This is a YouTube video that we made for my buddy Camden. Have a look:
This boat is stolen. If you see it online, in person or on the lake email firstname.lastname@example.org with the details or call Gaston County Police
We can all agree that stealing other peoples stuff is pretty wrong. Some might even call it EVIL! Reporting evil doers is COOL! It makes people like you. It will also make you my newest bestest friend! Which is really nice (I’m a good friend!) and all but if you’re not into the whole morally superior thing, this:
Also, if the boat is recovered it will make the thieves sad and (maybe) keep them from doing it again. Probably not though… recidivism among vehicle thieves runs at about 78%. So, they’ll probably do it again… but you’ll still be COOL in my book!
* Everything that you see in the pictures was on the boat when it was stolen. If you see any of it let me know.
(Except the dude in the hat. That’s me. If I had been on the boat when it was stolen I would have found it by now… right?)
2010 Palm Beach 2425 Sport Cruise Pontoon
140 HP Johnson Outboard
P.S. If you stole my boat and feel bad about it and want to bring it back… that’s cool, we can work it out. And, umm, sorry for calling you EVIL.. I was angry. You understand.
P.S.S If you bring it back, just put it where it was when you took it and, if you don’t mind, could you lock it up for me? People around here steal things… you know how it is.
Me, I’m not an ecoterrorist, or a tree hugging hippie. I’m about as right wing as they come. Heck, I’ve even written blog
posts rants about the timber industry and the “think before you print” email footers. I think that wood, in our society, is a good thing and I think that if you’re going to use it you should be growing it for use. Farming it. Central Louisiana where I’m from is chock full of “Tree Farms”. Paper mills and log mills make up a huge part of the local economy. I’m ok with that.
What I’m against, as a rule, is fraud. Or, at least, the appearance of fraud. What I am, is a frustrated neighbor. You see, when we first moved here we were excited that our home bordered on a Land Conservancy administered by the Catawba Lands Conservancy. How awesome is that? “A land trust dedicated to saving land and connecting live to nature in North Carolina’s Southern Piedmont,” according to the Facebook page, and right in my own back yard.
Over the last few years they’ve put up posted signs on the land adjacent to us which didn’t really bother me much. I mean, who knows what kind of delicate flora they’re working to preserve over beyond the pine trees.
I was a little frustrated when I discovered that the posted signs were there to protect land that they had leased to hunters who were there to shoot the deer that I was feeding in my front yard. I’m a hunter and ethical hunting doesn’t bother me. If the Catawba Lands Conservancy needs to manage deer populations with hunting I can support that. I don’t think they need it based on the populations on my land but, whatever. I do wish they weren’t sitting in a tree stand 200 yards from my house but I suppose it must be nice to be able to watch cartoons through my office window on Saturday mornings.
This week, though, they’ve started clear cutting the land that they’re sworn to protect. I’m sure that they have legal protection for this. I’m sure that they can even justify it as some sort of strange “management practice.” Maybe the “pre-grant” land owners have some rights to the land that allows this to happen or, maybe, the Lands Conservancy sacrificed this property for gain. I honestly don’t know.
Are they “breaking the law”? I don’t know. Probably not.
Are they being disingenuous in advertising themselves as a long term trust that “saves land”. I don’t know. Probably.
If I were thinking of donating my land (or money) to them for management would I ask them a lot of questions? Yes. I might even do a quick Google search and hope to find a page like this one. Hopefully that’s why you’re here.
Would some of those questions involve the words “logging” and “clearcut”? Yup.
I’d probably also ask them to define, “Nature Preserve” and “permanently protected” for me. In detail…
This used to be a solid wall of trees. Now you can clearly see the clearcut behind it. Sad.
I think they’re required by law (I don’t know) to leave this thin swath of trees along the roadway. It doesn’t do much to cover up the desolation behind it though.
It’s been awhile since I posted on the blog but we’ve… well, no excuses, sorry.
Mrs. Jinksto and I like to help folks and we don’t make a secret about why that is. We love Jesus, He loves people, we love them. It’s really, really simple to us. Race, age, social status, none of those things enter into it. It’s just love. The pure, sweet kind. We don’t expect anything from it. We don’t believe that “good works” will “save” us. The Bible is pretty clear on this one… we’re saved, we’re grateful, we love. Sometimes when we help people they say, “Thank God!” and we say, “Yes, please!”
People sometimes tell us that they wish they could find people to help like we do. They tell us that they wish they had the time to help others like we do. They tell us that they wish they had the money that we do to share with others. We tell them that we wish the very same things for them and invite them to our trailer house (sorry, *cough* modular home) for dinner. That’s not a terribly charitable answer… I’m trying desperately to find a better one. The simple truth is that it doesn’t take a lot. Sometimes all the time that’s required is the time it takes to smile at a frustrated waitress and tell her, “it’s fine… I like my eggs this way.” Sometimes all the money that you need is $5.00 to donate to a fund to help a sick child find the treatment that he needs. Sometimes all it takes to find someone in need is to not roll up your car window and look the other way. That’s all it takes. Just take the time to love the people you meet. It’s not a great expense. It’s not a huge time sink. It’s just not. If it were, it would be harder for us. I’m lazy and cheap, ask my friends. Jesus loves me still.
Sometimes people thank us for the work that we do for them, for those that they love, for others. They’ll pull us aside and whisper thanks or embarrass us in front of a large group. When they do we say, “It’s not about us” and they’ll reply, “I know, but thank you anyway.” I am grateful that those people see something good in me but I remember me from not so long ago. Heck, you can go through my old blog posts (though I’ve deleted the worst of them) or Facebook timeline and see that guy for yourself. Or you can just trust me in this; We don’t deserve thanks and we don’t deserve the Grace provided by our God.
Occasionally, while loving people we wish desperately that we could help them more. We, like those who thank us, wish we had more time, more money, more love for those that need it most. When we find those people we ask others for help. Sometimes we get it, sometimes we don’t.
I’ve posted this link on Facebook a few times. They’re still $600.00 short. I know this little dude personally. I know his mother and his terribly beautiful and sweet little sister. I go to church with his dad. If you think that the work that the Mrs. and I do is good I promise you this; you’ve seen nothing. I’ve seen this child’s mother crying… not for him and not for herself but for a homeless girl that she barely knew. I’ve seen her use her money and her time to help someone in dire need. I’ve seen her actually save a life with her hands while loving her very sick child with all of her heart. We are humbled. You should be too.
If you wish you could find someone to help… it’s this guy. If you think you can’t afford to help others let me promise you… $5.00 makes a difference. If you think you don’t have time to help… what are you doing for the next 10 minutes?
Click the picture to help; if the goal is met, feel free to exceed it. If it’s not met, God will provide a way, He always does.
If you want to keep up with Camden on Facebook, like his page: https://www.facebook.com/CureForCamden
It’s Wednesday. I sit alone in an empty church sanctuary. The clock, hung high on the balcony, that (usually) keeps the preacher from causing us all to miss lunch on Sunday mornings glows bright blue in the darkness. It reads 6:41; that’s PM.
In the nearly empty building I can hear the youth pastor upstairs tuning his guitar and singing solo into a cold room. He is preparing for youth worship just as he does every Wednesday night. Alone, cold, singing his praise songs to only God and his beat up Peavy amp. His hours of sermon prep are finished… he’s just brushing the rust off of the guitar to warm up. I think youth pastors might get a little more respect if folks saw them this way. Working for hours on end because they love the kids. Working odd hours, working nights and weekends. Working for almost no pay and dealing with more drama than… well… more drama than a room full of teenagers.
Downstairs another of our members rattles around the kitchen making coffee for everyone.
In a very few minutes people will begin to file into the fellowship hall downstairs to join in a weekly bible study. Children will go to the nursery and youth will go upstairs for our worship service. After bible study many of the people here tonight will move into the sanctuary for choir practice. It’ll be warm by then. It’s the same as last week and the same as next week. It’s routine… it’s home.
For now, though, I am alone. I sit on a padded pew in the mostly dark. Light from a security light in the parking lot fades through the stained glass windows. I see the brass cross in the baptistery behind the choir loft. It looms large and cold, its brightness dulled by the darkness.
I pray. Not because God is in this place more than any other but just because He is here. It’s cool and dark and large. The space seats over 200 people on most Sundays and is filled with song and worship and preaching. There are people coughing, more so this time of year, and babies gurgling and teens whispering when they shouldn’t be. But not this night. This night it is just me and God. I pray for our youth pastor and our pastor and our worship pastor and his mom who’s been sick. I pray for Mr. Jimmy downstairs and for my wife. I pray for our members and for our secretary. I pray for the folks that will go to Salvation Army to feed the homeless this weekend and I pray for the block party that we’ll be throwing next weekend for the folks on the “west” side of town. I pray for me. I pray that we, all of us, glorify God. I asked, He answered… the same as He always does. It’s anything but routine… it’s Home.
My F250 cost $52,000.00 and is pretty new. It IS one SEXY truck. Yesterday the neighbors kid asked me if he could borrow it. Should I loan it to him?
He says he makes good grades but I have my doubts.
He says he’s responsible and I can trust him but I don’t really know the kid.
He says he’ll have it back right on time but he doesn’t even own a watch.
He says that he’ll respect it but while we were talking he left hand prints on the paint.
He says he loves Jesus but he can’t list 3 of the 10 commandments.
He seems nice enough but, really, tossing the keys to a $50,000 truck to a 16 year old that I don’t know?
That’s moronic, right?
Who’s the kid taking your daughter for a test drive at prom?
How much is she worth to you?
Surely you understand why I refuse to answer you.
I see you when you mock my God.
I see you when you chuckle at my religion like its nothing more than a set of archaic rites.
I see you when you ask why the whole world has gone mad.
"What is WRONG with people" you cry and I just smile quietly and read the next post.
I’m not ignoring you. Really I’m not. I just don’t think you want the answer that I have for you.
Ask me what I believe and I will tell you.
Ask me if God is true and fair and just and I’ll cry yes, yes and yes.
Ask me if Jesus died for you too and I’ll whisper quietly to you, "yes, of course."
You see, I know that man has not “gone” mad.
The world has been mad since the first two sinners thought themselves larger than God. Jesus died for our sins. All you have to do is believe in him. If you believe in Jesus you follow the law because you love Him.
The law says thou shalt not do murder
If you don’t believe in God then you don’t believe in Jesus.
If you don’t believe in Jesus then you don’t believe in the law. If you don’t believe in the law then you can do any damned thing you want.
Many hang on to a halfway morality with nothing to compel them but it is a farce and they know it deep in their hearts and some… some do not hang on.
You call those people “sick” or “mad” and yet you stare riveted to their handiwork.
You watch hour after hour of “as it happens” news.
You follow the path of every bullet. Understand the pooling of every puddle of blood. You count every casing and catalog them by type.
And slowly, slowly, another follows the path of evil. The path of social glorification that means everyone in the country knows your name. You move closer to that sickness and, eventually, become it.
I have the answer you seek. It’s an easy one. Do you want it?
It is this: All of the blood that ever needed to be spilled was spilled on a hill named Golgotha where a King and a thief died on the same day.
And it is this: One of them walked away from it.
A few thoughts tonight:
Before you cry for Christ in Christmas; invite Him into your home.
Before you ask for God in schools; teach scripture to your children.
Before you carve the 10 commandments onto buildings; live them… all of them.
Before you curse someone as an unbeliever; show them what belief looks like.
Before you claim martyrdom; learn the name of at least one Martyr.
Before you rail
, cry and scream; be silent and pray.
Before you scold the unfaithful; be faithful.
Before you hit; hold.
Before you hate; Love.
Before you despair; hope.
Before you think to teach Christianity; learn the Gospel.
After your heart breaks; always be prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect
Mrs. Jinksto and I lived in Chicago for about 10 years or so. Moving back to the south took a little getting used to but… in a good way.
I walked across the yard and sat on the cinderblock behind my tiny little garden where I sit to watch our beehive. It’s peaceful there. The bees were slowing down for the night and were calm as the last few stragglers zoomed in. Tonight the world is washed clean from two days of heavy rain. Big oak trees loom over the shady spot and thick undergrowth makes the it feel close, secure. As the day slowly twisted into darkness I prayed this prayer…
Lord, thank you for giving me the first half of this day so that I could understand how perfect the second half was. Thank you for the love, peace and happiness that you give me so that I might share them with others. Thank you for the chores that you give me so that I will know rest when you give it to me. Thank you for the ability to come to you bearing only thanks; no wants; no needs; asking no favors. Thank you for your Son through whom I present my gratitude and without whom I would be lost.
Oh and God? Thanks for her too. She rocks.
Life is good… thanks to the friend that reminded me to post more often. I shall endeavor to comply…