TAPE COLLECTION

I’ve got a tape collection in my church office behind my favorite Bible Concordances that is so huge and so cool, it would make a grown man cry.

If this were still 1988. As it is, it only makes ME cry.  Every time I look at it.

I’ve got about 1,000 cassette tapes, 23,000 8-tracks, some reel to reels and of course 1/2 a million 1/2 inch video tapes, and 1/4 million...are you ready...3/4 inch video tapes.

The GREAT news is, that these tapes are from many of my early days working as a preacher and log ride operator.  I even got some and movie ideas on a lot of them. 

The NOT-SO-GREAT news is that I haven’t had the equipment to play ANY of these ancient “scroll-like” devices in 25 years.  

Still I hold onto them because I “might need them someday” or because “I think there’s some really good stuff on some of that stuff”.  Stuffy stuff.  Oh really?  Pipe down! 

Of course I’m only ASSUMING there’s good stuff on some of those tapes because most of them lost there content labels long ago.

Now before you get all A & E HOARDERS on me - you should know this is the only pile of irrelevant useless junk I possess.  I don’t have stacks and stacks of Precious Memories Angels in my living room or boxes of tin can pull tops in my fireplace.  The only thing that I have too much of and can’t seem to release without causing severe discomfort and distress to my phychie is...my tape collection.  My stupid, pointless, unable to play, pointless...yet possibly worth millions...ancient tape collection.

It that so bad?  I say no. But I always say that about stuff that’s about me and have the possibility of hurting.

There’s a great sermon I preached one time on this very topic back in 1987.  Thank goodness I recorded it.  Now if I only knew which tape it’s on...and somebody who can pay 3/4 inch videotape that hasn’t been opened since George Herbert Walker Bush made all those remarks about...Oh who cares?  I’ve gotta get rid of this stuff.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

FREE LUNCH

A friend of mine bought me lunch the other day. Which really kinda threw me for a loop. 

It’s not that people don’t buy me lunch every once in a while.  On the contrary, people LOVE buying Preacher’s lunch - and getting us hockey tickets...not sure why that is.  I think it may be left over from when us Preacher’s used to preach for fried chicken. 

Oh man...THOSE were the days.  Lemme tell ya - you shoulda heard some of my fried chicken sermons back in the day!   They were short, crispy and delicious...my sermons, I mean, not the chicken. 

Oh man!  I have completely forgotten what it was I was talkin’ about.  What was it?  Let’s see...lunch, chicken and a....well, it’s gone now.  No wait!  I got it!  Lunch, chicken...and uh...oh MAN what was that 3rd thing?!  Oh well, it’s gone now...OOPS!  Anyhow...

It wasn’t the fact that my friend bought me lunch the other day that threw me off, what made my head spin was the fact that it was MY FRIEND buying me lunch. 

This dude NEVER buys me lunch.  Ever.  Not only that but he has never even one time in 35 years ever even gotten close to taking out cash, or a credit card or even a handful of seashells and tried to pay for even as much as a fried cheese stick.  This guy is CHEAP! 

He’s the kind of guy that never QUITE gets his wallet out of his back pocket before someone else has already grabbed the check - which then causes him to say, “OH, really?  Are you sure?  Let’s split it!  No?  OK, well thanks man!”

And of course when we ARE going to split the bill, somehow this guy is always in the bathroom. 

Pathetic.

But maybe I should feel hopeful.  Maybe after all these years, my friend is finally getting what it means to be a responsible, contributing member of society.  That once in a while it;s OK to pay for lunch with a friend.  Maybe this really is a sign of good things to come.

Or maybe he knows I’ve got some deadly disease and should be dead in another 6 months and wants to get on my good side in time for the treading of the will.

I know I shouldn’t but somehow...I’m goin’ with the will reading theory

Pathetic.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

CROSS WORDS

My wife Giget is a crossword puzzle freak.

I know what you’re thinking and no...it’s worse than that.  Really.  Worse.

She does crossword puzzles all the time, everywhere.  On Sundays she even does them on Skype with her family.  It can go on for 4 hours.  The woman is obsessed.

The puzzles can be from anywhere too.  She’ll do the ones in the newspaper, or from a book.  She’ll even do the kid’s crossword puzzle on the back of a paper placemat at pizza joints. If you’re ever on a plane and look in those in-flight magazines with the crossword puzzles in there, and notice that someone has already completed it...in ink...just think: “Gidget Was Here!”

Knowing this about her, it explains Gidget’s animal-like attraction to ME.  As they say, “Opposites attract.”  So it’s little wonder why our love affair is so heated.  I hate crossword puzzles.  Crossword puzzles make me mad.  I feel like they are mocking me; call me stupid behind my back.  I often punch crossword puzzles right in the face.  It’s all I can do.

Whenever Gidget gets lost in her obsession, forgetting both time and place - there is only one defense I can employ to try to get her back in the real world.  I immediately feign interest and attempt to play along.  This is a cruel thing to do but one must be cruel sometimes.  Especially if you want dinner.

As she reads a clue I simply yell out several random words all in a row and with great earnest.  Then she begins to write my bogus suggestions into the evil little boxes; realizing only too late that I was merely saying nonsense. 

“Ottoman Empire” is one of my favorite fake answers.  That and “The Apostle Frank”.  She falls for both of these on a regular basis.

Yes, it’s true - this technique can often lead to other “cross” “words”, but I find that it’s worth it if I am able to get her attention long enough to get her in the car and to dinner.  She would starve without me and my cruel ways.

By the way - my Marriage Seminar has been temporarily put on hold until further notice.  Still working out some kinks. 

As together we stand and sing.

BP

SHOWDOWN

I think most people would agree: Preachers are the modern day version of Gunslingers.

We’re tough.  We’re fearless.  We’re awesome. We are the Wyatt Earp’s of our time. 

Well, I’M Wyatt Earp, and other preachers are more like my posse.  My Deputies.  I’m the MAIN gunslinger, is what I’m sayin’.  The leader.  The best one.  The fast draw.

I’m Wyatt Earp, TD Jakes is Doc Holiday and Joel Olsteen is the grocery store clerk who never joins the posse and gets robbed all the time and gets hits on the head with the butt of a gun.  Anyhow...

Just look at the similarities between a Gunslinger of the Old West and a modern day Preacher like me:  the Gunslinger has a horse, I have a pulpit.  The Gunslinger has at least two guns and a knife with him wherever he goes; I always have my Preachin’/Wavin’ Around Bible, my Back-up Study Bible and either a Greek Lexicon, or my “Big Book of Dog Illustrations” book with me.

The Gunslinger is always stylishly dressed; NObody wears a 3-piece corduroy suit like I do.

The Gunslinger comes to town to rid it of evil and menace; the Preacher comes to church ready to baptize or disfellowship whoever needs it and whichever clears out the saloon faster.

The Gunslinger calls for a posse; the Preacher puts together the potluck steering committee.

The Gunslinger is fearless in the face of insurmountable odds, ultimately facing down and defeating the main bad guy in the middle of main street in a final showdown; the Preacher is calm when called to an Emergency Grumpy Elder’s Meeting about last Sunday’s sermon, and ultimately faces down and defeats the lead Grumpy Elder in a one on one Bible Bowl Extravaganza.

Well, that last one doesn’t always work out that way.  In truth, Grumpy Elders are known for killing preachers off without breakin’ a sweat.

OK - Gunslingers and Preachers was a bad example.

How ‘bout this one:  have you ever noticed how much Preachers Zoo Keepers have in common?

As together we stand and sing.

BP

THANKSGIVING FAKE OUT

OK - you DO realize that this is Thanksgiving, right?

This is the ONE day a year you’re supposed to be with your family and friends, celebrating, making thankful and merry, singing Thanksgiving Day songs (OK, song) around the piano; not locked in your room reading some amazingly, earth-shattering Preacher Blermon (blog-sermon) while everybody else is downstairs busy bangin’ out the dishes. 

You oughtta be ashamed of yourself.

Just as everybody was getting up from Thanksgiving Dinner, you boldly lied to your poor, unsuspecting family and said, “I’ll be right in to scrub those pans in a second, Aunt Verna.  I just need to check on some email from work first.   Been waiting for a VERY important...um...THINGY to come in from work.  And yesterday we were traveling and my computer’s been weird since we got here.  By the way, the connection is weird here.  Not really sure what that’s about.  Anyhow - I’ll be right in to help with those dishes in a minute or two.”

Then you locked yourself into your cousin’s old room at your Aunt’s house and are currently in the process of killing 2 hours reading this Blermon,  lookin’ at dopey Youtube videos of people with turkeys on their heads while playing “Words With Friends” on your phone, instead of helping scour the roaster.

Pathetic.

Well, I just want you to know - you aren’t fooling me.  I know what you’re up to. You are simply USING this award-winning, semi-international, semi-important Blurch (blog-church) as an escape hatch from your family.  I get it.

And I want you to know -  I’m glad I could help.  I hate doing dishes too.  It’s gross.  I wish there had been a Blurch like this when I was a kid. I wish there had been color TV when I was a kid.  And pre-washed jeans.

I only hope that, in light of today, you can find it in your heart to be THANKFUL...for a BLEACHER (blog-preacher) such as me.

And on a day like this...you need me.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

PEBBLE POWER

We’ve all known the surprising power of what I like to call, “The Pebble In The Shoe”.

Now that I think of it, I suppose I’m probably not the FIRST guy to CALL it that - but I’ll bet I AM the first one to type it up and try to pull it off as a sermon.  We all have our talents.  Anyhow... 

You can be having a great day, feeling terrific about yourself and your kids and the world; you can be in the middle of closing in on a multi-million dollar donut shop deal, when all of a sudden, right in mid-stride, right at the apex of the best day of your life, suddenly and without warning - WHAM! - It HITS.   The “Pebble In The Shoe” appears in your life and without permission or consideration for YOUR plans or schedule takes center stage. 

Suddenly, you go from a strutting, confident man about town to a limping, crawling, whimpering, mass of self-pitying putty.

It’s not a pretty sight. 

Suddenly all conversation stops, high-powered meetings come to a halt, smiles are gone, and laughter turns to anguish.  Whatever plans you had for your day and life have suddenly been put on hold while you are forced to deal with “The Pebble In The Shoe”.

At this point you can really do only one of two things: you can tough it out, ignore the pain of that little rock sticking you in the heel with every step you can take OR...you can stop, sit down, take off your shoe and address the problem “at foot”.

Here’s a hint: you WON’T be able to ignore the pebble for long, so you’d better just find somewhere to sit down and deal with it.

Here’s another hint: whenever possible...BE THE PEBBLE in someone ELSE’s shoe.

As together we stand and sing.

BP

WAITING ROOMS

Waiting Rooms have always fascinated me.  

I just love the idea that there is an entire room set aside for the express purpose of doing nothing in particular.

Most rooms that have been given their own names usually have those things they are named for actually HAPPEN in them.  You LIVE in a Living Room.  You DINE in a DINING ROOM.  You OPERATE in an OPERATING Room.  You RUMPUS in a Rumpus Room - whatever RUMPUSING is.  At least it’s contained to one room.

In a Waiting Room all you do is wait.  That’s the whole purpose of the place; to give you a physical area to simply pass time in, until you get the chance to finally DO whatever it was you were waiting to do while in the Waiting Room.

 

But waiting is one of those things people simply can’t stand doing, because when you wait you don’t really DO much.  It’s really just a lot of...NOT doing. 

Which is why Waiting Rooms are usually packed with all kinds things for people to DO to help them NOT do a little easier: stuff to read, TVs, aquariums, coloring stations, pamphlets on various diseases.

Unlike a lot of people, I tend to LIKE Waiting Rooms precisely because there ISN’T anything to do in them.  No one thinks you’re a lazy bum when you do nothing in a Waiting Room, because that’s kind of the whole point to the place.

The next time your in a Waiting Room - see how long you can just WAIT in it - no magazines, no cell phones, no emails, no coloring.  Just sit and wait.  You’ll be amazed at all that happens when nothing is happening; to say nothing of the hundreds of partial conversations you’ll be able to listen in on. 

Where do you think we Preachers get all our ideas from?

As together we stand and sing.

BP