Batter Up

For a kid who grew up playing outside virtually every day, about the only thing I knew outside of piano lessons were sports. I played in the front yard, back yard, anywhere I could: kickball, soccer, baseball, basketball, and football. Such great memories and so much of my childhood.


The most challenging? Baseball – hands down. Okay, so I never played organized football and I never attempted surfing ‘til later. But baseball was great. I vividly remember playing catch in the front yard with my dad (and sometimes mom) for hours. I miss the sound of the ball smacking the leather. I miss the smell of the grass, the dirt, and the leather glove. I miss big the silver coin that I got as a voucher to the snack bar after games – and the Cream Soda Crush I chose every time.

Though I was never any good, I loved it. Time has passed and my only baseball pursuits have been attending as many pro stadiums as possible. But now I’m a father and my daughter is eight. It’s finally time. For a kid who loves to dance and reads like it sustains life, she has begun to show more than a passing interest in playing softball.

So I signed her up and we’re now two practices into the season. She played soccer once and was not terribly intrigued. But she’s a bit older and this is way more complicated. She has to learn to throw, catch, field grounders, spot fly balls, run the bases, and hit. Her first practice brought all of these to my attention quickly. All of these skills were developed decades ago – though to minimal success. I forgot about all these. So she’s got a long road ahead of her. Maybe I should have started the human growth hormone earlier.

As I walked with her to the field that first day, a flood of memories washed through my mind. I even had butterflies in my stomach. To see if I could help, I brought my glove just in case. Clearly I wasn’t the only one with such plans. About nine other dads did the same exact thing. Were we all prepared to relive our childhood through our daughters or did we just want to play catch for the first time in 20 years?

I hope she loves it or absolutely hates it. I want her to enjoy it the way I did, but I don’t want her just doing it the next ten years to fill up her weekends. I hope she excels for her own self-esteem or she accepts her God-given abilities for what they are – she’s not getting a head start athletically from her parents. I hope she takes more pride in her times of serving the homeless than in her ability to hit the ball. But please, God, just one simple request: let her hit the snot out of that ball every now and then!

The Window of Cheer

You’ve gotta see my front window. We’ve been in this cool 1970s “split level” for three months now. Of its many funky features is the giant trapezoid shaped window in our living room. Pedestrians, neighbors, and drivers can’t miss the enormous glass panes across the top level of our home. When the living room is illuminated at night you can peer into our world. Along with the trapezoid shaped garage doors, these windows negate the need for us to pass out our address. When we give directions, we simply give the street number and a “look for the trapezoids…” It’s a can’t miss.

Though we frequently question the architect’s grey matter (read: “What were you thinking?”), the trapezoid window has quickly become meaningful. Without fail, if a young child in our house is awake and someone is heard starting up a car outside or pulling into the driveway, two little bodies race for the window to greet or send-off parents or visitors.

There is joy. No – elation is more like it. What is it about that window? Is it a window to the outside world, metaphorically speaking? (Okay, that was corny.) Why does a child seemingly consumed with his Buzz Lightyear doll just moments ago, drop everything to see faces outside that window?

But it has become not just their joy. It is now my joy. To them, I am a rock star! Not always of course. I’m still one of the two disciplinarians in the house. But they race across the wood floor (pitter-patter) to say hi. They hug with all their might. And of course, they race to the window.

In just a few years those faces won’t be glued to that window. They’ll have other things more stimulating to consume them. But I’m gonna take it and drink it in for now. Just this morning one was in diapers and the other in her favorite squirrel outfit. Both with hair reaching to the sky indicating a good night of sleep. They’re the same height. Their little bodies crowded next to each other hoping against all hope that I would see them as I pulled out of the driveway. Yearning to make eye contact, acknowledge them, and wave. When our eyes met they jumped up and down and waved their arms with unbridled enthusiasm. Had I replicated their exuberance, I would’ve pulled a shoulder muscle.

Thank you, God, for little kids! Give me their energy, joy, passion, and faith. And help me to hold on to these days forever.

Drywall Spirituality

The Home Improvement Continues.  Week 12:  texturing walls.  This one I've postponed for a while.  Much easier to paint & tear down walls you know?  But one bedroom is lagging way behind the others - apparently 8 year old girls don't like the rustic "chic-ness" of untextured sheetrock.  Go figure!

So we borrowed a hopper/texture gun thingy (don't know the proper term) and textured about two rooms.  It took a few tries to master - not to mention the two hours I spent scraping one wall because the texture was so gloppy and oversized we were either in grave error or setting a new trend.

The texture provides a great metaphor.  You think painting a room makes a mess?  This stuff gets everywhere!  It's sticky and attaches to shoes, doorknobs, hair, floors, pets - whatever is in the way. 

We texture because we want to make beautful what seems bland on the inside - if not downright ugly.  In the process to cover up what we don't want seen, we expose that we don't have it all together.  We make messes, we scrape off, we try to make pretty.

If you come look at my texturing, the blemishes are obvious - nothing to hide here.  But I'm okay with that.  I'm Scottish and proud not to have spent over $16 to texture two rooms!  And I've been humbled enough in life to know that God knows what my drywall looks like.

Then just as each texturing pattern (is it called orange peel?) displayed is unique (think snowflakes or fingerprints), I know that mine is beautiful in God's eyes.  It isn't like anyone else/s and it is full of character - what others may call blemishes.  But God can use that texturing pattern even though it's not perfect.  Thank you God for working through my imperfections! 

Now I can't wait til it's dry so I can paint.  I paint way better than I texture.

The Mini Vacation

Whaddya do when you foresee upcoming vacation time? Well I guess that depends on your stage of life. If you’re a poor, starving college student you jump in your $300 car and crash at someone’s house for the week. If you’re retired you hop in the motor home to visit the grandkids and spoil them rotten. If you’re a parent of teenagers you probably want to go far away, but you probably don’t trust them enough to leave ‘em at the house. If you’re a parent with young kids, like me, you consider a trip to Disneyland.

Which we did for a few seconds, then remembered our new mortgage and endless projects so we took a mini vacation: 2 days, 1 night. 30 hours to be precise. We planned this one month’s ago when the weather headed south. Yes. A trip to Great Wolf Lodge. (Or as our five year old pronounces it: “Graydulf Lodge.”) A beacon of sunshine in the midst of our gray, damp winter. For those of you unfamiliar with GWL, it’s a hotel featuring an indoor waterpark. There are about ten across the country – ours is about 2 hours away. Great customer service, good food, a wee bit spendy, but very fun.

Ahhh! The blast of hot, humid air as we entered the giant, glass front doors was like taking your first bite of cheesecake after an arduous month of dieting. A bit shocking to the system, yet oh so sweet and familiar. In a millisecond I remembered what Texas’ weather is like. The contrast was even more significant since we’ve had a few weeks of weather in the 30s and even more snow.

As kids your time at waterparks is filled with running from slide to slide, fabricating your tales of epic rides, and slowly tiring yourself as the hot sun slowly vacuums away your energy. Your only worries are that sunburn and long lines preventing you from riding the Maui Zowie less than 16 times. Fast forward a few years and your days at the waterpark (and vacations in general) completely change. Success is: not throwing up in the water, not losing your children, swimmy diapers that hold everything in, keeping your own bathing suit on despite little ones who yank on them to get your attention, and only having to console one bawling child at a time. Naps are lost; stimuli are everywhere; other families’ kids are squirting you in the face with water guns while you’re juggling towels, goggles, clothes, and wet wipes.

Maybe it’s taken me a while to accept, but…I accept. Jana and I are waterpark junkies. We love those slides, warm water, sunshine, not to mention waffle cones with mint chip ice cream. But going to a waterpark is no picnic anymore. Two sets of eyes have to watch three bobbing and weaving bodies. We circle like vultures, ready to intervene at any moment. I think we are prepared for air traffic control because of these experiences. But we wouldn’t trade it. In fact this was a self-inflicted experience. Our personal exhaustion was worth it. We got to watch our kids have a blast.

The theology of a waterpark? God delights in our delight. “Taste and see that the Lord is good!” says Psalm 34. Raising us is no picnic for him either, but He loves us so much that he gives us a lifetime filled with many waterpark experiences. If you have the perspective of God as a killjoy looking to ruin your day with parking tickets and flat tires, think again. All these cool things (beaches, friendships, babies, sunsets) are His. Ask Him what He’s got in store for you.

Wisdom

Listen, my son to your father’s instruction and do not forsake your mother’s teaching. They will be a garland to grace your head and a chain to adorn your neck. – Proverbs 1:8


Where do you go when your in trouble? Uh, not the bail bonds kind; the quandary type of trouble. The correct answer would be to drop to your knees, pray for wisdom, help, and peace. Step two – do your best to recall anytime you faced the same dilemma in the past and do the opposite in case you blew it the first time. Finally, seek out wisdom.

I’d love to say this is what I always do, but often one or more of these steps are skipped and I enter the panic phase. This includes sleepless nights and an exorbitant amount of doomsday scenarios being crafted in my mind. This clearly contradicts Jesus’ words, “Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”

This year I have been guided/mentored/advised – (how about enwisened?) by about five men and women. They have been a Godsend – literally. I believe God has put them in place to counsel me, keep me sharp, reexamine my motives, and offer new ideas. It’s a different role than my wife and parents, all of whom ooze wisdom. If my family members were my teammates on a basketball team, these mentors are like my own personal coaching staff.
When I’ve faced a seeming impasse at work or in life, their input has been invaluable. I consider myself a pretty smart guy, but perhaps my greatest morsel of knowledge is that I’m not smart enough to get by on my own. There are so many people smarter and wiser than me. (Some of you may be saying, “No kidding. You’re about the dumbest guy I know.”) Some of them live locally and some of them far away. Fortunately the interweb and telephones can erase that distance.

If I were to characterize these mentors, they are about 10-20 years older than me. They are people of faith, attempting to make Jesus the center of their lives. They understand my role as pastor/parent/spouse. They listen well. They offer me lots of grace. They speak truth into my life.

My advice to you? Seek out wisdom. Read Scripture, pray often, and find people who have been in your shoes. We’re not designed to handle life on our own. Thank you, mentors and friends.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some praying to do and a few long distance phone calls to make.

At the moment my brain is like the hourglass on my computer screen. It’s taking a long time to process the week gone by. I woke up at 8am today, then again at 2pm. A long sleepless week and a disagreeable Saturday diet meant I spent most of Superbowl Sunday and the wee hours of Monday shifting every five minutes, hoping to find the right bodily position to sleep in to appease my stomach. I’m confident that I’m coming out of my stupor, but wouldn’t be surprised if I typed the words “blah, blah, blah” 200 times.


I think there’s a certain aptness to last night’s fitfulness. It mirrored the six days I spent in Chicago at the ECC’s Midwinter conference. The majority of that time I spent inside a hotel catching up to speed on Covenant theology and dealing with many present realities I face at work. It was a lot to process. Plus I’m not used to sitting at a table eight hours a day in a room without windows.

The rest of the week was spent meeting new colleagues and catching up with others I’ve met in the past few years. A few times I was adventurous enough to brave the elements and find coffee, Thai food, and the best Barbecue I’d ever tasted. (10 is not a temperature! That’s not weather!) But the most pivotal event of the week was catching up with two old friends not even part of the conference. They live in Chicago and after 14 years I got to see them.

Kirk was my faithful mentor, choir director, handbell choir director, and co-participant in the 1988 Marching Handbell Choir at the Rose Parade. His is a spirit of joy, of constant laughter, and humility. It was the first time I had seen him since his wife, Louise, passed away from cancer. His spirit still seemed the same despite losing his best friend of so many years. I ached inside for someone who doesn’t deserve this.

I also babysat Kirk & Louise’s three kids for a couple of years. Three great kids: Rachel, Meagan, Jonathan. They’re all grown up now. To my surprise Kirk said I was a godsend to them as a babysitter. (I’ve had a few of those babysitters in my life too.) But what truly sets the bar high is the gif that Rachel has been to him. When Louise got sick four years ago, Rachel quit her job, left her Virginia home, and moved to be with her parents. Now she is Kirk’s encourager and frequent companion on weekends and snow days. “Dad, I tried to call you to give you directions,” she said in the car. “I never heard the phone; let me check. Oops, it wasn’t turned on.” She shook her head with a smile like many do when technologies seem to confound their parents.

The short three hours we had together was enough to remember times gone by. Of being a teenager looking for meaning. Of being thankful for people that gave it to you. It was tough to walk out the car door and know I wouldn’t be in the neighborhood to stop by and encourage my friends. To in some way reciprocate the innumerable ways that family cared for me. But this family I do hold dear to my heart and will never be too far away to pray for.

Craig's List

What a different world we live in than when we were youngsters. Heck, even the last five years has changed things. Smart phones with GPS, Facebook, and Amazon have all changed our lives. As a non-shopper I love shopping from the comfort of my PC. No malls. No malls. And did I mention no malls?


Craig’s List has proven to be quite a time saver – and this week a medium for helping people. You may be unimpressed at my revelation, but there are real people selling those items! A few months back I bought a car via Craig’s List. As I blogged, the gentleman was in a world of hurt and needed the cash far more than the car.

This week I gave away a few items. Don’t pat me on the back just yet. Item #1: empty cardboard boxes – about 100 of them. It cleared my garage and I wasn’t forced to stuff them in the recycling bin the next 13 weeks, so it helped me out.

When I unloaded the boxes I discovered the story of a woman who was moving out of state in conjunction with her parents. A new job would provide better income, but would also yield a loss of community. The woman’s mother has cancer. A cancer for which little can be done save multiple tumor removal surgeries. I met “mom” and asked about her potential for a support network. Her church here promises to stay in touch, but there was some anxiety about the big move. So I got to pray with her.
Feeling very generous (because we’re studying generosity at church this month), I chose to give away item #2: a couch. I guess I could have sold it for a few bucks, but it had been a gift so I felt a wee bit guilty following that route. Anyhoo, the first person to respond to the couch said he’d be by in the morning. I grumbled when he didn’t show up on time and thought I’d wasted 45 minutes. But he showed up, revealing that it had been a two hour drive to get to my house!

He must really need this couch. He proceeded to share that the couch was for he and his wife. They have five kids and they just gave most of their furniture for his mother who’s in a bad place (physically, not geographically). His truck was humble – maybe worth $300. He was missing a few teeth and was in physical pain from a work related injury.

I quickly sized up that he hadn’t been as wise as me in high school. Probably didn’t study as hard and he probably reaped what he sowed. Within milliseconds I was reminded of Pastor Sharon’s sermon yesterday. I don’t deserve what I have. It’s all a gift! Thank God for my parents. Thank God that I haven’t had any life-altering disabilities. In that moment I also remembered her challenge to be content. I do this every once in a while when I meet people worse off than me. The other 23 hours a day I complain about everything under the sun.

As you strive to be content and thankful, I urge you to look for the lonely, ignored, and hurting in your everyday life. As I’m learning, you may have to peel an extra layer to find the story, but it’s there! Be the ministers to those online, in coffee houses, and to your next door neighbors.