Some of you reading this may already know that I had applied for the position of police officer at Miami University. I had to take the entry test from which they generate an eligible list of candidates. Out of close to 200 test takers, one had to score in the top 20 to be eligible to pass to the first round of oral interviews. I wound up ranking 9th highest and I just emerged from my first interview with the department.

Although I had never expected to even get to the interviews, this first interview with a sergeant and a couple of patrolmen was fascinating, yet subtly tricky. Obviously, I had to present myself in such a favorable and authentic light as one would in any other interview. There were various scenarios presented to me to ascertain my judgment and decision-making ability in a variety of situations in which an officer might find himself/herself . Your on the beat with your Field Training Officer in response to a burglary call at a closed supermarket and your FTO takes two sodas, gives one to you and starts drinking the other without paying. What do you do? (Report him to your supervisor). Say an old high school buddy runs a stop sign.......do you ticket him or warn? (Ticket). Then, your mother runs the stop sign.....what do you do? (Hey, she's my mom......she raised me). But your high school bud watches you and asks why you ticketed him (he's responsible for his own behavior and I do not have to justify my decision with regard to him). Your sergeant runs the stop sign.....etc. "So, you are willing to let your mother off with a warning and end the career of a fellow officer for a 55 cent soda?" Yikes. That's the gist of it.

But I feel like I did fairly well and I covered my bases where I felt cornered. We'll see. I've always had a respect for and fascination with police officers and their work. Whether or not I go any further is a matter of God opening up the doors further.

So I'm off to make a few basketball coaches mad and then get to pick up my new drum set. Protect the women and children and plug the canalways harboring your tympanic membranes.

What a sweet night it was on Hester Road. Our whole house teemed with twenty-four people gathered to celebrate a baptism, the first I had ever been a part of in a home, much less a house church. There in our garage- in the official Veritas baptistry that was originally destined for the watering duties of some livestock somewhere- we baptized a Miami freshman (who's a part of our house church) and she even brought her unchurched roomie. We ate, sang, reflected on the baptism/temptation narratives in Matthew, prayed for one another and saw God show up in some fantastic ways. And we get to call this church!

Back from vacation and got the yak. Came back and refereed a basketball game and as soon as we got back in the locker room after the game, my partner hurls. He said it was the first time he upchucked in 10 years. I offered him assistance, gave him some water, got dressed, offered more assistance and condolences as I was leaving. He refused and shook my hand.

I was torn between my sympathy and the dreaded portent of shaking a man's hand who had just emerged from a toilet hug with an intesitnal bug. Hanging out with friends over the holidays whose kiddos had the chicken pox loomed over my head as well, though them chickens got me when I was a tot.

Now as I hack up my lungs and toss and turn at night and stare at the ceiling through sinus-pressure-induced tears, I can't imagine any better way to kick off the new year. Now, all of a sudden, my dog has a bum leg and I don't know how she did it. And they just called today to tell us we can't use our usual monthly location for our corporate gathering this Sunday because they are installing carpet. And someone's already punched a hole in our brand new siding at our gallery.

Yet I rejoice. It could be worse. I won't flame my circumstances.......I'll just try to creatively roll with them.