If you follow my Twitter / Facebook status, you know that I have been biking a lot recently. Been trying to do at least 20-miles a day for the past month. So when I came to Indiana for a week, I brought the bike with me.

When I was in Middle School I ran cross country and would often run "the block" - Aboite Center Rd. to West Hamilton Rd. to Liberty Mills Rd. to Homestead Rd. It was four miles long and hilly. So since I needed a place to bike, and the Chattahoochee River was 650 miles away, I decided to expand "the block" into the 15 mile "super block."


The hills and wind have been a bit of a killer compared to the flatness and stillness of where I ride in Georgia, but it has been been a good ride.

But one thing I wasn't really expecting was the "trip down memory lane." While peddling for an hour or so up and down the hills of Aboite township, I pass my old high school and friends houses. Places I ran in cross country and ex-girlfriends neighborhoods. Places where I was pulled over for the first times and the church where I first found out about that Jesus guy.

And amidst the Gatorade drinking, hard breathing, car dodging, and legs pumping, I find my thoughts drifting to what I miss in life. What made and makes life great.

The past couple of days when I have turned off of West Hamilton Rd onto US-24, Jason Michael Carrol's Where I Am From comes on the iPod.

I love that song.

Despite what my LA friends assume, everyone in Indiana is not a farmer, and I did not grow up on a farm. I grew up the son of an attorney. I grew up in suburbia. I grew up going to country club dinners and vacationing to the beach for 6-weeks at a time. But I did spend a lot of time in my high school years hanging out in Huntington, IN - which is quite country.

Maybe that is where I got my love of country music. I don't know. But I think country music lyrics are usually pretty true to life and Where I Am From is no different.

I said I'm from the front pew of a wooden white church
The courthouse clock it still don't work
Where a man's word means everything
Where moms and dads were high school flings
Gave their children grandmothers maiden name
Yes it may not sound like much
But its where I'm from

...

Where the quarterback dates the homecoming queen
The truck's a ford and the tractor's green
And Amazing Grace is what we sing
Well there's a county fair every fall
And your friends are there no matter when you call
Yeah It may not sound like much but it's
Where I'm from

All that to say, biking the "super block", and hanging with CJ and Andrea, and seeing Dad and Lisa definitely make me miss where I am from.

There are two things I like in politicians: brutal honesty and class. There are two things I seem to never find in politicians: brutal honesty and class.

Karen Handel is the Secretary of State of Georgia, but (hopefully) will be our next Governor. Up until this week, I knew Karen to have a reputation of brutal honesty that is quite rare with politicians. There isn't that "politician / used car salesman" sheen that accompanies most of the politicians I have known and worked with through the years.

However it wasn't until this week that I realized not only is she refreshingly honest, but she is a real class act.

Karen came to the Wayne 60 event that we put on to celebrate Wayne Farr's 60th birthday and to raise money for the children at Murphy-Harpst children's home.

At the event we talked about Dan and Marilyn Quayle - I being from Indiana and can't spell and as Karen being Mrs. Quayle's Deputy Chief of Staff (which I didn't know). She was quick to defend the old boy and told me a little back story to the whole potato fiasco I had never heard.

But this past week I got a letter from her in the mail. Big deal. I know. I thought the same thing at first. Politicians send letters all the time. Or better put, politicians have their interns send letters all the time. But as I continued to read what I thought was a cursory letter penned by an intern and probably signed by one too, I got to the part where she mentioned the 30.59 miles I rode.

This wasn't announced at the event (I came in WAYYYYY behind everyone). This meant that she - or admittedly someone on her staff - read the blog I did on the event showing the picture of my speedometer and my comment about making it 30.59 miles.

So even if an intern did write said letter, I still will keep it along with the letter President Ford wrote to our family after my Grandfather died, as an example of true class from a politician.

As I think more and more seriously about entering politics everyday, I am grateful for someone like Karen showing how one can truly be brutally honest and class-filled and still thrive.

Thanks Karen!




For those curious, here is the letter Gerald Ford wrote my Grandmother when my Grandfather died. President Ford and my Grandfather were football buddies at the University of Michigan and would stay with my Grandfather when he'd come to Fort Wayne (before he was President).

I wasn't going to take a Weekender this month. Key West in May wore me out. But that didn't last long as I was itching to get out of Atlanta two weekends ago. So I called up my friend Pat who lives in Nashville on relatively short notice and went and stayed with him and his family.

It was a relaxing trip. Thursday was spent at home, smoking some cigars on his back patio and having great conversation. Friday was a day at the pool, followed by a party at the Nashville City Club.

Back in Indiana, and about 12 years prior, Pat was my youth pastor (as seen here being awesome when driving us on a ski trip to Michigan).

He is easily one of the top 3 mentors I have had in my life and with out a doubt I would not be the man I am today with out him.

As I went from the "heathen child I was" in Middle School when I first met Pat in 8th grade, to a probably overly zealous Christian in High School, to someone who went and got a Biblical Studies degree in college, to being the "moderately-liberal Christian" I am today producing a talk radio show, a lot has changed.

But through it all, Pat has always been a true inspiration and example of what a man of God looks like. I am not exaggerating in the least when I say I know no one who actively tries to improve themselves to be a better man more than Pat. He is one of the greatest husband, father, and friend that I know - yet he is always striving to be a better person.

It was something in an email he sent after my trip that made me appreciate just how deep the relationships God puts in our lives can become over time.

I’ve reflected a lot on our conversation on the patio. I’m thankful that God connected us so many years ago. I had no idea that when I met you as an 8th grader that we would share such a friendship. I have absolutely loved our conversations over the years and I’ve learned more from you then you realize.

Now what we discussed I am not going to elaborate on - after all, what happens in Nashvegas stays in Nashvegas - but the sentiment in his email to me is one of the most fulfilling things I have found in the deep relationships I have had with men and women all around the country that went from mentors to friends.

I still respect Pat more than just about anyone. And even though I have become a bit more "liberal" compared to him and my youth group days - I will always cherish his insight into life.

Thanks for a great weekend my friend.


Next weekender: probably DC the "weekend of July 17-19th." Cubs are in town so I might try to catch a game with some friends from the area. Then Oregon in August for Lissa's wedding.

Seven Major League Baseball games in seven days!!! I love baseball, but I found myself on Saturday (the 6th game) thinking, man I am a little tired of this.

But nevertheless the question of where have I been can be answered by: Turner Field watching the Braves take on the Cubs (1-game makeup), Yankees, and Red Sox.

Knowing that I was going to be going to 7 games in a week, I decided not to pay $113.70 in parking. So I figured I'd take MARTA. But being the clasterphobic type, I decided MARTA wasn't going to be a good option. So then I came up with the brilliant plan of parking my car at WSB and riding the 4.8 miles to the stadium on my bike!

It was a BLAST and probably will be the only way I go to the stadium from now on. Even in the 100° heat, and the hills of Peachtree Street it was still fun. Brought a change of shirt and some Gatorade and I was good to go.

Turner Field has a few bike racks which are right by the entrance (best parking space possible!) Plus I insist that getting to Turner Field takes no less time, and going home I only lost maybe 10-15 minutes.


Ride time was around 25 minutes, and at one point I could break the speed limit while biking - going 30.4 in a 25 ;)

Here's a map of our route. Pretty simple.




The other "adventurous" thing Justin and I tried with the Yankees/Red Sox series was to make some money. Back in February we bought about $3,000 worth of tickets all around the park in hopes to make a couple of thousand dollars.

Well after all was said and done - including StubHub's 15% commission - we made a grand total of $36.69 each. Ha! At least we didn't lose any money.

Lessons learned though: buy more tickets on the visitor side and anything beyond 1st or 3rd base is not worth it to resell with any sort of profit. Ohh, and don't do this during a recession :)

But it did mean that I got to sit in a different seat every single game - which was an awesome experience. I posted the photos at the bottom, so take a look at all my views.

Well that is it for now. I am heading up to Indiana for a week of vacation, but I will be blogging about my Nasvhille Weekender (2 weekends ago), Why Allen Is Wrong and Obama is Right on Iran, and The Death of Jackson, Fawcett, and Others all this week so check back often.

Tonight I met up with a professor of mine from college who was in town for a conference. Dick wasn't just a professor to me though, he was a mentor, and most importantly: a friend.

At one particular point in my life, when I was at a cross road on who I was to become, I looked around at all the people I respected and came to the conclusion that 20 years down the road my life would be the most fruitful and fulfilled if it looked like Dick Pritchard's. Needless to say I have an extreme respect for the man.

So amidst Shrimp Purloo, Peacan Pie, and a waiter that probably wished we hadn't taken a seat in a small, Midtown restaurant for 2.5 hours: tonight we discussed everything under the sun.

As the meal was wrapping up - but still an hour before we would leave - we began to discuss communication and relationships.

When I was in Dick's class, he assigned a book called "The Contemplative Pastor" by Eugene Peterson.

I didn't read it.

Dick knew I didn't read it (as with pretty much most of my assigned reading).

But I very much remember it's content and the discussion that came from it.

In the book, Peterson makes the point that we learn three languages in order:
intimacy, naming, and persuasion.

From our first moments in life we learn words of love - which in reality have little to do with actual words. We then proceed on to "naming" - it is here we get an understanding of possession. With possession understood, we finally complete our verbal development with "persuasion" - or the language needed to persuade in order to attain that which we want to posses.

It should be noted that this isn't just in romantic relationships. It translates to all relationships: parents, friends, co-workers, mentors, mentees, customer service agents, the homeless man on the street. Everyone.

The irony I pointed out is that I have essentially fallen into a profession that is hyper-focused on persuasion, opinions, belief systems, and world-views. And I think it is precisely because of this that for a while now I have felt a heightened struggle with most of human language in contemporary society being focused on persuasion. Something that if I would have read Peterson's book, I would have probably dealt with 4 years ago.

Unfortunately though, the causality of this sad state of affairs is intimacy.

I blogged about this before, but it bears repeating. I think one of the most powerful movie trailers I have ever seen was for the movie Crash. The line that hit me was, "...nobody touches you...I think we miss that touch so much that we crash into each other just so we can feel something."

When we remain stuck with persuasion in our relatinoships, intimacy gets thrown aside. But our desire to fulfill our lives with persuasion and attaining that which we have named, unfortunately only leaves us emptier for it.

This morning was one of those rare times in life where I got 5 hours of sleep and it seemed to be enough. Mixed with a mind that was racing at a million miles an hour, I decided to not fight it and just get up.

Due to my roommate's pretentiousness towards movies, my intake of movies has dropped significantly in the past year. Even Blockbuster tried to lure me back upon my last visit - since it had been so long - in hopes of bringing me back to our once happy and consistent relationship.

So with some extra hours on a lazy Saturday morning I popped in Seven Pounds thinking maybe I'd fall back asleep if it got boring. It turned out to be one of the deepest movies I have seen in a long time.

As I lay in my bedroom early this morning, amidst a sunrise I rarely get to be apart of, and a stillness I never experience in my home, I was brought to literal tears as I watched a man so deep stricken with a loss in his life attempt to make amends by lovingly sacrifice to those in need.

And while I guessed the ending from about 10 minutes into the movie, this did not detract in the least from its power.

I found myself gearing up for a powerful and emotional end, but it was the scene with a gift of new life for battered woman and her kids that best exemplifies the heart behind the grace and love in this movie. And as powerful as the final moments of this movie turned out to be, it was this scene that caught me off guard.



"All I ask is that you honor my wishes and of course live life abundantly."

Sound at all familiar?

Is that not the reason Jesus himself said he came to this earth?

Is that not the power of the gospel? That it not only has the profound ability to changes one's life, but that life that is changed yields one that isn't easy, or effortless, or without pain: but that is abundant and full.

I preached a mini-sermon series back in 2003 where I talked about the "Great Contradiction" between denying oneself and living life to the fullest.

Yet I wish I had this clip back then because I think it communicates not just the grace of God - which has become almost cliché in most sermons - but probably more importantly the heart behind the grace.

As Will Smith narrates, "...if you are wondering why you? Please stop." I find myself believing that it is that picture into the heart of God that best enables one to live an abundant life.

I have been waiting to do this blog for four years now. I knew one day it would come. I just never thought the complaint would be due to me (ok, I sort of thought it might).

Allen and I have been on the air for over four years and up until last week we have never had to use the DUMP button due to an obscene comment made on the air. That all changed last week.

Last Sunday Allen picked up a caller and the first words out of his mouth were "Fuck You" and then hung up. We were actually out of delay, so that went out live over all of our affiliates.

Then just last night, a caller from San Antonio (first night on that station by the way) was talking about something and accidentally said "shit" on the air. We were in delay, hit the dump button, and all was good. No worries.

The real surprising thing was the only real complaint we got over the last two weeks wasn't with the F-bomb being dropped, but rather the fact that when I talked about the bike race I completed for charity, I made a reference to how I could see how Lance Armstrong got "ball cancer" due to the way my crotch felt after riding for 30 miles.

One complaint! That's it. But as Family Guy puts it, for every complaint received has to equal one BILLION people offended:



I freely admit I am not concerned with obscenity. I don't really see a case to be made in the Bible that "fowl language" is really amoral. And don't even get me started on how as a culture everyone gets way too offended way too easy - especially Christians (and gays).

But beyond that, why is it the government's job to legislate this stuff anyway? Why did we decided that the public airwaves were owned and controlled by the government to begin with? And as delivery options become less dependent on "public airwaves" (satellite communication, cellular communication, hardwired communication), I have to ask myself, should the FCC and "obscenity" laws really become obsolete?

And as always, it isn't the situation we find ourselves in now that I am too worried about, but rather the precedent it establishes that will allow for the expanse of power:



Before anyone asks, no, we didn't get any complaints from the FCC (yet). I just found the Family Guy stuff to be pretty profound when I first saw it back in November of 2005 and have just been waiting for a "personal" story to commentate.

Enjoy the FCC song:

This is quite possibly the most controversial blog I have ever written - even more than the Anything For Love post of 2007.

Dr. George Tiller was the late-term abortion doctor who was gunned down while serving in his Lutheran church this past Sunday. And while i freely acknowledge I do not know this man's heart, and judgment is only for God, I am going to go out on a limb and say that we will see Dr. George Tiller again in heaven.

From the start I should say that I am pro-life - although from posts like mine back in October - it is probably obvious that I am not "super pro-life." I do believe that abortion is wrong, I just fail to see it anymore wrong than anything else and therefore I refuse to make it a wedge issue.

Most of my personal theology stems from the statement: "In the essentials unity, in the non-essentials liberty, and in all things charity."

It is this theological principle that helps me appreciate the theology from Catholics to Baptists and the super-crazy Greek Orthodox. It is why I don't get bogged down in the pros and cons of Calvinist vs. Wesleyan theology. Do I have stark disagreements with all of these, sure. But I realize in the end we all accept that Jesus is God, none of our theology is perfect, and therefore we are all unified in salvation through Christ alone.

But the question that arises is: is abortion a theological essential to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Is it so heinous and irredeemable that an abortion doctor, who on at the surface seems to believe that Jesus was the Son of God and trusts in him for his salvation, cannot be forgiven?

Now I know just becuase you go to church hardly makes you a Christian - especially in Kansas. But this man was an unapologetic abortion doctor. If there is anyone in our society that wouldn't feel the social pressure to go to church, don't you think it would be him? So I am going to proceed with the assumption that he attended and served in church for the right reasons.



He clearly didn't see abortion to be wrong.

Do I disagree with him. Yes.

Is abortion such a cut and dry issue in the Bible that I believe it to be "an essential" of Christian theology. No.

There is a lot of sin in my life that I know about. I am not proud of it, but I humbly admit that I am not perfect. What's more is that there is probably even more sin in my life that I do not know about. I go on doing what I do, thinking I am right and correct, but in actuality I am not. Do I understand myself to be any less forgiven or redeemed because of this known and unknown sin? No.

What does Jesus say really saves us? I know sin in my life continually gets brought to the surface every day I am alive. I see no evidence that Paul or David or Peter or anyone went on to live a sinless life. So if we are saved only by the grace through our faith in Jesus Christ, why would it be hard to believe Dr. George Tiller - while probably erroneous in some of his theology and practice - would be unsaved?

So while I do not know the heart of George Tiller, if I were a betting man, I am going to bet that I'll see him again in heaven.