Weeding.

When I was young, relatively speaking, there was a fairly large field at the end of my street. (at this point in the post my mom is saying, "ooooohhh" with a small smile).  Anyways, this field was affectionately referred to as the "corn field".  Hours and hours of play happened in this field.  Between crops, we'd go hit dirt clots with baseball bats.  The explosion of dust and dirt was amazing.  In Spring, flowers and and weeds would come up and cover the entire field.  We'd carve trails through it to get to the park or school.  Our bike adventures through it ended in our chains wrapped with vines.  One time the farmer even chased us with his tractor. 

The crops, mostly corn and squash, were good, I guess.  We didn't have much need for it though, other than the occasional trip to the "store" to grab a squash to put in our dinner.  It was the weeds that looked cool and were fun to hide or ride in.  But the plain dirt field that sometimes would yeild it's treasures of random couches, dirt fights, and the occasional game involving fire (sorry mom), was where most of the fun was.  As the years went by the farmer seemed to disappear and the crops went by the wayside.  The cycle of dirt and weeds followed for a few years.  There was one season in particular that the weeds went rampant. They grew taller than me - not a huge feat at the time - and it was then that they were no longer fun.  They were just menacing.  We couldn't get through the field without coming out the other side looking like a war victim.  Your clothes would tear, bugs and dirt got in your eyes, and the quick trip to Smith's for a sample of Golden Spoon just wasn't worth it anymore.

Weeds. Thicker than your arm, taller than a 10-year-old, infested with spiders; they were terrible.  Yet at the top of each was this little yellow flower bloom.  As you drove by you'd think, "wow that's kinda pretty."  But in truth, they were disgusting.  Completely useless.  No crop yeild, no potential of play, no purpose whatsoever.

So was the little yellow flower on top worth the inconvenience of the weeds?  To the outside observer, yes.  But they only looked on from the outside.  To the 10-year-old, surrounded by them, those weeds were awful.  The spider bites, torn clothes, choked bike chains, and getting lost wasn't worth the pretty yellow flower.

Little and much has changed since then.  Developers dug out the field and built houses.  The field is no longer there.  The weeds never really left though; they've just shifted through the years.  How they manifest is different each season.  And each one is topped with it's own unique mask of a pretty yellow flower.

45

It's been 45 days since I've last visited this place.  And to be honest I don't really have the organization of mind to communicate one cohesive thought.  So today I have a different plan.  In no particular order, this is my life right now:

1) Thanksgiving was awesome.  Spent time with family but I missed my Opa.
2) My psych of family class seemed like a waste of money.
3) I am truly blessed by my incredible wife.  We've been married for 516 glorious days.
4) Brittney and I got a grown up tree this year that stood a grand total of 5 feet.
5) I got a fireplace DVD.
6) Finals took over my life this year in a way that was almost too much to bear.
7) One of the days during finals week consisted of 11 hours in the library writing a paper.
8) I much rather prefer the rocking type chairs than the 4-legged chairs.
9) I haven't opened my Bible on my own in a few weeks.
10) My friend turned 23 and we celebrated in style.
11) I got a two week break off of school.
12) During that break I actually got to read a book that wasn't assigned.
13) I used to have asthma in high school.  I found out yesterday that it's back.
14) Brittney and I gave banana bread to Pedro and I've been thinking about a lot him lately.
15) I've given up coffee and alcohol for the month of January.
16) I'm struggling with the "life schedule" that I think God has in store for us.
17) I got to visit with my Mom, John, and Kayla just before New Year's.
18) Over the visit my wife turned 21.
19) I went out and got drinks with all 6 of my parents and my wife.
20) The weather has been weird lately.  I hope it's cold for my birthday.
21) My left ear just started ringing.
22) The break ended just as suddenly and now I'm in a class called Christ and Contemporary Culture.
23) As of right now (a couple haven't posted) I am super proud of my grades from last semester.
24) Brittney and I are each taking an interterm class.  Each day of class is equal to a week and a half in the regular semester.
25) I'm almost 23 and I'm scared of what is going to happen after I graduate.
26) Brittney and I didn't take a single picture this Christmas.  Oops.
27) Brittney's computer is almost dead.  I think we'll get her a netbooks soon.
28) Dad, Doe, and Oma are taking all the kids to Solvang for a weekend for our Christmas present.  I'm super excited!
29) Brittney and I got to have breakfast together this week and lunch yesterday.  It's been some awesome "dates".
30) I was offered more hours at work over the break so I'm trying to cram in as many as I can while still balancing getting my homework done and spending time with my wife.
31) Brittney has been an amazing encouragement to me the past few weeks.
32) Mom and John gave me a digital cable converter as an "early birthday present", and I got to enjoy the Rose Parade in the morning.
33) My priorities have shifted in the past few weeks.  The clutter doesn't make or break my day.
34) My left ear stopped ringing.
35) Brittney and I found a used Nintendo64.  Our late night nap has turned into an epic MarioKart race.
36) I'm finding a nice relief in sitting here typing.
37) It's the small times of family Wii bowling or Apples to Apples that created the best memories of the holidays for me.
38) I miss coffee.  It's only been a few days.
39) The toes on my sandals are starting to wear through.
40) My goal is to continue to visit this chair once a week.
41) I've realized that I do appreciate Biola.  I know I'm cynical most of the time but I am pretty blessed.
42) I've started to have a new fascination with WWII.
43) I'm not a huge football fan but I'm excited about playoffs.  It's great times of sitting with my pops and enjoying some munchies.
44) The next few months will be full of job hunting.  If you have a lead or an offer, please let me know.
45) The past few weeks have had some incredible sunsets.  I've been thankful for the art show each evening by our amazing Creator.

This was a nice change.  I missed this outlet.

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.)