Two years ago today I watched my baby boy Lincoln take his first breathe. Dylan was delivered by C-section and this was Jill’s first live birth. She was an absolute hero. Her water broke in the middle of the night. She didn’t want to be cooped up in a hospital room for hours so she decided to do most of her labor at home. The goal was to go to the hospital when contractions got close enough. Being that her water broke in the middle of the night, I decided to take a little nap before our big day ahead. Pretty much, I slept all night. I know I know, I can already hear the collective gasp…Jill’s mom was there the whole time. I don’t know if that makes it any better. The contractions were getting closer and closer by early morning. We called our midwife and decided it was time to head to the hospital.
The contractions at home were tickle fights compared to what Jill was experiencing during the drive to the hospital. You could visibly see the difference in Jill’s demeanor. Her brow would wrinkle, each breath seemed to consume her energy, and silence was necessary. As a husband I felt absolutely helpless, my protective instincts wanted to shelter my wife from suffering…but in the end, this was the only way. (side note: Jill opted not to take any drugs…she wanted to deliver naturally) By the time we made it to the hospital, Jill was having severe contractions. They checked her in immediately and the nurse did a preliminary check. The look on our nurse’s face was enough to tell us that we kind of cut it close. She jumps up and gets on the phone right away, “we need a bed now. Yeah…she’s a 10.” For those of you that don’t have kids that means Jill was dilated to 10 cm…that means its time to push.
One hour later I am staring into the eyes of my new baby boy. The idea of having two boys was so exciting. I think of my friend Errol who has two boys pretty close in age. I see the way they laugh and play…how they protect each other…how they make imaginary forts together and then collectively destroy it. These were things I would dream about for my own boys…life, love, laughter, protection, and of course, imaginary forts. All of these thoughts came to a stop the moment Dr. Jenny walked into our room.
Jill was laying on her bed talking to her mom and brother-in-law. The doctor said, “I have something I need to talk to you about, do you want everyone to stay?” My heart sank to the floor and I felt that my life was about to change. I knew it was a moment that we needed alone so we asked everyone to leave the room as the doctor talked to us. Her first words were, “I’m so sorry, I have some bad news.” I don’t remember much after that. After the doctor left the room I crawled into the hospital bed with Jill. Jill was trembling and shaking terribly. We just held each other and cried.
How do you fall in love with someone so deeply after only 18 days? I don’t know. But I can’t deny what my heart feels. Part of Lincoln’s condition was that he had heart problems. During his last day there would be moments when his heart would stop for up to a minute at a time. As you can imagine, this was the worst torture any parent can experience. I told Jill that I didn’t want to hold him much during that last day because I couldn’t deal with the pain of him passing in my arms. Jill completely understood and nurtured him like only Jill could…with tenderness, grace, peace, love, gentleness. I was sleeping on an air mattress in Lincoln’s bedroom when Jill came in. She asked me to hold him for a few minutes while she did something around the house. I cradled his small frame and rested him on my chest. He was such a peaceful person. He rested on me like a blanket, but better. I fell back to sleep within minutes. One hour later I woke up. I looked at my child that was curled in a ball on my chest and realized that sometime during my sleep, he took his last breath. I called for Jill, she came into the room and with quivering lips I said, “I think….” There was no need to finish the statement. She slowly walked over and picked up his fragile body. She sat on the floor rocking back and forth saying, “you’re my baby, you're my baby” over and over again. I just sat next to her…still, silent, and wrecked. It is something I will never forget.
This is the first time in months that I have cried about this moment in my life. Part of me wonders if I’m trying to forget unintentionally…like my subconscious has this protection mechanism. But I don’t think it’s true. There are moments that fade and memories that are lost, it is part of the human mind. But with the simple whisper of his name, my heart and soul feel…and it lays me low. That is something the mind will never forget. I made up a lullaby the day Jett was born and sang it to Lincoln on his birthday as well. It goes:
I know this song
It sings inside my heart
Saying I love you
Saying I love you
Thank you for being my baby boy
Thank you for being my baby boy
I miss him dearly, I will never forget two years ago today.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Regrets
Last night Miah and Shelly came over for dinner. It was so good to hang out with them. Jill and I did their premarital counseling and we really haven’t had any good quality time since then. They are still together so we figured that was cause to celebrate…and they are in love as well. (a tribute to epic counseling) I’m just kidding around…they are thriving in spite of scattered counseling. They just got back from Europe and we wanted to hear all about it…but we didn’t want to share them with any one else. Jill made chicken with stuffing and Shellamiah brought over chocolate whoopies. (this is my favorite dessert on earth and is also the perfect lead in to the statement, "that's what she said")
We talked about Europe and all the wonderful things they experienced. I saw pictures of huge art installations in the middle of cities, castles that are only seen in movies, and daisies fashioned in Miah’s beard. I heard stories of canoeing down channels and rivers, drinking on roof top bars, hitchhiking in the Alps, sleeping in train stations, and sipping wine at the base of the Eiffel Tower. I was absolutely fascinated by all of it. But nothing got my attention more than all the pictures of art in Shellamiah’s photo album. It was littered with images of art that Shelly and Miah stood face to face with. These are pieces that you see in books and magazines…like Andy Warhol originals and other famous people I don’t know. The thing that captured my attention was not the art itself, but the fact that these two got to have personal experience with something/someone they really respect. Not everyone can say that they have met their heroes. I’m jealous of that.
Later on in the evening the conversation took a left turn. We started to talk about regrets. I asked the question, “what is something from your past that you regret not trying?” I start it off by saying I wish I would have tried playing football in high school. I think I would have really enjoyed it. But my fear of failure was greater than my desire to experience. Jill chimes in and says that she wishes she would have tried doing sports. Most people don’t know this but Jill is a natural athlete. She has a perfect runners build and is naturally lean. During field day in elementary school, she would get first in all events she competed in…but never did anything after that. Maybe Jill is an Olympic athlete in hibernation. Shelly interjects and talks about always having the desire to become a hair stylist. Not just a super cuts stylist, but a “fancy” one. We all go on for about 20 minutes. Then we turn to Jeremiah and say, “what about you?” He responds with, “that’s a great question, I don’t know.” “Really nothing?” “Yah, I don’t know, I’m sorry, I’m really trying to think of something.”
Then it came to me. Maybe that says something about Jeremiah. What would your life look like if you didn’t have regrets of not trying? It really made me think. Jeremiah wasn’t being arrogant by saying he couldn’t think of anything. It was simply a testament to his character, “I guess I always tried.” So I ask myself the question, How would my life be different if I lived more like this? I think I would stop seeing life through books and magazines…I think I would try to meet some of my heroes face to face. Here is my final thought: When I’m old and dying, I think I would rather see my life full of failures than to have never tried…sometimes the most beautiful experiences are found in the wreckage.
We talked about Europe and all the wonderful things they experienced. I saw pictures of huge art installations in the middle of cities, castles that are only seen in movies, and daisies fashioned in Miah’s beard. I heard stories of canoeing down channels and rivers, drinking on roof top bars, hitchhiking in the Alps, sleeping in train stations, and sipping wine at the base of the Eiffel Tower. I was absolutely fascinated by all of it. But nothing got my attention more than all the pictures of art in Shellamiah’s photo album. It was littered with images of art that Shelly and Miah stood face to face with. These are pieces that you see in books and magazines…like Andy Warhol originals and other famous people I don’t know. The thing that captured my attention was not the art itself, but the fact that these two got to have personal experience with something/someone they really respect. Not everyone can say that they have met their heroes. I’m jealous of that.
Later on in the evening the conversation took a left turn. We started to talk about regrets. I asked the question, “what is something from your past that you regret not trying?” I start it off by saying I wish I would have tried playing football in high school. I think I would have really enjoyed it. But my fear of failure was greater than my desire to experience. Jill chimes in and says that she wishes she would have tried doing sports. Most people don’t know this but Jill is a natural athlete. She has a perfect runners build and is naturally lean. During field day in elementary school, she would get first in all events she competed in…but never did anything after that. Maybe Jill is an Olympic athlete in hibernation. Shelly interjects and talks about always having the desire to become a hair stylist. Not just a super cuts stylist, but a “fancy” one. We all go on for about 20 minutes. Then we turn to Jeremiah and say, “what about you?” He responds with, “that’s a great question, I don’t know.” “Really nothing?” “Yah, I don’t know, I’m sorry, I’m really trying to think of something.”
Then it came to me. Maybe that says something about Jeremiah. What would your life look like if you didn’t have regrets of not trying? It really made me think. Jeremiah wasn’t being arrogant by saying he couldn’t think of anything. It was simply a testament to his character, “I guess I always tried.” So I ask myself the question, How would my life be different if I lived more like this? I think I would stop seeing life through books and magazines…I think I would try to meet some of my heroes face to face. Here is my final thought: When I’m old and dying, I think I would rather see my life full of failures than to have never tried…sometimes the most beautiful experiences are found in the wreckage.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
i love being a dad
It's a really long video but you get to see his skills in about the first 30 seconds. This is why he makes me laugh at least once a day. (FYI, this is also his favorite song, I've probably listened to it 100 times...literally)
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Jill's Blog entry
So I've been asking Jill to write a blog entry for about 6 months now. You know the old saying, the squeeky wheel gets the oil. She's finally agreed and this is what she wrote:
Mark has been asking me to do a blog entry forever. I have always told him no because well to be honest I don’t feel like I have a whole lot of interesting things to say. I actually have my own “secret” blog that no one knows about and I write in it every now and again. I like knowing that it is out there but also like knowing that no one that I know is reading it. I think I also don’t want to write because it makes me vulnerable. I am happy to be vulnerable talking to someone one on one…but writing something from my heart for whoever to read that is a bit tougher for me to allow myself to be exposed in that way.
So today I will write and what better to write about than whose blog this is and who I love dearly. Mark and I will be having our 10 year anniversary in a couple weeks (it is crazy to think that we have been married that long). If you have read any of Mark’s other entries you will know that we are not alike in most ways, in fact I would say that we see and experience life in the opposite way of each other. I think the beauty of our relationship is that we are such different people but are daily learning how to love each other in a better way. Allowing the other room to be who we are individually but coming together to support one another as a couple. Don’t get me wrong there have been definite periods of us wanting to force our own will on each other…it’s not easy giving to someone else. It takes sacrifice. The one thing that I do know from our marriage is that God is able to restore and start things new. To love richly.
It was told to us recently that there are people who think our relationship is unhealthy. People who are not apart of our life…just people who look through the window and cast judgment. I know that it shouldn’t bother me but it really does. I know how much Mark loves me and desires to see me be fulfilled in my life. In my life there has never been anyone who has given to me so deeply, challenged my thoughts & expectations of life, given me security, allowed me to be completely vulnerable and has put up with my insecurities & failures. It is the greatest thing to know that you are still loved in spite of all the imperfections and mistakes.
I know that I am loved and cherished. What more do I need. hfu
Mark has been asking me to do a blog entry forever. I have always told him no because well to be honest I don’t feel like I have a whole lot of interesting things to say. I actually have my own “secret” blog that no one knows about and I write in it every now and again. I like knowing that it is out there but also like knowing that no one that I know is reading it. I think I also don’t want to write because it makes me vulnerable. I am happy to be vulnerable talking to someone one on one…but writing something from my heart for whoever to read that is a bit tougher for me to allow myself to be exposed in that way.
So today I will write and what better to write about than whose blog this is and who I love dearly. Mark and I will be having our 10 year anniversary in a couple weeks (it is crazy to think that we have been married that long). If you have read any of Mark’s other entries you will know that we are not alike in most ways, in fact I would say that we see and experience life in the opposite way of each other. I think the beauty of our relationship is that we are such different people but are daily learning how to love each other in a better way. Allowing the other room to be who we are individually but coming together to support one another as a couple. Don’t get me wrong there have been definite periods of us wanting to force our own will on each other…it’s not easy giving to someone else. It takes sacrifice. The one thing that I do know from our marriage is that God is able to restore and start things new. To love richly.
It was told to us recently that there are people who think our relationship is unhealthy. People who are not apart of our life…just people who look through the window and cast judgment. I know that it shouldn’t bother me but it really does. I know how much Mark loves me and desires to see me be fulfilled in my life. In my life there has never been anyone who has given to me so deeply, challenged my thoughts & expectations of life, given me security, allowed me to be completely vulnerable and has put up with my insecurities & failures. It is the greatest thing to know that you are still loved in spite of all the imperfections and mistakes.
I know that I am loved and cherished. What more do I need. hfu
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
What to do?
What to do? Let’s say you have this room in your house that needs to be redecorated. It’s been used as a storage closet for the last couple of years but now it’s time to turn it into something different. You clear out the room, expose the walls, and box up the closet. Now you have this exposed room that is waiting for the masters touch. You stand at the entrance for a few moments and look around…trying to soak it all in. A few minutes go by of pure silence. In your stillness you feel the slight breeze of wind brush at your back. Your spouse has opened the back door letting the sunlight, the breeze and the size 4 shoes of a three-year-old scuttle across the floor. Your spouse sees you standing under the door frame and goes to stand by your side. The two of you stand in collective silence and stare at the empty space. You speak first and say something like, “what do you think we should do?” Your spouse responds, “I’m not sure.” “Well, I was thinking of painting it to something green.” “nah, no green.” “blue?” “nah, no blue.” “how about something in earth tones?” “nah, no earthtones…ohh, I got it, how about turning it into an arcade?” “What?” And then you think, how did my pleasant canvas of a room get turned into an arcade? And in summary…this is what it must be like to be my wife.
Jill and I recently got into a fight that was something similar to this scenario. Although I would love an arcade at my house, that’s not what the fight was really about. The fight was more about “that’s not what I want…well that’s not what I want…where do we go from here.” Well, deep down inside, and I mean deep, just between you and me…I really believe I could talk Jill into doing what I want. I can be a real smooth talking asshole sometimes. I once convinced Jill it was okay for me to buy a motorcycle (Yamaha YZF 600, it was awesome). I even shocked myself with that one. The problem is that I really do want Jill to have all that her heart wishes for. I love her…I love her a lot. But part of what her heart wishes for looks different than what I find desirable. My mind says, give her what she wants…but at the same time I can’t stop my heart from wanting something else. I truly believe that Jill feels the same way. There never was a conclusion to the argument other than, “I’m sorry, I wish I felt different for your sake.” “Me too.”
The problem with this kind of discussion is that nobody is “wrong”. Usually I take my fair share of being erroneous. But with this scenario, no one is to blame. So I go back to the original question, what to do? Honestly I have no answer. The only thing that makes the discussion even reasonable is the fact that we truly love each other. I said these words on my wedding day and I believe them to be true today. It’s from the book of Ruth.
Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay.
Your people will be my people and your God my God.
Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried.
May the Lord deal with me, if anything but death separates you and me
Jill and I recently got into a fight that was something similar to this scenario. Although I would love an arcade at my house, that’s not what the fight was really about. The fight was more about “that’s not what I want…well that’s not what I want…where do we go from here.” Well, deep down inside, and I mean deep, just between you and me…I really believe I could talk Jill into doing what I want. I can be a real smooth talking asshole sometimes. I once convinced Jill it was okay for me to buy a motorcycle (Yamaha YZF 600, it was awesome). I even shocked myself with that one. The problem is that I really do want Jill to have all that her heart wishes for. I love her…I love her a lot. But part of what her heart wishes for looks different than what I find desirable. My mind says, give her what she wants…but at the same time I can’t stop my heart from wanting something else. I truly believe that Jill feels the same way. There never was a conclusion to the argument other than, “I’m sorry, I wish I felt different for your sake.” “Me too.”
The problem with this kind of discussion is that nobody is “wrong”. Usually I take my fair share of being erroneous. But with this scenario, no one is to blame. So I go back to the original question, what to do? Honestly I have no answer. The only thing that makes the discussion even reasonable is the fact that we truly love each other. I said these words on my wedding day and I believe them to be true today. It’s from the book of Ruth.
Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay.
Your people will be my people and your God my God.
Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried.
May the Lord deal with me, if anything but death separates you and me
Thursday, May 8, 2008
seth runs over israel
Here is a funny video from our time at A-basin. Israel was going to attempt a jump and never really made it. Seth however was not going to be slowed down by Israel.
Only a one way journey - Happy Birthday Iz (Part 2)
Part 2Saturday:
This was the main reason why we drove to Denver. We woke up early morning and headed to Arapahoe Basin for a day of snowboarding. (or A-basin as the locals say) It was the perfect conditions. Weather was in the mid forties and 9 inches of fresh powder over the last couple of days. What more can you ask for in May? Sam ate French toast in the lodge and studied for finals while the three of us tore up the mountain. Probably one of the best boarding days I’ve ever had. I called it quits a little bit early and went to the RV for a shower and nap. An hour later the whole crew was back together. We left the mountain and headed into Denver. We stopped over by the Red Rocks for dinner to meet up with some of Sam’s old friends. This was an interesting experience on many levels. The most intriguing was the fact that all his old friends are hard core republicans. This didn’t go over well when Sam unzipped his jacket and revealed an Arizonans for Obama t-shirt. It was quite humorous, well at least three of us were laughing, sorry Sam.
We drove into downtown Denver looking for a place to park the Majestic, that is the name of our RV. We drove in circles for hours looking for the right spot. First we were going to park on a street with no meters until we noticed all the broken glass on the ground. Yeah, it was from all the broken windows, that’s not a good sign. Then we were going to park at an abandoned building. It looked safe enough but we feared being towed. Finally Sam talked to a security guard about finding a safe place to park and he recommends the empty lot behind the building he is watching. We’re all grateful for the advise and drive to this empty lot. We negotiate through a really tight alley, remember I’m driving a huge RV in downtown Denver. We make it to this back lot and Seth is laughing, “I don’t know man, it looks kind of shady.” Shady is an understatement. There is graffiti everywhere, abandoned cars, broken dog kennels, and a chain link fence that somebody took a wire cutter to. We were all pretty frustrated but couldn’t help but laugh, it was all part of the experience. At last we decided to check out Union Station right off of 16th street. We had to pay 14 dollars to park but it was well worth it. The spot was even better than we thought…starbucks across the street, directly on 16th street, and much safer.
Sunday:
Sunday was the most laid back of all the days. Sam and I were the first to wake up. We walked over to Starbucks to get some coffee to go. We brought it back to the RV where we busted out the lawn chairs and just shared stories for about an hour. We woke the other guys up and walked to a breakfast spot right in downtown. The original plan was to rent scooters but all the places were closed. Instead Sam decided to go to the rockies game which was only four blocks away. And the rest of us went to Cinco De Mayo festival at the capitol. It kind of sucked but there was one highlight.
The three of us were sitting down eating lunch when a girl approached and asked for directions. We told her we didn’t know because we just got into town. That didn’t matter to her, because she decided to sit down and start a conversation. She was nice and all, but definitely kind of crazy. Two minutes later I realize why she asked for directions…it’s my man Seth she wants directions from. She’s throwin out the vibe but Seth definitely wasn’t catching. I decided to help move things along by asking Iz to throw the Frisbee with me…you know, for some alone time. Seth fires over a death stare. Five minutes later Seth turns around and says, “hey guys, sam is waiting for us.” Which translates to, get me out of here. I look at Seth with a huge smile and say, “nah man, he can wait. I’m in no hurry.” I thought Seth’s eyes were going to pop out of his head. Eventually we came to the rescue and headed back to the RV. We spent the rest of the afternoon in the Union Station parking lot relaxing on lawn chairs and throwing the frisbee.
Monday:
Our adventure was coming to a close. If this was a sitcom, we had one final episode. Renting a RV is an amazing experience that I recommend everyone doing at least once in a lifetime. But there is a major downside. The RV has a toilet and it gets used. It is the renters responsibility to return the RV with empty septic tanks. Normally you could take it to a RV park for dumping but we were running low on time. I looked at the fellas and said, “we gotta do it.” All agreed that there was only one way. We pulled up to an empty parking lot close to the freeway. (I’m apologizing to the ones that find this gross and offensive) The four of us looked at each other and said, “alright, who’s going to pull the lever.” The reason this is so risky is because the lever is right next to the opening where the “stuff” comes out. Israel says, “guys, I’ll do it.” Like a champion taking one for the team…we all say a prayer. Israel steps around to the driver side, leans down, and puts his hand on the lever marked “black water”. Three, two, one…pull. Whoosh goes the “black water”, Israel almost didn’t escape in time. It’s kind of illegal to do this so we didn’t stick around. We thought it was a better idea to drive down the street with black water streaming out. It was awesome.
Sam and Seth had noon flights while Iz and I weren’t leaving till 7. We made it to the airport and said our goodbyes. Iz and I had enough time to go to the Coors factory. We went on the tour and got our wives some t-shirts. (I’m sorry Jill if it’s too small) All in all this adventure is on my top 3 list of all time. I’m only sharing one tenth of the stories that live in my head. I’m mildly depressed that I might not get to experience this again in my lifetime. It is something I will always remember.
Final thought: This whole thing came together for one reason. It was for my friend Israel. Here is a portion of an email I sent to him about a year ago.
you are my brother from another mother. I have never been so honest and so close to another guy in my life. i could write a book of all our adventures, and then right two more sequels…that’s how many stories we share. Thank you for always loving and never judging. Thanks for the kick in the pants when I need it. Thanks for writing a song about my son. Thanks for your soft heart and gentle spirit. You have taught me so much over the years, more than a lifetime of learning.
Happy 30th Israel.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Only a one way journey - Happy Birthday Iz (Part1)
I’m currently flying home from a trip to Denver. I’m sunburned, I miss my family terribly, and I’m exhausted…that being said, it was one of the greatest adventures I’ve ever been on. This whole excursion was my way of saying happy 30th birthday to my friend Israel. This is a party I’ve been planning for about 6 months. It has taken many different forms but the final result is better than I imagined. I hope this doesn’t bore you…but I’ll attempt to bring you through our journey, it’s a long one so I broke it into two parts.
Thursday:
Six months of imagination has come to a climax on this very day. All the details and preparation have finally made it to physical form. I could call it a vacation, but the word adventure seems more appropriate. This is the day I load up the RV and prepare for our drive from Phoenix to Denver. It’s only a one way journey so everything we experience, everything we do, every decision we make…is happening for the first time every time. But this isn’t something that can be done alone, so I call on the assistance of a few others…namely Seth and Sam. I’ve spent the last hour pacing back and forth waiting for their arrival. I know that after they arrive the adventure has officially begun. I do a few last minute checks to kill time and it’s just enough. Seth and Sam show up and we load their stuff in about 20 seconds…okay maybe 30 seconds. We drive down the street to Israel’s house. (he only lives 6 houses away) I put the 25 foot beast into park and start to honk the horn like mad. The three of us are overflowing with excitement…like three girls going to a Miley Cyrus concert. Israel opens the door of his house, looks outside, and gets a huge smile on his face. He looks at Kati, then at the RV, then at Kati, then at the RV, then at Kati, then at the RV…this time he didn’t look back. It was time to hit the road. First stop, Flagstaff.
I will quote Israel when I say, “this was the quickest trip to Flagstaff I have ever had.” If this drive to Flagstaff was a drink, it would be one part belvedere, one part 50 cent, two parts testosterone, and one part “I can’t believe this is happening”. This is an expensive drink but the best I have ever had. I park the RV at the train station for the night and call it home. We got dinner at Beaver Street and played pool into the wee hours of the night.
Friday:
I told the guys if we do the most work on this day that we could spend more time relaxing. Seth, Sam, and I went to a coffee shop to plan out our route to Keystone Colorado. Sam charted a course and by 7:30 we were on the road…Israel still asleep of course. Three hours later Sam makes me a turkey sandwich without ever having to take my foot off the gas pedal…Israel still asleep of course. After six hours of conversation on topics such as religion, politics, marriage, and sex, we arrive in Moab Utah…Israel still asleep of course. We decided to get some lunch while in Moab. Israel slumbers out of bed and we settled on a microbrew restaurant. An hour and a half later we were back on the road.
The drive from Moab to Keystone was amazing. Most of it hugged the Colorado River which made for a very distracted driver…namely, me. The first part of the drive felt like I was driving through the Grand Canyon. It had the same kind of canyon walls on each side with the winding Colorado craving its way through. While driving I say to Seth, “this is so beautiful, how much for you to jump in the river right now?” I must tell you that it is about 55 degrees outside…so that would make the water around 45. Seth says, “100 dollars.” “No way man you’re crazy, that’s too much.” Israel says from the table, “I’ll do it for 20 bucks.” Five minutes later Israel is standing at the bank of the mighty Colorado in just his red boxers. I think his nerves were rattled by the signs that said, "no swimming/strong undercurrent". We just told him to stop being a “gi-na”. Israel didn’t disappoint, he dunked in the water and took it like a man. Six more hours and a total of 606 miles we made it to Keystone. We parked in a Starbucks parking lot and played it low key. It was like being in a hotel, wi-fi access and fresh coffee in the morning.
(to be continued)
Thursday:
Six months of imagination has come to a climax on this very day. All the details and preparation have finally made it to physical form. I could call it a vacation, but the word adventure seems more appropriate. This is the day I load up the RV and prepare for our drive from Phoenix to Denver. It’s only a one way journey so everything we experience, everything we do, every decision we make…is happening for the first time every time. But this isn’t something that can be done alone, so I call on the assistance of a few others…namely Seth and Sam. I’ve spent the last hour pacing back and forth waiting for their arrival. I know that after they arrive the adventure has officially begun. I do a few last minute checks to kill time and it’s just enough. Seth and Sam show up and we load their stuff in about 20 seconds…okay maybe 30 seconds. We drive down the street to Israel’s house. (he only lives 6 houses away) I put the 25 foot beast into park and start to honk the horn like mad. The three of us are overflowing with excitement…like three girls going to a Miley Cyrus concert. Israel opens the door of his house, looks outside, and gets a huge smile on his face. He looks at Kati, then at the RV, then at Kati, then at the RV, then at Kati, then at the RV…this time he didn’t look back. It was time to hit the road. First stop, Flagstaff.
I will quote Israel when I say, “this was the quickest trip to Flagstaff I have ever had.” If this drive to Flagstaff was a drink, it would be one part belvedere, one part 50 cent, two parts testosterone, and one part “I can’t believe this is happening”. This is an expensive drink but the best I have ever had. I park the RV at the train station for the night and call it home. We got dinner at Beaver Street and played pool into the wee hours of the night.
Friday:
I told the guys if we do the most work on this day that we could spend more time relaxing. Seth, Sam, and I went to a coffee shop to plan out our route to Keystone Colorado. Sam charted a course and by 7:30 we were on the road…Israel still asleep of course. Three hours later Sam makes me a turkey sandwich without ever having to take my foot off the gas pedal…Israel still asleep of course. After six hours of conversation on topics such as religion, politics, marriage, and sex, we arrive in Moab Utah…Israel still asleep of course. We decided to get some lunch while in Moab. Israel slumbers out of bed and we settled on a microbrew restaurant. An hour and a half later we were back on the road.
The drive from Moab to Keystone was amazing. Most of it hugged the Colorado River which made for a very distracted driver…namely, me. The first part of the drive felt like I was driving through the Grand Canyon. It had the same kind of canyon walls on each side with the winding Colorado craving its way through. While driving I say to Seth, “this is so beautiful, how much for you to jump in the river right now?” I must tell you that it is about 55 degrees outside…so that would make the water around 45. Seth says, “100 dollars.” “No way man you’re crazy, that’s too much.” Israel says from the table, “I’ll do it for 20 bucks.” Five minutes later Israel is standing at the bank of the mighty Colorado in just his red boxers. I think his nerves were rattled by the signs that said, "no swimming/strong undercurrent". We just told him to stop being a “gi-na”. Israel didn’t disappoint, he dunked in the water and took it like a man. Six more hours and a total of 606 miles we made it to Keystone. We parked in a Starbucks parking lot and played it low key. It was like being in a hotel, wi-fi access and fresh coffee in the morning.
(to be continued)
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
A New Mentor
Last week I had a phone conversation that went something like this:
(ring ring, ring ring)
Me: Hello
Caller: Mark, what ups
Me: Hey man, what you been up to?
Caller: nothing really, just working
Me: Cool, what’s up?
Caller: Hey man, I kind of have a favor to ask. But before I ask I want to tell you this, please please don’t feel obligated. Don’t feel like you have to say yes, I totally understand if it doesn’t work out.
(Whenever somebody says something like this I think, oh great, this is going to cost me something.)
Me: alright, what is it?
Caller: It’s my nephew…
My old friend goes on to tell me about a situation that his cousin is having. He’s struggling at home. His parents and he are at odds and it’s come to a point where something has got to change. I’ve always thought of the military academy as the last resort but I believe they have already come to this point. So how am I involved, you ask? For this kid to get accepted into the academy he needs to have a mentor. I used to work in youth ministry and give guitar lessons to high school students so I guess my name was thrown into the hat. The best I could do is tell my friend that I would meet with the parents and kid. The day before our meeting Jill was asking me what my obligation would be…how many times do we have to meet, what kind of time commitment…stuff like that. I told her I had no idea. I honestly didn’t know how I would respond until I met with the family.
It was 3:30 in the afternoon and we met a Starbucks. I got more information on the situation. I learned about their backgrounds and what their expectations were. I would have to drive out to Queen Creek twice a month, email once a week, and plan social outings once a month. Honestly, and I mean honestly. This did not sound appealing to me. Not because I don’t like the kid, but because I am a selfish person. These outings sound like burdens instead of fun activities. I spent the first fifteen minutes figuring out how I can tell these guys “no”. Then after 30 minutes of conversation, something changed in me. Do you know what changed my heart? I looked at my friend’s cousin…his head held low, eyes buried in a hat, playing with the straw in his empty drink. After knowing what I was obligating myself to, the parents asked me if I would be willing to be his mentor. I thought for a second, looked at the kid, then just blurted it out “yah, I think he’s worth it.” How do I look this kid in the face and tell him he’s not worth my time? I don’t have the heart to do it…and in fact, the exact opposite is true. He deserves more than just my time, he deserves my compassion. Who knows if this kid has ever heard these words or if he will ever hear them again. But everybody deserves to hear it at least once in their lifetime.
Final thought: Tomorrow I leave for an adventure with my friend Israel to celebrate his 30th birthday. I’m so excited, it’s going to be epic. With epic adventures come epic stories. I’m sure I’ll have one or two when I get back.
(ring ring, ring ring)
Me: Hello
Caller: Mark, what ups
Me: Hey man, what you been up to?
Caller: nothing really, just working
Me: Cool, what’s up?
Caller: Hey man, I kind of have a favor to ask. But before I ask I want to tell you this, please please don’t feel obligated. Don’t feel like you have to say yes, I totally understand if it doesn’t work out.
(Whenever somebody says something like this I think, oh great, this is going to cost me something.)
Me: alright, what is it?
Caller: It’s my nephew…
My old friend goes on to tell me about a situation that his cousin is having. He’s struggling at home. His parents and he are at odds and it’s come to a point where something has got to change. I’ve always thought of the military academy as the last resort but I believe they have already come to this point. So how am I involved, you ask? For this kid to get accepted into the academy he needs to have a mentor. I used to work in youth ministry and give guitar lessons to high school students so I guess my name was thrown into the hat. The best I could do is tell my friend that I would meet with the parents and kid. The day before our meeting Jill was asking me what my obligation would be…how many times do we have to meet, what kind of time commitment…stuff like that. I told her I had no idea. I honestly didn’t know how I would respond until I met with the family.
It was 3:30 in the afternoon and we met a Starbucks. I got more information on the situation. I learned about their backgrounds and what their expectations were. I would have to drive out to Queen Creek twice a month, email once a week, and plan social outings once a month. Honestly, and I mean honestly. This did not sound appealing to me. Not because I don’t like the kid, but because I am a selfish person. These outings sound like burdens instead of fun activities. I spent the first fifteen minutes figuring out how I can tell these guys “no”. Then after 30 minutes of conversation, something changed in me. Do you know what changed my heart? I looked at my friend’s cousin…his head held low, eyes buried in a hat, playing with the straw in his empty drink. After knowing what I was obligating myself to, the parents asked me if I would be willing to be his mentor. I thought for a second, looked at the kid, then just blurted it out “yah, I think he’s worth it.” How do I look this kid in the face and tell him he’s not worth my time? I don’t have the heart to do it…and in fact, the exact opposite is true. He deserves more than just my time, he deserves my compassion. Who knows if this kid has ever heard these words or if he will ever hear them again. But everybody deserves to hear it at least once in their lifetime.
Final thought: Tomorrow I leave for an adventure with my friend Israel to celebrate his 30th birthday. I’m so excited, it’s going to be epic. With epic adventures come epic stories. I’m sure I’ll have one or two when I get back.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
ministry, a smoke, and an apology
Part 1 What I hate about being in ministry
The weekend before last oneplace had an awesome church event. In fact, it went ten times better than I thought it would. We had a oneplace bicycle road rally. It was epic. There was about 25 of us that started off from the church. The rally would lead us from oneplace to Steele Indian School Park. Sam and Nelson rode ahead and actually blocked off 2nd and 3rd street. I thought, “holy crap, this is so official.” Our trek north consumed one full lane of traffic for about 2 miles. We eventually came to our final destination where we met picnic tables of food. The weather was amazing, the grape soda was better than champagne, the conversations flowed easily, etc. To top it all off, we ended our bbq/rally with a kick ball game…wombats vs. the pterodactyls. It was neck and neck all the way down to the last inning. It ended with Sam gunning the ball at Chad as he was running home…when at the last second Chad leaps like a gazelle and the wisps under his feet. There were many cheers.
So what is the thing I hate about ministry? The reality is about half the people at the rally will not be at oneplace in two years. onePlace has seen an unusually high turn over rate since its birth. It’s not a bad thing, just something I hate. We minister to many young people who are just trying to navigate their way through life, discover passions, and pursue dreams. I love seeing others challenge themselves with new experience and a part of me is even jealous. Every month I hear that somebody is moving away. And because our demographic is so transient, some people that you think are totally committed just don’t come back. It’s the strangest thing. I love my church but that is something I definitely hate…being close to someone and seeing them move so far away.
Part 2 Jesse wants a smoke
This last weekend Rise Up had its grand opening in downtown Phoenix and it was a marathon of events. A bunch of people came in from out of town to celebrate the flagship store. Jesse, the founder of Rise Up International, is one of those guys that you can talk to for about 60 seconds and feel like you’ve been friends for years. On Thursday night a small group of people decided to gather at the store to share some drinks before the weekend festivities. (for those not present, there was also a promo party on Friday night and a grand opening party at the san carlos) Jesse and I share a hug, talk about the family, and admire the store. Five minutes later Travis goes outside to have a smoke and Jesse says, “that sounds good, I’ll go with.” A few of us head outside and all is good…until jesse says, “my wife is going to be so pissed, she hates it when I smoke.” We all laugh, then he says, “no really, she’s gonna be pissed.” Well now he’s just raised the anticipation of when this confrontation will happen. Sure enough Maria walks outside, sees Jesse smoking, shoots him a look, then goes back inside. Honestly it wasn’t that bad, I’ve had much worse. But jesse says, “oh man we’re going to be talking about this one later.” I turn to Jesse and offer a piece of advice. I say to him, “I to have gotten the stare before, and I to have had this same talk.” I told him a simple phrase that has helped me soften the ground. The phrase is, “I have a problem, I make bad choices.” Jesse just turns to me and starts laughing. He says, “I love it, it’s so honest.” I hope it helped Jesse.
Part 3 I’m sorry Brittany
Brittany has been on me the last two weeks about blogging. Who knows if anyone even reads this anymore. One of my fatal flaws is that I become obsessed and indifferent so quickly. I once went on a health kick and lost like 80 pounds in 6 months. I’ve now spent the last six years putting it back on. I once spent two hours every day practicing the guitar and now I barely play 2 hours a week. A year ago I played poker three days a week and now my desire to play has diminished. In fact I’m going to Vegas today and it will be the first time I’ve played in about three weeks. This has also carried over into my relationships. I’ve been a groomsman or best man in 8 weddings and I don’t have regular contact with any of them…that’s right, none of them. Don’t get me wrong, when I meet with old friends it usually takes about 30 seconds to get back to the way things were. But that doesn’t change the fact that people come and go from my life too easily. I haven’t blogged over the last couple of weeks because I just haven’t thought about. So I’m sorry Brittany, I’m trying to change. Maybe this my first step.
The weekend before last oneplace had an awesome church event. In fact, it went ten times better than I thought it would. We had a oneplace bicycle road rally. It was epic. There was about 25 of us that started off from the church. The rally would lead us from oneplace to Steele Indian School Park. Sam and Nelson rode ahead and actually blocked off 2nd and 3rd street. I thought, “holy crap, this is so official.” Our trek north consumed one full lane of traffic for about 2 miles. We eventually came to our final destination where we met picnic tables of food. The weather was amazing, the grape soda was better than champagne, the conversations flowed easily, etc. To top it all off, we ended our bbq/rally with a kick ball game…wombats vs. the pterodactyls. It was neck and neck all the way down to the last inning. It ended with Sam gunning the ball at Chad as he was running home…when at the last second Chad leaps like a gazelle and the wisps under his feet. There were many cheers.
So what is the thing I hate about ministry? The reality is about half the people at the rally will not be at oneplace in two years. onePlace has seen an unusually high turn over rate since its birth. It’s not a bad thing, just something I hate. We minister to many young people who are just trying to navigate their way through life, discover passions, and pursue dreams. I love seeing others challenge themselves with new experience and a part of me is even jealous. Every month I hear that somebody is moving away. And because our demographic is so transient, some people that you think are totally committed just don’t come back. It’s the strangest thing. I love my church but that is something I definitely hate…being close to someone and seeing them move so far away.
Part 2 Jesse wants a smoke
This last weekend Rise Up had its grand opening in downtown Phoenix and it was a marathon of events. A bunch of people came in from out of town to celebrate the flagship store. Jesse, the founder of Rise Up International, is one of those guys that you can talk to for about 60 seconds and feel like you’ve been friends for years. On Thursday night a small group of people decided to gather at the store to share some drinks before the weekend festivities. (for those not present, there was also a promo party on Friday night and a grand opening party at the san carlos) Jesse and I share a hug, talk about the family, and admire the store. Five minutes later Travis goes outside to have a smoke and Jesse says, “that sounds good, I’ll go with.” A few of us head outside and all is good…until jesse says, “my wife is going to be so pissed, she hates it when I smoke.” We all laugh, then he says, “no really, she’s gonna be pissed.” Well now he’s just raised the anticipation of when this confrontation will happen. Sure enough Maria walks outside, sees Jesse smoking, shoots him a look, then goes back inside. Honestly it wasn’t that bad, I’ve had much worse. But jesse says, “oh man we’re going to be talking about this one later.” I turn to Jesse and offer a piece of advice. I say to him, “I to have gotten the stare before, and I to have had this same talk.” I told him a simple phrase that has helped me soften the ground. The phrase is, “I have a problem, I make bad choices.” Jesse just turns to me and starts laughing. He says, “I love it, it’s so honest.” I hope it helped Jesse.
Part 3 I’m sorry Brittany
Brittany has been on me the last two weeks about blogging. Who knows if anyone even reads this anymore. One of my fatal flaws is that I become obsessed and indifferent so quickly. I once went on a health kick and lost like 80 pounds in 6 months. I’ve now spent the last six years putting it back on. I once spent two hours every day practicing the guitar and now I barely play 2 hours a week. A year ago I played poker three days a week and now my desire to play has diminished. In fact I’m going to Vegas today and it will be the first time I’ve played in about three weeks. This has also carried over into my relationships. I’ve been a groomsman or best man in 8 weddings and I don’t have regular contact with any of them…that’s right, none of them. Don’t get me wrong, when I meet with old friends it usually takes about 30 seconds to get back to the way things were. But that doesn’t change the fact that people come and go from my life too easily. I haven’t blogged over the last couple of weeks because I just haven’t thought about. So I’m sorry Brittany, I’m trying to change. Maybe this my first step.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Favorite Oregon Story
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.
“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.
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.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
My Desk (Part 2)
My desk is a humble desk. It’s only two feet wide but it serves in many roles. It carries a heavy burden because it is the most versatile and used piece of equipment at onePlace. It must be flexible with the different jobs and has to be ready to adjust at any moment. I love my desk for many reasons. I wouldn’t change it for anything. Here is the reason why…if my desk could talk, this is what it would say:
“I got my first tattoo only a couple of months ago. It wasn’t something I really wanted but kind of just came to me. I was working a show for the venue when a teenage girl decided to make her mark. She wrote “Brittany J Andy J”. I don’t know either of them but she obviously thought it was important. It opened up Pandora’s Box because ever since that day everybody and their mother felt the need to give me more tattoos, more random statements, more personal declarations. At first it kind of bothered me, but the more it happened, the more I questioned its purpose. Why do people ‘tag’? I think the answer is rather profound. The artist wants to be noticed, wants to be seen, wants to be heard, wants to make an impact, and wants to belong to something. Can I be upset at a person who longs for those things? Not really. In fact, I want to be the object that displays the art of the unseen. I carry it with pride. Because when the day is done, I know that the marginalized man was noticed and the silent soul was heard.
My other job is being Mark’s desk throughout the week. He’s a brut of a man, handsome, intelligent, sophisticated, and stylish yet the sensitivity of a mother Teresa type. He makes me want to be a better desk. (maybe my desk didn’t say all those things, but it’s my fabled personification, just let me dream) My purpose here is practical. I support the work of a man who loves and serves the church. There is nothing glamorous about this job. I don’t get noticed. I don’t draw attention. I’m simply here to support the work of the guys who dream.
My favorite job throughout the week is the one I have on Sunday nights. That’s the night onePlace has church. It’s the most sacred job any one person can have. I sit in the back corner, I dress in black, I am the hand that holds communion. I see people focused on a time of remembering. I see people trying to reconnect with God. I see others with completely broken lives. I can’t tell you how many tears have been shed in my presence…men and women who have knelt in front of me begging for mercy. Their prayers came out in whispers but this is what I remember. I remember a young lady praying for her dad who was dying of cancer. I remember a man asking for God to restore his broken marriage. I remember a couple who just lost a child. I remember a young man who was devastated by his parents divorce. I remember a man who just lost his job. I remember a lady suffering from bouts with depression. I remember the man who was pleading for God’s forgiveness. I remember the lady that was shackled with fear. I remember all of them. I remember them because we shared communion together. They all come to this place of reckoning because of one thing. It’s not because of me. It’s not even because of what I hold. It’s because they want to meet with God, the true and living God. I don’t know if I told you, this is my favorite job.”
That is a whole lot for a desk to say, but I believe it to be accurate. In fact, my desk might be a better Christian than I am. These are simple yet profound goals; display the art of the unseen, support the guys who dream, and be the hands that help others commune with God. My desk is a humble desk, but I love what it teaches me.
“I got my first tattoo only a couple of months ago. It wasn’t something I really wanted but kind of just came to me. I was working a show for the venue when a teenage girl decided to make her mark. She wrote “Brittany J Andy J”. I don’t know either of them but she obviously thought it was important. It opened up Pandora’s Box because ever since that day everybody and their mother felt the need to give me more tattoos, more random statements, more personal declarations. At first it kind of bothered me, but the more it happened, the more I questioned its purpose. Why do people ‘tag’? I think the answer is rather profound. The artist wants to be noticed, wants to be seen, wants to be heard, wants to make an impact, and wants to belong to something. Can I be upset at a person who longs for those things? Not really. In fact, I want to be the object that displays the art of the unseen. I carry it with pride. Because when the day is done, I know that the marginalized man was noticed and the silent soul was heard.
My other job is being Mark’s desk throughout the week. He’s a brut of a man, handsome, intelligent, sophisticated, and stylish yet the sensitivity of a mother Teresa type. He makes me want to be a better desk. (maybe my desk didn’t say all those things, but it’s my fabled personification, just let me dream) My purpose here is practical. I support the work of a man who loves and serves the church. There is nothing glamorous about this job. I don’t get noticed. I don’t draw attention. I’m simply here to support the work of the guys who dream.
My favorite job throughout the week is the one I have on Sunday nights. That’s the night onePlace has church. It’s the most sacred job any one person can have. I sit in the back corner, I dress in black, I am the hand that holds communion. I see people focused on a time of remembering. I see people trying to reconnect with God. I see others with completely broken lives. I can’t tell you how many tears have been shed in my presence…men and women who have knelt in front of me begging for mercy. Their prayers came out in whispers but this is what I remember. I remember a young lady praying for her dad who was dying of cancer. I remember a man asking for God to restore his broken marriage. I remember a couple who just lost a child. I remember a young man who was devastated by his parents divorce. I remember a man who just lost his job. I remember a lady suffering from bouts with depression. I remember the man who was pleading for God’s forgiveness. I remember the lady that was shackled with fear. I remember all of them. I remember them because we shared communion together. They all come to this place of reckoning because of one thing. It’s not because of me. It’s not even because of what I hold. It’s because they want to meet with God, the true and living God. I don’t know if I told you, this is my favorite job.”
That is a whole lot for a desk to say, but I believe it to be accurate. In fact, my desk might be a better Christian than I am. These are simple yet profound goals; display the art of the unseen, support the guys who dream, and be the hands that help others commune with God. My desk is a humble desk, but I love what it teaches me.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
My Desk (Part 1)
I remember going to the bathroom, washing my hands, and slowly making my way back to our leader meeting. For some bizarre twist of events, during my 3 minute absence my co-leaders had decided that I should pastor the church. How is this possible? I just left the room. Their words were flattering but this just wasn’t the sort of thing I felt capable of. It just didn’t seem like a perfect fit. So we as a team waited.
Three months later I started talking to Kevin. Kevin is a passionate follower of Christ and shows a sincere desire to bring hope to a hurting world. For the first time, I started to dream what it would be like to co-lead a church with somebody like Kevin. Kev and I have similar personalities but are uniquely different. The idea of pastoring in this type of role was exciting…fresh…“me”. I started to re-imagine a pastoral role where I wasn’t the sole provider. It would be a place where two people could share the burden. I've had many images and visions of what working together would look like...sharing ideas, working through theology, and serving our community. But the very first image I had in my mind was this.
It was the image of me working at the front of the stage and Kev working in the office. We would have separate space but still be close enough to tell haphazard jokes. I don’t know why this was so appealing, it just was. On our first day to work Kev asked me if I wanted to share the office. To me going back to an office is like taking a step backwards in my linear progression away from the grips of “the man”. I once had the corner office with the window, bookshelves made of rich mahogany, and many leather bound books. “The man” once had me until I kicked him in the kidney and said “can you capture the wind, can you hold the fire, such is mango.” I turned around and never looked back. That is why my desk at the front of the stage feels like home.
To be continued:
Three months later I started talking to Kevin. Kevin is a passionate follower of Christ and shows a sincere desire to bring hope to a hurting world. For the first time, I started to dream what it would be like to co-lead a church with somebody like Kevin. Kev and I have similar personalities but are uniquely different. The idea of pastoring in this type of role was exciting…fresh…“me”. I started to re-imagine a pastoral role where I wasn’t the sole provider. It would be a place where two people could share the burden. I've had many images and visions of what working together would look like...sharing ideas, working through theology, and serving our community. But the very first image I had in my mind was this.
It was the image of me working at the front of the stage and Kev working in the office. We would have separate space but still be close enough to tell haphazard jokes. I don’t know why this was so appealing, it just was. On our first day to work Kev asked me if I wanted to share the office. To me going back to an office is like taking a step backwards in my linear progression away from the grips of “the man”. I once had the corner office with the window, bookshelves made of rich mahogany, and many leather bound books. “The man” once had me until I kicked him in the kidney and said “can you capture the wind, can you hold the fire, such is mango.” I turned around and never looked back. That is why my desk at the front of the stage feels like home.
To be continued:
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Blockbuster Trade
This whole thing started because I said I wanted to go snowboarding. It’s about 4:30 in afternoon and news is reporting record snowfall in Flagstaff. I can’t believe I’ve only gone twice this season. In the past I’ve gone multiple times in horrible conditions and in a shortened season. But with working at the church now, I have to be more responsible with my time. When the news was over I asked Jill, “Can I go boarding this next week?” She promptly said no and reminded me that I just got back from Vegas. I think her words were “the fun times are over, you have to work.” I’ve always been a stubborn person and “no” always seemed like a challenge instead of an answer. My response to her was, “alright, let’s make a deal.”
Her reply was typical. “I don’t want to trade anything.” “Surely there is something you want.” “Nope, there is nothing.” “Come on Jill, let’s be reasonable.” She said okay, I’ll tell you what I want. “I want two Saturdays all to myself to do whatever I want.” (Before I go on, Jill wants Saturdays to herself because she works really hard throughout the week taking care of the kids. I work five days a week and she rarely gets time to herself. Most of her time alone is when she’s working. If I get time alone, she wants time alone as well.) Now let me tell you, I’m not happy with the offer, but it’s definitely a starting point. It’s like I got her into the dealership, sat her down in my office, and got her to admit she really wants the car. I’ll show any offer to my manager if it means we can start the negotiating process. Her first offer is closer than she thinks but I can’t let her know that. In the words of flight of the concords, it’s business time.
Offer 2 (mark) One Saturday for one day of boarding
Offer 3 (jill) She’s a firm no, two Saturdays for one day of boarding
She’s obviously not moving so I’m forced to bring other elements into the equation. I have this degenerate friend that I’ve talked about in the past. His name is Vegas. Now the thing about Vegas is the more you hang out, the more things he wants to give you. And I’m not the kind of person to turn down one’s generosity. I got an offer where I received a couple nights free at the Wynn. When I first told Jill about it she said she would be interested in going. I love the idea because Jill rarely goes with me…she’s been twice to be specific. But the more I talked to her about it, the more I realized that she was just going because it’s free and wasn’t really that interested. If that is the case, might as well go with friends that would be fired up about the opportunity. So my next offer raised the stakes.
Offer 4 (mark) 3 Saturdays for an April trip to Vegas with friends
She laughs in my face, I’m quite certain she is insulted with my low ball offer…
“oh, you want Vegas, do you?”
Offer 5 (jill) 6 Saturdays for the trip to Vegas
Offer 6 (mark) 4 Saturdays for the trip to Vegas and snow boarding
Offer 7 (jill) 6 Saturdays for trip to Vegas and boarding
At this point, I can sense we are getting close but don’t want to do anything rash that would make her walk away completely. I delicately move forward.
Offer 8 (mark) 5 Saturdays for trip to Vegas and boarding
Offer 9 (jill) No deal, repeats offer number 7
Offer 10 (mark) 5 Saturdays and a back rub for trip to Vegas and boarding
Offer 11 (jill) Alright…I guess…that seems fair
After 30 minutes of talks, here are the final terms to the agreement.
Jill receives:
Five Saturdays to do whatever she wants
- must be redeemed by end of May
- a day is represented by the hours of 6am – 3pm (Jill set the hours)
- the Saturdays must be non consecutive
Back Rub
- 15 minutes
- Redeemable that night
Mark receives:
One day of snowboarding
Trip to Vegas with the guys
- redeemed in April
It honestly works out for both of us. Jill didn’t really want to go to Vegas and I think she deserves Saturdays without trading. So I guess it’s a win, win. But do you know what made this whole thing so awesome? The laughter we shared while making the trades. Because it wasn’t just about making compromises, it’s about having fun with the person you’re with. I smile when I think about this moment because it’s just another reminder that Jill and I still love having fun. I’ll take that over our trade any day.
Her reply was typical. “I don’t want to trade anything.” “Surely there is something you want.” “Nope, there is nothing.” “Come on Jill, let’s be reasonable.” She said okay, I’ll tell you what I want. “I want two Saturdays all to myself to do whatever I want.” (Before I go on, Jill wants Saturdays to herself because she works really hard throughout the week taking care of the kids. I work five days a week and she rarely gets time to herself. Most of her time alone is when she’s working. If I get time alone, she wants time alone as well.) Now let me tell you, I’m not happy with the offer, but it’s definitely a starting point. It’s like I got her into the dealership, sat her down in my office, and got her to admit she really wants the car. I’ll show any offer to my manager if it means we can start the negotiating process. Her first offer is closer than she thinks but I can’t let her know that. In the words of flight of the concords, it’s business time.
Offer 2 (mark) One Saturday for one day of boarding
Offer 3 (jill) She’s a firm no, two Saturdays for one day of boarding
She’s obviously not moving so I’m forced to bring other elements into the equation. I have this degenerate friend that I’ve talked about in the past. His name is Vegas. Now the thing about Vegas is the more you hang out, the more things he wants to give you. And I’m not the kind of person to turn down one’s generosity. I got an offer where I received a couple nights free at the Wynn. When I first told Jill about it she said she would be interested in going. I love the idea because Jill rarely goes with me…she’s been twice to be specific. But the more I talked to her about it, the more I realized that she was just going because it’s free and wasn’t really that interested. If that is the case, might as well go with friends that would be fired up about the opportunity. So my next offer raised the stakes.
Offer 4 (mark) 3 Saturdays for an April trip to Vegas with friends
She laughs in my face, I’m quite certain she is insulted with my low ball offer…
“oh, you want Vegas, do you?”
Offer 5 (jill) 6 Saturdays for the trip to Vegas
Offer 6 (mark) 4 Saturdays for the trip to Vegas and snow boarding
Offer 7 (jill) 6 Saturdays for trip to Vegas and boarding
At this point, I can sense we are getting close but don’t want to do anything rash that would make her walk away completely. I delicately move forward.
Offer 8 (mark) 5 Saturdays for trip to Vegas and boarding
Offer 9 (jill) No deal, repeats offer number 7
Offer 10 (mark) 5 Saturdays and a back rub for trip to Vegas and boarding
Offer 11 (jill) Alright…I guess…that seems fair
After 30 minutes of talks, here are the final terms to the agreement.
Jill receives:
Five Saturdays to do whatever she wants
- must be redeemed by end of May
- a day is represented by the hours of 6am – 3pm (Jill set the hours)
- the Saturdays must be non consecutive
Back Rub
- 15 minutes
- Redeemable that night
Mark receives:
One day of snowboarding
Trip to Vegas with the guys
- redeemed in April
It honestly works out for both of us. Jill didn’t really want to go to Vegas and I think she deserves Saturdays without trading. So I guess it’s a win, win. But do you know what made this whole thing so awesome? The laughter we shared while making the trades. Because it wasn’t just about making compromises, it’s about having fun with the person you’re with. I smile when I think about this moment because it’s just another reminder that Jill and I still love having fun. I’ll take that over our trade any day.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
It's 2:50am and once again I can't sleep
This is a post I wrote in the middle of the night:
It’s 2:50am and once again I can’t sleep. Sometimes I feel as if he has completely rearranged my life…like he’s come inside of my heart and simply moved the furniture around. It’s still my furniture, it’s just not where I left it. But now that I think about it, isn’t that the way it should be? Is it possible to lose something you love and not feel as if your life has been rearranged? If so, maybe it wasn’t really love. If that is the case, I welcome the new arrangement. Although unsettling, I have proof that I have experienced the result of true love. Some people will live a lifetime and not experience this type of rearrangement…I don’t know if I should count them blessed or pity them. Maybe a little of both.
The one year anniversary of Lincoln’s birth was especially hard. I remember being flooded with memories…memories of the hospital, coming home, watching Jill hold him, the funeral. But none was more painful than writing him a birthday card and leaving it at his grave. I remember going to Walgreens and looking through the cards for about an hour. I wanted to make sure I found the right one. This was a surreal experience because I knew he would never read it but I still felt like it needed to be done…like I still had some things to tell him. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t going to read it, because reality is my heart still bleeds, feels, loves and knows. I remember holding him at night and whispering in his ear, “I love you, I love you…I know you don’t understand what I’m saying but I can’t stop telling you.” Buying the card gives me this image of a teenager pulling away in his car when his dad suddenly realizes he forgot to tell him something important. The dad is waving his hands in the air, but the kid never sees him and keeps on driving. In this story the kid never returns.
I sat in my car at the cemetery for about 30 minutes before I ever wrote a word. I didn’t know how to start this kind of letter. So I just wrote the first thing that came to mind. “Your mom and I miss you.” After the words made it to page, I just sat there and wept…simply reduced to a whimpering child. I tried to think of something else to write but nothing else came to mind. So I just sat there content with my one line. Ten minutes later my hand starts on the next sentence. Then another. Then another. Before you know it I’ve run out of space. I wrote it all so fast that I had to go back and reread my own words. The line I remember most is, “mom hasn’t been the same since you passed away. I think when you passed, a piece of her passed as well.”
I used to think that the goal of healing after tragedy is to recapture this part of your self that is missing. You know, to go back to the way things were. I don’t know if that is true any more. I think I’ve finally become content that my life will never be the same…that the new furniture arrangement is the way it’s going to stay. I’ve come to embrace that a piece of my wife has passed as well. I once heard an amputee say that he was grateful to be alive and that he had adjusted to his new life. He had learned how to function in a society of non-handicaps. He began to laugh again, form new relationships, and even re-enlisted into the military. But no matter what, that didn’t change the fact that every time he looked in the mirror he saw his leg was missing. That is how I feel. That piece that’s missing, that piece that keeps me up at night, that piece that has rearranged my life, these things exist because…I loved my son…I loved him infinitely…and I can’t stop if I tried. That is what I’ve come to live with. One last thing, if I could somehow change the story it would go like this. My son was pulling away in his car when I remembered I forgot to tell him something. I waved my arms in the air as high as I could. He glanced in his rear view mirror and saw me standing there. He turned the car around and drove back towards home. My son pulled in the driveway, rolled down the window and asked, “what is it dad?” I would tell him this, “I love it when you’re home and hate it when you’re gone. Can you stay with me a little bit longer?”
It’s 2:50am and once again I can’t sleep. Sometimes I feel as if he has completely rearranged my life…like he’s come inside of my heart and simply moved the furniture around. It’s still my furniture, it’s just not where I left it. But now that I think about it, isn’t that the way it should be? Is it possible to lose something you love and not feel as if your life has been rearranged? If so, maybe it wasn’t really love. If that is the case, I welcome the new arrangement. Although unsettling, I have proof that I have experienced the result of true love. Some people will live a lifetime and not experience this type of rearrangement…I don’t know if I should count them blessed or pity them. Maybe a little of both.
The one year anniversary of Lincoln’s birth was especially hard. I remember being flooded with memories…memories of the hospital, coming home, watching Jill hold him, the funeral. But none was more painful than writing him a birthday card and leaving it at his grave. I remember going to Walgreens and looking through the cards for about an hour. I wanted to make sure I found the right one. This was a surreal experience because I knew he would never read it but I still felt like it needed to be done…like I still had some things to tell him. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t going to read it, because reality is my heart still bleeds, feels, loves and knows. I remember holding him at night and whispering in his ear, “I love you, I love you…I know you don’t understand what I’m saying but I can’t stop telling you.” Buying the card gives me this image of a teenager pulling away in his car when his dad suddenly realizes he forgot to tell him something important. The dad is waving his hands in the air, but the kid never sees him and keeps on driving. In this story the kid never returns.
I sat in my car at the cemetery for about 30 minutes before I ever wrote a word. I didn’t know how to start this kind of letter. So I just wrote the first thing that came to mind. “Your mom and I miss you.” After the words made it to page, I just sat there and wept…simply reduced to a whimpering child. I tried to think of something else to write but nothing else came to mind. So I just sat there content with my one line. Ten minutes later my hand starts on the next sentence. Then another. Then another. Before you know it I’ve run out of space. I wrote it all so fast that I had to go back and reread my own words. The line I remember most is, “mom hasn’t been the same since you passed away. I think when you passed, a piece of her passed as well.”
I used to think that the goal of healing after tragedy is to recapture this part of your self that is missing. You know, to go back to the way things were. I don’t know if that is true any more. I think I’ve finally become content that my life will never be the same…that the new furniture arrangement is the way it’s going to stay. I’ve come to embrace that a piece of my wife has passed as well. I once heard an amputee say that he was grateful to be alive and that he had adjusted to his new life. He had learned how to function in a society of non-handicaps. He began to laugh again, form new relationships, and even re-enlisted into the military. But no matter what, that didn’t change the fact that every time he looked in the mirror he saw his leg was missing. That is how I feel. That piece that’s missing, that piece that keeps me up at night, that piece that has rearranged my life, these things exist because…I loved my son…I loved him infinitely…and I can’t stop if I tried. That is what I’ve come to live with. One last thing, if I could somehow change the story it would go like this. My son was pulling away in his car when I remembered I forgot to tell him something. I waved my arms in the air as high as I could. He glanced in his rear view mirror and saw me standing there. He turned the car around and drove back towards home. My son pulled in the driveway, rolled down the window and asked, “what is it dad?” I would tell him this, “I love it when you’re home and hate it when you’re gone. Can you stay with me a little bit longer?”
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Israel's post (titled: better late than never)
Israel has come through in the final seconds. Here are the thoughts of my friend Israel, aka. Izzy, Izzle, Sizzle, McSizzle, Siz, Sizzy, Kenneth, Kenny, Special K, K-Love, and bad ass pterodactyl:
So I am trying to write this blog thing and Mark has given me one rule. Be honest. So, in all honesty I don't know what to write about. I was trying to think of something deep and meaningful. I had what I thought was a great story full of wisdom and about 2 minutes into the story with my wife, she informed me that she was bored. Exactly what I needed. So I will try something else.
I need to apologize. The other day I was with a friend. And as they were going on and on and on and on about something, my inner voice kicked in...”hey Kati always says that I talk to much, that I don't let other people talk, that I tend to dominate the conversation. Wow, is he still talking, what is going on I just want to eat and leave. I wish I was going with Mark to Vegas, we have so much fun. Man it really is a nice day. Hey... do you think I can talk, I would like to say something as well. Remember me. I wonder if people hanging out with me feel this way. I should say something to them, apologize.” So here’s to that. If you have ever had this conversation in your head or felt this way around me, sorry. I hope I can talk less and listen more.
Oh, and by the way my wife informed me this morning that I have gray hair.
Awesome.
So I am trying to write this blog thing and Mark has given me one rule. Be honest. So, in all honesty I don't know what to write about. I was trying to think of something deep and meaningful. I had what I thought was a great story full of wisdom and about 2 minutes into the story with my wife, she informed me that she was bored. Exactly what I needed. So I will try something else.
I need to apologize. The other day I was with a friend. And as they were going on and on and on and on about something, my inner voice kicked in...”hey Kati always says that I talk to much, that I don't let other people talk, that I tend to dominate the conversation. Wow, is he still talking, what is going on I just want to eat and leave. I wish I was going with Mark to Vegas, we have so much fun. Man it really is a nice day. Hey... do you think I can talk, I would like to say something as well. Remember me. I wonder if people hanging out with me feel this way. I should say something to them, apologize.” So here’s to that. If you have ever had this conversation in your head or felt this way around me, sorry. I hope I can talk less and listen more.
Oh, and by the way my wife informed me this morning that I have gray hair.
Awesome.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Part 1:
So in my absence, Israel decided he was too important to post a blog entry. Apparently, he’s a big deal and doesn’t just slum it with us commoners. I apologize for giving such a responsibility to somebody who doesn’t value it as much as I do. Israel, if you read this, your reparation is two bud lights, a Reese’s peanut butter cup, and a twisty cone.
Part 2:
I had a great time in Vegas but don’t want to bore you with unnecessary details. I thought I would just give you some highlights. What happens in Vegas, goes on my blog.
1. I took third in a tournament at Caesar’s Palace.
2. I ate at the Bellagio buffet for the first time and it was amazing.
3. I watched Kev play Pai Gow poker for the first time and turn 50 into 95.
4. It was refreshing to hang out with an old friend of mine…somebody I have known for years but don’t see that much. In fact, I was Josh’s best man.
5. Favorite toast, “here’s to old friends being new again.”
6. I played the at most casinos I’ve ever played. (Luxor, MGM, New York New York, Flamingo, Harrah’s, Bellagio, Caesar’s Palace)
7. One of my guilty pleasures is watching the Hills. For you that watch the show, I ran into Brody. I’m embarrassed that I know that.
8. The second night I went to bed at 10:30pm and felt like a loser the next morning.
Would anybody be interested in going this summer? (Israel, you’re not invited)
Part 3:
Recently Jill switched real estate companies in order to save on monthly fees. I think this was a good decision because it saves us about 250 a month. But with switching companies comes the need to update all of your print materials, i.e. flyers, signs, business cards, etc. Before I go any further I want to say this, I think Jill is one of the best agents anywhere. She genuinely cares about her clients, she works hard, she stays on top of the all the details, she understands every branch of the process…not to mention she’s pretty smart. I’ve always told Jill that she should be a doctor or something.
So Jill asked me to make her a new business card. Of course I agreed and put it off for a week. But we finally sat down last night to work out the details. The problem is Jill and I don’t really see eye to eye on what her card should look like. Jill wants the standard red, white, and blue colors, picture on the right, and block lettering for her name. But that’s not good enough for me. I insist that it must be different. I want it to represent the things previously mentioned. But she won’t budge. It went down like this:
J: Can you just do it the way I asked?
M: The way you want it is boring. Everybody has it that way.
J: I don’t want it different.
M: Can you explain why that’s the best solution?
J: Because it’s what I want.
M: You want something that sucks?
J: I want it like I had it before.
M: (sigh) (then with a firm voice) all right…show me what you want, be specific
J: Forget it, I knew you couldn’t just make this easy. (Jill exits room)
10 minutes later
M: Can we work on this thing?
J: No, I’ll just hire someone.
M: Come on, seriously, don’t be like this.
J: Don’t be like this…?, you’re the one making a big deal about it.
M: Well, I’m over it, so let’s get this thing done.
J: Not with your attitude
5 more minutes
M: Please can we finish.
J: Fine, I don’t even care anymore.
30 minutes later we produce a business card. It looks basic, standard, simple, but Jill is pleased with the outcome. Best of all, the tension has subsided. At this point it’s pretty late, Jill gives me a kiss and heads for bed. But what she doesn’t know is that I stayed up and created a different card. The new card is the one I would have created if I had control. I think it looks cleaner and better represents her. I’m thinking about getting them printed and handing them out behind her back. Here is what we made
So in my absence, Israel decided he was too important to post a blog entry. Apparently, he’s a big deal and doesn’t just slum it with us commoners. I apologize for giving such a responsibility to somebody who doesn’t value it as much as I do. Israel, if you read this, your reparation is two bud lights, a Reese’s peanut butter cup, and a twisty cone.
Part 2:
I had a great time in Vegas but don’t want to bore you with unnecessary details. I thought I would just give you some highlights. What happens in Vegas, goes on my blog.
1. I took third in a tournament at Caesar’s Palace.
2. I ate at the Bellagio buffet for the first time and it was amazing.
3. I watched Kev play Pai Gow poker for the first time and turn 50 into 95.
4. It was refreshing to hang out with an old friend of mine…somebody I have known for years but don’t see that much. In fact, I was Josh’s best man.
5. Favorite toast, “here’s to old friends being new again.”
6. I played the at most casinos I’ve ever played. (Luxor, MGM, New York New York, Flamingo, Harrah’s, Bellagio, Caesar’s Palace)
7. One of my guilty pleasures is watching the Hills. For you that watch the show, I ran into Brody. I’m embarrassed that I know that.
8. The second night I went to bed at 10:30pm and felt like a loser the next morning.
Would anybody be interested in going this summer? (Israel, you’re not invited)
Part 3:
Recently Jill switched real estate companies in order to save on monthly fees. I think this was a good decision because it saves us about 250 a month. But with switching companies comes the need to update all of your print materials, i.e. flyers, signs, business cards, etc. Before I go any further I want to say this, I think Jill is one of the best agents anywhere. She genuinely cares about her clients, she works hard, she stays on top of the all the details, she understands every branch of the process…not to mention she’s pretty smart. I’ve always told Jill that she should be a doctor or something.
So Jill asked me to make her a new business card. Of course I agreed and put it off for a week. But we finally sat down last night to work out the details. The problem is Jill and I don’t really see eye to eye on what her card should look like. Jill wants the standard red, white, and blue colors, picture on the right, and block lettering for her name. But that’s not good enough for me. I insist that it must be different. I want it to represent the things previously mentioned. But she won’t budge. It went down like this:
J: Can you just do it the way I asked?
M: The way you want it is boring. Everybody has it that way.
J: I don’t want it different.
M: Can you explain why that’s the best solution?
J: Because it’s what I want.
M: You want something that sucks?
J: I want it like I had it before.
M: (sigh) (then with a firm voice) all right…show me what you want, be specific
J: Forget it, I knew you couldn’t just make this easy. (Jill exits room)
10 minutes later
M: Can we work on this thing?
J: No, I’ll just hire someone.
M: Come on, seriously, don’t be like this.
J: Don’t be like this…?, you’re the one making a big deal about it.
M: Well, I’m over it, so let’s get this thing done.
J: Not with your attitude
5 more minutes
M: Please can we finish.
J: Fine, I don’t even care anymore.
30 minutes later we produce a business card. It looks basic, standard, simple, but Jill is pleased with the outcome. Best of all, the tension has subsided. At this point it’s pretty late, Jill gives me a kiss and heads for bed. But what she doesn’t know is that I stayed up and created a different card. The new card is the one I would have created if I had control. I think it looks cleaner and better represents her. I’m thinking about getting them printed and handing them out behind her back. Here is what we made
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