February 28th, 1983: it was a Monday, so I was in class. 9th grade, to be exact.  It may have been the Monday we dissected frogs in Biology - and froze while doing so, since our new-age teacher believed in free-flowing spirits and always left the class windows cracked open.  It may have been the Monday I got to read the part of Romeo in our English unit on Shakespeare, secretly hoping that Donna H. would read Juliet.  It may have been the Monday that fellow freshman Leroy A. tapped me on the shoulder and asked (quite nicely) if I'd let him cheat off my History test (I didn't); or the Monday all the boys fawned over our fresh-out-of-college Chemistry teacher. Well, truth be told, we did that every day.

But for four early twenty-somethings who played in an Irish rock band, February 28, 1983 was the day they would release an album that would change their lives forever, and soon enough would change mine.

I remember when I first heard U2's War. It was later that same year in either April or May.  Polly Guthrie handed me a recorded cassette tape after school: Check this out, Steve, I think you might like it.  I actually didn't at first. Yep, you heard right.  This U2 fanatic was a hardened skeptic at first. In an era where popular music was refined for mass consumption, War was too rough around the edges for my early 80's ears.  Too in-your-face for my face.

It was only after a second and third listen that I began to "get it."  The discombobulation experienced when listening to War for the first time was precisely what I needed it to do.  The pounding drums, the thumping bass, the screaming guitars, the intense and impassioned vocals.  And the message: was he singing about God, or a girl?  Or both?  And if he was singing about God, why was he being so angry about it?  Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant were the only ones in my music collection singing about God, and they didn't sound anything like this. Could you really sing about God and be indignant and up-in-arms while doing so?  Oh, that moment when a young lad hears the sound of righteous indignation for the first time. No more! No more! Wipe your tears away! Wipe your tears away!

I played that cassette until the tape wrapped around the little wheels inside the player and spilled out onto my bedroom floor.  So I bought the album, and bought every one after that. Well, the earlier ones first, Boy and October. I had some catching up to do. And then: Under A Blood Red Sky. The Unforgettable Fire.  Wide Awake In America. The Joshua Tree.  Rattle And Hum.  Achtung Baby.  Zooropa. Pop (not at first, though. This one took some time). All That You Can't Leave Behind. How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb. No Line On The Horizon.  Nearly three-quarters of my time on this planet.

To say U2 have been a constant in my life since February 28, 1983 would be doing injustice to the concept of constants.  And it goes beyond their albums.  I've seen them in concert multiple times.  I've read dozens of books about them and by them.  I've covered their songs in my own gigs.  Before my oldest son could say his ABC's he was reciting the band members' names and their corresponding instrument; and with great fatherly pride I recall how, at the tender age of six, he learned to play the opening drum riff for "Sunday Bloody Sunday."  I've quoted their inspiring activist lead singer in numerous sermons and even sung their song acapella in one.   I've been told I'm the only preacher around with a signed picture of Bono hanging in his office.

If the holy scriptures are the script for my life, then U2 is the soundtrack. I hope to God there are more acts written, and if the rumors are to be believed about a new album sometime this year, I'll be the first in line to get it.

For today, though, I'll be listening to their seminal album non-stop. Bono, Edge, Larry, Adam - thanks a bunch for starting the War thirty years ago today.  Keep fighting the fight.

I was catching a cup of coffee after a presbytery meeting at my favorite coffee house in Winston-Salem, Krankies.  I had my computer with me and was going to work on a sermon, because that's what I'm always doing, and because I tend to do my best sermonizing when coffee is involved.  Anyway, I grabbed my cup of Kenyan and sat down at a table in the corner, and when I looked up at the wall next to me this is what I saw:

It's called an "Imagination Installation," a local movement of sorts in the area; and per its website it's about "harnessing the collective power of our community's dreams."  Which, in case you're wondering, is awesome.  So was this wall - dozens of small lime green signs tacked and taped all over the place, each with the simple title "Imagine When...."at the top,  and lots of space underneath for folks to write whatever.

So the sermon would have to wait awhile, because in truth I was looking at tons of little sermons on the wall of this coffee house, and it's always good when the preacher gets preached too. Here are a few that particularily spoke to me:

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...the word "can't" is lost from the spoken language

...people "make each other right"

...we decide to invest in happiness instead of war and hatred.

...nutritiuous local food is abundantly available everywhere and is preferred

...elected officials work for the good of the people, not for the power of the office

...human beings realize we are stewards of this earth, and no more important than any other living being

...we are not strangers

...there is a woman in the White House!

...we recognize that "the kingdom of God is here" (no waiting required)

..very child can squish mud between his or her toes in a creek

..we dream together to empower each other, rather than live in isolation

...we grow food rather than lawns, and share that food with our community

..we all Iive in the moments like our dogs, cats and horses do.

...our economic system rewards cooperation, collaboration and generosity over competition

...we all realize we are happier the more we give and love others, rather than how much we get and are loved.

...public art is on every corner in downtown Winston-Salem

...we know that life comes from death

...color is a hue that a painter uses to transform the canvas :-)

...the health care system is healed

..all pets have an owner that is loving and caring and a comfortable place to be

...corporations figure out that creativity and innovation comes from liberated, encouraged and respected employees

...children and adults go outside and play every day

...education rewards innovation and creativity more than compliance

...every child comes home at the end of school to a loving family member and a plate of cookies and milk

...each of us life our lives with respect and honor of all living beings

...we all remember that we're one big family

...people have the courage to be themselves

...we all let our authentic selves shine!

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Of course, I got in on the act. Here's the one I did.  If you know me, this should come as no surprise:


You know what I liked most about this excellent use of coffee house wall space? It's "Imagine When," not "Imagine If."  It's only a matter of time, folks.  Let's get busy.

An update on my blog from a few weeks ago about our foster dog Thor: he got himself a new home yesterday.  Which was our intention all along, you'll recall, when we decided to welcome the little furball into our lives back in late January.  You may not have believed me when I told you we were serious about him being just a foster dog. Glad I was able to make a believer out of you.

Well, not 100% glad.  Even with chaotic new doggie routines and the occasional puppy bites (I'm looking at a nice little mark on my hand at the moment), it's inevitable that you're going to get attached.  I think the neatest part was watching his progress.  When he came to us, he was a pretty unruly little fella.  Hopelessly cute, but unruly. Now he was snapping less and cuddling more.  And he was growing like crazy. You don't get into the foster dog business without a little eventual heartache.

We met the new family at a neutral site in Mount Airy; the home of Regina, a Surry Animal Rescue volunteer who was instrumental in the whole adoption process. The family was from nearby Winston-Salem - three kids ages 4-12, and a Golden Retriever named Jake.  Great people. They had lost one of their dogs just two months ago and were eager to be a two-dog family again. Thor was his energetic and adorable self, and they were hooked from the start. Regina pulled my wife and I aside at one point: I think this is a good match, she whispered. It's up to you.

There's a certain level of awkwardness in this type of situation, in case you're wondering.  There's no manual for determining when it's time to go.  It's more a sense of the inevitable being not some distant and dreaded point in the future, but now.  We shook hands, said our goodbyes.  My last memory of Thor was watching him run around the fenced-in backyard with the little four-year old girl, both of them cute as could be, both ready to grow up together and run around many more times together.  And I realized that this scene and the future the two will share would've never been possible had it not been for someone posting a puppy picture on Facebook and my wife sending them a message. And that made me smile.

Suffice to say we're gonna miss the little fella.  But he's going to be in good hands, and that's all we really ever wanted. If not us, we're very glad it's them.

Uh, okay. I mean, if it were me, I would've gone with just two E's. But what the heck. Life is short. Knock yourself out.