For many years, my wife has been perfecting the way she bakes cakes. Now she has built an on-line portfolio of all her cake creations as well as some other tasty treats. Her hopes are to build this into a small, yet fanciful, business once all the chillins' are off to school within the next 18 months.

So far she has a website, mailing list, twitter, facebook, business number, PO Box, registered name and trying to establish her mark ... Poppy Locks. Don't ask where we got the name - just say it 10 times fast. I dare ya.

Anyhoozles - one thing we are missing is that friendly, canonical facebook fan page link. One needs to acquire a minimum of 50 "likes" before you can do a /namethatmakessense on a Facebook page. Last count was 39.

My desire for anyone who reads this and cares to help is to visit the Poppy Locks page and "like" the page. That doesn't mean "liking" this post. One has to browse to the Poppy Locks page and click the little "like" button at the top of the page (for my older listeners.)

Here's the link - http://www.facebook.com/pages/Poppy-Locks/209688685718085

BUT WAIT! THERE's MORE!

If you live in the Rockwall area and "like" the page today, I will ensure that you get a FREE cake pop sometime in the near future. But you have to tell me because I am forgetful and a poor salesman.

For those of you out of town that do not think that's fair, I will put you on the short list for FREE cake pops sometime later this year - once we figure out the whole "shipping nationally" thingy.

So go out there and vote for Poppy Locks! And thank you if you already have done so.

Or not ...

Transom Links:

1. Manta
2. Mail Chimp
3. Defining Done
4. Pure Religion

Oh, Glengarry Glen Ross, how you inspire me so. Half way through our fund raising, yard sale marathon for Boston and not a moment goes by where I'd like to be more Blake than Shelly.

(If ya didn't know, the wifey and I are headed to Bean Town in July on a mission trip.)

We are sitting at 72% fully funded with a two week break before the next fund raiser. That and a few more sales on Amazon should leave us flush and conveying an unpresumptuous love offering.

But, man, did I get caught between a basketball hoop and a deep freezer. For starters, a determined bargain hunter was trying to take me down to Chinatown on my freezer and a mini-TV with built-in DVD player. I give him the hard line and he insisted on another $5 off. I wouldn't budge - it was already a ridiculous deal. He asks to plug the TV in and try it  - "sure buddy, eat your heart out." As I'm grabbing an extension cord, some dude makes an offer on my friend's basket ball hoop that would be embarrassing if it was one of my Java 2 books from 2001.

Nicely asking him to get lost only interested his buddies into pestering me about some flaws in the bars. After gently urging them to go buy one for new at Sports Authority or one of our other half-dozen, fine sports outlets, they came in with a better offer.

Right then, Mr. Freeze said the DVD's weren't playing so I offered him $10 bucks back to keep the TV as-is or $15 to return (thanks Johnny for the broken TV/DVD player ;-)) He asks for his money back then offers me $5 for the broken TV player ... uh, do you see the stupidity in this? I take a deep breath and my fiver, walk up the hill, and tell Mr. Baller we accept his price if he makes a $5 donation to the mission fund (FYI - it's all for the mission fund but this $5 thing is working out for the better.) He agrees with the 'ol "Pffft, whatever broseph."

At this point I'm relieved to be getting what I asked for in the first place but conclusively wrecked by the entire experience. My sales buddies are rolling their eyes at my sedentary, software consumed, weaknesses, I'm sure. But ... is that what you guys do? Argue until you make the muttonhead, I mean buyer, feel like they beat me up on price? All that really happened was they extended the time in which they handed over the appropriate amount for the transaction to take place amicably.

Either way, the Lord blessed me just a few moments later in the simplest of ways.

Dude in camo walks up with my first GPS handheld and my old trailer lights converter and asks if the GPS works. We turn it on, it hits the satellites, and brings up all my old fishing spots. Has asks kindly, "Does it work everywhere?" I answer, "Anywhere you see the sky." He hands me the exact cash for both items as the stickers indicate, smiles, and takes off. Where was that buyer all day?!

My wife bought me that GPS as a gift. It was great when I used it ... now it not only made my life easier, but made some elk hunter happy, boosted our funds, and restored my faith in the human race anew. Ahhh. Deep breath again. I love my wife. Did I tell you we're going on a mission trip together in July?

Whether it be a movie, on TV, at church or home, I have seen a few men shed tears this year. Some were tears of joy prompted by a considerable accomplishment. Some, tears of regret. Still others responded this way to an extreme loss and rightfully so.

For most men, tears are still a sign of weakness and only publicly accepted in certain formats or under certain conditions.

Today I witnessed a man weep for the hearts of lukewarm Christians. This is neither usual or particularly accepted. However, I happen to identify with this man's heart and was provoked to consider this physical response to a timeless issue.

I did not shed tears myself, rather I observed and recognized his pain and suffering for what he can not settle. Consequently, on the lengthy ride into work, these questions arose... Should we as Christians weep for others that we know only claim to be Christians? For that matter, am I even qualified to bring this before God and the 4 people who read my ramblings online?

So I started skattershooting. What do I know about tepid Christianity?

note: this is where non-christians start rolling their eyes and christians start getting nervous

I know that tepid Christianity:

• is counterfeit
• is undecided, uncommitted, apathetic, lazy and passive
• reduces the Body of believers to nothing more than a building
• keeps the divorce rate inside these plaster walls the same as anywhere else in the world
• breeds introverted clicks
• abuses the name of Jesus and tramples the Holy scriptures
• creates a fertile soil for the growth of false teachers who can destroy the faith of new believers like a California wildfire can annihilate precious forest.

I know this because I’ve sinned that way (yes, sin) or have been impacted by many of the effects, more than I care to list right now.

Based on these consequences experienced the years, I deem one could argue that "weeping for counterfeit Christianity" is an essential, physical response of a true believer. Consider the narrow path of Grief and Suffering on the way to the Place of the Skull. Although an entire city buzzed about their normal way of life that day, the Messiah was about to be cut-off (historical fact, y’all.) Would you have wept or gone about revenue generating activities?

In any case, I stand in agreement with this man of faith who bravely shed tears of disappointment and hope all in the same breath. Bottle these tears, carry them with you, and come to the same consciousness that you can't change it by anything you do, but the grace that was planted before the beginning of time, which appeared on earth, raised from the dead, descended from David, can and will justify anyone who comes through Him, Christ Jesus, our Savior.

I'm not proof reading this or giving myself to time to be ashamed of these thoughts. I've been silenced on this blog for too long. It's time for Easter. It's time for redemption inside and outside of the church. It's time to come cleanse yourself at the foot of the cross. That starts at the church ... for you unbelievers (I've been there and I know the real Jesus is tugging on your heart), I promise there are believers trying to build a church to please God. Come dirty and unapproved. Eternity is at stake. We are no better than you - we just have the truth you seek and are willing to guard it with our lives. None of us, including God, will force His Spirit on you. It’s your choice to be owned by the world or be owned by Him.

For you self-proclaimed Christians ... weep a little today, in the name of Jesus.

Grace, mercy and peace,

Oh yeah … let’s not forget some transom links (a few places I've been on the 'ol www)

• CloudBees
• ProHandDryer.com (a new look and feel)
• Phil 4:7
• To Love Your Neighbor, You Must Know Your Neighbor

** This post was originally written on June 25, 2009 - I forgot to call him on his birthday. He passed away about a month later. I read a version of this at his wake. Today is the second anniversary of his passing. As my family posts on facebook, they reminded me of this letter. ~ jerry, 8/3/2011 **

We all know the Robin Williams bit ... and golf is definition of insanity ... BTW (Before Tiger Woods) for snobs, ATW (After Tiger Woods) for the masses ... big butts and funny pants, etc. Although I have friends that like golf, the most common response to the sport, pro or am, is not one of admiration.

But I like golf and there's a story behind the esteem.

My Grandpa Urso took it upon himself to teach the un-teachable - an intolerant, rambunctious five-year-old with AIP (ants in the pants.) I had the attention span of a gnat. With a wedge, bag of range balls, and patience that would rival most Buddhist monks, he showed me the art of the chip. Then he proceeded to yell until I hit the big oak in the backyard of his house 10 times in a row. Not ten times ... ten consecutive, perfect strikes to the base of the trunk.

Mind you, I did not hear the yelling. That would be the description given by my parents and onlookers. I simply took to his style of instruction. After a few years, his weekly group of golf buddies pitched in and cut me down an old set of Spalding irons (9, 7, 5, and 3) and a 3 wood with a weight built in.

He started taking me on their rounds regularly. I would learn the rules of the game, watch the different approaches, and most importantly adhere to the unwritten courtesies. It was these intricacies of the game that I was most drawn to ... courtesy, engagement, kindness, respect were all parts of the green kingdom.

I don't know how he made me interested when all I could think about was a hot dog, Planter's peanut bar and red soda at the turn. The 19th hole was time to ante-up, have a brew and some chips and sign scorecards. As the other men continued their carousing, Gramps and I would hit the range with my set of clubs. 100 perfect shots with a 9 iron before graduating to the next club up. When I mastered them all, I could play a round on my own.

I was skinny and patient. This meant I couldn’t drive the ball more than 170 yards off the tee but was a fast play and could chip in from 30 yards out or one putt. Gramps always told me - "distance will come", "let the club do the work", "play within yourself", "get down there and finish the hole." When he started talking to me like that, he was done instructing and enjoying the fruits of his labor. There were club suggestions and swing tips from time to time. But after I mastered the basics of the game and respected the men I played with, he was simply there to watch me grow into the sport.

Do you see where this is going? There are thousands of stories like this. But his instruction has been burned in my heart forever. And he did it out of Godly love - building up treasures with his first grandson.

I learned that addressing the ball is more important than swinging. Driving meant nothing unless I could finish the play. It didn't matter who had the best shots, it mattered if I had the least bad shots. And when that unnatural phenomenon of your bones vibrating after striking the sweet spot on a perfect shot, and no one is around except you and God, one can simply revel in how good it feels to come close to perfection.

In the mid-nineties my Grandfather had a tumor removed from his spine that left him paralyzed from the waist down. He developed a handicapped swing and started a tournament for those with physical disabilities. And he penned a book called The Miracles Within Us.

Although he is too weak now to swing let alone make it through a round, his friends still ask him to ride along just to have the added benefit of his link wisdom. And occasionally, he'll tap in a birdie for them. Those soft hands still work.

Every time I tee off, I play for him. His instruction taught me in life to address the Lord each day before getting into the mayhem. I pray to use my God given capabilities to make it through the day without comparing myself to those deemed better players. I ask the Lord that I'll get better at being a man and promise to endure the hooks and slices along the way. And I seek to sin less and finish well. If nothing works out, or if I miss a step, there’s always the mercy and grace of the next round.

Golf to me is love and life. I hope to pass this along someday. Thanks Gramps. And that's why I play golf.