Momentarily Out Of The Teapot

Like the dormouse stuffed in the teapot at the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party, I’m sticking my head out to make a comment before the lid goes on again.

Thomas A’Kempis, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Christopher Columbus, John Calvin, James Dobson, Jonathan Edwards, Francois Fenelon, Charles Finney, King George IV, Soren Kierkegaard, Adolph Hitler, Seth Hubel, Ignatius, Saint Jerome, C.S. Lewis, Martin Luther, Dwight L. Moody, Florence Nightingale, Obadiah, Peter Lombard, Charles Spurgeon… John Wesley…

As I work writing a book about God’s will and how the Lord guides us, I’m reading books by all the above folks.

Actually, I’m not reading all their books,

I’m skimming for quotes.

Looking for stuff that helps me know how far off track my own ideas are when compared to the ideas from authorities of the past. But more than that, I’m quoting these guys to make myself sound as though I’m a thorough researcher, and an authority in myself.

I’m such a fucking fake!

I cull ideas from spiritual giants and quote them because I’m so shallow and devoid of devotion myself. I read and read and read but by and large I have no idea what these guys are talking about.

I think John Wesley states the thrust of my book better than I can myself:

Servants, as they must do their Master's work, so they must be for any work their Master has for them to do: they must not pick and choose, this I will do, and that I will not do; they must not say this is too hard, or this is too mean, or this may be well enough let alone; good Servants, when they have chosen their Master, will let their Master choose their work, and will not dispute His will, but do it.

Christ has many services to be done, some are more easy and honorable, others more difficult and disgraceful; some are suitable to our inclinations and interests, others are contrary to both: in some we may please Christ and please ourselves, as when he requires us to feed and clothe ourselves, to provide things honest for our maintenance, yes, and there are some spiritual duties that are more pleasing than others; as to rejoice in the Lord, to be blessing and praising of God, to be feeding ourselves with the delights and comforts of Religion; these are the sweet works of a Christian.

But then there are other works wherein we cannot please Christ but by denying ourselves, as giving and lending, bearing and forbearing, reproving men for their sins, withdrawing from their company, witnessing against wickedness, when it will cost us shame and reproach; sailing against the wind; parting with our ease, our liberties, and accommodations for the Name of our Lord Jesus.

It is necessary, Beloved, to sit down and consider what it will cost you to be the Servants of Christ, and to take a thorough survey of the whole business of Christianity, and not engage hand over head, to you know not what.

First, See what it is that Christ expects, and then yield yourselves to His whole will: do not think of compounding, or making your own terms with Christ, that will never be allowed you.

Go to Christ, and tell Him, Lord Jesus, if You will receive me into Your house, if You will but own me as your Servant, I will not stand upon terms; impose upon me what conditions You please, write down Your own articles, command me what You will, put me to any thing You see as good; let me come under Your roof, let me be Your Servant, and spare not to command me; I will be no longer my own, but give up myself to Your will in all things.

I come nowhere near that level of devotion or dedication.

It’s hard for me to write a book about what I don’t live.

One chapter may come easy. Did you notice that I include Adolph Hitler in my list of authorities to quote?

Yes, I’m writing one chapter entitled, Kooks And The Will Of God—it’s about people who have committed atrocities or did kooky things while claiming God told them to.

That’s a chapter I think I may be able to handle.

Changing topics:

One day last week I pulled a 24-hour shift as caregiver for a family member who is seriously ill and in excruciating pain.

I feel so helpless to see her suffer so.

It’s frustrating on a couple of levels.

First, it infringed on my personal comfort. I did not feel free to smoke my pipe in her house so I had to stand outside in the rain to smoke. No place to sit without getting my ass soaked. And to stand causes my feet to swell, burn and sting. Besides, I could not sleep so I stayed awake for the whole time in the unfamiliar surroundings; and I did not want to sit on the furniture because they have two inside dogs and a cat and I feared getting fleas from those creatures.

The sick patient complains less than I do.

Another thing on a more serious level. Some well-meaning Christian spent $50 to buy her a tape-player from some tv preacher who says God will cure her if only she believes hard enough and eliminates any person who sends off negative vibrations.

Negative? Who me?

If I did not have negative thoughts, I’d be a walking carrot.

Hardly ever have any other kind.

But I bit my tongue and said nothing about the $50 tape worm preacher. Hey, if it gives the patient some comfort in her misery, who am I to douse hope. She even plays this thing in her sleep for subliminal reinforcement.

I doubt if a sickroom is the best place to combat heresy.

Is a false hope better than no hope?

Or maybe I’m just a wimp who did not speak out when I should have.

In one of our conversations she told me something that frightens me—she’s two payments behind on her mortgage. Still owes more than three times the value of our home when it was new!

Because last month my two elder sons lost the home they’d lived in for 50+ years to foreclosure, the thought that my daughter is behind on her house payments scares the hell out of me.

If it can happen to them, it could happen to Ginny and me—I fear this even though we have never missed or been late with our mortgage payment. Besides that, another scary thing happened: a director at Ginny’s office found her job abolished without notice last week. And this came the day after a major triumph in that lady’s department.

One day celebrating, the next day on the street.

While none of these things directly affect Ginny and me, yet to see trouble to people close by terrifies me.

While John Wesley and other spiritual giants relish full commitment to Christ and resolve to follow His will at any cost, I covet comfort.

I want my chair, my pipe, my coffee mug at hand, my book in my lap while I nap.

I’m 70 years old and I want my own way.

I fear the troubles of this world.

And I fear that following Christ fully may rock my boat.

I’m a Christian scaredy-cat.

But, for all that, I hold on.

Christ is my Lord.

I can’t claim a lot of faith, but I hold on. I think that for me it’s more a matter of pig-headedness than religious faith. When I read the Scripture, it more often condemns me than comforts, but I hold on. As Job said, “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him”.

Nevertheless, faith makes me nervous.

I walk by faith—on eggs.

But, what say the Scriptures?

“Even to your old age I am He; and even to hoar hairs will I carry you: I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver you”. —Isaiah 46:4

“Those that be planted in the house of the LORD shall flourish in the courts of our God. They shall still bring forth fruit in old age; they shall be fat and flourishing to shew that the LORD is upright”. —Psalm 92:14

I don’t know about the fruit and flourishing part of that verse, but I qualify as being fat.

But the interesting phrase in that verse is why the Lord deals with the aged—“To shew that the LORD is upright”.

OK. Now I’ll go back in the teapot till after Ginny and I get back from our 41^st Anniversary trip out camping in cabin in the deep piney woods. Maybe walking in the deep woods will get my head more attuned than reading more Whats-Hz-Name.

Happy Hay Days

The St. Marys River separates Florida from Georgia.

The city of St. Marys, Georgia, lies at the mouth of the river in Camden County about 30 miles north of our home in Jacksonville, Florida. Indian tribes occupied the area in prehistory. The French and Spanish fought over the territory in the 1560s. Then in 1663, the English claimed Georgia until the American Revolution when Georgia’s representatives signed the Declaration of Independence.

This past weekend Ginny and I had business in St. Marys, the second oldest continuously occupied city in the United States.

We found the city occupied by scarecrows.

Yes, in celebration of Happy Hay Days, a harvest festival, city residents erected scores and scores of scarecrows in the median of the main street, in front of homes and businesses.

Anybody and everybody seems to have a hand in decorating the scarecrows. Businesses, civic organizations, clubs, police, firemen, schools, and even candidates running for office constructed scarecrows with a theme related to their interests.

Here is a photo of me and a friend (in pantyhose) front of Orange Hall:

The windy day blew the purple hat off the Mad Hatter, but I replaced it:

Even the town’s churches took part in the community’s display. A scarecrow dressed in a priest’s robes greeted folks at the door of one church. Another church arranged dozens of bronze chrysanthemums around a notice saying—Worship The Lord Of The Harvest.

Ginny made friends with a lady scarecrow from a local barbershop:

Naturally, the girls discussed how the wind made for a bad hair day:

Being a history buff, I discussed how local history sites are vanishing with the Invisible Man scarecrow:

Of course no day’s outing for us would be complete without a lingering visit to a secondhand book store where I browsed among old diaries and journals in one room while Ginny looked at mysteries in a room through the arch:

With unusual and admirable restraint, we only bought two books!

We strolled along the waterfront watching fishermen, and crabbers tending their traps and shrimpers casting nets, hikers boarding the Cumberland Island ferry and Coast Guard boats patrolling the river, a three-mast schooner at anchor just offshore:

Worn out from all our walking amid 200-year-old homes, we enjoyed a magnificent lunch at a restaurant overlooking the waterfront as the end of a happy, happy day.

On that happy note, I’m shutting down this blog for a couple of weeks. My well has run dry and I need to replenish myself before I’ll have anything worth saying for a while.

Please check back now and then, or browse in my archives, if you’re interested in what I think. But for right now, I feel a time of silence is appropriate.

Family Support

While my name alone appears on the covers of the books I write, my family contributes as much to their production as I do.

They make my work possible with every level of support.

Recently I have been working on a manuscript about God’s leading and guiding us and how we find and follow the will of God. If I recall correctly, I began work on this book back in 1986, but I dropped it as too hard for me, and came back to it, several times. And quit work on it several times.

Not a good practice.

For one thing, over the years I used a bunch of different typefaces, and formats as I graduated from one computer to newer one.

For another thing, my notes stink.

I’ve forgotten what footnote goes with which quote and now I have to look references up all over again…. And why did I save this quote anyhow?

I drive me nuts.

Anybody know who Stoddard is, what book he wrote, and why I left a manuscript note to be sure to include his ideas from page 387 in my text?

Me neither.

Frustrating work to turn this rat’s nest of notes, quotes, and half-ideas into consistent book chapters. I knew so much more about the will of God 20 years ago than I do now. Lord, but I was cocksure of myself back then. I’m tempted to give the project up—again. But I know that if I give up again, I’ll never get this book written.

I’ve been stewing over the thing.

Then yesterday afternoon came a happy note from my son-in-law Mark. Without my knowing anything about it beforehand, Mark created an author’s profile in Wikipedia. He created dozens of links to my books so that I appear much more important than I am. Mark put a massive amount of work into promoting me and my books.

I’m tickled.

You can read Mark’s entry about me at : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Wilson_Cowart .

I have an encyclopedia entry. That tops a WANTED poster at the post office.

I’m somebody.

Thanks Mark.

In a similar vein, last week—purely out of vanity—I googled Bluefish Books, my online publishing company. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that you can buy a clock, a coffee mug and a bunch of shirts with my Bluefish Logo on them:

I did not know that.

Never heard of it before.

How did that happen?

The stuff (gear?) can be viewed at http://clothing.cafepress.com/item/golf-shirt/17321602

I imagine that Donald or Helen created this site; but I don’t recall anyone ever mentioning it to me. It came as a pleasant surprise to me to find this website—Although it will be a cold day, before I spend that much for a tee shirt!

—even one with my logo on it.

However, my point here is that my family is wonderful.

They are so kind to me.

They surprise me all the time in all kinds of ways.

I am blessed.

Thank You, Lord.

Dave's Diner Closes Its Door

Monday my friend Barbara came over to take me to breakfast, but when we got to Dave’s Diner, a sign on the door announced that the restaurant is closed.

Thus ends an era.

Ginny and I have been going to Dave’s a couple of times a week for the past 15 years, since back when it was called DeLoache’s. Our family has celebrated birthday parties there, Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, and a party when Ginny’s brother and his wife adopted two orphan kids.

Once, our kids even bought me a Dave’s Diner tee shirt:

Last night at devotions Ginny and I prayed for the staff of Dave’s—Ed and Chris and Nicole, and Billy, and Robin and Jesse and Big Will; and, from the old days, Alex, Homer and Mark—people are put out of work by the restaurant’s closing. They have been like extended family to us and we grieve for their loss.

We also prayed for customers we know by sight but not by name: the battle-wounded marine, Chuck, One-eyed Sally, the librarian, the clergy couple, the homosexual couples, the feeble old lady, and so many others for whom Dave’s was a fixture in their lives.

Also last night I searched my old diaries to see references to Dave’s and remember all the happy times we’ve had there—one diary posting I found was from ten years ago.

Surprise! Back in ’99 I was in a slump of depression and I was concerned about how God guides us… A lot of this old post could have been written yesterday!

I’m going to repeat it here:

Caution: the following contains profanity, adult, and religious content; if you are offended by such things, you may want to skip this posting:

Wednesday, April 14, 1999:

This morning I biked to the Murray Hill Library to return books. The building had not opened yet and books overflowed the external book drop.

A train across the tracks had delayed me before I got to the library and I puzzled over why I appeared to be held in the area. The thought of leaving my books on top of the book drop tempted me, but a large number of high school students clustered around the library waiting for a school bus to show up and since one of my books was the latest Stephen King, I felt reluctant to leave it in plain sight.

I rode down the street to see if anymore goodies had been put out from the closed Greyhound Bus Depot but the fence was locked and the pile of trash/treasures out of reach. Nothing for it but to hang around till the library opened; so I decided to eat breakfast at DeLoache's (now renamed Dave’s Diner) — where something odd happened.

I had almost finished my eggs, sausage and grits when a trio came in, two guys and a girl. They sat near my table and their conversation grew loud enough to overhear. One guy appeared to be a bystander but the other spoke cruelly to the woman. At one point he said, "Just because I fuck you doesn't mean you can hang around my apartment while I'm at work".

He threw some money on the table to pay for the meal and he and the other guy stomped out.

The woman sat there smoking cigarettes and looking miserable.

She sported enormous tits unencumbered by a bra. She was quite pretty but with an aura of roughness. A woman who has been around... but she was obviously very unhappy.

None of my business...

Now I don't readily speak to strangers. I went to the cashier and paid my bill and returned to my table for my library books. I felt a compulsion to speak to the young woman. I sat back down sipping coffee and thinking of reasons I should leave; but the nagging feeling that I should talk to her about Christ persisted. Given my current low spiritual state, I'm in no way qualified to speak with anybody about eternal matters.

Besides, I have things to do, plans for the morning. Her boyfriend may return. She might think I'm hitting on her. I'm no preacher. I have nothing to say. I'm empty. Depressed...

"Miss, are you OK? You look so unhappy over here. May I sit with you for a minute?" I said.

She nodded, on the verge of tears.

" What's the problem?" I asked.

"The problem is that I am a whore," she said.

I said, "Whore is not what you are. It is something you do. And you can change that anytime you want to".

She explained that she sold pussy to buy drugs for herself and this guy she'd been with. He is not exactly a full time pimp but he does take her money and beat her, and this has been their off and on relationship for a year of so. She has done exotic dancing and whoring on the side but she’s stopped dancing and just whores now, picking up guys on street corners. She's sick of herself and some of the things she’s done. For instance, recently some guy at the beach had her push the spike heel of her high heel shoe up his ass while she sucked him off. He later pissed on her breasts as she masturbated.

Glamorous life, no?

She told me that she suffers from chronic depression (no wonder), and that she is bi-polar as well as manic-depressive. She also takes crack cocaine and drinks to excess.

"My life is in a deep, dark hole and there's no way out," she said. "I want to change but I can't. I just stay in this hole".

"Good," I said.

That got her attention.

"Jesus Christ knows all about holes. He was tortured to death for our sins and they put Him in a grave, the deepest, darkest hole there is. But because He is the Prince of Life, He came out of that hole. He knows what it's like. He knows where you are, and He cares about what happens to you".

I again emphasized that whore is what she does, not what she is. "You are a woman created in the very image of God Almighty. He treasures you. He cares about how other people have treated you and about how you have treated yourself. He values you. He actually loves you no matter what.

"If you ever decide to change what you are doing, He will help you. And there are other people who will help too."

I wrote down phone numbers for Liberty Center for Women, Hubbard House, WSCO, and Laurel (a Christian counselor I know). "If you want to go on doing what you have been doing, you can. No one is going to stop you. If you ever decide you are sick enough of the life you are leading and really want to change, then Jesus will help you. It will be tough but it is possible. You don't have to keep on doing what you are doing and feeling the way you are feeling. The ball is in your court."

"Mister," she said, "I think God sent you here this morning."

Her name is Cindy.

When I got home, I called Hazel. "Oh John, I think God had you call me this morning," she said. She is upset about Medicare problems and prescriptions.

Later, I called K.K at church. "The Lord must have had you call," he said, "I've been thinking of calling you all morning".

Thus three times today it appears that God's hand has been directing my activities and using me... yet I am not conscious of being any more devout or spiritual than at any other time recently. I still feel empty, dried up and useless... Perhaps these three contacts have been sent from Heaven to encourage me not to give up altogether. The three incidents were not for the benefit of the other people involved, but for me because I am so low and discouraged and depressed.

A Word Of Guidance From Columbus

Know what the cannibal Indians said when they saw the Pinta, the Nina and the Santa Maria approaching shore?

“Ut Oh, here come boat people”.

I once wrote an article about Christopher Columbus; It forms a chapter in my book Strangers On The Earth (www.bluefishbooks.info ). It’s based largely on diaries he kept. I have this thing about old diaries.

Anyhow, one thing he said pretains to the book I’m writing now about divine guidance:

Years after his first voyage, Columbus said:

“It was the Lord who put into my mind to sail from here to the Indies. There is no question that the inspiration was from the Holy Spirit, because He comforted me with rays of marvelous illumination from the Holy Scriptures, encouraging me continually to press forward.

“No one should fear to undertake any task in the name of our Savior, if it is just and if the intention is purely for His holy service”.

In other words, Venture out in Christ.

Go ahead, sail off the edge of the earth!

What a ride!

It’s fun!

Today, new worlds lie ahead.

PS: You may not have guessed it, but I had a great weekend.

A Request For Your Input

I am writing a book about divine guidance, and I’d like your help please.

My book examines how we find and follow God’s will.

My working title is If God Leads Me, Why Do I Run In Circles. It’s about how God leads and guides people.

I need help.

I’d like your input.

Please comment below about some incident in your own life where you feel God has led you. Or, some occasion when you feel you’ve been guided. Or how you feel you have come to know the will of God for yourself today.

Whether your own experience involves a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night, or a still small voice, please tell me your story.

I’m bogged down and I really need your help.

I’m sure your input will inspire me—and maybe I’ll be able to use some of your material in the book.

Thanks,

John

A Bad Day For Bad Guys

The Kid In The Attic, my imaginary reader a hundred years from now, is going to love this news.

My reports come from two sources: The London Daily Mail newspaper, and WEJZ Radio’s Morning Show news.

The Mail regularly carries articles about thug attacks. Bands of roving gangs beat up innocent targets—retarded kids, old folks, the weak and alone. Such problems are not confined to London; I heard a report that this morning some citizen shot at a school bus right here in Jacksonville.

But anyhow, these thugs in London spotted two men dressed as women walking down the street. They rushed the supposed transvestites.

But it turned out that the two “ladies” were cage fighters on their way to some costume party.

The cage fighters did not take kindly to being attacked and called names.

Poor thugs.

They ended up in jail… after being released from the hospital.

Closer to home, a mother in Texas heard two men trying to break into her front door late at night. She armed herself as best she could, slipped out her back door, climbed a tree to get on top of her roof, and quietly walked across the rooftop to the front.

How did she arm herself?

As she had crept out of her dark house, she filled her son’s bicycle helmet with billiard balls.

Positioning herself above the thieves, she hurled billiard balls at their heads screaming like an avenging harpy.

Scared the crap out of ‘em.

They ran away hurting.

A policeman responding to her 911 call asked why she threw billiard balls?

“It was dark and I couldn’t find my crossbow,” she said.

****

Nothing like that going on in my own life. Wednesday Patricia, our youngest daughter, and Clint, her fiancé, drove up from downstate to met me and make wedding plans. At the moment, they are thinking of an outdoor ceremony at Treaty Oak, a beautiful and ancient Jacksonville landmark.

We drove over there and checked it out talking about chairs and restrooms and parking and hotels and football—all in the rosy haze of young love. “Why would we need restrooms? We’re in love”.

Old drudge Dad in the gray haze of aching feet kept things practical—the killjoy.

It was such fun to see them together. I’m happy for them.

Back home, Patricia fell asleep in the big chair while Clint and I got acquainted. Our talk ranged from faith, work, education, and the military, to murals, movies, baking cupcakes and the art of Salvador Dali.

I look forward to talking with him again.

****

Late news just came—my dear friend Lloyd Dixon Sr. finally died this afternoon, a week after being removed from life support...

Rest in peace, Bubba.

It was a bad day for good guys too.

Me, As A Modelist & As A Husband

Tuesday at breakfast my friend Wes and I discussed the trinity. Wes accused me of modelism (I think that’s the word he used, can’t say I’ve ever heard it before. I think it’s a philosophical term).

Viewing my youngest son’s Sunday video sparked this conversation. Donald, with his cats, had talked about the trinity and Wes seemed pleased that he avoided modelism in his video.

Apparently modelism is a way of thinking about the trinity as showing three aspects of one being. Thus, I am one me, but I am husband to my wife, father to my kids, and son to my parents. Or, I sometimes think of the trinity (should that word be capitalized?) as ice, water and steam—a solid, liquid and a gas but all the same substance. Or, I try to imagine a diamond with three sparkling facets.

Wes says I limit God by such modelistic thinking.

Wes tried to explain how modelism falls short of the glory of God, but I’m not sure I’m smart enough to followed his explanation, or to do it justice by trying to repeat it. Maybe someday he will address his view on his website.

The problem is that God is unique. There is nothing like Him, not exactly like Him, anywhere.

To start with, He is Creator. All else is created. Thus everything from archangels to cockroaches (with me being somewhere on the scale in between, probably closer to the cockroach end of the chart) –Angels, roaches and me all have in common that we are created beings.

Therefore God is incomprehensible to our finite minds. Except, as He chooses to reveal Himself to us.

Over my pancakes, I quoted the Scripture, “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known”.

Wes emphasized the “Now we see” part of that verse; I emphasize the “through a glass darkly” part.

Wes also pointed out to me that sometimes in Scripture the word God is used as an adjective, it’s not always a proper noun.

That’s something I’ll really have to think about.

I love our talks. They encourage me to think about the majesty and mystery of the Lord God Almighty and His care for the creation He made.

Makes me so glad I’m a Christian.

Then Wes and I drifted into talking about church stuff which is of no interest to anybody else.

I really enjoy these talks with Wes. He whets my mind.

After Wes left, I tried to look up the word he’d used to describe me in my dictionary; Maybe it was Modalist. My dictionary says modality is, “the classification of logical propositions according to their asserting or denying the possibility, impossibility, contingency, or necessity of their content”.

Well, that certainly clears that up.

Wes did alert me to the fact that one guy who attends the same church as Wes does, wanted to telephone me but didn’t because he feared I might mention him in a blog posting.

That bothers me.

I thought I evidenced a little more discretion that that.

Honestly folks, I do not even mention anything or anybody I suspect might want confidentiality. Nor do I mention anything vital related to our Neighborhood Crime Watch or CERT, or MRC, etc.. And even one of my own family members requested that I not mention him—so I don’t.

I have enough sins, foibles, goofs, and stupid ideas of my own, that I never need to tell about things people tell me in confidence.

I may be a modelist (whatever that is) but I know when to keep my mouth shut.

Oh, now I get it.

When my eyesight was sharper, I constructed model ships—a modelist. Here’s a photo of me building a model sailing ship in a beer bottle, one of my proudest accomplishments in life:

I use this photo as my avatar.

In the evening, after a trip to the library, Ginny and I ate dinner at Kosta’s Italian.

Met a lady in tears.

Her husband (boyfriend?) had taken her there and ordered food. They got into an argument and he stalked out leaving her without money to pay the bill. Ginny loaned the lady her cell phone so she could call her dad or someone to bring her cash for the meal.

Sad.

Ginny and I talked about our own relationship and I foolishly said, “Well, you knew what you were getting when you married me”.

“No. I didn’t,” she said. “I had no idea. But I’m not too very disappointed”.

We talked about what our expectations were 40 years ago and realized that the culture pattern we expected to follow in marriage was conditioned by the ‘50s tv program Leave It To Beaver!

June Cleaver vacuumed wearing a stylish housedress, high-heels and a string of pearls. Ward came home from work dressed in suit and tie, put on his sweater and slippers, picked up his pipe and evening paper, and relaxed while June served up supper. Their table always sported a white tablecloth.

As Ginny and I compared what we’d been led to expect when we first married with the reality of what our first 40 years have been like, we got a huge laugh.

Ward and June on Leave It To Beaver—not exactly.

More like Onslow and Daisy on Keeping Up Appearances.

But such a joy. Such a blessing. Such delight.

Besides, Ginny paid for our eggplant parmigiana

My Fame Spreads

Over the weekend, while Ginny and I raked leaves in the back yard, unbeknownst to me, I became famous.

Yes, Google Books added my book Gravedigger’s Christmas to their online catalogue. All you have to do is go onto the Google Book site and enter Gravedigger’s Christmas in the search box—and a photo of that book cover automatically appears complete with a synopsis of the contents, sample pages, and links of places to buy a copy.

The title story of my book tells about an odd but true incident that happened to my family one Christmas Eve when I was working at a local cemetery.

Gravedigger’s Christmas also collects various other pieces I’ve written touching on other holidays—yes, even April Fool’s Day—as well as things I’ve written just to inspire and help readers make it through the normal daily grind.

I think it’s a good book.

I’m just as tickled as can be that this book made the Google Books listing for outstanding, literary merit as a contribution to western civilization and a source of enlightenment for cultured, refined readers of superior good taste...

Actually, Google Books will list just about any book ever published anywhere, but nonetheless I’m tickled to be included.

Yes indeed, while a search for Stephen King only brings up 81,763 listings, and a search for Charles Dickens only brings up 759,588 listings, a search for my books brings up 9 big listings.

I am catching up with those other famous authors.

At least now I’m on the same list with them.

Hey, when you have any victory in this life, it’s good to celebrate it.

In the same vein, Sunday I received an e-mail notification that several of my books now appear on a book club site called WeRead at http://weread.com/iread_index.php . I tried to check it out, but unfortunately I can not figure out how to view my own books on that site. Apparently it lumps me in with any author named—John!

Win some. Lose some.

Maybe I’m not that famous an author after all.

But I try.

On his latest early morning video, my youngest son, Donald, a seminary student, explains the Trinity to three of his cats. I love to see the wheels spin in Donald’s head as he thinks things through as he gives these unrehearsed talks. Please check out his five-minute Morning Seminary devotional site at http://www.youtube.com/user/dzcowart#play/uploads .

I tried to leave a comment to encourage him but the sign in process defeated me.

I can’t figure out how to see my books on weRead, I can’t comment on my son’s video site…

Am I that incompetent with computers?

I don’t think Bill Gates has ever read one of my books. I’d bet that he wanted to buy one once, but he couldn’t figure out the computer order form either.

Here, Miss, Let Me Help You With That

Friday I finished my training classes preparing me to work in the swine flu (H1N1—Porky Flu) vaccination program. I received three certificates and a laminated badge featuring a picture of Porky Pig himself….

Wait one minute here.

That’s not Porky Pig.

That’s a photo of me on the badge!

Easy case of mistaken identity because the main thing I learned in the bioterrorism section of my training is that I’m a goner because I’m too fat to fit into a HAZMAT suit.

But, no problem.

Dr. Elena Bodnar’s wonderful invention could save my life from any germ or poison gas attack.

Saving life is what this is all about.

I’ll come back to Dr. Bodnar’s invention in a minute but I want to think about life for a moment first. Life is both tough and fragile.

For instance, back on September 24^th, I mentioned my friend Bubba’s had a heart attack and stopped breathing for 20 minutes, and being on life support. Thursday, his family decided to remove the tubes and machines. They expected him to die right then.

Bubba is still hanging on.

The life spark within us is tough and tenacious. We cling to life. It’s as though we know we were originally designed to live forever somewhere and that death is an anomaly.

On the other hand, life is fragile.

We can lose it in a second. Without warning. Between one breath and the next, we can step into Eternity.

Yesterday I mentioned Jonathan Edwards. When I was younger I read a lot of his writings. His high view of the beauty and splendor of God touched me deeply.

I recall him using an illustration of life’s fragility. He pictured us as walking through a field and stepping on the rotten wooden cover of an abandoned well. The spongy wood sags and creaks, too weak to bear our weight. Any second it may give way and drop us feet first into the darkness below. But we stroll on unaware of our danger.

Edwards said that we are kept from falling into darkness only by the strength of God’s grace. He keeps us up by His good pleasure…. And His fingers can drop us as easily as He can drop a brick. Nothing stands between life and darkness but His mercy.

Life is tough and life is fragile. This week over 4,000 people died without warning in the earthquakes in Indonesia and Peru. Scores died in Samoa when the tsunami swept over a mile inland in four minutes. Here in Jacksonville, a guy riding his bike to work, hit by a car.

Fragile life can be snatched away from us in a second—the ten-year-old girl reading her library book in bed when the druggies began shooting outside in the street and a stray bullet came through he wall of her house and hit her in the head. The far-away dam breaking. The pregnant-looking young woman in the supermarket with a dynamite bomb strapped … The list of such life-snatchers can be endless.

The key in the ignition. The heart flutter in our breast. The sneeze of a stranger….

That though brings me back to my biohazard class and Dr. Bodnar’s invention of a unique protective device. Yesterday at an awards dinner at Harvard University’s Sanders Theater, Dr. Bodnar received her 2009 in Nobel prize in Public Health.

According to numerous news articles and photos in the Daily Mail newspaper, Dr. Bodnar invented a brassiere which can double as a protective mask against germs or gas.

It lifts and separates and filters.

Yes, her brassiere detaches to become two gas masks—one for you and one for a friend.

'You have to be prepared all the time, at any place, at any moment, and practically every woman wears a bra,' she said, noting that a bra cup, no matter what size, is the perfect shape to fit over the human mouth and nose.

Here is a photo of Wolfgang Ketterle, 2001 winner of that other Nobel Prize for Physics, (I’m not sure what he invented) as the good sport steps up to breath through Dr. Bodnar’s bra.

FEMA does not issue such protective equipment to volunteers, and I doubt if Ginny has one of these in her lingerie drawer. So, what I’ll do, is at the next training class, I’ll ask all the pretty nurses if I can…

Is there a protective device for getting slapped?

More On Porky

News comes that since I posted on Wednesday, Porky Flu killed three more people in Jacksonville.

Ginny and I have volunteered to help with the city-wide vaccination of every person in the city so Thursday I put off work to take three required classes preparing me to combat the deadly disease—

Actually my job will be to stand at the door of a POD site and tell people to keep in line.

But in training for this vital, responsible task, we drove into Southside for one class. First time we’ve crossed the river in about a year. As usual, I played the role of class clown to provide comic relief to serious business.

A friend of mine once criticized me for devoting energy to humanitarian social service stuff instead of evangelism. At that time, Ginny and I were planting flowers to beautify a slum community. He said that I’m trying to make the world as nice a place as possible for people to go to Hell from.

Yes, I believe the salvation of souls is of primary importance, but it would be nice to keep folks alive until they have a chance to accept the Gospel.

If you help folks with something they know they need, then maybe they’ll listen to you when you tell them about something they don’t realize they need. And our generation’s eyes have been clouded, our minds distracted, and our hearts dulled to the reality and result of our sin.

Daily we teeter unaware and off-balance on the sharp edge of Eternity.

One of America’s foremost evangelists, Jonathan Edwards—His message Sinners In The Hands Of An Angry God is the classic standard for presenting the terror of Hell and the loving grace of God—died helping fight disease.

On one hand, Edwards proclaimed that the only thing keeping any of us from dropping feet-first into Hell, is the pleasure of God.

On the other hands, Edwards, President of Princeton University, died when he volunteered for one of the world’s first small pox vaccinations; he volunteered to be a medical guinea pig as an example to encourage people frightened by the new procedure to be inoculated. Unfortunately his own inoculation when bad, but eventually the new medical innovation saved the physical lives of millions of people all over the world.

In my work on divine guidance book I ran across these words from Isaiah:

Feed the hungry! Help those in trouble! Then your light will shine out from the darkness, and the darkness around you shall be as bright as day. And the Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy you with all good things.

Helping others, bringing light, being guided by God, and being satisfied with life seem to link in the Prophet’s mind.

In his 5-minute video this morning our youngest son, Donald, continues to teach theology to his cat. Yesterday, he talked about this sort of hands-on humanitarian/Christian service at http://www.youtube.com/user/dzcowart . I get a lot out of disheveled first-thing-in-the-morning talks. Hard to picture him as a slick tv preacher. I think he’s found his true nitch.

Don’t tell Donald, but I don’t think any cat can ever be saved.

But, all dogs go to Heaven.