This morning at Grace Southwood, the message was about Psalm 90 and seeking the refuge of God. Trey Corry spoke about how important honesty is to the act of seeking God, and how we need to be honest about our need for Him.
Honestly, I need refuge.
I truly believed that I would spend this summer preparing to start a job as a school administrator in the fall- and a lot of well-meaning people told me the same thing. I thought along with that, our family could be moving into a new home.
None of these things are happening.
Instead, I have had only one interview for admin, one interview for instructional coach and got neither. Plus, our AC has had to be replaced, as well as tires on the car, and an unexpected grad school payment was required. And because I stepped down from being a Student Council sponsor, I'm getting a pay cut.
A lot of well-meaning people have told me that it's all in God's timing.
The anxiety brought on by all of these setbacks has truly begun to weigh on me. Add to that some instances where people I trusted did things that led to a loss of trust.
I have trust issues. When my trust is broken, often, so is the relationship. That is bad enough when it's other people, but when I feel it is tough to trust God, this is a big issue.
I have been trying to tackle all these things- career, finances, relationships- on my own.
It is crushing me.
Now to Psalm 90and the sermon. The theme was that God is our refuge. But in the midst of that psalm we see that often God thwarts our efforts so that we turn to Him.
It's how He works with me. He allows me to be torn down from trusting in myself. It hurts. The image that comes to mind is that of a person standing outside their home in the midst of a hail storm, trying to dodge the stones. Safety is just feet away, but it requires the person to trust in the house (place of refuge) and be honest with themselves that they need the refuge.
But we stand in the hail until we are beaten and weakened.
I'm not where I thought I'd be. But I am tired of standing in the hail. I want to choose the refuge of God once again. It is a simple and impossible thing all at once. To trust in God when you have trust issues. To trust in God when you can't see the endgame.
It is simple and impossible and it is the most important thing to do.
It's faith. It's hope. It's love.
I must have faith in the refuge, hope in His plan, and accept His love.
Now, before you jump to conclusions, let me clarify.
As a Sociology teacher, I'm using the term "profane" in its sociological terminology meaning "ordinary, everyday."
Christianity has its music playing on countless radio stations, bookstores with all manner of topics ranging from deeply spiritual to inane, our message has become commonplace on bumper stickers and pithy church billboards.
The measure of your devotion to Christ is increasingly measured by your political views, your views on adoption and/or homeschool, and which social justice movement you join.
Not that any of these things are, in and of themselves, wrong. They can be good things, for the of the world. They can shape your day-to-day world for the better.
But they are just profane.
The relationship with Christ is intended to be one that is sacred- sociologically speaking "connected to the supernatural."
And the Church I see today is less sacred and more profane.
Take worship music. The music I used to hear in a sacred worship service is now played daily on the radio. Dozens of different artists cover the same song, with little new interpretation or presentation. When Christmas music is heard everywhere I go from Halloween to Christmas, it loses its power. When worship music becomes the background noise of life, is it still sacred?
I am also increasingly concerned with the Church's embrace of social justice. We should fight against racism and corruption and hunger and discrimination- but it MUST be under the banner of Christ. Lately, it seems that we try to point out the injustices of the world and how we should rectify them for all those who suffer. That's great, except we are not to called to rescue people primarily for their own good.
We are called to do it for the glory of God.
God seems an afterthought, or worse, a sound bite we tag onto our views to win the spiritual crowd over. I feels subtle pull from my Christian brothers and sisters to accept the doctrine of "God helps those who help themselves." I've tried this doctrine, and it is hollow.
It is profane.
I've lived with doing the right thing because it's the right thing. It makes me feel good about me, but it does not make me feel as though I am connected to and trusting Christ. When I do what's right because it's right, I am believing a doctrine of formula, with a sum of pride.
If we are to engage in the good things, we must do it first for the Name of God, then for the good of Man. I think the message if Colossians 3:17 says it best: And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.
Christianity is nothing without the sacred, the supernatural of an empty tomb and a Counselor sent to guide us, a faith that can heal, and exorcise, and overcome, and prophecy, and restore, and forgive, and repent.
And no amount of "tongues of men and of angels" (1 Corinthians 13:1) can make us sacred. No amount of good intentions or righteous acts can save us.
Just the bloodstained cross and empty tomb and the Risen Christ can do that.
I took my oldest daughter Leslie to see The Force Awakens last Saturday.
I saw in her 11 year old face wonder and excitement and fear and respect for a character she could identify with.
For me, I was able to go back to being a child, to a world that brought out those same emotions I saw in my daughter when I was her age.
It was not the deepest movie I ever saw, nor was it the most scientifically accurate, and the characters did not do completely rational things at every turn. Some things even had the audacity to be (gasp) unbelievable.
Unbelievable and irrational acts in a sci-fi movie.
Well, I never.
Yet for the last few days I have seen a constant flood of "fans" gripe about every single thing. "How could character X do all that stuff so quickly?" "Who would ever think it was a good idea to use that strategy again?"
Self-proclaimed nerds seem to be falling all over themselves to rush to point out imperfections.
To the folks doing this, I say, "This is why you can't have nice things."
As a culture, we seem to be obsessed with pointing out the negative. We feel we are smarter by catching the inconsistency, or we are more enlightened because we see the flaws.
Then we complain that we cannot enjoy things, we complain that all the news ever shows is negativity.
Gee, I wonder why?
Please stop for a second, and ask yourself- does looking for the negative actually make you feel better?
I'm a recovering pessimist. While I am still cautious in my trust of people, I want to see the good in the things I seek out for entertainment and in the new things I try in my profession. I get frustrated with people who focus on the negative, because despite their claim that they do not want to take away my enjoyment, there constant insistence on "exposing the flaws" comes across as a kind of evangelism to the negative. And when I point out that I don't agree with/am not bothered by their identified flaw, well, let's just say they imply that I am less than intelligent in my opinion.
A focus on the negative is such a lesser thing to be caught up in. And getting caught up in catching the flaws in one aspect of life is very contagious to the other parts.
My daughter's interest in Star Wars has exploded since Saturday. That means we have had discussions and long conversations about aspects and details of the movie. She wants to see it again.
Not so she can point out flaws, but so she can once again get caught up in the wonder of a spectacular new galaxy where there are battles over things of consequence between good and evil.
You know, like we did when we were kids and didn't care how many times the Death Star blew up or how whiny character X was.
Because the joy was in the imagination and the new worlds unfolding before us.
When we lose that childlike wonder for our "adult-required" cynicism, we've already gone over to the Dark Side.
In the spring of 4th grade, a classmate of mine told another classmate to "Shut up!" One of my friends immediately went and told on them.
On the first day of 5th grade, that same friend who tattled, while in the locker room, said a much stronger "s" word, and never batted an eye.
My oldest daughter starts 5th grade tomorrow. She is nervous, excited, and wide-eyed about her future. School will increase in challenge, new relationships will begin, existing relationships will change, and future relationships will exist for very different reasons.
I am anxious about this change. I saw how much my friends changed over that summer. They grew physically and apparently added new words to their vocabulary. These changes are but surface evidence of bigger changes going on inside.
A few months ago, I had a chance to talk with my daughter while driving her home from a tough night at gymnastics. What began as a talk about sticking to things when it got tough became a talk about identity. I asked her point blank- "Do you feel comfortable with who you are and what you believe?"
She thought for a moment, then said, with resolution, "Yes."
I then told her that in the coming school year, her friends would be doing, saying and thinking differently. I told her that she would too, but that these changes did not have to mean that who she was at heart had to change. She is a kind-hearted, compassionate, thoughtful, intelligent, and determined young lady, I told her. I warned her that some friends might want to do things that caused her to question those characteristics. Then I told her the most important truth a parent can tell their child:
"No one can make you do anything. It is your choice what you do and who you choose to become."
****
If you have been around me the last year or so, you know that discussing my daughters'- both of them- growing up is often met with an "I'm not ready" comment. Its true, I'm not. But I think it may be mistaken as an "I'm not ready to lose my daughters" or "I'm not ready to see them grow up." That may be part of it, but it is not the biggest part.
I'm not ready for the moments that are coming that will hurt them.
They will have hearts broken, they will have failures in things they've done well. They will lose friends, they will have to make hard choices, they will make mistakes. They will lose that beautiful innocence that is so sweetly displayed in their faces and hearts.
I'm not ready because I have to let these things happen.
I have to let them happen because if I shelter them from these things, if I keep them from ever tasting defeat or heartache or consequences, they will never mature and grow into the amazing people they can be. I will be there for them, pick up the broken pieces when necessary, but I have to let them feel the shattering pain of adolescence. I do, if I want them to be the kind of young adult that is independent and strong and able to make choices that lead them down the right path.
The next four years that my oldest daughter is entering were my least favorite of my school years. I do not know of many people who enjoyed the "junior high years." They are awkward and painful and gawky. But I had parents that had instilled values in me that built my character. When I was broken, they picked up the pieces and rebuilt around that core they saw in me.
And for all that, my daughter is about to enter into a time where really great things can happen.
This is the beginning of the transition where my child becomes an adult. There are so many things coming that will be amazing for my girls. They will experience things to expand their horizons, they will meet friends that will impact their lives for decades to come. They will begin to explore new studies that might just catch their eye and become their career. They will have opportunities to explore their faith in Christ in new and challenging ways that only deepen their commitment.
As a teacher, I have a rule that I do not follow or friend my students on social media until they graduate. This morning, I was seeing the students who just graduated in May talking about moving in to their college dorms and apartments. I'm seeing their excitement at meeting roommates and the joy of freedom. I imagine their parents are feeling this morning the same confusing and conflicting emotions I will tomorrow- just on a MUCH bigger level. We are excited for our children to become the amazing people we believe they can be- and in many ways, already are. Yet we are sad because
we do not get to hold on to what they have been.
After I write this, I will begin a tradition that my father had with me. At major turning points in life, my Dad would write me a letter. It was not long, but it contained wisdom and hopes and praise that had more impact than I let on at the time. I will write my first letter to Leslie today. I will try to find that balance of wisdom and warning and praise and hopes that my father found. I will write it as much for me as for her. They are words that I might not be able to verbalize without too many tears getting in the way. Maybe that is why my Dad wrote.
No, I am not ready for what comes tomorrow, or when they turn 13, have their first real crush, turn 16, date, breakup, fail a class, get a letter from a college, graduate high school, go to college, meet a special guy, graduate from college, walk an aisle, and become a parent. (And that, by the way, is the order I pray it follows.)
But time does not wait for me or our children to be ready.
And so it begins- my daughters are becoming young ladies. They are already young ladies with character and heart and dreams and strength in my eyes. But they are about to be unveiled in the eyes of the world as they develop more wisdom, more depth of character, femininity, strength, grace, beauty, skill, and faith.
And so it begins- I become less so that they can become more. The struggle of all parents. But when we see them as they will be- I can only imagine the joy we will feel. As I look at both Leslie and Kenna now, I am already proud and joyful at who they are. I believe that what they can become is beyond what I can imagine or shape.
But I will be there to watch and catch when they need me. And though watching them struggle will be hard on me and my wife, we will, deep down, savor the moments when they come to us because they love and trust us.
Don't get me wrong, I've watched a season or two here and there of shows like American Idol, The Voice, and the Apprentice. I catch snippets of Duck Dynasty or 19 Kids and Counting as I walk through the room while the wife or kids have it on.
I don't hate them out of ignorance, I hate them because I've seen them.
It's not just that the content is repetitive. It's not just that the shows really stretch the "reality." It's not just the "too good to be true" morals on display. It's not the blustering narcissism. It's not the sappy heartstrings pulling story lines.
No, I hate them because of what they are doing to us as a society.
The news about Josh Duggar that just broke is just another in a long line of examples of how reality shows destroy the lives of their subjects. Now, Duggar would have been guilty regardless of whether he starred on a reality show or not- but how many marriages have fallen apart on screen for our entertainment?
Real marriages. Real people.
For our ENTERTAINMENT.
Of all the things blamed for destroying traditional marriage, why is this not near the top of the list?
And what about role models? I just got done explaining the fall of Miley Cyrus to my daughters who adored Hannah Montana, now I have to explain not one but two scandals from the Duggars? A family that seemed safe to let kids watch?
But here is the thing- I don't hate the people on the shows. This is happening to them just as much as they are doing it to themselves. They are caught up in something they don't fully understand, and it's too late to get out.
I hate that we are allowing our view of reality to become warped and damaged by "reality as entertainment."
When marriages break up on a serialized drama, it's not real. When Jon and Kate broke up, it was real. Especially for those 8 kids.
We are becoming desensitized. And worse, we are starting to see our love for this type of entertainment start to have real effects on the world.
If the Presidential election were held today, a reality star would have a real shot at winning. And then there is this story about some 15 year old kid that has gotten "Deez Nuts" polling higher than actual candidates.
We seem to think the reality TV solution to making a mistake will work out in the real world.
Donald Trump has interesting ideas in between massive doses of narcissitic and belligerence. Because I want those qualities in a president when negotiating a dicey peace treaty.
I get that Americans are tired of politics as usual in Washington. But please, oh please, do not turn the keys over to a guy whose solution to opposition is belittling them and talking about how much smarter he is.
But it's not Trump.
It's us.
We've forgotten that there are real consequences. Real marriages end. Real lives depend on our leaders decisions.
If we want reality, it's not found on TV. So, let's do ourselves- and the subjects of these show themselves- a favor, and stop watching them.
As I mentioned in the previous blog (Here), my family set out to hike to the 14,048 foot summit of Handies Peak near Lake City Colorado. It is a strenuous endeavor for anyone- except the runner we encountered who did car-to-summit-to-car in an hour and fifty minutes- but it was going to be exceptionally tough for our kids, who are 8 and 10.
Now, most of the hike was uneventful. The 10 year old- Leslie- suffers from asthma, but we brought along an oxygen canister (that you can buy on Amazon, FYI), so periodic hits and lots of rest was doing her well. The 8 year old-Kenna-, meanwhile, was doing amazing. She was flying up the mountain just fine.
At around 13,500, it got steep. Leslie started to have more trouble. The breaks became longer. The oxygen hits became more frequent.
At 13,800, a dog that was on the hike with her master and no leash ran up to and knocked down Kenna. Twice. The miracle is that the dog survived. Kenna was scared and getting her much higher up was going to be difficult.
We got to right around 14,000, when it became clear the girls were showing signs of altitude sickness and an unwillingness to go on. I must admit, I was upset. This was supposed to be a family thing, we were ALL going to summit. Now, the summit was in sight, and we were not going to make it.
My wife, Kristin, looked at me and told me to go on. I was torn, I wanted to summit, but I did not want to do it alone. We argued back and forth about it for a minute, then finally she convinced me to finish it.
So, I did.
I realized that there would have been no way for my kids to make it the last 48 feet of elevation in their condition. It strained me, and I took a long time to move very small distances. The view was spectacular, but I was still disappointed because my family was not there to share it. Some of the other people at the summit- there were six of us altogether- urged me to savor the moment, my first fourteener. I did, but the spots down the trail that were my family began to move to a lower elevation. So I headed down.
What is most important?
It wasn't until a couple days later, on the drive home, that God spoke about why I had to finish it alone.
--I love my family. I want them to be involved in all things in my life, because they give it meaning and purpose. My great moment on the mountain was lessened because they were not with me.
God showed me that I had placed my family in front of Him.
--I was not taking that moment to marvel in God's Creation because I was thinking about them- and Kristin was totally capable of taking care of them at that moment.
God also showed me that my desire to include my family in this endeavor may have been rooted more in selfishness than genuine desire to share a moment with them. I wanted them there, regardless of what they wanted.
--Finally, God showed me that sometimes- despite what the Church is always teaching us about fellowship- God wants us to go it alone. Moses on Sinai, David versus Goliath, Elijah on Mt. Carmel, Jesus seeking solitude, Jesus in the Desert, Jesus on the Cross.
I used to have no problem going it alone, but I realize that now I have come to point where in my spiritual walk, I do not ever go it alone- I go with someone, or I do not go at all.
You're not alone
The David Crowder*Band had a song called Only You, that includes the lyrics "And It's just you and me here now Only you and me here now"
God desires our full attention, even when we are not alone with him. God has been demanding my full attention for a while now, but I have been focused on other things- good things most of the time, but things that are not Him.
My reaching the summit of Handies Peak should not have been diminished at all because I was alone.
Because I wasn't alone.
He was there, He was encouraging me to finish, and I have no doubt that, when I realized what He was teaching me days later, He was pleased.
Now when I look back at the moment of the summit, it is with joy. When I remember the views and the vistas, I worship Him.
I am proud of my family. The kids made it farther than most kids that age- and despite the issues, they loved it and want to do more. Kristin sacrificed her shot at the summit to care for them so I could enjoy it. She probably has no idea how much that matters to me.
The lesson I learned here is simple: as a spiritual leader in my home and my community, I must sometimes go farther, and do so alone, so that I might commune with God in order to lead as He has called me. It is not easy, it can be strenuous, but I MUST go forth.
In Lord of the Rings, Aragorn is introduced as a man who goes it alone, but he goes it alone in all the trails except the one that leads him to be the King he was meant to be. It is not until the Fellowship is formed and then breaks that he realizes he alone must move forward to his kingship.
The Fellowship gave him reason to reach his summit, as my family and any who are a part of my faith community give me reason. It is also said of Aragorn, "Not all those who wander are lost."
(This is part one of a three part series. Part 2 and part 3 will be linked here when they are done.)
When I was sixteen years old, the summer between my Sophomore and Junior year of high school, I stood atop the highest peak on Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park. It was 12,183 feet. I was one of the first of my group to reach the top- about 100 yards from road to peak- and was the last to leave.
It was the first time I remember the sensation of feeling truly alive.
I felt spiritually and physically closer to God. The view was spectacular, the air thin, and the wind bitingly cool for July. I vividly remember this moment today, some nineteen years later.
In fact, much of those nineteen years have been in pursuit of things that make me feel alive. You might say that that moment was the birth of the adrenaline junkie in me. Visits to mountains or the Grand Canyon found me hopping from rock to rock, looking for the most extreme view that often made my companions nervous. I run Warrior Dashes, I make house painting more exciting by reaching a little to far out from the ladder or roof, I relish the rush of fear and anticipation before speaking to groups and my classes.
I want to pursue things that make me feel alive.
I believe that deep in all our hearts, we have this desire. I also believe that it is put there by God, we understand and feel His love the most when we are most alive- the Biblical "veil" between us and God becomes thinnest when we do what makes us feel alive. Whether it is being a parent to child, cleaning a house, writing/singing a song, painting, acting, doing math, or any number of things- these things that you do that make you come alive also allow God to reveal things to you.
Since the summer of 1996, I have pursued that same feeling of being alive in all my endeavors. I have come to believe that the most important thing we can do in life, is live it.
Colorado 2015
Our family's recurring vacation location is Lake City, Colorado.
Here is a video I made of our trip, if you want images to go with this story:)
Nestled in a valley at about 8,500 foot elevation, it is surrounded by mountains that tower over most on the continental US. One nearby mountain is Handies Peak, elevation 14,048 feet above sea level. A 14'er, as they call them. Four years ago we attempted to summit it, and were pushed back by a summer sleet storm at 13,000 feet. Oh, and a four year old and a six year old.
For four years, we have dreamed to making the summit. At least, I have. So we set out to accomplish this with our family of four. I alone made the summit, due to altitude sickness in the kids at around 14,000 feet (more on this in tomorrow's blog).
I stood atop 14,048 feet of rock and stone, and looked upon the world as few do. Here is proof:
As I walked- veeerrry slowly those last forty feet of elevation, taking ten steps or so at a time, I felt pain, I felt struggle, I gasped for any air I could.
I felt alive.
And as I stood atop the mountain with five strangers, one of them told me- "Soak in your accomplishment." They told me how I had just done something that was difficult, but achieved a goal that many could not, or would not even try. My head hurt, I could not breathe, I was worried about my kids and wife- but I had just done something with my life.
I had lived it.
Live It
Too often, we talk about doing things. We study them, we plan them, we read books or watch movies. But we do not do anything.
There is an episode of Friends where Joey and Chandler think they want to climb Everest because they want to do something with their lives. Quickly, with the help of Phoebe, they talk themselves into only watching the video about Everest, then they talk themselves out of even going to the video store. (Yeah, dated reference. Video stores don't exist anymore, do they?)
I've been in ministry, I've started a church, and I have closed that church. I now find church a difficult event to experience. Part of it is that I have seen a lot of the behind the scenes of church, and it ain't pretty. Part of it is that I loved the church we started, or at least key parts of it, and cannot find something that fits that mold. It's like Frodo tells Sam at the end of Return of the King (movie), "We set out to save the Shire, Sam. And it has been saved. But not for me." He also says, in voiceover: "How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when in your heart, you begin to understand, there is no going back?"
I have visited other churches, and been a part of them. They are great, but I cannot be a part of them.
It is not their fault. I have just lived an experience that changed the way I want to do church. How does that look?
I do not want to endlessly talk theology- but a conversation every now and then is great.
I do not want to be guilted into missions, or the modern church's obsession with social justice- but I do want to serve where I am gifted.
I do not want to go to Sunday School- but I do NEED to find a group that shares life experiences together, successes and struggles.
I do not want to feel that I must go to church because it is the place to worship- I do want any gathering of two or more in Jesus name to be the Church. (Matthew 18:20)
I do not want formality- I want reality.
I do not want to be welcomed because someone has that job- I want to be welcomed because someone is genuinely glad to meet/see me.
I do not want to be left out because I do not get the inside jokes/special language- I do want to make people feel at home.
I have wanted to avoid leadership because I have done that and moved on- but God has not.
My experience with our church plant has made it impossible to go back- so I must follow Christ forward.
The Connection
I hiked Handies Peak to feel alive. I want the fellowship of believers I belong to to help me come alive. Many times I wondered if I could finish, or if I should just go back. Back to where there was more oxygen and more firm footing. But I was resolute that I must make that summit. I had to move forward, not back.
Our small group at our last church was amazing. I loved it, and the beginnings of life were kindled again. But I did not connect with the church at large. I realized that what I love most about church is the relationships I build. Those relationships are built in the small gatherings: the home groups, the handful of people getting together to share a common interest, the one-on-one coffee talks. It is here that I come alive. It is the same in my classroom- when I build meaningful relationships with my students, they do better, and I am a much better teacher. Church for me is no longer about music and liturgy and scripture readings and preaching- it is about the people who form it, the people who are wanting a life with Jesus, and wondering how to live it.
Over the last few months, God has used a number of little and big things to call me back to "ministry." I received Senior letters from some students, and several made comments about how I had guided them spiritually. I was surprised, because aside from mentioning that I had pastored, I did not talk about religion or my faith.
But they saw something in how I lived, and cared for and about them.
I realized that I made a difference in their lives by being present and active and real to them- I lived it.
I also began to feel the longing for leading young adults in a journey with Christ. Our church plant, the Gate, had been 95% college students. Conversations with my students at school about their impending college careers reminded me how important this time is in their lives- and how important it had been to me.
I realized that walking with with them made me feel alive and challenged me to be seeking Christ's guidance constantly- I missed that.
I have remembered that many of the most meaningful conversations I have had in my life were in living rooms, coffee houses and sitting in cars. I want the Church to worship in those places.
Part of the reason I left the ministry was that it was difficult and I had burned out. It is still painful to think about going back into that world.
Climbing a 14'er was difficult- but the end result, seeing those vistas, that feeling of accomplishment- it was worth it. Ministry is painful, sacrificial, but I need to be involved in it to feel alive.
Kristin and I have prayed and sought God's guidance, and will be starting a house church in the coming weeks, end of August or early September. Joining us for these Bible Studies does not mean you cannot be a member of involved in another church. We just want this to be a place for followers of Christ to come together for a couple hours a week and then go forth to "live it" together. We hope and pray it will look like this:
We talk about the things that are on our hearts, then search scripture for guidance.
Your mission field is where you are- for me, it is my school where I simply live out Christ in love and compassion- but not words.
We shares life experiences together: successes and struggles.
No official membership, come when you can.
We go where the conversation and the Spirit leads each time we gather.
If you are new, we will want to know more about you- at your own pace.
We will work hard to avoid creating an atmosphere of exclusivity, meaning kids are welcome in the group during discussion. Obviously, some subjects will require kids to be excused, but I believe children can have wisdom to share and need to see how to journey with Christ.
For four years, I talked about reaching the summit of Handies Peak. Thursday, July 30, 2015, I made it. I lived.
I want my life to be about living, not just surviving. I climb mountains, run Warrior Dashes, riskily paint my house, AND seek and serve Jesus to feel alive. I claim to be a follower of Christ, now I plan to LIVE IT.
(If you live in the College Station area and are interested, email me at chad.lehrmann@gmail.com for more information.)
