Remembering Where I Put...

I've finally gotten to the point where I unashamedly rely on my phone to replace brain cells. If it doesn't get entered on the digital daytimer, it probably isn't going to happen. My memory isn't fantastic. I don't have one of those...um...er...oh yeah, photographic memories. Were I to blame my age for this wouldn't be fair. Sometimes I blame it on my kids. ("Hey, who threw my wallet in the trash can again?") I've never had a great memory. But why the heck does it work so well in other categories?

Case in point: This morning I got a phone call reminding me that I had missed an important meeting. I've kicked myself all day for it. I've been looking forward to this meeting. A family at my church wants to dedicate their baby boy. It was even going to be held at one of my favorite coffee houses! So it definitely wasn't a lack of motivation that caused a cerebral malfunction. In fact, I just blamed myself for not entering it on the calendar on my phone because I know from past experience that I'm missing portions of that cranial daytimer.

So it would seem that my memory is poor. But then last night I get a text from my Dad who's driving across country. He and my mom were eating at a diner in Montana across the street from a prison. He asked if I remembered that place. It didn't even take a split second. We sat in a booth next to a window looking across at a prison wall. This occurred on a road trip in the 80s!

Why can I remember that while at the same time spend 45 minutes looking for my sunglasses which are on top of my head? When I combine that with the fact that my children recall events from months and years gone by, I begin to wonder...Hey, look. It's raining outside. Now where was I? Oh yeah. My 2 year old went for a walk with Jana the other day and pointed out the precise location on the trail where she had dropped her keys - 6 months ago!

I am so hungry right now. I've only had coffee and a bagel today and it's already...ok. Focus. Our bodies and our minds are a gift. This morning I read from 1st Corinthians 3 that our bodies are a temple. We are fearfully and wonderfully made. My sometimes-faltering memory is a simple reminder of sin. That everything in this world doesn't operate entirely the way it's supposed to. I guess I could blame the devil that I forgot my appointment this morning, but that wouldn't be entirely theologically correct and it would take away any responsibility on my part.

So what a gift our minds are to us. The God of the universe has made us in His image, which includes the mind. Thank you, God, for those great memories - like eating dinner at that cafe in the middle of Montana with my Dad. And I guess I could also say thanks for painful memories which remind me how good You are and that warn me of potential harm.

Oh shoot! I forgot to pick up my 2nd grader from school. Gotta go...

Football and Church

It was a crazy Sunday. Two kickoffs: NFL & Sunday School 2010-2011. For PLCC - new curriculum, new format, new teachers. For the Seahawks - new coach, new roster. After the first kickoff I was granted the opporutnity to watch the other kickoff. My boy Pete Carroll, USC coach and program savior, decided to join me in Seattle. I got to watch his first game....LIVE!

This was my first Pro game. I've been to USC games. I've been to a UW game. But this was the first Seahawk & NFL experience. Thanks to Jeff's 40th birthday and a flight from So Cal, I was invited to watch the hometown team in person. For those of you unfamiliar with Qwest Field, it's a fairly new football stadium - outdoors, but largely shielded from the rain - designed with incredible acoustics. So incredible that the Seahawks' fans (dubbed "the 12th Man") have considerable influence on the game. It's the loudest outdoor stadium in football. The screams of "defense" cause tremendous difficulty for the opposing team's communication.

It was a wild experience. And as an amateur theologian, it was a thought provoking experience. Aside from the 31-6 pummeling by the Seahawks, I witnessed incredible intensity by people willing to dress up for their team. They paint their faces. They consume great quantities of alcohol. They even cheer in the parking lot 45 minutes after the game.

Aside from the lewd behavior, count me in. (I couldn't believe that guy passed out in the second quarter in his seat.) So to those of us who consider ourselves followers of Christ, how come we aren't as enthusiastic during our worship gatherings? Alright, to my pentecostal friends, this may not be relevant. But to the rest of us, and I am pointing the finger at myself, why does our faith too often become reduced to listen to someone preach, an intellectual nod of agreement once in a while, and a quick escape to a coffee house right after?

Should we be painting our faces each Sunday? Why don't we scream "Defense" when Satan is attacking our friends? Why don't we jump up and down after a great testimony?

Here's hoping that the Seahawks AND the Church have a great 2010 season!

Nothing Like the Ocean

For me there's nothing like the ocean. Simplistically it's my happy place. Spiritually it's more impressive than a centuries-old cathedral. And I've seen some oldies!

On a recent vacation (one without cathedrals), we spent four days at the ocean. Because it's summer it was warm enough to swim in with relatively few complaints from the kids. Time seemingly slowed as I watched my three kids really enjoy the ocean. They played in the sand, buried their legs, ran from the waves, and jumped in the whitewash. Though he was shaking visibly, Elias didn't want to go ashore when we bobbed up and down in the waves.

The ocean is free entertainment - apart from the costly road trip to get there. There is endless delight, screaming, and swimsuit sagging. (Note to self - purchase new trunks at Costco with better drawstring.) Each day I had a few moments of alone time and floated on the water just beyond the shorebreak. There's something mystical about the consistency of the swells. Something intoxicating about the salt water smell. Something spiritual about the power of the waves while lonely me is tossed to and fro just beyond the shorebreak.

I have learned to take a snapshot of those moments in my mind. To breathe deeply and hold on to God's simple gifts. With this trip behind me I am currently savoring more than one Double-Double, a lousy round of golf with a good friend, beautiful roadside scenery, watching my kids play in the sand, and floating on the water. As inconsistent as life is, who knows if it'll ever happen again. Or maybe next week?

The Excruciating Highs and Lows of...buying a house?

You've been there. You get it. The emotional roller coaster of buying a house. Was it this difficult to choose a college or to find a spouse?

It's very difficult to explain. My kids are healthy and so are we, so why were we so down when we were outbid for 30 year old house on a busy street?

Historically it's rare for a despised Californian (an oxymoron to many) to move out of state and purchase real estate and end up with less of a house. Though billions of people willingly moved to CA for decades, driving up the cost of living, the Californians did it too and received a backlash. The tradeoff in moving from Beverly Hills to Little Rock, let's say, is exchanging year-round 70 degree weather for humidity and cheap real estate. "I can buy how much with my money? WOW! The beach is overrated anyway."

When we moved to Texas last year we salivated at the lower cost of housing. But times have changed and most Americans are just happy to have a job. When we arrived in our beautiful new home, we knew that the price of living in a "National Park" has its downside - housing prices.

So last week we made an offer on a house we thought was perfect: great floorplan, 4 bedrooms, big backyard, and relatively affordable. Sadly we were outbid. With seemingly only a few bucks for a down payment, we grieved the reality of our last five years of money management. Though we may not have changed a thing if time travel were possible, we almost ache at how much life costs. Where did that investment of California real estate go?

As my good friend, Brian, told me yesterday - "People are grieving the loss of their money." It's very true. It's difficult to have perspective - but necessary. My head says "grow up" - my heart says "it's not fair." If I can't overcome it and I obsess about "poor me" - then that's sin. If I can say "oh well" and know that more stuff doesn't make me happy, then I've learned the lesson of Solomon. He was the richest human in history. Early on he cared more about obedience to God. Later, he obsessed about his stuff and became the most miserable human on the planet.

If my disappointment ends up in unending grief, then maybe God needs to take away our cars, t-shirts, and ipods too. God, help me to be joyful with you alone.

God Loves the Hacker

Do you get jealous watching someone ridiculously talented at work? I had the chance yesterday to watch my cousin’s son, Scott, play a round of golf. He plays for Arizona State University and happened to be playing a tournament near Tacoma. My experience was unbelievable.

I’d much rather play than watch golf, but this was a unique opportunity. Some of the country’s top amateur golfers were in town for this tourney. It wasn’t much advertised and it’s a warmup to the upcoming U.S. Amateur Open in August. So I got to walk with three of the players almost like a caddy. I kept my distance to let them concentrate, but Scott was kind enough to talk with his cousin-uncle watchamacallit.

As a lifetime mediocre, yet passionate golfer I was able to watch these three punks (okay, nice young men – just jealous again) play spectacular golf. Of course it’s all relative. Would you be ticked off shooting a 78? Would you be satisfied with a 70? Heck, if I can just get out to play once a month and keep it to double digits I’d be happy.

Shot after shot I gasped and groaned out loud (not too loud of course – it is golf) at their remarkable skill. 200 yards to the pin? 10 feet away. 125 yards to the pin? 3 feet away. 250-275 yard drives every time. Move the ball left at will? Done. How about to the right? Done. Difficult shots from the bunker? No problem. 30 foot putts? Drained.

There’s a point when you stop castigating yourself and just tip your cap and applaud. Wow! It’s pretty sweet to watch people at the top of their game. Be it golf, singing, preaching, cooking, or whatever. To put a theological spin on it, it’s a darn good thing God doesn’t grade on a curve – only the top X% earning his favor. If God only loved the top golfers – no way in the world I’d make it. Heck, even these guys – as amazing as they are – aren’t even necessarily the world’s top players. There’s a couple of teenagers already playing on the Pro Tour.

We have a God who loves the underdog as much as the professional. And, He doesn’t just tolerate us either. He’s in love with us. We all have the highest value in his eyes. God loves Scott passionately. God loves pro golfers passionately. And even though I’m a danger to the world any time I pull out a 3 iron, God love me and all other hackers passionately.

Goodbye Old House

It's hard to fathom, but we are about to say goodbye to our old house. It sold and now we're beginning the escrow process. I remember when we bought it 11 years ago. The family we bought it from told us we'd bring home our babies into that house - we did. Child #1 and child #3 knew it as their first home. We recall walking through the doors 30 minutes after leaving the hospital thinking, "Now what do we do?" After a five month wait we finally brought our third child home. A place he'd never known before - welcome home, orphaned one.

We went trick-or-treating in that neighborhood. Teenagers tp’d the house and lots of them hung out with us for pizza parties and movie nights. We spent countless hours there with great neighbors. We played basketball with the neighbor kids who too quickly grew up. We celebrated the 4th of July with barbecues and legal fireworks – at least that’s what Geoff said.

We fixed up that house from head to toe: laminate flooring, interior paint, carpet, baby rooms, a “Dora” room, new faucets, and a porch swing. And of course the masterpiece – the back patio: a shade structure and gorgeous slate tile thanks to Dad and Uncle Ed. We even had those misters to cool us down in the hot summers while we ate Jana’s famous tri-tip and ribs.

There were many Christmases we put up lights there and the one when we came home to find lights already up. Finally there were the two times we moved away. The first, never knowing if we were coming back. The second, knowing we wouldn’t.

There are people who live in the same home most of their lives. I envy them somewhat. They won’t have stories of adventure in exotic suburbs like me, but they can trace the height of their kids from birth on the kitchen’s door jamb. Soon we’ll be off, spending a small fortune on an unfamiliar house in our new town to accommodate our growing family. I hope the memories are just as good. Goodbye, old house.

Dining Disaster

A Memorial Day to remember - for the wrong reasons. You've probably had one of these. One of my first posts last year relayed a shopping disaster at Costco.

Jana had to work last night so I decided to drive the kids in to Seattle - about 35 minutes away. The website told me, "The best Chicago-style pizza in Seattle." How could I turn that down?

After the long drive, we found a parking space (a miracle in itself) and walked across to pizza perfection. What happened next? You guessed it - CLOSED ON MONDAYS. Of Course it was. So we walked a couple of blocks and found a cool looking Greek restaurant. Mmmmmmmm. The three little people and I were seated at the centrally located table with about 30 other people within food-throwing distance. So we sat and I hoped for the best. You know when a restaurant is deadly silent that you can be in trouble. Even at conversational levels, we're at 50-60 decibels. We ordered quickly and the water arrived in an unbreakable coffee cup. Disaster avoided so far. Soon, though, menus were being thrown to the ground - just because they could be. Seven or eight near drink dropping episodes were thwarted - I felt on top of my defensive game. But then it happened.

Dad got his food first. Soup. Kids hardly even like soup. But the near two year old, expressing his full "two-ness," wanted it. I kindly offered a bite with his own fork. Scream. I put the fork down enabling him to be in control by putting it in his own mouth. Scream. I put a few scoops on his own plate. Scream. Nothing short of handing over my soup cup with my spoon would satisfy. The screming continued. I put my hand over his mouth to muffle the exhaling yells. Lifting at the appropriate time for oxygen intake.

I tried the distraction move: walking to another part of the resaurant. Scream. Hit. Actually snotty, drooling face screams. My hand was moistly filled with said mucus, yet I still covered the screams. We returned to the table. The rest of our food arrived. The two year old got his own plate. Scream. Hit. At this point I had worked up a good sweat. We had walked quite a bit and I was wearing a sweatshirt. The restaurant was not greatly ventilated, but why would you need an infusion of cold air in Seattle?

I admitted defeat...at least to my idea of dining out without a second adult to help. I asked for our freshly presented food to go. Scream. Our waitress was awesome. She had helped the girls cut their food when I was walking with the toddler. She later rushed from the kitchen with "to go" containers and we were whisked out of the restaurant quickly. End screams. The two older sibling were great as well. They were patient, obedient, and flexible.

As we walked towards the car. He was silent. And I was deflated. I only had 3 sips of my $2.50 diet coke. I hadn't been able to sit and enjoy a cool ethnic hangout in a cool urban neighborhood. My almost two year old seemed momentarily possessed and quickly returned to normal. Within seconds of getting strapped into the car seat he was chirping for joy, laughing at his sisters, enjoying the ride back home. I did the silent parent thing for about 20 minutes. The "what the heck just happened" introspection. I consoled myself with a $1.00 McDonald's drive-thru (of course) diet coke and reminded myself - it's just a phase. And promised myself never to go to a restaurant with my children until 2025!