Chase, and the Clan Gordon Pipe Band

Let me start by saying I'm only 1/4 Scottish.  My mom was 1/2, and tried to instill a sense of pride.  I was impressed early on, but lost connection as a teenager.  There was always something about bagpipe music that stirred something inside, but I never let it go very deep.  I'm guessing that was due to issues with mom, but those are my issues. 



A year or so ago, Chase made an off-the-cuff comment about learning to play the bagpipes.  He taught himself to play guitar, bass, and piano.  So, while I dismissed the comment, I knew he could if he decided to. 



One day he sent me a picture of a set of pipes he had purchased.  It seemed to be a lot of money, but he was determined.  Two months later, he was with the Clan Gordon Pipe Band out of Tacoma, WA.  He texted a couple of weeks ago that their quartet, of which he was a part, won first place.  While I still find it amazing, it doesn't really surprise me.



When he was learning bass, I walked by his room one afternoon, and he was listening to YYZ by Rush. 



"I'll never get this," he said.



It was two nights later, he was playing along with the music, and keeping stride note for note.  I wonder if Geddy Lee was that way.



This weekend, watching Chase play, I found feelings of pride awakened.  Not just that my son had become an incredible bagpipe player in such a short time.  It was a deeper feeling.  I found myself tearing up at the notes, and the thoughts that accompanied them.



Bagpipes get a lot of teasing.  The style and sound is certainly not for everyone.  Maybe if I had not been exposed to it from an early age, I would hate the sound.  And maybe it is something that only those who share the heritage can appreciate.  But there is something solemnly beautiful about the melodies from a lone bagpipe.  And when an entire band plays, it is so powerful.  Put that together with the drums, the flair, and the tradition, and it can stir your very soul.



Whether or not it means anything to me; or whether or not it should, or shouldn't, mean anything to Chase; my mother would have been incredibly proud.  And as I shot the video, and took the pictures, I struggled to keep the tears at bay. During the breaks, I wandered through a shop or two.  I purchased a little booklet about the Mackay clan.  Once again, I'm interested in learning about that part of my heritage.  I didn't choose my lineage.  And for almost 40 years, I've tried not to care about it.  But suddenly, I find myself dealing with feelings of pride, and, possibly, a touch of lost years.  Maybe it's being over 50 now.  Maybe I'm just getting sentimental in my older years. 



Or maybe it is the heritage, once again being awakened. 

Love Story

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, but 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 to the mountain immediately to get started. He 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 her 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 wheelbarrow 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.  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 home. 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.

"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 who 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.

As the years went by, 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  exhausted, 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 some time in jail, hoping his love would come to see him. Though he was in jail a couple of weeks, his love never came.

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 paid attention anymore. As more years passed, the strain began to take its toll. He became sick, and could not get better. But no matter how bad he felt, he would work from before sunup to after 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, his love had married, and moved to another town. For his love, he had moved the entire mountain. He was laid to rest next to his completed work.

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.

The lady 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 sound is the sound of his heart breaking as he collapsed for the last time, finally realizing that his love would never come.

Sweet Sadie

Back in the Summer of 2007, my wife and I stopped by Petco after lunch to pet the puppies.  Fireplug rescue was there, and they were having adoptions.  We had no intention of getting one, but who can resist the sweet faces?

There, in a crate, was the sweet face of Birdie.  Something about the white eyelids caught my heart.  I opened the crate door to just pet her a little.  She stepped out, and put her front paws on my shoulders as if to hug me and say, "You've finally come to rescue me."  

We both knew instantly that she was ours.  We renamed her Sadie, and began a new life with her.  

We had a few trials along the way (she was storm-phobic).  You can read more about that here: Our Dogs

She ran away more than a few times when we lived in Grapevine.  We usually found her at the nearby park, happily standing against the base of a large oak, after treeing a squirrel.  Once, when Dawn was walking her, she got out of her collar, and ran into a horse pasture, where she happily rolled around in.....well, you know.  After several years (about the time we decided if she ran away, we would just wait to see if she came home again), she stopped trying to get away.

We have watched through the years as her health has had issues with fatty tumors.  She had one the size of a softball on her side that we had the vet remove.  Soon afterward, she began growing them everywhere.  They never seemed to bother her until recently, when her throat would make her cough and gag.  Years ago, that was once every five or six months, usually after eating something from the yard.  In the last year, she has started doing it three or four times a day.  

Her legs have weakened as well, and she is finding it harder to get up and down the stairs.  Since all the bedrooms are on the second floor, and she is not one to just stay downstairs alone, I knew it would eventually become an issue.  Yesterday morning, her left front leg once again acted as if it had a mind of its own.  She didn't tumble, although how she avoided it is a mystery to me.  

Over the past year, the eyes that were once so full of life have dimmed.  She can't see much, and her left eye is full of cloudy grey.  She can't hear much either (unless it is thundering).  So much of her time is spent looking around, wondering where her people are, even if we are just a few feet away.

And there are the accidents in the house.  It's not like she needs to go urgently; but more like she just really has no idea what is going on.  Cleanup has become a daily event.

So, it is with a heavy heart that we will take her to the vet tomorrow to say our last goodbyes.  

This afternoon was hers, with a trip to the park for a little picnic, and a half of a bacon cheeseburger from Sonic.  We walked around and let her sniff all she wanted instead of pulling her along.  We took some pictures with her.  Not so we will remember her.  A dog like her will live with us forever.  

After the thousands of dollars of damage she caused in her storm-fueled panics, and the countless sleepless nights trying to console her during a storm, it is time for her to find her rest.  To go to her home with no more storms, and no more pain.  A place for her to run free; like the happy, playful dog she was when we got her.

Tonight, I will make my bed in the floor with her to give her (and me) a few more hours together.  And tomorrow, we will accompany her on her last journey here.  Knowing that dogs have only a few years here, and that this is just "the way it is" doesn't provide comfort.  But if I live to be a hundred, I will always remember Birdie, who became our Sadie.  And her unique personality will be a part of our lives forever.

We Have The RIGHT To Defend Ourselves

If you are a wildebeest in Africa, you face a threat daily.  Wander from the herd, and you are on the menu.  Get weak, ill or old, and you may find yourself facing off against a lion, or two...or three.

Thankfully, you are not a wildebeest.  If you were, you wouldn't be reading this.  I don't know of any Saharan animals who can afford a computer or can get reliable internet service.  Plus, typing with hooves tends to lead to all kinds of websites that could get one in trouble.

But you may still find yourself facing an imminent threat at some point in your life.

A lion will seldom attack a herd of animals.  It will look for the smaller, slower ones to attack.  A pride will surround a herd, and run them around until they can separate one.  The obvious idea here is to travel in a pack.  (I won't call it a herd for fear of upsetting the one or two people who may actually be reading this).

But since it is hard to always travel with several other people, what else can you do?

Don't be the slowest or weakest of the herd.  Hit the gym; do some cardio; learn self-defense...

Just my opinion here, and I'm sure I'll offend at least one of the few people who may be reading this, but self-defense can be learned in a lot of different ways.  "Martial Arts" are what most people think of when they hear "self-defense".  And while Karate and Tae Kwon Do can teach a lot of great things, they may not be what you need to truly defend yourself.  Yes, I know...I've seen the videos of people in street fights being knocked out by a spinning back-kick too.  But how long does it take to get proficient enough to do that?  And what happens if the criminal isn't willing to wait for you to reach that point before attacking?

To me, it is much more important to learn real-life skills that you can use to defend yourself right from the beginning.  Learning dozens of katas before being able to actually use it isn't what I would want to learn.

After spending a few years in Krav Maga, I truly feel it is one of the best defense systems out there.  Yes, there are others that are also great.  Learning a skill the first week that may help save your life is much more worth it to me.  Krav Maga can be used whether you are 10 or 80.  It is designed to be used by men or women, and regardless of your size or strength level. And if you are in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, you can learn from a great man who truly wants to teach you in a way you can learn it.  Steve Hickman at Legacy Krav Maga.

But let's assume you are not able to get yourself into a class.  Maybe you are at an age where you feel unable (or unwilling) to get into shape.  You have become one of the wildebeests who may get separated from the herd.  What do you do?

You have the right to defend yourself, regardless of your age, shape or ability.

So let's look at a few alternatives to physical defenses...

Stun guns were all the rage when they first came to the market.  There are a couple of problems, however.  The most obvious to me is that you have to be right next to the assailant.  Since most attackers aren't going to attack someone larger than themselves, this puts the stun gun user at an immediate disadvantage.  If you are close enough to get the stun gun against him, he is already close enough to grab you, punch you, etc.  And if they assailant is wearing a coat, or thick clothing, it might not even do any good anyway.  And since these work on batteries, you have to always insure the batteries are charged and ready to use.

And there are tasers, much like the police use.  These have the advantage of being able to hit an attacker from several feet away.  And, depending on whom you ask, they can be much more effective than a stun gun.  But you still have to get the probes through whatever clothing they may be wearing.

And we can go back to the battery argument as well.

Pepper spray: no batteries required.

Pepper spray has been touted as an effective, non-lethal form of protection.  Sprayed into the face of an attacker, it can immobilize and temporarily blind the attacker, allowing the victim to escape.

But if it is a windy day, you stand the risk of inhaling the vapors yourself, or at least missing the attacker.  And I've seen videos of police pepper spraying someone, and having it NOT seem to affect the person at all.

And there is always a knife.  Not like the one shown, since in most states, it is illegal to carry one like this.  But you can certainly carry a decent sized knife (in the state of Texas, you can carry up to a 5 1/2" blade.
   
But a knife has the disadvantage of a stun gun.  You must be in a hand-to-hand situation for it to do any good.  It will not immobilize the attacker, and so must be used until the threat ceases.  And, it's a messy and disturbing choice.

Which leads us to my personal choice: a handgun.

So let the arguments begin!

Let's get the discussion started with gun control.  For my liberal friends (yes I have them), I want to go back to the lion and wildebeest for a moment.  You feel I should not be allowed to own (or carry) a firearm.  If the lion attacks, the wildebeest has the right to defend itself.  And it will use its horns to do so.  The argument that guns make the world unsafe is to tell the wildebeest that he has to give up his horns.

If we remove the horns from the wildebeest, we do not disarm the lion.  And rest assured, the lion will not decide he should NOT attack the wildebeest because it would not be fair.  The only thing that accomplishes is make sure the prey has no way to defend itself.

Disarming me (or any other American with the right to own and/or carry), will not disarm the criminal.  And it will certainly NOT persuade the criminal to NOT attack.  All it does is make sure I cannot defend myself when attacked.

If I am a criminal, and I want to kill as many people as possible, I will not choose a gun store.  I will not walk into a police station.  I am going to a school, or a mall where a 30.06 sign is posted.  I will find a place where guns are prohibited.  I do not want to take a chance that someone there will shoot me before I have the opportunity to inflict as much damage as possible.

And let me explain the main purpose behind this blog:

As Steve Hickman told us during one of our Krav Maga classes:

"You have a responsibility to return to your family every day."  

It is my responsibility to make sure that happens.  If I feel confident enough in my 5'7", 190 lb. build, then that's all I need.  (I certainly do not feel that confident in my size).  I have decent strength for a 50-year-old.  But that is not enough.  I'm much more confident with what Krav Maga has taught me.  But against two or three (or more), would that be enough?  What if they assailants have a knife, or gun?

Bruce Lee was arguably the greatest martial artist ever.  But even his amazing abilities would not have protected him against a bullet.

It has been quoted many times: "The only thing that stops a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun."

True.

Many of the proponents of gun control are protected by bodyguards who are carrying guns.  Why?  If guns are the issue, they are part of the problem, not the solution.  And we have police to call when we are attacked.  Why?  Because they have guns, and can stop the bad guys with guns.

So make your choice.

Whatever your choice is, know that I will help defend you to the best of my ability.  With my 5'7", 190 lb build, my strength, such as it is, my Krav Maga skills, and, most likely, my gun.  Because that is my right.

And while I never want to offend anyone, if you choose to be offended, then that is your right.

I pray I never need to prove my willingness to defend either of us.
         

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas!

December 25, 2016.

And this blog is dedicated specifically to those who serve to keep us safe all year long.  

To the Armed Forces of these United States:

For spending months at a time away from family and friends to serve wherever you are sent.  For standing in the gap, in harm's way, to insure we sleep safely at home.  While we open presents with family who is here, know that you are in our thoughts and prayers today.  

We are thankful for your service, and pray for your safe keeping.  

And, especially for my son, who is somewhere underwater, I'm incredibly proud and honored to have you.  I love you very much, and miss you more this Christmas than I have in years past.  I'm grateful for your service, and can't wait to see you when you get back.

For Police Officers:

You put on your uniforms at the beginning of your shift, and patrol the streets, keeping us safe.  You never know, as you stop each car for a simple brake light out, what you might be facing.  For the angry protesters who appear to wish you harm, and those who angrily complain about a ticket they got for speeding; know that there are countless more of us who are grateful to you for your service.  

To the firefighters:

You voluntarily run into a burning building, or reach into a burning car, to save us from harm.  To know you are there whenever we need you is a great comfort.  You spend each day training to insure you can to rescue us if the need arises.  Know that we are grateful for your service, and we remember you this day as well.


To those who protect and serve, wherever you are; know that you are in our thoughts and prayers this day, and we wish you all a merry, and SAFE, Christmas.

Lancelot and the Christmas Meal

Everyone knows that Sir Lancelot was one of the bravest knights in Camelot.  Most people, however, do not know that he was an extraordinary cook. 

Arthur had the best cook in the land obviously, but allowed Lancelot to cook on certain occasions. 

This angered the cook, who felt his position was challenged.  In a fit of anger one day, he challenged the knight to see who could cook the best meal for King Arthur and his court.  Word spread to the king, who decided to make it a huge contest.

They settled on Christmas evening, when the cook and knight would each prepare their finest meal, and King Arthur would decide which one did the best job.

After several people told the cook that he was a fool for making such a challenge, the cook began to doubt himself.  After all, what if Lancelot actually prepared a better meal?  What would become of him?

So he bribed one of Lancelot’s squires to get the exact recipe that Lancelot was making, and give it to him.  If he prepared the meal exactly the way Lancelot did, the king could not pick the knight over the cook.  The squire accepted the deal, but later realized he could not betray the brave knight that way, and confessed the deal to Sir Lancelot.

The wise knight convinced the squire that he should not tell anyone that he had betrayed the trust of the cook.  He set about to thwart the cook’s dastardly plan.

He didn’t want to change the recipe, since duck breast with a rich Hollandaise sauce was the King’s very favorite meal.  He decided instead to present it in a way the cook could not. 

The cook would certainly serve the meal on the very best silver platter in the palace.  But the cook didn’t get out of the kitchen much, and never left the castle.  He was unaware that a silversmith in Ludlow had discovered that by melting different ores together, he had come up with a coating that was even shinier than silver.  The silversmith was Hawthorne Krome, and he titled his new discovery “Krome”.

Christmas evening came, and the kitchen was a rush of activity.  The cook and knight each hurried themselves with preparations.  The cook slyly knew that he was preparing the exact same dish as Lancelot, and felt sure he had outdone himself.  At the very least, his dish would be every bit as good as the knight’s.

Both meals were presented, and Arthur delighted in them both.  When the time came to announce the winner, the entire hall fell silent.  Cheers went up when it was declared that Lancelot’s meal had been chosen to be the better of the two. 

The chef loudly protested, saying he had prepared the exact same meal, the exact same way.  Arthur pondered for a moment, and looked at the disheartened chef. 

“It was his presentation,” he finally said.  “Yes, yours was delicious as well, but his platter was much shinier and nicer looking than yours.”

Which just goes to show:

There’s no plate like chrome for the Hollandaise.

A New Low

Have we really sunken so low?

In less than 48 hours, we will know whether we have elected a crass, rude, jerk, who has so much money he has lost touch with reality; or a lying, cheating socialist.

Okay…now that I’ve offended everyone, let me continue to lament.

Watching television the other night, there was a story about how all other countries are watching our elections.  I for one was rather embarrassed.  We must look like a joke to the rest of the world. 

How is it in 2016, we don’t have more qualified people to vote for?  In a nation of 319 million people, we can’t find a handful of candidates who have the moral and ethical fiber we need? 

For the past several elections, it has come down to me voting for the candidate I dislike the least.  It’s no longer a matter of who I think it best for our country; it is who is NOT the worst?

I came up with some reasons why we are lacking decent qualified people:

•        If you don’t have enough money, there is no need to even consider running.  That rules out the vast majority of everyone.
• 
  
•       If you don’t want your family subjected to countless hours of mud-slinging hatred, you have no desire to run.
• 
  
•             If you are concerned with offending people, you likely aren’t even elected to office anywhere, and the chances of even getting on a ballot are slim and none.
• 
  
•         Unfortunately, if you are a decent, honest person, who believes in a moral right and wrong, and tries to live a principled lifestyle, the vocal minority will raise enough money to insure you never get anywhere.

Let me just step up on my soap box for a moment and get something off my chest…

If you don’t vote in the election, I don’t want to hear you complaining about anything.  If you vote, and your candidate loses, you have the right to be unhappy.  You have the right to complain.  These are guaranteed by the first amendment.  But if you don’t vote, I don’t want to hear it. 

In 2012, it is reported that 57.5% of eligible voters actually voted.  For whatever reason, 42.5% decided it was not worth their time.  Yes, I know; there are reasons some people are unable to vote.  But that number is nowhere near 42%.  And I understand some of it at least.  If there isn’t anyone worth voting for, what’s the point?  The point is we have a right and a responsibility to do so.  Countless men and women have died to protect that right.  So if you don’t vote; shut up.

I feel a little better.  What?  I offended someone else?  That’s okay.  I’m offended by watching and listening to the crud being broadcast about the elections and the candidates.  I don’t want either one of them to win.  I had the option to vote for someone else, of course.  But to vote for a third party was to almost insure my vote went for the candidate I dislike the most.

And this is where, as a Christian, I run into part of my calling where it is really hard.  I’m told that no matter who wins, I am to support them, pray for them, and respect them.

Ouch.

I have the right and responsibility to vote my conscience (though no candidates seem to care what my conscience says anymore).  And I did.  But if the worst one wins, I don’t get to hate, or even disrespect them.  I don’t have the right to wish them harm or hope for some kind of tragic circumstance to happen to them. 

When our last president won his first election, I comforted myself by saying that I respect the office, even if I don’t respect the person.  But I can’t justify that anymore, either. 

It isn’t as if God will sit on His throne, and throw back His head, saying, “I can’t believe won.”

He knew before He ever formed the Earth who was going to win the elections in 2016.  And whether we understand it or not, it is all within His plan.  And I confess, I seldom understand it.  But I don’t have to.  And neither do you.

If you are a Christian, I trust you voted.  It doesn’t matter whom you voted for.  Now I believe we will stand accountable for our actions, including voting.  But you owe me no explanation.  You merely need to be able to justify it to Him on the day we face Him.  And I trust you have been praying for our country. 

Earnestly.

Are we standing in the gap between a country that has fallen so far from where it began, and the Holy God who has blessed us so abundantly?   Or have we become like Jonah; waiting expectantly for God to destroy the evil?  God has called us to pray for our leaders.  We are to honor and respect authority.

Romans 13 tells us we are to be subject to governing authorities.  It tells us that all authority is instituted by God, and if we resist that authority, we are resisting what God has appointed. 

I will be disappointed by whichever candidate wins.  One a little less than the other.  But no matter what the outcome of the election, one of them will be my new President.  I will honor them.  I will respect them.  And I will lift them up in prayer. 

To do anything else, is to go against what my Holy God has commanded me to do. 

Not Quite What I Remember

So let me start with a confession.  

I am just a big kid.  

When I was a kid, my favorite cereal in the world was Franken Berry.  (For those unaware, it is a strawberry flavored cereal with marshmallows).  It was sad that it only came out during the Halloween season.  

For the past several years, I have seen it in stores during October, and often thought about buying some to revive old taste buds.  

This year, I finally broke.  I bought some to have for dessert at night.  And the other night, I excitedly got a bowl, and sat down to enjoy my special treat.  

It was not quite what I remember.  In fact, it was nothing like I remember.  Well, okay...it was still strawberry flavor.  

The marshmallows were okay.  But the cereal itself was something on the South end of disappointing.  I suppose it was better than dog food might be (although, when I was a kid, I kind of liked a product called "Doggy Donuts).  But I digress.  

I found myself just working to finish the bowl.  

How sad.  

Something I remember as being so wonderful just wasn't all that good.  Was it that I had lower standards back then?  Did they change the formula over the years?  Or have foods become so much sweeter through the years that what was sweet back then is like cardboard now?

I hear people talking about how awesome it was when they were in high school.  Bruce Springsteen sings about "Glory Days".  I think about what it would be like to go back, knowing what I know now. Yes, there are things I would change.  I'm over 50 now, but I wouldn't go back to my teenage years for anything.  

How much time is lost, longing for what was?  How can we enjoy life if we are too busy missing what we no longer have?  

When I was a kid, I didn't have a truck payment.  I lived at home, rent free.  I didn't have electric bills, or water bills.  I didn't have to go to work every single day.  I got to sleep in on the weekends until noon if I wanted to.  Friday and Saturday nights were spent at the arcade, and riding go karts, and whatever else we felt like doing.  

Now, I get up at 4 to 6 AM, and work ten to twelve hours a day.  Friday and Saturday nights are spent at home, looking through work for the next day.  Maybe taking the evening off, and watching TV.  I can't not work because I have a huge house payment, a truck payment, electric bills, water bills, insurance bills, cable bills, etc.  I have a wife, a mother-in-law, and three dogs living in the house.  There is seldom time to just sit and do nothing.

But in the last few years, God has shown me how to be thankful for things I always saw as negatives.

I'm thankful for a huge house payment because that means I have a nice home to come home to every evening.  Some people live in a cardboard box (or worse).

I'm thankful for a huge electric bill because it means I have heat and AC, and lights.  Some people freeze in winter, and swelter in summer because they don't have electricity.

I'm thankful to "have to" get up early every morning because it means I have a job to go to.  I have spent months looking through ads, trying to make ends meet on unemployment.  And I have the physical ability to go to work every day.  How many people are suffering from a disease, and would love nothing more than to be able to work?

I choose to be thankful for what I have now.  And I choose to not wish I could have what I thought was so good.

Wherever you are, and whatever is going on in your life now, choose to be thankful.  Thankful for what you have.  (If you are reading this, you have internet and access to a computer).  And you have eyes that can see, a brain that can comprehend, and the ability to read.  

It could be so much worse.

Now I just have to figure out what to do with an almost full box of Franken Berry.