Now today was a nail-biter game.
It was one of those basketball games where the entire time, it was neck and neck. One score answered by another. I don't really think the gap was ever more than four to six points!
Chaz has really improved on his basketball skills over the past three years! He stuck with it through the entire game ... never giving up. He was going after rebounds, playing great defense and keeping those hands up, and always aiming for the goal, even when he felt overwhelmed and perhaps a little disadvantaged.
I think that's how we should approach life as Christians. Stick with it throughout the game. Never give up. Go after the goal ... the prize ... even when we feel like there's little hope in winning. The fact of the matter is, we always carry the advantage with God. And how cool it is to share that advantage and have it accepted by our competitors.
I like it when everyone can win.
But tonight, I was the loser. And I'm OK.
Really, I'll be fine. Just give me a second to catch my breath.
(Is that really as low as our basketball goal will go? Hmm.)
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Saturday, January 14, 2012
First Princess
It was Sunday night.
Sixteen years ago, this very evening.
As usual, I was up too late and should have been in bed sooner. It was after midnight when Veda came to the playroom to tell me it was "time to go."
And with that, we were on our way to Northside Hospital, in a royal blue 1992 Saturn SL2. (Historical fact that may amuse you one day.)
Approximately eighteen hours later ... we became a family of three.
And my heart was mush.
Your entrance wasn't without a challenge. Lots of trips walking up and down the halls. A rough patch or two for Mom midday, but an epidural put a stop to all that. Then things slowed down. I went to get a bite to eat. Mom napped.
Then you got a little twisted around playing jump rope with your umbilical cord. Things went into turbo mode. They put an oxygen mask on Mom. A doctor calmly told us amidst the flurry of activity that we couldn't wait any longer ... it was time. It was around 6:35 p.m. if I remember correctly ... it did get a little blurry there. But you arrived with much pomp and circumstance. Ten fingers, ten toes. Pink face, a little upset. Some hair on your head. Maybe even a bit of a scowl.
Nothing like the smile you have today.
Sixteen years can travel by pretty fast. Everyone always told us never to wish away the childhood days. But some were tough.
Like the days you were learning to ride a bike.
You cried and cried ... so afraid to keep pedaling. You kept wanting to put your feet down so you wouldn't fall. But you did finally fall, and pretty big. And you pulled off the helmet and went inside, determined you were not going to EVER ride a bike.
I went inside and calmed you down, but wasn't going to let you quit that easily. Because I knew you had it in you. The mechanics were all there ... you just had to see it through long enough to move forward. (Sounds like some of our efforts even as a teenager!) Tears and more tears.
But you finally went back outside. And after a couple of attempts, there you went down the street, squealing, "I'm doing it! I'm doing it!" I think you would have pedaled all the way to the corner and out of sight if I let you.
More tears. But this time, they were mine.
You know more of the stories. The time you accidentally grabbed the volume on the stereo and turned it up full blast. It was like you were being electrocuted ... you couldn't let go! Mom got you into the living room at the front of the house, and you kept sobbing, "It got me, Momma! It got me!"
And of course, the time you kept calling Mom to come to the top of the stairs, even though she was making dinner. When she finally came to the bottom step to let you know she couldn't while she was cooking, you pointed firmly to the ground and declared, "Come! Here! Right! Now!" ... one of the best Veda impersonations I've ever seen.
There are so many "times" that have made us laugh, made us cry, or made us proud.
The time when I silently doubled-back after driving out of the subdivision only to see you in my rearview mirror saying, "Forget something?" (Yes, Miss Smarty Pants ... my wallet.)
The time when I first heard "Butterfly Kisses" on the radio while driving down the interstate (again, you were strapped in the booster seat in the back), and Veda asked me if we needed to pull over and let her drive.
The time when you actually laid hands on my shoulders and prayed for me, when you were probably only about five.
The time in kindergarten when you turned down a marriage proposal on the playground of the private school you went to, because you were "going to marry a Christian boy."
The time when you gleefully shouted that, if we adopted a baby from China, that she could teach you Chinese.
And there are so many "times" ahead. I've been open and honest with you through the years, that there would be times when you didn't like me very much. Fortunately, those times have been few and short-lived. Mom and I have been so blessed to have you for a daughter, and we have said over and over that God "found favor" to give you to us.
You've been tagged by some of your friends as the "Momma" of the group. And that's OK. Many if not all Mommas will tell you it's not the most glamorous position to hold. But it's one of the most honorable roles you will ever hold! You will be relied on for advice, for stability, for help, and for keeping folks out of trouble. Don't ever regret being looked on with that level of responsibility for your friends.
And there will be a time ... one day ... when we have to let go. A day when we put our faith in who you are and the foundation on which you make your decisions as you forge ahead into adulthood. You won't be perfect. (Neither are we, and we're just a little older than you!) But it is our prayer, as we celebrate your sixteenth birthday, that you always seek out what God has in store for you, that you never let go of your faith in Him, that you love and respect others around you, even those who are unlovely and sometimes undeserving, and that you smile whenever you can.
Because THAT'S my girl. Always bringing a smile to those around her.
Happy birthday, Leah B! I will love you ... always and forever, my first princess.
Daddy
Sixteen years ago, this very evening.
As usual, I was up too late and should have been in bed sooner. It was after midnight when Veda came to the playroom to tell me it was "time to go."
And with that, we were on our way to Northside Hospital, in a royal blue 1992 Saturn SL2. (Historical fact that may amuse you one day.)
Approximately eighteen hours later ... we became a family of three.
And my heart was mush.
Your entrance wasn't without a challenge. Lots of trips walking up and down the halls. A rough patch or two for Mom midday, but an epidural put a stop to all that. Then things slowed down. I went to get a bite to eat. Mom napped.
Then you got a little twisted around playing jump rope with your umbilical cord. Things went into turbo mode. They put an oxygen mask on Mom. A doctor calmly told us amidst the flurry of activity that we couldn't wait any longer ... it was time. It was around 6:35 p.m. if I remember correctly ... it did get a little blurry there. But you arrived with much pomp and circumstance. Ten fingers, ten toes. Pink face, a little upset. Some hair on your head. Maybe even a bit of a scowl.
Nothing like the smile you have today.
Sixteen years can travel by pretty fast. Everyone always told us never to wish away the childhood days. But some were tough.
Like the days you were learning to ride a bike.
You cried and cried ... so afraid to keep pedaling. You kept wanting to put your feet down so you wouldn't fall. But you did finally fall, and pretty big. And you pulled off the helmet and went inside, determined you were not going to EVER ride a bike.
I went inside and calmed you down, but wasn't going to let you quit that easily. Because I knew you had it in you. The mechanics were all there ... you just had to see it through long enough to move forward. (Sounds like some of our efforts even as a teenager!) Tears and more tears.
But you finally went back outside. And after a couple of attempts, there you went down the street, squealing, "I'm doing it! I'm doing it!" I think you would have pedaled all the way to the corner and out of sight if I let you.
More tears. But this time, they were mine.
You know more of the stories. The time you accidentally grabbed the volume on the stereo and turned it up full blast. It was like you were being electrocuted ... you couldn't let go! Mom got you into the living room at the front of the house, and you kept sobbing, "It got me, Momma! It got me!"
And of course, the time you kept calling Mom to come to the top of the stairs, even though she was making dinner. When she finally came to the bottom step to let you know she couldn't while she was cooking, you pointed firmly to the ground and declared, "Come! Here! Right! Now!" ... one of the best Veda impersonations I've ever seen.
There are so many "times" that have made us laugh, made us cry, or made us proud.
The time when I silently doubled-back after driving out of the subdivision only to see you in my rearview mirror saying, "Forget something?" (Yes, Miss Smarty Pants ... my wallet.)
The time when I first heard "Butterfly Kisses" on the radio while driving down the interstate (again, you were strapped in the booster seat in the back), and Veda asked me if we needed to pull over and let her drive.
The time when you actually laid hands on my shoulders and prayed for me, when you were probably only about five.
The time in kindergarten when you turned down a marriage proposal on the playground of the private school you went to, because you were "going to marry a Christian boy."
The time when you gleefully shouted that, if we adopted a baby from China, that she could teach you Chinese.
And there are so many "times" ahead. I've been open and honest with you through the years, that there would be times when you didn't like me very much. Fortunately, those times have been few and short-lived. Mom and I have been so blessed to have you for a daughter, and we have said over and over that God "found favor" to give you to us.
You've been tagged by some of your friends as the "Momma" of the group. And that's OK. Many if not all Mommas will tell you it's not the most glamorous position to hold. But it's one of the most honorable roles you will ever hold! You will be relied on for advice, for stability, for help, and for keeping folks out of trouble. Don't ever regret being looked on with that level of responsibility for your friends.
And there will be a time ... one day ... when we have to let go. A day when we put our faith in who you are and the foundation on which you make your decisions as you forge ahead into adulthood. You won't be perfect. (Neither are we, and we're just a little older than you!) But it is our prayer, as we celebrate your sixteenth birthday, that you always seek out what God has in store for you, that you never let go of your faith in Him, that you love and respect others around you, even those who are unlovely and sometimes undeserving, and that you smile whenever you can.
Because THAT'S my girl. Always bringing a smile to those around her.
Happy birthday, Leah B! I will love you ... always and forever, my first princess.
Daddy
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
First Down, Inches to Go
What a festive time of year, as we bask in the afterglow of Christmas and look ahead with hope toward a new year. And resolutions ... we make them, we break them, but perhaps we have good intentions and better habits if only for a short while.
Some resolutions are pretty big. Stop smoking. Read the Bible cover to cover. Lose weight. There's plenty to choose from. Classic resolutions ... fancy resolutions ... healthy resolutions.
But this year, I'm going all out on something I've been putting off and giving up on for decades. It's so dramatic ... so deep ... it requires sharing so I can be held accountable.
It involves my toes.
No, seriously ... I have a goal ... to touch my toes.
[I'll wait for the room to settle down. Let me know when you're ready to continue.]
I know people who can palm the floor, and that's all fine and dandy. I'm not jealous. Much.
I'm just working to make a simple connection between my index finger and a hallux. (That's a big toe. And yes, I looked it up.)
For as long as I can recall, I've never been able to touch my toes. I'm sure did it as a baby, but then again, I think I could put my foot behind my head. Didn't we all do that? No? Hmm.
For years, I blamed my separation of upper and lower phalanges on long legs and a short torso. Hmm ... perhaps that's not it after all. I mean ... I don't really look disproportionate. My beltline isn't at the 3/4 mark between my feet and my head. If it were, I'd be on exposition in a traveling carnival.
And it's not because there's all THAT much to work around when I bend at the waist. A gut is a gut ... I should be able to displace what I have on the way down. So that's no excuse.
I think it's simply a lack of flexibility. An ugly truth. Unfortunate, but there it is.
Funny, I do recall as a kid being able to put my legs (lanky as they are) into a Lotus position. I could even walk around in that position on my knees. I know ... I don't understand why I didn't make it on Star Search either. Course, I don't think Mr. Lotus had that type of mobility in mind when he invented the inverted criss-cross-applesauce leg pretzel.
Now I realize touching your toes isn't a huge requirement in life. It's not on a college application form. It's not a prerequisite for membership in the country club. It's not even necessary for filing your taxes (although I realize some folks feel they are bent over in that process, but we won't dwindle on that word picture.)
Toe touching is just a personal "thing" that I want to be able to say I can do. To myself ... not as a public decree. Frankly, I'm befuddled as to why this is has become an issue. I take the stairs everywhere. I park and walk every morning and evening. I even go to different buildings for bathroom breaks during the day so I can squeeze in activity whenever I can. Just keep moving, just keep moving, just keep moving, moving, moving ... what do we do? We moooove! (Sorry ... Nemo reference snuck in there.)
Somewhere along the line, I became inflexible. Unable to stretch my boundaries ... make ends meet, so to speak. And the longer I let it go, the tougher it will be to reach that goal.
Have you become inflexible over the years? Determined that the way things have always been is the way they will always (or should always) be? Have you been telling yourself that a situation is what it is and there's nothing you can do about it? How many opportunities are you potentially missing due to an unwillingness to stretch yourself ... to reach beyond your current limitation and do just a little more? Even if it means just an increment a day ... it can't be that far out of your reach.
When I first started my quest (I've been working on this on and off for over a year), I could only reach just below the halfway point between my knees and the final destination before I was sure things were going to tear apart. Calves, thighs and back ... all shredding apart. At least, that's what it felt like.
This evening ... I'm pleased to report that I'm LESS than two inches away. And mind you, I DON'T bounce. I heard that can make your eyes cross permanently and cause deafness in one ear. Not to mention, you may not come back up if you bounce. I prefer to walk upright, thank you very much.
At this rate, I may have this resolution done by the end of the month. I'll get to work on the mental flexibility all year long. And then some. We could all use more mental flexibility. Yes, indeed. And in an election year, for cryin' out loud.
What's your resolution? Not too late to make one!
Some resolutions are pretty big. Stop smoking. Read the Bible cover to cover. Lose weight. There's plenty to choose from. Classic resolutions ... fancy resolutions ... healthy resolutions.
But this year, I'm going all out on something I've been putting off and giving up on for decades. It's so dramatic ... so deep ... it requires sharing so I can be held accountable.
It involves my toes.
No, seriously ... I have a goal ... to touch my toes.
[I'll wait for the room to settle down. Let me know when you're ready to continue.]
I know people who can palm the floor, and that's all fine and dandy. I'm not jealous. Much.
I'm just working to make a simple connection between my index finger and a hallux. (That's a big toe. And yes, I looked it up.)
For as long as I can recall, I've never been able to touch my toes. I'm sure did it as a baby, but then again, I think I could put my foot behind my head. Didn't we all do that? No? Hmm.
For years, I blamed my separation of upper and lower phalanges on long legs and a short torso. Hmm ... perhaps that's not it after all. I mean ... I don't really look disproportionate. My beltline isn't at the 3/4 mark between my feet and my head. If it were, I'd be on exposition in a traveling carnival.
And it's not because there's all THAT much to work around when I bend at the waist. A gut is a gut ... I should be able to displace what I have on the way down. So that's no excuse.
I think it's simply a lack of flexibility. An ugly truth. Unfortunate, but there it is.
Funny, I do recall as a kid being able to put my legs (lanky as they are) into a Lotus position. I could even walk around in that position on my knees. I know ... I don't understand why I didn't make it on Star Search either. Course, I don't think Mr. Lotus had that type of mobility in mind when he invented the inverted criss-cross-applesauce leg pretzel.
Now I realize touching your toes isn't a huge requirement in life. It's not on a college application form. It's not a prerequisite for membership in the country club. It's not even necessary for filing your taxes (although I realize some folks feel they are bent over in that process, but we won't dwindle on that word picture.)
Toe touching is just a personal "thing" that I want to be able to say I can do. To myself ... not as a public decree. Frankly, I'm befuddled as to why this is has become an issue. I take the stairs everywhere. I park and walk every morning and evening. I even go to different buildings for bathroom breaks during the day so I can squeeze in activity whenever I can. Just keep moving, just keep moving, just keep moving, moving, moving ... what do we do? We moooove! (Sorry ... Nemo reference snuck in there.)
Somewhere along the line, I became inflexible. Unable to stretch my boundaries ... make ends meet, so to speak. And the longer I let it go, the tougher it will be to reach that goal.
 |
| Whoa there ... wrong direction! |
When I first started my quest (I've been working on this on and off for over a year), I could only reach just below the halfway point between my knees and the final destination before I was sure things were going to tear apart. Calves, thighs and back ... all shredding apart. At least, that's what it felt like.
This evening ... I'm pleased to report that I'm LESS than two inches away. And mind you, I DON'T bounce. I heard that can make your eyes cross permanently and cause deafness in one ear. Not to mention, you may not come back up if you bounce. I prefer to walk upright, thank you very much.
At this rate, I may have this resolution done by the end of the month. I'll get to work on the mental flexibility all year long. And then some. We could all use more mental flexibility. Yes, indeed. And in an election year, for cryin' out loud.
What's your resolution? Not too late to make one!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Start the Countdown
Only hours away.
2012.
And this year is going to be different. I can feel it.
Mind you ... I just turned 44. So things feel different now. I'm cool with that.
On my birthday a few days ago, my wife took me shopping for a new suit. Because I only have one. (Business casual work environment). And I was tired of only having one. Monosuit Me.
[Dramatic pause.]
I came away with three.
The other thing I came away with were shirt colors that are "out-of-the-box" colors for me. Purple (officially lilac), pale blue (officially "robin's egg") and some ties that I would have totally passed over. Why get ties that I wouldn't pick? Because I'm told they look great! And the salesman in the store put it well ... "I don't look at a tie that I'm wearing. Everyone else does. And if they like what they see, then I feel good about myself!" I can work with that notion.
This is good stuff. Because I had grown a bit weary of "me."
Now don't get me wrong ... I like me. Really, I do. What's not to like? (Don't answer that.)
Don't you ever find yourself in a bit of a rut? The kind of rut that will land you on "What Not to Wear" and having your precious wardrobe of faded golf shirts and 80s-era Levis on display for the entire world? And the button-downs ... a rack to themselves. I can see Stacy London tossing them in a trash can with the evil cackle emanating from under that white stripe of hair. Along with my two identical pair of brown Crocs. Well, that would be OK ... I've worn down the bottoms of those.
The end of the year is a perfect time for purging. I pulled out five white undershirts that need to be moved to the rag bag. I have two drawers of t-shirts that I have amassed over the years just waiting to be pared down. Many of the clothes I have hanging up in the closet are destined for Goodwill, where they will actually be worn and not just hang there in silent protest of being passed over again and again.
I think it's OK to re-imagine yourself every now and then. I don't call this a middle-aged crisis. A wise friend told me he has used job changes as an opportunity to re-evaluate and rebrand. Well, that really hasn't been an option for me ... not that I'm complaining! I'll choose to remodel in situ. It will be fun to see the reactions among folks who THINK they know me. Course, every time I do wear a suit to work, many folks want to know when the preaching will start and what the message will be.
I think a revival is about to break out!
A "new you" doesn't have to be a full demolition job. You stay true to the foundation, but you put on a new coat of paint. (Or three, if you shop well!) Redo the roof ... jazz up the hair a little bit (a tough proposition for some of us). And boy, how I'd like to get rid of the ol' gutter that's hanging over the waistline. Again.
I've got a new air about me (new cologne) and another one on the way. Some new shoes are also on order. And visions of dress boots are dancing in my head.
So 2012 is a new year. New beginnings. I'm going to dress better at work, regardless of the relaxed policy. I find that I walk a little taller when I feel like I'm dressed better. And I think folks treat you differently when you're showing a little confidence in yourself. And confidence is key.
Perhaps it's not an outward appearance that's been slowly bogging you down into a funk. Is it time to purge some inward baggage that's overdue for elimination? Why don't you start 2012 afresh with me ... head held high, a spring in your step? Let's make folks think, "Whoa ... what's got into him?" (Or her.) Perhaps we can all enjoy some newly discovered confidence as the year unfolds.
Swagger ... I'm claiming it. Watch me.
2012.
And this year is going to be different. I can feel it.
Mind you ... I just turned 44. So things feel different now. I'm cool with that.
On my birthday a few days ago, my wife took me shopping for a new suit. Because I only have one. (Business casual work environment). And I was tired of only having one. Monosuit Me.
[Dramatic pause.]
I came away with three.
The other thing I came away with were shirt colors that are "out-of-the-box" colors for me. Purple (officially lilac), pale blue (officially "robin's egg") and some ties that I would have totally passed over. Why get ties that I wouldn't pick? Because I'm told they look great! And the salesman in the store put it well ... "I don't look at a tie that I'm wearing. Everyone else does. And if they like what they see, then I feel good about myself!" I can work with that notion.
This is good stuff. Because I had grown a bit weary of "me."
Now don't get me wrong ... I like me. Really, I do. What's not to like? (Don't answer that.)
Don't you ever find yourself in a bit of a rut? The kind of rut that will land you on "What Not to Wear" and having your precious wardrobe of faded golf shirts and 80s-era Levis on display for the entire world? And the button-downs ... a rack to themselves. I can see Stacy London tossing them in a trash can with the evil cackle emanating from under that white stripe of hair. Along with my two identical pair of brown Crocs. Well, that would be OK ... I've worn down the bottoms of those.
The end of the year is a perfect time for purging. I pulled out five white undershirts that need to be moved to the rag bag. I have two drawers of t-shirts that I have amassed over the years just waiting to be pared down. Many of the clothes I have hanging up in the closet are destined for Goodwill, where they will actually be worn and not just hang there in silent protest of being passed over again and again.
I think it's OK to re-imagine yourself every now and then. I don't call this a middle-aged crisis. A wise friend told me he has used job changes as an opportunity to re-evaluate and rebrand. Well, that really hasn't been an option for me ... not that I'm complaining! I'll choose to remodel in situ. It will be fun to see the reactions among folks who THINK they know me. Course, every time I do wear a suit to work, many folks want to know when the preaching will start and what the message will be.
I think a revival is about to break out!
A "new you" doesn't have to be a full demolition job. You stay true to the foundation, but you put on a new coat of paint. (Or three, if you shop well!) Redo the roof ... jazz up the hair a little bit (a tough proposition for some of us). And boy, how I'd like to get rid of the ol' gutter that's hanging over the waistline. Again.
I've got a new air about me (new cologne) and another one on the way. Some new shoes are also on order. And visions of dress boots are dancing in my head.
So 2012 is a new year. New beginnings. I'm going to dress better at work, regardless of the relaxed policy. I find that I walk a little taller when I feel like I'm dressed better. And I think folks treat you differently when you're showing a little confidence in yourself. And confidence is key.
Perhaps it's not an outward appearance that's been slowly bogging you down into a funk. Is it time to purge some inward baggage that's overdue for elimination? Why don't you start 2012 afresh with me ... head held high, a spring in your step? Let's make folks think, "Whoa ... what's got into him?" (Or her.) Perhaps we can all enjoy some newly discovered confidence as the year unfolds.
Swagger ... I'm claiming it. Watch me.
Friday, December 23, 2011
SuperWomen and Thanksgiving
Yes, yes, yes ... we all know it's Christmas. The dinners. The family gatherings. The parties. The gifts. The church services in multiples. More food. More gifts. Strange ... it's only Dec 23!
And of course, we know the real meaning behind the season, when we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ who would eventually give us the greatest gift we could ever receive. And never have to take back to a store because it's the wrong size. Because it's perfect. No gift receipt needed.
But what I want to shed some light on is another aspect of Christmas for me. It's the re-introduction to the fact that my wife is a superwoman. No, a SuperWoman ... let's use caps for the correct magnitude.
When I am at home from work or on vacation for a holiday, particularly if the kids are still in school, I am exposed to an entirely new world. One where often I'm a bit of an alien and a freak, because I don't know the system. I have learned over the years that it's just best that I get up, shower, and ask, "What can I do?"
Sounds simple enough, but it gets tricky. It's not quite enough to just carry out tasks. See, there's a human element to it as well. Veda and I are two different people. Although we are one in marriage, we are still two separate brains. Two different genders. I have limited capacity ... generally only able to juggle one thing at a time. And if that one thing isn't going so well, then forget the rest. I'm cooked until I can get things back on track. I'm linear. I can be really good as a linear, but sometimes linear is not what's best.
Linear doesn't really work when you have three children, either. Oh, the day when we'll have them in three different schools ... now won't that be fun? I would need three lines to be linear on!
But I stray from the topic. Being at home today is like having Thanksgiving a couple of days before Christmas. Because I am so thankful for the woman who sticks by me and manages to juggle this thing we call life. I'm confident that the "average" woman of this day and age would have thrown in the towel long ago ... claiming it was all just too hard and that she deserved much better, that she needed to focus on herself.
Remember what I said? I'm not married to an average woman.
I saw a photo today of my SuperWoman having lunch with her group of other SuperWomen, while letting an extraordinary group of the next batch of SuperWomen get together for pizza. And I pray that each one of those up-and-coming SuperWomen will find Godly men who will see how much of a blessing they are.
Yes, Christmas is a time when I'm reminded of how blessed we are. But even more so, how blessed I am. Are you mindful of how blessed you are? Do you need to tell someone?
It's a gift that doesn't need a box or a bow. Just see it, recognize it, and let someone know how thankful you are for how they bless you. Embrace a little Thanksgiving this Christmas and let your SuperWoman (or SuperMan) know how much you appreciate them!
And of course, we know the real meaning behind the season, when we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ who would eventually give us the greatest gift we could ever receive. And never have to take back to a store because it's the wrong size. Because it's perfect. No gift receipt needed.
But what I want to shed some light on is another aspect of Christmas for me. It's the re-introduction to the fact that my wife is a superwoman. No, a SuperWoman ... let's use caps for the correct magnitude.
When I am at home from work or on vacation for a holiday, particularly if the kids are still in school, I am exposed to an entirely new world. One where often I'm a bit of an alien and a freak, because I don't know the system. I have learned over the years that it's just best that I get up, shower, and ask, "What can I do?"
Sounds simple enough, but it gets tricky. It's not quite enough to just carry out tasks. See, there's a human element to it as well. Veda and I are two different people. Although we are one in marriage, we are still two separate brains. Two different genders. I have limited capacity ... generally only able to juggle one thing at a time. And if that one thing isn't going so well, then forget the rest. I'm cooked until I can get things back on track. I'm linear. I can be really good as a linear, but sometimes linear is not what's best.
Linear doesn't really work when you have three children, either. Oh, the day when we'll have them in three different schools ... now won't that be fun? I would need three lines to be linear on!
But I stray from the topic. Being at home today is like having Thanksgiving a couple of days before Christmas. Because I am so thankful for the woman who sticks by me and manages to juggle this thing we call life. I'm confident that the "average" woman of this day and age would have thrown in the towel long ago ... claiming it was all just too hard and that she deserved much better, that she needed to focus on herself.
Remember what I said? I'm not married to an average woman.
 |
| SuperWomen of today: Cindi, Kelda, Connie, Susan and Veda |
Yes, Christmas is a time when I'm reminded of how blessed we are. But even more so, how blessed I am. Are you mindful of how blessed you are? Do you need to tell someone?
 |
| SuperWomen of tomorrow: Laura, Gabby, Leah, Bekah and Emily |
Monday, December 19, 2011
Who Am I? Really ...
It seems to me these days that so many people are having identity crises. Flip-flopping politicians. Out-of-work protestors who demand the downfall of that which helps ensure they are fed and clothed, regardless of whether or not they realize it. Entitled people who pickup their federal aid and hop back in their Escalade to go get their nails done.
One of my favorite authors is Robert Fulghum. He's the "All I Really Need to Know" kindergarten guy. Perhaps you've seen the posters (as shown). I like to think I'm complex, yet simple. Much like he comes across. I just read a Kindle sample of his book "What on Earth Have I Done." I'm told I don't read much ... at least in book form. This one may be my next conquest. Perhaps you should take a look at it as well. Now that I think about it, I have a Barnes and Noble gift card in my wallet. WINNING.
But anyway ... the issues of the country (along with my continual plodding into the potential for middle-age doldrums) have given me a spark to declare who I am. If nothing else, perhaps it will remind me who I was as time goes on. After all, the memory does seem to give way to the ... um, hold on a sec. What was I doing?
[Pause]
Oh yes ... who am I? Let's find out, shall we?
1. I am a Christian. I believe that God is God, and He created what we know to be our "reality" today, even as it seems to spiral into something ugly. He came down to Earth as a man (Happy Birthday coming up, Big J), and also exists as the Holy Spirit. The Bible is the unwavering truth. And I need to get to know it better. My faith carries me.
2. I am a husband of an extraordinary woman who graciously accepts the imperfect love I manage to give her and returns it with a love of her own. We are permanently linked for the time we have here on this world, and I could not imagine completing this adventure with anybody else. We complement each others strengths and weaknesses. It's a roller coaster ride, but one I'd get back in line to ride over and over again as long as she'll sit with me.
3. I am a father of three of the most precious, unique and impressive children. My oldest has a heart bigger than life, and she embodies me in girl form. My middle is a joy with her countenance and intelligence that will eventually challenge what I know (if it hasn't already.) And my youngest who carries my name is the one who stretches me. He has a spirit that could put an end to any energy crisis if it could be bottled up and dumped into the grid. He is our little prayer warrior (when he slows down long enough to put his heart into it). And eventually, once he realizes how he can wield his spirit like a sword, just look out folks. All three of these gifts from God are going to do great things in their own right. And I am a proud papa, indeed. Who they are and who I am are results of the two loving, Christian families that Veda and I can claim as our own. And I hope we are continuing a legacy of that love.
4. I don't know if I'm in the 1% or the 53%, but I know I pay 100% of my taxes. I don't necessarily agree with where that money goes, and I wish we could find someone who can put us back on track. And run our government more like a business. With fiscal accountability, even if it means we ALL have to swallow a bitter reality pill. I am proud to claim a debt-free lifestyle (with the exception of the mortgage) and I am blessed beyond belief. But I am eyeing a new car for 2012/2013, and I haven't saved up enough money for it. Hmm ...
5. I am also proud to be an American, Mr. Greenwood. And I sincerely wish others who have the right to claim this status would be a little more respectful of the honor it is. And for those who wish to take advantage of the blessings of being a part of this wonderful country, I wish they would do it the legal and appropriate way. Which leads me to #6 on the list ...
6. I am a rule follower first, then a rule maker second. I rarely have interest in being a rule breaker. It defeats the purpose of having them in the first place, and those who like to break the rules tend to really get annoyed when THEIR rules are the ones being ignored or broken.
7. I love movies. I love movies that make you think. I love movies that make you feel. I like to laugh at movies. Out loud. So that perhaps the director back in LA or wherever the movie came from will know that someone enjoyed it. I will also cry if it's warranted. I think that is OK and healthy. Besides, it's usually dark in the movie theater and no one will know if you keep it below a whimper. But let out anything more ... well, you're on your own then.
8. I like to number things. It's because I like order. Perhaps you came across this in some of the historical posts here on the blog. This one happens to be a perfect fit for #8. So be it.
9. I have a challenge maintaining order sometimes. That's all I'll say about that for now.
10. I like "Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium" ... It is a good story, great acting, and has a brilliant soundtrack behind it. You don't realize how much the music adds to a movie until you hear the music by itself after you've seen the movie, and the songs take you back to the scenes. They literally sound like what you saw.
11. One of my favorite hats right now is an Australian outback hat. Don't ask me why. Just because. And I like cargo shorts with drawstring tassels on the legs that I never actually tie. They just dangle off the sides and help make my legs look a little less lanky.
12. Five of the last six words I just wrote started with the letter "L" ... so why don't we say this blog entry was sponsored by the letter "L." And yes, I grew up on Sesame Street. And The Electric Company. And Zoom.
There's bound to be more. But I will stop at 12. It's an even number. And it's time you got back to work. Or fed the chickens. Or put your hands back on the wheel. Or started your own list of who YOU are. Now there's an idea.
Hello ... pleased to meet you, whoever you are. Welcome to me. Come back often, OK?
But anyway ... the issues of the country (along with my continual plodding into the potential for middle-age doldrums) have given me a spark to declare who I am. If nothing else, perhaps it will remind me who I was as time goes on. After all, the memory does seem to give way to the ... um, hold on a sec. What was I doing?
[Pause]
Oh yes ... who am I? Let's find out, shall we?
1. I am a Christian. I believe that God is God, and He created what we know to be our "reality" today, even as it seems to spiral into something ugly. He came down to Earth as a man (Happy Birthday coming up, Big J), and also exists as the Holy Spirit. The Bible is the unwavering truth. And I need to get to know it better. My faith carries me.
2. I am a husband of an extraordinary woman who graciously accepts the imperfect love I manage to give her and returns it with a love of her own. We are permanently linked for the time we have here on this world, and I could not imagine completing this adventure with anybody else. We complement each others strengths and weaknesses. It's a roller coaster ride, but one I'd get back in line to ride over and over again as long as she'll sit with me.
3. I am a father of three of the most precious, unique and impressive children. My oldest has a heart bigger than life, and she embodies me in girl form. My middle is a joy with her countenance and intelligence that will eventually challenge what I know (if it hasn't already.) And my youngest who carries my name is the one who stretches me. He has a spirit that could put an end to any energy crisis if it could be bottled up and dumped into the grid. He is our little prayer warrior (when he slows down long enough to put his heart into it). And eventually, once he realizes how he can wield his spirit like a sword, just look out folks. All three of these gifts from God are going to do great things in their own right. And I am a proud papa, indeed. Who they are and who I am are results of the two loving, Christian families that Veda and I can claim as our own. And I hope we are continuing a legacy of that love.
4. I don't know if I'm in the 1% or the 53%, but I know I pay 100% of my taxes. I don't necessarily agree with where that money goes, and I wish we could find someone who can put us back on track. And run our government more like a business. With fiscal accountability, even if it means we ALL have to swallow a bitter reality pill. I am proud to claim a debt-free lifestyle (with the exception of the mortgage) and I am blessed beyond belief. But I am eyeing a new car for 2012/2013, and I haven't saved up enough money for it. Hmm ...
5. I am also proud to be an American, Mr. Greenwood. And I sincerely wish others who have the right to claim this status would be a little more respectful of the honor it is. And for those who wish to take advantage of the blessings of being a part of this wonderful country, I wish they would do it the legal and appropriate way. Which leads me to #6 on the list ...
6. I am a rule follower first, then a rule maker second. I rarely have interest in being a rule breaker. It defeats the purpose of having them in the first place, and those who like to break the rules tend to really get annoyed when THEIR rules are the ones being ignored or broken.
7. I love movies. I love movies that make you think. I love movies that make you feel. I like to laugh at movies. Out loud. So that perhaps the director back in LA or wherever the movie came from will know that someone enjoyed it. I will also cry if it's warranted. I think that is OK and healthy. Besides, it's usually dark in the movie theater and no one will know if you keep it below a whimper. But let out anything more ... well, you're on your own then.
8. I like to number things. It's because I like order. Perhaps you came across this in some of the historical posts here on the blog. This one happens to be a perfect fit for #8. So be it.
9. I have a challenge maintaining order sometimes. That's all I'll say about that for now.
10. I like "Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium" ... It is a good story, great acting, and has a brilliant soundtrack behind it. You don't realize how much the music adds to a movie until you hear the music by itself after you've seen the movie, and the songs take you back to the scenes. They literally sound like what you saw.
11. One of my favorite hats right now is an Australian outback hat. Don't ask me why. Just because. And I like cargo shorts with drawstring tassels on the legs that I never actually tie. They just dangle off the sides and help make my legs look a little less lanky.
12. Five of the last six words I just wrote started with the letter "L" ... so why don't we say this blog entry was sponsored by the letter "L." And yes, I grew up on Sesame Street. And The Electric Company. And Zoom.
There's bound to be more. But I will stop at 12. It's an even number. And it's time you got back to work. Or fed the chickens. Or put your hands back on the wheel. Or started your own list of who YOU are. Now there's an idea.
Hello ... pleased to meet you, whoever you are. Welcome to me. Come back often, OK?
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Still Here, Stayin' Alive
Every now and then, you're reminded of something from your past. Something happens in the mundane day-to-day activities of our lives that jars our my aging memory, and makes us me think of something long forgotten.
Let's take a blog for instance.
[Look of horror.]
Wow ... my last entry was May of 2011. "On behalf of myself, I'd like to accept this Lame Award ..."
OK ... let's put this back on all of us. You neglect things, right? It's not just me.
So, collective "we" ... when these events happen that reveal something that we've lost or forgotten, we find ourselves at a crossroad and we have a choice to make. We ask ourselves, "Do I do something about it? Change the course? Acknowledge and embrace my forgetfulness/laziness and get cracking, or do I turn away and pretend I never saw it?"
I'm going to take the road less traveled today. I'm going to write a post. And that will make all the difference. So there. (Thanks to Ms. Norma Rae in middle school for making me memorize "The Road Not Taken." I remember! And remembering things is very important for someonemy our age.) Let's continue.
We decide to do something. We're going to write. Fine and dandy, but then you hit the wall. The absence of thought. The oblivion of nothing in the head. The dry well ... empty of anything fun and snarky to talk about.
[Pause]
I could talk about a roasted turkey sandwich, because that's what is in my immediate future.
[Yawn]
Politics? Certainly not a sleeper topic these days. But I'll withhold my thoughts for a while perhaps. Let's see if anybody reads my blog and decides I'm harassing them. The boring and the prudish. The ones who don't like to laugh. The ones who prefer to read the Wall Street Journal or Moby Dick. I won't feel guilty about taking up your precious time if I end up having to suspend my blog. (But I'll continue accepting donations, thank you very much.)
[Think, think, think.]
A-ha ... I have something. My love for Charlie Brown's Christmas. It's one of the remaining vestiges of Christmas untouched. Nobody has come in and edited Linus' child-like telling of the birth of our Savior to make it acceptable to all. And it's still being played on national television. Fancy that.
Not to mention ... who doesn't love Vince Guaraldi? (Yes, I had to Google it so I'd spell it right. Sheesh, the man's Italian. I'm Southern. Two different things.)
"Linus and Lucy" is one of my favorite tunes. Not actually related to Christmas at all, but it's on the soundtrack. Makes my head lop back and forth, like the kid in the front right of the dancing scene in the show. I think I can do the dance of about three of them with some recognizable skill. I know ... hidden talents. We all have them. This is so much better than disco.
One talent I do not possess is the gift of brevity when I speak or write. As some of you can attest, I could actually go on and on with mindless drivel about this and that. But perhaps if I'm smart, I can make something out of it for next year's annual blog post.
Besides ... I'm done with my sandwich.
Merry Christmas! God Bless us all ... everyone!
Luke 2:10
Let's take a blog for instance.
[Look of horror.]
Wow ... my last entry was May of 2011. "On behalf of myself, I'd like to accept this Lame Award ..."
OK ... let's put this back on all of us. You neglect things, right? It's not just me.
So, collective "we" ... when these events happen that reveal something that we've lost or forgotten, we find ourselves at a crossroad and we have a choice to make. We ask ourselves, "Do I do something about it? Change the course? Acknowledge and embrace my forgetfulness/laziness and get cracking, or do I turn away and pretend I never saw it?"
I'm going to take the road less traveled today. I'm going to write a post. And that will make all the difference. So there. (Thanks to Ms. Norma Rae in middle school for making me memorize "The Road Not Taken." I remember! And remembering things is very important for someone
We decide to do something. We're going to write. Fine and dandy, but then you hit the wall. The absence of thought. The oblivion of nothing in the head. The dry well ... empty of anything fun and snarky to talk about.
[Pause]
I could talk about a roasted turkey sandwich, because that's what is in my immediate future.
[Yawn]
Politics? Certainly not a sleeper topic these days. But I'll withhold my thoughts for a while perhaps. Let's see if anybody reads my blog and decides I'm harassing them. The boring and the prudish. The ones who don't like to laugh. The ones who prefer to read the Wall Street Journal or Moby Dick. I won't feel guilty about taking up your precious time if I end up having to suspend my blog. (But I'll continue accepting donations, thank you very much.)
[Think, think, think.]
A-ha ... I have something. My love for Charlie Brown's Christmas. It's one of the remaining vestiges of Christmas untouched. Nobody has come in and edited Linus' child-like telling of the birth of our Savior to make it acceptable to all. And it's still being played on national television. Fancy that.
"Linus and Lucy" is one of my favorite tunes. Not actually related to Christmas at all, but it's on the soundtrack. Makes my head lop back and forth, like the kid in the front right of the dancing scene in the show. I think I can do the dance of about three of them with some recognizable skill. I know ... hidden talents. We all have them. This is so much better than disco.
One talent I do not possess is the gift of brevity when I speak or write. As some of you can attest, I could actually go on and on with mindless drivel about this and that. But perhaps if I'm smart, I can make something out of it for next year's annual blog post.
Besides ... I'm done with my sandwich.
Merry Christmas! God Bless us all ... everyone!
Luke 2:10
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