Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas to all my friends out there! I have had an excellent holiday today...watching my baby boy open presents for his first Christmas ever. I had no idea what it would mean to me to be a daddy watching his son sit under the Christmas tree, surrounded in bright shiny packages...tugging at bows, ripping wrapping paper....and loving every minute of it. Words cannot describe it. It's the best Christmas present I've ever received. I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas day. God bless. Tim

What's In a Name?

I was doing some research on my blog...to see where my visitors come from and what search words they use to find my blog. In the course of that research, I came across an interesting page that taught me all sorts of things about my own name. (I especially love the fact that I'm poorly "envoweled." Ha! Check it out: Etymology*: Forename: Origin: Greek (Root: Timothy)Meaning: Honored by God (I've also heard it defined as "honoring God."

Top 5 Facts:

1. 25% of the letters are vowels. Of one million first and last names we looked at, 92.6% have a higher vowel make-up. This means you are poorly envoweled.
2. Backwards, it is Mit Nnelg... nice ring to it, huh?
3. In Pig Latin, it is Imtay Ennglay.
4. In ASCII binary, Tim Glenn is: 01010100 01101001 01101101 00100000 01000111 01101100 01100101 01101110 01101110 .
5. People with this first name are probably: Male. So, there's a 98% likelihood you sweat just thinking of the price of shaver blades.

3 Things You Didn't Know:

1. Based on your name and a process known to only three people on the planet, we can tell you that your Power Animal is the: Cane Toad.
2. Your 'Numerology' number is 4. Unfortunately, numerology is a joke. But if it wasn't, it would mean that you are practical, tenacious, traditional, and serious. You are well organized and have a strong work ethic.
3. According to the US Census Bureau°, 0.104% of US residents have the first name 'Tim' and 0.02% have the surname 'Glenn'. The US has around 300 million residents, so we guesstimate there are 62 'Tim Glenn's in the U.S.

Interesting huh? I found this at a website called: Is This Your Name?

Carol Abuse

"It's the holiday season..." And you can't escape them...those holiday songs. At the mall...in the elevator...on the radio. I actually love Christmas songs--well, most of 'em anyway. There's the occasional droll tune that just makes my skin crawl, such as Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer or that monotone kid that sings I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus. And then there's the cheesy, "we just tried too hard to make you cry" type songs like the Christmas Shoes drivel. But the ones that really get under my skin are the stupid commercial jingles that take holiday songs and change the words. "Happy Honda Days!" "Give a, give a, give a Garmin..." "On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...5 onion rings..." Are you serious?! Can we just leave the holiday songs alone please? Write a new jingle...or use a holiday song as-is...but trust me, you're version of Oh Christmas Tree using only the word "duh"...is not an improvement! My .02 worth anyway. Feel free to let me know what you think.

Playing Santa

Tonight, I got to take part in one of my favorite Christmas holiday traditions. I got to play Santa for one of little nephews. Little Christian is only 3 years old...and my, my...what a rambunctious three year old he is! For the past several years, my sister Christi has let me play Santa for her kiddos...and I couldn't love it more! Grey and Shayne are older now...and they caught on to Uncle Tim. But Christian is still young enough to believe in Santa. And I love nurturing that in him.

So my sister calls me on her cell phone and asks me to call Christian in about five minutes. And she gives me some pointers: Christian got in trouble at school for drawing on his table. He talked back to mom. And he wants to play video games all the time instead of going outside. So, here's the conversation I had with Christian tonight.

Santa: "Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas! Christian, are you there?"

Christian: "Yes."

Santa: "Santa wants to know what you want for Christmas!"

Christian: "I want that green jeep that I saw at Target. It has a button on it and you push the button and it goes."

Santa: "Well, let me see with the elves. Hey, elves...do we have one of those?"

Elf: (also played by me with the phone held far away) "Sure do, Santa!"

Santa: "Well, looks like we have one, Christian. But I need you to do something for me."

Christian: "What?"

Santa: "I need you to be nice to your mom...and not talk back to her like you did earlier today, okay?"

Christian: "Okay."

Santa: "And, I saw you drawing on your table at school..."

Christian: "But I ran out of paper! I wouldn't have done it but I ran out of paper, Santa!"

Santa: "But we're not supposed to draw on our tables, are we?"

Christian: "No."

Santa: "And one more thing."

Christian: "What?"

Santa: "You know how you play video games all the time?"

Christian: "Yes. I play my brother's racing game."

Santa: "Well, I need you to go outside and play some too...okay? Don't play so many video games. Can you do that?"

Christian: "Uh-huh."

Santa: "You do that, and Santa will make sure you have a merry Christmas."

Christian: "Okay."

Santa: "Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas Christian! Ho! Ho! Ho!"

Christian: "Bye Santa"

Santa: "Bye Christian."

I love it!

The Diamond Conspiracy

Okay, I've had it. What's with all these diamond companies coming out of the woodwork with their commercials of beautiful, happy couples, wrapped in their winter scarves, skipping through the snow, as the guy surprises his girl a big ole' stinkin' diamond!!!???

I don't notice a bunch of diamond commercials in March...or July...or August. What, do these guys save up their budget all year long, just to bombard us with diamond commercials during Christmas!!!???

What kind of conspiracy is this?

If I watch football....there are diamond commercials. I watch a sitcom...diamonds. Drama...you guessed it...diamonds. They're everywhere! Come on already!!!!

I'm pretty sure I saw this hidden in the tiny text at the bottom of the screen:

What's the matter guys? You and your girl don't frolick in the snow like the couple in this commercial? Maybe it's because you're a total loser for not buying her a diamond necklace, pendant or bracelet.

As I was searching the internet for a picture of a diamond to use for my blog, I asked my wife, "Which picture should I use?"

"The shiniest one you can find!" she answered.

Conspiracy I tell ya....CONSPIRACY!!!!

Taking Back the Rainbow

I was talking to Becky, my co-worker the other day about rainbows...and wondering how they came to be the symbol for the gay and lesbian movement? When she said, "I think we need to take back the rainbow!"

In Genesis, God tells us that He created the rainbow as a reminder that He will never again flood the earth with water:

I set My rainbow in the cloud, and it shall be

for the sign of the covenant between Me and

the earth. It shall be, when I bring a cloud

over the earth, that the rainbow shall be

seen in the cloud; and I will remember My

covenant which is between Me and you

and every living creature of all flesh; the

waters shall never again become a flood

to destroy all flesh. ---Genesis 9:13-15

So how is it that the rainbow went from representing a promise from God...to representing the gay and lesbian movement?

I think it's time we took back the rainbow.

Children are NOT our future

I'm in the middle of writing a speech that I'll be giving to a PTA event in Mesquite, TX this February. And I'm realizing that I may not be as good at this as I had once believed. The purpose of my speech is to challenge the members of this PTA group to become active advocates for children. I've written 9 pages...over 3,400 words. And it's boring. Right now, the title is "Children are NOT our future." The premise is that we need to start thinking about how important children are today...not for tomorrow. Yeah. Titillating isn't it? Snore. Suggestions appreciated.

Classless

I already told you about August Rush, the recent movie my wife and I saw during Thanksgiving weekend...but let me tell you about what happened just before the movie. Keep in mind we were on a date, leaving our baby boy at home with his grandparents. You may not know, but we went through nearly 12 years of thinking we weren't going to be blessed with children. Then, our little miracle came along. Morgan is our pride and joy. I love him more than I can put into words. And even though it was Jen's mom and dad watching him...it was still difficult to leave him at home while we went to a movie. So, we're a little stressed as it is. Then, the lights dimmed and the previews began. The very first video starts with a closeup of Jennifer Anniston. She looks directly into the camera and says, "Your son will not live to see his next birthday." Jen and I just looked at each other and she started to cry. What a horrible thing to say to someone! Especially a new mom and dad who are at a movie, leaving their baby boy at home. It was an ad campaign by St. Judes Children's Hospital. I know what they were trying to do with the ad campaign, but I think it's tacky and classless. Shame on St. Judes. I can't believe they have to stoop to such cheap scare tactics to try to drum up donors. I don't like this campaign by St. Judes at all...and I sent them an email to say just that. I hope you will do the same by sending them a message here.

August Rush

My wife and I recently saw the movie August Rush. It was during Thanksgiving weekend. Her parents came down to celebrate the holiday with us...and they decided to babysit Morgan so we could have a "date night." Without spoiling too much, the story is about a boy who grows up in a children's home and is on a quest to find his mother and father. He's convinced that the only connection he has to his parents is music...and he's right. They were both musicians. Turns out, this little guy is a phenom. He can play a guitar pretty much the first time he picks it up...he learns how to master piano within an afternoon...and his first composition is picked up by the New York Philharmonic. What makes his character so interesting is that he hears music in everything. The noises of the city...the rush of wind through a wheat field...the shuffle of feet on the subway. Everything is a song. I related to this kid on so many levels. No...I'm nothing close to a musical genius. But I've been accused of "turning everything into a song" on many occasions. In fact, I've often joked that I "have a relationship with music." I don't know how to explain it any better than that. I just feel like it's a part of me. Me without music isn't me at all. I also grew up in a children's home...so I related to many of the feelings young August was dealing with. I highly recommend the movie. It's a "feel good" movie. It's a good family flick...though I will tell you that the only disappointing part of the story is that August was born as the result of a "one night fling" between two musicians...though they end up pining for each other for years. Check it out.

Thankful

It was just a few short years ago. I was shoveling two tons of rock in my back yard. The July heat was unbearable...but I could see the clouds coming over the mountains a few miles away. I was rushing to get the rock into the right area of the yard before the rains came. I didn't make it. The dark clouds moved fast...first a few drops...then a drizzle. Then, the lightning. I raised my shovel into the air, tempting the electric bolts to find my makeshift lightning rod. "You want me?" I shouted to the sky. "Come and get me!" The neighbors must've thought I was mad. And I was. I had been dealing with a lot that year...my job as a television news anchor was no longer enjoyable. I was struggling with the idea that here I was, in my late 30's, and had no idea what I was supposed to do with my life. And most importantly, I was bitter. I was angry because for years I had asked God to make me a father. Give me a child I could hold in my arms...love like only a father can. But He had not answered my prayers. The night before, I was at the neighborhood Target store, combing through the sale rack of the Men's section, when I heard a sweet child's voice behind me. "I'm lost" she said through her curly blonde locks that dangled in front of her huge brown eyes. Her chubby cheeks did their best to hide the sad hint of a cry on her little rosy lips. She was as beautiful as a 6-year old girl could be. I knelt down in front of her...and assured her that I would help her find her mommy. I lifted the girl up and carried her on my hip over to the customer service area. She completely trusted me to help her. And she felt so natural in my arms. A couple of minutes after we arrived at the service desk, a very nervous mother came rushing to the counter, relieved to see her sweet daughter. It was the final straw for me. "How cruel," I thought, 'God must be...to not answer my prayer, but bring that beautiful young girl into my life...to hold for only a brief minute or two." And that is what brought me to this rainy July day in my backyard. Angry at God. Challenging my maker to meet me face to face there among the two tons of pink granite. This Thanksgiving I am thankful for a God who does not give me what I deserve. And who, on March 21st of this year, did give me what I had prayed for, for so many years...my beautiful baby boy Morgan. I can't imagine life without him now. He is truly an answer to prayer...many tearful prayers. Being a father brings me more joy than I ever imagined possible. Thank you, God...you are good beyond anything I could ever deserve. You are forgiving beyond what I can possibly comprehend. Your grace is more than sufficient...it is overwhelming.

Avoiding the Titanic

Yesterday, my wife and I visited the Titanic exhibit at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. Wow. There was so much amazing stuff to see. First of all, you're given a "boarding pass" with the name of someone actually on the ship. At the end of the exhibit, you can find out whether you survived or were among the 1,522 lost at sea.

There's a huge chunk of ice---an iceberg--that you can touch. You can walk down a hallway that was remade to look just like B deck on the ship...even see replicas of first and third class rooms. The exhibit includes jewelery, dishes, watch fobs, clothing and furniture from the doomed ship. It was a bit haunting to realize that you were ogling the personal effects of someone who died a cold and horrifying death in those icy waters some 95 years ago. All of these items sat at the bottom of the ocean for 70-plus years before being brought up for us to see. But of all the pieces on display, one item really stuck out for me. A pair of binoculars.

You see, when the Titanic launched, the crew forgot a crucial piece of equipment. They forgot to provide a pair of binoculars for the lookouts working in the Crow's Nest. Frederick Fleet and Reginald Lee stood up in the post of the forward mast looking out for icebergs. The ship had received a couple of iceberg warnings hours before her fatal collision.

If Fleet or Lee had been given the much needed binoculars, would they have seen the iceberg long before it was too late? Would the disaster have been avoided? Think about that. Over 1500 lives spared. A tragic story never written. Someone on that ship had a pair of binoculars. Today, those binoculars are sitting in a glass case in the Titanic exhibit at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. Had that person just loaned the binoculars to one of the lookouts, perhaps there never would have been a Titanic tragedy.

That got me thinking. How many times in our lives are we in a situation to help someone out of a problem with something we already have? Is there a child in your church who would love to go to summer camp, but just can't afford it? Do you have the money? Think about how that could change that child's life. The experiences...the lessons learned...perhaps the disasters avoided. All because you loaned your "binoculars" to someone who needed them.

This holiday season, we have a lot to be thankful for. But I wonder how many families are facing disaster out there, waiting for someone to lend them a pair of binoculars. How many disasters can be avoided by our willingness to share what we have...with someone who desperately needs it to survive?

Perpetuating the Myth

I've been thinking a lot lately about Christian music...specifically worship music. (Which only makes sense, since I'm a Christian musician and a worship leader.) But you may not like, or at least not agree, with some of the things I believe...and have to say. You see, one of my pet peeves about Christianity in general, is how we (yes, myself included) tend to perpetuate this myth that once you accept Christ as Savior, you don't struggle with the things of this world anymore. And one of the ways we perpetuate this myth is through our music. Let me give you an example. There's an old hym that says:

"Every day with Jesus is sweeter than the day before."

Is that true? Does life just get sweeter every day after you've accepted Christ? I don't think so. Now, if you're talking about the sweetness of knowing, everyday, that you are one step closer to heaven, maybe so. But my life experience has been that, since accepting Christ, my life has had ups and downs...good days and bad days. So I have a problem with that song. I think it's misleading. I think people who don't know Jesus may get the wrong idea from this song.

Here's another example, from a contemporary Christian worship song:

"Every move I make I make in you,

You make me move Jesus...

Every step I take I take in you."

Really? Every move? Is that even possible? It's a fun song to sing. Heck, I've even performed it in the past. It was originally written by David Ruis, and published by Vineyard Publishing. And it's very popular in churches across the country. But I have a problem with it. And here's why: what about that sin you committed this morning? Was that a move you made "in Jesus?" What about that lustful thought about the girl you saw behind the counter at the department store? "In Jesus?"

I understand what the lyricist is trying to say. I just don't believe it. Or maybe he's on a spiritual plain that I am nowhere close to achieving. Regardless, for those who don't know Christ, this is a good example of why we're called hypocrites. We can't claim that "every step we take is in Jesus" then sin. The two contrast. And when an unbelieving world sees that, they discount Christianity as a religion of liars...people who say one thing and do another.

I realize I'm going to draw some criticism for saying these things, but it's just something I've been dealing with lately. It's the reason I am recording this new album, So Human: Because I believe there needs to be more Christian music out there that reflects real life...the valleys as well as the peaks...the good days as well as the bad. We need to be deliberate about meaning what we sing...and singing what we mean. I fear that too many congregations these days sing along without paying attention to what they are saying.

I'm getting close to finishing this album. Maybe it will be ready for release sometime early Spring 2008...God willing.

In the meantime, I would challenge you to think about the songs you're singing in church. Do you really mean them? Do they truthfully reflect your experience as a believer?

Something to think about.

Superbaby

My son, Morgan Douglas Glenn, will be 8 months old next week. I'm just amazed at how fast he's growing. Heck, I'm still shocked that I'm a daddy! I am so in love with this little guy.

A couple of weeks ago, he mastered sitting up on his own. Now he loves to fall over, just so he can sit back up! He's not quite strong enough to pull himself up to a stand yet, but if you stand him up at the edge of something, like a coffee table, he can hold on and stand on his own forever.

This pic is of him in his Superman costume. Doesn't he just look like he's ready to take off and fly? For those who don't know, I'm a huge Superman fan. I jokingly told my wife that if he was born with black hair and blue eyes, we'd name him Kalel. Well, he's definitely got the blue eyes, but looks like he's going to have daddy's brown hair.

That's okay. I love his name. He's named after a Christian music artist that was instrumental in me becoming an artist myself. His name is Morgan Cryar. I used to listen to his stuff all the time in college. I loved his sound...and thought he had a pretty cool name. His music influenced me to get involved in Christian music. The summer after my senior year in college, I entered a vocal competition in Dallas...and ended up winning. There were two prizes for first place:
1. I got 12 hours of studio time at a recording studio in Nashville. It's where I recorded the majority of my very first solo project, Shock the World. (Available only on cassette--I have a case of 'em in my garage!)
2. I got to open up for Morgan Cryar at a concert. What a blast!

Back to my boy. He's sleeping through the night now, which makes mommy and I both happy. And the most awesome thing: Sometimes, when he wakes up in the morning, he sings in his bed. It's all just baby babble, but he loves to sing! And I love to listen to him.

Adventures with Chong

I get my hair cut just about every three weeks. I always go to the same place: Chong's Hair Salon. It's a small salon in a strip mall about two miles from my home. It's owned by a widowed Korean woman...named Chong. While she does a great job of cutting my hair, I like Chong best for her personality...and her sense of humor. She is a character. In fact, I think she would make a great recurring character for a Saturday Night Live skit. Somehow, she manages to insult me just about everytime I sit down for a cut...but she does it with such disarming wit and charm that I just laugh along. Here are some of the barbs she's hurled my way while trimming my mane:

"Next time you come in, bring some SuperGlue. I'll try to fix those bald spots for you."

"You know, most people who come here have more hair than last time they were here. You always have less. Before long, you won't need haircuts anymore!"

When I walked in the door one day for my appointment:

"What happened to you? Did you get scared? You have so much gray hair today!"

"You should take pictures of yourself now, so your son can see what you looked like with hair when he gets older."

When I told her I used to be a news anchor:

"You used to be on TV? Did you have more hair or did you wear a wig?"

Yet I keep coming back for the abuse! Seriously, it's all in good fun and I actually look forward to my haircuts with her now. But I just had to share a few of her comments with you. I'll write more as I go for future haircuts.

Me and the 'Boys (Part 2)

Since my last post including pictures of the Dallas Cowboys from the October 14th game against the Patriots drew so much response, I've decided to include a few more photos today. (Click on any pic to see a larger version.) Enjoy!



Terrell Owens stretching before the game. Look at the size of those biceps!




Patrick Crayton about to haul in a pass from Tony Romo.



Marion Barber chats it up with Jason Garrett.



Sam Hurd catches a toss from Tony Romo.



T.O.



Jason Witten.



Brad Johnson warms up before the game.

Jacques Reeves, Pat Watkins, Nathan Jones and Evan Oglesby jogging onto the field.

T.O. catches a pass on the three yard line. The refs would say he was out of bounds when he came down with the ball. Replay suggests otherwise. It's okay. A few plays later, T.O. catches a pass for a T.D. (See Me and the 'Boys, Part 1 for that pic.)



Patrick Crayton hauls in a touchdown pass.

Greg Ellis...with Bradie James in the background.

Two Patriots wrestle T.O. after he catches another pass for a first down.

For the guys.

Since we're showing pictures of girls...ha!

Me and the 'Boys (Part 1)

I am a Dallas Cowboys fan. Have been since I first saw Roger Staubach throw a pass...and Tony Dorsett plow through defensive lines. I stuck with 'em through the lean years before Troy Aikman, Michael Irvin and Emmit Smith came along. I survived another drought after those golden years...and am anxiously waiting to see how the rest of this season plays out.

On October 14th, I got a chance to go see my 'boys play against the New England Patriots in Dallas.

Yeah, we lost. But being there in Texas Stadium was incredible. 50-yard line. 19th row. Amazing seats. I went to the game with my brother. We got there a couple of hours early, so we got to see the players warming up on the field before the game. I had my Nikon D80 with me...and started snapping off some pics.

One of the security guys guarding the gate to the field asked me a question:

"Hey...you wanna go down on the field to take some pics?"

"Heck yeah!" I replied like an overzealous 10-year old Beaver Cleaver.

"Slip me a twenty and I'll let you on the field."

So I did. I paid the 20 bucks and spent the next hour or so on the field, taking snapshots of my favorite players...Tony Romo, Terrell Owens, Marion Barber, Roy Williams, DeMarcus Ware...it was a Cowboys fan dream come true!



Tony Romo and Terrell Owens chat during pre-game warmups.





Terrell Owens takes a lap around the stadium...with cheers from Cowboys fans and jeers from Patriots fans.






Tony Romo stretches before the game.





Terence Newman.







DeMarcus Ware.








Roy Williams, Keith Davis and Jacques Reeves run a few sprints prior to opening kickoff.





Anthony Fasano catches a pass from backup QB, Brad Johnson during pre-game warmup.









Patrick Crayton gets a toss from Tony Romo.




And now a couple of pics from the actual game:



Marion Barber breaks free around the outside for a huge gain.







Terrell Owens catches a pass and runs it in for a touchdown.


Yeah, we lost the game. But the experience was amazing.

Go Cowboys!

Role Reversal

What if the US reversed roles with a developing country in Africa. What would that look like?

• First, there would be no healthcare system. Forget about making an appointment with your doctor every time you get a sniffle or aches and pains.
• Instead of driving to your job where you sit in an air conditioned office all day, you walk a couple of miles to work...and once you get there, you spend the next 10-12 hours doing vigorous manual labor.
• At the end of the day, you get your pay. Two bucks.
• Your children are in danger of dying of a disease that Africa managed to eradicate decades ago.
• For as little as $10 each, you could protect your children from the disease. But you just don't have it. That's a whole week's pay!
• When you get home, tired from a day of work, you've got to find a way to feed the entire family on the two dollars you made today.
• There's no trip to the vending machine during the day for a snack. There is no vending machine. And you couldn't afford it anyway. In fact, you may have to choose not to eat tonight, so your children get enough.
• There's no sink to turn on for clean water. One of your sick children has to walk a mile down the road to get water from a well.
• You can't afford to send your children to school. The supplies alone are out of your budget. (In one country, I met a mother who sifted through old notebooks in a landfill, hoping to find enough blank pages to sew a notebook together so her daughter could go to school.)
• Forget about the house you have today. Your entire home is smaller than your current master bedroom.
• Your "closet" consists of two outfits...one pair of shoes.
• No TV, DVDs, video games.
• If you have electricity, you likely stole it by illegally tapping into a line that runs through your neighborhood. But most likely, the only light you have at night is provided by candles or the trash fire you set in your yard.
• You don't get to take a hot shower every morning. But once every few days, you can make your way to the watering hole to bathe in the filthy, cold stream.

So what's the difference? Longitude and latitude. But for the grace of God you were born here...and not there. And why should that determine whether a person has their basic needs taken care of? Where a person is born should not decide whether they get a fair chance at life. Do something. You Can.

Construction Curse

I hate road construction. Not just because of the delays it causes, but mostly because I believe it's a total crock.

Today, crews are working on "resurfacing" a street near my house. The same street they "resurfaced two and half years ago."

Please. It's 2007. I find it absolutely impossible to believe that we don't have anything better to make our roads out of than something that has to be replaced every 2-3 years. Before 2010, crews will be back, on that same road, putting a new surface down.

Is there no better, longer-term solution?

Do you know how many industries would love to have that kind of return? To know that you've got to buy their product over and over again every 2-3 years...to the tune of millions of dollars per buy?

It's crazy. Talk about job security. As long as they're making roads out of asphalt, construction companies will never run out of work.

That's a crock.

Stereotypes

You ever wonder why stereotypes exist? I mean, there's a reason. Last night, I was watching the Rockies get clobbered by the Red Sox. (Ugh.) But I couldn't help but notice how many of the players "looked" like baseball players. Seriously, if you played a drinking game for every camera shot of a guy spitting, you'd be wasted by the end of the first inning. Or try counting the goatees in a baseball game. Or the number of times you see a guy "adjusting" himself. Ha! I found myself thinking: "If I were a baseball player, I wouldn't chew anything during the game, I wouldn't spit, I certainly wouldn't grab myself on national television...just to be different." But then again...if I didn't do all those things, would I still be a baseball player?

Acclimation Affirmation

I grew up in south Texas. Heat. Humidity. I got the heck out of there as soon as I could and moved to Colorado. Cool. Dry. I love it. I don't know why I was born in Texas because I was obviously meant to be here. This morning, it was 37 degrees as I drove to work. I cracked open the window for some fresh air. No heater on. It was exhilirating. I've been known to put the top down in the upper 40's. I just love the cold. Not bitter cold...just cool. My wife on the other hand, is from Kansas. Not nearly as hot and humid as Texas. Not nearly as cool and dry as Colorado. We've lived in Colorado Springs for 13 years now. You'd think she would have adjusted to this climate. Au contraire mon ami! This morning, as it was 37 degrees outside, she had the fireplace blasting AND the thermostat set at 74. Ugh. I was melting! How is it that a south Texas boy can't stand the heat and a Kansas girl can't stand the cold? After 13 years in Colorado you'd think we'd both be well adjusted to our climate.

But It's True

Check out this video my team at Compassion International produced.

Waiting For The Roller Coaster

Ever feel like the rest of the world is on one happy roller coaster ride and you're the one standing in line waiting your turn? I'm really struggling with that right now. It seems like I'm surrounded by people whose lives just seem to be going their way. Just this past week, I've had friends who got engaged, reached some life-long goals, had huge prayers answered, got a massive raise or promotion at work...you name it. Meanwhile, my finances are tight...work is stressful...my music career is on life support. I feel like there's a piece of me missing and I can't put my finger on it. I can't seem to find joy. I miss joy. And it's not sour grapes. I'm actually very excited that my friends are enjoying this ride. I just wish I was there with them...my arms raised in the air, screaming as we plunge down the tracks at 60mph. I know this is just a phase. I go through this from time to time. But usually there's someone to commiserate with. This time it's different. I'm alone in this one. And anyone who's going through the high life (i.e. riding the roller coaster) certainly doesn't want to be dragged down by someone on a collision course with depression. So, I'm standing in line. Waiting for my turn on the roller coaster. Listening to the shouts of joy...watching the wide-eyed smiles of friends as they zoom by. Man, I can't wait to get on that ride.

Don't Fly With Me

I don't know why it is, but I'm apparently cursed when it comes to flying. If you find yourself on a plane with me, your best bet is to find another flight. Trust me. Something will go wrong. One of my worst experiences came this past week...on Continental Airlines. I was supposed to leave from San Antonio at 3pm...for a quick 36-minute flight over to Houston...then onto Colorado Springs. At 3pm, we got on the plane...taxi'd away from the gate. That's when the pilot told us: "Houston's airport is shut down due to weather. We're going to sit here for a bit." So, we sat for an hour and a half before they taxi'd back to the gate....and we all got off the plane. And waited...for two hours. Then we got back onto another plane. We taxi'd out...and stopped again. We sat on the plane for another hour and a half. When the pilot made this announcement: "We're going to have to switch you over to another plane. This one can't make it to Houston at this point." Not sure what that means but that's what he said. So, we got off that plane and switched over to another one. We taxi'd out away from the gate...and then, another announcement: "The weather has gotten bad in Houston again, so we're going to have to sit here for awhile. We'll give you an update in 30 minutes or so." After 30 minutes, the pilot came back on. "Well, we got an update and it's not good. Looks like we're going to have to sit here for another hour and a half before we can take off. So just sit back, relax...feel free to use your cell phones." At this point I had been on three different planes for a total of three and half hours and had not gone anywhere. Adding to the frustration is the fact that planes were taking off FROM Houston almost the entire time. If they can takeoff, can't they land? I tell you, I'm cursed. Consider my flight history:

• 13 flights on United Airlines: 10 delays of at least one hour each, 3 cancellations, 2 lost bags.
• 4 flights on Continental Airlines: 3 delays, 1 cancellation, 1 lost bag.
• 2 flights on Delta Airlines: 2 multi-hour delays.
• 2 flights on Soutwest Airlines: 1 hour-long delay.
• 1 flight on Cathay Pacific: 1 stolen videocamera from my luggage

Almost every flight on these airlines has had some problem. United is by far the worst in my books. My best luck seems to come on American Airlines. I've flown them 14 times and only had two delays. But ya gotta wonder. So...take my advice: don't fly with me.

Mirror Mirror

Mirror mirror on the wall...why are you showing me what I'll look like 20 years from now? Oh. Dang.

Lesson in Grace

This past weekend, I was taught a lesson in grace...by my dog...and I failed. Lucy is a mutt. She was part of an abandoned litter. I got her for Jen eight years ago, for Christmas. We've been through a lot with this dog: First year: She ate our laundry room. Yes, I mean she actually ate the room. She ate holes in the drywall and door trim. Then, we repaired those things and repainted. She loved the smell of the paint, so she licked it all off. Year two: She cut her toe on the edging in the lawn. Saturday night. Doggie Emergency room. Stitches. $250. Year three: She ate a pair of Jen's eyeglasses. Frames...lenses...everything. Gone. Sunday evening. Emergency room. X-rays. $200. Also, two remote controls. (We have all "universal" remotes now, because no original remotes have survived.) Year four: She snuck downstairs and got into the Halloween candy. She ate the entire bowl...wrappers...boxes, popsicle sticks...everything. Visit to the doctor's office. $120. Year five: A pair of rubber gloves, a couple of kitchen sponges. Year six: An entire loaf of bread...more sponges...a kitchen spatula...a dishcloth...a frisbee... Year seven: We start noticing that we're going through toilet paper like crazy. Yep, she slurps it up off the roll...like spaghetti. Present day: We're getting ready to sell the house...so we're trying to clean everything, paint what needs to be painted, etc. One of the things we're trying to avoid is having to replace the carpet. We're hoping we can just get by with a good cleaning. So, we left Lucy in the backyard most of the day. While we were working, Lucy snuck into Jen's garden and ate all of her cornstalks. Not just the corn...the leaves...the stalks...everything. Of course, we don't notice at first...until she comes back into the house and hurls in three different rooms...six spots in all. Dark, disgusting, smelly stains. That was it for me. My patience had run out. If not for my sweet wife, I would have loaded the dog into the car and taken her to the Humane Society right away. I love this dog...she has brought me tremendous joy over the years...but I've just reached my limit on forgiveness. I'm tired of fixing or replacing everything she destroys. I'm tired of her doing the same thing over and over and over without learning to be better. I'm tired. And then I'm reminded: what if God felt the same about me? What if He said, "That's it Tim. I've had it. You're obviously never going to get it right. Time to get rid of you." Ouch. Grace. It IS amazing...and incomprehensible. And it's a lesson I have to learn...from my dog.

Eight Dollar Hot Dog

Saw this video on Shaun Groves' blog. Good stuff. Check it out.

Evie

Last night, a friend of mine passed away. She wasn't a close friend, but someone I've known for years. Actually, we used to sing on the same worship team at church several years ago. My, what a voice! Evie kinda kept to herself, which initially led me to believe that she was a bit of a snob. I didn't care for her much when I first met her...though I certainly respected and appreciated her talents. Sad how we can so easily judge a person based on so little information. Then, a little over three years ago, I started working for Compassion International. To my surprise, I saw Evie working here too. We shared the same passion for ministering to children in poverty...and I never even knew it! It wasn't too long ago that I heard Evie was diagnosed with cancer. Co-workers pitched in money to help with meals, medical bills, etc. We even sent the family to a Disney on Ice show. She has four kids. At our recent divisional picnic, Evie was there. I sat just about five feet from her. We looked at each other and smiled...but I couldn't bring myself to say anything. I don't think we needed any words that day. Though, in retrospect, I wish I would have said something. I wish I would have completely ignored the obvious and just said "hello." I've never been good at dealing with death or dying. Which is odd, because I've seen a lot of it in my life. Last night, Evie said goodbye to this world...and hello to her Maker. I pray that God will ease the pain her family must be going through today. I pray for her husband and children. In many ways, I envy her. At this very moment, she knows what it's like to bow in the presence of her Heavenly Father. She can hear the angels singing...worshipping God. And I'm sure she's singing along. My...what a voice.

A Little Family Pride...

You know, usually when someone tells you they have a family member that's "really talented", you might think, "Yeah, yeah...whatever." Well, at the risk of falling into that category, I do want to tell you about my 15-year old neice, Shayne. I didn't even know was interested in music, but last week, she recorded her first song with a friend...and in my opinion, it's pretty good. She shows really good vocal technique and the hook is pretty strong. Good writing. I love good writing. I know it may sound silly, but I'd love it if you would at least listen to her song on myspace and leave her a comment. Trust me, it would go a long way for her. Check it out! Thank you so much!

Money Pit

My wife and I have decided to sell the house. So, as any potential home-sellers do, we brought in a realtor to look at our house and give us an assessment of what needs to be done. New carpet, paint the exterior, stain the deck, repair a section of the driveway and clean...clean...clean. Mostly stuff that we already knew. So we started. Over the past month, we've managed to paint the exterior of the house, move out a LOT of stuff. We've cleaned til our hands are raw...packed up boxes upon boxes of accessories and items that we can afford to do without for awhile...and even painted some interior walls. We're making a lot of progress. But wouldn't you know it, all of the sudden, things have started happening. The microwave just blew on us. $160 repair. The oven broiler went out too. $200. We were moving stuff out of the attic and I slipped off the rafter and onto the drywall below. Of course, that cracked the ceiling in the main hallway...so now that needs to be replaced. And once it's repaired the entire ceiling will have to be repainted. Well, the ceiling pours into the great room, so it's not like I can just paint that section, I have to paint it all...to get it to match. Ugh. Oh, and we just got an estimate on the driveway repair...$1600. I'm reminded of the movie, Money Pit. And I'm starting to get scared!

Six Months

This past Friday, my little baby boy Morgan turned six months old. I can't begin to believe it. Six months. I've been a daddy for six whole months. Before he was born, people would say, "Oh your life is about to change!" I had no idea. I thought they were talking about sleepless nights, diaper changing and fussy temper tantrums. Those things are all true, but I was expecting them. No, the change I wasn't expecting was the one that's taking place in me.

I never thought I could love anyone the way I love my son. I can't stand being away from him for any period of time. I absolute live for his smile...his giggle. I can't wait to hold him in my arms when I get home from work each day. Some days, I can't make it without calling home to hear how he's doing...or at least looking at pictures of him. I love his smell (well some of the smells aren't as pleasant as others!) I love how he recognizes me the second I walk through the door and greets me with a wide open-mouthed smile. I love how he examines my face with such a serious look when I'm holding him. I'm absolutely and totally in love.

And I don't think it ever hit me before just how difficult it must have been for God to give that up for me. Oh how He must have loved His son Jesus! To have a perfect son who touched so many lives...stayed pure, maintained righteousness, defended the poor and the needy. What dad wouldn't be proud? Yet, in the midst of all that love, God allowed His one and only son to be beaten, mocked, teased, tortured, abused, punished and ultimately murdered for me.

Not to offend anyone out there, but there is no one...no one on this planet I would give up my son for. I simply don't love anyone enough to make such a sacrifice. Yet God did it for me. And He did it for you too. That's amazing love. That's beyond comprehension. That's God being what only God can be.

I love being a daddy. I thank God for the miracle that has changed my life for the past six months. I look forward to the years of hugs, wet kisses, boo-boos, temper tantrums, dirty diapers, and sleepless nights to come.

Old Man Eyebrows

It's finally happened. It's official. I'm old. You know how I know? My eyebrows. I have old man eyebrows. What the heck happened? Most of my life, my eyebrows have been so thin that they barely showed up at all. When I was a news anchor, I used to have to darken my eyebrows with a pencil to get them to show up on TV. (Yeah, there's a secret I probably shouldn't be divulging.)


But now, I've got these wild, wiry projectiles protruding
from my forehead like some kind of sagebrush on steroids. I'm Andy Rooney, Mark Twain and a rockhopper penguin all rolled into one! Ack!

It reminds me of a line from the movie City Slickers:

"Do you know what I found yesterday? Hair in my ear.

I'm losing hair where I want hair and

getting hair where there shouldn't be hair.

I found four big fat ones on my back;

I'm starting to look like the fly."

-Billy Crystal in City Slickers

Dang. Getting old sucks. And, apparently, it gets pretty hairy.

Next Please...

I recently encountered another one of my pet peeves. I had just gotten back from a 10-day trip out of the country and I was craving a good old-fashioned American cheeseburger. As soon as I made my way through Customs and Immigration at LAX, I headed for the food court. The closest thing they have to a burger joint is McDonald's (sorry if that offends anyone, I'm just not a big fan of Micky D's. But after 10 days of eating rice, it'll do.) As I walk up, I see four registers open...but there are only two really long lines. Why is that? People will form two extremely long lines instead of four shorter ones. I approached the lady who was standing at the end of the two lines...straddling both lines. "Which line are you in?" I asked. "Whichever one is faster." she answered. Are you kidding me?! Pick a stinking line already! We were down to two lines, and now here she was trying to cut it down to one! For four registers! C'mon people. Four registers. Four lines. I'm sorry if the pimple-faced kid at your register is slower than the one at mine. I'm sorry if the guy in front of you is ordering 6 Big Macs...one with no onions, two with mayonnaise only, one with no pickles, one with just meat and bread and the other without the "special sauce." But that's the breaks. That's the risk you take. But you gotta commit. "Next Please..."

Wooden Heart

One of my favorite Elvis Presley songs is a lesser-known one, called Wooden Heart. The songwriter says it would be easy to break his heart, because his heart is not wooden.

Can't you see I love you

Please don't break my heart in two

That's not hard to do

'Cause I don't have a wooden heart

The insinuation, therefore, is that if your heart is made of wood, it's very difficult to break.

I'm a little embarrassed to admit it, but I'm a rather emotional guy. And many things break my heart. Most of my career has been spent looking at the terrible things that are wrong with this world. I spent 16 years in television news telling viewers about all the horrible crimes and catastrophes that have damaged and destroyed lives. Now, I work for an organization that's all about doing something about those horrible things. Still, by the very nature that Compassion International is here to help release children from poverty and all of its trappings--child prostitution, slavery, abuse, neglect, hunger, disease--I am still exposed to all of the ills of the world.

I've often wondered why God would constantly and consistently put me in a position where I have to be exposed to such things. Perhaps He knows me too well. Perhaps He knows that if I lose sight of those things, my heart will turn to wood. Nothing will move me. Nothing will break me. Then, what good am I to Him?

There's another great old song that speaks to this, by Petra:

Don't let your heart be hardened.

May you always know the cure.

Keep it broken before Jesus.

Keep it thankful, meek and pure.

I pray that God keeps my heart from turning to wood. If you're already there, I pray He softens yours. Let something break your heart today.

Robbed!

Well, I'm back from the Philippines, but I wish I could say I came back with as much as I took. Unfortunately, that's not the case. Upon my return home, I found that someone had gone through my luggage and stolen my Sony Handycam. It was a small hand-held video camera that was really easy to use. It was a Christmas gift from my wife's parents last December. I was hoping I could get away with packing it in my checked-in luggage if I did a good job of hiding it in the middle of a pair of jeans, wrapped up, stuffed in the midst of all my dirty clothes. I was wrong. Yeah, it bothers me that the camera is missing, but more importantly, what was on it. All the video of me meeting my sponsored child is gone. I'll never have that now. And it absolutely breaks my heart. This was my once in a lifetime chance to meet Jen Rina, the little girl I sponsor through Compassion International. I had video of her singing a worship song for me...video of us hugging and playing. Video of her mother and baby brother showing me their home. My wife will never get to see it. I'll never be able to share it with you. We won't get to show the video to family members at Christmastime. I'm just sick about it. Also, I shot several clips of me walking through a Compassion project and talking to the camera. I was going to produce my own Compassion video for my website, where I talked about the work Compassion is doing...and it would include me meeting my sponsored child. It's all gone. I feel so violated. It's just stuff, I know...but it's sentimental stuff. It's important stuff. It's stuff that I'll never have the chance to replace. To the person who stole my camera: You stole more than a piece of equipment. You stole memories. You robbed me and my family of a special keepsake. I hope you are able to sell it to someone who gets good use out of it. And uses it for good.

Meeting Jen Rina

On day three of my Compassion International trip to The Philippines, I had the honor of meeting Jen Rina, the girl my wife and I have sponsored for nearly six years. I have to admit, I was anxious--though I felt like I had a pretty good grasp on what to expect. This is my seventh trip with Compassion. I have seen sponsors visit their children in Thailand, Kenya, Peru, Ecuador, Guatemala and Bolivia. I know how emotional it can be. Still, I wasn't ready for this.

It was a 45 minute drive into into the outskirts of Manila, down the crowded, busy streets filled with "tricycle" drivers and other smog-producing vehicles. Street vendors hawking their goods to the passersby can barely be heard over the noisy engines. As we drove farther away from Manila's skyscrapers, it became clearly evident that we were getting into one of the poorest parts of the city. Closer to Jen Rina's home.

Just beyond a canal that moved sewage and dirty water through the area like a slow-flowing, stenchy river, we stopped in front of a building that looked like a typical home in this part of Manila...made of cinder blocks, with a tin roof.

"Not bad" I thought. I have seen worse houses in other countries...the mud/dung huts of Kisumu Kenya, the scrap houses in Guatemala City and outside of Lima, Peru. No, this house didn't seem that bad. But it wasn't Jen Rina's house. My guide, a Compassion staff member named Nonoy, led me out of the car and beyond the curbside home. We made our way down a garbage-lined alleyway, to an open area behind that house. Nonoy stopped at the highest point in the alley and pointed to a small shack at the bottom of the hill.

"There it is."

My jaw dropped. I fought back the tears. No...this can't be it. No way my sponsored child lives like this. If I didn't know any better, I would guess that some young boys gathered scraps of wood, tin and cardboard to put together a makeshift clubhouse. The entire home is smaller than my master bedroom. It's built up against a cement building, just so the family could have one solid wall in their home.

I walked through the doorway and stepped into the dirt floor home. Inside, with a huge smile on her face, was the little girl I've been corresponding with for nearly six years now. She's adorable. Shy. Soft-spoken. So much hope in a face that lies down on a moldy mattress every night. I wrapped my arms around her and just held her for a few seconds. Her mother was there, along with her baby brother and one of her older brothers. Daddy was out working at a construction site, trying to earn his 250 pesos per day...about $5.68. Less than six bucks a day to feed his family of seven. Oh yeah, and pay the rent each month too.

I don't know why, but I always had it in my head that Jen Rina didn't live like this. Her letters spoke of the chores she's responsible for around the house: cleaning the kitchen, occasionally cooking, helping with the baby. Little did I know that the kitchen was actually a pot, where the family lights firewood to cook each night. For all the preparation I had done for this meeting, I wasn't ready to see this. Nonoy told me that her family doesn't even own this shack, they rent it. They can't afford their own home. This is one provided to them for $15 a month. And they still struggle to make the rent. My heart was breaking. Somehow, I felt like a bad sponsor. If I were only doing more, perhaps she wouldn't live this way.

I held this precious small-framed 11-year old in my arms and told her how beautiful she is. How proud I am of her for the good marks she's getting in school. Her latest report card says she "exhibits leadership qualities."

My heart wanted to say "Come with me. Come back to the states. I can give you so much more." How American of me. "I can fix your problems because I have more money." Truth is, Jen Rina is happy. She knows her Lord and Savior. She even sang a worship song and read a letter for me while I sat in her tiny home.

And that's what my $32 a month is for. My sponsorship through Compassion International makes sure that Jen Rina's basic needs are taken care of. She gets after-school tutoring, help buying her clothes for school, hygiene education, a hot meal...and she hears about her Savior, Jesus. This is who Jesus was talking about, when He said the last would be first. I'm so glad she knows Christ.

We have so much in this country. And perhaps it takes seeing something like Jen Rina's home to put things into perspective. One of the folks on this trip said, "We are the ones Jesus was talking about, when He said it would be easier for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle. We are the rich man."

Yes we are. And it is our duty...our mandate from God Himself to use our excess to help those who have little.

I'm so glad I got to finally meet Jen Rina. I will never forget it. And I hope that the little bit that I give can someday help her break the cycle of poverty in her family...so her children will never know what it's like to live in a rented shack made of scraps.

Living Amongst the Dead

“How long have you lived here?” I asked the young Filipino girl standing before me with a baby on her hip.
She smiled, exposing her decaying teeth. “All my life.”

All her life. Here, in one of the most despicable, degrading places for a family to raise a child. A cemetery. But not the type you and I are used to. There’s no neatly mowed lawn, lined with perfectly symmetrical rows of headstones.

There are no flowers gently placed at the head of each gravesite. In fact, it’s hard to tell where one grave ends and the other begins. To say this cemetery is in disrepair is a gross understatement. Garbage lines the muddy streets. Broken headstones and cracked open tombs slant along the moldy, muddy slopes that have been beaten down by far more rain than they can handle. Small stone statuettes are scattered throughout—cement angels kneeling—not out of reverence, but rather a sort of submission to the macabre of it all.

A 20-foot tall wall lines the cemetery. Upon closer inspection, you find that the wall is made up entirely of tombs…stacked one on top of the other. The wall of the dead.

Amidst the crow of a rooster and the bark of a stray dog, you hear the giggle of a child. Little boys and girls skip along the gravesites, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the entire site is covered in death. This is their home.

Hidden along the massive wall are openings the size of small doorways…perfect for a Filipino. An average American might have to duck to enter. Beyond these doorways, are homes—more like shacks made of scraps of wood and tin. It’s not unusual for a family of six or seven to call one of these shacks home. It’s where the young Filipino girl was raised…and where she will raise her baby. It’s beyond heartbreaking. No child should be raised here. No baby should have to breathe this moldy air…walk barefoot through this garbage. No child’s bed should be just on the other side of a wall from a corpse.

Compassion International is here to bring life to the cemetery. By teaching these children about their Heavenly Father, Compassion is giving Filipino boys and girls a chance at new life. It’s the very heart of the Great Commission. Because of Compassion’s ministry, some of these children will not spend their entire lives hidden within the wall of the dead. Nor will their children. This is truly light in the darkest of places.

We all live in cemeteries, I suppose. We are all skipping among the dead through this world of broken homes and hearts. The question is: what are we doing to bring life to the cemetery?

The 5 Worst Drivers

I hate to drive. Which is sad, because driving should be an enjoyable experience. And it is…when I’m the only one on the road. It’s the other drivers that drive me nuts! Here are the top 5 types of drivers that really get under my skin. Can you relate? Or are you on this list? “Life in the fast lane.” Okay, newsflash people: THE LEFT LANE IS THE FAST LANE! If you are driving in the left lane and people are passing you on the right…you’re holding up traffic. If you want to drive in the fast lane, fine…but you have an obligation to keep from holding up traffic. And don't give me this bull about "But I'm driving the speed limit!" I DON'T CARE! If you're holding up traffic...you're holding up traffic. You can drive the speed limit in the right lane...or the "granny lane" as I like to call it. If only grannies knew to use it. Here’s another news flash: There will ALWAYS be someone who wants to drive faster than you. When that person comes up behind you, get over. Let them pass. Then you can get back into the fast lane. “Go ahead…you can cut.” One thing that ticks me off more than anything is the driver in front of me, who no doubt is holding up traffic in the fast lane, decides to let someone else cut in front of them from the right lane. It amazes me how much people will complain if a person tries to cut in line in front of them to get a burger at the Tastee Freeze, but they have no problem letting a total stranger cut in front of them on the road. Hey…I’m behind you! I don’t want more people in front of me! You didn’t ask my permission to let someone cut! What’s worse is when the driver in front of me lets someone else cut in front of them…then I get stuck at the next light. “Braker Braker” Your car has two pedals…three if it’s a stick. The one on the right makes it go. You should try using it every once in awhile. Why is it so many people insist on riding their brake the entire time they drive? I swear, Colorado drivers have found a way to brake uphill! The worst are those who ride their brake through a green light….just in case it turns yellow! Ugh! Give me a break. “Oh, it’s green?” I don’t care what you do in your car while you’re sitting at a red light. Put on your lipstick, shave, discipline your unruly children…whatever. But pay attention to the light! Green means go! And if you’re the first car in line at a light, it’s your responsibility to pay attention. Don’t make me honk behind you. It's so selfish for you to take your time going through a green light. Think about it. Someone about 10 cars behind you wants to make that light too. Your dawdling will mean they have to sit through another one. “But it’s a sport version!” One of the worst cars to get close to in traffic is a mini-van. Not just because of distracted moms—but the dads. I can accept that moms can’t always haul through traffic at the speed limit while three kids scream in the back seat, but get out of the fast lane for crying out loud! But by far the worse mini-van drivers are dads. I get it…you gave up your sports car for a mini-van. Good for you for putting family first. But why do men who drive mini-vans insist on racing? I don’t care if it’s the “sport version”…it’s a mini-van. Give it up.

Rude in New York

I'm at a conference in upstate New York right now. And I'm miserable. I'm way too far away from my wife and son. The "conference" is being held at a YMCA campground...which is beautiful and all, but there's no cell phone service here. (I can't believe there are still places in this country where you can't get cell service.) The wireless service goes in and out. It will likely take me over an hour to write this post, with the service going down and such. Oh, and let me not forget to mention that it's in the 90's here, ridiculously humid and the rooms don't have air conditioning.

This is 2007.

Who holds a conference in a place with no cell service, poor wireless service and no air conditioning!? Ugh. That's not a conference...that's camping! And remember the "forced socialization" I wrote about earlier? Yeah, there's been a lot of that throughout this "conference" too. Ugh. I am so out of my element. I just want to be home. I just want to hear my son's coo...hold him in my arms. I want to be back in my comfort zone.

When I get uncomfortable, I retreat into myself. There's been a lot of retreating these past couple of days, let me tell ya. Trust me, it's better for everyone if I just disappear by myself and stay away from people when I'm this uncomfortable. For example:

Last night, at dinner in the dining hall here at the camp...er, I mean "conference", I was sitting in the farthest table away in the back corner. Two ladies and two kids came up to the edge of the table and one of the ladies asked:

"Are you expecting more people at this table?"

"No. I was trying to be unsociable." I answered, without even looking up.

"Oh." She paused for a moment, not sure what to do with that answer.

"Well, if we promise not to talk to you, can we sit here?" she asked.

"Sure. That sounds like a plan."

It was rude, I know. Like I said, it's better for everyone if I can just disappear away from people.

Myers Briggs says an introvert is a person who does not get their energy from other people...in fact, may even find other people draining. They focus on their "inner world" rather than the outer world. That's definitely me. Given the choice between solitude and mingling with other people, I choose solitude 10 times out of 10.

Because we prefer solitude over crowds, we introverts rarely have a long list of close friends. For me, the list is very small and I'm okay with that. But I would say that none of my friends really "knows" me. I guess I'm a secretive introvert. Or perhaps we all are, I don't know.

I am an introvert. And though I sometimes feel compelled to apologize for that, I won't. It's who I am. I know I do owe that lady at dinner an apology.

Go figure. I came to New York...and *I* was rude!

Someday, I'm going to hold a conference for introverts. It will have 300 attendees...and will be held in 300 different locations at the same time. But there will be wireless, cell service...and yes, even air conditioning.

"I don't like people."

If you've spent any time with me at all, you've probably heard me say it: "I don't like people." It's not really true. I like people enough. I just don't like crowds. I'm sure it's probably a control thing...but few things make me more uncomfortable than being stuck in a crowd. Ride in a car while I'm driving and you'll find that I will do whatever it takes to get in front of everyone. I'll show up either extremely early or extremely late for a concert or other event, just to avoid having to mingle in a crowd. Sometimes, I will choose to not attend an event if it's a surefire bet that there will be a large crowd there. I haven't ever had a panic attack in a crowd, but I've been close a few times! On the rare occasion that my wife can actually convince me to go to places like WalMart or Home Depot, I often quote the scripture, "Yea, tho I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..." as I'm walking into the front doors. And it does feel that way to me. It's hell. But something that's just as uncomfortable for me is what I like to call "forced socialization." Let me explain: Some of the most dreaded five words in the English language, to me anyway, are:

"Let's break into small groups."

UGH! I absolutely hate that! No seriously...hate is not too strong of a word in this instance. If I'm at a conference or an event that calls for breaking into small groups, I will sneak out of the room. My attitude is that if I want to make friends, I'll do it on my own pace...when I choose to...and with whom I choose. I don't need to "pair up with five people you don't know" to learn whatever the teacher has to say. I am perfectly content to hide in my office at work and not talk to a single person face-to-face all day. In fact, I'd love to work from home so I don't really have to socialize at all. I love sites like myspace--they are about as far from really "socializing" as you can get. You make "friends" that you'll probably never meet. And if you decide you don't want to be "friends" anymore, you just delete them. (It's funny, they call these "social networking" sites. But there's really not anything social about it at all. It's about as impersonal as you can get--and I have to admit, there's a huge part of me that absolutely loves that!) So then I start to think: I don't like crowds. I don't like small groups. Hmmm. Maybe I don't like people. So...what's wrong with that? Well, other than the fact that I'm a music artist that relies on people to buy his product and come to his concerts, there's this verse in Scripture that has really convicted me lately.

"By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another."

-John 13:35

The reverend Peter Scholtes put it this way in his famous worship hymn:

"They will know we are christians by our love."

Ouch.

I honestly don't have any idea why I am this way. But it's something I've done since I was a child. I didn't have many friends growing up and I don't remember ever having a friend come over to my house to play. I do remember taking my G.I. Joe into my room and playing for hours...alone...and being perfectly content with it.

Still, I am convicted. I know this is something I need to work on. It will be tough to teach this old dog new tricks, but I am willing to try. Just don't expect any miracles overnight. One step at a time. I'm not gonna go get all warm and fuzzy on ya just yet!