Wackos

Over the holidays I was able to meet and talk to some real wackos. Two stick out.

Wacko #1: Met him a few weeks ago here in Hot Springs. He came rolling into church right after the second service one Sunday. I had just finished helping put away the chairs when someone came looking for a staff member. This happens more often than not. Some wacko comes in off of the street and just wanders around asking for money.
Well, this guy was not looking for a handout. No, instead he was looking for something TO hand out. He was asking for tracts. Evangelism tracts. I was sort of trying to find them when another minister who knew where they actually were found them. But not before Wacko #1 berated me for not knowing where the tracks were.
"What would have happened if a lost person walked in here and wanted to meet Jesus? What would you have done?" questioned the wacko.
"Well, I suppose I would have used my Bible and my brain," replied the youth minister who was now running fifteen minutes late for lunch.
"So, you wouldn't need a tract to save souls?" inquired the interesting evangelist.
"Well, I would start with John 3:16 and then go to Romans 3:23, 6:23, 5:8, 10:9-10 and then 2 Corinthians 5:17 and then 1 John 1:9. I think that would be sufficient," replied the poor, cynical youth minister.
"Well, I am a soul winner. I pass out hundreds of tracts each week!" stated the evangelical Johnny Appleseed.
"Wow! That's impressive. Well, here are some more tracts! Go get 'em!" encouraged the youth minister.

Then he walked out and handed out tracts to people leaving the church. He handed tracts to one of our deacons who helps lead FCA at a local school and teaches 11th grade boys Sunday School. He passed out a tract to one of the former ministers in our church who will actually be filling the pulpit in March while our pastor is out. He never said a word. Just walked up and gave them all the tracts. So, this evangelist walked in, grabbed out tracts then witnessed to our own people.
I am always wary a bit of people who claim to be "soul winners." I understand what they are saying. They feel compelled to share Christ. And they are more about quantity of witness experience then the quality of the witness experience. They are sort of a spiritual hurricane who blow through and leave behind a path of confusion that, if not tended to by a loving shepherd or welcoming church body, could leave people further from the truth of Christ.

Wacko #2: I was doing a solid for my beloved fiancee. Her sewage backed up in the backyard in December. Even I'll admit it was sorta nasty. My beloved called her mom who called a plumber to come and check it out. But the plumber was coming while my beloved was working. So I waited for him to come. He showed up about the time he said he would. It looked like he just woke up and rolled over, dressed in sweats and flannel and drove to the house. He looked like twenty miles of bad road. The best thing about it was the name of the company he worked for: Pooter Rooter. So many jokes could be made here. I will let you provide your own.
So, George had me turn on anything that was faucet-like. The bathtub. The sinks. The washer was filled and emptied. I also flushed the toilet for about twenty minutes straight. Eventually he ran a line and figured that somewhere near the tree in her backyard the roots were sort of stifling the flow. He came inside because it was freezing so I could finish writing the check. Then I had maybe the most interesting conversation I have ever had with a plumber.
"Yeah, you just gotta flush the s**t out of the toilet to clear the the f*****g line," said Pooter Rooter's George.
"Sure you do. Sure you do. Makes sense..." mumbled the youth minister.
"This is a nice looking family," noticed George, looking at a picture of my brother, his wife and their two young teenage daughters that was on the table. "Those girls are pretty. How old are they?"
"They are, like, young teenagers," replied the newly cautious youth minister and somewhat protective uncle.
"Do they go to that Crossings Church?" inquired the somewhat skeevy plumber.
"Uhm, no. They go to some other church, like some Episcopal or Catholic church," answered the concerned and discerning youth minister, who now remembers his own future bride goes to Crossings. I also made a mental note to remind my future bride to start going to church with her parents until she moves to Hot Springs. This dude has seen a picture of her too. I barely trust this guy to sit the right way on a toilet seat, let alone be in the same building with my woman.
"Yeah, I go to that Crossings Church," he informed me. "I used to go to that big church over on 23rd. But they didn't want to hear about what Jesus told me when I saw him in 1990."
There was a pregnant pause here. I was doing the mental math. Working in the church has taught me one thing about the crazies: they all have a story. And you are better off listening to the story. For two reasons: 1) they are ALWAYS more entertaining than 98% of most movie plots and better entertainment than television in general and 2) if the crazy guy thinks you think little of him, he will get mad. If he gets crazy mad, you never know what could happen. Plus this guy has just been outside in the cold working with poo. I was not about to tick him off. I just wanted the condensed, Readers Digest version of his story. Finally, I asked him the $64,000 question.
"You saw Jesus?"
"Oh, he** yeah. I have visions all the time. I had one this morning. I saw my own death this morning. But in 1990 I was almost electrocuted and was vacationing on my farm in California when Jesus appeared to me and asked me three questions."
Deciding to overlook the whole farm subplot, dismissing it as a rabbit I don't want to chase, I am actually really interested in the questions and in Jesus.
"So, you saw Jesus in person?" I asked.
"Yep. In person. Not a voice. In person, in the flesh."
"What was Jesus wearing?" I asked.
"A brown robe," he answered. "I don't really remember the rest."
"Of course. Why would you? It was almost 20 years ago. I should have known a brown robe anyway," I responded. "What did he ask you? What were the three questions?" I was very curious. What if this guy had really seen Jesus? What questions would Jesus ask?
"The first question he asked me what I would do to follow him. I responded that I would do anything to follow him. The second question he asked me, well, he sort of laid out a list of things I really like, asking me to give them up. I don't remember the third question."
You know, if Jesus asked me three questions, I bet I could remember them. I mean, if Jesus asked like fifteen, I can understand. But how do you forget the third one? I pursued his answers. I am a glutton.
"What did you say to Jesus?" I asked.
"Well, I could give up everything except the ____________ (here he used an incredibly offensive slur for a woman - including some sort of hand motions that were just flat out creepy and borderline illegal in most states I think). You know how we men are," he responded.
I asked the next question while sending a text to my future bride under the table where he couldn't see.
"Have you ever seen Jesus again since the questionnaire?" I asked. I also sent the message to her. She was about to come home anytime. I was trying to catch her before she showed up. The text message: "Don't come home until I call you. Just wait and I will explain."
"Oh yeah," he answered. "I saw Jesus again in 1998. This time he showed me heaven. He took me to a golden river and there I asked him for the power to heal people. He said he couldn't have it because I wasn't good enough."
I turned the phone on quiet, since my obedient bride-to-be heeded my warnings and only texted me about fourteen times in the next two minutes. Which is actually less then usual, so I was proud of her restraint. Eventually he left. He gave me some more tips about flushing and such. I was basically shoving him out the back door so he couldn't see pictures of Danielle and her friends that cover so many walls. They owe me. Although, I thought about showing him a picture of her friend Amanda just because I am a turd. As he loaded up, he left me with one more nugget of wisdom.
"May the Flush be with you," he said. He winked at me and drove off. I called Danielle and explained. Then I called her mom. Her mom never really grasped the level of unbelievable creepiness I experienced. Needless to say, if you live in the OKC area, pass on Pooter Rooter. How in the world did my ultra-conservative future mother-in-law find Pooter Rooter? The world may never know.

Long Overdue...

So, apparently I need to update. My wonderful fiancee (that is when you refer to a woman - when you refer to a man about to get married it is spelled with one "e") has encouraged me (i.e. threaten me continuously with what she calls a "big ole can of beatdown") to post something. Anything. A recipe. A letter to Jesus. Anything.

So, here I go. Things have been CRAZY busy. Between preparing for my impending nuptials, moving into my house, visiting family and future in-laws over the holidays and still doing my job I have been quite lax here in the blogosphere. I read a lot. I even comment a little. But mostly I am using all of my thinking, writing and creativity towards lessons and big events. I haven't had much of anything to give to the old blog. I am sorry. Especially to the blog. It deserves more. I feel like an absentee dad. The blog just wants to spend some quality time with me. Tossing the ball around in the backyard. Building a model airplane. Playing guitar together. Riding four wheelers. You know, typical author/blog stuff. I didn't realize how bad it was until I caught the blog huffing spray paint out of a paper sack behind the shed. Then I got the notice in the mail that my blog had been working with The Blogs and Girls Club here locally just trying to find a mentor. I feel like I have let the blog down. We got the blog into rehab and I have been helping it with its homework. Blog really hates history so I have my work cut out for me.

So while I spend some more time with Blog, you remember us as we try to bring him back to what he once was.