I’ve promised my wonderful son Marty that I’ll slow down the rate of these articles in a day or so. This log is like a daily radio program I once had: you think of something fascinating to say and you have a great outlet. Once the outlet dries up, you no longer get the ideas. I’m confident there is a law of nature involved here.

The folks who work in our associational office are about to get paid. Stand outside on a clear morning and you can hear the hallelujahs. Since we use paper checks (remember them?) and they were in our office on Lakeshore Drive in New Orleans, our wonderful computer guy Louis James has been working with Whitney Bank to set us up with automated payroll deposits, and it’s finally about to happen. My credit card company will be so happy to see me coming. (My line over the past few weeks was: “I don’t have a lot of money, but I have great credit.” That worked until I found out the card was maxed out. First time for everything, they say, and this was mine.)

Wednesday, at the First Baptist Church of Jackson, around 20 of us preachers from New Orleans assembled. Paul drove over from Broken Arrow, Oklahoma, Ken and Charlie and Chris from Northwest Alabama, Keith and his son Keith from Ocean Springs, MS, several from throughout Mississippi, and a number from Louisiana. We learned that Alberto and Cosme had stayed in a shelter with their families for a few days, but are comfortably situated in Brookhaven at the moment. All of them needed the fellowship, needed to hear assurances that God’s people–all of them, Baptist members, our denominational leaders, everyone–is going to help them once we are able to return. Scott Smith is back at Highland Baptist Church in Metairie. “We had services there last Sunday,” he said. Oh? How many were in attendance? “Two.”

We decided to meet next Wednesday morning at 9 am at the First Baptist Church of LaPlace, some 10 miles west of metro New Orleans. Pastor Bobby Burt will host the group and has offered to serve lunch. Help us get the word out to displaced N.O. Baptist pastors.

I used to harp on the need for our pastors to get together, to share with and encourage one another. Yet, try as we may, we could never gather more than 25 or 30 for monthly ministers’ conferences. Even then, some felt it was not a good use of their time–they could be visiting hospitals or studying or something–so, it was an uphill struggle. Now, since there is a great need, all we will have to do (I hope) is announce where we’re gathering and they will be there.

They say that prayer is need-driven. We’re discovering fellowship is too.

Now, something else, something you’ll want to save and reflect on again.

Last week, when I was en route to Baton Rouge for a meeting with our denominational leadership, I overnighted in Natchez in a house owned by the Adams-Union Baptist Association. I was the only resident of the house–a former home turned into accommodations for perhaps 20 people, visiting mission groups–and settling into the king sized bed, I looked for something to read, and found the only book in the house. Barbara Johnson’s “I’m So Glad You Told Me What I Didn’t Wanna Hear.” It was precisely what the Doctor (caps) ordered. Following are excerpts (everything below, is from this incredible lady. All of it). See how perfectly they fit our situation….

HOPE: the feeling that the way you feel now is not permanent.

The more you complain, the longer God lets you live.

Humans can exist without air for a few minutes, without water for a week, without food for six weeks, and without a new thought for a lifetime.

You are tuned to station W-H-Y, broadcasting continuously 24 hours a day from somewhere inside your head.

She quotes from James Dobson’s book LIFE ON THE EDGE. “If you believe God is obligated to explain Himself to us, you ought to examine Scripture. It tells us we lack the capacity to grasp God’s infinite mind or the way He intervenes in our lives. How arrogant of us to think otherwise. ‘It is the glory of God to conceal a matter.’ ‘The secret things belong to the Lord our God.’ ‘As you do not know the path of the wind, or how the body is formed in a mother’s womb, so you cannot understand the work of God, the Maker of all things.’ ‘For my thoughts are not your thoughts….saith the Lord.’ This means many of our questions–especially those that begin with the word WHY–will have to remain unanswered for the time being.”

The cure for depression? Read the headlines of tabloids at the supermarket checkout line.

“Bolt of lightning turns toilet into electric chair.” “Nearsighted hubby scared to death by wife’s wig–thought it was a rat!” “Preacher goes nuts and drowns woman during river baptism.” “Dead man’s heart started with jumper cables–quick-thinking mechanic brings victim back to life.”

The mind is like a television–when it goes blank, turn off the sound.

Inside each of us is a thin person struggling to get out. But she can be sedated with a few pieces of chocolate cake.

It’s not easy taking my problems one at a time because they refuse to get in line.

Walk in the door with a funny story rather than a complaint. Be on the lookout for experiences that will make funny stories later.

Circumstances are like a feather bed–comforting when you’re on top and smothering if you’re underneath.

Cartoon idea: A man confesses to his priest, “I taped and replayed a game without the express permission of Major League Baseball.”

I’d like to live in the fast lane, but I’m married to a speed bump.

The rooster may crow, but the hen delivers the goods.

And finally….

Wisdom doesn’t always come with age. Sometimes ages just shows up all by itself.

(This, mind you, was the book the Father chose for me to read that night, one week after Katrina when the storm aftermath was just beginning to be understood. See why I have no choice but to believe in God?)