Inside Button

I love it when my wife laughs uncontrollably. It’s sort of like getting a basketball to bounce when it’s sitting still. You have to work hard at first to get it to bounce a few centimeters off the ground, but if you keep working it you can make it bounce as long and as high as you want.

Once you get Michelle going, you can work it and keep her laughing until she about passes out from lack of oxygen. The things that seem to make her laugh the hardest is when I act like an idiot and make a fool of myself. I guess because normally I'm just too-cool-for-school and in control.

This past spring when we were on vacation in Destin FL one of those occasions happened.

Our girls drive us nuts by always competing to push elevator buttons. According to them there are two distinct kinds- inside buttons and outside buttons. If one is lucky enough to push one of them, they are forbidden from pushing the other so that one of the remaining 3 girls has a chance to push a button. It’s amazingly important to them- not sure why.

Most places they push and shove to position themselves walking down a hallway to get to the elevator first to push the button without breaking into an actual run and bringing about the wrath of Mom or Dad… “Stop running! You’re gonna fall and break your neck!”

On one evening, leaving our beach condo and heading to dinner, I whispered to Michelle while we waited for the elevator to arrive on the 4th floor - “Watch this…when the elevator opens I’m going to charge in and push the inside button.”

The bell dinged. The door opened. And I, a large 6 foot 2 inch man charged into the elevator pushing and shoving my lovely and petite 4 girls to the left and right like a massive linebacker breaking through the line to attack a quarterback. The girls were shocked and surprised as their little bodies were thrown aside, and their dad victoriously broke through and pushed the inside button with a war cry of victory.

The man from the 5th floor that was inside the elevator looked like he was about to soil his pants. I said hello sheepishly. We all got on the elevator and rode down to the lobby in silence.

By the time we got in the car Michelle was laughing so hard she was crying.

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Fatigue Fatigue

Microsoft Word thinks I just made a typo. Two of the same words in a row triggers that little squiggly red line under the second word. Nice to have unless you mean to do it. I do.

I’m tired of being tired. Fatigue is a very interesting word. Much more so than ‘tired.’ Tired summons thoughts of old, dated or out of style in addition to just plain tired. Fatigue at least has some style. It gives you the sense that you still have it in you, you’re just in need of rest.

In college I studied brand fatigue. There’s metal fatigue, structure fatigue, and battle fatigue. Also Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Adrenal Fatigue…there’s even fatigues you can wear. Last Saturday I realized I may have parenting fatigue.

I’ve found that I am breaking up my four daughters into two groups- the oldsters (13 and 11 years) and the youngsters (8 and 5 years old). When I think back at all we did with the oldsters it’s kind of amazing. Softball coaching, basketball, ski trips, tons of travel, dance lessons, brownies, American Girl Center in Chicago dressing Bitty Baby dolls, and so much more. As I stood on the softball field during hour 3 this Saturday I started wondering if I had it in me for the youngsters.

This is the 7th year I will coach 5 & 6 year old girls in softball. It used to be exhilarating. Then fun, slipping into enjoyable and last I checked, it moved into bearable. This year it is taking all I have to watch 5 year old girls catching grounders, looking like little kids bowling in reverse. Instead of leaving their hands and traveling towards the pins at .028 MPH, the ball leaves the bat at .028 MPH and travels slowly towards their bent over little stationary bodies with gloves wide open hoping against hope that the ball will change course 45 degrees and magically slide into their gloves. It doesn’t. It stops 8 feet from them and they stare at it perfectly still waiting for it to resume its travels while the batter runs towards the pitchers mound.

I want to be the on-fire dad I was 10 years ago. I want to be that for the youngsters. I want a beer and a nap.






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K & Queen Elizabeth

Yesterday Michelle, K and I watched “Elizabeth” starring Cate Blanchett. There were more than a few scenes and bits of dialogue that made us uncomfortable watching it with our 13 year old girl, but K is very mature for her age and seems to understand that unfortunately the world is full of people that use coarse language and seek their own welfare above others (this resulting in horrible conduct such as theft, deceit, murder, plotting and all sorts of court intrigue- both in ancient times and the modern age).

K seems to hold a fascination with history. Just like her old man. She has traveled to Rome and surrounding areas, wants to travel the rest of Europe, and enjoys reading and learning about history.

Watching Queen Elizabeth in the film, as she matures from a young girl with barely a care in the world into a woman with strength of character, a clear vision for what is right, and developing immense power and influence, has to be encouraging to a young girl wondering what it is to be a woman.

Same thing happened when we watched Joan of Arc. These are women, no doubt as flawed and broken as any woman or man is, pursuing what they believe is right, called by God- or at least used by Him- to make an impact and change the world.

We talk to our girls about purpose and destiny. It is important to remind them that they have the power to change the world. It is also important to remind them that can take many shapes. It could be as grand as discovering a cure for a disease, or as simple as writing a book. As rewarding as starting a business that provides income and stability for others that allows them to raise and care for a family, or as private as serving a local ministry. As publicly lauded as being a doctor or nurse and saving a life, or as quiet and faithful as building up the life of a child as a mom.

My whole life I have regarded women as equals, though I believe men and women have their own uniquely God-given traits that are designed to support work with each other. But helping my wife raise daughters has brought on a whole new appreciation of girls as they grow into women. To see them process life and all that happens, to see their hearts and minds develop is awesome. It is so important to lift up examples of women that are kind, virtuous, intelligent and caring, starting with their mother, to counter all that the world has to show- what it presents as what a woman is, is about, and is good for.

Side note - As I prepared to post this and read back through it, It seems to me that my words make me out to be more than I am. To be clear so as not to leave any false impression, I can be an ass like the next guy. But at least when I am, I’m a self-aware ass.






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Mom and Dad vs Hip Young People

We moved from the formerly king-of-Franklin TN suburbia development Fieldstone Farms to Leipers Fork in 2003. Fieldstone Farms, now unseated by the newest mega-development in Middle Tennessee, Westhaven- where all the cool young suburbanites live, is a young families dream. The neighborhood is LOADED with young children, and on any day one need only step 20 paces out the front door to interact with parents and their young merrily riding big colorful plastic cars, tricycles, and a myriad of other human-powered vehicles.

Our kids loved the neighborhood, and had more friends there and in the local elementary school than could be easily counted. When we moved to the “country” of Leipers Fork, and a new school, it was a hard transition for them. A new church last year has made it even more challenging. Our oldest, K, has had a hard time finding her place in our new church, and finding a number of good friends at school.

We have challenged her to get involved at church, push herself to meet new people and form new relationships, but the encouragement has been met with mostly unintelligible grunts and sounds, and I don’t seem to have been assigned a Teenager to English translation dictionary yet.

A couple years of encouragement and prodding has not resulted in much. Yesterday though, a new group of young 20-somethings that have been assigned to work with the middle school crowd at church broke through.

After church K mentioned that the new middle school youth director had mercilessly begged her to come to the youth camp this coming weekend- “it’ll be a blast! You will meet tons of new friends!”

Those words were echoed by one of the staff assistants, another 20-something, cute and artsy looking with a lip ring sticking out of her otherwise innocent looking face- “C’mon K- you’ll love it! We will have so much fun and you will meet a bunch of new friends.”

2 hours later, after lunch, we returned to church, entirely at the prompting of K, to sign her up for camp and hopefully a group of new relationships that will challenge, encourage and grow her.

So- years worth of the same encouragement- almost the exact same words- gets Michelle and I nowhere, but 5 minutes of the medicine administered by hip-looking young folks turns her 180 degrees. Interesting. I wonder how a lip ring would look on me… or Michelle perhaps.






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Write This Expression In Point-Intercept Form

This morning I got up and thanks to some quick thinking on my part, using the point-intercept form of the lines represented by my kitchen table legs and table-top, I quickly calculated the slope of the surface options I had to set down my full cup of coffee.

I really needed the coffee this morning, and did not want to risk losing it to the floor.

With my Blackberry in my free hand, and using only my right thumb while cradling the device in my palm, I quickly worked through the problem:

y = m(x) + b, where m is the slope and b is the y-intercept. Slope-intercept is the form used most often as the simplified equation of a line. See also Point-slope, standard form, two intercept, vertical line and horizontal line definitions.

Let’s see… the table is about 40 inches high, so the y intercept would be 40, while the x-intercept would also be 40 (where the x line is the table leg, and y was the table surface). Therefore, I can assume one of the the points on the graph would be (40,40). So I can write the expression in this way:

40=40m+40

Ok, so then I subtract 40 from the right hand of the equation, and also from the left, leaving:

0=40m

Almost there. So, anything multiplied by 0 equals 0, so that means that m must equal 0. And finally, if m, representing the slope, was 0, then the surface of the table had no slope and my coffee cup was safe. If, however, I place my coffee cup on the surface of the table leg, with a slope of “undefined” I would have problems.

Awesome! I have finally figured out how to make algebra a part of my daily life.

I knew in high school, even middle school, that I would not be an architect, scientist, astronaut, pilot, financial planner, or even an algebra teacher. I fought all the way through school asking why I needed to know this stuff. The answers, and yes, there are at least 3x of them, are now evident to me:

1. You must learn algebra to prove to the right-brain academicians that you are not just a feel-good, mushy, artsy type. Or a jock.

2. You must learn algebra because it teaches you critical thinking patterns that helps you in all areas of life (this one is expressly for my daughter Ks benefit. She reads my blog, and I don’t want her throwing this stuff back at me and asking me irritating questions like “so why do I have to learn algebra anyway?”).

3. You must learn algebra because your thirteen year old daughter will ask for help studying for her final exam right before Christmas break.

Video Evidence

One of my favorite TV shows is King of Queens. Michelle likes it too. There are traits about the two main characters, Doug and Carrie, that hit very close to home- and so it’s funnier to us than it might be to most.
In one episode, Doug hosted a reunion of his high school football team in his home, and the war stories began. It isn’t long before the coach mentioned the "big play" that won the "big game" and Doug started to light up. As the coach continued to give a dramatized retelling, Doug remembered the play clearly and how he saved the day- it was one of the highlights of his life. Then the coach concludes the story by attributing the play to someone else on the team.

While the reunion continued downstairs, Doug spent the next few hours upstairs scouring the attic for the video tape he knew his mom had made of the game.

When he found it and played it for everyone, it clearly showed someone else making the big play, and Doug was confused and crushed. He remembered so well making the play, but the video showed otherwise. Later we learn that Doug wore the wrong jersey at the game that day and had in fact made the play. I noticed, as did the characters on the show, that the video of the play was no where near as exciting as the version the coach had told just a couple hours before.

During a recent home-movie night, we pulled out a DVD featuring our family life from 1996. As soon as it started, Michelle and I remembered clearly what was to come- we were at my parent’s house in Gaithersburg Maryland and a significant snow storm hit. The day after the storm we had gone outside with our two girls K (3 yrs at the time) and L (1 yr) to go sledding and a terrible accident had occurred.

At least that’s what Michelle and I remembered. We paused the DVD and told the now older accident victims K & L, and the two more recent additions to the family that weren’t in existence at the time, A & R, to watch closely because coming up was a terrible sledding incident where my parents dog ran out in front of the fast-running sled and was run over causing an epic wipeout. We told them I was pulling K & L very fast in the sled, and Ringo (the dog) was run over, the sled tipped, and both baby girls tumbled out at great speeds into the deep snow.

We watched the video together and the big scene started. There I was pulling the sled at a reasonable speed, then Ringo made his appearance. The action started- the sled bumped into Ringo and he backed out of the way and sat down, the sled started to slowly tip, and out popped the two little girls into about six inches of snow. They started to howl and scream in the cold snow and then the camera shows me running to pick them up.

We sat there watching the boring video for a second longer and then our youngest, R, asked “was that it?”







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Attack Of The Killer Cat

In 2005 I lost a 12 year battle with my family. I had held strong, but in the spring of that year I finally relented and we got a pet. A cute kitten that showed early signs of domesticatabilty (is that a word?). We were wrong.

Last night it attacked our 8 year old daughter A. Again. For some reason our now grown cat, Aslan, enjoys stalking and attacking her. She again came to us with a shredded arm, actually two small scratches and a bite mark, crying that Aslan would not leave her alone. He does not do this to anyone else in the family. We have witnessed the horrific attacks and she does not do anything to provoke him. He just has it out for her.

I believed Aslan's aggressive tendencies was a solution to a problem that presented itself a couple months ago. We had a mouse in the house. It woke us up at about 2AM one night when the brilliant rodent fell into our kitchen sink and couldn’t get out. It was bouncing and banging into cups and plates and making a racket. I tried to resolve the matter with a fly swatter. It was 2AM and my brain was not functioning fully yet.

The mouse somehow jumped out of the sink, and Michelle and I were able to corner it in the great room.

“Michelle, I have an idea. Go get Aslan- quick” I said. Michelle brought the cat down, handed him to me, and I pointed Aslan at the invader. After a few minutes Aslan finally spotted the creature and stopped trying to eat me. I let him down, and he charged the mouse. He chased it around the room and cornered it back in the kitchen. When the mouse faltered or slowed, Aslan seemed to back off allowing the mouse time to consider its next move. The little thing seemed to be ready to die of heart failure. It didn’t need to worry. Aslan just sat there and stared and would have probably continued until daybreak if I hadn’t intervened. I tried to smack the mouse again with the flyswatter (goofball), and succeeded. It laughed at me, and made a break for it.

It escaped down the stairs to the basement and disappeared as Aslan looked on, losing interest.

My words of advice if you are in the same place as I was a couple years ago- do not give in. The joy that kitten brought to our home has faded. Yes, the girls love him, and are glad we have him, but an all terrain vehicle would have been better. If you are a cat lover, my sincere apologies. I mean no offense.






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You Eat What You Kill

In October my wife and I took our daughter K to Rome for her 13th birthday. To many this may seem extreme- including my wife. A friend of mine told me about how he and his wife gave each of their 2 daughters THE birthday gift at 13 instead of 16 or 18. The reasoning? I can’t recall really- but I remember thinking it was very logical.

Our ground rules for our 4 girls are simple:

1. For your 13th birthday you can ask for anything in the world you want

2. We can not borrow any money for the gift

3. We must be able to afford it (this is the best one- a sliding scale that can be adjusted in any year, with any daughter, because of our dictatorial powers. Unfair, I know, but Michelle and I are relatively benevolent dictators)

While K opted for a trip to Rome, L our 11 year old is laying the legal groundwork for her claim on a horse. I am considering an amendment to add a 4th line item requiring the gift to not incur any long-term or continuing costs.

The trip was wonderful (at the time of this writing, there are some snapshots on this page). Throughout our time in Italy I noticed an abundance of street performers. There was the “drunk” passed out by the wall of the Pantheon completely dressed and painted in grey to match the street and gate. If anyone dropped a coin in his box, he stirred and looked around, took a drink, and promptly passed out again. There were mimes, dancers, and balloon artists. One of the few musicians we saw was a man at Piazza Navona that was playing guitar left-handed with the strings still strung for a right handed player. I have been around many guitar players in my life, some of them left handed, but I have never, ever seen anyone able to do this.

The statue-still Statues of Liberty were aplenty, as were the Pharaohs. These are two of a special genre of street performers whose sole talent is to stand perfectly still on a soap box, and bow when someone gives them money.

One such Pharaoh, wrapped completely in a shiny gold sheet and wearing an expressionless gold metal mask, was doing an excellent job staying completely still and staring straight ahead. Until a 3 or 4 year old, unwatched by his mother, decided that whatever was in the can on the ground in front of Pharaoh must be interesting.

The young boy approached the loot, squatted in front of it, and was smart enough to shoot a glance at both his mom and Pharaoh to ensure they weren’t watching him. The boy made his move, reaching his hand inside the tall can. Pharaoh was not happy. He broke character, and started to watch the boy with wide eyes (its surprising easily to read emotion in the eyes, even when someone has a mask on- especially if you know that person knows he is getting robbed).

I jumped in to help. In a firm and gruff voice I told the boy “NO.” His arm sprung back, and his smile disappeared. He was caught. My Pharaoh was pleased. The boy made 3 more attempts, each ending with his retreat after my barks. Not once did his mother see what happened until she led him away. As they walked by, passing Pharaohs riches, the boy failed at one more half-hearted attempt at the money.

Street performers are pretty good examples of the old hunting maxim- now adopted by consultants and lawyers- You Eat What You Kill. While many people work for distant gains (saving for retirement, long-term investing, major projects at work that could create an end-of-term bonus, etc), these folks are working hard to get lunch money in the next 10 seconds.

As I ponder my next career move, I have met with a few folks that encouraged me to start my own business- and this maxim- you only eat what you kill- has been repeated to me by 3 people. It is both scary and exciting, and I look forward (I keep telling myself) to see what happens in the coming months.

30 Seconds That Ruined The Day

In Frank Capra’s classic It’s A Wonderful Life, the lead character George Bailey has a critical scene where we see him move closer to the end of his rope. His uncle Billy has lost $8,000 of the Bailey Building & Loan's money, he is facing financial ruin, and he comes home at the end of the day forgetting his coat and hat. He walks through the front door with the beginnings of a cold, and the stage is set for an interaction with his family that, while short in duration, impacts his family greatly.

As his mind is reeling under the pressure of the imminent collapse of his business, and his personal liability in the mess, his daughter Janey is merrily practicing a Christmas song for the extended family gathering that night. His wife and son Tommy are busily decorating the tree, and the normal chaos of early evening family life is causing George’s headache to worsen. He finds out his daughter Zuzu has caught a cold because she walked home from school without her coat buttoned up to protect a rose she won as a prize.

When George hears this news, he starts to unreasonably string together all of the pressures on him: his uncle lost the $8k, that money is vital because his business is small and family owned, he is trapped in this position because his father died, the job does not pay well, he therefore can not afford to provide a nice home and other material things for his family, the old house is drafty and cold, his daughter has a cold and his family is going about the daily routine unaware that the little they do have is about to slip away.

He forgets for a moment that what really matters is not slipping away- his family.

George heads upstairs to comfort Zuzu, and after returning, lays into Zuzu’s teacher Mrs. Welch who has called over to the house to check on the little one. He also gets in a dig at her husband Mr. Welch who got on the line after hearing his wife called a stupid, silly, careless person. Everything starts to goes sideways from there.

Janey is still practicing the same song, Tommy needs help with his homework, his other son is making noise playing with some sort of toy, and the weight of it all crashes down on him. He yells at his kids to stop, kicks over the desk in the foyer, knocks off everything from the top of a counter, and stops suddenly when he realizes the impact his behavior is having on his wife and kids. He heads out of the house, distraught and heart broken at how he has treated his family, and begins the fateful journey to end his life.

I had a similar incident happen to me yesterday. Well, not really that similar. Not nearly as tragic, huge and life-changing. And certainly NOT the start of a journey to end my life. I guess not similar at all. But I did sort of lose it yesterday.

After a day at work dealing with a few small things from my current and soon to be ending job, and thinking through options for the future, AND dealing with some pesky things that are rotting on my desk and need to get done, I cut out a bit early and headed upstairs from my office to relax and get in some guitar practice.

A few months ago I pulled out my guitar from storage after it had sat relatively undisturbed for 20 years, and have been logging 30-60 minutes of practice every single day. The time is important to me, and allows me to put the stress of the day out of it's misery.

As I sat down on our great room floor, with some chord charts in front of me, and a few songs to practice pulled up on my laptop, I dove in. Shortly after, my daughter K who was at the kitchen table doing homework came across a song she liked on her digital music player (currently connected to external speakers) and cranked it up. I could barely hear what I was playing.

Then, moments later, my other daughter L started her piano practice in the other room- while my 5 year old wandered downstairs singing some song or other. I was going nuts inside. I just wanted peace and quiet (except for my mediocre strumming and picking) and started to get agitated. I won’t go into the details, but I let it known to all in the immediate vicinity that I wanted them to cease and desist. Probably (more accurately, for sure) in a way that rudely communicated frustration and irritation.

What I know now, the next morning, is that it wasn’t their noise and activity intruding on my guitar practice that set me off. Instead, it was the bubbling pressure from the changes in my life being inappropriately expressed in a way that hurt those close to me.

I know that what I am going through in my life right now is in no way near what George Bailey dealt with- not even close. I also know my actions and attitude pinged a 3 on a scale of 1-10 compared to the characters scale busting 11.

The reason I am tying the two together is because this morning as I was going through my usual routine of scanning the internet for news and information I came across a site that streams old movies out of copyright. With the holidays on my mind I checked to see if the site had my fave Christmas movie, and sure enough- they do. After watching it for a bit, this scene hit me and I thought of my actions yesterday. So, there you go.

Here is the link to the movie online- no cost, no registration, just click the link and hit the play button:
http://www.jonhs.net/freemovies/its_a_wonderful_life.htm

To see the full list of movies and other content available, use this URL:
http://www.jonhs.net/freemovies/

Merry Christmas.

Status Report- My Life's Goals

Many years ago I was part of a retreat consisting of a small group (15 or so) of men, all of us part of the same organization, that gathered together to learn more about each other, and hopefully, increase the effectiveness of our daily interactions. We were connected together through our business, but the weekend turned very personal for most of us.

As part of the retreat, we each had to state to the group our personal mission and goals. I had loosely gathered goals together in my mind over the years, but this forced me to write them out and organize them- and in the process face up to where I was lacking and needed to press forward.

Now, 10 years later, I am reassessing those goals and pursuing the next stage in my life, next career move or position. During the weeks (or months?) ahead I will be keeping this list in front of me and taking an account of the successes and failures to date. It’s hard to face up to where I am failing, but a good thing to take the time to recognize it. I stand a much better chance of adjusting actions and plans doing it.

Here are my life’s goals and the grade I have right now on the progress report (self-graded. It would be interesting to get Michelle's grade for me on a few of these- but that's another story):

SPIRITUAL
1. Seek God's will in my life daily through prayer, meditation on the scripture and the counsel and fellowship of others (GRADE C+)
2. Strive constantly to really understand and appreciate the saving grace of Jesus Christ (GRADE B)

FAMILY
1. work with all that is in me to understand what it means to give myself fully to my wife, and love her unconditionally (GRADE B-)
2. To heap love, acceptance, encouragement and affection on my 4 girls so they learn what it means to love God, and know what real love from a father and a man is about (GRADE B+)

BODY
1. To lose weight and get in shape to extend my life for me and for my family (GRADE C-)
2. Drink more alcohol (ok- this may seem weird- but last year I jokingly said this to Michelle after we had a few nights in a week we had wine with dinner, just a drink or two. We just don't drink that much in our home, but we enjoy it. So I made a new years resolution last year and this year we have made sure we have wine on hand for a few dinners a week. No biggie. We are not getting buzzed all the time or anything) (GRADE A..this is sort of like P.E. at school- no worries landing an A on this one).

MIND
1. To never ever stop learning and wanting to change and improve (GRADE B+)
2. Read at least one book a week (GRADE F)

CAREER
1. To work with all that is withing me for the success of my company, and to do it all for God's glory (GRADE B-)
2. To support, encourage and grow my staff, and always honor and serve those in authority over me (GRADE A-)

PERSONAL
1. Attend every school function, play, parent/teacher meeting, etc (GRADE A)
2. Coach or at least assist on the sports teams my kids play on (GRADE A)
3. Work six months or more in another country (TBD)
4. Own my own business (TBD)
5. Serve on a foreign missions trips (Hopefully in 2007)
6. Learn to fly (My wife is not on board with this one…yet)
7. Visit Israel (TBD)
8. Serve my country (Not sure how yet)
9. Own a yacht (How did this one slip in?)
10. Have my kids tell me I am one of their best friends AFTER they are 18 (TBD)
11. Honor my Father and Mother better (GRADE C. I really have to do better on this one. Sometimes I still act like I’m 17 with them-short and snippy)
12. Give to anyone that asks of me (Newly added!!! See my post from Nov. 18th)

I know my goals are a bit lopsided and selfish in some ways (I discovered that this morning writing out this post), and I will be thinking through that in the coming weeks.

It is amazing, this blogging thing. It is forcing me to think about things I would normally touch on in my mind and then push to the side promising to come back to it later. Now, I am diving in and working through things from A-Z at one sitting. My hope is that it is somehow rewarding for you (the reader, if there is one) as well.






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Our Family's Off-Road Adventure

I live in a relatively rural area, full of horse farms and rolling hills. We moved here three years ago from a large development about ten miles away. Living in Leipers Fork has been a dream of ours since we came to Nashville in 1994. Shortly before we moved into our new home I thought it would be a good idea to get a truck as I imagined having to haul manly things around since I would soon become a gentleman farmer (we don’t really grow much here on our land except for lawn grass and the occasional wild flower)- things like planks of wood, chain saws, stuff like that.

I’m not really a pick-up truck kind of guy, so I went with a hybrid (not the environmental kind- more of a mix between a rural truck and the kind of ride Tony Soprano drives- a black tricked out Chevy Suburban). When I bought it I instantly felt a bit of country bloom in me. Just the idea of pushing the button on the dash board and transforming my Suburban into a 4x4 was appealing. This lead to my demise, and taught me 3 things:

1. My wife’s concerns and worries can sometimes come true
2. Humility
3. A Chevy Suburban is neither a sports utility vehicle or a 4x4

Our eleven acres is flanked on one side by a 15 acre lot and a 60 acre lot on the other. Shortly after we moved in I secured permission from the land owner with the 60 acres for our family to use his land for taking walks and exploring. He lives in downtown Nashville and plans on building his dream home on the land when he retires in a few years. I got his name and number from my realtor. I didn’t specifically ask if I could go 4x4’ing on his land- I sort of put that under the “exploring” classification.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and for some reason I can not recall, our family took 2 cars on an outing. I think it was because I had to pick something up in my truck and bring it home, while my wife was going to stay out shopping, meeting up with her sister. After lunch, and after picking up whatever it was I had to pick up, I headed home with my two oldest daughters.

We turned into our driveway, and as we headed towards the house I made a fateful decision. “Girls- you want to take the truck out onto the land next door and do some off-roading?” The word “yes” rang loud and clear, and so I veered left, and made for the opening in the woods that took us “next-door.” We went through the clearing, down a small hill, and crossed the small creek in my new 4x4. Great so far. It was awesome bouncing and splashing over the creek like I was in a Land Rover commercial.

We spent the next 10 minutes bounding over hills and through sparse woods exploring the land, and it got real exciting when I told the girls we were going to speed up and shoot across the clearing up ahead- hoping to catch a few bumps and jumps that would cause some epic bouncing. As I accelerated and sped forward a strange sensation came over me. It almost seemed like the truck was on an elevator going down, and the horizon line seemed to unnaturally rise around me. The truck started to slide sideways, and then we came to a sudden stop. I noticed that if I reached out my hand from the window, it wouldn’t take much to touch the tall grass. We were stuck in mud.

If anyone tells you that the best way to get your car or truck out of stuck mud or snow is to slowly rock in back and forth, alternating between drive and reverse, don’t believe it. Especially if you are already in about 3 feet of mud. The result of doing that is to sink to about 4 feet of mud.

I decided to get out and take a look, and when I opened the door I had to push hard to get it open far enough to step out- and when I did the bottom of my door scraped about six inches of mud off the top of the ground. Big trouble. Bad. Very bad. The words my wife spoke to me only a half hour before were ringing in my ears- the words she said as a response to my mentioning that I might do exactly what I ended up doing…”Rich- don’t do it. I’m telling you something will go wrong- you’ll get stuck or break something, and it will cost a ton of money to get it fixed. You might even ruin your truck. Don’t do it.”

I had left my cell phone at home that day- of course- and so, took my shoes off, jumped into the mud (I sunk up to my thighs), and carried each girl, one by one, to the safety of the shoreline. The “field” I thought we would trek through was actually a large swamp that collected the rain from the surrounding hills. It was deep in the back part of our neighbors land, and I could not see any homes or roads from where we were. We walked home, I changed clothes, and set about fixing the situation- hopefully before Michelle got home.

Earlier that week I had seen my neighbor across the road working in his field with a tractor, and though I had not met him before this, I walked to his house and knocked on the door. You can imagine the conversation…”Hi my name is Rich- we live across the street…nice to meet you…you have kids?...so do we…its a nice day, isn’t it?...can I use your tractor to try to get my vehicle out of 4 feet of mud way back in the field behind my house?”

He agreed to help. He drove the tractor while I jumped on the side and held on, and we made our way to my car where we promptly got the tractor stuck.

I called a tow truck. The trucker got within 100 feet and started to sink fast. He was able to back out to safety, and informed me he couldn’t help me and drove away- charging me $50 to tell me so. I went back home and sat at the kitchen table trying to figure out what to do. I looked in the yellow pages under towing and learned there was a specialist in the towing field that was an expert at off-road/extreme vehicle recovery. That was the one. I called and they were out to our place in about an hour- right after Michelle pulled in and I gave her the update. That was fun and humbling.

The recovery team had a truck with 2 wenches- and seemed to know the drill perfectly. They purposely drove their truck full speed into the mud, sliding to a stop as close to my truck as possible sinking to the full four feet. They attached one wench to my truck, and the other to a tree behind the tow truck about 150 feet away. They pulled my truck to within 3 feet of theirs, and then turned on the other wench and pulled both of the trucks out of the muck while almost pulling the tree out of the ground. Success. 10 minutes. $250.

I have not, and will not again, take my 4 wheel drive off the road, I listen to my wife’s cautions (even though I don’t always indicate to her that I do), and I am content to stick to the excitement of navigating the pot holes in our 500 foot gravel driveway.

Promise Me You Will Never Grow Up

My heart hurt yesterday. While I do have a few extra pounds on me (well…more than a few), and I don’t exercise as much as I should, I assure you it wasn’t that kind of pain. It was more of a heart-ache. I have “lost” some people in my life and it hit me hard last night.

K, my oldest, performed in her school musical. She had a great part- a few solos, good dialogue, and an overall stellar performance. The other kids in the show did an awesome job as well. It was one of the best middle-school musicals I have ever seen (granted- this was only the second). There was one particular part in the musical that impacted me far deeper than I expected. K walked out on stage to start off a scene and it hit me hard. “Who is that woman?” She’s not my little girl, that’s for sure. She looked like she went from 13 years old to 18 in a matter of minutes.

While one half of my brain continued to pay attention to the show, the other half started diving deep into thoughts and memories. Where are my little girls? I remember K and L holding onto my neck as I walked around with them, each with their feet firmly planted in my hands. I remember them crawling into my lap and hugging on me, asking me questions, kissing all over me. I looked to my left and saw L and my two little ones, A & R, and sure enough…they looked older too. It’s as if some magical dust was sprinkled by the witch in the musical that made my girls age several years at about 7:30PM last night.

I think what might have contributed to all of this was a recent decision to convert all of our old High8 video tapes to DVD. I dropped them off at Wolf Camera, and within a couple of days, we had amazing DVDs of all our family movies. They even create a couple music video’s out of several scenes. The last month or so we have been watching them, and the kids are fascinated at who they used to be. Me too.

I unconditionally love my four girls, just as they are now, and am excited to see who they become. That does not take away, however, the longing I have for who they were 5 or 10 years ago. Those kids are gone forever.

Before I had kids, I remember people telling me that I will not truly understand love until I do. Romantic love is just one part of love- to have children, to love your neighbor, and to love God completes the circle. After Michelle and I had our first, we got it. Really got it. But no one told us about the pain that goes along with having children. Well- maybe during child-birth Michelle figured that part out.

For me, the pain started soon after the love. That pain becomes most evident when your child gets physically hurt, or sick, or loses a favorite toy, forgets something at a restaurant or theatre- and breaks into tears, weeping and gnashing of teeth that is worthy of an academy award. The hard ones are when a friend betrays them, or a mean kid at school hurts them with words. It is shocking how personal their pain becomes. How it feels like the pain is completely my own. It makes me love and appreciate my parents even more.

These next few years are more critical than ever. I want to be there for my oldest two as they become women, to support, encourage and challenge them to continue to grow in grace, to love God and others, and to make right decisions. I also want to have a fresh heart and mind with my two youngest- to do the same things with them I did with my oldest. Man, this is hard.

Taco Bell Beggar

The koo is a start-up band I manage on the side. Good kids, strong hearts- they want to change the world through music and the arts, and they are working hard to hone their performance and songwriting. Last night they played a show at a small club in East Nashville called The Five Spot. My wife and I went, grabbed a beer, and had a few minutes to chat before they went on. They sounded great.

After the show I decided to hit Taco Bell for a bite to eat- I didn’t have a chance to grab dinner, though my wife did. Drove up to the drive through, placed my order, moved to the first window.

As we pulled up towards the window, in line with one car ahead of us, we noticed a beggar sitting on the ground, with his back to the building and on a small strip of sidewalk between the Taco Bell and the drive-through lane. He must have been under 20 years old, but already haggard looking, dirty, broken. His eyes were half-open, glancing around every so often, and was clutching the standard-issue bent-in-the-middle cardboard sign with black sharpie scribbled words “will work for food” or something like that.

[Insert sound-effect: flashback cue from ABC’s Lost]

A few weeks ago when my wife was not feeling well we skipped church. I thought it would be a great opportunity to crack open the “Jesus” DVD someone gave us. The Jesus Film Project is an outreach that has shown the film to over 6 billion people (how is that even possible? Amazing). Our family had not been in that number. None of us had ever seen it.

The film was ok- definitely dated looking, and since it was based on the book of Luke and only used dialogue from that ancient account, it was a little hard for our kids to follow. Everything was going well until a scene from the film really shook me. Jesus was walking with some folks and talking about real life issues and how to deal with them. Among those things he said was something that somehow I never really heard before. It’s from Luke 6:30- if someone begs of you- give to them. Not just a generic “thout shalt do this,” but a good old-fashioned red-letter statement from the Man himself. 40 years and never caught that. Interesting.

So back to last night. Decided to give this kid some money, so I rolled the window down and called to him holding out a few dollars. As he got up he started to pitch forward like he was going to pass out. He regained his strength, and as he approached the car he lost his balance again and had to thrust his hand onto the car door to keep his balance. He was drunk and could barely focus on the money. He gently took the money, mumbled a thank you, and plopped right back down on the ground.

After a few minutes (the car in front of us was obviously ordering tacos for a Vanderbilt frat house that had the munchies- it was taking way to long for their order) he struggled to get up again, holding the money in his left hand, and started to walk away. I assumed he was off to find something to “drink” with his newfound riches ($3 to be exact), and so was instantly frustrated and disappointed with the kid. Instead, he changed direction, and started moving to the Taco Bell doorway. He tried to enter, but it was locked- closed. Only the drive-through was open, and they don’t take walk-up orders. He disappeared around the corner of the building and we didn’t see him again.

It was the first time in many years I had given money to a beggar. Now and then I have done it- especially when I was caught off-guard or if my kids were with me (ouch. A hypocritical moment for sure). I always justified not giving money to beggars by assuring myself that if given, the money will quickly find itself at liquor store (or worse) buying a high for the next hour or so. I told myself that what I should do is go buy some food and give it to them- but of course I hardly ever did that. Just didn't have the time since I saw them mostly downtown when I was trying to get somewhere on time.

What Luke reminded me was that there are two transactions that occur when someone begs and we give. One is between God and giver, and a separate accountable transaction between God and receiver. I am being called to only concern myself with the first.

If anyone happens to read this, and has wisdom, suggestions or thoughts on how best to respond to beggars I would enjoy reading it. Leave a comment. Thanks.

Switchfoot And Stolen Cars

Last night my 13 year old daughter K and I went to a Switchfoot concert in Nashville. It was the umpteenth time I've seen them live, and I never tire of it. They were amazing, and besides playing most all of their hits and a few lesser known oldies, they managed to do what many bands attempt but fail to do- play a few cuts from their not-yet-released new album and keep everyone engaged. Absolutely wonderful show.

My wife and 11 year old daughter were supposed to come with us, but ended up backing out. A few days before the show we were notified the venue had changed from Nashville’s War Memorial (with somewhat comfy padded seats) to City Hall (SRO). As soon as my wife heard that she would have to stand for several hours she was “out.” My 11 year followed suite.

The show brought back a flood of memories. I was part of the team that worked with Switchfoot up until I left EMI Music last year. It was kind of sad to stand there last night listening to these amazing musicians and vocalist and think about how fast life is moving by. It seemed just a couple of years ago that I got to meet the boys at Charlie Peacock’s Nashville home- when they were young teenagers that barely knew how to write songs and perform. I will never forget that day- chatting with them, amazed at how young they were, eating mediocre barbecue and drinking sweet tea. I knew then, along with several others, that there was something special about these gents, and that they would have many years ahead of them making great music.

After the show, K and I walked quickly back to my car. We had parked around the corner from the venue in a small office building parking lot. We chatted about how great the show was, and wondered why they had not played one of their biggest hits- Learning To Breathe- during the show. As we talked and approached my car, I suddenly realized that it should have been parked in the VERY spot we stood. It was not there.

“My car has been stolen” I remember numbly muttering as my heart sank. I couldn’t believe it. 11PM, downtown Nashville, 30 minutes from home, freezing cold, no car, with my daughter. My wife mentioned I should wear a warmer jacket, but I thought my light windbreaker would be fine.

I looked up, and immediately saw my car, moving away from the parking lot, facing the wrong way. It took a second to figure out what was happening…it was being towed, and there were 2 other tow trucks ahead of it towing other Switchfoot concert-goers that were unlucky enough to stay for the encore like us.

My mind raced- a car was pulling out of the parking lot and I grabbed K and chased it down. Fortunately they rolled down their window, and the young couple amazingly- and a bit reluctantly- agreed to allow K and I to get into their car and chase down the tow-truck. As we raced to catch up, and blew through a stop sign, I noticed my Chevy Suburban doing something very unnatural….it had started moving down the road sideways. Somehow part of the Suburban became dislodged from the tow-truck and it looked like it was about to jack-knife. The tow truck stopped, and as we slowed- and were still moving- I opened the door and jumped out. K followed when the car stopped, and I think I remember yelling out a thank-you to our chase-car driver as I ran the 20 yards or so to my car…or maybe it was K.

5 minutes later, and $65 lighter, I got my vehicle back and headed for home. What a night.

When Saturday Morning Is Not Sunny

I love Saturday mornings. I have a routine that I look forward to all week. Get up early, go to Pucketts Grocery in Leipers Fork to fill up the gas cans, head back home. Then I become a short-order cook for my wife and 4 girls. Anything they want- fried eggs, french-toast, pancakes, bacon, ham, scrambled eggs, whatever. It really is a joy to do this for them- and of course since breakfast is my favorite meal I benefit in other ways as well ("is anyone going to eat these last few pieces of bacon?").

After wrapping up breakfast, and leaving the mess for the mysterious kitchen-fairy to clean up, I don my Saturday morning uniform for the mowing task ahead- raggedy sweatpants shorts, a t-shirt, flip-flops and a baseball cap. Oh...lets not forget the iPod and beer too (ask me and I will give you biblical back-up that this is the one time it is allowable to drink beer in the morning).

The 4 hour journey is ahead of me. I have 11 acres to mow.

Today, however, is one of those rainy, cold Saturdays that blows a hole in my weekend routine...and leaves me wondering what to do. I will of course head upstairs shortly to get breakfast going, but after that I will wander aimlessly around the house looking for something to do. Maybe we will go to a movie, or I might attack that growing honey-do list. We shall see.

A nice pointless blog today to make up for yesterday.

Cream Cheese On The Kitchen Floor

So this morning I got up, and after reading the reminder sticky note my wife placed on the coffee machine, placed a block of cream cheese and a stick of butter on the floor, next to the heat register, in the kitchen. Its for my daughter's school project. Long story.

It's foggy at 6:30AM, but the sun is burning through. Good to see after several days of rain and mist. I need anything positive I can get right now, as I am a couple weeks into the change of direction at my company. For the first time in over 16 years I face a time soon without steady income. A bit frightening.

This morning I have several projects to work on with my soon-to-be "former position." I also might have time to learn Google SketchUp a bit better. I downloaded it yesterday, and designed a stand for my acoustic guitar. Tell me what you think. Its a bit "blocky" since I havent learned how to draw rounded edges.

Deeper thoughts are coming...Just set up my blog this morning, so this is all for now. I might expand further on my lame answer to my daughters yesterday when they asked what would change now that the democrats will run the country.