On this Day in History

A girl named Copper sat across the table from me. Her pale blue eyes intermittenly caught mine as we observed the excitement of the other girls with us. I slowly munched on a squishy fry, and Copper sipped from a Coke. McDonald's seemed like an odd place to come and celebrate, although Copper and I had no idea what exactly we were celebrating.
That weekend my parents had allowed me to finally go to my friend Terri's youth group, and jumping in with both feet, I went on a weekend retreat with with fifty or so 12 to 13 year olds of whom I'd only met one or two. For a person as shy as me at that time in my life, I was definately in over my head.
The focus of the weekend was The Dawson McAllister Student Conference held at Riverside Baptist Church in Denver, Colorado. I had never heard of Dawson McAllister before that weekend, and really, haven't heard of him since, but whenever I drive through downtown Denver I like to give a wink and a nod to Riverside Baptist Church, which is actually no where near a river, but instead located next door to what was then Mile High Stadium.
In traditional fashion the conference feature alot of cutting edge worship music, performed by a man named Todd, whose bleached blond hair and less than casual use of the word "dude" and the phrase "odd for God" would now nauseate me, but then, endeared him to my heart. I hung on every word that came out of his mouth. If Todd was the looks of the operation, then Dawson was the brains, as he did all of the teachings that weekend. The topic of that conference was something along the lines of spiritual warfare. Actually, the only thing I remember clearly was an illustration of a Roman guard and a fill in the blank sort of excercise in which we labeled that parts of the guard's armor that Paul spoke of in Galatians 5.
By Saturday night, the overstimulation of the weekend lead to emotional vulnerabilty and the time was right for Dawson to share the Gospel. Dawson shared things that I'd heard before, that Jesus was the Son of God, and came to earth to die for my sins, and that I had the chance to accept him into my life as my personal savior. That night it clicked. When Dawson gave the opportunity for people to come forward if they wanted to accept Christ into their lives, my stomach flip-flopped a thousand times over as I knew that I was one of those people. I looked behind me, our youth group had totally scored seats in the second row, and there where hundreds of other kids who I'm certain were staring directly at me. I hunched further into my seat, avoiding eye contact with the kids I was with, I didn't want them to know that I was one of those people whom Dawson was speaking to, with whom Dawson was imploring, "Tonight may be your last night on earth. Do you know what will happen when you die?"
Two things happened at once. I had the overwhelming sense that this really was going to be my last chance to accept Christ into my life, and the boy sitting in front of me, Matt, who played soccer and had lots of friends in youth group got up and started walking toward the alter. I did not have this cognitive thought at the time, but it now seems to me that some where in my brain I figured that if that kid, who did have friends in this youth group didn't have Jesus in his heart, it would probably be okay for me to admit that I didn't have Jesus in my heart as well. I stood up, and -- let me say without irony --that I felt very much like I was being pushed toward the stage. I quickly found myself wrapped in a throng of weeping teenagers grasping on to their friends with one hand, and with the other lifting their hands in worship. I tried to mimic what they were doing, it seemed like they had received some kind instruction that I had missed out on, but the tears weren't in me and when I meekly lifted my hands, I felt quite foolish. So instead, I put my hands in my pocket, and mumbled the words of the song wondering if I had accepted Jesus yet.
Before long those of us standing in front of the stage were directed to exit the auditorium where we were paired up with understanding adults, beaming at the opportunity to share the gospel with some one like me. The woman I was paired up with was kind, with glasses and brown hair. She commented on my brightly-hued, magenta Greenpeace t-shirt as we walked down the spiralling hall into the basement of the church. I told her that it was actually my mother's t-shirt. Her look of relief diminshed slightly when I proudly told her that I also donated portions of my Christmas money to Greenpeace, the Nature Conservancy and had adopted my own whale and gorilla.
We shuffled into a room with several other adult-adolescent pairs, she set up a couple of folding chairs facing each other and motioned for me to sit down. I started to get scared again, like maybe I had made the wrong decision and was some how in trouble, but on the other side of the room I saw my friend Terri, who had invited me on the trip with one of counselors, asking a question that the counselor was clearly not prepared to answer. The woman gave me a little booklet that demonstrated that there was a gap between God and me, as a result of my sin, and the only way to fill that gap was to accept Jesus. There was even a cute little drawing of a stick figure walking over a bridge, formed by the cross, and into Heaven. I liked this idea, and decided to pray with the woman in order to accept Jesus Christ into my life.
There is a gap in my memory from that moment, until sitting at that table in McDonalds with Copper and the other excitable girls, congratulating us on "the best decision we could ever make." I don't disagree with them, but I wonder, if at twelve, they really had the authority to make that sort of declaration in regard to they way my life would unfold. I also wonder, if I'd know then what it really meant to be a Christian, and they way God would guide my life as a result of my choice that night, if I would have have gotten up from my seat at all. I sort of think that I would not have, which may be why that night, in my heart I was so thoroughly convinced that I had to act then, that I would never again have the opportunity that was before me.
"Best" really isn't the word to describe the weight of my choice to accept Christ, because I think some of the "best" decisions I've made were the ones that came after that night, but that I would not have made had that night not happened.
There is a strange fatality looking back at that night. I didn't understand what I was getting myself into, sometimes I still don't understand what I have gotten myself into, but that push is still there. The push from behind me and from within me that tells me there is no other option but to do this, and to live this life according to the opportunities presented to me.

"The Noticer"Episode 1: The Case of the Misnamed Baby

So I really love mysteries. I'm borderline obsessed with them, and I'm always hoping for a real live (but not scary) mystery to take place in my own life. My favorite dectives are the ones like Sherlock Holmes, Velma and the slighty creepy guy on Law and Order: Criminal Intent who solve their mysteries by paying attention to all the stuff that other people don't notice. Maybe because of all the mystery stories I've read, I kinda think that I notice more stuff the the average person, I also like to learn all sorts of random stuff so that I can understand more about the stuff that I notice. My roommate and I have developed a premise for my eventual mystery show which will more than likely aired on the USA network. So far we've got a title and a tagline. Ready?

The Noticer: I notice shit.

It's good, huh? We haven't decided what the theme music will be, but it will be good. I'm in need of a sidekick too.

Yesterday, I solved my first observational mystery, as The Noticer will probably not want to get herself entangled with a dark criminal element. Here it is:

The Case of the Misnamed Baby

Clue #1: Travis is an associate director of the best group home that brings clients into my office. He's the epitome of returned missionary: clean cut, well dressed, good looking in the boy next door sort of way, and genuinely, profoundly nice. He's married, and he and his wife just had their first baby this summer. Being new parents, they struggled to pick the name that would forever identify and define their daughter. Just before their baby was born they concluded that she shall be known as Reagan. The family prepared, quilting and crocheting, and emblazened the name Reagan on every type of fabric a baby could possibly need.

Clue #2: Travis came into work one day, shortly after Reagan was born to show us pictures of his beautiful new baby girl. When I asked what her name was, he grinned sheepishly, "It's a funny story," he said. Turns out, that about a week after Baby Reagan had been home, her mother gazingly loving into her baby's face, decided that she just didn't look like a Reagan, and that she wanted to change her name. The other name the couple had considered was Shelby and so, per momma's orders, their new daughter birth certificate was changed, all of her Reagan Gear was packed away, she is to henceforth be known as Shelby, the name that Travis has preferred all along.

Clue#3: Whenever Travis comes into the office, while waiting in the lobby he picks up the same tired copy of Car and Driver magazine. More than once, I've heard in make comments about cars that show more that an ordinary interest in the machines. It seems Travis is a Car Guy.

Clue#4: Although I can't remember how this conversation came about, one day, one of Travis's employees mentioned to me that Travis always keeps a model of a Shelby Mustang on his desk. I did not know there was such a thing as a Shelby Mustang before this time, but being The Noticer, my interest was piqued.

Mystery Solved: Travis came into the office yesterday, picked up his favorite copy of Car and Driver magazine, and waited for his client to arrive for the appointment. One of my more "unique" clients was in the waiting room, and essentially started to hit on Travis. He's is a good-looking fellow, so this was nothing new for him, he quickly mentioned that he was married and had a baby girl. My patient asked the baby's name, and Travis began "It's a funny story actually ..." When he'd told the tale to my client, who quickly lost interest, I said to him "Oh, by the way, I've been meaning to ask you, I don't supposed your daughter's name has anything to do with the Shelby Mustang." He turned his face away from me, blushing, but trying to hide a smile. "My wife doesn't like for me to bring up the fact that it's also a name of a car ..."

CASE CLOSED