tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75381425857210059052024-02-20T04:23:05.363-05:00Kenny Bishop's blogLiving out an authentic faith requires honesty and hard questions... lots and lots of questions. And some of them have answers. Let's try to find them.kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.comBlogger235125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-16727851220606147202017-01-01T22:00:00.000-05:002018-07-20T22:02:49.188-04:00New Year, New You, Same God (a sermon)There is a story about a preacher who used to visit a wise old violin player for wisdom and counsel. One long day the preacher decided to drop in for a word of encouragement.
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“This has been a difficult day, a hard week, my old friend, what is the good news today?”
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The old violinist put down his instrument, walked over to a tuning fork hanging on a cord and struck it with a sharp blow.
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As the sound resonated in the room, he said "That, my friend, is the good news for today. That is the musical note 'A'. It has been ‘A’ all day today. It was 'A' all day yesterday. It will be 'A' next week and it will still be 'A' a thousand years from now."
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In a world of continuous change, it is encouraging to find something that is permanent.
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A lot changed last year. A year ago when 2016 was a brand new blank canvas, we had visions of prosperity and success, and hopes for more love than hate in our world.
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For some last year was pretty close to that dream. For others it was anything but.
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Dave Barry, in his annual “Year in Review” column described it like this; “Yes, we’ve seen some weird years. But we’ve never seen one as weird as 2016. This was the Al Yankovic of years. If years were movies, 2016 would be ‘Plan 9 from Outer Space.’ If years were relatives, 2016 would be the uncle who shows up at your Thanksgiving dinner wearing his underpants on the outside.”
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Looking back, Dave’s assessment makes a lot of sense. Last year we heard of unspeakable pain and suffering overseas and right here in our own country. And as he mentions in his article, “The election last year wasn’t just bad. Not even talking about the results - it was the Worst. Election. Ever.
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Before the year was over we had to confess that American race relations reached their lowest point in decades.
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We learned that the Russians were involved in our election process.
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For a good part of the year the economy continued to struggle.
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We lost way too many artists and entertainers, the people who provided our soundtracks and our laughs and our introspection.
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Clowns became a terrifying threat to several American communities.
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And if that wasn’t enough to endure, in a shocking development that caused us to question our most fundamental values, Angelina and Brad broke up even though they are both physically attractive.
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Those things and lots of others affected the big world. Then there was the change in our world closer to home.
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Some of you began the year as in love as you’ve ever been. You couldn’t imagine a time when that significant other would not be by your side. Circumstances, stresses, emotions, confidences shifted and the thing you were sure would never end – did.
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Some felt good about their lot in life. They felt secure in their job, their career path and future. Then the pink slip came, the company down-sized and things got tight.
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Then there were those who received the grim diagnosis. A decision had to be made – fight or go in peace. Some continue the struggle, others have made their way to the other side.
Here in our church family we came together to circle several of those who found themselves in a struggle – the struggle to pay their bills, the struggle to keep their homes, the struggle make it day-to-day and simply survive.
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A lot of change happened around the world and our nation last year. A lot happened here in our state, in our city, in our neighborhoods, homes and even here in our church.
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Not all of it was bad.
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Our congregation has grown in large and beautiful ways these last twelve months. These days it takes a lot more time to greet and hug each other at the beginning of each church service than it used to.
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We are feeding more school children, and reaching farther beyond these walls than we ever have.
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Last week Marsha told us about a church in another country that is tuning in to what we are doing in our part of the world and is finding inspiration and encouragement to duplicate it, or at least emulate it to accomplish good and Godly things where they are.
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Sitting right here, right now, just by being here and by living the love that Jesus taught us, we are fueling the work of God many miles away.
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When last year started I was 49 years old. Somewhere along in the middle of that year I turned 50. Milestone moments like that give you good occasion to look back and reflect and remember the people who’ve come into and gone out of our lives.
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But you don’t have to be very old at all to be able to look back and find once meaningful relationships which are now broken or gone. There are those people who once touched our lives with wisdom and presence and grace who are no longer with us.
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Only a few weeks ago we wouldn’t have imagined that we would say goodbye to last year and hello to this one without a smile, a word of wisdom and a hug from our own Miss Hattie.
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Changing times means changing seasons and sometimes that means changing relationships.
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Sometimes it’s not passing from this life that forces us to let go. Sometimes it’s simply passing from our lives that causes it to be so. People come into our lives, influence us, affect us, make an impression on us and we can’t imagine their not being there. But today we wonder where they are – how they are – what they are.
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As a wise preacher I know once said, “We know from experience that many of the people who grace our lives today will not be there tomorrow or next year, or perhaps, ever again. They will go away or we will go away, or life will change in such ways as to make it impossible for that relationship to remain permanent.
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We all know friends from the past who have been lost to all sorts of distance; and we remember some who just disappeared slowly and we don't know why.
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There is so much about life that forces us to come to terms with temporariness, and yet deep in our souls we long for something permanent. What can we count on for stability in a world where nothing seems to stay the same? Everything and everybody keeps changing, and we change too.
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The truth is there is nothing permanent in this world except the intangible.
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Everything you can see or touch is subject to the maddening law of change. But in that 13th chapter of First Corinthians that Daniel read for us today Paul gives a lengthy list of things that will ultimately disappear. Some of them are rather important.
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This great recitation of things that will definitely disappear ends with this sentence: "And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love."
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In truth, even two of these important graces are temporal: faith and hope. They are needed only in this present life. In the world to come faith will become knowledge and hope will be realized. Only love will remain forever. Love is the atmosphere of heaven and the nature of God.
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If you are in need of something constant and permanent - when the things in this world change - and they will – when the things or people you were certain would be here a year ago are now gone and in your past
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– when you are in need of something constant and permanent in your life, know that you can find that something in the assurances and the promises, BUT ESPECIALLY THE LOVE of a God that remains the same in the midst of world of change.
kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-67732560455817436042016-12-31T00:00:00.000-05:002018-07-20T22:28:15.048-04:00renewed and refocusedThis space has been quiet for a long time, several years in fact. As posts are added to this blog, I'll try to explain.
If you start here and scroll back through the last several years of my words, you'll notice some pretty distinct shifts in where I was then and where I am now.
I've thought a lot, read a lot, and of course prayed a lot over the last handful of years about who God is, who I am, and how I, and people like me, get to fit into the big plan God has for us. I've talked to a lot of thoughtful thinkers, terrific teachers, powerful preachers, angry agnostics and sensitive searchers. They all have a take on God and the scriptures that is purely personal to who they are, and they've left me wondering if I should be so settled in my own way of believing.
So, with all of that, I've considered and reconsidered some of the things I thought I was already pretty sure about. We'll talk about some of those things here. Some of these posts will be blog posts, some will be transcripts of sermons I've delivered. I'll try to designate them as they are posted.
Thanks for hanging with me.
-Kennykenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-15140935307621803772011-04-11T06:00:00.002-04:002011-04-22T07:39:04.363-04:00hi, godHi, God.<br /><br />I should probably apologize and ask forgiveness before I do anything else. I’ve not noticed you like I should. I’m sorry. I’ve probably missed the point of a million pretty things and a thousand precious moments along the way. And I’m quite confident I’ve enjoyed a lot of goodies at your bidding without even considering how kind you are. I really am sorry – and thanks.<br /><br />I wonder sometimes what kind of an influence I am. I wonder what my coworkers and my friends and especially my kids and the others I love think about you because of me. As much as I want to represent and mimic you and your approach to things, I think I do it wrong a lot. I probably owe them all an apology for being such a mishmashed example sometimes, and one to you for misrepresenting your heart. Saying out loud that I’m a Christian probably carries a whole lot more responsibility than I’ve been giving it.<br /><br />I've been meaning to thank you for the cheaper car insurance. Better coverage too! Thanks!!<br /><br />I’ve been a bad Republican. I don’t know if that requires a confession or not. But I mention it just in case. I’m having trouble figuring out the wealthy/needy equation. People with lots and people with little living so close to each other… I get mixed up on whose side Jesus is on. I do think though that some of your people are kinda getting distracted - making hay for horses that ain’t hungry. Not that I'd be a better Democrat. I don’t know for sure what a Tea Partier is. I'll beg your indulgence on that one.<br /><br />I felt really bad the other day at church. The guy sitting about three seats down was bouncing his leg like a pogo stick. I think he was nervous. But the whole row shook and it got on my nerves. I could’a been a better worshipper, but I was being jostled. No doubt, the sermon was spot on, but I was distracted. I probably shouldn’t have, but I stared at him till he stopped – for a while. I think I made him more uncomfortable. I hope he comes back this Sunday. I'll do better. Nudge him if you will.<br /><br />I said the word fool back on April first. Mom always said we shouldn’t. Wanted you to know.<br /><br />Speaking of bad words, I cursed the gas prices this week. Well, it really wasn’t a curse word. But it was one I wouldn’t want Mom to hear passing my lips. I don’t know what the point was anyway. It’s not like numbers have souls. I certainly didn’t mean it as a curse on the people who rob, er’ decide what we pay. I don’t want anyone to go to hell. I don’t think anyone heard me, but when the pump stopped and the total jumped out on me like that chainsaw guy at the end of the haunted forest, I just blurted it out. I really am sorry.<br /><br />I’ve had a lot of meals lately without thanking you for the bounty. So I thank you now with incredible and sincere appreciation.<br /><br />I plan to wake up tomorrow. Thanks in advance for the fun, and my apologies for the mess.kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-61577584861533146852011-04-04T06:00:00.010-04:002011-04-05T16:20:40.438-04:00god or not<em>"I prefer to help people of my own accord following God's individual direction rather than forced charity through the government. Those who invoke religious motives when attempting to justify the immoral redsitrabution [sic] of wealth are using the lazyiest [sic] possible argument [sic]"</em> <br /><br />I found this quote the other day on Leland's Facebook page. It was his response to a liberal friend who was trying to appeal to his religious convictions. One of them was talking, I think, about God's charity; the other about God's government. <br /><br />I've been debating in my own head these same conflicting and frustrating arguments for a while now. I’ve moved a great deal from where I was, but I'm still not solidly settled on a position. There are reasons that I agree and disagree with Leland. <br /><br />I can't not admit that I'm a hypocrite when it comes to personal denial. I've enjoyed nice vacations knowing there is a kid somewhere who could make a year's worth of necessities out of my week of extravagance. A mom who works the hard soil with bare feet would wince at my shoe stash. A lot of nice coats hang in my warm closet on cold, cold nights. <br /><br />I've earned most of what I have. In the morning, when the alarm goes off, I get out of bed, feeling it or not, and get myself to the place that pays me to be productive. I work for my stuff, and I feel I deserve my stuff. But I also feel compelled to give as generously as I can to help meet the needs of others. I think that's the point my friend Leland was making, and it makes great sense. <br /><br />There seems to be something missing though in Leland’s spirit. I absolutely do not question his commitment or relationship with God. I don’t qualify to even sit on that jury. I want to ask though, in the Scripture, which was more evidently important to Jesus Christ, caring for the poor and making sure that the hungry get to eat even a little, or protecting the wealthy and ensuring that they always have more than enough? Where did Jesus stand on political power? What was his position on keeping the government under control or in the control of the right people? Jesus Christ didn’t seem too interested in patriotic motivation or conditional compassion. <br /><br />There is also the issue of the long range premise of Leland’s words. There are lots of very conservative Christians in the United States who are working incredibly hard to make sure that their idea of the teachings of the Holy Bible is the law of the land. Lawmakers who promote “family values” admit they are influenced by Judeo-Christian ideas. But if religion is no good reason for a government to be morally compassionate, then is religion a good reason for a government to be morally judicious? <br /><br /><em>"I prefer to live my life of my own accord, following God's individual direction, rather than forced morality through the government. Those who invoke religious motives when attempting to legislate moral 'family values' are using the laziest possible argument."</em>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-35105125038551224422011-03-27T22:00:00.004-04:002011-03-30T12:46:11.829-04:00sacrificial couchThere's a burning couch in the middle of Euclid Avenue. That either means they couldn't find the cigarette, or the University of Kentucky basketball team did something incredibly big.<br /> <br />Our team is now one of only four still in the running for a national, big tourney title. Two more wins and the Wildcats will be the only Div. I team this year able to brag about winning their very last game. Nearly every kid studying at UK right now was in the single digit years of their life the last time that happened. So if anything is worthy of a good, old-fashioned, public couch burnin', this probably is.<br /> <br />Basketball is a near religious experience in Kentucky. During the season, wins (gratefulness) and losses (faith) make for perfect sermons. God is UK. Satan is the versus. Visiting evangelists are made aware. Church services are subject to game times from October to April. Like the crusaders, we conquer and rename cities, e.g. Catlanta, Big Blue Newark Nation, Blue Jersey, and whatever Houston ends up falling to. Restaurants are louder when we're winning. The people smile more. Benevolence increases. Jesus is thanked. And evidently, when we win the big, big games, we sacrifice furniture.<br /> <br />I try to be a live-and-let-live kinda guy, so I didn't give the flaming furniture a lot of scrutiny. If I'd been the parent who paid for it I might have, but otherwise I didn't think much about it. Except to wonder how the conversation went that led up to the moment of combustion.<br /> <br />TV Announcer Jim Nantz: "And that will do it. The Wildcats, going back to an old Kentucky home, the Final Four!<br /> <br />College student #1: "Yes! Yes!! YES BABY!!! We're going to Houston, baby!! Woo hoo!!! Oh my gosh!! Can you believe it?! We're going to the Final Four! We're going to Houstoooonnnn!!!"<br /> <br />Chest bump. High five. Chest bump. Tight hug. Awkward stare. Chest bump.<br /> <br />College student #2: "Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! We gotta celebrate, man! We gotta par-tay!!"<br /> <br />College student #1: "Oh my gosh, man! Everybody's going to the street! We gotta go!"<br /> <br />College student #2: "This is crazy, man! We-are-gon-na-par-tay!!"<br /> <br />College student #1: "Hey, man! Let's do something off the hook! Get the other end."<br /> <br />College student #2: "What?"<br /> <br />College student #1: "Get the other end, man!"<br /> <br />College student #2: "Why?"<br /> <br />College student #1: "We're gonna burn it, man! Woo hoo!!"<br /> <br />College student #2: "What?<br /> <br />College student #1: "Seriously, dude. Get the other end."<br /> <br />College student #2: "Dude. You sure? This is Kendall's couch."<br /> <br />College student #1: "Kendall shoulda been here to protect it."<br /> <br />College student #2: "Woo hoo!! We're going to Houston, man! We're gonna par-tay!!"<br /> <br />Local news announcer: "Worshippers took to the streets in Lexington tonight, celebrating the Kentucky Wildcats' first NCAA Final Four appearance in thirteen years. A couch was burned in honor of the occasion. No word yet on whether it was a virgin."kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-34411034785530733932011-03-13T18:00:00.001-04:002011-03-17T16:22:02.964-04:00for japan...<span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>“The splendor of a King, clothed in majesty; Let all the earth rejoice, all the earth rejoice. He wraps himself in light, and darkness tries to hide. It trembles at his voice, trembles at his voice.”</em><br /><br />These were some of the lyrics that called us to worship this past Sunday morning. We sang it, but it didn't mean much to me. I mouthed, <em>“How great is our God! Sing with me, how great is our God! And all will see how great, how great is our God!”</em> I wondered if I could convince a dazed and devastated Japanese to sing such a thing right now.<br /><br />It was too easy - singing about the earth rejoicing and trembling and all. Is that what it was doing last Friday when it shook and rolled and killed tens of thousands of my fellow humans in and around Sendai? It was no trouble at all to turn to my pew buddies and share the Peace of Christ knowing that the calamity and turmoil in the headlines is 7,338 miles that way. In my safe place, where the air and water is clean and a meal within the hour is not if, but what, I had a hard time not feeling guilty.<br /><br />I don’t think I personally know anyone who so much as lost a light bulb in Japan. Still, I wince and get a knot in my belly when I see cars and boats and all the deeply personal and sentimental pieces of people’s lives scattered among the splinters that used to be houses, and know that rodents will find some of those bodies before the recoverers do. I’ve cried or wept or sighed every single time I’ve seen a picture or a video or heard an interview – all from strangers, but still very moving.<br /><br />When I was a kid I once had a Sunday school teacher who told the class that we should never question why God does what He does. I always wondered why God let drunk drivers and drug dealers and robbers do bad things and keep on living. I thought that was her point. For some reason, it didn’t occur to me then that God did earthquakes and tornadoes and blizzards and stuff. Then I got older and learned that attorneys and insurance companies (and show promoters) hold God accountable for destruction beyond man’s control.<br /><br />Maybe if all the bad people in the world lived where the tsunami hit, I’d feel bad but not so bad. At least it would all seem more reasonable and give God a better image (at least among the conservatives). At least I’d feel like the evil-doers got their comeuppance – and the good, hard working, honest people were spared. But that didn’t happen.<br /><br />In spite of my Sunday school teacher’s warnings, I question God about a lot of things. Sometimes it’s about the curious, like why the circle of life needs chiggers. Sometimes I ask Him why He doesn’t stop the selfish, mean people in their greed and violence. I often question His apparent lack of interest when kids and innocent people get sick and don’t survive. I always wonder why He’d let His nature, HIS nature, do angry deeds.<br /><br />In Japan, when the planet stopped shaking and the ocean flowed back, the overwhelming majority of us looked on at the ugly mess from far away. A lot of us prayed, but found our meditations sprinkled with little fits of futility. Probably because we’re Christians with no answers, and that’s hard. The only thing left is for us to believe as best we can for those who can’t. So for the beautiful, precious, incredible people of Japan I sing, even in my misgivings, in honor of you.<br /><br /><em>“And age to age He stands. And time is in His hands. Beginning and the end. Beginning and the End. The Godhead, three in one. Father, Spirit, Son. The Lion and the Lamb. The Lion and the Lamb”.<br /></em><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Very pretty words and music by Chris Tomlin.</em></span></span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-34796765231749609622011-01-29T06:00:00.006-05:002011-04-01T08:21:25.785-04:00perfectly good trashI use forks and spoons cause I can't throw my hands in the dishwasher and go to bed. It's likely though that nothing in my ol' Kentucky kitchen's utensil drawer is fit to land an appearance at the big William and Kate event coming up. As flatware goes, it's nice and all, but it ain't even distant kin to real silverware, and it's certainly not fit for royal occasions.<br /><br />A couple of years ago I went through a little plastic ware phase - mostly because I was lazy. But I justified using and tossing a few dozen Dixie pieces cause it saved local H20and stopped the drought in East Africa. Actually, neither is hardly true. And as it turned out, it was a dumb idea.<br /><br />In the meantime, I got myself some nice, fancy looking plastic spoons and forks and knives for when company came for dinner. They were pretty cool - if you didn't get too close - and if you didn't pick them up - and if your meat wasn't too tough. The pieces was coated with a really shiny silver. But this was quite obviously not real silverware. It was plastic. And every one of my friends who used it knew it was plastic. You can pay a little more for the silver version, but still all you've got is plastic.<br /><br />While the reusable stuff sat ready and clean but unused, I was eating with the throw-away stuff, using it once, and, well, throwing it away. It never occurred to me that that didn't mean it was broken; that it could still feed me; that I could use it again. It may have been unconventional, but it wasn't like it was against the law or unbiblical to clean the spoon and use it again - just like new. The label told me it was disposable and useless once it got dirty. So I threw away lots of used spoons because that's what we do with used, plastic spoons.<br /><br />After a while I started associating again with better spoons. In the end it was actually more economical. And I got tired, even weary of throwing away perfectly good trash.kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-55116573998803881032011-01-22T06:00:00.004-05:002011-03-24T08:23:37.918-04:00political justification<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Zac is a boy with a dog named Baxter.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Baxter and Zac are close to each other.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Zac takes a step and Baxter does too.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Baxter is Zac's closest dog.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Zac is Baxter's closest human.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Baxter and Zac love to play games.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Zac and Baxter sometimes play hard.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Baxter forgets and sometimes bites Zac.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Zac must teach Baxter and bites Baxter back.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Baxter now thinks it's his turn to bite Zac.</span></span></div>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-17364484598323422782011-01-15T06:00:00.009-05:002011-03-23T13:21:47.461-04:00matt didn't mean no harm<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Matt Paul used to own Sunday night radio in Richmond, Kentucky. If you liked bluegrass music, and I did (do), his show on WCBR was the one to know and never miss. He knew the singers, the pickers, the promoters, the writers, the history and the gossip in the acoustic git-box music world. He had his own local band, he was funny and as far as I knew, he was a great guy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Matt played "secular" songs early in the show. Then about 8 o'clock or so he'd start slipping "sacred" songs into the rotation. That's when the good-living, God-fearing folks who just got out of church started tuning in. By 8:30, all the drinking, loving and cheating songs were done. It was all about Jesus, Heaven and dying till 10 o'clock. On Sunday, in Central and Eastern Kentucky, just 'cause church was over didn't mean it wasn't still the Lord's day.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Matt did most of his commercials live. His sponsors preferred it. He'd have a note in front of him so he could know what was on sale, but usually he just went with the top of his head. Every spot ended with, "and you be sure now to tell 'em Matt sentcha."</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Every once in a while Matt would accidentally offend the sensitive spirits with something PG. He knew who his audience was, so I can't imagine he did it on purpose. But when pretty much everything short of a King James version of the Beatitudes with an old Red-Back Hymnal chaser is a sure sign of slipping, or as our tradition calls it, back-sliding, it's hard not to transgress with an unintentional piece of clever radio every now and then.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"Hardy Brother's over in Irvine is having a whale of a sale!"</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Everybody in Irvine knew where the Hardy Brother's Market was. The "Y" is where the three big roads came together. It's also where the brothers kept shop. They sold batteries, lard, seed corn, hard candy, salt blocks, bibbed overalls, pork chops, work socks, butter, Mt. Dew, roastin' ears, chewing tobacco, hair spray and dog food. Pretty much anything a small river town dweller or a farmer would need was somewhere in there, including what had to be the widest selection of pickled stuff this side of the Mississippi.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"Run over to the "Y" in Irvine and say hi to Ray and Pepper Hardy," Matt said one night around 9 o'clock. "The Hardy Brothers are having one whale of a sale." Well that was pushing it. Everybody knew that "whale" was a safe word for something else. And the good church folks who heard it were sure he probably used the real word earlier in the show while they were worshipping and he was playing honky-tonk songs.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"Well folks, it's about springtime! And that means it's time to get the cabbage in the ground. Ray and Pepper over at the Hardy Brother's Market have what you need to get your garden going and growing. While you're there, have Maimee back in the kitchen fix ya one of her famous chuck wagon spreads. And oh yeah, since the weather's gettin' warm, the brothers are putting all their long johns on sale. So run on over and take a look while Pepper's underwear is half off. And you be sure now to tell 'em Matt sentcha."</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">According the reverend, "He probably didn't mean no harm, but Matt's going to hell."</span></span></p>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-82678604365171344752011-01-08T06:00:00.000-05:002011-03-11T09:47:31.759-05:00what did i pray?I tried to pray while I was driving in to the office this morning, but that blasted driver smiling in my mirror was intent on making our cute little rides the newest Kia couple in town. We were certainly close enough to mate out our own little Spectra. Yesterday it was the hay wagon in front of me that robbed Jesus from my mind. Sometimes God has a hard time keeping my attention.<br /><br />When I was a kid our family attended a lot of small, independent Baptist and Pentecostal churches. They were usually out in the country, usually way out, and the people there usually worshipped with a lot of loud. They also usually moved a lot when they felt the Spirit, which meant they usually got hot and sweaty. The little buildings usually didn’t have air conditioning, so they’d usually raise the windows and expect God to bless them with a breeze. He usually did.<br /><br />Along with the air, it wasn’t uncommon for an insect critter or two to find a place in the place. Not thinking like a bug (but willing to try), I’m not sure what the arthropods thought they were buzzing into. But watching them flit and flutter for dear life among what had to look like human pandemonium was a sweet treat for us kids. With a house full of jumpers and spinners and fainters and jerkers in full-on worship, you’d think there was plenty to entertain the young set already. But bring in a fly or a moth, or especially a bee or a wasp, and spectacular things can happen among the saints.<br /><br />God is big. Huge even. But as large as He is, a thing with wings and a stinger can sap His spirit right out of the most holy place. Let one distracted parishioner take their eyes off Heaven and spot a hornet and God is done for the night – or at least until one of His most faithful declares it an attack from the devil and breaks the sixth commandment on the innocent little guy. Eternal death for one of God’s tiny creations is justified when it momentarily distracts us from Him. (Crying church babies excluded.)<br /><br />This is when the preacher seizes the opportunity, says God gave him a revelation, and warns us not to open the windows of our souls, even when the inside is hot and uncomfortable, lest the devil (a bug) comes in to distract us.<br /><br />It’s still hot in the church though, so no one closes the window.<br /><br />I have set-aside time when I remove the distractions and concentrate on prayer. But I talk to God all the time. I drive and talk, listen to the radio and talk, read and talk, eat and talk, sing and talk, take a shower and talk, watch TV and talk, workout and talk, run and talk, walk and talk. I talk – and I listen. But it’s usually in spurts. Sometimes I have to ask God what I was talking about before I got distracted. I tell Him I’m sorry for wondering off, and apologize if I’m about to say something I’ve already said. I imagine He rolls His eyes; we both smile and resume the visit.kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-75684560131943217242011-01-01T06:00:00.010-05:002011-01-04T16:23:04.406-05:00one thousand, 10<span style="font-family:arial;">My warm-weather average is probably at least four cups of coffee a day. And by cup I mean mega-mug. (The official size of a cup of coffee is around 4 oz. Who ever?!) I never, ever miss a day, and the colder the day the morer the java. I'm guestimating that I sipped down more than 1,500 "servings" of mmm hot caffeinated deliciousness last year. Probably more. I likely did more coffee last year than I did meaningful prayer. Sorry, God and Mormons and Adventists and old-time Nazarenes and whoever else thinks caffeine should be sold in liquor stores.<br /><br />According to the calendar on the ol' iPhone, I got my hair cut eleven times in 2010 and my teeth cleaned twice. I was scheduled to see the doctor three times, but cancelled once because I wasn't supposed to eat, forgot, woke up and had a biscuit.<br /><br />Last year I shared songs on stages and platforms in Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, West Virginia, Tennessee, California, Georgia, Florida, Ohio, Missouri, Oklahoma, Colorado, Texas, Arkansas, Michigan, Virginia and North Carolina. (The acoustics in the little trailer terminal at the Salt Lake City Airport were pretty fun, so I hummed a little in Utah. I'm not counting that one as official though cause it was unadvertised.)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The state capitol building in Kentucky hit the big 1-0-0 back in the summer. The governor officially invited me to officially sing the official state song at the big official b'day party in the official rotunda where bad notes linger and you can harmonize with yourself if you do it quickly. That was a historic, official treat for me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">One of my fave days every year is the one I spend with the thousands of breast cancer survivors who come out to the Celebration of Hope. Kentucky First Lady Jane Beshear asked me to host the show again, and I think I said yes before she said would you... Fran Drescher and UK coach John Calipari talked too. I forget what they said.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Tony Greene left us. That was hard. It's still hard.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I sang a handful of jingles, put some BGVs on a few records, did voice-overs for two or three TV commercials, and had a couple of writing sessions with some incredibly humble but still intimidating song-crafter-artists in 2010.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I got to lead-sing on a classic gospel song with one of the classic performers who actually made it a classic gospel song. Then I got to harmony-sing with one of the the coolest, funnest, most tuned-in-to-God groups around. All of that in a matter of hours. Way cool!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I spent a couple of days recording Gaither Homecoming videos. As always, it was like a family reunion where you're content to wave across the room to some and can't wait to catch up with others and load up on hugs and stories knowing you won't again until the next reunion - or funeral. Bill always feeds us good. We laugh a lot and cry almost as much.<br /><br />I saw <em>The Rocky Horror Picture Show</em> in a movie theater for the very first time - rice, newspapers, flashlights, confetti, toilet paper, toast, cards, hot dogs and all. They confiscated our water pistols at the door.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The Fourth of July fireworks look different from the middle of downtown Lexington where buildings used to be but an open pasture with a pretty fence is now. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">I learned that the big Halloween zombie walk down Main Street really is big.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I "accidentally" dropped my iPhone 3G repeatedly until it broke. The new iPhone 4 is really neat.<br /><br />Zac gave me a new smarter-than-I-am camera for my !#th birthday for which I'd have to switch majors to figure out. I gave him a bicycle for his, but returned it and got him another one cause his feet couldn't touch the ground, but returned it too cause although it was shorter and he's an adult, his feet still couldn't touch the ground. It's all good. Kid's bikes don't cost as much.<br /><br />I flew away to Ft. Lauderdale, New York, Miami, Denver. St. Louis, Chicago, SoCal and Pittsburgh for a few days. Mortgages, car payments, and a vanishing dog sitter forced me to eventually fly back.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">After nearly 15 years of dedicated soccer grunt-n-grind, Christian did his senior year thing on the field for the last time back in the fall, making his dad sinfully proud. Even though their last game went down ugly, it was my son who scored his team's only post-season goal. My one man victory lap would've been louder if some bound up parent hadn't swiped my vuvuzela. I was sad when it was over. My little boy is really a man.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Casie is all girl - all very pretty girl. I always thought I'd spend a good part of my daddy years judging, deeming unfit and turning wannabe boyfriends one after another away from her before she even knew they were interested. I knew of no living male who met the well justified qualifications. Still don't. But it looks like she's doing an admirable job, policing things very well. Good girl.</span><br /><br />My sweet friend Ty got married and grand-opened her own business called <a href="http://twirllexington.com/">Twirl Boutique</a>. If a guy ever measures up, Casie will wedding shop there.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Since our extra, extra, extra, extra long lunch was perpetually tying up one of their Saturday afternoon tables, the fine chefs at 6 Friends Cafe in Lexington decided they might as well make good use of our hijacking. So me and my friends Amy and Renee got to taste test some deserts and name the best one after Nay Nay and John's new handsome and always smiling baby boy. The "Candy Case" crepe is delicious of course, and forever belongs to him. You're welcome, Lexington.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Right before Christmas, cute-as-a-button baby Zak introduced himself to Mom and Dad as Bishop grandchild #10, via my youngest brother, Chris. His adorability reminds everyone of his uncle Kenny.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">The Spoon Bread Festival made history back in the summer when they discovered their most gorgeous little gem ever. Abby, the so far one and only Bishop great-grand was crowned Tiny Miss and then strutted her hot little stuff on the runway at state where bribery is the only possible explanation for her not coming home with a tiera, title and world tour.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Two of the best friends I've ever had in the whole of the world moved away, and I cried for a while. But now Anthony and Greg are settled in Ft. Lauderdale where I've already started my quest to hang in their extra bedroom way past the awkward stage.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In July I played producer for a big Kentucky Lady Legends show on a big stage on the river in Louisville. The weather worked pretty while Patty Loveless, Loretta Lynn and Wynonna Judd turned the crowd into puppets. In the end it was like Thanksgiving. All that work for a two hour meal.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Just before the ladies, I pulled executive producer duties for a one-man play called, "The Kingfish" at Louisville's Actors Theatre. Don't know if I'm more in love with the play or the theatre.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I've recently been treated to a reconnection with an old friend from long ago. Tim makes me feel wealthy. I reluctantly thank Mark Zuckerberg who is really, really wealthy.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Ronnie has been a close friend. Lately he's become a very dear friend. We connect on things like puking at the thought of seafood and an unhealthy passion for meatloaf - but only good meatloaf. I tolerate his fried green tomatoes like a real friend should.</span><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Something I didn't last year that I wish I did was spend more time locked away with my recorder, keyboard and writing stuff. I also wish all that coffee was water.</span></p>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-82018610413153923062010-11-03T06:00:00.003-04:002010-11-03T14:41:01.278-04:00vote for the dental hygienist<span style="font-family:verdana;">Yesterday was sorta like one of my semiannual teeth cleanings. The pain, relief and sense of fulfilled duty left me with both a little bit of a gritty, bad taste and a little woozy. But regardless, it always feels right to step into that booth and do a vote.<br /><br />Like usual, I voted for a candidate or two that I wasn't completely in love with. But, I'm not sure I've ever cast a ballot for a politician who sees <em>everything</em> as I do. Heck, sometimes I don't even agree with my own positions. And on some things, I'm not sure I have an opinion - at least not one that's educated. I'm also prone to changing my mind when I learn more about a subject. Evidently, in politics, once you say something out loud you're not allowed to say something different - more enlightened or not. Knowing all that, I’d have some serious reservations before I’d even vote for myself.<br /><br />… and speaking of flip-flopping. Most of last night’s winners that I heard seemed to speak very kind words of praise about their just-defeated opponents who were lying, thieving, corrupt societal menaces until very recently, when the polls closed. I wondered if I should believe their previous words or their current ones. I wondered if their next political adversary would point out their flip-flop the next time around.<br /><br />For me, this time around, for the first time that I can remember, I ended Election Day feeling a little disappointed in myself. It’s not because not all of my favorite candidates won. It’s more because I felt forced to decide whether to let the end or the means make my decision. Because so many of the races and candidates where I live were so ugly and frankly, not always believable, I had to step into the voting booth yesterday and make a principled decision based on more than policy ideas. I had to judge some character. I hate judging. I don’t feel qualified to judge. I didn't make my decisions based <em>entirely</em> on the content of the info and ads each side presented, but on whether it could be believed, or whether it was necessary at all.<br /><br />There was certainly no tingly feeling about it for me. I think I swallowed hard a time or two, wiped my brow, and even closed my eyes once so I wouldn't witness exactly what I was about to do. I walked out thinking I should wash my hands, and not at all eager to brag about some of the buttons I'd just pushed. (BTW, a bottle of hand sanitizer at each polling place would be a good idea.) It was tough, and I don’t regret my votes. And although I’m not necessarily proud of myself, I did vote.</span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-74379049408226937212010-10-29T06:00:00.004-04:002010-10-30T10:01:05.230-04:0011/3/10 please<span style="font-family:verdana;">My debate coach once said that when you resort to derogatory names for your opponent your argument has become juvenile, you’ve diminished your own credibility, you’ve lost the audiences respect, and you’ve exhausted all of your intelligent information.<br /><br />I’m ready now. I want to vote. If my vote means that all of the gosh-darn political ads will stop interfering with my entertainment and my usually happy attitude, I’ll run down and cast one now.<br /><br />Lately I feel like I’m lugging a lot of heaviness around. I feel frustrated and sorta defeated. The air seems dirty and dense. It’s ruining my otherwise perfect Fall. Some say it’s Obama’s fault. Some blame the tea party folks. I think it’s all of these depressing political carpet-bomb attacks from ALL the sides. Where in the world do you buy a gajillion dollars worth of cat claws? And unless you have a generous supply of Wellbutrin or just lock yourself in a wireless-less closet, there’s no way to escape the negativity and the cloud.<br /><br />I’m certainly not a cynic, but the constant rotation of pithy words and grainy, slo-mo images we’ve been subject to for longer than seems necessary have made it hard not to be. So, to help myself sleep and to keep me smiling, I’ve changed some habits and invoked some bible. Specifically Philippians 4:8.<br /><br />I hardly watch live TV anymore. The thirty-second doses of political tit-for-tat eye poking, and shin kicking among the grownups, and the extra effort it takes to decipher which one, if either, is telling me the truth, has motivated me to either record the stuff I want to see or, thanks to DVR, start watching about ten or fifteen minutes into the show so I can FF through all the exaggerations. But if do you see the ads, and you believe even part of what you’re told, regardless of who wins, it’ll be a dishonest, corrupt criminal clown who runs the victory lap – and the government. (To those who wonder, this explains voter apathy.)<br /><br />I enjoy reasonable debate about policies, positions and politics. And it seems there’s certainly a market for biased political discussion, going both ways, on all the media. I think that’s good. But it often frustrates me when I hear a radio or TV host, even one that I know shares my own views, lose the argument AND respect for the point because they couldn’t avoid useless personal insults. What makes the guy behind the mic think he can convince an adult to change their position or see things his way when he argues like a kid? That’s why I don’t listen to talk radio anymore. No dish on the folks who do. I don't get into extreme fighting either. (Same kind of sport. Same kind of result.)<br /><br />I personally know a lot of the folks who are running for office this time around. I know them well enough to know that they really are good people. I know them well enough to know that most of the things said about them in the commercials, on the news, in the interviews, and in the debates really aren’t true. I know them well enough to know that if they are elected or re-elected they will be good officials. I know them well enough to know that they don’t really breathe fire, hate puppies and steal crutches. I know them well enough to know that they don’t really believe their opponents do either. Maybe that’s the main reason I hate all this ugly political trickery. I know these people. They’re better than they’re portrayed and they’re better than they’re acting.<br /><br />I’m anxious to hurry up and vote and get back to my regularly scheduled, mostly happy programming.</span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-55530993868428896812010-10-21T06:00:00.001-04:002010-10-21T10:42:14.193-04:00a kinda modern political tv ad<span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:85%;">video: fast-fade in (waste shot) current GW in most expensive suit - pull back to full shot then fade out<br />audio: chirping birds to harpsichord playing Bach sonata<br />vo (sarcastic tone):<br /></span><strong>George Washington. He'd like you to think he's one of us. But we know better.</strong><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">video: disolve to women wearing high fashion drinking tea behind large castle and well dressed children playing<br />audio: cut to to classical violin playing Mozart Concerto No. 5<br />vo (sarcastic tone) NOTE: spit "fancy" and stress 'not"</span><br /><strong>A child of privelege, George Washington was born on a fancy plantation with a fancy silver spoon. This wealthy aristocrat grew up in private schools and fancy parlors. He's not one of us.</strong><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">video: cut to stills of GW and wife in fancey clothes - fast flash cut-ins of tattered slaves - disolve to GW posing in British uniform (Photoshop edits)<br />audio: fade from Mozart violins to "Brainbug Nightmare" by Sinister Strings (mid-point) then to military band playing "Rule, Britania"<br />vo (sarcastic) NOTE: stress "secret"</span><br /><strong>Then Fancy George married even more money and became a member of a secret society. Slave-driving George Washington once bowed to the British king, worked for foreign companies and even hoped to join the enemy's Navy.</strong><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">video: cut to regimented troops, dissolve to gradual pullback (start face-close) of young, dying soldiers on battlefield - fade to black then to gradual pullback (start face-close) of solemn woman holding dirty, crying child and city burning behind - fade to b/w closeup of defeated GW face.<br />audio: fade to weeping strings<br />vo (stern but solemn tone) NOTE: drop voice to despair at end</span><br /><strong>While in charge of his own country's troops, gun-happy George sent more than 25,000 brave American men and boys into deadly ambush and disease - leaving countless desperate widows and orphans to fend for themselves. Thanks to George Washington, our greatest cities fell into enemy hands.</strong><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">video: pop into closeup of angry GW face - pull back to arrogant GW counting money, sinister laugh and big belly<br />audio: back to harpsichord playing Bach sonata<br />vo (concern-to-angry tone) NOTE: stress "took over"</span><br /><strong>Still not satisfied, King George took over the Constitutional Convention and found a way to write himself a big, fat paycheck - courtesy of you. No other president has raised more taxes or thrown more of your hard earned money across the river.</strong><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">video: cut to b/w closeup of GW face (in wince) - slow pullback with dissolve rotation of previous images (Large castle, GW in British uniform, slave, dying soldiers, crying child, ragged woman, burning city...)<br />audio: thunder w/startling strings<br />vo (very snide) NOTE" stress "we"</span><br /><strong>George Washington. Traitor, elitist and incompetent leader. We can do better.</strong></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">video: pop to black with small text<br />audio: none<br />vo (professional):</span><br /><strong>Paid for by the committee to rid our country of its only career politician.</strong></span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-74617734198170100992010-10-12T06:00:00.000-04:002010-10-12T10:26:41.033-04:00god vs fred - a reprise<span style="font-family:verdana;"><em>Matthew Shepard should’ve been 33 years old by now. I wrote and posted the following words on my blog one year ago:</em><br /><br />I’m thinking that Fred Phelps and his hate-in-the-name-of-Jesus congregation have never felt the hurt in any of the broken hearts they protest. I’ll bet they’ve never considered comforting a devastated parent or the spouse or child of a military soldier just tragically lost. Chances are they’ve not once followed the real Jesus example of compassion and weeping with the broken and sad. I’m sure that they never, ever looked into the eyes of Judy Shepard to express sorrow that her 21 year old son had been tortured and killed so violently and so senselessly.<br /><br />If I give much thought to the wackos at Westboro I get angry. In the stupid/arrogant/psycho & disturbed hall of insanity, the Phelps plaque hangs just around the corner from the Hitler and the Hussein. I’d love to express more heartfelt disgust, but it’s very judgmental of me and my language would certainly lean offensive. Too, I have no more appreciation for my own judgementalism than theirs or anyone else’s, and I certainly don’t wish to lower myself to the Phelps family way.<br /><br />Matthew Shepard died eleven years ago. Eleven years and six days ago he was alive, but barely, having been beaten into a coma and left for dead in a remote Wyoming field. The two guys who were responsible for luring him into their car, robbing him, pistol-whipping him, torturing him, tying him to a fence and leaving him for dead are locked up now with two consecutive life sentences each. They admitted that they, like Fred Phelps’ god, hate fags. So they killed him.<br /><br />Matthew was gay. But had he been fat or black or Hispanic or female or poor or anything else that would distinguish him from his attackers, could there ever be justification for the savage, heartless brutality he endured? One of his killers said that as they bashed Matthew’s head with the butt of their gun over and over again, he was screaming and begging them to stop, pleading for his life. They took his shoes, tied him painfully tight with a sharp, thin rope to a rough prairie fence post, then drove away into a chilly night leaving him in the cold to die. It was said that when he was found eighteen hours later Matthew’s face was covered in blood, except for the tracks that were made by his tears.<br /><br />A lot has been said since Matthew’s murder about the need for extra punishment for those whose crime is motivated by their personal prejudices. I’m sorta mixed on the notion. But then again, I’ve not been a victim – not like Matthew. Although, the more I think about the fear that Matthew must’ve felt, his futile pleas for mercy, the hopelessness of being bound in the cold, in the wilderness, his terribly long and painful night of suffering and his last few agonizing days struggling to live – all because, only because he was gay – the more justified it seems.<br /><br />Today, the anniversary of Matthew Shepard’s death, would be a good day to consider the need for understanding and compassion among us. If you look at anyone and see less or more because of their skin or their stature or their gender or their ability or their affections or their position or their faith or their failures or their wardrobe or their politics or their car or their talents or their wealth or their success or their past or anything else, it might be good to ask God what He sees.<br />It’s certainly tough to see and like people like Fred Phelps. I’m glad God can.</span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-41872984295939766362010-10-08T06:00:00.003-04:002010-10-08T14:39:46.069-04:00missing tony<span style="font-family:verdana;">I miss Tony. On the days that life or business consumed and it never occurred to me to laugh, he'd call. I'd say Hi. He'd spit out a one-liner. I'd bust a gut laughing. He'd laugh and snort too while he hung up the phone. The whole thing would last maybe thirty seconds. But I'd laugh the rest of the day. It's been too many days now since the last one of those moments. I miss Tony.<br /><br />Need a gospel flashlight? It doesn't matter. Need it or not, Tony was good at selling you one. He could stand on the stage and sell anything, and most of the time you didn't realize he was pitching. You wanted whatever he offered even if you already had it. And you never felt snookered when you bought his goods. Tony stood by his words because Tony's endorsement was a promise. And even in the Gospel music world that's not always the case. Makes me miss him.<br /><br />What a voice... When I first heard Tony sing, lots of years ago, it hadn't changed yet. Back then, when he harmonized with his family, his notes were above both his brother AND his sister. But man, when puberty finished with him, what an incredible set of lead-singing pipes he ended up with. Since then, when the song needed a man's power voice, Tony's was it. Otherwise, he was the subtle, blending anchor part that was crucial to some of the prettiest phrasing and harmony anywhere. He knew his parts. I'm glad we have lots of recordings to remember him by. But I still miss his singing.<br /><br />Hundreds of thousands of people, probably more, have forgotten their worries because Tony gave them a moment and a place in which to escape. He knew that responsibility as he stepped onto the stage every night. He and I would talk about our ministry role of being a balm that soothes while God does the bigger thing of repairing and healing the reasons for the hurt. He'd remind me of that from time to time, especially when I didn't feel like singing. He'd tell me to stop being so selfish and to stop depriving hurting people of their opportunity to feel-good, even if only for a while. "Who knows when they'll get another chance to laugh or feel God?" he'd say. Sometimes I don't want to sing. I need Tony.<br /><br />Sometimes Tony's tales were heard and accepted by the standards of the <em>National Inquirer</em>'s official understanding of believability. If a story is so outlandish that no one in their reasonable mind would believe it, they probably shouldn't. Sometimes I didn't know which parts of his stories were fact or not. It didn't matter though. When Tony told it, it was a Tony tale. We took it for what it was, laughed at it and probably re-told it as our own. His version was always funnier. I'd like to hear the one about the fox tattoo again.<br /><br />Tony was in love with Taranda. The music they made together was Heaven-meant, and it was impossible to not recognize the chemistry and the believability and the compatibility they had with each other. It was the music that introduced them to each other, but the moments without an audience was what made them lovers and partners. And they were devoted partners. A good part of Tony's life was to support and encourage the incredible and anointed gift that is his wife's. Of course Tony loved Isabella and Jocelyn. He didn't completely understand the thinking of itty-bitty girls. But to love them he didn't have to. Tony loved all of his family, and sometimes they all had a lot to love each other through. He's been my model in that way and I've learned a lot from his example of waiting. Gee, I miss his wisdom.<br /><br />Tony was devoted to the people who supported him. Only a few days before he went to the hospital for the last time he was in the middle of a huge exhibit hall with a line of fans wrapped around corners and aisles just to see him. Although no one was allowed to touch him for fear of transmitting an infection, he looked tired. And like so many others, I was concerned for him. I told him then that he shouldn't be there. The people would understand There were too many germs, and it was dangerous, and as much as everyone wanted to see him, he would be safer in a more sterile place. He told me that these people meant a lot to him. He wanted to see them while he could because he didn't know if he'd ever have the chance to see them again. Tony loved those people. He appreciate their kindness. He was determined to repay it.<br /><br />As much as Tony was a cut-up and a charmer, a master communicator, a successful businessman, an accomplished singer, a remarkable entertainer, an effective minister, a devoted lover, a committed father, an incredibly close friend and so much more, Tony was above everything a Christian. His faith identified him. His stories and songs, his phone calls and his life were all wrapped by his commitment and compulsion to share why he laughed, why he loved, why he sang and why he cared. He lived his life doing his best to return the favors that God had been so generous in sharing. I have to tell you, it's so refreshing to remember. But right now I am so missing Tony.</span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-3832101410048009092010-10-01T06:00:00.000-04:002010-10-08T10:37:21.241-04:00missed me words<span style="font-family:verdana;">I've been gone. I've left a silent couch sitting empty for several months now.<br /><br />Time went by fast, really fast. I've been absent from posting words here for a long time now, much longer than I intended. I first planned to just keep silent for a few weeks. I needed to get past some crucial deadlines. But once out of the habit of sharing thoughts and eventually, after several months of feeling guilty for telling people who'd asked why I was ignoring my chat couch that I'd start posting again soon, then not doing it, I became kind of ashamed.<br /><br />Although I've not written here lately, I have been writing. I have messenger bags full of pads full of pages full of words that no one has seen or read. Looking back through them lately, I've noticed that sometimes my assembled words make no sense at all. What in the world does, "riding rainbow roller coasters" mean, and where in the world did a thought like that come from? The point: I've been writing, just silently.<br /><br />So, my intent over the next several days or weeks or however long I feel impressed, is to occasionally look back through some of my rambling, scratched out thoughts and share them here. When I do, I may expound some, or I may leave things virgin and original, as I first imagined it. I may share the background (if I remember it or if I noted it at the moment) or, like the weird thought above, I may have no clue what opened the brain door to something so random.<br /><br />Besides my piles of paper, I'm always sending me emails and texts, leaving myself voice mail messages, using the handy little voice memo <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">ap</span> on my iPhone and pecking out lines in my smarter-than-I-am-phone notes. Evidently something inspired me at the grocery store a while back. I was cleaning the car last week and found, "fake thunder - fake storm - fake rain," on the back of an old shopping list. I reckon the magic moment happened in produce.<br /><br />So, thanks for your patience. Thanks for waiting. Thanks for not giving up and believing that I'd be back with something to say. Thanks for stopping me in the mall or at a concert or while I'm trying to enjoy dinner with friends or while I'm at the urinal to tell me that you've missed sitting on my couch. I'm not even partially sure what these off-the-page postings will look like, but flipping through my scribbles, let's call it something intellectual like abstract art.</span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-85551023516909021142010-01-01T12:00:00.002-05:002010-01-08T15:10:53.674-05:00home, home on the web<span style="font-family:verdana;">Gas is expensive these days. Just so I won't have to make the commute, from this day and this moment henceforth, the words of Kenny Bishop shall be found a little closer to his web home. Make a note and meet me at </span><a href="http://www.kennybishop.com/blog"><span style="font-family:verdana;">www.kennybishop.com/blog</span></a><span style="font-family:verdana;">. We've worked really hard to make it look, feel, taste and smell as much like you're used to as possible. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The platform there is WordPress instead of Blogger. So, if you've subscribed to the feed here and wish to keep tuning in after the move, it'll be necessary to resubscribe there. I really, really, really, really, really, really hope you will.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">peace...</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">kb</span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-39885610097145557512009-12-31T18:00:00.003-05:002010-01-07T15:58:43.204-05:001st decade of the 21st century of the 3rd millennium<span style="font-family:verdana;">Ten years ago I was sitting on the bus behind the big arena in Winston Salem, North Carolina waiting for all the world's computers to crash. When it happened, society as we knew it was scheduled to end. Not that I'd done anything to prepare for the sudden dark ages. Honestly, if I'd really thought something that big was going to happen I'd have been back home in Kentucky where Mark Twain said he wanted to be when the world came to an end because it's always twenty years behind.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">About 9,000 people were inside the arena taking in the first couple of acts. It would be our turn in an hour or two, closer to the local countdown to destruction. The contract for this particular show required all of the artists to be on the stage, singing full voice at midnight. I wondered what would happen if all-of-the-sudden the lights went out. The stage was in the round, so we were surrounded by the audience. Would there be enough security there with flash lights to get us all off the stage, through the crowd, to a safe place? What if all the batteries in those flashlights got wind of the plan and stopped working too? With no sound system to give amp to a calm voice of direction, would there be pandemonium and chaos? Was there indeed a plan? Was THAT built into our contract?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">So I sat on the bus wondering what might happen and scanning the channels to see how the folks who'd already flipped their calendars were coping. As it turned out, if the lights even flickered nobody noticed.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I don't know what I was expecting. The months and weeks leading up to - or counting down to the new year/decade/century were filled with warnings from some and dismissals from others. Some of the most dire predictions I heard actually came from a few TV preachers who had taken advantage of the occasion by offering anointed survival kits. For a gift to the Lord's work of $75 you and your spouse can live to tell about it. For $50 more your kids can join you. I knew people who took all of the uncertainty very seriously. They stocked up on canned goods, duct tape and supplies. I knew a couple of folks who built shelters and cellars. They weren't taking any chances. I'm not sure what use they have for them now.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I consider myself and all the other pre-two thousanders survivors. Now, celebrating the first ten years of the twenty-first century of the third millennium, I feel like we've come a long, long way. It's hard to imagine what'll pop up in the days and decades ahead. To be honest with you, when I was a kid I thought we'd be wearing tin-foil jumpers and strapping into hover-cars by now. So did Walt Disney.</span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-17571901306913250302009-12-25T06:00:00.002-05:002010-01-06T15:16:04.409-05:00junked up christmas<span style="font-family:verdana;">Pop in at my place unannounced and it's likely you'll find me looking pretty comfy. Unless I'm expecting company, I usually don't dress for company. Otherwise it's shorts and a t-shirt or sometimes my bath robe and PJs. If I don't figure anyone but me is around to notice, I may let a pair of shoes or a half-read book lay around for a day or two. I may even allow the plates and coffee cups to sit in the sink 'til there are enough to bother with. Still though, I prefer to know if you're coming.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">It's Christmas now. So with lots of family and loads of friends popping in and out, the plan is to try and keep me, my place and my things as presentable as possible. Be prepared for the president, I say. I can be and have been, but it's hard to catch me unprepared for guests this time of year. Show up on my doorstep right now and I can legitimately offer you a bite of something, a cup of something or a glass of something and a nice, clean place to enjoy it. Knowing this time was coming, I was able to prepare.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Back when Herod was fuming about this new kid king he'd been hearing about; back when the shepherds were wondering where those voices were coming from, their heads or the sky, and if it had anything to do with the field grass they were smoking, er, sleeping on; back when the inn-keeper was wondering what the commotion in the barn was all about and second guessing if it was smart to send a pregnant woman out there; back when star gazers showed up on the Joseph family door with expensive gifts for a baby who'd already been walking on that sort of thing; back when prophet after priest after pulpiteer predicted he was coming and just this way, it was still like no one expected it when baby Jesus showed up in Bethlehem.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">It appears that the world was startled and not a little rattled that God dropped in all-of-the-sudden via a Mary and a manger. They obviously weren't expecting him when and where and how he came. The house was a mess. The place wasn't ready. Everybody was living like there'd be no company, lounging around in their comfort wear. Had they known a king was coming they would've at least tried to tidy the place up a bit; kick the crumbs under the rug; toss the piled up clothes in the spare room; close the door; break out the Febreze; hide the mail; throw the dishes in the washer; put on a suit, brush the teeth, comb the hair... And, this was THE King - cause for a good, thorough scrubbing.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">He was a baby and a human, yes. As God though, I'm thinking that Jesus knew well what he was coming into. We could've painted the place up, put on a new outfit and showed up in a Lamborghini, but I'm not convinced he'd be convinced of our success or our cleanliness. He'd know that we don't really live in museums, that we only wear suits when the rules and/or expectations make us. He also knows that sometimes pot holes are unavoidable regardless of the ride. God knows we don't smile all the time.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Sometimes I cheat. When I get short notice that company's coming, instead of cleaning stuff up I hide it. Please, PLEASE don't come to my house expecting a grand tour. Some rooms are off limits. There's junk in there. And God knows it. That's why He came. That's why we have Christmas.</span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-9309521913174641842009-11-26T06:00:00.001-05:002010-01-07T15:32:51.194-05:00thank you day<span style="font-family:verdana;">Afrikaans - Dankie<br />Albanian - Faleminderit<br />Arabic - Sukran<br />Armenian - shur-nur-ah-gah-lem<br />Australian - Thoinks, Moite!<br />Basque Country - Eskerrik asko<br />Bengali - Dhannyabad<br />Bulgarian - Blagodaria<br />Bosnia - Hvala<br />Burma - Jae Zu Din Pa De<br />Cameroon - Na som</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Canada - Thank You<br />Cantonese - Do jey<br />Catalonia - gràcies<br />Cherokee Nation - Wado<br />Cherokee (Eastern) - Skee<br />Chinese (Mandarin) - Xie_Xie<br />Chinese (Cantonese) Do jeh<br />Cook Islander - Kia Manuia<br />Croatia - Hvala<br />Czech – Dekuji<br />Danish - tak<br />Dutch - bedankt<br />English - Thank you<br />Esperanto - Dankon<br />Ewe Togo - Apké na wo<br />Fijian - Vinaka<br />Finnish - kiitos<br />Fon Benin - Kpè nu wé<br />French - merci<br />F.Y.R.O.M. - Hvala<br />Gambia - Abarka<br />Georgia - madlobt<br />German - Danke<br />Greek - Efharisto<br />Guarani - Aguije<br />Guinea - Abarka<br />Gujarathi - Aabar<br />Hawaiian - Mahalo<br />Hebrew - Toda<br />Hindi - Dhanyavaad<br />Hungarian - Köszönöm<br />Icelandic - Þakka þér fyrir<br />Indonesian - Terima kasih</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Iran - Moteshakeram<br />Irish - Go raibh mile maith agat<br />Italian - Grazie</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Japanese - Arigato<br />Javanese - Matur nuwun<br />Kannada - Dhan-ya-vaadaa<br />Korean - Kamsa hamaida<br />Latvian - Paldies<br />Lithuanian - Achu<br />Luganda - Waybale<br />Malayalam - Nandi<br />Malaysian - Terima Kasih<br />Mali - Abarka<br />Mandinka - Abarka<br />Maori - Kia Manuia<br />Nepali - Dhan-ya-vaad<br />New Zealand - Cheers<br />Nigeria - Na gode<br />Norwegian - Takk<br />Oman - Shakkran<br />Palauan - soolong<br />Paraguay - Aguije<br />Persian/Farsi - Mam'noon<br />Philippines Tagalog - Salamat<br />Polish - Dziekuje<br />Portuguese - Obrigado<br />Punjabi - Bhala Hove<br />Qatar - Shakkran<br />Romanian - Multumesc<br />Russian - Spasiba<br />Samoan - Talofa<br />Saulteaux Indians - Miigwech<br />Scottish - Cheers<br />Scot's Gaelic - Tapadh Leibh<br />Senegal - Abarka<br />Serbo -Hvala<br />Slovakia – Dakujem<br />South Africa - Dankie<br />Spanish - Gracias<br />Sundanese - Nuhun<br />Sunda - Hatur Nuhun<br />Swahili - Ahsante<br />Swedish - Tack<br />Tahitian - Maururu<br />Tamil - Nandri<br />Telungu - Manjuthe<br />Thai - Khob Khun<br />Tibetan - Thuk Ji Chhe<br />Turkish - Saðol<br />U.S. - Thank You<br />Ukranian - Dyakuyu<br />Urudu - Shukria<br />Urdu - Shukria<br />Uzbekistan - Rahmat<br />Vietnamese - Kam ouen<br />Wales/Cymru - Diolch<br />Xhosa - Nkosi<br />Yemen - Shakkran<br />Yiddish - A dank<br />Yoruba - Modupe<br />Yugoslavia - Hvala<br />Zulu - Ngiyabonga</span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-69663702215480862292009-11-10T06:00:00.003-05:002010-01-07T12:08:44.917-05:0021 years a daddy<span style="font-family:verdana;">When I woke up this morning, twenty-one years ago I wasn't a daddy. By the end of the day though, I was not only a proud parent, but the child of my loin also happened to be the prettiest and most instantly intelligent human on the globe. Amazing how that happened I thought. Of all people, I was immediately able to start bragging that God had allowed me to father the world's most wonderful little girl.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Things haven't changed much since, except that she's even prettier and smarter now. I smile when I think of her. I tear when I miss her. She's always on my mind and constantly in the prayers I whisper. It's been going on that way for 21 years now. I wouldn't have it any other way.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Every day that I see her I get confirmation that my little girl, my Casie is one of my most valuable treasures ever. Happy birthday my baby girl! I love you.</span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-82788442822340771232009-10-31T12:00:00.004-04:002010-01-07T11:16:44.632-05:00false face<span style="font-family:verdana;">As a kid I don't remember so much Mom taking us to the store to buy costumes. Best I can remember, most Halloweens we just found stuff already in the closets and made something up at home. Scarecrows were always pretty easy. Take a pair of bib overalls, a flannel shirt and some straw and there ya go. Paint a couple of big red dots on the cheeks and a little black on the nose, a hat if we had one... More than once I was a product of last-minute planning and ended up in one of Mom's outfits. I was a pretty little thing, 'cept back then Mom didn't wear makeup which made for a homely looking girl. One year we stuffed a pillow under my "blouse" and I was a pro-life, pre-teen example of what you should do if you get knocked up unexpectedly.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">One year me, my brothers and a friend or two decided we wanted to be Kiss. This despite the fact that the visiting preacher at church said they were devil worshippers. I insisted on being Gene Simmons. I thought he was the coolest of the singing satanists, and as much as I didn't want to go to Hell, I did want to be coolest. Somehow we got some white and black face paint, some glitter and made due with the hair we had - spiking it and teasing it and mussing it up as best we could with mousse and gel and hairspray. My brother, Loren, ended up cutting his own hair to better get into character. After Mom delivered her cow she administered his punishment - which couldn't have been much worse than the ribbing he got at school the next day.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Ever once in a while, come Halloween we'd splurge and buy a mask. My mamaw called them false-faces. She seemed sorta fascinated with the concept. The first time we'd see her after trick-or-treat, she'd always ask us what kind of false-face we wore. "Evil Knievel," I said once. As much as I liked being more like the richer kids who could always afford to buy masks and costumes, I liked better the time Mom and I spent together sorting through drawers and closets trying to put together a crazy outfit that I'd wear just that once. They were usually over-the-top fashion disasters, but clowns and drag queens are funner than nuns and teachers. Besides, after a while of walking the neighborhood with a rubber band cutting through my face, no peripheral vision and smelling my own Tootsie Roll breath, I learned it was a whole lot more fun and freeing skipping door to door in a sheet, er, toga and Flip Flops. Besides, false-faces are dishonest.</span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-19511583389950383592009-10-16T06:00:00.001-04:002009-10-21T11:25:04.549-04:00gnats<span style="font-family:verdana;">Gnats have been aplenty around central Kentucky this summer. At first I thought word was swarming around the bug world that my place was the hot new local gnat club, until I heard other folks talking about their own little problem guests. Evidently it's been a good year for gnats - if there is such a thing.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I've always been a generous rodent emancipator. When I was a kid my mom used to tell folks about me herding house-trapped flies and crickets to the door so they could live free in the wide open, instead of swatting or stomping 'em. I don't know what the purpose of such creatures is, but figuring there's probably not a bug heaven, (I don't know that for sure.) why not let them live as long as they can before ending their eternal existence?</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">When it comes to gnats though, I seem to not care so much. Gnats are annoying. They flit about almost like an apparition. Sometimes you're not even sure you see one, but you still swat at the air, 'cause they're annoying. For some reason I don't have a big heart for gnats. Actually, knowing that an adult gnat usually only lives for about a week anyway, I figure it was just days, maybe hours away from a natural death when it found the sticky paper in the kitchen. If all the other gnats care, they'll come to the paper to pay their last respects - and stick around.</span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7538142585721005905.post-4031008975448748292009-10-12T06:00:00.008-04:002009-10-13T10:40:39.440-04:00god vs fred<span style="font-family:verdana;">I'm thinking that Fred Phelps and his hate-in-the-name-of-Jesus congregation have never felt the hurt in any of the broken hearts they protest. I'll bet they've never considered comforting a devastated parent or the spouse or child of a military soldier just tragically lost. Chances are they've not once followed the real Jesus example of compassion and weeping with the broken and sad. I'm sure that they never, ever looked into the eyes of Judy Shepard to express sorrow that her 21 year old son had been tortured and killed so violently and so senselessly.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">If I give much thought to the wackos at Westboro I get angry. In the stupid/arrogant/psycho & disturbed hall of insanity, the Phelps plaque hangs just around the corner from the Hitler and the Hussein. I'd love to express more heartfelt disgust, but it's very judgmental of me and my language would certainly lean offensive. Too, I have no more appreciation for my own judgementalism than theirs or anyone else's, and I certainly don't wish to lower myself to the Phelps family way.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Matthew Shepard died eleven years ago. Eleven years and six days ago he was alive, but barely, having been beaten into a coma and left for dead in a remote Wyoming field. The two guys who were responsible for luring him into their car, robbing him, pistol-whipping him, torturing him, tying him to a fence and leaving him for dead are locked up now with two consecutive life sentences each. They admitted that they, like Fred Phelps' god, hate fags. So they killed him.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Matthew was gay. But had he been fat or black or Hispanic or female or poor or anything else that would distinguish him from his attackers, could there ever be justification for the savage, heartless brutality he endured? One of his killers said that as they bashed Matthew's head with the butt of their gun over and over again, he was screaming and begging them to stop, pleading for his life. They took his shoes, tied him painfully tight with a sharp, thin rope to a rough prairie fence post, then drove away into a chilly night leaving him in the cold to die. It was said that when he was found eighteen hours later Matthew's face was covered in blood, except for the tracks that were made by his tears.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">A lot has been said since Matthew's murder about the need for extra punishment for those whose crime is motivated by their personal prejudices. </span><span style="font-family:Verdana;">I'm sorta mixed on the notion. But then again, I've not been a victim - not like Matthew. Although, the more I think about the fear that Matthew must've felt, his futile pleas for mercy, the hopelessness of being bound in the cold, in the wilderness, his terribly long and painful night of suffering and his last few agonizing days struggling to live - all because, only because he was gay - the more justified it seems.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Today, the anniversary of Matthew Shepard's death, would be a good day to consider the need for understanding and compassion among us. If you look at anyone and see less or more because of their skin or their stature or their gender or their ability or their affections or their position or their faith or their failures or their wardrobe or their politics or their car or their talents or their wealth or their success or their past or anything else, it might be good to ask God what He sees.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Verdana;">It's certainly tough to see and like people like Fred Phelps. I'm glad God can.</span>kenny bishophttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06135337083752992488noreply@blogger.com1