Part of the reason we decided to go to Oregon was to spend some time with our friends Nole and Carrie. They live in Bend which is a beautiful community a lot like Flagstaff, just nicer and cleaner. There were many things I was looking forward to doing like going to the snow, playing poker with Nole, and sharing a beer with other friends in the area. We did all of those things but one story stands out above the rest.
“Hey Mark, I know this sounds weird, but I’ve got to go soak in the tub for 15 minutes” I say to Nole with a slight chuckle, “What?” He proceeds to tell me that it is part of the doctors orders. Now this next bit of information was probably meant to be kept quiet, but we’re all friends. Nole has hemorrhoids. Because of this Nole must soak in hot water three times a day. Usually his soak time happens after he gets home from school around 4 o’clock.
I was sleeping on the couch when Nole came home. In fact the whole family was sleeping. We exchanged hello’s for a second and talked about the game plan for the rest of the night. “Alright man, I’ve got to soak.” Nole exists the room. I hear the water turn on. I start to drift back to sleep. There is no question Nole is in full soak mode. What could possibly interrupt his 15 minutes of relaxation?
Then all of a sudden in the midst of my half conscious slumber I hear a 3 year old voice say, “I have to go pee.” Being half awake gives me the ability to think about saying “don’t go in the bathroom”, but being half asleep prevents me from getting the words out. Jett charges for the bathroom, pulls on the doorknob, and flings the door open. The next 5 seconds could be described as frozen horror…both Nole and Jett caught like deer in the headlights. They are both so shocked neither of them knows what to do. Jett still has to pee and it's not like Nole can get up and leave. Well it gets worse. Three year olds sometimes need help going to the bathroom. Jill sees Jett charge for the bathroom so it is her instinct to help him out. Five seconds after Jett arrives in the bathroom Jill does. All I hear is Jill say, “oh my gosh.” Nole again, caught in frozen horror. Jill yells for me and says can you help me, please come shut this door. I pop off the couch and walk towards the bathroom where I see Jill covering her mouth and laughing (or gagging, I can’t tell). I get to the bathroom and this is what I see. Nole is soaking in the tub, playing online poker, and using his laptop to cover his private parts. This is why Nole makes me laugh every time we talk.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Just got back from Oregon
I just got back from a week long trip to Oregon. I can’t wait to share some stories, but I’ll reserve that for the next post. Here some thoughts from the last week.
“The human heart is not designed to go that deep with a person just to back out.” This is a quote from my friend Quinn. He was speaking of a personal experience but I’ve found it to be universally profound. It makes me wonder about the risks we take in life. Not the risk of what school to go to or whether or not to move to Oregon. I’m talking about something much riskier. I’m talking about the risk of loving another. We humans like to throw ourselves into these situations where there is a strong likelihood of attachment and pain. This will exist on varying levels for all of our relationships. The pain might be mild like a daughter moving away from home or a fight with your husband over money. Or the pain could be great like illness or loss. It’s not something many people think about when giving love away. But there is an underlying reality. That is if love exists, pain will exist as well. And the greater you love, the greater possibility of pain. Even the couple who has shared a blissful marriage for fifty plus years knows that one day one of them will live without the other. We allow ourselves to attach knowing well that if that connection were to ever disappear, our world would start to unravel.
We had just gotten done with dinner on the first day of our trip to Oregon. We all made the easy decision to go get ice cream across the street. I was in the shop combing over the flavors when I realized Kati and Israel were standing outside in the cold. I didn’t know for sure, but it looked like they were praying. Kati got a phone call from a family member that there was an emergency at home. Kati’s cousin Shawn has a daughter named Paige. Kati didn’t have any details except for one. Paige collapsed and wasn’t breathing. I don’t even want to imagine the horror of being the father in this situation. I look at my son who is roughly the same age and began to tear up. On the drive back to the hotel Kati got another phone call. I don’t know any details but I can hear her weeping in the back seat. The sound of her cry makes my heart flutter for a second and puts a knot in my stomach. No words are shared…it’s the profound silence that tells the result.
My heart aches for Shawn and Kristy…to give this much love to another and to feel this much pain when she's gone. My experience was unique because Lincoln was an infant. My memories of him only span those 18 days. Shawn and Kristy have years of memories, more experiences than could fit into a mind. These words were never more fitting: the human heart is not designed to go that deep with a person just to back out.
The main reason I went to Oregon was to visit with friends. We did a bunch of stuff that I will blog about later but one of my favorites was playing heads-up poker with Nole. Most of our conversation centered on trying to outplay each other. But one time we took a break. Nole knew about the stuff Kati’s family was going through. He asked me about my past experiences and how I was doing. The conversation led to a question like this, “Were you scared to try and have kids again?” My response was, “yes, very scared. But my desire to love again far out weighs my fear of pain. I don’t know does that make sense?” Nole said, “Yah man, it makes perfect sense.”
Here is my prayer for Shawn and Kristy. I pray that you are not consumed by the hurt you feel inside. I pray that when the clouds start to break you will have hope. May God bring rest to your souls.
“The human heart is not designed to go that deep with a person just to back out.” This is a quote from my friend Quinn. He was speaking of a personal experience but I’ve found it to be universally profound. It makes me wonder about the risks we take in life. Not the risk of what school to go to or whether or not to move to Oregon. I’m talking about something much riskier. I’m talking about the risk of loving another. We humans like to throw ourselves into these situations where there is a strong likelihood of attachment and pain. This will exist on varying levels for all of our relationships. The pain might be mild like a daughter moving away from home or a fight with your husband over money. Or the pain could be great like illness or loss. It’s not something many people think about when giving love away. But there is an underlying reality. That is if love exists, pain will exist as well. And the greater you love, the greater possibility of pain. Even the couple who has shared a blissful marriage for fifty plus years knows that one day one of them will live without the other. We allow ourselves to attach knowing well that if that connection were to ever disappear, our world would start to unravel.
We had just gotten done with dinner on the first day of our trip to Oregon. We all made the easy decision to go get ice cream across the street. I was in the shop combing over the flavors when I realized Kati and Israel were standing outside in the cold. I didn’t know for sure, but it looked like they were praying. Kati got a phone call from a family member that there was an emergency at home. Kati’s cousin Shawn has a daughter named Paige. Kati didn’t have any details except for one. Paige collapsed and wasn’t breathing. I don’t even want to imagine the horror of being the father in this situation. I look at my son who is roughly the same age and began to tear up. On the drive back to the hotel Kati got another phone call. I don’t know any details but I can hear her weeping in the back seat. The sound of her cry makes my heart flutter for a second and puts a knot in my stomach. No words are shared…it’s the profound silence that tells the result.
My heart aches for Shawn and Kristy…to give this much love to another and to feel this much pain when she's gone. My experience was unique because Lincoln was an infant. My memories of him only span those 18 days. Shawn and Kristy have years of memories, more experiences than could fit into a mind. These words were never more fitting: the human heart is not designed to go that deep with a person just to back out.
The main reason I went to Oregon was to visit with friends. We did a bunch of stuff that I will blog about later but one of my favorites was playing heads-up poker with Nole. Most of our conversation centered on trying to outplay each other. But one time we took a break. Nole knew about the stuff Kati’s family was going through. He asked me about my past experiences and how I was doing. The conversation led to a question like this, “Were you scared to try and have kids again?” My response was, “yes, very scared. But my desire to love again far out weighs my fear of pain. I don’t know does that make sense?” Nole said, “Yah man, it makes perfect sense.”
Here is my prayer for Shawn and Kristy. I pray that you are not consumed by the hurt you feel inside. I pray that when the clouds start to break you will have hope. May God bring rest to your souls.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Dinner and a Novel
First off, I’m sorry it’s been so long. Wow, now that I think about it, that sounds really arrogant. It’s like I’m saying, you’ve been waiting for me to write this whole week. How could I do you the injustice of not writing a new entry? Well that’s not what I meant. I shall strike the first sentence from the record. Replace it with…I’ve missed writing and miss your great comments. That’s better.
It’s a Saturday night with nothing to do. Jill and I decided to hang out as a family and what better to do than go to dinner. Jill has been making most of our dinners lately so this was a real treat. That’s not how it sounds. I meant to say, Jill has been making a bunch of meals lately and it’s nice to give her a night off. For the record, I think Jill is a good cook. With the exception of the eggplant meal, I could live without that one again. We go back and forth for a little bit and then decided on Paradise Bakery. On the way there I tell Jill I need to make a stop at the gas station. We pull into the QT parking lot…not for gas, not for a drink, not for a snack. I stopped at the gas station to buy something ridiculous…a lottery ticket.
Jill has come to the point of just living with my antics. She tells me to hurry up because she’s really hungry. I buy the ticket and scamper back to the truck. I hop in and say to Jill, “What would you do with 200 million? Well, just 100 million after taxes.” Jill smiles at me and says, “I’d pay off my dad’s mortgage.” “Well, what else?” “I’d give it away.” I can’t really argue with that because I’d probably do the same thing. At dinner Jill and I daydreamed about who we would help and how we would distribute the money. Jill said that she would want a budget of how much she could give away each day. I then devised a way of investing the money and living off the interest. We talked about taking our friends on vacation, moving downtown and giving to the church. “Can you imagine what onePlace would do with millions?” We continued to share stories and joked about not telling anyone our secret. This conversation would seem silly to anyone else. But to Jill and I…it was our fantastic novel.
I’ll be the first to admit that money would not make us happier. Life is still risky and challenging. Money doesn’t solve all of life’s problems. The dream becomes exciting because it’s hard to imagine life without financial strain…not just for me but for all the people I know. The odds of winning are 146 million to one. Do I think I will ever win? No. But when I bought that ticket, I gave myself a chance to dream, a chance to imagine. The idea of not winning almost becomes irrelevant. Because for that short time the dreamer inside of me tells reality to wait until dinner is over. Sitting down at dinner and writing the novel with my wife… that’s what I bought for a dollar.
It’s a Saturday night with nothing to do. Jill and I decided to hang out as a family and what better to do than go to dinner. Jill has been making most of our dinners lately so this was a real treat. That’s not how it sounds. I meant to say, Jill has been making a bunch of meals lately and it’s nice to give her a night off. For the record, I think Jill is a good cook. With the exception of the eggplant meal, I could live without that one again. We go back and forth for a little bit and then decided on Paradise Bakery. On the way there I tell Jill I need to make a stop at the gas station. We pull into the QT parking lot…not for gas, not for a drink, not for a snack. I stopped at the gas station to buy something ridiculous…a lottery ticket.
Jill has come to the point of just living with my antics. She tells me to hurry up because she’s really hungry. I buy the ticket and scamper back to the truck. I hop in and say to Jill, “What would you do with 200 million? Well, just 100 million after taxes.” Jill smiles at me and says, “I’d pay off my dad’s mortgage.” “Well, what else?” “I’d give it away.” I can’t really argue with that because I’d probably do the same thing. At dinner Jill and I daydreamed about who we would help and how we would distribute the money. Jill said that she would want a budget of how much she could give away each day. I then devised a way of investing the money and living off the interest. We talked about taking our friends on vacation, moving downtown and giving to the church. “Can you imagine what onePlace would do with millions?” We continued to share stories and joked about not telling anyone our secret. This conversation would seem silly to anyone else. But to Jill and I…it was our fantastic novel.
I’ll be the first to admit that money would not make us happier. Life is still risky and challenging. Money doesn’t solve all of life’s problems. The dream becomes exciting because it’s hard to imagine life without financial strain…not just for me but for all the people I know. The odds of winning are 146 million to one. Do I think I will ever win? No. But when I bought that ticket, I gave myself a chance to dream, a chance to imagine. The idea of not winning almost becomes irrelevant. Because for that short time the dreamer inside of me tells reality to wait until dinner is over. Sitting down at dinner and writing the novel with my wife… that’s what I bought for a dollar.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
things I miss about me
Have you ever misplaced something you really enjoy only to find it some time later? Maybe it’s a shirt you left at a friend’s house. Maybe it’s a cd you lost in your car. Maybe it’s a love letter from the past. Everybody can relate to that feeling of excitement knowing that you recaptured this “thing”. Because it’s not just the object, it’s also the feelings associated with the object. It’s not any shirt, it’s the shirt you bought at your first concert. It’s the cd you always put in on road trips. It’s the love letter that made you realize that you were going to marry this person.
I was fifteen when my sister gave me a hat from the University of Arizona. I loved this hat. It was fitted. It had the basic logo. It had no insignia on the back. These are all the things that made this hat perfect. I probably wore this hat everyday for three years straight. But when I left for college I remember leaving this hat behind. I don’t even know why. I guess subconsciously I wanted something different. For years this hat was hidden somewhere at my parent’s house. My mom had cleaned out my room and stored a bunch of stuff in the garage…boxes and boxes of junk. Then one day, without even looking for it, my hat came back to me. I was looking for an empty box when I stumbled into some old clothes. The item at the very top was my U of A hat flattened like a pancake. I went to the nearest mirror, re-cranked the bill, and tried it on. It was old and familiar. I’ve been wearing it ever since.
I have gone through all of this to tell you that I’ve misplaced something very special to me. Something I’ve had since I was 19. I lost it a couple of years ago and can’t seem to find it anywhere. I’ve lost my desire to create music. Music has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. I’ve played all over and have had so many great experiences. I remember practicing until my fingers were about to fall off. I never knew what time it was and hours felt like minutes. I remember when my band was playing its first show. I think I only slept for a couple of hours. I remember playing at a midnight service for a local church. I got to play one of my originals in front of about 2500 people. I remember Israel coming over and sharing new hooks he was working on. My legs would jitter because I was so anxious to add a new layer that would compliment the melody. I remember when I would stay up late and play guitar in the bedroom closet. I played there because I didn’t want to wake anyone up but still sing with all my heart. These days are long over. I’ve lost it and now I’m trying to find it again.
Last week my friends Matt and Andrew asked me to come play music with them. No schedule, no agenda…just for fun. At first I didn’t know how to respond. The idea of playing for recreation was foreign to me. And you know what, it was amazing. I found something better than that ragged hat or concert t shirt. I found that part of me that loves music…the thrill of melodies filling a room…the presence of something beautiful created from my hands. (well, some beautiful, some not so beautiful) This experience has inspired me to rekindle a passion from the past. Like going to an old flame and saying, “can we try this one more time?” I played last night…I played for hours. Nothing significant came of it. It’s not like I wrote a hit song that is going to change the world. But the feelings of being able to express and create through music…yeah those things…those are the things I miss about me.
I was fifteen when my sister gave me a hat from the University of Arizona. I loved this hat. It was fitted. It had the basic logo. It had no insignia on the back. These are all the things that made this hat perfect. I probably wore this hat everyday for three years straight. But when I left for college I remember leaving this hat behind. I don’t even know why. I guess subconsciously I wanted something different. For years this hat was hidden somewhere at my parent’s house. My mom had cleaned out my room and stored a bunch of stuff in the garage…boxes and boxes of junk. Then one day, without even looking for it, my hat came back to me. I was looking for an empty box when I stumbled into some old clothes. The item at the very top was my U of A hat flattened like a pancake. I went to the nearest mirror, re-cranked the bill, and tried it on. It was old and familiar. I’ve been wearing it ever since.
I have gone through all of this to tell you that I’ve misplaced something very special to me. Something I’ve had since I was 19. I lost it a couple of years ago and can’t seem to find it anywhere. I’ve lost my desire to create music. Music has been a huge part of my life for the last decade. I’ve played all over and have had so many great experiences. I remember practicing until my fingers were about to fall off. I never knew what time it was and hours felt like minutes. I remember when my band was playing its first show. I think I only slept for a couple of hours. I remember playing at a midnight service for a local church. I got to play one of my originals in front of about 2500 people. I remember Israel coming over and sharing new hooks he was working on. My legs would jitter because I was so anxious to add a new layer that would compliment the melody. I remember when I would stay up late and play guitar in the bedroom closet. I played there because I didn’t want to wake anyone up but still sing with all my heart. These days are long over. I’ve lost it and now I’m trying to find it again.
Last week my friends Matt and Andrew asked me to come play music with them. No schedule, no agenda…just for fun. At first I didn’t know how to respond. The idea of playing for recreation was foreign to me. And you know what, it was amazing. I found something better than that ragged hat or concert t shirt. I found that part of me that loves music…the thrill of melodies filling a room…the presence of something beautiful created from my hands. (well, some beautiful, some not so beautiful) This experience has inspired me to rekindle a passion from the past. Like going to an old flame and saying, “can we try this one more time?” I played last night…I played for hours. Nothing significant came of it. It’s not like I wrote a hit song that is going to change the world. But the feelings of being able to express and create through music…yeah those things…those are the things I miss about me.
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