"It's Time To Talk About What We Learned Today"

From Gabe

My friend, Mark "The Shark" lent me a book a couple weeks ago. I finally started reading two nights ago and I simply could not put it down. It's called "Me, Myself and Bob" and it's written by Phil Vischer, the creator of VeggieTales. It describes in sometimes gory detail the rise and fall of Big Idea Productions, and the rise and fall and resurrection of Phil Vischer. It is charming, engaging, funny, bittersweet, sad, shocking and immensely challenging. It is a must-read for anybody who has a dream, or once had a dream. Indeed it is for everybody.





Thank you, Shark, for loaning me the book at this moment. It hit me where I am living. Thank you, Phil Vischer for listening to God's drawing you to write it. Your experiences and deep insights into them are an inspiration for anybody who wants to do great things for God!





Me, Myself, & Bob: A True Story About Dreams, God and Talking Vegetables
By Phil Vischer

Available At Amazon

City Life (from Laura)

We're city folks. Not because of where we've been, or what we've done, but because of where we live now. Ask anyone 'round here. Why one of the folks here said, "Well, if you'd taken more than a day to find your house, you wouldn't have gotten stuck with such a small piece of property." I smile politely. We live on half and acre that backs up to a forest.

But, as spacious as it seems, the fact is, that our house IS downtown. That's what makes us "city folks." Our "neighbors" are family court, the 911 call center, the laundromat, and the lady who hates our holly bush. But we like it here. We like being "in the middle of it all." In a rural town of 3,000 there isn't a whole lot of "it all," so being in the middle of it seems like a good place to be.

(Photo: Ooh, ooh, ooh, looking out my front door...)

I don't think we could adequately comprehend the nature of our town, though, until last week. Last week we had an adventure. Last week we had an EMERGENCY.

It was around midday on Wednesday. I was in the kitchen making lunch when Gabe strolls in and says, "Where's our fire extinguisher?" Without looking up I said, "It was pressurized, so the movers wouldn't take it. I have it on our list to buy at Wal-Mart when we can." And then, "Why?" He said, "Because there's a car on fire in front of our house."

I was anything but non-chalant. I ran to the front window (we have a bay window that sits out from the front of our house), and sure enough there, 10 feet from the front of our house was a beautiful 1972 dark blue VW beetle with fire coming out the back. The owner was standing next to it, looking dazed and confused.

I immediately got on the phone and called 911. The operator calmly answered, "911. What's your emergency?" And I answered, breathlessly, "There's a car on fire in front of my house!" And the drawl was as slow and as sweet as any when she said, "We know, Sweetie. We've dispatched someone." Now, mind you, she didn't ask for my address or anything. But they already knew about the car on fire, in front of my house.

The fire department had still not come, but people sure did. Folks in neighboring houses walked down, a couple of folks from the 911 center came out to watch, and the man from the newspaper office walked up the hill to take pictures. How do I know this? Because all of us are standing out on our front porch watching the flames grow higher and higher. They were inching closer to our 1868 all wood house.

As soon as I saw the newspaper man with his camera, I sprung into action. I hearded the entire family back into the house. I explained, "Our first time in the newspaper is not going to be us all standing on our front porch watching a car on fire like a bunch of rednecks." "I am NOT going to be quoted in the story when the writer asks, 'What happened here?' as saying, 'Well, this car pulled up and just caught fire.'"

The flames continued to grow and the crowd grew and we continued to watch...from inside of course (Did I mention we were city folks?). But still the fire department didn't come (it's an all-volunteer fire department). But one of the guys did walk over from the 911 center with a big fire extinguisher and put it out. And just at that moment, the fire department pulled up.

After about an hour, all that remained was a vivid memory and a pile of ashes in front of our house. But I consoled myself with the fact that our little "adventure" would certainly be in the paper...why we might even take the front page! But it was Wednesday already, and so the paper wouldn't come out now for another week.

The next Wednesday I was at the IGA and got my paper as usual. I explained to the cashiers that we were hoping to make the paper because of our car fire. (How crazy is that?) I was crestfallen when they told me the story wasn't in there. But then they added, "But we heard about that!"

Now that's "city" life.

How Cool Is That? (From Gabe)

I have a friend named Brian. He is one of the coolest guys I know. Okay, I think he looked cooler when his hair was long, but he is no less cool for having "grown up" and cut it off. You know what cool thing Brian did today? He showed up. Yep. Showed up. Practically unannounced. Right here in Philippi. He just showed up.

He was in the neighborhood and just dropped in. Brian lives in Pensacola, Florida. Okay, he was vacationing in Canton, Ohio and then Wheeling, with another friend of ours, his mom, Janice. She's mighty cool, too. After all, she did birth and raise Brian. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Philippi isn't on the way to Pensacola. These too cool people (no misspelling here, all ye "bee-heads" out there) came two hours out of their way to visit us.

This is an extreme way that we take seriously the command to not forget to assemble. Today we assembled. Got together. Not just existing in the same general vicinity, mind you. For about five hours we knit ourselves together. Brian's amazingly encouraging spirit served to remind me that God has done amazingly cool things for me and in me and through me, and He is still at work in this way today.

For me, it echoes back to another time, a couple thousand years ago, when those Jesus-people were going out of their way to be knit together. In those days, those who saw them said, "Now that's cool. They really love each other!"

Others have visited before. Others are still to come. That's cool too. This time, it was Brian's turn to represent all those who love us. The Saporitos owe him our debt of gratitude. In that he listened to God and then did what He told him to, we all do. That is always cool.

Blowing The Pipe (From Gabe)

So, here we are... Nearly ten months into a journey that has taken us quite far from where we expected to be. And why not? I mean, God alone knows the plans He has for us. What we know of that is simply that His plans are for our good and not harm. How presumptuous we can be, to consider that we have even an inkling into His mind, His wisdom and His plan! We, who should be honored just to be invited to the dance, should be delighted beyond words when we are able to get even a few steps right!



Some of you are asking: Who are you?



Well, do we even know? Yeah, we do. Sort of, anyway. At least, that is, we believe we know as much as God has allowed us to see at this time. We are Church of the Renaissance. We are here - in Philippi, West Virginia, in the heart of Appalachia - simply because God called us here. What are we doing here? If you'd asked us that ten months ago, we'd have had an answer for you. It just may have been the wrong answer, perhaps. Actually, the verdict is still out on that one. Now, all I can say that God believes we have something to offer this community: ourselves. For myself, I'd be the first to admit that doesn't seem like much. But it's what I have to offer, and offer it I will, and I have.



I am Gabe Saporito, though that is of little consequence. If God is the author of this strange saga, then I am the protaganist. My wife is Laura. Actually, I think she is the protagonist. I am more likely the antagonist. I believe that she and I will share this blog. Perhaps over time that will get confusing. Then I'll just boot her off and tell her to make her own (at which point, people will stop visiting this one, I'm sure).



Some months back, our support team - the "leadership team" for Church of the Renaissance -challenged us to create a newsletter. We've tried. Oh, how we've tried. But there is this thing called "life" and its nefarious partner in crime called "inertia", and where life meets inertia you find many of the best intentions - languishing. The fact is, it's difficult to produce a work to properly convey the comings and goings of life. For those of us to whom "good enough" is never good enough, this spells disaster.



Anyway, that work, currently lying dormant as we pursue lesser ventures like teaching kids to read, praying with pastors and generally being available to God, is called "The Dulcimer". I'm sorry, you'll just have to wait for its debut to understand why it's called that. I realize that this might mean you'll never understand it, and all I can say is that there's not really room here to explain, and besides, sometimes understanding is just not that important. (Mercy, alas is not my strong suit)



This blog is an attempt to compensate for the dearth of information otherwise making its way to all of you. Over time, it might rather support The Dulcimer, rather than serve as its surrogate. Either way, it seemed important that this blog be given a name to relate to that other, more noble publication. "Tuning the Dulcimer" seemed appropriate, because this blog is likely to provide something other than the newsletter. Where it will one day provide information about where we are and what we are doing - and more to the point what God is doing, this blog will hopefully offer insight into why and how things are happening.



This first post is tedious, I know. It is, after all, a first post, and therefore providing the groundwork for what will follow. After all, when an instrument is tuned, there must first be a reference tone sounded. So here, we are simply blowing pitch as they say in "the music biz". But, for those of you concerned that this whole blog might become tedious, remember this: A pitch pipe sounds nothing like a dulcimer. It only hints at the promise of sweet tones flowing forth as time goes on.



I will warn you further, though, that the sound of a complex instrument being tuned is not necessarily always pleasant. A blog, after all, is still a blog. And so, from time to time you may find posts here that are emotionally difficult to read. Sometimes, you might not even agree with us. And, you know what? That's fine. Iron sharpens iron through friction. But please remember, blogs are not one-way communication. After all, friction requires contact. So we ask that you offer us feedback, whatever it may be. So far, one of the hardest parts of being here is the occasional feeling of isolation that sometimes threatens to consume us. So, please, be iron. Be fire. Be a douse of cool, refreshing water. Just don't be silent.



The pitch has been blown. Let the tuning commence.