It seems that no matter how flat the toothpaste tube, you can always squeeze out enough for another scrubbing.
Clarence Kopp: I’m Delighted to Have Known You
Clarence Kopp’s funeral was yesterday. He served as a bishop in our denomination 1981-1993, and I worked with him that entire time. Let me make these observations about him from my own experience:
- He would not criticize or speak ill of people. Even people who dearly deserved it. He not only believed the best in people, but I don’t think he saw anything but the best. This was a huge, huge demonstration of character.
- He always gave me a totally free hand in editing his material. Some folks have too much ego for that; they take it personally. Bishop Kopp never did. He trusted me to do my thing.
- He brought enthusiasm and positive energy to everything. Always positive, always encouraging.
- He was under-appreciated, to an extent. But not by me.
- Bishop Kopp was truly pure of heart. Him and Russ Birdsall. Such people are rare. No guile, no hidden agenda, no two-facedness, no mixed motives. Folks like that are beloved by people and by God.
Dad, who served under Clarence Kopp (as bishop of the West District), says Bishop Kopp always brought him something worthwhile–an idea, an insight, something he had read or come across. I’ve heard Dad say that for many years. He said it again last week.
For a few years, while pastoring the church I now attend in Fort Wayne, Ind., Dad had then-former Bishop Kopp as a parishioner. Initially, he wasn’t too crazy about having a bishop sitting in his pews. But no problem. I’ve heard Dad say on various occasions, “Clarence Kopp is the best layperson I ever had.”
I saw that for about three years, when I was Bishop Kopp’s fellow parishioner at Anchor. He drove 40 minutes to get to church each Sunday. He was a mighty presence, yet never one to put himself forward. Always encouraging to others. Pastor Tim said that each Sunday, upon leaving, Bishop Kopp would give Tim a Bible verse. When declining health forced him to give up Anchor in favor of a different church closer to home, it was a sad day for our church. We lost a giant of the faith.
This past week, the United Brethren denomination lost a giant of the faith. I wish more people had gotten to know him up close, the way I was privileged to. He was a man of great humility, of great wisdom, of great love. A man with a pure heart.
Make a Joyful Grammatical Noise
Is anyone else bothered by the last line of Amazing Grace, “We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise/than when we first begun”? It should be either “than when we first began,” or “than when we had first begun,” which sounds silly. Are we a bunch of musical lemmings, automatically singing bad grammar just because the song’s been hymnalized and is therefore considered holy writ?
Unabashedly Sheltered
I like listening to Mike & Mike, the ESPN show on weekday mornings. They often give their picks for upcoming football games, and do it in terms of “the odds.” They talk about “the spread” and say things like, “I’ll take Green Bay and give you the points.” Or they’ll take the points.
Here is my admission. I don’t know what “the points” refers to, nor do I understand the concept of “the spread.” I guess I’m just not a gamblin’ man. I’ve never bought a lottery ticket, don’t know how to play poker, and though I’ve “played the slots,” it was a one-time thing in 1988, the only time, as an adult, I’ve been to Vegas.
What’s more, I don’t know if I WANT to know what the points and the spread are all about. All I care about is who Mike thinks will win, and who Mike thinks will win. Beyond that, they can takes the points against the spread all they want.
My Onslaught of Idiocy
Stopped at Starbucks this morning. Not many parking places in front of the Village of Coventry store, and some numbskull had parked really really crooked, taking up two spaces. I squeezed my truck into the adjacent space and went inside, looking for the culprit. About four customers were there. My eyes settled on a 30ish fellow wearing a t-shirt and a New York Yankees cap. Yes, it was him. “Jerk,” I muttered under my breath.
I got my decaf and returned to my truck. The car was still there, and Yankee Man was still inside. Being in a particularly juvenile frame of mind, I determined to leave something under his windshield wiper. I found a blank piece of paper in the truck and wrote on it, in big letters, “Is this the best you can do?” Now, the trick would be sticking it under a wiper blade without Bride of Steinbrenner catching me and, in a Billy Martinesque fashion, whooping my butt. This was, indeed, a concern.
I mustered my pseudo-courage and exited the truck, standing on the passenger side of this felonious car which, I noted, was a Mercedes. Jerkboy drove a Mercedes. But just as I prepared to dart to the windshield vicinity, a 50ish woman with poofy blonde hair, the type of woman who occupies an expansive suburban home and spends vast quantities of time at the beauty parlor being pampered, exited Starbucks and headed my way. Headed to the Benz, in fact.
I slunk back into my truck, paper still in hand, mission unaccomplished. I started up the truck and pulled away. But as I drove past this woman, now at her car door, I gave her a Look. You know, a Highly Disapproving Look. I don’t think she noticed. But if she did, I’m sure it tormented her upwards of three seconds.
Consolation prize: on the way to work, I passed a silver Corvette broke down beside the highway, the hood up, the driver peering at the engine in puzzlement. I felt happy.
Sometimes, the awe-inspiring transcendence of my maturity overwhelms me.
Connor’s First Birthday
Connor turned one year old today, September 19. Since December 1, he has lived with his parents in our humble home. He’s the first baby that I, a 50-year-old, have ever held. It’s been a delight watching him grow. He’s one happy kid.
Pam had several presents for him, and so did Allen and Carolyn. Connor’s attitude was pretty much, “What the heck am I supposed to do with this?” Allen and Carolyn would tear a piece of the wrapping, and Connor would grab it and pull. Or, he would just shake the present until it fell out of the wrapping.
His favorite was a toy remote control. He’s always trying to grab out remotes (TV, VCR, DVD), and will sprint-crawl if he sees one laying untended. Now he has his own remote, which makes various sounds (our real remotes make no noise, which I guess makes them inferior).
Connor also gets to ride with his car-seat pointed forward now, not backward toward the trunk. He gets to watch Daddy drive.
The Happy Billionaire
Pam and I watched some of last year’s “Dancing with the Stars” and found it fun. Last night Pam said she’d like to watch it regularly this time, because Marie Osmond and Jane Seymour are participating. She likes them. I want to watch “Dancing with the Stars,” too. But for me, the draw is Mark Cuban, the billionaire bad-boy owner of the Dallas Mavericks. I’m a Cuban fan. A fan of his basketball team, of his blog, and of his approach to life.
In explaining on his blog why he agreed to participate in “Dancing with the Stars,” he wrote the following:
I’m the first to admit that I’m the luckiest guy in the world. I can honestly say I wake up every morning with a smile knowing what a wonderful family, friends and life I have. It’s the exact same way I felt when I was broke.
Money makes so many things in life easier, but it can’t buy you a positive outlook on life. Fortunately, how any of us approaches each of our days is completely up to us. It’s not something you can buy or sell. It’s not hard to put a smile on your face every day, but for some reason some people find it impossible to do. Not me.
The opportunity to do something unique that makes me smile is something I try not to pass up, Dancing with the Stars is just that….I’m going to be out there to win, but I promise you no one is going to be having a better time than me. I can promise you that.
When I’m 90 years old and talking to my grand kids and hopefully great grand kids, I won’t be the grandparent who tells them about the things I wished I had done and how they should experience life, I will be the grandparent with tons of great stories that hopefully inspires them to live their lives to the fullest.
The View from the Brethren
Last Sunday I skipped church to play in the Indiana Open Table Tennis Tournament. I didn’t do well, which was probably a sign of God’s judgment. Today in church, a lot of people ribbed me about skipping church to play ping pong. But it was all good-natured. No legalists contending that my priorities were messed up, or that I was setting a poor example. Nope, everyone was cool and good-humored about it.
Anchor’s really a great church.
Movie: Shoot ’em Up
Pam and I watched “Shoot ’em Up,” with Clive Owen and Paul Giametti. Pure, 100%, unadulterated, gratuitious violence from beginning to end. And for both Pam and me, a disturbingly guilty pleasure. Wouldn’t necessarily recommend it to anyone…and yet, I’d see it again. I’m not sure if this says anything about my spiritual maturity.
The Journey North
When I’m traveling and the event’s done, I want to get home. No staying another night in a hotel. So though MinistryCOM ended around 5 pm (6 pm Hoosier time), and it was eight hours from Nashville to Fort Wayne, Ind., I decided to go for it. If I got tired, I’d get a motel. Until then…well, let’s see how far I could go.
As it turned out, I had no trouble staying awake, with the help only of one of those quickstop faux-cappucinos and XM satellite radio. I listened to news and the comedy channel (the clean one, with guys like Bob Newhart, Dangerfield, Clower, etc.) until I crossed the Indiana border around 9:00. Ate in Jeffersonville, and headed out again, with 200 miles to go. I now switched between two XM stations that mix oldies with contemporary music, cranked the sound up…and it got me to Fort Wayne.
I crawled into my own sweet bed, already occupied by my wife and two cats, around 2:00 in the morning. So I made good time. Pam said when she would wake up, she’d say a prayer, “Keep Steve from getting tired.” Ah, despite the late hour, God was listening.
