Stupid Songs

25Nov07

I have always tried not to be one of those parents that say “they grow up too fast.” Sure they grow fast, but isn’t that how it is suppose to be? I mean what if your kid didn’t grow up as fast as others… that would mean somthing was wrong. Im sure they would be loved as much as other children, but a kid is suppose to grow. That all being said, I have really grown to hate those songs about little girls growing up; You know like that old one “butterfly kisses”, and I heard a new one a few days ago called “stealing cinderella.” That one hit home… if any of you have been to my house you’ve seen my babies in all sorts of different princess outfits…so when some punk comes to take my baby girl (whichever one it might be) he will be stealing my little cinderella… Im sorry, Im rambling aren’t I?

Anyway, those songs really bug me. I mean, I try to live in the moment, see each second as a beautifull gift, somthing to savor, but these stupid songs make me think about the future. I dont want to think about the future… I dont want to imagine how I will feel when I am not the only man in my daughters’ eyes. I dont want to think about what I will feel when she leaves me… when she falls in love with someone… when I am no longer the only light in her eyes… I dont want to think about that.

So I dont… you know what I do when those songs come on the raidio? I change the stinkin station. I dont have to think about it… I CAN live in the moment, I dont have to spend a second imagining her growing up, or leaving, or walking down the aisle… or any of that crap! I change the station… and I live right now without sadness or dread I live right now. I live where my babies live… when I try on the new suit I bought for a job interview, and my oldest runs to her room to put on her princess dress and then stands in front of me and curtsies to me and says “Please daddy, let’s dance… we didn’t do that for a long time” I live right there… I live in that second, that instant in time when she looks at me in my suit and goofy grin, and thinks Im amazing. She think’s her daddy is a prince, maybe a king… or maybe as she likes to say im just “the boss of the house.” Whatever she sees, it’s enough for this second and the one after… and we dance. Spinning around and dipping, humming some unknown tune only daddy’s know…we dance. Five minutes, three? I dont know, but when I kiss her hand and bow, she curtsies again and hugs my leg and I live in that second…I try to live in it for as long as I can, and when its over I smile and know Ill have it forever… no matter how fast life screams by. “Thanks daddy, it’s been a long time since we did that.”

Thats where I live… not in those stupid songs.

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Blog? What blog?

17Nov07

Well, I dont know how many of you noticed… probably just the three of you that actually check my blog occasionally… but I stink at “blogging”. To tell you the truth, I dont even really know what “blogging” is… I just heard everyone else is doing it so hey, why not join in the fun? Now Im stuck, I have a blog… and all day I think of funny, witty, and exeedingly profound things to “blog”, but alas… I am easily distracted by shiny objects and candy and usually forget what I thought within the space of 5 minutes…

So, what to blog? I actually sort of wish there could be some sort of discussion… you know, dialogue or somthing. Is that how you spell dialogue?

Anyway, so someone told me that they really enjoyed me changing the backgrounds so often… hey I might not write much, but at least I have visual variety eh? So Ill be sure to keep changing them as often as I dont write…

So if you have ideas, or somthing you want to say feel free to give me suggestions as to what I should write about…

I like writing, but unless I have somthing to stimulate the writing juices in my lil head I sometimes go months without writing, and I dont like that…

 ok, so give me some ideas!

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Fall

03Nov07

Ah , I miss those cool Louisiana fall days…(There’s no way you west Texas folks can relate to all of this) the ones that chill your ears in the morning and warm them by noon. Something about those mornings…the smell of air that isn’t hot, or the summer’s leaves drying to their ripe old ages…whatever it is, something about them always makes me feel good.

 

            Fall is, perhaps, God’s greatest creation. Some may prefer spring, some winter and some summer, but I… I think they are all mistaken. There is something divinely poetic about waking up expecting the warm summer morning and rather feeling the coolness touch the tip of your nose like the father of a newborn, trying to coax a smile. That first step outdoors is one of the most remarkably exhilarating moments in time…the smell, the feeling, is like a gentle exhalation of nature sighing happily that the brash sun has gentled once again. The sound of old leaves moving about in the trees, getting restless as they peer to their earthly destiny to warm the forest floor in the winter months. Yes it’s as if all of nature pauses and waits…waits for him to tiptoe through their midst on a cold night soon to come. We all wait; we talk about it, farmers live by it, squirrels mark the end of their work by it… the first frost. 

            That first frost dawn is another of the Creator’s masterpieces as the still cold morning opens its eyes to a sparkling paradise of translucent crystals covering everything. I always liked walking across the glittering grass, looking behind to see my foot marks bold and clear, feeling the cold wetness soak through my shoes. It’s as if that first frost were a stamp, pounding out in clear letters that fall is indeed upon us, for it is the event that brings about the season’s namesake.

 

It takes a few days, maybe a week or so, but soon, after that chilly morn has come and gone, the summer green begins to drift through a spectrum of colors that will inevitably end in brown. Then once green leaves will fall, but not sadly… no…I would say almost triumphantly, they will scatter to the earth like ticker tape falling in a New York City parade. Then the once plump, green, luscious trees will make a sudden transformation to gaunt, sinewy, gnarled trunks and branches, ready for winter and the battle it will bring.

            Yes, fall is the greatest of the seasons. You may disagree if you like; everyone has a right to be wrong, for fall is that last line in the poem, it’s the twist in the plot. Fall…my friend… is the exclamation point on the Master Author’s greatest work.

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The death of a forest

01Nov07

I have a problem… I must admit it to everyone…It has to do with public restrooms. I feel guilty every time I do it, but I still keep doing it.

 

You know those big round towel dispensers, the ones that you pull the towels out of the middle of the roll? I am compulsive when it comes to those things.

 

I walk into Taco Bell and head to the bathroom to wash my hands, I open the door and I see it…I try to divert my eyes while I pump the soap into my palm and rub my hands together… I look around to see if there is an optional electric hand dryer… (While I’m no “tree hugger” I do still have a bit of conservation conscience). But alas there is no way around it, I must kill trees and use the towel dispenser… I step to the side of the sink and face my foe. Three innocent inches of bunched up paper towel protrude from the bottom, but if you had been where I’ve been, you would know they were anything but innocent. Inside that dispenser are miles and miles of paper with perforations every foot or so, but do those perforations mean any thing? NO, they mean nothing; they are there to fool you, to lure you into the seeming harmless action of pulling a single towel with which to dry your hands.

 

I set my jaw and grasp the piece of paper I pull gently and watch the paper grow longer and longer, I wait breathlessly for the perforations to put a halt to the growing urge within me… I see the dotted line appear, but no tear… it just keeps coming out. I take hold of it with my other and hand pull down again a bit quicker this time and with less control. I feel my muscles twitching and straining to keep steady, but it’s too much, I must do it…

 

With a burst of adrenaline my hands move more quickly as I grab another handful of towel and pull down, then another and another, then hand over fist I pull, growing quicker with every pull until my hands are a blur, pulling and pulling the paper in an endless stream. I catch a glimpse of my face in the wall sized mirror and see the look of wide eyed psychotic pleasure as the paper flows on and time slows to a crawl. Foot after foot of paper runs through my fingers like syrup from one of those cool glass syrup jars with the little trigger on it…you know the ones like they have at Waffle House or Denny’s? Anyway…on to the story

 

Slowly the adrenaline begins to ebb and the pulling becomes less and less frenzied until finally I jerk the paper to the right and it pops cleanly in two at the perforations.

 

I stand there breathless, my chest heaving with the physical exertion of the experience. I still hold the last handful in my right hand. I hold it up to the mirror and pose with it like it’s a trophy bass. My grin fades as I follow the streamer down to the floor in front of me and my eyes rest on the mass of fluffy paper before me.

 

Guilt washes over me as I bend to lift the heavy pile from the floor. I try to think of a way not to waste it, but stuffing it back into its dispenser proves to be pointless and I resolve myself to living with the burden of many dead trees on my conscience. I stuff the enormous pile into the little hole in the countertop poking and pushing until it is all safely hidden; I sigh deeply as I push the door open with my back… I see my face in the mirror once more, “this is what it does to you” I think. My eyes are bloodshot, my face taught and drawn, my hands quivering…

“your hurting more than just yourself here” I scold, “you are killing innocent trees” a tear builds at the corner of my eye and rolls down my face as I walk from the restroom and go order my Baja Chalupa with extra sour cream and

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End of the rope

19Oct07

What do you do when you have watched someone you love hit bottom again and again, you have listened when they needed it, cried with them, prayed for them and helped them to thier feet. You have shown them the way to peace. You have given Jesus to them, practically held thier hand and put it in His, and yet they walk away time after time hoping that they can “pull through on thier own” 

ME: “the answer seems like a no brainer… try somthing new… you’ve been beating your head against the wall for years and it isnt doing any good… try this… try what Jesus offers, why is that a hard decision?”

HIM: “27 years of hell is hard to forget…”

what would you tell him? how would you help? Give me ideas, examples, whatever you have that might reach this person and make them realize the reality of Jesus and the salvation He gives…

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Swinging signs?

13Oct07

(all names in the following article have been made up, However the dialogue is based on actual experience)

“Jessie… alcoholic and addict…” The room rumbles a unified

“Hey Jessie. “Jessie nods and smiles weakly… and begins to speak in an uncertain tone. 

“I been clean and sober now for 26 days… “ The room erupts into applause...  “I just want to say, that this…place… these p…p…people, saved my life. 27 days ago, I was dying… literally dying, laying in a bed shaking and puking trying to not drink. Today I feel alive. I lost my wife, and my little daughter, but I get to still see her on some weekends…but at least I’m alive… at least I can try to do better and get em back. If I woundn’ta met y’all, I would already be dead probly. And I just want to say to the new guy… don’t keep dying man… life sucks when you’re dying… but I like living man, it beats the hell out of what I was doing. The biggest thing is slap down your damned ego and start showing up here every time you can. You can’t do it alone… you can’t do it on willpower… you see where that got ya, you need people like this. People that been though the s*%t and lived, people that know what you are thinkin and how it feels. Someone to help you work the steps…Im glad you’re here dude, Im really proud you’re here. Its awkward as hell for a while, but it gets to where this is where you would rather be than anywhere else in the world, cause these people help you stay alive. “ I’m just glad to be here… Jessie smiles as again in unison they chime “Thanks Jessie”  

Thats what Jessie said, now someone tell me… for goodness sake, please explain to me why the “wretches of society”, these “lowlife deadbeats” ( I hope you know these slurs are marinated in sarcasm) can figure out something that the blood bought saints of God have failed to grasp for centuries. How many hundreds of years have the “saved” the “Called out” the “Sanctified” of the masses tried to manufacture something that would be acceptable and pleasing, something that would make them comfortable and be convenient, something that would allow them to philosophize upon those things that they think they know and understand?  

I dare you to walk into an AA meeting, because in there, your perception of your own goodness will be challenged. You will find people there that want to be there. There are no “greeters” at the door, and there is no one there sitting off by themselves. There are very few there that are forced to be there, and even they can attest to the goodness of it. They don’t have to have an organized committee to make sure guest feel welcomed, they don’t have a praise team, or a good band or light shows. In fact the only music you might find is  Metallica playing on a clock radio by the coffee pot… and the coffee sucks. You aren’t likely to find lines drawn distinguishing “Crackers”, “Wetbacks”, or “Niggers”…they are all in there together trying to stay sober, color or race doesn’t matter when you’re a drunk. There is nothing aesthetic about the building to attract anyone to it, in fact inside it stinks of a thousand dead cigarettes and dirty ashtrays. The ceiling tiles are stained from tar and nicotine. The water fountain is crusted over with mineral deposits…the toilets are… well not beautiful. They don’t serve meals between meetings, they don’t ask for a record of your attendance, they don’t have a comittee meeting before the meeting to decide who does what… they just all show up. That’s it…they show up. They show up because they have the same goal in life. They show up because they all want the same thing…a life. They read stories of others who have conquered… they tell their own stories of victory as well as defeat. They rejoice together in hours, days, weeks, years, or decades of continuous sobriety; and would you believe most of them attribute it to a “Higher Power” Jehovah God and thank Him for it.  

Isn’t that pretty much why we as a church, as Christians are suppose to meet? But why DO we meet. No, I’m not asking why we say we meet, why DO we meet? Why do we go through hell or high water to be there on Sunday morning? What is it that is supposed to be there with those people that I need, or want? Maybe for some, like me, the more appropriate question is, why do we often not want to meet. Why do we struggle with guilt and shame for sitting in a sanctuary and watching people sing and pray and watch someone preach and wonder if anyone else is as bored as I am? It’s because something is amiss… we have forgotten something. We are here because we are alive… and we want to stay alive. We are here because there is someone here, that is here for the first time and they are desperate for life. They are trying to detox from the world on their own and don’t know how. Any addict can tell you that detox can kill you if you don’t get help in time. The same goes for those first timers… they are close to death, in fact in our world of sin vs. Christ, they ARE dead. They might have stepped into a church building, but the misery of detoxification from the world hasn’t even started yet for some.  In an AA meeting, when they find out someone is there for the first time, they attack them. They give them phone numbers, they corner them and tell them to get help to detox, and they speak straight and tell them they are in the right place, but don’t screw it up by leaving and going to get a drink. One guy had a phrase he kept repeating, Im sure its familiar to those in the program, he kept telling the new guy, “You can’t quit drinking and still drink.”

You see in their minds, there is absolutely no doubt that this place…the program, works, and that it is good, and that it can and will change that first timer’s life if they let it.   That is what we are here to do… we are here to rescue the perishing. Something that is remarkable to me is that it is often the person with the most recent sobriety date that is the most adamant and blunt with the newcomer. The old timers are there backing him up, but he is the one talking straight. He is the one that calls the newcomer and asks him if he is still sober four hours after the meeting. And you know, that newcomer finds hope… he isn’t offended that they are implying he is gonna die if he doesn’t stop what he is doing… that’s why he came.  That’s why people show up to church for the first time… they KNOW they are dead, they know they need something. But will we have the sense to grab them and tell them what they NEED so desperately to hear? Something other than, “welcome…I hope you enjoyed the ‘Service’…” or “could you fill out this card so we can instigate a visit and a plate of cookies for you.” Will we have the conviction of it ourselves to say “You came to the right place for life… that’s what we do here…” What if they have beer on their breath and they are being a little boisterous… can they stay? Or do we need to get them out so they don’t disrupt…or embarrass us. Can they have life? Are we really convinced of what we have? Do we actually have it? 

Sometimes I look at Christians, (in a general sense) and I see a bunch of swinging signs on abandoned storefronts. It may say “Christ Follower”, but there is nothing but cobwebs inside…echoes of something that was once true but has lost its preciousness, lost what fills it up, lost its life. 

Now I know that there are some very solid theological reasons as to why exactly we do what we do… but the reality and the application, I’m afraid, has too often fallen by the wayside. We must remember that we were dead… we were addicted to sin. It was killing us, our families our friends, it was out of control. We were powerless over the pattern of indulgence, and at some point we hit bottom and had to get help. That moment of clarity…that’s what addicts say. That’s the moment when there were so few options available that the right choice is staring us in the face, clear and easy…to see. But are we still sober? Or have we relapsed? 

Charley has been going to an AA meeting a day for 12 years…because he wants to live. Dub, has been going 4 times a week for 3 years because he wants to live…Jessica has been going once a day for 36 days… Aaron twice a day for a week… Amos  just finished his first meeting and he is about to walk in the door of your church… He wants desperately to live.  Do you have what he needs? 

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