The Main Point by Michael Main

Saturday, November 29, 2003

THEY GROW UP...AND UP

The girls were in and out this weekend.

They spent the better part of the day here before driving up the road to introduce Tiffany's boyfriend to her dad for the first time. I had met the boyfriend before, but stepdads are an easy sell I think.
Although meeting stepfathers and fathers can't be tops on most boyfriend's lists of things to do, this kid doesn't seem too intimidated. With good reason, he's intelligent and seems comfortable around people. He also casts a loooong shadow.

The boy is tall, there is no missing that. I figure if things keep working out, I'll get to know him better over time. That's the case with most things I suppose.

CLOGGING UP STARBUCKS

Last night, Amy and I went to have coffee and work crossword puzzles at the local over-priced coffee saloon. It was crowded, so we did our usual team work of Amy ordering the coffee and me reconnoitering for seats. One table was empty, but as I started laying claim to it I noticed a pair of leather clogs underneath. I was struck by the oddity of that, and wondered if someone had left their footwear behind to save the table.

I have been out of my depths at various times at Starbucks, learning to comprehend peculiarities like ordering a tall drink if you want a small one. It took me a long while before I was comfortable with the general ambiance of the place much less at ease with paying 5 bucks for coffee. Now my mind drifted to Boaz and the kinsman redeemer in the book of Ruth and I wondered if perhaps this shoe thing was some Java Jungle ritual with which I was also unfamiliar.

I couldn't hesitate for long, the place was still packing in people all eying seats but not having the advantage of Amy and my teamwork skills. I decided that shoe-saving was a distinct foul. I marked our territory properly...with crossword puzzles, pens and my butt in one on the seats. Then I waited to see if anyone would challenge my actions.

No one did. When Amy came back I mentioned the clogs and she began scoping out the other customers, looking for anyone barefoot among the baristas, but everyone appeared to have their feet covered.

Finally a waitress came along and said, "Oh those shoes are still here? They've been here since I came in." She took them away.

I'm left without answers but with another tale to tell. The story of shoeless Joe?

THE WAY TO WORLD DOMINATION

Three words you won't hear in Japan: hold the mayo.

STILL SHOPPING?

This Christmas, give the gift that keeps on geeking.

HAIR SHIRT

Being the owner of three dogs, one of which sheds enough hair to knit a full sized poodle, I sympathize with this guy. I also have empathy for the license examiner, for having to admit to wearing a shirt made of polyester.

Friday, November 28, 2003

WORK THE ETHICS

I was fascinated to read the various reports on the President's trip to Baghdad and see journalists and pseudo-journalists scrambling to try to find a way to portray it in a negative light. I've been a broadcast reporter for nearly 30-years and believe me there is no group of people more full of their own self importance outside of Hollywood anywhere on Earth than journalists- thank God.

This was the blurb that got me from a story syndicated from the Washington Post:
Tom Rosenstiel, director of the Project for Excellence in Journalism, criticized the White House correspondents who made the trip without spilling the secret. "That's just not kosher," he said. "Reporters are in the business of telling the truth. They can't decide it's okay to lie sometimes because it serves a larger truth or good cause."

Huh? First off, what reporter lied? If reporters don't report, is that lying? What nonsense.

There are so many scenarios when reporters don't report facts for the greater good it's silly even to debate it. We don't report names of murder victims, car accident fatalities, and others until their families have been notified out of a sense of decency. We don't report the names of rape victims, we don't do stories on suicides, and we withhold the names of children accused of crimes for much the same reason. War correspondents (Geraldo Rivera being the exception) don't report our troop positions. We don't report bomb threats - unless actual devices are found - because it will only result in panic and more bomb threats. There are technologies used by law enforcement agencies which reporters have been made aware of by police, but the existence of those devices is not reported because to do so would only give an advantage to criminals.

To charge that reporters lied by not disclosing the exact whereabouts of this country's leader when to do so would have only have ruined a wonderful opportunity to inspirit the troops risking their lives to preserve the very freedoms these self appointed ethics experts rely upon - not to mention that it could have put our President, our troops and quite possibly our nation at risk - is a sickening and thinly veiled attempt to cloak a liberal agenda behind heretofore unseen and unpracticed journalistic principals.

Yes, the public does have a right to know, but the public also knows what's right.

That's no lie.

ODDS AND ENDS

We hit the stores this morning. Amy and I have traditionally surged out the door at 6 a.m. on the day after Thanksgiving to get the early bird specials at various stores. If we stick to the plan to buy only the items with mail in rebates making them "free" or the drastically reduced items designed to get you in the store, we do pretty well. Today we got a couple of 99 dollar office chairs for 19 bucks each, and a large microwave oven for 59 dollars. The chairs were a bit of an extravagance, but it's nice to have matching furniture. The microwave was a necessity. It has replaced the one we've been using which has a crack in the door. every time I nuked something I feared I was also cooking my kidneys.

The rest of the shopping was restricted to gadgets, all with rebates making them free sans tax.

This is one gadget we didn't buy. The digital sundial, for the person in your life who still thinks the Y2k bug might hit.
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Weekend time waster: Listen to some of the emergency calls made to police in England. I especially liked the one from the woman calling to report a dead pigeon.

Thursday, November 27, 2003

PERSPECTIVES

Amy is up and about, I'm appreciative for the prayers and care we've received.

I had a more elaborate post in mind today, but Amy is cooking sausage stuffing. The girls are coming down later and my hunger is likely to supersede my wisdom.

Yesterday was a tough day, but as I sat in the hospital waiting room I started reading the bible I have on my palm pilot (you can only play so much Tetris). It's an odd translation, but it was free for downloading. Anyway, I was electronically thumbing through it and came across the Parable of the Good Samaritan. Something struck home.

Who is it you identify with in that story?

I've identified with the folks who hurriedly passed by the beaten man more often than I would care to admit. What hit me is that I've never really identified with the man who was beaten and robbed.

I have had hard days...even hard years. I've been hungry, but never starving. Even when I was at my poorest financially, had I swallowed a tiny portion of my pride I could have found food and refuge with any number of friends and relations.

It struck me that if the vast majority of people on this planet were to read that story for the first time, the character they would most likely identify with would be that beaten man. Their lives are routinely hard, and they are accustomed to being overlooked.

This hasn't been the easiest year for Amy and me, but we are warm, sheltered, clothed and fed. We are surrounded by an abundance of love. We may have little money, but we are rich.

And we have so very much for which to be thankful.

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus

Wednesday, November 26, 2003

THANKS, THE LINE STARTS HERE

I'm dashing this out, as I wolf down a sandwich before heading back to the hospital where I brought Amy this afternoon for what we thought was going to be a routine procedure, the insertion of another PICC line. It didn't go as planned. Apparently the line hit a nerve, she was having discomfort, numbing and the like in her arm after it was inserted. I didn't like that...Amy didn't like that...the doctor didn't like that.

So, right about now, they should be pulling that newly inserted line out and inserting another "central" line. It'll be a little awkward, going into her jugular rather than her arm, but it seemed the logical, safest and most expedient approach. Plus, now Amy is sedated, which was long overdue in this ordeal.

I've come to expect unexpected complications in this ongoing saga, and as I waited at the hospital today a few thoughts crossed my mind on the frustrations, and fears balanced against the sum total of our lives.

I'll share those when I have the time to write them, and that will be appropriate...it will be Thanksgiving.

For the record: If you're reading this Wednesday afternoon/night- A small prayer for no further complications would be welcome and that wouldn't mess up my Thanksgiving thoughts at all.

Tuesday, November 25, 2003

BEAUTY AND THE BLEST

I had a conversation with my friend, Roy, yesterday. Roy is in his 70's and has lived a colorful life. He has done many things, from heading the liquor control board in Waco, to being a railroad cop, to helping build churches. He has wonderful stories to tell. I look forward to hearing more of them.

During our talk, we ventured into a discussion about a popular televangelist based here in San Antonio. He heads a mega-church and a lucrative worldwide teleministry.

At one time Roy and his wife went to that mega-church. During one sermon, the Pastor spoke of a family he had passed on the highway. The family was driving a beat up old clunker car; it was rusted, and belching smoke. There were a bunch of kids in the back seat, and the car was barely making it down the highway. The Pastor made mention that on the back there was a bumper sticker that read, "God is great".

I wasn't there, but to Roy it sounded like the Minister was mocking that family. The Pastor said essentially that if the family were on the right track with God they would be blessed and wouldn't be barely making it down the road .

That particular Minister and his church are a story unto themselves. I don't begrudge folks who attend such churches. If that's what brings you to God...great. It's not for me. It wasn't for Roy either. He stormed out that day and never went back.

The conversation started me thinking about the nature of being blessed.

I thought about the bible stories of Jacob demanding and even stealing blessings. I thought about the popular interpretation of the Prayer of Jabez and how that turned into a financial blessing for at least one author.

I thought of the biblical blessing our Pastor ends most services with, "May the Lord bless you and keep you; may the Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; May the Lord turn his countenance toward you and bring you peace."

Then I came home to read this interesting story.

I have no idea if this is some elaborate ruse, or if it's indeed a medical and or spiritual miracle. What I'm most intrigued by is the idea that this Swami believes he is blessed because he doesn't eat or drink and he lives in caves.

If God were to suddenly speak to me and say, "Michael, I'm going to bless you. You'll now get to live in caves without food or water" in all honesty, I would ask for clarification.

This has been a hard year. But we've been blessed. Some blessings were only discovered through pain. I guess that's how it works sometimes.

I suppose blessings are often in the eye of the beholder and that's the beauty of it.

Monday, November 24, 2003

THE DIRT ON THANKSGIVING

I spent the day shoveling dirt. Yes, I'm on vacation, when I am not on vacation I spend the day shov...well, it's different.

We've been working on a new building at the church and topsoil has to be spread in order for it to meet inspection. It's a job I'm capable of doing, and I had the time. However now it's time for a nap and ibuprofen, not necessarily in that order.
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Our Thanksgiving plans have at least been cleared up a little with two words from Amy's doctor, "Permission denied". He's not letting her travel, so that resolves that issue. It will be weird, Amy and I have never spent Thanksgiving anywhere else since we've known each other. It's also a terrible year not to be with my Aunt, who lost her Mom and her Aunt this year. However we've made tentative plans to have "Thanksgiving-The Lost days" with her in a few weeks, and this is merely a bump in the road. We'll get over it.

Now we must only decide with whom to spend the day or if we want to have a quiet Thanksgiving at home. I really have no preferences, as long as there's a TV nearby so I can watch the Dallas game. Well, I guess I don't want to spend the day with folks who aren't at least moderate Cowboys fans, and I do want to eat.

I'm so easy to please.

That decision can be delayed until after more pressing matters are attended to, such as the aforementioned nap.

AH THE GOOD LIFE

It's 3:27 in the morning. I've been awake for an hour.

It's so nice to sleep in when you're on vacation.

Sunday, November 23, 2003

LIL' FEET

I spent a few minutes taking pictures of some of the kids at church today, with my little BenQ camera that I repeatedly wash and yet it still seems to work. I was going through some of the shots - emailing them to parents and to some of our church members who couldn't be with us today - when I noticed something that always makes me smile.

Those feet on the end, in the pink socks, belong to my Pastor's youngest daughter. She's always shoeless. She likes to kick off her shoes as soon as she enters the church. She frolics both inside and out in her stocking feet, often running on her tip toes. I love that she's so comfortable in God's house to take off her shoes.

I wish more of us were.

Psalm 40:2
He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.

WORDS TO WALK BY

You have to look closely to see them. Scripture references, etched into concrete.
You have to look closely because they've been covered up.

Wet cement is a temptation...even for adults.

As we were finishing construction of our church, one of the workers, a very devout and vocal believer, decided it would be appropriate to leave a mark in the wet cement outside the front door to the sanctuary. He used his finger to write bible passage references upon our church doorstep.

Our church was a group project; this worker was something of a personal project for our church builder. He didn't do particularly great work. He had lived a hard life but had found salvation, and thanks to our builder, he had found work. He wanted very much to combine the two.

The builder had him cover over the words with fresh cement, but he didn't do a particularly great job so, if you know they're there, you can see portions of them.

I know at least one member of our church who rubs her shoe on that spot when she enters, hoping to gradually uncover the writings. I sort of hope she succeeds.

The path to our church has paved over good intentions.

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