Reindeer poop, used couches, and Tinkerbell

If you’ve been in Michels in the past couple weeks you would have had 1 of 3 reactions.

1)    Indifference

2)    Denial

3)    I think I just threw up a little bit.

I was more along the lines of number 3.  All we wanted was a plain tin box thing that wasn’t Christmas.  The encounter went something like this

Excuse me, miss... do you have any plain tins, or really just anything that isn’t Christmas?  I feel this isn’t a terribly huge request seeing as Thanksgiving hasn’t passed, yet the entire store is decked with holly and the reindeer poop.  And dost mine ears deceive me?  Is that Macy Gray singing Christmas carols?  Um…what the darn-it?!? …it’s November 22^nd.

(At least it did in my head.  In reality my wife was MUCH more pleasant)

I love Christmas.  I really do.  I love cold weather, Christmas blend, pine trees, Advent, and big choirs celebrating Jesus.  But, can we first be Thankful?  It saddens me that Macy Gray’s Winter Wonderland exchanges Abe’s Day.  (Fun fact: it was Abe that made the final Thursday in November a national day of Thanksgiving, but Congress made it a holiday in 1941)

Before this turns into a rant about when a person can listen to Christmas music, I want to change direction a bit.  This isn’t about when a person can or can’t listen to Macy Gray (answer: never) or when they can deck their halls.  A wise person once told me, “You’re not the boss of me!”  They were right.  I’m not the boss of you.

Tonight I am not listening to Christmas music, not surrounded by pine or lights and reindeer poop.  Tonight I am sitting on my used couches sneaking peeks at my beautiful wife who is currently sleeping peacefully in one of her infamous ‘20-minute-naps’, and I couldn’t be happier.  I’m thankful for my used couches.  I’m thankful that I have a home, a furnace, my incredible wife, and that cute little Tinkerbell blanket she’s cuddled under.

I’m not here to tell people when they can celebrate Christmas.  You do your thing.  My only concern is that in our haste to deck our halls, and brew a nice pot of Christmas blend, we’ve missed a wonderful opportunity to be thankful.  Not just for the big things, but also to live a life that is daily thankful: not getting a flat tire on the way to work, the post-it your wife left you on the coffee pot, you came home safely after braving Trader’s a few days before Thanksgiving, that you have used couches to curl up on, that once upon a time your parents gave you a sweet blanket so you can take naps at 11pm, for cell phones and the ability to talk to loved ones in times of hurt and joy.

I’m thankful for Thanksgiving.  I’m thankful for the food and drink, the funny hats and feathers, and the inevitable handprint-turkey-art.  I’m thankful for talk during meals, the laughter of shared joys, and the unity in shared pains.  I’m thankful for football and the turkey-coma-nap on the floor.  I’m thankful for spending time with family and the chaos of kids running around.  I’m thankful for sharing a slice of pumpkin pie with my girl.

And, I’m thankful for my blue chair.

single flame serenity

It's been a while since I've had a few minutes to sit.  It's that time of the semester when the few minutes of free time are allocated to studying or inadvertent naps.  While I love and am so thankful for all that is my life, I miss the times when I am able to sit and rest.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how busy and tired I've become.  Britt and I have a lot on our plate.  We know that we can't just strip ourselves of our obligations (nor do we desire to), but there definitely are days when we wished we had more time to sit.  We have such a strong desire to just sit that sometimes we'll drive a couple blocks out of the way just to have a few more minutes of serenity in the car.  Or that moment between deciding to get out of bed, or off the couch, or up from the table and when it actually happens.  Our butt seems to lag for just a few moments more to soak in the last bit of "sitting".

I've missed my time of sitting.  So tonight as I should be studying for my Cognitive Psychology midterm, I decided to fore-go the academic responsibility, and take up the mantle of psychological responsibility: the lights are off, the iTunes is closed, and one candle is lit.  It's quiet.

There's something about a candle that has the ability to calm the noise and stress.  The slow flicker of the flame seems to create a new rhythm of time.  The faint shadows cast on the wall shifts our perspective to help us release our distractions.  The soft light seems to shine just enough to illuminate ourselves and the air around us.  It's almost as if air around me has clung to the light of the candle and with each breath I take, my mind and body are slowed to the rhythm of the candle, and less to the stresses outside the light of the flame.

I'm thankful for this small flame.  I'm thankful for the serenity that it brings.  Tomorrow I will have things to do, papers to turn in, tests, work, church, and some time during all that I should eat lunch... but for now those things do not distract me.  Right now, all that matters is the little light that is cast around the room, the rhythmic flicker of the flame, and the serenity that is now aflame within me.

I need to do this more often.

She is the sunshine of my life.

I love me wife.  To no end.  She's incredible.  And I know she loves me.  But recently, we've been SUPER tired.  We were laying on our bed yesterday morning, fully dressed, shoes on, teeth brushed, all ready to go to school, but refusing to actually grab our keys and go, when Britt said, "This semester sucks."

-"Do you concur?"
-"I concur."

Well, with that said, we've gotten into the habit of staying up far too late working on homework, and then around 12-1 we take a "20 minute nap" and then get up and continue.

Well....this time was a little different.  It was 10:30pm last night (Monday) and I was crashing and needed a nap.  So we told each other, "20 minutes...." and were soon fast asleep.

20.....+340 minutes later..... (yes that would be 6 HOURS) she sits up and says in one word and breath, "ohmygosh!!!"  It was now 4:30 in the morning and neither of us had done our homework.

Oops.

Now, what I failed to mention earlier was how exactly the "nap discussion" played out.

Brian: "Let's take a nap."
Brittney: "I don't know if I'm tired.
Brian: "Just 20 minutes....?"
Brittney: "Fine."  (She then sets an alarm.)  "Set your alarm in case mine doesn't go off."
Brian: "Eh....we'll wake up."
(I don't set my alarm.)

Well, I was right in that we woke up...5 or so hours too late, though.  Yet, we just got up, spent an hour and change finishing up our homework and went back to sleep for an hour.

Now, back to how much I love my wife.  There was a gagillion ways this situation could have played out.  I felt terrible, that much was certain.  But she just smiled, kissed me, and we laughed it off.

She's awesome.  And maybe the best thing about it is that I know it will be one of those things that in 5 years we'll come up and we'll just giggle.

THE END

P.S. I set my alarm the second time to wake up at 6:30.  At 6:30 I turned it off and we got up at 7:15.
Dang.

Thanks for marrying me.  :)

bright light, bright light!

I feel as if I need to start by saying, "Yes.  I know we live in Southern California so our paradigm of cold is a little skewed from the rest of the US.  But that doesn't mean that I am not allowed to be cold when it's 50 degrees out."

There.  Now you have context.  It was cold.  We were laying on the ground in the middle of Temecula.  We had blankets and the thermos of coffee (side note: some day ask my dad about the "Thermos Jug").  We were on an adventure!  You see, every 86 years Halley's Comet zooms past Earth.  And every October, the orbit of Earth passes right through the trail that the comet left.  Typically this yields some awesome views of the cosmic litter left behind as it burns up in our atmosphere.  I say typically quite intentionally.

You see, we were out there to witness this shower.  We had done all the research.  25-40 meteors every hour, peak viewing time between 1-2am and dawn, Temecula or Crestline would give the best views without having to drive to the middle of nowhere, we knew it was coming from the upper club of Orion when it was highest in the sky...we knew we'd need lots of coffee and blankets.  We were READY for our adventure.  Alex even made a specific mix on the iPod to play in the car.

So we loaded up the Amigo at 12:30am and headed to Temecula.  On the way there, right in front of us a massive blue meteor left a sweet trail and we thought we were in for a great show.  An hour or so later we were there, blankets out, jackets on, lights off, meteors....meteors....um...where are the meteors?

We layed outside until 4am.  We were determined!  There were a couple good ones, then maybe 8-12 pretty wimpy ones.  Nowhere near the 25-40 per hour!  And there we were, fairly cold, in the middle of Temecula, and I was pretty disappointed.  I mean, we deserved a meteor shower!  We put all that effort in, drove all that way, gave up sleep, and we were entitled to this show!  We earned it!

Wrong.

It's taken me three days to really process what happened that night.  I felt entitled.  I felt cheated.  I felt like I had sacrificed sleep and sanity for something that didn't show.  MY meteor shower was not there. 

The 400 billion stars were in front of my eyes, yet I was disappointed about my 25-40 meteors that I didn't see.  When 400 billion things all at once show you your faults and immaturity, it's a heavy weight to shoulder.

Stars are amazing and wonderous things.  They are so large and so far away and so numerous.  Even in the darkest of deserts, on the clearest of nights, what we see barely scratches the surface of the immensity of space and stars.  Yet every evening, even in the light polluted, smoggy town I live, there are stars above me.  Most night I'm grateful for the 6 stars that I can see (sometimes 5 if I realize it's an airplane), yet for some reason on Tuesday night my immaturity and selfishness shined brighter than the stars right in front of me.

I'd like to turn that light off.  I'd like to relish the darkness and let what really matters shine through.  Sometimes my immaturity dims, sometimes it flares.  My hope is that the times it dims will shadow the times it flares.

Maybe by 2061 when Halley comes back I'll be able to fully appreciate it without my selfish immaturity getting in the way.  Hopefully.

my life of eras

While in high school, Alex and I came to the realization that our life passes in "eras."  These are different than chapters.  Chapters mark changes in life: the passing of loved ones, new births, new or lost homes, careers, graduations, adventures...stuff like that.

The chapters of our life are all enveloped by the greater era.  I've been asked, "Well, when do the eras begin?  How do you know one has ended?"  The answer, for myself, is: I don't know.

It's the sort of thing that I don't realize a new era has begun until I'm well into it.  One doesn't wake up and say, "Today is a new era."  We walk through life, living out experiences and relationships, and one day realize, "I'm in a new era of my life."  I think I've had 4: Pre-crash, Post-crash, College, Marriage.

And today, as I walked into work with my coffee in hand and cloudy sky above, I thought about the recent happenings in and around my life.  There have been many changes, many chapters.  I'm in the last year of my undergraduate work, I've lost a loved one, new children have been brought into the world, I've spent 429 wonderful days of marriage with the most incredible woman in the world, and my friend has been married for about 18 hours.  I have friends that have celebrated more than a year of marriage and friends that have celebrated a few months.  We had 7 weddings this year and my wife was [Matron] of Honor in 3 of them (she doesn't like that word, because it sounds old.)  One of my friends found his passion and is ardently pursuing it (which I admire and respect deeply.)  Others are still waiting patiently for a still small voice to help them find direction for the rest of their life.  Some have made decisions about ministry, about schooling, about children, or even about finances.

And with this perspective I thought to myself, "Is this a new era?"  Change in-and-of-itself does not necessarily mean a new era.  But with the combination off all that's happened in the past months, I feel like I'm in a new era of my life.  Passions are discovered, loves are found and committed to, children are born, and Britt and I are surrounded by it.  This is our life now.  We love it.  It's strikingly different than just 2 years ago, but a new era brings with it new possibilities and adventures.

I'm thankful for the path that has been my life.  I'm thankful for the struggles and the hurts, the joys and laughter, the adventures and monotony.  These times have shaped me into who I am today.

I am thankful for all my eras.

A bitter cold perspective.

After our movie night last night, the news came on.  Headlines: Fire.  Again.  It's a terrible plague this time of year that truly is devastating.  My prayers and thoughts are with the brave fireman (and Firewomen, to be PC, and because I don't know the proper androgynous term...Firepersonel?) who are fighting tirelessly in conditions that I can barely imagine.  What they do, really is nothing short of extraordinary.

However...the reporter covering the story was talking about the conditions that the fireman were experiencing: low winds, high humidity.  But according to the reporter, the "bitter cold" was making fighting the fire VERY difficult.  It was 30.  The shot cuts from the reporter wearing a jacket made of something that looked like alpaca and a scarf, to the fireman in their gear, some of the jackets undone at the top while they rested and regrouped or were interviewed.

Bitter cold.  It was 30.  I laughed.  Actually, out loud.  I've been in 30 degree weather in jeans and a light sweatshirt.  It was 60 here and I was in jeans and a t-shirt.  While I may not classify 30 as bitter cold, I stopped to think about that statement for a minute.  And thankfully, my wonderful wife brought a better perspective to my thoughts.  There I was in jeans a t-shirt, scoffing at the sentiment of "bitter cold", and next to me was my wife bundled up in a blanket.

She often calls me Harry, due to the fact that I have a cynical side that mirrors the character Harry in the movie When Harry Met Sally.  At the end of the film he says to Sally, "I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out."  71 for my wife is COLD.  81 for my wife is a little chilly.  Unless the temperature starts with a '9' or has three digits, it's cold.  And typically, I'm sweating.  We laugh in the car because the rule, stated by Brittney, is, "If I'm cold, you're comfortable.  If I'm warm, you're hot.  If I'm hot, you're dying."

To some, it may actually be bitter cold.  Not me, really.  But that's just one.  That reporter standing on the hillside in 30 degree weather may have been freezing her face off, hating every moment of that report.  I would have loved the cold.  That doesn't make either of us more correct.  While there may be some on the tundra of Tibet that are in 10 degree weather thinking, "Hey it's a beautiful day!", my wife would be a human Otter-pop.  It's all about perspective.

He may speak in their ears and terrify them with warnings.

Sometimes when you go to a website of a movie that's coming out soon there will be a disclaimer saying, "Spoiler Alert," warning readers that there may be something here that you don't want to read.  Sometimes on news websites that are covering tragedy or ruin of some country there is a video or slideshow that starts off by saying, "This video contains disturbing images.  Use caution when viewing."

This post needs that disclaimer.  I am going to talk about death.  I'm going to talk about death of loved ones and things so personal that some should not read this.  Now you know.

Job 33.  I lived that passage last night.

For God does speak—now one way, now another—
       though man may not perceive it.
 In a dream, in a vision of the night,
       when deep sleep falls on men
       as they slumber in their beds,
 he may speak in their ears
       and terrify them with warnings,
 to turn man from wrongdoing
       and keep him from pride,
 to preserve his soul from the pit,
       his life from perishing by the sword.

Last night my dad had a massive heart attack.  He was rushed to the hospital.  The family and my wife were out of town together so I was alone with him.  One of the top cardiologists was called to help.  Unfortunately, he couldn't do anything.  Shock, after shock, after shock....  CLEAR!!!  His body writhed in convulsions and I watched from behind the glass.  The ominous green line fell.  Silence.  He was gone.  My father, whom I love to the core of my being was gone.  No longer would I hear his words of wisdom, his laughter, or his signature snore.  No longer would I eat his pancake breakfast or share a beer with him on the lake.  I had a hole in my being and it burned.  The physical pain was unbelievable.  How could something hurt so terribly?  I turned and ran out of the hospital in a daze.  I collapsed to the ground and beat my fists against the pavement.  Did he know I loved him?  Did he know how much he meant to me?  Was I pleasing in my father's sight?  Was he proud?  Did my strengths outweigh my faults?  Did he know that he was the best father ever?  Did I show him love?  Did he know it, feel it, see it?

Alex came and picked me up off the ground.  We walked.  We walked down the road, the pavement ended and the dust kicked up behind our feet.  People passed by and everybody had their head down, eyes averted, each engulfed in their own sorrows.  I had my own sorrow.  How could I spare love to comfort these people?  How would I ever be able to sacrifice my own sorrow in a time like this to love and encourage them?  I couldn't.  I wouldn't.  I refused.

And they walked past, dust sticking to the tears streaming down their face, they faded.  What their sorrows were, I did now know, and I did not care; I had my own.  My father was gone.  And then I looked to my side and Alex was gone too.  Nowhere.  In my own selfishness I had lost my father and my friend...

I was not alone.  My wife lay sleeping peacefully on my left, and the soft glow from the street lights shined in the window.  I was terrified.  I was furious.  How could such a terrible dream come to me?  And the answer hit with the same force of the loss of my dad: you need to love better.  I need to love better.

Sometimes I take for granted the people in my life.  I joke and kid.  I'm sometimes cynical.  I end a conversation with a smart remark, sometimes at the expense of somebody else.  And what if that is the last I see of them?  What if there is a real-life catastrophe like the one in my dream and that person is gone?  Did I love them and treat them like they deserve, like I'm expected to?

Sometimes I do.  Sometimes I don't.  I need the first area to destroy the other.  If you happen to have, at some point, fallen in the latter, then I apologize.  I'm sorry for not loving you and treating you like you deserve to be treated.

Each day I wake up, I am given the gift of another heart beat, another breath, another blink, another moment with my wife, with my family, with my friends, and with the strangers that walk around me.  I have been given something that's precious.

I know I'm not perfect.  I know that nobody is perfect.  We all have our demons and struggles.  Sometimes God gives us a gentle nudge in the direction He wants us to go.  Sometimes He terrifies us in warnings.  Thankfully, I have been given another chance.  

Next time, I'd really prefer a gentle nudge.

Thank you Mr. Townshend, Mr. Daltrey, and you crafty fellows on CBS:

Camera pans over night city scape of Las Vegas as the guitar solo begins.  Flash graphic of "CSI: Crime Scene Investigation" for a few seconds... cue lyrics:

"Who are you?  Who, who...who, who?" (repeat at least 23 times)

My mom and I used to watch this show every week.  It was fun.  I stayed up til ten to watch people dig up bodies in the desert, blow up apples to solve crimes, and shoot jello to find the culprit.

And every week I would have that song from stuck in my head.

While it may not be the most lyrically creative song ever written (like the great Can-I-Bus line: "Yo, whoever grabs the mic after me'll get booed, and get everything in da club thrown at you and ya crew.") it is definitely a consistently relevant lyric.  For everybody, everywhere, all the time.

And this is also the topic of discussion in my head today: who are you?  What is your identity?  And maybe the bigger question: from where does one acquire/learn/maintain identity?  Now, I know that the "good Christian" answer says: "you get your identity from God."

Lame (repeat at least 24 times.)  Lame.

I will guarantee that God designed more for us.  That's why we have relationships, passions, hobbies, conflicts, angers, fears.  We are dynamic people.  So, I'll ask again: from where do you acquire/learn/maintain your identity?

Me?  I'm a husband.  I am a student of Psychology.  I am a son to 4 parents (that like each other).  I am a reader, a thinker, a lover, a friend, a coffee drinker, a napper, a writer, a speaker, a frisbee player, a small group leader, a learner, a laugher, an adventurer, I'm imaginative, prideful, realistic, pessimistic, introvert, contemplative, playful.  I like rain, heat, swiming snow.  I love family dinners and brotherly bocce...

The list is long, and possibly endless.  But what I'm wrestling with today, and hoping that others wrestle with this as well.  Who are you?  Where do you get your identity?  And how does all that manifest itself into your identity?  How does it show?  What do you hide?  What are you ashamed of?  What are you proud of?

I know that this isn't something that I can't shoot a jello mold with a .45, shine a black light, and scrape a few DNA cells off the bullet to find the answer; although that would be nice.  So for now I'll just keep singing, "Who are you?  Who, who...who, who?"  (and keep singing, and keep signing, because now it's stuck in my head.)

my new pine chair.

I got a new chair today.  Well...my mom always used the phrase, "New to you."  Which it is.  So, I got a "new to me" chair today.  It's a pine folding chair.  I bought it for $5.  It's worn and faded from the years, but actually pretty comfortable as pine chairs go.  I got it so I could sit out on the balcony and do my homework outside.  It's wonderful.  I sat in it today for about 2 hours.  I read for a bit, but then I put my book down and thought.  I have a lot to think about lately, but at the moment I'm thinking about one thing: me.

Narcissism?  No.  I'm writing quite a difficult paper this week.

It's not due for a week.  And it's only going to end up being about 3 pages.  But I've started it tonight because I know that it's going to be painfully difficult.  It's a Self-Inquiry paper for one of my psych classes.  I have to have a good understanding of who I am and be able to articulate it.  I need to recognize how and why I express feelings like "sadness, anger, fear, pride, and love", talk about trials or tribulations in my life and how I've healed, if at all, and the lessons I've learned from them, and that's not all...the list is pretty thorough.

This is a difficult paper.  Would you be able to answer all those questions fully and honestly and articulately?  If you can, then that's quite the accomplishment.

But at the moment, I can't.  That's why I've given myself a week to complete this paper.  7 days, 3 pages.  All about myself. 

So what am I doing blogging about it, when I should actually be writing the paper?  I'm contemplating.  Which is one of the items I put to describe myself: contemplative (the adjective, not the noun).

I think this is going to take some major prayer and quiet time to do this paper well.  Good thing I have an old pine chair.

Steve Jobs and his "i"...

Steve Job's is awesome.  For those of you who are woefully in the dark, Steve Jobs is the CEO of Apple.  Apple, for those of you who are even more woefully in the dark, will change your life.

But why?  Because of the i.

For me, it's the iPod.  Now, before you jump to conclusion about excess and need and superfluous gadgets and toys and yadda, yadda, yadda....this isn't a CutCo/PamperedChef/Candle/Tupperware/[fill in the blank yourself] presentation about why you really need to buy stuff you really don't need.  (No offense to you CutCo salesmen out there.)

I was just listening to some tunes on this fantastic iContraption.  Playlist: "My Jesus Time Music."

A little bit of Phil, some Owl City, a smidge of both Jeremy's, a sprinkle of David, the Album Leaf, Silas....the list goes on.  I can actually pick and choose some sweet music, pop in the little ear buds and I'm away on my own personal "Jesus Time."  There's nothing super spiritual about the music.  No flashing lights, no big noise (although sometimes I do concede that it's a tad loud), no show, no crowd, no nothing.  Just me and my pod.

And I was just thinking about how awesome that is.  I can make a list of songs and off I go.  Jesus and me.  And while I don't actually need an iPod, or gadgets like that, I do love the being able to have "My Jesus Time Music."

My friends Owl City sing: "I can finally see, that You're right there beside me.  I am not my own, for I have been made new.  Please don't let me go.  I desperately need You."  The entire song is just a plea to God and a recognition of need.

I don't NEED the pod.  I NEED my Jesus.  So what does this really have to do with anything?  I guess I'm just trying to figure out my thoughts.  There's been a lot of talk of need (Doe's Blog) and simplicity (Jasmine Star) and what's really important in life.  It's Jesus.

This reminder comes to me in so many ways.  Phil see's His face "in every sunrise", Jeremy Riddle in "bruises and brokeness", and Owl City in "meteor showers."  Today, Jesus reminded me through Steve Jobs and "My Jesus Time Music".

Thanks Steve.

midnight breakfast, hair cuts, afternoon chats, and sawdust.

So I'm in class now at this very moment: Psychology of Family. The parents who read this won't be too happy about that, but...eh... I'm actually writing about them, so they might be OK with it. I had a thought I wanted to share.

Right now we're talking about the role of children. We've had discussions of mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, and now we're on to children. A discussion point was: in general society children are friends with their parents.

It's this point that has struck me. Parents being friends with their kids.

It's gross.

I was never friends with my parents. They definitely were friendly. But we weren't friends.

Friendship implies a level playing field; no hierarchy, less responsibility, no structure... and my parents weren't that. I'd get home late at night and have great talks with my dad over a late night breakfast. Afternoon calls to my mom lasted quite a long time. Hair cuts with Doe was a great time to connect. Saturdays out in the garage with John usually ended in a lesson learned. They are great parents. They were easy to approach and fun to be with, (albeit unconventional). They were interested in my life and involved with things that were happening with me. They all cared. All of them. But they weren't my friend. They demanded respect in love and obedience to their rules. They taught me how to be a functional, responsible, and intelligent young man. And I am thankful.

So this is a short post. I just had a moment of reflection: I have some rockin' parents.

So, thanks Dad.

And thanks Doe.

And thanks Mom.

And thanks John.

Ha. That always makes me laugh.

My Liberal Post (sorry Dad)

Once upon a time I was up at work. There are many, many, many, many boxes up here, full of many things. These boxes sat upon a shelving apparatus against the wall. For many days I would look at this shelving unit and think to myself, "Sooner or later, physics will win." Sure enough, I was here one day and right as the air conditioner turned on, the side walls cracked straight in two, and the whole shelving unit came crashing down. I guess that extra air pressure on top just pushed it over the edge. Luckily I was the only one here and nowhere near the flotsam. (I wish I could use that word more often so I decided to start now.)

Well... new "more sturdy" shelves were purchased, assembled, and subsequently filled up with even more boxes. And now, I'm here alone and there is an ominous creaking noise coming from the shelves, and I have returned to the thought, "sooner or later, physicals will prevail..."

But what does that have to do with the price of tea in china?

Nothing.

This is my liberal post.

I just felt like I had too much to talk about and think about (i.e. shelves) and didn't want to nail down one specific topic. So I decided to start with the shelves and now I shall move on...

It's been a good start of semester so far. My classes (Psych of Marriage, Psych of Family, Cognitive Psych, Abnormal Psych, Stats Lab, Geology, and Tennis) have gotten off to a good start. The material is very interesting, the work load isn't overbearing, the professors are good, and I get coffee everyday. Plus, if the week is too crazy, I have at least 3 hours of tennis each week to "sweat it out" (which is a very healthy thing by-the-way).

So that's topic number 2. School = good so far. No real complaints. However, the computer lab leaves much to be desired. And that will be my transition into my third topic.

I am currently in a Lab class for Statistics. It's a requirement for the Psych Major. Each class we go down to the computer lab in the library and do statistical analysis stuff using Excel. It's not bad. But 50% of the time only 60% of the computers actually work, and 100% of the time we have the RE-download and RE-install the Statistical Analysis tool-pack for Excel, which on the ancient beasts that we have, takes at least 7 minutes of the 50 minute class period. It's a one unit class. Which means, it's costing me $68 dollars each week to take this class (pause and catch your breath for that little nugget). So for every minute of me being in class, I'm paying about $1.40 to be taught statistics. One would HOPE that my tuition dollars would actually be put to use to have working computers, the necessary software properly installed, and possibly a teacher that's on time once in a while. But maybe that's just in a perfect world.

World...transition to my final topic: the world. I want to see it. And the best part about it, my wife does too! We don't want to see the entire thing (although that would be utterly RIGHTEOUS!!!!) But we do want to live in another part, not in the U.S. This is going to take much time of prayer, research, and talking to the right people, but this is my formal announcement to you all. In two years we're gonna move away for a year or so. It won't be permanent and I won't tell you exactly where yet. But I did want to tell you. There's something about telling people about it and asking them to pray that makes it seem a lot more real. So this is me asking for you guys to be praying for us. We have two years to both finish school, raise enough support if needed, research, secure jobs and housing, talk to the right people, and pray. And now, voila...it's real.

Real.....it's what this blog is about. I want to be real. I don't have much to hide (except those bald patches on my cheeks where no beard grows yet). Some days I have one thing to talk about and share, and others it's just a little too much to condense. And still other days, there's so much that I can't even get my thoughts straight and there's a two week (or two month) lapse in writing.

So cheers to all who read this. And if nobody, well, at least it's out there. If you have any thoughts, connections, helps, or whatever, feel free to comment and let me know.

The Will Smith Approach to Learning

So it's the morning of my last year of college. I sit now with the glorious *gurgle, gurgle* of the coffee maker in the background, and like most first days of school, I woke up early and subsequently, and ready to go 20 minutes before I actually need to be.

But that is OK.

It's given me time to think. Which, being school and such, is a good thing.

So to where did my thoughts travel this morning? Answer: Will Smith.

Sometimes I have seemingly random thoughts which in actuality have a real purpose and meaning. Today I thought about the scene in Hitch where Mr. Smith (Hitch) and "Albert Brennaman" are on the steps of a house and they're talking about the 90/10 approach. I won't go into full detail but basically one person gives 90% of the effort and the other person finishes with the last 10%.

Now...what am I talking about?

It's my last year of my undergrad work. Hopefully by the end of the year I will have earned a B.A. in Psychology and have a Bible minor. And already I've begun to slip into thoughts of best ways I can just barely scootch by with a B- or some other mostly acceptable grade, without killing myself to do better.

But I sit here today on this 26th of August in the year 2009 (of our Lord) and say, "[I] will not go quietly into the night!" [I] will not vanish without a fight! [I'm] going to live on! [I'm] going to survive! Today [I] celebrate [my] Independence Day!"

(Which is also from a Will Smith feature film.)

So that is my promise this semester. I will not fall into the Will Smith approach to learning. I think the biggest problem with that approach is the reality that it's worked so far. I've gotten mostly decent grades (some far better than others) but on the whole, I'm still mostly an OK student. But this "mostly 90/10" is no longer good enough for me.

I've got to "Be strong and courageous and do the work!" (1 Chronicles 28:20)

It may seem simple. Just do the work. But I'll definitely need the first part.

Strength: to stay up and actually finish well, to wake up and get to class, to work the extra hour to get the good grade, etc...etc...etc...

Courage: to be able to say no when I need to work, to not stretch myself too thin, to choose not the easy route just to get it done, etc...etc....etc.

So, no more. No more 90/10. No more complacency.

I say, "No thank you Mr. Smith! I will not go quietly into the night. I will not vanish without a fight! I'm going to live on! I'm going to survive! Today I celebrate my Independence Day!"

[crowd cheers]

I will do the work.

Thank you President Whitmore!

[crowd cheers again]

June gloom has it's bright side

It's that time of year...where the world falls in love.... oh wait.

No.

It's that time of year when the sun refuses to shine and it's cloudy all day for weeks on end. On a good day the clouds fade into a heavy haze, which if you look carefully, you might even be able to find a shadow. Not likely though.

But as I'm continually growing, (due to the fact that my wife is one of the most optimistic people I've ever met) and I'm learning how life is better without as much cynicism, I realized today that June gloom does have it's bright sides, especially for the Starbucks driven society that we live in (in which I am a proud member). It's gloomy all day, so naturally one just wants to brew.

Coffee, that is. Maybe it tastes better when it's gloomy. Maybe it's just all in my head. Regardless, there is a bright side to the gloom.

Coffee. I love coffee. And fortunately I have one of those wonderful bodies (yes Mom[s] I know that will someday change) that coffee doesn't seem to have much of an effect on. I can drink coffee all day. I can have a hot cup 'o joe at 10pm and go to bed at 11. I can wake up in the morning and have coffee, coffee, coffee, and not really get the shakes. It's a really nice thing.

I love coffee. Yes, it tastes good, but I think one of the best things about coffee is the conversation. You brew a pot, sit down with a friend, and suddenly you have all the time in the world. After dinner, the tummy is full and the dessert is in front of you, but there's still room for coffee, and hours later the conversation is still flowing. It's a wonderful thing, coffee.

I learned to love it in Costa Rica. And if you would like to sit down over a cup of coffee with me, I'd be happy to tell you that story. It's a good one.

But for now, I'll sit with my cup of coffee in my stolen Talbot mug and be happy with the gloom.

Cheers.

Sometimes I'd rather have a bottle of Port

"I didn’t go to religion to make me happy. I always knew a bottle of Port would do that. If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity." - C.S. Lewis.

I need to first start off by saying this: whatever your goals, tasks, desires, or anything else that you would like to accomplish over the summer...please put 'read The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis' somewhere near the top.

And again, just for emphasis: read The Great Divorce. (It's an afternoon read, 2-3 hours max)

This is a book that definitely made me uncomfortable. My good friend Alex asked after I had finished it, "Did it blow your mind?" The answer is absolutely and unequivocally, yes.

So now that I've picked myself up off the floor I need to write. It's been a while since I've been able to get some thoughts out. With finals and the end of semester and moving and this-that-and-the-other all happening at once, time to blog just didn't make it to the list. Which I'm ok with, only because I feel like I needed the down time to be able to write about this book.

The Great Divorce (something everybody should read) is about the divorce of Heaven and Hell. Lewis writes:

"If we insist on keeping Hell (or even earth) we shall not see Heaven: if we accept Heaven we shall not be able to retain even the smallest and most intimate souvenirs of Hell."

And again, I'm on the floor. The only response to this is to put my face to the floor, arms outstretched, crying, "Abba, Father." At the moment I want to say that I'm left with only questions, but I know that this would be a lie unto myself. I ask, "to what do I cling?" and, uncomfortably, I'm graced with an answer. I ask, "what are my souvenirs?" and I'm able to look around me and point them out.

For those that have not yet read this book may be confused, but the characters are terribly dumb. I say to myself, and my wife can attest to this, that I don't like stupid people. That's sounds terrible at face value, but what I mean by that is: I don't like people that know truth and refuse to accept it (or) people that are too lazy or shy to seek truth. The characters make excuses for why they can't go to the mountains (where the gates of Heaven lay), why they wish to return to Hell, why they insist that what they are seeing isn't there, why this truth is only relative, why they feel they need the illusion of comforts from Hell and not the true comforts of Heaven.

So my own dislike of ignorance has been so polished and refined that it's become the perfect mirror that I see the whites of my own eyes and the hypocrisy of my own heart. I know the truth. I know the sacrifice. I've grown up in the church, I've had many heart-to-heart experiences with God, I've had conversations, read books, taught lessons...and the truth stares me in the face. Yet here I am clinging to illusions, pities, fears, dreams, and decisions that reek with the fragrance of falsity and death.

I'm uncomfortable with this staring me in the face.

What then? What am I to do with this? I know I cling. Sometimes I cling to heavy, thick peices of Hell, and other times I cling to just the smalled shred, soley out of fear. And I hate it because I know I shouldn't; I hate it because I recognize it doesn't have a purpose; I hate it because I'm sitting here categorizing myself with the same people I have such a sadness for. What now?

The answer comes not from how I am able to rid myself of the souvenirs of Hell. Rather, the answer comes from the recognition of my SWAG. I have no more power to let go of Hell than I do to change the weather. I choose not to rid myself of this Hell, but cling with such steadfastness to the joy that is Heaven; there's no way the two can compete or coexhists.

"And yet all loneliness, angers, hatreds, envies, and itchings that [Hell] contains, if rolled into one single experience and put into the scale against the least moment of the joy that is felt by the least in Heaven, would have no weight that could be registered at all. Bad cannot succeed even in being bad as truly as good is good."

The greatest power and truth is Heave: the eternal redemption of my life to Christ. Nothing could even come close to the joy that I experience now. For on this earth amidst the 'loneliness, angers, hatreds, envies, and itchings' that surround my life everyday, the light that peirces all this is Jesus. He has rescued me from this SWAG that sometimes I love to carry around. It's worthless yet I hold some strange affinity to it. I return to this worthless bag and take it with me where ever I go. My prayer is not that I empty the bag. I am not strong enough. My prayer is that I give this Hell in my pocket to the One that can handle it, the One that is stronger.

So while I am terribly uncomfortable, with this Hell whispering in my ear, I still say that this was definitely a book worth reading. It's worth the uncomfort. It's worth the truth. It's worth it because in the end, I find myself in utter depravity, and in that Christ has it all. And knowing that Christ has it all, is where I find joy.

Win, win, win.

If God was Morgan Freeman

It's been a long week. Not like the world is coming to an end, my roof is crashing down, or some catastrophic event. It's just been a long week. The little things that go on have seemed to add up. And now it's Thursday night, The Office is over, the popcorn is eaten and I'm sitting in my chair and honestly I'm a little "meh." 6 hours of sleep and all the little things throughout the week just make a guy feel a little "meh."

Maybe because I just watched the Office or because I was looking at my DVDs and thinking I should really pack them up, but I just keep thinking about Evan Almighty. There's a quote from the end of the movie when Morgan Freeman (God) says to Evan:

If someone prays for patience, you think God gives them patience? Or does he give them the opportunity to be patient? If he prayed for courage, does God give him courage, or does he give him opportunities to be courageous? If someone prayed for the family to be closer, do you think God zaps them with warm fuzzy feelings, or does he give them opportunities to love each other?

I know that Morgan Freeman, while acting as God in a mediocre movie with a hybrid co-star Michael Scott/Steve Carrol/Evan Baxter, does not qualify as "inspired," but I have to say: there is truth to what he said. It feels like that sentiment really echo's the desires or God for our life.

So throughout this week of the red lights, lost wallets, class registration, brain farts, bad drivers, and late night paper writing, here I am thinking about Evan Almighty. My prayer earlier in the week was to "not sweat the small stuff."

I feel like the kid who touched the oven but can't figure out why his hand hurts like hell.

I really do want to grow and not sweat the small stuff. This week, I failed. I've been reflecting on the "meh", and because of how I was made and what I love to do, I'm all about the causal. Why am I "meh"? Do I feel that way because I was bombarded by small stuff all week and they just got to me...or do I feel that way because I recognize that the small stuff got to me, and the sense of failure makes the "meh"?

I'm a big proponent of growth. And that's true for this case as well. I think throughout the week I was so blinded by the little things that they just added up. The straws built up on my back. And now, when the week is coming to a close and my brain has a little time to breath, the frustration stems from the recognition that I didn't let the little things just blow away. I mean...that was my prayer in the first place, right?

So here I am, tried and failed, and the weekend begins. Luckily, God isn't Morgan Freeman. (Although Morgan Freeman is pretty B.A.) I'll start fresh, with a new prayer of a second chance. And with the power of Jesus, I will get it right this week. "Do, or do not...there is no try." If I told you who that was from, I'd be labeled as an even bigger big fat nerd.

Head Shot

I'm sitting in my living room, which at the moment is a disaster with boxes and cleaning stuff all over, with more homework on my plate than I'd like, but none of that really matters to me tonight. I just want to sit. Or drive. Which actually is a form of sitting. I was hit straight in the head today by mortality, Godliness, temperament, friendships, marriage, and so many heavy handed fists of life. I'm still processing through what it all means for me, but I think the outlet of realizing that it's weighing on me is a good start. In the mean time I'll strive to be thankful for my incredible wife, try not to sweat the small stuff, be available to my friends and family that are in need, and not be too prideful to accept help when I find myself in over my head.

My prayer...

"Jesus, your redeeming power leaves me on my knees in awe. I sit tonight and think about the 'sinner woman' who washed your feet with her tears and the very hair on her head. I know I don't really have enough hair for that to work with me, but the principle still leaves me speechless. You saw that woman for exactly what she was. Simon looked at her and saw a sinner. He saw a woman that didn't deserve to come to the table of a Rabbi, to interrupt him, to intrude, to get in the way, and waste precious perfume on his feet. Jesus, you didn't see sin, you saw forgiveness. The 'sinner woman', so wrapped up in your forgiving power, couldn't help but serve and come to your feet. Her actions came straight from her thankfulness of your forgiveness. Help me to be humble enough to get on my knees and wash your feet. Please help me to be a husband, a friend, a son, a brother, a child of God who lives each day recognizing that I am forgiven, and can't help but strive to live in that identity. Help me to take all that I am wrapped up in and lose it forever. Help me to grasp Your redeeming identity and claim it as my own, and do with me what you will. Thank you so much for all the blessings that You've given me in my life. It is so precious, and while I don't understand Your will sometimes, help me to accept it and strive for it each day. Today I don't know what that looks like. I am weak and today a little lost. You've made man so fragile, yet in our fragility we gain an incredible strength in You. Some days I don't understand that, especially this day; and some days I don't like it, especially this day. Honestly, I don't like that man is so weak. I don't like that tomorrow You could take me or anybody I love away from me. Honestly, I hate that...today, at least. Some days I'm OK with the fact that you are in complete control. It's just some of the things that happen, I don't know how to respond to. Today is that day. Yet... I shall be content in my questions and contemplations for now. It is in those time, when I don't have answers that I release my own desires and grasp a clearer understanding of your answers.

How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me? Look on me and answer, O LORD my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death, my enemy will say, "I have overcome him," and my foes will rejoice when I fall. But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing to the LORD, for he has been good to me.

So here I sit, not as downtrodden as the psalmist, but lost in thought nonetheless. But as the psalmist, I will trust in Your unfailing love, rejoice in my identity as forgiven, and trust that You have been good to me, and will continue to be good. Help me to remember that and intentionally be that person to You, to my wife, family, and everyone you bring my way. Thank you for the second chance, again. Amen."

Jesus and My Dry County Girl

I had a wonderful time of worship this morning. I was in my car with the window's down, my stereo on pretty loud (my wife might say it was too loud and was possibly damaging my inner ear or something, but it was worth) and I was singing loud enough for passing drivers to look at me funny. But I did not care. It was a time of worship between me, God, and Rascal Flatts.

Odd? Yes. Holy? Absolutely.

This all came about because this morning at church we talked about worship. I love that God created us to sing. I love that at a concert or when a song is on the radio, we tap our foot to the beat, we hum along, and sometimes we just have to sing. We cannot hold it in any longer. I love that there are people in the world that can write down their own thoughts, emotions, and experiences into a poem and add their musical talent to it, and a wonderful song is born. I love that sometimes those people express ideas that were intended to be personal but have such a universal truth to them, we all can join in community and sing along. How can we keep from singing?

So this morning, after talking about worship and singing very Christian songs about redemption and praise to Jesus, which was wonderful, I got in may car and drove home. And along comes my friends Kenny, Randy, and the collective Rascal Flatts...and I sang! I sang loud, off key, and sometimes made my own rhythm and melody. I sang from the depth of my heart. Yes it was country music, but it was no less pleasing to God than the Christian themed songs we sang earlier.

I was reflecting on this singing (yes as I sang) and wondered to myself about this joy and thankfulness that came from me as I sang. Me, singing along to My Dry County Girl, Old Blue Chair, and Heroes and Friends, was just as praising as if the song was, Blessed Be Your Name or Agnus Dei. At that moment, my 2006 Toyota Corolla, with it's dented and scrated doors and sometimes sqeeky breaks, was just as holy as a basillica in Cartago or the sanctuary at Rose Drive.

Jesus and I had a wonderful drive home this morning. I had such thankfulness for the blessings that are in my life: my dry county girl, my old (black) chair, and my heroes and my friends. This thankfulness brought joy, and this joy brought song. And Jesus loved my out of tune, way too loud, made up rhythm, because it came from Him.

Beginnings.

Beginnings. Some of the most powerful words in the world are "In the beginning..." And here I sit, in the beginning of a new chapter in my life: one where I have outlet. An outlet of my thoughts and my emotions. An outlet of my experiences and my questions.

An outlet of words.

I am captivated by words. Words tell story. They tell thoughts and emotions. They tell of experiences. They tell hopes, dreams, and fears in life. Some are simple: "two can go..." and some are dreadfully heavy: "I'm sorry..."

My entire life I've had a fascination of words. I read books and get lost in the language of time, place, and characters. I love to read editorials and hear how people voice their opinions and present their thoughts to the world. I love speeches and sometimes get so wrapped up in the emotion and power of words that my eye begins to glisten. Yes sometimes words themselves bring tears to my eyes: "I do..."

So I've decided to take my love for words and actually use them. I will admit that I've always been a fan of blogs, but I've never had the "courage and fortitude" to actually make one. Sadly, I would always disguise that shortfall by a "lack of time." But now is a new beginning.

I will write. I will attempt to have an outlet of my thoughts, feelings, ideas, creativity, or anything else that a keypunch can produce.