Lostdogman

Lost No More

2010-07-11T13:21:00.003-05:00

Lostdogman has run away to http://darincabell.wordpress.com/

I've Got Stuff to Say but Somebody Else Beat Me to It!

2010-03-25T08:52:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was our (B and I) anniversary...four years of mawwedge (think Princess Bride). I would normally hope to recount the day like I did with the proposal, but Bethany beat me to it with a very touching post on her blog. You can check it out here. Our friend and the Matron of Honor (aka TracyAwesome!) in our wedding also enjoyed stirring up the emotions on her blog with her recounting of that day. I am grateful for both of these women. One of course, being my lovely, adorable, tender wife and the other a dear friend who I consider my big sister; they make it ok for an often angry, tough guy like me to soften up and shed tears. They may have beaten me to remembering the day, but the day wouldn't be nearly as memorable without them. So, go enjoy their recounting of the "big day" and laugh, smile, and shed some tears along with me. I might still have "stuff to say" but I'll sit and enjoy their versions for a little while first!

Life Ain't Always Beautiful

2010-03-22T15:16:00.008-05:00

In the aftermath of his wife's suicide in 2004, country artist Gary Allan wrote a heart-wrenching album named Tough All Over which included the song "Life Ain't Always Beautiful." While the lyrics revolve around mourning for his wife, the opening verse and chorus could apply to anyone who suffers:

Life ain't always beautiful
Sometimes it's just plain hard
Life can knock you down, it can break your heart

Life ain't always beautiful
You think you're on your way
And it's just a dead end road at the end of the day

But the struggle makes you stronger
And the changes make you wise
And happiness has it's own way of takin' it sweet time

No,life aint always beautiful
Tears will fall sometimes
Life aint always beautiful
But it's a beautiful ride

After my six month struggle (wait, is it seven now?) with back problems, this song felt particularly appropriate this past Saturday. As Bethany walked down the stairs, she slipped and rolled her foot. After several hours at the MedClinic, the x-ray showed she might have an avulsion fracture of her calcaneus (heel bone). The weight of the accident was crushing for a few hours. Life has been "plain hard" for a while now, and while others have suffered more and experienced more than we could imagine, it doesn't diminish the immediate impact on our lives.

Wyatt now has two parents who are struggling physically, which only intensifies some of the challenges we've waded through recently. I'd love to immediately jump to truth that God is good all the time, but sometimes settling into the truth requires me to wrestle and wonder and question.

Sunday morning, as Wyatt slept, Bethany and I had a quiet time and read together but separately. I immediately went to the book of James in the Bible. One major theme of the book is trials. The recipients of James' letter were encouraged to "count it all joy when you experience trials, knowing the testing of your faith produces patience." They are also encouraged to avoid falling into the trap of blaming God when they are tempted.

Honestly, it is tempting to blame God when we suffer (we being Bethany and I). It is a fight. It's not a knee-jerk response to feel pain and frustration and flippantly say "God is good" even though He most certainly is. When I suffer, it feels like my body screams "He has to hate me" even though I know He loves me.

In James 5:10, James says "My brethren, take the prophets, who spoke in the name of the Lord, as an example of suffering and patience. Indeed we count them blessed who endure. You have heard of the perseverance of Job and seen the end intended by the Lord--that the Lord is very compassionate and merciful."

I've prayed for immediate healing, but it hasn't been answered. Somehow in suffering I do believe I'm supposed to see the Lord is "very compassionate and merciful." I might not be able see it without the struggle and without suffering. Can I even know his compassion without suffering? James 5:13 says "Is anyone among you suffering? Let him pray." Maybe I will find his compassion and mercy as I pray while Bethany and I are in pain? Life Ain't Always Beautiful and that's why I need (we need) a counselor, a healer; and one that is compassionate and merciful.

Missing

2010-03-18T16:05:00.001-05:00

Over the course of the last several weeks, the back pain that severely limits life as I prefer to know it pushes me to the edge. To the edge of sanity might be pushing the bounds of the truth, but I constantly am pushed to the edge of my pain threshold. Pain, for me, often feels like an arbitrary strike from the hand of God or Satan, depending on my perspective at the particular moment pain shoots through my back, hip, and leg. At 3am with sleep as difficult to grasp as the wind, I wonder "Why do I have to experience this? How long is it going to last? Is there any point to it?"

The other night I had an epiphany as I writhed on the floor in the middle of night. Despite the cries to God for help and relief, which He did not answer in the moment, I realized I more clearly feel what I am missing because of the pain.

I miss sleeping next to Bethany when the pain prevents me from resting peacefully in bed and I'm left scrambling for relief face down on the floor for hours at a time.
I miss sitting close to Bethany on the couch while we watch our favorite tv shows.
I miss out on being able to lift Wyatt up freely and easily when he raises his hands for Daddy to rescue him from his crib or he just wants me to hold him.
I miss carrying Wyatt around just because he wants a better viewpoint on the world around him.
I miss being able to roll around on the floor and be playful with him. This however has not prevented him from headbutting my stomach when I'm lying on my back.
I miss Bethany being able to freely wrestle around with me when she gets her late night burst of energy.
I miss feeling like I could protect my family if I needed to fight off an intruder (hopefully that's fantasy land anyway, but still...)

Pain leaves me feeling isolated and that I'm missing out on the two people I love the most. I miss them and I'm only a matter of inches or feet away from them. To be physically close and still experience distance is almost as excruciating as the physical pain itself.

I'm extremely aware of what longings I have right now. I want to be close to my family, to enjoy them through words AND through touch. I'm hoping that God quickly answers my prayers to heal, but I also wonder if He is using suffering to make me not only miss my family, but to miss (hope for) HOME. With all my hopes of being an older father who can chase his son feeling less than certain at times, I have to wonder "what if I can't do what I wish?" Maybe I'm supposed to balance the longings for life here with the longings for eternity in a perfectly glorified body (which I'm guessing doesn't come with bulging and degenerative discs)? Maybe I'm supposed to miss a time, a place, and an experience that is yet to come? Is this some way that I can see "to live is Christ, but to die is gain?" If it is, I don't want to miss it.

Sick Day

2010-03-11T17:28:00.005-06:00

After a few days of being sick and forcing myself to go to work, I finally decided to take a sick day today. It has definitely been worth it. Having a week day to spend with Bethany and Wyatt while I rest and recuperate is a rarity. On days like this, I'm also reminded what I miss when I usually leave the house around 5:10am to get to work.

I miss getting to see Wyatt wake up around 7:30am with an excited look on his face, which just so happens to be slightly eclipsed due to the pacifier in his mouth. Maybe he knew this was an unusual and special occasion? As B and I stood next to his crib, he immediately reached up for me and once he was safely tucked in my arms, he kicked his legs excitedly. He was wearing his Toponas, Colorado onesy (how do you spell that?) that his Uncle Dave and Aunt Lara gave him. Since it is finally getting warmer, and our air conditioning is out, he gets to jettison his footy pj's in favor of some attire that lets him show off his legs.

The highlight of the day was captured in a 3 minute 46 second video that I taped detailing the life and movement of our little ball of energy. Shortly after I pushed the record button, he walked over to the ottoman, turned and looked over his left shoulder to the tv where his Praise Baby DVD was playing, then raised his left hand out toward the screen. With too many places to explore, he didn't stay still in the moment. He pulled himself onto the ottoman, temporarily got onto all fours and displayed a scowl before crawling onto the love seat, where he reclined for a second against the cushion before performing his favorite move as of late; the head bob quickly followed by the requisite 2 count head butt to the arm of the chair.

After performing a "downward dog" pose for a couple seconds - just because he could - he crawled forward, knelt down and stared intensely at the tv. Maintaining eye contact with the tv, he slowly backed off of the ottoman before walking in circles and picking up his rattle. After a few well-timed shakes (future drummer?) he performed a couple booty bumps, then shook his shoulders as he walked to front of the tv. Movement apparently wasn't enough; he had something to say, so he grunted a few times at the giraffe on the screen.

After a few more waves at the screen and several shakes of the rattle, he walked over to me. He wanted to sit with me...pure heaven! I sat him on my knee and filmed as he continued to stare at the screen intently. "Better is one day in your courts, better is one in your house, better is one day in your courts than thousands elsewhere" was the refrain of the worship song on the DVD. At one point, he took his pacifier out, made a few noises, shook his rattle (I think it is officially a maraca? You know that musical shakey thing), before popping his pacifier back in his mouth.

Why would I go to all this trouble to narrate this few minutes of life? Life moves fast and I often miss what is occurring in the moment. I was very aware during the minute that he sat on my lap that for that time he might be singing "better is one minute on my Daddy's lap than thousands elsewhere." For me, I could say "better is one sick day with my family than thousands elsewhere." I'd rather feel weak and tired in the presence of my family while we listen to songs about the goodness of God than be healthy and elsewhere. It was needed today. Moments after taping the video, I received news that our air conditioner needed to be replaced. It costs money that we don't have, but as I shared the news with B, we hugged each other, shed a few tears...all while "How Great Is Our God" played in the background. Sad, ironic, tender and sweet. This was quite a sick day and even with bad news, it was a GREAT sick day.

MLM = Multi-Level Misery

2010-03-09T08:39:00.004-06:00

As I near 40, I'm grateful for many of my life experiences and at the same time find myself fighting bitterness. I'm grateful to grow and to find out a wrong direction was in fact wrong. Bitterness isn't friends with gratefulness so it beckons and says "wouldn't life been so much better without that drama? You've been cheated and robbed out of what you hoped for...what a sucker!" The voice of bitterness sounds closer to the truth when I'm isolated and alone; that is the truth.

When I survey some of the memories of my life, there are places that I can revisit and feel stupid or foolish for ever being such a sucker. Sometimes hope leads you straight into the mouth of a lion when it appears you are merely headed for an oasis. Of course, the oasis may be there, but you just don't see the Lion crouching in the grass.

At age 23, I moved from Illinois to Dallas for an internship in fitness as my last requirement for college. I was ready to finally start living my life, to become independent, and even "self-sufficient." Shortly after graduation I was hired as a personal trainer, but was quickly wooed away by the allure of big dreams, the hope of financial security, and hopefully the capacity to be self-sufficient.

MLM stands for multi-level-marketing. It was a term I'd never even heard of before 1993. So, when I was recruited into being a financial planner/business man (which I'd never had interest in before), many truths were concealed and I was firmly placed into a world of jumping through hoops and anxiety. MLM, in retrospect, stands for Multi-level Misery.

The experience epitomized misery for me on so many levels. Until that point, I enjoyed being with people just to be with people. People became targets or prospects. Knowing them as people was devoured by the pressure to recruit them into the fold. I lived in a cold market (not being from the Big D and not having many friends there yet), so my manager pressured me to make blind cold calls. There is nothing like making a cold call to a recently widowed woman and asking for her husband, who you didn't know and of course didn't know had died, but were told to say "he came highly referred."

Reading off a transcript felt weak and stupid, but necessary, because supposedly it worked for some dude in Kansas somewhere who was now worth about $3 million per year. "And that could be you too!" Yeah, right...because people are always looking for an opportunity from a cold call from someone they don't know regarding an amazing business opportunity.

The sad thing is God was mentioned numerous times, Jesus was apparently still the Savior, but it sure felt like the business mattered the most, and even if it was believed that mere humans are saved by grace through faith, God really still only likes those that work hard, are winners, and never quit. I mentally quit about three times a day, so apparently God didn't like me much since I was a loser.

My saddest memory of the whole experience is that my identity was entirely tied to how I performed; a diabolical mess of a lie that Pharisees and legalists love to parrot to the unsuspecting and ignorant. This experience pushed me in the chest like a bully screaming "you're nothing, you can't do anything, no good, never will be, and your hopeless." Of course, for those still towing the MLM line, those would be accurate descriptions in their mind.

I could explain ad nauseum for hours how I don't believe what I was fed during my short three months in MLM hell, but it boils down to this: I have dreams and hopes, but it isn't the dream or the hope that is being peddled through an MLM. My hope is that God continues to show me who I uniquely am as His child even though it seems foggy right now. My dream is that I pursue what He has placed in my heart even if it hasn't been fully revealed yet, and even if I sometimes lose sight of Him and His power.

Eph 1:17-19:
[I pray] that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give to you the spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of Him, the eyes of your understanding being enlightened; that you may know what is the hope of His calling, what are the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints, and what is the exceeding greatness of His power toward us who believe, according to the working of His mighty power

Laughter is the Best Medicine...because the Painkillers Sure Aren't Working

2010-03-04T07:54:00.002-06:00

If I wrote this post two days ago, I would have entitled it "Going Back to The Well" because the topic is similar to my previous post and is another funny story involving water and my backside (is it scary that this is a theme in my life?). However, today I'm writing it because I need to laugh. After six months of rehabbing my back and doing everything possible to get better, I did something stupid and re-injured myself and now walk like an 80 year man. So, in order to avoid either crying, cussing, screaming, or breaking "stuff" at work, I'm conducting an independent scientific analysis on laughter being the best medicine. Right now painkillers are NOT working! Hopefully, this story does the trick.

In 2003, I was a 33 year old Jr. High Director at a church. This ministry entailed teaching, mentoring, and spending time with jr. highers, which means teaching was a rarity, mentoring only occurred if I could catch them and spending time with them involved acting like a kid, even if I wasn't in the mood.

My "small group" consisted of several sixth grade boys. There probably isn't much explanation necessary, is there? Sixth grade boys...it almost silences an entire village. Just like in the movie The Village, they are "the things of which we do not speak." You know they are out there, and they are dangerous creatures.

One afternoon, our small group was in one of the families' pool. Being that I weighed the same as two of them combined, I was an easy target to pull into wrestling matches or to take on the role of "sea monster" or some other crazy creature. I was The Hulk for one of our youth events, so maybe I was channeling The Hulk that day?

Several of the boys were floating in an inflatable boat and being the good "monster" that I was, I flipped the boat over. During one of the boy's ascension to the surface of the water, his hand blindly found a crevice commonly referred to as the place that "the good Lord split ya." Unfortunate for me I was the victim of the blind reach. I'm sure it was unfortunate for him too, unless he harbored dreams of the Proctology profession.

This is where we can explain a little about involuntary responses. Some physiological responses require a thoughtful and measured decision to act; this is definitely not one of those thoughtfully measured actions. I learned that the gluteus maximus and the surrounding muscle groups forcefully contract without examining a flow chart to see if this is the correct choice. The major problem with this is that the hand of the boy had not left it's unfortunate destination and now his fingers were clamped in my apparently very strong "grip."

He wiggled, which yes, created more involuntary responses. He wiggled, I clamped...repeat this 4 or 5 times before he extracted himself from his disconcerting situation. His new found freedom also included another beneficiary and this allowed my buns of steel workout to cease and desist.

In the aftermath, we both discovered an amazing fact. While his hand and my backside may have experienced the immediate trauma, our eyes apparently were affected also. They developed something akin to magnetic repulsion...you know, that thing that happens when you try to connect the wrong sides of magnets...they actually push away rather than attract. For several months, if we tried to look each other in the eye, we'd look away in shame. And that, as they (whoever they are) say was "Awkward!!" I'm not sure if I feel better for writing this yet, but maybe you'll get a little medicine today in the form of laughter. I'll promise I'll join you if my pain decreases!

I Got Your Back...Side

2010-03-01T11:28:00.002-06:00

Friendship is often subjected to lame cliche statements in an attempt to magnify the deep bonds of relationship. It's not uncommon to be encouraged with phrases such as "lean on me" or "I got your back." Rarely do these statements get put to the test in the manner I'm about to share.

During the summer of 1989, four young adults took to the waters of magnificent (uh, not really) Lake Springfield in Springfield, IL. Tara, Valerie, my best friend Mike, and myself launched my Dad's motorboat into the murky waters for an afternoon of skiing and tubing. Tara, aka my "little sister" (not really, but we grew up with each other) was not known for being a particularly good driver on land, but her liability on land became an awesome spectacle on the water. Tubing while she drove was always an adventure. She perfected a way to create big waves, would allow for a lot of slack to develop in the rope, then would hammer it down and you would be praying to God and holding on for dear life; Awesome!

Mike has always been a great friend. At my wedding in 2006, he was awesome; being helpful, funny, keeping everyone in a good mood, and generally being himself. He's always "someone you can count on" (hey, there's a cliche). This day in 1989, his generosity and care for a friend led him to a place he never expected.

While Mike and I decided to ride the tube together, Tara drove in her consistently chaotic matter, churning up choppy waves and plowing through them. After waging battle for an unknown amount of time, Tara finally dealt the fatal blow and Mike and I went flying through the air. The force of the landing was jarring. When you are wearing a life vest and still end up several feet under water, you know the wipe out is nearly legendary. In the chaos of the wipe out, Mike reached out to "lend a hand" (cliche #72) to me. Unfortunately for him, his right hand met my left butt check. Even more unfortunate for him the force of the crash had pulled my swimming trunks down to my knees.

Creating an entirely new friendship cliche such as "I got your back...side" was not what either of us envisioned that sunny summer day. I also didn't expect to feel the strong grasp of a friends hand on my behind, and I didn't know that Mike could let out such a disturbing squeal either. Some friendships are cemented by sharing hopes and dreams, some by celebration, but few have been sealed with a moment such as this. For some reason, Proverbs 27:6 comes to mind..."Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but deceitful are the kisses of an enemy." I'm sure Mike was somehow emotionally wounded that day...he is a faithful friend...and I know he's got my backside if I ever need him!

"Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!"

2010-02-24T10:23:00.002-06:00

A couple weekends ago, we packed up the Radio Flyer complete with attachable backpack cooler, strapped Wyatt in the car seat, and set off for the San Antonio Zoo to meet his "Lolly" (Grandma) and "Pop" (Grandpa). On one of the few recent days where the weather was really nice in SA town, we decided to watch the animals. Apparently several thousand other people had the same idea. I'm not a fan of crowds, but the crowd didn't get to me too much that day, so my memories aren't haunted by the stress of fighting other people just to get a view of some fish native to South America.

The most memorable moment of the day occurred in the midst of a big crowd at the petting zoo. I don't know the name of the goats that were available for petting, but they were shorter than Wyatt. Wyatt, as far as we know, hasn't been spending time with goats of any kind and figured these goats were not very intimidating, so Wyatt would be fairly comfortable with them.

I keep predicting that Wyatt is going to be an analyst, a biologist, or in some other profession that involves intense concentration and observation skills. He will stare intently before making a move, seemingly sizing up the pros and cons of the situation. We moved in close to one of the goats. I squatted down and Wyatt stood between my knees, resting a hand on each leg. His silence signaled what I've already explained..."I'm just checking everything out...I'm not moving, not doing anything...yet!"

He remained silent and still until the goat turned and looked at him. There was no other movement from the goat, just a look, which became a stare. To this point, Wyatt's only known words were "mamamama," "dadadada," and maybe "baby." I can't remember if he learned "baby" just yet. So, we were shocked to hear him nervously say "oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!" as he turned toward me with his arms grasping for my jacket.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!" As I think of his anxiety and fear, I wonder how much I'm like him when something unfamiliar and possibly scary stares me in the face. Is my first response "oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!" combined with a quick turn into the arms of my Dad (aka Lord God, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, the great I AM, Wonderful Counselor, Prince of Peace...you get the idea)?

As a man, it feels a little wimpy that this would be a normal and appropriate response to fear or the unfamiliar. Aren't I supposed to be tough enough to just stare right back without blinking and without any support from anyone but me? It makes for exciting movies, and stirring poems (think "Invictus" by William Earnest Henley which finishes resolutely with these words; "I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.").

As tough and strong as it sounds to declare that "in the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud" I think Wyatt had it right; wince, cry "oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no!" and turn to Daddy! What's better? To follow his lead and feel desperation and fear or clinging to the charade of living out a lie - that "I'm the master of my fate and the captain of my soul."?

100 Posts

2010-02-17T14:40:00.001-06:00

According to my blogspot profile this is my 100th post (where's my victory parade?). My very first post was entitled "Narcissistic, Desperate, and Pathetic?" At the time, I was apparently very concerned about avoiding all three of these "negative" characteristics. Last night I participated in a "Grace group" where the story of the participants life is shared; traumas, disappointments, highlights, lowlights...it's all a part of sharing. It was my turn to share my life, warts and all. After sharing, a few reassuring comments stuck out, but one made me the most curious. I was told there was a theme of wanting to be understood.

Do I want to be understood? Yes. Does it feel narcissistic? Not really (or least I don't think it does since I feel more self-conscious than overly self-confident). Does it feel desperate? One definition for desperate is "an urgent need or desire." If that is the case, then yep, I'm apparently desperate to be understood. Does being desperate to be understood feel pathetic? One of the definitions for pathetic is "miserably or contemptibly inadequate." If I told you I failed on a minimum of 2 of the 3 requirements for starting this blog and you've read everything to this point, then you'll know the answer to the last question.

So, here I am 2 1/2 years after my first post and I'm feeling a little pathetic for being desperate to be understood. Do I pack it in and call this a failed attempt at avoiding narcissism, desperation, and feeling pathetic? No, probably because being understood matters more to me than the uncomfortable feelings that sometimes accompany it. Most importantly, I am just starting to believe that being desperate and having "an urgent need or desire" isn't bad and it isn't something to ignore. Don't worry, if I said I had an urgent desire to punch random people in the checkout line, I'd realize that is bad...that's not what I'm talking about, and think I just proved my point about wanting to be understood. The biggest question though is "who do I really want to understand me?" Maybe I'll figure it out before my 200th post?

"Hi, This is Casey Kasem..."

2010-02-09T08:24:00.001-06:00

If I asked you to quickly name an entertainment program with some form of the word "America" in it, what would your answer be? I'm betting at least half of my last paycheck that you say...

American Idol...

No problem with that. I've been sucked into the swirling vortex of touching stories, ridiculously bad try-outs, a few shining moments, and yes, the angry "losers" that American Idol provides. However, my first encounter with a music show that included America in the name was American Top 40 hosted by Casey Kasem.

Casey Kasem has a unique voice. This unique voice was a comforting one to hear when I was just a little guy. Sunday mornings were the day I could expect to hear Casey Kasem say "Hi, this is Casey Kasem and this is American Top 40." We did attend church, so I didn't always get to listen to American Top 40, but on the weekends we didn't go, I wanted to make sure I heard all 40 songs.

Our living room had this huge stereo system, but it didn't work. It was basically 6 feet long and 3.5 feet high and didn't play anything. The record player had stopped working by now, and the radio couldn't tune in much at all, and definitely did not tune in to the right channel for American Top 40; a shadow of it's former glory and thousands of times bigger than an iPod.

So, what was I to do? If it was fall or winter, I would grab enough clothes and the quilt my grandmother made me and head out to the garage and listen to it in the car. My Dad was always worried I would run down the battery since I just clicked the keys into the back position rather than having the car on. The battery never ran out and on those mornings my interest didn't run out either. My heart would race as it would get closer to number 1. I'd be mad if Lionel Richie and Diana Ross' "Endless Love" would beat out Rick Springfield, Styx, or REO Speedwagon for the #1 spot. I mean, come on, I don't even think there is a guitar in that song! It can't be #1.

Why do I have such good memories of those mornings? It's probably the emotional connection to the music and the feelings I experience as I heard certain songs for the first time or the hundredth time. I still laugh thinking how I applied "Jessie's Girl" to my life at the time I watched a friend "go with" the girl I liked. Melodies cue memories; some fun and some sad, but all important. They all matter. I can pick out even just one year (1981 in this case) and know that I spent those mornings hearing "Master Blaster" by Stevie Wonder, "Woman" by John Lennon, "Keep on Lovin' You" by REO, "While You See a Chance" by Steve Winwood, "Don't Stand So Close to Me" by the Police, "Games People Play" by Alan Parson Project (cue Austin Powers jokes now), "Bette Davis Eyes" by Kim Carnes, "Celebration" by Kool and The Gang, "Another One Bites the Dust" by Queen, "Hungry Heart" by Bruce Springsteen, "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" by Pat Benatar, or "Lady (You Bring Me Up)" by The Commodores. There are so many more songs that recall the cool air in the garage and the feeling of laying on the seats and anticipating what might be next.

For years, I jettisoned all these songs as frivolous and pointless, but no longer. They all matter to me, even if the lyrics don't perfectly match the memories; some songs about love were playing while I was eating Coke poured over snow in a bowl (don't get to enjoy that here in Texas). Maybe I was in love with Coke flavored snow? It's hard not to be!

I've even found myself downloading some of these songs on iTunes lately, just because I want to remember what it felt like to be me at 10 years old and to remember what I wished for before "the hope was beaten out of me by life." If I were a prophet back then I would know that I wanted "Lady (You Bring Me Up)" to be the first song on the engagement CD that my soon to be fiancee (sp? she's my wife now, so does it matter?) would hear in her friend's car as she was handed a blindfold in preparation for meeting me at a secret location. I'm not a prophet, but I was a child with some big hopes and a few dreams and I'm curious to meet that kid again. Maybe I'll pop in a best of 1981 CD in my truck, lay across the seats this Sunday morning for a few minutes (sans the snow and Coke) and be a kid for a few moments?

Celebrating 1 Year and 9 Days (wait, no 10 days)

2010-02-02T15:24:00.005-06:00

If I were the hero of a movie, my timing would be impeccable and resistant to any attempts to undermine, thwart, or destroy my ultimate purpose and goal. Well, I'm not getting paid the big bills, haven't been the target of tablet fodder, and haven't been named sexiest man of the year by People magazine (although I think Bethany would put me in front of Brad Pitt for that honor...hey, they say "love is blind" right?! Haha!). Since I"m not a movie star, the babbling needs to stop. So what I am trying to say is I wanted to wish a Happy 1st Birthday to my son more than a week ago, but I will settle for 1 year and 10 days (unless this is a different day of the week than I think it is...possible, but I think I have it right today).

Memories, as you may have gathered are considered to be friends to me; currently, that is, as I used to despise them. Since the war with my memories is over, or at least in the midst of a peace treaty, I am free to develop, cherish, and cling to some great memories.

1 year and 10 days of life with Wyatt has given me some of the following memories (act like some of them didn't show up in previous posts in case I'm repeating myself):

- If I only give myself 1 year and 10 days then I'm not allowed to mention the sheer anticipation and excitement of knowing he was coming into the world, but it deserves mention anyway.
- How the nurses said "he's Daddy's boy alright", which annihilated my own view that I was expendable as a baby.
- That Bethany looked like a natural holding Wyatt in her arms in the hospital.
- The look of my "in-laws" when they first saw him; a mixture of joy, exhaustion, and awe.
- How the first few days at home felt like we were transported out of reality and how it inspired my plot to never have to leave home. Aside from the really loud crying in the middle of the night, it was pure bliss.
- Wondering when Wyatt's umbilical cord would fall off. It stuck around forever, or at least six weeks.
- Realizing that baby flatulence is much cuter than adult flatulence...I've never thought "awww, isn't that cute?" when a friend passed gas on me.
- When my Great Grandmother and Mom came to visit the first time; my 94 year old Grandmother refused to miss a visit to SA to see her "little doll baby" even if she did just have surgery a few weeks earlier.
- That my Dad feels like a giddy teenager whenever he is around Wyatt, and that my parents can't wait to Skype weekly now to see him.
- How Sunday mornings with Wyatt taking a nap on my chest and Bethany sleeping next to me were more worshipful than any "canned" Sunday morning service.
- That country songs dealing with the birth of children and fleeting nature of life made Bethany and I a driving hazard on 1604 or I-10...hard to drive when you can't see the road. Listen to "It Won't Be Like This for Long" by Darius Rucker or "You're Gonna Miss This" by Trace Adkins if you have a child and see what happens to your tear ducts...I triple dog dare you!
- Holding Wyatt when he laughs is ecstasy, and holding him when he cries is tender and sweet.
- It is hilarious when he shakes his butt to "Don't Stop Believin'" but slowly rocks back and forth to worship music.
- That there is transformation over time. He used to have very little hair, but now the he's rockin' the baby mullet and wearing Def Leppard and Guns n' Roses t-shirts (offset by his Bible themed shirts of course).
- Waking up to the sounds of his coos in the baby monitor beats the scubala out of waking up to an alarm of any kind.
- Words are inadequate but necessary to describe the joy in watching his first time sitting up, crawling, standing, cruising, and walking (although he keeps doing to the free hand Texas two step...two steps and he's done walking).
- I think I know a little bit more of what it is like for God when people love His Son. I'm awful excited when people love our little boy.
- Things I love about him; his coos, laughs, smiles, sighs, stares, excitement, babbling, crawling, standing, falling, standing again, stealing the remote control, chewing on pillows, climbing onto the couch, etc.
- There are probably a hundred other things that come to mind, but I'll settle for this now and realize I've been given the gift of enjoying my son for over a year. I don't want to minimize it and definitely don't want to forget.

When I'm 95 (if I'm still alive) I hope I can remember things like this, and especially hope to let Wyatt know how lucky, fortunate, and/or blessed I feel to know that I'm the only person on the planet who was allowed to enjoy being his Dad. Happy Birthday Little Man! I love you!

Saturday Morning Soundtrack

2009-12-19T10:22:00.002-06:00

"I can feel you all around me thickening the air I'm breathing, holding on to what I'm feeling." - Flyleaf's "All Around Me" as performed by David Crowder (aka Song #1 on "A Mix").

Some days are mundane and difficult to endure; the glory of being alive is clouded in boredom, blindness, and tedium. This morning is a remote land in comparison to those days. The only missing piece is Bethany. She is working this morning. Her absence has left a father and coughing son together this morning, but this absence ushered in many sweet moments spanning the course of six songs. Several weeks ago, in the midst of my melancholy mid-life crisis, I created a playlist in iTunes simply title "A Mix." The songs are melancholy, but often hopeful and this morning, as the songs played seamlessly, it seemed that I could say to God "I can feel you all around me..."

"Now I see clearly it's you I'm looking for, All my days, soon I'll smile, I know I'll feel this loneliness no more." - "All My Days" by Alexi Murdoch (aka Song #2 on "A Mix")

I have wandered much, and in this wandering, Alexi Murdoch has penned the title song to my life (even if he is completely unaware). Scrambled eggs with Colby Jack cheese are on the stove, and biscuits are in the oven, and I'm drinking coffee with French vanilla creamer. Wyatt's high chair is pulled close so he can see that his Dad isn't holding out on him, and that yes, he will get to eat very soon! Wyatt wears his green Christmas footy pj's (complete with pictures of Santa, reindeer, Christmas trees, and snowmen) with amazing style of course. "And I've been trying to find, what's in my mind, as the days keep turning into night." I'm aware of the significance of my son and this song and that this moment revisits a similar morning months ago when Wyatt moved quite a bit less.

As I knelt down and stared at his eyes, I teared up, and he stared at me intently. Being a baby, he stares very well and rarely blinks, but he appeared to wonder why his Dad was crying. "Even breathing feels alright, even breathing feels alright..." Wyatt finally breaks the stare with a sweet laugh and leans into my face for a kiss. We've been working on teaching him what a kiss is; I can't say he knew the moment would only be complete with a kiss, but when his arms went out and he leaned forward, it reminded me I'm glad I have breathe in my lungs to experience this moment. Tears transitioned to ridiculous laughter as both of us gasped for breathe. God, I love my boy!

"Cuz you gave life to me, a brand new world to see, like playing baseball with my son late at night, and reading goodnight moon, and praying in his room; I'm so grateful I had this life. When you gave me up, you gave everything to me." - "Everything to Me" by Mark Schultz (aka "Song #4 on "A Mix")

I flash back to playing baseball in the front yard with my Dad, knowing that my birth mom gave me life. I hope to replay the same scene with Wyatt. He's out of the high chair and moving all over the place, biting toys, crawling, standing, laughing, and gratefully only coughing once. What if my birth mom had an abortion? Can I even imagine not having a chance to know Wyatt; to watch him learn to walk freely, then run, play sports, learn to play an instrument, drive a car, graduate high school, get married, and have his own son?

"He is jealous for me, loves like a hurricane, I am a tree, bending beneath his wind and mercy..." - "How He Loves" - David Crowder's version again (aka song #6 on "A Mix")

"He is jealous for me...loves like a hurricane..." This morning that is quite easy to believe. I don't have to talk myself into it, re-read John 3:16 for the thousandth time (not that it would be terrible to do so), or require an apologetic defense for the existence of God. This morning Richard Dawkins (author of the God Delusion) seems like a rambling, arrogant, cynical fool, and I'm left to bask in the glory of God's gifts...life, breathe, my son...all to the tune of my Saturday Morning Soundtrack. Maybe I'm just delusional, but I doubt it.

He Smiles!

2009-12-16T18:07:00.002-06:00

Wyatt is sitting on the floor in his blue pj's with pictures of footballs, soccer balls, and basketballs. Sitting is actually only partially correct. At 10 1/2 months old, he stands up, sits down, crawls, sits up, walks along the couch, sits down, grabs the toy angel from the toy nativity scene, then jettisons that in favor of the palm tree from the aforementioned nativity scene, which is then slammed down on coffee table...and oh my God, he really just let go of the table and took two free hand steps to the ottoman! Really, as I'm typing, he started walking forward with one arm on the coffee table, and then let go took two steps and made it to the ottoman and finished with a hilarious laugh, like "I'm the man! I've conquered it! Hahahahaha!" His first steps!

OK, so my post is apparently going to take a different direction. The title is still "He Smiles!" but I just didn't expect the smile to be for different reasons than when he was sitting on the floor. Yes, this boy smiles (a lot) and there is joy in his progress. His face shows it, and so do his parent's faces. I used to look at growth in the Christian life as some dutiful, joyless pursuit, but experiencing our excitement for his "normal growth process" changes my perspective a little. We don't love him any more because he just took two steps (I'm sad B is off at work and missed it...I called her first I promise!), but dear God it makes our hearts light up.

I wonder if God is just as excited when he sees us take our first steps? Does his enthusiasm overflow? I know that "without faith, it is impossible to please God." Maybe our steps of faith, of trusting Him, provoke the same joy in Him and it pleases Him? Today, I'm seeing that he (Wyatt) smiles when he experiences something new, in this case a few free steps, and I think He (God) smiles too. It is rarely referenced in Scripture, but maybe that anthropomorphism (big word...look it up!) is left to the imagination. If you are tempted to say that is "vain imagination" since we can't find much in Scripture, don't forget that John wrote that Jesus did so many amazing things that they would fill up all the world if they were to be written. Apparently, they weren't written, since even the libraries of the world aren't stocked with "all Jesus, all the time" book sections, but that doesn't make what Jesus did any less real if it wasn't written. What am I saying? "God smiles" may not be a common biblical phrase, but He is the source of emotion, love, and joy so why would I doubt that "He smiles?" I know I am right now!

More Random Memories

2009-12-14T18:46:00.001-06:00

More random memories, mostly for my sake, but if anyone else has memories come back because of reading this, then that's pretty cool too...

…how my best friend Matt in grade school and I would argue over who heard Def Leppard first on the radio, and having to decide who was listening to the radio longer before “Let it Go” came on the first night we heard it…AND, how it important it really seemed at the time
…when Matt and I were down by the creek in Buckhart listening to Iron Maiden and he almost stepped on a snake…I’m laughing right now as I think how he jumped…hilarious. . Wish we would have been listening to Van Halen’s “Jump” at the time. It would have been more appropriate (if it was even out yet).
…the time I tried to make our living room a beach when I brought in sand from the sandbox and then took the backyard house in through the sliding glass door and started watering it.
…trying to set my brother’s Ice Cream Man cart on fire, and feeling completely justified when I got caught… “he told me I could do it!” Ah, the mind of a 5 year old.
…how 5 years old seemed to be when everything happened…I saw my first Playboy, wanted to be the six million dollar man, was in love with Farah Fawcett, learned to cuss, and all when I just started kindergarten. I think that was the age that I learned it wasn’t good to call your Grandmother a “b****”, and it doesn’t feel good to know you might just be the only person to ever call her that.
…that my Grandmother still loves me even if I am the only person to ever call her the B word, and that I’ll be the one that gives her eulogy at her memorial one day.
…watching the Six Million Dollar Man, Born Free, Land of the Lost, and Charlie’s Angels as a kid.
…being embarrassed to have to go #2 at other people’s houses, and how you can only hold it for so long before it got really embarrassing. At Mark Lewis’s house I was trying to hold it, while eating hot dogs at lunch, and then he said something funny and I couldn’t stop laughing. It’s hard to keep holding it when you are laughing. Laughing quickly turned into crying. I was 5 then too, and I don’t think I ate anymore of my hot dog at that particular lunch.
…Mark Lewis was also the lucky recipient of a hard bite on the arm from me. We were walking down the street and he was afraid that the dog bark came from a dog he was scared of, and he didn’t believe it wasn’t. He started running, and I got mad that he wouldn’t listen to me and stop. So, I eventually caught him, tackled him, and bit his arm. He was afraid of getting bitten, but probably didn’t think it would be from me. What was I thinking?
...Damon Soper’s awesome drum solo as a freshman at our school’s Pop’s concert.
…the time that Paul Hendricksen threw up in class in 3rd grade, which caused Matt Bortmess to throw up. I was sitting next to Matt. Thankfully, I had a strong stomach.
…getting kicked out of Donna and Tom’s pool next door for cussing; after being warned to stop it…I was 5 then too.
…getting a doctor recommended Bozo the Clown blow-up punching doll so that I wouldn’t hit my little brother anymore…I think I was 5 then too.
…being amazed I lived past 5 years old!
…the time my friend thought it would be a good idea to pick up my baby brother and drop him. He did it, and then I thought it was a good idea so I did it. Can you guess about what age I was? Actually I was younger, probably only 3, almost 4. God, that one makes me feel sick.
…that remembering all these things is an answer to prayer…I couldn’t remember a lot for a long time.
…the time Mike Hampson and I were riding on an inner-tube on the lake and we were thrown off violently. He reached out to grab me in the water. Problem: my swim trunks had been pulled down to my knees from the force of the wipeout, so his right hand ended up on my left butt cheek. No one has ever recoiled so fast from trying to help a friend.
…I think the same day, a friend of ours was skiing behind another boat, and swung out too wide and had to jettison his ski right before he flew over the back of our boat. The lake police didn’t find that one amusing.
…when I thought “Somebody’s Watching Me” by Rockwell (w/ Michael Jackson backing) was one of the coolest songs I had ever heard.
…staying up late on Friday night to watch “Fridays,” the Friday night equivalent to Saturday Night Live and sleeping on the sofa bed. I loved that.
…wishing I had a cool car like Speed Racer

Memories

2009-12-09T16:28:00.012-06:00

In March, I wrote Memories = Music = Memories, which went a little something like this:

Memories are my enemy. I run from them. The distance mounts and concurrently so does the deadness. A prayer begs "take away my memories!" The embarrassments, betrayals, failures, and utter disgust drag me here. Memory formerly held color, shades, inflections, tones, heights, depths, sadness, ecstacy; a broad palate. Years of repression usher in haziness, blandness, blackouts.

Memories = Music = Memories.

Ears hear.

Memories pulse.

Heart beats.

Life blooms.

The forgotten brought to life by a guitar, a cymbal crash, a lyric.

Popular band, cool band? Yes, no, who cares...memories...call.

Memories are my friend. I run to them. They run to me. A prayer screams "bring them all back to me!" Deadness dies. Hope flies. I rise."

I used to pray for my memories to disappear, out of disgust, shame, or embarrassment regarding who I was, what I did, or who I hurt. Several years of softening have reminded me that memories are my friend and not vicious enemies, even if the memory isn’t always pretty, which leads me to some “moments I want to remember.”

I want to remember…
…the sight of Wyatt standing up in his crib when we walk through the door.

…the 3 person family hug with Bethany, Wyatt, and I when we are dancing to “Party in the

USA

” (don’t worry, I listened to Megadeth's Reckoning Day today to offset the Miley effect on my masculinity).

…conversations with the Kurz’s at ole' "222" on the deck. Hookah!

…vacation breakfasts with the Johnson’s in Phoenix and the notorious Bethany vs. Allison free for all which almost drew blood.

…how Wyatt smells as a baby…aside from the poop smell of course!

…the faces Wyatt makes, and the sounds that accompany them.

…Wyatt grabbing my guitar when I’m trying to play.

…every monumental night of celebration out with Bethany and why they are monumental.

…the details of our time of struggle in getting pregnant and the excitement of finding out we were pregnant.

…being a part of our friend’s weddings (Chris and Libby, Todd and Jen, Shaun and Rachel, Dave and Sarah, Frank and Michelle, Jon and Vanessa, and more!)

...Jon's hilarious running a lap around my apartment.

…the places I’ve lived and the people I met, and what we experienced together.

…the G3 concert with Matt Shaw...and the excitement and demoralizing effect of watching other guitar players who are way better than you.

…playing records in my bedroom between the ages of 11-13…REO Speedwagon’s Hi Infidelity, Styx’s Paradise Theatre, Def Leppard’s High ‘n Dry, Van Halen’s Diver Down, Foreigner 4, Rick Springfield’s Working Class Dog, Queen’s Greatest Hits (especially Another One Bites the Dust played backwards), AC/DC’s For Those About to Rock, Rush’s Moving Pictures, Asia’s self-titled debut, and Journey’s Escape just to name a few.

…playing catch with my Dad until the sun went down and playing basketball in the basement on the 5 foot rim.

…playing basketball in the snow with Steve Booker until our hands went numb and the ball wouldn’t bounce anymore; at least not until we heated the ball back under the hot water of the kitchen sink.

…swimming at my “little sister” Tara’s house growing up…and the sign that said “We don’t pee in your drink, please don’t pee in our pool.”

…trips to the Ozarks with my family and the Ragsdale’s, Martin’s, and Webber’s, and riding in the IMP brand boat my Dad owned…oh, can’t forget the pyramid on water ski’s they did either.

…learning how to water ski at age 7 and how to slalom at 10...I felt cool.

…being at the Casselberry’s when the Twin Towers fell on 9/11, and that there were real people inside those buildings…and I was watching it with very real friends.

…the west coast trip with my family, and the last trip we took with my Grandpa Cabell before he died…playing tennis on a tennis court that was still covered with ash from Mt. St. Helen’s eruption from a year earlier.

…how nervous I was before my first kiss.

…what it felt like to play sports as a kid before I rested my identity on it.

…how it felt to be a team’s MVP, especially when you didn’t believe you should be the MVP and everyone else did.

…how I felt when I heard Def Leppard’s drummer Rick Allen lost his arm in a car accident.

…how much I laughed when Jared Berg would make milk come out of his nose.

…the sadness of doing another “one thing I would never, ever do.”

…the excitement of the day an album from your favorite band is released…and the torture of waiting for it.

…the transition from records to tapes to CD’s to…God help us...digital music.

…feelings…of excitement, of pain, of sadness, of hopefulness, of confusion, of every possible kind.

…the moments where God felt distant.

…the moments where God felt close.

…the first time I heard the opening notes of Rush’s “Limelight”…and how cool it sounded when the drums came in.

…conversations with Dr. Ray about God, sports, and books.

…how dead legalism makes me feel…and how alive grace makes me feel.

…how much fun our 1986 soccer season was…19-3 baby!

…how frustrating my 1987-88 basketball season was…recovering from a broken arm and a 3-22 record.

…meeting Vivian Campbell of Def Leppard at The Baked Potato in L.A.

…Elly calling Wyatt “Baby Poopy.”

…seeing Wyatt for the first time.

…anytime Bethany and I share tears together…or hysterical laughing…they are both awesome.

…the smell of our brand of coffee in the morning.

…the sounds of Wyatt through the baby monitor.

…how much relief I felt in my chest when I finally believed my birth mom gave me life.

…how sweet the sound of Amazing Grace is on Easter morning.

…listening to the “Little Drummer Boy” on my parents stereo as a little boy.

…having a peeing contest at age 4 with my best friend against the side of our house and our neighbor catching us.

…cliché’s are cliché’s for a reason…

…the confusion I felt as I drove around country roads at night with my light’s off at 80mph.

…the sound of “monster in the glove compartment” of my first car.

…all the memories of my best friend Mike from high school and college…and being amazed we are still alive. Mercy is plentiful, especially on a sinking boat.

…what it felt like to be arrested, and how I hope it never, never happens again!

…funny conversations that occur during personal training (during the rest periods of course).

…the time my little, 5’5” 135 lb. brother David punched me in the nose.

…watching my 89 year old Grandmother recovering from a broken hip pull herself up and across my Granddad’s casket to kiss him goodbye.

…that there are more memories to be remembered and someday written...and there is almost always a song tied to them.

She's Country...Not Really, but She's Mine...Happy Birthday!

2009-11-13T09:30:00.001-06:00

In my last post, I relived the emotional drive to work earlier this week. Every song poked at my emotions in the middle of a time of feeling down. This week I’ve gradually moved out of the metaphorical fog. This morning, however, there was literal fog as I drove to work. The first few minutes of my trip made we wonder if I was only one willing to drive in the fog.
Driving in the fog today provided a nice memory for Bethany’s birthday, which is today. We are looking forward to a three day celebration of her birthday (one day is just not enough for her…and that is a complement!). As I randomly stabbed at the preset buttons on my radio, I ended up on either 97.3 or 100.3, which are both country stations. The familiar words rang out:

I think about the years I spent, just passin' through
I'd like to have the time I lost, and give it back to you
But you just smile and take my hand, you've been there you understand
It's all part of a grander plan, that is comin' true
Every long lost dream, led me to where you are

Others who broke my heart, they were like northern stars
Pointing me on my way, into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

- “God Blessed the Broken Road” by Rascal Flatts

Apparently the fact that at least 6.7583 million couples on this planet have adopted this as “their song” didn’t dissuade me from thanking God that he lead me through the “what the hell was I thinking” relationships, through the “thought it was, but it wasn’t” relationships, and the “nice girl, but just not the one” relationships, and led me straight to Bethany. I thought of her playfulness, her depth, her love as a wife to me, and her love of our son. I guess it takes a man to admit it, but yep, I got teary for the second time on my drive to work this week; teary also, because I know how “lucky” I am to have Bethany as my wife. She is precious to me!

“God Blesssed the Broken Road” was immediately followed by this touching ode to a wonderful girl:

…She's a hot little number in her pick-up truck
Daddy's sweet money done jacked it up
She's a party-all-nighter from South Carolina, a bad mamajama from down in Alabama
She's a raging Cajun, a lunatic from Brunswick, juicy Georgia peach
With a thick southern drawl, sexy swing and walk, brother she's all

Country, (shoot) from her cowboy boots to her down home roots
She's country, from the songs she plays to the prayers she prays,
That's the way she was born and raised, she ain't afraid to stay, country
Brother she's country

- “She’s Country” by Jason Aldean

Quite touching, huh? Well, in this case it was, because Bethany LOVES this song. It has a huge chugging rock ‘n roll riff with a country vocal, and definitely rocks. So, I think I officially became the first person on the planet to tear up listening to this song (unless it was a non-country music fan who cried from disgust). I couldn’t help but laugh at myself being emotional as I thought about the time I got in Bethany’s car and the radio almost blew my ear drums out as I started the car. She hilariously laughed and said “I was listening to “She’s Country” by Jason Aldean” and then started mimicking the guitar riff (chunk, chunka-chunk-chunk, chunk-chunk, chunka-chunk-chunk - ba…da, da, ba…da).

So, this is my Happy Birthday to my awesome wife, the only one who could touch my heart enough to make me sappy listening to a song about a “redneck girl.” Bethany, you are an awesome wife, and have shown me how much you love me especially in my times of pain. You’ve experienced some of the worst (in the “for better or worse” equation) lately in watching my pain and frustration. You have been tender, strong, sweet, hopeful, and sad for me. Your heart reminds me that love isn’t just found in a song, but it’s real, and I’m glad God blessed both of our broken roads to each other. I hope your birthday weekend is everything you hope it to be. I love you, baby!!

Ache in My Chest

2009-11-09T15:14:00.002-06:00

Yesterday was brutal emotionally. Have you ever experienced one of those days where an ache in your chest feels overwhelming? Me too, it was yesterday! I’m not sure what triggered it, but I’m wondering if I’m already having a mid-life crisis. Lately, I’ve felt overwhelmed by the number of people I’ve lost touch with in my life. Numerous moves (and years) have allowed me to develop relationships with a lot of people. Unfortunately, the number of moves have allowed for an awful lot of leaving. Friends and family have been left behind on my journey to find what is next. People I used to see everyday, I barely talk to once a year (or even less often).

Yesterday, I even felt homesick for Springfield, IL. I grew up there, spent 23 years of my life there, and have only felt a twinge of wanting to move back around our class reunions. This however was intense and powerful, like I wanted to go back and do something over (watch the tv show “Being Erica” and you’ll get the concept). I know it is impossible to go back, but it doesn’t take away the desire. It is such a strange feeling though to spend most of your life growing up wanting to get away, and then being struck with a desire to go back “home.”

The ache in my chest never left yesterday; the intensity varied, but it never subsided. At one point, I opened our outside freezer to find it wasn’t working and over $200 of recently purchased food was in danger of being lost, so we scrambled to my brother-in-law’s house and saved everything we could (which was at least 95%...good news). As Bethany and I drove home, Mark Wills' song “19 Something” was on, which just further drove the “I’m getting older-life’s moving to fast-where did the time go” stake in a little deeper. The references to Star Wars, baseball cards, Farrah Fawcett all made me realize how fleeting life really is. We’re both crying as we got closer to home, but before we made it in the house, another emotional song came on and we’re sitting in our garage crying.

Bethany even suggested that we get out an old videotape of my high school basketball days. We did. It was strange to watch a young me running all over the court, dribbling between my legs, around the back, missing plenty of shots (dang…wish I wouldn’t have broken my arm pre-season), and just being young. I texted my best friend from high school to let him know we both hit 3 point shots. He told me I needed to get outside and do something. Instead of staying in text mode, I actually called; a uniquely rare occurrence for me at this time in life. He doesn’t want to move back to Springfield, so that undermines a large percentage of my motivation to move there.

I couldn’t sleep last night, although I was exhausted. My body felt extremely agitated, so although we went to bed at 9:30, I woke up at 11:00, and went downstairs to avoid disturbing Bethany with my tossing and turning. As I revved up the truck for work at 5:10am, the song on the radio was Ironic by Alanis Morissette (“an old man turned 98, he won the lottery and died the next day”). Well, that’s ironic isn’t it? The song completed, and I started flipping channels and landed on K-LOVE, the Christian station that I only begrudgingly turn to in desperation.

Big Daddy Weave’s “What Life Would Be Like” blasted through the speakers, while I tried to clear my eyes of tears enough to see the road. “What if I could fix myself, maybe then I could get free, I could try to be somebody else, who’s much better off than me, but I need to remember this, that it’s when I’m at my weakest, I can clearly see.” Sidewalk Prophets followed up with “The Words I Would Say” which only further made me think that God decided he was in charge of what I listened to this morning ("Be strong in the Lord and never give up hope. You’re going to do great things, I already know, God’s got His hand on you so don’t live life in fear, forgive and forget, but don’t forget why you’re here…take your time and pray…these are the words I would say").

Of course, K-LOVE feels it necessary to read Psalm 147:3 “He heals the broken hearted and binds up their wounds.” Alright, I’m either going to crash from tearing up or have my own individual rapture (see ya suckers…just kidding). This is followed up by Nicole C. Mullen's “My Redeemer Lives” which guaranteed I would have to wipe my face before walking into open the gym at 5:30. “The very same God that spins things in orbit, He runs to the weary, the worn and the weak; And the same gentle hands that hold me when I'm broken, They conquered death to bring me victory.”

I feel broken-hearted, and I feel sadness, and I feel…I feel...I feel. This morning I still feel the remnants of yesterday, and I feel like God wanted me to believe He really is paying attention to my pain (both physical and emotional).

My 1st Letter to Wyatt...8.22.08

2009-10-29T08:13:00.007-05:00

Friday, Aug. 22, 2008

Your mom is out working...and you are with her. You haven't yet made your appearance into the world, but you have made a huge impact on our hearts already. Two days ago, we found out that we are having a baby boy! Today, our little baby has been alive inside of "mommy" for 17 weeks and 3 days. It will be another 20+ weeks before we officially meet you, hold you, kiss you, and see your precious face!

Even though we haven't "seen" you yet, we are excited to have pictures of our little boy from the sonogram. The morning of Wednesday, Aug. 20, you were up on the "big screen" as your mom and I watched you move around to announce "I am alive and well!" You moved; raised your arm, did a cool little crawl, waved at us ,and most importantly captivated our hearts. With every view of your button nose, elbow, knee, heart, stomach, and brain, we realized that God is putting you together just fine! Actually, He is doing an amazing job!

As I sit here, the Olympics are playing in the background. You may or may not know what that is by the time you read this, but gold medals are a pretty big deal in the Olympics. Michael Phelps won 8 in swimming. Usain Bolt from Jamaica set two amazing world records by running 9.69 in the 100m dash and 19.30 in the 200m. These guys were amazing to watch, but they can't compare to the little Baby Cabs that we saw that morning!

We could have found out that morning if you were a boy or girl, but we waited until that night. You mom loved the idea of going out to inner with the pictures in an envelope so we could celebrate. She is really amazing at finding great ideas. So, we went to The Melting Pot which is one of our favorite places on the planet to eat. Hopefully, you will get many visits of your own. The reservation was at 8:30pm with flowers for mom (that should be capitalized...Mom!)

As the envelope was opened and we saw the words "it's a boy!" I was completely shocked. Everybody on the planet (ok, not everybody) thought you might be a girl. I always wanted a boy first to be a big brother to a sister, but I just didn't know it would happen. You will know L and E by now and know that we would have been thrilled to have girls (and we might...). However, boys get to play in trees, be adventurous, rugged, and give Moms heat attacks everyday. Dads get to do all sorts of special things to bond...I've been working out really hard to keep up with you! I want to share my life with you, to let you know how special you are, how loved you are, and that you are unique because of who God has made you to be.

There are so many things I want to tell you right now, like...well, it can wait, but I do want you to hear some words that I didn't write, but that I hope you take to heart...

You Cannot Lose My Love by Sara Groves

You will lose your baby teeth
At times, you'll lose your faith in me
You will lose a lot of things,
But you cannot lose my love.

You may lose your appetite,
Your guiding sense of wrong and right,
You may lose your will to fight,
But you cannot lose my love.

You will lose your confidence
In times of trial, your common sense.
You may lose your innocence,
But you cannot lose my love.

Many things can be misplaced,
Your very memories be erased,
No matter what the time or space,
You cannot lose my love,
You cannot lose,
You cannot lose,
You cannot lose my love.

Love,
Dad

Don't Eat My Son!

2009-10-27T09:03:00.001-05:00

“I could just eat you up!” I had heard this phrase a few times in my life, but recently Wyatt’s adoring fan club members have adopted it as a mantra. It sounds morbid, to which I’m thinking “there is no way you are eating my son, you crazy cannibals!” The accompanying silly faces, tickling, and funny voices reduce the risk that I should take the “cannibals” threat of eating my son seriously. This is one moment I am glad figures of speech are alive and well.

Then Jesus said to them, “Most assuredly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day. For My flesh is food indeed, and My blood is drink indeed. He who eats My flesh and drinks My blood abides in Me, and I in him. As the living Father sent Me, and I live because of the Father, so he who feeds on Me will live because of Me. This is the bread which came down from heaven—not as your fathers ate the manna, and are dead. He who eats this bread will live forever.” (John 6:53-58)

These words are shocking. Was Jesus encouraging people to become vampires or werewolves? Had He been reading the Twilight books? What were the thoughts that ran through the minds of the listeners when they heard him say this? When I hear people saying they want to eat my son, I chuckle at how absurd it would sound if they were being completely literal.

I can’t escape the fact that Jesus is quite clever (guess that comes with being God), shocking, and could paint a picture in any setting, and employ the most appropriate imagery necessary. “…unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eat My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day.”

Jesus is pointing forward to his very gruesome death. His body was beaten, His blood shed; for us, for our sins. The innocent died for the guilty. His imagery in this passage fits with the rest of the gospel of John. Over and over, the message of John is presented.

And truly Jesus did many other signs in the presence of His disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, hand that believing you may have life in His name. (John 20:30-31)

The picture of eating His body and drinking His blood is a shocking way to call people to believe in Jesus, the Christ, the Son of God, who died for our sins and was sent by His Father. As I contemplate being a father, I’m grateful that I don’t have to consider offering my son’s life as a sacrifice for others. This would be an agonizing decision for me. Wyatt is an amazing son, and I hope people continue to offer their affection for him by saying crazy things like “I could just eat you up.” As great as I think he is, and as much as I love him (and love that others love him), I realize He is not the greatest Son. There is only one utterly unique, 100% God - 100% Man, who is THE SON. His name is Jesus.

Mercy

2009-10-23T08:35:00.001-05:00

Gal 3:26: For you are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus.
2 Peter 3:18: …but grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ

Apparently, I am in the Marc Byrd appreciation society this week as “Mercy” by Glassbyrd (another band he was in with his wife, Christine Glass) is the inspiration for my thoughts.

Mercy
I’ve journeyed far
I’ve slept out in the desert with the stars
I have felt the mystery
I’ve broken down
Seen my dreams fall like ashes to the ground
I’ve been my own worst enemy

But Your mercy
Is the sweetest gift to me
Your sweet mercy
Is the air I wanna breathe
I feel it washing over me
I’ve traveled long
And I’ve prayed for my vision to carry on
When my eyes just couldn’t see
I’ve been betrayed
And I’ve fallen like a child along the way
I’ve been lost in revelry

I’ve felt ashamed
I’ve cursed the very sweetness of Your name
Yet Your grace still covers me
You breathe on me
I feel Your spirit flow like water to the sea
Through the deepest part of me

For Your mercy
Is the sweetest gift to me
Your sweet mercy
Has been so good to me

Your mercy
Is the sweetest gift to me
I feel it washing over me

The interplay between human frailty and failure, and God and His mercy is intense, sweet, and penetrating. As this song has replayed on my drives to and from work this week, I’m reminded and amazed by God’s mercy in light of my failings. A word that doesn’t actually appear in these lyrics, but that I think is appropriate is patience.

I see patience in the pictures of the song. The condition of God’s child, who has varying experiences in his walk with God ultimately displays God’s patience; that we need His grace and mercy especially when we “curse the very sweetness of His name.” I am often frustrated when I see “fruit inspectors” trying to pick apart someone’s salvation because they aren’t satisfied with the amount of change. Sometimes it seems that a few days or a week of struggle, weakness, or failure is enough time for Mr. Inspector to cast doubt on whether someone is “born again.” Don’t believe me? I’ve read it and seen it with my own eyes. Where is the patience in this?

Today, Wyatt is nine months old. He is on the verge of walking. It is exciting that he will walk, and you can guarantee I will be there with a video camera in hand acting like hyperjoyfulspastastic Dad. I have watched Wyatt fall “like a child along the way” to his next destination; numerous times, not just once. I have patiently, excitedly waited for each moment of progress (rolling, kneeling, crawling, standing, cruising); all without wondering if this is really my son if he doesn’t walk by nine months.

Wyatt will probably fall many times along the way in his relationship with me, but I want him to know a merciful Dad. I hope I never voice my displeasure in one of his choices or failures by saying “you’re not my son.” Do I think I will be the perfect, merciful, patient father? By God’s grace, I can be, but I also know how to “fall like a child”. All I know is I long to see my boy walk, but he is always my boy, whether falling down or walking (and growing), and that will never change. I hope he will see mercy as a gift, not just from me, but ultimately from God.

Over-correcting

2009-10-22T09:47:00.002-05:00

In my last entry, I used the word over-correction. I’m not even sure if it is an actual word, but as a concept, it is a dangerous activity (try over-correcting when you hydroplane…that’s fun ain’t it?). Wyatt gave me a great visual of over-correcting the other day. Actually, it was painful to watch, since he did bang his head on the floor (carpeted thankfully).

While I lay on the couch trying to find a comfortable position to relieve the pain in my back, Wyatt was contently playing on the floor. As expected, the little “Jaws” boy in his Buzz Lightyear outfit was biting something. Lately, he’s been fascinated by the feeling of biting an object, then pulling it away from his mouth, so it pops out. This works best with pacifiers or anything with a rubber base that can be stretched and provide the appropriate pop. Apparently he likes the feeling on his teeth (glad these aren’t his permanent teeth; we’d be calling an orthodontist already).

Wyatt was sitting with his legs straight in front of him with his latest toy victim in his mouth. As he pulled on an orange, green, and blue colored ring and eventually achieved the expected pop, he was a little surprised to find himself flat on his back, feet in the air in the next instant. It looked like someone had just knocked him out (cue any number of UFC highlights). “WAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” After a few seconds of loudly expressed misery, he started giggling as I crawled over to console him and hold him close. Apparently I’m good for something even if I can’t move and function like my old self right now.

So, what picture do I get from this? Often times, I over-correct in many areas, and end up flat on my back. For example, if I was very committed and dedicated to someone or something and things disintegrated, then I might decide to give up trying. I turn 180°. I know it’s popular in Christian circles to refer to repentance as a 180° turn, but at the heart of the word repentance is a “change of mind.” Whether it is 1°, 6° (where’s Kevin Bacon?), or even 180°, a change in perspective is a change in perspective. Sometimes a major overhaul (You mean Jesus really is God in the flesh), sometimes it’s a slight adjustment (Oh, I can trust Him with that too?); in any case it’s a change.

Over the last several years, I feel like I’ve had several of my perspectives changed, but not all of them have been radical. Some have been apparently miniscule. Some might venture into the 90° range, but I see these varying degrees not as a battle of absolutes versus relativism (that’s not even the point I’m making), but as God refining and clarifying who He is to me, for me, in me. Most of the concepts I have written about with Wyatt all come from passages that I was already pretty familiar with; I saw them in black and white (and definitely true), but struggled to see the color and splendor sometimes. Enter Wyatt and my world is changed. Have I changed 180°? You can ask B that question. My answer is yes, no, maybe, and it depends on what area of my life you are talking about.

I do know that my understanding of God as a Father who loves His children has been intensified. I can’t put a degree on it, and honestly I don’t really care to do so. Hopefully I’m not over-correcting again by abandoning all my degree examples within a couple sentences. In any case, I desire freedom, not over-correction, which is why I’m okay with transformation, whether radical or miniscule.

1 Corinthians 3:17 Now the Lord is the Spirit; and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty. 18 But we all, with unveiled face, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, just as by the Spirit of the Lord.

Casting Cares

2009-10-19T14:55:00.000-05:00

Wyatt is probably more emotionally healthy than his parents. He is always going to wear his heart on his sleeve and he definitely wears his emotions on his face and expresses them convincingly with his body language. His giggles accompanied by gasping inhalations and spastic babbling demonstrate bold joy. Trust is demonstrated with raised hands as he wants to be picked up from the floor and held. His anticipation when he is excited is hilarious, especially when he is in his high chair. Feet push against the chair, body tenses, mouth forms an O shape, and arms shake wildly to the sides. Anticipation may quickly cede to anger if we don’t feed him within his acceptable time frame; that comes with a recently developed and hopefully short-lived high pitched squeal.

Wyatt may be socially unacceptable if he showed all these emotions as an adult. However, I am a little jealous of his freedom from emotional deadness and repression. I was a very emotional and volatile kid. It often was scary, because the end result could be fits of profanity filled rage; a hard habit to break. However, as an over-correction as an adult, I learned to suppress and push down emotion, rather than offer them freely to God; believing He might actually have a clue how to deal with me, since He created me and saved me.

One of the most emotionally honest albums I’ve ever heard is from the band Common Children. Their lead singer, Marc Byrd, is more well-known as a songwriter of songs such as “God of Wonders” which was popular in 2000, and is pretty emotionally stirring if you are driving along a highway in East Texas at sunset (another story for another time). In 1997, Common Children released Delicate Fade, which covers a cascade of seemingly conflicting emotions (sadness and hope) and expresses ambivalence artistically with musicality, which can be a rarity in any genre. While the band is no longer together, they left a lasting impression on me.

Written in the midst of tremendous emotional turmoil, the listener may relate to sadness in the lyrics from "Indiscreet":

Love sinks in slow decay
When hearts have been betrayed
In the darkest light of sin
Serpents shed their sin

Placing it under
Treasures lost and never found
Is it a wonder
We watch our world come crashing down

It would be more comfortable if I knew Wyatt would never be betrayed, disappointed, sad, upset, discouraged, heart broken, confused, distraught, unsettled, or hurt. However, he would learn very little about my care for him if he was only happy all the time. He wouldn’t know if I was tenderhearted to his pain. He wouldn’t know that “I’ve been there too, and it hurts.” He wouldn’t know the depth of my love.

In my foolish (and losing) battle to kill and suppress uncomfortable emotions, I’ve missed out [some, not entirely] on knowing how much God cares for me. “Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you in due time, casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:6-7)

“Casting ALL your care upon Him…” Does this sound like a God who tells you to shut up, stuff it, repress it, ignore it, just suck it up, or a God who says “bring it all, every frustration, every pain, every hurt, every sorrow, every care to me.”?

Common Children’s “Stains of Time” from Delicate Fade

Do you want to hear these stories
of love and our mistakes?
Will you show us all Your glory
to soothe and to erase
The stains of time

“Do you want to hear these stories…?” I believe He does…finally, I believe He does.

13 Months Ago Today

2009-10-16T13:38:00.001-05:00

Colossians 1:10 that you may walk worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing Him, being fruitful in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God; 11 strengthened with all might, according to His glorious power, for all patience and longsuffering with joy…

Over a year ago, B and I were excited about the prospects of our immediate future. Wyatt was kicking around in her belly at the time and I was interviewing at a local church. Everything felt right like God was walking us by the hand straight into the perfect place at the perfect time; and then? It didn’t happen. 13 months ago, we came in a close 2nd for the ministry position; a kick in the gut. Col 1:10-11 was part of the message that I taught during my interview process. Funny thing; my emphasis was on God’s power, that we be “strengthened with all might according to His glorious power.” I don’t really remember teaching the part about for “all patience and longsuffering with joy…” I know I quoted it, but that wasn’t the major point of that day.

However, looking back, I have to wonder if that was supposed to be the main point for our lives as a family. We do have joy and we have hope, and it doesn’t come without a war of patience and longsuffering. The event horizon of “what God has next” has been achingly prolonged. As I sit and type, I’m feeling another ache. I am in the fitness profession but am currently fighting an apparent disc problem in my low back that is causing tremendous pain. I feel weak, sometimes a little pathetic, and often times stand up like I’m 78 rather than 38…wait, I already turned 39.

My former routine of push-ups, pull-ups, etc. is jettisoned in favor of therapeutic exercises along with heating, icing, and a cycle of Prednisone to reduce the inflammation. Easy tasks become challenging. Enjoyable tasks are accompanied by pain, and those too painful are taken on by B (who already does so much as it is). As I move with more difficulty, I marvel at Wyatt’s progress and growth. He is so close to walking! It excites us, but I also witness a companion who isn’t without his own struggles.

When fatigue sets in, Wyatt’s coordination begins to disappear. All the motor skills and movements that appeared to be second nature devolve into a discombobulated sequence of flailing, falling down, rubbing his eyes, fighting a runny nose, crying major tears, and the occasional exhausted smile after one of us comes to the rescue. His strength is growing daily, but even so, there are times he cannot hold everything together no matter how much he fights. In these moments, he is completely dependent on us to care for him, to carry him.

If I would have been given the ministry position 13 months ago would I understand my own need for His strength to walk (as I presently hobble along)? Would I know Him in the way I do now? Would I experience my own discombobulated flailing that intensifies the knowledge of my need to “be strengthened with all might according to His glorious power?” Would I come to understand that I need to be strengthened “for all patience and longsuffering with joy?”

In March, I started my own personal fitness challenge because I wanted to keep up with my son. Because of it, I was stronger, more athletic, and more physically prepared to be an active Dad. Now, I’m inactive, and unsure of when I will find physical relief (don’t worry I didn’t hurt myself doing the workouts). I didn’t expect to feel this weak after gaining so much strength.

I share weakness with Wyatt. I share a need for someone else’s strength. I share a need to have joy in my suffering. Would I be blind to all these things if everything went according to plan on September 16, 2008?

Where Our Wild Thing Is

2009-10-14T13:05:00.001-05:00

I am ecstatic about the release of the movie “Where the Wild Things Are.” Based upon a book that has probably no more than 200 words, that leaves an awful lot of room for Spike Jonze’s imagination to run, which would be the point of the book. Without ruining the story, the main character Max’s imagination turns his otherwise plain room into an elaborate creation of travel to unknown lands full of “Wild Things,” of which he becomes the king.

Maybe I’m a little too excited to see this movie, but I’m nostalgic, especially after reading the book to Wyatt last night and hearing him growl and excitedly rock back and forth as B held him and I read. The pictures from this book are still vivid for me, as the remind me of my childhood.

On Saturday, we took Wyatt to his Uncle B’s house. As we were waiting for Uncle B, Wyatt’s Pop (Grandpa), was holding him. The neighbor’s dog starting barking. Wyatt, not to be outdone starting growling (at least that’s what we call it) back at the dog, arms tense and raised high to each side, while his legs powerfully flailed. That’s our little Wild Thing.

He was confident in Pop’s arms and felt the freedom to fire back a warning shot at the dog across the street. We’ve seen this before from Wyatt. We’ve also seen him be intimidated by a dog if not in the arms of someone bigger and stronger than himself. That’s not always the case. Sometimes he’s confident on their level too, but not always, as a higher pitched panic induced squeal alerts us that all is not right in Wyatt Land.

Wyatt’s confidence and bravado are greater when he is held by someone with more strength. As I watched Wyatt growling back at the dog, I couldn’t help but think “be strong in the Lord and the power of His might.” Wyatt, when left to fight for himself or his own safety (that’s a metaphor, not an actual reality; we don’t leave him sitting alone in a room with pitbulls), often has a significantly different experience. He experiences fear instead of excitement and power. While Ephesians 6 breaks down how to be strong in the Lord more than Wyatt could possibly understand as Pop was holding onto him, the concept is the same. He was protected and he was strong in someone else’s might, rather than his own. All the battle armor in Ephesians 6 is “of God.” It’s not something we falsely imagine or make believe or make for ourselves, but something that does require a little heavenly imagination to believe for ourselves.

Eph 6:10 Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. 11 Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil…

Abba, Father

2009-10-12T17:09:00.001-05:00

Romans 8:15 "For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, “Abba, Father.” 16 The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, 17 and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer with Him, that we may also be glorified together."

Last night, as back pain radiated down my hip and leg, sleep was a distant land for several hours. At one point, my eyelids finally collapsed. Within minutes, Wyatt’s cries amplified through the baby monitor, and my first chance at sleep was thwarted. We’ve been letting him sleep through the night without rescue so that he learns how to stay asleep. Last night, the cries didn’t stop, and we were probably a little desperate to help him help us sleep, since I needed to be at work at 5:30am (not a completely selfless act I know!).

I walked in his room and he was snuggled up in the corner, head burrowed downward and knees tucked under his stomach, like he was seriously praying. The game plan was this; retrieve one of the four pacifiers lying around his crib, place it in his mouth, let him fall easily back to sleep, nuff said. This plan failed, and failed quickly. He stirred, sat up, and tried to stand, so I picked him up, put his pacifier in his mouth and his head immediately dropped down to my shoulder. “Yes, this is going to work; I’m such a good Dad! I love it when he rests his head on me!”

In a battle of expedience vs. patience, I attempted to be expedient. “If I act quickly, he will go down.” Wrong! When his body came into contact with the mattress, he immediately rolled over, stood up, both hands white knuckling the edge of the crib, with a look of terror and a scream; several screams actually. His eyes pierced through me screaming “what are you gonna do now, Dad?!” “Take my pain away!” Wyatt often does say “Dada, dada, dada, dada.” Does he actually mean “Daddy?” Probably not yet, but I can just imagine his thoughts. Did he say it last night? I don’t know, I was in the fog of war!

“Dada, I’m in pain!” “Dada, I’m a mess, help me!” “Dada, I’m your ridiculously adorable baby boy who shares your DNA and cowlick; aren’t you going to rescue me?” Sometimes the rescue would be delayed, but not last night. I’ve never seen him look so…so…desperate.

"For you did not receive the spirit of bondage (stuck in a crib all alone) again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, “Abba, Father.” (Dada!!!) The Spirit Himself (and DNA and cowlicks) bear witness with our spirit that we are children of God (Dada!!), and if children, then heirs—heirs of God (Dada!) and joint heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer (in a crib, or without sleep) with Him, that we may also be glorified (finally!) together."

Don’t worry, I’m not putting myself in the place of God. Actually, Wyatt wanted Mama more than Dada last night, so she’s closer to God in this story than I am. So, why would I “twist” scripture like this? Well, I’m twisting it, but I’m only twisting it to personify the desperate cry of a child to a Father in the middle of suffering.

I saw something last night that brought more clarity to the phrase “by whom we cry out, “Abba, Father.” I am often tight lipped and can bottle things up, even to the point of suppression and denial. I wonder if I took Wyatt’s lead and cried violently, white-knuckling the edge of my metaphorical crib, fully aware of my dire condition, if I would see my Dada’s desire to hear my cry? I suffered with Wyatt last night, albeit for different reasons. B suffered. We all suffered, but in the suffering there was comfort. B loved having Wyatt finally rest on her and both of them were comforted in those moments. I was comforted in knowing that I have numerous opportunities to see “Dada” differently, and that I didn’t get swept up to the point of bitterness over losing precious sleep. 3 hours of sleep isn’t much, and yes, for me that is suffering, but it’s 7:23am on October 12, 2009 and I know it’s not eternity yet, but there will be a time when suffering ends, the cries stop, and waking up at 4:50am isn’t even a potential concern ever again. Until then, we’ll cry “Abba, Father.”

Just Happy to Be There

2009-10-10T08:19:00.001-05:00

Wyatt makes us laugh for a million reasons. As he starts to laugh and "talk" more, he will babble, growl, and giggle. Often times, he will get really worked up when B or I is talking on the phone. The jaws start flappin' and he goes hyperactive on us; well, until we try to put him on the phone, then he usually goes completely silent. He may still be fascinated and happy to see the phone near him, but he just goes silent like he doesn't know what to say anymore. Just a few seconds earlier he sounds like Benny Hinn talking in tongues, just going 100mph only to grind to screeching halt. Actually a screech is too loud a description in most circumstances.

Romans 8:26 "Likewise the Spirit also helps in our weaknesses. For we do not know what we should pray for as we ought, but the Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered." This has always been confusing for me, since we are often exhorted to pray harder, pray more, yada yada. Often times I am like Wyatt; I go silent and don't really have a clue what to say to God. Books are written about folks who spend three hours praying in the snow and I can't stay focused for three seconds. I may know he's on the other end of that "24 hour help line" (nice lame cliche huh?) ready to listen, and I'm stuck on mute or maybe just numb. My prayers are, if they actually come out, generally pretty lame and not earthshaking.

Often times, I don't pray, because I really don't have a clue what is going on for me or for others or the world; I'm just existing. However, I don't know if I really bought into the idea that someone else was praying for me (non-human form that is), even when I'm clueless. Wyatt has given me a tiny picture of what that might look like. Even if he won't talk into the phone, he is still completely engaged. The smile is still there; he's just happy to be there listening to some voice emanating from the phone.

He's just happy to be there. What? He's just happy to be there. For real, say it again, say it again?! He's just happy to be there! I wonder if I dare give myself the same amount of grace? To sit and be amazed, not really knowing what to say, but being happy to just "be there" knowing the "Spirit Himself makes intercession for us with groaning which cannot be uttered." "Hi God, this is your son, Darin, I'm just happy to be here; I don't know what is going on for me, and I'm not sure what to say. I'm tired and weary, my back hurts, and don't have much energy, but I know you are searching my heart and you know what I feel, need, want, hope for, more than I do, so I'm going to bask in this, knowing I can rest in You knowing me right now...and I don't know what else to say."

Romans 8:27 "Now He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He makes intercession for the saints according to the will of God."

Perspective

2009-10-06T21:07:00.002-05:00

Memories come fully equipped with mixed feelings. In my history of reviewing and reliving memories, emotions can be either fierce monsters or dear friends depending on the present condition of my heart. If played out over the course of a lifetime, it may look like a spectacularly long roller coaster, with moments of outright terror (the first big drop), long periods of blackness (going through tunnels where sight is limited), and even ecstasy (when I realize I feel all this because I’m actually alive).

The Big Drop: At age 8, a conversation (not the first) with my Mom regarding my adoption takes place on the bottom bunk of my bed:

Me: “Why did she let me go?”
Mom: “Because she loved you very much”
Me: “What was wrong with me?”
Mom: “Nothing, God doesn’t make any junk!”
Me: “Nobody wants me!”
Mom: “We do, we adopted and wanted you!”

The Dark Tunnel: At age 18, a conversation with my Mom and my girlfriend at the time takes place at kitchen table:

Mom: “I really think Darin still struggles with rejection from being adopted”
Girlfriend: “Yeah, he probably does.”
Me: “I don’t really think about it.”

Light Ahead: At age 36; the last conversation in the Dark Tunnel occurs with my wife and mother-in-law occurs:

Mother-in-law: “Do you ever think about looking for your birth mom?”
Me: “Sometimes, but mostly I don’t think about it.”
Bethany: “I bet she thinks about you all the time.”

[You’ll have to read the following post to get the backstory on the last conversation in the tunnel.]

Ecstacy: At age 38, Bethany and I sit in the hospital room with Wyatt when he is a couple days old.

Bethany: “Why are you crying?”
Me: “I can’t believe I ever thought it wasn’t hard for my birth mom to give me up?”
Bethany: “Why?”
Me: “He looks like me. He’s precious. He’s adorable. He looks like I did as a baby…how could I think she didn’t want me? She had to be crazy not to want me!”

I have no idea what my birth mom felt when she gave birth to me at 11:57pm on July 15, 1970 in Lafayette, Indiana. She may have been terrified. She may have wanted me, but felt trapped and that she had no other choice. I used to believe I was easy to give up, to let go, and that makes it really hard to care about much of anything for any sustainable period of time. Lies beat you [me] into submission, make you [me] question your very existence, and doubt anything about you [me] is worth keeping, holding onto, or wanted. There were several occasions that collectively worked to bring me out of darkness. One was Bethany saying “I bet she thinks about you all the time.” One was Tracy’s insistence on sharing a song with me (just in case you didn't pay attention to needing to read the backstory). Finally, one was seeing Wyatt, and realizing that a little baby boy can wreck a person’s world in the most glorious, amazing, and best ways possible. He has also helped me believe the best about my birth mom’s intentions.

I think it also changed my perspective in one more way. My Mom would say God doesn't make any junk. I started to believe it on Nov. 4, 2006, but on Jan. 23, 2009 there was a face; Wyatt's face. What a reminder that in Christ we are Someone's workmanship, not an accident, not an afterthought, and definitely NOT junk.

“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them.” (Eph. 2:8-10)

Sneezing Yogurt

2009-10-04T15:47:00.004-05:00

Fortunate is a very appropriate word. Fortunate why? Wyatt is over 8 months old and other than the short after effect of his scheduled shots with our pediatrician, he has rarely showed signs of being sick. When Wyatt woke up today, however, his face had a significant amount of mucus (snot, if you are so inclined) pouring from his nose. Did the very welcome storm last night change the weather enough to shock his system? I have no idea, but I do know that our normally adventurous boy clung harder to my neck walking down the stairs this morning, which immediately transferred to wanting to snuggle up against B this morning.

The tears are in abundance also. His exhaustion shows in looking like a punch drunk boxer, who occasionally intersperses his sneezes and cries with an almost inebriated smile that drew quite a few laughs from me while I tried to feed him at lunch. Of course, his Buzz Lightyear superhero pajamas make me laugh more.

Yogurt is one of my least favorite foods to feed him, whether healthy or sick, for the mere fact that the consistency always allows for plenty of dropping, splattering, and spraying if Wyatt decides to test his ability to imitate a motor boat. Today, the addition of sneezing to his repertoire of mess inducing tactics created plenty of new excitement. One particular attempt to carefully maneuver the spoonful of yogurt toward his mouth was met with a quick and powerful sneeze that sent it flying everywhere.

Wyatt actually enjoys sneezing, and if you look at the pictures, you can see a progression; a little left over yogurt from the previous sneeze, is closely followed by sneeze #2, which in turn leads a look of shock, then excitement, and finally exhaustion and teary eyes. The picture not caught was him rubbing the back of hands all over his face and eyes, which of course carried snot and yogurt; a wonderful combination of goo.

Being that I can't stop thinking of these hyper-spiritual (feeling a little self-conscious here) lessons I learn in these moments, I thought "what does this remind me of?" Bad use of "the english" I know. Who ends a thought with a preposition?

Wyatt looked like a mess, a cute mess, but a mess nonetheless, but I digress. His face has been wiped of tears, yogurt, and snot today...repeatedly, and at a pace greater than we've ever experienced. This is plenty for just one kid!

Can you imagine the picture of God wiping away millions, billions, and maybe trillions (or more) of tears? How will he do it? Is it just a metaphor that one day God will be the ultimate spokesman for Johnson's baby shampoo ("no more tears")? I don't really know, but I do know that tears will one day cease, at least ones associated with sorrow and pain. Maybe He will leave the ones that are from the joy of being completely and fully in His presence (even though Revelation says that along with death there will be no more crying...if that's the case, then I figure he'll replace joyful crying with some other unique and currently unexplainable experience)?

Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Also there was no more sea. Then I, John, saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, “Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” (Rev. 21:1-4)

Look and Live

2009-10-02T08:27:00.001-05:00

It’s good that our last name is Cabell. I remind everyone that it rhymes with babble. If that gets a blank look, I say “it rhymes with scrabble.” Then someone inevitably says “your last name is Crabell.” “No! You crazy person, that’s why I said babble first! It’s Cabell!” That statement only occurs in my head and never leaves my mouth. OK, what’s my point? Wyatt babbles. “Gagababadododadamamashamalamadingdong” is his favorite phrase right now.

During our “we should be ashamed of ourselves for not going to church” outing this past Sunday morning, Wyatt spent a portion of time eating (getting about 50% of his food into his mouth, and the other 50% on the floor), getting kissed and held by Lolly (Grandma) and Pop (Grandpa), a little while comfortably sleeping, and even left enough time for babbling and singing while gazing out at the clouds as we drove.

On occasion, I’d glance back in the mirror and watch him staring out the window with his accompanying lead vocals. Sometimes it sounded like singing. The new Crowder CD was playing, so maybe he was getting into that techno-rock-melancholy-inspirational Church Music?

His babbling is fun, but his intensity in looking at the clouds was what really struck me. Was he talking to God already, saying “yo, nice job on those clouds? Can I lay down on one of those?” No clue, but he was really locked in. We would beckon him by repeating his name over and over, yet he was focused and completely ignored us, babbling to his heart’s content.

“Look!” That is the one word that bounced around my cranium repeatedly as I watched him. Look. It seems like a simple word. Four letters, a fairly simple action, right?

In a conversation with some dude named Nick (Nicodemus to be more accurate), Jesus referred to a look that apparently was pretty important.

“No one has ascended to heaven but He who came down from heaven, that is, the Son of Man who is in heaven. And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life. For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.” (John 3:13-16)

He pointed back to a picture of Moses lifting a serpent up as the children of Israel journeyed (a nice word for wandered? They did that an awful lot evidently). The word "look" doesn’t appear in the John passage, but the reference is obvious in Numbers.

“Then they journeyed from Mount Hor by the Way of the Red Sea, to go around the land of Edom; and the soul of the people became very discouraged on the way. And the people spoke against God and against Moses: “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and our soul loathes this worthless bread.” So the Lord sent fiery serpents among the people, and they bit the people; and many of the people of Israel died. Therefore the people came to Moses, and said, “We have sinned, for we have spoken against the Lord and against you; pray to the Lord that He take away the serpents from us.” So Moses prayed for the people. Then the Lord said to Moses, “Make a fiery serpent, and set it on a pole; and it shall be that everyone who is bitten, when he looks at it, shall live.” So Moses made a bronze serpent, and put it on a pole; and so it was, if a serpent had bitten anyone, when he looked at the bronze serpent, he lived.” (Numb. 21:4-9)

Doesn’t it seem odd that a look can spare someone from death? “Step right up, step right up…wait, or just lay there, I know that bite must be painful, and it doesn’t look too good either; it’s turning black, gross…but by all means look, and you will live!” Maybe it sounded a little crazy at that point in time to merely look, but if you are desperate and a look would save your life from physical death, then start looking!

It still sounds crazy to plenty of people that looking to Jesus (believing) and his death on the cross (lifted up like the serpent) for our sins would allow them to “not perish” but have “eternal life,” which, rumor has it, is quite an upgrade from merely regular life.

It probably doesn’t help that the crazy guy that used to wear the Rainbow wig and hold the John 3:16 sign at public events went a little nuts himself. Still, the perception of craziness doesn’t undermine what Jesus said to Nicodemus that night, and it still deserves a place on a placard no matter who holds it: “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.”

Turning Laughter into Laughter

2009-10-01T08:16:00.000-05:00

“You are ridiculous!” Sometimes, I swear that is what Wyatt’s laughter is saying to me. “Daddy, you are a crazy person and you are ridiculous!” Occasionally, I will act like a fool to get a response from him, and at his current age, it sounds like he is on the brink of passing out as he inhales forcefully and creates a high pitched wheeze; all the while, he is smiling and either tucking his face toward shoulder or tossing his head back.

If there is any laughter directed toward me, I’ll take this kind over the “hey, that guy’s got a booger hanging from his nose” laugh, the “can’t believe he’s speaking in public with his zipper down” snicker, or the “did he just fart while demonstrating a sit-up?” cackle. Those three are hard to recover from any day of the week. However, Wyatt’s laughing at his Dad just because he enjoys him is heaven on earth for me.

Laughter is best when shared with people you are close to, and nears intoxication when you can’t restrain it. Laughter, as mentioned before can also be negative, and involve derision or mocking; maybe even disbelief. Two instances separated by a year show how a person can hear a promise at one point and laughingly think “you, God, are ridiculous!” (disbelief) only to laugh with joy at amazement that God may indeed be ridiculous, but in an totally awesome way (sorry, I grew up in the 80's and I have to give ode to Valley Girls everywhere)!

Scene 1
“Then one of them said, “I will return to you about this time next year, and your wife, Sarah, will have a son!” Sarah was listening to this conversation from the tent. Abraham and Sarah were both very old by this time, and Sarah was long past the age of having children. So she laughed silently to herself and said, “How could a worn-out woman like me enjoy such pleasure, especially when my master—my husband—is also so old?” Then the Lord said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh? Why did she say, ‘Can an old woman like me have a baby?’ Is anything too hard for the Lord? I will return about this time next year, and Sarah will have a son.” Sarah was afraid, so she denied it, saying, “I didn’t laugh.” But the Lord said, “No, you did laugh.” (Gen 18:15-20)

Scene 2
The Lord kept his word and did for Sarah exactly what he had promised. She became pregnant, and she gave birth to a son for Abraham in his old age. This happened at just the time God had said it would. And Abraham named their son Isaac. Eight days after Isaac was born, Abraham circumcised him as God had commanded. Abraham was 100 years old when Isaac was born. And Sarah declared, “God has brought me laughter. All who hear about this will laugh with me. Who would have said to Abraham that Sarah would nurse a baby? Yet I have given Abraham a son in his old age!” (Gen 1:21-26)

The name Isaac apparently means “he laughs,” so I’m wondering if we picked the wrong name for Wyatt. He laughs…A LOT! When I look at the two scenes, it is obvious that God is funny and is free to turn laughter into laughter, and fly in the face of all human reason. Yeah, it is ridiculous that Sarah would have a child at such an old age, but ridiculous is not all that it is; it is wonderful, amazing, and should be celebrated when he surprises us by changing our mind about “that crazy old man in the sky” (eternity is a lot of years, so I’m not being derogatory!).

I’m 39 years old, and Wyatt is 8 months old. I will be 52 years old when he becomes a teenager, and will be 61 years old if he graduates college at 22 years old. That is a precarious position. Officially, I will be “old,” and he will have double the ammunition to believe his Dad is not only crazy, but nearing senility. There will probably be times that he laughs thinking “he has no clue what he is talking about.” Maybe there will be opportunities for his laughter to turn to another form of laughter when relating to me? I’ll cherish moments like that. Ultimately, I do hope for the occasional moment of him thinking “God couldn’t possibly do that” only to find out that God is entirely free to say “watch this!” Maybe Wyatt will still wheeze in a laughing fit at the surprises his Heavenly Father throws at him, just like he did this morning at his earthly Dad?

What He (We) Will Be

2009-09-30T08:30:00.001-05:00

Expectation is a word that can either elicit a cringe or stir up excitement. The weight of expectation often paralyzes people when they are faced with public pressure. How many bands crumble under the expectation to deliver another masterpiece after they just made their best record the last time around? The pressure can stifle and repress creativity rather than foster it, and turn confidence into insecurity and doubt.

Expectation also can carry hope. The hope of what could be, what might be, what will be; that is exciting (even if a bit scary). I have no guarantee that Wyatt will grow up and live a long happy life. I hope he does, but I know that life is a dangerous ride. Even with the lack of a guarantee that Wyatt will have a smooth ride through life, I do experience the exciting anticipation of expectation. I get to wonder what he will be like as he grows. What will inspire him or discourage him? Where will he find his passion and what will he dislike? Will he be athletic; a future MMA fighter or football player? What if he is a musician? Will he play guitar like me or be a mad man behind the drum kit? Can he sing like his Mom? Will his gifts be completely different than B and I or will he share some of the same?

I have no idea. I don’t have a map that shows me how tall he will be at 13 years old, or who his first best friend will be, or who is the first girl he thinks is “the one and only.” My predictions are meaningless at this point, but the “what if” is exciting. When will he be able to beat me in a game of HORSE or beat me in a race? Will he even want to play a game of HORSE? When will he first think his Dad is a dork, and hopes that he never shows his face around his friends?

“Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed on us, that we should be called children of God! Therefore the world does not know us, because it did not know Him. Beloved, now we are children of God; and it has not yet been revealed what we shall be, but we know that when He is revealed, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.” (1 John 3:1-2)

“It has not yet been revealed what we shall be…” What are we going to be like? Well, it is does say “we shall be like Him.” But, how will be like Him? Will we be able to walk through walls, like He did with His glorified body after the resurrection? Can we travel the universe? Chase Bigfoot around the New Rocky Mountains on the New Earth (sorry, just had to drop Bigfoot in there)? I don’t know, but we will be free, finally, totally and completely free; whatever that looks like! We’re free right now in a sense (“he who has died has been freed from sin,” “where the Spirit of Lord is, there is freedom.”) but we are also looking forward expectantly to our full freedom; to become everything God desires for us for eternity without hindrance or frustration in a (cue trumpets) glorified body.

As I look forward to seeing Wyatt change and grow, I wonder how God looks forward to our big change; when we are revealed as who we were intended to be for all eternity. I could have asked “I wonder if God looks forward to our big change” but I would think that goes without saying that He does. Of course He does! To see His children finally become all that they were created for and apparently in the twinkle of an eye; free at last! I want to live this life excited that Wyatt’s life is gradually being revealed and I want to live this life excited and expectantly waiting for the great big final revealing!

Pleasing Papa

2009-09-29T07:42:00.003-05:00

Despite a reputation within our family circle that Wyatt is borderline sinless without capacity to show an attitude, the truth in fact is that our little Superbaby is merely human. Now, don’t get me wrong when I say merely human. In his humanity, we eagerly await each and every heart pulling facial expression, laugh, or new skill with anticipation. Humanity, although fallen, still holds within its very nature the wonder of God’s handiwork (in seminary one of the most familiar refrains in Anthropology was “the image of God was effaced but not erased,” which I suppose is similar to spray paint over the top of a wondrous piece of art). Wyatt is wonderful!

I have wondered what pleases me as a father. Do I require that Wyatt crawl for me to be pleased with Him? No, but did I ever enjoy filming that first time as I cheered him on. Do I require that he never makes a mess while I feed him? No, although I do wish his accuracy in splattering those awful smelling peas was at a significantly lower percentage. Do I require that he be ahead of “other babies” in his development? No, but I am always excited to see how quickly he learns and grows and changes.

If I don’t require all of this from him to please me, what really pleases me? He pleases me. He is my son! That is my son, my DNA, part of me, from me, and dear to me. Inherently, I am pleased because he is my little boy and not because he does anything at all.

I will admit that something else does please me. Over the last few weeks, I’ve noticed that I love moments when it feels like he trusts me. I was telling someone that my favorite moments are when he is so exhausted that he can’t help but rest his head on my shoulder. I absolutely love that, and that moment tells me he trusts me.

When does it seem like he doesn’t trust me? When he is hungry and is ready to eat “now” it doesn’t matter that I’m telling him I am getting his food and will have it ready quickly. B gets to go through the same thing, so I don’t feel completely singled out and pathetic…I get to share that with her!

“When all the people were baptized, it came to pass that Jesus also was baptized; and while He prayed, the heaven was opened. And the Holy Spirit descended in bodily form like a dove upon Him, and a voice came from heaven which said, “You are My beloved Son; in You I am well pleased.” (Luke 3:21-22)

Do you think it was only then that the Father was finally pleased with Jesus at that point? Father, Son, and Holy Spirit existed in perfect union for eternity past before Jesus ever was divinely birthed in Mary’s womb, became a little baby, navigated being a teenager, and eventually became a man. Do you think this is really the first time God the Father was pleased with His Son? Did He withhold His words and refuse to acknowledge Jesus until this moment. I doubt it. If God is the God I think He is, then the Father always was pleased with the Son, because that’s His Son. There are numerous moments (all moments apparently) that the Father was pleased with His Son living on the earth to be sure, but is that what is at the heart of what pleases him? Maybe I’m incorrectly reading my theology back onto God, but for some reason I think at the heart of it all, the Father loves His Son, because “that’s my boy” and also loves when He trusts Him, which was clearly obvious that he did in leaving a perfect heavenly abode to go into the ultimate lion’s den of earth to suffer. That took a lot of trust and…yep, I believe it made His Papa proud.

Happy Dad

2009-09-24T17:44:00.003-05:00

Before Wyatt was born I looked forward to him being my son. Over a year ago, we found out we were having a little boy. We loved him before we ever saw him face to face. Ultrasounds are phenomenal inventions, but still it was difficult to really grasp who Wyatt truly was in the womb....definitely handsome, of course, but it is hard to capture all his personality. Yet, the absence of clarity couldn’t cloud the obvious; we loved him before we could hold him.

We loved him before we knew when he would roll over, crawl, or walk. We loved him before we knew when his first tooth would come in. We loved him before we knew he would first look like Daddy, then take on Mommy’s characteristics, then look like a even mix between the two of us (except for the cowlick of course…B doesn’t have one). We loved him before we knew just how many diapers he could make it through in one day. We loved him before he would have trouble sleeping through the night. We loved him before he would sleep soundly through the night. We loved him before he would poop all over Daddy’s left arm (that was a lot of poop and a lot of love too!). We loved him before we knew he would like to bite everything. We loved him before we knew he liked to grab the strings on Daddy’s guitar. We loved him before developed the grip strength of a baby gorilla and demonstrated it on Mommy’s ear rings and Daddy’s chest hair (still thinking about going metrosexual and shaving that off!). We loved him before his first cry…and his last. We loved him before he would crawl to us when one of us walks through the door after work. We love him and it makes us happy to love him.

We are bound by time. We do not exist outside of time, and are often tortured by that fact. We can’t control time; make it slow down, speed up, or disappear altogether. Our lives are measured by time (ask Usain Bolt), mocked by time (ask any actor or actress trying to relive the stardom of younger years), and driven to madness by time (running late or missed deadlines anyone?). Rarely do we get a glimpse of what God experiences as one unbound and uncontrolled by time. However, I think the one place that he says “take a look at how I see things” is in the birth of a child. We share in the joy of someone who hasn’t yet been revealed. God does the same in the birth of his spiritual children. The Happy Dad God isn’t often the picture presented to the world, but Ephesians chapter one definitely emphasizes his “good pleasure” in calling believers in Jesus his children.

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ, just as He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and without blame before Him in love, having predestined us to adoption as sons by Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the good pleasure of His will, to the praise of the glory of His grace, by which He made us accepted in the Beloved (Eph 1:3-7).

Before the foundation of the world, we were “predestined to adoption as sons by Jesus Christ to Himself.” That’s pretty big stuff. On May 23, 2008, we found out we were pregnant. This is the closest I can come to understanding how God chose us in love “before the foundation of the world.” For eight months, until his arrival on January 23, 2009, we loved him before we could kiss his tiny little face. God adopted us to the good pleasure of His will. It makes him happy to have children. It makes us happy that Wyatt is our little boy. Imagine how an infinitely loving God can love us even before the foundation of the world, which is harder to grasp than a mere eight months.

I hope Wyatt doesn’t feel the need to obsessively decipher how his parents could love him before they saw him, but that he can bask in it, and know he is “accepted.” I also hope that right here, right now, I don’t have to debate how and why he would choose me, but that I could bask in the realization that it makes Him happy to be a Father to me. If you happen to feel that this is a little too sweet and nice, and not at all the picture of the God you think He is, consider this; just a few verses later it is expressed again just how tiny little humans (who need an awful lot of forgiveness) becoming his children brings Him joy:

In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, according to the riches of His grace which He made to abound toward us in all wisdom and prudence, having made known to us the mystery of His will, according to His good pleasure which He purposed in Himself,…In Him also we have obtained an inheritance, being predestined according to the purpose of Him who works all things according to the counsel of His will, that we who first trusted in Christ should be to the praise of His glory (Eph 1:8-12).

And…that’s all I have to say about that (thanks Forrest Gump).

15 Minutes of Bliss

2009-09-23T13:30:00.001-05:00

Our life at home often feels too busy to truly enjoy “only” fifteen minutes at any given time. The prospect of one of us leaving for work often sours our ability to enjoy the time we do have. Several Friday’s ago, I came home from work with an awareness that I would be departing shortly to see a client at his home. I love going to see him. He is kind, wise, and a good friend. However, my fatigued body and heart were both longing to just be at home with my wife and boy (aka B and Wyatt).

Knowing that the David Crowder Band was merely weeks away from releasing their next album, I searched on the internet for their new single “How He Loves Us” to enjoy for the few minutes before my departure. On the way to finding Crowder’s version, I came across a video of John Mark McMillan (the original writer and performer of “How He Loves Us”). B and I sat on the couch with Wyatt listening to the story behind the song and watched John Mark perform the song, followed shortly thereafter by a listen through Crowder’s cover version.

During those 15 minutes, Wyatt laughed, smiled, and crawled with joyous abandon all over his parents, fully enthralled by the music that was playing. B and I shed many tears; some out of joy for the rare gift of enjoying fifteen minutes together, a few from our gratefulness for our little boy and his ability to laugh and play freely on us, and some for having our hearts moved by the simple realization that God loves us even more than we love Wyatt. Would we explode if we could even grasp a love that surpasses knowledge (Eph 3:14-21)? Maybe!

14 For this reason I bow my knees to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,15 from whom the whole family in heaven and earth is named, 16 that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with might through His Spirit in the inner man, 17 that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love, 18 may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the width and length and depth and height— 19 to know the love of Christ which passes knowledge; that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. 20 Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us, 21 to Him be glory in the church by Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.

I would love to say that I am often moved by “Christian music” but I am not. It is rare, and the reasons too numerous to name in this post. However, these fifteen minutes were uncluttered by heavy theological conjecture and free from my generally jaded attitude toward the state of contemporary Christian music. Instead, the overtly simple chorus “He loves us, Whoa! How He loves us, Whoa! How He loves us, Oh how He loves…” felt like the world’s greatest poet had unleashed words so foreign and previously heard only by angels and that we couldn’t help but weep…blissfully weep.

In the spirit of the movie “The Christmas Story” I triple dog dare you to take your own fifteen minutes of bliss and listen for yourself, because “Oh, how He loves you so.”

How He Loves Us (John Mark McMillian lyrical version)

He is jealous for me,
Loves like a hurricane, I am a tree,
Bending beneath the weight of his wind and mercy.
When all of a sudden,
I am unaware of these afflictions eclipsed by glory,
And I realize just how beautiful You are,
And how great Your affections are for me.

And oh, how He loves us so,
Oh how He loves us,
How He loves us all

Yeah, He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves.
Yeah, He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves.

We are His portion and He is our prize,
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes,
If grace is an ocean, we’re all sinking.
So Heaven meets earth like a sloppy wet kiss,
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest,
I don’t have time to maintain these regrets,
When I think about, the way…

He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us,
Oh how He loves.
Yeah, He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves.

Well, I thought about You the day Stephen died,
And You met me between my breaking.
I know that I still love You, God, despite the agony.
...They want to tell me You're cruel,
But if Stephen could sing, he'd say it's not true, cause...

Cause He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us.
Whoa! how He loves us.
Whoa! how He loves.
Yeah, He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves us,
Whoa! how He loves.

(I'm sitting here listening to the new Crowder, and Wyatt is grinning from ear to ear listening to it...the kid has good taste!)

Shadow Games

2009-09-22T20:24:00.022-05:00

Tomorrow, Wyatt turns 8 months old. Each day, he learns something new and exciting, and as his Dad, I continue to have my understanding of God fine-tuned and sometimes completely turned upside down as I watch Wyatt.

This morning, Wyatt was crawling on the floor, so I thought I would play the "mirror" game and copy him. If you aren't familiar with it, B could tell you how irritating it is for me to mimic her every move and word. Quickly, however, it turned into a different game. I became his shadow. As Wyatt was crawling, I crawled directly over the top of him, just like a large "shadow."

A few steps, then Wyatt would look up and back and smile. Then, he would recommit to crawling forward, but could still feel me directly over the top of him, so he would look up again, flashing his little gap-toothed smile. A couple rounds of this game were enough to send my mind racing to another picture of God: The Father being over us, protecting us.

Psalm 57:1: Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me! For my soul trusts in You; And in the shadow of Your wings, I will make my refuge, until these calamities have passed by. 2 I will cry out to God most High, to God who performs all things for me. 3 He shall send from heaven and save me; He reproaches the one who would swallow me up. Selah. God shall send forth His mercy and His truth. 4 My sould is among lions; I lie among the sons of men who are set on fire, whose teeth are spears and arrows, and their tongue a sharp sword. 5 Be exalted, O God, above the heavens; Let Your glory be above all the earth...

Thankfully, this morning Wyatt David didn't experience the presence of "lions" with teeth as spears and arrows and tongues as sharp as swords, but maybe he did experience the joy of knowing there is a father over him watching out for him? Wyatt didn't have to cry out this morning, but he often does. Yes, even Wyatt, the Superbaby cries; and his parents do come to the rescue.

If you read my blog from several weeks ago, you'll notice I'm not immune to thinking that God, my Father, might not only NOT "perform all things for me," but could be either ignoring me altogether or be the mean kid who kicks me in the groin for fun. Such is the fog of war in my life. I wish I always "crawled" around with the occasional look up for a very clear picture of My Heavenly Father as the one who is my refuge; that he is a shadow over me.

Actually, it gets even better than that if I pay attention to what the New Covenant teaches. No longer is God only merely "over me" but he is also "in me." How much closer can He get? I'll get a migraine trying to figure out how an omnipotent (all powerful), omnipresent (present everywhere), and omniscient (all knowing) God can somehow fit inside of me, but that is what the hope of glory is all about (not the migraine, but "Christ in me").

Jesus apparently is quite powerful (Col. 1:15-27)...

15 He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. 16 For by Him all things were created that are in heaven and that are on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers. All things we created through Him and for Him. 17 And He is before all things, and in Him all things consist.

...and just so happens to live inside (actually, not metaphorically) those who believe in Him (which thankfully includes me):

26 the mystery which has been hidden from ages and from generations, but now has been revealed to His saints. 27 To them God willed to make known what are the riches of the glory of this mystery among the Gentiles: which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.

Whether He is merely a "shadow over me" or "in me," I hope I have the same look on my face as Wyatt did when he looked up at his Daddy; a look of utter delight and contentment. If I don't stop this, I might completely undermine my dogged determination to maintain a life of profanity filled pessimism! Maybe I should finish with a few bleeps just to keep this from happening too fast for my own comfort?

Taste and See

2009-09-19T08:27:00.006-05:00

Wyatt is a dynamo; a specter of non-stop movement, noises, and curiosity. If he isn’t asleep, he is exploring the world around him. A typical afternoon includes several trips crawling back and forth between the kitchen, family room, the stairs (he climbed three the other day with a spotter of course), and front window. Throughout his travels, he speaks a language only God and angels currently can decipher and churns out noises resembling grinding gears on a stick shift (with the tone of that creepy kid from 1980’s The Shining…”Redrum, Redrum, Redrum”). He competes with the blender to be heard, screaming happily and laughing when I turn around to see him, then crawls off to head butt his reflection on the refrigerator. Pull up on chair and bite it, look at it, sit down, grab toy and bite it, look at it, turn around, crawl away, pull up on next big object, bite it, look at it…bite, look, bite, look, bite.

Four official teeth (two on top and two on bottom) with two more breaking through equals pure bliss for Wyatt. He bites everything! One time, as he laid his head on my chest, he bit my left nipple; hard! Thank God I’m not the one that gets to breast feed him! There is nothing safe from our little “Jaws.” “You thought it was safe to go back into the family room…you thought wrong.” Cue creepy “Jaws” music. What hasn’t he gone after? He bites his toys, the edge of the couch, the edge of the carpet, his high chair, our kitchen chairs, the faucet in the bathtub, diapers, blankets, containers, the box of wipes, flip flops left on the stairs, flip flips still on, shoe laces, the handle on the freezer, the edge of the cabinets, the handle on the recliner, baseballs (see picture...a little intense!) and the list goes on and on. Yesterday, I was playing my electric guitar (unplugged), and I felt him touching the body of the guitar, and looked down and his mouth was over the volume knob! What else would I expect from the kid who scrapes fuzzballs out of the carpet and attempts to make them his next snack?

He is constantly checking the world around him…tasting it. The guitar incident prompted the thought: “Taste and see that the Lord is good.” Wyatt constantly tastes everything around him. He gives me a great picture of how to examine that God is good. More so, for me, the second portion of “Taste and see” is the part that I’ve been praying for several years; to see God in ways I don’t recognize or understand yet, especially in regards to what he has already done for me in Christ.

Ephesians is one of my favorite books of the Bible. It’s rich to me, much like 71% Cacao Dark Chocolate. There are two prayers in the book that Paul prays for the Christians at Ephesus (Eph. 1:15-23 and Eph. 3:14-21). For the better part of the last three years, I’ve prayed the first one that appears.

15 Therefore I also, after I heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love for all the saints, 16 do not cease to give thanks for you, making mention of you in my prayers: 17 that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give to you the spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of Him, 18 the eyes of your understanding being enlightened; that you may know what is the hope of His calling, what are the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints, 19 and what is the exceeding greatness of His power toward us who believe, according to the working of His mighty power 20 which He worked in Christ when He raised Him from the dead and seated Him at His right hand in the heavenly places, 21 far above all principality and power and might and dominion, and every name that is named, not only in this age but also in that which is to come. 22 And He put all things under His feet, and gave Him to be head over all things to the church, 23 which is His body, the fullness of Him who fills all in all.

What I love about this prayer is that Paul already knows that God is “unsearchable,” so we can’t exhaust our knowledge of Him, but we also need our eyes to be enlightened (or our taste buds tasting more than before) to know Him. Wyatt often sees and then tastes inanimate objects. Myself, I want to taste and see the life I have been freely given in Christ. Eternal life; I know I already have it (actually Him, not an it), but sometimes I am blind to the awesomeness of His life, or my taste buds are burned from an encounter with a blistering counterfeit. I desire a taste of “knowing the hope of His calling.” I long to see “the riches of the glory of His inheritance in the saints.” I desperately cling to knowing “the exceeding greatness of His power toward [I] who believe.” Taste and see, taste and see, taste and see.

Four Years?

2009-09-15T20:33:00.006-05:00

Four years ago, on this very day, I proposed to B. After dating for 15 ½ months, including a 6 month period when I moved away to go to music school, I finally asked her to spend her life with me. If I went into all the details of how we arrived at my proposal on Sept. 15, 2005 (from June 1, 2004 the date of our “DTR”), this post would drift into the realm of being a novel, but a few details are definitely necessary. Many conversations about dreams, hopes, desires, and questions were shared on the porch of the house she rented with three other girls. Most involved questions of how we could make our relationship work if I went to school. (This picture isn't of the proposal, but of one of the last nights together in Phoenix on the way to music school).

On August 11, 2004, I jumped off the metaphorical cliff and proclaimed “I love you.” B asked if she could wait to tell me how she felt. I assured her she could, and she waited a whole 24 hours to surprise me with her very own “I love you” (thought she would hold old longer than that). I did ask her that night what she would tell people had happened on that day. She calmly responded “I saw The Village” which was the M. Night Shyamalan movie we had watched just before I professed that I loved her. Smooth operator she is!

On August 11, 2005, after fighting a pinched nerve in my neck, and an even greater to desire to come home and marry “my girl” I called her to let her know I’m coming home baby!

On Sept. 13, 2004, a letter was drafted from LA Music Academy saying I was accepted to the guitar program. On Sept. 15, I received it.

On Sept. 13, 2005, a ring from Coffin and Trout Jewelers arrived! On Sept. 15, 2005, well, obviously you know that she received it. So, that’s the end of the story….

Just kidding! Thanks to a well coordinated effort between myself, our friends Mark and Tracy, Libby, and Bethany’s parents and their friend Jan, we were able to pull off an awesome scenario for Bethany. This was actually supposed to occur a few days later, but found out that we couldn’t use the destination on that day, so we pushed into overdrive for the very next day (the 15^th)...I always joke that I should have waited until Sept. 21, so we could have the old Earth, Wind, and Fire song “September” as our theme (“do you remember, the 21^st night…of September…ba de da, dancing in September, ba de da, say that you remember”). Bethany’s mom stayed up most of the night before coordinating everything for the decorations of the table. Her mom is the “tablescape” lady, known for coming up with awesome ideas with a lot of symbolism. She prepared covers for two chairs; one that looked like a tuxedo and one that looked like a wedding gown, along with other awesome table decorations.

Tracy and Mark provided a ridiculous amount of votive candles as well as some much needed stability. Libby played the role of a “sick” friend, who just couldn’t meet for the normally scheduled small group with Tracy and Bethany.

On the night of 15^th, Bethany called me and asked if she should just stay in her work clothes to go to her small group (before Libby had to “cancel”). Genius that I am, I said “babe, you know you always feel better if you get changed into something a little nicer.” She agreed without sensing what was to come later that night. As Bethany’s folks and I were preparing the destination, Bethany met up with Tracy at a little restaurant waiting for Libby. The destination was the lake house of some friends’ who let us hang out on the patio and deck the night of our first date, so we were returning to the scene of our first date.

After Libby called to cancel, Tracy and Bethany went to Tracy’s car and the car radio starts playing “Lady, You Bring Me Up” by The Commodores. Bethany excitedly said something to the effect “that’s our song.” Tracy said “yep, and you are not going home” and hand Bethany a pink blindfold to keep her guessing on the destination.

While I am sweating to death wearing the same green shirt and green tie in the wonderfully hot Texas evening heat, Bethany is driving around in circles, as Tracy allows more of the engagement CD to play. I’ll have to let Bethany tell the story of what she was like in the car. Rumor has it, she was pretty funny!

Once Bethany arrived, I came to the passenger door, and the first words out of her mouth were “I smell you!” This could be good or bad. Was I sweating too much? Thankfully, that was not the case; she just recognized by cologne. I walked her to the sidewalk leading to the dock, took off her blindfold (which had two distinctive mascara marks on the inside), and we walked through the votive candle lighted pathway to the dock, while more music from the same CD played. Bethany looked comfortably cool and casual (and honestly just plain gorgeous) with jeans and a black shirt, which I know she is thankful weren’t still her work clothes!

We sat down and enjoyed drink and chocolate covered strawberries and cake. I would love to say that my memory is perfect regarding everything that was said and shared, but it isn’t, and there is something that makes it seem more surreal because of it. So, I’ll try to share the best I can, based upon what I remember. For some reason, I don’t remember wasting much time to ask her to marry me. I probably started off with something like “well, you can probably figure out I didn’t just ask you out here for chocolate covered strawberries and champagne.” There were three boxes that I had her open up that contained words that represented what I thought about her. One was “treasure,” another “beloved,” and another “desired.” The final box contained…badabing…you guessed it, the ring. Because of flattened underside of the ring, it was able to sit up in a heart shaped box, so it was easy for me to grasp it. Could you imagine if I let it fall down through the dock?

Other than asking her if she would be my wife and spend her life with me, I couldn’t tell you what else happened, other than her tearfully, joyfully saying “yes!” Maybe that is God’s way of letting it be magical and not lost in words that can’t convey the moment?

Later, we drove to her parent’s house where Mark, Tracy, and B's family all celebrated. The laughter was loud with a lot of excitement and joy, and the pictures prove it too (now where are they?)!

It has been four years? It feels like forever ago and just yesterday; near and far; hard to grasp and easy to remember all at the same time. I joke that I look forward to sitting with Bethany when I’m 90 and she’s 82 (or 83 depending on the time of year). That would be a wish that I would blow out candles for…that I could spend more than just 4 years with her, to grow old gracefully, full of life, and hopefully watching Wyatt and his brother or sister (or one of each) find someone to spend their life with and to love.

I love you B, and I’m glad the night of the proposal was just the beginning. You are a phenomenal wife and mother who makes me laugh and believe life can be great as long as you are married to your best friend. I love you my love!

Fellowship of the Cowlick

2009-09-15T20:23:00.006-05:00

“Hey Alfalfa, what’s happening?!” I heard those words often at the Milwaukee Bucks basketball camp at Knox College in Galesburg, Illinois. Mostly they came from one of the camp counselors. As an almost 7^th grader, the attention was great, although I would have preferred it come from my amazing jump shot or ability to handle a basketball. Nevertheless, I settled for getting attention from my cowlick. Apparently, Wikipedia (that encyclopedic bastion of maybe true, maybe not so true information) devotes significant attention to cowlicks also, so I’ll let you refer to the mighty Wiki if you feel compulsively led to feed your desire for cowlick factoids.

Why am I talking about cowlicks? You have to know Wyatt’s name will appear here, since I am fascinated by him. For months, Wyatt has been not quite a bald baby, but he definitely isn’t going to be confused with a baby Sasquatch, or monkey for that matter. Recently, his hair has lengthened, become fuller, and what has revealed itself is the glorious splendor of his very own cowlick, in the very same place his Daddy has one. That’s my boy! (check out the cowlick on my wedding day...amazing!)

Occasionally, when I stare at Wyatt, I become mush. When I see how he smiles, babbles, laughs, cries…anything actually, I am struck by how amazing it is that his little life wrecks me, pulls at my heart, and brings joyful tears to my eyes. So, when I see a little reflection of myself in him, my hearts jumps, screaming “that is MY boy!” Not that there was any doubt before, but seeing part of me in him (on him?) means we share in something. Neither of us is alone in the world of potentially shunned cowlick possessors!

While our Fellowship of the Cowlick may not be the deepest bond we share, and God forbid, not the only one, his cowlick reminds me of what God: Father and Son share together.

John 17:20 “I do not pray for these alone, but also for those who will believe in Me through their word; 21 that they all may be one, as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You; that they also may be one in Us, that the world may believe that You sent Me. 22 And the glory which You gave Me I have given them, that they may be one just as We are one: 23 I in them, and You in Me; that they may be made perfect in one, and that the world may know that You have sent Me, and have loved them as You have loved Me.

Wyatt continues his role as my little theological lesson. There will be days when he’s a teenager that we probably feel more like enemies than “one” as father and son, but today, these days, I am relishing being part of the Fellowship of the Cowlick with my little Wildman.

Separation Anxiety

2009-09-01T20:59:00.008-05:00

Being adopted elicits a broad range of responses. Both my brother and I were adopted. It was easy for my brother to appreciate that he was accepted into a family. For me, my biggest question always revolved around “why was I let go?” No amount of assurance or encouragement that I was accepted could take away that lingering question as a child.

Wyatt is from me, but I wonder if he feels like I would ever leave him or let him go. Over the weekend, B worked a couple shifts at the hospital, which left me to be Daddy Day Care for several hours at a time on Saturday and Sunday. As I would walk around the corner of the kitchen, occasionally Wyatt would whimper, whine, or wail. He didn’t waste too much time either; sometimes it was an immediate response. I would yell over the counter and assure him I was coming back, but I’m not sure he always believed me (ignore the fact he probably doesn’t have any idea what I’m saying).

“Is he coming back?” “Is he gonna leave me behind?” Not a chance! It may feel like an eternity to him when he cannot see me, and it may be uncomfortable, but I’m coming back. I’m no baby psychologist, but there apparently is something ingrained in humans that invokes a fear of being alone, left behind, forgotten, or discarded. Is that why I am most amazed by scripture that emphasizes God’s faithfulness over our own, and why I usually feel a need to be reminded of it, especially in light of my recent freak out?!

As I watch Wyatt’s pouting face over the counter, I know I’ve felt the same minus the pout of course (or maybe with it if I’m being honest). Separation pulls at emotions you often wish didn’t exist, and often we (I) overestimate the obstacles that seem to bring the separation. Wyatt doesn’t understand that the kitchen counter isn’t really an obstacle to me, but he can’t grasp it yet.

My greatest fear has probably been “if I screw up bad enough, I’m sure I’ll be let go.” My history includes some sleepless, anxious nights waging war wondering if God might let me go, or least questioning why he wouldn’t if I’m so messed up. "If he can let go, then why don’t I let go first and see what happens."

Romans 8:38 For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor principalities nor powers, nor things present nor things to come, 39 nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

I am a created thing, and if I’m not then I don’t even exist (because I'm sure not God), so apparently, I’m not strong enough separate myself from the love of God. I hope Wyatt believes his Dad won’t let him go, and won’t leave him, even if he whimpers, whines, and wails. Ultimately, I hope he knows God not only can overcome a counter-top, but other imposing things like death, life, angels, principalities, powers, things present, things to come, heights, depths, or any other created thing.

Blind Spots

2009-08-28T14:19:00.003-05:00

Blind spots are scary, well, since you can’t see what’s actually there. For anyone who has attempted to change lanes only to find out “Mr. or Mrs. I’d rather keep my cruise control set in lock step with your blind spot” is preventing you from reaching your destination, you know what I’m saying.

If I don’t write, I often stay in a state of blindness, confusion, irritation…you will notice confusion, irritation, frustration are words that are an ongoing theme for me. It seems repetitive and unfortunately it is. The good news is that writing helps me see what might be in the blind spot…or at least help start the process.

In my last post, a Jackson Pollock painting was the metaphor for the chaos I felt. In my chaos, I tend to feel that God is ignoring me, mean, spiteful, hateful, and maybe just plain disinterested. It’s funny (in a sadistic, sad way). I’ve read the book of James probably 40-50 times in my life, and could probably recite to you the general outline and themes in a nice tidy, theologically correct, yet gripping manner (to be determined by the reader or listener of course). Guess who had a blind spot to a pretty appropriate portion of the book? Um, yeah, that would be me. Yesterday, I just glanced at the 1^st chapter of James by “chance” (aka providence) and saw what had been sitting in my blind spot, except this object in my blind spot wouldn’t hinder me for once.

In the first chapter of James, the topic of trials arrives on the scene quickly. Do I feel like I’ve been going through trials? You know it, baby! I barely glanced at the page and had that sick, “oh yeah, I remember what comes next” feeling and realized I assumed the role of the kid who got test anxiety and forgot everything he already knew. Trials come, frustration grows, I turn inward, get angry, and everything I know about God’s care gets twisted and turned into an attack on His character. Didn’t I say it felt like He’s the kid who kicks you in the groin “just for fun?”

Sometimes I laugh and think “stupid, stupid! What was I thinking?” For a reference point check out the self-contempt of Chris Farley in his interaction with Paul McCartney. Then I realize I still end up focusing on myself instead of believing good about God. Is it a temptation to believe something bad about Him? Yeah, it’s in chapter 1 too.

1:13 Let no one say when he is tempted, “I am tempted by God”; for God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does He Himself tempt anyone. 14 But each one is tempted when he is drawn away by his own desires and enticed. 15 Then, when desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, brings forth death. 16 Do not be deceived, my beloved brethren. 17 Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning. 18 Of His own will He brought us forth by the word of truth, that we might be a kind of firstfruits of His creatures.

In my blind spot, what I don’t see is the goodness of a God, the Father of Lights, My Father, who doesn’t tempt me, who gives me every good and perfect gift, and who isn’t going to change His mind about adopting me and making me His child. So, I guess that bring me back to my trials. I can sit, complain, whine, yell, fume, rage, and forget to ask for what I need in my limited understanding of what’s going on for me in my little vapor of time here on earth, or I can…

1:2 …count it all joy when you fall into various trials, 3 knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. 4 But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing. 5 If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him. 6 But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea driven and tossed by the wind. 7 For let not that man suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; 8 he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways.

Sincerely,

A Double-Minded, Unstable Man Tired of Being a Double-Minded, Unstable Man

Chaotic

2009-08-26T14:45:00.011-05:00

Jackson Pollock is a name I'm familiar with, but not intimately. Apparently, he was a controversial artist, of which many have widely divergent opinions. He typically threw and flung paint across the canvas, rather than delicately try to form a figure or shape. Chaos on canvas. A young photographer named Hans Namuth said "Pollock’s finest paintings… reveal that his all-over line does not give rise to positive or negative areas: we are not made to feel that one part of the canvas demands to be read as figure, whether abstract or representational, against another part of the canvas read as ground. There is not inside or outside to Pollock’s line or the space through which it moves…. Pollock has managed to free line not only from its function of representing objects in the world, but also from its task of describing or bounding shapes or figures, whether abstract or representational, on the surface of the canvas."
That quote just makes me say "What?!" I have no clue what the guy just said. I feel like Charlie Brown's teacher is reciting that quote to me "Wah, wah, wah wah wah…wah wah." However, Pollock's painting style feels like the inside of my chest lately. Chaotic and all over the place. I bounce between being playful with my son, to becoming a ranting lunatic when frustrated by what should be a simple household chore, to feeling sad and down, and then feeling like God is the mean kid who kicks you in the groin "because it's funny." The arising tension occurs when "experience" is telling me God hates me, even though I know He loves me. Tension intensifies when I wish I could sit and rest on Him, but find myself pushing and kicking and raging at Him, asking why He ignores me when I am in pain.
Two nights ago, we experienced the gut-wrenching process of letting Wyatt "cry himself back to sleep." Apparently, one of the joys of parenting is learning how to not rescue your child at every cry during the night. I have no idea what emotions or thoughts Wyatt has at seven months old, but I could feel the pain in his screaming, crying, coughing. I even prayed that God would bring him peace. After praying and hearing the cries intensify I felt angry that my prayer wasn't immediately answered. I wonder if I have been feeling like Wyatt did that night. "Why are you ignoring me?!" "Why won't you listen?!" "Why won't you take me from my misery?!" "You can do something about this, so why do you just lay there and do nothing?!" Maybe the extended cry was a reminder that I'm letting him cry for a bigger, better reason (and that God is letting me do the same).

I much prefer the absence of tension, especially when it sits firmly and forcefully within my chest, but that is the place I have felt heaviness, weakness, exhaustion, frustration, irritation, rage…hopelessness. I don't want to believe God has forgotten me, and ultimately I know it isn't true, but sometimes the war that rages in me, around me, screams a different message that is easier to hear...especially in the chaos.
Addendum: after sitting on this post for a few hours, I can't get the song "Sometimes" out of my head. It is by one of the great, all-time under-rated bands, King's X. The up and down, back and forth, overall ambivalence fits.

Sometimes, I want to give
Sometimes, I want to take
Sometimes, I want to run
Sometimes, I want to stay.
Sometimes, sometimes, sometimes, sometimes.
Sometimes, I want to love
Sometimes, I want to hate
Sometimes, I want to build
Sometimes, I want to break
Sometimes, sometimes, sometimes, sometimes.
Sometimes, I want to live
Sometimes, I want to die
Sometimes, I want to believe
Sometimes, I want to get high and fly.

Safety

2009-08-24T20:31:00.003-05:00

I am lazy. Sometimes. It often shows on my face. Actually, it is displayed prominently on my chin. Shaving was an activity I loved when I was younger, because it made me feel older. Now, I hate shaving, and when I don't, I look older. White hair is renting more and more space on my face, and is most obvious on my chin. This is also the location that I often let grow, not to David Crowder proportions, but to lengths that reduce the chances of Bethany looking at me and saying "hubba hubba."

It may be unattractive to Bethany, but for Wyatt, it is fascinating. Wyatt's iron grip often finds an easy target when the hairs get too long. His pulling doesn't usually hurt too much on the face (the pulling of my chest hair is another story...it might qualify as a torture technique). As his grip progressively strengthens, my mind replays the scenes of his development. My eyes often would tear up as I watched his finger latch around mine. His grip, while impressive, never has never made him more safe in my arms. He can pull and grab all he wants, but his security never wavers based on his grip, no matter how strong it gets. My grip, not his, keeps him from taking a fall.

One of my favorite set of verses is John 10:28-29 where Jesus says ^"And I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; neither shall anyone snatch them out of My hand. My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch them out of My Father’s hand." This has taken on new life since being the very fortunate father of Wyatt. Every time I hold him, to some degree, I see the meaning of this verse. While I cannot bestow eternal life on Wyatt, or keep him from perishing, I am strong enough to hold onto him and prevent him from encountering some danger. I know I am limited, but God is not. He is all-powerful, holds the universe in the span of his hand (between his thumb and forefinger apparently), stretches it out like a curtain, gives eternal life, and has no problem whatsoever holding on to us.

We might kick, scream, cry (or poop like Wyatt did on me the other day...another story or another time), fight, rage, but it can't break His hold. I want Wyatt to know that he is safe in my arms, and I hope that someday he will come to know that his heavenly Father has an even better grip than his earthly father.

Longing to Post

2009-08-04T10:04:00.004-05:00

If I had my wish, I'd have posted here at least 5-10 times over the past month. While I haven't, I do have a few posts over at www.ChasingWyatt.blogspot.com which is a combination of what I was trying to do with my 39by39 blog (fitness) and Lostdogman (perspective, life, etc.). You get to see video proof that Wyatt is a little fitness stud! Ha...call it normal development, or call him Superbaby...whatever you call it, you are free to enjoy it!

Pure milk

2009-07-15T17:24:00.001-05:00

Freedom from the car seat...For Freedom we were set free

2009-07-15T17:23:00.002-05:00

King of Fire!

2009-07-07T11:17:00.007-05:00

Fans of America's Funniest Home Videos, Youtube, or any other venue that allows the world to witness the ignorance, incompetence, and foolishness of the peculiar creature called homo sapiens; bow your head in awe of Lostdogman: King of Fire!

Sunday night, B and I invited two couples to our house. Neither had been to our house before. Even so, I felt no pressure to perform, though I'm not the grillmaster that some carnivorous men claim to be (or actually are...no offense if you truly are). While I say I felt no pressure to perform, I can admit that there was a hint of self-consciousness bouncing around my head, mostly due to my lack of experience. The chicken marinated overnight in Catalina dressing (also known as an accelerant), and probably could have been very good to great on the rating scale, but it was slightly below that.

That's not the point, so why am I going there? No idea. Returning to my thought, I am the all-powerful Lostdogman, King of Fire! In order to burn off some of the chicken residue (sounds great don't it), I left the grill on for another few minutes. B, with the slightest hint of distress in her voice, managed to gracefully ask if the grill was supposed to "have fire coming out the bottom." This is exponentially more kind than saying "what the hell did you do to the grill?!!"

The King of Fire's beautiful wife gratefully noticed the fire during my long-winded prayer over the meal. If not for our baby boy sitting near the door to the deck, she might not have looked in that direction. Don't worry, Wyatt was inside, not outside hanging next to the grill.

Needless to say, a grill that has fire in it is good. A grill that has fire threatening to spread out the bottom and the sides isn't. B, with increasing intensity in her voice and a little less gracefulness, asks if we have the fire extinguisher. We completely blanked on where it could be. Smooth, huh? So, while trying to figure out in my head all the things that would be bad to throw on the fire (gasoline, more Catalina dressing, that pair of shoes I still have sitting on the deck after several months) I finally decide that some high quality H2O should do the trick. I deftly maneuvered, and muscled for rank...wait, that's from a Cake song...but, I did deftly maneuver and resist the urge to throw the water on all at once. Seeing that the flames tended to initially get bigger as soon as a trickle hit the fire, this was an ingenious move.

The battle was mercifully short, the damage minimal, and dinner continued without any more fires. As the year has progressed, I see myself as child of God, husband, son, exercise physiologist, father, and now...King of Fire!

Friday Night Light-sleeper

2009-07-04T11:03:00.007-05:00

Fridays. For those in west Texas, this day is considered a religious experience as high school football teams wage war in stifling heat, proving themselves to be young warriors, vying for the attention of college scouts, high school sweethearts, and the approval of overbearing parents. At least that is the way it was displayed in the movie "Friday Night Lights." I haven't seen the television series, but I'm assuming there are common themes there. While Friday Night Lights may be an appropriate title for west Texas football, the Cabell family has adopted a new title for Friday nights a few hundred miles away in San Antonio.

Friday Night Lightsleeper. OK, so it is appears the reference is better directed toward a person rather than the night itself. True, true. Our little Wyatt is now the Friday Night Lightsleeper. Apparently, the DNA that was passed from his father (yours truly) included sleep deprivation! Last week, I watched him rest peacefully in my arms. This week, as midnight morphed into 1 am, and further into the night, B and I both experienced the spectrum of emotions of caring for a sleepless little boy. He has been "off" for a few nights. Usually, B is fortunate to experience this without the looming threat of an early work day. Last night, the threat loomed, and I could feel her disappointment as Wyatt didn't agree with his parents that sleep was truly a good thing for all three of us.

Several months ago, a pastor named Frank Friedman was speaking at Harvest Fellowship in San Antonio. As part of one of the most heartfelt sermons I've ever heard, he expressed a unique view of Isaiah 40:30-31. He pressed the idea that the concept of "renewing our strength" was insufficient and that a better translation would involve an "exchange" of strength. If you look at the word for renew, there are numerous ways that it is used, including the idea of "substitute." It is tempting to resist this and think we need our strength renewed. We need to be stronger to handle the strains, stresses, and weariness that presses in around us.

Today, though, I hope that B, as she is walking the halls of St. Luke's, takes Frank's view; that she doesn't need to be strong, but that she can substitute His strength for hers. She is probably still tired, hoping that a few hours were given back to her throughout the night. While God can do the impossible, he hasn't seemed to promise the reversal of time as an option at this moment. Even so, He is our strength. He doesn't give us a AA battery to keep going. He Himself is our strength. For B's heart today, I hope she feels His strength and comes home with some crazy story about flying on eagle's wings today.

Guess who I hear coming through the SONY babyCall Rechargeable Baby Monitor (something that definitely needs it's strength renewed)? Is that Saturday Morning Lightsleeper?

Pacified or at Rest

2009-06-27T13:24:00.004-05:00

A tiny hand complete with tiny probing fingers fumbles through the coarse brown, blonde, and white hairs on a father's chin. A smile, a coo, and a giggle accompany the touch as little blue eyes examine the serious business these fingers conduct. Occasionally, a finger veers off course, and finds itself implanted in a left nostril. Smiles and wonder still ensue.

In the background, Professional Daydreamer by Over the Rhine enters the scene with a lightly played C chord on the piano. "Part of me, you are a part of me, I never want to lose." The context of the moment is different than that of the song. No matter. The words still ring true for this particular moment. "Alright, it's alright now."

The little hand gradually falls from daddy's face. Pacifier falls, but the eyes still lock...for a few moments. "Alright, it's alright now." The pacifier is obsolete. Rest will come. Rest comes. Rest.

The presence of my son in my arms ceaselessly enlightens my understanding of my Heavenly Father. To no longer need a pacifier to rest. To truly find rest that is freely given...trusting my Father to hold me, keep me safe in danger, bring me not just relief, but comfort...and yes, once again, that word, that experience, that desire of rest.

"There remains therefore a rest for the people of God. For he who has entered His rest has himself also ceased from his works as God did from His."

Wyatt, as the picture reveals, rested in my arms at two days old. Today, at over 5 months old, he rested once again. I wonder if God enjoys my resting on Him, as much as I enjoy Wyatt resting on me? I think I can rest knowing that is, in fact, His heart's desire.

Making Memories of Us

2009-06-26T14:24:00.004-05:00

This year was my first Father’s Day…although I still count last year because we knew Wyatt was about a month and a half old in the womb. We just didn’t know he was a Wyatt yet. However, this was the 1^st Father’s Day for me that I was able to see the faces of my son, my wife, my parents, grandmothers, and my aunt on the big day. Wyatt is obviously the one person that changes the audience a bit and makes this Father’s Day “official.” However, I am reminded that in all the glory of being a new father, someone may have the potential to be lost in the fascination with a new life and amidst the loss of sleep. There is a dangerous potential that I forget to make memories with Bethany. With every smile, laugh, and addition of new expressions and movements, we could both become so enamored with his growth and knowing him more deeply, that we might leave “us” behind. Do either of us want to forget about each other? To bogart a phrase from the Bible, “May it never be!” Yet, I am very aware that a child can easily direct your attention away from each other. There is nothing wrong with caring for, nurturing, and loving our little boy, and we never want to stop, but I know I hope we don’t forget some of the little things that are “just about B and me.”

On Father’s Day, Bethany reminded me that she hasn’t forgotten. As I opened the letter detailing the surprise she had for me, tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn’t see straight. “Sweet Thing” was the salutation. As I read each word, some phrases seemed vaguely familiar, and seemed to touch on an inside joke between us, but Bethany asked “do you know what your surprise is?” I had to honestly answer no. If I were ashamed of the crying I would say “the sun was in my eyes.” She asked me to read it again. Thankfully, I could see clearly on this attempt. Scattered throughout the letter were song titles from Keith Urban (I should have got it with “Sweet Thing” right off the bat!). My Baby, my “Better Half” got us tickets to see Keith Urban in concert in Dallas July 11, and her folks are going to the Big D also to babysit Wyatt for us. Pretty sweet huh?

When Bethany and I were dating, Keith Urban love songs were those sappy little reminders that we loved each other and were devoted to, as Urban puts it, “making memories of us.” Bethany’s heart is tender, and precious, and good, and kind, and it beats for me…you might guess that I like that! So, thanks to Keith Urban for giving both of us a song that reminds us that there are memories to make just between the two of us (not Keith and I...B and I). And, more importantly, thank you B for remembering me…and us. I love you and "I'm gonna love you like nobody loves you!"

Making Memories of Us
I'm gonna be here for you baby
I'll be a man of my word
Speak the language in a voice that you have never heard
I wanna sleep with you forever
And I wanna die in your arms
In a cabin by a meadow where the wild bees swarm

And I'm gonna love you like nobody loves you
And I'll earn your trust making memories of us

I wanna honor your mother
I wanna learn from your pa
I wanna steal your attention like a bad outlaw
I wanna stand out in a crowd for you
A man among men
I wanna make your world better than it's ever been

And I'm gonna love you like nobody loves you
And I'll earn your trust making memories of us

We'll follow the rainbow
Wherever the four winds blow
And there'll be a new day
Comin' your way

I'm gonna be here for you from now on
This you know somehow
You've been stretched to the limits but it's alright now
And I'm gonna make you a promise
If there's life after this
I'm gonna be there to meet you with a warm, wet kiss

And I'm gonna love you like nobody loves you
And I'll earn your trust making memories of us
I'm gonna love you like nobody loves you
And I'll win your trust making memories of us

Infant Powered Theology

2009-06-23T11:11:00.004-05:00

"Faith comes by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God." I have no doubt that God opens the ears of the spiritually deaf when they hear the message of Jesus, God in the flesh, dying on the cross for all our sins (past, present, and even the future). We don't receive eternal life by works, but simply through trusting in the Person of Jesus and His perfect sacrifice for us.

However, I do think in God's kindness towards us, he isn't afraid to display more of His tenderness and love for us through those who are in our lives. For me, it is in the face of my 5 month old (as of today) son, Wyatt. As you may be able to surmise from the smile on his face in this picture, he is expressive. His eyes, his mouth, and his body are all expressive. His facial expressions, sounds, and movements display joy, excitement, frustration, and sadness among a plethora of other feelings.

This morning, Bethany and I entered his room as we heard him stirring in his crib. On his stomach with his face turned away from ours, he quickly turned with a huge smile once he heard our voices, and nuzzled his face against his hands as if to say "I love it when they come and get me in the morning."

His enthusiasm in seeing us might be labeled as a non-personal and normal process of neurons, muscles, and brain matter interacting with no spiritual significance whatsoever. I vehemently (yes, strong word) disagree. His enthusiasm pushes beyond the material matters of merely flesh and bone, and screams loudly and with clarity that he sees his father and mother and loves it! His reaction to our faces brings us joy, allows us moments of peaceful bliss away from the irritations of everyday work life, and reminds us that our Heavenly Father loves to see the joy on our faces when we "see" Him.

What would it be like for me, for us, for those of us who believe in Jesus, to wake up in the morning believing that our Father might just be leaning over the edge of our metaphorical crib to welcome us with a smile and excitement, knowing that we are excited to experience another day of being loved by Him? I often feel cynical and bitter at 5:00am, but God may just be using Wyatt against me to kill that cynicism off...and that folks, is what I mean by infant powered theology!

Sheep in Wolves Clothing

2009-06-13T15:04:00.016-05:00

Usually, I direct my ramblings on this blog to things that strike me in a very personal way (i.e. my son Wyatt and my wife Bethany). In general, I avoid theological debate here, and focus on how God may be working in my life at any given moment. That doesn't mean I don't enjoy good debate; it just means that this isn't the place I've chosen to do that. I don't really plan on starting that here, but a recent debate has reminded me that I don't want to use scripture to make a point that it actually doesn't.

I have watched with alternate emotions of disgust, irritation, sadness, disappointment, and amazement at the way scripture is used to make a point, but upon further reading, it might just say the opposite (I've changed my view on many things many times, so don't worry, there is grace for those seeking...read on, and hopefully you will see the attitude I'm arguing against). My current favorite example is from Matthew 7:15-23. Recently I have seen it used as a bludgeon to berate people who state that they believe in Jesus but whose lifestyle may not quite measure up. The response in this case?: "You will know them by their fruits. If you are really "saved" then your life will show it. If you don't have enough fruit, then it just proves you are not a Christian, no matter what you profess. In other words, you are a false professor and have a "false conversion" and are destined for hell."

I'll be blunt and honest here. I think that view is ridiculous, especially in light of this passage. If this passage really is teaching that your outward fruit (change in behavior) is the way to know you are truly saved then there is an awful lot fighting against that within the passage. Why on earth would I think that?

False prophets (v. 15) inwardly are "ravenous wolves." Outwardly, they look like sheep. This is a problem right off the bat. If you are looking for behavior as a measure of fruit, these guys apparently have it since they look like sheep.
Jump ahead to verse 22 and you see that there are many who have:

Prophesied "in Your name"
"Cast out demons in Your name"
and "done many wonders in Your name"

Wouldn't it seem that those who prophesied, cast out demons, and performed wonders would have a certain measure of outward fruit? If that isn't the fruit that is required, then what is the fruit of vv. 17-20? If they've done these things and still are told "I never knew you; depart from Me, you who practice lawlessness!" you have to wonder what kind of fruit is being talked about. Is it possible that these "false prophets" don't preach a message of the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus in our place for our sins, and that we can't earn our salvation by our works, but that it is simply by God's grace through faith in Jesus Christ alone (although Jesus hadn't gone to the cross yet when he said this, the truth of being justified by faith as opposed to works was already around since Abraham)? It's possible. They did refer to the things they did "in Your name" but did they trust in Him alone for eternal life? Is it possible the false prophets are trying to work their way into the kingdom?

I could go on regarding the problems of using this passage to determine whether someone is saved, but I won't (and won't belabor the point that this passage specifically refers to false prophets, and doesn't discuss the general population of people professing belief in Christ). The point I really want to make is this. When we see someone who has professed that they believe Christ has died for their sins, but are involved in sin of some kind, what is our first response? Do we tend to think "they must not really be saved?" How does that fit with Matthew 7:1-5? Where is the love, patience, or kindness in that situation?

Personally, I believe there are many sheep (truly believers in Jesus Christ who are trusting in Him and His finished work on the cross alone for eternal life) who get caught up in sin and live like "sheep in wolves' clothing." Outwardly, they look like wolves, even though they are sheep. This is the exact opposite of a self-righteous legalist who is outwardly a sheep, but inwardly a wolf.

How are you, believer in Jesus Christ, going to act toward a sinning Christian? Are you going to try to boot him out of the family and straight into hell (and have a field day with Matthew 7:15-23)? Or, are you going to remind them they are sheep (or temples, saints, etc. like the Apostle Paul does), but they are dressed in wolves' clothing, and it just doesn't fit them?

One last note. I didn't write this to debate on this blog, so if you have questions, or want to tell me I'm crazy, etc. you are free to email me at darincabell@gmail.com.

Nobility, Bravey, Stupidity...In That Order

2009-06-04T09:08:00.002-05:00

Originally posted at my 39by39 blog:

Yesterday, a client walked into the gym and informed me there were wasps building a nest near an outside entrance. First thought, "I hate wasps." He then proceeded to tell me he was allergic to them. 2nd thought, "I hate wasps...this man needs help (so noble) and time to get my revenge (bravery)." When I was 8 years old wasps built a nest behind the backboard of my basketball hoop and after a couple stings from those suckers, I've been fighting a war with them ever since.

Off to war we go...armed with a EZ curl barbell, I march out to the battleground. Nervous with anticipation I see two nests and 10 + wasps. Here is where my unmatched steely resolve will surely lead to victory. Die, die! I attack with a ferocity seen only from Magda's dog (Puffy) in There's Something About Mary. I would put a wonderful link to a youtube video of that, but I entered "There's Something About Mary Dog Attack" and about a dozen porn options showed up...NOT what I was looking for youtube (thought you guys didn't allow porn?)! Don't worry, I watched Fireproof last night and I didn't click on it (honestly, I'm just scared that that word search pulled that up...is their search engine just jacked or what?).

Back to the attack. After four or five successful hit and run missions, my confidence is soaring. Aside from the stem and a small remnant of nest, I have destroyed their home, basking in the glory of my ability to sprint away with EZ curl bar in hand for upwards of 30-40 yards while looking over my shoulder with a manaical laugh. Nevertheless, those evil @#%)(*& were still hanging around trying to reconstruct what I have destroyed. How dare they do this to me?!

A new weapon is chosen. The WeightWise (is there still a trademark tag necessary if the company no longer exists here?) book bag. A forceful push against the frame should kill several at a time (who needs spray? This is still personal). Attempt #1: several dead and I'm still basking in the glory of my utter genius and domination of these punks.

Attempt #2: As a boxer who has forgotten that straight, direct, and crisp punches have been effective, I leave my successful tactics and take a big looping swing going for the knockout. The breeze created by my swing alerts my enemy to attack. At once I feel 5-6 stings on my right arm, running away with all the gracefulness of drunk defensive lineman in high heels (it's a picture, not a reality of my choice of footwear). Yes, stupidity has finally arrived!

I have run the gamut. Nobility in wanting to protect our client. Bravery in fighting an old foe. Stupidity. Well, you can make your own judgment on where that fits in the story.

Needless to say, the walk over to our hospital and the requisite request for and consumption of some benedryl (sp?) severely hindered my true workout yesterday. However, I'm chalking the five sprints up as speed and agility training with a need to focus on training my brain how to distinguish between nobility, bravery, and stupidity. Today, I'll leave all nests alone and make good on taking our new intern through a crazy Monkey Bar Gym workout.

It's a Post

2009-06-03T17:34:00.002-05:00

Much like B, I haven't felt great about not posting, so this is a post, just for post's sake. Here it is. Hopefully, this breaks the month long silence, and gets my heart flowing again. I miss writing. I miss expressing my thoughts. So, here's to hoping for a few real post shortly.

Sprinting...on Purpose

2009-05-03T10:28:00.002-05:00

Usually I would reserve any post regarding exercise to my fitness challenge blog. Today is different. Yesterday, after mowing the lawn and already sweating like a swine (I would say pig, but apparently people are a little more familiar with the term swine these days), I attempted to turn back to at least the early 1990s and run some sprints on the soccer fields behind our house.

Sprinting used to be second nature. I did it daily. It was part of being alive, part of being...well, just a part of being. Whether in baseball, basketball, or just for play, I ran, I jumped, I played. All the while, I wanted to be older and more grown up. It doesn't take a genius to know that looking back, I wish I could slow down the process of growing older. The story line is a cliche, but a cliche for good reason. It happens so frequently in this world that it seems everyone who is young wants to be older, and everyone that is older wants to be younger.

My sprint workout began with two full field sprints. Quickly, those were reduced to half field sprints (about 50-60 yards). On the 7th of 8 sprints, for a few moments I felt like I was actually, God forbid, running fast, which in turn made me feel young. In my youth, I blazed through experiences always looking or waiting for the next one, and often wanting out of my current life situation. Funny how I am almost sprinting desperately in looking back, wanting to know what drove me, scared me, or hurt me in those old memories. The theme is recurring for me. I want to turn back the clock, or at least turn my attention back far enough to see what I missed, and see who I really was, what I actually felt and experienced. I don't want to live in the past. I just want to live, but I missed an awful lot back then, and I don't want to miss it again.

Show Me What I'm Looking For

2009-05-02T10:34:00.004-05:00

In 1987, U2 released what is arguably their most popular and greatest album (I said arguably if you are looking to debate that). "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" (the 2nd track on the album?) resonated with countless numbers of people. Maybe the mixture of sadness and hope paired with a video of the band singing and playing in the streets of Las Vegas helped cement a connection to both the band and the longing represented in their lyrics?

Fast forward to 2009, and you may hear a familiar refrain pulsing through your car stereo:

Wait, I'm wrong
Should have done better than this
Please, I'll be strong
I'm finding it hard to resist
So show me what I'm looking for

Save me, I'm lost
Oh Lord I've been waiting for you
I'll pay any cost
Save me from being confused
Show me what I'm looking for
Show me what I'm looking for

oh Lord Don't let go
I've wanted this far too long
Mistakes become regrets
I've learned to love abuse
Please show me what I'm looking for

The band, Carolina Liar, either wittingly or unwittingly reaffirms that there is "nothing new under the sun." 22 years later, longing, confusion, and needful desperation still exist and still provide for some great lyrical fodder. I've caught myself more than once just listening to this song and affirming deep down that this plea isn't often far from every prayer that I pray.

At the heart of it, I know it is "growing in the grace and knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ." Being that God is eternal, omniscient, omnipotent, omnipresent, and unfathomable (apart from His revealing Himself) it only makes sense that a tiny little creature would cry out "Show Me What I'm Looking For." I know I do.

Attention to Detail

2009-04-25T10:04:00.002-05:00

The greatest side effect to "missing opportunities" is that you realize you don't want to keep missing them. A few nights ago, as B was preparing her new sweet and sour shrimp feast, I enjoyed a few choice moments with Wyatt out on our deck. The wind was lightly blowing, which usually leads to a few hiccup sounds from Wyatt as he tries to catch his breath.

Wyatt was in the precarious place that all three month old babies find themselves in numerous times a day. He was stuck somewhere between sleepiness and hunger. Of course, this can be a dangerous place for a father to tread. One wrong step or movement leads to the inevitable feelings of "uh oh, I'm not quite sure how to calm him...uh, uh, help me!"

Thankfully, I was spared from such insecurity in this moment and was allowed to experience a little peace and quiet with Wyatt. He was propped up, his back against my stomach, sitting in my lap; a perfect vantage point for a father to stare without interruptions. What did I see? Perfection. Humanity may be fallen, and my son hasn't escaped the snare of being born into it, but I see perfection shown in the creativity of God. I see his fingerprints barely beneath the surface of Wyatt's skin.

The mappings of veins outlined by a faint blue hue are clearly seen just above his right ear and under a thin veil of hair. Pimples may be viewed as imperfections for anyone who has ventured into and through adolescence, but the small blemishes on his skin only add to his handsomeness (if only that continued throughout life, huh?).

I have one distinctive crease in my arm, at my elbow. Wyatt, however, has three...at the elbow, mid-forearm, and wrist. The same goes for his legs, with a crease at his mid-thigh, knee, and ankle. Why does this matter? I stare at my son, and notice what makes him uniquely him. For someone who has struggled to believe God (My Heavenly Father) looks at me and knows me intimately, even the mappings of my veins and the "glory" of my blemishes, this was a moment of awareness that I hope doesn't fall into the annals of forgotten memories.

Missed Opportunites

2009-04-21T10:04:00.005-05:00

How can someone be distracted from enjoying this? Two of God's greatest gifts to me, my wife B, and my son, Wyatt were missed by me for two weeks, while I stewed in anger and irritation over a frustrating situation. For two weeks, I perseverated (yes, that is a word, Bethany taught it to me) on a person, and an incident with that person rather than enjoy the two people who make me laugh and smile more than anyone else. At one point Bethany asked me "why are you giving them so much power?" Honestly, I don't know, but I'm resolved that setting my mind on whatever "is good, whatever is noble" includes considering my family over and above any negative person that tries to vie for my time, attention, and energy. So, before I head off for my one late shift of the week, I'm going to lay down next to Wyatt on his Baby Einstein activity map and stare at him while he stares at the hanging toy Sun. A good reminder that ultimately I need to be staring at the Son myself.

Double Posting

2009-04-21T10:03:00.002-05:00

This is actually a post that I placed on my fitness challenge blog, but realized it fits over here too:

It's early. I've been up since 3:00am. Not by choice. Apparently, it is becoming tradition that instead of sleeping until I have to wake up on Monday mornings, my body is stirring by 3:00am.

My butt and legs are sore from Saturday's lunges. Usually, it is just my attitude that is sore this early on a Monday morning, but that isn't the case today. A friend let me borrow a book to read called "In a Pit with Lion on a Snowy Day" by Mark Batterson, the pastor of National Community Church in D.C. Yesterday, after it sat on our coffee table for days begging to be read, I finally picked it up. After just three chapters, I went and bought my own copy. The number of great quotes is overwhelming. Batterson hit me hardest with a quote about boredom. I wonder if this is what I've been fighting with exercise for years? That's why I am currently always wanting to try something new, daring, challenging. But, what about the rest of life? He has poked at my heart and stirred up something. Not sure how to explain it or understand it yet, but this quote pushes at my willingness to settle for boredom, even though I despise it:

If the truth be told, the alternative to fear is boredom. And boredom
isn't just boring. Boredom is inexcusable! Soren Kierkegaard went so
far as to say that "boredom is the root of all evil" because it means we're
refusing to be who God made us to be. If you're bored, one thing is for
sure: You're not following in the footsteps of Christ. At some point
in your life you have to make a choice between fear and boredom. Lion
chasers choose fear.

@#$%!!!, The Six Million Dollar Man, and a Glorified Body

2009-04-13T17:54:00.010-05:00

Agitated, unsettled, angry, edgy, and irritable; are these the feelings you expect heading into Easter weekend? For some, the thought of Good Friday and Easter Sunday would seemingly draw them into an immediate state of reverent awe. For myself, it seemed a war waged in my body. If I were forced to pick a date, I would say that March 31 was the recent impetus for my spiral into "madness."

I learned to cuss when I was 5 years old. These new and exciting words would bounce on my tongue like Pop Rocks. Apparently, this week, I either was reminiscing about Pop Rocks, or enjoyed the feeling of several !@#$!!! jumping off my lips. I don't say it boastfully. If you are offended, take it as a confession, which I would hope you might show mercy upon.

The words are strong, aggressive, and angry and available for all things animated and inanimate both. The most immediate expression for the irritation I literally was feeling in my physical body was @#$%!!!. What was going on in my body? I've pondered this several times. Is there an answer? Maybe, maybe not. However, I think I do have a picture.

As a 5 year old child, I was exposed to some great things, like The Six Million Dollar Man, Farrah Fawcett-Majors (yes, I had a crush on her at age 5), and as already established a few posts ago; Sasquatch. 5 years old wasn't so kind in other ways however. I saw my first Playboy, tried to smoke my Dad's cigarettes, and of course, learned to cuss.

How do these all relate? In the intro of The Six Million Dollar Man, the Oscar Goldman character presents, "Steve Austin, astronaut. A man barely alive. Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world's first bionic man. Steve Austin will be that man. Better than he was before. Better, stronger, faster." Whether it was his zoom lens eye, bionic legs that allowed him to jump ridiculously high and run 60+ miles an hour, or his bionic right arm, I was astounded and amazed, and I wanted to be like Steve Austin.

The book of Ecclesiastes states that God has put eternity in man's heart. Sometimes I wonder if The Six Million Dollar Man was my first glimpse at a desire for what lies in eternity. Would God actually allow us to have bodies that don't break down,are significantly more capable than our present "earthly bodies" and ones that don't scream with rage when the stress and irritations of life poke and prod and provoke us to respond with...well, you know the four note symbol I've been using (for those wondering if I can count, the exclamation points are just that...they aren't part of the word).

The forcefulness of the words flying out of my mouth beg the question "is this what it looks like to be a part of a creation that groans for liberty?" Does this frustration find it's full relief only in a new body, in a new world, which was paid for on the cross?

Romans 8:18 "For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us. 19 For the earnest expectation of the creation eagerly waits for the revealing of the sons of God. 20 For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of Him who subjected it in hope; 21 because the creation itself also will be delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God. 22 For we know that the whole creation groans and labors with birth pangs together until now. 23 Not only that, but we also who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, eagerly waiting for the adoption, the redemption of our body. 24 For we were saved in this hope, but hope that is seen is not hope; for why does one still hope for what he sees?"

With a week like I've experienced, I am very aware of what I was saved from (my sin), but I am also being drawn into an awareness of what I have been saved for...the redemption of "our body." As much as I loved the Six Million Dollar Man, I've gotta believe God has something even better than a zoom lens eye, bionic legs, and a bionic arm. I don't know if I will run as fast or jump as high, but I do groan with the whole creation for the "freedom of the glory of the children of God."

Can't Think Straight

2009-04-10T18:16:00.002-05:00

My last post is code for exhaustion, frustration, irritation...I feel like the Cajun cook here with "tion"words. When I can think straight, I'll try to explain, but in the aftermath of a loooonnnnggg week with little rest, I'm hoping that the three hour nap that capped my last work day this week will start the process of feeling something other than @#$%!!!

@#$%!!!!!!!!!!

2009-04-08T14:20:00.000-05:00

@#$%!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Boxes

2009-04-02T21:45:00.004-05:00

A year or two ago, several boxes made their way from my parent's garage in Florida to our garage in San Antonio. B asked me to look through them one day to see if we wanted to keep them. Books, t-shirts, awards, papers, and pictures from my childhood filled each one. Years had passed since I had been able to look back that far. Childhood seemed ancient history, and anytime I was asked to connect to anything earlier than high school, it seemed as possible as me becoming the next American Idol.

As I began to scour the history of my young self, I felt my heart get heavier. I grew quieter and Bethany thought I was checking out, and pressed me. That didn't go so well. I broke down, and as I looked at those pictures and attempted to explain what I felt, I realized that I hated that kid. I despised him, thought he was a such a piece of crap. I couldn't go back before, because young Darin disgusted me. This is a part of my story that I want to search, and hope to do so, and maybe even here on this blog (maybe I'll find out why I think "Lostdogman" is a fitting name?).

For now though, the new boxes that my parents brought to the house yesterday were met with a bit of excitement. I saw a few pictures from junior high track, held my Def Leppard shirt, and laughed at some of the posters I had. The self-loathing is replaced by a desire to show mercy to who I was at that point in time. I've spent most of life trying to run from that kid because I hated that kid. Not anymore. He is someone I want to rescue from the mire of self-contempt, insecurity, and confusion. If I can't rescue him, I would like him to know that I don't hate him anymore, and that I want him to live despite the numerous ways he has attempted to kill off parts of himself over the years.

Boxes, like memories, and Sasquatch are my friend.

I'm Not Dead Yet

2009-04-01T17:15:00.002-05:00

Although I haven't been posting, I'm not dead yet. I do want to get back on this blog, but mostly I've been posting about my progress on losing 39 lbs. by age 39. Do I sound like I'm trying to plug a product for an infomercial yet? It's been fun, and I'm trying to keep it somewhat serious and silly all at the same time...kinda like laughing in a premillenial dispensationalist church during a sermon on the coming 7 year tribulation period.

Anyway, I'll be back like the Terminator and ready to go with a plethora of new thoughts.

Celebrate...Good Times...Come On

2009-03-25T17:25:00.003-05:00

Tonight in approximately 34 minutes, B and I are celebrating the 3rd anniversary of this special event (see picture). B had some great words in her blog today, so I will let you enjoy her very touching take on our big day (which was actually yesterday).

Sasquatch is My Friend

2009-03-18T16:00:00.006-05:00

There are some things I'm sure I believe in (the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus), and there are things I know I don't believe in (naturalistic evolution), and there are things that I want to believe in. The last category is perfectly represented by my friend Sasquatch. Alright, alright, so I am not literal friends with Sasquatch and no, I'm not confessing to having an imaginary Bigfoot friend.

The possibility that a large, hairy breed of some ape-man upwards of 8-10 feet tall existing is like a friend to me. There is a sense of wonder that I feel as I read various encounters all across the country (yes, folks, Sasquatch has even been seen here around San Antonio...maybe chasing a chupacabra?). Even as an adult, the fascination and wonder of such a creature keeps me in touch with my childhood. My imagination was vivid and filled with possibilities as a child, and I miss that. I miss the sense of hope (whether valid or not) that is part of being young.

The fueling of my Bigfoot fascination started with the Six Million Dollar Man and was further ignited by The Patterson Film (the most talked about and debated video of the purported Sasquatch). The "what if" was exciting and created a whole world of wonder that has gradually been beaten out of me in many areas of life, but I want the "what if" back for the rest of my life. That is why Sasquatch is my "friend" because "what if" is a friend that I need!

Metal Head

2009-03-14T12:50:00.009-05:00

Somewhere around 7th grade a drastic shift occurred; a shift so chilling, shocking, and amazing that the repercussions would be felt for generations. Well, that's dramatic isn't? And...not quite true. There was a shift for me around that time, but the world survived, and as far as I know no generations are going to impacted, except in terms of random knowledge of 80's metal music handed down to my children.

Up until the 7th grade, my friends and I would find ourselves rocking out to Rick Springfield, Journey, REO Speedwagon, Pat Benatar, Styx, and if we really wanted to push the envelope, AC/DC and Def Leppard. My friend Matt and I once spent an entire week at basketball camp listening to High 'n Dry by Def Leppard and trying to convince everyone they were better than AC/DC, because that was extremely important in our little world at the time.

Over time, I gradually moved into an almost exclusive diet of METAL! I never looked like a metal head, but I think obsessive listening to Scorpions, Cinderalla, BulletBoys, Metallica, Megadeth, Anthrax, Suicidal Tendencies, Iron Maiden, Armored Saint, and Whitesnake would confirm that looks could indeed be deceiving. There are times where I look back and wonder, was that really me? I still love the energy that can come from a Marshall stack, a Gibson Les Paul, and a band full of overly aggressive musicians (yes, I said musicians; there are some really talented metal players).

A strange thing has been happening to me as I go back and listen to music from my youth. What seemed to impact me and to speak to me then (adrenaline, rage, anger, partying and sex) and was reflected in my choice of music seems to be a million worlds away. While I admit I think the new Metallica album "Death Magnetic" is a phenomenal ferocious slab of power and complexity, I keep getting drawn back to music from the 80's that I wouldn't "be caught dead" listening to back then.

For some reason, that I can't explain, I get so nostalgic when I hear two maybe "not so cool" songs. The chorus to "Whisper to A Scream" by Icicle Works (or even the cover by Social Code from a few years ago) combines the melancholy lyrics "We are, we are, we are but your children, Finding our way around indecision, we are, we are, we are ever helpless, Take us forever, A whisper to a scream" ascending over an airy, rising, and energetic instrumental background. I can't pin down the emotion I feel, but being someone who has been "finding [his] way around indecision" for a long time, it speaks to me.

The other is "In a Big Country" by Big Country. The Irish rock feel may seem dated or even ridiculous to some, but several lines express to me the ever present tension between pain and hope;

So take that look out of here, it doesn't fit you.
Because it's happened doesn't mean you've been discarded.
Pull up your head off the floor, come up screaming.
Cry out for everything you ever might have wanted.
I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered
But you can't stay here with every single hope you had shattered.
I'm not expecting to grow flowers in the desert,
But I can live and breathe and see the sun in wintertime.

Signed,
A Repentant Metal Head

39 by 39 Blog

2009-03-11T19:11:00.003-05:00

I tend to not put everything (somethings, not everything) out for public consumption, which is probably why I'm just finally blogging consistently (and putting more out than I'm used to doing). Read my 1st ever post, and you'll see my skepticism in ever creating one.

However, sometimes I believe it is important to stop being secretive and to put yourself out in a more public venue. The avenues are many where this can occur. Whether it is sharing a story, exposing something shameful, or inviting people on a journey, some moments require putting yourself out for more public display.

So, that being said, I'm inviting you to follow along as I try to lose 39 lbs. by age 39. I created a separate blog at http://39by39.blogspot.com. Anything related to that journey will be there. Everything else will be here.

So, if you want to come along for the ride, there's room on the roller coaster!

39 by 39

2009-03-10T09:54:00.007-05:00

On July 15, I turn 39 years old. As I ponder what I hope life looks like as I age year after year, my ideas and goals are shaped in light of this hope. What do I hope for? I want to run, jump, climb, crawl, and play with my son. I want to play baseball in the yard with him like my Dad did with me. What if he doesn't like baseball? We'll worry about that later. This is all about hope.

One thing I know is that even though I am in the fitness profession, I weigh more than I want to weigh. I'm 5'9" and I weigh 215 (the last 5 are courtesy of the post Wyatt diet). Yeah, I can hold my own in terms of strength, but I'm not a NFL running back and I don't need to carry the weight. I can't move as quickly as I would like and I just don't feel as comfortable at 215.

So, what am I saying? I gotta have some motivation; a challenge. So, starting March 15, I have 4 full months to lose 39 lbs. by the time I am 39 years old. 39 by 39. That would put me at 176 lbs. Honestly, I don't have to weight 176 lbs. to be happy. If I hit 185 I would feel great.

When I've mentioned how much I want to lose people look at me like "huh?" If a visual of the 180 lb. me helps to see that I would not waste away, look at the picture. This is at age 26 and I definitely wasn't a waif. Too far to go back? I don't know, but I'm going to give it a shot.

11 lb. Theology Lesson

2009-03-08T11:25:00.003-05:00

In 2003, the band Live released a song called "Heaven." Two lines defined the song for me: "I don't need no one to tell me about heaven. I look at my daughter, and I believe." While I am not jumping to conclusions and declaring Live to be a Christian band, the song has spun in my head numerous times since Wyatt's birth, and has contributed significantly to my "11 lb. Theology Lesson." (this is Wyatt's "guesstimated" weight at this time). Obviously, Wyatt is not my daughter; he is my son. Even so, I connect with the thought "I don't need no one to tell me about heaven. I look at my [son], and I believe."

I believe in the love of God for me more than ever, because of the love I have for Wyatt. Wyatt's life currently consists of the occasional startle response, leg and arm flailing, passing gas from either end, spitting up, peeing, pooping, and smiling. It should also be noted that yesterday at 6 weeks and 1 day old, he finally gave up his umbilical cord, but that is a rabbit trail. Wyatt does not "perform" to make me love him. Because I am his Daddy and he is my "little guy" I love him. He does not have to stop soiling himself for me to love him. In fact, I feel like he needs more love from me when he makes a mess of himself.

For the theological student, maybe you could assign this to the category of general revelation (found in the creation, rather than the words of scripture). However you categorize it, it is glorious to me. Being that I use the word glorious, well...never, this must be a big deal...a very big deal! If God looks at me the way I look at Wyatt, He must love me like crazy, which has long been a battle for me. I can read John 3:16 all day long and know that I have eternal life by believing in Jesus, but the first part; the "For God so loved..." part often gets deleted, passed over, or underestimated by me. Right now, Wyatt doesn't have any idea how much I love him, how I love to hold him, care for him, and hope He finds comfort from me, especially when he feels uncomfortable, distressed, and "poopy." What is being revealed to me in this? Maybe, just maybe I don't fully understand how much my Father loves me, loves to hold me, cares for me, and wants to comfort me, even when I'm "poopy." However, He has given me a beautiful 11 lb. Theology Lesson named Wyatt to help me understand...this is one theology lesson I don't want to ever forget.

Memories = Music = Memories

2009-03-05T16:19:00.012-06:00

Memories are my enemy. I run from them. The distance mounts and concurrently so does the deadness. A prayer begs "take away my memories!" The embarrassments, betrayals, failures, and utter disgust drag me here. Memory formerly held color, shades, inflections, tones, heights, depths, sadness, ecstacy; a broad palate. Years of repression usher in haziness, blandness, blackouts.

Memories = Music = Memories.
Ears hear.
Memories pulse.
Heart beats.
Life blooms.
The forgotten brought to life by a guitar, a cymbal crash, a lyric.
Popular band, cool band? Yes, no, who cares...memories...call.

Memories are my friend. I run to them. They run to me. A prayer screams "bring them all back to me!" Deadness dies. Hope flies. I rise.

Of Adoption and Confusion

2009-02-28T09:04:00.007-06:00

"When we are cut off from something important to us, we experience a sense of loss...Loss is an inherent part of life--a "necessary" part, as writer Judith Viorst has put it. From the moment we lose the comfort and security of the womb until the day we lose our lives, we encounter innumerable events associated with loss. They range from the minor--getting turned down for a part in the school play--the major--the death of a spouse or parent. Every loss shapes us. We are shaped too by the process of grieving that commonly follows loss. Adoptees are no different from others in this regard. And yet, as we will see, the resolution of loss, and the ability to grieve successfully, are often complicated for adoptees. To understand the psychology of adoption from the perspective of the adoptee is to recognize and appreciate the unique role played by loss and grieving in the search for self." (p. 3, "Being Adopted: The Lifelong Search for Self" by David M. Brodzinksy, Ph.D., Marshall D. Schecter, M.D., and Robin Marantz Henig)

In Tracy's recent post, she wrote :

Yesterday I wrote about stories and the importance of telling them. Over the past several years I have often heard those who are resistant to the importance of our stories use Paul's words in Philippians 3:13-14 in an effort to encourage people to forget their stories and leave them behind. Here are Paul's words: "12 Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on, that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me. 13 Brethren, I do not count myself to have apprehended; but one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind and reaching forward to those things which are ahead, 14 I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus." In the context of the passage Paul is talking about the things that he placed his trust in, his accomplishments and his status. Nelson's Bible Commentary says this, "Paul could not obliterate the past from his memory, but he refused to let his past obstruct his progress toward his goal. He wanted to forget his self-righteous past." He is NOT telling people to forget their story, their pain, their disappointments, the fear, the damage that sin has done to them.

What is the connection between these amazing quotes? My story is confusing. Being adopted has been a complex and often frustrating "thing" for me to clearly understand. In my past attempts to "press toward the upward call of God in Christ Jesus" I have been guilty of counting my sense of loss and grieving as something that I should "count as loss." In other words, nothing in your past matters; the only thing that matters is pursuing Christ. Why grieve? Why be in touch with my loss? After all, Jesus even said "deny yourself."

As Tracy said, Paul is counting his self-righteous, religious past to be loss. He is forgetting his accomplishments in "religion" as a pathetic measuring stick in an attempt to be righteous before God. He is NOT saying "do not grieve, forget your story, forget what has shaped you." Yet, religion tends to encourage we do those very things. So, if Paul calls religion σκύβαλα (def. any refuse, as the excrement of animals, offscourings, rubbish, dregs), then I say flush religion down the toilet where it belongs. What I refuse to do any longer is assign my story to that same destination. The story of my adoption, of my wondering and my wanderings, and of God's faithfulness to love me as I have often questioned "who am I?" is not σκύβαλα. I have not grieved, nor have I plumbed the depth of the loss I've experienced, but it is time...it is long past time...and that is one thing I'm not going to leave behind.

All My Days

2009-02-24T20:49:00.005-06:00

I hear three notes, and immediately I know the song. No need to go any further to conjure up memories; they are imprinted already. Sadness and hope intertwine throughout both the song and my mind. Two years ago, our good friends Lib and Chris gave me one of the most used birthday presents I've ever received. Lib is quasi-famous for her eclectic taste in music, but not only her taste in music, but her fantastically well-timed and appropriately meaningful choice in presenting friends with her version of the "mix tape." The first song on my mix tape (entitled Coffee and Cigarettes) is All My Days by Alexi Murdoch.

This morning I left Bethany and Wyatt upstairs to brew a pot of coffee. At the first smell of the aroma, my mind was transported immediately to the opening notes of the CD. Why? I have no idea, and I'm NOT going to try to figure it out. I'm just going to roll with it. The almost mournful sounding acoustic guitar at the beginning of "All My Days" ushers in an immediately recognizeable voice. A thickly accented male voice tells a story that goes a little like this:

Well I have been searching
All of my days
Many a road, you know
I've been walking on
All of my days
And I've been trying to find
What's been in my mind
As the days keep turning into night

Well I have been quietly standing in the shade
All of my days
Watch the sky breaking on the promise that we made
All of this rain
And I've been trying to find
What's been in my mind
As the days keep turning into night

Well many a night I found myself with no friends standing near
All of my days
I cried aloud
I shook my hands
What am I doing here
All of these days
For I look around me
And my eyes confound me
And it's just too bright
As the days keep turning into night

Now I see clearly
It's you I'm looking for
All of my days
So I'll smile
I know I'll feel this loneliness no more
All of my days
For I look around me
And it seems you found me
And it's coming into sight
As the days keep turning into night
As the days keep turning into night
And even breathing feels all right
Yes, even breathing feels all right
Now even breathing feels all right
Yes even breathing
Feels all right

What inspired this song, I do not know (maybe just "breathing" did). What I do know is what is evoked in my heart...that "even breathing feels alright." Sadness, confusion, tears, wandering, and loneliness are all experiences that felt pointless and cruel. I prayed for death many nights in my life as I wallowed in sadness, fear, or loneliness, but the prayer mercifully was not answered. Why does "even breathing feel alright" for me now? Maybe because I know I'm not alone? Maybe because I know I have friends who love me? Maybe, just maybe. What isn't relegated to the pile of maybes is knowing that while there has been plenty of sadness in my life, whether created internally or forced upon me externally, the brushes on the canvas of my life have not been pointless, nor have the intentions of the Painter been cruel. I am finite, and my God is infinite, and I see a fraction of what He knows inherently and completely. I know He has found me, and I know he has seen me uniquely in my sadness and wanderings and has known Bethany and Wyatt would be amazing gifts to me. Alexi sings "Now I see clearly it's you I'm looking for." For me this a plural "you" rather than a singular "you." At least in this moment it is. The You is Jesus (my Savior) and the you are Bethany and Wyatt. As much as I realize God showed his love for me on the cross, there is something peculiar and perfect about the roads He led me through to bring Bethany and Wyatt into my life that demonstrates His love loudly and tenderly at the same time.

Before the pot of coffee was brewed this morning, I experienced an hour and half of breathing. Bethany was sleeping next to me, and Wyatt was sleeping on my chest. All three of us were breathing, and for that I am grateful, and yes, it does feel alright.

Picture Perfect

2009-02-21T15:47:00.002-06:00

A mother's hand gently taps her tiny little baby's back, occasionally locked in step with the rhythm of music in the background. The baby's head is gently snuggled up under his mom's chin. In my opinion, this is picture perfect because the mother is my wife, and the baby is my son. Their moment of intimacy elicits a smile from me even as I continue to battle pain in my back that often drives me to irritation. The picture of them together to me is perfect, and I'm happy that for a moment, my pain takes a back seat to my enjoyment of having them in my life.

25 Random Things About...Wyatt

2009-02-18T17:57:00.008-06:00

Today, I had the good fortune of interviewing my 26 day old son Wyatt. What began as a discussion regarding 25 random things about him quickly progressed into an astounding 26 things. In this exclusive, we delve deep into the mind of this amazing rising young star. Without further delay, here's Wyatt in his own words (or what we think are his words).

1. My mom is funny. She likes to sing really loud sometimes, especially the song "Since You Wore Thongs" by Smelly Clarkson (ed. note...that is "Since You've Been Gone" by Kelly Clarkson).
2. I like to impersonate the garbage disposal. I can do it through my mouth or my butt...at any given moment.
3. I haven't pulled off the whole "pee on Daddy when he's changing my diapers" trick. Just wait, it'll happen...I'm letting him become overconfident. He doesn't even cover me up with the PeePee TeePee, and even looks away sometimes!
4. The last three things I drank were 1) mother's milk, 2) mother's milk, and 3) mother's milk. Why mess with a good thing?
5. One time, I was a little groggy and accidentally tried to get mother's milk from Dad. It didn't work. Don't tell anyone about it; it's a little embarrassing!
6. I like pee...a lot! My record for unexpected peeing episodes is three times in three hours. Sorry Mom!
7. I have a fan club. The president is L and the vice president is E...they rock!
8. My parents are the coolest parents I know (I say this under duress as they bribed me with more mother's milk, a diaper change, and a place to lay my head when I'm drunk on milk).
9. I like to make my eyes really big and cross them just to freak out Daddy ( Uncle Brian too).
10. I refuse to let the umbilical cord go...I don't care that I've had this crusty thing for over three weeks...it's my friend. You try spending 9 months with something and try to give it up.
11. One time, Dad was giving me a bath and I waited until he picked me up to toot on his hand. He jumped and mom thought he was a little dramatic.
12. I miss my Grandmother Cabell and Great Grandmother Stumph...they had to fly away, but I still have my Grandma Benke.
13. OK, so that trying to nurse on my Dad wasn't the only embarrassing moment. I tried to nurse on my mommy's arm and nose, my Uncle Brian, Grandpa Ben...ke....oh, I'm gonna stop I don't even know what I'm doing yet.
14. I love the nightlife, I love to boogie...
15. My least favorite thing in life...that suction thing that Mom shoves in my nose. Leave the sticky green stuff in my nose...it's better than that evil thing.
16. I laugh everytime Mom tells Dad to close the lid on the wipes. He tries to blame it on Mom...it never works.
17. Occasionally I yell...just because I can.
18. While I understand I did poop while on E's lap, I highly disagree with her assertion that I am now known as Baby Poopy. There is much more to me than that.
19. My favorite outfit is the one that I can get wet.
20. I don't mind Dad snoring, but Mom always wakes me up when she tells Dad to stop snoring.
21. Dad wants me to be a UFC fighter. He thinks my size and my blocking skills make me a future heavyweight champ. I think he's crazy. Those guys are scary! Give me my soothie!
22. Great...I'm already hooked on Lost and 24 and actually care who wins the Biggest Loser, the Batchelor (I'm cuter than Jason) and American Idol (if Tatiana beats out Danny tonight, I'm giving up on the show....thank God Danny won...I still get to watch).
23. My Mom and Dad are NOT lazy. They just don't want me to feel bad since I can't move around yet...that's why they are sitting on the couch a lot.
24. I make cute sounds just to hear my Mom say "ooh, I love his sounds!" She says that a lot. Dad is really proud of me too...why do you think he would go to all this trouble by interviewing me?
25. I'm still waiting for a Tempur-Pedic mattress in my crib. No fair that Mom and Dad get one and I don't.
26. I can't wait for my Uncle Dave and his girlfriend Lara meet me. Just another month until I sucker them in too with my really, really ridiculous good looks!

UPDATE: Within 3 minutes of posting this...Wyatt let the pee fly during a diaper changing. Dad was not hit, thus extending the streak.

Breaking the Silence...with a Touch

2009-02-15T11:02:00.010-06:00

If God can be silent for several hundred years between the Old Testament and the New Testament, I feel a little justified in taking close to 5 months off of blogging. Of course, for the anal retentive, logical thinker (these two traits aren't necessarily married to each other, but they often date seriously) you could argue that since God exists outside of time, and therefore does not bow to it, I have no good argument. That's fine with me, since this isn't even my point in writing. So why did I go there? Well, I'm rusty at writing for any outside consumption, and needed to just start writing, and a decent introduction for what I really hoped to write.

What do I really want to say? I want to say "I love my son!" I am crazy about my boy, and I can't imagine my life without him. Words fall short of the range of emotions and thoughts I feel and think of him, for him, toward him. God gave us words, His Son is called the Word, but sometimes my words feel inadequate to express the emotions that well up as I gaze at the face of my son. Today, he is 23 days old, born on Jan. 23, 2009. No statements from my mouth over those 23 days resemble the monumental words of presidents, poets, or my favorite songwriters. The silence found in my stares is most often broken by the repetitive strain "I love you Wyatt, I love you. I love you Wyatt, I love you." He breaks the silence by the occasional coo, burp, and of course movements from the tail end, to which he was named Baby Poopy by our friends' 2 year old daughter. He is Baby Poopy and I love him. Our mode of communication has some sound, but often it is based on touch.

In a world where silence may represent isolation, abandonment, and loneliness, that perception of silence is broken by the touch of his head on my chest. His touch tells me far more than any words he could possibly speak. His head on my chest breaks the silence and admits "I need you." His head on my chest confesses "you are a safe place for me." His head on my chest pleads "I am fragile, be careful with me." His head on my chest sighs "I can rest on you."

What do I hope my touch communicates to Wyatt? "You are precious to your Daddy. You bring a smile to your Daddy's face. You are safe. You are home. You are loved!" There was a time in my life when silence told me I was alone, expendable, disposable, and maybe even dangerous. Now is not that time. Now, the silence I experience tells me there is something terribly, wonderfully right in our little world right now. In this silence, lies are destroyed and mocked by the touch of a son's head on his Daddy's chest, and the rest of the world fades away.

But the 16th was the day...

2008-09-18T15:36:00.000-05:00

...and the answer was no.

Apparently...

2008-09-13T10:30:00.001-05:00

...it wasn't the day...

Is Today The Day...

2008-09-12T07:40:00.001-05:00

...that I get an answer?

Since ShaunandRachel Asked...

2008-08-04T17:33:00.007-05:00

How am I doing? Surprisingly well, but it has been very interesting. It has been 38 days since a meaningful post, even with good intentions to not give up.

What has kept me away? I don't fully know the answer to that, but I can try to give a little perspective of the last few days. For days, weeks, and months, there has been an uneasiness at my current job. I've pursued an alternative teaching certification without much luck and a sense of uncertainty of what is next (and truly wondering if I really do want to teach). Today was the day the uncertainty reared it's ugly head, became certainty, and caused an outbreak of contrasting experiences and emotions. What happened? I'll explain it in question form.

How does it feel to know that your job was spared, while watching several others lose theirs?

What did they feel when they experienced freedom from a bad situation, but also felt betrayed?

What did they feel when they were relieved to have an answer, but dismayed to know it came a lot sooner than expected?

How does it feel to know that the greatest desires of your heart are not yet fully realized, but you may be learning more about them in the middle of chaos?

How does it feel to know that "the peace that passes understanding" is available, but you feel a little guilty that you aren't full of angst, and then wonder if you are "oblivious, repressing, or ignoring" the truth?

All the above could be easily answered with the word ambivalence. My co-workers (or former co-workers) experienced it, and I joined in with them. I felt sad for them, grateful I have a job, but not overly enthusiastic about the one I have, and most importantly seem peaceful in the middle of it all. Years ago, the mixture of emotions would have sent me over the edge. I'm not really sure where I'm headed with this thought, but I do know I very shocked and surprised to feel peace, and I don't believe it is because I still have a job. There is no tension in my throat or chest, but this strange sensation and understanding that I am not out of the will of God in the middle of chaos, but might just be firmly in union with Him, and knowing that apart from Him I can do nothing...and trusting that His Spirit is not a dead being relegated to the pages of a book, but real, alive, and more importantly alive in me, for Christ in me is the hope of glory, not only in eternity, but also here and now. If I could fully explain it in words I could, but I can't (which makes sense if it is beyond understanding), so I will refer you to Coldplay's instrumental "Life in Technicolor" off their newest album Viva La Vida. There are no words (or it wouldn't be an instrumental now would it?), but it expresses what I feel...listen to the song and see what you feel.

22 Days? Already?

2008-07-16T19:12:00.003-05:00

How have 22 days passed since my last post? In that time, I've had a 20 year class reunion (at which I danced to "Thriller" quite proudly) and turned 38 years old (without sadness, and quite a bit of hope and excitement). I don't like that I haven't blogged in a while, and I'll remedy it soon. In the meantime, you can read about me from my wife's perspective. I'm still snorting, laughing, and crying at my wife's latest post.

English as a Second Language aka "Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader?"

2008-06-22T16:54:00.002-05:00

As I have been going through my alternative teacher certification program, I have to be honest that I feel like a contestant on "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?" and I'm finding out that, in fact, I'm not smarter than a 5th grader. Apparently there is a difference between the world of everyday communication (aka BICS...basic interpersonal communicative skills), and formal academic skills (CALP...Cognitive Academic Language Proficiency).

Before I bore you to death with all this fancy information, I will get to the main point. I feel like English is in fact my second language right now, and it is the only one I know! Why? Because I haven't had to learn or think like a 5th grader in about 25 or 26 years now! Do I feel like I can communicate with language? I think that would be self-evident since I am writing in a blog. Do I think I can communicate clearly in an academic setting? That is another story, at least at this point. I believe that I can learn just about anything if I get my bearings straight...but right now, my bearings are far from "straight."

Where I am going with all this? I'm not sure, but I am still grateful that who I am isn't determined by being smarter than a 5th grader, my understanding of Vgotsky's language development, or mastery of classroom management skills. I don't feel very wise as I'm bombarded with all this new (or old and forgotten) information. Thankfully, who I am and who I am loved by, is defined by someone who is now at the core of my being.

1 Corinithians 1:26 For you see your calling, brethren, that not many wise according to the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called. 27 But God has chosen the foolish things of the world to put to shame the wise, and God has chosen the weak things of the world to put to shame the things which are mighty; 28 and the base things of the world and the things which are despised God has chosen, and the things which are not, to bring to nothing the things that are, 29 that no flesh should glory in His presence. 30 But of Him you are in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God—and righteousness and sanctification and redemption— 31 that, as it is written, “He who glories, let him glory in the LORD.”

Anxious, Not Anxious, Repeat

2008-06-18T14:21:00.004-05:00

I "should" be filling out more applications to more school districts who don't have a current listing for my as yet unrealized future area of certification (aka P.E.). However, I have given up for now. In the chaos of trying to figure out where to apply next, I kept finding myself feeling a surge of anxiety, then relief, then anxiety, then relief, and on and on. Ceasing the application process didn't lead to the immediate flood of peace that I would hope for. The cycle continues; anxious, not anxious, repeat. There are moments of calm...there are moments of fear...moments of believing God would never allow His children to be left hanging...and then moments of wondering what do I do to control the situation? This experience would fit nicely under the category of "Lord, I believe...but, um, help my unbelief, too!" if I were so inclined to make things clean and tidy.

My friend, T and her husband M, gave me a book the other day (for reasons as yet unrevealed to most of the world) called Metamorpha by Kyle Strobel. Today, I picked it up and read something that felt like it was ordained just for me at that very moment. If I were an atheist, I would write it off as a coincidence, but I'm not, so here it goes:

"The Christian life is a journey, certainly, but not one of aimless wandering. It is a journey of increasing reliance upon the Shepherd. When life feels like aimless wandering, it is because you are being led through God's supernatural world but are trying to look at it through natural eyes that cannot see what, why, or how God is working. As our Shepherd, Jesus works in our hearts through the text, not merely through information, but through his Spirit by his Word. Our natural inclination will always be to push against the shepherding nature of Scripture. The second we "kick against the goad" of the Word, we undermine its deconstructing nature and make it into information alone. We act as a sheep that thinks he is above needing a shepherd and tries arrogantly to tell the shepherd where to go. Once we relativize Scripture around ourselves, it becomes nothing but information, and the temptation will always be to see it through our understanding of what the good life is, over against God's understanding of it. The text is an instrument to help us to see rightly, to take our eyes off the horizon at which they are aimed and align them with the horizon at which the text is really pointing, and this is only possible if we come to the text as sheep and continue on as sheep." That, ladies and gentlemen, is why I am now praying "Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me and know my anxious thoughts and see if there be any hurtful way in me, and lead me in the everlasting way" (Ps. 139:23-24)

There's a Teacher Shortage?

2008-06-17T12:44:00.007-05:00

For years, I've been hearing the same phrase..."there's a teacher shortage." This may or may not be true in certain areas, like math and science, but I don't think there is one in elementary P.E. I'm currently trying to get an alternative teaching certification, and today I attended a job fair, which may also be referred to as "thousands of other people who heard there is a teacher shortage, standing in long lines for the same schools, the same jobs, wondering if there really is a teacher shortage."

Standing in 5 separate lines over the course of 4 hours helped me to realize several things: 1) I am funny...especially when I feel cynical. This is my spiritual gift and should be used to it's full advantage. I had a blast making everyone laugh as we all stood in the same line wondering "is there a teacher's shortage?", 2) Elementary P.E. only does not seem to make potential employers say, "right this way sir...we've got just the spot for you!", 3) you don't have to know people's names, or even ask for that matter, to enjoy talking to them and laughing about your common predicament, 4) large crowds may usually evoke certain primal, unholy feelings of frustration and rage towards other human beings, but it doesn't have to...at least not today, which may be due to the Venti Iced Double Shot from Starbucks (or "Christ in me" who I understand is pretty powerful), and 5) the idea of starting my own business sounds pretty good...I personal train, I teach guitar, and I have a theology degree. Why not do all three? Why not? I don't like training when it is the only thing I do, but I love it when it is part of what I do. I love teaching guitar, and am very passionate about music. I am most alive, however, when I am teaching about God, our identity in Christ, and eternity (and what it looks like in the meantime to live here and now). So, once again, why not?

I'll think on that one and in the meantime, I'm going to fill out a plethora of on-line teaching applications (even if there isn't a teacher shortage!). Any ideas on how to start a business and take care of a family? Feel free to let me know!

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho, It's Off to Lowe's We Go...And My Identity Is Under Attack

2008-06-14T09:06:00.003-05:00

In a perfect world (well, my perfect world), I would be a self-sufficient, do-it-all, master craftsman, skilled in the fine art of home maintenance. Unfortunately, I'm going to blame Adam and say something went terribly wrong when he and Eve sinned...they undermined my ability to be "handy." Growing up, I was the son in the family who shot baskets, threw baseballs, and kept the other team from scoring in soccer (that's a goalie for the non-astute). My brother, on the other hand, could find ways to use a dead snake to create a natural power source, and save the family a month's worth of electric bills. (For the literal reader, take a step back from your moment of awe and realize that I'm being dramatic for drama's sake) So, the roles were "Darin The Athlete" and "Dave The Useful." Funny, I'm an exercise physiologist, and my brother is responsible for the maintenance at a ranch in the mountains of Colorado (and is loving it).

Today, I'm ready to head to Lowe's to get "stuff" to make being a home owner easier. You would think that getting a sprinkler and a weed-eater wouldn't cause a tremendous amount of self-doubt, but I still walk into places like Home Depot or Lowe's feeling like a complete tool (pun intended). Being that we've been studying our identity in Christ lately in our college/singles Sunday School, I wonder if I'm going to walk into Lowe's with confidence as "a new creation" who has divine life inside and is "more than enough" or go in feeling like "a complete tool" who wants to run out of there questioning whether a "man" would feel this inept at being able to take care of his home?

Self-inflicted

2008-06-11T17:26:00.004-05:00

Can I get a show of hands, please. Who here has a tendency to find ways inflict pain upon themselves? I'm not talking about the "I like pain" self-inflicted pain, or the "I hate myself" self-inflicted pain, but the "what was I thinking" self-inflicted pain?

That is what I experienced today. How did I pull off this feat? Take a little exhaustion, a little delirium cause by the previously mentioned exhaustion, be a naturally gifted "non-planner", and be in a position where you are responsible for coordinating the schedules of you and your co-workers. When I received a phone call last week asking if co-worker "H" could cover a slot at the other facility, I thought no problem we've got it covered, I can handle a long day...just once...not a big deal. Well, I forgot that this was the week where I already chose to work the 6:00am shift everyday, which wouldn't be bad if my timeclock isn't naturally set to falling asleep at midnight-ish (I add the -ish, just so B doesn't pull a "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days" and say "B....S...."). On top of that our schedule is looking like this this week: Monday: work followed by surprise party (which probably wasn't a surprise by the time it started); Tuesday: work followed by shopping, followed by seeing some friends and their precious newborn; Wednesday (today): work followed by dinner (at home thank God) then small group...and so on for the remainder of the week, leading to my "what was I thinking" self-inflicted pain and suffering.

I'm complaining, and whining, yes I am (that's a confession by the way). And, I'm also realizing (once again...imagine that) that apart from the Lord, I have zero hope. I can't stop the feelings of frustration and stress on my own. I need someone to bring peace. I need a place of rest for my head and heart, and I'm ambivalent about admitting it. However, there wasn't ambivalence anywhere in me when I had a moment of peace today where it seemed like God was saying "I love you...I'm your Father, and I'm going to take care of you always." That moment has seemed rare for too much of my life. I don't want it to be that way anymore!

Posting two days in a row...because I can

2008-06-10T15:52:00.003-05:00

Post...there you go...I set a record...two days in a row!

Why Post Now? Because I Can!

2008-06-09T18:27:00.004-05:00

Today was a good day. Actually it wasn't. Work today reminded me of the fact that we toil and labor and it is cursed! Was it all miserable? No. Was it predictable? Yes and no. It was predictable that I would be stirred again to wonder why I don't do what I really want to do...which isn't the point of this post, so harass me to share that later. It wasn't predictable in the sense that I felt so frustrated by my lack of freedom to be creative, to take a risk, to step out without have to deal with "corporate structure." I became the "undead." Irritated, frustrated, but at least undead in this area...now alive to wanting more than being part of what feels like a dysfunctional dying machine.

I am posting today because I can. I have the freedom to post on my personal blog, even if I don't use it for months at a time...it's still my blog. So, why is that a big deal? I had created a blog at work for a fitness challenge where people could find all their information, workouts, communicate with each other, get encouragement from the trainers, etc. Unfortunately, for me, I didn't go through the proper corporate steps to make sure this was acceptable. I was reminded "I am NOT free." The result is that the blog is not operational since proper channels were not followed. I am fully aware that as a Christian I am to serve my bosses as if I am serving the Lord, HOWEVER, all this awareness did was make me wonder what it would be like to be my own "boss" and be free to be creative, try something new, push the envelope, maybe have a small amount of control and ownership of something that I can fully believe in, and not have to wait for an answer from "corporate" to give something a shot. Is what I do good for people? Yes! Is there something redeeming in my job? Yes! Is there freedom? Sometimes, rarely, occasionally, but is it enough? Right now, I'd have to say, it's not nearly enough...actually, it isn't even close. It feels good to say, and to be free to say it...because I can.

Runnin' with the Devil and the Beer Muscle Girl

2008-01-25T12:17:00.000-06:00

April 1, 1985: Van Halen lead singer David Lee Roth leaves Van Halen for what started off as a pretty successful solo career (and eventually devolved into a not so successful solo career). Van Halen became "Van Hagar" from '85-'96, and then Gary Cherone (famous as the voice for "More Than Words" by Extreme) stepped in for a season. No matter what new singer was in the band, most die hards wouldn't settle for anything less than the original, Diamond David Lee Roth.

Jan. 24, 2008: Myself, B, and B (the Younger...and my brother-in-law) witness history. David Lee Roth is back fronting the mighty, awe-inspiring Van Halen, and they came to San Antonio. History was witnessed from somewhere just south of the ozone layer, where the smell of a sweet leaf of some variety was not overwhelming, but definitely noticeable...a little skunky. Unfortunately, it was difficult to experience the full impact of the band from so high (not from the smoke, just the altitude). My ears aren't even ringing today, which is a first for any concert experience for me. However, Eddie proved he is still ridiculous on the guitar, his son (Wolfgang) did a great job on bass, especially for a 16 year old, Alex lays down a monster beat on drums, and Dave is well...still Dave...showman of all showmen. Over the top, comical, and I'm sure he was off-color, but just couldn't hear him, so I don't know what he actually said. His voice isn't the same, but he is still a great frontman. So, these Christian folk were "Runnin' with the Devil" last night with Van Halen. I'm sure someone will think we need to repent.

What about the girl with beer muscles? Here's where we find what alcohol, rock and roll, and high altitudes can do...in section 227, Row 17, seats 8-10, we witness not only history, but also the hysterical. What is more hysterical than watching a 6'4" 260 lb. 50-ish year old man with a white flat top, rocking out with all the energy and conviction of an 18 year old? Not much, actually. B, and B (the Younger) and I were mesmerized by the man's complete working knowledge of the entire Van Halen catalog, and what appeared to be a near heart attack inducing regimen of flashing the devil horns, head banging, and air guitar-ing. What's this have to do with girls with beer muscles? Great question! As we are watching the show from "white flat top, air guitar-ing, devil horn flashing, head banging guy," all of sudden, I noticed hands fly up in my view. It drew my attention away, so I looked and a girl (technically a woman, but emotionally apparently a girl) throws her arms out with a "what you lookin' at" face directed at me...I think. Not entirely sure, I looked around and realized she definitley was giving me the "what you lookin' at" face, with requisite gangsta arm movements, so I shrugged, and pointed over her head toward "white flat top, air guitar-ing, devil horn flashing, head banging guy." Her boyfriend/friend/husband(?) sees me point and he thinks I'm just excited to be at the concert with him, and flashing a friendly shout out over to him. Danger averted. I don't think Beer Muscle Girl (she gets caps since she is the main character) will be kicking my tail. Her man is just happy to be there.

Apparently she had other plans. I stopped looking at "white flat top, air guitar-ing, devil horn flashing, head banging guy" just to keep things cool, but B (the Younger) can't resist looking at "white flat top, air guitar-ing, devil horn flashing, head banging guy." Beer Muscle Girl's boyfriend has now been tipped off that she thinks we are checking her/him/them out and staring at them. He yells to B (the Younger), "what are you lookin' at?" He is of course as confused as I was. He points at "white flat top, air guitar-ing, devil horn flashing, head banging guy" just like I did. I don't know what this couple was thinking. Maybe they were insecure? Maybe they were drunk? Maybe she wanted to see if her man could fight two sober guys to fight for her drunken honor? I don't know, but thankfully trouble was averted.

What is the moral of this story? That I don't know either, but I do know that even without the best seats, it was a great night with my wife and brother-in-law, and I won't forget it anytime soon, thanks to "white flat top, air guitar-ing, devil horn flashing, head banging guy" and Beer Muscle Girl..and oh yeah, a little 'ole band named Van Halen!

So, that's why you write things down

2008-01-16T13:55:00.000-06:00

Um, just to clarify, my "life-altering" breakdown was actually in November 2006, not October (had to check an old post to see that!).

Crawling

2008-01-15T19:10:00.000-06:00

Some people sprint, some jog, some walk, and some crawl. I might be in the last category. I am a crawler, at least in one specific area. To demonstrate, the following time-line will hopefully give you an idea of how I have ever so slowly crawled to a place of taking my first step.

October 2006: Have "life-altering" breakdown listening to Mark Schultz's "Everything to Me." If you wonder why that was you'll have to read here.
October 2006-August 2007: Stuff the memory of aforementioned breakdown with occasional recollections.
August 2007: Have an "epiphany" and realize it's been a while since the "life-altering" breakdown and I have done nothing to answer the question of whether I can find my birth mother.
August 23, 2007: A friend (who found her son after giving him up for adoption) sends me information on what steps to take to find my birth mother.
Nov. 14, 2007: Still wrestling with mixed emotions.
Thanksgiving-ish 2007: Download information from Indiana Adoption History Registration
Thanksgiving-ish to end of 2007: Look at information occasionally, think about filling it out, change my mind, have to do my hair, laundry, take a nap, or play guitar...anything but fill it out.
Jan. 3, 2008: Completed the initial paperwork sitting on the couch with my wife B.
8:45am Jan. 4, 2008: Envelope containing aforementioned paperwork placed in our mailbox...saying "I'm out here...are you?" Step one is complete...hoping I'm done crawling...

Peace on Earth? Goodwill to Men?

2007-12-23T08:03:00.000-06:00

Yesterday tension ruled my day. From the outset, something felt "off," like an avalanche building up steam, and before long I was a raging ball o' fury (I'm not Irish, but the Irish, having the reputation of being fighters, might like the o' in the middle there). What made me mad? Everything. Was it the Christmas lights that are wrapped together so intricately that you question the sanity of the inventor of these cursed creations? Yes. Was it the fact that in the first mile or so of leaving my house to shop for my wife's last Christmas gift I was cut off or hindered from my mission three times (I keep saying three, but it may have been two...things get foggy when you are in a rage)? Yes, that too. Was it finding out that the internet had better prices on B's gift than the name brand store, thus making my foray into the outside world all the more irritating? Yep, that too. Was it shopping at the grocery store and having people cut me off as if I was invisible. Oh yes! It was at this point that I was wishing I was an MMA (mixed martial arts) fighter who could just slap a rear naked choke on the next person to draw my ire. The only time I didn't feel the heat emanating from my face was when an old lady with a cane, slightly disfigured hands, and tired eyes was in my way. Yes, she was blocking my way, but she didn't make me mad. Finally...something other than rage. That was lost in the next 30 seconds when I was cut off twice by an overanxious teenager and then an oblivious Dad. Goodwill to men? Peace on earth?

B posted last night with some very similar thoughts about the frustration of the day, but finished with a reminder of why we, why I, need Jesus. She concluded: "Why is it that when we were able to sit down and relax, we found ourselves at the symphony, listening to Christ-centered music that moved us to tears? Could it be that we were needing to be reminded of our Savior's birth and life in the midst of the chaos that man can create...I think so!" Without Him, I am a mess...with Him I can still be a mess, and why my rage and lack of goodwill to men reminded me exactly why I need a Savior. Romans 5:6 For when we were still without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly. 7 For scarcely for a righteous man will one die; yet perhaps for a good man someone would even dare to die. 8 But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

To Answer the Question About The Leaves

2007-11-22T15:41:00.001-06:00

Some places in the world (not San Antonio, TX), experience something called the four seasons. In these pictures, you would be seeing something called fall, which includes colors other than brown and green.

For you movie buffs, the last picture (or what would be the last picture if I could get it to post the way I want! It is the picture with all the houses in the foreground, and is now apparently the very first picture despite my numerous attempts!) is a scene that might look familiar if you've seen the movie Evan Almighty. This is the area where Evan built his ark. Apparently, the director of the movie was a University of Virginia student, so he picked Crozet, VA, which is just outside of Charlottesville. Since I'm on vacation right now, you will have to wait a few days for anything that requires me to be witty, have a deep thought, or address personal concerns and/or demons of any kind. In the meantime, I leave you with a heartfelt "wish you were here!"

We're Outta Here (San Antonio) and Goin' Here!

2007-11-17T19:16:00.001-06:00

B and I are going to my Aunt and Uncle's bed and breakfast in Crozet, VA. If you ever want to see it in person, I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you took a closer look here.

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise

2007-11-17T14:23:00.001-06:00

Surprise! That is a word that can make us tremble in fear with what may be around the corner, or giddy with excitement. For my wife B (yeah, I know I've divulged her name on here, but old habits are hard to break so I'm reverting back to one fine initial), surprise can carry both feelings at the same time. Surprise means being caught off guard and not having it all figured out. More importantly, it means that you are missing out on something...and maybe even something really big. In the case of this surprise birthday for B's 30th, what was missed out on (by B) only added to the greatness of the night. B experienced the tension of being in the dark about what was to come and left with one thing...HOPE. She could hope that the people that loved her really knew her and what she hoped for on her birthday (that her family and friends could be together to celebrate). But, would she be surprised, and even more than surprised? Would she be overwhelmed with joy, excitement, life, love? She began the night believing she would spend a night with her family (but did wonder what her Mom might have in store...an hour before arrival she said "I wonder if my Mom is surprising me?" to which I responded "who on earth would she invite?" with the straightest face I've mustered in my life). At 7:30pm on Nov. 10, B walked through her parent's door to the joyous refrain "SURPRISE!" from about 30 friends and family. Yes, indeed, B was surprised to point of saying later that she felt like this was a night of having "exceedingly, abundantly above all (she) could ask or think!" (that's bogarted Bible quotation from Ephesians 3:20). She hoped, she wished, and most importantly... she was joyously surprised!

Journal Entry from Jan. 5, 2007

2007-11-14T23:52:00.000-06:00

(It's long, but you were forewarned in the last post)

In all honesty, I’m unsettled at this very moment in time. There’s a part of me that just wants to shrink away and disappear, but its funny how I’m at a point where it seems like there might be some clarity to my life. Isn’t it always that way? There is always some fight, some battle, or some challenge that makes you feel so many different things. I want to live, but I want to disengage. I want life to matter, but I struggle to hang in there when there are questions and new revelations about where I’m supposed to be, and what I’m supposed to be doing.

I guess it all starts back on Nov. 4, 2006. It started with a harmless question from my mother-in-law. Bethany and I were at dinner with her folks when her mom asked “have you ever thought about finding your birth mom?” The honest answer is “sometimes yes, sometimes no, but mostly I don’t think about it,” and that’s the answer that I gave. Bethany made the comment that “I bet she thinks about you everyday.” That’s not an unusual conversation. I’m sure there have been several of those in my lifetime. But, the story gets weird pretty soon afterward. That night, Bethany and I were with our friends, Mark and Tracy, and Gary and Marilyn. Mark is the pastor that married Bethany and I. Tracy was Bethany’s Matron of Honor, so needless to say, we’re pretty tight.

They know my story well. Until November 2003, I never really knew what I felt about being adopted. I remember being pretty insecure about it as I grew up, with tremendous bouts of insecurity and fear. One night, as an old single guy in Mark and Tracy's singles group, I had dinner with them and another couple, (Pat and Perry). Pat and Tracy really started asking some hard questions about how I felt about being adopted. I started out strong saying that I knew that God had adopted me and that it doesn’t really affect me at all. I finished in utter weakness, bawling my head off realizing that there was something about being adopted that made me feel abandoned rather than accepted.

Back to Nov. 4, 2006…Tracy says that she has a song that she wants me to hear. She brings in a CD by Mark Schultz, a Christian artist, who uses storytelling in many of his songs. Mark and Tracy had played his song “You Are a Child of Mine” by him a few years earlier (which resulted in the obligatory bawling like a baby) to remind me that I was a child of God, and that He designed me. Well, good ole’ Mark Schultz has a new CD out, and this new song that Tracy plays starts off with the words “I must have felt your tears as they took me from your arms…” Oh crap! Right away, I just explode into tears! I’m such a wuss sometimes. The song is about being adopted.

Everything To Me

I must have felt your tears
When they took me from your arms
I’m sure I must have heard you say goodbye
Lonely and afraid had you made a big mistake
Could an ocean even hold the tears you cried

But you had dreams for me
You wanted the best for me
And you made the only choice you could that night

(Chorus)
You gave life to me
A brand new world to see
Like playing baseball in the yard with dad at night
Mom reading Goodnight Moon
And praying in my room
So if you worry if your choice was right
You gave me up but you gave everything to me

And if I saw you on the street
Would you know that it was me
And would your eyes be blue or green like mine
Would we share a warm embrace
Would you know me in your heart
Or would you smile and let me walk on by
Knowing you had dreams for me
You wanted the best for me
And I hope that you’d be proud of who I am

(Chorus)
You gave life to me
A chance to find my dreams
And a chance to fall in love
You should have seen her shining face
On our wedding day
Oh is this the dream you had in mind
When you gave me up
You gave everything to me

And when I see you there
Watching from heaven’s gates
Into your arms
I’m gonna run
And when you look in my eyes
You can see my whole life
See who I was
And who I’ve become

(Chorus)

Mark Schultz / Cindy Morgan © 2006 Crazy Romaine Music (Adm. by The Loving Company) / Word Music, LLC / Lola Max Music (ASCAP) (Adm. by Word Music, LLC)

My Mom (adopted Mom) always told me that I was giving to them out of love and that God doesn’t make any junk. For some reason, I couldn’t ever accept those words. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea. In the moments that I was listening to the song, crying, Bethany was looking at me, smiling and crying, rubbing my arm to let me know she was with me. That was the first time I think I finally “got it.” Much of my teenage life (and some adult life) consisted of feeling like I wanted to die. My favorite song for a while was Metallica’s “Fade to Black” which says “I have lost the will to live, simply nothing more to give. There is nothing more for me, need the end to set me free.” I guess things have changed because upon hearing “Everything to Me” I felt totally different. I really want to live, and I think I understand something that I couldn’t before! My birth mom “gave life to me and wanted the best for me.” I’m starting to wonder if Mark Schultz is in my head. I don’t listen to him a lot, but whenever I do, I swear that he knows what I have felt. This song seemed to sum up just about everything I wished that I could feel or understand about being adopted. Of course, the fact that he was adopted might have something to do with it.

Bethany and I have been praying about whether to pursue finding my birth mom since that night. The only thing that I know about her is that she was pretty young and my father was quite a bit older. I always joke around that she was a college student and my dad was a professor (I was born in Lafayette, IN which is right next door to Purdue University). My Mom and Dad have said they are alright with me looking for her. They have always said that, even when I didn’t think that I really wanted to do it.

Things got even more interesting after a few weeks. I had a conversation in our gym (where I work) with a lady named Kristie one day. She commented that her son recently died at the age of 29. In order to keep from crying, she asked if she could send an e-mail to me that she sent to a friend previously that would explain a little bit about what has happened over the last year.

I received the email of Dec. 1. I started to read it and almost immediately closed it when I realized that the story was going in a direction I didn’t expect. Read it for yourself and imagine what was going on for me.

My Baby Miracle

You’re not even going to believe this! I have to tell you about a miracle that's happened in my life. I always kind of thought my life was a soap opera but I'm now convinced it's a full blown Oprah show! LOL! Until recently, only my school friends and family knew any of this. Here's the story.

When I was fourteen years old, and very innocent and ignorant about things I was seduced by a slightly older young man. Well, that happened only once but forever changed my life. I became pregnant and at fifteen years old gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.

I ended up raising my son Nate mostly by myself and he was the love of my life until the day he died in September 2005. But see, I did not have Nathan at fifteen years old, I was twenty when I had him. I gave birth to his older brother at age fifteen and placed him for adoption, as I was convinced that I was too young for raising a child. My older brother had been set in place along with various other people including one of the best psychiatrist in the Twin Cities to make sure I knew that at my age, I was not capable of being a parent. There would be no chance of me taking my baby home from the hospital. And it did work and was probably for the best.

Then, six years later I gave birth to my Nathan and concentrated on being a good mother to him so I neatly tucked everything about my first little Baby as far back in my heart as I could. I didn't want to take a chance that he might slip through the hole I knew would forever be there. Many times throughout the years I thought of finding him. But, I felt my life as a musician/car sales person was not going to be good enough for him and he would be disappointed and want nothing to do with me. So I was always waiting and looking for the right time to search. My Nathan knew about his older brother and wanted to meet him too. So while living in Houston two years ago, I finally made a firm decision to start the search after our up-coming move to San Antonio. It was going to be perfect because Nathan was also relocating to San Antonio. But unfortunately, I lost Nathan a week before he moved to Texas.

After walking through the horror of Nate's death, I was again left with a familiar sorrow and task of having to force my heart to live with another huge gaping wound inside. Although the pain had some similarities to losing my first child, after Nate's death I honestly was not thinking of anything or anybody but him. One of the little things that really bothered me the most was that I would never again hear those sweet words,"Hi Mom." I used to pray in screaming fits telling the Lord that he, " has to bring my baby back," I'd cry, "You are a God of miracles and you can bring my sweet baby back." Insane as it sounds, I was serious. It went on for months, only between me and God. I thought, "if you are for real, you need to show me". Because what little faith I had left was fading fast.

Then a long time friend of mine suggested that I look for my other son. She said I had to find him now even more than ever. I agreed, thinking even if he wants nothing to do with me, I still needed to know that he was OK. I knew Nathan would want me to find him too. But, I also knew the risk involved because often times adopted children can be hurt, angry, bitter, or may not even know they're adopted. Still, I just really needed to know that my other son was OK.

Well......Praise God, I did find him! With the help of fax machines, emails and Children's Home Society in Minnesota. And, he is awesome and very happy to get to know me! I am so thankful I kept my mouth shut during times when I felt like telling the Lord I no longer believed! Because He really did hear and answer my prayers. God brought me my baby back, my first baby, and he is doing fine! He's known since the age of seven that he was adopted and had always referred to me as his, "real Mom." So when we were actually able to first connect it was by email and the, "subject or header" on the email said, "Hi Mom." I just about fell out my chair! This all happened within a week of the year anniversary of Nathan's death. Which was at the same time that I was finally able to take big breath and be glad this last horrible year was behind me.

And if finding my son was not enough, I have a darling 4 year old grandson named Willie! I can hardly stand it! My son was named Bill/Wiliam by his adoptive parents, but I call him Billy because that is actually what I named him at birth! He is thirty-five, smart, and handsome. He also resembles his brother. He has a fabulous girlfriend who has been with him for many years. We love to talk, he calls me regularly and we go on for hours. And every conversation starts with, "Hi Mom."

Many times through out the last year I honestly wanted to give up, and cuss and swear at God! But each time the thought entered, I kept my mouth shut and said nothing, or cried out for the return of my son. I didn't pray as often as usual for fear that I would start out praying and end up blaming God. That's one thing I dared not do. Especially, after all our past conversations and all that He had shown me about Nate before and after his death. So, I would pray for others and ask for healing but my time with Him was never like before. I wasn't sure I even wanted to be close to God again anyway as it only seemed to make my life worse. But still, I asked Him to revive and create in me a clean and loving heart. Had it not been for the years of listening to messages and reading the word, I would not have known what to say to Him. Because at the time, it all so seemed meaningless.

But now, I will never again question whether or not God loves me. Or, whether or not He hears my prayers. Although my heart will forever beat for Nathan, God has put a great big band-aid over the gaping wounds that started at fifteen years old, by bringing my first precious son back to me. God knew that Nate's big brother would be the only one who could step in and cover the pain for both of them. Through all the insanity of grief and shock I really had no idea what I was saying to God... what I was asking him to do. But He knew the plans He had for me, and my Babies. Oh....Thank you Jesus, for I am blessed!

I was floored! After finally getting the guts to read it, I started to wonder “is this my mom?” before I had read very far. Obviously, she isn’t, but her story is pretty amazing. It’s confirmation for me that my birth mom, if still alive, does wonder about me. Now, I know I could be wrong, but I think I’m right…and that’s all that’s important right? Haha!

I received her email on a Friday, and the following Monday, I walked up to her and told her I got the email and that she might want to know that “I’m adopted!” It was pretty awesome to talk to a mother who had longed to see her baby boy someday, and that she was able to do so. She met him face to face over the Christmas holidays. What’s even more amazing is that she found out that he had lived across the street, as a little boy, from where she used to practice singing with her band. I found that out when I told her I had wondered if she might be my mom. She shared that story to let me know that anything is possible and it’s not crazy to think something like that could happen.

I’m starting to wonder if maybe I’m allowed to be open to God doing some amazing things; things that just aren’t mere coincidence. I don’t always allow myself to think that God is free to do something that cool for me, but I’m starting to open up to it. I’ve probably said in earlier chapters that sometimes I’m a little slow on the uptake, and you might be tired of hearing that, but I think it’s true. I get the feeling that I am one of those stubborn kids that needs a little more coaxing out of my comfort zone, and this might be one of those experiences that does it.

Why Do I Even Have a Blog?

2007-11-14T23:33:00.001-06:00

It's only been 1 month and 9 days since my last post. To prevent my own embarrassment in attempting to show my math skills, I'm rounding that up to 40 days, which when multiplied by 24 hours, means that over the last 960 hours of my life I devoted a mind-boggling 1 word per hour to my blog. Being that I have a plethora of multiple-word thoughts that blaze through my mind at mock speed during the course of a day, you would figure that somehow, someway I muster up a few creative words, which in turn create sentences, and eventually maybe a couple of paragraphs. But no! I start the blog, thinking I'll put "my book"on here. That hasn't happened, and maybe for good reason.

The story that probably needs to be told isn't about my life from 1999-2007, but much further back. How bout July 15, 1970, or more importantly July 20, 1970. That's the day that I was adopted. To be honest, I don't like to think that the thought of being adopted has had any impact in my life, but that would be a futile attempt at denial.

For the past several months, the question that may be responsible for tying up my tongue is "do I look for my birth mom?" My parents have given their blessing, and I have...hesitated. Maybe I don't have words because I don't want to know that my birth mom is sitting on the front porch of her trailer home drinking a bottle of Jack with a pack of Marlboro Reds rolled up in the sleeve of her shirt? Maybe not? What do I feel right at this moment? I don't know, at least not yet. Do I want to search for her? Yes. Do I want to do it now? Maybe?

I may not know what I feel now, but I know what I felt a little under a year ago, so I'll let a journal entry from January 2007 speak for me now. That's my next post...it's long, so curl up with it like it's a book.

I Need a Nap!

2007-10-05T14:56:00.000-05:00

For all 5 to 10 people who even know I have a blog, and read it, you may be glad to know that the unsettled feeling is over. The tension from trying to discern where God leads and what His plans are isn't always an easy path, so this week was full of mixed feelings in withdrawing ourselves from consideration for fulltime ministry with the Jr. High at our church. For a month and a half, we were heading in one direction and it looked like it might happen, or at least continue on the path. That came to a screeching halt several days ago. We've been praying and wrestling, and feeling no peace whatsoever about continuing. 10 minutes ago, I shared with our pastor that we were withdrawing. He was gracious and kind, which was a relief. This was a conversation that I dreaded. Thankfully, it was painless, and actually brought me to the point of feeling like I can lay my head down and take a nap. So, that's what I'm going to do!

Shakey, Unsettled, Unnerved...Unnatural?

2007-10-03T10:07:00.000-05:00

For years, I have done my best to squash (lika cockaroach) the feelings that come over me. The one that usually irritates me the most is the full body feeling of betting unsettled and undone. This wonderful feeling is characterized by the symptoms of tight throat, heavy chest, tingling arms (don't worry, it's not a heart attack!), and rubbery legs...oh yes, I can't forget the feeling of potential intestinal distress. As of 10:11am on Oct. 3, 2007, that is what I'm experiencing right now. Eventually, the reasons why may or may not be revealed (yes, I'm being coy...coy, that's a word I never use...did I even use it right?). I may hate this feeling and want it to be gone, but I'm gonna let it be what it is, because I don't think it is leaving today. Maybe not tomorrow either...maybe if God steps in and gives me peace that I can't muster up, then maybe (I'm mostly afraid of what effect my roller coaster of feelings do to my very patient wife!). I used to ask God to take away the feelings, but I've given that up like a bad habit. Why? Maybe I will know His heart for me better if I feel what I feel and realize He is my Comforter and Counselor? Is it unnatural for me to be unsettled, tense, and unnerved, or is it a place to see and know that God cares for me in a way that is impossible in any other scenes of my life? Or is it something else I don't see...............................................................................................................................................yet?

Sometimes Somebody Else Can Say It Better

2007-09-19T23:41:00.000-05:00

I've always loved the song "Time Stands Still" by Rush. If you don't know the band, they are a musician's band...meaning, bass fanatics, and drum purists will get their ya-yas from Geddy's Lee's bass playing, and Neil Peart's drumming. Alex Lifeson is the underrated guitar player. He's tasteful, and almost always plays for the song, rather than proving everything that he can do.

Now aside from all that musical background, the fact of the matter is that "Time Stands Still" (with background vocals by Aimee Mann, best known for being the lead singer of 'Til Tuesday...you know "Voices Carry" from the mid-80s...which is a shame cuz she is a great songwriter) is an amazing song which tells how I feel better than I think I can say myself. So, read the lyrics, enjoy, and if you haven't heard the song (even if you don't like progressive, geeky music) take a listen to it when you get a chance.

Time Stands Still

I turn my back to the wind
To catch my breath
Before I start off again.
Driven on without a moment to spend
To pass an evening with a drink and a friend

I let my skin get too thin
I'd like to pause
No matter what I pretend
Like some pilgrim
Who learns to transcend
Learns to live as if each step was the end

(Time stand still)
I'm not looking back
But I want to look around me now
(Time stand still)
See more of the people and the places that surround me now
Time Stands still
Freeze this moment a little bit longer
Make each sensation a little bit stronger
Experience slips away
Experience slips away

Time Stands still

I turn my face to the sun
I Close my eyes
Let my defences down
All those wounds that I can't get unwound

I let my past go too fast
No time to pause
If I could slow it all down
Like some captain, whose ship runs aground
I can wait until the tide comes around

(Time stand still)
I'm not looking back
But I want to look around me now
(Time stand still)
See more of the people and the places that surround me now
Freeze this moment a little bit longer

MAKE EACH SENSATION A LITTLE BIT STRONGER

Make each impression, a little bit stronger
Freeze this motion a little bit longer
The innocence slips away
The innocence slips away...

Time stands still
Time stands still

I'm not looking back
But I want to look around me now
See more of the people and the places that surround me now
Time stands still

Summer's going fast, nights growing colder
Children growing up, old friends growing older
Freeze this motion a little bit longer
Make each sensation a little bit stronger
Experience slips away
Experience slips away...
The innocence slips away.