SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION

I have a phrase I use often. It goes something like, “A person cannot love outwardly unless he is loved inwardly”.

What does this mean? To me, it means that a primary focus in a person’s life will always be inward (selfish), until he knows in his heart he is already loved. Once love has come, having met every need, that person will find this love flowing out from himself toward others, naturally. That is part of what has been happening in my life, lately.

I thought I was past this. I thought I already knew I was loved, and to a certain extent, I did, intellectually. But only bits and pieces of that love had actually traveled from my mind to my heart, and thus, I was stuck on myself. To some degree, I still am, but it is becoming more easy to let the love flow outwards.

We can’t focus on others if we are not truly loved. That is not to say we can’t go against our nature and be very helpful, sacrificing our needs and desires for the cause of others. We can always try really, really hard and break ourselves against a boulder in accomplishing all manner of amazing feats in the name of selflessness. But none of that is love. Most of that is selfishness is disguise, and my, don’t we love to hear others talking about how selfless we seem to be?

I get the feeling that much of Jesus’ service to others was spontaneous. I think when a person is full of love, having received and realized that love from God, the love which pours out from him will be spontaneous as well. Sort of like spontaneous combustion.

That is why the other day, my advice to you was to live as though God already loves you, not as though you are trying to make Him love you. The difference between the two methods of life is astounding. A child who feels he is loved will go and play, spontaneously, and often. If he is secure in that love, every so often, he will check back with his mom or his dad, and then he will go off and play again. In fact, if you have noticed, a child only ever plays when everything is alright. If things aren’t alright, a child will most often stay near his parents, or near whatever gives him security.

We are a lot like a child in this respect. Is it any wonder we don’t play more than we do? Observing a child for several hours might do us far more good than a power sermon from a power preacher. Even though the power preacher may be able to guide you to a mountaintop, where you might then feel secure enough to celebrate and play, observing a child will show you that he can play in the valley, on the hill, in the mud, and under his bed. He doesn’t need an “experience” to feel alive or play. What he needs is security, a sense of love or well-being.

A child plays at every opportunity, every day. We seem to only play on the mountaintop, and we schedule our play time. In my observation of children, I am finding that play is anything that helps us celebrate the love we feel. Play is not an escape. It is a response to what is in our hearts.

Are you feeling secure enough to just go and play today? Go ahead, go back into the other room and check to see if Dad is still there. Then, secure in His love, go and play like the little child you are. Let the love flow outward, because you couldn’t contain it even if you tried.

UNDER THE INFLUENCE

Okay. So I had a few beers tonight, and I was wondering what I would write under the influence of that, since my writing under the influence of "nothing" seems to be rather boring to me. Maybe it's not boring to you, but I assure you, reading what I write back to myself is not something I consider a great joy. Boooooooorrring.

So there I am, in a bar, visiting friends, when this blonde whom I have been watching for a while walks in with her boyfriend, whom I also know. So I stand back and stay away, in respect of their relationship.

But I wonder, what kind of relationship is it when the moment he is there, he leaves her and goes to his elctronic gambling machine, where he stayed the entire time they were there, one and a half hours.

Then, I see her looking at me, and we make eye contact. I sit back in my chair, and break the eye contact, still trying to give respect. Later, I see her making eye contact again, and I again break it off. A third time even, I catch her making eye contact. This time I hold it, and to my surprise, she holds it as well. We must have been locked eye to eye for an entire minute before I couldn't help myself and had to break it. I do respect the man. I just don't respect the way he treats her. But still, I have to break the eye contact out of that respect.

I have seen this girl numerous times, and played this eye contact game over and over. Her name is Heidi, and although we have only taked very briefly, I always felt that I could connect with her very easily on a day to day basis.

So the question is, what do I do now?

Do I continue to respect the relationship which doesn't really seem to be all that strong? Is there something to her making and holding eye contact with me? Is she waiting for me to move? What?

There.

That's me writing after I had a few beers. Hope you liked it.

SNOWBOUND AND DRIFTING

I sort of felt God early this evening.

Yeah, I know...weird. It happened while I was spending two and a half hours snowblowing my driveway after twelve to fourteen inches of snow. More is expected tonight.

I was struggling through a drift some eighteen inches high when I felt it, for just a moment. I paused, and merely said "thank you". Five minutes later, I was cursing the wind for blowing an incredible amount of snow into my face. Still, I know He loves me, and he accepts me.

My advice? Don't live in such a way as to get Him to love you. Live as though He already loves you.

That's all.

THIS IS ME

I use four letter words sometimes. I drink beer every so often. I even lust after beautiful women sometimes.

There are times I hate people, especially groups of people all following one creed. I also fantasize about what it would be like to kick someone's ass. No one in particular, anyone will do. I don't diet, dress to impress, and I like to say to myself that I don't care what you think of me.

All of these things are parts of me. Yes, even the raging, aggressive male hormones. It has been, and still is, the hardest thing for me to accept these things about myself. I would rather ignore the bad, or get rid of it altogether, and just take the good parts of me.


But I can't get rid of the bad. Believe me, I have tried. They are as much a part of me as my bald head is.

Learning to accept myself and all that comes with me has only been possible by looking in the mirror (figuratively), by reflecting and acknowledging that yes, I lust, and yes, I manage the image I try to present to others, including you all.

I think there is a freedom in being honest about these things. Two years ago, I wouldn't have been able to write this post. I would have written something else, but nothing like admitting that there are parts to me that aren't exactly things to be proud of.

And so I am not proud of them, even though I admit they are a part of me. Jesus accepts me as I am. It's time I learned to do the same.

AND GOD SPOKE TO ISAIAH!

The LORD of hosts will prepare a lavish banquet for all peoples on this mountain; a banquet of aged wine, choice pieces with marrow, and refined, aged wine.

And on this mountain He will swallow up the covering which is over all peoples, even the veil which is stretched over all nations. He will swallow up death for all time, and the Lord GOD will wipe tears away from all faces, and He will remove the reproach of His people from all the earth; for the LORD has spoken.

And it will be said in that day, "Behold, this is our God for whom we have waited that He might save us. This is the LORD for whom we have waited; let us rejoice and be glad in His salvation." Isaiah 25:6-9

From the perspective of your theology, does anyone care to explain this one to me?

I mentioned a short while ago that I felt I was on the verge of a great discovery. I am still on the verge, but more hopeful than ever.

I am confused, but not afraid, and definitely I do not feel abandoned. Instead, I feel great hope. How is it possible for such a confused man to feel great hope?

I think it’s because the discovery I am making is true, and I am waiting to finally say, “Yes”. I think it is because I am NOT waiting to say “no”. Hope is a positive thing.

All I know is, there has always been so much talk about heaven and hell amongst the religious, and none of us knows what we are talking about. There has only been one who came from heaven. I know Him, He knows me.

That is what I KNOW.

Everything else is speculation right now, but some things are becoming more clear. Like, how can I be sure of His love for me? Truth is, I can’t be, (even though I am sure) because I have no way to prove it. That is where trust comes in, and my heart tells me that this trust is not generated by me, for how could a confused man generate trust in something he is only confused about? Seems like I am all garbled up, doesn’t it?

Not nearly so!

I am only partly garbled up. But it seems to me that the more I realize how He loves me and accepts me, the more I hope; not just for me, but for every person. How could I not? There shouldn’t be any hope for me. After all, what right does a sinner have to hope? But if one sinner, then why not all?

God is said to be just, and it is said that He is not partial.

I have a question for you. If God is not partial, how could He give me hope and redeem me, and not everyone else, and still be impartial?

Just some thoughts.

HE FEELS ACCEPTED

Jacob is a twenty-one year old man who works for me. I have not written about him on this blog, and I thought it was about time that I did. Obviously, Jacob is not his real name.

He is a red haired young man who ‘s life has been very hard, from the little I know of it. Almost from the time he walked onto the jobsite, I could tell he was troubled; internally struggling with his life, with all the circumstances, and with what he had to do in this world. His childhood was shared by three other half-brothers, each of whom had different fathers. I can imagine that this arrangement alone caused some confusion and more than a little stress in Jacob’s home as he grew up.

Every time I talk with Jacob, I learn more of his past, and I mean to say, his past is not a past I would want to claim as my own. There has been far more betrayal and rejection in his life than in most other people I have met. When I first met Jacob (whom we affectionately call “Boone”), you could see the trouble from his past in his eyes. Boone rarely talked or smiled, and laughing was not even on the radar screen.

He has been with us for six months now, and the changes within him are showing. It started, I think, when he finally believed he was accepted. His belief in that acceptance was cemented when he screwed up, and wasn’t fired or treated less than when he did well. Boone talks now, sometimes even before noon. Yes, he still struggles to open up in the morning, and that’s okay.

Boone smiles now. Sometimes while working, when he thinks no one is watching, he even whistles a tune and grins as he does so. I personally have heard Boone laugh now many more times than I can count. This is a place I never thought I’d see this young man in, but here he is. Young Jacob is coming out of his shell. He’s such a good kid, and we chide him as you can imagine, but instead of him taking the chiding as being a betrayal, he joins in now and fires back good-naturedly.

Did you read that?

He JOINS in. He feels accepted, and he is accepted. I never thought Boone would last with us; I didn’t think he’d feel that he fit in. None of us moved over to make room for him. It wasn’t that we tried to lock him out. We just aim to be ourselves, and somehow, in this little group of guys I have working for me, Boone nestled in, and here he stays. There isn’t a guy amongst us who wouldn’t stand up and defend Jacob.

I don’t think Boone expected this. I certainly didn’t. Like so many troubled young men, it just always seems like they leave or give up before they ever feel accepted. And like all of us, their hearts are easily bruised; one word can send them away to where they’ll never come back.

I don’t know much about life. But I do know that acceptance opens the door to knowing people as they really are. Trusting in acceptance opens doors to those who believed every door would be slammed in their face. And it doesn’t take all that much to accept someone just as they are. In fact, I have learned this one truth very recently; It takes much more energy to judge someone for what they have done and to stay angry than it does to just accept them and love them for themselves.

You can try to prove me wrong, but I think you could butt your head against that brick wall for a thousand years, and never move it an inch.

WHAT'S UP?

I am glad to be back to writing. For those of you who stopped by here hoping to see something new every day, I am sorry. But, I do have an excuse.

I was sick.

Yes, the illness I came down with last Sunday became one of the toughest colds/infections I have dealt with in my life. Fevers of one hundred three degress, bronchial burning, throat infections, sinus infection, and general malaise. Oh yeah, no appetite. I just checked my temperature and it is still over one hundred degress, which makes six days running. However, I have medication, I am beginning to feel a little better, and hopefully, will be back to visiting everyone's blogs shortly.

Strangely, I didn't miss a single day of work, although maybe I should have.

I have missed you all. I will write again shortly, God willing.

ONLY HONOR WILL BRING CHANGE

I’d like to tell you a story. It is a story about a senator, who has been in office for three terms. This senator was elected upon the platform of honesty, and conscientious voting. He claimed himself a champion of the people, a renewer of the constitution, a man, simply put, who would bring back the honor of the office, end partisan politics, and slay the Status Quo.

In his second month at his post, this man was approached by members of his political party. Supposedly, a fellow senator from the same party had made some promises to a lobbyist in exchange for a few favors. In order for that senator to keep his promise, every senate member of his party had to vote the same way. The young senator was told his vote must be with his party on this issue, as he was a democrat first, and a senator second.

So the young senator, just this once, went against his conscience, and voted the party line. After all, they said, what good was a senator who had lost the support of his party; if such a man would never be elected to office again? Then, almost then, the young senator might have broken with his party and truly voted his conscience. But he was not brave enough, and his constituents would probably not even notice that he had voted against his conscience. How could they know? It was right to join the group, especially when the opposition, the Republicans, were so set against the measure to be voted on. Anything the Republicans were so against was probably a good thing, right?

Little did the young senator know that had he actually voted his conscience on that day, he would have been blackballed as a Democrat, and every bit of campaign support would have been withdrawn. Thus, so many young senators new to the game never reach their potential, they are slain before they lead the uprising.

Now in his third term, this once young senator had compromised his conscience and his constituents so many times that it hardly paid to count anymore. And when he was approached by a certain drug company to draft legislation controlling the use of certain “natural health” additives and supplements, he immediately knew what he would be required to do. Mustering the senior Democratic members of the senate to accompany him, he knocked on the door of the newest democratic cavalier, a man not unlike himself fourteen years ago, ready to vote his conscience for the sake of his constituents and the good of the nation.

For one brief, shining moment, the older senator saw himself in this young man’s eyes. He remembered the promises he had made to his constituents; promises long ago broken and covered up. He glimpsed in this man what he could have been had he held his ground. If only he had stood firm that one moment long ago, this trip would not have been necessary. He would have been ousted as a senator, but would have retained his honor. Nevertheless, he now reminded this new senator that without the party’s support, his new career would be short lived. Every Democrat had to support this new legislation, or the bill would fail. If the young senator felt better about it, they could add something to the legislation that would directly benefit this new senator’s constituents. After all, what is the party if we all don’t stick together, the older senator asked the younger one?

And so another man sold his soul to gain the world, or at least, to hold his seat in the next re-election.

The saddest part of Washington DC and to a large extent within our own state capitals is that oftentimes, lobbyists only have to recruit one key member of a party. It doesn’t matter if it is Republican or Democrat, both parties fall prey, using the “we have to stick together” line far more often than actually voting their consciences.

So the lobbyists are paid vast sums of money to find that one senator or congressman, and it isn’t that hard for them to do. Many of these lobbyists used to be senators or congressmen, and they have far better access to the nation’s senators and congressmen than their own constituents do. It’s called the “good ol’ boy” country club, and only certain members are allowed in. Those former senators and congressmen come calling in favors.

They go to their former comrades, friends, and party members, reminding the politicians of promises made and preferences given in the past. This isn’t friendship, this isn’t blood, this isn’t even acquaintances. This is one good ol’ boy telling another it’s time to pay the piper. And by the way, if you’re a good lad, and help me out here, when you retire from the senate, I’ll promise you a fat paycheck for the rest of your life doing what I do, lobbying politicians.

Friends don’t treat friends this way. Brothers don’t treat brothers this way. You wouldn’t strangle your neighbor by calling in a favor, and then promising him wealth later, would you?

I guess what bothers me most about politics in our nation is that they aren’t even civilized. Oh, I know, we claim to be the most civilized nation in the world, and all of our politicians wear seven - hundred dollar suits and know which fork is the salad fork. That’s not civilization though, that’s image-management.

A good friend of mine, Bruce, said the other day “As a voting population, we are lazy, uninformed, and naive. We too easily buy into the manipulative lies that spew from the politicians. We are a stupid people, and we're becoming stupider as a result of our wonderful public education system (and we all want public HEALTHCARE too?... give me a break!).

It's the information age, but we would rather watch "reality" TV instead of living in the reality of leadership-gone-wrong. We would rather complain about things than fix things. We would rather assume that everyone is doing their part rather than ask.”

We want change, but we aren’t willing to stand up. “Christians” are admonished to vote Republican regardless of how bad the candidate is, and swallow every bit of garbage the Republican party sells, because they are the Christian Right. (Or is it Left?)

How can we expect our politicians, and our politics to change if we ourselves aren’t even willing to vote our consciences? How can we expect right leadership when we ourselves vote the party line, or as my friend Bruce said, vote emotionally? Who sets the example?

I know why it isn’t really an honor to serve the people anymore. It’s because the people aren’t honorable themselves. That goes for Christians, too.

I cannot look up to a politician and expect him to hold a higher standard than I do. Maybe if I accorded myself with honor, he might, too?

QUICK RECOVERY?

It is Sunday evening, just minutes after the Steelers won the Super Bowl. Congratulations to all Steelers fans everywhere. You have won five Super Bowls, a feat matched by only two other teams.

Of course, you still have seven or eight championships to win to catch the greatest team ever, The Green Bay Packers, but still, five Super Bowl titles is amazing.

A strange thing happened to me today. I became very ill in a very short period of time. I took my daughter to lunch this afternoon, came home, and decided to take a nap. I felt fine when I laid down. Forty-five minutes later, I was sick. I mean feverish, headachy, sneezing, wheezing sick. I could feel my head burning, and my body felt as though Jerome Bettis had run me over a dozen times while I slept. It was 1:30 PM when I woke up.

I took four Ibuprofen. Nothing, no results, it just got worse. By the time the Super Bowl started, I couldn't imagine myself going to work tomorrow, which sort of pissed me off. So, I took four more Ibuprofen, not knowing what else to do. Then, as I ate supper, I realized I wasn't really hungry. I put my plate in the kitchen, walked into my living room, and determined myself to simply rest and try to watch the game.

Forty minutes later, I was back in my kitchen, grabbing my cold plate of food, and wolfing it down. I was famished!

I don't know if it is the Ibuprofen or not, but I feel almost back to one hundred percent. I still feel warm, but not HOT. I am hoping this is the shortest lived virus in the history of man.

Stay tuned, and I'll let you know.

IMAGINE

For most of our lives, we have been taught that we live in a democracy, those of us fortunate enough to live in America. Some never question that word, “democracy”. The truth is, we don’t live in a democracy; we live in a republic, one that is very similar to ancient Rome in the days of their senate, before the emperors. Okay, maybe not totally similar, but the idea of it is similar.

For many long years now, our nation has been a supposed bastion of truth and goodness. On the surface, that may appear to be true. But in the heart of this nation, something is very rotten.

It’s called politics.

Will someone please tell me what bad consequences we could expect if we outlawed political parties? Are there any? I know that the politicians would come up with hundreds of bad consequences, but since they are no longer trustworthy, would a history student or a political science student please answer that question?

I have been watching the battle between democrats and republicans for many years now, and I am sick of it. There is not even one senator or congressman, locally or federally, who consistently votes his conscience. To the person, every one of them is a whore to their political party. It seems to me that the “party” was over a long time ago, and all these faces we see in our nation’s capital are merely hangers on with massive political hangovers.

What would it be like politically if we outlawed political parties? Can you imagine even trying? Can you imagine Ted Kennedy’s response? Dick Cheney’s? My guess is, the moment we tried, the freedoms we have come to love would disappear rapidly, with the patricians (oops, I mean politicians) clinging desperately to the power they have sold their souls for.

Seriously, imagine our nation without the two animals at each other’s throats. Imagine no more elephant. Imagine no more donkey. Imagine no more career politicians.

I love John Lennon’s song “Imagine”. I think that song speaks what is in nearly every person’s heart (save maybe for the politicians and “church” leaders) Imagine no more politicians, no religion, too. Imagine all the people, living life in Peace. You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us, and the world will live as One.

I believe that one day, there will be no need for senators and congressmen, ambassadors and prime ministers. I believe that day is rapidly approaching. I believe that when that day comes, the third world war will begin, man against the animal of partisan politics and aggressive elitism. This war will be unlike any war that ever came before it. It will be a war mostly of words, but there will be bloodshed, too. Maybe not. I hope not.

I believe that especially in this country, the idea of senators, and congressmen is outdated. With the advent of the internet, the people of this nation no longer need political parties voting for us as proxies, especially since those proxies do not vote the way a normal citizen would. A normal citizen, not under the influence of political parties and lobbyists, would be forced to mostly vote his conscience. There isn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that any of today’s senators or congressmen vote their conscience, despite what their lying advertisements tell us. They whored themselves out to their “parties” long ago, and no longer have a conscience, not even a collective one.

I have had my say. I can do that in this nation, and at the least, I thank God for that. Peace be with you all.

THE CHOKING GAME IS RESEARCHED AND TOLD

There is a lady in Houston who works for a television station who will be doing a story on the choking game. She emailed me to ask me for help, and to let me know her plans.

I have but one thing to say about that.:

Thank you to you all. It is because of you, and because of Real Live Preacher, that this woman stumbled across my blog when doing research for her story. It is sheer numbers according to the google search, and that means you guys are the reason the numbers added up. I am glad stories are being told. That's what the gospel is, isn't it? A story?

Some stories are good. Some stories are heartbreaking...they are all the gospel, when you know Jesus is amongst us. These stories are lives ever-changed. To me, that is what the gospel is, the story of changed lives. You go in one direction all of your life, and then the gospel turns you in another. And what can we do but tell this to someone else, even if it is a heartbreaking story sometimes?

Thank you again, for stopping by, leaving all your somments. You all rock!!!!

JUST READ IT

"The ordinary self is the extraordinary self - the inconspicuous nobody who shivers in the cold of winter and sweats in the heat of summer, who wakes up unreconciled to the new day, who sits before a stack of pancakes, weaves through traffic, bangs around in the basement, shops in the supermarket, pulls weeds and rakes up leaves, makes love and snowballs, flies kites and listens to the sound of rain on the roof.

While the imposter draws his identity from past achievements and the adulation of others, the true self claims identity in its belovedness. We encounter God in the ordinariness of life: not in the search for spiritual highs and extraordinary, mystical experiences but in our simple presence of life"

Brennan Manning, Abba's Child, 1994

I have wanted to share that little passage with you for a few weeks, but other things were in the works. Today, I get to share it with you, and I am glad to do so. I can't tell you in any manner of measurement how much I have learned from just these few sentences. It seems like reading these words, and then reading them again have altered how I view my life, how I view my actions, and how I view my belovedness.

Go ahead, read them again.

I challenge you to find your worth in all of your deeds, in all of your accomplishments, in all of your seeking the adulation of others. I do not believe you will, although the world, and to a large extent, the church teaches exactly this.

For what else is it when we are considered good Christians if we receive an award for "selfless" acts, or become a preacher, or an elder, or a choir member? What else is it when we measure success by the friends we have, the things we own, and the people who seek us?

Yes, even frinedships do not define our worth, or even who we are. There is only One who does that, and He decided you are worth so much that He died for you. No greater love can be known than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

Jesus is found not at seminars or awards banquets, but in the passenger seat of your car. He is not found at the top of the mountain, but on the long ranging plains as far as any eye can see. He is not found in a paycheck or the vactaion of a lifetime, rather, he is found just as you punch in for work each day, especially on Monday. He is found in your home, while you are scrubbing the toilet, or taking out the trash. He is found, in fact, always everywhere, but since the mundane is the majority of our lives, you will never have greater moments with Jesus than when you are picking up the dog poop in the yard, or rocking your child to sleep.

Why do we seek Jesus on the mountaintop? Why do we seek Him when we are being praised? Why do we seek Him when Billy Graham is speaking? Isn't He available all other times?

Of course He is, and only our realization of our belovedness will expose Jesus to us whenever we are, wherever we are.

You are the beloved. That is your worth, that is who you are. Just being you makes you extraordinary. No mystical entreatment is necessary. No accomplishment will make you better. Being praised or receiving an award for excellence will not make you extraordinary or wonderful. That would be impossible, because you were already extraordinary and wonderful the moment you breathed for the first time.

ISN'T IT IRONIC?

John Pierce was a home builder who specialized in building high end, state of the art residences. The wealthy were his clientele, the men and women who earned enough money every year to buy three of the homes he would build for them.

John was in the midst of drawing up a contract for the Wescott’s in Florida when a strange set of circumstances caused him to re-estimate the entire project. From building materials to finishes, from labor to travel, John had to start from scratch. When he had completed his new estimate, the total cost to build a house for this family had increased by fifteen percent. John dreaded approaching the Wescott’s with this new information, but he had no choice. It was either offer the house at the new price, or don’t build it at all.

John was a tall, lanky fellow, with dark brown hair and deep hazel eyes. His face was a mixture of the English and Hispanic blood that flowed through his veins, which provided him with a rugged good look that women found hard to ignore. He was also a very intelligent man, quick to wit and thorough in his contemplation of any problem. But good looks and intelligence weren’t any match for an angry customer, and John had the feeling that this family would be irate.

The Wescott’s were a lot like many of the people John had built homes for, wealthy, well-educated, and certain of what they wanted. Samuel Wescott was the CEO of a major oil company, and his wife and two children were nothing if not stunning both in appearance and confidence. Samuel was no different. All in all, the Wescott family was everyone’s picture of the ideal well-to-do family. They went to church, drove Mercedes Benz cars, dressed impeccably, gave to all sorts of charities, and let everyone know about it. They had an image to uphold, and they were very good at doing just that.

Samuel Wescott had been in oil all of his life. His father, and his father’s father had run the same company for nearly seventy years. There was a sense of entitlement that went with Samuel that John Pierce simply did not like. Whenever Samuel stepped into John’s office, he arrived with an air of superiority and expectation that made John want to bitch-slap him. But, he was a customer, and John treated him just as he treated all of his customers; with respect and dignity.

John often thought that it didn’t matter how he felt about a prospective owner, his job was to build what they wanted, and to do it in the best way he could. How he felt about that customer could never interfere with how he treated them and performed for them.

It was with this knowledge that John met Samuel in his office at Pierce Paradise Homes. Telling Samuel about the cost increase was not going to be fun, and he had no false illusions about that.

John was talking on the phone with his wife when Samuel walked in, talking with her about this very meeting. When he saw Samuel sit in the chair across from his desk, he let his wife know that he had to go, Mr. Wescott had just arrived.

“Good afternoon Mr. Wescott, how are you doing today?” John greeted him with.

‘Fine, Fine” Samuel Wescott replied in a somewhat bored tone. “You know, busy all the time. Look, I haven’t got a lot of time, so let’s just get down to brass tacks, shall we?”

“Very well, Mr. Wescott,” John answered.

“What’s this meeting all about, anyway?” asked Samuel.

John did not respond immediately. Instead, he mentally revisited his earlier calculations which had made this meeting necessary. He truly dreaded what he was about to say, but there it was, there was no way around it. He had to inform Mr. Wescott of the changes to the estimate.

“As I told you on the phone the other day, I have had to do some more investigation as to the costs of this project. Times being what they are, had you signed the estimate I showed you last week, this meeting would have been unnecessary. Having said that, let me just tell you bluntly; the initial cost estimate is no longer valid.” He watched Samuel’s eyes betray a flicker of anger which spurred John to finish what he had to say quickly, before Mr. Wescott could interrupt him.

“Knowing this, I re-estimated the costs associated with building your house, from the costs of materials, permits, labor…especially labor and travel, heavy equipment costs including fuel, and have come to the conclusion that the estimate for two million, three hundred and fifty thousand dollars is no longer do-able.”

John eyed Mr. Wescott from across his desk, being truly thankful that Samuel had agreed to meet him here. In Samuel’s office, he would have felt like a naughty ten year old about to be spanked as he delivered this information.

Pausing long enough to breathe, he continued, “The new total has to be two million, seven-hundred-two thousand, and five hundred dollars.”, being very careful to annunciate each syllable clearly.

There was a long silence shared between the two men. John was beginning to feel as if Mr. Wescott might just walk out without saying a word. He couldn’t have been so lucky.

“Am I to understand, Mr. Pierce, that because I refused to sign your little document last week, I am now being punished to the sum of almost four-hundred-fifty thousand dollars? Just what is this?” He said, clearly struggling to maintain his composure.

“No, Mr. Wescott,” John answered, “You aren’t being punished at all. But with the passage of so much time since we first began to talk about the money necessary for a project of this magnitude, my costs have increased so significantly that I can no longer offer you the same price that was available back then. That’s what this is.”

“And just what, may I ask, is causing this outrageous price increase?” Mr. Wescott angrily countered.

John shifted in his chair a little uncomfortably, and responded. “Mr. Wescott, are you aware that over the course of the last three months, gasoline and diesel prices have risen by over thirty percent?”

“Of course I’m aware, Mr. Pierce,” Samuel said in an aggravated tone. “What do you think I do for a living. I am well aware that certain factors demand that prices be raised, but I fail to see how those increases could cause you to raise the price of my house so much.”

“Mr. Wescott,” John began as calmly as he could manage. “In all fairness, you will notice that the cost of your house has not increased thirty percent., rather it has only increased fifteen percent. That increase is a fair increase, considering what it costs to run the heavy equipment we will need to build your home, not to mention the fact that my employees have to drive a lot further than they normally do for you, as well as all of the shipping costs to deliver everything that is needed for this project.”

Samuel Wescott was turning red, but he composed himself enough to ask, “Then break down these costs for me, explain it to me like I am a little child.”, he said, as if he was talking to one of his underlings. John did not like Mr. Wescott’s tone, but he held his sharp tongue, knowing he could have fared pretty well against someone such as Samuel Wescott, a man unaccustomed to being told “no”.

“Alright, I will, Mr. Wescott. The initial increase was ten percent, merely to cover the costs of transportation, shipping, and heavy equipment usage. That covers my increased cost caused solely by the price hikes in fuel. Then, I added another five percent in anticipation of further fuel cost increases. As you can see, our economy is not stable, I have to anticipate that fuel costs will continue to rise. It would be bad business for me to swallow those costs myself. They have to be passed on to the customer”, John finished with a gentle smile.

Mr. Wescott, rose in his chair like a snake about to strike. “I’ll grant you the cost of fuel increase. That at least makes sense to me. But what’s this non-sense about raising the price ‘in anticipation of further fuel cost increases’? ” he mimicked.

John looked squarely at Mr. Wescott, and answered, “I am only doing what I feel is necessary to protect all of my investment in this and other projects. Anticipatory price increases are not new to you, are they?” He asked sincerely.

And then it hit Samuel Wescott, like a ton of bricks. John could see the understanding form almost immediately within his eyes. Samuel said nothing in reply, but shrank into his chair, finally understanding what it felt like to be the little guy.

John ended the meeting as best he could by saying, “Don’t worry, Samuel, everything that can be done to keep the cost of this project down is being done. If you want to blame someone for this, blame the big oil companies; they’re the ones who caused this.”

And with that, he bid Mr. Wescott a good day.

Isn’t it ironic, he thought, as he watched a dejected Samuel Wescott walk out of his office.

YESTERDAY'S POST

Yesterday’s post was a strange one. Writing about my job, and the troubles inherent with it isn’t something I do often. I have been distantly wondering for the last day why I wrote it at all. Reading it only reminds me of the very first line in that post, and I begin to feel the irony, that maybe I am a big whiner, too.

Then I struggle to write this post, because I feel as though I am trying to justify my harsh words towards an industry that feeds me. But I also feel like I can’t write enough, to explain to you, and in necessity, to myself, why I am so troubled by the practices of my profession. There lies the truth; I need to know why I am troubled by what I see and experience.

I don’t know yet, but I know how it makes me feel. The cheating and lying makes my stomach turn as if I am anxious or nervous. I feel as though I am being screamed at, embarrassed in front of a large crowd, and there is nowhere to hide. I feel angry and helpless to change it. I feel saddened, yet unwilling to admit that I pity these fellows because who am I to pity anyone?

I see these craftsmen working day after day, practicing their trade at the direction of their manager, who is off somewhere driving in his four-wheel-drive-dually pick-up truck, chatting in a friendly way with another owner who has not yet decided to hire this fellow. I have spoken with this manager and many like him, more often than not because this fellow has directed his craftsmen to ignore the terms of the contract in hopes of making more money. You can imagine how those conversations go.

I dread them. I dread knowing what I know, and having to do something about it. I dread calling someone on a shortcoming, forcing them to reply from a standpoint of weakness. For what other can it be than weakness, when a contract you have signed clearly states the work to be done, and you refuse to do it? And so I meet them, me, this man who just wants to be a carpenter and for some reason has become the owner’s representative.

It makes my soul cry, that’s what it does. To see an industry I enjoy, even love, fall further and further into dishonor is like sticking a dagger into my spirit. I see the big houses, the new trucks, the fancy cell phones and all the gadgets they carry as their current badge of honor. They see it, too. This is what makes someone successful, to have things, and the bigger these things are, the more successful you are considered.

It is death to my soul to watch them saunter through a jobsite, attempting to avoid getting dust on their immaculate clothes because they have long ago forgotten that jobsites are dirty. They are very important men, and everyone knows it. Then they meet me, full of dust and grime, walking towards them softly, carrying a copy of their contract in my hands.

From here, from my perspective, there is no place for them to run, because once their own words are read back to them, they no longer have a chance to feint this way or that, in hopes of wiggling out of their promise. And that is what kills my soul.

They know what they have promised. I don’t need to read their own words back to them, but necessity is fickle when the new words leaving their lips are nothing like the words they signed their names to.

“Since when is an owner responsible to pay for a new door that doesn’t work, never worked, and won’t fix itself?” I ask the man in the cashmere overcoat.

And my soul sinks a little further.

Forgiveness? It isn’t my right to financially forgive this fellow of anything, I don’t have the authority to do that.

But there is one thing that I can do for the fellow. It is my only hope in this situation. I walk away from work that day, and I ask Dad to help me separate this man from his dishonor, so that I may see him as a person, and not as a thief. It is the only balm I have for a chapped heart, and someday, my Father in heaven will no longer have to watch me dance this way every day. Someday, this will all make sense, and my heart will be free of all the things of this world. Someday, though that day is not today, I won’t feel so bad when I remember that I used to enjoy doing this to people.

GOOD BUSINESS

I've never heard as much whining as I hear from building contractors these days. Well, maybe I hear more whining from politicians, but the difference is small.

"That's not in my contract", they tell me.

"I don't get paid to clean up", they say.

"It's not our fault the door doesn't work. It's the flooring contractor's fault. Make them fix it" I hear.

Blame avoidance and contract escapability, these are the tools of today's contractors. It is rare that I meet even one contractor in a year who seems to have any sense of honor. How has it come to this?

I have learned that as individuals, people generally want to do the good thing, the right thing, the honorable thing. Singular employees of a contractor seem to carry a desire to fulfill the terms of the contract as best they can.

Then I meet their project managers, or their owners, and things generally go south from there.

I wasn't aware that if an owner doesn't catch you being a cheat, it's okay to not fulfill the terms of a contract you signed in good faith. In fact, it seems that today, the most important part of a project manager's job is to continually see how much of the actual contract he can avoid; how much he can cheat an owner.

Money.

That's what it's about, and I hate it.

My job (besides finish carpentry and other various construction duties) is to make sure these contractors at the very least fulfill the jot and tittle of their contracts. That job should be easy; contracts are fairly straightforward. It's not like trying to read the IRS tax code.

I enjoy working with the people who fulfill these contracts. What I do not enjoy is watching people whore themselves out for a dollar or two. Goodness! If you are going to be a whore, at least do it for a couple million Make it worth your while!

It is their choice to cheat. It is my job to make sure they don't get away with it. You can imagine that sometimes, contractors are not very happy with me. That's okay. As individuals, I care about them a great deal. But as corporations, they are whores, they know it, and they don't know any other way of doing things.

If I were a good man, I could pity them, but I have enough faults of my own, I am not high enough to pity anyone. So all I can do is share these building projects woth them, and keep butting heads with corporations whose sole aim is to take an owner's money while doing the least amount of work possible.

This is America, and in America, we call that "good business".