Have you ever wondered what it might feel like to be a mosquito? Probably not, and if you have perhaps you should seek immediate psychiatric help. For the moment though, we’ll pretend its okay to consider becoming a small, annoying pest. The good news about a mosquito is that they belong to a very large family. Cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters are in abundance, although they come and go rather quickly. Your family name is Culcidae, and there are 3,500 different species in your family. We all know people who can’t go anywhere without meeting a friend (and it’s annoying); mosquitoes are like that.

As an adult mosquito your life span is about two weeks. As a male, you spend your short life in search of food (mostly nectar) and girls. Your pick up technique is pretty lame; you swarm with other guys in someone’s backyard and wait for a girl mosquito to introduce herself.  If you are a girl mosquito, each morning and evening you carefully clean your six legs, comb out your pair of wings, and go in search of a nice juicy arm or leg to bite, and make a blood withdrawal . Then you go find that swarm of guys and, and with little discrimination, mate.

As a mosquito, you will spend your entire life as an annoying pest, who may joyfully give any one of a hundred terrible diseases to the unsuspecting recipient of your unwanted, blood sucking bite. Everyone hates you. Governments spend billions waging war against you. Many companies exist only to devise ways to poison you, your family, and friends. Just to rub salt into your sad wound of a life, you are basically ugly too. So, is there anything of value that we can learn from this 79 million year old wrecker of a backyard bar-b-que?

Yes, I believe so.

Every so often we have a mosquito kind of day. We are treated like an annoying pest by someone who is supposed to love us, friends swat us away rather than welcoming us in, we’re not invited to lunch, and it appears by the way people treat us that we are carrying a communicable disease. All of us have had that kind of day, or week. Often, there is not any reason for it happening, at least nothing we can identify – we are just not on anybody’s list today. All of the invitations were sent before thoughts turned to you or me. Feeling like you are not wanted hurts.

The good news is that 99% of the time, on a Mosquito Day perception is not reality. Although we feel as if we are not wanted or loved by the friends and family whose job it is to do so, the feeling is not real. They do want and love you; they just forgot to say so today. It was a mistake, and if they could do it over, your phone would be ringing right now.

So, the value of understanding the life of a mosquito is in remembering to phone your friend, send an email, return their call or drive to their home just to say hello.  Remember to reach out to those who need your touch.

Today might be a Mosquito Day for someone that you love, and face it; no one wants to be a mosquito.

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My bride shifted her leg, just a little, but enough so that my foot no longer touched hers.  That was enough to bring me from a deep slumber into a semi-conscious state where dreams appear real, and reality flickers like a candle on a dark night.  We were spooning, cuddled together under clean sheets and a down comforter, perfectly matched as two spoons in drawer.  She was warm, radiating a soft fire that kept the winter chill from invading our bed.  She says that I am like a heater, always good to keep the bed warm, but it is she who brings warmth.  My knees touch the inside of her thighs, and my left hand rests gently on her hip.  I feel her body rise with every breath, and I hear the soft melody of air caressing her lips.  But my foot is no longer in contact with hers and that causes a ripple in my happiness, so without my asking or prompting, my left foot moves the two inches needed to find her.  And then, having accomplished its goal my foot can be at peace again.  

In that short moment that I am awake in my bed I realize that I fear nothing.  Even though I am a man, and protecting my family is engrained in my being as a responsibility beyond all others, I feel insulated from all that is wrong.  My sense of security and belonging is intense; nothing could bring harm to our lives.  No storm could breach our walls, or flood reach our door.  I am floating in perfection with my wife.  We are one breath, one heartbeat, one touch; a stronger love cannot be found. Then, a moment later I am asleep, and my rest is deep; my peace complete.

It occurs to me that place in between sleeping and cuddling, is what love and marriage are meant to be.   My wife and I are linked so closely in mind and person that separation is not possible, what we have together cannot be undone by space or time.  If we are separated by a mile or a continent, then we are together in our minds, and when we are near enough to touch each other – we will; our combine hearts will have it no other way.  So it is no surprise that when we sleep, we will unconsciously search for, and find each other, because “What God has joined, no man can ever break apart.” 

If you are experiencing what we have, hold on to it with the same intensity as your lungs quest for air.  Nourish it, feed it; make  the growth of that initial spark between you and your spouse the second most important relationship that you hold.  Setting the right priorities in life will keep your dreams sweet.

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Even though I wore denim pants, the sharp grains of sand bit through to my knees like so many small razors, so that the intense heat of the desert floor was able to freely burn my skin in a hundred tiny sparks.  I crawled with my toes lifted off the sand as best I could, because the heat was so intense in the midafternoon they burned with only a momentary touch.  My calves cramped almost hourly, forcing me to stretch and then I touched the desert – inflicting another burn atop a previous wound.  My hands were not so lucky, yet in a way they were fortunate.  One hand was always in contact with the sand, so they burned red; but it didn’t take long for my palms to callus and scar, so I couldn’t feel the destruction happening, I just knew that it was. 

I crawled through the dust and heat, occasionally bumping into a larger stone; the blinding light of the day kept me from seeing hazards until it was too late.  Yet, I continued to crawl, in an unceasing search for a trail, or path; anything that might lead me through this desert and to the other side.  My neck was burned, and its muscles throbbed from trying to hold my head up.  I could have walked if I had shoes, but I had none and I couldn’t remember where they might be.  I sat for a moment to rest, balancing with my feet and hands off the sand; the position resembled an exercise my wife used to perform.  Before long my stomach could no longer hold me and I placed a foot and hand to the desert floor, that’s when I felt it, a sharp sting on a finger.  I looked to see a scorpion scurrying away; I had been bitten.  A new pain began to seize my hand.  Could it ever be any worse than this?

We call the times in our lives when everything seems to go wrong a season, or our time in the desert, or a stretch of bad luck.  Call it what you may, we have all been in the position where if it could go wrong it did, and at the worst possible moment.  Bad times can be hammering our spouse, our children, and our friends; sometimes we feel we are in a massive fog of dread that engulfs everyone and everything we care for, and it seems nothing that we try can change what is, into what we want it to be.  Sometimes our attempt to escape only makes the desert larger and the trail leading out smaller.

I’ve tried almost everything to survive a down season.  Anger and resentment always surface as a first choice.  Drinking alcohol to escape the desert heat, or to at least forget where I am is another common approach, as is blaming someone else for all of my problems.  Then again, forcing a smile on my face and pretending that I wasn’t bitten by a scorpion is an old favorite.  We all have our own coping mechanisms that we use to survive the storm, but I have only found one method, one course of action that works for me: patience and prayer.  The desert, from time to time, will find each of us, and when we are in it we must continually fight to find a way out, even if crawling is all we can muster.  Getting out alone though, is very difficult; we need help.  Our friends and family can help, but only God knows the shortest route back home.  So I ask Him for help, I keep crawling, and I wait; because God answers when he chooses, not when we think our time in the heat is up.  I do not believe the creator of the universe put me on this planet to kick me when I am down; I believe just the opposite.

I must have passed out after the scorpion bite, because when I woke the sun was far on the horizon, but more had changed than just the movement of the sun.  It was cooler, and there was a mist of rain in the air.  The ground around me was wet, and there were small puddles where yesterday only hot sand rested.  I lay back down and the sand acted as a soft, cool pillow welcoming my rest.  A hand tapped my shoulder to awaken me.  He gave me shoes to wear, water to drink and food to nourish me.  Handing me a backpack with more supplies, and a compass, he walked way.  A path was growing in the desert with each step he took.  After a few steps He turned, reached His hand toward me and said, “Come, follow me.”  So, I did.

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When driving on the freeway in heavy traffic and something happens ahead of your car, the tail lights of cars far up the freeway light up, warning you of problems down the road.  It can look like the lights on an airplane landing strip, each red light sequencing its turn to glow immediately after the next one in front, so that fifty lights covering a mile can rush toward your car in just seconds.  It can be an immediate warning system, if one chooses to see it.  Flashing brake lights that far in advance of a problem, can save your life, unless you are so preoccupied by “other stuff” you don’t heed the warning.  Unless you are too busy to see the warning signs; then a big crash may be in your near future.

Just like a speeding car on a freeway whose potential for a mishap is great, so it is with our lives, even though most of us rarely crash, we are constantly in a position to misread the warning signs, resulting in a multi person calamity.  We need to get better at reading the tail lights in front of us.

• The warning label on a pack of cigarettes is a glowing tail light warning you of approaching danger.
• An expanding waistline, combined with a high fat, low vegetable diet is a brake light in your future.
• Ongoing flirtations with the single (lonely) girl (guy) in your office is a massive pileup waiting to happen.
• It’s 7:00 pm and you are finishing your third cocktail; can you see the lights?
• You worked 60 hours this week and will do the same next week; your children can see the tail lights even if you can’t.

We have learned to avoid accidents while driving by paying attention to our surroundings, by learning to anticipate problems and then positioning ourselves to stay out of trouble.   Sometimes we get hit from nowhere, but usually we can see the danger coming, unless we aren’t paying attention.  That’s the key, isn’t it?  We have to pay attention to the warning lights in our life and then move so we don’t end up in a crash.  The brake lights are there; we just have look, and not get distracted by “other stuff.”  Keep your eyes on the road.

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The lady seated to my left is quietly sleeping, now that the turbulence has ended and the plane is smoothly making its way across Texas. Her neatly groomed white hair frames a lightly tanned face, with lips that support a broad smile, and wrinkles that testify to memories of a life fully lived. She boasts those fine lines at the corners of her mouth that come from smiling more often than frowning.  I had the pleasure of speaking to her while she was being helped onto a wheelchair while boarding.   She didn’t understand English and it didn’t matter, because she said thanks with a sincere smile and nod when I offered help. I did not need a linguist to interpret her meaning.

I have spent the last week travelling across three countries, meeting dozens of people representing a vast spectrum of economic and social differences. People who wore extreme wealth like a badge over their heart, and also those in poverty – shielding themselves in doorways of grey block houses.  I met people who were obvious in their advanced education and life experiences, who were a contrast to others with limited opportunity and even less chance at mobility.  Most that I met existed somewhere in between. They were nice people, good people, friendly caring people, and I enjoyed meeting and working with them. I’ve said this many times before, but it needs repeating: People are just people – no matter where they live. I am continually amazed how incredibly alike we all are, no matter where we call home, or the design of our flag.

We live in different surroundings so our homes are designed for the climate where we live.  We eat and speak with a different emphasis; our comfort foods fill the same need but look and tastes altogether different. We are the moon, sun and stars; all occupying the same space, but in very unique ways.

Once again, life has taught me the beauty of commonality, the existence of a link that binds everyone together in a merged desire – the love of family. In business meetings and social gatherings, once the topic of the event was discussed, and shallow conversations had concluded, we always migrated to what really matter to each individual; their family. We talked about soccer games, vacations, hockey, first boyfriends, college, and missing our spouse while away at work. We shared dreams for our family, and worries of unknown dangers: one man told me how he had to deal with someone who was bullying his youngest son. Another told about the stress of saving for college, yet he did it because the need for education outweighed the cost. Our backgrounds were different, but our lives followed a common thread.

I told the aged lady in the wheelchair when we boarded that the shawl she wore was beautiful. She had no idea what my words meant, but by the smile on my face and the tone of my voice, she knew what I said was friendly and kind. She knew that I cared. We shared a link.

There is a family that lives two blocks from you that you have never met. They have kids, dogs, jobs, and dreams just like you. They would love meeting you, and you will love meeting them. So, go find them and share a link. Everyone will benefit – you’ll see.

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The bell shaped curve, that great equalizer of the school classroom, is meant to explain how a population of test scores will eventually unfold itself neatly along a predetermine path, thus displaying the test results into upper, lower, and average positions. In my eighth grade English class, I prayed that everyone else was as confused and ill-prepared as I, so the entire curve would be adjusted downward, giving me a fighting chance for a graded-on-the-curve C. But the concept of a predictable outcome of highs, mediums and lows, is not just used in school; cars are labeled as luxury, mid class, and economy, you can fly in first class, coach, or in lower fare seats. The bell shaped curve is also used to described our life (yours and mine), in terms of its quality when compared to everyone else. Are we middle class, upper class, or poor? Those labels are thrown at us by politicians, reporters, educators; the need for others to categorize our life into a single box is nearly fanatical in its scope.

Perhaps worse is when we place our ability to be happy (content, or joyful) on a human bell shaped curve, relegating the amount of time we can spend being at the apex of life to 10-15 %, and when we are ‘just average’ to 70% of life’s timeline. I don’t believe people knowingly choose a mid-level happiness state for the bulk of their life, I think it just happens. I think we self-impose an expectation that being in a constant state of over-the-top exuberant happiness is wrong – only weird or naive people think like that. We tend to accept that good is good enough, and great is rare.

Ask someone the question, “How are you?”  The overwhelming response is, “Good.” You will get a few greats, and a few that are  ousy, but good will dominate. I submit that being great is a much more natural state that being good, and that we can, and should, redefine the curve to include more great, and less good and lousy. I believe that the plan was always for greatness, and we have deviated from where we can be.

Here are a few ways to move the bar towards great:

• Redefine the driving force that creates your personal happiness (or joy) away from external sources to internal ones. Try not to rely on a person, place or event to make you happy. Choose to be happy all on your own.
• Use your own definition for happiness, not that of someone else. It’s your life, you get to define it.
• If happiness and joy are elusive, try doing something great for someone else, and something great for yourself too. Feeling great spreads from person to person like butter on warm bread.

I’m not proposing an arrogant version of great or a prideful view of happy. Just the opposite, I am promoting a humble and sincere version of being at the top, where there is room for everyone.

I find joy in my faith, where I am told that I am special, I am one of a kind and I am loved beyond my capacity to comprehend. There is nothing wrong with feeling good, but there is something very right about being great.

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The title of this piece is either a double entry (which should be caught by spell check), or the writer is finally showing signs of his age.  Or perhaps the meaning is exactly as it is written.  Fast fast could mean to hurry hurry, now now, or to run very fast; and I mean very fast.  Or, since fasting in the Biblical sense means to abstain from eating (mostly), the title could mean to not eat at all, nothing, nada: no food whatsoever.  Combining the two definitions would mean to hurry up and not eat.  Personally, I love to eat; so I wonder why I might desire to quickly move towards something that I don’t want to do.  In reality, I would drag myself in the slowest possible fashion towards a goal of eating less, let alone not eating at all.  So maybe there is another choice.

Fasting is about giving something up; food, alcohol, TV, broccoli (my favorite to give up); just about anything can be a subject of a fast; but, that is only a small portion of the purpose of fasting.  The real point of a fast is not what to give up; fasting is mostly about what we choose to add.  Fasting too often is connected with a negative, and it shouldn’t be, because fasting is much more a positive than a negative.  For many of us, fasting is a time of adding more of God into our daily routine.  Since God is the definition of what is good, then fasting can also be interpreted as doing good.  So, the title of this story could also be:

Hurry up and do some good.

By deliberately take time to purposefully add more good (kindness, love, peace, joy, friendship) to people near us, we can permanently change the course of someone for the better.  Help your neighbor with their yard work, tell your coworker they make a difference at work, compliment your spouse, give more to a charity, volunteer, or read a book to someone that you do not know at a retirement home.  Some of these actions come naturally and some take planning and scheduling; which is why we must be deliberate in doing good for others – it’s not always easy or convenient. 

We need to be in a hurry to do good, because the calamity, pain, and evil that seek to hurt all of us is non-stop: it never takes a break.  But good always wins over bad; light always exposes dark; kindness will ease sorrow; friendship will bring joy. If we are in a hurry to do something, shouldn’t it be for something good?Similar Posts:

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There is a thin line, (sometimes it’s a fishing line so it appears invisible), which separates preaching from teaching; especially if the topic is your children’s behavior, or religion.  Discussions about God and spirituality may start with the noble intention to teach, but through various hairpin curves and hidden trap doors, evolve mysteriously into full blown, sweat filled, amen-alleluia, God-is-a-coming-soon, sermons. They become the type of interaction where everybody is wet with perspiration – no matter the temperature inside or out.  With all nobility swept aside, a dialogue into your kid’s behavior barely stays a nanosecond in the teaching mode before leaping at warp speed into preaching.  Of course, that is how it should be: they need it.

Each communication method has its own benefits and hindrances; the use of either is not a matter of right vs. wrong, but more a selection of appropriate timing.  Teaching, or coaching as it is called in sports, is a service that is nearly unencumbered as to “when” it is applied; it is always acceptable to teach.  Circumstances and companions will dictate the depth and length of the lesson; which, subject to your role as teacher or student, can range from a moment to seemingly, an eternity.  Yet with all viewpoints included, teaching is mostly about giving.  One person gives their knowledge, experience, or opinion to another – it is meant to be an unselfish act of sharing.  The acceptance of all, or part of the lesson, is completely the responsibility and choice, of the recipient.  I think that is where to “leading a horse to water…” saying came from. 

Preaching, on the other hand, is best when administered in a church or other place of worship.  Preaching is a wonderful and necessary form of communicating God’s plan and personality, that should be presented by someone gifted in the art preaching.  And, those who preach to us about God need to come from a place of authority by virtue of a calling, and specialized training and research. 

My discussion of teaching and preaching stems from a question posed to me by a couple of good friends.  They wanted to know if I intended to use my book and website to, “Teach people about my faith, and how it works in me, or to preach about God.”  A great question that I had not yet asked or answered, until now.  Reflecting upon my web postings, I have subjected my readers to both, often in the same segment; more often though, I tend to preach.

It is not my dream, ambition or right to convert people to my way of thinking; to my view of God. He knows each of us, everything that we are and want to be, so our relationship with Him is special, and cannot be duplicated.  I should not be so selfish as to believe it is my sole responsibility to convert the masses from sinners to saints with a 500 word story on a Monday morning.  That is not my role.  It is my wish (actually, it is a need) to share my thoughts in a way as to make people think about their own direction; about the depth of their relationship with their family and with God.  Then you can make your own decisions, in a time and place that you choose. 

It is very comforting to know what you are supposed to do.  In 2011, I learned that:

• I need to act like a man of faith.
• My passion is to write stories about God.
• My role it to supply a little water to the plant; others will supply sunshine, soil, and nutrients.  I won’t worry about how fast the plant will grow, or how tall it will become, because I know the fate of the plant is in good hands.

I’m not a teacher or a preacher, I’m a little of both; but mostly I aim to be a friend who has thoughts and insights to share, that I hope will improve your day.

Thanks for reading.

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As the year ends and we transition to another, it is commonplace to reflect on what we have done, and what we have left undone. Too often though, reflection on the past morphs into a self-inflicted mental beating, centered on our perceived shortcomings.  We tend to focus on the bad, and forget about the good we have done.   The discussion becomes a stream of, “I didn’t…”

I didn’t lose ten pounds.

I didn’t get that promotion.

I didn’t find full time work.

I didn’t save, or invest as I had planned.

I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t……

A little negativity can erase a lot of greatness, if we let it.  Our pastor spoke about this phenomenon in an excellent sermon, and I’m sharing just two if his thoughts, but they are very important.  When the “I didn’t” takes over, remember:

You are better than you think you are

You matter more than you think you do 

Why?  Because it is true, and because God said so.  We are not the center of the universe, God is.  But, sometimes we are much closer to the center than we think.

Happy New Year!

Thanks for reading.

STARTING NEXT WEEK, RATHER THAN SENDING THE ENTIRE MESSAGE IN AN EMAIL, I WILL BE SENDING A LINK BACK TO MY WEBSITE WHERE YOU CAN READ IT.  I PROMISE IT WILL BE EASY AND FAST.  – Michael Similar Posts:

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Dastardly Dan Dullard (Dan to his friends) sat at the end of a long wooden bar, the many gouges and burn marks that scarred its surface paid tribute to age of the bar, and its patrons. His worn and beyond-dirty black leather and denim outfit was a tight fit (Dan liked animal style fries with his double cheese burger). He wore a 357 magnum low on his right thigh; the leather holster shined from fresh oil. Although it was barley noon, Dan was finishing his third root beer float, made with real ice cream, fully leaded root beer, (Nothing lite for Dan) and topped with two maraschino cherries. Today, he would need all the courage he could buy. Today, Santa Claus was coming to town.

The doors to the saloon swung wide as Santa stepped inside (Given the size of his waist, the doors had to swing wide, or else Santa would have entered via the loading dock out back). Dan tipped his black hat in a manly way, as to say, “I’ve been waiting.” Santa threw back the white fluffy ball on the end of his red furry hat in a defiant tone, as if replying, “I didn’t have quarters for the meter.” The tension in the room was nonexistent. Kaizer, the bar dog went back to sleep.

“Well Claus, it is about time that you showed up. I’m fixen to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, and even if you did forget, I’d send a text just to remind you.”

“Dan, we don’t have to do this. It’s not too late to change your mind; it’s never too late.” Santa had to try, even though he suspected that Dan wouldn’t back down.

“Get ready to slap leather Claus – you’re going down.”

For a fat guy, Santa is remarkably slow. Luckily for him, Dan Dullard is slow and clumsy. Dan reached for his gun first, but hit his hand on a chair, letting out a scream as he jumped in a circle holding his sore thumb. When his composure was secure, he looked to see Santa with his gun drawn, standing firm and proud; 350 pounds of manhood adorned in fluffy red and shiny black vinyl.

“Dang, you got me again Santa. Go ahead and shoot.” Santa pulled the trigger. A small rod exited the barrel with a red and white flag attached. It read, “You have been bested by an old and gravity challenged guy, whose best friend is an elf. Still feel tough?”

Moments later Santa was in his sled; his trusty head Elf sat in the next seat holding a clipboard. “Well?”

“Dastardly Dan Dullard is still on the naughty list. Too bad. One more stop before we head for the North Pole.” The tiny reindeer and sleigh gently lifted into the sky. They stopped at a small church on the outskirts of Bethlehem. Santa knelt before a wooden cross.

“Lord, thank you for Your many blessings. Help the celebration of your birth this year be the best ever. I can only give toys, or an occasional lump of coal. You give acceptance, forgiveness, and life. Yours is the better gift.”

Merry Christmas from the Obermire’s.  We wish for you and your family the best Christmas ever!

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