Will: Do you play piano?
Skyler: Yes
Will: Well, when you look at the keys, what do you see?
Skyler: chopstix
Will: When Beethoven looked at the keys, he saw music, it just made sense to him. I probably can’t hit a baseball past 2nd base, can’t play music at all, and wouldn’t be able to fly an airplane, but when I look at math, it just makes sense. It just works in my head.

For the past 3-4 days, and largely for a good bit of time before that, I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out how to develop my first iPhone application. I’m intrigued by the revenue model of a $1 application that’s downloaded a bunch of times, but more than that I think I’ve been hoping for a stroke of genius that will fill in the holes of what I know that I’m not gifted at. Instead of building blocks on what I am gifted at, I’ve been trying to fill in holes on things I’m not gifted at.

Listening to Will’s explanation of how math works for him struck me as prophetic. Because he’s spent the large majority of his life running from what he’s good at … I’m not sure I’m any different. I’ve since quit the development programs running on my Mac, and have urged myself to pursue that which I do understand, and do see. Otherwise, I’ll end up a bitter old man for pissing away my talent at what I’m great at.

Free Mini Ice Cream cups at any restaurant (I LOVE this).

10 Ways to make Friends (A question I’ve pondered since moving back to TN)

When things are not well, we see our anger and darkness in ways that luxury, spending, and money could once cover pretty well. While I’m not happy about what’s happening with the state of our government and the declining job/stock/bank/mortgage/etc market, I can’t help but notice that conversations I’m having with people seem to be more open and honest about fears, anger, and helplessness. Perhaps that’s my own growth and awareness of my fragility, but I think the loss of money, control, houses, stocks, etc, is causing people to think differently.

The problem is, with the government swooping in and saving people, we’ll be back in this mess again in 20 years … if not sooner. We’re not teaching corporations fiscal responsibility, we’re not teaching people that when you run out of money you don’t ask for more, you go to work. Our (mine included) work ethic as a nation is painfully lacking.

When you prune a tree/bush, you don’t try to put the branches back on after you’ve cut them off. You throw them away, let the bush breathe and in the springtime, it’ll grow and flourish way more than if you didn’t cut the limbs/branches. Without pain, there is little gain.

Stop by and say hi sometime … in person or digitally

Since Molly’s departure from our family, lots of life has happened. I’ve packed my family up and moved 3,000 miles from Seattle to Nashville, TN; yet the memory of Molly has remained ever present in my life. For the members our family, Molly was more than just a grand daughter, niece, cousin, or daughter: She was our hopes, dreams, desires, longings, and love. Molly was and is Christ.

For me, Molly was the taste of joy amidst the pain of suffering. She brought with her to my world the language of grief and sorrow that is so powerful I want to be rid of it. I cannot see a balloon, cemetery, sunset, or her name without being faced with the joy of grief.

I’m stalling. Fighting. Fighting to remain engaged in the struggle of my heart. Fighting to remember Molly. To remember her life, her breath, and her face. But I don’t want to remember, because remembering is too hard. Remembering puts me face to face with death, loss, pain. For me, remembering Molly calls me to remember Tennis, sports, running, and jumping. Molly saved me from my distaste for memory. Molly calls me to remember my loss and remember that death does not win. She was and is Christ to me.

My iTunes library contains a song that I fear, and as such if I know it’s about to play I will press pause or stop to ensure that I am free of it’s memory. It’s the song Rebecca, my sister, played for Molly in the hospital room and then later at her memorial service. But sometimes I let it play, knowing that the tears that will fall from my face are well. The tears are good, yet I fight them with all I can because they hurt. They leave me alone, waiting for Jesus to come and that means I have to face the loss of Molly, the loss of my legs, the loss of me. I am fighting to struggle.

As I said 5 months ago, Molly accomplished more in 7 days than most will in 77 years. And the amazing thing is that she is still present, still calling me to the engagement of life and death together. Thank you Jesus for Molly, thank you Rebecca and Jake, and thank you Molly.

 
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See also: Best Game Ever

There is no doubt that in revealing the fundamental fragility of the human condition, the disabled person becomes an expression of the tragedy of pain. In this world of ours that approves hedonism as is charmed by ephemeral and deceptive beauty, the difficulties of the disabled are often perceived as a shame or provocation are their problem as burdens to be removed or resolved as quickly as possible. Disabled people are instead icons of the crucified Son. They reveal the mysterious beauty of the One who emptied himself obedient unto death. Show they us over and above all appearances that they ultimate foundation of human existence is Jesus Christ.  – John Paul II

Kudos Matt