God roots for the underdog. God is the underdog. In the end, the underdog wins.*

(With apologies to Gutierrez and Moltmann.)

*Does not apply to Oklahoma State football.

1. Thank them. The surest way to eliminate your congregation’s thankless tasks.

2. Trust them. Nine times out of ten—at least—they have your congregation’s best interests at heart. They are your sisters and brothers in faith. Give them the respect they deserve. Assume the best.

3. Follow them. Your congregational leadership doesn’t work for you: they work for the larger congregation and its mission. Your pledge doesn’t make you their boss. They invest hours and days of their lives to serve that mission. Show your support for that mission by following where they lead.

4. Join them. They’d appreciate a hand, and offering your help—instead of waiting for them to chase you down—makes them feel energized and supported. Don’t know how to help? Just ask!

The plugin to end all plugins. Just remember to wipe.

The Gospel of Galactus. Are you ready for his coming, true believers? (Hat tip.)

It’s fantasy football for nerds. Welcome to Fantasy Congress, where politics is the spectator sport you love to hate (or is it hate to love?). Pick your team and get points as your team’s legislation winds its way through Congress.

Want in? I’ve got a league going. Leave a comment below and I’ll send you an invite.

I grew up on a creek. The addition we lived in had been a Boy Scout camp before Oklahoma City sprawled out and turned it into subdivisions. The subdivision next door still had some of the sidewalks and outbuildings, and I’d occasionally go for a dip in the old Boy Scout pool.

Northwest Oklahoma City is dotted by a string of small lakes and ponds connected by the creeks that were dammed up to build or expand them. I spent a good deal of my boyhood trying to dam up the creek that ran behind our house, though my friends and I were far more successful in falling in the creek than in damming it up.

If you were patient, you could catch the world’s tiniest perch with a piece of hot dog—if you didn’t pull out a snapping turtle instead. There were frogs, of course, and the high school kid across the street always managed to find several snakes every time he went back. When we didn’t have a dog, and when the coyotes didn’t get them, a family of rabbits would make its home in our back yard.

Two doors down, another creek merged with ours, and I often sneaked into that backyard to sit on the rocks where the two streams met, watching the water float by and listening to it tumble over the pebbles. When I felt more adventurous, I’d make my way along the creek by scaling the neighbor’s fence, hoping he wouldn’t come out yelling and waving his shotgun again.

I learned to meditate on that creek. And pray. I didn’t know it then. I couldn’t have told you that’s what I was doing, but sitting at the edge of the water or hopping from rock to sandbar to rock centered me. I’d meet myself there, have a good conversation, and catch up. Maybe say a few things to god that I needed to say to myself. It was my creek, and I was its boy. Click to continue reading “I found my creek”