They came. They saw. They conquered.

No, it was not the advance of Caesar’s warring legions. Rather it was five femme fatales from Florida that descended upon our defenseless city for one memorable weekend. And dear old Danville will never be the same.

Becky, Angie, Barbara, Donna, and Linda are all longtime friends of ours from the Sunshine state, and members of our former church in Clermont. They also were part of a Bible study group that Sandy led for quite some time. This is their second annual group trek to Southside Virginia to check in on the Davises since our move here a year and a half ago. The gang arrived on Friday and left on Monday. Yes, as you can imagine, it was a fun-filled, all-girl weekend at Davis Manor. Hairstyling. Pedicures. Chocolates. Wal-Mart runs. And the obligatory Chick flicks. You know, Ya-Ya Sisterhood, The Notebook, Steel Magnolias, and so forth. Lots of laughter and tears. Plenty of tissues on hand.

Obviously, as an only child (as well as a man who never had a daughter), I could only absorb so much of this. And then only in small doses. So, I kept finding reasons to periodically excuse myself from these august proceedings. Thank God for hospital visits and surgeries and emergency ministry calls!

Not since ol’ Jeff Davis fled from Danville’s Sutherlin Mansion to escape the clutches of the advancing Union army had a guy named Davis felt such an urgent need to flee from his place of abode. But, alas, my hopes for ultimate deliverance were dashed. As with those valiant soldiers who made their last stand with Custer at the Little Big Horn or those gallant men who went down in a blaze of glory at the Alamo, in the end there would be no escape for me. My fate was sealed. I was trapped with no way out.

In a way, it was almost like being the only guy at a Red Hat Society convention. For a moment, I actually thought I was back in Greece again with my legendary Pink Ladies. You know, like last summer when on our youth mission trip I quite unexpectedly was put in charge of 9 independent-minded teenage “daughters” for a whole week.

Herding cats was an image that repeatedly came to mind over the course of this weekend, just as it had last summer. Wherever we went together—me, driving a van with six high-octane women passengers, or me, the lone guy, eating out at some restaurant with six highly verbal & vivacious former Miss Americas—I could see the looks I was getting from others. I don’t know if it was looks of sympathy, or envy, or perplexity. But I got plenty of looks, nonetheless. Even from the very moment the girls first arrived, a guy was standing on the curb at Raleigh-Durham Airport, laughing and shaking his head at me while I tried to load them and their luggage into the van. Then, on Monday, at the Brown Bean, when I said my “goodbyes” to our guests just before Sandy drove them back to the airport, I was still on the receiving end of the shaking head syndrome from the great cloud of witnesses that had gathered for lunch.

Why am I writing about this and what does all of this have to do with anything? Frankly, I don’t know. I just know that writing is somehow therapeutic for me (i.e., it helps me to vent.) I also know that all weekend long the Clermont girls lived in perpetual fear that I would blog about them and some of their antics. (Bear in mind, it didn’t curtail their antics. They just lived in fear as they went ahead and did what they pleased.) So, I decided that I should do what I could to help them realize their fears. Of course, I would never write about anything embarrassing, like the spontaneous food fight that erupted in our breakfast nook between two of the group’s most mature, demure, and genteel ladies. (Thank Heaven it happened on a hard surface floor, and not in the dining room, where we have carpet!) But never in a million years would I even think of revealing anything of that nature. After all, in an effort to encourage respectable behavior and maintain a proper air of decorum and dignity, I would never, ever want to publicly disclose anyone’s acts of misguided indiscretion.

Well, it’s time bring this silly blog posting to a close, extending mercy both to its readers as well as to its subjects. Thanks for showing me some needed grace by being so understanding of my pain and by enduring my extensive bloviating. I promise to elevate the tone and content of my blog with my next posting. All in all, I think that after this past weekend I just need to go away somewhere in order to settle my nerves. Perhaps when I reach the busy streets of Phnom Penh in a few days, I’ll finally be able to enjoy some peace and quiet. I don’t think they watch chick flicks in Cambodia. At least when the women there gather for discussion and dialogue, I won’t be able to understand what they’re saying.

Pastor Danny

P. S. Please note that the names in the above tongue-in-cheek blog were not changed to protect the innocent because, after considerable reflection, it was determined that none of the aforementioned persons were without guilt.

New D.C. Ballpark

Last Friday, Sandy and I drove up to Washington, DC to visit our son and daughter-in-law. The “kids” had bought us tickets for a baseball game at the city’s brand new major league ballpark, which had opened to much fanfare just a few days earlier. The game was a birthday gift for Sandy & me. (Both of us have April birthdays. By the way, I just realized that 2008 is a landmark year of sorts for Sandy and me. For the first & only time, our combined ages add up to exactly 100. Wow! In case you’re wondering, Sandy is 29 and I’m…well, I’ll just let you do the math yourself.)

Anyway, the two of us met up with Jordan and Melinda after work at Jordan’s office on Capitol Hill. It was such a beautiful evening that we decided to walk the several blocks to Nationals Park rather than drive or ride the Metro.

All in all, the new facility is really nice. Not over the top in amenities, but very nice, nonetheless. The first thing that stood out to me was its warm, cozy, friendly atmosphere. There’s probably not a bad seat in the house. We sat out in right field and had a great view. After two years of playing in makeshift surroundings—old, decaying RFK stadium, the former home of the NFL’s Redskins—this brand spanking new facility gives the transplanted Nats more of a sense of permanence. It also gives them enhanced credibility, fostering the sense that this is a real team that should be taken seriously.

The Nationals were playing the Atlanta Braves & wound up losing a 3-0 pitcher’s duel. During a brief trek to the concession stand, I missed the game’s only home run, a 6th-inning solo shot by the Braves’ Cuban-born shortstop Yunel Escobar, which broke a scoreless tie.

The Nationals are an interesting team. They’ve got a 6’11” relief pitcher that looks more at home on a basketball court than a pitcher’s mound. Big Jon Rauch, the tallest player in baseball history, has to step off the mound and stoop down when he and the catcher convene for a face-to-face conversation. The Nats also have an infielder named Felipe Lopez that’s a former Orlando-area prep star. He’s my son’s age and Jordan used to watch him play back during his high school days. Now he watches him play professionally in the nation’s capital. The D.C. team also has a new young outfielder from Melinda’s hometown of Bradenton, Florida. I love his name—Lastings Milledge. I’m hopeful that someday when Jordan and Melinda have a child, they’ll strongly consider Lastings Milledge as a name. My favorite National, however, is a guy named Dmitri Young. A former Cincinnati Red and Detroit Tiger, Dmitri has had his share of health and personal issues. A year ago, everyone thought he was all washed up. The Nats picked him up as a last minute replacement player when their regular first baseman got injured. He responded with a great comeback season. This year, however, Dmitri, a diabetic, showed up at spring training all ballooned out to 296 pounds! The regular first baseman is healthy again and Dmitri, suffering with a bad back, is on the bench.

I suppose that’s one reason I like baseball. It’s full of all kinds of stories and surprises. Stories of ups and downs, successes and failures, comebacks and setbacks. In other words, baseball is a lot like life. Washington fans got all excited when the Nationals won their first 3 games. Then, they became deflated when they lost their next 8 in a row. I just shrug and say, “Hey, it’s a long season.” After all, every major league team plays a 162-game regular season schedule. And it’s a long way from April to September. A lot can happen…and it usually does. Again, baseball is like life. It’s a long journey with many steps. But you live it one step at a time. And most of the time, one bad game doesn’t wreck a season. There’s always the hope of tomorrow. There’s always the opportunity for redemption.

Speaking of redemption, guess who was on the pitcher’s mound this week at D.C. stadium. A guy that’s a little bigger than the Nat’s 6’ 11” reliever. The Pope himself! The ol' right hander conducted a mass for a capacity crowd at the new ballpark. Last week, while we were there, the capital city was making all kinds of preparations for Benedict XVI's historic first pitch in America.

But let me regress and offer a couple of more comments about last week’s game. The game was good. But an additional part of the fun of going to a ballgame is experiencing the peripheral things that invariably happen in a ballpark setting. There’s the food. Yes, all four of us had the obligatory hotdog. We added nachos, salted-in-the-shell peanuts, and Cracker Jack for good measure. Then, there are the sideshows. Ever since the Nationals moved to D.C. from Canada two years ago (where since 1969 they had been the Montreal Expos), they’ve established a popular local tradition—a nightly footrace featuring big-headed caricatures of the 4 U.S. presidents carved into Mount Rushmore. Yes, that’s right. George W. (Washington, not Bush), Thomas Jefferson, Abe Lincoln and Teddy Roosevelt. Poor Teddy, clearly the crowd favorite, is a lovable loser who never, ever wins, in spite of the thousands of adoring fans that cheer him on each night. The racing presidents are something of a takeoff on the racing sausages that been a staple at Milwaukee’s Miller Park for the past several years. Then, lastly, there are always the interesting people you see or meet at a baseball park. During this particular outing, I saw the laziest vendor I’ve ever seen at any ballgame anywhere—major league, minor league, or college; baseball, football, or basketball. I mean, this guy carried his cooler of products into our section, leaned on the fence near an usher, and hardly moved the whole game. He just looked around and ever so often he would call out to remind people that he actually was a real, live, breathing salesman, and not merely a life size cardboard cutout. This young mannequin—er, man—rarely climbed the steps up into stands, and only when someone beckoned him and waved money at him. I’ve never seen a commission worker do so little work. Usually, vendors are quick on their feet, eager to make a sale. This guy was like watching molasses race uphill. I can’t imagine he’s going to last in his job. Maybe, if the guy playing the role of Teddy Roosevelt ever quits or gets sick, this guy would be a great fill-in, because there’s no way on God’s green earth he would ever win a footrace…even with a five-minute head start.

It’s quite amazing what you can learn at a baseball game. But then again, it’s quite amazing what you can learn about life in general, when you take time to live it and observe it. All you have to do is keep your eyes open.

Pastor Danny

South Carolina Low Country

March proved to be a very busy month. In addition to many ministry needs and church activities, I had to make two quick and unexpected trips to Florida to check on my dad following his being hospitalized twice on very short notice. I'm happy to report that that he is doing much better now and I deeply appreciate the prayers of so many of you on behalf of my father.

At the end of the month, Sandy and I took a few vacation days and made a roadtrip to South Carolina. We spent part of our time in historic Charleston, a truly beautiful and charming Southern coastal city. We had always wanted to visit Charleston, but had never had the opportunity to do so until now. It proved to be a great time of year for a visit. Everything was bursting into full bloom. The breathtaking azaleas and dogwoods were at their absolute peak. In fact, virtually all of the South Carolina Low Country was alive with vibrant brush strokes from God's colorful springtime pallet.

Living with a history buff, of course, Sandy knows that with every vacation she always has to make her obligatory visit to some great landmark of the past. Thus, while in Charleston, we took a boatride out into the harbor to tour historic Fort Sumter, where the first shot of the Civil War (or War Between the States, if you prefer) was fired. Interestingly, back in April 1861, for several intense hours, the Union forces stationed on the manmade island fort took quite a barrage of shells from several different onshore locations. Not able to mount an effective counter assault with their own inadequate artillary, the Union troops finally surrendered after sustaining significant damage to their defenses. Amazingly, in spite of all the flying brick and morter, the crushed walls, and blazing fires ignited by the shelling, not one single life was lost in that battle.

We also decided to visit one of several old plantations in the Charleston area. We opted for a place called Boone Hall Plantation, primarily because it was a setting featured in a number of film productions. For example, the popular 1980s television miniseries "North & South", Alex Haley's "Queen" starring Halle Berry, and most recently, Nicholas Sparks' tearjerker love story "The Notebook" starring James Garner (one of my wife's all-time favorite novels and movies).

While there, we learned some things about the South Carolina Low Country's Gullah Culture. This is the name given for the culture that evolved from those West African peoples that were taken captive and brought to South Carolina to work as slaves. A very interesting lady in period costume gave a colorful lecture and demonstration on the history, language, music, lifestyles and storytelling of the Gullah people, a people whose culture is not unlike that of the Creole people of Louisiana.

While we enjoyed taking in some sights, and doing some fun things, we also enjoyed just relaxing. Sometimes when we go on vacation, Sandy & I like to go somewhere quiet, off the beaten path, where we can just rest, read, relax, and just be together. On this particular trip, we stayed in a couple of South Carolina state parks. At each park, we rented cabins. The first one was great. It was in a peaceful, wooded setting within a thirty-minute drive of Charleston. The second one, however, was so remote that it wound up not being near anything....except for an Air Force Base and a MILITARY BOMBING RANGE!!!! Talk about peace and quiet! Actually, no bombing took place while were in the area, but the two days we were there, jet fighter planes flew over the park for much of the daylight hours. Hence, we vacated the premises during the daytime and went off exploring elsewhere. By the way, from the look of things, I really don't think anyone had stayed in that old cabin since the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Other than that bizarre episode, we had a great time on our trip. We stumbled across some beautiful scenery as we traveled through small towns on state highways, or drove along country backroads, avoiding Interstate highway travel as much as we could.

All in all, it was nice to visit the Palmetto State. (If you've never been to Charleston and the South Carolina Low Country, especially in the springtime, you definitely should go.) But, as is usually the case, it also was great to get back home again. Truly, there's no place like it. At least there's no secret bombing range near our home in Danville... as far as I know...so far.

Pastor Danny