At 4:30 am Traci and I were wide awake. The kids were sleeping over with friends. So we were doing the unthinkable. We were headed to WalMart. It's a military exercise of sorts and we were actually later than most. Some had camped out all night inside the store. The 398.00 laptop was the hot item this time out and the 50 or so people in the line to get them would soon riot when they found out shortly before 5am that there were only 15 at this store. We wisely went to the new WalMart close to our house and avoided the one that is sitting conveniently between I35 and Dell Computer, reportedly the busiest Walmart in Texas. That was the one that we scouted last night and if the crowd then was any indication, that was the place to go if you wanted to involuntarily donate blood while buying Barbies and video games. By 11pm last night those who had staked their claim had either purchased or brought those folding lawn chairs in a bag and were camped in circles all over, strategically planning out their attack once the magic moment arrived. Since the militia had all gathered there, we opted for the other one. Now normally I don't frequent Walmart because they squeezed out the mom and pops, they underpay their employees, and I don't want to contribute to their inevitable global domination. Besides, Target is much cooler. But this year they had a price on an item that simply couldn't be beat, and so I bit and decided that we would brave the beast that Sam Walton created. (I can't tell you what it is because it's a surprise for the kiddos...) We wandered by the crowd waiting for the 42" plasma tv for 999.00. Past the slab of DVDs for 3.88. Past the portable DVD players for 68.00. Past the All in One Printers for 39.00 (which is cheaper than the ink). Back to the automotive section where a palate wrapped in plastic sat surrounded by a group of people staring at it as if it just fell from space. I couldn't read where the end of the line was so I took my place next to this guy who had just moved here from New York. He told of a car dealer on Long Island who put in an add that he would take 1000.00 off any car in the lot for every inch it snowed on Thanksgiving Day. That year it snowed 12 inches and there was a run on the lot. He was forced to honor the add, sold his stock, and probably went and jumped off a bridge somewhere. Either way, it was an entertaining story and diverted our attention from the clock as well as how close I had inched toward the stack of goodies. The store manager's voice echoed throughout the store warning everyone to be civil and respect their fellow man, and then announced that it was 5am. I figured all heck would break loose, but to my everlasting surprise, in our corner of the store things were pretty tame. I didn't get near the electronics so whatever commotion or rioting broke out there, we were not a part of it. It was kind of like being in Baghdad. Some parts are safe, in others you take a substantial risk. We got our stuff, were the first ones to the check out line, and went home. Well it's Christmas time and nothing says, "Happy birthday, Jesus" like a riot at WalMart. Ahhh I love this time of year.

In response to inquiries as to the events of our last Sunday, I offer the following:

Sunday was a nice day as last days go. Worship service was intensely moving as Paul and the team led us in some of my favorites. At one point I sincerely felt what it must be like to witness your own funeral. Everything was ‘bill’s favorite’ this and that. It was an awkward but kind gesture and I truly appreciated it. He’s a fabulous worship leader, an excellent communicator, and though we haven’t always seen eye to eye, he has been a solid support to me and has been a pleasure to work with. Angela (Thomison) Jones had made a request to sing on my last day and I was thrilled to agree to it. She’ll likely never know how glad I was that she sang because, in a rare twist, I was not anxious to start preaching. Which is probably why I didn’t. When I stood behind the pulpit.....I felt somewhat overwhelmed at the gravity of the moment.
I recalled the afternoon when Mark and Slim and I were up at the church before the first service in the new sanctuary. We were hooking up the sound system and putting it through it’s paces. Rather than sit there and say ‘test’ for fifteen minutes, I quoted some scripture. This past Sunday, I started to do the same thing. For some reason, my prepared sermon seemed to fall far short of what the moment called for so rather than rely on my words, I went to the Scriptures. I don’t know how much I quoted or how long it lasted but after it was all said and done I had Mark, the elders, and deacons step to the edge of the stage and led the congregation in a prayer of blessing for him and his family. We finished it up with the whole church reciting the Lord’s Prayer during which I stepped down and swapped out the microphone with Mark who, without missing a beat, stepped behind the pulpit and finished it out. We went to the annual Thanksgiving dinner at the church that night. Entirely on their own, three youth group members put together a simple but hilarious human video about the ‘preacher man’. CWC truly has some thoughtful and wonderful teens and I really appreciate them. We stood in line, ate some good food, chatted with some good folks, and called it a night. No fanfare, no speeches, no sentiment, no matter, just done. When I arrived here in 1993 our first exposure to the people of CWC was over a meal. Appropriately enough, my tenure in ministry here ended with the same simplicity with which it began.
I woke up Monday morning, sat in my chair with my Bible, and something felt different. I’ve become so accustomed to studying for the sake of the message that I realized that I’ll have to get used to studying for the sake of study. I prayed for Mark, realizing that his study habits would be taking a shift too. I loaded the family up late in the morning and we headed up to the church where my kids helped me clean out my office. A final glance through the records displayed a good number of weddings and a greater number of baby dedications, one often being the result of the other. I realized that some of those I had dedicated were now old enough to have an intelligent conversation with. Some of them think my first name is Pastor and my last name is Bill. When I recently visited my buddy, Caleb Iversen (and his parents), at their new home in Phoenix, I was reminded that to him, this is who I will always be. When the Buford kids (every one of them beautiful) say “Pastor Bill, pick me up! Hold me!” I dare you not to. Those hugs are real. When Riley says in her broken 2 year old vocabulary, “I love you, Pastor Bill” it’s pure indescribable joy. Whatever love I have left in me, those kids have had a way of finding it.
When the office was finally empty, I stood in the doorway and scanned the shelves and walls, turned the lights off, and walked out. I found my son in the sanctuary, alone in the dark. “Ready to go?”, I said. He didn’t answer. After some silence he began to list all of the things he had helped me work on when we were building the church. The lifts, the framing, the smell of sawdust, the late nights. Finally I say, “It’s time to go?” No longer a question, it’s now a statement that I have come to accept as truth. I can see this is all beginning to sink in for him. This is the only church family he’s ever known and it’s all changing. I’m tempted to bring the whole family into the church and up to the altar to have a moment of prayer alone before we leave. I had, over the years, had an unwritten custom of praying over folks up at the altar when they were facing a transition. The thought of praying over ourselves was a little odd. So I decided to break with tradition, dispense with the self blessing, and call it a day. With that, it was over. A decade of ministry come and gone. What did I like best? It’s a toss up between preaching the word, Joan’s weekly hug, and Mom Reece’s éclairs. What would I do different next time? I may spend the next 10 years answering that question.

Tonight I sit in Orlando Intl airport amidst the clamoring throng heading to God knows where for Thanksgiving. Hard to believe people will go to this much trouble to eat turkey. I know that's not what it's all about. We also have the need to fulfill an obligation to 'see' some folks who for some reason need to be seen. "You need to come over and see so and so..." So we go over and have the customary viewing. A couple of smiles, hugs, and how are you's and we look around for the food. Why do I need to see them? We don't speak beyond the basic surface of things. We gather because family worries us. They know too much about us. We get to take a hayride on the gossip wagon about who's getting divorced, who's getting married, who's died, who is sick, and who is pregnant. God help you if you don't show up because then you get to be the center of attention, and it won't likely be positive. Unless you're dead. Maybe that's why people still show up. Because they don't want to be the one that everyone talks about. I think the purpose for the occasional viewing is simply to make sure we're all still cool and that nobody is itching to sell our soul to the National Enquirer. All families have their share of eccentrics. I'm the resident religious nut (preacher) which simply means that I get to pray anytime someone needs to eat or has the gout. Watch your purse cause cousin Clem has a hankering to steal to support his skoal habit. Did you know cousin Cecil is illegitimate? That's why his forehead looks that way. Did you know that aunt Eula is datin a guy who goes by the name of Babycakes? What about cousin Elsie? Did you know she's drunk everyday by 10am and she teaches second grade. Here's one that's real. "My wife left me. A week later I met my new wife. Now my ex comes over every day to do the laundry. We call her the oldest daughter. The other day we had the annual 'Squirrel Stew' and..." Wait a sec, I say to my uncle who is named after a certain alcoholic beverage. What in the name of bib overalls is that? "What? You mean to tell me you've never eaten squirrel? Fer sure you gotta round up a mess of em to fill a ladle but, dang, they're good eatin." All in all, God bless family. Who needs to watch strange folks on reality TV? You simply have to head home for the holidays to get the real thing. When it comes down to it, they bring a little color to your world. The food is always hot, the hugs are pretty genuine, the stories are entertaining, and hey, somebody's gotta be there to talk about you when you're gone. Happy Thanksgiving.

Peter speaks of Paul's writings as "...in which are some things hard to be understood..." (2 Peter 3:16) I don't understand more than I understood 5 years ago. The more I know I don't understand, the less I realize I understand the things I previously thought I understood. If I now begin to understand a thing, will I realize that I, in fact, didn't understand what I now claim to understand? Even the things that were easily understood are beyond understanding to me in that I thought I clearly understood what I now believe I don't understand. In all this, I realize that I am less understanding all around. Though this currently makes sense to my mind, I must realize that one day I will look back on this writing and realize that I don't understand what in the world I was talking about. Fortunately, when I read the following, I don't feel so bad. Job 36:26 (NIV) How great is God, beyond our understanding!

I’ve seen some magical and interesting sights this year. The Amish WalMart of Lancaster County, the 911 memorial service in Princeton town square, the fall colors of McKenzie Pass in Oregon’s Cascade Range, the pastel shacks of Juarez, the Malibu coastline, the foundation room at LA’s House of Blues, Baltimore harbor at dusk, and this week I’ve got another incredible moment to add to the list. I wandered out into the desert outside of Tucson and came across the ‘boneyard’. That’s the local name for an immense portion of the desert set aside as a place where old airplanes go to die. The thousands of rusted aircraft stretch as far as the eye can see and I have to say, it’s an eerie sight. With the dust and desert all around and the jagged mountains in the background, it’s enough to make you start talking to yourself. “What in the world???” I say, as I park the car and get out. I walk to the high chain link fence and scan the horizon. The silence and stillness of the desert makes you feel as though even God has forgotten about this place. Certainly man has discarded some amazing creations here. Every kind of plane you can imagine looms over the flat ground as cactus and tumbleweed seem to be the only life around to watch over the ghostly craft that once glided proudly high above this dusty desert floor. It’s a strange situation I guess. They’re too valuable to destroy and too worn to fly again. Why does this strike me as sad and moving? Perhaps because each of these represents a colossal undertaking by many people who devoted amazing amounts of time and effort bringing just one of them off of the assembly line only to be sold to a buyer for millions of dollars. Some of man’s finest achievements in science and technology now sitting forgotten and silent. I wonder how many other achievements of man will end up this way? Perhaps it’s not only the bad things that end up in the sea of forgetfulness. We humans tend to throw pretty much everything there, except for the things that other’s have done to wrong us. We’re pretty much the opposite of God in that respect. He forgets the bad and remembers the good. We forget most everything except for the bad. We’ve got a lot to learn.