The Big Easy . . .

Wednesday we were only supposed to work half the day, so the whole group (all 70 of us) could head down the road to New Orleans for a guided tour and some gumbo.  We started the day with a trip to Lowe’s in Ocean Springs, which is apparently the 3rd largest Lowe’s on the East Coast.

I observed a moment of silence as a passed through the entrance.

Amazingly, the multitude of aisles are all staffed by lovely southern belles, who’s collective beauty is rivaled only by thier knowledge of home improvement.  There was a fountain of milk and honey back by the bathroom fixtures.

After our uncharacteristically long stop at Lowe’s we headed for the Anderson House, armed with our supplies for the day, as well as a hanging plant for the porch.  We got a good amount of work done in the 3 hours we were there.  Wired a bunch of lights and outlets, painted a bunch of trim, installed some bathroom fixtures, etc . . .

At noon, we headed back to camp to get cleaned up to head for The Big Easy.  Still not sure why it’s called that.  We piled into vans and headed west on I-10, about 93 miles, give or take.  I won’t go into detail about the fiasco that occured when we tried to figure out where to park and meet the rest of our 70 person group.  As usual . . . SNAFU.  But we got there.

I detest large tour groups . . . almost as much as I detest being PART OF a large tour group.  It was over quickly, though, and we were released to check out the French Quarter.  The French Market was largely unimpressive to me . . . probably because I wasn’t so much in the mood to shop.  Or walk all over the place.  We had dinner reservations for 29 at a place called the Gumbo Shop.  Pretty good meal . . . I had the gumbo.  Like you do.

After dinner, a couple of us decided to walk down to Bourbon St, just to see what the big deal is.  Ummm . . . imagine Las Vegas without all the class.  It’s basically a 5 block frat bar.  Literally, the only things on that street are bars and strip clubs.  I can say I’ve been there, but probably won’t feel the need to go back.

We left NO at around 9:30pm, and made it back to camp a little before midnight . . . it was a long day.  Realizing that breakfast was at 6:30am, I crashed.

More to come . . .

-MH

 

Nail Guns are a Gift from God

Day Two at Mrs. Anderson’s house got to a much quicker start than Day One.  Having thoroughly scouted out the projects that needed to be completed, we were better prepared with the right tools and materials.  Lee quickly got the toilet installed, and the shower connected in one of the bathrooms. (he said it was “so I don’t have to walk two blocks to that little church to take a piss.”)  Everyone has their own motivational tools.

We met the electrical contractor who was responsible for the interesting wiring job . . . apparently he didn’t personally wire the house.  We were a bit concerned with the puzzled look that formed on his face as he was walked around the house.  We also realized that the schematic mechanical/electrical drawings we were given were not actually for our house . . . and so some of the switches aren’t where they are supposed to be . . . and there are some extra switches where they aren’t supposed to be.  We decided to just hook them up.  The main power isn’t connected, so we have no way of testing anything right now . . . we’re left to trust that the contractor ran the wire correctly.

Lee spent the day channeling Grant Hoffert.  Amusing as usual.  The man has a comment for everything, and Kevin and I spend most of our time laughing about the things he says. 

We’re blessed with a great crew of workers . . . Lee can do his thing on the plumbing, Kevin is a certified electrician, and knows how to do pretty much everything, and he taught our two electrical engineering majors how to wire switches and outlets.  Meanwhile we had a two-person paint/caulk crew putting finishing touches on the trim while I had a helper working with me to put moulding around the windows. 

Nail guns are a gift from God.  If we didn’t have a compressor and a nail gun, we would be no where near finishing any of these little projects.  I need to get me one of those.

On the way home, we stopped off at a little place called Eddy’s Drive-in for some ice cream.  Lee treated.  Great guy.  This place was just a little road side ice cream/food stand that didn’t even have any tables to sit at . . . but it had about 14 employees working that day.  The service was fast.  As we were ordering, a woman who worked there came up to the window and thanked us for “giving up our Spring Break to come down here and help”.  She saw our church van and assumed we were a relief team.  She said things are getting a little better, but she wasn’t sure if they’d ever fully recover from the devistation that hit this area.  But she said that everyone around there really appreciates the kindness of groups from other states coming down to help them out. 

It takes a trip down here to fully understand how hard the people here were hit by those hurricaines.  We all saw the news reports, and felt bad . . . but how many people realize that there are still people who, after two years, haven’t moved back into their homes yet? 

It makes me want to keep working.

-MH

 

a new mission . . .

I know, I know . . . long time no post.  My apologies to the two people who occasionally read this.

 It’s Spring Break, and I’m on another mission trip.  This year, I loaded up a church van and drove to Ocean Springs, Mississippi. 

Here’s the breakdown so far . . .

-Left State College at around 7:30am on Saturday, drove to Knoxville via Maryland, West Virginia, and Virginia.

-Spent Saturday night at First Farragut United Methodist Church, in Knoxville.  It’s an AMAZING facility, with a very cool youth room, and some very friendly people hosting us.

-Arrived in Ocean Springs in time to have dinner at “The Shed.”  It’s a BBQ joint that will soon be featured on The Food Network’s “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” . . . they’re filming this week, so we may go over and try to get involved.  Anyway, the BBQ at this place was SO good.  I can’t even describe it.  I wept openly.

-My co-project leader (Kevin– who is 23, and licensed in plumbing, electrical, and HVAC . . . ) and I got to pick our team first.  As our first pick in the draft, we took Lee Pressler (see previous blogs from Prague, where I mentioned him.) He’s awesome.  We haven’t stopped laughing.  We (when I say “we”, I mean Kevin and Lee) installed two water heaters today, while the rest of us sat around wating for the electrical contractor to bring us outlets and switches.  We did some finish work on the trim while we were waiting, but today ended up being mostly a “scouting” day for tomorrow’s work.  We should be able to get a bunch done tomorrow, now that we know how to get to the place, and we’re fairly organized . . .

More to come . . .

-MH

 

Grant Herbert Hoffert

About an hour ago, I found out that my grandfather, Grant Hoffert, passed away.  He suffered what I think was his third heart attack, and the police found him sitting in his van.  This is the first grandparent of mine that has passed away, and so I’m not sure it has totally hit me yet.

I have a ton of respect for my grandfather.  In his 80+ years on earth, his resume was loaded:

- Army Sergeant, WWII– Drove a truck that transported tanks and fuel to and from the front lines in Europe . . . specifically Germany and Belgium.  Also used his knowledge of the “Pennsylvania Dutch” language to work as a translator for German prisoners of war captured by American soldiers.

- General Contractor, GHH Construction– Ran a business based in Hellertown, Pa and built a ton of houses in that area, including his own.  All of what I know about home improvement type work comes mainly from my father, who worked for him during high school and college, but I also got to spend some time learning from him.  His teaching style was basically to hollar at me when I screwed something up . . . but I never got it wrong twice . . . so it was effective.

Volunteerism: 
–President of the Hellertown School Board (now Saucon Valley School District) 
–Boy Scout Troop Leader
–Hiawatha Hunting and Fishing Club . . . a 50 year member, he built and remodeled a ton of stuff there.
–Give Kids the World Village– Kissimmee, Fl– For years, my grandparents spent their winters down in Florida, and he volunteered here, and built a lot of the place.
– Hellertown Historical Society– he engineered and led the renovation of the Grist Mill in Hellertown, which is now the town’s historical museum.

He was the father of 4 kids, and had 8 grandchildren and 4 great-grandchildren.

There’s probably a lot more that I’m missing, or forgetting to include . . . it’s difficult to capture his life in a few paragraphs.

Grant Hoffert was just a tough man.  Some might call it stubborness, but I always respected the way he approached life.  Nothing could keep him down, no problem was too big for GHH to handle.  He was probably one of the smartest people I have ever known . . . simply from an engineering standpoint.  He was always coming up with some kind of a device to solve a problem, or making something in his woodshop for a family member.  He was incredibly creative when it came to woodworking, and everyone in the family has something that he made for us as a gift at one time or another.

He taught me how to fish, and how to shoot a rifle.

I never knew him to show a whole lot of emotion, but you could tell that he cared about you just by his actions.  He was a doer.  He didn’t like to talk about stuff . . . just wanted to get it done.

I’m glad I went over to his place last weekend to help hang their christmas lights.  It gave me the chance to see him one last time.  We worked together to hang lights on the big holly bush in their front yard, and I used a tool that he had made specifically for that task.  Typical GHH engineering. 

It’s tough to describe what I’m feeling at this time.  I can’t say I’m overly sad because I have the perspective that he lived an incredible life (I look at the partial resume above, and I can only hope to accomplish half of that) and went out in a way that he probably would have chosen.  He wasn’t stuck in a hospital bed, or laid up at home for months, not able to get up and do anything.  That would have pissed him off and made him miserable.  Instead, he was in his truck, probably on his way down to the Grist Mill do some work. 

I loved and respected him, and I celebrate the life he lived . . . and I think that would mean more to him than any amount of tears shed for him.

 -MH

 

Thanksgiven.

Since I’m the only one of the kids left in State College, it’s my job to drive Grandma and Grandpa to most major family gatherings.  I have absolutely no problem with this . . . they’re great, and we take their van, which means my car gets a break.  Grandpa climbs in the back seat (sometimes he watches old John Wayne movies on the DVD player). . . usually he’s asleep by the time we get to Lewistown.  Grandma chats for the first half hour, then sometimes dozes off . . . and we ALWAYS stop at the same Hardees for a bathroom break and a cup of coffee.

We headed home from the weekend on Saturday night, leaving Myerstown at 8pm, and arriving in State College right around 10pm.  I know you’re impressed.  The trip was uneventful . . . G and G were sleeping, and I was cruising, listening to ESPN Radio on the XM . . .

After stopping to fill the gas tank, Grandma said she wanted to put some music on.  I agreed, and the last leg of our trip became the longest 40 miles EVER.  XM has a radio station called “Escape.”  A better name for it would be “Department Store” or “Elevator” or “Waiting Room”.  I need to have a serious talk with my grandmother about which music is appropriate for a road trip, and which music is most likely to induce a coma.

This afternoon was the “Family Get-Together to Decorate the Church, then Have a Pot Luck Dinner” event.  I think they called it something shorter, but I can’t remember.  I signed the youth up to decorate the College Avenue Narthex, thinking that if they were gonna ask us to take care of an area, it was gonna be one that people see.  The team of youth and parents that showed up to help out was AMAZING . . . we got many compliments from folks about the job they did.  I was especially happy that I didn’t really have to do much.  I just bought some decorations and got the people in the room . . . The Moms took over from there and did their thing . . . and it looks great.  It’s nice to have such a huge, supportive crew of parents that want to be involved with what we’re doing.  I need to remember to not take that for granted.  I hear Piltz tell stories of limited parental involvement, and issues at his new church, and I realize how good I’ve got it here.  Now, if I can just get a couple of them to stay overnight at a lock-in . . .

 -MH

 

the “enemy” within . . .

There’s a war being waged at my church, and fortunately the end is in sight.  Since the beginning of our construction project, different ministries have had to battle for space to run their programs.  Moving the children and youth programs out of the Education Building meant squeezing them into much smaller spaces . . . and even (gasp!) sharing space.

This is fine.  I understand the need to be flexible.  I’m ok with cramming both middle school Sunday School classes into a gym that can best be described as “half of a gym”– and expecting them to be able to hold their classes without disturbing each other, and without letting the students leave early and head for the doughnuts before the adults can get down to the Social Room.  I’m flexible.  I’m a giver.

The enemy I have the most trouble with:  the church-wide pot-luck.

Let’s clarify something:  I’m a huge fan of pot-luck dinners, and everything they stand for. 

 What I’m not a fan of, is pot-luck dinners that need to be set up for so early that the aforementioned middle school classes need to just “have class around the tables we have already set up.”  Thanks for the heads up. 

I know what you’re thinking.  “This is petty.  Let it go.  It’s not that big a deal.”  I agree.  The larger issue here is the fact that once again, middle school students and their leaders are the ones expected to be flexible and yield to another group.

The fact is, I don’t really care that much about the room setup . . . and I don’t think my teachers would be too upset.  But I’m going to fight this battle because of the precident being set.  The attitude around here is, “we can do whatever we want, and the youth ministry folks just have to deal with it.”  Maybe that’s my fault for being so flexible in the past . . . but I’m starting to realize that the biggest part of my job here is to be an advocate for the youth programs and their leaders.  There’s no way this would have happened if it were an adult class meeting in that room.

That was my rant for the day.

 

lost, then found. well . . . not lost. just displaced for a minute or two . . .

I finally made it home at around 3am this morning.  After a 7:30 flight out of Atlanta, we got our luggage and headed for long term parking with no issues.  Then came the drive from Baltimore back to State College.

At some point in the past few days, I must have discarded the form with the directions from SC to BWI . . . I’ve made the trip a number of times, so I didn’t think it was a big issue . . . but at 10:30pm, after just landing . . . the route numbers weren’t coming to me in the correct order. 

First, I couldn’t remember if we wanted to go east or west on 695.  Then I missed the exit for 95 North and ended up on the campus of UMBC . . . which wasn’t bad, because I took a guess and we found our way back to the highway.  Then I got off onto 70 East, when I should have just continued to 83 north . . .

By the time we made it to Harrisburg, I was in the zone and feeling good.  Dropped off Stacy and Kim, then had to drop off the church van, get my car, and head for Philipsburg.

Next time, we just fly out of State College.  It’s easier.

I intended to get up and make it to the staff meeting at the church this morning, but that didn’t happen.  I was wiped, and needed to get some laundry done.  I’m chauffering the grandparents to Myerstown for “Thanksgiving at the Farm,” and we’re leaving Wednesday afternoon.

I missed a bunch of stuff while I was gone . . . and now I’ve got 1 day to get caught up before leaving again.  We’ll see how that goes.

 

from the ATL

I’ve been in Atlanta since Thursday night, at the National Youth Worker’s Convention . . . which is always a good time.  I’ve been to enough of these that there are a lot of seminars that I’ve either already been to . . . or I know what they’re probably going to say.  This affords me the opportunity to justify skipping certain seminar hours because there wasn’t anything that interested me.  I got some reading done this afternoon . . . and yesterday morning I got to spend a little extra time meditating in my hotel room. (meditating = not waking up)

There have been a couple of general session speakers that were memorable.  The other day, a woman named Phyllis Tickle (age 74) spoke about the history of uprising in religion, and how the Emergent Church Movement is the latest movement in an “every 500 years” pattern of reformation in the Christian Church.  The way she spoke about church history made it seem like she was there for all of it . . . (insert clever geriatric comment here).

I could sit in a room and listen to that woman for hours . . .

This morning, Doug Fields spoke, and his message was (I believe) directed at me.  He talked about envy and the dangers of falling into the trap of being comptetitive about youth ministry.  How many times have I grumbled to myself because the youth group across town has lots more kids, or better music in their worship services, or more extravagant camps to lure kids away to?  Is that really what I’m using to measure success?  Do I need to “measure” success?

I’m working through discovering “A New Kind of Youth Ministry” (see Chris Folmsbee’s book) . . . I’m thinking some answers will come . . .

 

Load your guns and deliver a blow!!!

The best thing about 8th grade football is they don’t know anything. 

The worst thing about 8th grade football is they don’t know anything. 

 The challenge I face is to remain patient while we start from scratch each year.  There’s never the chance to build on teaching from the prior season, since our whole team is lost to graduation (well . . . graduation from middle school) each year.

The fun part for me is getting to use all of the old coaching cliches that my coaches used to yell at me while I was sweating in the hot August sun.  I realized last year that these guys have never heard this stuff before.  I’ve added a couple of Wolski-isms to my repertoir, just so they get used to hearing them. (hence the title)

Today was the first day of hitting . . . where we get to see who wants to be here.  Every year, we get a few kids that like the romance of putting on the pads, and being part of the team . . . and that’s fine.  But “first hits” is when we separate the wheat from the chaff . . . to put it into biblical terms.  What’s fun for me is trying to predict which kids are going to be the hitters.  This year and last year, I had my middle backer picked out on the first day of practice . . . both of these guys just have a no nonsense attitude about them . . . they treat football like it’s their job . . . and they love their jobs.

Next Friday is our first taste of an opponent (Mount Nittany Middle School) . . . and we’ve got a lot of work to do in the meantime.  I’ve got to go figure out how to explain how to do a pre-snap read and shift to a two-deep zone coverage to 13 and 14 year olds.

-MH

 

Do Over!

One of the issues I deal with as a busy “religious professional” is the fact that most of my opportunity to study the bible comes in the form of preparation for a lesson of some kind.  I know, I know . . . all the “Youth Ministry Do’s and Don’ts” books warn against this.  Save it.  I’ve completed the first step already . . . admitting I have a problem.

Anyway, in my prep time today, I was reading the 21st chapter of John, where it talks about what the disciples did after all of the events of Holy Week had happend, and things sort of calmed down for them.  This story kind of amuses me.

Here are a bunch of guys who, for the last few years, have been following Jesus around, doing whatever he told them to do, trying to be like him.  Then in one weekend, they see him celebrated, then betrayed, then killed.  After this roller coaster of emotion, a couple of them are standing around, wondering what to do next, when Peter, the bold one, announces:  “I’m going fishing.”  GENIUS!  I think this is what most men would do.

When in doubt, revert to what you know best.  It’s kind of like when your laptop crashes, and Windows reverts to the last known uncorrupted settings . . . you know?  Just nod . . . it makes sense in my head.

Moving on . . . Peter and a couple others fish all night, catch nothing, then see this ghostly image on the shore.  Jesus performs one last miracle, just so they know it’s him . . . then invites them to breakfast on the beach, where he provides some guidance for them.

One of the coolest parts of this story is when Jesus asks Peter three times, “Do you love me?”  He’s giving Peter a “do-over.”  He’s letting Peter replace his earlier denials with affirmations of love.  I imagine Peter answering the three questions . . . the third time, probably a bit annoyed “I told you, ‘Yes!’ . . . ohhhh!” As he realizes the significance.

Each time Peter answers, Jesus responds with a command:  “Feed my lambs, Take care of my sheep, Feed my sheep.”  Jesus wants Peter to convert those statements of love/faith into action.

If we truly love Jesus, then that love will resonate through our actions.  Part of the resurrection story is our own reaction to the resurrection. (say that 10 times fast) What difference does it make in our lives?  How are we changed because of it?

Easter Sunday is one of the holiest days of the year . . . but how many of us, on Monday, just went about our normal lives, as if nothing had changed?

Guilty. (he says with hand raised)