The world as seen through the eyes of me

Christmas Present 2019

2019-12-21T07:13:00.004-05:00

email account clues

shortened today and what you are solving @ yahoo

password is boy friend "&" his home

Happy Birthday to my Bride...code

2012-06-04T15:16:00.001-04:00

Amy -
you need to access a gmail account that contains a combonation that contains your present...

username can be found in a while listening to some strange online tunes

The first part of the password is nothing but yesterday's front page news
The second part of the password is our padwan's foe
________-____________

I hope you are enjoying this...I love you very much...

I can't see a thing...

2010-08-01T20:39:00.003-04:00

As day after day go by, I feel like I take on more and more baggage. It is like the stress and burdens of everyday life leave their mark. I get through the stress of missing a flight or the burden of dealing with ants in our living room or the worry of how my daughter will get through this difficult stage. I move on from each one of these, but the finger prints of these burdens leave their mark, and sometimes these marks build up.

It's like each problem leaves a smudge on my glasses. As I move on past issues, I get more and more smudges and so my vision gets worse and worse. I don't even remember which problem caused which smudge, all I know is that I am still trying to meet the challenges of each day not seeing things as well as I should. I also get a headache and get a bit grumpy because of all these smudges.

There have been times in which things have happened that have caused more than a smudge. I actually end up with a crack in my glasses. Something like that will never go away, but it must be dealt with.

However, most of the time, they are just smudges. While at first they are annoying, over time they build, one on top of the other. I don't notice how my vision is being reduced. No single smudge is that big on it's own or really that thick. Anyway, I tell myself that I'm too busy to stop and do something about them.

Then some thing happens. Most of the time this thing is not good. Someone I dearly love has a health scare, one of my children cries out for help in a destructive way, I have to face my own mortality, I have to deal with a life changing decision. These things cause me to stop and see that I have no idea what I am doing. I have been plowing through life not seeing things as they really are. I have made decisions with limited information.

So I stop, take my glasses off, and clean them. Probably, the right thing to say is I ask God to clean them.

So He does. He takes my glasses off and cleans them. Of course I am scared as I stand there, blind trusting in Him. This is typically when I am right in the middle of this thing or event that finally makes me stop. It's not very comfortable. So I wait. Eventually I get my glasses back.

When I put the glasses back on, I am amazed at the view. Everything is so clear and bright. I can see and understand details I couldn't before. I forget about all that stupid small stuff that caused those smudges and I wonder why I went so long before asking for help. It's great to again see the color and beauty of things, such as the crispness of rain and the freckles on my son's face and the radiance of my wife's beautiful hair, and the individual leaves on the tree.

I can now see the first touch of sadness in the eyes of someone I love so that I can step in and tell her she is loved before the evil comes in and takes her away from me. I can hear the laughter begin so that it can warm my heart before it fades away. I can see the fear rise in his eyes and tell him he is strong and courageous. I can hear the first few notes of the song so that I can get caught up in the melody and sing along. I can see as He would want me to see, the way things really are.

I need to stop more often and ask God if I am missing something. Am I seeing things as clearly as He would have me see them?

If so, help me, God. Make the blind again see.

Advice taken

2010-01-19T20:13:00.007-05:00

I had left work early since there wasn't really that much to do and that was the problem. I needed to get away and clear my mind, so I headed for the one place that I can think clearly without distraction and demands.

The golf course.

It was a cold March day and the recession was in full meltdown. Our company was appearing to crumble around us and there was no evidence that it was going to turn around any time soon. My hopes and dreams of making our firm into a remarkable place and growing old and retiring from there was slipping through my fingers.

So with a rush I ran from the pro shop, where Manny, the local golf pro, had given me the go ahead, toward the first tee. Hoping to get in all the holes I could before the light drained away, I quickly teed off. I pushed my first drive right, past the bunker and into the rough. With a quick burst of quiet profanity, I heaved my golf bag over my shoulder and went looking for the wayward ball. As I searched, I thought about how this is how my life feels now. Looking for something knowing that I really don't want to find it and that I probably won't be able to handle what I must do next. I don't want to find this ball on a sidehill lie, in deep rough. I don't want to try to hit this ball under the tree and carry the bunker in some desperate attempt to save par. I don't want to have to make a decision about possibly leaving the company I helped build. I don't want to have to try and keep everything going when I don't know what the hell I am doing even when I have spent my career convincing those around me, at home and at work, that I do. I don't want to have to deal with this.

So I find my ball and it is as bad as my pessimistic attitude predicted. I punch out toward the fairway, and my next shot does not even make it to the green. I hope to chip on and hit the putt and at least save bogey. However my distraught spirit does not allow for a delicate chip and so I skull it over the green. With anger burning in me, I finish the hole with a double bogey.

My anger does not equate to the score on my card. Other issues are raging within me. This round of golf is somehow symbolic of my life at this time. I am angry at God for allowing all these difficult things to happen. Why me?

I walk to the next tee and shoot up a quick prayer asking God to just give me one decent hole. Somehow this will show me that He is with me Hole number 2 is a tough hole that requires a very accurate drive. Typically I push my tee shot here because I don't really swing and so I try to steer the ball into the fairway. So with a bit of hope I swing big and strong and put the results in God's hands.

The ball does not go where I typically hit it, but today it goes even further right than normal into the fairway of Hole number 6. There are 2 golfers in that fairway and they look in my direction as my ball lands. My anger mixes with embarrassment and then quickly turns to despair.

I'm done.

I'm so finished with all of this. I don't want to walk down there and take the ridicule from those 2 guys. I don't want to face another awkward shot. All I asked for was one good hole to show me that God is with me. Some inkling of hope, some ray of light to ignite my faith once again. But no. I am left in another situation that I can't deal with.

Forget this. I'm going back in.

So I do. I turn around on the number 2 tee, leaving my ball in the fairway, and trudge up hill, the wrong way back up Hole number 1 to the clubhouse. It's exhausting and embarrassing. I know I am giving up, but I don't care. All I can think is I don't want to do this anymore.

With my head down and tears beginning to fill my eyes, I walk past the pro shop. I hear the door open and Manny pokes his head out. His face is filled with surprise but ringed with compassion. With a soft voice he says, "Mr. Glaze, you can't just quit. You gotta finish. You should always finish."

I can't look him in the eye. I know with all I have that he is right. I sputter out a quick, "I know" and head to my car. That is one of the last rounds of golf I play before our finances caused me to put the sticks away for a long time.

Fast forward almost a year...

The recession has not given up, but neither have I. Those words spoken by that wise old golf pro rang in my heart as things got even worse. Difficult decisions were required of me and my family. Some decisions seemed almost impossible to make, but God was with us and held our hand and gave us the strength to continue to follow Him.

While those dreams of retiring with my company have been put aside, a new challenge has presented itself and we believe this is what God has been preparing us for. This is an exciting time for us and while we bear heavy hearts in leaving what is familiar, we are looking forward to the opportunities God has for us in this new step.

I am happy to say I recently picked the sticks back up. One of my first days back, I found Manny and told him how his words helped me and my family through a difficult time. He said he remembered that day and was glad he could help. I can't thank him enough.

So, we have a new set of holes in front of us. I'm pleased to say that my current company seems to be doing well. It's nice to know that I am leaving it in good shape. My family and I have no idea what God has for us, but it is our prayer and hope that He will give us the strength to meet those challenges and continue on with Him playing the ball as it lies.

One of the greatest love songs

2009-12-18T20:22:00.004-05:00

I ran across one of the greatest love songs ever. When I read these words and think of my lovely wife, it is hard to not become emotional.

Here are the lyrics:

It’s getting kind of hard to believe things are going to get better

I’ve been drowning too long to believe that the tide is going to turn

And I’ve been living too hard to believe things are going to get easier now

I’m still trying to shake off the pain from the lessons I’ve learned.

Having you here now I see things are going to be brighter

And feeling you here now I know I might make it through.

Loving you this long has made me believe in forever

And with you these dreams I have gotten might some how come true.

And knowing your grace this well just makes me want to be better

Knowing your heart this well makes me wish mine would grow.

Loving you this much makes we want to write sweet songs forever.

With a little luck we could make the whole world know how much I love you.

And when I see your face I swear to the Lord I was dreaming.

And when I hold your hand I watch time disappear into air.

And when I speak your name I can feel I just said something sacred.

While saints pray for heaven I thank God I’m already there.

Here is where I found the song. There may be some slightly offensive stuff until 1:15 into the video, so feel free to skip to that point.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E-H5XG5x1Fc

I so love my wife.

Arsenal v Liverpool

2009-12-13T13:49:00.002-05:00

My kids were playing around with the computer in my office at the end of the Arsenal v Liverpool match. I am in the other room and it seems they turned Garageband on and it captured the audio in the house. When we listened to it again, we all got a good laugh out of it. Here it is...

As you can see, my family typically goes upstairs when Arsenal is on TV. They are happy when Arsenal wins because it will be a good day in our house.

To be honest, I had no idea I made some of those noises or that I was so loud.

Please pray for my family.

Go Gunners! We love you Arsenal...we do...ooh Arsenal we love you!

Cute Trailer

2009-12-02T20:28:00.002-05:00

I have a feeling this movie will change the way I see the world, in a good way, and make me a better person.

For those of us with multiple kids, the first 42 seconds is proof we all have more in common than we think.

Who wants to go see it with me?

amazing video

2009-11-27T13:59:00.001-05:00

This is beautiful...just beautiful

Happy Thanksgiving

2009-11-26T01:12:00.002-05:00

I feel the following video gives insight into the family that raised me and has had a huge impact on making me who I am.

This "Thanksgiving Celebration" occurred the day before Turkey Day at my parents house.

Enjoy...

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

This makes me happy

2009-11-24T12:07:00.001-05:00

This will make you happier than you are now...

You are welcome...

The complexities of irony

2009-11-23T19:35:00.007-05:00

So my friend and I are at our bar for our weekly fluid intake. I am nursing a Fat Tire as I am being lectured on how Alabama football is mentioned in the Bible somewhere and even though Tim Tebow is a nice Christian boy, it does not mean my friend would not take advantage if he had the opportunity to run him over with a H2. I am not paying much attention because I have heard this argument at least once a week since 2006 and because I am listening to the music being played over the speakers. I find myself bobbing my head to the beat and luckily I stop myself before I begin to sing along. I stop because I am ashamed.

Maybe it is the alcohol from the previous 3 beers or because I feel that I can say about anything to my friend of over 20 years, but I stop him mid-sentence to make a confession. "I just love Christina Aguilera."

My friend about spits out his Vodka Tonic. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me, I think Christina Aguilera can sing so much better than Brittany Spears and I think she is overlooked. Just listen. This is an amazing song."

"Seriously...you just said that. You. You who listen to the most obscure Indie bands out there."

"Yeah, I'm not proud of it. But what can I say? It's a guilty pleasure. Everyone has them."

My friend nods in agreement and then proceeds to look around the bar to see if anyone is listening. He leans over to whisper, "I have a guilty pleasure too. I really like John Denver and Barry Manilow."

I begin to laugh. "Those aren't guilty pleasures. They are too ironic and obscure to be a guilty pleasure."

"What do you mean? No one really listens to Barry Manilow under the age of 40."

"That is exactly why he can't be a guilty pleasure. Because no one listens to Barry Manilow then there is no reason why you should be ashamed to like him. As a matter of fact, you have more cred because no one listens to it. It's ironic."

My friend told me to shut up and continued to discuss why the Anti-Christ will be a Florida Gator.

As a result of that conversation, I feel the need to define guilty pleasure and irony and how they work. I might be wrong, but I don't think so.

A "guilty pleasure" is something, be it music, food, clothes, television, etc., that you enjoy that you would not like to admit to others out of fear as to how you would then be seen in their eyes. I will be discussing music primarily. You feel that their view of you would decrease as a result of learning that you like your guilty pleasure. This is not a question of what you like, but how others view what you like.

This is an important distinction to make. I feel in some ways you are not in control of what you like. I have tried to make myself like Metallica for years and just cannot do it. I just don't like Metallica. I apologize Mr. Keuller. Metallica obviously has talent because so many people who I respect love them, so obviously the issue is with me and not the band.

A guilty pleasure is something that you enjoy that causes you some degree of shame if those around you discovered this pleasure. Obviously those around, whom you care about their perception of you, also play a part in the definition of a guilty pleasure. If you don't care what your pastor thinks of you, then you would not mind if he found out you liked Lifehouse. However, if you cared what your emo girlfriend thought of you, you might care if she found out you liked Lifehouse since they are probably the band that defines the place furthest from emo.

However, just because something is uncool, that does not make it a guilty pleasure. Things that are uncool can become cool once they have reached such a degree of uncoolness that they begin to take on the glorious luster of irony. Time is a factor and so is obscurity. The more popular something is, in your environment - the environment and part of society you care about, the less irony it has.

A perfect example is the band Journey. Journey was very popular in the 1980's with Steve Perry screaming out lyrics of love and loss. I listened to Journey a lot as a young teenager and felt Mr. Perry's angst come through my Walkman as I sat on the church bus alone and mourned my current "ungirlfriend" state. Journey was awesome and it rocked.

However, once the grunge scene hit in the 1990's, we all put aside our RAWK cassettes for the Alternative CDs. And as a result, we left Journey behind. It would have surprised me to hear Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam declare that Journey was an amazing band during their tour of their first album "10". Journey's popularity was too close in time and proximity, and there were still some uncool people singing the line "I smell a wine and cheap perfume" at the top of their lungs. These were older people having children at that time and joining the beige middle class. The cool kids of the day pushed back against Journey because they were once popular and defined them as "old". As a result, it existed only on your Classic rock radio station.

However, about 4 years ago, enough time had lapsed in which it became acceptable to like Journey again. Journey's music had not changed over the years, but the perception of their music and it's place in the musical landscape had changed. Now you had indie hipsters talking about how awesome it was that Tony Soprano ended his television career to a Journey song. Independent music blogs put up old videos of Journey and for a while, Journey was the number one most downloaded band on iTunes. So Journey came back. It became cool to tell others of your affection of the song "Faithfully" because so much time had passed and no one liked them anymore.

Only once the masses use something up and then cast it aside, can that thing begin to grow irony. Once the irony has had enough time to grow, then it becomes available to be "rediscovered" and become cool once again. It needs to become so uncool that it becomes cool again. It is like Cabbage Patch Kids or Pugs. Each one is so ugly that it becomes cute. Something can become so uncool that it once again becomes cool due to the mighty power of irony.

For instance, Nickleback has zero irony, while Nelson has some irony. I would rather be known as a Nelson fan than a Nickleback fan. There is a big pushback against Nickelback in my corner of society. My dad listens to Nickelback. As a result of that and their immense popularity for their canned soft rock music, I can't stand them. However, Nelson was cool, went unbelievably uncool and so after 20 years, they are starting to grow a little irony.

Look at Cindy Lauper and Madonna. No one would question that Madonna has more talent than Cindy Lauper, but given Madonna's popularity for so long, there is a necessary backlash that must take place, and has taken place. However, the backlash against Cindy Lauper happened over 20 years ago and as a result, I feel it is better to be a Cindy Lauper fan and sing along to "Time after Time" than be a Madonna fan right now.

Facebook and Twitter have no irony, and they are still popular and I have no shame in using both. Facebook is starting to lose its appeal to me just because it is so overused and is so obligatory for all aspects of society. I think we are a few short years against a Facebook and/or Twitter backlash and the cool kids of the day will cast it aside. Maybe then enough time may have passed so that MySpace becomes cool once again.

Wearing a horrible Christmas sweater is so wonderful because of the fact it is so bad and you drop small ironic Christmas bells with every step. Wearing Dockers and a golf shirt has no irony at all. I would rather wear the horrible Christmas sweater.

Dave Matthews has zero irony while John Denver just oozes irony. However, I like both Dave Matthews and John Denver. Dave Matthews has not experienced a massive backlash due to his popularity, yet. Therefore I do not consider Dave Matthews a guilty pleasure.

I would be accepted more as a Miami Vice fan than a CSI-Miami fan.

Pabst Blue Ribbon is the best ironic beer in the world and I pick it over Coors Light every time.

Guns N' Roses were about to become ironic enough to be cool again until they release "Chinese Democracy" and now it is easy to hate them again. Give it another 10 years.

In about 20 years, James Blunt will be at the center of musical irony. He rose so high and was so popular, but his fall was as quick as his ascent. There was a huge James Blunt backlash so it will make the irony even more sweeter.

For me, Christina Aguilera is a guilty pleasure. I really like the way she sings and while she is not as popular currently as she once was, we are not far enough removed for their to be any irony here. The majority of society has pushed back against Ms. Aguilera and I understand that. However, to be true to myself, I like her and for that I am ashamed.

I have been in certain company in which I felt they would agree with the amount of irony associated with a certain band. However, I was wrong and in their eyes, there was no irony at all and I was mocked openly. Once in the middle of a conversation, I used a line from the House of Pain song "Jump Around". I thought it was pretty funny and ironic, but the others did not see it that way. They thought I was a huge fan and they made fun of me. They asked if I had closets full of Irish Hoodie Sweatshirts. Lesson learned...

Other guilty pleasures for me (with no irony) are as follows: The Clothing Store Old Navy, Five for Fighting, The Fray, John Mayer, Black Eyed Peas, Owl City, Plain White T's...alright that's enough. I am embarrassed now.

To summarize, a guilty pleasure is a function of what you like, what those you care about like, time and the amount of irony. It is different for everyone and once we all can look each other in the eye and admit that you do sing along to Sarah McLachlan, the more free we all will be.

Do you have any guilty pleasures?

God cannot expect me to remain sane

2009-11-22T20:04:00.004-05:00

I had this whole idea for a blog about my son and how he does not have patience and how he got that from me, but I need share what is going on right now in my little house...

Today was a cold rainy Sunday and we decided to stay home from church so as to ensure the kids stay healthy for Thanksgiving. Church is a place where viruses and bacteria must find the Holy Spirit and grow in strength and purpose because most of the times my son gets sick after church. That's a whole nothing topic. So we decided to stay home and have a quiet and relaxing Sunday before the chaos of Thanksgiving week.

My wife had an awful headache this morning so most of the day consisted of me downstairs with the kids while they watched television and played games while my wife rested. A few hours ago, my daughter said she saw brownie mix in the pantry and she asked if she could make brownies. Why would a loving father reject such a request from his lovely daughter? My son, being bored of pretending to lead the Rebel Alliance against the Empire asked if he could help.

Sure, why not. They learn a little about cooking and working together and I get brownies out of the deal. Everything is going great. They scurry off to begin baking a wonderful bounty for their father. They are getting along and I am starting to get hungry. All of a sudden I hear an, "oops" and silence. I throw my book down and run into the kitchen.

This is what I find...

I take this in stride. No big deal. I still get brownies and now I have the opportunity to show a little grace to my kids. I get my dad voice working and command "Now you two have to clean up once you are done." Problem solved. Win-Win...

With a little help from their old man, the brownies enter the oven and now we need to clean up. As the future Father of the Year, I spot another growth opportunity for my son. I tell my daughter to clean up the counter and my son will clean up the floor. My son will learn how to mop tonight.

I quickly sweep the kitchen floor (more points for me with the wife) and I show my son how to use the Swiffer mop. In case you do not know what that is, it is a mop that is just a pad at the bottom, but the cool part is there is a bottle of cleaning fluid attached to the mop stick. When you pull the trigger at the handle, it squirts a bit of fluid out at the front of the mop and makes clean up a pleasure and a joy. I tell my son to pretend the sticky brownie mix on the floor is bad guys and he needs to shoot them with the mop stuff. He loves it and I leave him to grow. Again, my wife gets a clean floor, my son learns how to mop, and I get brownies. This is a great night. I am a genius.

I fall back into my book and only look up when I detect that wonderful smell of brownies being taken out of the oven. My wife came downstairs at some time during the last 20 minutes. I run into the kitchen ready to receive the hugs and kisses from my wife due to her clean kitchen floor, see the pride in my son's eyes as he knows he is a better man today, and also score a couple brownies while they are still hot. My first step into the kitchen is almost my last. There is some sort of liquid all over the kitchen. It has dried to a film in some spots, but most of the kitchen is a mess.

"What happened here?" I ask. I don't let this get in the way of my brownie pursuit. I look up with a mouth full of chocolate goodness and see my wife without the look of adoration I had expected.

"Well, your son thought it was cool that you could just hold the trigger down on the mop and the bullets would just keep coming out. He's right, it just keeps coming out."

I have no response to this.

"Don't worry, I cleaned up most of it, even though I still have a headache," my wife continues.

Again, no response comes to mind. I am left standing in the kitchen with handfuls of sweets feeling like an idiot. This was not in my plan.

I slink back to my office and decide to write a bit to get my mind off my failed plans.

About an hour later my son is playing a video game with him mom. For reasons I do not now understand, this requires the television volume to be at an ear splitting level. This particular part of the game he is on now includes a large Lego plane flying around dropping bombs that create loud obnoxious explosions. Also it appear he must shoot something that makes a very high pitch noise when hit. My son is shouting instructions to mother since he has already played this level 46 times today. Since it involves explosions and ammunition, it is his favorite part of the game and therefore he is now the expert in our house. When he thinks his mother is not listening to him, he decides to loudly spell out his instructions. This is just a sample of what I have heard....

"Look, mom, you gotta shoot the bad guys over here like I am doing. OK?"

My beautiful wife responds with, "uh huh, sure baby" and then proceeds to play the game as it was designed to be played.

"No mom, when you are over there you are supposed to jump. See like me. OK, mom? Jump. J-U-M-P. Like this. Just do what I am doing. Like me. M-E."

My wife ignores the Hooked-on-Phonics lesson and proceeds to collect colorful coins. Currently she has about 25-times the amount of coins my son has.

"Mom, I need to destroy the bad guys with fire. F-I-R-E. OK? Meet your doom. You want some of me? I like this game, Mom. It's fun don't you think. I think the plane is fun. Plane. P-L-A-N"

I hear a new sound and it appears my son's character has died.

"OK, now I am going to start over, OK? That's the way you play this game. OK, Mom? I gotta go back to base and get a gun. G-U-N."

I attempt to block this out by listening to some strange British based indie band on headphones. This works well for a time and I am able to concentrate and get some writing done. However, after about 10 minutes the music spilling into my ears begins to change. I have to stop what I am doing and listen intently. When did British Sea Power change this song? What instrument makes that noise? It comes in and out of the music. It doesn't even go with the song. I try to ignore it but the high pitch wobbly noise cuts through the dark guitar and pounding drums. I begin to question my taste in music and begin to think that all my friends are right. I am told that I listen to strange bands. I should listen to more Michael Buble and Lifehouse (who is fine, by the way. No comments about how I am an idiot since I don't love Lifehouse).

In an act of frustration I rip the headphones off and realize my daughter has decided to practice her flute in the same room that my wife and son are playing video games. In her defense, my daughter has only been playing the flute for a few months and she has improved drastically during this time. However, it is hard to describe the sound as continually pleasant. I now understand my son's need for his screaming and the volume emanating from the television. I have been listening to a Mash-up of British Sea Power's Atom and Happy Birthday by my daughter. I do not recommend this. Pitchfork would give his a 0.0 for sure. No indie street cred there.

I go in the other room and see my wife greet me with a weak smile. Her headache has reached epic proportions. How can she play a video game, get yelled at by a 7 year old boy all while listening to my daughter fumble her way through her 15th version of Happy Birthday on a flute? I smile back, give her a quick wink, grab another brownie and almost jog back to the computer where the headphones go back on and the music gets turned up a couple of clicks.

This is our relaxing Sunday evening.

Oh...as I was finishing this with the music destroying what little hearing I have left, my son decides to say "Goodnight" by sneaking up beside me and trying to scare me. It worked.

This is the family God gave me. How can He expect me to remain sane?

Lord, save us from Your followers

2009-11-21T21:26:00.007-05:00

I don't know what to say after watching this. It reminds me of the quote from Ghandi...

I like your Christ. I do not like your Christians. They are so unlike your Christ." - Mahatma Gandhi

We who are disciples of Christ need to stand up against this sort of thing. While we cannot keep people from using religious ideas for evil (even Satan quoted scripture), there is no way this should go on with there being a loud collective voice speaking out against this. I mean really...I cannot see how this fits in a Christian world view. It makes no sense to me at all. It does make me very sad.

I wasn't going to post this, because I did not want to deal with any sort of backlash. It's amazing how scared I am of people who follow the same God I do and who read the same Bible I do and who profess the same faith that I do.

Forget politics in this discussion. We who profess this faith have much more important matters to deal with than politics. We are to be concerned with the redemption of the world and bringing hope and love to those who need it. That is our highest calling. We are called to love God with everything and then love others like we should love ourselves. That our highest calling...not politics...

How does this make you feel?

Where is the line?

2009-11-20T23:40:00.002-05:00

I follow a lot of blogs. Some on graphic design, some on God-stuff, some just because they are funny and make me laugh (www.awkwardfamilyphotos.com) but a lot on commercial real estate, architecture and structural engineering.

I do this because being a structural engineer who designs the structures of buildings and whose clients are predominately architects, I need to stay up to date on the status of the industry. Also, being the Marketing Director for our firm, I am frequently asked by other Principals as to the outlook for our industry.

So I read a lot of blogs, and right now, the vast majority of these blogs are filled with nothing but bad news. Supposedly the weakest sector in the American economy is commercial real estate, and it is going to do nothing but get worse in the next year. This is according to a lot of supposedly smart people who get paid to predict these sorts of things.

I hate reading all of this bad information. Fear is not a virtue. God specifically tells us not to worry and to not be afraid, so every time I read all this bad news, I am forced to deal with fear. My fear for my job, my company, and my family is rational given the economic circumstances, however, I have a tendency to let fear control me. I can easily let fear and worry change the way I act, treat my family, react to stress and affect many other areas of my life. I need to stay away from those things that bring about fear.

So what am I to do? Do I quit reading the news and become uninformed? So when I am asked, "How's it looking out there?" do I just ignore the question or say that I have no idea because I am too scared to find out?

I feel that my ignoring or selectively reading the news, I am just sticking my head in the sand and not confronting the truth. However, this approach does lead to more happiness and peace in my life and in my home. Maybe I think that being informed is important, but I do not know where I get that from.

The pragmatic side of me says to unsubscribe to all those blogs and just go about my day in an ignorant blissful daze. But the theoretical side of me says I should continually confront those things that cause fear so I can grow and learn to trust.

Where is the line?

FF's

2009-11-15T20:27:00.004-05:00

It comes over our family like a virus. It cannot be predicted. It can strike any time of day or night and it does not care which member of the family it infects. Once one of us gets infected, it spreads throughout the rest of the family in a matter of hours, if not minutes. We used to rebuke the one who first catches it, but now we have learned that this is part of being in this family. This possible genetic deficiency is part of who we are. We used to fight it, but now we know our struggle is futile. My wife was the last to resign herself to it and now she is like me and the kids in our weakness. It's debilitating. It affects how we talk, what we eat, what we wear, what we discuss. It affects our television viewing, what music we listen to and what pictures my kids draw.

This "virus" causes such an ache, almost a physical hunger, in us and when we all get it, we are done. We look to each other for support, for tips and tricks to curb our pain. We take solace in the fact we are in this together and soon we will each have our hunger temporarily satisfied.

We call this crushing virus - Florida Feelings. My daughter calls them FF's for short.

We were in the dead of winter a few years ago. We were all getting out of my wife's Explorer to all go into Publix when my daughter was infected. "Dad, I just had a Florida Feeling." Without any time to react, I feel what she feels. We all go to Publix at the beach and we always take my wife's car. While we have gone to Publix in her Explorer many more times in Georgia than in Florida, our time at the beach is so special to us, that those memories win.

Now I am done. Instead of buying groceries for soups and starchy casseroles, I am begging my wife to let me buy ingredients for tacos. I find myself picking through mealy tasting strawberries and oranges, trying to recapture the tastes from our favorite place. I remind myself to change into shorts the minute I get home, in spite of the 40 degree weather.

My daughter and I giggle as we smell the few bottles of tanning lotion in the grocery store. I tell her that I used to put a little on my upper lip so I could smell that wonderful scent wherever I went. She joins me in this family ritual and I question my actions. It's like giving a shopaholic a credit card and a used bag from the mall. I see her eyes light up as she breathes in the sweet coconut smell. It is times like these that I know she is my daughter. We are created from the same stuff.

My wife's attitude begins to turn as as all start to sing along to the Jack Johnson CD in the car as we go home. She begins to imagine the smell the skirt steak coming off the grill. When she asks how many weeks of vacation I can use this summer, I know she has come over to the other side. Her eyes are wide and clear and she is gone. I love her so much.

As we sit down to eat our grilled steak tacos with homemade salsa, I dig our copy of Surf's Up and we all enjoy our summertime feast. My son is the last to be infected. However, when he sees the computer animated penguins surfing on the beautiful sun soaked beach, he speaks the collective thought of our family, "Man, I wanna go to the beach."

Yeah, bud. We all do.

Resting is difficult

2009-11-04T20:55:00.006-05:00

The kids finally go into their rooms. The previous 30 minutes was filled with giggles and approximately 3 arguments as my son and daughter prepared for bed. For reasons I cannot begin to understand, the tasks of brushing teeth and changing into pajamas cannot be completed without some discussion over toothpaste or who needs privacy in the bathroom again or some other random and insignificant topic. It is like they have never gotten ready for bed before and have no idea what is required. Typically at some point in the evening's preparations, laughter pours down the stairs. What brought on this hilarity is unknown and us parents prefer it that way. After the fifth time asking the kids to settle down and just go to bed, each finally retire to their individual rooms.

It's quiet. My wife is on the computer or having some conversation with a friend. I used to try to listen and see if they were talking about me, but I soon realized the discussion centers around other female friends and children. These topics do not interest me, so I sit and look for relaxation.

It would seem that the act of relaxing would be easy. I am under the impression that to relax is the act of doing nothing. Just letting yourself be and setting aside the stress and worries of the day and do nothing. So this is what I attempt and I find this impossible.

I am so conditioned by my life to "do" that I now cannot "not-do". My mind will not quit racing. It does not know how to not worry about finances, the roof that needs repairs, the marketing plan that is due on Monday, the plans for this weekend, the sudden changes in my daughter now that she is in middle school, the sinus infection that is now afflicting my son, my wife's burdensome job, my long term career hopes, this little blog, the oil change that is needed in my car, the lunch meeting with a client tomorrow, the phone call on Friday, and this list goes on and on. It is almost deafening.

What I find most disconcerting is the speed and intensity that appears to be normal for me. As my heart begins to slow from an surprising rate, I cannot stop the feverish compulsion of my thoughts. I can almost feel my mind and soul getting the cold shakes of withdrawal as I try to take away the stress and worry. I cannot will it to be still and calm and any effort to do so increases the intensity.

Is this how I operate throughout my waking hours? Is this what I accept as normal? Is this me? This cannot be good. No one can sustain this level of intensity and not be affected.

I need a distraction, so I go to television, or my Blackberry to see what is happening on twitter. It's another fix and my mind is temporarily satisfied. However, I feel the call of God asking me to turn the TV off and put down the Crackberry and just be still.

I relent and try to calm my mind. I can't. My ears almost ring with the silence and my brain craves stimulation to distract from the bombardment of thought. I am scared of what I accept as normal now. It is only by sitting still do I see the turmoil and frenzy of my internal life. There is no room for peace and tranquility in me. All of me is filled with worry, deadlines, stress, and planning, and this I accept.

God, teach me to stop. Teach me to relearn what I now consider as normal. May I live out and experience Psalm 62:5 "Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him."

Does anyone else struggle with this? Does anyone take the time to be still and find they can actually pull it off? Any advice or discussion would be appreciated.

This can be overwhelming

2009-11-03T19:44:00.004-05:00

It's been a while since I sat down to record my thoughts on the blogspot servers for all the interneters out there to read and critique. I have missed it greatly, and have thought about it every day, but recently I have found myself a bit intimidated. I follow this person on Twitter who gives great advice for writers. She sent a lot of tweets about rules all writers should follow and things writers should never do. Some of these pieces of advice were obvious and helpful, some were confusing to me and a few of these guidelines I knew I have violated in the past.

While I did appreciate the concepts, I was overwhelmed with the amount of rules and guidelines I needed to learn and remember and apply to be successful. Then there were other rules that did not match how my brain works and the voice I hear in my head when I write. I guess my voice is wrong.

That was a bit disheartening. I have worked at turning off the critical editor as I write. For years I had this voice in my head that made it's pure hate known for every word that my little fingers pecked out. That voice was so critical and took all the fun and creativity out of writing. That small bald angry editor's voice was debilitating and I did not write for years. I could only get a few sentences out on the screen before I would stop and agree with the small angry editor and delete it all and start over.

There were a few brief beautiful moments in which the words came forth with such speed and clarity that the editor could not keep up. He was furious at the amount of words pouring onto the screen and he would cringe with disgust as he would hear me giggle at the story that was taking shape before my eyes. If there as a way to capture that feeling, I would need nothing else in this world, and God does not want me to be that self sufficient.

So this post is my attempt to regain the fluidity I enjoyed in September and some of October. I hope this would help to quiet the editor and send him back to his dark office, only to be let out when I allow it.

Let's see how it goes...

Great video

2009-10-26T13:55:00.006-04:00

You ever meet someone and just think, "I would love to hang out with him a lot more." This was exactly how I felt after meeting this person. My cousin introduced us and after about 10 minutes, we got into a discussion about the worst cuss word you can say. The opinions were varied and discussion was enlightening and engaging.

Now, after this video, I want to become his best friend...

Click here

10 Things I love more than I should

2009-10-20T21:30:00.002-04:00

Here are 10 things that I love more than I should...

1. Radiohead
2. Krispy Kreme Donuts
3. Arsenal
4. Adidas Sambas
5. Top Gear
6. The number 3
7. Golf
8. Guinness
9. my car (2006 MINI Cooper S)
10. 30 Rock

All of these things produce a physical reaction of giddy pleasure more than should be allowed. Typically there is giggling and maybe even the clapping of hands. I am a 36 year old man who still greets his car with a, "Good morning."

Now don't get me wrong. I still love my wife and kids more than any of these things, and Jesus still is at the top of my list. However, I get weak in the knees when I watch 30 Rock and Top Gear.

I have shed tears when Arsenal wins because of the abundance of joy I feel. It is like God is causing His face to shine upon me.

I have played golf in sleet and snow and even now I am a bit nervous to look to the left of my chair because I will see my golf clubs and it makes me sad that I can't afford to play right now.

I refuse to see Radiohead live because I don't want to risk not liking them as much as I do. I usually emit an audible sigh when they come up on my iPod.

If I kiss my wife more than once, it has to be 3 times. She knows this and still has sex with me.

I have owned a pair of Adidas Sambas since the early 1990's. I love them and even when I get a new pair I have trouble throwing out the old ones. I right now have 2 pairs of the exact same shoe.

I don't think I have to apologize for the donuts or Guinness. In 1903, Harry Vardon had tuberculosis during the British Open. He almost collapsed between rounds and was coughing up blood, but sipped on a pint of Guinness for strength and then went out later that day and won. Guinness is wonderful.

What's wrong with me?

Anyone else want to admit to something they love more than they should?

The Search of God and Guinness

2009-10-18T18:11:00.005-04:00

Thomas Nelson, the publisher of the book The Search for God and Guinness sent me a copy of the book for my review on my blog. This book, by Stephen Mansfield, tells the almost unbelievable story of Arthur Guinness and his family. Arthur Guinness founded the Guinness brewery in 1759. While the story of the growth and success of Guinness Brewery is amazing enough, what was a real surprise was the story of his family and descendants and how the simple brewing of, what is in my opinion, a wonderful beer truly changed the face of Ireland and possibly the world for the better.

Let me first say, this book will make you extremely thirsty. As Mr. Mansfield described the brewing process and even touched on the health benefits of beer, I found it difficult to resist cracking open a cold Guinness myself. Gladly, I succumbed to the temptation and from then on enjoyed the book even more.

With what appears to be little information on Arthur Guinness himself, Mr. Mansfield's story is one of the Guinness family tree and how they used their fame and wealth to help so many people. I was amazed at the collection of stories of those associated with the Guinness Brewery and all the good they did. While any one of the stories of the family rebuilding St. Patrick's Cathedral Church or one becoming one of the best known preachers in the world or being a pioneer of the concept that a company should care for the health and well-being of its employees, is inspiring, it is the weight of each story on top of the other that made this story truly remarkable and almost unbelievable.

There is a lesson regarding how individuals and organizations should use wealth and influence in making the world a better place, and given the current environment of much suffering due to the greed of those in power, this is something to be heeded. However, what God laid upon my heart was how the family passed down these values from generation to generation. All of us who, wether we are wealth or powerful, should, like Arthur Guinness, pass down eternal values to the next generation. If I can so deeply imprint the principles of God into the hearts of the next generation that those principles are passed on and on, then I have left this world a very rich man.

Amazon here

Catalyst 2009

2009-10-09T20:44:00.006-04:00

Wow, what a couple of days. For some degree of context, I need to tell you that I had a lot of expectations going into this conference. I was really struggling for the few weeks before. The worries of our finances, my professional future, the many decisions we are facing or could face, the insane pressure at work, transitions in our family, and then the obligatory list of small concerns were beginning to weigh on me. I was stressed and I needed God's help. I was close to the end of myself.

God did show up. There seemed to be a pretty constant theme throughout Catalyst this year amongst the majority of speakers. I wonder if others saw the same theme, or if God emphasized something else through the 2 days. What God impressed upon my heart was, God was asking me to run my race, not the race I see others run or trying to run, but my race, the race He has set for me and I should run that race well.

From the first session with Andy Stanley in which he reminded us that God does not come to play a role in our story, but we are designed to play our role in His story. Rob Bell called us all to enjoy the place we find ourselves and not to concern ourselves with others and their achievements or success but just the thing that is now in front of us and obey God in that, then the next, then the next, and walk with Him. Matt Chandler finished up Thursday with a message on running the race before you and running your part well. He said it was ingratitude toward God to desire someone else's place in life. Then Friday morning Priscilla Shirer spoke on leadership and she made gave us the example of Joshua, when crossing the Jordan, did not move until God moved. God was the leader and we should, like Joshua, not move unless God is in it. Jesus claimed He did his Father's will and nothing else. As a result, we should only do those things God asks of us and nothing else. Dave Ramsey was wonderful and challenged each of us to "Figure out our Deal" and then with Intense Focus over Time, with God, we can gain unstoppable momentum. Chuck Swindoll inspired us with some of the leadership lessons he has learned over the past 50 years. He said one concept he has learned is God's way is better than our way.

There were other great speakers and I was inspired and convicted and encouraged by all of them. However, this theme of finding God's calling for me (figuring out my deal) and then pursuing that calling or running that race well and moving only when God does step by step, day by day was something God really impressed upon me.

Right now, it's hard to know what to do. Should I be looking for another job? Should I be blanketing our industry and all my family and friends with my resume so that I can be ready if something goes wrong at my current job? Why does neither my wife or I have any peace about that?

Maybe, going forward, God is asking me to walk with Him step by step and leave the results in His hands.

Andy Stanley said his father lived by this principle: "God takes full responsibility for the life wholly devoted to Him."

That is what I am called to now in this season and throughout my life. To walk with God, day by day in a life fully devoted to Him and leave the results and consequences in His hands.

The future is no more certain now than it was before Catalyst 2009, but there is so much more peace knowing that by daily walking with Him, I will fulfill His perfect plan for my life and I can live in the freedom of leaving the consequences in His hands.

It's beginning to look a lot like...

2009-10-04T14:00:00.003-04:00

Maybe it is all the uncertainty out there, or maybe it is a change of perspective due to the economy, but I am really looking forward to losing myself in the Christmas season this year.

Every year, my Christmas obsession begins at the first sign of autumn. In Atlanta, it is typically over 90 degrees through August and well into September. In early September my mornings typically include my wife wining how hot it is and that she can't wear her long sleeve t-shirts and how unfair that is since it is September and how the weather is cool in Paris or New Jersey right now and if we lived there...about this point I tune out to keep from crying.

However, there will be one 3 day stretch near the end of September in which we will get a lot of rain mixed with a slight cool front, and I will wake up to a slightly brisk morning with temperatures in the low 60's. I will notice a brown crunchy leaf on the ground. Against my will, a switch is set to the "On" position in a part of my brain that knows how to decorate sugar cookies and thinks the combination of red and green is brilliant.

All the voices in my head simultaneously stop their constant jabbering and begin to softly sing..."It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, Everywhere you go...". It's the one of the few times the voices agree. I see evidence of this everywhere. I see the red and green of traffic lights as decorations. As my son puts together Legos in the living room, I am suddenly transported to Christmas morning in which I attempt to figure out some piece of technology while my beautiful wife and son put together a 500 piece Lego model of the Death Star. The classical music on NPR sounds more like the beginning "The First Noel" by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir than Bach. I break out the sweaters and jackets.

Of course, a few days later I regret this as I hear the talking head on the weather channel call for "Freaky Hot in Atlanta mixed with humidity as thick as my over styled hair. If you can go through the day naked covered in ice, that would be best." I sweat through the next few days in a wool sweater and a festive turtleneck, but do not let the pool of perspiration that builds in my pants on the way to work and the fact my eyes burn at the smell of my own body odor diminish the level of my Christmas spirit.

My commitment is rewarded like it was this weekend at Target. We just finished picking out my son's Halloween costume for the year, and I was getting over my jealousy that my son grows up in an age in which full Darth Vader costumes, with full internal musculature and lightsabers, are available where I was forced to pretend to be Obi Won by stealing my parents brown bed sheets and trying to make a broom handle blue with food coloring and crayons. I tell myself to be happy for him as I turn the corner and find myself in the middle of an isle surrounded by decorations for "the most wonderful time of the year." To my left are fake evergreen trees while to my right are enough decorations for all the trees in the world. There are candy canes, and stockings, and garland. I am absolutely giddy. Right now, even the small figurine of Santa visiting the manger of Jesus does not detract from this moment. Christmas is here in all it's glory...at least it is here at the one isle in Target in early October. But it's here.

My wife sees me and knows it has begun. I will soon come home from work with a bag of groceries filled with hot chocolate, smores, and peppermint candy canes. We begin asking each other what we want for Christmas. We both know that these requests are not to be taken seriously. They are fueled by my delirious ecstasy that is the beginning of our Christmas season.

For me Christmas is filled with hope. It is the end of another year and I am filled with hope for next year. Our industry is a lot slower from right before Thanksgiving until the new year. Rarely does a developer want to begin a project at the end of the year. There are parties and get-togethers and time spent with those I love. It is a more relaxed pace and a time we as a family connect and laugh and play games and watch old Christmas movies. We over-decorate our house, as those who have visited can attest. Last year we had 5 trees in our little house, with garland and stockings and lights inside and outside.

But it is so much more. I take the Christmas time and reconnect with God, thanking Him for sending His son to save the world. Not just the people in the world, but to redeem the world itself. There is so much pain and suffering by so many people and that is not what God intended. He loves us so much that He did not give up on us. His plan is to redeem His creation and return it to the perfection we and His creation were created for. That is a comforting thought. I see the glass nativity scene on my mantel in the office and am impressed at the bravery of Joseph and the love and commitment of Mary and the irony of that small baby in the manger. I love that small baby more than anything, more than my wife and kids, more than myself and more everything on His earth. I have devoted my life in serving and saying "Thank You" to that small baby for all He has done for me. God's crazy plan was the redemption of all of creation through a baby. Amazing.

In the midst of all we find ourselves in, all the frustration and happiness, all the broken and realized dreams, all the sadness and joy, all the pain and beauty, I try to remember that He has not given up on me. Christmas reminds me of that.

I can't remember a holiday season in which these words ring so true for me.

We need a little Christmas
Right this very minute,
Candles in the window,
Carols at the spinet.
Yes, we need a little Christmas
Right this very minute.
Slice up the fruitcake;
It's time we hung some tinsel on that evergreen bough.
For we need a little music,
Need a little laughter,
Need a little singing
Ringing through the rafter,
And we need a little snappy
"Happy ever after,"
Need a little Christmas now.
Need a little Christmas now.

Come on Christmas. If anyone is up for caroling anytime soon, let me know.

I need a little Christmas now.

Someone should have warned me

2009-09-30T21:05:00.003-04:00

I am ruined…let me tell you a story.

I lingered a few steps behind her, not knowing my place, as she waded through the sea of middle school kids. Everyone seemed happy and talkative with their friends. I caught a glimpse of my daughter’s eyes sweeping the crowd desperately looking for a familiar face. She was nervous driving over here and it just built as we pulled in and got out of the car. My heart just went out to her. Finally she sees a thin brown haired boy, and she calls out his name. He looks up as he runs to meet his friends behind us. “Hey Julia,” he says as he continues to run to catch up with his friends. She is hurt. Her one lifeline that she reached out for ran past her as quickly as she found him. Now I know that this kid was not being mean, he is an 11 year old boy and wants to hang with his friends, but I know that hope was gone and her fear grows as a result.

We are here at our new church on a Wednesday at a service specifically for 6th graders. We switched to this church hoping Julia would meet someone at church who also went to her school. We discussed this as a family and Julia was really excited. We felt it would be great for Julia to have friends that went to both her school and church as she entered middle school. So here we are, doing what we think is best, hoping God honors our efforts. God help my beautiful, sweet, fragile daughter.

We enter the church and find out that the 6th graders are upstairs. Julia practically sprints up the stairs hoping someone up there will say hello and give her someone to sit with. She beats me up the stairs and as I reach the top I catch a glimpse of her heart and a lump begins to grow in my throat. The fear on her face is so familiar. I have felt exactly what she is now feeling. She put on her coolest T-shirt and favorite jeans and Chuck Taylor shoes. She even put her contacts in. She hates her contacts, but she bears the discomfort. Her hair is overbrushed because she does not like the way it looks. She does all this just so she can find someone to sit with and not feel out of place.

She paces through all the kids and finds no one. She looks up at me with eyes that I hold so dear. Eyes that catch the sun and bring such joy into my life. Her beautiful face is flushed with fear. The awkwardness is thick and she feels it so hard. It crushes her, feelings of being out of place, fear of disappointing me, anxiety from just not knowing what to do. If someone…anyone would just show up now it would all be fine. Just one girl out of the dozens and dozens that are here, one girl with a smile and an invitation, “Hey Julia, will you sit with us?” That is all we hope for, and it is not to be found.

She comes and stands beside me the only safe place she can find. She knows this respite is temporary and continues her search. The exercise of desperation with trying to look cool is impossible. I tried it and could not pull it off and neither can my wonderful daughter. I almost begin to blame myself for not giving her the genes that I lacked in situations like this. I wanted her to be brave and confident in her beauty and sweet spirit. She is so smart, smarter than anyone in my family, and she is a great friend, loyal and funny. Her wit and sarcasm makes even me laugh every day. Those who have had the privilege to experience it understand. She is one of the best things that will ever happen to me in my life and right now I just wish all these other horrible middle schoolers would just recognize what an amazing person they are ignoring. She is better than all of them, but she feels the complete opposite right now. She feels she is the worst of them.

I ask her if she wants me to wait or leave. I did not want my presence to make things difficult. Julia, being the sweet girl she is, leaves it up to me. I look her in the eye with all the compassion and seriousness I have and say, “What do YOU want?”

“Please stay,” she replies and gives me a smile.

Tears begin to well in my eyes and I have to look away. I want to grab her and take her away from all of this and love her and somehow show her how special she is and how she deserves to be delighted in by the world. Songs should be created in her honor. The gap between what she deserves verses what she is experiencing right now, right in front of my eyes, is bigger than the love of God, at least that is what it feels like.

Blinking back the tears, I turn as I hear the leaders asking everyone to head in. It’s time to start. I see Julia look up and possibly see a life raft in the dark angry sea she is swimming in. It is someone, and even without asking she follows her into the room. Julia doesn’t look back to say goodbye and I understand. She can’t let this person out of her sights.

I stand there, a mess inside, completely ruined as I see the pain my daughter went through and wonder why did it have to be that way. She is doing the right thing. She is doing what she is being asked and she knows it would be great for her to go to get involved at this church her parents chose. She shows courage that I don’t have and does not give up even though every one of those evil voices in her head are using this opportunity to destroy her heart. She has to fight off the voices that tell her she is not pretty and she feels the rejection deep within her. Why her? Why is she different? Where is her friend? Why can’t God give her someone, anyone, just a familiar face, just someone to sit with? She is doing her part, why can’t God do his part.

The helplessness I feel is overwhelming, knowing this is one incident and there will be so many more. I can’t protect her from this. She does not deserve this, but what can I do? Nothing…I can do nothing to keep the wounds from building on her young and precious heart.

Now I sit and wait. Praying desperately that she is having a good time and that her face is lit with that breathtaking smile she has. I hope she feels God’s warmth and pleasure through a friend. I hope they get in trouble from giggling too much tonight.

God, I love her so much. Take care of her when I can’t. She is the best of me and deserves so much better than what I have to offer her. Protect her heart because I can’t and that kills me.

Was I like that?

2009-09-21T20:39:00.007-04:00

Right now, my poor wife is trying to get our son to take his medicine for a cold he caught over the past few weeks. He is sitting at our kitchen counter overcome with nervous laughter and as a result delaying the inevitable. He tries to engage his mother in a lively discussion on where in the mouth is the best place to put the medicine to reduce the anticipated unpleasant taste. He claims directly on his tongue is best, while his mom argues for the side of the cheek or under the tongue. She begins to explain the concept of taste buds and where they reside in the mouth of humans (directly on the tongue), but she stops herself. Eventually, she gives up and tells him to take the medicine wherever he wants, just please take the medicine.

He requires glasses of water and a certain dispenser syringe. He now is asking if he can squirt the medicine into the water and then just drink the water. Months ago, we tried this, and it made the water so disgusting, he could not drink it so we had to pour it out and he took his medicine the normal way. We remind him of this and it appears he had remembered this previous incident all along. It appears he was just voicing his options for our benefit rather than an actual proposal he might have considered.

By now, I jump in, attempting to be rational and show my son a new and larger perspective of things. I ask him to consider if there is any way he will get out of taking the medicine tonight. Between giggles, he responds with a "No". I then tell him that he is just delaying the inevitable, so why not just get it out of the way, take your medicine and we can then all go and enjoy our evening. This however appears to fall on deaf ears. He responds to my comments with a request to discuss the Halo Legos toy he has been promised by his mother once his 2 weeks of medicine is up. We assure him that he will get the Halo Legos toy, but he needs to take his medicine now or that reward may be in jeopardy.

This appears to have some affect on my son. He turns to face his fate and as he starts to raise the small plastic syringe to his mouth, another round of nervous giggles burst forth, and we are once again where we started.

My wife is not amused by this, while his sister finds this a bit humorous and responds with a quick laugh. He takes this reaction from his sibling to manufacturer fits of laughter and glee which make him powerless to take the required medicine.

Sighs emanate from his parents and there is an unseen "hitching up of the pants" from both his father and mother. Things have turned serious and we know our daughter senses this by clamping her hand over her mouth to remove any possibility of any further outbursts.

My son in a last ditch effort plays the single card that gives him the delay he so desperately seeks. "I gotta go to the bafroom." I look my beloved bride in the eyes who once dreamed of living in Paris, being married to an successful author and spending her time taking photographs of the world, and see the tiredness grow. We know we are going to lose this battle. Images of the result of released bowels and bladders spring to mind. We see our son, with tears streaming down his face, standing in the middle of our living room with half the pink syrupy medicine mixed with spittle and vomit on his shirt and the other half still in the syringe. His pants are soiled along with the carpet around him. He looks at us with eyes filled with fear and confusion and malice and says, "I told you I had to go to the bafroom."

"Fine, go to the bathroom, but get down here as soon as your done and take this medicine, you understand." His lack of reply is noted as he scampers up the stairs faster than one who in his supposed predicament should.

Silence cuts the tension as me and my once radiant wife and our daughter look at each other and await the sick one's return. He comes out of his bathroom with his pants around his ankles and stands at the top of the stairs.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I'm scared"

"Of what"

"Of the man I accidently saw on TV today."

I shoot a glance at my wife and see her hang her head. She relates the story of earlier today of my son watching a popular television channel that show cartoons for kids. For reasons I cannot begin to understand in my feeble mind, this particular movie company thought 7 year old boys were the perfect target audience for a movie that is to come out this Halloween season that features a masked man stalking and killing innocent victims in lightning storms. How that ties in with SpongeBob Squarepants, is beyond me. My wife attests to the scariness of the trailer and with heavy steps I go upstairs to turn on the bathroom light and check behind the shower curtain.

I return to my seat and in a few minutes hear strange noises coming from the bathroom. Grunting of an unusual nature can be heard. My wife calls my son's name and there is no answer. I start getting a bit worried. After all, my son is sick and he may be having some allergic reaction. I yell louder, "Are you OK?"

"Yep", he replies in a loud and content voice.

"What are you doing up there? Were you grunting?"

"What's grunting" is the reply heard from my first born.

My wife steps in, since she is more fluent in the language of toilet that exists between a child and a mother. "Were you pushing?", she yells up the stairs.

"No, I was sort of pulling in", is his reply.

We both stare at each other in shock and wonderment. My daughter is required to clamp another hand over her mouth to suppress laughter as my wife runs up the stairs to see what that comment was concerning.

5 minutes later, she returns alone, looking even more shocked and desperate.

"What happened up there?", I ask of my lovely soul mate.

"You don't want to know. It hurt him to...go."

"No really, what happened? Is everything OK?'

"Let's just say I had to resort to telling your son that he needs to push because the...well you know...were bad guys and he needed to push them out to send them away."

"What the..."

"Listen, it worked, all right. He got it. I don't to talk about it anymore."

Just then we hear my son bound down the stairs. He appears ready for another round.

"Listen," I say feeling the full exhaustion of a dreadful day at work in a miserable economy and a profession with no future and the knowledge that my son needs to compare his own waste to bad guys. "If you take this medicine, right now, we will get ice cream tomorrow."

"Really?", he asks.

"Really."

"And I get my Halo Legos and the ice cream?"

He's got me here. Clever one. I forgot about the promise of his mother. By using his youth, he has taken advantage of our slow minds and has gotten another reward for doing something that will only make him healthier, happier, and stronger.

"Yes, Halo Legos and ice cream." I can taste the resignation in my mouth as the words pour forth. I am ashamed in front of my wife that I let my 7 year old son trick me like he did. I look up and see compassion in her eyes. She knows I am dealing with a foe that can so easily be underestimated. I see a knowing look in her eye. I immediately recall the time my son could not find his shoes for some function that required shoes, so were were forced to go get him a new pair. Given our haste we were not able to fully negotiate as we would have wanted and as a result, my son received another pair of light-up Spiderman shoes that did not have laces and were way too expensive. He managed to find the original pair of shoes within hours of getting home. Clever one.

"Great! I get Legos and ice cream." And with that, before our eyes, our son plunges the medicine into his mouth, takes a small sip from one of the many glasses of water in front of him, kisses both his mother and I on the cheek and bounds upstairs for bed.

I have no right to get angry. I got what I wanted. My son took his medicine and then went calmly to bed. He played me like a fool and as a result he deserves his due reward.

I slump in my chair resigned to the fact that I have been beat. The realization that in less than 24 hours, we will be confronted with the same battle sends a shiver down my spine. However, there is peace tonight, and for that I am happy. I begin to plot my revenge. I bet if I could find a mask like that guy in the movie trailer, my son would think twice about pulling another one over on his father.

Where can I get that mask?

Putting those you love first

2009-09-20T11:57:00.005-04:00

Sometimes specific situations allow you to see yourself as you truly are and it causes you to cringe.

My son is a great kid. I love him with all I have. He brings me so much joy, but he does not do so well in school. Since he has been born, he has embodied the definition of the word boy. He loves superheros and Star Wars and guns and bears and adventure. He is a free spirit and we have tried to keep that fire within him. We have tried to not let the pressure to fit in and be what is best for us determine who he is. For instance, it is a bit difficult to allow him to decorate his room like he wants verses what we think looks good and shows well to company when they come over. His room is filled with stickers and posters of Transformers, Iron Man, Pirates of the Caribbean, Star Wars, Georgia Tech, Wall-E, dragons, Swords, moons and stars, knight shields, legos, and Superman. It looks like a mess, but he loves it and this allows him to be himself and be in control of his little part of the world.

We ensure he is respectful and well behaved, but we did not want to stifle his spirit. This has not worked as well now that he is in the second grade. He is a smart kid, but not necessarily book smart. He knows how the world works and how machines operate and systems behave. He is great at math. He does not have the patience to sit down and reread part of a book to answer comprehension questions. He does not like to take the time to follow the rules in punctuation and capitalization. His stories are great, he just does not see the need for all the rules and just wants to move on to the next adventure.

So we received a letter from school. He passed the reading level required, but not by much, so they want to put him with a special teacher part of the day to help his reading. My pride did not take this well, for some reason I met this letter with sadness mixed with anger. Why would I look on this so negatively? Should I not be happy that my son will get the attention he needs? In this new class he will grow and learn and be better off than without the class. But I let my own pride and selfishness get in the way and I don't want him in that class, because in some stupid way, I think this looks bad on me.

After just a week, he is reading better, and happier in school and things are great. I cringe at how I responded to this.

I put my own image and self-worth ahead of what is best for my son. I did not look at what is best for him, but was too occupied in how this might reflect on me. That is amazingly selfish and awful. I am so ashamed.

My role as a father is to do what I can foster the growth and betterment of my son. The role of my son is not to make me look good or to provide some external image or reputation that I can carry around. My son is not a trophy that I take off the shelf and polish up to show off to others. A trophy has no value apart from the person who owns the trophy. My son is so precious that I should pour all I have, including my identity and reputation into making him better than I ever dreamed of being. My role as a father is to serve my son so that he has the best chance possible to fulfill God's purpose and plan in his life. I know God's plan for my son is amazing, and I will serve God and my son by giving whatever I have to putting him in the best position possible to serve God all his days.

Now, I see that letter and am very thankful that his teacher identified a possible issue with his reading and now that issue is being addressed. He has a better chance at succeeding in his life and being able to fulfill God's plan for him now than if that letter had never come. Sure, I could have lived in the delusion that my son was perfect, so therefore I am more awesome, or something stupid like that, but by sacrificing my perfect ideal, my wonderful son is much better off.

I pray his adventure is grander than mine. I pray he reaches heights that I never dreamed possible. I pray he sees things I will never see and goes places I did not know existed. I pray he continually feels the smile of his father and his Heavenly Father as he grows into the powerful and passionate man God has called him to be.

I love him so much. I love him more than I love myself. That makes me happy.

What a great trip it is going to be.

Now I gotta go play army with him or watch Pirates of the Caribbean...