chronic deconstruction

17 Years and Counting

2011-08-11T16:13:00.005-05:00

I love you because you said “I forgive you”. I love you because you said “yes”. I love you because you said “I do”. I love you because you are beautiful. I love you because you are the best mommy I have ever seen. I love you because you smile. I love you because you make me smile. I love you because you dance. I love you because you are not impressed by me. I love you because of your faith. I love you because you buy me Frosted Lucky Charms. I love you because you understand. I love you because you are patient. I love you because you are godly. I love you because I trust you. I love you because you get up in the middle of the night and tend to crying babies. I love you because you know I pretend to be asleep sometimes but you get up anyway. I love you because you read your bible. I love you because you like to ride roller coasters. I love you because you laugh at my jokes. I love you because we drink coffee together. I love you because we always have something to talk about. I love you because you smile at me from across a crowded room. I love you because you kiss me from across a crowded room. I love you because you kiss me at all. I love you because you hold my hand. I love you because you squeeze my hand to say you love me. I love you because you hold me. I love you because you like to go to Chili’s with me. I love you because you like to go to Buffalo Wild Wings with me. I love you because you are faithful. I love you because you see right through me. I love you because you make the best green beans in the world. I love you because you will be silly with me. I love you because you sing. I love you because you always want just a sip of my Coke. I love you because you like to find good sales. I love you because we eat popcorn together. I love you because you let me snatch your pillow even though it bothers you. I love you because you are sentimental. I love you because you let me tell funny stories about you. I love you because you like dogs. I love you because you make sweet babies. I love you because you cuddle with me. I love you because you listen to me. I love you because you hear me. I love you because you leave drawers open. I love you because you leave your keys in the door. I love you because you bring me surprises from the store. I love you because you take care of me when I am sick. I love you because you yell at me when I am a jerk. I love you because you jump on the trampoline. I love you because you let me say I’m sorry. I love you because you wear Amarige just to remind me of our honeymoon. I love you because you play Foosball with me. I love you because you play Backgammon with me. I love you because you play Candy Land with the kids so I don’t have to. I love you because you sit through my “I guess you had to be there” stories. I love you because you make me turn down my loud music. I love you because you make me want to be a better person... husband… father… Christian. I love you because you pushed me in my wheelchair. I love you because you carried me. I love you because you didn’t let me feel sorry for myself. I love you because you covered me up with a cozy blanket. I love you because you moved my legs for me. I love you because you do the family budget. I love you because you have a lot of purses. I love you because you call and ask when I am coming home. I love you because you like musicals. I love you because you sing “A Whole New World” with me. I love you because you like my pancakes. I love you because you love to open presents at Christmas time. I love you because you love traditions. I love you because you are a Proverbs 31 woman. I love you because other women want to be like you. I love you because of your convictions. I love you because of your devotion. I love you because of your passion. I love you because you let me read to you. I love you because you text me in the middle of the day just to say you love me. I love you because we keep secrets together. I love you because you like the beach. I love you because you go canoeing with me. I love you because you love to have a lazy PJ day together. I love you because you never let me forget I am a leader. I love you because you remind me of my value to God. I love you because you remind me of my value to others. I love you because you waited for me. I love you because without you I wouldn’t be the me I am. I love you because you are an amazing pastor's wife. I love you because you let me make dramatic, sappy proclamations about you. I love you, I love you, I love you!

There's No Place Like Home, or the People in it... Hopefully.

2011-07-29T21:02:00.007-05:00

This has been a good week. I love the time of building relationships with the kids on this trip. Each one of them is so incredibly special and so individual. I love getting to watch them "get it" at just the right moment.

I watch and listen as several of the children in our group share highlights of the experiences without hesitation during church group devotions each night. The answers range from recreation to track times to worship. They seem to like their bible study leaders and staff who run other events in which they participate. It is fun seeing the first time campers get into the whole of it all without realizing it. All their fears and insecurities seem to be swept away in the excitement and newness of their experience.

Don't get me wrong, it has had its moments. I think some type of light has been left on in some form in everyone's room, closet, or a-joining bathroom. We have left my door unlocked or cracked each night to provide reassurance and immediate availability if someone gets scared [of course, Bro. Steve's snoring might scare them even more]. I noticed the relief on a couple of faces about the unlocked door even if they expressed no verbal relief in front of their friends [boys are funny like that].

Then there was the rainstorm that blew through [a couple of them, in fact]. I feel certain one of our boys was thinking of questions to ask just to have reasons to come sit on the bed and make conversation during the thunder. I also had two or three specifically ask me to check the radar on the weather app on my iPad [Of course, each one said they were checking for someone else].

I had one fella begin to cry during a morning quiet time and said he was homesick. We talked about it a little and at one point one of his buddies admitted he was a little homesick, too. I told them it was ok to be a little homesick and we were still going to have a great week anyway [truth is, I was a little homesick myself].

As the week continued, my own son became especially affectionate. He would clasp my arms and drape them over his shoulders and down his chest while standing in line in the cafeteria. He would turn around and hug me a few more times than usual, and would take my hand when we walk from time to time. He wasn't homesick. He was tired, yes, but not exactly homesick. What is interesting is I noticed he was not the only one to demonstrate similar behavior. One of our little girls has taken hold of my arm as we have walked out of worship and clasped my had as our group walked.

One of our boys was standing next to me and reached up to place his hand on the top of my shoulder. I thought he was trying to get my attention, so I looked at him to which he replied "Oh, sorry Brother Todd... I wasn't thinking right. For a minute I was thinking you were my dad standing there."

That's just it, though. They know they need the people that mean the most to them in their lives. What I find interesting is that in the absence of the authentic, at something as simple as a 5 day camp, they seek a substitute - even if unintentionally. I feel like I am a pretty good substitute with their best interest in mind; however, except for one, I am not the authentic person for them.

I can tell them they will be ok during the rainstorm and not to worry, but I'm not their mom.

I can reassure them that nothing will come out of the closet or from under the bed, but, I'm not their dad.

I can hug a neck, hold a hand and be a human play-gym if necessary, and certainly provide my shoulder to lean on, but I'm still just Brother Todd.

Two things are glaringly obvious. First, they need that kind of stability in their lives. All kids do. Really, all people do. That security, that trust, that love is complete reassurance and confidence building. It is also priceless. It is the kind of assurance we ultimately find untainted in our heavenly father.

The second is the issue of the substitute. If our natural inclination is to seek a substitute in the absence of the authentic, what does that mean for us spiritually? When we allow ourselves to move away from God in our spiritual walk, what will then be our substitute? With what will we try to replace God to comfort ourselves? In what will we place our safety and protection during the storms of life? If not God, who's arm will we grab to lead us through the crowd of mayhem and distraction?

Furthermore, what will we teach our children about these things? What are they learning through our examples and leadership? Moms and Dads are the substantial influencers of the home... and dads? We are to be the pastors of our home leading our families and children to the place of total security in God our father. We are their shepherd under God.

It is in our human nature to take measures to fill voids within ourselves, and two or more things will not fill the same void. Moms. Dads. If we don't do the the job to see that the void is filled with the right things, someone or some-thing else will. And there are plenty of people, philosophies, and things waiting to steal the hearts of our children.

51 Steps to Dealing with Other People's Baggage (part two)

2011-07-27T07:29:00.000-05:00

It occurred to me yesterday [particularly through the gentle text reminder of a friend who is a faithful Chronic Deconstruction reader] that yesterday's post might have been a little, dare I say... whiny?

Carrying luggage up so many flights of stairs is really not that bad. The reality is that with a family my size, carrying everybody's stuff is a regular, daily ordeal; I'm the perfect man for the job. And the exercise? Well, let's face it, we could all use a little more of that, so essentially I am killing two birds with one stone. Besides, it is for the kids, and kids are extra special to me. In further reality, I am incredibly thankful to even be able to climb stairs, much less haul luggage in the process. But, the real issue is the issue of the heart, and my complaining reminded me of a story I have often told students in years past when they have complained over their service to others or mere inconveniences.

It is the story of a man who was born to a poor family in rough times. He was a good kid. He was obedient to his parents, grew up seeking and doing the will of God but was later picked on, teased, beat up, ridiculed, mocked and called hateful names. Most of the people around him had no concern for his heart or motives and yet he didn't let it sway him in his goals; he kept doing his thing. He never followed the crowd, and always had time for children. Still he was unaccepted and eventually he was killed... on a cross... to pay for the sin I have committed.

When I would tell the story verbally, I would often tell it dramatically in order to make the point that there is nothing of difficulty or misery that compares to the sacrifice of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

I have no idea how many steps Jesus took to move from his sentencing to the place where he was crucified. I have no clue how heavy the weight of the cross was he carried for his own execution. I cannot comprehend the weight of our transgressions and the wrath of God that pressed upon him as he took each of those steps. What I know is this, he did so. He did so faithfully. He did so willingly. He did so obediently. He did so painfully. He did so lovingly. Everything he did was a selfless act in order to draw us to himself and provide access to the father.

I was reminded of this as I was reading Philippians 2. It is all about being like Christ in everything we do. It is about not doing anything from selfish conceit, but humility of mind. It says not to look out for our own self interest, but also the interest of others. It reminds us that Jesus emptied himself and took on the form of a bond servant, and for us to do everything without grumbling... oops.

Well, no more of that from this guy. In fact, I reminded our guys about what it means to be different and challenged them to extend themselves in service to others through a challenge. About half of them took the challenge and have been striving to serve others above themselves.

Yesterday was a good day, and I am excited to see what God has in store for our group today.

The Flying Squirells

2011-07-26T01:49:00.000-05:00

Yes, I know that is spelled wrong. That is the spelling that is currently scribbled into the dust on the back window of my van, along with "Chuck Norris on board". The Flying Squirrels is the self given name of the group of guys riding in my Van to Jackson, MS for Centri-kid today. I'm not exactly sure why that has become our name. There is a baseball team, a band, and even a pizza company in Seattle who bear the name; now, apparently, so do we.

Our ride was everything you would expect from a van of 4th, 5th, & 6th grade boys... complete with all the noises and smells. Right away I realized I needed ear plugs because they all like to talk at the same time, and in that game, the loudest one wins.

I heard more tough Chuck Norris jokes than I have heard in a long time [hence the Chuck Norris on board thing], and at one point our van was like attending a "STOMP" show with everyone attempting to bring rhythm from various objects. The cast of STOMP need not be worried.

When we finally arrived, we discovered the wonderful pleasure of climbing several flights of stairs to our rooms... 51 steps to be exact. I counted after having made several trips with other people's luggage. It is then that I realized a terrible flaw in the kids going to camp scenario.

Moms and/or Dads pack the suit cases.

Moms and/or Dads load them into the car.

Moms and/or Dads (or perhaps someone else helping) unload them at the church and toss them into the trailer.

BUT, when we get to camp and get to camp with 51 steps to climb, guess who can't lift their own bags up the stairs? Then, guess who gets to aid in the luggage transfer up those stairs? Todd and/or Steve. I am certain I will lose weight I need to keep this week just on the stairs alone.

At the time of this writing, all seems well. Our guys are in their rooms and, except for the occasional renegade wanting to play ding-dong ditch, all is quiet. I generally hate the first night of camp because it always takes the second day for everyone to be tired enough to WANT to settle down and go to sleep.

As for my own son... he is doing well; this is his kind of thing. He has taken in each encounter so far and really seems to be having a good time. I am looking forward to seeing how the rest of the week goes.

Oh... THAT Parent

2011-07-23T12:34:00.000-05:00

Ok... I have now lived long enough into adulthood and in the realm of parenting to realize there are times when I don’t just eat, but feast with all the fix-ins upon my own words. I’m discovering that choking them down is actually more embarrassing than bitter most of the time... I imagine the bitterness is removed through the sweetness of experience and, believe it or not, maturity.

I am in the midst of just such a feast - welcome to kids camp cafe.

I cannot begin to count how many times in my ministry I have tried to convince apprehensive parents that their child will be fine their first trip to camp. I have pleaded many cases and made as many different arguments before individual parents to convince, shall we say, extra protective parents that little “Joey” will be fine and should be allowed to go.

I have become “that” parent now - my kid can’t go.

My oldest is now technically eligible to participate in the week long children’s camp that our church attends each year. I say “technically” because he has completed third grade [the grade level at which this camp begins], but because he is a year ahead, grade-to-age, he is younger than his class peers. For this reason, we decided to wait another year before thinking of letting him go. He might not be mature enough is what we decided... unless one of us were attending as well.

Enter “that” parent issue number two - he could go if one of us were going.

Now I have become "that" parent who’s child only goes if one of us go along. The difference with me is that it has not been a conditional factor that I have leveraged over our student minister, just a factor in our decision process. There have been times in my years when I have had to seriously weigh the value of a student getting to go against the value of a particular parent NOT going - it is a tough call sometimes. I’m sure parents from over the years and trips past would say they weren’t leveraging anything over me either. Right.

As it turns out there is desperate need for another male sponsor to go on the upcoming trip to camp with our children. Guess what? It now seems that I am the only one able and willing to go along on the trip.

Enter “that” parent issue number three - now he can go.

Since I am now going, we are going to send him along; but, if he had shown no interest we would not have pushed it. After asking him if he wanted to go he said “sure, sounds fun”.

I brought the information about camp home the other day so we can both be prepared for the week... he has read over the sheet 10 or 20 times and proceeded to inform me of all that he will be doing [as if I am clueless to what his camp will be like]. It makes me laugh a little every time he brings it up. He is so excited.

I think he has memorized the typical daily schedule, and I know he knows what is offered at the camp store and the cost of each item. He has planned what track times he will choose and asked about other details not included in the information. He had Mommy fill out his forms immediately and has reminded me multiple times of the importance of filling out my paperwork and keeps asking me if I’ve done so. At the time of this post, the answer is still “no”, but it is on today's list. Each day since we told him, he has counted down the remaining days and told us he wishes we were leaving on that day - he can’t wait until Monday.

Though I wasn’t really looking forward to the thought of having to go, I am excited to be there for my son’s first camp experience. I’m certain this is the first of many trips together and also a first for me in a different role on the trip.

Now, I am a group sponsor.

Now, I am a sponsor/parent.

Now, I am “that” parent... and that’s ok with me.

I hope the next few posts will be committed to some of our experiences while we are gone. I am truly looking forward to the trip with our group and expect great things.

Preacher Friendly

2011-07-13T14:09:00.000-05:00

“You can’t have friends in ministry” is what a former pastor of mine once told me. He was adamant on this point and though I still do not completely agree, I understand what he meant.

The people we serve and serve alongside are also the people with whom we strive to build relationships. Unfortunately, [and unexplainably since we are the body of Christ] the local church dynamic seems to sometimes get in the way. Can you really be friends with the preacher? Do you really want to be friends with the preacher? Some do, some don’t, and some are bipolar about it. It is the way of ministry.

I am thankful that although the aforementioned philosophy may be truer than I want, God has granted me with those I can truly call friends through the course of ministry. I have some, not many, with whom I am comfortable to be vulnerable. That feeling is a tremendous thing for a minister. After all, who ministers to the minister? Who preaches to the preacher? It must be those in whom trust and reliance is found.

I love the friends that look me in the eye and call me out on my stupidity. I love the friends who discipline my children as their own and me theirs without fear of misunderstanding - I love those friends.

I love the friends who talk with frailty and welcome advice, who listen intently and respond with love and concern - I love those friends.

I love the friends who share a meal and laughter follows, who aren’t afraid to laugh at themselves. I love the friends who feel right at home in my refrigerator and aren’t afraid to take the last coke or piece of cake - I love those friends.

I love the friends who can lie around and watch a show and don’t feel like an explanation is needed for the dishes in the sink. I love the friends who stretch out in the floor, grab a pillow off the sofa and feel comfortable taking a nap if needed - I love those friends.

I love the friends that hug my neck and say they love me and neither of us thinks it’s weird. They make jokes, they make fun, they make faces, and all of it becomes a lifetime of memories together - I love those friends.

I have been thinking deeply about my appreciation of friends developed over years of experiences and journeys. Those relationships are relationships that have been tested, tried and proven along paths of imperfection. Growth comes through love, accountability, and forgiveness. As time marches on and miles separate people, strong bonds remain and new ones develop.

I hope we all have friends that no matter how far away they move or how much time passes, to come together is like the moments of our closest yesterday with them – I love those friends.

I’m Glad My Neighbors Love Theirs

2011-07-07T21:22:00.000-05:00

I like my neighbors. I really do. Not everyone can say that about their neighbors, but mine are great. The way our houses sit, the doors we each use most frequently open to each other. Very few days go by that we do not see each other in passing either coming or going. In my case, I have even come close to hitting my neighbor with the car as he walks his dog in the morning if I happen to be in too much of a hurry. He smiles and waves and has learned to stop several yards back from the driveway [I have also learned to creep backwards much more slowly].

They are the kind of neighbors anyone would wish to have. The kind that throws your paper up near the steps sometimes or collects the kid's toys that get left by the street, they also look after the house when we’re gone to make sure it is safe. I imagine if they wake up in the night, they look out in the yard and survey the area for anything out of the ordinary [that’s what I do when I am up late or wake up unexpectedly]. My neighbors make conversation in the driveway and tell us about their grandkids. They tell me about things going on in their lives, trips they take to the lake, or visits to the doctor. In the summertime we usually get tomatoes from the plants they grow and while we are gone they feed our dog faithfully and let her run around with theirs for exercise [I haven’t asked, but I think they even got her another flea collar in our absence – that was kind and thoughtful].

As great as my neighbors are in all those things, what I like most about them is how kind they are to my children. My children are terrific, mind you, but even terrific children have their moments. My children have chased my neighbors' cats. They’ve ridden their bikes too close for comfort near the cars. They’ve run through the yard screaming many times. They have picked flowers that weren’t meant to be picked from the planting pots. I have found them standing in the bed of my neighbor’s truck without permission. They have left their bikes lying on the sidewalk in front of the house. They have knocked on the door just to ask random questions and have picked [too early] as many tomatoes as have been given to us. And, that dog that gets walked regularly, they have run him down across two yards and a field to try and pet him from time to time. My neighbors are very patient with their neighbor's kids, for that I am thankful.

The other day I came home for lunch to find my neighbor in our back yard with my kids – all my kids. She was hot and sweaty, they were dirty and excited, and they were all working together to plant a row of tomato plants in our yard. She had gone to the local nursery and bought several varieties of tomato plants and enlisted my kids to help dig, plant, and water these plants. My kids were so excited. They worked for hours [rather, she worked for hours] getting those plants situated for growth. She took the time to tell them about each plant and the process for planting. She let them dig in the holes, and fill the dirt in to secure the plants. She told them not to pick the fruit until it was ripe and left them with an afternoon full of fun and memories that we will all have of that day.

When I was their age, all I can remember about the lady that lived next door to me is that she was grumpy, mean, never smiled, didn’t want people taking short cuts through her yard and threatened to call juvenile court when we adventurously dug a hole under her fence from our backyard. The only time she came close to being nice was when her granddaughter came to visit [she and I were playmates on those days] and she would give me a Push-up orange sherbet with her granddaughter – I am convinced she really didn’t want me to have one, though.

As mentioned in my first paragraph, my current neighbors are great, and I am thankful that in a world that so easily dismisses children as being in the way and more of a nuisance, she took the time and patience to look after mine and help them learn something new… and, perhaps they won’t early harvest any more of her tomatoes in the future.

May God Save the Children

2011-06-30T11:02:00.000-05:00

The other day my children were sitting around the living room together when my 6 year old (Griffin) began to ask about baptism and being a Christian. I had the thrill of watching my 8 year old (Cayson) walk through a tract he cherishes explaining God’s love, our separation, the sacrifice and resurrection of Christ. He discussed personal repentance and commitment followed by reading the supporting scriptures to Griffin. My oldest was doing the work of an evangelist with his brother.

We are unapologetically, narrow mindedly, and unashamedly a Christian home. I struggle with the challenge of helping my children understand they are not “born” Christians because in our house what mom and dad believe and most importantly, demonstrate, are adopted and learned by them from day one – they know nothing other than what they live (but of course, that is true in any home whether godly or not).

As a result, my children understand that God loves them because we teach them that He does. They know that Jesus is God’s son. My children know that Jesus was born in a manger, did not sin, died on the cross, and rose from the grave. Without question they say prayers of thanksgiving for blessings and concerns for others each night at bedtime. They understand the importance of the words “I’m sorry” and “will you forgive me”. They know that actions, though forgiven, still have consequences. We teach them there are appropriate ways to treat others and what it means to respect authority. We teach them to guard their eyes and behavior and regulate what they watch on TV or games that they play. We spend time explaining that not everyone believes or lives like we do and there is great importance in helping people hear truth and see it lived out practically.

We are always in the process of leading them to Jesus through deliberate and practical efforts in our child rearing. As Christian families, we are at war with culture and the battle not only includes severe finality through life but is an ongoing fight to secure victory. Families must make preemptive and counter strikes on the battlefield of our children in our culture through their families and in their families. It is critical. It is effective. It is biblical.

I have one son who is clearly a follower of Christ in the regeneration sense. He will tell you he knows exactly when he came to terms with his faith and when He asked God to save him through his faith in Jesus. It doesn’t matter if we sat down at the table for our own assurance to discuss it or baptized him several months later, he KNOWS he was in his bed alone one night when he prayed for salvation. How am I to argue against the genuine faith of a child? That day… the dynamics of my role in his life changed from leading him to that realization to discipling his growth from there.

I do not know when (or truth is, if) my other children will become regenerated believers, but I do know that they have as strong of a platform for that faith as any child could have and my responsibility as there father to guide them will never be removed. I also know that they not only have the example of their parents to look toward, but the love of an older brother who is willing and ready to help them understand.

May God save my children and lead them in the way everlasting.

Missional Discoveries

2011-06-22T14:07:00.000-05:00

From the moment I first stepped into the room where I would be leading missionaries in worship to the moment we left and headed home from Ukraine, I committed to embrace and own each moment for its particular worth and experience. I am so thankful to have had the privilege to be a part of such a team and had a hand in such a ministry.

My greatest personal question at the moment is "What do I do with my experience from here?” So many things are swirling through my head and I do not know where to start.

Before going to Ukraine, I had this burning question in my mind about whether God would use this trip to introduce the call to international missions to my life and the lives of my family. I have not had an underlying hunch or notion that this would be the case nor have I been contemplating or wrestling with this as a possibility. I haven’t been sitting and praying for some answer in this regard that I was hoping to discover. I just had the thought “What if suddenly I am blindsided with a new calling in my life?”

It is not a question or quest that bothered me in any way; I am just quite familiar with stories of those who have been called as a result of going in the first place. I even mentioned it to a good friend [who is in fact a missionary] who just smiled in understanding and said "well, you wouldn’t be the first that’s happened to and you wouldn’t be the last either should that be the case”.

I have not been afraid of that possibility in any way, just curious about it. I like to think that I am a willing heart and open to whatever God has for me to do. I do not include myself in the group that immediately excludes themselves of the possibility of service on levels that seem impossible or selfish (I know that is a bit of a strike at some, but if you find offense, perhaps there is need for personal examination and repentance).

I am thankful for the hearts that are not hardened as such. I met a couple while abroad that was not called to missions until later in life… he was 70 when called - quite compelling, if you ask me. My point is, having a truly willing heart is an important thing whether one is called to the mission field or not.

I am certain that being called into the permanent international mission field has not been the purpose of this trip as it pertains to my life. In fact, had I come with that notion and such a bias as the driving force and looked for answers to that question, all of the indications and affirmations point the other way. I have experienced more affirmation of my role and usefulness in the states than in the international mission field as a career missionary.

That being the case, I now ask “what, then, from here?” I am but one among many from eons of Christianity who has taken the time to be involved on a short term level of service. I currently know and have discovered some things about myself personally and would like to share a few:

(1) I know that I could do this again. I could easily go back and could even stay longer. I have the desire to either return to Ukraine or work somewhere else in an international effort. God has wired me in such a way that I roll with the punches easily and am quite adaptable. Mission work such as that of which we were a part is something that has not frustrated me in the least. I would like the opportunity to travel further down this path.

(2) I want to be stretched. This trip was much easier on me physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally than I thought before going. As I walked through unfamiliar streets, rode down bumpy roads, experienced an unfamiliar culture, strived to weave through language barriers, and endured slight inconveniences, I kept wondering how far down this road could I travel. I want to experience more. I want to test my endurance in this. I want to work in a more difficult environment and I want to see to what extent God has wired me for this and explore the impact.

(3) I think God has designed me for people in need of healing. It occurred to me through this effort that there seems to be a theme in my life and the encounters I've had through my ministry - healing. In every church I have served, I have been placed in an environment of injury or sabotage, restoration and recovery. God has used me to establish lost confidence formed by fallen or outright sinful ministers. God has used me with others to help build further trust and dependence upon Him. God has used me to restore faith in the story of the prodigal and God has made successes out of failure through forgiving spirits and reconciled hearts.

My own medical history stands as a testimony of faithfulness, both of God as sovereign and myself as his servant. God used me once again as an encouragement to others as I brought my own life testimony to the missionary table at the conference this week both with missionaries I just met and members of our own team.

Again, I think healing is the theme of my life in so many ways. Perhaps I should explore this further and consider ways in which God may want me to blossom in this area of ministry [however, don’t expect a hand to the forehead and being knocked down on a stage to demonstrate – that’s not how I roll].

(4) I have so much to learn. I am roughly halfway through my expected lifespan and there is so much left to learn. I do not know near the amount of Bible I wish I knew, but I am the only one to remedy that. I spent four days preaching to missionaries who each have the ability to read and study as much or far more than I ever have. I walked into that room extremely afraid and intimidated by my surroundings. Interestingly, the one man I found most intimidating to me was the one with whom I enjoyed the most discussion about the word and found tremendous encouragement. Funny how that happened; I don't get it.

Much of what I don't know is because I have not taken the time to deliberately learn... that needs to change. I may not be able to be like who I want to be, but I can certainly be better than who I am.

(5) I receive great personal satisfaction from investing in others. There is no elaboration to this point; it is simply a reality of who I am and what God created me to be.

Happy, Happy, Birthday

2011-02-01T21:29:00.000-06:00

Last Friday was my birthday. As we know, the older we get the less we like to see the next birthday coming. There are generally those people in your life who like to remind you of the event and depending on the age you are turning, give you some pretty good ribbing about the time spent on earth. You gotta love those folks who exist in your life to simply remind you of the things you might not want to think about - especially on your special day.

Over the past several years birthday wishes have changed for anyone who has joined the world of social networking, i.e. Facebook. As those of us engaged in the friendly environment know, when your birthday rolls around, your wall becomes inundated with birthday well wishes from all sorts of folks.

This year, as the years before this, my wall was once again filled with "Happy Birthday" after "Happy Birthday" [I learned a long time ago to disable the email notifications linked to Facebook].

Here's the thing though. Over the past year I have been less than concerned with hitting the birthdays of my FB Friends. Sure, I hit the ones that I am in general contact with anyway and some who I have very little other contact. There were even a few in there to whom I haven't spoken with in years. Other than that, not so much.

Mostly I just don't make it a priority to take the time each day to check the birthdays. I can't really claim innocent neglect for being away from my computer on some days because like so many others, I mostly access from a mobile device anyway. For the most part, I have been thinking that it doesn't matter because so many others are doing the well wishing anyway.

Friday made me think about it again. as I scrolled through the list of people wishing me a happy FB birthday I felt so... well, special. It meant something to me that people took a moment to make a post even if just a simple "Happy B-day" and nothing more. I looked over the names and realized there was no category of FB friend that wasn't covered. From close family to devoted friends. From neighbors to old high school acquaintances. From old coworkers to teachers. Many of the posts did not surprise me, but some did.

Then there is the factor of FB friends that are just that - FB friends. these are the people we reconnect with briefly on FB from a long time ago, but after some shallow chat and reconnection they are just another name on the list of mutual friends that someone else sees realizing what a small word it really is; several of those even posted. For that matter, last year my old middle school bully even wished me happy birthday. How ironic is it that he is on my FB friends list? It's probably a good thing I healed on the inside and took him off that other list I used to keep.

As I thought more about it [probably too long in my more sentimental old age] I realized that I was genuinely appreciative of each one regardless of the relationship. Throughout the day I kept hearing the tone of mobile alerts from my phone indicating once again a person on the other end of a computer or phone who took a moment to wish me happy birthday. All day long I had a constant reinforcement of love and thoughtfulness.

In light of my new found sentiment I have decided to do two things. First I am going to reply by "comment" to each of the individual posts with a thank you. I know I could do the quick and easy status update approach with a general thank you to all [by no means am I criticizing that] but I'd rather extend the individual response and make myself take the time to do so. And second, I plan to be far more observant of the birthdays that pop up in the events and send personal well wishes when they do. I know how I felt when they came up on my wall. I'm going to pay it forward... even to my middle school bully whenever his birthday rolls around.

Aiming to Please

2010-12-07T22:14:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I had the pleasure of watching two of my sons sing with our church’s children’s choir for the local Rotary club. As a proud parent I watched the children gleefully [and no, I’m not a “Gleek”] present songs from the upcoming Christmas program at church. As I watched, I noticed something very different with one of my boys compared to the other – my oldest kept shooting his eyes at me sitting in the audience. No big surprise, right? Of course not, I’m his Dad. On the other hand, my younger son never glanced at me once… not even slightly. Not one time did he take his eyes off the director.

As I watched the one, he maintained focus on the director throughout the total program, but frequently through the songs he moved his eyes past the “front man” to the person in the room who bears the most significance to his life and all that he does - me.

As he looked at me, I consistently gave him signs of approval through smiles and grins and the hokey but understandable “thumbs up”. I continued to look to my other son as well hoping to express my approval and encouragement for his involvement, but would never have the opportunity.

I wanted so badly for him to look my way even for the slightest second. I longed for the moment of showing my pleasure and smiling at him with the same grin given to his brother. I kept thinking “surely he knows I’m right here, I’m positive he saw me come in the door.”

I understand that those of you who direct children in musicals might consider my sons as exhibit “A” for your list of what to do and not do while following musical direction. You want those children focused on your direction, because at that moment, that is all that really matters. I get that. My younger son would probably receive the most immediate praise from any director for his tunnel vision focus. Interestingly though, therein lies my point.

It is easy for those of us in leadership to get caught up in the significance of our own leadership [albeit good and important]. We all want people to follow and respond to our charge with loyal and dedicated response. Sometimes, however, we run the risk of having a self idolized notion that we are the most significant factor in the leadership equation. We sometimes forget that the people we lead need to be led to the audience of the heavenly Father who sits waiting for his child to ultimately look His way for approval and spiritual calibration. The self worth of our service and the service of those we lead must rest in the approval of the Father and in Him alone. Even the greatest of leader is still fallible.

God certainly places people in our lives to lead us and guide us through the process of Christian living and service to others. He places godly pastors, teachers, and mentors before us, but He is also engaged in the process by offering his blessings of approval for all that we do under that leadership. It is in the congruency of pleasing God first and in the service and submission to our leaders that balance is found for our accountability with each other and our leadership.

Maybe I’m reading too much into my son’s choral habits, but maybe not. I just found it interesting that his ultimate approval came not from the man in charge of his task of singing at that moment, but from his father who sat in observance of his performance at the time. Does he want to please the director? Yes, I know that he does. But, in the end he wants to please his father more. In so doing, he also pleases his director because he knows I approve of both him and his director.

As for my younger son [the tunnel vision, focused singer], the first thing he did when they were done was run to me with arms held high to receive a huge hug from Daddy; after which, I proceeded to thank the director for his leadership and a job well done. But I suppose that is another observation altogether.

Breakfast with Heroes

2010-05-14T16:01:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I attended a breakfast with the local American Legion post of Marianna, AR. I was invited by a gentleman in my church who seemed to be surprised that I showed at 06:45 – I think he thinks everyone sleeps too long every day and my guess is, he has gotten up at the same time every morning for the last 50 years.

When I walked in, I was initially introduced to a few men at the end of a long table and before I knew it, every man in that room took the initiative to introduce himself, welcome me, and shake my hand.

Every one of these men is a veteran and has served our country militaristically at some point in their lives. I was among men of different branches of the military and from different eras of time, and all with a certain war attached to their time of service. Many of these guys are gruff. These men are unapologetic for who they are. They are men’s men. I sat with men who drink their coffee black, they eat fatty breakfast food [maybe cooked in lard], and a couple of them lit up their smokes right at the table - unfiltered, I think. I began to hear the sound of Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival playing in the background of my mind.

Now, I’m a man that is not normally in such an environment. I am married to a woman who is concerned with good eating habits and healthy living. Though I do drink my coffee black, I also drink skim milk, I don’t smoke [though I do like the smell of a good cigar], I have never been in a battle beyond that of words or being beat half to death by bullies. I don’t cuss. I have no actual war stories. For that matter I don’t even have a firearm. The only physical scars I have are from surgeries and a hit across the nose with a pipe. And, when I pledge allegiance to the American flag, it is through a freedom I take for granted more than I’d like to admit.

Not so for these guys. They don’t Facebook, tweet or blog. They certainly don’t drink skim milk and they don’t care what the surgeon general says. Some have tats that might make you blush and probably some memories they’d like to forget. They have played cards by the light of a Zippo with gunfire in the distance. They have spent many nights not wondering what to do tomorrow, but wondering if they will see tomorrow at all. They have had tours of duty that took them from family and friends while [in some cases] returning to a country ready to spit in their faces. Most of these men have seen more harshness and brutality in a short period of life than many of us will see in a lifetime. They are men who have served and sacrificed for our country and they are American heroes.

I wondered about the different stories they had to tell and unlike my father and grandfather would they even choose to tell them. I pondered the sense of duty they felt for their country and their comrades who fought beside them. Are they still proud of the country they served? Are they proud of our path as a nation? Is America anywhere close the America for which they fought?

As I sat with these men I felt honored. I felt honored to be seated among men with such patriotic pride as the members of the American Legion of Marianna. I felt the concern they had for fallen veterans as they discussed a detail to aid in local funeral services and who would volunteer to set military headstones at forgotten graves. I watched as one man stood and said he was no longer physically able to do the job but would gladly volunteer to teach others for the task. I felt the pride as they discussed the placement of American flags at the local cemeteries for those to be remembered and I appreciated the dedication to continue their American Legion post.

I have never taken the opportunity to serve in military service, but I am incredibly grateful to those who have and still do. I am thankful that there are those who God has called to commit themselves to the wellbeing of our country and pray that His protection is upon them. As we approach Memorial Day at the end of this month, we should all stop and consider the sacrifice made by men and women on behalf of our country and give thanks to God for the privilege of being a part of what even my Kuwaiti [and fellow American citizen] friend calls the greatest nation on earth.

My God and My Peeps

2010-05-06T11:32:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago I was enjoying a delicious seasonal treat within seconds of the purchase. I could hardly get out of the store before opening my box of Peeps from the left over Easter stock. I almost ate them right in the store while shopping with plans to purchase the empty container when I checked out [technically, that is shoplifting] but my reason for not doing so was selfishly motivated – I didn’t want to have to distribute all my Peeps to all my peeps with me. Those babies of mine love Peeps as much as I do but unlike me, they are not skilled enough at Peeps eating to do so without a mess.

Anyone who eats Peeps has their own way of consumption and I am no exception. There are five to a pack, they are eaten a pack at a time, and in my humble but accurate opinion, the chicks are the only true Peeps. I’m a Peeps purist - forget the bunnies.

The first one is sudden death for the Peep. It goes in my mouth all the way with maybe a single bite into two pieces and its over. It sets the foundation for all the rest and I always think and say the same thing “man, I really like Peeps”. The second Peep has a different experience. I don’t know what it is about those little eyes on the sides, but I always nibble them off one at a time before going further. There really is no substantial taste or texture to the eyes, but it’s what I do every time. The last three experience any and/or all of the following experiences.

(1) I generally bite the head off one or two.

(2) I start with biting the tail on one.

(3) I usually stretch one out further than the skin of sugar allows and watch the mallow center appear.

(4) I might play with one for a bit and wonder about the process that actually births them into existence [I know - I know. I can Google it, I just never have].

(5) I usually play out some type of peep decapitation scenario.

Regardless of how they are eaten or by what steps or imagination, they all go down the same way – easy. They are sugar, and nothing more…and whatever those little eyes are. They are soft, sweet, gentle, and unless you have a cavity, inoffensive.

So while I was enjoying my peeps and reliving my childhood days and imagination, I began to think “you know… God is kind of like a peep”. Well, not my God! However, a lot of people’s perception of God is.

So many people treat the God of all creation, maker of heaven and earth, as though all there is to him is sugar coated fluff. So many people want to dress up their perception of God to be a 5 pack box of Peeps theology that goes down easy and with little or no effort on their part. They might even explore some elements of him along the way, but in the end, they just want there to be a smooth sweet taste that goes down as it own spoonful of sugar. They aren’t concerned with true nourishment form his word or adjusting lifestyle to his precepts. No, they want the sweet and no sweat. They want milk and honey without the faithful battle. That’s the kind of God so many people desire. They want a God who saves them, but requires no obedience in response. A God whose substance dissolves easily the moment we taste of him. A God whose word is also coated in sugar so that when ours lips are touched by it, the last thing to come to mind is anything close to the likes of a burning coal designed to purify our mouths because we are literally undone in His presence.

No, my God, my portion, my savior, my counselor, my loving father, my good shepherd, and my potter is not to be broken down or devalued by me; I am to be consumed by him. I am to be undone. I am to be shaped and molded. I am to be refined. I am to be melted and not hardened from exposure to him and his glory. My God requires that I chew diligently upon his word and expose myself for the melting mallow that I am in his presence. It is my coating that should be stretched beyond its natural points of comfort.

My prayer is that as God continues to refine me; my heart will forever be soft and pliable to his crafting and that I will seek not the ease of false spirituality, but the substance of being fashioned into a reflection of Him.

Paternal Parenting among the Pathetic

2010-04-02T06:09:00.000-05:00

As a parent now four deep in children, my mind is often plagued with the aspect of my children coming into their own decision making process. I have always said I would rather raise boys than girls because of the wretchedness of my own gender to be selfish, crass, tacky and rude contrasted with the desire deep inside every woman’s heart to be loved, cherished and appreciated.

I believe the task of teaching my boys is one of significant value to them when they enter adulthood as well as to any woman they may seek as a wife. One of the greatest challenges to raising boys is to teach them that it is not acceptable to treat women as “objects” in a culture that does nothing but place women before them as objects baiting them into a philosophy of thinking that only reinforces a lack of value. I have the task of teaching my boys to have a specific respect for women in a culture where the very objects of such respect behave in unrespectable ways.

I think about the idiocy of “reality” TV shows like The Bachelor that have women all voluntarily clawing for and pawing upon one guy all at the same time who, quite likely, does not have the respect for them for which they truly long. I think about the clips I see for promos and wonder what various fathers think of their daughters as they are exposed on national TV for their desperate attempts at grasping significance towards an ending that supposedly includes “happily ever after” in a scenario that is hardly real while reflecting the sad reality of our times.

Even so, I still feel like boys are easier to raise than girls - I can teach my boys to be men of integrity who seek to have and demonstrate genuine character. I can teach them to be chivalrous in a world that lacks such concern. I can teach them to be polite and express themselves with the greatest regard for the company they keep, and I can teach them the importance of treating a lady like a lady even during the absence of lady-like behavior. I can teach my boys that the existence of women is not for their gawking pleasure, but for the purpose of being a helpmate throughout the days of their lives and a beautiful parallel to God’s love for us. I can teach my boys what it means to be devoted to a woman and not pixels on a website. I can teach my boys to exercise restraint and guard against temptations without approaching tempting situations blindly defeated by their own passions as if there is no way to avoid bad decisions.

They can learn the value of restrained pleasure in anticipation of authentic marital companionship and I can teach them how to see to it that their commitment to their wives comes second only to their commitment to God and that their commitment to God dictates and drives the nature of their commitment to their wives. I can teach them how their marriages can and should be a testimony of the life they live in Christ reflecting the example of Christ’s love for His church and what it means to love selflessly and unconditionally so as to cultivate the best relationships possible. All these behaviors and attitudes can be taught and, if my sons learn them well, will lay a tremendously strong foundation that will move the heart of any woman seeking such loyal, committed, devotion. What woman doesn’t want a man who will man-up on his relationship and commitment to her? My boys will be taught to find the one who God has ordained to be with them forever – and without the “trial and error” “sowing of wild oats” destructive approach that so undermines and insults the integrity of genuine relationship.

Raising girls, on the other hand, is so much harder – and really for the same reasons. They too live in a culture where women often sabotage so much of what would be respectful and demonstrative of self respect while lowering their standards for acceptable “men” and relationships. I seek to teach my daughter not to settle for anything less than God’s best for her and to have standards that guide her to discover His will and not be governed by insecurity or fear.

I’m guessing the numbers are staggering for women who have entered bad relationships and marriages out of fear, insecurity, and anxiety over wondering if anyone else would come along and love them. I wonder how many fathers have watched daughters travel down treacherous roads of naivety [or stupidity] thinking “if she would only realize how special and valuable she really is…”

I also wonder how many daughters just long for there fathers to draw them into their arms and tell them how valuable they are and that if they will be patient, God is faithful and sustains. While I believe my boys are easier because I can teach them to have character traits and qualities that are in desperate demand, my daughter is much harder because I have to teach her to be patient and wait for God to provide someone with such traits – and there seem to be very few these days.

I want all of my children to discover godly spouses, but I equally want them to be godly people themselves so that the correct match of souls occurs. As a father, I bear a pythonic responsibility to teach such godly pursuits meshed with strategies of living in a world saturated with ungodly direction. In the end, my children will choose to heed my instruction or not, but my drive is to lead them to be like the men of Issachar, who understood the times in which they lived and knew what to do (1 Chronicles 12:32) and Enoch who “walked with God” (Genesis 5:22).

The Day Before the Night Before, Four

2010-03-29T20:42:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow will be the fourth time I have marched down a similar road with my wife. Tomorrow morning Jennifer will give birth and we will become a family of six (that is a “V” followed with an “I”) and it doesn’t matter how I type it, it is still the same. That is eight little feet running around, eighty fingers and toes needing socks and sanitizer. This now means further explanation at the bank window as to why I need four suckers (all the same color, please) - additionally, cleaning out the family van will become increasingly frustrating. Eventually, that is four kids meals on the days we decide to brave a restaurant together and the “one token games” for any future Chuck-E-Cheese’s trips are greatly appreciated.

The stockings being hung by the chimney with care are becoming a pleasantly crowded collection of eclectic individualism at the Christmas season. Our Christmas tree has already become significantly decorated with “baby’s first Christmas” ornaments followed by “baby’s first year” and every Sunday school ornament project since. Our house is filled with laughter, tears, bikes, trikes, balls, dolls and plenty of little helping hands when we make cookies or take out the trash. I have always joked about the reason for having children is to have someone cut the yard and tote wood - we are closer and closer to that reality. I have dog feeders, flower waterers, fish catchers and leaf rakers. I have tree climbers, star gazers, dirt diggers and bug liberators. I have three children who are, strangely enough, all opposite of each other [how is that even possible in a trio?] who discover the world as they know it in their own way and wrapped in their own imaginations and conclusions. I have boys who protect their sister and a li’l girl who is as much a little girl as any little girl can be and is anxiously looking forward to mimicking mommy at every turn in the preparation and care of her new baby brother.

My children love Mommy & Daddy and although I do my best to trick them into saying I am their favorite parent, they are too wise [or loyal to Mommy] for my paternal trickery. One of them doesn’t want to hurt my feelings and will respond with “Daddy, you know I love you both the same” while another simply says “Mommy!” as if it was a stupid question to begin with, and then the third will answer in the way that is most beneficial in the moment; in the end, I know Mommy is truly the favorite regardless of the answer.

I do think of myself as a veteran in this area of a new baby with previous experience under my belt for this process, yet, there is always the moment for which I long that is after the admissions process, after the instructions from assistants, doctors, nurses in the O-R prep room for surgery, when all has been done to usher us in and take that baby from Jennifer’s womb. It is the moment when I hear the first whimper of a cry and see for myself that little fellow being measured and weighed, and then will I breathe a sigh of relief, snap a few pictures with one camera while dizzily videoing the room with another. In that moment of solace my world will seem to stop briefly as I witness the introduction of mother and child in a world that is both no longer divided and yet severed at the same time. I can’t wait for the sweet moment of tears and joy as a new life emerges with body and soul. I long to hold that baby boy and see his little eyes and ears and nose. I long to grasp his little fingers ever so gently and think about how tiny his little fingers are, to look into his little eyes and see the blank slate of learning before me. I look forward to seeing the relief on Jennifer’s face after nine months of preparation and the beginning of a new relationship occurs. I look forward to holding him high in the air and being thankful to have been found a worthy parent to be given the responsibility of molding and shaping yet one more child.

Yes, today is the day before the night before four, and I feel like I kid on Christmas Eve waiting to see what tomorrow brings.

The Blah, blah, blah blog

2010-03-22T14:21:00.000-05:00

After deciding to write a blog, I asked my wife if she wanted to read my blog.

Me: So do you want to hear my blog?

Jennifer: No, I do not want to hear your blog.

Me: Do you want to read my blog?

Jennifer: No, I don’t want to read your blog.

Me: Oh… ok then.

Jennifer: (breaking the uncomfortable silence) Do you know what “blog” sounds like? Blah! Blah, blah, blah, blah.

In fact, if you say it ten times in a row fast enough, it just sounds like the rumblings of an idle engine. And so it goes with so many blogs, but instead, they are often but not always idle ramblings. People blog about everything from politics to education or someone’s trip to the other side of the world. Some people blog about their college days, while others blog about their grandchildren. Blog topics are as available as there are people with stories and as interesting as there are people of interest.

In a way, the bible is like a blog. As a blog with a purpose it is filled with events all conveying different experiences from different perspectives. It is loaded with narratives, biographical stories, poetry, instructional literature and futurism… everything but fictional writing. In the case of scripture, the “blog of God” is the truth in its rawest form and anything but random. Everything is laced together with divine precision and deliberate revelation of God’s purpose for His creation. Just like a blog, it’s availability to the reader is readily accessible [at least in our great land]. In the same way, we choose to read it or not. We can flip through the history of stories and occurrences and relate to the authors emotions behind the writing. In a similar way, we can comment upon what we read and choose to agree or disagree with the perspectives in the words, sentences and commands that come from the very mind of God himself. Likewise, we can choose to say that it is really not worth our time and decide not to subscribe to the divine precepts but instead choose our own.

Regarding human blogs, my wife makes a good point and whether she chooses to read my words or not [which is inconsequential because she will generally hear them anyway] remains her prerogative. But in fact, I agree with her, much of what people say to each other does amount to blah, blahs and idle chatter.

So, will my blog have a purpose? What can an Arkansas delta preacher with a wife and four kids bring to the blogging world? For me, I simply feel compelled to jot down random thoughts, observations, and experiences as they come my way - come what may. Whether my blog amounts to a blah of idle words or not remains to be seen, but nevertheless, I choose to rumble.

Why I Really Don’t Want to Blog

2010-03-16T04:35:00.000-05:00

So, I have decided to give the blog thing a whirl. I really hate starting a blog for the following reasons:

Step 2 in the process is to “Name Your Blog”. The title of the step seems to be written with such excitement and happiness and I am experiencing neither. The name is everything, right? The pressure to think of the right name is awful. I have had the same screen of this step up for a while now and still can’t pull the trigger… Trigger. There’s a name. No, that’s too much like Tigger, and I can’t stand Winnie the Pooh.

I am generally insecure with myself and loath the idea of placing my thoughts on a page on the off chance that there are some who might choose or want to read them.

I am nervous about not having a proofreader to correct my potential errors in grammar and punctuation. [In a world long gone now, I would be equally concerned about my spelling but I am indeed thankful for the red underlines provided by my computer.]

It seems a little narcissistic. I mean it’s not like I am some radio or TV personality continuing on in cyberspace ranting thoughts on a blog by public demand. The very act of starting a blog for someone like me is self initiated with the assumption there is some interested reader out there with nothing better to do than stare at a screen of random thoughts from my head.

Granted, I do have a mother who will be interested in reading every word out of personal obligation if not just simple maternal interest.

If my grandmother could work her computer she might not only read them, but print them off and hang them on the refrigerator for her friends to read. She is very proud of me, of course. I could write about the color green and she’d love it.

I don’t have time. Even now I feel like I should be doing something else. Being able to sleep right now would be nice.

I might not stick with it. What if I end up being that person who has one or two entries that just sit for an extended period of time demanding that the following entry explains apologetically why I haven’t blogged in a while? It seems like that could be a little embarrassing. Even now I am thinking of years past when I had some nicely bound blank book with snowcapped mountains on the front in which I wrote the words “Well, It has been a while since I've written…” I mean, really?

I probably won’t be completely honest. I’m sure I will feel compelled to restrain some thoughts out of sensitivity to others who know me, or worse don’t know me well enough.

What if something happens that I find incredibly funny that reflects someone’s stupidity or lack of judgment? If I write about it, even with a fog of ambiguity, they might read it and be upset.

Writing about me personally will also be clouded. Who really wants to be completely and publicly vulnerable?

What if I want to cuss? Just kidding, I don’t cuss. It just doesn’t occur to me to do so.

I will certainly be made fun of, but hey, that comes with just about everything I do. I don’t want to care that it happens but I do. I won’t let it show and I’m sure I’ll blow it off and walk away. But, in the quiet, still, darkness of night I’ll be in the fetal position rocking back and forth out of intense pain and misery. Not really... I'm just as likely to be that way in broad daylight as well.