July Update

I Should Have Seen It Coming

My goal: Begin running in 2012. Even made it down the block. Make it four on a good day. But, the whole time my body dissented, “Uh, uh. Not yet.” Intuitively, I knew that I was trying to make too large of a leap too soon.

So, I now have an exercise Plan B. A happy one. I’m grateful every time I get to do it. Instead of long, lonely runs through wooded trails, I’m now taking long, lonely bike rides through wooded trails. It’s good. I’m getting stronger. And Wisconsin’s former railroad beds are seeing their finest days as straight, flat, quiet and wooded bike paths.

I’m exercising freely again, and I’m grateful.

I can’t do what I once did (yet!), but it’s not stopping me from enjoying what I can do. I haven’t always been this content, but this summer, I am.

And for running? Well, maybe 2013.

I Didn’t See It Coming

It was a Thursday morning. Almost noon. I was fully awake. The phone rang. Would I speak at an event? Sure. I’d be honored.

Oh, by the way, would I be District Superintendent for a year? No thanks. Not on my agenda. Kind of you to ask, though.

It was Friday morning. Almost midnight. I was sound asleep. The nudge came. Shouldn’t I at least ask HIM what HE thinks before I go throwing around “yeses” and “nos” with my life? Um. Good point. Three hours later, as birds begin to rouse the dawn, I know I have to return the phone call.

So, I now have a Plan B for the next year. As of August 1, 2012, I’ll be the Acting District Superintendent for the Alliance Northwest. Washington, Oregon, Alaska and two congregations across the Idaho line. Once again, I get to “pinch hit” for a ministry in transition. Once again, I’ll seek to provide leadership stability and hand-off a ministry in as good or better condition than I found it. Once again, I get to dive in with a ministry team and seek to leave a blessing.

I know I’ll be blessed in return. And, I’ll get to once again apply a lesson I’ve taught many times,

Even if I won’t be somewhere very long, I can be all there while I’m there.

The lesson works well from grocery lines to interim jobs.

So, I’ll continue to write and fulfill my preaching obligations, but I’ve begun to give some "can't do it now" answers to invitations, and will have to change some of my publishing expectations. All this is in God’s good hands. He gave me a few months of being the full-time author/coach/preacher guy . . . and now I get to re-enter the world of leadership again.

I Was Told That It Was Coming

I bought a lawnmower. “Trusty Red” didn’t make it onto the moving van. Grass grows in Wisconsin whether you own a lawnmower or not. Fast.

I bought an “old school” lawnmower. No motor. Just a handle, blades and wheels. Sweet. Nothing to start. Nothing to not start. No gas to buy. Oh, and the fact that I saved a few hundred bucks may have had something to do with it as well.

I like my lawnmower. Neighborhood boys stop their bikes and admire. Oil sheiks weep. It cuts crisply. It stores easily. Life’s good.

Only one problem. The instruction manual (Yes, I read them. Pity me. Only in one language, though.) tells me that the mower doesn’t cut anything “tall.” It offers dandelion stems as an example. The manual does not lie.

What this means, then, is that I complete my mowing with a sense of satisfaction, only to look back and see sporadic strays. Like silos scattered throughout the countryside, lone stalks of dandelion stems or irascible grass loom. Standing six, eight, ten inches tall they mock me. “Loser.”

I have a yard that is 99.5% beautifully mown. The 0.5% is not in one little corner, as if the guy behind the mower missed a section. No. the 0.5% is scattered throughout the whole yard as if the guy behind the mower masterfully avoided one single stalk every few feet.

Maybe this is why the neighborhood boys stop their bikes and watch.

So, I now have a Plan B for lawn mowing. I have become the proud owner of a string-whipping, weed slaughtering, Black & Decker trimmer. I use it’s power to ruthlessly slash one stubborn stem at a time.

And, it leads me to my final profound thought of the day,

In every yard a little stray must grow.

Did you see that coming?

The Journey Continues,
John Stumbo
Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin