During my bulletproof youth, I enjoyed an occasional shot of adrenaline. I tried rappelling, spelunking, SCUBA diving, skydiving, water skiing, snow skiing, and more. However, none of these past pursuits prepared me for the death-defying-act of a casual stroll in Buckhead.

My back and knees convinced me years ago to abandon jogging; but I still enjoy a fast-paced walk around the block. However, unwary pedestrians in our neighborhood risk life and limb.

We live on West Wesley Street which serves as an East-West corridor between Peachtree and Northside. If the City of Atlanta ever needs additional funds, a steady source of revenue could be collected on our road by a traffic officer with a radar gun.

At the top of the hill, West Wesley intersects Northside Drive. NASCAR racers qualify for pole positions on Northside. Squeezing three lanes into a two lane road also insures cars swoosh by inches from pedestrians.

Kingswood turns in front of Northside Church and offers a welcome respite from the traffic. However, the sidewalk peters out past the parking deck, forcing walkers to play a game of “Frogger” with cars topping the hill.

Normandy makes up the fourth side of the block with no sidewalks on either side of the road. Motorists launch themselves from the speed-humps like the Duke Boys in Hazard County.

One memorable day a driver actually put her car in REVERSE and almost backed over me at the corner of Normandy and West Wesley. I’m glad to report that the preacher did NOT cuss. Oh, I WANTED to cuss! However, the near-death experience left me breathless.

Physicians say cardiovascular exercise is good for the heart, but they’ve never walked around my block. Watching TV while eating a bag of potato chips chased by a bowl of ice cream just might be better for my health!

Life goes by too fast as it is, so SLOW DOWN.

The life you save just might be your preacher’s.

My generation grew up with a reckless disregard of ultraviolet radiation. Far from avoiding sunshine, we basked in it. TV commercials promoted sun tan oils guaranteed to give a deeper, darker tan. Sun worshippers basted their bodies in baby oil and baked until well-done.

In an era before sunblock and UPF ratings, we considered sunburns a normal part of outdoor life. Every summer I burned at the ballpark, pool, and beach until my skin slowly peeled and then browned under the southern sun.

Now I’m paying for the sins of my youth.

I recently asked my dermatologist to check a small blemish on my face. She quickly identified half a dozen areas that needed attention. Pulling out an appliance that looked suspiciously like a paint sprayer, she spurted frozen nitrogen liberally over my cheekbones and one unwary eyebrow.

I left the office looking like an accident victim. The freeze-dried skin reddened and swelled (swoll . . . swolled up . . . swelleder?). After the doctor’s appointment, I made a hospital visit and several nurses tried to admit me!

Over time my skin healed and the blemishes disappeared. However, the dermatologist says people my age need an annual exam.

People my age . . . .

I’ve never been people my age before. People my age have always been OLDER. And now so am I.

So if I have any advice to offer the younger generation, then it is this:

Play outside.

But wear sunscreen.

And a hat.

Someday, you will be people my age, too!

The third chapter of Ecclesiastes declares: There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. The author then lists fourteen pairs of diametrically opposed activities. Examples include: A time to live and die, plant and uproot, weep and laugh, mourn and dance, scatter and gather, and tear and mend.

The Preacher’s words inspired a list of my own which I have shared over the past two weeks.

There is a time to turn off your cell phone. Turn off your cell phone in a restaurant. Turn off your cell phone in church. Turn off your cell phone in a hospital. Turn off your cell phone during a funeral. (True story—I attended a funeral where a person ANSWERED his cell phone during the service!)

There is a time to call another person’s phone. Call after 8:00 a.m. Call before 9:00 p.m. Don’t call during mealtime. Any questions?

There’s a time to text. Don’t text and drive. Don’t text while others are speaking to you—or you to them. Don’t text on a date. Don’t text when you are with real people beside you. Don’t text during a sermon! 🙂

There’s a time to turn off the TV. Turn off the TV when a family member wants to talk. Turn off the TV when company visits. Turn off the TV during meal time. Turn off the TV when nothing worth watching is on—which is most of the time.

There’s a time to be intolerant. Don’t tolerate bigotry. Don’t tolerate misogyny. Don’t tolerate child abuse. Don’t tolerate mediocrity. Don’t tolerate intolerance.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. And the time is now.

The third chapter of Ecclesiastes declares: There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. The author then lists fourteen pairs of diametrically opposed activities. Examples include: A time to live and die, plant and uproot, weep and laugh, mourn and dance, scatter and gather, and tear and mend.

The Preacher’s words inspired a list of my own which I will share over the next two weeks.

There is a time to stand up. Stand up when the National Anthem plays. Stand up when a lady or older person enters the room. Stand up when the family processes and recesses during a funeral. Stand up during the playing of Taps at a graveside—and put your right hand over your heart.

There is a time to take off your baseball cap. Take off your hat during The Star Spangled Banner. Take off your hat during prayer. Take off your hat as a funeral procession passes. Take off your hat at the dinner table. Call me old-school but take off your hat when you go inside.

There is a time to shut up. Ecclesiastes states this more tactfully by saying There’s a time to remain silent. I prefer to be more direct. Shut up when someone else is talking. Shut up at the theater. Shut up when a family member or friend is speaking on the phone.

There is a time to let go. Let go of a grudge. Let go of an addiction. Let go of hurtful words. Let go of harmful deeds. Let go of past failures. Let go of future worries. Let go and let God.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven. And the time is now.

What happens in Vegas affects us all. As our nation grieves, may we turn our eyes towards God. Let us also unite in prayer for the victims, their families, the first responders, and the people of Las Vegas.

As of last night, 21 names of the 59 people killed have been released. They include:

• Charleston Hartfield, of Las Vegas
• Sonny Melton, of Paris, Tennessee
• Lisa Romero, of Gallup, New Mexico
• Jennifer Irvine, of San Diego, California
• Susan Smith, of Simi Valley, California
• Sandy Casey, of Manhattan Beach, California
• Rachel Parker, of Manhattan Beach, California
• Jessica Klymchuk, of Valleyview, Alberta, Canada
• Jordan McIldoon, of Maple Ridge, British Columbia, Canada
• Angie Gomez, of Riverside, California
• Denise Burditus, of Martinburg, West Virginia
• Jack Beaton, of Bakersfield, California
• Bailey Schweitzer, of Bakersfield, California
• Jenny Parks, of Lancaster, California
• Hannah Ahlers, of Murrieta, California
• Neysa Tonks, of Las Vegas
• Carrie Barnette, of Riverside, California
• Dorene Anderson, of Anchorage, Alaska
• Christopher Roybal, of Denver, Colorado
• Victor Link of Shafter, California
• Rhonda LeRocque of Tewksbury, Massachusetts

Heavenly Father, comfort your sons and daughters. Bring peace that passes all understanding. Send Your Spirit of consolation. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

(Bill decided to take a break from his writing duties. The family’s Yorkshire Terrier, Sam, volunteered to serve as today’s guest columnist. Views expressed by the canine in no way reflect the blogger’s opinions.)

Bill’s introduction failed to mention that I am a RETURNING guest columnist. Today’s post marks the fourth in a series of blogs by yours truly. He also conveniently forgot to note that my posts always inspire record hits on his site

Jealousy is so unbecoming in a human.

My humans have been talking all week about a special service this Sunday, October 1, at Northside United Methodist Church. The tallest member of my pack works at the church in order to buy me kibble, treats, and squeeze toys.

The congregation is sponsoring a Blessing of the Pets’ service in honor of some saint guy named Thomas. The only saint I ever met was named Bernard, and he slobbered everywhere. I don’t THINK they’re related.

At any rate, everyone is gathering at Northside Church this Sunday at 4:00 to bless the animals. However, I DID overhear the short-haired member of the pack say he wasn’t blessing anything without shoulders that slithers on the ground.

GRRRRRR.

Color me confused. What’s the big deal? ALL animals are already blessed by God, and we bless our adopted families. I’m not sure why anyone needs a service to remember this, but humans do tend to be forgetful.

My humans plan to attend, but I have not yet determined whether to grace the congregation with my presence. Like many non-church-goers, crowds make me nervous.

I’ll say it again: it’s a dog’s life, and I’m not complaining. The Great Master in the Sky has blessed my family richly. Between you and me, I believe the Hound of Heaven has a soft spot for canines.

Think about it—“dog” is “God” spelled backwards.

Coincidence? I don’t think so!

Philadelphia hosted the United States Centennial Exposition in 1876. Countries from around the world sponsored exhibits.

Japan’s site featured a beautiful garden with native plants from the island nation. A green vine with large leaves and sweet smelling blossoms entranced guests.

Soon gardeners across the United States were planting KUDZU as an ornamental plant!

Two nursery operators in Florida discovered that animals could eat kudzu as forage. They shipped the plant across North America. In fact, a sign in Chipley, Florida proudly declares: Kudzu developed here!

During the Great Depression, the Soil Conservation Service promoted the use of kudzu to prevent soil erosion. It surpassed ALL expectations. Kudzu controlled soil erosion like General Sherman controlled urban sprawl during the Civil War!

Although attractive and fragrant, the invasive plant can overwhelm buildings and fields. The “Green Flame” chokes out other vegetation and trees, providing shelter for rats and snakes.

Sin is the kudzu of the spiritual life.

It begins small but quickly spreads. Sin is always deadly and destructive. It takes hold in our lives and overwhelms us. Then it chokes out our spiritual lives. Paul understood this reality when he wrote: The wages of sin is death.

The best way to control kudzu is to never allow it to take root. Turns out the same principle applies to sin.

The Northside Drive construction project recently celebrated its third anniversary. Crews continue to install new water and sewer lines along with reengineered lanes and expanded sidewalks.

At times, Northside has resembled a washed-out, third-world road. Other times, it hasn’t looked that good.

Buckhead residents have learned to dodge potholes, traffic cones, manhole covers, dump trucks, and flagmen. Patience, time, and religion have all been lost during demolition, delays, and detours.

There have been both figurative and literal bumps in the road. Crews demolished the same concrete median they had poured a few weeks beforehand. Workers jack-hammered fresh cement to install a forgotten drain. A group of engineers stopped traffic and used an old-fashioned level to see if the road really sloped from crown to shoulder.

Northside Drive provides a metaphor for our spiritual lives. Each Christian is a construction project in various stages of demolition and construction. Sometimes, it’s not pretty. Other times, it’s downright ugly. Slowly, sometimes unsurely, however, imperceptible progress occurs.

A few weeks ago paving crews laid fresh asphalt on Northside Drive. Some proclaimed the end was near, but veteran residents remain unconvinced.

The church houses a people under construction, and sometimes we’re a hot mess. But just wait—you won’t believe how good we look when God gets done.

Timex made the first real wristwatch I ever owned. For over twenty years, John Cameron Swayze made the brand famous with his personal assurance: It takes a licking and keeps on ticking! According to TV commercials, Timex watches easily survived water skiing, skydiving, earthquakes, volcanoes, nuclear meltdowns, and supernovas.

Back in the day, each watch came with a Limited Lifetime Warranty. However, I have never quite understood the meaning of this phrase. What does a lifetime guarantee really mean? And the “limited” modifier always sounded ominous; One could interpret the words several different ways. No doubt the company’s lawyers had just such an eventuality in mind.

Is the lifetime in question my own? If so, then I could confidently expect my original Timex to last all my mortal days. The last sound I would hear on earth would be its reassuring TICK, TICK, TICK.  However, I find it troubling that the Timex Company might have designed my life expectancy into the watch’s workings. I mean, how could they KNOW?

Or maybe the guarantee refers to the product’s lifetime. I find this less than helpful. After all, how long is a watch SUPPOSED to live? How many human years does one wristwatch year equal? I can imagine a conversation with a company representative: “It stopped after three months? Isn’t that amazing—that’s the average lifetime of that particular model!” When a Timex dies after ten years, perhaps mourners say things like, “Well, it’s a blessing. It lived a long and full life.”

In my case, I never had the opportunity to put the Timex Company’s guarantee to the test. No warranty covers a boy’s carelessness. Somewhere between home, school, and church, the watch lost itself. For all I know, the wristwatch is still tick-tocking away in some secret hiding place.

Other than death and taxes, life comes with few guarantees. Life does not even promise us tomorrow. Each day is a precious gift of time.

Yesterday is the past, and tomorrow is the future, but today is a gift, and that’s why it’s called “the present.”

Imagine someone deposited $86,400 in your bank account each morning. You could spend the money in any way. The daily gift came with only two stipulations: it must be spent by midnight and in ways pleasing to the Giver.

On any given day, we receive 86,400 seconds to be spent in service to God and others. The Lord calls us to be wise stewards of each moment. Like a misplaced watch, wasted time can never be regained.

This is the day the Lord has made. Don’t waste time: rejoice and be glad in it! You’ll be happy that you did—I personally guarantee it.

During the past weeks, I have chronicled the details of my first—and by the grace of God, LAST—visit to IKEA. The Swedish home good stores left an indelible mark upon my psyche.

However, preachers notoriously use all of life’s experience as fodder for sermons. So I have written a series of blogs comparing and contrasting IKEA and the Large Church.

IKEA’s first floor contains acres of warehouse space called the Self-Serve Furniture Area. Swedish elves magically pack furniture into “flat-pack” boxes. In-house chiropractors treat foolish consumers who attempt to lift any container alone.

Signs proclaim the Scandinavian furniture is Ready to Assemble. This prevarication falls under the heading of Lies, Damn Lies, and Statistics. The assembly of IKEA furniture has reduced Georgia Tech engineers and MIT post-grads to frustrated tears.

First, there are no words to describe IKEA’s instructions. Literally—there are no words. Instead, the company uses pictograms to depict the step-by-step-by-step-by-step-by-step directions. For parents who have screamed profanities while assembling LEGO toys with their children, it’s like that—only worse.

IKEA gnomes have developed proprietary hardware for furniture reconstruction. Doodads, thingamabobs, gizmos, and doohickeys join infinite pieces in incomprehensible ways. The end result either resembles the picture on the box or an ACE Hardware Store that threw up on the floor.

The Large Church also comes from God Read to Assemble. With Christ Jesus as the cornerstone, the Spirit builds us block by block and life by life into a holy temple.

At times, the assembly process can be messy and frustrating. Some parts must be deconstructed and then reconstructed. Over time, however, the Lord works in, through, and despite us to create something greater than ourselves.

The Church is both gift and goal. We ARE the body of Christ . . . and we are BECOMING the body of Christ.

Perhaps the church sign out front should read: Assembly Required.