Dedication

Johnny Ace Palmer is one of my all-time favorite magicians. If you are not a magician, you probably have never heard of him (although he has been on TV several times). But among magicians, he is one of the best close-up performers in the world.

My dad and I met Johnny probably 30 years ago. He was a just a local kid performing in a Magic Convention talent contest in Columbus. No one knew his name. He was far from famous. In fact, one night after the evening activities were over, dad and I were going to our hotel and we walked past this car in the convention parking lot. And Johnny was sleeping in his car. He didn't have enough money for a hotel room.

So dad and I invited him (and his animals -- doves and peeps) to stay with us in our room for the rest of the convention. We took him out to dinner with us, hung out with him. If you have ever seen me do the trick when my ring vanishes and it appears back on my finger... Johnny taught me that one (and btw, does it MUCH better than me!)

Months after the convention we opened the mail and there was a small check from Johnny -- trying to pay us back. My dad returned it to him... in shreds... with a note saying something like, "We hate to return this check to you, not because of the current value of the check, but because we believe the signature will be really valuable some day."

Years later, when Johnny had become famous, he was headlining at the same convention where he slept in his car. Dad and I were there -- and Johnny returned the favor. He saved me a seat right up front. After his show, there was this huge line of people (including me) waiting to get his autograph. He saw me there and called me to come up with him. That night, he took dad and me out to dinner and introduced us to all his famous friends -- for a young magician like me, this was one of the highlights of my life.

I sent Johnny an email to tell him about my dad's death. I was not sure he would remember us and not sure how he would respond. But almost immediately, he sent a return email. I'm including our correspondence below.

Honestly, I have had trouble grieving my dad's death. I haven't cried much at all. Until today, I haven't really felt much emotion... any emotion. But the gift of this short email exchange is that it somehow opened me up to feeling again. And I cried.

I cried because I wanted to tell my dad something... and I realized I could not.

Maybe I've moved out of "denial" - I didn't realize I was there. But in an odd way, it feels really good.

I miss my dad. I would have loved to have read him this email exchange. Instead, I let you read it.
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On Apr 17, 2010, at 8:28 AM, Paul Risler wrote:

Hey Johnny

Hope you are well. I'm hoping you still remember me... my dad and I met you years ago at the Magi Fest... which I hear you are coming to next year! I'm buying my tickets. :)

Hey, I wanted you to know that my dad died in early April. He had been getting sick for a while... bunch of stuff wrong... so although it wasn't expected, it was anticipated. In fact, one of his "last request" is that we go and see you. We had talked about coming to see you at the Magic Castle this April if he was doing better and then he went back into the hospital. He died the week you were performing.

I wanted you to know how much he loved your magic... more than that... how much he appreciated you. I just started getting back into magic this year (went to the Magi-Fest in Feb for the first time in probably 10 years or more -- and without dad). So it will be weird going next year.

Anyway... hope you are well. Just wanted you to know.

I still may come out and see you sometime. I will call to make sure you are actually around. :)

blessings,

Paul Risler

____________________

Dear Paul,

You and your dad are fondly remembered.

Your note is much appreciated.

As you probably know, instead the appearing at the Magic Castle the week that includes April Fools Day, I am performing this week. Tonight, I will dedicate my first show to you and your dad.

It will be great to see you at the Magi-Fest.

Please do come visit; whenever you are able.

Once again, thank you for the note.

100% His,

Johnny

Love Rubs Feet

This post was written back on May 5th. I often write posts and never post them. Honestly, for me, much of blogging is personal journaling. But I was thinking about this again this week, looked up the post, and decided to go public with it.

______________________

This weekend I'm teaching on love. It's a sermon I have done before... actually several times. I heard another pastor at a conference give this basic outline back in 1991 and said to myself that day that I wanted to preach that outline every year of my ministry. Well, that hasn't happened. But I have given this outline maybe 5 or 6 times between the two churches I have served. Of course, some of the content changes... I would get bored with it otherwise... but the simple message is a good one:

Love boldly.

I have been thinking about love a lot lately. And much of it is born out of pain. I have been watching my parents struggle through dad's decline. I have another man I deeply respect who is in a battle with leukemia and doesn't seem to be winning. My friend and co-partner in ministry has a mom who is fighting her own health issues. In the midst of all of this darkness... there is this light. It's the love I see breaking through in these dark places.

Today I sat with this man named Paul. He is a pastor of sorts. And he is one of my heros. I had heard of him before I came to Athens and was really excited to meet him. In the past couple of years he, his wife and son became a part of the church I pastor. And at first, honestly, it was kind of wierd to have this guy who I kind of looked up to, be a part of my congregation. But in these years I have gotten to know him, his wife and son and I have seen a spiritual maturity that just blows me away. (Maybe I will write more about this another time).

But for now I just wanted to say: true love is really hard.

It rubs feet.

It changes bandages. It cleans up messes. It calls out the best in people. It forgets the worst in people.

So often our culture thinks of love as naked bodies writhing in pleasure. We even call it, "Making love."

That's stupid.

I'm not even sure "love" happens in the first years of marriage.

Love is when it becomes difficult. Sacrificial.

Love is when you talk to that friend and you don't want to talk.

It's when you give and don't want to give.

When you call and don't want to call.

Love rubs feet.

________________________

Paul Martin
June 28, 1946 - August 14, 2009

An Open Letter to my High School Class

Thanks to Facebook, I've re-connected with some former High School classmates -- I guess that is part of what we "old people" do on Facebook.

It's been good. It's fun to see my HS class all grown up. It is strange to see us with kids, jobs, and responsibilities. I've enjoyed following the threads of sharing memories. Catching up.

As I type these words, I realize that some of my former classmates may actually read this blog (although I'm betting most of you have more to do with your time than stalk my blog!). I hope this post is not misunderstood. In fact, I hope my words ring true to you as well. I would love to hear your thoughts, either here or in my inbox.

______________________________

Dear Former Classmates of Toronto High School

Recently, I got out my HS yearbook (yeah, I was trying to figure out a friend request). It was the first time I had looked at that book, or for that matter, even deeply thought about high school in years.

And as I looked at the pictures, matching names with faces, I realized something: At the time, so many of your opinions meant so much to me (I guess that is the way high school is for a lot of people). Today, I don't remember many of your names. Some I couldn't remember at all.

I realized that I had forgotten who the HS quarterback was, and I couldn't name more than two cheerleaders. I'd forgotten who was voted class president or prom King or Queen. (I did remember Gretchen was voted "Most Likely to Succeed" but only because she was my first girlfriend and my first kiss. Come on, I was in 5th grade, I think... so I'm sure she will own up to it.) But I had forgotten who was voted "Most Popular" or "Prettiest Hair," etc.

I don't say that to be mean. In fact, I'm kind of embarrassed by it. But it WAS a realization that the particular part of my life called "high school" was actually a very small part in the overall picture, and a fairly insignificant part.

I smiled when I looked up the section of the yearbook where we voted for "Prettiest Smile," "Funniest," "Most Talented," etc. I smiled because, at the time, those things actually meant something to me. I looked at the pictures of the guys who were so popular. I looked at pictures of the girls I had huge crushes on... I remember feeling like I was on the outside most of the time.

But here's the point: In those days my classmates' acceptance of me mattered. My day would rise and fall based on their opinion of me. Opinions based, not on any substantive character issues, but on who was "in" who was "out."

That is so sad.

And now, with age and perspective... I really regret the way I saw myself and others in high school.

So I'm writing this letter to my entire class to apologize.

I'm sorry for those of you I may have excluded. I'm sorry I made you feel like others made me feel.

I'm sorry for those of you I judged, or put into a box, or stuck a label on: "stuck up," "jock," "nerd" -- whatever. We label people to control them. To categorize or even dehumanize them.

I'm sorry for the years I lost because I cared more about avoiding you, or impressing you -- rather than caring for you or impacting you.

I'm sorry I was so worried about you noticing me, that I didn't really notice you.

I suspect many of us felt "on the outside" in HS.

I suspect many of us wore masks.

How stupid we were.

If I could do it again, I would do it differently.

So I commit to trying to live that way now.

strength

"At times the strength of spiritual comunity lies in the love of people who refrain from getting caught in the trap of trying to fix everything for us, who pray for us and allow us the pain of our wilderness, our wants, so that we may be more deeply grounded in God."

Rosemary Dougherty

No Fruit?

This was a day of a lot of effort expended and yet little work accomplished. The week in and week out task of preaching means that you give birth on Sunday only to find you are pregnant again on Monday. "Labor" is a common analogy used by those of us who preach (yes, even the women). It was one of those days when I sit in front of a screen and type a lot of words but never really get anywhere. It was really, really frustrating. I hate when I'm not productive.

And yet...

Today, I also worked with some good friends at a food pantry. A very pleasant surprise, as I wasn't expecting any of them to come and they are some of the people I enjoy hanging out with the most. (4x4=16 peaches).

I talked with a fellow pastor about a dream I have for ministry and plan to call him again in about 25 minutes to ask him more. He is doing what I want to do. I am betting I can learn a lot from him.

I picked up my daughter from pre-school. Her eyes lit up and she ran to me yelling at the top of her lungs, "Daddy!!!!!"

I pushed her little body on the swing for what seemed like forever but went by in seconds as I realized that the day will come when she won't want me to push her. But I was aware of every push. The feel of my hand on her body. The look of the wind blowing her hair. Her 4-year-old smile and laugh. The rhythm of her shadow playing on the grass.

I made her dinner.

I played with Play-Doh.

I tucked her in and read her a story.

We prayed and talked about God.

She asked me to snuggle her and she fell asleep in my arms. Her last words were, "I love you daddy."

All in all... a pretty productive day.

I am blessed.

Dance

Okay, I gave her all day to post this....

Thanks to Mdog who sent me this earlier today. I'm at home, really sick, and I must have watched this 10 times. It just really makes me happy. And I LOVE the song. There really is so much I like about this video... but to analyze it on this post would be like describing humor ("You see, it's funny because...")

Just turn up the volume on your speakers...and dance.



FYI - Lose translation of the words

"Stream of Life"

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day

runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth

in numberless blades of grass

and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth

and of death, in ebb and in flow.

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life.

And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.

Friends

There are few things better in life than a good friend. They are somewhat rare in this world, but you know them when you find them. Slowly you begin to trust them. Over time they prove themselves faithful. You observe their life and find that it is full of grace; not just with you but with others. They are real and allow you to be real.

In my world, people feel like they can say anything to me. Maybe that surprises you. Maybe you think that pastors have this "hedge of holiness" around them that intimidates people and keeps them from second-guessing you. I have never found that to be the case. (In fact, I have met people who think it is their life's calling -- and primary spiritual gift -- to second-guess me!) It is amazing how downright mean people can be to pastors -- I think because we are "safe."

My counseling professor in seminary said that pastors are "shock absorbers." We absorb other people's pain a lot of the time. He told us that people will take stuff out on us because they really want to take it out on their dad, or their boss, or the spouse, or the person who violated them when they were young... but those people are not safe. So we get it. We absorb the shock of others.

And that sounded so crazy in seminary... but it is so true. I have experienced it countless times.

A good friend can absorb your shock and your pain. They give when other people take. They are merciful... they "turn the other cheek."

And all of this is very....endearing. And pretty rare.

I'm very blessed and very thankful... and just wanted to say that before I went to sleep tonight.

Thanks friend.

[no comments necessary]