An IHOP Kind of Guy Am I

A few years ago, I realized that I was an IHOP kind of guy. We were eating at IHOP (yes, International House of Pancakes) and it was one of those “aha” moments. I wish it had been a classy Italian restaurant with the white table cloth, the maitre de, the fine glasses. But no, I’m talking IHOP—kids eat free on Fridays IHOP. Lower-middle class IHOP. I relax when I’m there. I don’t feel stuffy, don’t feel like people are going to look at me funny if I forget to put my napkin on my lap or use my salad fork with the main entrée or my regular fork with the salad. I have no clue when it comes to those things. Just now, I realized I don’t even know what to call the main fork to distinguish it from a salad fork. Is there a different word? I don’t even know. That’s why I belong at IHOP. It doesn’t matter there.

On that night, I ordered fish n’ chips. I know, a guy my age shouldn’t be eating deep-fried food, but I don’t like Greek salads and olives and cucumbers or cold noodles or any of those uppity kinds of foods. I like batter-dipped and buttered. I like deep-fried anything, even chicken livers. When I was young we used to drive 70 miles to Lebanon, Illinois just for the fried chicken livers. I justify eating this way by saying I can still do quite a few chin ups. I’ll probably drop-dead doing chin ups, even though I can do quite a few of them, because of those fried foods. What will they say at my funeral?

Folks, Chris was a nice guy. He could even do twenty chin ups after he was 50 years old. But he loved fish n’ chips and batter-dipped shrimp. Now you’d never think that a plate of batter-dipped shrimp could kill a man, ladies and gentlemen, but it was that journey of a thousand miles that begins with a single step. Or in Chris’s case, that journey of a thousand Shrimp platters that began with a single dip--into the cocktail sauce, that is. Well, actually, he liked ketchup better than cocktail sauce. Extremely talented guy, but you can’t take on fried foods and ketchup stuff like that and expect to win. Let us contemplate on Chris’s life, and beware of deep-fried and batter-dipped things. And here today, his father-in-law, who won’t eat anything green, still lives on past seventy years old. You might look at these two and say, “Is life fair?” or “Is God fair?” Sometimes, life is a mystery. Food is a mystery. The human body is a mystery. . . . And oh yes, folks, that reminds me. Please join us for pie and ice cream in the fellowship hall after the service today. Amen.

Did I mention the fried chicken strip salad is pretty good, too?

My Reflections on My UPS Career on Founders Day

We were given a choice whether or not those of us who were having a milestone service year wanted to speak on Founders Day in our department meeting. Since the one consistent feedback I have gotten during my entire 25-year career at UPS was that I don’t speak up enough in meetings, I thought I would make up for the whole thing here today. No one intends to have a long career at UPS. You come to work at UPS as a temporary thing while you are planning your life. Those plans do not include UPS. We come for the benefits, the tuition assistance, the non-standard hours that don’t interfere with classes or our other real jobs. Parents don’t envision their kids growing up and working for UPS. I think these are just the basic realities of life. I worked the majority of my career in Information Services Learning & Development or Corp HR Learning & Development. I would have never lasted 25 years had I been in Operations. I know exactly how long I would have lasted in Operations had I wo...

My Prayer Life Is Like, "Whack" (-a-Mole)

I’ve been a practicing Christian my entire adult life, and one would think that would result in a certain level of proficiency in certain practices such as what often occurs when one plays golf, tennis, or does various other activities on a regular basis. Prayer is not like this for me though. Prayer is like whack-a-mole. As soon as I knock down a mole that pops up--some sort of obstacle to my praying--another mole rises in its place. "Whack-a-mole" is exactly how I would describe my prayer life, a daily whacking away at things that prevent prayer.

The Power of Public Prayers

“Jewish law prefers that Jews pray communally rather than privately.” Joseph Telushkin, “Minyan,” in Jewish Literacy , 719. I’ve been thinking about this notion for a few days after I read it because I get the impression that most of the Christians I know pray individually and about their own self interests more than anything else. I know this is true of me. But Telushkin, reiterating the teachings of the rabbis in connecting Jewish prayer to the concept of minyan , where the minimum number of males required to conduct a worship service or say certain prayers is ten, says that public prayer prevents such personal expressions of self-interest. He says: " . . . the rabbis apparently felt that public prayers are more apt to be offered for that which benefits the entire community, whereas individuals often pray for that which benefits only themselves, even if it be at the expense of someone else" (719). In Evangelical or Pentecostal services that I've attended, at some...

Rainey Blogs on Some Days

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