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A recent retreat for the men of our church included a paintball competition that was eye opening on several different points.

The safety equipment consisted solely of a plastic helmet with goggles.

Eye opener #1: I guess our mothers were right when they identified the salient danger in shooting activities as being the loss of an eye. (One of our guys discovered that other protective gear a little farther south on the anatomy might have been a good idea as well. Can’t believe nobody thought of THAT ahead of time.)

Our rules of engagement for the fast paced games of capture the flag on a relatively small course, were pretty simple: All participants had to start with a hand touching their home base. At a given signal competition began. The winning team was the first team to grab the white flag hanging from a stick in the middle of the course and return said flag to their home base. The only other rule stated that (obviously) if you’re hit by a paintball, you’re out, but if anyone from your team touches you after you’re hit, you’re back in the game.

At the opening signal my teammates and I sprinted for the makeshift barricades strewn randomly around the course, firing wildly in the general direction of the flock of enemy players flying headlong from their own home base. Paintballs zzzinnnnged from the barrel of my weapon, hooking and slicing with a randomness reminiscent of my few disastrous golf outings.

Eye-opener #2: The fear of stepping into the line of paint pellet fire made all of us appreciate the courage veterans in our group must possess to have faced live rounds from real enemies.

It only took about 30 seconds for me to get thwapped in the appendix by a lucky shot from one of my fellow men’s ministry “brothers” on the other team.

“I’m HIT!” I said, using the designated sign of holding a hand up. That’s when I realized that I was separated from my teammates by at least 10 yards. No one even looked my direction. They were all focused rather intently on the battle before them, firing their weapons and squeezing themselves as tightly as possible behind what little cover they had found.

Eye opener #3: (And this one is a life lesson) Your teammates have their own battles to fight and skin to save, so keeping a big distance between you and them means when you’re hit, you may be out of action for a while.

I knelt there, powerless to help, as the bad guys steadily gained ground over my outnumbered team. Suddenly one of the brothers on my team jumped from the safety of his wooden spool and dashed across the open ground toward me, slapping me rather rudely on the head and diving for a tree as bright balls of paint splattered all around.

I leapt forward to a spot alongside a teammate crouching behind a pallet and began firing anew. Almost immediately I was dinked on the head by another shot, but being so close to my teammate, he simply reached over, slapped my back (kinda hard), and I was instantly back in action.

Eye opener #4: (Another life lesson closely related to e.o. #3) The buddy system is the way to go if you want to stay in the game.

We “played” as long as we had paintballs to shoot. Afterwards we showed off our welts, laughed at each other’s war stories and headed back to the dorm. On the way back I couldn’t help wondering: if one of these men were shot down by a fiery dart from the enemy, is it possible that they might only require a simple compassionate touch from a brother willing to go out to them to get back in the battle?
Maybe that’s what Galatians 6:1 means, “Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness.”

It's certainly worth a try.

Paint

Luke 19:1-10 Then Jesus entered and walked through Jericho. There was a man there, his name Zacchaeus, the head tax man and quite rich. He wanted desperately to see Jesus, but the crowd was in his way—he was a short man and couldn’t see over the crowd. So he ran on ahead and climbed up in a sycamore tree so he could see Jesus when he came by.
When Jesus got to the tree, he looked up and said, “Zacchaeus, hurry down. Today is my day to be a guest in your home.”
Zacchaeus scrambled out of the tree, hardly believing his good luck, delighted to take Jesus home with him. Everyone who saw the incident was indignant and grumped, “What business does he have getting cozy with this crook?”
Zacchaeus just stood there, a little stunned. He stammered apologetically, “Master, I give away half my income to the poor—and if I’m caught cheating, I pay four times the damages.”
Jesus said, “Today is salvation day in this home! Here he is: Zacchaeus, son of Abraham!
For the Son of Man came to find and restore the lost.”

When it comes to saving people, Jesus was (is) truly the master. Zacchaeus is living proof that our natural reactions to “sinful” people, i.e. our attitudes of hostility and prejudice, don’t help change people. It only drives the bad behavior deeper.
If the townspeople had the authority to require Zacchaeus to change that would be one thing, but since they couldn’t make him change, their attitude toward him only made him more determined to look out for number one.
Jesus changes everything with just a word, a kind word. And suddenly, we see a different man in Zacchaeus after this brief conversation with Christ.
I like the look of natural wood. I like to see the grain of the wood. I think it is more beautiful than the most original tint or texture of paint.
Why do we paint things anyway? To make them match, to cover things up.
That’s what bad behavior is. It is an attempt to change the subject or cover something up or protect ourselves from something.
The problem is that when we try to remove the paint, if we’re not careful, we don’t just remove the paint,. We may scrape or cut or gouge the wood underneath.
The question we have to answer is “What is underneath the surface that we can't see?”
There is a person under that covering, under that paint if you will, that God dearly loves and wants to deal with in a loving way.
A lost child that he wants to restore.
Maybe they have applied a coat of paint to themselves as a cover up, to make themselves appear differently than they are, to protect themselves.
Jesus can remove this coat of paint, this façade of behavior with just a simple knock, a kind word. We should be careful let Him have his way.

How To Be Impressively Hair Aware

Darling, if you're reading this it's probably because someone else told you that I mentioned you in my blog so you're reading this to find out what I said and I just want to say up front that you are an awesome wife, I don't deserve you and the thing I love best about your lovely hair is the way it frames your beautiful face. The only reason I sometimes don't pay as much attention to your hair as I should is that I'm so captivated by your eyes, your smile, the way your nose crinkles when you laugh, the whole thing is just so captivating.
So here's what I said in my blog:
The other day I came in from work and after I kissed her, my lovely wife, Becky was giving me one of those subtle, stand-offish smiles that indicates she's wondering if I'm going to say something about something that I should be saying something about but have no clue of any kind as to what the subject might be that I better be addressing post-haste.
"So, how'd it go?" I asked, skillfully using a question to fulfill my obligation to say something until I could come up with what I was supposedto say.
"How'd what go?" Ah, she's good.
Suddenly, I remembered: She told me she was getting her hair done this afternoon. She seemed, as always, to be pretty stoked about it.
"Your haircut appointment. How'd it go? It looks great!"
Now a private sigh of relief should have been in order and mega good guy points awarded, but alas, her sphinx-like smile remained unchanged.
"Can you tell what's different about it?"
(Who do you think you're dealing with here, sister?) "Yeah, it's shorter. And your streaks are lighter, I really like the str--highlights." (Got the proper technical term at the last instant.)
"It's a LOT shorter." She said. Patronizingly.
"Yeah, I know, it's a lot shorter. I really like it." Always want to reiterate that I like it at the end. Not that that is the point of this discussion by any stretch.

So, gentlemen, anyone else ever played ant to just such a magnifying glass? Not fun, huh?
Well I'm here to say that I may have solved this age-old quandary once and for all.
Here's how it came about:
The lady who cuts my hair also does Becky's. (I know that doesn't sound manly, but she did my hair for years before Becky started going to her. And other guys go in there too, and she does great work, so nbd.)
Anyway, when I got my hair cut this past week, she asked me how Becky liked her hair after she did it last week. The way she asked the question indicated that a lot had happened to bring about such dramatic results at the last hair appointment.
I told her that Becky loved it and then--BRAINSTORM.
"Hey, you know what? I'd tip you 20 bucks if you'd just give me a call after Becky's hair appointments and give me a detailed description of all the radical clippage and streakery and whatever else has occurred so that I could intelligently, with proper technical jargon, critique her appearance without having to be prompted."
I think the other ladies in the shop may have been listening in on my brilliant plan because there were smiles all around.
And I'm sure these were the kind of smiles people smile with people and not at them.
I'll let you know how it goes after then next appointment. I'm going to dazzle and amaze. At least, hopefully, I can come up with something better than, "I really like it."

(And my darling, if you're still reading this, I was just kidding her about the $20 bucks. I would never waste any of our hard earned money just to make myself appear to be less of a buffoon than we both know that I really am. And I really do love what you've done to your hair.)

Venti Espresso

Last week I went to Simpson's Adventure Sports to buy some tubes and when I left there I thought I'd stop by the Yahooz 110 gallon hat to get a pound of coffee beans and a shot while I was in the neighborhood.
Here's how it went:
Me: Let me have a pound of coffee and a double shot of espresso.
Yahooz chick (handing me the bag of coffee): What size?
Me: Huh? Oh, a double shot.
YC (a little exasperated): No, what size cup?
Me: !?!?
YC (helpfully showing me 2 different size cups, large and medium): Large or medium?
Me: I just want a double shot of espresso. Use whatever size cup you usually serve it in.
YC: What else do you want in your coffee?
Me: Nothing, just the espresso.
YC: !?!?
Me: ?
YC: I don't think we serve that.
Me: ??
Me (scanning the menu, surely they have espresso on the menu. I see an espresso machine right there. Several items specifically say they include espresso. No listing for shots of espresso. Then I see this item: Barbwire Brew -- 6 shots of espresso, hmmm.): Can I have a Barbwire brew with just 2 shots of espresso instead of 6?
YC: I guess I could just charge you 1/3 of one of those. I don't think we've ever had anyone order that before.
Me: Really?

In all fairness, I've ordered espresso from the original yahooz in Gresham and never had any trouble being understood. And I'll also add that their beans are very good and as advertised: Air roasted kick with a smooth finish.