THE DUNKER

I love to baptize.

I mean REAL baptize not that hootie tootie stuff some Preachers do these days.  

I mean REAL baptize.  The kind John The Baptist did.  The kind Charlton Heston did while PLAYING John the Baptist in that movie.   

I mean baptize from the Greek word: Baptizo.  Which means to dip, to plunge, to immerse. 

I mean the DUNKIN'-GO Baptizin'. Like a strawberry in chocolate.

I love it.

There is something about the whole process that I find thrilling.  Of course, there's the spiritual aspect, but let's face it: it just feels good to do.  Especially in the summertime.  Or after a tough game of Capture The Flag.

I'm talking about how it feels to have those waders on, dip somebody backwards into the water, then just hold them down there for a while, as that cool, refreshing baptismal water slowly funnels over the edge of your waders and down into your shoes then slowly filling everything up to just above your clip-on cell phone.  

Talk about refreshing.  Talk about exciting.  Talk about wet.  And they say church is no fun.

What other activity slowly douses every part of your body on the way down so perfectly - shirt, tie, pants, underwear, even my pocket flannel graph Disciples can't escape the "Baptismal Flood" that unleashes itself in my waders.  I come out lookin' like I've been skinny dippin' in my Preachin' clothes and SOUNDING like I'm stompin' grapes.  

Accountants have no idea what I'm talkin' about.  And movie stars?  Please.  This is a "Preacher Thing," girlfriend.  And by "girlfriend" I mean Gidget before we were married, of course.

Most Preachers foolishly try to avoid this "situation".  They think it's undignified.  That somehow if you come out of a baptism lookin' like a rain-soaked groundhog you did something wrong.  Not me. I welcome it.  To me, it feels like a summer storm on parched ground - in waders. To see a Preacher wetter than the person he just baptized means he really LOVES being a Preacher.  And playin' in water.

Over the years I've had a number of baptizing adventures.  I got hypothermia baptizin' in a frozen lake in Colorado.  I nearly drowned a lady who refused to put her hands over her nose so that I'd have an "arm-handle" to pull her back up with (so I was forced to just grab her by the throat and body-dunk her.  It wasn't pretty). I lost a "big guy" on a river one time right as I laid him onto his back.  Big guys WILL float on ya.  He nearly made it all the way to St. Louis.

I used to preach in a Car Wash.  You'd think that'd be GREAT for baptizing.  It is not.  Oh, you might get a nice sprinkling in.  Maybe a light waxing.  But a good, old-fashioned "dunk the drunk baptize" is tough to pull off.

When I baptize I like to hold 'em down there for a while.  Make sure I get full coverage.  Oh sure, they struggle for a little bit, at the beginning - that's natural.  They're usually a little skittish 'cause they think they're gonna die.  Or that you are TRYING to kill them.  But they calm down once they start to lose consciousness.  

There IS a danger of holding them down there too long though - in which case - they get to heaven quicker.  I guess.  So...no harm, no foul.

The biggest trouble with baptizing is that you never really get enough of them to do.  It's kinda like Snipe huntin'.  Everybody talks about HAVING DONE it, and HAVING SEEN it, but most of the time I just end up runnin' around in a cornfield, twirlin' a flashlight in my pillowcase over my head and yellin' "Whoop!  Whoop!  Whoopy- whoop!  Snipe-y, snipe-y, Whoop, whoop!"

That's only worked twice.  For snipes, not baptizing.  

I love baptizing.  

As together we stand and sing.

BP

AIN'T A THAT GOOD NEWS? YES, IT IS.

World's Greatest

Philippians 4:8 says this:

Finally, brethren, 

whatsoever things are true, 

whatsoever things are honorable, whatsoever things are just, 

whatsoever things are pure, 

whatsoever things are lovely, 

whatsoever things are of good report; 

if there be any virtue, 

and if there be any praise, 

think on these things.

Let's face it, some days life just stinks.  

But I have found over the years that even in the stinkiest of times (which is the working title of my next book, by the way: Stinky Times, Smelly People - What The World Needs Less Of), even in the stinkiest times, I have noticed there is always a little sliver of "Good Things Car Wash Deodorizer" to hang on the rear view mirror of life. 

There are always good things mixed in with the bad.  All we have to do is simply extract the good thing from the pile of stinky-ness, rinse it off (or in some cases sterilize it), hang it, and begin sniffing in the calming, flowery odors.

So let's start with me.

Good Thing #1: Wife is returned!

I know many of you were concerned about Gidget's recent semi-sudden disappearance from a couple of days ago. I appreciated all the comments of support I received here and on Facebook.  Though I have to say, I wasn't CRAZY about all the "goo-gooin'" some of you did over Daniel Craig.  Really coulda done without that.  It's bad enough Gidget has his poster in the bathroom, now I have to read all that mess from you?  Please.

By the way, thanks for the heads up on the news that Daniel Craig may be doing a movie where he plays a PREACHER.  I have already notified the proper authorities to have that film boycotted before it even comes out.

Anyhow...

Gidget is back home safe and sound.  Actually she was here the whole time.  Apparently, I was not.  After our trip to California, I had accidentally returned to our neighbor's house instead of ours and set up shop.  Gidget was in our house lookin' for me.  

Imagine our neighbor's surprise when THEY got home last night and found ME there eating left over chicken in his pajamas and watching TV Land.  

We all had a good laugh over it.  Well, I laughed.  They were kinda steamed.

Our neighbors have a great pool table, by the way.  Though I liked it better when I thought it was ours.  


Anyhow...WIFE NOT DEAD OR RUN OFF WITH MOVIE STAR is a GOOD thing.


Good thing #2: I will be preaching next week at the world-famous Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, Tennessee right before the great Ricky Skaggs performs.  Here's a link to the show...I mean sermon:

http://www.ryman.com/event/detail/BG_RickySkaggs.html

As you know, anytime I can "get my preach on" it's a good day.  I hope the Ryman is set up for multiple baptisms.  That place holds about 2000 people.  So, we're probably gonna need a filter of some kind on whatever portable baptistery they come up with.  2000 people can leave quite a "ring" if you know what I mean.  

I'm pretty sure everyone will wanna be baptized that night.  I will be preaching on the topic: Get Baptized, Win $10,000."  It's a VERY effective sermon.  Hope Skaggs can spring for the dough.

Ricky.  Also pictured: his guitar.

Finally, Good Thing #3:

I just finished my BlermonTM! 

Wow.  That was easy.  Got some free time now.

I may go see a Daniel Craig flick this afternoon...and boycott it.

As together we stand and sing.

BP.

GIDGET, TWIZZLERS AND DANIEL CRAIG

Well this is embarrassing.  Apparently, I have lost my wife.

I don't mean that she's left me or anything like that. I mean, I can't physically find her.

She was with me when we left Malibu (after I destroyed the scholars with my superior preaching at that conference).   

I know she was with me when we played Caveman and Cave Wife on those big, cement dinosaurs in Arizona.  

And I'm pretty sure she was still with me at the mall in Colorado when we stopped for Twizzlers.  I'm SURE of that one because I  would have NEVER stopped for Twizzlers on my own.  I'm a fig guy.  Like they say, "Figs: The Bible-y snack."

But then when I woke up this morning I realized that she was NOT here.  Anywhere.  I guess this explains why my private eye business went nowhere.  

Then it dawned on me, that she was not  here yesterday or the day before either.

Now let's not all get excited.  I don't suspect foul play or that Gidget has suddenly decided to run off with the Dinosaur Keeper. My assumption is that this has something to do with Twizzlers.  And Daniel Craig.

She loves those Twizzler things and will do almost anything to have them. She also loves that Daniel Craig guy.  You know, the new James Bond guy?  Funny, I always thought he was the fat guy in the Austin Powers movies.  She assures me he was not.  I know she's wrong.  That Daniel Craig can eat.

Anyhow, so my guess is that when we stopped at that mall for the Twizzlers, she went to the movie place in the mall to get some, then saw that DC was starring in something there,  went in to see both DC and the Twizzlers, and has been trapped by movie love and red dye #2 for the last 3 days.

Let's put it this way...it wouldn't be the first time. 

So, I guess I'll head back there to find her.  Though I feel like Daniel Craig should probably do it.  After all, it's his fault. I have never seen a guy who just can't seem to keep his shirt on for 5 minutes.  

It'd never work between Daniel and Gidget anyhow.  He'd never appreciate Gidget the way I do, for one.  And secondly, while she might be happier running around the world with an international movie star and spy, instead of with me in a portable pulpit/van playin' on cement dinosaurs, I know that SHE knows I can preach Daniel Craig under the Communion Table any day of the week.  And I WILL too.  

And THAT, my friends, is Gidget's soft, white underbelly.  The woman is koo koo krazy for good preachin'.  Who isn't?

So watch yourself, Craig.  

PS - I'd take Roger Moore ANY day of the week.  THAT guy knew how to keep his shirt on.

In the meantime, do me a favor and don't let Gidget know that I didn't notice she was missing  the last couple of days.  I just thought she was doin' a crossword puzzle.

And as far as this particluar BlermonTM (blog-sermon) goes, let's just file it under "announcements" for now.  

I don't recall any Bible stories about Twizzlers right off hand.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

Something else DC can't do better than me...in a suit!

A TIME TO BE MOODY

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, says this... 

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: 

a time to be born and a time to die, 

a time to plant and a time to uproot, 

a time to kill and a time to heal, 

a time to tear down and a time to build, 

a time to weep and a time to laugh..."

Blah blah, blah...you get it. This one goes one for a while, and for some reason I just don't feel like readin' the whole thing right now.  Trust me.  You'll thank me later.  Anyhow...


When I DO have the time and desire to actually read this whole passage, I must say, it is one of my favorites.  What a wonderful thought it is to realize that there is "a time" for everything.  To know that everything eventually changes, that nothing in life ever stays exactly the same. 

I don't know about you but I find great comfort in that fact.  Well, when things are goin' BAD I do.  When things are goin' GREAT...this is a real DRAG of a verse. 

What's even weirder is when I'm havin' a day like today.  Today I seem to be havin' ALL the seasons at once.  It may be a medication problem.  By THAT I mean, I may NEED some medication, which I DON'T have and that is a PROBLEM.

I can't seem to stay focused on...

Anyhow...

Who?

I am so bored.  

Why is everyone lookin' at me?  Can't a guy have a nice, private cryin' jag in the middle of Starbucks without everybody gawkin' at him?!

I LOVE the Rifleman!  

Look!


OK, I'm back.  For a short time, anyhow.  

Whew.  This is exhausting.

The only guy I know who's had this experience in the Bible was probably the crazy, demon possessed guy.  Jesus took the demons out of him and put 'em into some unsuspecting pigs who promptly threw themselves off a cliff.

I'm not suggesting I'm demon-possessed, of course.  Let's just say I wouldn't be UNhappy if I suddenly came across a bunch of pigs and a cliff right now.

I think I had too much iced coffee.  

Why won't these pictures load onto this blog this morning?

Gotta make my Christmas list.

Personally, I kinda like speeding through all the seasons of life in one 5 minute period.  Saves time.

But makes my neck hurt.

Can't wait to see what happens next.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

ARMY GUYS BIBLE STORIES (#8)

The Army Guys Bible Theater presents...

The Army Guys

in...

Goliath Prepares For Battle,

The Big Guy

And A Power Outage.

The Big Candle

As together we stand and sing.

BP

THE CRAFTY PREACHER

Emergency Preacher Crafts

Let's face it.  Preachers just don't do crafts like they used to.

Jesus was a woodworker.  
Paul made tents.  Peter mended nets.
Joseph's dad liked to tie-dye coats of many colors.

Nowadays, Preachers golf.  Or worse yet, bowl.  I know one Preacher in Omaha who is on a paintball team.  He isn't that good.  I know he isn't any good because whenever he  preaches he has a slight orange glow around his forehead and cheeks.  He's pretty bruised up too.  He may wanna try something else.  Like maybe a nice, safe Turner Classic Movies Marathon.

It's good for Preachers who spend most of their time reading and worrying and baptizing, to do something with their hands on occasion.  Helps keep the calluses up.  There's nothing worse than shakin' hands with a Preacher after church and getting the feeling that he just came from getting a manicure.  

For me, the craft of champions is probably Leathercraft.  

I like it because there's leather involved - which makes it easy to pretend like I'm Jesse James making a saddle in the Old West for a big, upcoming train robbery.  Or maybe a cave man makin' a hat.  Or a guy in prison makin' a billfold.  

Also, with Leathercraft, I can usually bang my thumb at least twice, which is always a good manly look,  as well as find a way to cut myself several times.  In short, it can tear up my hands pretty quickly, which with my tight preaching schedule is a must.

Also very few people (let alone Preachers) even DO Leathercraft anymore.  I love to see the look of surprise (some would misinterpret it as disgust) when I give someone a belt I made with their name and some ladybugs pounded into it.  I make 'em put it on right away and model it. That just doesn't happen anymore.

Most importantly Leathercraft provides me with some down time as well as an opportunity for sermon illustrations.  Some of the sermon illustrations and ideas I have had just this week as a result of working in leather include:

Christians: Tough as Leather, Cute as Butterflies.

Put On The Belt Of Righteousness And Blue Birds.

It's Hard To Sin When you're Name And Phone Number Is On Your Belt.

So come on, Preachers.  Get your hands a little dirty.  Tear up a table top.  Singe the ends of your fingers.  The whole golf thing is SO...Pre-Power Point. 

Dare To Be A Crafter!

As together we stand and sing.

BP

WHEN DAD CAUGHT BONNIE AND CLYDE

Maybe 4 years old was a bit young to have a girlfriend.

But 5 year old Suzie (yes, that was her REAL name) possessed all the qualities I have always found irresistible in a woman: she was cute, knew how to climb a tree and liked ME.  

You should see my wife Gidget climb a tree.  She's a regular Swiss Family Robinson.

When you're 4 years old in the 1960's, you tend to have a lot of free time on your hands.  In those days, kids were expected to set their own schedule and if possible get a job.  If the weather was good, it was not unusual to be kicked out of the house right after breakfast and told to "go play" for about 9 hours.  It wasn't neglectful, it was summer.  And when you're 4 years old, it's ALWAYS summer.

With that kind of freedom, it's a good idea to have a strong, idea-generating woman, who loves you, at the ready.  Not ALL the time, of course.  But after you've built your 5th cardboard box cowboy fort, stuck sticks in 300 ant holes, and poured about 9,000 gallons of hose water all over the back yard just so you can walk through it with your galoshes on, you need somebody to come up with something cool to do.  Enter Suzie.

It was about mid-morning when Suzie, along with this kid Brian and I were already fresh out of things to do.  Brian was this weird, little kid Suzie's Mom used to babysit.  He always had nasal issues.  His nose was either constantly running, or completely stuffed up, or both all at the same time.  He couldn't climb a tree if a man-eating wart hog was chasin' him.  But he always offered to be the guy that got killed first when we played cowboys, so he wasn't totally worthless.  

Anyhow,  we were standing on the side of my house trying to figure out what to do when Suzie had this great idea.

"Do you have any cookies at your house?" she whispered to me.  Suzie always smelled like grape Popsicles.


"Yes." I said, staring at Brian's runny, yet stuffed up nose.  


"OK," said Suzie, "Go into your house and ask your Dad for a cookie.  If he asks if it's just for you, say 'Yes,' then bring it outside and we'll all go run some place else and eat it."

"But I thought Brian wasn't supposed to have cookies," I said.

"He isn't. He's allergic.  If he eats the wrong kind of cookie, he could die."

Brian nodded his head and tried to breath.

"So if your Dad asks if it's just for you, just say 'Yes.'  Then bring it outside and we'll all go run someplace else and eat it."

Suzie knew I usually needed instructions twice. Especially when getting ready to poison another kid.

"OK, so go!" she said.  "We'll wait here."

Then Brian nodded and tried to sniff, as he and Suzie hid behind the rain pipe.

I went inside my house and back to the kitchen where my Dad was making our sandwiches for lunch.  When he was home and my mom wasn't, lunch was always an adventure.  He cut our sandwiches side to side.  Mom cut them diagonal. We all have our own idea of adventure.

I went right up to my father and said, "Can I have a cookie?"

He kept looking at the sandwich he was cutting wrong and said over his shoulder, "Is it just for you, or are you gonna share it with your friends?"

I thought, "Well, now what kinda of ridiculous, self-incriminating question is that?" 

My Dad was amazing.  He was my world.  He could do anything.  He had been in the Air Force, could throw a football the whole length of the front yard, and could set up Christmas trees.  

But it wasn't until that moment that I realized he also possessed some sort of magical power to ask just the RIGHT question at the WRONG time.  I started to panic.

I knew it was wrong to lie. But I also knew that it was wrong to not do as you were told.  And I had been TOLD to LIE from Suzie.  

I also liked cookies.  

After a split second of internal debate I said, "It's just for me. No one else.  And NOT for Suzie and Brian either." 


I thought that last bit was particularly genius move. But then, as he so often did,  Dad countered brilliantly.


"Are you SURE?" he said.


Oh, no. Am I sure?  What is THAT supposed to mean?  Sure of what?  That I am lying?  Yes.  That I'm a cookie-stealing Clyde in love with a Popsicle smellin' Bonnie? Yes, again!  That I'm going to probably kill Brian?  That goes without saying.

"Yes, I'm sure. It's just for me."  I lied as sweetly as I could.


Dad finally stopped with the sandwiches, reached over to the cookie jar and pulled out one of my mom's home-made chocolate chip sensations.


"OK, here ya go," he said, looking me straight in the eye and smiling.

I grabbed the cookie and high-tailed it out of the house, jumping off the porch and blazing around the corner where Suzie and Sniffles were waiting.


I handed the cookie over to Suzie who examined it for a split second then said, "OK, now let's run someplace else and eat it!"


Then as the three of us took off running like we'd just robbed the Union Pacific Bakery, I heard my Dad calling from  inside the house.


"Preacher!  Stop RIGHT there."


I immediately dropped to my knees and began crying.  How did he know?


As I watched Suzie and Snuffle-up-agus disappearing around the garage to eat my cookie, I knew the rest of the afternoon for me was going to be filled with a spanking, a lecture, no cartoons and probably a forced nap. 

If you're gonna play you have to pay.

I could fill a book with all the times my Father corrected, instructed, encouraged, educated, and challenged me. I could fill another of all the bad roads and dark paths he helped me avoid just by being as vigilant as he was.  He did his "dad thing" every day, without fail, whether I liked it or not.  

To some parents it was just a cookie.  But he saw it as something else, and took the opportunity to make a big point on a little guy.  In my case, it worked.  I don't think I ever lied to him again.  At least not about cookies.

I often wonder what would have happened had he not intervened on that particular day - there is no telling the cookie stealing spree he helped prevent.

Every would-be Bonnie and Clyde should be so lucky.  I know I am.


I love you, Dad.


As together we stand and sing.


BP

PS - Brian didn't die.