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.

11:00 PM, Monday, December 31st, 2012

It is 11:00 on the last night of the year 2012. As so many do on this day, I sit reflecting on the year past, and think about the coming year.

2012 brought stories of sadness, and anger. Jerry Sandusky showed us that even in the halls of schools, those who are chosen to guide and protect students are capable of horrible atrocities. There was the fall of General David Petraeus, showing that even heroes are capable of falling. And, of course, there were the 20 innocent children gunned down in their classrooms.

It seems every year, news stories grow colder and bleaker. More pain, more death, and more suffering. It's easy to feel little hope for the future.

Being a Christian, I read the Bible, and I know that the end will come one day. I can't imagine it will be too many more years (or months), before God decides He has had enough. And in spite of things I look forward to living and experiencing, I'm ready.

Yet, I'm called to be light and salt to the world around me. How can I be light when there is so much darkness? How can I possibly help people find hope when despair seems to fill each day?

In my quiet time, I pray for guidance and words. As my wife could attest, I'm not a very good communicator. This is evidenced by the fact that I average one blog posting about every four months. But I want to be able to communicate hope to those around me, especially when they are suffering. That's where I find some of my comfort.

When I feel down about what might be happening in my life, I look around, and realize there are so many people who have it so much worse than I do. When I complain about having a bad day at work, I look around and realize there are a lot of people who only wish they had a job to go to. And there are those who don't have the health to get out of bed, much less keep a job. In doing this, I find a perspective that brings me hope.

So to be uplifting, I should tell you about all of the wonderful things the New Year can bring. New, exciting changes in science or medicine. Maybe the economy will turn around this year. But we can't control much of that, so let's look at what we can control.

Every new year, we make resolutions that we have every intention of keeping. What is on your list? Maybe you will stick with your resolution to eat healthier this year. Maybe you will exercise five times a week the way you have tried to in the past few years. Maybe it's the year you choose to go back to school to finish a degree. Whatever your resolution, you make them for one reason. To try to make this year better than previous years.

So will this year be better? That depends on you. Not so much whether or not you make, or keep, your resolutions. That can in its own way, make you feel better about yourself. But when you are surrounded by news stories, will you feel discouraged, or will you be able to find peace?

It isn't like there is going to be a drastic change in the events that unfold around us. There will still be favorite people who we have put up on a pedestal who let us down. There will always be news stories about senseless killings of innocent people. Most nightly news will NOT be uplifting, happy stories. And if we rely on news stations to help us find peace, or even happiness, we will forever be unsettled.

What I hear when news stories tell us about the disasters, or horrible acts of people, are also stories of everyday heroes. The teacher who hid her students, saving many of their lives. Among the worst people, there are also the best people. In putting others ahead of themselves, they bring a ray of hope in the darkness of horrible acts.

I've often said that at the end of my life, if there are a handful of people who can truly say that their lives are better because of me, then my life has been worthwhile. Yet I realize there has been a lot of time I've spent worrying about what is going on in my life...to me. In 2013, I hope to truly live more for others, and less for myself. When I put others ahead of myself, I find peace. And when I'm suffering, the quickest way to feel better is to do something for someone else. Counterintuitive, I know.

But when we open our eyes to others, we learn that there are people all around who are hurting. When we spend all of our time looking down at our own feet, wondering how we will make it through whatever mess we are facing, we miss a great opportunity. When we help others, we help ourselves.

May each of us find more time in 2013. More time to spend in prayer. More time to read and study the Bible. Time to say thank you to a police officer; a firefighter; a soldier; a sailor. Time to help a neighbor rake his leaves. Time to just listen to those around us when they need to talk. Time to make our little corner of the world a little bit brighter for those around us.

God bless you in 2013.

 

Christmas?

As I sit here at lunch on December 18, 2012, I realize another Christmas is upon us. How can that even be possible? As I get older, the years fly faster. As I begin to think of the presents I’ve bought, and how I’m going to wrap them, I know I’ll soon need to start thinking about next year’s Christmas.


Each year, it seems harder to get into the Christmas spirit. As a kid, as soon as Halloween was over, I was in Sears, and whatever other catalogs we had, looking for the toys I wanted. My typical wish list had items like: Lego Fire Station, Toys-By-Roy catalog, page 13, Item E1. On the catalogs that we got in the mail, I might even clip out the item’s picture (just in case they couldn’t follow my explicit instructions). I didn’t want anyone being embarrassed if they accidentally bought me the wrong color of something.

But I digress.

I’m obviously busier as a working adult than I was as a child, so there is less time to sit and think about Christmas. And I realize that is why the years fly by more than they ever have. But even listening to the radio, and all of the Christmas music, I still find it hard to feel “Christmassy”.

Maybe if it wasn’t still in the 60’s and 70’s during the day, it would actually feel more like Christmas. Two weekends ago, we had Christmas on the Boulevard at my church. We had several indoor and outdoor scenes set up, where people would walk through and experience the Christmas story. People in costumes played the characters, as narrators told the story. Two live camels completed our live nativity. As I stood outside on Saturday evening, which was actually a few degrees cooler than Friday, I was sweating and swatting at mosquitos. December 9th…mosquitos.

And then there’s the horrible tragedy in Newton, Connecticut. It’s hard to feel “Christmassy” when thinking about so many beautiful, innocent children, taken in such a terrible way. And how on Earth could Adam Lanza, or any human being, ever reach a point where they were capable of doing such things?

And in my time of prayer, and asking God to comfort the families, I begin to think of what Christmas is all about.

“…but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” – Romans 5:8 (ESV)

If was for that exact reason that we even have Christmas. We were separated from God because of our sin. There is no way for us to ever reach heaven on our own. Only God could bridge the gap. It took His Son coming to Earth, and living His live to be an atonement for us. Without His sacrifice, we would be forever separated from God. Did Christ come to die for you? Yes. Did He come to die for me? Yes. Did He come to die for Adam Lanza?

Yes. Even for Adam Lanza.

In my mind, I look at people like him, and say he doesn’t deserve Christ. Then I have to realize that I don’t deserve Him either. That is the entire point. God’s grace. Unmerited favor. If we deserved it, we could no longer call it grace. Do I understand the grace that would shed His blood for such a person as Adam Lanza? No more than I understand the grace that shed His blood for me.

When I truly stop and think about what Christ did for me…it is a little easier to feel “Christmassy”.

God bless the hurting families in Connecticut. Surround them with your love and help them heal. Bless those who are suffering around the world, each and every day. Help us as your children to stand in the gap for them, to show your love to them, even when they don’t want to see or feel it. And help us as your children to model Jesus to a lost and dying world. May more eyes be opened this year to see Christmas for what it is truly all about.

November 7th, 2012

 

The elections are over.  Happy or sad; pleased or disappointed; it is done.

One thing I'm tickled about is the fact that (for a while, anyway), we won't be subjected to so many political ads.  Thankfully, I live in Texas, which is not a swing state, so we don't get as many as someone in Ohio might.  Still, it will be great to not have to mute the television every third commercial.  Now I can get back to being irritated at so many mattress and car-dealer commercials again.

As a Christian, I am called to a certain life.  There are things God asks, expects, and even commands  me to do.  Some are easy.  Some are much more difficult. 

I am to do my part by voting for the candidates I feel will best lead our nation in the way I think God wants it to go.  I've done my part.  Ultimately, it is all (as is everything else), in God's hands.  NOTHING happens that He doesn't cause, or at least allow. 

I am commanded to honor and respect the office, no matter who sits in the seat. 

1 Peter 2:13-17 says, "Submit yourselves for the Lord's sake to every human authority, or to governors, who are sent by him to punish those who do wrong and to commend those who do right.  For it is God's will that by doing good you should silence the ignorant talk of foolish people.  Live as free people, but do not use your freedom as a cover-up for evil; live as God's slaves.  Show proper respect to everyone, love the family of believers, fear God, honor the emperor."
                                               ------------------------

Whether or not the election went the way we hoped it would; thank you, LORD that we live in a country where we are still free to vote.

Even when it seems like our country is falling all around us; thank you, LORD that you have given us greater freedom and prosperity than most countries will ever know.

Even though it seems we turn further from you with each passing year; thank you, LORD that you still hear your children when we cry out to you.

Forgive us, Father, for being complacent and apathetic.  May your people rise up again, and firmly stand.  May we live each day the way you have called us to live.

May we truly demonstrate 2 Chronicles 7:14.

Thank you, LORD, for LORD you are.

Navy It Is!

 

Just because I have a blog doesn't mean I keep up with it much.  I know I've needed to update it for some time now.  Looking through it this morning, I saw my last blog was about the Air Force. 

My son, Chase, has signed on with the Navy, and will be going in to the Nuclear Engineering Program.  (Can you hear my head swelling?)

It's not pride in me.  Far from it.  Considering where he has been, and what he has gone through, he has exceeded all expectations (from me, anyway). 

He was trying to get into the Air Force, and was told he couldn't even sign up until December because of a speeding ticket.  I thought that was a little strange, especially coming from the Air Force.  Don't they like speed?  Then one day a couple of months ago, he just texted, "What about the Navy?"

Soon, he had talked to a couple of recruiters, and he was on his way.  A couple of weeks ago, he took the ASVAB, and scored a 96.  (There goes my head again.)  He wanted to be a Corpseman, but was told they had no idea when an opening would come for that.  Looking around, he decided to go into Nuclear Engineering.

He has signed his contract, and been sworn in.  His potential ship-date is August 2nd.  He is currently considering signing up for the Roll In program.  Basically, if someone who was supposed to ship sooner isn't able to go, he can fill their spot.  The downside to that is, they can call him and ship him out with almost no notice. 

He's come a long way from who he was in high school.  I would love to tell you I was instrumental in bringing that out.  But I know God ultimately gets the glory, and the rest goes to Chase.  I talked to him about my regretting NOT going military when I was his age.  But all of the decisions, and all of the actions have been entirely him. 

Way to go, son.  I've always been proud of you.  And I've always tried to be respectful of you.  My pride, admiration and respect have been multiplied.

Air Force?

When I was 19, I went to the Air Force Academy in Colorado. My grandfather had retired from an Army career as a Colonel. My uncle was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army. And I swelled with pride knowing the service they had given to our country.

I had considered Army, but after spending time in the Civil Air Patrol, the Air Force was the legitimate next step. After visiting the campus, and hearing recruiters talk about the wonderful perks I could expect after joining, I thought I was ready.

One signature. All I had to do was sign my name, and I would have become an Airman. I'm not really sure why I didn't sign it. I don't think I was scared of anything. I'm sure the thought of four years seemed like an eternity at the time.

Now, at 46, I could have spent 20 years in the service, and retired with full benefits. I could have entered the public world, and worked the last 8 years earning a living that would have supplemented my military retirement. After 20 years working in the civilian world, I could have two retirements.

NOT joining the military has been the greatest regret of my life.

Now my son is 19, and has said he is interested in the Air Force.

I haven't been 100% convinced that he seriously wants to join, but he says he is.

I have talked to him about how much I wish I had joined, and what a difference it could have made in my life. He is just like me at that age, and I have tried to express the difference it could make in his life. He could have all of the confidence, leadership and discipline that neither of us have. College assistance, job security, and awesome training all handed to him.

I was talking to someone about it last week. He will have to work somewhere. Either get a job making $10 an hour, at a place you don't like, and hope you can find another job when that one ends. Spend the rest of your life hoping to stay employed so you can pay your bills.

Choose a career in the Air Force, and you will always have a job, making decent money, unbelievable benefits, and retire early enough to enjoy life. Work as a civilian after retiring, and live very comfortably for the rest of your life. Or spend six years to get training, and college assistance, plus the discipline, leadership and confidence to get out and make something of your life.

I can only hope Chase truly sees what an opportunity this is for him. If God stepped in front of me, and offered me the chance to change just ONE thing about my life, I would grab that opportunity and never let go.

The Wedding

So July 20th, 2012, my daughter and her fiancé were wed at Ashton Gardens in Corinth, TX.

It was a beautiful ceremony, and the ceremony and reception seemed to go without a hitch. Getting there, however, was not quite as smooth.

There were the usual preparations, such as getting favors put together. My wife and I put together 150 small favors for guests. My wife ordered koozies with Brad and Sasha's names and the date on them, and 900 little stickers that she put on the bottom of 900 Hershey's Kisses. Five or six of those went into little bride and groom boxes that slid down into the koozies. These were put around the table for guests at the reception. It was quite a bit of work for her, but they turned out very well.

Dawn bought a dress for the wedding, and one for the rehearsal, and I bought a suit for the wedding. Two pairs of shoes for each of us, and we were ready to go.

Dawn's parents flew in on Wednesday, and the time officially began to fly. The rehearsal was Thursday at the chapel in Corinth, with dinner afterward in Carrollton. With the exception of a couple of people having trouble finding the restaurant, everything went well for the rehearsal and dinner.

Friday was a blur. We had planned to leave North Richland Hills at around two in order to get to Corinth by 3:30 or 4:00. The fact that EVERY highway in the Dallas/Fort Worth area is currently under construction doesn't help trying to get anywhere without some issues.

But we made it up there, and checked into the Best Western so we could begin to get ready. The wedding wasn't until 9:30. I know...that was my initial reaction as well. Dawn went to Sasha's room to get her makeup done. Pleased I didn't have to worry about such things, I got to just relax in the room for a little while.

Dawn came back down, and we sat around for a few minutes before she decided she wanted to go down to the lounge. I decided to get dressed and would join them after a few minutes. We would have an hour or so before we needed to leave, so I began to get dressed. Dress shirt? Check. Slacks? Check. Suit jacket? Check. Shoes? Shoes?

WHERE ARE MY SHOES?!?!?

I pride myself on being pretty thorough. I normally walk through the house (or hotel) wherever I am to make sure I have everything, and that nothing is being left behind. I pack twice as much as I will need just in case. I remember taking the shoes out of the box, instead of putting the entire box in my overnight bag. I just knew they had to be there somewhere. After a quick search, I knew I was sunk.

How could this possibly have happened? I don't forget things. Dawn had been stressed because she was going to get her hair done, and her hairdresser was running late. Since we weren't having the wedding at our church (10 minutes away), but in Corinth, over an hour away, this presented a problem. So she decided to forgo the hair so she could get her makeup done. I was trying to help her deal with the stress she was under, and honestly didn't think I was stressed at all. I was obviously wrong.

And since we were over an hour from home, getting my shoes was out of the question. Thankfully, there was a mall right across the street. And Macy's was the store closest to the entrance I would be flying...I mean driving into. I bought my two pair of shoes at Macy's and really liked them. I would just buy another of the same ones, and it would be fine.

Except they didn't have the same shoe in brown. So I found one I didn't like as well, and it was almost twice as much. But with time running out, this was an emergency. I bought the shoes, and flew back to the hotel. Twenty minutes later, I was downstairs with everyone else. I got to relax for almost ten minutes before we needed to leave.

The rest of the evening flew by, with the reception going until 2:00 AM. Brad and Sasha were catching a 6:30 flight to their honeymoon, and we decided to leave at 3:30 to get them there in plenty of time. Back at the hotel a little after 5:00, we tried to wind down a little so we could catch a couple of hours of sleep before getting up to pack.

All in all, it was a wonderful wedding. And after all is said and done, I'm a father-in-law, and Dawn is a mother-in-law.

Putting together a slideshow presentation for the reception, I was putting together pictures of Sasha through her life. I met Dawn when Sasha was 10. I can't believe the time has flown the way it has. So to all of the fathers out there with young daughters, I say, "Hang on." Cherish every moment you have. Before you know it, your little girl will be getting married, and you'll be knee-deep in preparations, and the craziness of a wedding.

Just make sure you pack your shoes.

Memories

Lake Powell

I remember summers with my dad and brother, visiting Lake Powell on the Arizona/Utah border. It is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.

If you've never been there, or seen pictures, it's a little like the Grand Canyon, half-filled with water. Etched in my memories are the unbelievable hues of red rock, in cliffs rising hundreds of feet from the deep blue water.

Our first visit there was with my grandparents for an evening dinner cruise. It was enough to make us want more.

So the following year, we went for three days and nights, renting a houseboat (which is the way to do it). Actually, if you have the money, it would help to also have a smaller boat to go ahead to scout for good beaches to dock the boat overnight. Cruising the lake in the day, anchoring in the evenings in a canyon, and just enjoying all the beauty Lake Powell has to offer, remains my favorite vacations of all time.

I was sixteen on the first trip, and Dad took us there for Stuart's graduation present. It was awesome. But it was our second trip, for my graduation present that I remember the most.

My brother has always been an inspiration to me. Without him, I would have been fat and lazy, and never wanted to do anything. In fact, I probably would have just enjoyed the lake from the deck of our boat. Instead, Stuart "dragged me along" on some adventures. On a couple of occasions we went hiking up the sandstone hills in one of the canyons we overnighted in.

On one of the hikes, as we began the climb, we found a brand new, unopened package of nylon rope. Obviously someone had dropped it, so we left it there, thinking someone might come back looking for it. I'm not sure how high we had climbed, but Stu (being the more adventurous one), went into an area I wasn't sure I wanted to try. I saw him climb over a steep area, and just sat, enjoying the view. Maybe two hundred feet below us, our houseboat looked like a toy. I'm sure dad was inside, enjoying some peace and quiet, which would be lost a little later. But more on that in a bit.

After a few minutes, Stuart called me, telling me he thought he was stuck. Not much I could do about it from where I was. If he had gotten stuck, there was no way I could have helped him out. He said below him was a 150 drop, and ahead of him was more than a 90 degree slope, with no way to climb. Somehow, he had made his way into a little bowl of sorts, and couldn't get out.

Thank you, God, for leaving a brand new package of rope for us to use. I climbed back down, found the rope, and headed back up. It's a miracle of sorts that I found him, also. The hills were red sandstone, and very little difference between one spot and the next. I marked nothing on the way down, and my ability to find my way around wasn't the keenest in the world. But I managed to get close enough for us to yell to each other as a way of finding out where he was, and where I needed to be.

I found a spot above him, and found a little alcove where I could tie the rope around my waist, and wedge myself in as an anchor. Tossing the other end of the rope blindly down the hill, it came close enough for him to grab. After a few moments of minor rope burn, he had climbed his way out, and we were ready to head back to the houseboat for dinner. Without the miracle rope, there's no telling what would have happened.

"Wow...what a coincidence."

I think not.

On our way back down to the boat, we discovered what had been a minor nuisance was now a major issue. A huge yacht came down the channel, causing quite a large wake. Our cute little houseboat, which we had anchored to rock, was being slammed against the rocks with the waves. From what had to be close to 100 feet up, we could hear dad yelling inside the houseboat.

I've never tried to fix a spaghetti dinner on a storm in the high seas, but that's what it must have felt like to Dad. By the time we got there, most of it was cleaned up, and the steam coming off his angry forehead was beginning to subside. (Hence the suggestion of having another boat along to scout for better overnight areas).

The next night, Stu suggested we (he and I, not Dad), sleep up on the top of the houseboat. What an awesome idea! So we grabbed our sleeping bags, and went up top at dusk. We were 200 feet or so below the top of one of the cliffs, and at one point, Stuart thought he saw something. He always had excellent eyesight, and I knew I didn't, but after a few times of, "Right there," I thought I saw something, too.

"Maybe it's a mountain lion," he offered.

Okay, because that's not going to make me worry at all. Unfounded? Maybe. But it was enough for me to think about an hungry cougar, deciding we were an easy meal. And here we both were, lying on top of the houseboat, with nothing between us and the angry cat but our sleeping bags.

After a few more minutes, something swooped by Stu's head. It was getting fairly dark, but we knew it had to be birds, coming for the bugs that were flying around. But it was coming within a foot or so. We wrapped ourselves in our bags, with just our faces sticking out so we could talk to each other.  Soon there were two of the small birds..then three..four...

As I peeked out from my sleeping bag, I caught the silhouette of one in the moonlight, and discovered they weren't birds at all. So I calmly informed my brother of my discovery.

"THOSE ARE BATS!!"

We decided it might be a better idea if we slept inside for the night.

I was always thankful for Stuart's leadership and protection. As long as he was with me, I felt safe. I knew he would protect me. So in his wonderful, protective leadership, he looked at me.

"You first."

So I reasoned that bats use their echolocation to avoid running into obstacles. It made sense that if I just jumped up, and made a bunch of racket, they wouldn't bother me. So that's exactly what I did.

I'm not sure if you heard it or not, but I'm guessing campers in canyons miles away heard what happened next.

I jumped up, and began waving my arms, making as much movement and noise as I possibly could. Stu did likewise.

From inside the houseboat, Dad, whose nerves had already been tested that evening, gave a war cry that no doubt sent shivers down the remains of Attila’s spine.

"SHUT UP! I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!!"

We calmly replied, "WE'RE BEING ATTACKED BY BATS!!"

I'm not sure how he answered, but I'm don't think he quite understand the gravity of the situation. Then again, we weren't thinking of what it might sound like to have two teenage boys jumping on the aluminum ceiling right above where you're trying to sleep.

I've never been kicked out of a lake before, but I would bet if there were park officials around, we would have been escorted off the premises.

That's the last time I've been there. I would love to have a "for old time's sake" trip with Dad and Stu, but I'm not sure Dad's up for it again. I always said I would go back with my son. I've often told my wife I want to take her there so she can appreciate it. But maybe it's just that...memories to look back on.

The first time I saw the Grand Canyon in person, I was actually disappointed. I had heard so much about it, I don't think there is any way it could have lived up to the expectation.

If I never see it again, Powell will forever live with me, and remind me of wonderful times, set in one of the most beautiful places on Earth, spent with two people who could never be replaced. Thank you, Nana and Daddad, for introducing us to Lake Powell. Thank you, Dad for putting up so much money to give us memories that will never die. Thank you, Stuart, for helping make the memories extra special.

Father's Day 2012

So this is Father's Day weekend.

And once again, this year finds me without a card to send to my dad. Not because I don't love him or appreciate all he did for me through the years. June is one of our busiest months at work, and I'm just not good at thinking of those kinds of things. Thank you to my wife who normally remembers things like that for me. But with our daughter getting married in July, things have been hectic in her mind as well.

Sorry, Dad. I'll call you on Sunday...if I remember. :-)

So I've been thinking about my dad a lot more in the recent years than I used to. He's had the short end of the stick most of my life. His birthday is December 16th (or maybe the 17th). And before you roll your eyes at me, (if I remember the facts correctly), he was born on the 17th, but chooses the 16th...or vice-versa. But as it was always two weeks before Christmas, his birthday has never really been celebrated. Since he now lives in Sanderson (9 hours away), we only see him two, maybe three times a year. So his birthday gets "celebrated" at Christmas.

I remember a lot of things from growing up with Dad. Being 46 now, I know he always had a lot of things going on. But I remember asking him to throw the ball with me in the backyard. There were probably times when he told me no, but I don't remember any.

I remember when the first Star Wars came out, he took my brother and I to the movies to see it. I was 11 at the time. The theater was sold out, so he let me sit in his lap. I've never been a big person, but I can't imagine it was comfortable for him.

I remember playing with matches in the laundry room with a girl named Sloan. Dad caught us, and picked me up with one hand, while swatting my bottom with the other. I was (maybe) five at the time? It was a valuable lesson. Never play with matches in the laundry room.

I remember countless air shows he took me too. Granted, that was as much for him as it was for us, but it was always fun.

I remember the old Southwest Airport that used to sit on the land at 360 and 183 in Arlington. It's now American Airlines headquarters, and warehouses. He used to take us there occasionally. There was a B-36 sitting out there that we got to climb in. It was a blast. It has since been moved to the Southwest Aerospace Museum, which isn't there anymore, and who knows where from there.

I remember several trips to Pate Museum of Transportation. You can read about that in another of my blogs. It's closed now, which is really sad. Again, that was as much for him as it was for us, but there's no way he had as much fun as my brother and I. Several tanks you could climb in, a hangar full of old cars and planes, and several sitting out on the grounds outside. It was great.

I remember collecting aluminum cans for money. Dad would take us out to the country (what is now South Arlington), and we would sit on the fenders as Dad drove us down country roads. We hopped off to grab cans and hopped back on. GASP!! I heard you..."How incredibly dangerous!" I know...and we didn't wear seatbelts back then. And we rode our bikes without helmets. Dad has always loved to drive, so I'm sure it was a peaceful afternoon for him. That in itself was something of a rarity, so he probably enjoyed it. Again, no way he enjoyed it as much as we did. After a few times of collecting cans, he would take us to turn in our trash bags full to get maybe $17 dollars for our several hours of "hard work". Kids, make a note of that.

I remember him taking us to Chuck-E-Cheese for lunch or dinner. I seriously doubt he enjoyed any of that. It wasn't as noisy as it is now, but still not much of a place I think he would enjoy. But he never complained.

I remember a lesson he taught me without really even trying. He went to Safeway (a grocery store for those of you who weren't around back then...), and bought a few things. He got back home, and discovered he had a potato in his coat pocket. WAY back in those days, the potato probably wasn't more than $.25 or so. And it's not like they were ever going to miss it. But he drove all the way back up there to pay for it. I couldn't have been that old, and I vaguely remember asking why he was going to go back up there. "Because I didn't pay for it, and it would be wrong." I still remember that vividly.

I remember vacations during the summer. Stuart, Dad and I would take two weeks to drive all over the west. We spent some time visiting relatives, but most of the time, it was just the three of us. National Parks, monuments, and Lake Powell a few times. Some of the best memories I ever had were from those trips. I know he enjoyed them. But I also think about the hassles of motel reservations, restaurants, gas stations, blah, blah, blah.

There were times Dad got mad at me (lighting matches in the laundry room...). There were times he spanked me so hard, I thought I'd never sit again. But in all the years, of all my shenanigans, and all the lessons he had to teach me, I NEVER worried that he didn't love me.

Stuart came up with the grand idea of making a clubhouse in the backyard when we were teenagers. It was going to be awesome. We would dig a hole, ten feet by ten feet, and four feet deep. We would make bricks from the mud and grass we dug up, and make walls around the top with that. It was a great plan, except that I grew tired of digging when I realized we weren't going to be able to finish it in a weekend. Stu eventually gave up trying to get me to do my part, and we were left with a ten foot by ten foot, two to three foot deep natural swimming pool (a.k.a. mud puddle) in the middle of the back yard. I'm sure Dad didn't appreciate it much, but I don't remember him complaining about that, either.

That's another lesson he taught me that I never really felt I was learning. Not a lot really bothers me. I get aggravated and frustrated by things. But overall, I tend to just accept that it's all going to work out somehow.

As I grow older, I realize I'm a lot more like my dad than I ever thought I would be. And the older I get, the more I realize, I could have turned out a lot worse.

So thank you, Dad. Thank you for the time you spent, letting me hurl my out of control fastball at you when you probably would rather have stayed in the air conditioning, watching television.

Thank you for the lessons you taught me.

Thank you for the countless hours spent driving us around so we could earn a little money to blow on baseball cards and candy bars.

Thank you for the wonderful vacations when you probably had counted the cost, and wondered how you were going to do it.

Thank you for teaching me that there really aren't a lot of things worth getting bent out of shape for.

Thank you for always being there; for loving us; for helping us through some pretty tough times.

Thank you for being Dad.

I love you.