two years now, I have been looking for a Wii.  Yes, it’s true.  The Rich household — two adults, three cats, no kids — is desperately seeking a Wii.  It’s “Childless, Techo-Geek” consumers like me that steal Wii’s out from under the trees of little children everywhere.  A very Grinch-like thing to do.

However, I am happy to report that my hands are clean on this one.  We are still Wii-less because the dumb things are nearly impossible to find.  I say “nearly” because everyone else seems to find them just fine.  Everyone has one but me!  Did you hear the appropriate “whiney” tone in that last statement?  While we’re on the subject of what I want, I’d also like to travel extensively, have a new car, new furniture, a new house, a cleaning lady twice a week, Botox injections and plastic surgery for everything that is beginning to sag.  (Hey!  Be nice!  I turn 40 in less than 6 months!)

But what, out of that list, do I really need?  Absolutely none of it.  Nada.  Zip.  Zilch.  Yet it is most definitely the desire of my worldly, consumer heart.  I am bombarded with the message daily.  If I look better, have better stuff and, treat myself to frequent, luxurious vacations, I will ultimately be happier.  It’s a very nice thought.  It’s also the mother of all bull burgers.

Psalm 37:4 says, “Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart”.  Join me in a trip back to freshman geometry for this hypothesis/conclusion.  IF, I delight myself in the Lord, THEN He will give me the desires of my heart!   That’s pretty exciting stuff!  Upon first glance, it also paints God as the ultimate Santa-like figure.  If I just ask God for a Wii, He’ll deliver?  By Christmas?  Without paying an arm and leg for shipping?  Bull burgers with cheese!

Yes, God does promise to deliver; but only if I do something first — delight myself in Him.  It took me a long time to really understand this scripture.  Years in fact.  My heart’s desire was always to get married and have children.  That’s all I ever wanted and God seemed pretty much against this idea.  For one thing, I lived in a relatively small town which was not a dating hot-spot by anyone’s stretch of the imagination.  Another highly personal issue involved me working through a quagmire of tangled emotions surrounding marriage and divorce and personal failure.  This process was almost as painful as the initial crisis of my parent’s divorce which started the whole thing.

I was definitely bitter, as my friends all began to get married and settle down.  I pretty much felt like a constant 5th wheel and the punch-line to the question, “What’s wrong with this picture?”  And worst of all, I couldn’t figure out what God was thinking.  Didn’t He know that I wanted to get married?  How could He not?  I bugged Him about it daily!  So why didn’t He just deliver already?  :::Insert foot stomp here:::

I remember finally getting fed up and deciding that I was going to stop praying about my future husband — or lack thereof.  If God wanted me to wander the earth for the rest of my life in abject loneliness, I’d just have to figure out a way to build a bridge and get over it.  So stubbornness set in, driving a definite wedge between me and God for a season.  But as is His way, God was persistent — almost laughably so.  Psalm 37:4 began creeping up everywhere.  And I do mean EVERYWHERE!  It was part of a Bible study I was in.  It was a memory verse for some Sunday school curriculum that I was teaching.  It was the “Encouraging Word” on a local Christian radio station.  And yet, I still didn’t get it until one Sunday when I was trying to explain the passage to a bunch of 3rd graders.

“When God is our delight, we trust that He knows what is best for us and we begin to want what He wants.”  Oh really?  I had to pause and catch my breath as dozens of bells and whistles began going off in my head while alarms simultaneously screamed “HYPOCRITE ALERT!  HYPOCRITE ALERT!”    That was one of those Sundays that I walked away from class learning way more than I ever taught.  So I started praying again.  A simple prayer really.  It all began with, “Lord God, I trust You…”

And now, I’m ecstatically married — which, by the way, is way better than “happily married” — and I have not only what I need, I have the desires of my heart.  It’s incredibly difficult at times not to buy into the world’s bull burgers and waste my time and God’s by lusting after stuff I don’t need while ignoring what He wants for me.  No, there won’t be a Wii under our tree this year but I have the love and approval of my Savior and I share my earthly life with one very amazing man.

There is a lot of turmoil and uncertainty in the world right now.  It’s a pretty scary place for a lot of people and I don’t want to gloss over that in the least; but, in 3 days and 13ish hours, it will be Christmas.  Families will gather, Wii’s will be opened (No, I’m not bitter!), meals will be shared, and blessings will be counted. 

Galatians 5:22-23 says, “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control…”    These “things” are God’s desires for me this Christmas.  No they won’t be wrapped and under my tree but they are still precious gifts nevertheless.  But nothing is more precious than the gift God sent to earth in the form of a tiny baby — a tiny baby who would ultimately and willingly die to pay the price for my sins.

It truly is a wonderful life. Merry Christmas.

By Jeff Rich – RichJ44@bellsouth.net

Disclaimer:  I’m afraid you’re in for another edition of the Jeffrey Blog(tm) this week.  Kiera is very busily working on a new Sunday School curriculum and Friday night, in an attempt to lower her stress level, I innocently asked “What can I do to help?”

“Well…you could clean the bathrooms tomorrow, that would help” she said.  Gulp…but ok, I can do that.  And I did ask how I could help.  Not a big deal, really.

“And you could write my Blog on Sunday!” 

My heart skipped a beat.  I mean, yeah, I offered to help but blogging?  That was a low blow.   But then I figured if she wants to inflict my writing on her adoring audience, I’ll do my best.  As I sit here typing this, I can hear her pounding away on her own keyboard as she tries to meet her curriculum deadline. 

But she owes me.  )  Now on to the blog!

The time of year being what it is, this blog is about college football.  I’m a nearly lifelong Florida Gator fan.  It all started when my big brother went to UF back in the mid 60’s and continued when my little brother went there in the 80’s, and it just never stopped.  As a Gator fan, I’ve learned to live with countless disappointments and failings by their football team.  “Wait til next year” was pretty much the battle cry for all Gator fans everywhere.  Until recently.

Over the last 15 years or so, they’ve consistently had some pretty good teams.  Even won a couple of national championships.  But even so, there has always been something lacking.  Call it heart.  Call it killer instinct (we’re talking sports, so that’s considered a good thing in this instance).  Whatever, it still meant that no matter how good the team, Florida would always find a way to blow a big game…or even a little game…that they should have won.  They even backed into both of the National Championship games that they won.  Each time they lost a late season game they shouldn’t have, but were lucky enough that all the teams above them lost too, putting them back into contention.  So there was always a flaw there for this team, and I thought I’d never see it change.

This season, Florida is 12-1.  They just beat #1 ranked Alabama in the SEC title game, and appear to be headed to another National Championship game, probably against Oklahoma.  And yes, earlier in the year they lost a game to a team they probably should have beaten, but it was back in September, 9 games ago.   Since then they have seemingly been transformed into a powerhouse.  No late season choke.  No “shoulda woulda coulda”.   No lucking into the Championship game.  Just taking care of business, showing a degree of toughness and heart that I can’t ever remember seeing from a Gator football team. 

So what happened to the “flawed” Gators  I had come to know and love?  I don’t know for certain.  But I suspect  the reason had a lot to do with their quarterback, Tim Tebow, and this statement he made shortly after their only loss:  Tim Tebow apology

I admit, when I first saw the video (which I was unable to find a link to unfortunately) I was torn between rolling my eyes and feeling sorry for him.  If it were anyone else I would have thought it was unbelievably corny.  But having watched Tebow for the last couple of years, I knew he meant every word.  It was obvious how much he was hurting but I didn’t see how he could possibly live up his statement. 

But you know what?  I apparently misjudged and underestimated his ability as a leader; his ability to get his entire team to live up to the statement he made.  Florida has been a markedly different team since Tebow made that statement.   They have absolutely played their hardest and their best since that day.  They have shown heart and courage and toughness that I’ve never seen from a Gator football team.

Kiera pointed out something to me earlier this year as we were watching one of the Gator games.  On one of the many closeups they showed of Tim Tebow, you could clearly see his face.  You know the black grease many players like to wear under their eyes?  There was something written in white on his.

I looked closer and read “Phil 4:13″.  I’m not the Bible scholar my wife is, so I had to ask what the verse said.  The answer, of course, is:

Phillipians 4:13 (New King James Version) “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

I’m not sure when he started doing that.  I’ve gone back through some old pictures, and he definitely didn’t have it there last season.  I don’t think he had it for the first few games of this season.  I may be wrong, but I suspect that he added that after their loss, and after his apology. 

Anyone who follows college football has heard plenty about Tim Tebow and his devout Christianity.  I’m not going to go into all the wonderful things he’s done, both before and during his time at Florida.  It’s well documented, and if you haven’t heard, do yourself a favor and do an internet search for “Tim Tebow and faith, or beliefs, or Christianity” etc.  This is honestly a young man who is totally committed to his Lord and Savior and wants the whole world to know it. 

Do I think that God particularly cares about the Florida Gators record?  Of course not.  I’m not saying God has rewarded the Gators because their quarterback has a Bible verse stenciled on his face every Saturday.  But I do believe that their quarterback, their leader, is the type of man who believes so strongly in Jesus Christ  that he is indeed able to accomplish all things through Him.  Even getting a team that was notorious for being weak-willed, prone to losing focus, choking, giving up, losing heart -  however you want to describe it – to play harder and more courageously and with more heart than ever before.  And the obvious  result of that is a nine game winning streak, national Media attention, and a chance for a third National Championship.  But look beneath the obvious, and what do you find?

You find a young man who, through his unwavering devotion to Christ and his eagerness to proclaim that devotion at every opportunity, is being given an ever bigger stage from which to proclaim it.  Bigger games.  More attention from the media nationwide.  More articles about Tim Tebow, and not coincidentally, the faith and devotion to Christ which drives everything he does.  And ultimately more glory to our Lord. 

Let’s not kid ourselves…if Florida’s record was 1-12 instead of 12-1 no one outside of the most faithful Gator fans would have ever heard of Tim Tebow.   But it’s not.  

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” 

I truly believe Tebow is able to accomplish his goals because of his reliance on Jesus Christ our Savior.   I couldn’t be happier that Tim has become a role model not only for me; but, more importantly he’s also become a role model for little kids all over the country.  In response, I think God is probably saying, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

But in my humanness, I can only say one thing. “Go Gators!  Go change the world.”

Click here for more information on Tim and his work off the football field.

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

I have this little game that I play when I can’t sleep at night.  Due to a stubborn and persistent streak of insomnia, I’ve been playing a lot lately.  The game is pretty simple.  I lay in the dark and think of things I really want to know that cannot be learned by conventional methods.  I imagine hanging out with Jesus and  finally getting the answers to all these perplexing questions.

For instance, I would really like to know what the point is to leaf blowers — in the global sense of the word.  Atlanta is completely obessed with its landscaping.  After living there for two years, I have had the opportunity to witness many of these leaf blowers in action.  The blowee guys (Bonus points for the first person to email me with the actual job title!)  walk along the sidewalk with their blowers, making little piles of debris swirl in front of them.  Need a visual?  Picture the character Pig Pen from the old “Peanuts” cartoons.

I understand that the obvious purpose of this act is to clean off the sidewalk.  I get that part.  What I don’t get though is what happens to the little piles of debris when Pig Pen turns off the blower.  The piles still exist, don’t they?  They’re just in a new and improved location.  A location where, in a few days, a new Pig Pen will come along, stir up the debris, and blow it another quarter mile down the road.  And the process continues.  Am I alone in thinking this is a ludicrious if not totally futile act?

And, now for the really big question.  After all of the Pig Pens have done their thing, what ultimately happens to all the debris?  Where does it go?  When Canada isn’t looking do we just sweep it under the border?

Some of my questions are a bit more intellectual.  On the heels of a Presidential election, I would like someone to explain to me why ANYONE would want to be President of the United States right now.  What kind of sane person would voluntarily inherit the headaches of major financial crises, two foreign wars, and a bunch of elected U.S. officials who tanked on a quiz about American history?  No, seriously…it happened.  Check out this link.  

I also want the absolute truth about some things.  I want to know what really happened on the day that John F. Kennedy was shot.  Was it one gunman?  Was it two?  Was it the C.I.A?  The Republicans, the Soviets, LBJ?  Over the years there have been so many theories and counter-theories and counter, counter theories.  The only thing, it seems, that can be agreed upon is that JFK is indeed, dead — which is more than I can say for Elvis.  Did you know that he was recently spotted at Skeeter Bob’s Pump and Pass in Skyler City, Alabama?

Ok…you’re right.  I made that up but it easily could have been a tabloid headline that would have sold millions of papers; and, it’s slightly more believable than some of the stuff they gleefully print on the front page. 

I also want the truth about what really went down during the 1919 World Series, who actually won the 2000 Presidential election, and why exactly that the words ”am” and “not” don’t combine to form the contraction “amn’t”  As in, “I had a huge lunch.  I amn’t hungry.”

While we’re on the subject of questions with no answers, somebody please explain Facebook to me.  In an effort to keep up with my old Sunday school kids who are no longer kids, I joined Facebook.  I have been steadily gathering “friends” ever since.  What I don’t understand though is how I became ”friends” with people who have barely been acquaintances for the last 10 years?  Ah…the magic of Facebook!

And perhaps the most complex question of all is, “What in the world is wrong with me?”  I don’t care to know Britney’s every move and my life will remain unchanged regardless of who committed a fashion faux pas on the red carpet.  I find the power and influence of Donald Trump, Oprah, and Dr. Phil to be downright scary at times.  I don’t think foul language, crass jokes, or rude kids make a movie script enjoyable.

And my worst offense to date?  I hate my cell-phone.  Yes, you read that correctly.  I hate my phone.  I saw a commercial last night showcasing the App Store feature of the new IPhone.  The tagline of the commerical was, ”What do you want your phone to be today?”

My immediate and yet slightly bewildered answer was, “How about a phone?”  I don’t need to play games, text my Facebook ”friends”, surf the net, or watch music videos.  I just need it to make a phone call every now and then.  Otherwise, just leave me blissfully out of touch, thank you very much.  I know, I know…very old school of me.

In John 17:14-15 Jesus prays for his disciples.  ”I have given them your word and the world has hated them, for they are not of the world any more than I am of the world.  My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one.”

As Believers, we are to be “In the world — not of it.”  Meaning we are physically present in the world but not part of it’s satan-driven values.  At times I do really well at skimming the surface of what the world has to offer without becoming totally immersed in its culture.  Other times, I do not and my focus completely misses the mark.

Do people around me think I’m different because I hate my phone or because they see Jesus in me?  My honest answer to that question is, “I don’t know.”; and, the fact that I don’t know the answer feeds my insomnia on a nightly basis. 

The lyrics of the song, “Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus“ talk about looking into the face of Jesus and then having the “things of earth” simply fade away.  And although that is my ultimate goal, to be utterly and completely focused on Christ, I’d still like to know what happens to our swirling debris when the sidewalk ends.

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

We had an interesting thing happen on Friday morning.  Shortly after we returned from a morning workout that neither of us were interested in, the phone rang.  I glanced at the Caller ID and was more than a little confused by what I read as it was our name and number.  Had the cats finally figured out a high-tech way to alert us to the fact that they were out of food?

Jeff was in the other room and out of sheer curiosity, he did answer the phone.  It wasn’t any of our critters.  It was Dish Network calling with a “special” offer.  It would have had to be extremely special as in our heavily wooded apartment complex, we don’t get a satellite signal. 

I seethed about this event well into Friday afternoon.  How dare they?  We did what we were supposed to.  We jumped all over the “Do Not Call” list and registered ALL of our numbers — including home, fax and cellphones.  We re-registered our numbers before they expired.  Thankfully, the FTC adopted a new policy in February 2008.  Numbers no longer expire and drop off the “Do Not Call” list.  For more information on the “Do-Not-Call Improvement Act of 2007″ click here or visit the National Do No Call Registry page here.

And yet, we still got a call from a telemarketer.  It definitely violates the spirit of the “Do Not Call” list but I had to ask myself, is it violating the Registry rules if we call ourselves?  Have the clever, enthusiastic people who want to clean our carpet, sell us satellite service, and install vinyl siding simply figured out a way to beat the system?

When I was in elementary school, we lived very close to a murky, smelly pond.  As an adult, the memory of the pond makes me reach for Lysol; but, as a kid?  I thought it was the coolest thing ever.  In the winter, we ice skated.  In the summer we caught frogs and some kind of tiny crab.  And we fished.  Or we tried to. 

The fish in the pond were a special breed.  I believe their official Latin name was “Makeus Kidz Crazius”.  Those fish were incredibly smart.  Probably from a lifetime of summers spent with kids trying to yank them out of the pond.  They seemed to always sit just below the surface and double-dog dare us to catch them. 

We tried everything from nets to fishing poles to big, pokey sticks.  We even tried to knock them out one time with a baseball in a tube sock — figuring that once they were lying unconscious in the shallow, pungent water, that they would be easy to catch.  But those wiley fish scooted away concussion-free while still managing to get me in trouble for ruining my good basketball tube socks.  Infuriating, clever, little fish.

This went on for several summers.  Each year, I got older and my fish-catching schemes became more elaborate and refined.  I was really quite tired of being laughed at by a bunch of fish who proved year after year that their raw intelligence eclipsed mine by a long shot.  Thanks to the Girl Scouts, I could pick a Mocking bird out of a line up.  I’d really never heard of them before; but, I was quite sure that if I searched hard enough, I would find written evidence of Mocking fish.  Their natural habitat?  My neighborhood pond, of course!

And then came the summer of the bologna sandwich.  I was between 5th and 6th grade and my parents had just gotten divorced.  I was facing a long summer at home alone because I refused to go to the YMCA’s day-camp.  (Little did I know that in a few short years, I would be working at that very same day-camp.)   And I ate a lot of bologna sandwiches because with my pre-teen wisdom, I had decided that peanut butter was for babies.

Our house was already up for sale and I knew that this would be my final pond summer.  With dogged determination and an air of finality, I made the decision to catch one of those stupid fish once and for all.  And the plan was hatched.  Nearly every day, I packed a lunch and headed for the pond.  Armed with a fishing pole, my dad’s tackle box, a library book on fishing, and a little hammer (Whack-a-fish, anyone?) I was ready for action.  And every day, I came home hot, smelly, and fishless.

I honestly thought if I was patient enough and smart enough, I would eventually catch the fish.  The only problem was that the fish were unfazed by patient and smart.  They had seen it all before.

I had tried every kind of bait I could think of and several ideas I had garnered from my library book.  Nothing worked.  I had mentally moved on to the plan that included trapping the fish by damming off a portion of the pond.  Then I figured I could drain that area a bucket of water at a time and catch my stupid fish.  Thankfully, the plan was never launched because I was finally sick of bologna.

One afternoon, I sat on the edge of the pond throwing bits of my sandwich to the ducks who were the daily spectators to my fish quest.  I figured I owed them something for not laughing at me.  And then it happened.  I tossed a piece of sandwich and a bad throw landed it in the pond rather than on the grass.  Two dozen fish instantly clamored to the surface, vying for a tiny morsel of Wonder bread and dried out bologna.

Faster than I could sing the “Oscar Mayer” song, I had a bologna-baited hook and my line in the water.  Not two minutes later, I had a startled, gasping, fish laying on the grass next to me.  I’d done it!  I finally outsmarted the fish that had mocked me for most of my childhood.

I was reminded of my successful fishing experience on Friday when the telemarketer called.  We have learned what telemarketer numbers look like on Caller ID and we ignore them.  We have learned what area codes they call from and we ignore those too; but, like any good fisherman, they have learned to switch the bait.  A call from our own home number?  Sure, we’ll bite!  How could we resist?

And isn’t that just like satan too?  (No, that’s not a typo.  “satan” should not be capitalized.)  Just when we figure out how to deflect an attack, he switches the bait to something we don’t recognize.  Something much more enticeing than stale bologna and Wonder bread.  Something we just can’t resist. 

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

The summer that I turned 9, I met a new girl at the YMCA pool.  Kari’s family had just moved to town and she was 9 too.  It turned out that we lived just a few blocks from each other.  We became fast friends and spent our entire summer scheming about how we could end up in the same 4th grade class in the fall.

We did end up in the same class and became even more inseperable.  I loved going to Kari’s house because she had a waterbed.  She loved coming to my house because we had a tire swing.  Kari stuck up for me when I got a bad perm one weekend and stood by me in P.E. when I couldn’t do a cartwheel to save my life.  (By the way, I STILL can’t do a cartwheel.  It didn’t ruin my life.)  I helped Kari study for our Social Studies test, the one she had to get at least a B on or risk being grounded; and, I sat with her as she cried when her hamster died.

We were, to all the world, best friends. 

I remember getting on the bus one Friday morning and looking for Kari.  She wasn’t there.  She usually called me when her mom was going to take her to school but I wasn’t too worried.

When I got to school, I looked all over the playground for her.  She wasn’t there either.  I was a little worried.

Class started and still no Kari.  I was a lot worried.

“Maybe she’s sick.”  “Maybe she had a dentist appointment.”  “Maybe she overslept.”  All day long I went through every possible scenario I could think of.

And then on the bus, I heard a scenario that had never even crossed my mind.  People were talking.  It was the 6th grade boys, including Derek, who was Kari’s neighbor.  The snippets of conversation that I heard made my blood run cold.

“Kari’s dad flipped out.  Took the whole family hostage.  The police have been there since the middle of the night.  He won’t talk to them.  They think he’ll probably kill the family and then himself.  He wouldn’t even let the police bring groceries in.  They don’t have any food.”  Derek sounded almost happy to be the one delivering the news. 

I was scared to death.  Scared for Kari.  Scared for myself and scared for the world that I was still too young to really understand.  I got home and with my heart pounding wildly in my chest, I dialed Kari’s familiar number.  Do people who are being held hostage answer the phone?  The line was out of order. 

That night, I was having a sleep-over with my cousins.  They came for dinner and after dinner, we played some games.  I really don’t remember what we played because my mind was not on the games.  My mind was on a man who I had met and genuinely liked.  A man who had taken me to the park and out for ice cream with his daughter.  A man who had apparently lost his mind and was going to kill his family — including my best friend.

I lay awake long after both of my cousins had gone to sleep and I cried.  I was extremely sad but more than that I was afraid of this new side of life that I was seeing.  Sometime in the night, I couldn’t stand it any longer.  I left my bedroom, stepping over the sleeping forms of my cousins who were in sleeping bags on the floor.  I sat in the bathroom where I could have the light on without disturbing anyone.  I hadn’t been afraid of the dark since I was 3 but that night, I was very afraid.

My tears changed from a slow, constant trickle to wracking sobs as I tried to understand, with my 4th grade mentality, a world that had, in a matter of hours, become sinisterly dark.

I’m not sure how long I sat in the bathroom before my dad got up.  It took a long time and a lot of glasses of water before I could tell him why I was so upset.  I told him everything Derek had said.  My dad shook his head sadly.  “That’s not what happened,” he said.  “Kari is fine.  Her dad is having a lot of money problems though and he’s been pretty upset.”

“But what about the police?” I asked.  ”Everyone said they were at Kari’s house!”

“They were,” Dad told me.  “They’re going to get Kari’s dad some help.”

I finally went back to bed, with the aid of a nightlight, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

The next day, after my cousins went home, I biked to Kari’s house and knocked on the door.  Nobody answered.  Several days later, I tried again with the same results.  That time there was a fresh “For Sale” sign in the yard.

Kari never came back to school and I never saw her again.  Several weeks after she left, I did get a Hanukkah card from her — which I thought was strange since neither one of us is Jewish.  The postmark was from someplace in Minnesota but there was no return address.  “I just wanted to tell you thanks for being a good friend. I’m fine,” the card read.  “So is my dad.”

That was the last time I heard from Kari. 

I did learn a lot from that incident.  I learned that fear kept to oneself multiples at the rate of a million times per second.  I learned that friends come and go but their memories stay with you forever.  And I learned that things are not always what they seem.

A few days ago my husband got an email from a friend at church with a link to an amazing baseball catch.  Click here if you haven’t seen this video.  Jeff showed me the video and stated, “I’m skeptical.”  This is nothing new.  Jeff is skeptical often.  But he’s also right often.

The next morning we received another email from this friend at church.  This email contained a link to a snopes.com article about the “Amazing Catch” video.  Sure enough, it was a fake.  (Click here if you’re interested in the Snopes article.)  The catch was filmed as part of a commerical for Gatorade.  The catch with a catch has circulated all over the internet in recent weeks.  Some people believed it.  Some did not.  Some sought out the truth.  Some, like me, didn’t care enough to do so.

These two events – a traumatic event from my childhood and an innocuous email – have haunted me this week as I’ve listened to the news filled with the latest information on the upcoming Presidental election.  And I use the term “information” loosely.

Everybody has a line.  Everybody has an angle.  Everybody has a story.  But I can’t help but wonder, is anything really what it seems?   Is anything true?

Some people believe everything they hear or read.  Some do not.  Some seek out the truth and some don’t care enough to do so.

I promised myself before I started writing today that this would not be a political blog.  But as we enter the homestretch and head toward Election `08, I urge you not to believe everything you hear.  I urge you to pray fervently, and to care enough to seek the truth.

In all honesty, the pending election scares me.  The world feels so dark to me at times that it’s difficult to breathe.  I’ve been doing a lot of praying and listening and sifting to find the “truth” — if such a thing still exists in this world.

But as for me, come election night, I’ll probably sleep with my nightlight on.  How about you?

Author’s note:  The names of “Kari” and “Derek” have been changed to protect the innocent.   And a special note to Kari: You were a good friend, too.  I still pray for you.  Everyday.

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

I had sinus surgery last month.  At my pre-op appointment, the surgeon gave me a video tour of my sinuses.  It was grotesque and yet, strangely fascinating at the same time.  It was like watching a procedure on Discovery Health but having it be virtual reality as I could feel the scope in my nose and see the scenery on the big screen.  It was a very bizarre experience by anyone’s standards; but, it might make an outstanding thrill ride at some progressive thinking amusement park!

A few days later as I was enjoying my breakfast (A puffy, clear bag of IV fluid.) in the pre-op area, I thought about my surgery which was just a few minutes away.  Although I’d gone under anesthetic numerous times before — including an 11.5 hour operation when I was a teenager — I was still apprehensive.  The stakes seemed higher somehow, this being my first surgery as a married woman, and I felt pressure to “perform”.  I had a lot to come back to.

I was also picturing the scope tour I had of my nose, remembering how my surgeon excitedly pointed out landmarks to me as we went.  He definitely knew his way around the inside of my nose.  And yet, I was still frightened.  That element of giving up control and trusting other people to take care of me has always  been a difficult one for me. 

As you probably figured out by now, the surgery was a success.  45 minutes of surgery provided relief that nothing else could.  The headache I’d had for 5 months was gone, taking several other pesky symptoms with it.  I was thankful for the skill of my surgeon and the hospital staff who knew my body and how it functions so much better than I do.  I was very happy with my decision to go ahead with the surgery — even though I was scared.

And now, on the other side, I keep wondering how my nose looks.  I wonder if the landmarks are the same and if I needed to, could I find my way around.  I also keep thinking about signing the pre-op paper work.  You know, those cheerful documents that list every possible outcome and every little thing that could go wrong and end up with ” or death”?  My heart was definitely pounding when I signed those papers, but I did it without really thinking twice because I was so desperate for relief.

I think it’s pretty interesting that I was so willing to give myself over to a guy that I’ve only met twice and trust that he’ll do what he is supposed to and that he won’t kill me.  And yet, as God has been reminding me, there are areas of my life that I can’t seem to trust Him with.  Why is it easier to trust the flesh of man than the One who created me?  I truly wish I had the answer.

What if God took me on a little tour of my insides?  I’m sure I could feel the God-scope moving through me as He pointed out the landmarks and things that weren’t supposed to be there.

“See Kiera?” He would say, “This is where that big tumor of envy used to be.  You let me remove it, remember?   See how well it’s healing?  And this, this is where all those deceitful-thought polyps hung out.  It looks so much better after your deceitectomy!”  We would go a little further before God would stop this scope abruptly.  “Eeew!  What’s this?  Anger.  Hmmmm…it’s been here a long, long time.  I need to remove it.  I can start the surgery immediately.  Are you ready?”

And then I hear myself say, “No, God.  I like my anger just where it is, thank you very much.”

“But I can fix it!” He would say.  “I can take it away.  It won’t bother you anymore!”

“It’s ok.  Really.  Let’s just leave it.”

“It will continue to grow.  You know that, right?”

“Oh yes, I know.  As you said, God, it’s been growing there for a long time.  I know it’s there.  I know it’s getting bigger and darker with each passing day.  But I like my sin.  It’s comforting and fits me like an old bathrobe.  Thanks for the offer to remove it.  Really nice of You; but, like I said, my sin is just fine where it is.  Thanks anyway.”

I can just imagine the look on God’s face as He withdraws His scope and packs it away.  He says no more but I can tell I have hurt Him deeply.  He wants to help.  He wants to save me from further pain.  But I won’t let Him.  I just won’t sign the consent form and give myself over to Him.

How stupid is that????

You know, I’ve been asking myself that question a lot lately.  There are definitely areas that I don’t seem to be able to let God into.  They are mostly areas that began as deep hurt but that have festered into anger and hatred over the years.   I know that I need to allow God to lance those boils and let the infection out so He can begin treating it.  I know I’ll feel so much better on the other side.  Old problems will fade away and I will emerge stronger and healthier than ever before.

If I could just fight through the fear, give up control, trust, sign the consent form and allow God to change me on the inside…

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

It was a normal day.  A good day even.  We got up, went to breakfast, and then on to church.  We worshipped God in an extremely moving, inspirational service (with special guests “Sons of Mercy”!), and then we came home.  Everything was perfectly normal.  

But my heart was aching and my soul crying out to God for an explanation of how this could happen again.  “This” being the shooting at Northern Illinois University.  Wasn’t it just yesterday that people were shot at Westroads mall in Omaha?  The day before that, it was a church in Colorado.  Before that Virginia Tech was the epicenter of this evil.  And now it’s Illinois.

When I first heard the news, I turned the TV off.  Not because I am uncaring but because I sometimes care too much.  Although I tried to avoid it, I still began to hear the details of the shooting.   The enormity of the lives that were changed in an instant overwhelmed me.  Although I tried to ignore it, grief began to seep into the very marrow of my bones.  I am that kind of person who grieves for people I’ve never met.  Someone who hurts when the world hurts.  Today, I’m hurting a lot.

And what is it for?  Someone could tell you, I’m sure.  Like every other act of violence, the NIU shooting has touched off another round of everyone’s favorite game ”Pin the Blame on Someone.”  “It’s the NIU administration’s fault.”  “It’s the mental health system’s fault.”  “Parents don’t raise kids right anymore!”  “Where was campus security?” ”Where were the police?”  ”TV, movies and music glamorize violence.”  “The government doesn’t do enough to protect us.”  “The government is too involved.”  “‘Shoot `em up’ video games are to blame.”   ”Guns are too easy to buy.”  “If everyone carried a gun, none of this would have happened.”  “This is God’s judgment on an evil world.”  “Satan has taken control.”

These are just a small sampling of the available opinions.  But I have to wonder…does blaming someone really make us feel better?  Does it really make us feel more in control of the situation?   Does the whole “Blame Game” give anyone else a burning/churning feeling in their gut like it does me?  I am so beyond caring about who is to blame.  I just want the insanity, and the pain, and the evil to stop.

Another senseless tragedy has occured and there are a whole lot of people who’s lives are profoundly changed.  Some of their lives are simply destroyed.  And there were a whole lot of people that went to bed last night not really believing that the sun would rise this morning.  Some probably didn’t even care if it did.  But the sun did rise.  And life goes on.  And I wonder why.

I thought of those people this morning — when I went off to worship.  I thought of their grief.  I thought of them planning funerals and wondering how such a promising life had gone so wrong.  And I felt guilty that everything in my corner of the world is so completely normal when everything in theirs is spinning totally out of control. 

I don’t know the answers.  I don’t know how to make sure another school shooting never takes place.  I don’t know how to keep shopping malls, and sporting venues, and churches, and every other public and private space safe.  I don’t know how to reach every deeply troubled person.  I realized today that I don’t even know how to pray about this situation.  But I do know this.  Jesus promised He would return to this world.   

Come, Lord Jesus.  Please hurry.  I’m tired and I want to go home.