Bruce Cameron

If you are unfamiliar with Bruce Cameron, you need to check him out. 

He has been one of my favorite columnists for more than ten years now.  I don't remember how I originally found him, but his humor is much like mine.  And he has written several dog books now which thrill me.  I'm an animal lover, and dogs are at the top of my list.

His newest one, available now, is The Dogs of Christmas.  I haven't read it yet, but I'm looking forward to it.

If you love dogs, humor, fun, and just enjoy life in general, you should really check him out.

http://www.brucecameron.com/

There, you can find out about him, his books, and sign up for his emails, find links to his Facebook pages, etc.

Veteran's Day 2013

Veteran's Day is the one day a year we honor those who have fought so hard to protect the freedoms we enjoy.  Too often, we take our freedom for granted.  And we should remember EVERY day those who have given so much for us.

I'm truly thankful for so many men and women who have sacrificed so much to allow me to live the life I live.  Men and women who leave home, family and friends, to live wherever they are told to. 

I complain that my bed is not comfortable enough.  When there are those who sleep in foxholes so I can sleep in my bed in safety.

I gripe about our electric bill being too high.  And there are men and women wearing heavy bulletproof vests under their uniforms, carrying 80 lb. backpacks in 120 degree heat.  They do this so I can sit on my couch, watching television and enjoying my air conditioner.

I get upset when someone cuts me off in traffic.  There are those who are targets.  Every day they worry about sniper's bullets, or IEDs. 

God forgive me for not showing my appreciation more every day for those who have given so much for me. 

This Veteran's Day has even more meaning to me, as my son is currently in Navy school.  In the coming years, he will live his life on a submarine, patrolling the waters of this world.  He has decided to make this world a safer place. 

Thank you, God for men and women like Chase.  Those who realize we will not have the freedoms we have without being willing to fight for them.  Bless our troops and their families.  Watch over them and protect them as they serve.  And help us to always be thankful for those willing to serve. 

The following is a video that speaks volumes to me.  It has been shared many times in the past few years. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AgYLr_LfhLo

Thank you to veteran's families, who visit a cemetery on this day.  Thank you to veteran's who have served in the past.  And thank you to those who are currently serving.

God bless you.

What An Honor

Saturday, July 20th, 2013 started normally enough.  The dogs were awake, ready for breakfast, and then to go defend the yard from dangerous squirrels and birds.  I was a little nervous and anxious.  My son, Chase and I were scheduled to take our P2 test in Krav Maga.  While we both felt we were ready, there are so many things to remember.  And we knew it was going to be at least a couple of hours of intense testing. 

We both passed our P1 tests earlier in the year.  Mine was at the end of January, and his was in February.  He was originally scheduled to take his in January, and came down with the flu, including 102-degree fever the morning of the test.  I may have been as disappointed as he was that we were unable to test together.  Krav has been something we have enjoyed together, and it has been a great bonding experience. 

We began the test on Saturday at around 9:15.  I thought there may have been a couple of other people there that morning, but as it turned out, our instructor was the only other one there.  In hindsight, it was somehow better that way.  More individualized...more private...more intimate...more special.  Working our way through the entire P1 curriculum was “fairly easy".  Sometime a little before 11:00, we began P2. 

As I type this on Monday at lunch, my forearms, my shoulders, my knees, my back, and even my eyebrows hurt.  Okay, maybe not the eyebrows. 

After three hours in a small, stuffy room, the test was over.  Steve, our instructor, gave us points on what we needed to remember, some things to focus on to improve, and where we did well.  We left; both exhausted, and pretty well spent for the rest of the day.  But we had passed.

BTW -- Steve is an incredible instructor.  He cares about teaching Krav, and he cares about his students.  It is not enough to him to teach the technique.  He wants to know you know why it works.  And he takes the time to show you how to do it better.  What works for him may not work for me.  (I am quite a bit smaller).  Check us out at http://www.legacykravmaga.com. 

What an incredible honor it was to test with him.  We have a few bruises, and I think I busted his lip accidentally.  But to test with him, and accomplish this together was an awesome experience.  It has been wonderful to have this time with Chase.  I say "has been" because in just over a week, he will leave for the Navy.  For the past two years, he has lived with me.  Krav has given us something that we can work together on, discuss, hurt each other a little, and bond with each other. 

As I write this, my eyes begin to tear because I know he will soon be gone.  It is sadness and joy.  It is watching a child become a man.  It is watching someone who was pretty well at the depths of his life a couple of years ago, coming through it, and making the world a better place.  There are not a lot of things in my life that I am proud of.  But when I look at my son, I am proud.  Not because of anything I have done, but because of the man he has become. 

We were talking about next week, and he said he did not want us to be emotional when he swears in.  Good luck with that.  It may be something he understands in another thirty years or so.  I certainly do not claim any credit for Chase being the man he has become.  His life has always been in God's hands.  

Thank you, God, for loving Chase enough to bring him through the trials, and make him someone I am so very proud of.  Thank you for allowing me to be a part of his life.  And please watch over him and protect him in (and out) of the Navy. 

Chase, thank you for never giving up.  I know there were times you wanted to.  Times you just "knew" life was not worth it.  But you have proven yourself wrong.  No matter what comes ahead; no matter how tough life becomes; remember what you have come through.  Whatever it is, whatever it takes...

You can do it.

I love you.


I am proud of you.

 

Am I Prepared?

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and my wife was meeting friends after work for dinner. Both our son and daughter were at work, so I was the first to arrive home.

We have two rescued dogs who tend to get into stuff when they are bored, so we keep them closed out of the bedrooms when we’re gone during the day. Opening the front door, they did not greet me in their usual manner. In fact, they were greeting me from the bedroom. I double-checked the driveway, thinking maybe I just had not seen my daughter’s car.

I walked down the hallway toward the bedroom, and found our bedroom door closed. Not completely, but enough to keep them from nosing their way out. I dismissed it, thinking my wife just had not pulled it completely closed when she left. It was odd for her, but certainly possible.

 

Letting the dogs outside, I also noticed the bottom drawer of her jewelry armoire was halfway opened. The younger dog is certainly curious enough to paw the drawer open, especially if she thinks it may contain food, or a racquetball, which is her favorite toy. Standing on the patio, waiting for the dogs to do their business, I turned, and suddenly saw something that twisted my gut.

Just to the left of the doorknob on our French door was a softball-sized hole. The entire glass door was spider-webbed. Suddenly, the entire scene repeated itself…the open bedroom door, and the open jewelry armoire drawer…and the fact that I had just walked through the house unprepared.

 

 

We moved into our current house five and a half years ago. The neighborhood is decent enough, although there are some lower-rent duplexes just a couple of blocks away. In spite of that, we have never put a gate on our lock because there was never a need. One time, several months ago, someone got into my son’s car when it was parked in the street. It had been unlocked, and they only stole some change, so it was not serious. However, we had never had any issues where we felt in danger in any way.

I have been a CHL holder for a few years now, and was carrying at the time. But suddenly, I was hit with the realization that I may walk back into the house to face an intruder, or two. I was carrying my S&W .40, but inside were my .12 gauge shotgun and a 9 mm handgun. All of the stories you hear on the news could potentially describe my situation.

 

 

 

I also knew at any moment, my son and or daughter might be coming home. I pulled my gun, and put one in the chamber. I had fourteen shots, and feel I am proficient with the Sigma. However, I could be facing seven shots of 9 mm and five shotgun blasts. I said a quick prayer, and entered the bedroom again, holding my firearm out, ready for battle.

 

 

A quick glance told me my shotgun was undisturbed. One down; one to go. The dogs came back in after me, but were not barking, which gave me a little peace. Quickly making my way to the Kel-Tec, it was just as I had left it.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Refusing to get complacent, I continued making my way through the entire house, checking every closet, under the beds, and the garage. My dogs and I were alone.

Making my way to the back door, I saw both the knob and the deadbolt locked.

Maybe no one came in,I thought. Maybe it was just someone throwing something from another backyard.

Finding a rock in the living room, thirty feet from the back door negated that hope.

I walked next door, to a neighbor who is home frequently during the day. It was a shot in the dark, (so to speak), but maybe he had seen, or heard something. As we were talking, a Sheriff’s Deputy who lives a few houses down drove by in his cruiser. I flagged him down, and he looked at the damage.

“Someone definitely tried to get in,” he said.

I told him I had briefly looked through the jewelry, and nothing appeared to be missing. We thought at the time the dogs may have prevented them from entering. It was not until later we found some things were missing, and others have been disturbed.

I called the police, and was told they could send someone by, but it would be awhile. As I waited, I cleaned up what I could, and replayed what had happened. One question kept coming to my mind:

Had I been prepared for a confrontation?

Thankfully, that question was not answered in a physical way that afternoon. Yes, I was armed. And yes, I feel proficient. In addition, I have studied Krav Maga for a while to learn to defend myself and my family. But I potentially faced more than one attacker, and possibly more than one gun. Was my knowledge, or my gun, enough?

We have all read stories about criminal encounters, and people interrupting burglaries. We live in a world where evil is always ready to invade our quiet, peaceful lives. Violence does not need a reason to destroy our world, and turn our lives upside down. That is exactly the reason I carry. I want to know that wherever I am, and whatever may happen, I am at least able to increase my chances of survival.

And I ask again:

Was I prepared for a confrontation?

Reading this, you may think I was. I have gone over it dozens of times. Entering the house the second time, I believe I was. However, I walked in the first time,completely unprepared for anything. If someone had met me by the front door, I would have been taken by surprise, and they would have had the upper hand. As soon as I saw that the dogs were not at the door, and verified my daughter was not yet home, I should have pulled my gun.

The preparation I had before entering the second time did not happen by accident. And it did not happen because I bought a gun, or even because I have a license to carry. It took a lot to get to that point.

How do you pass a physics test in school? You study. You do not go buy a physics book, and put it on your shelf, and decide you know physics. You do not sign up for a physics class, and attend once or twice. You read the book; you learn the formulas; you ask questions; and you go over it and over it until youknow it.

If you have made the decision to carry a firearm, I applaud you…if you are doing it for the right reason, and in the right way. Do not get a license so you can be “cool” because you can carry a gun. If you want to be able to protect yourself, your family, and the innocent people around you, that is awesome. However, even that is not enough. You need to spend time on the range, learning to draw and shoot your weapon. Can you hit a target consistently? Under stress?

If you take a martial art, or some other form of self-defense, that’s great. But are you doing it so you can say, “I know Karate?” Or are you doing it to learn to defend yourself, hoping you will never have to actually use it? And do you just attend class once or twice a week so you can say you “do” it? Do you study and practice outside of class?

I recently saw a posting on a school board close to our house. It read:

“Do not study until you get it right. Study until you cannot get it wrong.”

I am very thankful I was not actually put to the test that afternoon a couple of weeks ago. It was just enough of a shock to make me realize how close I may have come to a horrible situation. Had I walked in on someone, it could have become very ugly very fast.

Every time you drive, I hope you wear your seatbelt. If you don’t, you are being foolish. No one expects to have an accident. But if you are ever in one, you will not have time to put your belt on. No one expects to face an intruder in your home, or on the streets. However, if you ever do, you need to have prepared ahead of time.

Have a defense, or two…or three. Do not leave them on the shelf. Use them; learn them; practice them;know them…until you can’t get it wrong.

Break-In

This was what I came home to on Tuesday afternoon.

Letting the dogs out through the bedroom door, I saw someone had

renovated one side of our French Doors leading to the dining room.

I found a rock in the dog bed in the far end of the living room, thirty

feet away.

So they had entered my backyard through my gate, which now has a
lock, and thrown a baseball-sized rock through the door, intending to

get inside.

Thankfully, our dogs kept them from actually entering the house. But
as I was standing outside, I wasn’t aware of that fact. As far as I knew,
they were still inside. So I had to go back inside to make sure it was safe.
Also, thankfully, my wife was having dinner with friends, and my
daughter was not home from work yet. I hate to think what would have
happened if they had come home and found a burglary in progress.

As I walked through the house, (armed), I was preparing myself for a
potential encounter. Would there be more than one? Would they have
knives, or guns? If they managed to catch me coming around a corner,
and went for my gun, would I be able to keep control, and/or fight one
or two possibly armed assailants?
 

These are the thoughts going through my head as I walked through the house.

After my adrenaline settled, and I realized they hadn't actually made it inside,
I began to calm down. That's when the anger set in.

I'm sure it was some young kid who needed a little money for his habit, or
whatever. To that unfortunate, misguided soul, I just want to say:

"Keep your lazy, punk butt off my property and go get a job."
 

I'm afraid if they had been in the house when I came in, my instinct would
have been to shoot, and then ask who they were, and what they were doing in
my home.

I was talking to a neighbor, asking if he had seen anything, since he is frequently
home during the day. He hadn't, but as we were talking, a deputy Sheriff who
lives a few houses down was driving by. I waved him down, and he got out and
took a look at the damage.

"Call NRHPD," he said. "They have a crime scene, and can help you out."

Excellent. So I call NRH, and explained what happened.

"Do you need an officer to come out, or do you just want to file a phone report?"

"I'd like an officer to come out in case 'someone' is walking around," I said.

I wanted them to know I was taking this seriously.

"Well, we have some major incidents going on, so it will be awhile, but we'll
send an officer by when we can."

"No problem," I said.

I wondered what kind of major incidents North Richland Hills would have on
a Tuesday evening. An hour and a half later, they called back, and took a phone
report. Looking on the website today, I don't see anything about my report, or the
house on the street behind us, that was apparently entered. I'm not sure what they
had stolen, but it doesn't show up on the NRH website.

I thank God for Police and Fire personnel. They are all heroes to me. But when I
\see NRH Police, able to radar to catch speeders every single afternoon; and
consistently see people pulled over all over our area, it's hard for me to understand
why they couldn't spare one officer fifteen minutes to come make a citizen feel like
we actually matter. Maybe they were really busy that evening.

At any rate, I've taken the day off to get my back door replaced. I've also put a lock

on my gate. I'm working on getting my wife her CHL. I will also show her how to
use the guns I have until we get one for her.

On a side note, this all cause me to get back in touch with a friend from years past.
He does construction work on homes, and has been a wonderful help any time I've
needed work done. He showed up this morning, and in two hours, had my old double
French doors removed, and the new on put in. He does excellent work, and is priced
better than anyone else I've found.

It's good to have friends.

After the initial anger subsided, I was truly thankful. Yes, it costs some money
to repair the damage. But no one was hurt, including my dogs. Nothing was
taken (from us). And when I think of my wife walking in on someone, I'm very
thankful it was only a broken door.

Thank you God. Once again, your mercy and grace surround us.

Cat On a Hot Tin Roof

So I think I'm going to part-time as a movie reviewer. I'm going to start with a movie I saw for the first time ever the other night.

It was Cat on a Hot Tin Roof from 1958. I know...I'm not always current on the latest releases, but I'm not getting paid for this, so deal with it.

From what I got of the movie, there were main characters names Brick, Big Daddy, Big Mama, and Gooper.  Seriously?  I think that was the first problem. My mind had a hard time paying attention to a movie that doesn't care any more than that about naming its characters.

Maybe they'll make up for the lack of imagination in naming with great lines.

"WHY DON'T YOU GO UP THERE AND DRINK WITH BRICK IF THE CONQUERIN' HERO HASN'T PASSED OUT ALREADY? HE MAY HAVE TO PASS UP THE SUGAR BOWL THIS YEAR OR WAS IT THE ROSE BOWL HE MADE HIS FAMOUS RUN IN?"

"IT WAS THE PUNCH BOWL, HONEY, THE CUT-GLASS PUNCH BOWL."

"WHAT'S THAT SMELL IN THIS ROOM? DIDN'T YOU NOTICE IT, BRICK? DIDN'T YOU NOTICE A POWERFUL AND OBNOXIOUS ODOR OF MENDACITY IN THIS ROOM?"

If the caps are obnoxious, that's what I got from the movie. I think the only time no one was yelling was when I dozed off. How can I sleep through all that yelling? That's the problem. When everyone is yelling through the entire thing, it all just becomes background noise, and my brain tunes it out.

What a shame. I bet Brick, Gooper and Big Daddy could have been marvelous conversationalists.

And "mendacity"? My wife had to look it up for me. I don't remember now what she told me it means. I'd look it up again, but I don't really care.

Overall, I was less than impressed with "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof", in case my review up to this point hasn't made that clear.

Oh, and by the way, I know I dozed through some of it, but I never even saw a cat. And I don't think they ever showed the roof, so if it was up there, I didn’t see it. And it was raining through a lot of the film, so I don't think the roof was very hot at all. And if the cat were up there, I'm thinking he's not very happy.

Maybe that's why everyone was yelling.

RC Cola and Memories

I used to tell people I was born fifty years later than I should have been.

I miss the days when we would play outside without worrying about locking our doors.

I miss the days when a grown man could hug a child without worrying that people were thinking he was some kind of pervert.

I miss the days when being a bad kid at school meant you talked in class, chewed gum, or (heaven-forbid) copied off another student.

Lately, I have realized that I am so very thankful to be living in the time we are living. So many wonderful things that make me thankful.

Air-conditioning. Medication. And diet sodas that don't taste diet.

I love the Diet Dr. Pepper ads. "Tastes more like regular Dr. Pepper."

Than what? A fistful of dirt? Perhaps.

The newest rage, started by Dr. Pepper is the "10" movement. As I write this, I'm finishing off an RC Cola 10.

The last time I had an RC was probably as a teenager. I say that because as I drink it, memories flood my mind.

I can vividly remember sitting at the breakfast table of Nana and Daddad's home in Leisure World in Mesa Arizona, looking out the window at the Superstition Mountains in the distance.

It amazes me that I can smell something, or taste something, and so clearly remember something from more than thirty years ago. Then I have a hard time remembering where I set my keys ten minutes before.

There are so many wonderful memories from back then. Listening to Nana tell such incredible stories from their travels...sleeping in the second bedroom on the rollaway beds, reading the Snoopy books. I still remember the ones where Snoopy was imitating Lucy by rolling his ears into the shape of her hair, and mimicking her angry movements.

I remember the beautiful sound the little clock in the front hallway made when it chimed on the quarter hours, and the song it played every hour. I remember the pocket door on the hall bath. I had never seen one before that, and thought it was about the coolest thing ever.

I remember walking to the community center, and putting twenty-five cents in the gumball machine to get Kix cereal out to feed the Koi.

I remember the train set in the garage, and how cool his setup was. I remember the family houses he had lovingly constructed out of balsa wood.

Thinking of Nana and Daddad, I also have vivid memories of the house they had in El Paso, although the images come back in smaller pieces.

But I remember sitting in the little bar area eating cereal for breakfast, or cold cuts for lunch. I remember it was off the kitchen, which was separated from the rest of the house by folding accordion doors.

I remember the orange carpet in the front bedroom and the dark red tile in the kitchen and back den. I remember the rock wall in the backyard, and how cool it all looked to me. I remember playing with the white plastic thunderbird cars on the wooden footrests in the living room.

I remember the hazelnut coffee in the morning, and how wonderful it smelled. As an adult, I smelled that, and the memories came rushing back. It was only then that I learned it was hazelnut.

How can it be that so many vivid memories survived for so many years?

I believe it was because of the people that were my Nana and Daddad.

I only got to see them once a year or so. But it was my favorite place in the whole world.

It took growing older to realize people make the home, not the furnishings. And it makes me realize what wonderful people Nana and Daddad truly were.

I know that if I live to be a hundred, I will never stop missing them, and the beautiful memories they gave me.

A Nation of Fools

Where do I start with this one?

I'll start by apologizing up front for what promises to be a long, possibly rambling post.  I’ve started to write a blog several times, and now they are being rolled all into one.  So sit back and get comfortable…unless this offends you in some way.

And to add a disclaimer, my intention is never to offend anyone.  However, if you are offended by my blog, I trust you will either forgive me, get over it, or both.

Listening to the radio this morning, I heard that Maryland has now said you can no longer hug in any of its schools.  Okay, you can hug…but only your own kid.  So if I take my son to class, I can give him a hug, but not his friend, who has grown up next to me his entire life.  He and my son are best friends, and frequently play at each other’s house.  My son’s friend’s parents are our best friends, and we are really more like one big family.  Too bad.  I’m not allowed to hug him. 

“It will help cut down on potential safety issues for the children.”

Years ago, I helped out in AWANA.  I can’t tell you the number of children I hugged over the years.  Never once did I consider it uncomfortable in any way.  These were simply children, coming into a safe environment, and being loved by adults who volunteered their time.  Good thing I wasn’t in Maryland. 

Only parents registered as volunteers can enter the school playground.  Okay, I’ll give them that one.  I can see where that is a good idea.  But if you are a volunteer, you cannot push any child on the swing unless they are your child.  Really?

Your child cannot hand out party invitations in class.  I mean, after all, if there are twelve children in the class, and only three get invited, someone might get their feelings hurt.  It just isn’t fair.  I remember being in school, and someone would hand out invitations, and I didn’t get one.  Did it hurt my feelings?  Maybe.  I can’t remember.  So, even if it did, obviously it didn’t scar me for life. 

You can send a cupcake with your child to school, but you can’t send any for his classmates.  Someone might be allergic to something in the cupcake.  So let’s go back to the issue of fairness.  Why can Johnny have a homemade cupcake, and I can’t?  If I’m capable (at whatever age we choose to discuss) to rationalize that Johnny can have a cupcake because his mother made them for him, and not for everyone; surely I’m capable of understanding that Jenny is having a birthday party, and I wasn’t invited.

A child was suspended for pointing his finger at another child and saying “Bang.”

I understand the brevity of the Sandy Hook shootings, among others.  And I know it is a sensitive topic.  Here is where I remind you that I’m not intending to offend anyone.  But if you choose to take a stand on any issue, you are going to offend someone. 

When I was in first grade, I took a cap gun to school with me to play with during recess.  Do you remember when kids had toy guns that didn’t have to be painted bright colors so everyone knew they weren’t real?  Mine looked (mostly anyway) like a real gun.  I can’t tell you how many times I played Cowboys and Indians (there I go offending again), or cops and robbers.  Is that offensive?  Are robbers going to tell me I’m not sensitive enough? 

My point?  I grew up playing with guns.  And not one time in my entire life did I ever want to actually hurt anyone.  So you suspend a child for pointing his finger at another like it was a gun.  Little boys (mainly, so I don’t offend anyone yet again) have been playing with guns, or sticks shaped like a gun, or their fingers in the shape of a gun since guns have been around.  Suspending a child for pointing his finger at another is ridiculous. 

Another child was suspended because he chewed a Pop-Tart into the shape of a gun. 

I can almost understand that.  I’ve been injured by Pop-Tarts on more than one occasion.  Ever take a bite of one immediately after removing it from the toaster?  I’m being silly, but no more so than those making these arguments.

“If we had tougher gun laws, we would be safer.”

This is a flawed argument.  It is already against the law to kill an innocent person with a gun.  So the people who walk into a restaurant or school and start killing people are already breaking the law.  If they didn’t care about the laws that are currently on the books, what makes anyone think they will care about any new laws? 

“If we ban guns, we would be safer.”

If we are going to argue that the world is safer with tougher gun laws, we don’t need to look any further than Chicago and Washington D.C.  They have the toughest gun laws in the nation, and the highest murder rates. 

Want gun free zones, so our children will be safer?  Schools ARE gun-free zones.

Virginia Tech

Arkansas State

Louisiana Tech

Sandy Hook


“But we need to do more to make sure we are safe.”

As long as there are bad people in the world, they will continue to do bad things.  And if I’m the type of person who is going to hurt someone, I don’t need a gun to do it

In the US in 2010, an estimated 10,228 people were killed in drunk-driving crashes.  Approximately 8,000 people were murdered with a gun.  So cars are much more dangerous than guns.  Should we outlaw cars because a drunk driver killed a child? 

Or should we suspend a child because he is pretending to drive?

Getting Older

Sitting around on Saturday night, we began to celebrate our birthdays. Mine was February 28th, my son, Chase, is March 19th, and my brother, Stuart, is March 20th. Dad was up from Sanderson to help celebrate, and we began to open gifts.

First was my brother's from dad. As he opened it, his smile slowly subsided to the awkward, "I want to look happy, but I'm not quite sure what this is" phase.

"Oh," he said. "This looks...was this on my list? I mean, it looks good...was it on my list?"

I walked over to where he was sitting, and saw it was a book on tape.

Dad made a comment about maybe he saw the wrong list. Stuart is in to a lot of different things, but I don't remember him ever asking for a book on tape. That's my thing. I like listening to books on tape while I'm driving back and forth to and from work. So I looked at the title, and it looked like something I might have put on my list, but I wasn't sure.

So when it was my turn, dad said it was the wrong card. The tape from my envelope had the same color green as my wrapping paper, (which was different from Stuart's). So I told dad it had been on that (my) present. He insisted it was on the wrong package, so I started to hand Stuart my present, knowing it was likely his anyway. Then dad showed me the tape, which was the same color as the paper, therefore proving it belonged on my present, which is what I had tried to convince him of just seconds earlier. So I opened my present, and saw it was a video game that Stuart had put on his list. We swapped presents, and got a light laugh.

Stuart made a comment that the book on tape (mine) looked good, so maybe he would borrow it on his long drive down to Terlingua next time he went.

Dawn suggested that since I already had one from Christmas, he could borrow it. I thought she meant my new one, and told her I was already done with the one from Christmas.

"I know," she said with a strange look on her face. "That's why I said he could borrow it."

We all started laughing out loud at how suddenly we had all turned into people incapable of rational thought, and much less capable of being able to communicate with each other.

Poor Chase. There he sat on the couch, watching the three of us Street men, likely realizing that this was what he has to look forward to. He and I have talked often enough (in a joking manner) about when it comes my time to be put in a home. Unfortunately, I'm afraid after this weekend, the next time might not be quite as lighthearted.

Later that night, because we needed to challenge our mental abilities further, we decided to play Chicken Foot. It is a domino game that I had heard of before. It's not that complicated, once you learn how to actually play correctly. Then again, that evening, I'm guessing Tic Tac Toe would have taxed our abilities.

In my defense, I had already lost all of my chips playing poker before pouring my heart and soul out over a grill to make sure everyone got to enjoy a wonderful meal of chicken and turkey dogs.

I didn't say it was a GOOD excuse.

I have learned, through experiences like this, to quit taking myself so seriously. (No one else does.)

Life is short. And too much time is spent watching the news, and realizing what a horrible world we live in sometimes. I'm convinced that every once in a while, we need to surround ourselves with others who will help us laugh.

In high school, my best friend was a guy named Dewayne. To all of us, he was Bubba. We were inseparable. And we laughed our way through just about every evening, and every weekend. For years, that got lost in me. I spent way too much time trying to prove to everyone that I was someone to be taken seriously.

I've learned better.

Thank you to my family, for being such a joy in my life.

And I'm sorry, Chase. I'm afraid this is what you have to look forward to. At least, I pray you will be blessed with family the way I have.

Birthday

Well, I've hit another birthday (thank you, God, for another day/year/whatever You choose to bless me with).

I was reminded on my way in to work this morning of a weekend camping trip with my son. It was fifteen years ago, but something on the radio brought back a memory, and made me laugh.

I decided to surprise Chase with a camping trip to exotic Lake Grapevine (because it was the closest decent place). I picked him up at 6:00 Friday evening, and we drove to the lake. It was dark by the time we got there, but we set up the tent, and I built a fire. We used coat hangers to roast our hot dogs that we enjoyed with potato chips.

I learned a couple of things that night that seem like common sense now. But in the heat of silliness, common sense isn't often the foremost thought process.

1. Potato chips are flammable. Again, it seems like common sense. After all, they're cooked in oil. But as I slid the end of the coat hanger into the looped end of a chip, that thought didn't occur to me. Hearing Chase giggle at the flaming snack made me laugh out loud. (That was back when it was really laughing out loud, and not LOL). Seeing the chip on fire, and the delighted giggles it brought was a lot funnier than I had anticipated.

2. When you first blow out the flames from a potato chip, chances are the chip will retain the heat for several seconds. Again....common sense. But quickly shoving the chip into my mouth brought that startling revelation to life. I'm not sure if I was able to taste anything else the entire weekend or not. It wasn't my smartest moment.

Saturday, we spent our time walking along the shore, looking for bad guys. We found several, but not to worry. The Sheriff and I handily dispatched them all. We were wounded a couple of times, but we had our first aid kit. We were able to remove the bullets, and patch each other up. Remarkably, we continued on our quest without so much as a hospital visit.

The afternoon involved a leaf fight. It started with pushing leaves together into a pile to jump into. It de-escalated quickly. I don't remember a lot of details except the laughter. How can a bunch of dead leaves turn into such a hilarious experience?

As I've grown older (I'll not use the term "mature" for fear of reprisal from those who actually know me), I've learned that simple things like leaf fights, and searching for escaped bank robbers are the things that we remember. Spending the time with a loved one, even just acting silly, is time invested in something that will truly last.

I've asked Chase about several things that have happened in his life.

He doesn't remember things I think would be "important” or "big" events. But he remembers the leaf fight, and the flaming potato chip.

Thank you, God, for allowing me to have the time I've had. To have the family and friends I've had to share my life with. And for the "little things" along the way that will forever mean the most.

From Many Years Ago

This is a piece I wrote sixteen years ago.  I just found it a few months back, and decided I should post it.  I'm not sure why, but when have I ever needed a valid reason to do goofy stuff?

There is an old legend about a man who was very much in love with a woman. He told her of his love, and asked her feelings about him. She told him that she liked him, hut she felt that his love was not really true. He promised her his undying love and devotion, and told her that he would do whatever it would take to show her his love.

"I would move the mountains for you", he told her one day.

"If you really love me," she said, pointing to the largest mountain around, you will move that mountain to the other side of the road."

The man looked at the mountain and looked again at his love. He wasn't sure she was serious until she turned without another word and walked away. He decided to show her of his love, and went home immediately to get a shovel. He returned to the mountain a few hours later, and began to move the rocks that had fallen to the mountain's base. He would pick up a large rock, and carry it across the road, laying it to rest at the future sight of this mountain. Several of the rocks were far too big to pick up, and he knew he should go home to get a sledgehammer to break them into smaller rocks that he could carry.

He returned to the mountain a few hours later with his sledgehammer, and began to break up the larger rocks. He worked all through, the night without even sitting down. As he took his first break, he looked toward the mountain's new home, and could not even tell he had done any work.  After a short rest, he began to work even harder. After all, if he was to complete this work, he would have to give it everything he had.  He worked until late in the evening before exhaustion forced him to sit down again. As he looked across the road toward the mountain's new home, he could barely see anything had changed.

He decided that he would work from the time the sun came up until the time the sun went down every day until he had moved the entire mountain.  Each day, he would leave his house an hour before sunrise to go to work on the mountain. He would work non-stop until it was too dark to see in the evening. Within a couple of weeks, he left his house for good, and slept next to the mountain because he was too exhausted to walk back and forth.  After a month of working, he began to see a small hill where the mountain was being reassembled. The excitement made him work even harder.

"The next time she walks this way," he thought, "she will see what I am doing, and she will not doubt my love."

Every day, he would work so hard. And each day, he would hope she would walk by to see what he had done. Each time he would see someone coming ever the horizon, his heart was gladdened. Each time it turned out to be someone else, however, and his disappointment soon began to sting. Still he worked as hard as his body would let him.  From first daylight to after dark, he would carry rocks and dirt across the road to add it to the mound he had made.

Soon after the young man had made the promise to the young lady, she had forgotten his words. She had not really been interested in him at all, and she thought her words to him had told him of her feelings. She went on with her life, and soon was being seen in town with another young man whom she did like. As she would spend her days in the house, helping her mother with the chores, the young man was moving the mountain for her. As the days went on, though his body grew more and more tired, his love for her only grew deeper. The harder he worked, the more he loved her. The more he loved her, the harder he worked.

The years went by, and her mountain was being moved piece by piece. The man worked every day, all year long, in the hot summer, and the cold winter. Being outside all the time, his young body aged, and his skin grew hard and tough. Still, he labored every day, always giving it all he had.  Each night, when it was too dark to see, he would collapse with exhaustion, and not wake until the next morning.

Word got around that there was a man moving a mountain, and people became interested. Some people knew that it was being moved because of love. Others simply thought this man must be crazy.  He was arrested twice for the work he was doing. After all, the mountain belonged to everyone. What right did he have to move it?  He would spend a day or two in jail, hoping his love would come to see him.  Maybe she would tell him to stop, and profess her love for him.  But she didn’t come.

When he got out of jail, he went right back to the mountain to continue his work. People lost interest in the man, and soon no one would even pay attention anymore. As more years passed, the strain began to take a toll on the man. He became sick, and could not get better. But no matter how bad he felt, he would work from sunup to sundown, every day.  Each night, he would collapse. Each morning, he would hope that his love would come see him that day. He knew however, that he would work until he died to prove his love.

The man collapsed one night, forty years after he started the work for his love.  He never woke up. Next to the man was a note that simply read 'For my love". By now, the young lady had married, and moved to another town. The people buried the man next to the spot where he had completed his work. For his love, he had moved the entire mountain.  Finally, he was laid to rest next to his love's new mountain.

Several months after his death, the lady and her husband came back to visit the town. As they reached the edge of town, she noticed the mountain on the other side of the road. It was only then that she remembered the promise of the young man, made so many years before.   As she approached the base of the mountain, she read the board that marked the man's tomb.  Simple like the note he had left, it read, "It was for his love."  Legend has it, the lady died later that night of a broken heart.

She was buried in a small town several miles away. Even after his life, the man was left alone. The name of the man has long been forgotten, as has the name of the lady. But the legend of this mountain continues to be told from generation to generation.

There are still some people alive today that swear they have seen pictures from when the mountain was on the other side of the road.  Though its name is not recorded on maps, the locals know it as lonely mountain. Strange sounds can be heard there just after sunset every night. They say one of the sounds is the man groaning as he collapses after a long day. Another is the sound of the lady’s heart breaking, realizing she lost her one chance at true love.

All You Need Is Twenty Seconds Of Insane Courage...

So I was thinking about some movies I’ve seen in the last few years that I have learned something from.  Most movies are mindless entertainment; an escape if you will.  Every once in a while, I see something that sticks with me.  For instance, in 2011, Matt Damon starred in “We Bought a Zoo”.  Based on a true story, whatever that really means, it was not only entertaining, it made me feel good.  And I came away with a lesson learned. 

I remember where he was telling his kids about the twenty seconds of insane courage.  "You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it."

 

For him, it was walking by a café, seeing a pretty lady, and deciding it was worth risking the 20 seconds to meet her.  So he walked in, and talked to her.  Later, they married, and she made his life so much better. 

And I started thinking about the times in my life when I sold out because I was afraid of what might happen.  Scared of potential consequences, I refused to risk even 20 seconds of insane courage. 

So the other day, I decided to take a risk.  It took several moments of convincing myself that I could do it.  I could see her across the room.  She glanced my way, and smiled.  I knew it was about to happen.  After a moment, she started my way.  I felt my skin grow clammy, and my heart race.  “20 seconds of insane courage,” I repeated in my head. 

Suddenly, she was at my table, and there was no backing out.  She began the small talk.  Once the initial pleasantries had been exchanged, I knew it was time.  With my stomach knotting, I asked myself, “What is the worst that could happen”?  She could say no?  Swallowing hard, I cleared my throat, and looked up into her smiling face.

“Sprite, please.”

WHEW!  I had done it.  No rejection.  She actually seemed happy I had asked.

Thank you Matt Damon for convincing me 20 seconds of insane courage really is all it takes.

Hosea 13

Does God really hate idolatry?


Exodus 20:3 tells us “you shall have no other gods before Me.”

Seems pretty clear, doesn’t it?

And today, at the beginning of 2013, it is easy for us to read that and think, “I don’t have to worry about that. I don’t worship idols.”

Usually, when we think about an idol, we get a picture of a specific object. It can be anything from a golden calf to a little statue on our desk or shelf. But it can also be other things that we don’t like to think about as idols.

Our jobs; the money we bring in; our boat; our cabin at the lake; our summer house in Colorado; and even our families. We can, in fact, become our own idols.

How so?

What, exactly, is an idol?

It is anything that takes priority over God. God is a God of love, but He is also holy. And He is just. He demands our loyalty to Him. So if we choose to disobey Him, (and that includes NOT obeying something He has asked us to do), because of someone or something else, we have made that an idol. If we trust in ourselves to fix our problems, or make our own way, we are making ourselves an idol. We are to depend on Him, and to trust Him for all of our needs.

“But I have a good job, making good money. Am I not supposed to take care of myself?”

How did you get the job?

“Well, I have a great set of skills that allowed me to get the job.”

Where did the skills come from?

I’ve made all of the arguments myself. And I keep going until I am forced to realize that without Him, I don’t have the strength or ability to even exist. EVERYTHING I have is from Him.

So how strongly does God feel about idols?

Read Hosea 13. Actually, there are hundreds of verses about idolatry. But if you read Hosea, pay special attention to verses 4-8.

“But I have been the LORD your God ever since you came out of Egypt. You shall acknowledge no God but me, no Savior except me. I cared for you in the wilderness, in the land of burning heat. When I fed them, they were satisfied; when they were satisfied, they became proud; then they forgot me. So I will be like a lion to them, like a leopard I will lurk by the path. Like a bear robbed of her cubs, I will attack them and rip them open; like a lion I will devour them— a wild animal will tear them apart.

God, through Hosea, tells them He was the one who cared for them during their wanderings. There is a pattern that the children of Israel follow.

Alexander Tytler wrote about the circle:

“From bondage to spiritual faith;
From spiritual faith to great courage;
From courage to liberty;
From liberty to abundance;
From abundance to complacency;
From complacency to apathy;
From apathy to dependence;
From dependence back into bondage.”

And it’s easy to point our fingers at them and talk about how foolish they were. But we do the exact same thing.

God rescues us from our despair, and we thank Him briefly before putting him back on the shelf, and go our way. If He blesses us, we begin to trust our blessings, and not the One who gave them. We become complacent because He has given us abundance. And we begin to trust our blessings, which in turn become our idols.

It’s interesting the phrases Hosea gives. “Like a bear robbed of her cubs, I will attack them and rip them open;...”

Black bears are docile by nature. They will normally shy away from people. But if you are wandering in the woods, and you happen across a mother bear with her cubs, you are in a dangerous situation. She will defend her cubs with her very life if necessary.  And she will likley rip you open.  God doesn't candy-coat how he feels about idolatry.

God is telling us that we are His children…his cubs if you will. He will destroy the idols that vie for our attention.

In 1 Samuel, chapter 5, the Philistines captured the ark after a battle with Israel. They took it back to their temple, and set it in front of Dagon (their “god”). The next morning, Dagon was face down in front of the ark. God will destroy idols. If we are holding on to them too tightly, we are likely to be injured in the process.  And we will stand accountable for our decision to make anything an idol.

Are there idols in your life? Is there anything that you put before, or value more than, God? Don’t be fooled by telling yourself that you are okay, or that God will look the other way. There are consequences to disobedience. And loving something more than Him will be dealt with by a Holy God.