Thinking Out Loud

“You idiot!”

Those were my words.  I used them just a few days ago while I was driving in Tulsa.  Actually, I  pretty much screamed them.  What would evoke, elicit, and trigger such a verbal outburst from me?  Upon sober reflection afterward, I realized that nothing did.  Oh, there was definitely something going on around me.  But, to say that the actions of someone else evoked/elicited/triggered my response would somehow place the blame for my choice of words somewhere other than squarely and solely upon my mind, heart, and emotions.  Yes, someone came within inches of sideswiping me while going 65 mph on the BA Expressway, but that near collision didn’t make me say what I did.  I chose to.

I reacted and spoke within an instant, so how does that qualify as a choice?  Jesus said that we speak from the overflow of our heart (Matt. 12:34).  Have you ever surprised yourself by something that you said, and then wondered (either inwardly or aloud), “Where did that come from?”  Jesus said, “I’ve got your answer.  It came from your heart.”  I decide and determine what I allow to dwell within my heart and mind.  Whatever I permit (choose) to let live there will ultimately manifest itself in my speech.  Looks like I’ve got some heart work to do.  Abusive speech (Col. 3:8) and outbursts of anger (Gal. 5:20) don’t conform to a heart that is being molded into the likeness of Christ.

Not only did my “idiot” comment give me an opportunity for a heart check, it also caused me to consider just how grossly unfair and judgmental it was.  My choice of words betrayed a willingness to reach a completely negative assessment of someone and pronounce a sweeping condemnation on the basis of a single action.  Granted, it was a very dangerous and potentially lethal situation, but whatever happened to cutting people some slack?  Who was this guy?  Quite possibly a very likeable fellow; perhaps a devoted husband, caring father, committed Christian, faithful friend, and a hard worker.  Wow!  Someone like me!  I think I just called myself an idiot! 

I, too, have made some bad decisions and exercised poor judgment at times; both while driving and with my feet planted firmly on the ground.  I definitely don’t want someone judging my entire character on the basis of an isolated incident in my life.  Jesus teaches me that I should be willing to offer that same grace and latitude to others (Matthew 7:1-5, 12; John 7:24).

Today’s post marks the end (perhaps) of an unplanned sabbatical from blogging.  “Life” has taken priority over non-essentials lately, and somehow Thinking Out Loud didn’t make the list of imperatives.  I will admit to feeling a brief twinge of conscience or two over the course of the last 3 1/2 weeks, a sense that I was neglecting something of importance.  But, I managed to get over it.  It was a good opportunity for me to recalibrate the place that blogging occupies in the “pecking order” of my life.  As Jesus almost said, “Blogging was made for man, not man for blogging.”  I should probably take self-imposed breaks periodically, if for no other reason than the humbling reminder that the lives of those who happen to read this blog continue to roll merrily along without the aid or benefit of whatever happens to be bouncing around in my head from week to week.  

Last weekend I had a “life lesson” impressed upon me by a couple of events. 

On Saturday, Kim and I returned home to the inconvenience of a garage door that wouldn’t open.  On repeated attempts, the door came to an abrupt halt about a foot off the ground.  After entering the house through the front door (which was weird for me), I went into the garage and confirmed my suspicion that we had a broken torsion spring.  Rather than procrastinate (again, weird for me) I immediately got online, phoned a repair company, and, in less than an hour, Chuck was there to save the day.  As Chuck was putting the replacement spring through a few test runs, I commented that, while we had a couple of springs to break during the 12 years in our home in Texas, this was our first garage door repair since moving to Oklahoma.  He commented, “Yeah, they’ve got a lifespan of about 8,000 openings and closings.” 

Really?  Who knew?  I certainly didn’t.  I guess I assumed if you kept the door and the opener properly adjusted and maintained that the spring would just last forever.  Apparently not.  Garage door springs have a finite lifespan.  Only so many twists and compressions and they’re done.

On Sunday, fitness guru Jack LaLanne passed away at the age of 96.  I remember watching his workout show on television when I was a kid and seeing him as a frequent guest on several TV talk shows.  LaLanne is considered to be a “father of fitness” in America through his tireless promotion of regular exercise, weight training, and healthy eating habits.  He definitely practiced what he preached.  LaLanne maintained his youthful physique and continued to perform remarkable feats of strength, stamina, and dexterity long after most people his age had settled into a very sedentary existence in their golden years.  He famously joked in 2006, “I can’t afford to die.  It would wreck my image.” 

No matter the strength of the steel in the torsion spring, it will eventually break.  Regardless of how much time, attention, and energy we devote to physical fitness, the human body only has so many years of existence in it.  A “lifestyle of wellness” will certainly contribute to a much happier and healthier journey through life, but the journey will come to an end nonetheless.   

“As for the days of our life, they contain seventy years, or if due to strength, eighty years.  Yet their pride is but labor and sorrow; for soon it is gone and we fly away… So teach us to number our days, that we may present to You a heart of wisdom” (Psalm 90:10,12).

Thankfully, “we” don’t end when our physical body ultimately succumbs to weakness, frailty, and mortality.  A heart of wisdom leads us to utilize our time in this life in preparation for the next, the journey of our spirit back to our Creator, and a coming Day in which we will be graciously re-clothed with a glorious body that is fitted for eternity. 

“Oh what a day, Glorious day, that will be!”        

Some visual images are so striking and symbolic that they become deeply etched in our memory; like seeing a man walking down the street with a cross upon his shoulder, pulling it along behind him.  That is what I saw a few weeks ago as I was making my morning drive to the church office.  The man was headed west on 71st St. in Broken Arrow.  I was headed east, so I only got a brief glimpse of his face before I passed him and then watched his frame grow smaller in the rear-view mirror. 

I don’t know why I didn’t turn around, pull into a parking lot, and try to introduce myself to the man.  I’m sure that I felt pressed to get to the office by a particular time to get a jump on the day’s activities.  Like priests and Levites, I’m a busy man, you know.  I can’t be bothered by interruptions, no matter how much of a blessing it might end up being for me or someone else!   

I could have at least offered to buy the cross-bearer a cup of coffee or asked him if he had eaten breakfast.  Maybe then I would know his name, where he is from, where he was headed, and what his story is.  I passed on all of that so that I could stay on schedule.  My loss!  My foolish, clock-driven, OCD-induced loss!

I don’t know what this man’s intended statement and message was or if he even had one.  Maybe he was just doing this for the sake of doing it or as some sort of “performance art” in which the meaning is left to the eye and assessment of the beholder.  Regardless of his intent, he succeeded in communicating two powerful messages to me.

He reminded me of Jesus’ call to discipleship.  “If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me,” (Matt. 16:24).   The road traveled by those seeking to follow in the steps of Jesus is not one of ease and comfort, but one of self-denial, sacrifice, and endurance.  The Lord was ready to challenge and rebuke anyone, including Peter, who suggested that it would be any other way (Matt. 16:21-23).

Leon Morris offers the following comments on Jesus’ sobering call to follow Him.  “There is nothing self-indulgent about being a Christian.  The disciples had probably seen a man take up his cross, and they knew what it meant.  When a man from one of their villages took up a cross and went off with a little band of Roman soldiers, he was on a one-way journey.  He would not be back.  Taking up the cross meant the utmost in self-denial.”

Also, the man pulling the cross through Broken Arrow reminded me of the burdens that people bear in their lives: long-term illnesses, financial hardship, fractured relationships, mental illness, addictions, guilt, bitterness, shattered dreams, etc.   What if the loads that are being shouldered by those around us were as visible as this man’s wooden cross?  Would we be a little more understanding and empathetic?  Would we speak more kindly?  Would we cut people more slack, give them the benefit of the doubt, and be a little less quick to judge?

It’s not a matter of if we and others around us are bearing burdens, just a matter of what kind and how many.  Everybody’s got one; most of us have more. 

Attached to the base of this man’s cross were two small wheels.  They bore a significant share of the load and contributed greatly to his ability to move forward.  Only very rarely, if ever, will we be able to completely remove someone else’s burden, but we can certainly lighten the load and assist in the ease of their journey.

“Bear one another’s burdens, and thereby fulfill the law of Christ,” (Galatians 6:2).

There was a lot of controversy in Tulsa a couple of weeks ago in the days leading up to the city’s annual Parade of Lights on December 11.  The parade, which dates back more than 70 years, has historically been known as the Christmas Parade of Lights.  However, prior to last year’s event, organizers dropped the word “Christmas” from the parade’s title.  This year’s festivities were billed as McNellie’s Holiday Parade of Lights.  McNellie’s Pub, a bar in downtown Tulsa’s Blue Dome District, served as the primary financial sponsor. 

The event drew national media attention when U.S. Senator Jim Inhofe announced that he would not be participating in this year’s parade in protest of the name change.  Inhofe has ridden a horse in the parade for many years.  The Senator was quoted as saying, “I did not do so last year, because I am not going to ride in a Christmas parade that doesn’t recognize Christmas.  I am hopeful that the good people of Tulsa and the city’s leadership will demand a correction to the shameful attempt to take Christ, the true reason for our celebration, out of the parade’s title.  Until the parade is again named the Christmas Parade of Lights, I will not participate.”  Instead, Senator Inhofe rode his horse in Broken Arrow’s Christmas Parade. 

Many others joined Senator Inhofe in crying foul, claiming that the parade’s name change was an affront to Christ and His followers.  Letters to the Editor lamented the ongoing secularization of our society.  Online discussion boards and Facebook pages quickly heated up with passionate comments.  Numerous Christians declared that they would boycott the Holiday Parade of Lights.  Members of the Tulsa City Council were urged to deny the permit for the parade or have their Christian faith called into question.  The Council granted the parade permit by a 5-3 vote in a special session.

My take on the issue?  I rather favored the name change…for religious reasons!     

Let’s see if I’ve got this straight.  The event was sponsored by an Irish pub whose website features a countdown clock to St. Patrick’s Day, not Christmas.  The parade included floats with dazzling lights, marching bands, drill teams, dance teams, giant helium balloons, Miss Oklahoma, and Santa Claus.  All well and good, mind you, but exactly which of these were designed to honor Jesus Christ, the divine Son of God?  By what measure would having Jesus serve as the honorary Grand Marshall bring Him glory and advance the truth of His Gospel?  The parade in Tulsa had about as much to do with Jesus as the $11 million Christmas tree in the lobby of the Emirates Palace hotel in Abu Dhabi.    

All of this controversy had me ready to just go ahead and concede Christmas to Santa Claus; just let the snowmen, reindeer, elves, nutcrackers, and department stores have it.  If we still want to celebrate the birth of Jesus, let’s pick another day, preferably at a different time of year, say June or July.  For those who consider such a celebration in hot weather unthinkable, pause to consider that December 25 is in the middle of summer in the southern hemisphere; always has been!  

Now that my rant is over, let me tell you what else happened on the day of the parade.

I spent the morning at St. Francis Hospital in Tulsa with my Dad.  I was asked to leave the room while he had a PICC line placed in his arm to accommodate the next six week’s worth of IV antibiotic treatments.  I headed down to the main lobby to wait for Kim and Hannah who were coming to switch out with me and spend the afternoon with Papa.  As I got close to the lobby, I heard a beautiful sound.  It was coming from a group of teenagers singing Christmas carols.  From their dress, they appeared to be Mennonites, but I am not certain.  I do know that their young voices communicated an overwhelming sense of sincerity and conviction.  As I stood in the lobby and listened, my eyes began to moisten.  When Kim and Hannah arrived, I hugged them and began to cry. 

I think the emotion of the moment was brought on by a combination of factors:  Mom’s death, Dad’s illness, having my family with me, and hearing the beautiful words of  “O Come, All Ye Faithful” and “Silent Night” sung by a group of young people who had given up their Saturday afternoon to encourage and inspire others with songs of faith.  I could almost hear Linus saying, “That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

So, I have resigned myself to live with my inner conflicts over Christmas.  The inspired birth narratives of Jesus in Matthew and Luke have been buried under nearly 2,000 years of traditions, customs, and cultural accommodations.  The sacred and the secular have been so thoroughly meshed in the observance of Christmas that they are indistinguishable to many people.  Still, in spite of all the confusion and commercialism, I am grateful for any occasion to reflect on the Word becoming flesh, Immanuel, God with us, and for a season in which hearts and hands are generously opened to those who are in need.

“She will bear a Son; and you shall call His name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21).        

Have a joyous Christmas!  Offer grateful praise to God for sending a Savior!  Count your blessings!  Hug your family! 

I am not going to write much today, simply because I would rather you invest the next several minutes watching the linked video.  It is a very moving and inspiring story about Butch Varno and the athletes at Middlebury College in Vermont who have been “picking up Butch” for 50 years (!!!) to attend athletic events at the school.  Any more commentary from me would just detract from the beauty and power of the story.  

For some reason I couldn’t get the video embedded, so just click the “Picking Up Butch” link below.  It will take two mouse clicks and you will have to endure a 15-second commercial on ESPN’s website prior to seeing the video.

Enjoy! 

Tissue?

Picking Up Butch 

I love learning new words and gaining insights from word etymologies, especially when they come from roots in ancient Greek.  I can almost hear the “chorus of mouse clicks” from those who just tuned out and moved on to something of much greater interest in cyberspace.  It’s okay; I don’t take it personally.  I accepted long ago that some of the things that really charge my battery and fascinate me to the point of giddiness can cause other people’s eyes to glaze over and their minds to wander off in search of a mental “happy place.”

One of the reasons that I am such a slow reader is that, if I come across an unfamilar word, phrase, or point of reference, I’ll get seriously sidetracked in looking for a definition, derivation, or explanation.  It may be 30 or 45 minutes before I wind my way back around to the text I was reading.  The internet has further fed my addiction in this regard.

Last week, I was reading an article and came across the word “somnolence.”  To my knowledge, I had never seen the word before, and the context of the sentence didn’t prove to be very helpful in deciphering the word’s meaning.  As I frequently do, I consulted Miriam Webster Online.  It turns out that somnolence means, “the quality or state of being drowsy; sleepiness.”  Somnolent, the adjectival form of the term, means “of a kind likely to induce sleep.”  But, here’s the kicker and the reason for bringing all of this up.   The example of usage that was provided for the adjective was, “a somnolent sermon.”  Ouch!  Out of an entire universe of possible causes for sleepiness among humans, they chose a sermon as their illustration.

In 27 years of preaching, I have witnessed a significant amount of snoozing among the saints.  There are numerous reasons why someone might succumb to a wave of drowsiness during a sermon:  medication, shift work on the weekend, being up with a crying infant for most of Saturday night, etc.  While there is much that the visual vantage point of an elevated pulpit allows one to see, there is still a lot of activity that escapes my notice simply because I am so focused on the message when I am preaching.  I have lost count of the number of times over the years that someone has apologized to me for falling asleep during the sermon, effectively offering a confession of something about which I was totally unaware until they told me. 

I really don’t mind folks falling asleep during the sermon if they will at least commit to several minutes of intense battle before being overcome by slumber.  It is one thing to just cave in and surrender your consciousness with no resistance at all.  But, those who valiantly fight to stay awake, who repeatedly risk whiplash injuries with violent head nods, and those who strain to keep their weary eyelids open by a courageous act of sheer will, these earn great respect and appreciation for their efforts. 

In reality, I know that preachers themselves can be the primary cause of “assembly sleep.”  The blame for bland, disjointed, unimaginative, and unenthusiastically delivered sermons lies squarely at our feet. 

Several years ago, I asked some friends how things were going at their congregation and how they were liking their new preacher.  “You mean Reverend Sominex?” they asked.  That was all I needed to know.

I know that I have shortcomings as a proclaimer of the Word, and I constantly seek to become a more effective communicator of the Gospel.  I hope that I will always be able to take constructive criticism and use it for improvement.  But, I sincerely pray that I will never earn the clerical title, Reverend Sominex!

And if you are wondering (and I know you are) about the derivation of somnolence, somnolent, and Sominex, they all come from the Latin word somnus which means “sleep.”  You see, in Roman mythology, Somnus was the personification of sleep, equivalent to Hypnos among the Greeks… Feeling drowsy yet?

I am thankful.

I am thankful for a God and Father who gives me life, loves me, and graciously provides for my every need. 

I am thankful for a Lord and Savior who died for me, forgives my sins by the power of His precious blood, serves as my merciful High Priest, left me an example to follow in His steps, and who has prepared a place for me in His presence for eternity. 

I am thankful for a Holy Spirit who indwells me, strengthens me in my inner being, convicts me, and challenges me to live a life of holiness. 

I am thankful for a source of divine wisdom, instruction, and counsel that was breathed by God, directed by the Spirit, and written by the hands of God’s servants in ages past that I might know Him and His will for my life. 

I am thankful for a wife who has loved me for 23 years, taken my shortcomings in stride, lovingly nurtured and met the needs of our children for 20 years, and has stayed committed to our marriage for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. 

I am thankful for two children who love me unconditionally, have brought me joy from the moment they were born, and have helped me understand just how much our heavenly Father loves His children. 

I am thankful that I had the blessing of growing up in a family with parents who loved one another, loved God, and built their relationship around Him. 

I am thankful that I had the blessing of knowing all four of my grandparents and had the opportunity to witness the place that faith in Christ had in each of their lives. 

I am thankful that I have had the opportunity for my entire adult life to work full-time in the ministry of Christ, in the U.S. and abroad, sharing His message of salvation and encouraging His disciples to grow and mature in their faith. 

I am thankful that Christ added me to His church, a spiritual family in which I can serve, be shepherded, encouraged, and challenged.

I am thankful that I have the blessing of living in a nation that affords its citizens liberty, tranquility of life, and the free exercise of faith. 

I am thankful; very, very thankful!

Since July, the Broken Arrow church has been extremely blessed to have Brandon and Katie Price working with us during the final months of their preparation to join a mission team in Kharkov, Ukraine.  Many of you who read this blog already know them, but, for the benefit of those who don’t, I wanted to take an opportunity to briefly introduce them to you so that you can be praying for them and can come to appreciate them as much as we have over the last few months.

Both Brandon and Katie went through missions training in the Adventures in Missions program at Sunset International Bible Institute in 2001.  Katie did her AIM field work in Mexico City for 14 months,  and Brandon spent two years in Mariupol, Ukraine.  After returning to SIBI in Lubbock, Texas, to finish their degrees, they were married in 2005 and then spent a year together in ’07-’08 working with the church in Mariupol where Brandon had previously served.  Since then, they have worked as trainers with the AIM program and directed an after-school program for underprivileged children in Lubbock. 

Brandon and Katie have made a five-year commitment to make disciples and plant churches in Kharkov, the second largest city in Ukraine (pop. 1.5 million).  They will be joining a team of three other families who are already on the field.  Like their teammates, they have learned the Russian language in order to better serve and share the Gospel in eastern Ukraine.   

The Broken Arrow church has partnered with Brandon and Katie as the sponsoring congregation for their work in Ukraine and is providing a portion of their financial support.  We invited them to spend six months with us before their departure so that we could get better acquainted, develop relationships, and mutually encourage one another.  I feel that it has been a “mission accomplished” on all of those fronts.  Brandon and Katie immediately immersed themselves in all aspects of the life the congregation: Vacation Bible School, 50 Days of Food and Fun, youth events, fellowship activities, Bible classes, personal Bible studies, teaching, and preaching. 

In a brief period of time, Brandon and Katie have deeply endeared themselves to those in our congregation, both young and old, and they are one of the finest young Christian couples that I have met in a long time.  They genuinely love Jesus and His church and have a passionate heart for missions, especially among the people of Ukraine. 

I know that Brandon and Katie would love to hear from you if you would like to learn more about them and their mission team, if you are interested in becoming a financial partner in their work (either individually or congregationally), and if you would like to support them in prayer over the next five years.

You can contact them through their website at http://brandonandkatie.com

My Dad, Willard Coleman Pyles, about 60 years ago when he first started preaching.

If you have been reading this blog over the course of the last two months, you are aware that my mother passed away on September 16 and that, beginning just two hours after her death, my father suffered a series of near fatal heart attacks (technically, it was takotsubo cardiomyopathy, “broken heart syndrome”).  Of the 62 days that have passed since then, Dad has spent 57 of them either in a hospital or rehabilitation center.  Yesterday afternoon, he transitioned from the hospital back to rehab where he will stay at least another week before being able to return home.

I have spent the last week with Dad.  Among the blessings of our time together has been the opportunity to pray with him several times and to hear his prayers.  It is evident that Dad is coming to a point of emotional acceptance of Mom’s passing, though that realization has been made more difficult for him because of the fact that he was unable to attend her visitation, funeral, and burial two months ago.  He truly rejoices that she has been freed from pain and suffering and has been received into the presence of the Lord.

Dad’s prayers have inspired me and made me even more proud of him than I already was.  He has thanked God for sparing his life and has asked that the Father make clear the path that He wants him to follow in the days that lie ahead.  He wants to serve His Lord and Savior in every way that his health and strength will allow. 

Yesterday, Dad said, “Tim, I just want to use the rest of my time on earth doing as much good for as many people as I possibly can.”  I told him, “That shouldn’t be too difficult for you, Dad.  It seems to me that is exactly what you have been doing your entire life.”

Dad has been preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ and serving His church for 60 years.  He will celebrate his 78th birthday on December 10.  78 years old!  Abraham was 75 when God called him to leave Haran and embark on a new adventure of faith.  Moses was 80 when the Lord revealed a new plan and purpose for his life.  I can’t wait to see what the rest of the journey will be like for another one of God’s great servants.

For the last week I have been with my Dad in Alabama.  His current hospitalization resulted from a fall at his home nearly three weeks ago.  He fractured four ribs, developed double pneumonia, and was diagnosed with an MRSA blood infection.  This has been a major setback in the series of medical hurdles that he has faced since the day Mom passed away on September 16.  He has spent 55 of the last 60 days in hospitals in Cullman and Birmingham and a rehabilitation facility in Hanceville.  He will return to rehab when he is released from the hospital, hopefully in the next day or two.

Yesterday afternoon I left the hospital and went to Mom and Dad’s house for a little while so that Dad could just rest without feeling like he had to carry on a conversation.  Mom has been gone for two months now, but I guess I will always call it “Mom and Dad’s” house.  I got a can of soda from the refrigerator, plopped down in the recliner, and turned on the TV.  I caught the opening ceremonies of a NASCAR race in Phoenix.  There was a stirring instrumental rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner” and a flyover by fighter jets, which seemed especially appropriate on the Sunday after Veterans Day.  Oh, and there was a prayer!

My credentials as a Son of the South will likely be called into serious question when I admit that I have never attended a NASCAR race or watched more than a few minutes of one on television.  It is not for lack of opportunity.  I spent much of my life within easy driving distance of the sacred racing ground at Talladega and for 12 years I lived in close proximity to Texas Motor Speedway.  Unfortunately, NASCAR’s major events fall on a day of the week that,  for most ministers, has an extremely inflexible schedule.  Thursdays would be much better for me.   

Back to the prayer!  I was impressed by the fact that the race began with an invocation.  Apparently, this is a longstanding NASCAR tradition.  I was even more impressed that the television network chose to include the invocation in its coverage.  They could have come up with all kinds of excuses not to do so.  I’m all for prayer at public events, even if the requests made to the Divine are a little suspect at times.  “Lord, these drivers are about to voluntarily strap themselves into four-wheeled rockets and race around at 200 mph, mere inches from a vast multitude of heavy, flammable vehicles.  All we ask is that You keep them safe.  Thanks in advance for Your help.”  I don’t know why we feel that any endeavor we undertake, no matter how dangerous or foolhardy, should automatically obligate the Almighty to envelope us in protective bubble wrap.

But, that’s not my point.  My point is that at the end of the prayer, tens of thousands of people said, “Amen!”  It was awesome!  As I commented in a post earlier this year (Amen Isn’t A Question), I continue to be amazed at the fact that many Christians audibly affirm their assent to a prayer with an “amen” just about anywhere but a public worship assembly.  They are “all over it” at a family dinner or a meal with friends, a small group Bible study or prayer group, an elders and ministers meeting, a team prayer before a ballgame, NASCAR race, you name it;  just not when they are in a “formal” worship setting with a lot of other Christians.  I just don’t get it. 

A few months ago, I led the invocation at a City Council meeting in Broken Arrow; a chamber-full of “amens” followed the end of the prayer.  A few weeks ago, my fellow-minister Rich Kilmer and I attended the monthly Broken Arrow Chamber of Commerce lunch.  Since the BA church is a member of the Chamber and we were sponsors of that month’s lunch, I had the opportunity to share some information about the congregation and its ministries.  I was also asked to lead the invocation and give thanks to the Lord for our meal.  In a room with about 150 people present, my Amen-0-Meter (patent pending) registered a 125.

The next Sunday morning?  Nada!

Please understand that this isn’t something that keeps me awake at night, just a phenomenon that remains an unexplained mystery to me.  I guess I’ll just keep asking until I get some reasonable explanation.  Any suggestions?