While you can still send in those 12Gs at any time, the next edition of KD won't be cyberspaced for almost two weeks.
I'm headin' off to CEDS in NC to teach a homiletics course.
Being a professor is a lot of fun; because even if the students don't like you, they feign affection and affirmation because, uh, professors hand out the grades which last on transcripts, uh, forever.
Doctoral candidates are the best.
Most of 'em actually read the assignments; and even if they don't, they've got a lot to say about 'em.
Seriously, half of 'em know more than I do and half of 'em think they know more than I do.
When I was at DU working on mine, the new dean gathered together a bunch of us who were in the dissertation phase of the program.
He was young - betrayed by his question: "Why did you decide to enter our program?"
After the brownies lied about professional development and stuff like that, a Pentecostal brother from Brooklyn told the truth: "We want to make more money and get bigger churches."
It was the unstated goal of life in the seminary of our franchise; or as a friend repeated: "Somebody's gotta minister to the rich!"
It worked for me.
Then it almost killed me because I couldn't resist the tempting perks of income and intimacies so alien to Christocentric ethics.
Folks who ain't been there have no idea about what the previous section intimates.
Folks who've been there and been delivered know what I'm talking about.
Folks who are still there and rationalizing it all can sing the refrain in the first sentence of the previous section.
I'll get back just about a week before Father's Day; and KDs will resume to salve the saved and salt the unrepentant.
Comparing Father's Day to Mother's Day is like comparing Twiggy to Dolly Parton.
Or something like that.
Speaking of excuses to play golf, I've had some really good rounds lately.
Kinda like comparing enthusiasms cited in the previous section.
Speaking of golf and Father's Day, my dad comes to mind.
I won't be spending Father's Day with him; and I haven't since ordination (occupational hazard); so I better write now before I forget:
I've always liked reading Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest.
Aside from the Bible which mainliners don't carry around because they
must have memorized it, I've probably spent more time with it than
any book except for Tommy Armour's How to Play Your Best Golf
All the Time.
Parenthetically, do you have 12Gs to spare? I've got a lot of
ungrateful subscribers who say they're liking or loathing my stuff
and always being provoked to think regardless who haven't forked
over; and I can't buy that new Taylor Made driver until I pay off
the Caliber which I had to buy when someone wiped out my truck,
which was about paid off, in the parking lot about 16 months ago.
Getting back to OC, I was struck by a line in The Highest Good:
"A friend is one who makes me do my best."
Aside from being one of the reasons for these KDs, I guess
that makes you my best friend because you've always insisted
I never settle for anything less than His best expectations for
me according to His graces to me.
You never bought into that "That'll do" modern mantra of
mediocrity; and you never bought my "But I did my best, Dad!"
rationalizations after less than sterling efforts. I'll never forget
how you'd say, "Just think if you woke up from surgery and the
doctor said, 'Well, I did my best.' You'd be more interested in
him doing it right."
You come from the old school of hard work, traditional
values, clean play, and fidelity to God, wife, children,
and country; and I'm praying, "The apple doesn't fall far
from the tree."
Of course, I hold you responsible for my addiction to golf;
yet it's like you said, "It's good exercise, fun, cheaper than
a shrink, and men don't cheat on their wives while playing
I'll never forget what you said while playing with some
of your buddies: "Tee it up and enjoy it while you can,
And while I know we're gonna share eternity together
through Jesus, I'm trying to enjoy you while I can; and
I'm always looking for an excuse to tee it up with you.
When I walk or hang out with Kopper, a friend's
prayer comes to mind: "Lord, please make me the
kind of person who my dog thinks I am."
I pray, "Lord, please make me the kind of man
who my dad knows I can be."
By the way, I like the hugs.
Blessings and Love!
Speaking of golf, GWB quit playing on 8/19/03; stating this rationalization: "I don't want some mom whose son may have recently died to see the commander in chief playing golf...I think playing golf during a war just sends the wrong signal."
Writing for Golf World (5/23/08), Bill Fields asked rhetorically, "But riding a mountain bike is O.K.? Weed-whacking on his ranch is O.K.? What is the difference between watching a movie and playing nine holes?"
And then assessing GWB's tenure, BF concluded, "Golf is not the problem."
I may be wrong, but I think GWB would honor our women and men in uniform and their parents a lot more if he'd stop playing footsies with the Saudis and greedy American oil barons and be honest about Islam and the real reasons why we're camping out in the Middle East.
But, then again, maybe he's playing President like he played golf: taking too many mulligans which is lying about the real score.
He needs a dad like mine: "If you don't count every stroke, you'll never know how much room there is for improvement."
Everybody gets graded...in the end.
Blessings and Love!