Today is a milestone for the humble ramblings. This is post number 500 in the brief history of this site. A lot has happened in the two and a half years that I have been blogging. Who knew that I would be publicly chronically a very personal journey that Joni and I traveled with her breast cancer? Yet your encouragement, prayers and care were a great help. Many of you have been blessed by her faithfullness and courage. I have lost several dear friends in the brief amount of time I have been writing this blog. An amazing number of readers kindly responded when my Mom died. This blogging is an odd thing. You feel a connectedness to many you have never met because of our mutual connectedness to Jesus. I reviewed the “bad Christian” archives to see which articles impacted the most readers over the first 500. I have to offer full disclosure here. I am throwing out the most read
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Today is opening day for most of major league baseball. I am leaving soon for my real job directing the Texas Rangers at Seattle Mariners television opener. And that will likely be my real job until you people start buying more books! In my mind there is no more special day in sports than opening day in baseball. The smell of freshly cut emerald green grass delights the senses. The base lines are painstakingly and perfectly defined by a grounds crew that is committed to perfection on this day.  Red, white, and blue bunting give the ball park a festive world series look. The players today act like little boys. This is the one day that these privileged athletes seem to forget they are millionaires and actually appear grateful that they are paid to play a kid’s game. Children skip school and parents do not care because memories are being made for both of them. The hot dogs taste like gourmet food.  Tacky souvenirs are treasures to be kept. Giant foam fingers become family treasures. The atmosphere
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Today I am preparing to attend another funeral. Our friend Nancy lost her fight with cancer and is now at peace with Jesus. Several months ago my niece told me about a song by the group Diamond Rio. The song is called “God Only Cries For The Living” and I revisit that tune at times like this. Here are some of the lyrics from the song. God only cries for the living, ‘Cause it’s the living that are left to carry on. That is a hard truth. The living are left with the financial and legal affairs. Disposing of personal items that generate tearful memories. And the living are left in a place that Scripture tells us is only a temporary dwelling place. Paul writes about our “dual citizenship” in his letter to the Philippians. For, as I have often told you before and now say again even with tears, many live as enemies of the cross of Christ. Their destiny is destruction, their
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Yesterday I suffered a nasty bout of writer’s block so I decided that if I was going to be unproductive I might as well watch television. That philosophy of time management has been challenged on more than one occasion by the lovely Mrs.Burchett. Surprisingly the dip into the often vapid world of cable television proved productive. I stumbled upon a fascinating History Channel feature on Ben Franklin. I knew Franklin as a brilliant statesman, inventor, writer and a bit of a scoundrel.  Courtesy of www.earlyamerica.com But I did not know that in his autobiography the venerable statesman admitted a radical plan.  “I once conceived the bold and arduous project of arriving at moral perfection.” Wonder how that worked out? Benjamin Franklin could have saved himself some aggravation by reading Paul’s letter to the Roman church. Hold that thought. Franklin outlined the thirteen virtues he desired to master. Here are his baker’s dozen of admirable traits as written in his autobiography and in the language (and spelling) of
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If you, the tens of readers, have wondered where I have been please allow me to explain. The lovely Mrs.Burchett and I had a wonderful spring break trip to Arizona last week. The week concluded by crossing off a long time “bucket list” item for me when we enjoyed a hot air balloon ride over the red rocks of Sedona, Arizona. It was amazing. This is a shot of the other balloon that took off with us that morning. At the end of the journey we celebrated with a champagne breakfast and I received an award that beleagured readers of these ramblings will heartily endorse. After completing the hot air balloon ride each passenger received a diploma from the pilot. The diploma is from the “College of Hot Air Knowledge” and that is an institution that should have offered me a scholarship. Now I can add that diploma to my impressive bio that includes such stunning credentials as “member of Sam’s Club”. Back home in not quite so scenic
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I have always proclaimed through good times and the Florida BCS debacle that I am a proud Ohio State Buckeye fan. This week I go back to my Buckeye roots to proclaim another proud association. My hometown of Chillicothe, Ohio is known to many Ohioans as the first state capital. Others know Chillicothe as the principal town of the great Shawnee Chief Tecumseh. Others remember Chillicothe as the place that Anne-Margaret tells Elvis she grew up in a brilliant scene from the cinema classic Viva Las Vegas. But now I have one more thing to put on the list. This past weekend the Cavaliers of Chillicothe High School won the Division 2 state high school basketball championship. I once played for the Cavaliers and for one of the great coaches that I have ever met, Tom Cuppett. Coach Cuppett put in place a winning attitude that I hope began to lay a foundation that eventually led to being state champs. Congrats to
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A couple of years ago I saved an article from USA Today . The title, We are Easter People, was intriquing enough to merit a second look. Here is a portion of the piece written by Diane Cameron. One of the lowest points in my life occurred years ago when I was living in Washington, D.C., at Easter time. My older sister had recently died and both of my brothers were seriously ill; my best friend was leaving town, and on top of that I was questioning my work. In my journal that April I wrote, “Am I depressed?” When I read those pages now I laugh and shake my head. “Depressed?” That I even had to ask. In that long year I thought I’d never laugh again, just as I thought I’d never again feel love, the joy of easy friendship, or the satisfaction of good work. I went to church that Easter out of both habit and desperation. I had grown
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