Check out the next generation of singers in the Webb family. As a proud grandpa, I can't resist this!
Next Gen Singers
Thursday, October 09, 2008
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Global Warming Update
I wonder if we will see this reported on TV News?
Global Warming Update: Sea Ice Increasing
Daily Tech 9/3/08
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Hugs From Mom
You've got to read this! It was written by a Church of God pastor from Indiana. Let it make you think about the beauty of life and God's grace.
Hugs From Mom
Last year I received a “free ticket” voucher from United Airlines, after a flight schedule was changed. I learned that I couldn’t actually convert the voucher into a ticket unless I personally visited a United ticket counter—which, of course, means a trip to the Indianapolis airport, standing in line, etc. A hassle. I forgot about the “free ticket.”
In July I flew home from Charlotte on Northwest. While waiting in the airport security line, I found myself in front of the United counter. No passengers were there—none—but two agents were standing behind the counter. I fumbled in my briefcase and, yep, the voucher was there. I looked at my watch, I decided to take a chance.
I handed over the voucher. “Can you give me a free ticket?” The agent replied, “Sure; the voucher expires tomorrow.” She pointed out the “Expires July 14, 2008” in block print on the bottom. Whew. Just made it.
“Where do you want to go?” the agent asked. Uh, oh yeah. Where do I want to go? Something inside of me said, “Go to San Francisco and see your birthmother.”
I’m adopted; my birthmother has not seen me since my birth, 56 years ago. Like my wife, she is named Maureen. She called me once in 1991. And, then again in 2003 (I think). A few times after that. I cannot call her. I am her only child. She’s been married 50 years. She lives in San Francisco. She was born and raised in Ireland. She’s never told anyone about me; she was unmarried when I was born. Flying to San Francisco to see someone I’ve never met, who didn’t know I was coming, whose occasional phone calls are few and far between, seemed preposterous. But, “the still small voice” repeated, “Go to San Francisco.”
“San Francisco,” I said after a pause. “Fine,” the agent replied, “when do you want to go?” Hmmm. “The voice” said, “the week following Labor Day.”
“The week following Labor Day—but I have to be back by Saturday. I have a Sunday job, you know.” The lady behind the counter looked at me curiously, “Uh huh.”
I walked away with a $727.00 ticket, for free. I ran to the gate, boarded my plane, got home at midnight. I looked at the ticket to SFO. “What was I thinking? This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
Monday morning, July 14: I noticed there was a message on my cell phone. I picked it up and listened.
“Hello, Jim,” said the voice with the pronounced Irish accent, “it’s Maureen in San Francisco. I am sorry I missed you. I will try and reach you another time. God bless.” Incredibly, it was “the other Maureen,” my birthmother. Astonishing. I had no way to call her back, but I knew God was “the voice,” that He was at work.
She called again on September 2; I picked up the phone and told her I was going to be in San Francisco the next day. She wasn’t sure if she could see me. She just didn’t know. I got on the plane September 3. On September 4, while jogging along the Bay, I prayed earnestly for something to happen—a crumb, a call. “Maybe this was the stupidest thing I have ever done,” I thought. At 11:30am, she called again. “Can you meet me tomorrow at 11:40am?” asked the soft Irish voice. “Of course,” I answered, “I promise.”
I stood in the parking lot. What does she look like? I wasn’t looking for the diminutive little 76-year old woman standing nearby. At last, I noticed her: slender, short, dressed liked she’d walked out of a Talbot’s store. I walked over, “My name is Jim Lyon.” She immediately gasped and gave me a hug. We walked across the way and sat down, talking for an hour.
She was lovely. Bright. Engaging. Genuine. She described her journey, as I prompted her with questions. She repeatedly interrupted with a gentle, “I can’t believe it has taken 56 years …” “I have prayed for you so long …”
But, of all the things she said, one thing will never be forgotten. “When I discovered I was pregnant, my doctor encouraged me to have an abortion. I was terrified. I had nowhere to go, nowhere to turn. I did not know what I would do.” She took a breath, as if reliving those troubled days. “But I knew what I would not do. I would not end your life.” I stared back, my eyes tearing up. “It’s so good to see you,” she said, again, “after 56 years.”
She looked at her watch. Her husband would be waiting—she had to be on her way. He does not know. “It would kill him if he knew,” she told me. “Can you understand?” “Yes, of course, I understand. Thanks so much for seeing me today.”
“I will be in touch,” she said as she stood up and gave me another hug. “And, please give your mother my love. Tell her I thank God for her every day, for the way she has loved and cared for you. She must be a lovely woman to have raised a man like you.” She looked up and stared at my face again. “Thank you,” she said quietly. One more hug. And she was gone. I turned and began to cry. I didn’t mean to. I just did.
I flew home and gave my mom a hug.
In July I flew home from Charlotte on Northwest. While waiting in the airport security line, I found myself in front of the United counter. No passengers were there—none—but two agents were standing behind the counter. I fumbled in my briefcase and, yep, the voucher was there. I looked at my watch, I decided to take a chance.
I handed over the voucher. “Can you give me a free ticket?” The agent replied, “Sure; the voucher expires tomorrow.” She pointed out the “Expires July 14, 2008” in block print on the bottom. Whew. Just made it.
“Where do you want to go?” the agent asked. Uh, oh yeah. Where do I want to go? Something inside of me said, “Go to San Francisco and see your birthmother.”
I’m adopted; my birthmother has not seen me since my birth, 56 years ago. Like my wife, she is named Maureen. She called me once in 1991. And, then again in 2003 (I think). A few times after that. I cannot call her. I am her only child. She’s been married 50 years. She lives in San Francisco. She was born and raised in Ireland. She’s never told anyone about me; she was unmarried when I was born. Flying to San Francisco to see someone I’ve never met, who didn’t know I was coming, whose occasional phone calls are few and far between, seemed preposterous. But, “the still small voice” repeated, “Go to San Francisco.”
“San Francisco,” I said after a pause. “Fine,” the agent replied, “when do you want to go?” Hmmm. “The voice” said, “the week following Labor Day.”
“The week following Labor Day—but I have to be back by Saturday. I have a Sunday job, you know.” The lady behind the counter looked at me curiously, “Uh huh.”
I walked away with a $727.00 ticket, for free. I ran to the gate, boarded my plane, got home at midnight. I looked at the ticket to SFO. “What was I thinking? This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
Monday morning, July 14: I noticed there was a message on my cell phone. I picked it up and listened.
“Hello, Jim,” said the voice with the pronounced Irish accent, “it’s Maureen in San Francisco. I am sorry I missed you. I will try and reach you another time. God bless.” Incredibly, it was “the other Maureen,” my birthmother. Astonishing. I had no way to call her back, but I knew God was “the voice,” that He was at work.
She called again on September 2; I picked up the phone and told her I was going to be in San Francisco the next day. She wasn’t sure if she could see me. She just didn’t know. I got on the plane September 3. On September 4, while jogging along the Bay, I prayed earnestly for something to happen—a crumb, a call. “Maybe this was the stupidest thing I have ever done,” I thought. At 11:30am, she called again. “Can you meet me tomorrow at 11:40am?” asked the soft Irish voice. “Of course,” I answered, “I promise.”
I stood in the parking lot. What does she look like? I wasn’t looking for the diminutive little 76-year old woman standing nearby. At last, I noticed her: slender, short, dressed liked she’d walked out of a Talbot’s store. I walked over, “My name is Jim Lyon.” She immediately gasped and gave me a hug. We walked across the way and sat down, talking for an hour.
She was lovely. Bright. Engaging. Genuine. She described her journey, as I prompted her with questions. She repeatedly interrupted with a gentle, “I can’t believe it has taken 56 years …” “I have prayed for you so long …”
But, of all the things she said, one thing will never be forgotten. “When I discovered I was pregnant, my doctor encouraged me to have an abortion. I was terrified. I had nowhere to go, nowhere to turn. I did not know what I would do.” She took a breath, as if reliving those troubled days. “But I knew what I would not do. I would not end your life.” I stared back, my eyes tearing up. “It’s so good to see you,” she said, again, “after 56 years.”
She looked at her watch. Her husband would be waiting—she had to be on her way. He does not know. “It would kill him if he knew,” she told me. “Can you understand?” “Yes, of course, I understand. Thanks so much for seeing me today.”
“I will be in touch,” she said as she stood up and gave me another hug. “And, please give your mother my love. Tell her I thank God for her every day, for the way she has loved and cared for you. She must be a lovely woman to have raised a man like you.” She looked up and stared at my face again. “Thank you,” she said quietly. One more hug. And she was gone. I turned and began to cry. I didn’t mean to. I just did.
I flew home and gave my mom a hug.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Hurricane Ike
I've been talking to my friend Jim in Houston. We need to pray!
Here's a report from the Presidential Prayer Team that may help you pray.
September 12, 2008
Here's a report from the Presidential Prayer Team that may help you pray.
Houston Has an Ike Problem and Needs Your Prayers!
 Hurricane Ike threatens "certain death" as it slams the Texas shore, according to officials. |
Call upon me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you will honor me.
--Psalm 50:15
People in coastal areas axzre being warned to “get out now” or face certain death. Hurricane Ike is huge and is packing winds with speeds over 100 mph that threaten to tear into Galveston, Houston and other coastal areas. The after-surge of flooding could destroy what the winds don’t.
This is a time to pray!
Houston is home to more than 4 million people, hundreds of thousands have evacuated; its surrounding area has a large concentration of oil refineries, resorts and the Johnson Space Center.
Please, join me in praying for coastal Texas and Louisiana:
- For the storm to lose energy and move away from the coast
- For citizens in need—particularly the marginalized, the ill and the homeless—to have assistance and guidance as they evacuate
- For churches to step up and provide shelter, supplies and support when and where possible
- For the protection of all involved—for police, fire and emergency medical workers, for those responsible for utilities and transportation and everyday citizens seeking refuge
- For deaths, injuries and damage to be minimal
Prayerfully yours,
John Lind
President/CEO
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