I’m adjusting to a new job and all the new experiences it brings. I get to travel in our country’s Midwest and last week was my first official trip there. My first, and unanswered question is, why is Ohio the “mid” west? Still seems that ought to be somewhere just west of the Mississippi River, like Kansas or Nebraska.
So, off to Ohio I go, via western Kentucky for a meeting. I like to venture into Central Standard Time but in this case it simply made me an hour later looking for a hotel in the Cincinnati area later that night. But I like driving. And seeing places off the beaten path always pleasantly surprise me. For a change of tunes, the Allman Brothers and the Marshall Tucker Band provided a bit of background music to the back roads (and I drove near the hometown birthplace of Bill Monroe). Who’s Bill? He’s in both the Country Music Hall of Fame AND the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Click here.
Some observations about this trip:
The Waffle House is still a great diner. If you sit in the right seat, you can hear virtually every conversation going on in the place. In addition to good waffles and the best sausage, you get to participate “virtually” (or vicariously) in the lives of a variety of regular people. It is a bit less sophisticated version of Cheers (and I’m not sure what all that implies).
If there ever is a Y2K or similar catastrophe, I’m moving to Ohio. They grow enough corn and soy beans to feed far more than their state. I haven’t seen so much edible green growth mile after mile since my last drive through central Thailand, the rice bowl of the world.
My work puts me face-to-face with fellow followers of Jesus we call “pastors” (a term related to “shepherds”, which makes Christians “sheep”). One radio commentator remarked that no school has sheep as a mascot (“Watch out, the mighty Main Street High School Sheep will wool you to death”). But we all are looking for someone to follow. Elections have a way of forcing us to choose one person to follow, though we all eventually end up disappointed with the elected choice to one degree or another since no one is perfect. After all, there was only one Messiah. So, pastors point the way to One worth following. My role is to help them shepherd others to follow Him to the ends of the earth. Following Jesus wherever He leads, denying self, and serving others are how they help us discover that in dying to self we truly live, in surrender we have ultimate victory, and in giving we receive. And that is Good News much of the world has yet to hear. Thank you, pastors, for all you do to serve us, that we might serve others, and thereby live the abundant life that never ends. Still haven’t found what you are looking for? Look up. Ask and you will receive. Seek and you will find.
While in downtown Cleveland to meet another pastor and go to an Indians-Tigers baseball game (“all work and no play make Phil a duller boy”), I was stuck by a poster several stories tall of Lebron James (“King James”) with his arms stretched straight out to each side while he is looking up. The caption read, “We are all witnesses.” Hmmm. Sounds like Luke 24:48. Thanks, Nike, for the spiritual reminder and symbolism but you’ve got the wrong Messiah. You’re not alone, though. 
Driving back into my home state, the corn and soy bean memories seemed like a gourmet meal. If there was a catastrophe, East Tennesseans had better learn to eat kudzu! That vine grows in equivalent abundance as Ohio cornfields but for what purpose? We could eat deer, though. I passed two right on the side of the interstate crossing from Kentucky into Tennessee at Jellico. Hopefully they didn’t become road kill. Some may have in the past which may explain why that area has an exit for Stinking Creek Road. Just a hypothesis.