August 28, 2011
Pre-Frerunning
After watching a pretty cool vid, this consumed their minds and bodies today.
"Wow that's cool. We HAVE to make a video."
Slow rainy Saturday, waiting on Irene. Yeah, okay.
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July 12, 2011
The ANIMAL video
This is their passion right now, what we have to show for our spring and summer labor.
Credit to Luke for putting much of this together while dad helped.
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Credit to Luke for putting much of this together while dad helped.
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June 14, 2011
Time sensitive material
- - - - -
"Right" priorities balance on some razor thin, probably imaginary edge. It always feels like I'm sliding one way or another.
I'm typically at my physical therapy office from 8 to 7:30 on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Those are the days when I rush home at about noon for a quick lunch before the afternoon shift.
I pull into my driveway, usually happy and hungry. I see needs. Needs everywhere. There's so much that I could be doing with the fifteen or forty minutes I'm granted to be home.
The kids want to show me the mornings labor. A written story, a drawn picture, a new frog or "bike jump." They are scurrying around land mines the dogs have left lying in the grass. Removing them before disaster strikes a shoe and spreads through the house is a priority.
I notice plants calling for a drink. I walk through our disorganized, sometimes disastrous garage, down wall smudged hallway, make my lunch amongst stacks of folded laundry and dishes piled high. I see my dear wife, patiently waiting to catch up with me. My cell phone rings.
Some parts of me enjoy this pace and others do not. In some ways, I've most certainly asked for it, this family. And work? I could be trying to manage my own business. Sheeyah. I could be at my current office doing paperwork, "marketing," or getting caught up on "developments" in the field.
But I've made choices and have been blessed with the opportunity to work in the community where I live. I've traveled 2.4 miles to my home to receive hugs, instruction, and a bit of spaghetti-Os and bicycle grime on my work clothes.
The garage can be purged and organized, every wall painted, every twig, leaf, and blade in the yard uprooted and replanted, some day. I can research and hustle and pour myself into reinventing my presence in the workplace. All that can be accomplished in a few weeks or months. If need be. That's not so with spouses and children, with mental and physical health. NOT SO. There are important, time sensitive developments and opportunities happening with Amy, with the kids, and within me, that demand regular attention.
It may not happen during a lunch break on long work days. Seasons come and go with shifting priorities, but nobody can afford to regularly neglect the health of their family and their body.
I take my work seriously, honestly, and usually enjoy it. Yet sometimes I can't see the line between being a responsible provider and being caught up in the rat race. Where there are decisions to be made in the face of uncertainty, events and consequences that push one way or another, you know which way I'll be leaning.
- - - - -
"Right" priorities balance on some razor thin, probably imaginary edge. It always feels like I'm sliding one way or another.
I'm typically at my physical therapy office from 8 to 7:30 on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. Those are the days when I rush home at about noon for a quick lunch before the afternoon shift.
I pull into my driveway, usually happy and hungry. I see needs. Needs everywhere. There's so much that I could be doing with the fifteen or forty minutes I'm granted to be home.
The kids want to show me the mornings labor. A written story, a drawn picture, a new frog or "bike jump." They are scurrying around land mines the dogs have left lying in the grass. Removing them before disaster strikes a shoe and spreads through the house is a priority.
I notice plants calling for a drink. I walk through our disorganized, sometimes disastrous garage, down wall smudged hallway, make my lunch amongst stacks of folded laundry and dishes piled high. I see my dear wife, patiently waiting to catch up with me. My cell phone rings.
Some parts of me enjoy this pace and others do not. In some ways, I've most certainly asked for it, this family. And work? I could be trying to manage my own business. Sheeyah. I could be at my current office doing paperwork, "marketing," or getting caught up on "developments" in the field.
But I've made choices and have been blessed with the opportunity to work in the community where I live. I've traveled 2.4 miles to my home to receive hugs, instruction, and a bit of spaghetti-Os and bicycle grime on my work clothes.
The garage can be purged and organized, every wall painted, every twig, leaf, and blade in the yard uprooted and replanted, some day. I can research and hustle and pour myself into reinventing my presence in the workplace. All that can be accomplished in a few weeks or months. If need be. That's not so with spouses and children, with mental and physical health. NOT SO. There are important, time sensitive developments and opportunities happening with Amy, with the kids, and within me, that demand regular attention.
It may not happen during a lunch break on long work days. Seasons come and go with shifting priorities, but nobody can afford to regularly neglect the health of their family and their body.
I take my work seriously, honestly, and usually enjoy it. Yet sometimes I can't see the line between being a responsible provider and being caught up in the rat race. Where there are decisions to be made in the face of uncertainty, events and consequences that push one way or another, you know which way I'll be leaning.
- - - - -
June 04, 2011
love your neighbor
- - - - -
In the dark is where the really big huge monster bull frogs appear. So they waited all day for night to fall, the three brothers, the dad, and the neighbor girl. We began our third hunt in as many weeks, eager to see what kind of Nessies may be found croaking in the deep.
We approached the (now) legendary Grantham pond, each of us armed with net and flashlight. The sliver moon hung low, reflecting off water, moss, and muck. We were sneaking, excited but whispering to each other going into turn one of the pond, when from the corner of the pond we heard a...
A voice. Of a person. With a pretty alarmist tone for four kids and a dad quietly hunting frogs.
"'S"cuse me, the park is closed at 9:00."
Oh. My. Frog. Of COURSE. Of course someone would have a problem with this, four kids and a dad hunting critters together on a Friday night and letting them go a day or two later in their backyard one mile up-stream.
I pulled out my phone.
"Yeah look at that, it's 9:20. Were we bothering you?"
"Well the neighborhood around here keeps watch of the park at night and the park closes at 9:00."
I stood there silent, staring at the shadowy figure, a middle aged woman trying to catch her breath.
"I thought that meant the pavilion and the playground. So we're not allowed to be here, even for catching frogs with nets?"
"No your not. And we like having some frogs around, ya know?"
I thought of the hundreds if not thousands of frogs and tadpoles that we've seen or caught at the pond over the last few years, many of which probably find their way back when we release them.
I looked over at the small campfire she had going about halfway between her town home and the pond, wondering if it was placed on park property. Upper Allen Township prohibits campfires without a permit from the fire warden, recalled the one with a small ring of stones in the far reaches of his own back yard.
"Okay guys, lets head back toward the car."
We made our way back along waters edge. I caught a glimpse and paused to point out an almost wholly submerged monster bully. Seeing that we weren't moving out at a pace suited to her liking, the woman pretended to call the police. This had the effect of me wanting to go ape shit, especially since I had plenty of leverage with the illegitimate camp fire likely on park grounds.
I'm just a concerned citizen. And rules are rules.
And so I moved more slowly toward the car. Pausing here, listening there, not attempting to net anything. Rounding up four kids takes a while, you know? I somehow managed to keep my mouth completely shut. Not a word about the frogs. Or the rules on campfires. Or my disappointed children.
Is it wrong for me to smile at the thought that tomorrow, Lord willing, we will be there an hour earlier?
- - - - -
In the dark is where the really big huge monster bull frogs appear. So they waited all day for night to fall, the three brothers, the dad, and the neighbor girl. We began our third hunt in as many weeks, eager to see what kind of Nessies may be found croaking in the deep.
We approached the (now) legendary Grantham pond, each of us armed with net and flashlight. The sliver moon hung low, reflecting off water, moss, and muck. We were sneaking, excited but whispering to each other going into turn one of the pond, when from the corner of the pond we heard a...
A voice. Of a person. With a pretty alarmist tone for four kids and a dad quietly hunting frogs.
"'S"cuse me, the park is closed at 9:00."
Oh. My. Frog. Of COURSE. Of course someone would have a problem with this, four kids and a dad hunting critters together on a Friday night and letting them go a day or two later in their backyard one mile up-stream.
I pulled out my phone.
"Yeah look at that, it's 9:20. Were we bothering you?"
"Well the neighborhood around here keeps watch of the park at night and the park closes at 9:00."
I stood there silent, staring at the shadowy figure, a middle aged woman trying to catch her breath.
"I thought that meant the pavilion and the playground. So we're not allowed to be here, even for catching frogs with nets?"
"No your not. And we like having some frogs around, ya know?"
I thought of the hundreds if not thousands of frogs and tadpoles that we've seen or caught at the pond over the last few years, many of which probably find their way back when we release them.
I looked over at the small campfire she had going about halfway between her town home and the pond, wondering if it was placed on park property. Upper Allen Township prohibits campfires without a permit from the fire warden, recalled the one with a small ring of stones in the far reaches of his own back yard.
"Okay guys, lets head back toward the car."
We made our way back along waters edge. I caught a glimpse and paused to point out an almost wholly submerged monster bully. Seeing that we weren't moving out at a pace suited to her liking, the woman pretended to call the police. This had the effect of me wanting to go ape shit, especially since I had plenty of leverage with the illegitimate camp fire likely on park grounds.
I'm just a concerned citizen. And rules are rules.
And so I moved more slowly toward the car. Pausing here, listening there, not attempting to net anything. Rounding up four kids takes a while, you know? I somehow managed to keep my mouth completely shut. Not a word about the frogs. Or the rules on campfires. Or my disappointed children.
Is it wrong for me to smile at the thought that tomorrow, Lord willing, we will be there an hour earlier?
- - - - -
May 26, 2011
Depressed/Under Stress
[I'm not qualified to diagnose or treat depression. Well, at least not directly; not as a health care professional. These are simply the thoughts of a guy who signed up for a free blog.]
The most common condition in my physical therapy clinic, by a long shot, is depression. Those two little boxes on our health history questionnaire are almost always checked off. "Who's not under stress or depressed?" said the patient with low back pain as she completed her paperwork today.
On one hand, clinical depression is a mystery to me. I haven't studied it formally, and I've never been particularly depressed or anxious. Some of us just don't have that bend to us. No, some of us are too arrogant, stubborn, prideful, or dishonest with ourselves to be depressed. We fall, for sure, just not in the direction of depression. I do question if any minister, mental health specialist (or anyone else who does deal directly with depression) is very well qualified to understand or treat depression if they haven't experienced it themselves.
On the other hand, I do claim to know at least something about depression. Anyone who pays a lick of attention should know something, because it's everywhere.
I know that bringing up perspective and poor decisions and God's sovereignty is not exactly therapeutic when someone is stuck under a crushing cloud.
I know that there is a significant genetic predisposition to depression. Or is it environmental. Does it matter which it is, if we recognize that depressed people have absolutely not always brought it on themselves?
I know that three days of gnawing back pain and lost sleep will make anyone quite emotional if not substantially depressed. Stress and anxiety and depression absolutely effects pain perception, cycles the misery, ups the ante.
I know that a lot of beautiful, intelligent, genuine Christians suffer from depression. They bare witness to the fact that faith or lack of faith is not the bottom line here.
I ask why. Why so much depression so often affecting so many different types of people? Is there anything we can do about it? How may I actually help someone suffering depression, or at least not further hinder them? How, where, what can we do to save our children from this thing where they grow up and the vast majority of them are checking the "stress/depressed" box on their health history questionnaire?
In 50 or 500 years, will our ancestors remember our age as the second great depression? Do you imagine there's some element(s) of modern living that are highly damaging to the human psyche? What's really going on here? Is it our expectations, our knowledge base? Are there choices we're all making, seemingly sane and good choices, that bite us in the butt 10 months or years later?
I just can't imagine that it's only due to improved diagnoses and social acceptance of depression. In the old days, people may have been hungry or persecuted or oppressed or dead at a young age. But I can't imagine that so many suffered from depression.
There have been times when I've been able to help friends. A little movement, a little less arthritic pain, a little lighthearted laughter. There have been more times when I've struggled to do nothing more than be present, listening. There are times when I pray for less understanding and more gentleness and compassion.
"Some people feel guilty about their anxieties and regard them as a defect of faith. But they are afflictions, not sins. Like all afflictions, they are, if we can take them, our share in the passion of Christ." -CS Lewis
The most common condition in my physical therapy clinic, by a long shot, is depression. Those two little boxes on our health history questionnaire are almost always checked off. "Who's not under stress or depressed?" said the patient with low back pain as she completed her paperwork today.
On one hand, clinical depression is a mystery to me. I haven't studied it formally, and I've never been particularly depressed or anxious. Some of us just don't have that bend to us. No, some of us are too arrogant, stubborn, prideful, or dishonest with ourselves to be depressed. We fall, for sure, just not in the direction of depression. I do question if any minister, mental health specialist (or anyone else who does deal directly with depression) is very well qualified to understand or treat depression if they haven't experienced it themselves.
On the other hand, I do claim to know at least something about depression. Anyone who pays a lick of attention should know something, because it's everywhere.
I know that bringing up perspective and poor decisions and God's sovereignty is not exactly therapeutic when someone is stuck under a crushing cloud.
I know that there is a significant genetic predisposition to depression. Or is it environmental. Does it matter which it is, if we recognize that depressed people have absolutely not always brought it on themselves?
I know that three days of gnawing back pain and lost sleep will make anyone quite emotional if not substantially depressed. Stress and anxiety and depression absolutely effects pain perception, cycles the misery, ups the ante.
I know that a lot of beautiful, intelligent, genuine Christians suffer from depression. They bare witness to the fact that faith or lack of faith is not the bottom line here.
I ask why. Why so much depression so often affecting so many different types of people? Is there anything we can do about it? How may I actually help someone suffering depression, or at least not further hinder them? How, where, what can we do to save our children from this thing where they grow up and the vast majority of them are checking the "stress/depressed" box on their health history questionnaire?
In 50 or 500 years, will our ancestors remember our age as the second great depression? Do you imagine there's some element(s) of modern living that are highly damaging to the human psyche? What's really going on here? Is it our expectations, our knowledge base? Are there choices we're all making, seemingly sane and good choices, that bite us in the butt 10 months or years later?
I just can't imagine that it's only due to improved diagnoses and social acceptance of depression. In the old days, people may have been hungry or persecuted or oppressed or dead at a young age. But I can't imagine that so many suffered from depression.
There have been times when I've been able to help friends. A little movement, a little less arthritic pain, a little lighthearted laughter. There have been more times when I've struggled to do nothing more than be present, listening. There are times when I pray for less understanding and more gentleness and compassion.
"Some people feel guilty about their anxieties and regard them as a defect of faith. But they are afflictions, not sins. Like all afflictions, they are, if we can take them, our share in the passion of Christ." -CS Lewis
May 15, 2011
May 03, 2011
the life cycle of frogs
It's a warm spring day with nothing scheduled. The dad has worked hard to give his children the gift of a free morning.
I ask them what they'd like to do today. Play ball, go to the park, anything at all? Of course they want to catch frogs and other creatures. They've repeatedly asked for nothing more or less since the last time we came home with two bucket loads of tadpoles.
Off we drive with nets and buckets, to one of the many local watering holes; swamps and ditches and vernal ponds. Along the way we spot daffodils and tulips marking a season of new life, celebrating them with the excitement of Christmas lights in December.
For the next 50 minutes we scoop and slosh, collecting frogs, small fish, a turtle, and most of all, mud. Maggie never learns that thing about slimy frog eggs being gross. Ben nets his first tadpole; a moment that I never want to forget. You would have thought he netted Moby Dick.
Owen catches a frog and Maggie releases it. Luke turns up a small catfish. The excitement almost makes me forget about the organic smell that will linger in the car and the hours Amy and I will spend cleaning kids and shoes and laundry.
I know it's worth it - the time, the smelly car, the inspection for tics. I remember countless hours spent in the woods behind my parents home making new "old shoes," learning lessons in a small, mucky sanctuary of life known as "the swamp." The swamp was my favorite place to go until about the age of 13.
Then I had other things to do. I recall, a little later, riding my bike during college years at Slippery Rock. I was off to important places, and never had the courage to actually go poke around in the bogs and small ponds in and around campus. But I stared at cat tails with deep longing. The call of spring peepers was an instant reminder of the simple, joyful wonder of youth.
I've fished for trout, like dad did when he took me all over creation with net in hand. But that's just goofing around. I'm so thankful for the four tadpoles with me. I almost forgot how spectacular frogs are. For a minute there I thought there was something better to do than muck around in a swamp.
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Legacy
- - - - -
This past Sunday at LBC, Pastor Fedor spoke to us about leaving a lasting legacy, structured from a quote by Dr. Crawford Loritts Jr.
"Out of struggle comes strength."
Comfort and wealth have the potential to turn us into the walking dead.
"Out of strength comes discipline."
Discipline starts when we realize, in humility, that we have no strength of our own. Truly blessed are the meek.
"Out of discipline comes integrity."
Consistency establishes trust. There are no short cuts because we instill values primarily by example - how we live.
"Out of integrity comes your inheritance."
What will be left on the day you die; on the day the last memory of you winks out of existence? Hopefully much more than a certain "standard of living."
Do you "buy" this order of things? Hearing the story of Fedor's past, and considering how he lives now - it makes me want to pay attention, and gain understanding.
- - - - -
This past Sunday at LBC, Pastor Fedor spoke to us about leaving a lasting legacy, structured from a quote by Dr. Crawford Loritts Jr.
"Out of struggle comes strength."
Comfort and wealth have the potential to turn us into the walking dead.
"Out of strength comes discipline."
Discipline starts when we realize, in humility, that we have no strength of our own. Truly blessed are the meek.
"Out of discipline comes integrity."
Consistency establishes trust. There are no short cuts because we instill values primarily by example - how we live.
"Out of integrity comes your inheritance."
What will be left on the day you die; on the day the last memory of you winks out of existence? Hopefully much more than a certain "standard of living."
Do you "buy" this order of things? Hearing the story of Fedor's past, and considering how he lives now - it makes me want to pay attention, and gain understanding.
- - - - -
April 26, 2011
Easter blank
- - - - -
This past Sunday, pastor Kevin spoke about Easter as a CELEBRATION of the resurrection of Jesus. And you?
Easter is _______.
[I'm not asking you to reply by e-mail or anything, though you can if you like.]
What is Easter to you? Is it hope and peace and renewal and forgiveness? Or is it rules or hypocrisy or just high fives for the American Confectioners Association?
What do you say Easter is? What does your life say?
Easter is life *abundant*.
- - - - -
This past Sunday, pastor Kevin spoke about Easter as a CELEBRATION of the resurrection of Jesus. And you?
Easter is _______.
[I'm not asking you to reply by e-mail or anything, though you can if you like.]
What is Easter to you? Is it hope and peace and renewal and forgiveness? Or is it rules or hypocrisy or just high fives for the American Confectioners Association?
What do you say Easter is? What does your life say?
Easter is life *abundant*.
- - - - -
April 20, 2011
Forgive
This past Sunday at Lighthouse, Pastor Kevin delivered the second part of a two-part series entitled Red Letter Day.
Jesus claimed that we should love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. And he actually did it, as men tortured him on the cross because of his goodness and mercy.
"Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."
During his final painful moments, at the pinnacle of injustice, Jesus prayed. Is that not a miracle in itself? The miracle continues when we choose to have mercy and forgive others as we have been forgiven.
Jesus claimed that we should love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. And he actually did it, as men tortured him on the cross because of his goodness and mercy.
"Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."
During his final painful moments, at the pinnacle of injustice, Jesus prayed. Is that not a miracle in itself? The miracle continues when we choose to have mercy and forgive others as we have been forgiven.
Thanks be to God's grace, which is bigger than all of our offenses, and a lot easier on my face.
- - - - - -
April 11, 2011
forsaken
Last Sunday at Lighthouse, Pastor Brown delivered a message about...ugh.
That place. The place of darkness we will all face (or already have faced), where we see poorly and trust is fading. We feel stranded on one tragic, painful moment, and we don't understand.
Jesus himself, King of kings and Lord of lords, felt forsaken by God.
There's good news! The way we live now, how we think and what we do on a daily basis - it all matters on the day(s) when life is not sunshine and lollipops. Have we chosen to live in humility, with a confident trust in the Lord? Have we nurtured our relationship with God, knowing that He is always good, always for us, and always with us?
Last Sundays message helped me drop some of the fear and uncertainty that I was carrying toward the inevitable, temporary darkness.
- - - - -
That place. The place of darkness we will all face (or already have faced), where we see poorly and trust is fading. We feel stranded on one tragic, painful moment, and we don't understand.
Jesus himself, King of kings and Lord of lords, felt forsaken by God.
There's good news! The way we live now, how we think and what we do on a daily basis - it all matters on the day(s) when life is not sunshine and lollipops. Have we chosen to live in humility, with a confident trust in the Lord? Have we nurtured our relationship with God, knowing that He is always good, always for us, and always with us?
Last Sundays message helped me drop some of the fear and uncertainty that I was carrying toward the inevitable, temporary darkness.
- - - - -
April 04, 2011
Know Peace
[I'm filling in as a sub - the mid-week reflection for our church.]
This past Sunday, Pastor Kevin delivered the final message of a four-part series entitled Joy. This weeks message focused on peace.
In the Lord we find relational peace.
In the Lord we find inward peace.
In the Lord we find circumstantial peace.
Imagine that! How wonderful...
...You go back to business as usual, "real life" outside of Sunday morning. Your grace and gentleness is evident to everyone. Trust has replaced worry, opening the door for genuine selflessness and generosity. You have learned to be content whatever the circumstances, filled with gratitude, noticing the riches of each moment...
[Sigh]
Pastors sermon reminded me that contrary to popular opinion (including mine sometimes), peace is really not so elusive.
Peace is a person.
John 14:27
This past Sunday, Pastor Kevin delivered the final message of a four-part series entitled Joy. This weeks message focused on peace.
In the Lord we find relational peace.
In the Lord we find inward peace.
In the Lord we find circumstantial peace.
Imagine that! How wonderful...
...You go back to business as usual, "real life" outside of Sunday morning. Your grace and gentleness is evident to everyone. Trust has replaced worry, opening the door for genuine selflessness and generosity. You have learned to be content whatever the circumstances, filled with gratitude, noticing the riches of each moment...
[Sigh]
Pastors sermon reminded me that contrary to popular opinion (including mine sometimes), peace is really not so elusive.
Peace is a person.
I am leaving you with a gift - peace of mind and heart.
And the peace I give
is a gift the world cannot give.
John 14:27
March 18, 2011
I'm Not Lady Gaga
For some reason I feel fairly ridiculous when I type the name Gaga, or the word gaga, for that matter. Two or three years ago it made me think of nothing except drooling babies. My parents and grandparents use to call me Goo when I was that age.
By about the age of 3, I HATED being called Goo.
I paused and laughed to myself last week, overhearing Owen and Luke as they wrestled in the living room, each of them volleying, back and forth, "No, YOU'RE Lady Gaga." I dropped what I was doing and dove into the tangle of arms and legs tumbleweeding across the living room floor.
"YOU'RE BOTH Lady Gaga."
Yes. I called my kids Lady Gaga and proceeded to rough them up with flat punches and tickles.
Minutes later, breathing heavy and lying on the floor, I asked them where they heard about Lady Gaga.
"From you and mommy."
Okay, well that's good. I guess.
Amy despises most teenybopper pop, as she calls it. I find some of it catchy and interesting and mostly not, uh...profitable. The boys probably heard Amy and I comment about something on the radio or TV. We have talked about being shocked by Lady-you-know-who's eccentricity, in disagreement with pretty much everything she stands for, and definitely stuck on the hooks in some of the songs we hear.
I'm definitely not Lady Gaga.
Baby, I was born this way. My version would look a little different.
[If you haven't heard the song Born This Way playing a million times a day on the radio, you can easily look up the lyrics.]
Often impatient
Easily distracted
Chronically late
(These being particular manifestations of selfishness.)
Adrenalin and caffeine addicted
Short on confidence
Overly analytical
Seeking truth
Stubborn towards repentance
Wildly hopeful
Blessed beyond belief
Grateful
Wanting respect and acceptance
Desiring justice and mercy
Needing redemption
...to name a few.
I'm definitely not always on the right track. I'm not often proud of the way I was "born." Yes, of course there are regrets. Just today I talked too much when I probably should have listened.
Lady Gaga can and will issue here decrees while shocking and entertaining millions if not billions. Like me, most of them will go on to reflect on her words and deeds. None of us are Lady Gaga. Well, except Lady Gaga of course.
I'm RWG, thinking about keeping my own act together before I worry too much about anyone else. This is me, sharing my thoughts with maybe a handful of friends, denying neither how I was "born" nor my first nick-name.
There's much to be gained by accepting who we are, not so much in the braggart, "I have arrived" sense. Owning up to the whole truth about ourselves, including the fact that sometimes we all suck – it’s not a new idea. Spiritual poverty is a beginning, not an end. A beginning on the way toward the best things, like lasting joy and peace.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 5
- - - - -
By about the age of 3, I HATED being called Goo.
I paused and laughed to myself last week, overhearing Owen and Luke as they wrestled in the living room, each of them volleying, back and forth, "No, YOU'RE Lady Gaga." I dropped what I was doing and dove into the tangle of arms and legs tumbleweeding across the living room floor.
"YOU'RE BOTH Lady Gaga."
Yes. I called my kids Lady Gaga and proceeded to rough them up with flat punches and tickles.
Minutes later, breathing heavy and lying on the floor, I asked them where they heard about Lady Gaga.
"From you and mommy."
Okay, well that's good. I guess.
Amy despises most teenybopper pop, as she calls it. I find some of it catchy and interesting and mostly not, uh...profitable. The boys probably heard Amy and I comment about something on the radio or TV. We have talked about being shocked by Lady-you-know-who's eccentricity, in disagreement with pretty much everything she stands for, and definitely stuck on the hooks in some of the songs we hear.
I'm definitely not Lady Gaga.
Baby, I was born this way. My version would look a little different.
[If you haven't heard the song Born This Way playing a million times a day on the radio, you can easily look up the lyrics.]
Often impatient
Easily distracted
Chronically late
(These being particular manifestations of selfishness.)
Adrenalin and caffeine addicted
Short on confidence
Overly analytical
Seeking truth
Stubborn towards repentance
Wildly hopeful
Blessed beyond belief
Grateful
Wanting respect and acceptance
Desiring justice and mercy
Needing redemption
...to name a few.
I'm definitely not always on the right track. I'm not often proud of the way I was "born." Yes, of course there are regrets. Just today I talked too much when I probably should have listened.
Lady Gaga can and will issue here decrees while shocking and entertaining millions if not billions. Like me, most of them will go on to reflect on her words and deeds. None of us are Lady Gaga. Well, except Lady Gaga of course.
I'm RWG, thinking about keeping my own act together before I worry too much about anyone else. This is me, sharing my thoughts with maybe a handful of friends, denying neither how I was "born" nor my first nick-name.
There's much to be gained by accepting who we are, not so much in the braggart, "I have arrived" sense. Owning up to the whole truth about ourselves, including the fact that sometimes we all suck – it’s not a new idea. Spiritual poverty is a beginning, not an end. A beginning on the way toward the best things, like lasting joy and peace.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 5
- - - - -
March 04, 2011
aches and prayers
"Do you hear it?"
Ryan stands teetering on his left leg as I lower an ear toward his right knee. A group of children slow their way through the church lobby, watching me listen to Ryan bend and straighten, bend and straighten, bend and straighten his knee.
"Seems like your kneecap is slipping over the edge of the femur."
I don't have ears to diagnose a creek from a pop. But I do know what problems are typically exposed when the knee is locked straight with the foot off the ground.
"So what should I do?"
I pause, thinking hard, not about functional anatomy. I'm usually glad, even honored to try and help. But in the past I've assumed too much, ready to talk biomechanics when friends and family are just looking for low pitched "hmmms" and common sense advice.
I'm not sure what's behind the noisy knee. Kneecaps grind unevenly on femurs all the time for various reasons. If I had knowledge of a fool proof technique or set of instruction that would immediately relieve the misery of a dear friend, by all means, I'd eagerly share that.
But getting to the root of any matter takes time. We must prod, strain, and explore what precipitates the problem. We have to check strength and mobility at the foot, ankle, and hip. Then we scrutinize the details of basic activities like walking and squatting. And that's just the evaluation. Correcting the issue usually takes time. It's an investment, never without effort, rarely a simple matter of "in" versus "out," crack, clunk, and you're all fixed.
Oh, right. Ryan is still in front of me, waiting through my though pause with a look of expectation.
"Do you want to take a few minutes to look at the details?"
"Or maybe, hmmm, you should rest and take it easy for a few days."
- - - - -
I don't blame anyone for not wanting to go there - with all the detailed investigation. I'm pretty sure that I've done this in my prayer life. I'd like simple clarity on an issue. Some specific instructions or divine intervention would be nice.
Or would it? It just seems so...improbable...that the full complexity of any life issue can be holistically addressed by a simple, pain free granting. How are we to be reformed by quick answers and miraculous fixes? I'm not saying God can't, or that we shouldn't bring our concerns before him. Who am I to tell anyone how to pray? But it does seem that a shift in emphasis is in order.
Ugh. Who has time for all the self examination, the seeking, the deliberate waiting and watching as things unfold? Who wants all the prodding of sensitive areas when a knee brace and some ibuprofin may do the trick?
Who brings themselves still and quiet before the Lord with no agenda? Who humbly listens and prays for patience and the ability to be at peace while actually engaging the uncertainties, challenges, and pains of real living?
I say that anyone who pulls this off can move mountains.
- - - - - -
Ryan stands teetering on his left leg as I lower an ear toward his right knee. A group of children slow their way through the church lobby, watching me listen to Ryan bend and straighten, bend and straighten, bend and straighten his knee.
"Seems like your kneecap is slipping over the edge of the femur."
I don't have ears to diagnose a creek from a pop. But I do know what problems are typically exposed when the knee is locked straight with the foot off the ground.
"So what should I do?"
I pause, thinking hard, not about functional anatomy. I'm usually glad, even honored to try and help. But in the past I've assumed too much, ready to talk biomechanics when friends and family are just looking for low pitched "hmmms" and common sense advice.
I'm not sure what's behind the noisy knee. Kneecaps grind unevenly on femurs all the time for various reasons. If I had knowledge of a fool proof technique or set of instruction that would immediately relieve the misery of a dear friend, by all means, I'd eagerly share that.
But getting to the root of any matter takes time. We must prod, strain, and explore what precipitates the problem. We have to check strength and mobility at the foot, ankle, and hip. Then we scrutinize the details of basic activities like walking and squatting. And that's just the evaluation. Correcting the issue usually takes time. It's an investment, never without effort, rarely a simple matter of "in" versus "out," crack, clunk, and you're all fixed.
Oh, right. Ryan is still in front of me, waiting through my though pause with a look of expectation.
"Do you want to take a few minutes to look at the details?"
"Or maybe, hmmm, you should rest and take it easy for a few days."
- - - - -
I don't blame anyone for not wanting to go there - with all the detailed investigation. I'm pretty sure that I've done this in my prayer life. I'd like simple clarity on an issue. Some specific instructions or divine intervention would be nice.
Or would it? It just seems so...improbable...that the full complexity of any life issue can be holistically addressed by a simple, pain free granting. How are we to be reformed by quick answers and miraculous fixes? I'm not saying God can't, or that we shouldn't bring our concerns before him. Who am I to tell anyone how to pray? But it does seem that a shift in emphasis is in order.
Ugh. Who has time for all the self examination, the seeking, the deliberate waiting and watching as things unfold? Who wants all the prodding of sensitive areas when a knee brace and some ibuprofin may do the trick?
Who brings themselves still and quiet before the Lord with no agenda? Who humbly listens and prays for patience and the ability to be at peace while actually engaging the uncertainties, challenges, and pains of real living?
I say that anyone who pulls this off can move mountains.
- - - - - -
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