30 years!?!

I’ve been time-traveling this week.

One of my friends from elementary school invited me into an FB group for people who grew up in Germantown, Tennessee. I was there from third grade until my third junior year at college, so I technically qualify (some would say I’m still growing up).

I was in the class of ’82 (as in raisin’ hell like Devils do, we’re the class of…), so it was just about 30 years ago that I started my senior year. Most of the people at my church were either still in diapers or were no more than a gleam in their fathers’ eyes at that point. Guess I’m older and wiser. Or at least older.

It’s interesting to see who is still living in Memphis, who still looks remotely like they did back then, and how many of my classmates are now grandparents (zoiks).

But the past can be a dangerous place to visit. Life really was simpler then: I didn’t have a mortgage, I wasn’t responsible for anyone but myself (and I wasn’t even good at that duty), and my parents still took care of most of my expenses. The stakes have gotten higher since then. It is really tempting to want to somehow grab a piece of that point in time and make it happen again (maybe the term mid-life crisis applies here).

We look at the past through fun-house mirrors, the kind that bend reality and make some things seem smaller and some larger than they really were. As someone has said, “The older I get, the better I once was.“

There is also sadness in the past. Craig Kidwell, Dan Dunning, Reed Lowell, and Franchot Hightower…all died too young – the first three before the decade of the 80′s was over. I imagine there are more names that belong on that list; I just haven’t kept touch to know about them.

I can’t say that I loved or hated those years. It’s a mixed bag. I wouldn’t be who I am now if those years had been different; but who’s to say that’s better or worse?

12 degrees and praying

Last week I was having one of those deep philosophical discussions I sometimes have with my 5-year-old. We were having one of those “all I want for Christmas is everything” nights, and I decided to talk to him a little about having an attitude of gratitude.

Elijah, remember that there are people out on the street tonight, who would be grateful just to have a soft bed in a warm room. Instead of thinking about everything that we want this year, let’s try to think about what we could do to help them.

God has a tremendous sense of humor.

Yesterday my beloved was at the library with the kids, and struck up a conversation with a woman there. Amy doesn’t talk to strangers all that often, but she has a thing about people from other cultures. This woman was born in the Congo. She and her family (husband and two kids) had just come to Charlotte from the Northwest US, and currently reside wherever they park their van at night.

My wife went way out on a limb – she invited them to dinner.

No, it’s okay, I know what you’re thinking. I thought the same thing when she called me to say we were having some guests and told me a little about how she met them.

But she had already invited, so I did the logical thing. I gave her a little dressing down for inviting someone she just met to our house, and I hid anything of value.

If you know me, you probably think I was being humorous in the previous paragraph. Let me assure you I was not.

Then came a knock at the door, and thus began one of the most wonderful evenings I can remember in a long time.

Their kids are only a little older than ours, and they were off playing in three seconds. I think I saw the whole group of kids once in the next three hours. David is a well-read, well-traveled guy who is about a month older than me. Chengali grew up between a village in the Congo and Kinshasa, the capitol.

They were a lot like us, only a little more interesting.

At the end of the evening we prayed together. If you’ve never prayed with someone from another culture, you should try it. Every time I’ve done that I’ve been reminded of how wimpy my prayers are. Oh, there’s nothing wrong with them on the surface, but I don’t talk to God as if I truly depend on Him. There’s something that seems so much more earnest in the prayers of someone who has lived, and is living, in total dependence on God.

The joke is that I am too; I just have so much stuff around me that I have trouble seeing it.

They were very gracious, thanking us for giving them a chance to forget about their circumstances for an evening. Seems like it has been a while since they had adult conversations with people who weren’t judging them. Okay, I was at first…but I got over myself pretty quickly once David and I started talking.

Then they gathered their kids, said thank you, goodnight, and drove off.

To find a well-lit parking lot.

So they could sleep.

I woke at 2:00 this morning, and immediately checked the temperature. Somewhere around 12 degrees. Even our well-insulated, dual unit-heated house felt a bit chilly.

Well, what were you supposed to do? Invite strangers to sleep in your house?

I think maybe we were supposed to.

From Isaiah 58:

“Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide for the poor wanderer with shelter?”

But this isn’t Beaver Cleaver land. You can’t just invite strangers into your home.

Yeh, you can. I probably wouldn’t have done it, but my wife doesn’t suffer the fear of humanity that dogs me when opportunities to shine a little Christ-light come along.

Okay, well it was just one dinner…

It was, but when I heard Amy stirring this morning we talked about what had transpired last night, and how we both felt about the experience. And we called them to see if they would stay with us for a while.

No answer yet. They said they needed to pray about it.

If we’re being played, we’ll wake up some morning having been relieved of some stuff. If we’re not, we have at least done what we could to live out what we say we believe.

And I don’t have to explain to my 5-year old why we turned away the people I told him we should be helping.

animal magnetism

We recently lost our cat, Grey. She was beautiful, she was well-loved, she loved much in return, and she lived outdoors.

There are some folks who would be practically purring through each of the statements above, until I got to the “outdoors” part.

There is a mind-set that I really have trouble understanding. Is it really better to have dozens of animals destroyed on a daily basis than to have one that experiences a lot of love from a family that cares for it, spends more than a little time with it daily, and allows it to live closer to the way it was created?

Apparently so. Apparently being euthanized at the animal control office (as a definite fact) is much more humane than living for a few more years in a more natural state and possibly being killed by a car. At least, that’s what I’m getting from some of the people I work with.

I get that there are people out there who just tie a dog to a stake in the ground and then only see it once in a while to yell at it when it barks at night. Folks like that should not have pets. They should be tied to a stake in their yard for a week or two.

But I would argue that a cat or a dog who gets the best of the outdoors, shelter from storms and cold, plenty of food and water, and the love of a family is in better shape than the one that was given the “needle of mercy” at the animal control office.

To a degree, I think the natural predator who is limited to pouncing on a bag of cloth and catnip is to be pitied more than the one who gets to chase falling leaves, stalk mice, and pounce on grasshoppers. Don’t go hatin’ – just recognize that there are varying viewpoints on what makes for a good life.

If you disagree, that’s fine – but could you focus your anger at people who are truly abusing animals?

We’re grieving right now. The cat who walked up to our door (literally), who we took in because someone else just threw her out to the wild, is dead. She was a great cat, and lived well for the time she was with us. I built a house for her, we groomed her, took her to the vet, fed her, played with her…and now she’s gone. Why do people feel it is more important to pass judgment than to recognize that we’re feeling a loss?

birthday

With thanks to Wikipedia…

Oct 29th:

• 1268 AD – Conradin, last legitimate heir in a line of German kings and Holy Roman emperors, is beheaded.
• 1618 AD – Sir Walter Raleigh is beheaded.
• 16615 – Portugal defeats the Kingdom of Kongo and beheads their King.

Moral for me: Don’t lose my head on my birthday.

• 1955 – The Soviet battleship Novorossiisk hits a WWII mine in the harbor at Sevastopol
• 1998 – John Glenn takes off in the Space Shuttle Discovery to become the oldest human in space

Moral for me: On my birthday, I should have a blast.

Other people with the same birthday:

Entertainer Fanny Brice, Nazi Joseph Goebbels, cartoonist Bill Mauldin, Robert Evans (my grandfather, and no, he was not that Bob Evans), actors Richard Dreyfuss, Kate Jackson, and Finola Hughes, musician Randy Jackson (youngest brother of Michael), actreseses Joely Fisher, Winona Ryder, and Gabrielle Union.

You say it’s your birthday? It’s my birthday too.

 

 

climbing kilimanjaro

Adventure is just bad planning – Raold Amundsen

The two bold explorers and their faithful Sherpa guide began the ascent. Nothing could have prepared them for what would await them, but their hearts were strong and their bellies full as they began the adventure.

First, they had to brave the dark forest where the puma lay in wait. Fortunately, she was off chasing a shrew; our adventurers were safe. Yet, they knew that they must capture the wild beast and cage it, or they would be listening fearfully through the night to it’s plaintive, hungry wailing. The sherpa prepared the trap, putting fresh cat food and water in the shed, as the adventurers corralled the beast. There was a monumental struggle; but when adventurer Micah started to scratch the puma’s tummy, the fight was over. The puma lay limp in her arms as she carried the great cat, with adventurer Elijah using his torch to light the way, to the cage prepared by the sherpa.

When they reached camp, there was much to do. The sherpa set to arranging the sleeping bags in such a manner as to prevent anyone from sleeping on stumps and rocks – the debris field at this level seemed to be full of them. The adventurers had much to unpack – Thomas the Tank Engine, various stuffed animals and their bedding, some books. Then the debate began.

The sherpa planned to watch Jupiter at its closest point in 46 years around midnight. The adventurers said they wanted to see it as well, but the sherpa suggested they might need their rest. In the end, the sherpa said that he would wake them if the view was worth it. For the record, he tried; but the adventurers were worn out from chasing the big cat. They did not respond to his call.

Through the night, there were many sounds to stir the adventurers from their sleep. A screech owl (not normally found near Kilimanjaro) made its distinctive shriek. Jets taking off from the Charlotte airport thundered overhead, and cars drove by with entirely too much bass for the occupants’ ears…but nothing roused the adventurers, until the morning call of “Breakfast” came from the kitchen tent.

Monkey French Toast was endured (sorry, wish I could say enjoyed) by all, and now the adventurers prepared for the next challenge: getting ready for church.

so far away

It would be so fine to see your face at my door;
And it doesn’t help to know you’re so far away.
So Far Away, Carol King

Day 2 of playing Mr. Mom.

I started yesterday fixing ricotta cheese pancakes for Amy before she left for the airport – I’ve never cooked a gourmet breakfast at 3:30 in the morning before. Since then I’ve done a couple of days of homeschool stuff, spent a morning in Classical Conversations (which was truly fun for me), counseled a five-year-old on dealing with snotty girls, counseled a seven-year-old on dealing with the (hopefully temporary) loss of her new scooter, given two baths, put up a tent in the back yard, bought some azaleas to plant tomorrow, and told myself about a hundred times, “He’s five. You were probably the same way when you were five, and your parents survived it.”

Whenever someone asks me if my wife works, my standard response is “much harder than I would ever want to.” It is good for me to be reminded of how true that is. A day and a half into my ten days of single parenthood, and I’m tempted to reach for the emergency phone numbers of people who said they’d take the kids for a while so I could get some things done.

Amy told me before she left that she was feeling a little burned out – I can see why. She was trying to coordinate a million details for her trip, and there was no break in the normal home routine.

Sometimes I think about what the kids should be learning, where they ought to be in certain subjects, how we can improve the learning process here…but at the moment, since I am temporarily acting more as the drill sergeant than the distant general, I’m thinking I’ll have done well if they are bathed and not babbling incoherently when Amy returns.

I may be babbling incoherently by then, but just so long as they aren’t…

This is a good experience for me. When Amy went to Kenya last year I was unemployed, and we spent most of the time at my mom’s place with no agenda and little responsibility; now I’m trying to be a real parent. It isn’t for wimps.

So Amy, my love, whenever you get a chance to read this, thank you. Thank you for doing what you do, day in and day out, with rare complaints and a loving attitude. It will be so fine to see your face at the Charlotte airport next Saturday.

whethertheweatheriscold, orwhethertheweatherishot…

We just spent the morning at the annual Matthews, NC Matthews Alive! festival kickoff parade.

I started the morning with a trip to the grocery store – felt inspired to make rather than buy for a pre-parade breakfast – to get the makings for a chocolate chip coffee cake. The recipe is the same one Mom gave me once, but who knows where it originated.

That was done in time for our run to the Rowell’s house – they live at the starting line for the annual parade, and host a party every year. Best place to watch the parade – the people giving out candy are generous and have supplies at the beginning.

I posted a series of pics and comments on Facebook, but there were a few moments I didn’t capture. First, we were sitting with the Eakes family. Tracy and I have been friends for over half of our lives, which is beginning to mean a significant number of years. When one of the marching bands stopped in front of us, Tracy shouted “Souzaphones!“. I really wish I had a picture to share of the look he got from one of the girls in the band. Priceless.

Another high point of the parade was when the truck carrying one of the local weathermen came by. How Nicholas Cage missed doing this in “The Weather Man,” I don’t know. He was throwing out little footballs as he drove by (no ads on them, so…I don’t know, football weather coming?), but his truck stopped in front of his. He sat there for a second, and then said , “Oh, heck – who wants some pictures?” He then jumped out of the back of the truck and started handing out pictures of himself.

It makes me feel good to see someone being more narcissistic than me.

Too bad I don’t watch him – I could have had some good reason to heckle if I knew his track record.

Another “You had to be there” moment: A float loaded with screaming cheerleaders was sponsored by Goody’s Headache Powder. Seriously.

The group at the Rowell’s was fun, and we almost got be incident free – Micah had a little ankle incident on the trampoline, but recovered well enough by the time we got home to get her Leapster game with no hobbling. It’s a miracle.

A few people have asked me in the last year how I feel about moving from Hotlanta to Charlotte.

On days like today I have to say I feel really good.

fatherless sons

Be kind to your parents
Though they don’t desrve it;
Remember they’re grownups,
A difficult stage of life.
- Fanny

I’m reading again through John Eldredge’s Fathered By God, which I think contains some of the best insight I’ve ever seen into the hearts of men. It isn’t something every man would want to read (way too touchy-feely for some), but they should.

Eldredge writes about the stages of a man’s life – beloved son, cowboy, soldier, lover, king, and sage – and what ought to happen in each of those stages. His theme is that a man who skips one of the stages completely, or who never gets what a stage should be giving, is not a complete man. In the opening chapter, he says that the phrase “self-made man” is really kind of sad, that the phrase really indicates someone who succeeds in spite of the fact that they weren’t really shepherded along as they should have been.

I was reading last night about the first stage – the beloved son. How sad when we rush a boy into manhood without letting him bask in the warmth of a father’s love. It is equally sad when no one rushes anything, but the son doesn’t experience the father’s love. I think that is my story (hey, it’s my blog – it really can be all about me).

My dad did the best that he knew to do. His father died when he was young, and was sickly for several years prior to that – so dad didn’t really know the love of a father. He was forced to become a king about the time he should have become a cowboy, so the adventures the cowboy must have were relegated to selling refreshments at the Indy 500.

Many men who never experience being the beloved son will go through life feeling they shouldn’t expect, or even hope, for much good to come along. I thought about this when I took Elijah to a baseball game a few weeks back. My family went to one or two Cardinals games when I was young, but we were always way up in the cheap seats – under the deck, so no foul balls, and always as a family – I guess they didn’t invent the concept of daddy dates until the 1990′s. Elijah and I, thanks to my company, sat with our feet on the visitor’s dugout. The opposing pitcher tossed me a ball as he came off the field, and Elijah has a game ball, covered with grass stains and dirt. It is made of pure gold in his eyes. I thought, I wish I had one trip to the ballpark with just me and dad; but that never happened.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying poor pitiful me; I’m just saying that I never really felt all that loved by dad…and I think there are natural outcomes when we experience significant deficits.

Back to Eldredge. Many men who don’t really get to be the beloved son will spend later years trying to complete their childhood (we call that a mid-life crisis). I had my mid-life crisis starting about age twenty, and I think I’m just wrapping it up now.

Daughters take more effort to raise, in terms of emotional energy; but I think sons require at least as much care and consideration if they are to be the kind of men we want them to be.

Side notes: Woodstock house will be auctioned in four days (Cherokee County courthouse – one of about a hundred being offered), and Amy leaves for Kenya in just under two weeks.

ode to a security guard

There she is, once again
My early morning sometimes friend
She’s vigilant – her watch she keeps
(at least when she’s not fast asleep).

Her head is bowed – but to be fair
Perhaps she’s thinking, or deep in prayer.
Not to be gross, but ants could swim
In the pool of drool beneath her chin.

Watch out! Terrorists are in the lobby!
Making mischief is their hobby.
They might steal back issues of Time magazine!
But she goes on sleeping. Sound. Serene.

I see a mugger by the elevator
His mask a weak mimic of Darth Vader
He won’t get far without electronic ID,
So the fact she’s snoring doesn’t bother me.

I suppose I should not disturb her dreams -
I do not know her ways and means
Two jobs? Three jobs? Working all day?
I do not know – and she cannot say.

So quietly I creep right by
I push the button, and then go I
Up to my cubicle to write. Oh, snap.
I think I need to take a nap.

hope for kenya

I need Africa more than Africa needs me.
Mocha Club

Amy and I love to travel. I once gave serious consideration to pitching a show to the Travel Channel about a family with two young kids traveling around the world. And, oh, look! We are a family with two young kids!

Our joint travels have been some very cool places – Paris, Killarney, Hong Kong, Seattle, Graceland – but the last few trips have been solo efforts. I went to Southeast Asia to spend a week or so working in an orphanage a few summers back, and Amy went to Kenya last year.

To call those trips life-changing would be an understatement.

Those who complain about what the US is or isn’t, and want us to be more like the rest of the world, really need to see more of the rest of the world. There is nothing to inform your world view like getting to know more of the world.

In three and a half weeks, my bride is leading a team to Kenya. She’ll be going to a different place this year, far from the shadow of Kilimanjaro. She’s going to the north, almost on the equator, to a village that is just beginning to feel the love from 410 Bridge, one of the most on-target groups I’ve ever seen in terms of finding a way to make lasting change (change you really can believe in) in an area that is so incredibly poor.

And the wacky thing is that the thing Amy could not get over from last year’s trip is that the people there are so incredibly joyful. They wake every day, not knowing if there will be a meal, and they are full of joy.

So that’s why I need Africa more than Africa needs me. I need to see that what I gain for me and mine is not where my joy should be. I need to hold on to the fact that a life is not mine to control, and that really is okay.

I designed the logo on some t-shirts – a fund-raising effort for Amy’s team – saying “hope for Kenya”. But the fact is that Kenya gives hope to me.