Gas Tax: More Than Fumes

Ballots for the May 19th Election will show up in your mailboxes this Saturday. In Springfield you will be asked to vote on a 2 cent a gallon gas tax. This tax will cost the average drive 20-dollars a year. Don’t just say no because it’s a tax. This is a tax that goes to the maintenance and preservation of our streets. Yep, that’s it. No curbs, no bike lanes, no drains just maintaining the great streets we have. We’re going all over the media with this information today. To find out more go to our website http://saveourstreetstoday.com

Voters get to decide this issue all we ask is that you get informed first.

Hold On/Relay For Life

Every time I sit down to write about what happened Tuesday Night my words fall flat. Each time I sit down to explain why a simple dress rehearsal for a “Relay for Life Event” restored something so basic in my life; I can’t seem to find the words.

It was just a rehearsal. At least that’s all it was supposed to be. I didn’t know that the stories of survival, the songs sung, the lives shared could crush something inside of me that needed to be crushed.

I think this is a moment too personal to really share. I think this is one of those times you have to experience it yourself; words will not define what happens in this performance.

So rather than write about this deeply personal moment I simply invite you to come see for yourself.

This Friday Night at Willamette Christian Center 110 people in a choir will find the notes, words and prayers to make you feel human again. It’s a fundraiser for the Lane County Sheriff’s Relay for Life Team. It starts at 7:30. The cost is only $10 dollars.

I can’t promise you that you will be touched in the same way I was moved but I can promise you something will change in you if you take the time to step beyond what you had planned this weekend and stop by.

John Woodrow Dies

http://www.springfieldtimes.net/news/story.cfm?story_no=6029

Springfield City Councilor John Woodrow died this morning. He used to hang out and write on our website. Check out the Springfield Times for more information.

His Name is Barry

I wish I had a picture of Barry to show you. One look at his face would put a smile on yours. He resembles Popeye The Sailor Man. Decked out in his Carhart Jacket and his favorite cap; he has a smile on his face that won’t go away. Actually, I don’t think his smile can leave his face. For the 30-minutes he sat in Full City Coffee Shop near me the smile stayed.

I’ve met Barry before. He’s hearing impaired and has some mental challenges. As he sat with his caregivers from the Oregon Supported Living Program he carried on a conversation with his hands, fingers, eyes and that smile. I went over to say hi and he remembered me. So, right there in front of the entire coffee shop Barry and I had a conversation because we can. Sure, people look at you sort of funny. People with disabilities tend to bring discomfort to those who like to label themselves normal. It doesn’t bother me. In fact, I like it, I crave it, and I respect it. God tells us in the Bible to come to Him as a little child. People with disabilities instinctively understand this concept. They tend to judge less, smile more, and tell you exactly what they’re thinking. Embarrassment is not an emotion easily understood to those with special abilities.

Back to Barry: we talked about his crush on one of the women who works at Full City. He kept reminding me that I used to work on TV and he simply smiled.

I want to be more like Barry when I grow up. Okay, if I choose to grow up. I’m still undecided. Childish seems to be as close to childlike as I can get. Maybe I need to hang out with folks like Barry so I can grow up.

Simple Enough

He stood at the top of the mountain, looking at the valley below. His mind switched gears like a remote moving through different channels on the television. Memories flashed by of this journey from one life to the next. His mind filled with good and bad memories. Questions tried to find their way from his soul to his lips to a sound but nothing. For some reason none of it mattered right now. There, standing on the top of the mountain, he and his creator, eye to eye for the first time.

When he started up this mountain, so long ago, his burden was heavy, the yoke unbearable. He was pulling a wagon filled with his past, his belongings and his perceived reputation. As he climbed the mountain, casting off each belonging seemed so difficult at the time. Many times along the way he had made camp, afraid not to continue but unable to carry all that he had with him. It took time to sort out what would go and what he would continue to try and take to the top of the mountain.

As he got closer to the top he realized the wagon was gone and with it much that had been inside. Later, the yoke was lighter; someone next to him was assisting with the load. The man thought he recognized the face but failed to take time to stop and have a conversation.

Somewhere near the end, a point came when everything the man knew was laid before him on the ground. All the things that he counted on as his were there before him. Important things, so they seemed to be. The top of the mountain was so close. To continue meant something else had to go.

There I stand, wanting the top paragraph of this story to be more than a few words on a computer screen. Trust is what holds me back that and a willingness to abandon everything to stare into the face of God. So I look down at the essentials scattered at my feet and struggle to decide which one goes next. The only thing holding me back is disobedience or the refusal to be simple enough.

Repairers of the Breach

The breach in the wall started as a deterioration of some mortar, a slight hole at first. To the unsuspecting there seemed no reason for repair, but to the master builder, the crumbling rock warned of problems to come. When the hole grew larger some of the people started to notice. Some said, now is the time for repairs. But most just walked by, ignoring the light damage in progress.

As years past the hole increased. Soon, people began crawling through the hole to the other side, never to return. Those on the inside of the wall tried to talk travelers from crawling through but the temptation was too great.

One day, a man they called the prophet, began to quote words the ancestors had written long ago. Words of warning that were written in the great book that used to be used as a guide by all the people.

The words talked of removing the yoke from their midst. They warned of pointing fingers and speaking wickedness and of following tradition rather than the one who had lead their forefathers to this great land. Few listened to the wisdom of the one crying in the streets. Instead of following, they began undermining and discrediting the words that poured from his soul.

The systems in place, and those who followed them, rather than following the one who wrote the great book, had the most to lose. Programs, politics and position brought comfort, consistency and control. Without these things, those who thought they were in charge predicted disaster.

But one day, the eyes of the people started to open. They saw the hole for what it was, a drain sucking the life out of people. The words of the prophet began taking hold. They heard him say “You shall raise up the foundations of many generations: and you shall be called the repairers of the breach, the restorer of streets to dwell in.”

And here we sit in 2009 with a gaping hole in the wall. But who will listen? Who will stop blaming, pointing fingers and taking the focus off the real problem? Until we are willing to give up, the hole will continue to grow. Until we are willing to stop pointing fingers and as the prophet Isaiah said,“extend our soul to the hungry and satisfy the afflicted soul” nothing will change. We will remain in darkness waiting for political and religious systems to save us.