Jay needs...

Okay, have you heard about this neat little trick? Go to Google.com and enter "(your name) needs" and then list the top ten results. I entered "Jay needs" and found out that:

1. Jay needs snow.


2. Jay needs your votes.


3. Jay needs help!


4. Jay needs a home where he is the only child or the other siblings are male.


5. Jay needs a girl and quick!


6. Jay needs more information on filter strips and how effective they would be on his farm.


7. Jay needs advice.


8. Jay needs someone to touch his hand before he can proceed through an automatic door at the supermarket.


9. Jay needs a project chair.


10. Jay needs your help again.

Try it yourself and let me know how accurately the results describe your needs.

Fresh Air! Times Square! Ah, City Life!

You know something is amiss when New York City smells GOOD. Residents from the southern tip of Manhattan to the Upper West Side called authorities to report a strong odor Thursday night that most compared to maple syrup with waffles or pancakes.

I don't make this stuff up. Read it for yourself.

Green Bird of Happiness?

Yesterday morning while playing fetch with Gromit in our backyard, I spotted a bird much like the one pictured here -- a Quaker Parakeet, if I'm not mistaken. I didn't see him until he flew up from the ground to the low branches of a dogwood tree. A flash of pale green, he caught my eye and I walked closer to the dogwood to make sure I hadn't imagined him. Sure enough, there he was. Then he flew from the dogwood to a tangled mass of Japanese privet in the northwestern most corner of the yard. It was then that I began calling to him, talking to him, beckoning him. Gromit was pretty much oblivious to the beautiful bird overhead, but continued running around spastically in the cold morning grass.

Then the parakeet flew from the privet across the width of the yard and landed on the ground near our jasmine-covered gazebo. I walked over to him and he allowed me to get as close as six or seven feet before he would briskly walk away from me. I walked this way, with him leading me while I sweet-talked him around a full circle back to the western edge of the yard. I guess I was too brash, not slow or patient enough because at that point he got spooked and flew up to the branches of a nearby tree.

I quickly went into the house to get Lisa and my son, Parks, to tell them the amazing thing I'd found in our yard. When the three of us returned, it took a few seconds before I located him again. He had flown to the lowest branch in a small oak tree at the northen-most edge of the yard, just inside the fence separating our property from the tree and scrub-filled railroad easement.

We must have scared him, the sight of the three of us plus a hyperactive Dachshund puppy. He flew from the oak tree in our yard into the mass of trees and undergrowth along the railroad track and disappeared.

That was about 36 hours ago and I haven't spotted him again. And believe me, I've tried. I've spent the better part of yesterday and today gazing out the back windows of the guesthouse studio, hoping for a small flash of green. I've probably walked around the backyard whistling for him, calling him ("Birdie num num" or simply "Birdie") a dozen times. The Mexican construction workers in the in-fill development next door must think I'm loco.

I worry about that bird. I want to find that bird. Temperatures were around 40 last night and will get down to about 35 degrees tonight. He would make a great pet for the office, safely separated from the dog and cat. I would name him "Princeton" or "Num Num." He would make me happy.

But I must find him. And capture him. Bird seed in a bowl on the back porch. A large beach towel to toss over him and subdue him. But first I must see him. I must at least know he's there.

Then I wonder: If this beautiful bird is gone forever, never to be seen by me again. Why did I see him in the first place? Why that morning was I out in the backyard at the crack of dawn? Why did I follow that flash of green? If only I had never seen it, I wouldn't be longing for this silly, beautiful bird. I wouldn't be walking around my backyard tonight with a flashlight and a beach towel and a bird call. I wouldn't even know what a Quaker Parakeet was. But I do. And I am. And I know I'll be whistling and calling for him in my backyard tomorrow morning.

Work Your Fingers to the Bone...

What do you get? Boney fingers! This little animation perfectly sums up the way I'm feeling this week. I just simply can not get caught up. Just went through a foot-high pile of unopened mail. (No kidding.) And put more than two-thirds of it through the paper shredder. Cleared the debris from my desk until there was simply no denying the fact that what I was really doing was procrastinating on a project I really MUST get done. There's one thing that can be said about procrastination: Putting something off for a while sure helps you sort the truly important from the merely urgent.

Anyway, back to the grindstone...

Top 10 Positives for October

1. William Blake Burns is born into this world Oct. 10.


2. God is moved by the prayers of dozens, perhaps hundreds, on Will's behalf.


3. Will undergoes successful heart surgery performed by the famous Dr. Bove at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor.


4. Relief trip to hurricane-stricken Mississippi Gulf Coast results in life-changing experience -- for me!


5. Filled in for Parks' regular Webelos Den Leader. Den meeting activities including science experiments related to Bernoulli's Principle, inertia and air pressure (involving coins, milk bottles, hard-boiled eggs, candles, water and fire) are a huge success.


6. Employee resigns to accept offer from the city's largest ad agency, helping me avoid possibility of a lay-off after losing a major client.


7. First meeting with prospective new client goes swimmingly well! (Can new business be far behind?)


8. First-time project with a new healthcare client wins accolades from "New England Journal of Medicine" rep and others. (Can a follow-up project be just around the bend?)


9. Rediscovered Suzanne Vega who I haven't listened to in easily 7 or 8 years -- thanks Cousin Elvis.
   
10. Discovered life-giving stymulus of Ca Phe Phin Sua Da. (Vietnamese coffee with sweetened condensed milk -- yum!)

Will's Web Site

William Blake Burns (Will) is only nine days old and he's already online. Check out Will's Blog for the latest news and updates on his continuing struggle for life.

Thanks to all for your prayers.

Stay strong.

Potty Prayers

Until yesterday, I had never told anyone this. But I revealed it to my wife, and to my surprise she didn't react with ridicule. My revelation? When I'm "doing my business", sitting on the john, rather than reading a magazine or cursing this basest of bodily functions...I pray.

No, not, "Oh, Lord, get this thing OUT OF ME!" or other cries for deliverance, just meditative prayer. Whatever's on my mind. Usually just a prayer of submission, a recognition of my lowliness and God's almighty holiness. After all, what other time are we more keenly aware of our humanness?

And if you think about it, submission is what it's all about. Our highest purpose is to submit. Read the Lord's Prayer -- "Give us this day our daily bread. Lead us not into temptation. Deliver us from evil." -- it's all a prayer of submission. It's not up to us. It's all up to God.

When the apostle Paul prayed to God for his "thorn in the flesh" to be removed, he was told: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."

Forget the jokes about the "spirit moving me", etc. etc.

When I'm sitting on the toilet, reminded of my humanness, reminded of everyone's humanness, I am also reminded that I am not a physical being trying to make my way to a spiritual place; I am a spiritual being making my way through a physical world.

And so I delight in my weaknesses, in my hardships, in my difficulties -- yes, even in my moments of undeniable humanity, even then.

Now to get a little fiber in my diet so that I can maintain my regularity!

Praying for God's Will

My nephew Josh's wife, Stephanie, gave birth on Monday to their first child, William Blake Burns. Will was taken five weeks early by cesarean and, as anticipated, has a number of birth defects including several heart abnormalities, a small cleft palette and a missing kidney. A team of doctors at Vanderbilt Hospital in Nashville (including a cardiologist, a urologist, a pediatric surgeon and a geneticist) assessed his condition. He will need at least three surgeries to repair his hypoplastic left heart syndrome, and the doctors at Vandy have recommended that the first of these surgeries be done at the University of Michigan Medical Center in Ann Arbor.

Will was airlifted to Ann Arbor this morning, and Josh and Steph are following close behind on a commercial flight today. Surgery is scheduled for Monday, after which Will will not be able to travel for 10 days to two weeks. Stephanie plans to stay in Ann Arbor until Will can return home to Nashville. Josh will stay as long as his job will allow --- probably a week.

I am praying for God's will to be done, but I am also praying pleas to affect God's will for Will. I am praying for God to demonstrate his wonderful healing power, for his guiding hand on the doctors attending Will, and for his divine Spirit (the Comforter) to provide Josh and Stephanie with peace and safety during their travels.

I have emailed a church in Ann Arbor and am praying that God will lift up someone who will take Josh, Stephanie and Will under his or her wing since their family cannot be there with them.

When I shared the news of William Blake's birth, a friend of mine at church shared this poem by the better-known Blake and I found it to be incredibly apropos and powerfully moving:

Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not through the eye
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light
To those poor souls who dwell in night,
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.


May God's light shine, and may God's will -- his good, pleasing and perfect will -- be done.

Back from the Gulf Coast

The past four days have been amazing! Without a doubt I received more than I was able to give during our trip to the Mississippi Gulf Coast. As expected, the devastation was unbelievable. I didn't get a chance to do any "sight-seeing", but just the neighborhoods that I saw were more than I could comprehend. Every house. Every single house received some sort of damage. And piled in front of every house were all of each household's belongings mixed with powdery remnants of sheetrock and dented appliances. I was also blessed to be in the wonderful company of people from my brother's church, Bartlett Woods Church of Christ, and Great Oaks Church of Christ, both from Bartlett, Tennessee. Teenagers, parents, single adults and seniors, this group of 50-plus Christians were such a family. I often times had trouble figuring which parents went with which teenagers because there was such an air of familial love and interaction.

We camped out at Eastside Church of Christ in Ocean Springs, Miss., sleeping on the floor of the auditorium, classrooms and closets. My brother, Joe, and I arrived late Thursday and staked out the men's baptistry dressing room (just big enough for our two air mattresses). At the close of each day, Ben (Great Oak's youth minister) led the group in sharing "Where did you see Jesus today?" Each person in the room, teenagers and adults alike, told where they had seen Jesus in each other, in the people we were serving, in the very magnitude of this disaster.

I can't count how many times I was moved to tears during this trip. One occasion was as I was talking with the homeowner of a surge-damaged house and a group of teenagers helping to install drywall were loudly laughing in the next room. "Do you hear that?" she asked. "That is joy in my house. I don't know how long it's been since there has been joy in my house."

I am filled to overflowing with gratitude: Thanks to the people who organized this (one of several) relief teams. Thanks to my brothers and sisters from Bartlett Woods and Great Oaks (and my brother, Joe) for welcoming me as one of their own. Thanks Brother Quardrick Brumfield for his rousing sermon Sunday morning. Thanks to Sister Jan for opening her home so that I and others could use her shower. Thanks to God for displaying to me his might and power, his ever-present Spirit and unending faithfulness.

For more photos, download my Katrina Relief Photo Album (PDF 2.15MB).

Heading South

Well, I leave the day after tomorrow for Ocean Springs, Mississippi, along with a Hurricane Katrina relief group my brother's church, Bartlett Woods Church of Christ. I gotta tell you, I'm a bag of mixed emotions. I'm anxious to finally be doing something instead of sitting on my rear end, sending a PayPal donation and feeling bad for these folks. I'm also a bit scared -- about seeing all the devastation, the enormity of it, the smells, the heat, the humidity, the hard labor, the communal showers at the Y. This will all be an unusual, even pivotal experience for me. But I just feel it's something I have to do. I mostly "blame" my brother, Joe. He went to Ocean Springs with this same group last month. I was so proud of him, and so interested in hearing all about it when he returned. He said then that he would be going back -- perhaps more than once or twice. There is just so much that needs to be done.

I think the thing he said that really made me want to join him was the story of this retired man and his wife: He had been an artist of some type, and they had just moved to Ocean Springs a couple of years ago. This was their retirement home, a place near the beach where they were to live out their Golden Years in tranquility. As transplants, they didn't know many people there and didn't have family nearby. After spending a day stripping their house down to the bare concrete foundation and stud frame, my brother's group served the couple dinner at the Ocean Springs Church of Christ. As they were sitting down to eat, the man began to thank my brother and his fellow volunteers. "Before you all got here, we had given up," he said, "We had no hope." And with that he became overcome with emotion. He broke down and cried. His wife cried. My brother cried. Everyone just cried.

So I guess that's what compels me. The idea that I could restore hope to even one person who otherwise would have given up. But I know it won't be me doing the restoration, it will be Spirit of God within me. And isn't that an awesome thought: to be an instrument of God!

"For Christ's love compels us..." (II Corinthians 5:14)

Laundry Lessons

Been meaning to, needing to wash clothes for DAYS. Crammed the washing machine with a bit more than I would normally wash in one load cause I was so behind in doing laundry that things had just piled up. It was a load of mixed colors, to be washed on cold with cold rinse cycle: 3 pairs of cargo shorts (New -- American Eagle sale last spring.) 4 or 5 short-sleeve shirts (a new Gap Hawaiian print shirt, 3 or 4 button-up shirts from the AE sale), a couple of polo-style shirts (one Brooks Brothers, one Izod). A pair of NICE J. Crew button-fly jeans. A long-sleeve trendy-striped button-down shirt.

My first sign that something was wrong? When I opened the dryer door and saw bluish-black smears on the inside of the door. ("Hmmm.") Then I pulled first one shirt and then another and noticed the bluish-black smears on them as well. ("What the--?") Then, like a mad man, I was pulling everything out onto the floor. Everything. Everything had these bluish-black spots and smears on it. Everything.

I looked into the white interior of the dryer. Bluish-black smears EVERYWHERE. The back wall, the white drum, the sticky-out things --- all coated with blue-black smears and streaks.

Then I knew what had happened. I'd left a ballpoint pen in one of the pockets of one of the cargo shorts. Found the pen -- empty, the white barrel smeared with ink stains. And I found Ground Zero -- the pocket of the formerly khaki-colored shorts, a black-blue spot about an inch in diameter soaked from the inside of the shorts to the outside of the pocket.

Everything in that load of laundry is ruined.

Yeah, some of it was a few years old. Some was a year or two old. But a LOT of it was just a few months old. I figure I'm looking at $300 to $400 if I were to replace it all. Fortunately, it the end of the season. Wouldn't be wearing short-sleeve shirts and cargo shorts much longer anyway. But still...

This doesn't even compare, but I think I can empathize a little better with people who lose everything in a flood, a fire or a hurricane. It's all just STUFF. It can be replaced. It was temporal all the time.

Who knew the lessons I would learn in that load of laundry?