SNAKE DOCTORS, AND ALL THINGS SOUTHERN

Recently I found myself enjoying the company of a friendly group of millennials relaxing together outdoors on a late summer afternoon. In the middle of our light conversation a duo of iridescent dragonflies made a sudden appearance.  The brilliant green and electric blue colors were dazzling in the afternoon sunlight.  For a few seconds no one said a word.  Then, before I could catch myself, I simply uttered out loud, “Look, snake doctors….”  

 It even surprised me.  I hadn’t said the two words “snake doctor” together in as sentence since my childhood.  The young people who heard me glanced at one another telegraphing giant question marks by their facial expressions.  All I could say was, “Oh, sorry, that’s what I called dragonflies when I was a child.”   Of course, a millennial had to ask the inevitable question, “Why?”

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TRAIN TUNNEL ROULETTE

Have you ever heard of Russian roulette?  Russian roulette is a wicked game (usually a drinking game) to “test one’s bravery.”  If you’re lucky, nothing will happen and you get to live to see another day. If you aren’t you move immediately to the afterlife. (I’m not sure what happens if you chicken out, but most likely it’s fatal.)

Let me be clear– I’ve never played that game, nor would I ever play it.  But have I taken stupid chances?  Have I played Russian roulette with thoughtless decision-making?  You’d  better believe I have– especially when I was young and “invincible.”  What comes to my mind is a series of events that occurred during a camping trip with four teenaged friends– at a place in the Talladega National Forest we simply called “The Train Tunnel.”

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EPIC FAIL – THE REST OF THE STORY

  • Last week’s “Epic Fail” post got more blog site comments and Facebook shares than almost any other in the past year.  And still the whole story has not been told. Like the Happy Days TV show in the seventies, there are multiple spin-off stories surrounding our epic fail.  If you haven’t read the Epic Fail post, read it first, then this post will make sense.  If you’re one of those who are still laughing at our epic fail (and feeling sorry for poor Pastor Benny) then hold on– the ride continues.

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EPIC FAIL

It was supposed to be a delightful pastoral  staff retreat in the Great Smoky Mountains.  For several years, our pastoral staff had spent four or five days together in early Autumn to bond together and spiritually renew our souls for the task of leading the church.  More than once we had rented a mountain retreat house, cooked most of our own meals, enjoyed camaraderie outside the daily grind, and personal time with God.  Our espirit de corps was strengthened as the mind relaxed.  But in the Fall of 2012 our trip included a scene more reminiscent of a Tom Hanks nightmare than a refreshing retreat– especially for one special castaway and his comrades.

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MY BIG IDEA

It was the Fall of 2005 when I first got the big idea.  In just over six months I would be celebrating a half-century of living and breathing on planet Earth.  One hundred years earlier life expectancy for a male in Alabama was only 39 years, so in the big scheme of things turning fifty as a healthy man was a milestone.  We Americans always extra-celebrate birthdays #1, #10, #13, #16, #21, #40, #50, #80, and hopefully #90.  After that, we celebrate the passing of months, not years.

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