“It Could Put a Lodge Under the Skin and Cause a Bad Infection”

My Makarov BB pistol just arrived. This thing is a riot.

I put a Caldwell Orange Peel target on a box full of newspapers and put it on the garage floor. The first magazine-load of shots was sort of random, but the second 16 all went into a 4″ circle, shooting from the hip at 8-10 feet.

I wish I had time to fool with it, but I have some stuff to do before church.

Oddly, I am much more scared of this thing than my real guns. I’m not automatically conditioned to treat it seriously. I have to learn that, so I don’t find myself pointing it in bad directions. And I don’t trust the safety.

I didn’t realize how hard it is to load BBs. I haven’t done it in decades. They seem to fly out of my hands under their own propulsion.

I’ve only fired it in the house once. So far.

The power is surprising. It goes through both sides of a box with no problems. I should have ordered a BB trap.

If you’re too old to enjoy a BB gun, you’re just too old.

Blessed is the Pizzamaker

Sometimes when God gives you exactly what you asked for, it can be very hard to realize it.

There is an old story I’ve heard and read more than once this year. A flood comes. A guy is trapped on his roof. He prays for God to help him. A kid goes by in a canoe, and offers the guy a ride, but he turns it down, saying God is going to rescue him. Two men in a bass boat go buy and offer to help. He turns them down, saying God is going to rescue him. A National Guard helicopter arrives, and a cable comes down with a harness, and the crew signals for him to put it on. He turns them down, shouting that God is going to rescue him.

He drowns. He asks God why he didn’t rescue him. God says, “I sent a canoe, a bass boat, and a helicopter.”

What’s the other side of the coin? You get the help you need, and then you tell God, “Never mind! It worked out without your help.”

Lately I’ve had concerns about a piece of doctrine that may be heresy. A well-known pastor who has a TV show has been telling people to “loose angels” to fix their problems. He says he ordered angels to bring him money for his ministry, and a man showed up with a five-figure check, almost immediately. On top of that, he doesn’t command one or two angels. He’ll issue orders to a hundred thousand, which seems extravagant, given that one angel killed the firstborn of Egypt in a single night, and one angel killed 185,000 Assyrians between sunset and sunrise. How many angels do you need to bring you a check?

I know of no Biblical example of a person commanding an angel. Even Jesus said he would ask his father to send angels, which is not the same thing. I think commanding angels is idolatry. You may think you’re commanding angels of God, but what if you’re commanding demons without knowing it? I will not take part in this practice without confirmation that it’s correct.

In spite of this concern, the new doctrine has reminded me that you can ask God to send his servants to help you. So I do that. These days, I ask him to send out his servants, both spirit and human, to deliver me and my family from trouble, to bring us blessings, and to teach us so we can avoid chastisement. I have no problem doing this. I’m not presuming to tell an angel what to do, nor am I asking for venal pleasures or things the flesh can put to bad use. I just want protection, guidance, and growth. It’s like asking your company to send consultants or new employees to help you get its business done. It’s to advance God’s goals, not mine.

Last night I made pizza at the church. This is a gargantuan job for one person. I have to arrive two hours before the first pie is served, driving through 18 miles of Miami traffic. I have to mix the yeast and water. I have to make dough over and over. Prepare 10 pans. Make sauce. Get pies ready to go in the oven. Bake them twice. Slice them and put them on the steam table. I have to clean up after myself and others. One person can’t do it well.

People have been offering to help, but they haven’t come through yet. Some are busy. Last night, however, a guy named Anthony showed up to work in the cafe, and on his own initiative, he started helping in the kitchen.

I taught this guy almost everything, and boy, did he make a difference. I never had to show him anything twice. He did everything well. He anticipated needs that would come up in the future, much better than I do. With his help, I had so much dough ready to bake, I was able to sit down for maybe forty-five minutes. At the end of the night, we had to bake two pizzas and give them away, because he was too efficient. He had prepared more than we needed. He also worked the fryolator; the pastor who usually runs it couldn’t be there, and nobody else knew anything about it. He kept me going, he kept the fries going, and then at the end of the night, he washed things up before I could get to them. I literally had a hard time finding things to clean up.

I couldn’t get much information out of him. He said it was his first night at Trinity! He hadn’t bothered with the service. He had gone straight to the kitchen. Nobody does that. He said he had been going to Pentecostal Something or Other, on 7th Avenue. I tried to promote the church to him, listing the things it offered.

I could barely get him to talk. Most of the time, he just said, “Okay,” and started getting things done.

There were times when I truly wondered if he were a human being. God sometimes clothes angels in flesh and sends them to do things. At the very least, he was an answer to my prayer for human help. Not just an answer, but an extremely appropriate and effective answer.

As for the leftover pies, one of the girls said that if I boxed them up, she’d see if she could find some homeless people to give them to. That’s not waste. These people would be receiving food from a church, worked and shaped by the hands of people baptized with the Holy Spirit. That has to be a good thing. You can’t tell me God doesn’t work through objects that have come into contact with anointed people.

In my opinion, the extra pies were a blessing.

Naturally, I’m all freaked out.

I don’t want to be like the guy on the roof. I’m not going to wait for a helicopter and still think God is ignoring me. I think Anthony was the kid with the canoe.

If Anthony is on the job, what about the other helpers I’ve asked for? They must be at work, too. God has told us his angel encamps around those who fear him, and that the angel delivers them (Psalm 34). God says he gives his angels charge over us (Psalm 91). God has never lied.

My testimony seems to get better and better, regardless of the challenges I face. I keep going out on a limb of faith, and God keeps holding me up. I leap into space over and over, and he catches me, even though my faith is not perfect. It’s incredible, but it’s true.

It’s important to note that my faith is not perfect. Neither is my behavior. You should always work to have faith and avoid sin, but God can be extremely powerful in your life even when you have doubts or chronic transgressions. Never let anyone tell you you have to be perfect to get God on your side. Think of the people Jesus healed. He didn’t heal the Apostles. He healed drunks and beggars and so on. It’s always better to be good, but your failures won’t destroy you as long as you stay on the path. I believe the trend, not your current location, is what matters.

Moving on to another subject, I had a very odd dream last night. I was trying to cook something, and I noticed lizards had befouled a measuring pitcher I was trying to use. In Miami, this can actually happen. I started cleaning it up at the sink. I reached into a cupboard for something, and I saw a lizard’s toe hanging down into view, and I grabbed some sort of ceramic vessel, like a cup with portions cut out of the sides, and it was full of lizards having group sex. This, too, can actually happen, although the group size is limited to two!

I walked this thing to the back door and shook the lizards out into the yard. At this point, somehow, they had become a single lizard. It landed on a tree by the door, which was covered with snowy white cockatoos. I knew the lizard was in trouble. A cockatoo started climbing down to get him, and he leapt into the yard, where a bluejay grabbed him and took off. Birds do that here. There are lots of bugs for the lizards, and lots of lizards for the birds.

Last night, before going to bed, I saw a gecko in the laundry room. These are very creepy lizards because of their appearance and movement. Though dry, they appear slimy, and they undulate like snakes. This wasn’t one of the usual house geckos we have here. This was a new kind. Bigger and creepier. Every year, something new shows up in town.

It took off down the wall to get away from me, and I told it that it was welcome to hang around and poop wherever it wanted, as long as it ate plenty of roaches. The lizards in the dream were Jamaican anoles, though.

I wonder if the dream has significance. I see the lizards in the cupboard as household demons, making trouble. They interfere with things that need to be done. I see the cockatoos as angels, guarding the “gates” of the house. I see the bluejay as a warring angel that carried off a demon and got it out of my life.

Was the house a house, or was it me?

I guess this has no relevance, but I insure my vehicles with GEICO.

Today I’m waiting for UPS to deliver the ridiculous Makarov BB pistol I ordered. I have to get my point-shooting up to speed. Sadly, UPS requires me to be here to receive it, to prevent punk kids from getting annoying toys via mail order. It ought to be tremendous fun. But I have to sit here all day or miss it. And knowing UPS, there is a good chance it won’t arrive before I have to leave for tonight’s volunteer meeting at church.

I think I’m going to recommend this to the other armorbearers. Can’t hurt.

No Heat

This is a black day.

I made pizza at church on Sunday. The main oven pooped out. I was supposed to make pizza tonight, at a service which usually draws over a thousand people. I called about the oven, and it has not been fixed.

Tonight hundreds of people who are hungry for pizza as well as righteousness will show up at my church, and they will not be filled.

I guess it’s a good thing. I can relax and stay home tonight. I’d like to go to the service, but I have another one tomorrow, and attendance is mandatory.

I still have not received my gun parts. It’s killing me. I have to see my Vz58 properly dressed, with a pretty green laser and a strobing 200-lumen flashlight that causes nausea and disorientation. Surely I don’t have to explain.

It turns out the cheap Vz58 rifles selling at Classicarms.us are made by Century Arms, not D-Technik. This is why they cost around half as much. Caveat emptor.

Dang. The church just called. The oven MAY be working, so I have to go see what I can do.

Bye.

Fasting to Resume

When are my gun parts supposed to get here? I know they’re coming from Israel, but it’s taking so long, you would think they’re carving them from bar stock with a Dremel tool.

I guess you can’t carve plastic parts from bar stock. But still.

There should be plenty of stuff to keep me busy until the parts arrive. Tomorrow I’ll be making pizza at church again, assuming the oven is working. I hope they get it fixed. It’s depressing, making ten portions of dough, baking six, and throwing the rest out while customers wonder why we won’t sell them pizza.

I’m also working on a handbook for the armorbearers at my church. The big hindrance here is that I’m a lowly, relatively new armorbearer, and I’m the one writing the book. The higher-ups know much more than I do. My strategy is to lay out the chapters, fill them with blather that seems right to me, and then go to my superiors and work with them to fix it. Editing is always easier than writing from scratch.

Okay, it’s usually easier. Sometimes the best thing to do with something a person wants you to edit is burn it.

The church is putting on a play pretty soon. A passion play. Today the head Servant Leader asked for armorbearer volunteers to help strike the set on the Sunday night after the last show. I had to refrain from signing on. The last time I tried to help strike a set, the stage was filled with volunteers who had no leaders and no directions, and somebody dropped a huge piece of plywood scenery on me and left me with an injury that hurt for weeks. I feel that my career as a stagehand has come to a close. But I did send a return text, mentioning the possibility of cooking.

I got out my book and started looking for likely dishes, but all I could come up with was baked ziti. My other real crowd-pleasers have wine or liquor in them, and I would feel a little funny slinging a bottle of Marsala around in a church kitchen.

Baked ziti is a fine thing. That is especially true when you use pizza-quality ingredients. But I’m not sure it’s far enough from pizza.

I could do chicken curry, but while the Jamaicans and Trinis would eat it, the Haitians would probably think I was trying to poison them. Not everyone in the Caribbean appreciates a good habanero.

All I know is, I don’t want any more sets falling on me.

I’ve decided to get more serious about fasting. Last year, I got permanent deliverance from gluttony after a fast, and my behavior improved in other respects. But fasting started cutting into my week very badly, and I scaled back. I think I’ll do a good long session. I truly believe ordinary people have demons assigned to oppress them, and that these things show up in bad habits that are hard to control. I know of three proven examples in my own life, plus an illness that left as a visible spirit fled my body, and I’m sure I’m not alone. And I’m not the only person who believes this. You don’t have to be running around naked in a cemetery, eating rats, to be under the influence of a demon.

Maybe the way I was fasting last year was wrong. Maybe fasting a lot every week is not as good as long fasts, farther apart. I’m supposed to do one partial-day fast each week as an armorbearer, but other than that, maybe it’s not a great idea to clutter every week with fasting.

I look forward to this, because I know how powerful fasting is. I hate every second of it, but look what it does for you. I make pizza semi-professionally twice a week, and I’m still losing weight. Slowly, sure, and with little fluctuations, but it’s happening. And yesterday while I made pizza, guess what I ate? Two crummy protein bars, half a tuna sandwich (forgot to eat the second half), and half a chocolate bar.

Fasting evicts trespassers. I think the story of Jesus’s forty-day fast is an example for everyone. Even Jesus was oppressed demonically. His demon was Satan himself, and after the fast, Satan gave up and left, just like lesser demons fled the people Jesus and the disciples freed. It was after the forty-day fast that the real power began to flow. I suspect that the same principle applies to all of us. God probably doesn’t want to drop major power on people who are subject to a lot of malevolent influence from hidden co-pilots.

How long would the average bariatric surgery patient be willing to fast, in order to get what I got? It’s an incredible blessing. In my own small way, I know how people who have been healed of cancer feel. It’s fantastic to get free of something you ordinarily would be unable to conquer. The general rule with fat people is that they stay fat and get fatter. And the worst part is, you do it to yourself, and you can’t stop.

I love being free. What if I can get free of the majority of my big behavioral and attitudinal problems by fasting? From what I’ve seen so far, it’s highly likely. It’s clearly worth a shot.

When I fasted last year, some beings that were accompanying me through life realized I was going to be doing this kind of thing for the rest of my days, and they said, “We have had ENOUGH of this guy. We QUIT.” I need to resume deportations.

God willing, my testimony is going to be even better later this year than it is now. I can’t wait.

The Spirit Moves Me

I had a good day at church, although looking at it superficially, it would not seem so.

Last night I forgot about the time change (or rather, I didn’t know the date in the first place, because I don’t watch TV). I went to bed at the usual hour, thinking everything was swell. Then a neighbor’s unbelievably loud party woke me up at what I thought was 11:00 p.m. I was not too happy about it, but I try not to make trouble for my neighbors if I can avoid it (Psalm 15), so I did not call the cops. Besides; this party had a loud emcee who was yelling in Spanish between salsa numbers, and from the sound of it, the party was quite a distance away. That usually means a fundraiser with a permit. Unbelievably, Coral Gables–the city which will prosecute you for painting your interior walls without permission–will allow you to keep your neighbors up until three a.m. if you get a permit.

While I was lying there awake, I remembered that the time change was in the news, and I checked to see if it was upon me. It was. That was fabulous. I had thought I was being kept awake until 1:00, on the night before rising at 6:00 to make pizza at church. In reality, I was being kept awake until 2:00.

Drove to church and got things moving. Things get more and more efficient; these days I try to make big batches of everything. I started by making about a gallon of yeast mixture, and as soon as I could, I began making dough with the woefully inadequate and messy Kitchenaid mixer.

I managed to get ten batches of dough done, and then I started making pizza, and things went great, except that very few people bought any. Apparently, I was not the only one who forgot the time change.

Things looked better after the second service, but then I realized the pizza wasn’t getting cooked. We had the same problem on Tuesday. The burner in the big convection oven refuses to turn on after a while, so it gets cooler and cooler, until you’re warming raw pizza instead of baking it.

We had a guy look at it this week, but evidently, he did not look at it hard enough. I managed to make a few pizzas in the smaller oven, but eventually, I gave up, and I had to throw out a gallon of sauce and four portions of dough. Orders were cancelled. Depressing.

He’s going to look at it again.

I wandered around looking for things to do, and down the hall, through a glass door, I saw what appeared to be part of an EMT truck, with a flashing light. I got to the end of the hall, and there were three EMTs working on a girl on a table. One of my fellow armorbearers was there. I helped with crowd control. Church was emptying, and half of the crowd had to leave through those doors.

The girl was about 15 and thin. I could see her bare feet at the end of the table, beside the paramedics. Her feet were shaking, as though she were jerking or seizing. Someone had found her unconscious in a bathroom. She was conscious when I saw her, but only barely. They were trying to get her to answer questions.

Prime opportunity to pray. I always pray when I see an ambulance. It’s a rule I have. If I tried to break it, I think I’d be unable to sleep later. Usually, I don’t know who I’m praying for. But here was this kid, on the table. Three feet away. Lucky for her the oven pooped out. Lucky, or something better than lucky.

While I was herding and praying, I saw a homeless guy I talk to on occasion. I say “homeless” because that was what I had suspected. I hadn’t really known. He’s a thin guy who often shows up wearing fatigues. He has a lady friend who sometimes appears with him.

The first time I met him, he was standing in the parking lot, trying to get people’s attention. I pulled over and rolled down the window, and we talked for a minute, and I gave him some assistance. You can’t turn someone down while you’re driving out of the parking lot after church. He appeared to be what is known as a street person. That gave me something to pray about on the way home.

I thought maybe he was someone who showed up at church on rare occasions to ask for favors, but he turned up again not long after that, in a TV audience at the TBN studio. My pastor was hosting Praise the Lord, so I decided to drive to Hollywood and check it out, and there the guy was. So he does go to church when he’s not after anything.

A few nights back, I saw him again, standing in front of the Wal-Mart across the street from the church. I was there to get olive oil and other pizza supplies. He did not look good. I wondered if he was on something. I did not speak to him on the way in, and he didn’t see me. I felt like I should have talked to him, so I decided to look for him on the way out.

He was still there. He looked almost ill. I don’t know what the problem was. I can’t judge. It could be a legitimate medical thing. I asked how he was, and he said something like, “not too good.” He said he was waiting for friends to give him a ride home. He asked which was I was going. I thought I should turn that around for my own sake, so I asked where he needed to go. He said he needed to go to Opa-Locka, which was out of my way. I said I was going south. I did not want to be in Opa-Locka after dark with a guy with this kind of troubles. I didn’t drive him, but I gave him a little help getting home.

Today I saw him leaving the church while we helped the EMTs, and I felt like I should say something, but he and his girlfriend drifted out with the crowd. I thought that was the end of it. I was glad to see him in church, after the way he had looked in front of Wal-Mart.

I went with a pastor and an armorbearer friend while they carried off the linens the girl had lain on; she had been vomiting. We all washed our hands, and I asked my friend if we were having any post-church meetings, and he inquired via radio while I waited. This all took a while. There was no meeting.

I left the building and turned toward my car, and walking toward me, five feet away, were the guy and his girlfriend. Like someone had dropped them there from a hidden chute. Okay, this time we were going to acknowledge each other. We shook hands. Danged if he didn’t need a ride again.

I had turned him town twice in the past, so I figured this was my day. The three of us got in my truck, and off we went to Opa-Locka.

They were thrilled that someone was giving them a lift. It was as if I had bought them the truck. What was I going to do? Drive off in comfort while these people roasted in the parking lot? His girlfriend was so grateful, she gave me a CD. She’s a Christian rapper. I did not see that coming. I thought it was very nice of her to give it to me, in view of their financial outlook, and I said I would listen to it.

We got to know each other a little. When they learned I was a writer, he said he was interested in doing a Christian book. I said it was a great idea, if he had a good testimony. He said he had one. He said he had been hit by a train and nearly blinded in one eye. He didn’t get around to the Christian part, but I admit, I’m always impressed when an able-bodied person tells me he has been hit by a train.

I asked how they found Trinity. His girlfriend said she had seen the church’s big white emblem over and over, on the side of the building, and that she had wanted to check the place out, so she decided they would go. He said they couldn’t always get a ride, and that on one occasion, they had walked.

That was sobering. I would guess they live six miles from the church.

I asked if they belonged to GAP (God Answers Prayer) groups. They did not. I told them it would make them feel more at home in church, and that it would help them get more out of it. He asked when my group met. I told him it met at 8 a.m. on Saturdays. He said that was right up his alley. So now I had that to think about.

She said she was good at teaching kids to sing. I said they probably needed people to do that at Trinity.

I told them about the bus ministry a friend of mine runs. He picks people up in a van and brings them to church. I said I didn’t know if it ran in his area, but that I could find out. I don’t think it does, but I haven’t worked with the bus ministry for a while. I could be wrong. They wrote their names and number on a scrap of paper, and I kept it. He said I should let him know if I knew of any little jobs he could do. Nothing strenuous, because of his condition. I nodded. I don’t really know a lot of people who need odd jobs done, but you never know.

I let them out in front of their house and went on my way.

The first time I met this guy, I was celebrating a victory in my life. That was one reason I had gone to the TBN taping. I wanted to get out of the house and go do something unusual and related to God, and the taping presented itself to me, so I went.

Does it mean anything that he’s suddenly back? Is it a reminder that another personal victory is in the making? It has to have significance. It’s just too weird, otherwise.

I don’t know what to do. I am not an outgoing person, and that is the main reason I don’t do much hands-on charity. When you deal with people who need help, bits of them tend to stick to you. It’s not a clean business. On the other hand, I think the lost are a huge concern to God, and very few people are willing to give them the time of day. Some people sink to the bottom of life, like leaves in a teacup, and they tend to stay there, and we were sent to pull them back up. Only Christians have the means to do it. I have been very conscious of this lately. I think it probably means a lot to people like this, just to be treated with common courtesy and respect.

I am not writing about this to portray myself as a saint. I’ve done almost nothing for these people, and I am not planning to give the man a kidney any time soon. I’m just writing this to document the strange events that took place today, and my impressions of them.

Things are going to get better. God has a good future planned for me.

Opposition is Profit

Okay, so I went to all-church prayer last night. I guess our church seats 1200. I would say seventy people were there. It’s funny, but whenever you show up during the week, when something needs to be done, you see the same people over and over. Over ten thousand people consider Trinity their church. Every weekend, about 3500 attend. But when the church has a need, members of a much smaller group usually fill it. We struggle as we decide how much of ourselves to give to God, and until you reach a certain point, you tend to be a spectator.

I was a couple of minutes late because I couldn’t get on the road until almost 7:30. By the time I got there, an associate pastor was up at the front, getting things going. Music was playing. Not the hard-hitting, loud stuff they play on the weekends. Worship music. The place was very dark.

He had us kneel in various parts of the church and pray individually. I find I can kneel and pray for about two minutes. After that, I can kneel or pray; not both. So I got into a chair after a bit.

After that, we went up front and got papers with transcribed prayer requests printed on them. They listed the first names of the people who had made the requests. I write a request or two on my donation envelope every week. I wondered what my requests had looked like, to the people who prayed over them.

I went down the list of people and problems as quickly as I could, trying to get to everyone giving anyone less than a good effort. There were praise reports at the bottom. People got healed and so on.

A few names and problems stuck in my mind. S. was in rehab in North Miami Beach; he even listed the room. M. had a lump in her breast. C. needed help with her mental health. These people had serious problems man could not fix. Prayer was their only hope. My obligation to them was a big deal. Who knows if they had anything else going for them? Maybe that week, I was it.

I realized I had fallen into selfishness lately. I had become involved in my own trivial problems and interests, and one of the costs was prayer time for other people. When you help other people in God’s name, inevitably, you help yourself. God’s power is like electricity; it works best when it has a completed circuit to flow through. It shouldn’t just accumulate in you like charge on a capacitor plate. It should pass through you into someone else. And like electricity passing through an object, it will cause you to radiate warmth and light. This seems to be true of all God’s blessings. In my church, we are taught, “I am blessed to be a blessing.” Money, power, talent…these things benefit you most when you put them to work for others.

I had been letting that slip. Praying for these unknown people brought it back to me, so even if I did them no good at all, I was much better off for showing up. I had something valuable to take home with me.

Sometimes when I go to church, I feel God’s power and presence very powerfully, like a thick but invisible fog, and I feel his power inside me, rising up and outward from inside me. I didn’t get there by the end of the prayer list, but I did try.

After that, the pastor had us go through the church, praying in the spirit, touching the chairs. The hope was that something would linger and touch the people who sat in them this weekend.

When I got back in my seat, the power was flowing. Finally. I thought I had prayed my way through, but then I wondered…how many people had touched this chair since I left it? Cloths taken from Paul’s body drove demons out of people. Who was to say the touch of some anointed person had not affected me as I sat in the chair?

Faith started to burgeon inside me. I felt wonderful. My worries were gone. Before going to the meeting, I had felt that I was walking in faith, and I suppose that was true, but it had been getting somewhat mechanical. At the meeting, I remembered: God is really here. Ultimately, problems are illusions. The worldly approach to life is full of anxiety and frustration. Remembering all this, I knew I was back on track.

This morning I went to my weekly prayer group. A couple of the guys talked about things they needed to work on, and I realized I was in the same boat. I need to get back to the long, serious prayer and study sessions I used to put in every morning. I need to relax and remember that every situation that seems to be a defeat or a disaster is actually going to work out for my good; God is ordering my steps. I need to do some more fasting, to get rid of some lingering problems in my attitude and behavior. In other words, to rid myself of the influence of some familiar hostile entities that lead me into trouble and postpone good things God wants to do for me.

One of my friends, Dave, started talking about demonic manifestations at church. I hadn’t seen much of this. He said he had seen a good deal of it. He sits in the back, and that’s where these things tend to happen. He talked about a fourteen-year-old girl who rolled on the ground and made growling noises during a service. Then there were two young men who showed up complaining that they heard voices. They said people at other churches had told them they were crazy. The pastor prayed with them for hours, and they had two weeks of deliverance. Not sure what’s happening now, but at least they know where to turn.

When I work as an armorbearer, I tend to stand at the rear of the church. They like to keep some of us up front, but you can’t watch the crowd from up there. Now that I’ve heard Dave’s stories, I think I’m right to stay farther back. I don’t want to be watching the choir when someone is having a manifestation. Those people belong in church. They disturb services, but they can’t get help anywhere else.

I got some great feedback on the pizza effort. I didn’t realize it was affecting people much, but one of the guys said it’s making a big impact on the way people see the cafe. One of the guys came in and learned how to make pizza a couple of weeks back, and he said he had fed off my passion for the job. Another guy said he wanted to learn. It would be great to get a team put together so I won’t always be in the kitchen.

I listened to Perry Stone on the way home. He talked about a revival in which he told people to bring objects in so he could pray over them, to influence the unsaved. One lady brought a six-pack of beer. After her husband drank it, he ended up in church, and he accepted Christ. Another woman brought her husband’s cigarettes, and when he smoked them later, the taste was so bad, he had to go see the preacher who had prayed over them.

I think about things like that when I make pizza. It’s wrong to turn an object into a relic which people idolize, but God does work through objects. Jesus healed a blind man with mud.

Every week, what do I do? I anoint my hands with olive oil–Biblical symbol of the Holy Spirit’s power–and make leavened dough, which is the Biblical symbol of flesh leavened with sin. Then people buy it and eat it. Does anything go from God to me to the dough to the customers? I wonder.

A while back, a young woman came into the kitchen to thank me for making the pizza. Her face glowed. She seemed to shine like the sun. It was very odd. I realized the sensation I got from her presence was like the sensation of the presence of God; it had the same feel. I wondered what it meant. She kept thanking me, as if I had paid off her bills or saved her house from foreclosure. It was just pizza. Or was it?

When I see her now, she’s still a very nice young lady, but that glow isn’t there.

I know the Holy Spirit is in me. I have plenty of worldliness left in me, but at times I feel the Spirit drop on me like a cloudburst, for no clear reason. Can its power go from me into other people? Why not? It has happened for plenty of other Christians.

When the leader of my prayer group tried my Sicilian, he pointed at it and said, “This pizza is ANOINTED.” I think he just meant it was really good, but maybe there was more to it than that.

Maybe we benefit from being around other Christians, not just because they provide good examples, but because the Holy Spirit works in their vicinities and through their physical bodies.

Christianity is supernatural. Primarily, not collaterally. We forget that. Churches discourage the supernatural. That’s remarkable. We teach about a man who walked on water and a world ruled by a rebellious cherub. We teach about a savior who had conversations with demons. He turned water into wine. He raised the dead, including a man who had begun to rot. But somehow, we’re supposed to shun the supernatural and work things out through hard work and learning.

I don’t get it. Does the Bible say Satan can’t use the supernatural any more? If not, why should we stop using it? Does that make sense?

What good is the form of godliness, if you don’t have the power? The power isn’t a good work ethic or good study habits or strong willpower. It’s the Holy Spirit, working through us. That other stuff is on a par with salvation by works.

A Christian who thinks he can make himself holy and righteous without the Holy Spirit is like a tree that thinks it can turn itself into a chair.

I’m not sure what’s going on. I have inklings and hunches. I’m sure I’m headed in the right direction, and that I’ll get where I’m going. It’s not my location that counts. It’s my course.

TG, TG, TG

Reader and friend Ed Bonderenka has run into a ridiculous problem. If I understand it correctly, he wanted to get a better position from his company, and while he was waiting for a shot, he got a job at a second company. Then someone at the first company got him to apply for the better position he had wanted in the first place. Then he found out he wasn’t getting the better position, AND he got downsized from the new job.

Not only is that very bad news; it sounds insane. Why hire someone when you’re about to start layoffs? Sounds like civil fraud to me.

Anyway, Ed could use some prayer. This is beyond belief.

Tonight I went to my church’s all-church prayer session for the first time. They do it on Friday nights, and my prayer group meets on Saturday morning, so it’s hard to work it out, but I felt like I needed it. Boy, was I right. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to write about it.

I’ll say this; I finally learned what happens to all those prayer requests we submit with our donations. They transcribe them and pass them out to people at the Friday meetings. I’m so glad they’re not being flushed or something. At least one famous ministry got caught putting prayer requests in a dumpster.

Got to go. Sleep calls.

Keep Those Handouts Coming, Lord

This is shaping up to be a pretty good day. God willing, it will live up to its promise.

I do not have to make pizza today. I do not have a church service to attend. I do not have to work at church as an armorbearer. I have no prayer-group meetings. I don’t have to drive people to church from the shelter up in Broward County. And I got a good night’s sleep, and I still have one cup of coffee to go.

I need to do some housework. I need to get back to cornet practice. I should make time to work on memorizing the Psalms. I should finish up the gun part I’m making. Believe it or not, I’m glad I have time to do these things.

When you’re a kid, having free time means getting to lie on the couch for 16 hours and eat entire boxes of Cap’n Crunch out of a mixing bowl. Or at least, that’s what it meant when Mike and I were kids. Now “free time” means I can take a load of clothes to Goodwill, fertilize the fruit trees, or read the Bible. I still feel like I’m on vacation, but I’m not doing the same types of things.

My toys aren’t the same, either. A long time ago, I liked skateboards, Frisbees, fishing poles, and BB guns. Now I like my diesel truck, my metalworking tools, my cornet, the nifty Motorola surveillance kit I wear at church, and my drill press vise. I like things that are associated with work, self-improvement, and getting things done.

I just bought a BB gun, but I got it so I could improve myself. I want to work on point-shooting. When I was a kid, a BB gun was just something cool I used to destroy things.

I’ve noticed something funny. I used to feel like I was praying selfishly when I asked for stuff like financial success, a good wife, and physical healing. Now sometimes I feel selfish when I’m praying for help dealing with my chronic sins, or help with the church’s pizza efforts. But those things aren’t self-indulgent goodies. They’re things that are presumably God’s goals as well as mine. I guess I’m in the habit of thinking of prayer as selfish. And because my desires are more in line with God’s these days, when I pray for things that will help me do his will, I’m also praying for what I want, so maybe it’s natural to feel selfish.

Odd.

You have to ask God for stuff. Constantly. I’m convinced of it. He wants us to be humble. Part of humility is admitting you can’t do things by yourself. If you resist asking for things, you’re saying you don’t need God’s help. Every second that you live, you survive only at God’s pleasure and only with his assistance. Independence is a seductive, ego-bloating illusion. This is a hard thing for a Christian to swallow, because we believe in work and responsibility, but it’s true. You apply yourself, but you should also pray. Otherwise, you start to think you created your own success. No ordinary human being has ever done that. Not one.

The Bible criticizes people who talk about their expectations without crediting God. You should never say you’re going to have a good year, or that you’re going to do well at a task, unless you acknowledge the need for God’s help in the same breath.

When I remember this truth, I think of Adam. Before the fall, his life was presumably a model for ours. What did he do for a living? Did he slave away behind a plow all day? No, he reached up and picked fruit from trees someone else planted. His job was to manage the world and grow to be like God. While he did that, God provided for him. The need for hard, unpleasant work came after he sinned. If Christians are supposed to live in the kingdom of heaven while on earth, then it seems safe to say our lives are supposed to be more like Adam’s than Abel’s or Jacob’s.

The Psalms seem to support this. The 127th Psalm says, “It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved sleep.” Other translations put it differently; the idea is that God’s beloved are blessed even while they sleep.

My take on this is that you should work, but that you should not make work an idol. If you never see your kids or your wife because you work long hours, it doesn’t mean you’re righteous. It means something is wrong, and it’s causing you to neglect your family. If God is with you, you should be able to take care of yourself and your family while earning a decent living. How can you call yourself blessed and say your life is working, if you always miss your kids’ birthday parties and school plays?

I think about this principle sometimes in connection with sleep. I’ve become nearly fanatical about getting at least nine hours of horizontal time. Before electricity, people slept much longer than they do now, even though they worked harder. Lack of sleep causes obesity and high blood pressure. It ruins your memory and concentration. It makes you irritable and causes accidents. Sleep is not a luxury; it’s essential to good mental and physical health. There is nothing virtuous about sleeping four hours a night. It’s a curse. Your body is the temple of God. Mistreating it needlessly can’t be a good deed.

The book of Proverbs talks about the industry of a virtuous woman. It says she gets up before dawn, to begin working. What it doesn’t say is that she was in bed at least ten hours earlier, because that’s how people lived back then. You got up at around dawn, and after the sun went down, it was hard to see, even if you used oil lamps (which smelled and gave off smoke and cost money to use), so people tended to go to bed early. If the sun goes down at six p.m. and rises at six a.m., and you get up at 5:30, you’re still getting a lot of sleep.

People used to criticize Ronald Reagan because he quit work early in the day. But look what he got done. Bill Clinton worked late, and he was barely competent.

People who don’t sleep much love to brag about it. I don’t get it. To me, that’s like bragging that you never brush your teeth. I’m not impressed. It makes you sound foolish. If you want to impress me, say you sleep ten hours a night and never miss an important family event, while providing for your loved ones.

And most people who brag that they miss sleep because they’re super-righteous are lying. Ask them what Jay Leno said last night, and they’ll usually know, because they were up late watching him.

Sometimes people put me down when I say I can’t do something because I have to sleep. I don’t care. I know I’m right. If you need someone to drive you to the hospital, I’ll get out of bed. But if it’s something trivial, go bother someone else. If you can’t understand your own physical needs, it’s not my obligation to drive the message into your thick head. Maybe you’ll come around after you fall asleep at the wheel and run over a concrete bus bench. Hopefully, no one will be sitting on it at the time. Sleep-deprived drivers kill a lot of people.

Human effort and sacrifice are overrated, because of pride. We love to think we’re martyrs and that we did it everything without help. It’s a hard attitude to give up. It’s wonderful to feel like a saint. But only one person in history earned that feeling. The rest of us are pretenders.

My advice is to ask God for things all day; even unimportant things. Get his advice. Ask for protection. Accept it with humility.

Never say, “I want to try it on my own before bothering you.” If you want to see how that type of thinking pans out, read the book of Joshua.

I slept well last night, I’m making time for God today, and God willing, this will be a good day. If I’m wrong to see things this way, you’ll know, because I’ll be living behind a dumpster in two years. I don’t see it happening.

“She Won’t Come Out From Under the Porch”

I cannot control myself. I decided I had to start working on my point-shooting, but I did not want to spend money. So I’m getting a Umarex Makarov CO2 pistol.The plan is to sit out back working on my moves. Once I get it down using cheap BBs, it’s time to try it at the range.

And I finally have a way to fix my neighbor’s barking dogs.

If this kind of thing interests you, you may find my conclusions useful. I wanted a semi-auto repeating pistol, because you learn faster when you don’t have to fiddle with the gun between shots. I got something that is more than accurate enough for this kind of practice, but it’s not great for long distances. People who have used this gun say it’s fun to shoot, it’s reasonably accurate, and it feels like a real pistol. Plus it’s very cheap. SOLD.

My Preoccupations

I trammed my mill the other day. I had to. I knocked it out of tram while using a fly cutter. Guess what? It turns out you have to lock the spindle when you do that. Otherwise the fly cutter can sink into the work, and suddenly instead of ten thousandths, you’re trying to trim off a quarter of an inch, and the mill doesn’t like it.

I can’t be expected to remember these tiny insignificant details.

I trammed the mill using my cheap CDCO coax indicator. Seems to work fine. I also used it to align the vise. I just milled the side of a piece of aluminum using a 1/2″ carbide cutter, and the result was gorgeous.

I was going to use a fly-cutter to test the tramming, but then I remembered how I got where I was. I believe I’ll save that for finishing the part.

The part I was making for my Saiga 12 has to be completed, and the mill was so out of tram, I could not get a good finish. Now that’s fixed.

I have been discouraged from using carbide, but now that I’m using the tables instead of guessing at feeds and speeds, I find carbide pretty exciting. I can mill 1018 steel (of which I have maybe a hundred pounds) at 1000 RPM. That sure beats HSS. Anything that gets you out of the garage in half the time is good. I don’t know for sure, because I’m too lazy to find out, but I’ll bet a regular carbide end mill will rough steel faster than an HSS roughing bit.

I had to quit working in the garage because my bread had risen. I must be honest. I do not have great hopes for this “loaf.” But satisfying my idle curiosity is a vital priority, so here I am, waiting for the oven to beep.

The part I’m making is a replacement for a Magnolia Armory ISA. This is a doodad that fits in the rear of a Saiga weapon and lets you attach a manly buttstock. The one I got from Magnolia doesn’t really fit. It’s probably intended for Saiga rifles. It’s aluminum. I could have made the new one from aluminum, but here I am with all this steel, and if I make it from steel, it will last for eternity. So I’m putting up with the slower speeds.

I can’t do the tapping, unfortunately. I don’t have fine-thread taps. At least I don’t think I do. I’ll check, but it sure looks like the screws I’m using have finer threads than the ones my taps make. Guess I’ll need to pick a couple of taps up.

I have no way of bluing the part, other than Super Blue. I should look into that. If I had used aluminum, I’d have no way at all. I’d have to order something from Brownell’s.

It’s pretty cool to have concerns like these. Three years ago, I had no Saiga, no mill, no drill press, no lathe, and few clues.

I hope I can pull this off on the first try, although I’m already wishing I had gone for a folding design instead.

More

The bread worked fine, but I think it was actually TOO kneaded. The texture was very tight. I think next time I’ll mix it in a bowl.

Loafer’s Loaf

I decided I had to do something stupid. What a novel experience for me.

I’ve been making pizza without kneading the dough. Today I decided to see what happens when I turn the dough into bread. I took a portion of Golden Tiger flour mixed with salt and pepper, blended yeast and water into it, rolled it into a wad, and plopped it on a sheet of nonstick foil.

If it rises, I plan to bake it. If not, bird toy.

Knowledge Plus a Rifle is Real Power

Man, I wish my new rifle parts would arrive.

I ordered plastic furniture for my Vz58 folder because the cool faux-wood furniture was not accessory-friendly. Broke my heart, but I had to do it. Now I’m scanning the horizon for the UPS truck.

I was all worried about 922(r) compliance, but I double-checked, and I’m in the clear. Not that I would care, if I heard footsteps in the hall. You can always put the original parts back on while you wait for the cops to arrive. After that, you have the Fourth Amendment on your side. Like they would care.

I keep thinking I should have an AK47 and an AR15, but it’s hard to get excited about new defensive rifles when you have a Vz58. The magazines hold 30 rounds, the rifle is as reliable as an AK, it’s light, the ergonomics are great, it’s short, the ballistics are excellent, it’s not stamped out of surplus Soviet rain gutters, and it looks cool. What more do I get if I buy an AK? Nothing whatsoever. I suppose with an AR15, I’d have the potential for better accuracy, and accessorizing would be more fun, and the AR15 is more of a well-finished, upscale weapon. But getting one ready to use would probably cost me over a grand, and then I’d have one more caliber to shop for.

I didn’t realize until last week that 7.62mm is actually an inch-based caliber. I was sitting around when it occurred to me that 7.62 is an integral multiple of 2.54, which is the precise number of centimeters in an inch. That means 7.62mm is exactly (down to the angstrom unit) 0.30 inches. Can’t be a coincidence. I’m always the last to know everything.

I still think a Tommy gun would be a great defense weapon. It’s heavy as lead, but it won’t kill you to carry it household distances, and the weight seems to make the recoil less objectionable. There isn’t much recoil to begin with, since .45 ACP is a pistol caliber. Put a 30-round magazine on one (or a huge drum), pop a laser on it, and wait for the boogerman to come up the stairs to your bedroom. If you can’t hit him with this thing, you might as well murder yourself and rob your own house, because someone is eventually going to do it successfully.

Sondra is blegging for a Tommy gun. I can’t believe it. A while back, she asked for advice on her first rifle, and my lone voice recommended the Tommy gun, mainly because it would look great in photos with Sondra. I figured I would be dismissed out of hand, but now she says she wants one!

Yes, it’s expensive, but it’s only about a hundred bucks more than a good Vz58, and if you reload, the ammunition is $5 a box. Come on, work with me. We want Sondra to buy this thing.

The pistol version is really cute. The barrel is short, so it’s more like a real Tommy gun. The new Auto Ordnance Tommy guns have longer barrels than the originals, except for special, government-regulated short-barrel models. Buy the pistol version, and you avoid this cosmetic problem.

I don’t see how you could use the sights. The recoil is pistol recoil, so you don’t need to shoulder it to deal with that issue, but I think it would be hard to hold a Tommy gun up like a 1911, so you could sight down the barrel.

I don’t care. It’s still cool. Put a laser on it! If the battery goes dead during a firefight, throw the gun at the criminal and crush his skull! Use the magazine as a blackjack!

I have all the rationalizations answers.

Have you ever been to Israeli-Weapons.com? I shopped for some Vz58 stuff there. Later, I went back and looked at it again, and I realized this is a very serious site. They sell tanks, for crying out loud. Now I know where to go when I need a vehicle to patrol the Central Florida compound and scare the fertilizer out of Jehovah’s Witnesses and meter readers.

You have to love the Internet. You can order a tank. You can order a live anaconda. You name it; it’s five clicks away.

Haiti Effort Marred by Competition?

Yesterday I read an interesting article about Haiti. The relief teams that are working there are competing with each other, not just to provide the best aid, but to get the most money, attention, and control. The article cited an organization that ran another organization off, even though the second outfit had essential equipment the first one lacked. Nice. I’m sure the people who died as a result of the turf squabble would be glad to know the first group didn’t lose its spot in the limelight.

It said two “competing” doctors got in a verbal altercation on a flight leaving the US.

If I understood the article correctly, aid organizations or their branches get funding based largely on the turf they’re able to carve out. So if you can set your clinic up in Port au Prince before the next guy can do it, you can keep him out and get more money for your work next year.

Nothing is as evil as bureaucracy. Satan started his career as a civil servant, after all. The Nazis and Soviets were bureaucrats who killed people in the name of efficiency and order. The Chicoms are bureaucrats.

Bureaucrats are driven not by the express missions of their organizations, but by the desire to enlarge and secure their own power. The guy who dies with the biggest cubicle and best parking space wins. If that means a few people who rely on you have to suffer, no problem.

One of the wonders of America is that we keep so much power out of the hands of bureaucrats. That’s the purpose of the Bill of Rights and the Tenth Amendment. Some parts of the Bill of Rights still function pretty well. The Tenth Amendment is more like a whale’s vestigial pelvis. It’s there, but it’s not clear what it does.

Bureaucracy is like idolatry. Sometimes, it is idolatry. It distracts you from the purpose you were intended to serve, and it causes you to hinder that purpose by serving another one. Either you’re trying your best to dig earthquake victims out of the rubble, or you’re diverting some of your strength to venal pursuits such as attracting media attention and increased funding. When you divert your strength from your stated mission, you’re working against it.

I hope Aaron will forgive me for quoting an email he sent me yesterday. It applies:

That “progressives” seek to eradicate poverty flies in the face of scripture which asserts that there will always be some poor people. That becomes a challenge to those better off, but even then there is a hierarchy of what should be done. Among the following levels of “tzedakah”, none include the legislative threat of fine or incarceration for the wealthy to not adhere to an unfair progressive taxation policy. Rambam organized the different levels of tzedakah (charity) into a list from the least to the most honorable.

8. When donations are given grudgingly.
7. When one gives less than he should, but does so cheerfully.
6. When one gives directly to the poor upon being asked.
5. When one gives directly to the poor without being asked.
4. When the recipient is aware of the donor’s identity, but the donor does not know the identity of the recipient.
3. When the donor is aware of the recipient’s identity, but the recipient is unaware of the source.
2. When the donor and recipient are unknown to each other.
1. The highest form of charity is to help sustain a person before they become impoverished by offering a substantial gift in a dignified manner, or by extending a suitable loan, or by helping them find employment or establish themselves in business so as to make it unnecessary for them to become dependent on others.

If you reverse this thinking, you may also conclude that one of the worst evils is to do charity poorly because you subvert the goal of easing suffering in order to gain admiration and wealth. When you do that, you unnecessarily increase the suffering of others–greatly–in order to bring yourself a trivial benefit which is, ultimately, a curse.

If you travel to Haiti and you work hard, but you’re extremely concerned with the attention you get, and you find yourself blunting other people’s efforts in the process of glorifying and financing your own, what have you really achieved for God? Almost nothing. You’re working to bless yourself and your buddies. Heathens do that. For that matter, many non-believers work more selflessly than you do.

Whatever you’re doing for God, you’re certainly doing nothing to improve yourself. If you’re not improving yourself when you do a thing, you’re doing evil. People say life is a test. That’s wrong. Life is a school. If it were a test, you could finish it in a day, like the SAT. It takes decades because it’s a long process of positive change.

The actual test will only take a day. That day has already been named. We call it Judgment Day.

This isn’t the first time I’ve noticed the subtle venality beneath the surface of some of the relief efforts, but I haven’t made a point of writing about it. I don’t want to stir up trouble pointlessly. It’s good that people are getting help, even if a lot of that help is ego-driven. But it’s very ugly to see this kind of suffering used to build careers and draw ratings. And I’m sure it discourages good people from getting involved. This kind of behavior is the reason I vet charities before I do anything for them. You have to be sure you’re paying for rice and bandages instead of Bentleys and hookers. Nonprofits, including churches, have made a lot of carnal people rich.

Nonprofits shouldn’t be glorifying themselves when they help Haitians. They should glorify God. For Christian nonprofits, this should be obvious. If you’re in Haiti, God put you there and gave you every penny and every item you have, and if you succeed in helping, the glory is his. That means you should never even consider getting in the way of another relief worker. The glory isn’t yours to begin with, so competing for it is a type of theft. When you have to explain yourself on the day of judgment, you’ll be told you’re a worker of iniquity. No one will care how many TV channels aired your story. “Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it.”

We’re reaching the long-foreseen stage when the attention is cooling down and the public is getting bored. The glory hounds will probably lose interest soon, because the glory will be elsewhere. As relief workers dribble out of Haiti, hopefully, they will leave a residue of people who are humbler and more sincere. I can’t help but think that over the long haul, those people will do Haiti more lasting good, because they will rebuild souls as well as bodies. Ultimately, Haiti’s problems are spiritual, not physical, so spiritual people will do more good than well-financed attention gluttons.

Wudan Pizzeria

Even though last night’s pizza session at church did not work out all that well, it was highly rewarding. First of all, people came up to me when they saw me in the building and asked if I was making pizza, and after I got to work, people came into the kitchen to tell me how great it was. That’s always enjoyable. But on top of that, I learned new stuff about pizza.

I usually use the low setting on the convection oven fan, because I’ve been told higher speed means burned cheese. But last night I decided I wanted the crust cooked more, so I used a trick I came up with on my own. I put the fan on high and added olive oil to the mozzarella to prevent it from burning.

I can’t be totally sure, because the ovens acted strangely last night, but it looks like the trick worked beautifully. I plan to do it with all of my cheese Sicilians from here on out. I think butter would be better, because butter brings out the flavor of food and makes flavors mingle. Olive oil can’t do that. Most fats don’t. Chicken fat seems to do it.

I don’t know why people rave about olive oil. It’s nearly flavorless, except for the taste of olives, which isn’t really that exciting. I could eat butter with a spoon, because it tastes so good. Olive oil? No way. I believe the exaggerated response to the very mild and uninteresting flavor of olive oil is an example of herdthink. Chefs say olive oil tastes great, so people who listen to chefs say it tastes great. It’s the same phenomenon that makes people scream with excitement when Emeril uses a pepper shaker.

If the taste of olives is such a thrill, why don’t people stuff themselves with olives all day?

It’s great to be able to make pizza, and it’s even greater to have a bag of tricks I can rely on when I need a certain effect. Professional cooks all over the US tremble when their cheese suppliers vary the fat of their mozzarella, but I can take a wide range of cheeses and make excellent pizza.

You can’t tell the professionals or advanced hobbyists anything. If their pals or heroes didn’t come up with it, it can’t be right.

It amazes me how they overcomplicate pizza. They tell me I have to ferment the dough over a period of days, and that home-oven pizza is a compromise. They use complex calculations to create dough recipes. One guy suggested I use a scale that works in 0.1-gram increments. One portion of pizza dough weighs roughly 5,000 times that much. Do I really need to know whether the oregano amounts to one hundred seven or one hundred eight five-thousandths of the total mass?

Here’s how I make pizza. I mix tap water and yeast, in a fairly loose ratio. I mix non-kosher salt, flour, and pepper, equally imprecisely. The flour is any flour I feel like using, including all-purpose. I mix the water and yeast into the dry ingredients, poking the dough with my finger until it feels right. I let the dough rise until I feel like getting up from in front of the TV, which could be half an hour or two hours. I mash the dough into an oiled pan. I repeat the TV proofing period. Actually, I don’t watch much TV, so I may be at the PC or in the garage, butchering metalworking projects.

I add sauce that contains no crushed or whole tomatoes and no fresh ingredients of any kind. I add cheese from Costco and Gordon Food Service. I bake the pizza at 550 in a crummy GE oven. I flop it out onto a stone and let the bottom of the crust bake until it looks brown.

Then I eat. It’s perfect every time. Best pizza I know of.

No ten-day fermentation, no rocket-fuel-powered oven, no flour sold only by Tiffany’s. I don’t use micrometers, pyrometers, microtomes, electron microscopes, precision scales, hygrometers…nothing. The only time I measure precisely is at church, when I need fast repeatability and complete consistency, and I need to be able to scale things up and down.

I’m not saying their way doesn’t work, but I can’t see my incentive for trying it. The long fermentations, maybe, but other than that, it seems like a lot of bother to go from 98%-perfect pizza to 99%-perfect.

My way: I can have the best pizza imaginable, 90 minutes from now, starting from scratch.

Their way: I can have pizza on Saturday, if I get started today. I have to plan pizza the way I’d plan a weekend trip. What if Saturday comes and I want Chinese?

You can see why I’m not motivated.

I think the problem is that it’s so hard to get pizza right the first time, most people live in terror after that, fearing they’ll lose the secret. I know that fear. But I got over it through practice. The hundredth time you make pizza, you should be able to leave the scale and the hydrometer in the cupboard.

Some people insist on using kosher salt, in a dissolved form! How nutty is that? Kosher salt is identical to regular salt, except that it’s much harder to dissolve, and it costs more. Kosher sodium is just like non-kosher sodium. There is no specialized periodic table just for Jews. I don’t even worry about iodized versus non-iodized. Microscopic amounts of potassium iodide are impossible to taste, and even if they were not, I like the taste of iodine. It’s one of the reasons Scotch tastes good.

Pizza nuts like to talk about “authentic” pizza, dating back to the strange, unappetizing Italian product known as pizza margherita. What they fail to remember is that the people who invented and perfected pizza didn’t own bizarre modern equipment. They did what I do. They slopped it together using, at best, measuring cups and spoons. That’s authentic. Making your pizza at Livermore Labs is not.

Cooking is like painting. The greats don’t do it by the numbers. You have to loosen up and quit being afraid of the food. Precision should serve you; you shouldn’t serve precision.

Mike never measures anything, and his pizza is great. There is absolutely no hope that he’ll ever be able to pass on a recipe, but the food is top-notch.

Anyway, next time I make pizza, it’s going to be better than the last time. I’m glad the church gave me the opportunity to expand my skill set.

More “Coincidences”

Sometimes I think I should rename this blog “testimony.com.”

Last night I made pizza at the church. There were problems. The pastor who led the service didn’t mention the cafe or pizza to the congregation, so we didn’t get nearly the traffic we got last week. The pre-service traffic was excellent; I could barely keep up. I got rid of 8 pies in a hurry. But I believe we only sold two afterward. Then something went wrong with the ovens; maybe the propane was running out. I couldn’t keep the temperature up. I had to quit.

I threw out maybe eight dough portions. Sad. I arrived at the church at about 4:15, and I didn’t leave until 10:45, and I achieved nearly nothing.

We’ll do better next time. This is how churches are; efficiency is not what Christians are known for.

When I got home, I had to take the birds out for half an hour each. I had forgotten to do it before going to church. I got to bed at 1:30, and then my eye started bothering me. I don’t know if it’s conjunctivitis or what, but I looked carefully in the eye and used drops and washed it out with water, and I still was not able to get to sleep for quite some time.

I figured I’d sleep late, but my father had other plans. He had an appointment to meet someone at his boat at 10:00 a.m., and he wanted me there, so he woke me up.

The boat had three problems this week.

A freshwater pump needed to be reinstalled; it had quit working earlier in the week, and I had removed it yesterday. I checked the motor, and it ran fine. He took it to a store, and they looked at the pressure switch, and it worked. So today it had to be reinstalled, and I had to check the wiring.

A cable on a transmission had fallen apart, and it needed to be fixed or replaced. I looked at this yesterday, but I couldn’t see a way to repair it.

Last time we took the boat out, the GPS couldn’t get a signal. I poked around yesterday, trying to find an antenna problem, but I couldn’t see anything wrong with it. When I turned the GPS on, it worked.

Today we still had to worry about the pump and the cable. We also needed to install some 12-volt bulbs in the engine room.

I was grumpy for several reasons. First, I was born that way. Second, I had not slept well. Third, the boat guy was late. Fourth, my morning prayers had been derailed. My dad left to buy some mounting screws for the water pump; he had lost the ones I removed. That left me sitting on the boat alone.

I rewired the water pump and put it in place without screws, and then I decided to try to catch up in prayer. I ordinarily do half an hour of prayer in the Spirit every morning, so I started the stopwatch feature on my phone and got started. After 12 or 13 minutes, I heard the boat guy, Juan, out on the dock. He was on his cell phone, talking to someone for business purposes. I prayed he would keep at it long enough for me to get to 30 minutes.

At 29:55, he stepped onto the boat, and we started talking. He had been working at his own church until after 2:00 a.m. He had to redo a bunch of audio wiring under the altar, and naturally, it was so screwed up it took forever to fix.

He started working on the cable, and my dad showed up. He loves to give Juan a hard time about religion, so he brought it up. He said he was starting to think there was something to it, because every time he had a problem with the boat, I showed up, and the problem disappeared. That’s not quite true, but it’s not far from it.

That got Juan going. He started telling my dad how good his life was because of God. His marriage worked. His job went well. His kids were doing well. I’d say he gave my dad a good half-hour of testimony. He told about his involvement with the Promise Keepers. He’s also an avid hunter, and he helps with a Bible-based hunting camp for kids. He said he had been filmed for one of the outdoor channels, teaching kids to hunt. He said he’d bring the video next time so we could watch it on the boat.

My dad used to be extremely hostile to Christianity. It made him angry. It filled him with contempt. But his attitude has gotten more and more open. Today he almost sounded like he was ready for a visit to church.

I left the boat ahead of my dad and thanked Juan in the parking lot, and he said he talks to my dad like this all the time. I had no idea. It means much more when this kind of thing comes from someone outside of your family, so this is a big deal.

The dockmaster was standing next to Juan when I approached him, and I explained what I was thanking Juan for, and it turns out he’s a Christian, too. And a hunter. I used to let him hunt on my land in Kentucky.

What a morning. I didn’t feel like going over there and crawling around in the engine room on this particular day, but I told myself there would be a blessing for me if I did the right thing and honored my father, so off I went. And look what happened.

Now my dad wants to buy me lunch, so I guess I’ll be blessed with a Dan Marino’s cheeseburger. That’s gilding the lily.