When the floor is sticky in front of the refrigerator, it indicates my son hasn’t cleaned up the soda he dropped taking it out.

When the valves in my truck are sticking, it indicates I haven’t been changing the oil or having it maintained properly.

When ingredients begin sticking to my fingers while cooking, it indicates that I didn’t wash my hands enough after handling the bread dough.

When things are sticky, something – usually self-explanatory and evident – needs to be done to fix the problem.

I’ll never forget the day I realized that some pages of my Bible were sticking together (after all these years!), indicating that I had never read these pages.

Hmm.

I’m just sayin’…

Because of a tight budget, I had already told my wife she was going to have to forgo her daily Dunkin Donuts trip for her hot vanilla latte with three Sweet-N-Lows and skim milk, and she has been really great about it.

So I picked up her favorite coffee, and happened to see her driving with one of her high school students. She pulled over, I stopped, turned on my flashers and walked to the driver-side window with her coffee in my hand. I took her lovely face in both of my hands and gave her a long, slow, tender, passionate kiss – and left.

Yes, that should do it.

Shortly thereafter, I received a text quoting her astonished student – “Wow, he really laid one on you!” And - ”I don’t know if I appreciate the kiss or the coffee more.”

       “Wait… what?”                      “I mean, wh-…”                    “You…”                      “I…”

Finally, after stewing on it all day, I confronted her about it when she got home. “So - not sure if my kiss ranks up there with a cup of coffee, huh?” I joked. To which she responded, “And the coffee wasn’t that good, either - they forgot the Sweet-N-Low.”

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Note to self – leave well enough alone.

Looking from the window of a hospital, it is easy to see the steeples of the surrounding churches. If you could see the prayers on Sunday mornings, what would it look like?

Then, what if you could look out the window of the church back at the hospital?

I wonder what the prayers would look like then?

A young mother learns that her unborn baby’s brain couldn’t develop because fluid failed to drain from her little girl’s skull.

Mari was told that little Shirley Grace had only a 3% chance of even making it far enough to have her umbilical cord cut. Doctors actually encouraged abortion.

She and her husband said, “No,” and beautiful little Shirley Grace defied the doctors and lived three wonderful weeks.

I was told that I could not book Mari as an on-air guest to talk about her new pregnancy crisis center unless I gave equal time for the “other side” of the story.

A few months after this beautiful little girl’s birth, a registered sex offender in the next county is accused of kidnapping an 11-year-old girl and leaving her body in the woods, to be found Christmas morning.

The state’s attorney said that Sarah Foxwell had died “by drowning, suffocation, burning and/or hypothermia,” not even mentioning what else had probably been done to her before death finally came. (Defense attorneys tried to say the death penalty in case of conviction would be ”cruel and unusual punishment.”)

So what do Shirley Grace and Sarah have in common?

• Neither could defend themselves from unthinkable acts being done to their little bodies.
• Neither was able to defend themselves from a horrible death at the hands of another.
• Somehow, there always seems to be “another side to the story.”

What do Shirley Grace and Sarah not have in common?

• One little girl is found Christmas morning – the other never sees her first one.
• One man faces murder charges - another is just encouraging an “option.”
• One little girl will never be forgotten – one little girl will never be known.

And here is my point – how old must a little girl be before it’s no longer okay to kill her, and who gets  to make that decision?

Zack (14) wanted to help, and my first unspoken reaction was, ‘Thanks, but no -this has to be done right.’ And then God whispered in my ear -                                     “Put yourself in his shoes.”

Today – it’s not perfect, but we did it, and we did it together! It’s the room he redid with Dad; it’s the room I redid with my son.

• Paint – $35
• Lights – $45
• Time together, mentoring and memories – priceless!

For the entering freshmen, who will graduate in 2014, born in 1992:

• Few in the class know how to write in cursive.
• E-mail is too slow, and snail mail is hardly used, if ever.
• The world has always been trying to accomdoate people with disabilities.

To see more for yourself, visit www.beloit.edu/mindset.

Death is a prevalent theme, or worse – being “undead.” Pity the poor victim who sees the mummy stalking her, because she will stand there screaming, as the mummy stumbles toward her, encumbered by its centuries old death wrappings, while we all say, “Run!”

You will see princesses, Darth Vader, the occasional Power Ranger and unfortunately – blood. We have a standing rule around our house – no blood, Halloween or not. No blood in movies, tv shows, video games or costumes. Blood is life. And for you and me who have accepted Christ in our lives, spilled blood is life. If you see something all the time, you get used to it. May we never become desensitized to the sight of the Blood.

In Matthew, Christ explains the blood of the new covenant to his disciples. Luke, the doctor, describes prayer so fervent that capillaries in Jesus’ forehead burst and blood fell with sweat and tears to the ground. Paul’s letter to the Romans explains God’s acceptance of Christ’s blood sacrifice for you and me.

There’s a country song about a preacher telling the story of Three Wooden Crosses on the side of the road after a bus accident. On that bus were a preacher, teacher, farmer and a hooker. In his dying moments, the preacher laid his blood-stained Bible in the hooker’s hand and said, “Can’t you see the Promised Land?” The preacher telling the story was that woman’s son.

The very Bible that you carry is blood-stained, and it’s not by accident. Why – when you and I have the ending of the story in our own hands – do we not say to the poor victim standing there screaming, while sin stumbles toward them in centuries-old death wrappings, “run”?

Revelations 5:9 describes John’s vision of the creatures and the elders falling down before the Lamb as He took the scroll, and they sang to Him: “You are worthy to take the scroll and open its seals, because You were slain, and with Your blood you purchased men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation.” May we never become desensitized to the sight of the Blood!

I’ve tried that, and always worn out. I never achieved my goal. And finally I realized that I wasn’t giving 100% – I was always trying to hold back just enough for myself to take a shower, wash my uniform and take a little time for me.

Understanding that is one thing – applying it to one’s life is a whole ‘nuther issue. What about you? Do you give everything you’ve got to your life, for the limited time you’re here, or do you always set aside “Me” time?

Is “Me” time important? Of course it is – but when you throw yourself fully into everything that you have a passion for, suddenly you realize that “Me” time… is ALL the time! But I must confess – I can’t do it on my own.

Without committing myself wholly and completely in my service to God, I find that I start feeling sorry for myself, and thinking that it should be more about me. At the first whisper to myself of, “It’s just not fair,” I know that I’ve slipped back into selfishness that has no place in this short life of mine.

So I’ll round the bases at full speed, barrel into home with everything I’ve got and a uniform that shows it, and sweating, stinking and grinning from ear-to-ear I’ll slide sideways into the grave screaming “What a ride!” And I’ll do my very best to drag you kicking and screaming right along with me. Thanks, Frank.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hkGzqpGx1KU

If, like me writing, you’re having a hard time reading because of tear-filled eyes, welcome to the human race. Now I must ask, regarding these reunions of families and these fountains of tears – why not always?

The I-never-ever-want-to-let-go-of-you-again hugs for someone we haven’t seen in what seems like an eternity, after we’ve feared for their safety every waking and sleeping moment – why not always?

The overwhelming scrunched up face of a child with a heart suddenly bursting with love and adoration who never wants to let go again – why not always?

I had a friend, Al, who once told me about greeting another friend, Nancy. He was at the bottom of the steps to a government building when she appeared at the top, and he screamed out her name in joyous greeting for all the world to hear because he believes everyone should feel that feeling at least once in their lives. Why not always?

Just for today, set aside that petty argument, that heart-wrenching disappointment, that infuriating anger-smeared fight and greet the ones you love – or even like just a little bit – with an overwhelming hug and their name at the top of your lungs. Then ask yourself…

Why not always?