The gangster, the hero, and the example I'll leave my sons

World War II produced many heroes. One such man was Lieutenant Commander Butch O'Hare. 

He was a fighter pilot assigned to the aircraft carrier Lexington in the South Pacific. His last day on earth was a heroic one. His squadron was sent on a mission, but soon after he was airborne, he looked at his fuel gauge and realized that someone had forgotten to top off his fuel tank. He would have to turn back.

Reluctantly, he dropped out of formation and headed back to the fleet. As he was returning to the, he saw a coming horde of Japanese aircraft. They were speeding their way toward the defenseless American fleet. 

All of the others were out on a sortie, so it was just him. But that was no detterent. He dove into the formation of Japanese planes, his 50 caliber guns firing away. When all of his ammuition was spent, he tried to clip tails or wings with his prop. No plane was safe. Five aircraft were downed. Countless others, crippled.

Frustrated, wounded and decimated, the squadron called off the attack and returned home.

He continued to fly and was killed in aerial combat at the age of 29. He was awarded the Congressional Medal Honor, the nation's highest. 

His hometown named an airport after him. You might have heard of it  -- O'Hare Airport in Chicago.

And Chicago. This was the same town that  Al Capone owned. It was Butch O'Hare's father -- Eddie -- who was Capone's personal lawyer, the one mentioned in yesterday's post. 

Eddie O'Hare helped Capone skirt the law, hide money, and invest in shady operations for years. He lived off the fruits of crime until his own consicience and the awful reality that his son was watching got the best of him. Eddie eventually brought down Capone, so that his son would see that indeed, redemption was possible.

I've not always been the best father. In fact, my words were always grand, but my actions were sometimes weak. My rhetoric was bold holy, my actions cowardly human.

And now that they are grown, I wonder about the redemption message. I wonder what they  learned. I wonder about what kind of example I've been. Will they trust God? Will they see past my imperfections and see Him? I have so much regret.

Then I think about the gangsters lawyer. And his son, the hero.

Care to comment?

How Al Capone influenced a father to do the right thing

We all know the story of Al Capone. He virtually owned Chicago. There were few redeeming qualities about the man. He controlled a vast empire fueled by booze, prostitutes, and gambling.



Al Capone

Of course, he was always in legal trouble. He had a highly competent lawyer, "Easy Eddie" who used the technicalities of the law to keep his employer free to run his crime empire. Eddie was well-compensated and lived large. He turned a blind eye to right and wrong and sold his soul for the sake of lucre.



Eddie had a son. And he desperately wanted to shield him from the debauchery, hoping for a better life. He tried to teach him right from wrong, because he wanted him to be a better man than he was. He lived a lie, but more than anything else, he didn't want his son to follow in his footsteps.



His lifestyle decisions nagged him until one day he met with the IRS and FBI and began to open the books on Capone. He ended up testifying against the gangster. It cost him life, dying in a blaze of gunfire on a wet Chicago street.



Eddie O'Hare



In his coat were a few items of redemption. A rosary, a crucifix and  a poem clipped from a magazine.

 "The clock of life is wound but once, and no man has the power to tell just when the hands will stop, at late or early hour.  Now is the only time you own. Live, love, toil with a will. Place no faith in time.  For the clock may soon be still." Part 2 of this story will appear tomorrow, but until then, think about what kind of example are we leaving our children as a nation? As individuals? What do they see? What do they overlook? How do they perceive our selfish choices? Can we right the wrong? Comment here if you would like.

The dandelion wars

One of the sure signs of spring is the presence of dandelions. Despite their yellow floral bursts, they're generally considered noxious weeds. To me, they are the worst alien invaders of a well-kept lawn. 

And to say that I'm, um, anal about ridding them is an understatement. Like a hunter, I am on the prowl for them as I make my regular rounds. When I find one, I gear up with weed killer, a long dagger and a don't-stop-me look in my eye. Pity the weed.

The red house we lived in, the one on 9th, had a nice lawn, thanks to my efforts and the grumbled mowing of my sons. But neither of the neighbors on either side had the same ethic. Their green was riddled with yellow. Theirs was now enemy turf and they were lofting para-troopers in an all-out aerial assault on my green dream. 

This was war. I wore camouflage over my flannel. Armed with a 20-foot single sprayer I targeted the evil flowers through the slats in my fence. Like a sniper, I took them out one by one. 

You see, their problem was becoming mine. And if I hadn't been vigilant, my especially fertile soil would have welcomed the invaders.  

And today I'm reminded that my life isn' t lived in a vacuum. When one part of the body suffers, we all do. 

Those of us who live by faith need to focus on ridding the weeds in our backyards before they infect our neighbors. We cannot run independently. My sin isn't just my own. It has hurt others. It has cost people to trust a little less.   

When I am grumpy, the whole family adopts my attitude. When I am negative at work, there is a heaviness in the air. One bad egg at church can disrupt a whole congregation. We all affect each other.

Joining in with Nebraska Graceful
on her Here it On Sunday, Use it on Monday
Some great links!



Many of us are coming out of a long winter and we look forward to greener days ahead. But those days will be spoiled if we don’t get rid of the weeds now. They will spread and will overtake all the good for you and those around you.

What kind of weeds need to be pulled from your life? Comment here.


Also, check out Charity Singleton's Wide Open Spaces for her take on dandelions.



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What a waste of time

Sometimes I look at this life I'm living, trying to make righteous choices, and the doubts creep in. I wonder if it's just a waste of time when I could be enjoying the full fruits of this world.

And then there's everyone else. Since the beginning of time, it's estimated that more than 8 billion people have made a decision to follow Christ. Since 1934, the number of Christians increased by 1300 percent while the world’s population grew only 400 percent. Forsaking all, they have given up worldly pleasure, progress and modernism. Did they miss out too?

There are currently around 3.7 million churches around the world. They meet in schools, big cathedrals, strip malls, suburban campuses, and city parks. Multiply that number by the services last week. Sermons prepared. Songs sung. Bulletins printed. Nurseries staffed. Are we wasting real estate, time and effort? 

Worldwide, there a 320,000 full-time Christian workers in the mission field. We have another 5.4 million full-time Christian workers at home. Are we wasting resources? 

The current budget of all Christian ministries tops $163 billion a year. The total cost of outreach averages $330,000 for each and every newly baptized person. Are we wasting money? 

Approximately 83 million Bibles are distributed globally per year. There are six million books about Christianity in print today. Are we wasting paper and trees?  

Ever since the first century, Christians have been martyred for their faith. Some estimate more than 70 million have been killed for the sake of their belief in Christ. And in this supposedly enlightened age of tolerance, more than 100 million Christians around the globe are currently suffering persecution and 170,000 are killed each year. Are we wasting precious life? 

Jesus himself was a man of great attraction and persuasive power. He could have thrown the Romans out of Israel, ruled with peace and given the Jews back their land. Instead, he ended up tacked to a crude piece of wood. Was his time on earth wasted?

The Apostle Paul even suggested that all of this was futile, and that "we, of all people, would be pitied." 


"If," he says, "Christ were not raised from the dead."  But he was and that changes everything. That's my one good reason.

Every life. Every sermon. Every book. Every dollar. Every prayer. Every moment. 

It’s worth it. 
Care to comment?

The wood. The nails. The hammer.

He had learned the trade from his father who probably learned it from his father. The tools were simple. The wood. The nails. The hammer.

Wood shavings crunched on the floor, trod by leather sandals. The smell of lumber filled his nostrils. Banging. Scraping. Sawing. The workshop was continually busy. It was all in the life of a carpenter.

There was something satisfying about taking raw lumber and forming a piece of furniture, a shelf or a tool. But then there was the unspoken destiny.Driving a crude spike into the green flesh of the fallen tree reminded Him of the dark days to come.



Photo by Victoria Sage



We often think of Jesus in strictly Holy terms. The mental images are created by paintings or movies or pictures in the back of the Children's Bible are clear. Walking among throngs with a lamb draped across his shoulder, or smiling at the man begging by the side of the road, or heaven opening up with a dove, a light shining down on His face. But a carpenter?



Rarely do we imagine The Holy One, the promised King, as a common laborer. I have never given thought to the sliver in his thumb. The shards of primitive iron scraping the skin. The calloused fingers.  It's all so menial.

 This is the lamb of God, the Savior of the world, and he's a common carpenter. He should have had an easier life.Jesus could have been a farmer, a goat herder, or a fisherman. He could have made shoes or worked with fabric. He could have done a hundred other things – but God chose the life of a carpenter.

And this fact was not lost on Jesus. He knew that one day, his human life would end with the very tools of his trade.

“If it be Your will, take this from me." But it wasn't. Every nail reminded him that the prophecies would be fulfilled. He couldn't forget.

And yet, I hardly give a thought to the wood, the nails and the hammer. I need to remember...It was all for me.

Care to comment? Click here

Sunday Funnies -- the Cartoonist and the Creator

This is a Holy Week tribute to Johnny Hart, the creative cartoonist behind the "B.C." cartoon strip and the "Wizard of Id." He died of a stroke four years ago, ironically, on Easter Day. This is a long post, but once you read it, you'll realize why I choose this time to honor such a man.

Hart had a wry sense of humor that made millions laugh since 1958. "B.C." was considered the most widely read comic strip on the planet.

Johnny’s conversion to Christianity is an interesting story and came about because of the faithfulness of someone who brought their beliefs to the workplace.

Although a churchgoer as a child, he left the faith and eventually found fame and fortune as a cartoonist. 

In 1977, he bought a 158-acre property in Nineveh, New York. He couldn’t get cable and a neighbor introduced him to a father-son pair of satellite TV dish salesmen who agreed to wire his place up.

A complicated job, it took the pair over 2 months. As believers, they used Christian television channels on as "test stations" while they triangulated satellites. When Hart commented, the two offered to change the channel, but he didn't take them up on the offer. He began to watch … and listen.

One Sunday, he and his wife drove by a local church that reminded him of his childhood. He leaned over and asked, “Would you like to go to church?” His wife Bobby said, “No, not really.” Johnny prayed that God would change her heart; and in just two weeks, she asking Johnny to go to church. They began to discover a relationship with God. Johnny later even served as a children’s Sunday school teacher.

Hart’s faith began to infect his comic strips. During Christmas and Easter, he was always blatant about his beliefs. They worked their way into many other strips – since his faith defined his work. But it wasn’t without controversy.

In fact, in 2001, the Jewish Anti-defamation league chastised him for his strip that showed a seven-branch menorah. Each panel featured one of the Last Seven Words of Jesus. The cartoon concludes with the menorah transformed into a cross.

That’s bold stuff to put on newspaper strips. “I wanted everyone to see the cross in the Menorah,” he said. “It was a revelation to me that has tied God’s chosen people to their spiritual kin, the disciples of the Risen Christ,"

He took on abortion and evolution in ways that were simply masterful.A simple argument to tear through the walls of ignorance.

To Hart, the most gratifying thing he ever did professionally was to turn his work into ministry. “I was almost beginning to get tired of my work until that happened,” he said.

I think it most fitting that God would choose Easter Day to take him.  Here is his final Easter strip that ran while still alive.

He told Plain Truth, “I realize the value in being subtle.”

Subtle, indeed. Johnny, we miss you.

Comment on your memory of Hart's work here

Interviews with Hart, 1, 2,3, 4, 5. Here’s a list of other Christian cartoonists 

Quitter

There lies within me a natural urge to walk away.

When the wagging tongues throw their barbs of criticism my way, it’s tempting to find a way out, quick. When the naysayers remind me that I don’t have what it takes, I think about leaving. Run away from all of this.

When my vision is blurred by the stark realities of finances, of health, of failures past, it’s hard to see anything but the door. The exit signs always seem to be lit, beckoning me to leave. 

Photo courtesy of Jacqueline.


But no great thing would ever be accomplished if people just gave up when things got tough. No song would ever be finished. No novel would be completed. No marriage would ever make it till death did them part. No mountain would be climbed. No ocean would be explored. No project would be seen to the end.

Some people have given up on me. And I've given up on them. 


Thinking about giving up? I’m here to say "don’t." Hold on. Press on to another day, another moment for God to show His face and His power.

I'm not quitting. And neither should you.

Comment here.

“…the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not: for it was founded upon a rock. Matt 7:25

“Success is failure turned inside out”

Finally, I can be great

I always had this belief that I would be successful.

Not to go all Freud on you, but this started with my mother, who instilled some big dreams in my head as a lad. She pushed me to memorize the math tables that swirled in my head. The B plus was a sign of failure. The second-place wasn't good enough.

"You can do better."

     Doctor.

     Pilot.
     Scientist.
Any of those professions would be fine with her.

But there were the realities. And they were biggies. I couldn't stand the sight of blood. I was color blind and could never fly. I couldn't figure out physics.

I wasn't ready to concede. After all, I wasn't normal like the other kids, or so I thought. Let's just say, I didn't have self-esteem issues.  I swallowed a lot of that medicine, actually believing that I was above average, special, and skilled.

I depended on my ability and was frustrated when I was told I "couldn't." So I began to pretend I was all of those things. Confidence is one thing, but pride is another. And it's a very thin line to walk.

Now, at this ripe middle age, I'm at the point where I'm comfortable in my own skin. I laugh about my inabilities. If my abilities aren't so hot, that's fine. But I still feel the fire to do something, to be somebody.
But reading the red letters really tells me something.

"If you want to be great," He said. "Learn to the be servant of all."

Now, I wanna be great, but in a different way. And that will chase away the negative frustrations and usher in joy.

Care to comment? Click here. 

Hooking up with Bonnie's Faith Jam today, where she is talking about joy. This week, it's all about asking for it!

When your time is up

Each morning, my grandmother  would pull on her blue-zippered sweater and open the door from her single-wide trailer.  The famous Santa Cruz  fog was thick in the morning, blowing moisture in from the Pacific and misting every surface with droplets. She would shake the leaves of the eucalyptus tree that dripped on the deck and then she would pull out her long-handled shovel to work the rich soil.

She was 90, nimble, spry and full of life. Her mannerisms and language were crisp, thanks to her Bronx upbringing, but her heart was soft with decades of Christ following. Brought up in an Orthodox Jewish family, she found her Savior through Billy Graham in the 50’s. Life was never easy, but she didn't complain much.

She spent her retirement volunteering down at the First Baptist Church of Capitola. She did what she could for the “seniors,” giving of her time and meager resources. And she loved her little garden, where she grew tomatoes and bunches of onions and leafy spinach.

And how she loved her lemon tree. She eagerly waited for the tree to produce the bright yellow fruit that she would sit on the kitchen counter top and ripen. The fresh citrus smell would waft through the trailer. When the time was right, she would cut through the flesh and squeeze the sour juice into her hot steaming tea.

One February morning, she was with her her beloved tree. She might have trimmed a couple of twigs and smiled at the round orbs that hung in their adolescence. Without warning, somewhere in her body a trigger went off, and that big heart of hers gave way and she knelt down and breathed her last. God took her and left us with the wonderful memories. 

We all thought that was the best way for her to go. 
Suddenly. Under the lemon tree.


How would you like to go? Care to comment?

What's Your One Thing?

The movie City Slickers is a great story about finding your place in life.

Hoping to relieve the frustrations of his life, the character played by Billy Crystal convinced his two buddies to take a vacation at a working dude ranch.

Crystal's life is scattered. He is torn between the obligations to his family and his job. He is realizing that life is passing him by -- that his own body and mind are aging and he has nothing to show for it. 

What's his purpose? What is his meaning?

The old cowboy, played by Jack Palance, is leathered, rusty, and weatherd by the way sof the of the world. 

Palance asks Crystal if he would like to know the "secret of life." Palance waves his finger "It's just one thing," he says gravely. "The secret is pursuing that one thing." 

Some of my problem in life is that I've never had that one thing. For most of my life, is was my family. My one thing was to create adventure, discovery and life lessons for my boys. Then they grew up. For a while, my one thing was feeding my brain. I would read and study and debate issues -- any issue.

I know the Christian thing to say is that my one thing is Christ, but I have to ask, "Is it?"  If that's true, what would it look like?

What is your "One Thing?"  Feel free to comment here.

On super heroes and a super secret power

Image via Wikipedia

As a boy, I would tie a blanket around my neck and pull a pair of white BVDs up over my flannel pajamas. I fished out a pair of my mother's sunglasses from the basket by the kitchen counter and hid my face behind the rose tint. 

I was ready.

Perched on the back of the couch, I would wait for my brother to come around the corner and then fly through the air, wrestling down the villain he was.

After a rough tousling, I would finally pin him down with my knees on his arms. Submission for the bad guy. Justice had won.

In my spare time, I would read the same comic book over and again, gobbling every word in the corner of my room with the red pillow cushioning my back against the hard wall. And when I had to put it away because of my mother’s threats, I would tuck it under the blankets of my bed. Later that night, the flashlight illuminated the colored pages, my eyes wide with wonder.

Back then I thought about superheroes – a lot. As a fat, slow kid I wanted to be lean and fast. I needed to be able to punch. And fly. I wasn’t asking much.

Photo from CMRF, via Flikr

Soon reality set in. The comic books went under bed for good after my first kiss from Jill. But I still thought about super powers. I thought about crawling up walls, jumping from buildings and making the bad guys pay. I wanted to stand up for everything that was good and just. I thought about flying. I still do.

The older I get, the more I realize that I’m extraordinarily average. I’m certain no super hero with super-human strength. Actually, I stumble over simple human tasks. I fail the most basic of tests. I struggle with the kryptonite in my life.

But I’ve got one Super Power up my sleeve that sits in waiting. I know it's there because He's promised it to me.

Joy!

And that makes me smile, which makes them wonder what I’m up to. 

You can comment here

To see more posts on experiencing joy, please visit the blog carnival hosted by Bonnie Gray at Faith Barista.

Know-It-All

I remember standing behind the lectern, laser pointer in hand. Teaching, leading, I imparted knowledge and inspired action. But to be honest, I was no expert. 

Hundreds of times I looked at eager eyes from the chairs pulled into a circle. Opening the book, pointing out history and theology and imagery, everyone said how great it was.  I really didn't know anything more than anyone else.

A long time ago I took a position behind the pulpit, preaching God's word with eloquence and wisdom. But I didn't always believe what I spoke. I didn't always live by the tenants.

I led marriage enrichment classes and then let mine slip away. I talked to men about purity and let the sewage seep into my own life. I taught about families and now mine is in chaos. 

Now I am back to learning the basics myself. Those red letters speak to me. "Ask and it will be given to you. Seek and you will find. Knock and the door will be opened to you.”

I know that I need answers, but I struggle with the asking. Suddenly, I don't know what to do . . . and that just is so humbling.

Asking for help is an exercise that cuts to the core of my pride. It means that my knowledge is deficient, my experience inadequate or my basis lacking.  

I have filing cabinets full of folders, shelves lined with books and hard drives full of notes and that might impress you. But the know-it-all I once was is back to lying on my chest, inching toward the clear water, dipping my lips and drinking, just like it was the first time.

And for this place, I give thanks.

You can share your thoughts here.