MURRAY CHRISTMAS ... 2007?

This is my first Christmas season to have a blog. Therefore, I feel like I should post something about last Friday's MURRAY CHRISTMAS -- my annual party for my friends.

But, I'm not really sure what to say.

I've already thanked people for coming (thanks again, by the way), I've already sent out Stan's pictures (here they are again), and I've already found the owner of gift that was left behind.

Surprisingly, I find myself at a loss for words.

So, at the risk of setting up my friends for major disappointment, let me turn the tables and ask YOU to make this post worthwhile. Simply answer this question:

How can I improve MURRAY CHRISTMAS in 2007?

Lost in translation?

I wonder if this is what comes to mind when the world hears the church's or Christians' statements on making sacrifices to the Lord ...

Were you sprinkled, dunked, or cannonballed?

The video is funny, but the comments it inspired are ... well ... interesting.

Two words you never see in a sentence

Went to my neighborhood Target tonight on Sawyer for some stuff and stopped off at the Starbucks inside for a grande non-fat decaf peppermint mocha to keep me company. Hello, sweet friend.

I handed the cashier my debit card, but he waved it off. Afraid they would only take cash (which I didn't have on me), I began to mourn the loss of my sweet friend. But, the cashier explained that their cash register wasn't working so my drink was free.

That's right. Free. Starbucks gave me a grande non-fat decaf peppermint mocha for free.

Later, while standing in line to check-out with my basket of stuff, I wondered if the cash register were up and running yet at the Starbucks, and if not, would the cashier give me another grande non-fat decaf peppermint mocha for free.

But then I realized I didn't want to be that guy, so I wasn't.

Goodbye, dodgeball.

Well, this has come along about 25-30 years too late. If I could have just done THIS the whole time, my P.E. classes would not have been such a "Lord of the Flies" nightmare experience.

Be sure to watch the video under "Resources: Related Links."

Film Premiere at HFBC

For those of you in H-Town, come on out to HFBC on Saturday, December 2, at 7:30 pm for the premiere of an award-winning film -- The Oath of Desormeau. The event is free, so just show up!

With coverage in the Houston Chronicle and other sources, we're hoping to reach people who may otherwise not come to HFBC -- or to any church, for that matter. Pray that this will attract film enthusiasts here in H-Town.

"Steven W. Murray slept here"

This will only be of interest to about 2 or 3 of you, plus anybody who may be painfully bored at work this holiday week. After some searching on Google maps, I've found every place in which I've lived in the past 36 years.

(If you've used Google maps before, you know that the arrow is sometimes off by a block or two. So, some of these links may be misleading.)

San Jacinto Hospital, Baytown, Texas (1970)
St. Andrews Drive, Baytown, Texas (1970-1973)
Autumn Drive, Basking Ridge, New Jersey (1973-1975)
Glen Haven, Baytown, Texas (1975-1988)
Penland Hall, Baylor University, Waco, Texas (1988-1989)
Jamestown Apartments, Waco, Texas (1989-1991)
Cottonwood Apartments, Waco, Texas (1991-1992)
Mill Creek Condos, College Station, Texas (1992-1994)
Country Club View, Baytown, Texas (1994-1995)
Greenridge Place, Houston, Texas (1996)
- Radisson, Racine, Wisconsin (1996) - project with Accenture
Country Club View, Baytown, Texas (1997-1998)
- Chastain Apartments, Atlanta, Georgia (1997) - project with Accenture
- Some apartments, San Antonio (1997) - project with Accenture
Feagan, Houston, Texas (1998-present)


While we're at it, here are my schools, too:

Pumphrey Elementary, Baytown, Texas (1975-1981)
Gentry Junior School, Baytown, Texas (1981-1982)
Baytown Junior School, Baytown, Texas (1982-1984)
Ross S. Sterling High School, Baytown, Texas (1984-1988)
Baylor University, Waco, Texas (1988-1992)
Texas A&M University, College Station, Texas (1992-1994)

Do you hear what I hear? I hope not.

My excitement about Christmas expressed in a previous post has taken a bit of a hit.

Today, on 99.1 FM here in H-Town, I heard The Christmas Shoes by Newsong. Actually, I only heard the last two lines of the chorus as the song faded out. But that was more than enough to bring me down.

If I hear Happy Birthday Jesus any time soon, I may just have to shut off all radio stations between now and December 26.

Yes, the messages are sweet and well-intended. But, cheezy Christmas stuff is the worst. The worst, I tell ya. The worst!

Today, I was a Grandpa

Today was Grandparents' and Special Friends' Day at First Baptist Academy. Abby (12) and Isaiah (5), children of Denise and Don (HFBC's Singles Minister), asked me to be their "grandpa" for the day.

I was honored ... and humored, too. Clearly, I fall in the "special friend" category. But since that sounds a little too much like "domestic partner" I'm happy to be considered a grandpa.

When I arrived at Isaiah's kindergarten room, some of the other legitimate grandparents were already there. Apparently, each child had introduced their respective grandparents and told the other students what they call them, such as "Granny" or "Pops" or whatever.

Isaiah got up, came over and stood by me and told his classmates, "This is Steven. I call him Steven." Then he sat down.

Short. Sweet. To the point. Fantastic.

"We want our baby back, baby back, baby back, baby back, baby back ribs!"

Here's a little something I found on HoustonArchitecture.info -- a website I check out for the latest inside scoop on new developments in H-Town. It's a comment somebody posted about residents of new apartment complexes in the Heights area inside the Loop:

"Based on my observations, a large majority of those who dwell in the newish apartments that litter Studewood (and soon Sawyer Heights) are single or newly married twenty-somethings that grew up in Kingwood or Sugarland, and moved to "downtown" after A&M because that's what everyone does for a few years. As soon as they hit 28 or so, they'll be married, expecting, and happily moving back to the 'burbs, where a night out means baby-rack ribs at 6 pm."

That is brilliant and it makes me smile.

Interesting IM behavior

I've observed some interesting behavior when it comes to instant messaging.

Maybe my friends are all perfectionists. Maybe they think I have the IQ of a fork. Or maybe they are afraid of making a mistake in a message to a guy who finds misspellings and formatting inconsistencies on restaurant menus. (Yep. I'm that guy.)

Regardless of why it happens, here's what I've observed: When instant messaging, my friends are compelled to self-correct their typos in an apparent effort to clarify any confusion their typos may have caused me.

Here's a sample (though fictional) conversation:

me: how are you doing?
Friend: i'm just fine
me: where did you go this weekend?
Friend: we went to ausitn
austin
me: what did y'all do?
Friend: visited some of out friends
i mean "our" friends


Seriously? Are these corrections really necessary? Does my friend really think that I am sitting there scratching my head or searching Google Maps trying to figure out where Ausitn is?

I may not have mastered sudoku yet, but I think I'm able to solve these IM word jumbles pretty easily.

I prmoise!

It may smell, but not from cigarettes

Tim Russert and Brit Hume may not have been watching, but my eyes were on an election in Baytown last night.

I am happy to report that my hometown approved a city-wide smoking ban, with 57% in favor and 43% against. The ordinance is said to be one of the toughest in the state.

Before long, Baytown will be known for having the cleanest darn bowling alleys, ice houses, and auto repair shops in all of Texas! So to all you folks in The Woodlands ... you better watch your backs. Baytown's givin' you a run for your money!

Me vs. Lance Armstrong

Seven years ago, I finished the Houston marathon. It was certainly the most significant athletic and physical accomplishment of my life, and possibly my most significant accomplishment -- period.

Today, Lance Armstrong joined the club of marathon finishers. He called the race "the hardest physical thing I have ever done" -- even more grueling than his worst days on the Tour de France. You see, Lance -- you don't get to sit down on your bike seat in a marathon.

What really encourages me is that he was in a lot of pain. I don't mean that in a mean-spirited way, but the fact that arguably the greatest athlete of our time suffered more in his marathon debut than I did just really makes me feel good. (OK, so maybe that is a little sinister.)

And it's worth noting that Lance doesn't have quite the stamina that I showed in my marathon. He could only last for 2 hours and 59 minutes. I stuck it out for an amazing 5 hours and 32 minutes.

How's that for endurance, huh?

Can we just skip Thanksgiving?

Forget what Hobby Lobby might have told you back in July. The Christmas season did not officially begin until today, Friday, November 3, at about 10:54 am.

That's when I had the first sip of my first Starbucks peppermint mocha of the season.

I rounded out this first day of the Christmas season by buying Christmas music on iTunes. Nothin' like Martina McBride beltin' out "O Holy Night" to put me in the mood!

The "key" to a happy life?

When I got home tonight, I walked up to the front door of my house and pressed the "unlock" button on my car's remote opener on my keychain.

When nothing happened, I pressed it again. Still nothing, so I very intently aimed the remote at the doorknob, pressed the button firmly, and furrowed my brow for good measure.

Then I realized what I was doing.

Praise the Lord for the ability to laugh at ourselves, right? Life would just be too boring -- and miserable -- without it.

Rejected by Trick-or-Treaters

In the 8 years that I've lived in my house, I'm pretty sure I've never had trick-or-treaters. I was either at HFBC's Fall Festival each year, or kids just simply didn't show up. Living inside the loop in a transitional area filled with townhomes and crack houses, there aren't many young families in the 'hood.

So last night, when I heard footsteps and giggling voices coming up the stairs, I knew I was in trouble. Trick-or-treaters were approaching and I had nothing to give them. Nothing. Not expecting to have any visitors, I didn't buy any candy.

This was not going to end well.

Keep in mind that my accountability group was meeting at my place. Dave, Todd and I were talking when we heard the kids approaching. (Lincoln is on his honeymoon.) Also, keep in mind that my front door is 2/3 glass with a direct view into the living room where the three of us were sitting. The kids spotted us before we could hide.

Again, this was not going to end well.

DING-DONG!

"Trick or treat! Hey, I see people in there!"

I got up and ran to the kitchen in hopes of finding something that I could give them. My mind was working overtime, trying to rationalize each thing I saw as being a worthy treat for the kids.

Trail mix? No, it's not individually packaged. I can't give the kids a bunch of loose raisins and nuts.

Pretzel sticks? No, they're not individually packaged either. Plus, they're the whole-wheat kind. What kid wants health food?

Plastic cups? Maybe they could make something fun out of it. Add some string and you have an old tyme phone system. No, this isn't Little House on the Prairie.

As my frantic search continued, Todd and Dave did their part. Todd answered the door and spoke with Darth Vader and his Power Ranger friend. Their princess friend was still working her way up the stairs, trying not to trip over the dress and not to let go of her wand. Little did she know ... all that work for nothing.

Meanwhile, Dave hid from sight from the kids but shouted out ideas to me in the kitchen.

"Give 'em the Doritos!" he suggested, referring to an unopened extra-large bag of Doritos left over from a party a few weeks ago.

By this time, the Power Ranger had actually come into my house about three feet and had a look on his face that seemed to say, "Really, mister? You got nothin' for us?"

Oh, but I did have something! Nacho cheese Doritos in a bag bigger than the kid's torso!

When I offered the Doritos to the kids, they actually shook their heads no. I was rejected by a group of American kids -- kids who are known world-wide for their ability to scarf down their weight in junk food on a daily basis. Unbelievable.

So off they went, empty-handed on Halloween. I stepped outside and apologized to the adults waiting for the kids down on the street. (The princess was still working her way up the stairs.) The adults laughed and told me not to worry about it, but I did feel badly.

Next year I'll be prepared.

Witches in church? Oh my!

This morning, I was diligently typing at my computer and staring at the monitor -- totally in "the groove" working on a document. Something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye -- something standing in the doorway of my office.

I looked up to find two fully decked out witches bearing gifts.

Keep in mind that I work at a Southern Baptist megachurch. We don't really "do" Halloween around here except for our Fall Festival -- a safe alternative to trick-or-treating where members are asked to not dress their children in ghost, witch, or devil costumes. And the only employees who dressed up today were three pairs of women who dressed as twins.

Therefore, seeing two witches in my office was certainly a surprise.

Who were they? To protect their identity, I will just say that they were sales reps from a local advertiser here in Houston -- an advertiser who is working hard to get our business.

That's all.

(Actually, there is more to the story, but you'll have to ask about that in person. I'm not posting it on the internet. Nope. Not gonna do it.)

October 30, 1980

When I was in 5th grade, the "Big Game" between the two high schools in my hometown happened to fall on Friday, October 31.

That posed a problem. Either I would be at the game with my parents and not be able to trick-or-treat, or I would stay home and go trick-or-treating in an empty neighborhood. As with most small towns in Texas, everybody would be at the game -- not at home handing out candy to kids.

So I came up with a plan.

I convinced a couple of my friends to go trick-or-treating with me on Thursday, October 30. It made sense to me based on my 10-year old logic. Since I assumed that everybody else in town would have recognized the unfortunate scheduling dilemma like I did, I expected my neighbors would be well-stocked with plenty of candy ready to hand out.

I was wrong.

At every house we went to that night, we were greeted with looks of confusion and panic that seemed to say, "What? Am I off a day? Are we about to be inundated with kids?" Fortunately, a few houses had already bought their candy supply for the next day and graciously gave us our share.

After having to explain ourselves at every house and coming across more bare cupboards than we had hoped for, we gave up. Clearly, the neighbors lacked the vision and entrepreneurial spirit of this sweet-toothed 5th grader.

My Friend's Look-Alikes: CATHA

Today's friend: CATHA

My Friend's Look-Alikes: DAVE

This is the first in a series on who my friends look like.

Today's friend: DAVE

I was LOST

You LOST fans will appreciate this. No worries -- this post reveals nothing about last night's episode if you haven't seen it yet.

I decided to watch LOST last night since nothing else was on. I am not a regular watcher, and I missed the last week or two. So ... as I sat there and watched it, I thought, "Wow ... this is really taking quite a turn."

From what little I know about LOST, even I thought that scenes from FBI headquarters in Virginia were a huge plot development. And, I didn't realize that Mandy Patinkin had joined the cast. Boy, had I missed a lot!

I figured the scene showing a young boy being chased through the woods by some "monster" would be a flashback to the childhood of the "evil guy" on LOST -- and perhaps lead to an explanation of the "monster" I heard people talk about from the first season.

But then ... I realized I had accidentally hit the "previous channel" button on the remote and was watching a show on CBS.

All together now: "Bless your heart, Steven!"

A Cardinals "Fan"

Without exception, if a team is not from Houston, I don't care about them. Civic pride tends to be my primary driver as opposed to true passion for the game.

When the Houston Oilers moved to Tennessee and a disturbing number of Houstonians switched their loyalties to Jerry Jones' thugs in Dallas (Boo! Hiss!), I held my ground. I simply did not care about the NFL during that time. Houston doesn't have a team? Then there was no need to watch -- much less support -- another team.

That's why I usually check out of baseball once the Houston Astros are eliminated. If our H-Town boys ain't in the running, why bother watching? Sure, I like baseball. That's not the problem. But I don't like it enough to sell out and support an enemy -- oops, I mean another team.

Which is why this is so stinkin' hard for me to confess: I would not mind if the Cardinals won the World Series.

There. I said it.

You'll notice that I did not say that I am cheering for them or actively supporting them. I simply said that I would not mind if they won. That is a huge step for me to admit that -- especially on the internet where it could come back to haunt me some day. (I guess I'll never be mayor of H-Town, huh?)

So, why this lukewarm endorsement of our divisional nemesis? Read this:

"Albert Pujols, probably the best first baseman in baseball, has been having a very tough series given that the Tigers are pitching around him during every at-bat and he isn't getting anything to hit. In the 8th inning of Game 3, Pujols was batting with one out and runners on second and third when he was hit with a 90+ mph fastball on the right thigh. Most great hitters would have been irate at being hit when up by 4 runs with first base open rather than simply being intentionally walked to set-up the double-play. The ball hit him in the thigh and rolled out in front of home plate. Pujols grimaced, picked up the ball and gave an underhand toss of the ball back to the pitcher. He then jogged to first base without a word or even a frustrated look at the pitcher. Tim McGarver, who is doing the color commentary for the WS, said "that is the most docile response to being hit, I've ever seen by a major league player."

Way to go, bro!

Are there Christians playing for the Detroit Tigers? Probably. But with all things being equal, I have to pull for the National League.

For the record, if Jerry Jones' thugs (Boo! Hiss!) make it to the Super Bowl (ever) again, they won't have my support. The entire team could consist of bi-vocational Baptist pastors with degrees from Baylor and I still wouldn't be on their side. Sorry, but some rivalries just run too deep.

Why I am not an Ob/Gyn

Reason #1:
A friend of mine was telling me about her friend who recently had a baby. My friend shared that her friend had been feeling down and was crying almost all the time, but was finally getting past that stage. "Did she have post-mortem depression?" I asked.

Reason #2:
A co-worker at a previous job was always hot. Always. She has fans in her cubicle and frequently commented at how hot she was. Since she was a believer and we were good friends, I felt comfortable enough with her to ask, "Are you going through the phase?"


Fortunately, both of these friends are merciful and they both know I'm smarter than these misstatements would indicate.

I realize that the first friend's friend was not depressed about dying. And, I realize that menopause is more than just a "phase" you go through, like adolescence or parachute pants.

Regardless, I'm not opening up a clinic anytime soon.

My new wing girl

I have lunch with my friend Don every Thursday. It started out years ago as a weekly meeting between me, as a Sunday Bible study director, and him, as our singles minister. Now, it's between me, as a Sunday Bible study teacher, and him, as our singles minister. But actually, it's between me and him -- a couple of friends.

Since I work at the church and he's in his office on Thursday mornings, we meet up and head out to lunch together. On our way out, we stop by the cafeteria at First Baptist Academy (HFBC's private school) to say hello to Don's son, Isaiah. Isaiah, a kindergartener, is a total ham. I love the little guy.

My assistant's daughter, Madison, is in 1st grade at FBA and has lunch at the same time as Isaiah. I ran into Madi the other day when Don and I made our weekly stop. "Hi Mr. Steven!" she shouted as she waved me down. (With two kids excited to see me, it was clear I had come a long way from just wanting to sit a the "cool table" back in the day!)

Jenea (my assistant) shared with me that Madi told the story of our encounter on their way home from work/school one day.

"Mr. Steven came to lunch today to see his kids," Madi reported.

"No he didn't," clarified Jordan, Madi's 4th grade sister. "He doesn't have kids. He's not even married!"

Jenea said there was a significant moment of silence in the back seat, apparently as Madi processed this new bit of information.

"Well, that's weird," she concluded.

For the record, Jenea assures me that Madi clearly said "that's weird" -- not "he's weird." So, I'm flattered and that this little 1st grader is so perceptive as to discern the weirdness of my being single given my obvious attributes:

• a candy dish that's always well-stocked
• a refrigerator in my office where her mommy can keep her after-school Capri Sun cold
• the fact that I have "Come Sail Away" by Styx on my iPod (one of her favorite songs)

Move over guys. I think I found my new wing girl.

OffStar

Here's the other story from Laverne (*). If you missed yesterday's, scroll down and read it.

Before I tell you the story, let me give you some background. Laverne is one of the most refreshing and hilarious people I've ever worked with. Ever. She's about my mother's age, but has such a desire and passion to make improvements in her department and to try new things. She's a tremendous encourager to me and others and, on top of that, she has a fantastic self-deprecating and dry humor. I adore her. We all do.

Now, back to the story ...

After the Elmo comment, the discussion about advances in automobile technology continued on our ride back to work from lunch.

Laverne shared with us that a few years ago, she and her husband bought a new Cadillac. She was somewhat unsure about the OnStar system, but decided to set it up for use anyway -- just in case.

When she was programming in the numbers and talking with the OnStar operator the first time, the woman on the other end of the line had difficulty understanding Laverne. It wasn't a bad connection or background noise. It was her accent.

You see, Laverne is from deep East Texas. It doesn't sound all that different from other East Texans I know, but perhaps I've become accustomed to it. The OnStar operator, however, simply could not understand what Laverne was saying.

So the operator called in a linguist to get on the line and help translate what Laverne was saying!

Eventually, Laverne and her husband decided to cancel their OnStar service altogether because the operator was never able to understand what she was saying.

Now come on ... that is hilarious even if you don't know Laverne, right?

(*) Name still changed to protect the innocent, even though she is guilty of being dang funny.

Elmo es muy comico!

Up front, I will admit that this is one of those stories that would be SO much funnier if you knew the person who told it. However, I will do my best to truly represent just how dang funny it is.

Monday was Boss' Day so my team took me out to lunch today. While waiting for our table at the Grand Lux Cafe, I was reminded of the old FAO Schwarz that used to be in that exact location and how I once looked for a Tickle Me Elmo there for my niece and nephew years ago.

One of my team members shared that her husband recently purchased the new TMX Tickle Me Elmo - Spanish version for a relative. They do not speak Spanish, but he (the husband) just couldn't resist the thought of having the new robotic Elmo around the house for when the relatives visit.

Fast forward an hour or so later when lunch was over and we were headed to the car . . .

As the driver fumbled for the keys, we waited in the ridiculously hot and humid October weather. One of us said, "Wouldn't it be great if there were a button that could start the car, unlock it, and crank up the air conditioning before you even got in?"

That reminded us all of the new Lexus being advertised on TV right now -- the one that can park itself. Naturally, since everybody in the car is older than me, the conversation turned to all the advancements in automobile technology and all the changes we've seen over the years.

That's when Laverne (*) spoke up in the back seat.

"I still can't get over the Spanish-speaking Elmo!"

Tomorrow, I will share with you an even funnier story that Laverne told us. Seriously, the story brought tears and disrupted the whole office -- even when I retold it later that afternoon. You won't want to miss it.

(*) Name changed to protect the "innocent"

Shade-y

I headed out to Baytown today to see my nephew's football game. Kyle's team won, thanks in part to his 25-yard touchdown pass and several other great plays. Final score: 28-0.

Before heading back to H-Town, I stopped off at Target in my search for sunglasses. During the football game, Mom was trying to convince me to go the dollar store next door to Target. That's where she gets hers -- and she is not ashamed.

Keep in mind that this is normally not such an ordeal for me. In fact, I wouldn't even call this particular search for shades an "ordeal" really. I just keep having random or awkward incidents along the way. And since some folks have been asking me about it ("Hey Steven, do you know where I could find some sunglasses?") -- clearly because they are concerned for me, I'm sure -- I figured I would give an update.

So, there I was in Baytown's Target. I'm pretty sure the last time I went to Target in H-Town, there was a section of sunglasses in the "Accessories" department clearly designed for men. At least that's the assurance I got from the poster of a dude wearing sunglasses hanging above one particular display rack.

Not so in the Baytown Target. The only shades I could find in the "Accessories" section were by posters of women and girls. But by looking at the actual sunglasses themselves, I was fairly confident that some were for men. Or at least they could pass for men's when taken out of context and away from the others. That's what I kept telling myself.

(My fear? Accidentally getting "ladies glasses" like George Costanza did on Seinfeld. I made sure the frames did not say Gloria Vanderbilt.)

While examining my options, a flock of elementary school kids were checking out shades on display racks a few feet away. Apparently, there are many factors that an eight-year old has to consider when choosing sunglasses. Fortunately for these kids, they had each other there to hold each other accountable and to keep them in line.

"Lindsey! You are SO going to look like Paris Hilton in those!"
"No I'm not!"
"Yes you are! You better get these. They look like Hillary Duff's!"

Whew! Crisis averted!

Anyway, I found a pair of shades for me (neither the Hilton's nor the Duff's, by the way) and headed back to H-Town with uncompromised vision. If you see me and my shades, please be nice.

Next stop: Target

During lunch on Wednesday, I ran to Northwest Mall (yes, it's still open) for two reasons: (1) it's the closest Chick-Fil-A to work, and (2) I needed to buy a pair of sunglasses.

I stopped off at Macy's first in search of some shades. Not seeing any where they normally are (or at least where they used to be in the Foley's era), I asked a sales associate where I could find them.

"They've already taken them off the floor," she replied.

I didn't ask what that meant, but I was left wondering if her response indicated that Macy's would not carry men's sunglasses or if they were done selling them for the season. Curious.

Then I stopped off at Palais Royal. The only rack of shades I could find was located kinda near the women's department and kinda near the men's department. After finding nothing but big Jackie Onassis style glasses with big ol' Channel logos on them, I figured I was in the wrong place.

So, I asked an associate where I might find sunglasses for men.

"I'm sorry, we're all out for the season."

All out? Removed from the floor?

Where are we? Have they been outside? Do they know where we live? This ain't northern Alaska! The sun ain't goin' away anytime soon.

OK. That's all. There's no real point to this other than I was struck by the absurdity of it all. Carry on.

Move over Hollywood, Nashville, ESPN and D.C.

Mayor Bob Lanier.
Chris Cagle.
William Broyles.
Gary Busey.
Andrea Gardiner.
Drew Tate.

Now, my hometown of Baytown gives you Leeland - a new Christian band that's "instantly capturing the imagination and hearts of all who hear it." (Quote taken from their own website.)

"Leeland is the best thing I have heard in a long, long time," says Grammy Award-winning artist Michael W. Smith. "I can't stop singing the songs in my head. Great melodies. Great band. Great voice."

I downloaded their debut album this week. Good stuff. Check it out.

"Star"bucks

While at Starbucks in Uptight Park this morning, I had two celebrity sightings.

(1) Neil Bush, the brother of Dubya and son of George and Barbara. He was with his new wife (or at least I think they're married now).

(2) Dennis Laviage, the Scrap Metal Guy from the local C&D Scrap Metal commercials. Yes, he paid for his coffee in $2 bills.

Come to think of it, that may have been a liberal use of the term celebrity.

Jesus in the 'burbs

Turns out, Jesus has already returned and set up shop right here in H-Town. How convenient for us.

And by "us" I mean the loons who believe this guy.

• Report on KHOU Channel 11
• Dr. Jose Luis de Jesus Miranda's website (English and Spanish)

Simply The Best

Here's another one of my children. This one appears in the Houston Press' "Best of Houston 2006" edition (hit the streets today, September 28). You can find the ad on page 10, opposite the table of contents. (Location! Location! Location!)

Unfortunately, I'm having trouble uploading the JPG of the ad. Here's what it says:

----------------------------------------

Best man.
Best friend.
Best lover.

Best Savior.

Life is not about being the best. It’s about knowing The Best. Let us introduce you to the best man you’ll ever meet, the best friend you’ll ever have, the best lover you’ll ever know. And He’s not just the best Savior, He’s the only true Savior in a world of false ones. So stop by and visit. We would love to introduce you to Jesus Christ.

HoustonsFirst.org

----------------------------------------

When readers go to the website, they'll see an animated button with "Best man/Best friend/Best lover/Best Savior" on it. When they click the button, they'll go to a page that explains exactly why Jesus Christ is The Best.

Please pray that God will use this ad to reach people who need to hear the Truth -- people who need to truly know The Best!

Over the Top(pers)

Do you need proof that

(1) we have everything we need as a nation of consumers, or
(2) our scientists and engineers are bored silly?

If so, take a look at Keebler Townhouse Toppers. The Keebler website did not offer a product description, but here's one I found on another website:

"Keebler Townhouse Toppers are crackers that are built for topping, dipping or just munching straight out of the box. Raised edges help tasty nibbles stay put, and a crisp, strong ergonomic construction allows the crackers to hold heavy dips or scoop up hefty toppings."

Seriously? Who uses "ergonomic construction" to describe food? And is the trip from the dip bowl to your mouth so volatile that you need raised edges to help the dip stay put? We're not transporting your grandmother's china or liquid nitrogen. It's bean dip! For the love!

So, here's a question: What other products have you come across that serve as evidence of our nation having everything we need and of our scientists and engineers being bored silly?

It's trying

I would rather spend 5 minutes in a dressing room with an ebola-infected monkey than try on clothes.

That's all.

"Lost" and Found

Weeks ago, I lost my wallet. Talk about frustrating. Since I often eat here at work in the Garden Cafe and charge it to my bill, it took about a day or so before I realized I didn't have my wallet anymore. I just never needed it.

I searched my car, my office, and, yes, even my bedroom for the wallet. Since many of you know how notoriously disastrous my room is, that was quite an endeavor. In fact, I held out hope for a few days before cancelling my cards thinking that somehow, in the midst of the debris field that is my room, my wallet would appear. But it did not.

So, I cancelled my debit and credit card, mourned the loss of my laminated picture of me and George W. Bush, and came to grips with the reality that I would have to venture to the DPS office to get a new driver license.

Fortunately, Catha Duck and Laura Bell needed to go to the DPS, too. One of them lost her license and one of them let her license expire. Catha sent an Evite to me and Laura (the smallest Evite I've ever received) inviting us to join her on a trip to the DPS.

Our trip could be a whole blog entry in itself. The process of just getting to the DPS office was eventful enough. Once we arrived ... well, that's when the hilarity really began. I was reminded while there that if you ever need an ego boost, go to to the DPS office. You are almost certain to be the best looking person there. Unless, of course, you go with Catha and Laura. (How sweet was that?)

Anywho ... I bought a cheap wallet at Target to replace the one I lost. My new debit and credit cards came with all new numbers that I have to memorize. And I'm constantly having to update automatic billing information as vendors send me notices that they could not process my payment since the debit card is no longer valid. What a hassle. And I hate hassles. Hate 'em.

But on Wednesday of this week, while doing some laundry, I felt a suspicous lump. There it was -- my wallet, securely located in the front pocket of a pair of khakis along with a grape Jolly Rancher.

I know what you're thinking. "Why grape? Watermelon is the best!" Well, that's what some of you are thinking. The rest of you are thinking, "Why didn't you check your dirty clothes earlier?"

I did. I just overlooked it. Again, consider the context of my room. Needle in a haystack, folks. Needle in a haystack.

For me, the moral of the story is this: I have too many pants. If I can go for over a month and not need that pair of khakis in the rotation, I have a problem. Either I have too many, or I wear the same pairs too often. Either way, it ain't right.

So, my wallet is back, $53 is safe, and my picture of me and W is ready to show off. The best part of all this? My driver license photo reflect 4 years of haircuts -- or lack thereof.

Baby pictures

Since I do not have kids of my own, I've had to stick with showing pictures of and telling stories about my niece and nephew for the past 12 years. But since Kyle and Kristin entered junior high school this year, their pictures may be mistaken for some folks in Summit Ministries.

It's time for me to get some more "children" to show off.

So, how about one of our advertising campaigns? They feel like children to me -- we conceived the idea, they were born, and now they're turning into productive members of the family. Or at least we pray they'll be productive!

Here's one of our kids -- our electronic display at Reliant Stadium. Our 30-second spot is shown at least once per quarter during every Houston Texans home game. This picture was taken during the team's pre-game warm-up at their sold-out season opener this past Sunday.

Isn't she adorable?

Over The Limit

Well, it looks like I won't be taking any mission trips again. At least not on Continental.

Weighing Anchors

Move over, Stan! I'm taking all of my photo touch-up jobs to CBS! Besides, I might bump into my sweet Katie while I'm there.

Speaking of which, my sweet Katie debuts as anchor of the CBS Evening News on September 5 at 5:30 pm. That's next week, people! NEXT WEEK! Set your TiVos.

If you're concerned about me, don't worry. My cultivation group meets at my house on Tuesday nights. They'll help me snap out of it ... until the next week.

Park & Ride & Worship

Here's our off-site parking solution: MetroRail. Check out the line along Post Oak.

Just think ... park at the Galleria and ride the rail to church. Or, if you're on a budget, park at NorthWest Mall and ride the rail. Your choice.

Restroom Reading

Went to dinner with some folks the other night so we could catch up with Dovie. She's in H-Town for the week. Good to see her, and her hair looked GREAT -- despite some recent drama at the salon. You'll have to ask her about "the fan."

Anywho ... Dave went to the restroom. When he came back, he asked me how long HFBC has been advertising in the men's room.

"Finally!" I thought. I get to see one of our ads. The director of Adult Ministries paid for CSI: Houston to be featured in restroom "billboards" located above the urinals in men's rooms (and I assume inside the stall doors in the women's rooms). This was the first time for me to see one.

So, I went to the men's room and awkwardly took a couple of pictures with my camera phone when nobody else was around. I came back to the group and showed some peeps the pictures. When I closed my phone, I noticed that the time was ...

9:11 pm.

I cannot make this stuff up even if I tried.

Anticipation

I once read where the Bushes planned to announce their decision in late Spring or early Summer. So, I've been checking the Baylor website everyday, and I set up a Google alert to notify me of anything that may come across on the internet.

Now, I have to keep this up for 4 or 5 more months! Maybe I should send him the results of my scientific poll (on your right) to help speed things along.

It's that time ... again!

While at Minute Maid Park last night, I glanced up at the clock to see what time it was.

9:11, of course.

That was the first time I had looked at the clock (or my watch) all night long, so it wasn't as if my mind subconsciously knew that 9:11 was coming soon. I had no feel for what time it was!

Happy Anniv ... no, birthd ... no ... what is it?

Wow ... I missed my own birthday.

August 12, 2006, marked the first anniversary of my first post on my blog.

So ... is it an anniversary? If so, what's the traditional gift?

Is it a birthday? If so, where's my cake?

Is it an irrelevant, meaningless event? If so, why am I posting about it?

Introducing FaithHouston.com

CityFest Houston is less than two months away (October 7 and 8). A new website is being developed as we speak to serve as a tool to help continue the good work God has in store for us that weekend -- FaithHouston.com.

I have had no involvement with this website yet, but have been invited to help test the site in the coming weeks. From what I understand, they need individuals to help test it, too. If you're interested, feel free to sign up on the website.

In God's amazing way, I've had the opportunity to meet some of the folks behind this project -- even before I landed my current gig on staff at HFBC. They're great people with kingdom-focused desires to reach H-Town with the truth of God's Word.

Pray for God's fingerprints to be all over this project -- and for Satan's guaranteed attacks to fall flat. The last thing the enemy would want would be for the believers in H-Town to unite in His name!

Another 'Sign' of the Time

It happened again.

I was talking to a friend on the phone on Friday. She said she had to go because she was running late for a 9:00 am meeting. Instinctively, I glanced at my computer screen to see what time it was.

Yep. 9:11 am.

Sign of the Time

I have been putting off posting this for a few weeks now. I'm not really sure what to make of this, and am fearful that people will slap the "crazy" label on me once you read it. But it's just too darn intriguing not to share.

For the past two months or so, I have seen the numbers 911 more often than normal.

There was one week when on at least four or five occasions -- when I looked to see the time either on my cell phone, my oven, or my computer -- the time was 9:11.

Yesterday, I checked my Blogger profile for the first time in months. And there it was -- my profile had been viewed 911 times.

This morning, I received a phone call, looked down at the caller ID, and noticed that the time was 9:11.

I just don't know where to "land" on this one.

• Is it a "sign" of some kind? (Oh, how I hate the sound of that question!)
• Is it simply a coincidence? (But is there really such a thing?)
• Have I seen other numbers just as often but simply not noticed them because they lack any significance?
• Am I subconsciously looking at the clock around 9:11 two times a day, kinda like a self-fulfilling prophecy of some kind?

The fact that this year is the five year anniversary of 9/11 is certainly not lost on me. Perhaps I just take this and pray for the victims' families and for our nation's continued protection from future attacks. Or, maybe I avoid clocks two times a day.

Santa Claus ain't nothin'!

Here are some things that I believed at some point in my youth. Since I'm in my mid-thirties, let me clarify that by "youth" I mean 10 years old and younger.

Feel free to share some of your childhood beliefs (or misunderstandings), as well!

1. When born, babies came out of their mother's belly button.
2. Stoplights were placed there to give drivers a break every once in a while. That's why I thought the people who built highways were so inconsiderate.
3. Just as children attended the school closest to them, people were supposed to attend the church closest to them.
4. When I read on the cover of a magazine that Lynda Carter was "the most beautiful woman in the world," I thought to myself, "Well, I guess they finally found her." Then I felt sorry for my mom, my teachers, and the women at my church because it had been made official and they had no reason to try to be pretty.

OK. Your turn.

And the winner is ...

Unknown.

According to my account on Tracksy.com, the 10,000th viewer of my blog is Unknown. All I know is that around 2:00 pm today, this reader viewed 51 pages using Internet Explorer on a computer running on Windows XP.

It also indicates that the reader is from Stepford -- oops, I mean Plano -- but I'm pretty sure that has more to do with where his or her ISP is based and not necessarily where he or she lives. (Right?)

My friend Lane Roebuck missed the 10,000th honor by just one. She was next on the list. Thanks, though, Lane for your continued support! (And if it wasn't you, then there is somebody else at tuts.com checking me out!)

It's Good To Have A Goal

One day, I'll be able to do this ...

Don't Mess This Up

Want to give the State of Texas a permanent place in New York City?

"Don't Mess with Texas" has been nominated as one of the best slogans of all time. The slogan is nominated alongside Nike's "Just Do It" and Wheaties' "The Breakfast of Champions."

(For those of you who are thinking, "Actually, 'Just Do It' is a much better slogan" -- you just don't get it. It's not about that. It's about state pride. And, on top of that, you are wrong.)

Winners are selected American Idol-style with online voting. If it wins, a plaque will be placed on Madison Avenue's "Walk of Fame" and it will get a permanent place at the Advertising Icon Museum in Kansas City.

With 22 million Texans, how can we lose? Here's how you can help.

1. Most important, go to www.votedmwt.com and vote for "Don't Mess with Texas." One vote per computer, so you can vote at work and at home.

2. Forward this email or the above link today to friends, family and coworkers and ask them to vote for "Don't Mess with Texas."

3. Post this on your blog.

I am not an ant

Watch enough Discovery Channel and you'll soon learn that ants can lift twice their body weight. (Or was that Starr Jones?)

Anyway, I learned last week that I am not an ant.

Like all good Texas tourists in Colorado, we went horseback riding on the annual Murray Family Vacation. It was a perfectly clear day and the Mr. Ed references were flowing freely. Among the horses were Elmer, San Juan, Caracas, Rick, Too Tall, and Lanny. I rode Chuck. (Sorry Seinfeld fans. No Snoopy or Prickly Pete.)

I was not the last of us city slickers to be assigned a horse, but if it had been a race to get in the saddle, I would have been in last place. Dead last.

Yes, my friends, I could not pull myself up. While my family was watching from their saddled mounts, I was aided by Rufus (yes, our trail guide's name was Rufus) as I tried (twice) to pull myself up onto Chuck. I just couldn't do it. I knew the procedure, but I just couldn't execute.

With my Texan citizenship on the line, Rufus walked over and retrieved the most dreaded of trail ride implements -- the steps. I had to use a homemade plywood set of steps to climb up into the saddle. Pathetic.

There's a saying about dusting yourself off and getting back in the saddle if you fall off. But what happens if you aren't in the saddle in the first place?


(Photo courtesy of Russian Horse Rides. It's NOT me!)

Blahg? Blah, Blah, Blah!

OK, OK. I get the point: My blog has become a blahg.

Thanks for the e-mails and words of encouragement over the past few weeks -- or should I say thanks for the "scolding" instead? One person assumed that the last picture and prediction I posted came to fruition and that I was serving time in prison for offing Dave. Not so.

So, stop yawning, my friends. I'm back.

The End of Dave

One day, this is how it's all gonna go down.

Where do you want to park?

On my 30th birthday -- the actual day itself -- I received a telemarketing call from a local cemetery asking if I wanted to buy a burial plot.

That was a fun conversation for me. Let's just say that the woman was not blessed. Whatever I may have said, it effectively kept the entire funeral services industry away from me for the past six years.

Until yesterday.

The day before my 36th birthday, there were several items in the mail -- birthday cards from Mom and Dad, a few friends, the church, my investment broker. And there was another card that I assumed to be like the one from the broker -- a courteous gesture from a business to a valued client.

I was wrong. It was an ad for cremation services.

• With society as mobile as it is today, why spend money on a piece of land that may not be convenient to all of my loved ones?
• Why not choose to have a meaningful ceremony where loved ones can gather to disperse my remains over a cherished location?
• And why not help the environment by turning the tide against cemeteries that often have to remove much-needed trees, thus having a negative impact on the environment?

(So that's what Al Gore has been up to these days!)

I wonder if a group of marketing geniuses -- scratch that -- a group of marketing $%@&#s sat around a table somewhere and said, "Hey, people think about their death around their birthday, right? Let's get 'em while they're down!"

That just ain't right.

So, if you were to die tonight, do you want to be buried or cremated? And where would you want to be placed or dispersed? Before you think (or worse, before you reply) that this is an irrelevent question for Christians to consider because our bodies are just vehicles, don't worry -- I get that. But the fact is, either you or your family members will one day be asked what to do with your vehicle. So just for grins, what's your preference? Where do you want to park your vehicle?

(Keep in mind that in the case of your untimely death and the lack of a will, your comments may or may not be admissable in court proceedings!)