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.
30 September 2009
21 September 2009
Was I like that?
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?
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?
20 September 2009
Putting those you love first
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...
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...
15 September 2009
20 years with my dream girl
Let me first say that burping during a hiccup is painful and arguably one of the scariest things that can happen to you. For that split second you have no idea if you are going to release air or suck it in, and so you completely freak out. You shut down mentally and just give yourself over to the natural state of things, hoping that once this crisis passes you will once again remember how to draw breath and become a normally functioning human being.
20 years ago today was a great day for me. I asked a cute girl with strawberry blonde hair out on a date earlier and on September 15, 1989, we went out on our first date. It is hard for even me to describe how nervous I was that night. It pains me to say, that it was my father who suggested I ask her out on a date on the same night her parents were coming over to help my parents move in. He will never let me forget that.
I remember what she wore. She wore cream pants that showed off her nice ass (of course then I would not use such language), a gold colored shirt and a navy blue scarf around her waist. I think that is the first and last time she wore a scarf around her waist. I remember what she looked like coming in the door...I remember that exact moment. Those who know me can attest to my pathetic memory, and the fact I can remember that shows that I was probably in love even before our first date began.
To give you an idea as to how nervous I was, I drove my route to go to work instead of the movie we were supposed to go to and meet a few friends. I realized this after about 10 minutes in the car, and probably made up some excuse as to why I had to do a U-turn on Lawrenceville Highway. My music selection was critical. Since we both went to church and her dad worked for a ministry that my dad was very active in, I needed to have some contemporary Christian music in case she had decided in camp, the summer before, to give up all secular music so she would not be tempted to do awful things with boys. I also had some U2 in case she turned out to actually be cool and maybe later she would let me do some awful things. I remember where we were when she said she liked U2 and I was pleased to take the Degarmo and Key tape from the deck and put in some Sort of Homecoming. This was the beginning of a beautiful relationship between us and music.
We finally made it to Batman and then Chili's with friends. We split a cheese-stick appetizer and neither one of us ate the last one in fear of looking like a pig. Of course now, we fight over it if not just each ordering our own basket of cheese-sticks.
That was a great night. One in which my life completely changed for the better. My wife is the best thing that has happened to me besides the love and grace of Jesus Christ. She is like the color in my world . I never want to know what it would be like without her. She is the best part of me. Anything good in me has her and God's fingerprints all over it, and she makes me want to fix the bad things in me, not so that she will love me more, but to show her that I love her and want only the best for her, including my best.
My heart grows heavy as I think of her role in my life. Not heavy out of sadness, but of the gravity of what she means to me and how much I treasure her. She is so special and unique and I have never met anyone who possibly measures up to her beauty, gentleness, perfect sense of humor, and sweet ass. She is lovely personified in my eyes. She is everything I could have wanted in a friend and wife and so much more that I did not think was even possible. She is God's greatest gift to me. There have been times in which when I see her face I feel God's spirit speak in my heart and say, "See how much I love you, Brian? I gave you her." Yes he did. He gave me Amy. My life is an attempt to say "Thanks".
20 years ago today was a great day for me. I asked a cute girl with strawberry blonde hair out on a date earlier and on September 15, 1989, we went out on our first date. It is hard for even me to describe how nervous I was that night. It pains me to say, that it was my father who suggested I ask her out on a date on the same night her parents were coming over to help my parents move in. He will never let me forget that.
I remember what she wore. She wore cream pants that showed off her nice ass (of course then I would not use such language), a gold colored shirt and a navy blue scarf around her waist. I think that is the first and last time she wore a scarf around her waist. I remember what she looked like coming in the door...I remember that exact moment. Those who know me can attest to my pathetic memory, and the fact I can remember that shows that I was probably in love even before our first date began.
To give you an idea as to how nervous I was, I drove my route to go to work instead of the movie we were supposed to go to and meet a few friends. I realized this after about 10 minutes in the car, and probably made up some excuse as to why I had to do a U-turn on Lawrenceville Highway. My music selection was critical. Since we both went to church and her dad worked for a ministry that my dad was very active in, I needed to have some contemporary Christian music in case she had decided in camp, the summer before, to give up all secular music so she would not be tempted to do awful things with boys. I also had some U2 in case she turned out to actually be cool and maybe later she would let me do some awful things. I remember where we were when she said she liked U2 and I was pleased to take the Degarmo and Key tape from the deck and put in some Sort of Homecoming. This was the beginning of a beautiful relationship between us and music.
We finally made it to Batman and then Chili's with friends. We split a cheese-stick appetizer and neither one of us ate the last one in fear of looking like a pig. Of course now, we fight over it if not just each ordering our own basket of cheese-sticks.
That was a great night. One in which my life completely changed for the better. My wife is the best thing that has happened to me besides the love and grace of Jesus Christ. She is like the color in my world . I never want to know what it would be like without her. She is the best part of me. Anything good in me has her and God's fingerprints all over it, and she makes me want to fix the bad things in me, not so that she will love me more, but to show her that I love her and want only the best for her, including my best.
My heart grows heavy as I think of her role in my life. Not heavy out of sadness, but of the gravity of what she means to me and how much I treasure her. She is so special and unique and I have never met anyone who possibly measures up to her beauty, gentleness, perfect sense of humor, and sweet ass. She is lovely personified in my eyes. She is everything I could have wanted in a friend and wife and so much more that I did not think was even possible. She is God's greatest gift to me. There have been times in which when I see her face I feel God's spirit speak in my heart and say, "See how much I love you, Brian? I gave you her." Yes he did. He gave me Amy. My life is an attempt to say "Thanks".
06 September 2009
Rejection hurts, but I make it worse
Rejection is horrible.
But I wonder if what I take as rejection is really not. For instance, I write this blog, some people dig it, and for that I am happy. But there are times in which I think someone would actually enjoy a certain post, and so I send it to them. These people have continually encouraged me to write due to some perceived talent. So I decide to take something that I have created and email it to them and invite comment.
The silence that returns is not just deafening, but screams its way into my heart and tears the place up, like a 80's rock band in Cleveland all hopped up on blow and Tab Cola.
I gotta ask myself, why I do this. Why do I send it to them?
If I were honest, it is because I am looking for more approval. I am looking for some encouragement, some word that says, "Hey, that does not completely suck and make me want to pound nails in my head. That actually bordered on bearable."
I should not be doing this for others approval, but because God has called me to it. Where is that internal drive that makes some push through no matter what others say or don't say? Why don't I have that? Where is the pursuit of my "art" or calling that burns within me. I don't even have people saying "you suck ass", they are just not saying anything. What would I do if someone out right rejected me and my writing?
Wow, I can easily become depressed with my fragility.
Could it be they were just too busy? Maybe someone had a bad day, or just did not think to comment. I have read a bunch of stuff and not let the author know that I thought it was well written and I got something out of it. I remember one time I expected a comment from someone on something I wrote, and he said that he could not think of anything that matched my level of intelligence. While I don't know if he was telling the truth, it felt pretty good when he said it.
How do you get there? By the way, this reminds me of the Patton Oswalt bit about "Death Bed - The Bed that Eats People".
How do I get to a point in which I don't care what others think, I just press forward?
...
I just took a minute to pray about this, and just realized, that I am pressing forward. I am here right now, with the headphones on listening to Elliot Smith, bottle of Samuel Adams Octoberfest beside me and nothing but the glow of the screen to show me the way, and I am typing away.
Why?
Because I gotta. I have to write. No matter how hard it is and how silent others are, it is just in me and I go crazy if I don't. No matter how much I hate it and how gut wrenching it can me at times, I have to do this. It's good for me. God put this in me.
I can take solace in the fact that I sat down to write about how much I hate to write. I was really on the brink of giving all this up again for like the 30th time. Once again, God intervenes and tells me to take my head out of my ass and see the world as it really is and just keep pressing forward. It's all in His hands anyway.
Alright. It felt good to go through that.
So what do I take from this rollercoaster of a night? For one thing, I need to go through my music playlist a bit. Jimmy Buffet's "Christmas in the Caribbean" is a real mood breaker when writing.
The other thing is I need to take my need for encouragement and validation to God and Him alone. I have put that burden on others, and they can't carry that burden. They did not ask for that to be put on them. The reason I chose to put that burden on them is because of their compliments. God forbid anyone else gives me a compliment in the future...no telling what I may ask of them. So don't give me a compliment. More rejection causes me to go to the One who can actually carry that burden and He also wants to carry that burden. So I will try to give it to Him, and hopefully He will show up again, like He did tonight. He showed me my passion and the surprising depth of my commitment.
Thanks for listening. This post was a bit strange and a disjointed. Sorry about that.
But I wonder if what I take as rejection is really not. For instance, I write this blog, some people dig it, and for that I am happy. But there are times in which I think someone would actually enjoy a certain post, and so I send it to them. These people have continually encouraged me to write due to some perceived talent. So I decide to take something that I have created and email it to them and invite comment.
The silence that returns is not just deafening, but screams its way into my heart and tears the place up, like a 80's rock band in Cleveland all hopped up on blow and Tab Cola.
I gotta ask myself, why I do this. Why do I send it to them?
If I were honest, it is because I am looking for more approval. I am looking for some encouragement, some word that says, "Hey, that does not completely suck and make me want to pound nails in my head. That actually bordered on bearable."
I should not be doing this for others approval, but because God has called me to it. Where is that internal drive that makes some push through no matter what others say or don't say? Why don't I have that? Where is the pursuit of my "art" or calling that burns within me. I don't even have people saying "you suck ass", they are just not saying anything. What would I do if someone out right rejected me and my writing?
Wow, I can easily become depressed with my fragility.
Could it be they were just too busy? Maybe someone had a bad day, or just did not think to comment. I have read a bunch of stuff and not let the author know that I thought it was well written and I got something out of it. I remember one time I expected a comment from someone on something I wrote, and he said that he could not think of anything that matched my level of intelligence. While I don't know if he was telling the truth, it felt pretty good when he said it.
How do you get there? By the way, this reminds me of the Patton Oswalt bit about "Death Bed - The Bed that Eats People".
How do I get to a point in which I don't care what others think, I just press forward?
...
I just took a minute to pray about this, and just realized, that I am pressing forward. I am here right now, with the headphones on listening to Elliot Smith, bottle of Samuel Adams Octoberfest beside me and nothing but the glow of the screen to show me the way, and I am typing away.
Why?
Because I gotta. I have to write. No matter how hard it is and how silent others are, it is just in me and I go crazy if I don't. No matter how much I hate it and how gut wrenching it can me at times, I have to do this. It's good for me. God put this in me.
I can take solace in the fact that I sat down to write about how much I hate to write. I was really on the brink of giving all this up again for like the 30th time. Once again, God intervenes and tells me to take my head out of my ass and see the world as it really is and just keep pressing forward. It's all in His hands anyway.
Alright. It felt good to go through that.
So what do I take from this rollercoaster of a night? For one thing, I need to go through my music playlist a bit. Jimmy Buffet's "Christmas in the Caribbean" is a real mood breaker when writing.
The other thing is I need to take my need for encouragement and validation to God and Him alone. I have put that burden on others, and they can't carry that burden. They did not ask for that to be put on them. The reason I chose to put that burden on them is because of their compliments. God forbid anyone else gives me a compliment in the future...no telling what I may ask of them. So don't give me a compliment. More rejection causes me to go to the One who can actually carry that burden and He also wants to carry that burden. So I will try to give it to Him, and hopefully He will show up again, like He did tonight. He showed me my passion and the surprising depth of my commitment.
Thanks for listening. This post was a bit strange and a disjointed. Sorry about that.
02 September 2009
Take note
One thing I have learned in my walk through this thing we call life, is to take notice. It may sound a bit narcissistic, but I have found it helpful to notice those things, good and bad, that affect me most. By noticing these things, over time, I learn more about how I am uniquely made by God and learn more about my place in His plan. I have found it difficult to make definitive statements about myself. It would seem like the person who would know me best would be me, but that is not the case. Wading through all the voices in my head and my many moods and emotional swings, in an attempt to get to the real me can be a daunting task. How do you know that some desire or reaction is not just a product of my random emotional state that day or the fact that I happen to be trying to give up caffeine, so I am a bit on edge? There is always some thing or event that appears to be unique to today or a season of my life that "gets in the way".
So I have learned to look for patterns. And those patterns tell a lot of about me and who I am and my special place in God's plan.
Tonight as I was driving home from hanging out with a friend, the U2 song "Yahweh" began to play. I was reminded of a time in my life in which that song would consistenetly bring tears to my eyes and specifically one line...
Take these lips
So quick to criticize
Take these lips
Give them a kiss
That last line used to mess me up. I remember one time turning into a blubbering idiot from that last line. I was also reminded of my favorite part of the movie The Lion, Witch, and Wardrobe". It was when Lucy and Susan meet Aslan after he comes back from the table. When they realize he is alive, they run their fingers through his mane. That affected me more than any other part in that movie. Also, I have noticed that when I am separated from my wife for a while, either through distance or one of us is sick and quarantined in the upstairs room, I don't feel like we are really back together until I can give her a big embrace and feel her in my arms. That's when I feel normal again.
A few years ago, I was meeting with a spiritual director and he had me take a test called Sacred Pathways, which described the many ways people relate to God and gave you an idea as to which of those paths you most easily relate to God. Sensate was one of my most strongest characteristics. One way I relate to God is through the senses. I love seeing the things of God, and hearing music about him, and smelling the incense when I went to the Orthodox church, and tasting the bread and the wine during communion. But touch is more difficult. I can't really touch God now, but I long to. I am really looking forward to holding his hand one day and feeling his strong arms around me. For some, this may seem weird, but it is how he made me. I can take comfort in the fact that one day I will be able to hug my Savior and that thought helps me travel this life and gives me some strength to do what he has called me to.
So I have learned to look for patterns. And those patterns tell a lot of about me and who I am and my special place in God's plan.
Tonight as I was driving home from hanging out with a friend, the U2 song "Yahweh" began to play. I was reminded of a time in my life in which that song would consistenetly bring tears to my eyes and specifically one line...
Take these lips
So quick to criticize
Take these lips
Give them a kiss
That last line used to mess me up. I remember one time turning into a blubbering idiot from that last line. I was also reminded of my favorite part of the movie The Lion, Witch, and Wardrobe". It was when Lucy and Susan meet Aslan after he comes back from the table. When they realize he is alive, they run their fingers through his mane. That affected me more than any other part in that movie. Also, I have noticed that when I am separated from my wife for a while, either through distance or one of us is sick and quarantined in the upstairs room, I don't feel like we are really back together until I can give her a big embrace and feel her in my arms. That's when I feel normal again.
A few years ago, I was meeting with a spiritual director and he had me take a test called Sacred Pathways, which described the many ways people relate to God and gave you an idea as to which of those paths you most easily relate to God. Sensate was one of my most strongest characteristics. One way I relate to God is through the senses. I love seeing the things of God, and hearing music about him, and smelling the incense when I went to the Orthodox church, and tasting the bread and the wine during communion. But touch is more difficult. I can't really touch God now, but I long to. I am really looking forward to holding his hand one day and feeling his strong arms around me. For some, this may seem weird, but it is how he made me. I can take comfort in the fact that one day I will be able to hug my Savior and that thought helps me travel this life and gives me some strength to do what he has called me to.
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