Final Fill Monday. Crazy Hats. Duct Tape.

This morning, Steve and I went out early for our (almost daily) bike ride. As we were peacefully pedaling home, I thought back to eight weeks ago when I was recovering from surgery and would sit looking out our front window at people riding their bikes past our house. Seeing them made me feel sad and wistful and jealous and, well, a little bit cheated.

But today? Today, I got to be one of the fortunate ones strong enough and healthy enough to get on a bike and pedal home through the early morning.

Simple, sweet blessings.

I will certainly need the memories of my peaceful morning to get me through this last trip to my surgeon today. One more saline fill. One more night of pain pills and saying “ouch” every five minutes and then I’ll be free for three months!

Although truthfully, I wish I could have the replacement surgery done a lot earlier; three months is a long time to live in the state of semi-discomfort and general weirdness that these expanders create. Some plastic surgeons do the surgery within six weeks of the final fill; others wait three months. I just happened to get a three month-er. (sigh)

But enough of that. Let me fill you in our weekend.

Saturday there was a reception at our church for a couple who is adopting four siblings between the ages of about eight and thirteen. One of their sons requested that the reception also be dubbed a Crazy Hat Party. And so it was! We were all invited to wear some sort of hat--crazy or not.

Sarah went with the non-crazy look as befits her more dignified demeanor.

However, her father grabbed onto the whole “crazy hat” scheme with the greatest of gusto. Steve loves doin’ crazy! He even accented his hat (and wig) with official Bubba teeth. His parishioners weren’t quite sure what to think about him although if the truth were known, they were probably wondering, “Is it too early in his tenure to vote him out?”

He got upstaged though, by Harold, who came in wearing this getup. (Harold’s “hat” is actually a ski mask that he bought in Wisconsin. Is that cool, or what?)

Here are two of our board members. And their hats.

If you can’t tell, Steve had a very good time at the Crazy Hat Party. (The guy in the Uncle Sam hat is the adoptive dad.)

Yesterday, we dubbed our Father’s Day service at church, “Duct Tape Dad’s Day.”

Please look at the following picture and note two things:

1. There is a pile of duct tape piled up on the platform. (Each guy got a roll at the end of the service.)

2. Steve is wearing a tie. Made of duct tape. That he created himself!

Here it is in a little more detail.

Is that creative or what?

As part of the duct tape emphasis, there was a contest for the men to make stuff out of duct tape and compete to win a gift certificate to Outback Steakhouse.

We also played a comedy video in the service about duct tape and then Steve preached a sermon called “Duct Tape Dads.” It was a brilliant, creative, down-to-earth sermon that tied up the morning’s activities perfectly.

It was a great morning followed by a delicious meal on the grill after the service.

Followed by a nap.

Ahhhh . . . . I love my Sunday naps.

Okay, it’s time to get ready to leave for my Happy Appointment! (Please insert heavy sarcasm right here.) I do hope your Monday is more lovely than mine!

The Talking Wheelchair Ramp

Over the years, organized religion hasn’t always gotten the best rap. In fact, if you were to think for about thirty seconds, you would probably be able to list at least ten negative news stories you’ve heard having to do with a preacher, a denomination, a church, a Sunday school teacher, or a TV evangelist.

I know all the stories; in fact, I probably know more about the ins and outs of church life than most people do. You see, not too many days after my boisterous arrival into this world, I was taken to church. I snoozed on the front pew. I hung out in the church nursery. I toddled along church aisles. I made friends with other church kids. I sat entranced in front of a flannel graph and learned about Noah and the ark. I was an angel in the church Christmas program.

I learned the delicate art of cutting a tough piece of ham at church dinners using nothing but a flimsy plastic fork. I learned to play hymns on the piano long before I learned to play anything else.

And as a lifelong, card-carrying member of the Pastor’s Daughter/Pastor’s Wife Society, I’ve even cleaned a few churches in my life. More than once.

In short, I’ve seen the inside and outside of church life; I’ve seen its upsides and its downsides. In fact, I might even consider myself to be something of a Church Culture Pro. (For whatever that’s worth.)

And because I love the church, and because I love the faithful and flawed people who make up the church, it always makes me sad when the latest church scandal is being bandied about on CNN. It makes me sad when just a handful of mistake-making church folks get all the press. All the camera coverage. All the newsprint. All the publicity.

But you know what? I don’t believe I recall seeing any CNN camera crews show up in Manteo two weeks ago when a local wheelchair ramp preached a quiet but poignant sermon. And since the camera crews were not in evidence, I decided to drive over to the site and cover the story myself. Because I think it’s about time that a church event that shows the goodness of peoples’ hearts (instead of the ugliness) receives a bit of press.

And so from my small corner of the world, I now present to you the Talking Wheelchair Ramp.

Its story is simply this:

Inside this house, live a woman and her husband. The woman is a traveling nurse for the country and one day, in the course of her work, she tripped down some steps and broke not one, but both of her feet.

She was taken to the hospital. She had casts put on her feet. She was taken home.

This lady and her husband didn’t have a wheelchair to get her through five weeks of immobility. And even if they somehow did manage to obtain a wheelchair, they would still have no way of getting it in and out of the house. There didn’t seem to be a solution that wasn’t going to cost them a large amount of money. And the fact of the matter is that they just weren’t certain what they were going to do.

But then, a few things started to happen.

On the day after the accident, a person from their church called and said he was bringing over a wheelchair.

A couple more days later, some men from that same church showed up—unasked and uninvited—and started building a wheelchair ramp.

People from the church starting showing up with meals. And offers of practical help.

And suddenly, several neighbors, who didn’t have a habit of going to church, starting asking the couple what was going on at their house.

The couple said, “Well, this is just all the stuff our church is doing to take care of us.”

Those neighbors ended up seeing a sermon right outside their windows. They saw that more often than not, the church does get it right. They heard the message of the wheelchair ramp and because of that message, they may have made a few opinion adjustments about the money grubbing preachers and unethical churches that they had seen splashed across their TV screens.

It doesn’t matter that the people who extended these kindnesses attend our church. It only matters that they were reflecting the character of the One whose name they carry.

Because “Christian” basically means, Little Christ.

And I like to think that if Jesus had been visiting Manteo this past month, he would have been happy to see people from the church still preaching His message—a powerful message without words.

And even though CNN didn’t show up?

The message is still being heard.