College Football Saturdays

One of the true consolations to losing summer is college football Saturdays. If you haven't the faintest interest in football, please stay with me here. Though attending baseball games was the sport of choice for the Frasers in the 70s & 80s, football has become the new favorite. As kids we took road trips with the sole purpose of going to state capitals and baseball games. We would also drive through the occasional college campus. Thanks to my folks' teaching profession and love of travel, I've been to 49 states and over 20 baseball stadiums.

But these days, my interest in football has far surpassed any other televised sport. If you so choose, you can wake up Saturday mornings and begin watching games at 9am and still be at the edge of your seat 14 hours later. Then you can watch highlight shows 'til dawn on Sunday.

For me, I love the sport and the geography:

The Sport - Believe it or not the sport surpasses just brutality. There's incredible athleticism and intelligence required. No other sport requires as much homework from its players - though they often elude their biology or French classes. The games rarely exceed 3 hours and if I record the games, I can watch one in 75 minutes.

The Geography - It's rather simple to transport yourself across country in a matter of seconds. On my 55 degree October Saturday I can mock those poor suckers in Minnesota wearing parkas and snow boots...and I can shoot darts at those lucky jerks in Arizona wearing tank tops. I can recall one of numerous road trips with my parents driving from state to state, touring this university or that, meeting farmers, urban dwellers, and residents of mid-size college towns. Dwelling on friendly rivalries between schools, I think of Johnny Carson's old joke from his Nebraska roots, "Why do the football fields in Iowa (or insert rival school/state here) have artificial turf football fields? So the cheerleaders won't graze after the games."

I am thankful to my parents for their gift of travel. (Of course it has come back to haunt them - their son has lived all over the western U.S. and their daughter is rarely even on this continent.) I am reminded of life's simple joys: like travel, like college football Saturdays, and like coffee (which I imbibe while reading the paper and watching the games). And watching those games reminds me of friends connected to those schools. Philippians 1:3 says, "I thank my God every time I remember you." So, I'm thankful to folks like...Jeff (who went to Illinois). My grandpa (who went to USC). My sister (who roots for UCLA and gets loads of grief from this USC fan practically every November). My old neighbor who bleeds Texas orange. My co-worker (who indoctrinates me on everything UW). The mom who teaches one of my Sunday school classes (who went to WSU and has to root for them). And any of you who has season tickets to the University of Hawaii - hint, hint.

Fingerpainting, Part II

Yes, you’re reading that correctly. And no, I haven’t had an official entry entitled “Fingerpainting.” This entry actually carries over from last week’s discussion, but it’s a better title than “More Poop Scooping.” Call it the theme of the month, but we had a new event in our house this week.

I knew it was coming. Just like the way our girls each cut their own hair. I had just had this conversation two days prior with a friend at work. And I had been warned by my cousin on Facebook just a week or two ago. Our two year old fingerpainted on his crib. Suffice it to say, he provided his own art medium.

I got wind of this event when I went to retrieve him from his afternoon nap. The proverbial cloud penetrated the crack below the bedroom door and I knew…“something stinks” – no intuition needed. The last thing I remember, I yelled out, “Man down.” There was full nudity: a big rear end sticking up in the air, clothes strewn, and only his blue socks remained on his feet. The reinforcements (Jana) sprinted upstairs. We rock-paper-scissored for bath vs. doody cleanup duty. I guess we both lost because…well we were both cleaning poop.

The crib was clean after ten minutes – I used 409 and steel wool…seriously! (Apparently the above offense occurred well before the nap began.) Soon we resumed our afternoon of fun watching football and eating salsa with good friends like nothing had happened. We swept the area faster than a Haz-Mat crew. Shouldn’t we be getting paid for this?

Had last week’s blog entry never occurred perhaps I wouldn’t have been as prepared for this. Had I never had to change a diaper I wouldn’t have been prepped for that. If I continue rewinding I gradually find myself in high school again. A world apart! It’s no wonder high school students roll their eyes when I tell them about the roller coaster of parenthood – they’re light years away in many senses. But this stage of life is irreplaceable. The reminiscent King Solomon tells us in Ecclesiastes that “…there is a time for everything…a time to weep and a time to laugh…a time to keep and a time to throw away…a time to be silent and a time to speak.” Well here’s my chance to speak. Though this may have been a time to throw away, it’s a time to keep. These are the moments that put life in perspective. No matter how gross this task, ‘tis a privilege to be where we are.

But, here’s hoping this is only a two part series!

The Super Duper Pooper Scoopers

Recently it has become a big deal in this house…er, yard, for the two younger children to help daddy…uh…scoop poop. Of course I don’t let them actually scoop. They’re actually Pooper Spotters. Here’s how it goes down:

Because it rains constantly and the lawn isn’t freezing like it does in winter, you have to mow the yard every week or you get a nasty little phone call from the HOA (read: people who choose to spend life not attacking global poverty, but driving around complaining about neighbors with too many weeds in their flower bed). So every week I head to the back yard for overgrowth management. But before the lawn mower is revved up, I go searching for land mines so they’re neither stepped in nor projectiled while cutting the grass.

The kids love to play in the back yard and are usually present while I’m landscaping. Within milliseconds of picking up the shovel, the two munchkins quickly stand at attention and volunteer their finding services. They zig zag, they search, they celebrate, they point. Daddy walks to the scene of the crime, scoops, and praises his colleagues’ efforts.

It’s bewildering. It’s comical. It’s a bit disturbing too. Can one really be enthused at discovering dog poop? ’Til now I didn’t think so. The thought had never crossed my mind. But there they are – week in and week out – my doo doo discoverers.

Kids are the best. They just keep you guessing, confused, and laughing. We’re told in the New Testament book of Matthew that Jesus openly welcomed kids and their zest for life. “The kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” May we all maintain their joy, wonder, innocence, and faith in all we do!

A Kid's Perspective

I was struck with a funny thought the other night. My four year old was eating at the table without the booster chair. Aside from being too cute it hit me that because her eyes can barely peer over the table, she can hardly see her own food. I have faint memories of those days so long ago.

You may be privy to this phenomenon also, but anytime we use the mixer for pancakes or brownies (basically the only cooking daddy does) all three little people in my house beg to sit on the counter or to stand on a chair in order to see. How strange a world they must live in! They can’t always see what they’re eating. Meanwhile these towering giants (mom and dad) are relied upon for sustenance and to provide them with nearly everything.

How many times this week have I wished the two year old to change his own diaper or for the seven year old to babysit her siblings so mom and dad can go out to dinner? While I bemoan any of the inconveniences I am reminded that I have great power within the house – that my kids trust me inherently. If all kids knew what normalcy was then there’d be a bunch of ‘em walking out of their abusive homes towards some kind of unemployment line where they could just sign up for more trustworthy parents.

You’ll love this. The four year old was discussing Jana’s job with her. Mom’s a Labor & Delivery nurse. Every time mom goes to work somebody goes home with a new baby. So our little one wanted to know why so many babies were coming out of mommy’s tummy. Perspective. We had never thought that Jana’s job could be interpreted as one in which a nurse were a surrogate mom at the rate of five babies per week. We laughed in utter disbelief and reached out to give her a hug. As we scratched our heads we were also reminded of the responsibility and lifetime of parenting ahead of us.

Proverbs 3:5 says “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” Just as our kids blindly trust us (at least so far), God calls us to trust Him. We don’t have his perspective. Remembering that God is our Father just as we are our kids’ parents can yield great trust, humility, and perspective. Just imagine all the things we say and do that make Him shake his head and laugh. He then responds as parents do, reaching out for a hug and taking great pride in us.

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?