A short Thank You

My ears aren’t so good any more; they haven’t been for some time.  I think I started loosing my hearing right after the first bad incident I had with electricity back when I was in college doing refrigeration work during the summer time.  Any way, I really notice it when I wear headphones, one sounds like it’s turned way up and the other is seems as though it’s only up half way.  I found that I have to wear both in one ear in order for the balance to not be messed up.  It’s kind of weird looking, but it works for me.  The thing that has really been the hardest about the loss of my hearing is that I have a hard time having a conversation in a crowd or hearing a person speaking at a distance in a crowded room.  Funny, I’m more comfortable in front of a crowd than in the midst of one, at least up at the front I don’t have to worry about what the other guy is saying.

Funny though it sounds, I think God blessed me through the loss of my hearing.  One of the first things I had to do was to learn how to compensate in crowded situations.  There were times when I would completely miss someone saying something to me, even my wife, that couldn’t end up good.  I found that the only way I could hear people was to really focus on them.  I had to be looking straight at them, something I really didn’t do well.   I have never been really good at paying attention to people, always had too many things going in my head to much care what others were saying… another thing that was bound to end poorly.  I had to learn how to actually listen to people; start to learn, I’m still learning.  Over the years I have gotten better at hearing conversations and voices in crowds, not by concentrating harder on the sounds people make, but by reading what their lips told me.  That has been a huge blessing for me, it’s taught me to clear away, if only for a few short minutes, all the distractions in my head so that I can share an unrepeatable moment with someone else. 

Dear Father God… Thanks for the blessings on the side of my head.

A Time for Giving Thanks

One of the songs that usually brings me to tears in my new life, my empathetic life, is a song by Todd Agnew entitled, "Still Here Waiting."  The chorus recalls the fact that when the singer/writer finally turned around and stopped running toward the things he desired and started walking back toward God and the things He wanted for the sinner, that God was there, waiting with arms open, every time.  It seems I spend a lot of time like the sinner in this song, walking purposely away from this God who wants to warmly cloth me in His blessings.  I spend days and weeks walking angry at life around me ignoring God who is always there waiting quietly.  Each time I catch a glimpse of Him through my anger fueled view of the world I am halted, forced to view myself as the worst of what I see in this world.  I have had a few of those moments recently, each time catching a glimpse of the joy I could be enjoying instead of the blackness that fills me most days.

I read somewhere that purposely expressing thanks to someone each day is an easy way to change your outlook, though it takes persistence, making it a habit is the key.  I am going to use these days leading up to Thanks Giving Day to poke a few holes in my attitude, letting a little light in. "How hard can it be?"

God forgive me...  You have given me eyes with which I can see.  I can see the glories of your hands.  I daily look upon the master strokes of this world you have created.  I am able to look at blessing after blessing that you have purposed to place in my life.  All these things I do, and yet I choose to close my eyes to all of them and instead look at what appear to me as wrongs and mistakes.  I look too often at the things sinful man has made of this world and I let my heart turn dark.  Lord, help me to look for those things that you purpose for me.  These eyes you have given me are not as clear as in years past, and maybe they have grown dim because of the darkness I have chose to fixate on.  One thing I have noticed in the past few months is that I am forced to look more closely at things when I really want to see them, and I wonder if that is by design.  Are you helping me to more closely attend to the people in my life? Thanks I give to you, as well as I can, for these eyes I have.  Thanks for the glimpses of beauty that are still present around me though I have chosen to darken my view of things.  Thank you, Lord, for giving me new opportunities to see You more clearly.  Help me to be more aware of the blessings you have designed for my eyes to see.

Hands

I was in the middle of communicating back and forth with my boss today.  She sent out a reminder to the faculty about the up-coming "Take Your Child to Work" day.  I shot back an off the cuff comment about how it's funny that day happens on a school day and not on one of the 100 plus days off from school.  She wrote back, telling me about why the day was picked and how it had been switched to a day after the yearly testing, I felt she had taken my reply too seriously.  So to that end I wrote back to her, thanking her for the extra info and pointing out that I was just pointing out a "funny."  My boss is so great, and patient with me.  She wrote back again, and as I was responding to her, I realized that I was writing about my dad, and that reminded me of how much I miss him.

My dad was in the mechanical service and food service industries for most of my life.  

When ever I had a day off I was up at 0-dark-30 and out the door with him, 

his helper for the day, loading trucks, moving crates in a warehouse, 

climbing through dirty crawlspaces and dirtier attics…  From the time I was 

8 till I left for college, If I was not working at my own job or at school, I was

 working with dad.  The last thing I would have ever wanted as a kid was another day off.

  I was too worn out from my last "day off" with dad.  It was on those 

days off, that I learned the most important thing about him; my dad worked hard. 

To this day I remember his hands.  As I picture them I am reminded of how hard my dad worked.

I had to stop and catch my emotions up for a minute.  I lost my dad a little over 2 years ago, I did not grieve for my loss, for I knew he was a believer, but i am not sure that I ever took the time to really think about how much I missed him (and would miss him as time goes on).  I wrote about my father once.  I told about the things he taught me, that I knew because of him.  I knew he loved my mother.  Every day he greeted her with a hug and a kiss and a loving word.  He made sure to tell me as a young man that nothing on this earth was as important to him as his wife, and I knew it to be true.  He taught me that a man was supposed to have 2 qualities: constancy and honor.  He taught me these traits daily in what he said and did, and in how these things agreed in how he lived.  He also taught me a man had to be strong and how he must sacrifice for his family.  

But I understand now that he taught me one lesson without ever saying a word.  He taught me this lesson through his hands.  My dad was a big man, 6'2", over 200 pounds.  He had arms that were long and strong... but his hands... I remember when dad was laid out in his casket, the first thing I saw were his hands.  I turned to my sister and said, "They got his hands right."  She agreed.  They looked hard, toughened by work, calloused and wrinkled by years of labor: my dad's hands.  His hands were huge, probably a good 50 percent bigger than mine.  My hands would disappear inside his when 

he sat with me and held mine as we talked (I needed a lot of counseling as a kid).  When he showed me how to work with the tools of his trades those hands were skillful, moving with gracefulness and purpose.  When he tossed me in the air each night as I ran to greet him I was sure his strong hands would catch me.  I can't remember a single time in my life that my dad's hands were anything but gentle toward those he loved.  Yes, I was spanked at times, but never out of anger.  Those huge, hard, calloused, mighty hands were always used for my good, no matter what.  

Most of this doesn't make much sense, but that's okay, because I'm writing to myself today.  What will my hands be remembered as by my children?  

Life...

For about 3 years I have been trying to fix my roof.  Over that time we have had several reasons to postpone the job; lack of funds, oral surgery, dying drain fields.  Well, finally, some very good friends brought the roof restoration to fruition.  About 3 months ago 2 of them with extensive experience in building came to inspect my house and map out a plan.  Over the next weeks materials were bought and several tries were made to plan a work day.  Weather got in the way until today.  Twelve caring brothers in Christ came out today to fix my roof.  As the work began it was soon clear that there was no way we would get the work done today because there was much more wood rot than we thought.  As more shingles came up, more and more wood rot raised its ugly head.  What we thought would be replacing  3 to 4 sheets of plywood sheeting turned into almost a third of the roof surface.

I was nearly brought to tears as I walked about the property finding needed supplies and tools for the men who came to fix my house.  First I was distraught at how bad the roof was and how much longer it would take to fix and how much more it would cost for materials, and how much harder these friends would have to work and how could I have let it go for so long, and how could I have been so ignorant of what was going on and and and a....   Then I was struck by how blessed I was, yeah, how blessed.  With that much rot, there should have been water pouring into the house, but there wasn't.  With that much damage I could have been looking at thousands more in repairs, but it wasn't.  With that much damage this should have been so much worse...  BUT IT WASN'T.  Some might call it lucky, but I call it blessed.  By that time I was just glad to be on the other side of the shop looking for an air line fitting.  No one was there to hear me talking to God.

Now, sitting back n my chair, watching the Gator game, I realized the life analogy waiting to be written about my roof.  So here goes.  Life outside of God is like a rotting roof.  From the outside and from a distance, it looks pretty good.  Even when the owner knows there are a few problem areas, they can be easily covered up with sealers and tarps.  You can put a few new shingles over the really weak spots, and if you avoid walking near them you can probably keep things under control.  Our culture drives us to make sure to focus on how the outside looks because that's what others see.  We can often ignore what's going on under the surface because everything seems so normal.  Ignoring what really needs to be done will ultimately lead to collapse.  Life outside of Christ can leave us ripe for a collapse.

Well the roof is now patched and about a third of the boards are in place to mount the metal.  The whole thing is covered in a single large tarp, and I am sitting amazed at what God did today through the hands, backs and knees of 12 amazing guys.  (Hmmmm, 12 guys.....)

Faith During the Pain

Twang!  No, it was more like TWANG!  that was the sensation I felt on the last day of school nearly 3 weeks ago at approximately 10:15 A.M. as I was in the middle of a baseball bat relay during 5th grade field day.  I had just spun around the bat 10 times, and knowing what normally happens next, I just dropped the bat and stayed bent over for a few seconds while the world, and my stomach, stopped spinning.  After 3 or 4 seconds I began the return sprint back to the finish line by standing up, and that's when it happened,  TWANG! went my left calf.  I knew something was wrong immediately, but I hopped back to the finish and went straight to our class's cooler for a bag of ice; my fun and games were over.  As bad as the initial pain was, the more the day drug on, the worse I felt.  When I got home I wrapped it up and started feeling sorry for myself.

I was most upset because in 2 days, I was supposed to be starting a bicycle trip with the youth from my church.  The longer I thought on it the more upset I got, because there was NO WAY I could ride a bike for 20-50 miles if I couldn't walk 100 feet.  I texted Pastor Robbin, who was leading the ride, and told him that he might be down one group leader.  The rest of the evening was spent splitting time with the Ice pack and heating pad.

When I woke the next morning, I spent 30 minutes stretching out my sore leg.  I figure out how to limp with a minimum of pain, wrapped up the swollen appendage in an Ace bandage and prayed a lot.  I spoke to God about my desire to do the trip; after all, I had spent 2 months and a small sum of money preparing for the journey.  There were words asking for help, asking for comfort, and telling Him I needed courage because I had no desire to increase my daily quota of pain any higher than it is normally.

A couple of hours later, after prepping my bike and the girls' bikes, I tried something that seemed totally ridiculous, I went for a ride.  Just walking the bike down the porch stairs hurt terribly, but I had to try to ride.  To my surprise, as I began to turn the pedals the pain in my leg abated.  I rode around the yard, then out on the cul-de-sac out front, then I turned toward the hill up the road and took off for a half mile of no pain.

Back in the yard I dismounted.  Once back in walking mode I was reminded in no uncertain terms that I was injured.  Every step brought a sharp pluck of pain, but I had ridden with no pain.  I made the decision right then that I was going to do the 1st leg of the ride the next day.  I should be able to do 20 miles even though I was hurt.  It was the second day that would bring the real yes or no.  I would either be swollen up and in too much pain to ride the next morning, or I would be the same as I was.  If I was the same, I would go.

Each morning for the next 5 days started and ended the same way; with me asking God for help comfort and courage.  He was faithful the entire time.  I am convinced that God wanted me to go on that bike trip, and I leaned on that in faith knowing that He would make a way for me to ride because it was His will.  I gave each mile up to Him, thanking Him every 5 minutes for the next mile to come.  At the end of each day's ride I was reminded of the pain as soon as I dismounted, but it was the end of that ride and rest awaited me.

I did not do this ride on my own; in my own strength I could never have done it.  It was the strength of God that brought me through.  The next couple of essays will be about the form that His strength took: OJ, MF, NB, CM, JK, KF.

(Yes, it still hurts all the time, some times a lot.  I suppose it will take some time to heal, but I have time, as much time as He sees fit to give me.)


2 Corinthians 12 -    8 Concerning this I implored the Lord three times that it might leave me. 9 And He has said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. 10 Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ’s sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong.

Old Man on a Bike... (or- Trying to Become Road-Kill)

    A couple of months ago the words, "Yeah, I'll go on the youth bike trip," came out of my mouth.  It was a moment of weakness, maybe I was trying to relive the care-free days of my teen years, maybe I was trying to be the cool dad, or maybe I was in the midst of a Tourette's moment and couldn't control my vocal nerves.  What ever the cause, I soon began a series of weekend rides of increasing length set up by Pastor Kuder, a man who I witnessed ride 26 miles in hot muggy weather without sweating.  These rides were intended to prepare those going on the trip for the sort of distances we would be experiencing on a daily basis.  Below is a picture of me on the first ride out to Fort Braden, a ride of about 21 miles.  I had a few things to work out on the bike: a better seat, gear adjustments, and rider positioning just to name a few

Notice the multi function carry rack that I have attached to my
ride.  It allowed me to carry lots of  momentum sapping
gear helping to make the ride all the more brutal.

    One of the things that Robbin wanted us to do was to include shorter daily rides during the week  between our weekend trial runs.  This was so that we would build up stamina and condition our bodies to withstand the grueling effects of riding our bikes long distances over consecutive days while we were on the trip.  My daughters we able to do this, and it paid great dividends for them during the week-long tour of North Central Florida.  I however, did not follow this regimen, having two jobs, I spent my off hours racking up seat time in my favorite recliner, albeit watching the travel shows on PBS.  I never really built up the necessary recovery mode needed for a series of days on two wheels.

After two straight days of riding, my middle-aged body was very reluctant to make a go of it on the third day, which started off with a substantial climb over the bridge between Bristol and Blountstown.  On the way down the back side of the bridge, I realized I had bitten of a bit more than I may have realized those few weeks back.  That day ended with a harrowing set of hills bringing us into the fair city of Marianna.  I was thankful for the early end to the day's ride and the 3 hour soak we would have in one of the local rivers that afternoon.

A dramatic reenactment of my triumphal entrance into Marianna
Caverns State Park on day 4 after a 3.5 mile ride. 

The next day was our shortest ride day of the week, only 7 total miles, broken into 2 equal parts, before and after a visit to a local park.  The exhibits and the chance to cool off in the limestone caves that the locale was famous for was a wonderful way to spend the morning.  The 6 hills we had to climb on the way there, then on the way back, not so nice.  I spent part of the afternoon looking for my left lung which had mysteriously gone missing on the way back to our hosts' facility.

I know the camera adds at
least ten pounds to you,
but my pink accessory set
really made me feel fat.

The next two days proved brutal on my forty ahm, cough cough... year old body.  42 miles on the 5th day, and 55 miles on the last day combined to sap every ounce of energy reserves left in my body.  On that final day, I twice moved to the back of my group to use the draft effect to its full potential; allowing the younger members of the group to punch the required hole in the wind, towing my worn out remains in their wake.  While cruising at the back of the pack I made a few decisions.

1- I will go on the trip again next year... It really was a ton of fun.  I'll write more about that later.
2- I need to drop a few pounds before next year.  Moving my brick-like form through the wind uses just too much energy.
3- I need to get more padding for my seat, a lot more.
4- I want to get one of those miniature  electric motors installed on the bike, just to help regulate cruising speed.
5- I need help for the hills; asthma and hills do not mix.

My first mock-up of the bike mounted
 hill ascent assist device (BMHAAD) went
well, except for the awkward riding position and
the probable harm to riders behind... and ahead.  No one
was injured (permanently) during the initial test
pictured here.

What I learned from my children this year

Each year comes and goes and each year I find out how little I really know.   Daily life can point out what you don’t know, your friends are good at pointing out what you wish you knew, and your boss can often point out what they wished you would learn.  It really is amazing, but I find that it is often through my children that I learn my most important lessons.

From my eldest son, Chris, I have learned a number of things.  He’s taught me to do hard things, even when you don’t seem to have time to do them.  This year he showed me the importance of taking chances.  He made changes in several important areas of his life this year, there was no need to, and he could have comfortably stayed in his proven routine.  He realized changes were needed and that they would be good for him.

My eldest daughter has taught me a lot about being a dad over the years.  Dominique has taught me to be gentle, patient, and cautious in the way I speak.  This year she showed me a new lesson, how to be willing.  Throughout this year she has shown her mother and I a willingness to take on whatever her circumstances require.  No matter what we have required of her, no matter the curves life has thrown, she has shown steadfastness.  When life got in the way of her plans, she accepted the new reality and moved on without complaint.  When I asked her to take on extra responsibilities at home, she did so and asked if she could help in other ways.

My youngest daughter, Alexandra, has taught me so many lessons of the heart.  It’s because of her words that I made a huge change in my life in 2006.  This year she taught me the meaning of truly smiling.  When she smiles, she doesn’t hold back, she lets it be as big and goofy and fun as it needs to be.  Her laugh has refocused me to what joys I was overlooking when I came home from a lousy day dozens of times this year.  It is because of her that I have begun to enjoy the pleasures of a good laugh again.

Jeremiah, son number two, has been a teacher to me on many fronts.  He is single minded about goals.  He has and shows a soft heart.  He stops to help others.  This year he taught me about trusting God’s plan for me.  I learned this from him after a practice session during which his coach had shared with him some disappointing news.  Instead of getting down, he considered his coach’s opinion as that of an authority put in place by God, and decided he would trust his decision.  He even had the boldness to tell his coach he was okay with the decision because it was part of God’s plan. 

“From the mouths of babes…” goes an old saying.  Well, my children are not babes, but from their mouths and from their actions I experienced wisdom spoken into my life.