There's a neat calculator on my Google home page that tells me that I've been alive for 20,703 days. That's 20,703 sunrises and 20,702 sunsets as it's still mid-afternoon when I write this on May 27th, 2008. I suspect that there are about twice that number of bowel movements. Sorry if that's TMI. I'm just one of those guys who likes statistics.
The same calculator tells me that, based on a biblical standard of 3 and a half-score years, I've only got about 4,865 days to go; barring anything stupid that I might do to shorten those days. Less than 5,000 days...less than a quarter of my life remaining.
Today I received in the mail a book titled "One Month To Live: 30 Days to a No-Regrets Life" by Terry and Chris Shook. It's one of about ten books I'm reading simultaneously. It seems the older I get, the more urgent life becomes. I can't remember much of what I've done or didn't do in almost 21,000 days of existence; but there's a need to accomplish something in the time I've got left. Maybe that feeling we get as we age is just God's way of letting us know we've not yet fulfilled our purpose. I certainly hope that I will finish this life accomplishing more than 'living from one tragedy to another', as Jerry Falwell once observed as the meaning of life. And I suspect that God has a different view than Jerry did. As much as I embarrass and frustrate Him, I know that He finds joy in the way I've grown older. For 20,703 days He's supplied my every need, answered countless prayers, withheld His wrath countless times, and given me new dreams to replace those I let slip away.
I am presently on a high plateau in my life. I'm engaged, in love (the love came first), I have renewed hope for the future: it's just a more positive outlook than I had a year ago. Unfortunately, those 4,865 remaining days seems awful short now. How do I cram into those days everything I want to accomplish and still be the husband, the father, the employee, the friend, and the author that I want to be?
In The Shack, written by William P Young, Jesus tells the character that man lives mostly in the past; and when we do think about the future, there's usually fear involved because of our experiences in our past. But God is not a past tense or future tense God; He is a God of Now, a living, relevant, life altering God who wants to spend time with us in the Present. Jesus told the man in The Shack that His desire was not for the man to be like Jesus, but for Him to live through the man.
Before I die, in the 4,865 days more or less that I have remaining, I want to walk on water with Jesus. I want to talk to Him from a mountain top. I want the Holy Spirit to lift me up and let me fly wherever the wind takes me. In my dreams I often am able to fly; that would be cool to get to the place where I'm living in the present and that God is living through me. Perhaps eternity is really living in the Present with, not the presence of, Christ.
Promising Vaccine Prevents Alzheimer's in Mice
An article posted in the May issue of Molecular Therapy, the journal of the American Society of Gene Therapy is optimistic they're on the right track towards curing Alzheimers disease. My aunt had Alzheimers: she couldn't remember what she ate or how long ago. She couldn't remember how to button her blouse; but she could remember her wedding day and events from her childhood just as though they were happening right then. Alzheimer's truly is a cruel disease and a cure is needed, however sometimes the way science goes about finding the cure doesn't make a lot of sense; but what do I know - I skipped science in school.
When I see articles such as this one, I have a few questions. First of all, I didn't know mice had Alzheimer's. And if they do, do mice call it by that name, or do they call it something like Mickielucus or Minniejitis or Jerriatrics? My next question would be, "How does one tell if a rat can't remember something? Did they get lost in a maze and just sit down and zone out? As a fiscal conservative, I'm wondering why we're wasting money trying to keep rodents from getting old and forgetting stuff. Do we need them to remember where they hid the cheese or which holes will get them back into my house? I'd rather invest money in exterminating mice, not medicating them.
The article said that the mice who received the vaccine were genetically engineered to express large amounts of amyloid beta protein. So science can't cure Alzheimer's but it can reproduce it; sounds like what Lucifer did when he tried to improve on the Creator's design. Reading deeper into the article, scientists from the University of Rochester Medical Center used a herpes virus stripped of the viral genes to create the vaccine. That's just what I need, to get herpes and not have the pleasure of remembering how I got it.
Give me Dr. Victor Frankenstein. He didn't waste money on lab rats. If he needed to transplant an arm or a leg, he'd go dig one up and sew it on his patient. If he needed a brain, he'd go over to the local community college and whack a professor and shove his brain inside his patient's skull. If his patient had a bad ticker, he'd hook him up to a big ol' defribrilator and zap him with a few million volts. Frankenstein was more concerned with function than with form. His patient could always go to a plastic surgeon once the parts were all in place.
The article says that it will be several years before this vaccine is safe to use on humans. By then science will have discovered even more clues into how our complex bodies perform. Maybe they'll be able to tell me why my feet smell and my nose runs and, miracle of miracles, they'll come up with a blue pill that will make my weenie bigger all the time instead of just four hours - if I'm lucky!
When I see articles such as this one, I have a few questions. First of all, I didn't know mice had Alzheimer's. And if they do, do mice call it by that name, or do they call it something like Mickielucus or Minniejitis or Jerriatrics? My next question would be, "How does one tell if a rat can't remember something? Did they get lost in a maze and just sit down and zone out? As a fiscal conservative, I'm wondering why we're wasting money trying to keep rodents from getting old and forgetting stuff. Do we need them to remember where they hid the cheese or which holes will get them back into my house? I'd rather invest money in exterminating mice, not medicating them.
The article said that the mice who received the vaccine were genetically engineered to express large amounts of amyloid beta protein. So science can't cure Alzheimer's but it can reproduce it; sounds like what Lucifer did when he tried to improve on the Creator's design. Reading deeper into the article, scientists from the University of Rochester Medical Center used a herpes virus stripped of the viral genes to create the vaccine. That's just what I need, to get herpes and not have the pleasure of remembering how I got it.
Give me Dr. Victor Frankenstein. He didn't waste money on lab rats. If he needed to transplant an arm or a leg, he'd go dig one up and sew it on his patient. If he needed a brain, he'd go over to the local community college and whack a professor and shove his brain inside his patient's skull. If his patient had a bad ticker, he'd hook him up to a big ol' defribrilator and zap him with a few million volts. Frankenstein was more concerned with function than with form. His patient could always go to a plastic surgeon once the parts were all in place.
The article says that it will be several years before this vaccine is safe to use on humans. By then science will have discovered even more clues into how our complex bodies perform. Maybe they'll be able to tell me why my feet smell and my nose runs and, miracle of miracles, they'll come up with a blue pill that will make my weenie bigger all the time instead of just four hours - if I'm lucky!
We've Set a Date
My fiance and I have set a date for our wedding. Whoo-hoo! Aren't you just as excited as we are? Actually we're both amazed at all that God has done in the past year or so to bring us together. There have been too many coincidences for us getting to this point to be coincidental. We have goals and dreams like any other couple, but we also have a sense of peace that we're really meant for each other and that there is a purpose and a plan for us as a couple.
Sure, every couple feels this way in the beginning. But this isn't our first time walking down an aisle. For me it's going to be the fourth and fifth times. We're getting married out in Nebraska on November 2nd, and then we're coming to North Carolina to marry a week later. (Jimmy if you're reading this, please book November 9th to marry us).
For those who know us, you can expect us to change; we won't be the same person you know now. We'll be better, because we're going to be much happier together than we've been single. We're going to make decisions not for us as individuals, but as a couple. Where we go, what we do, how we get there - that's something we'll decide together and depend on God to guide us and keep us from getting into trouble.
My daughter and I have been blessed in the past to have been welcomed into the homes of my church family. In the future, Pam and I can invite friends and family into our home so that we can bless you. The changes that are happening may not be apparent right now, but in a year or two you're going to look back and see us in a new light. We feel it happening in us now. Just wanted you to know so you're not surprised. It's a positive change, and we're very excited about our future together.
I write this here because I hope you'll keep us in your thoughts and prayers. We don't need wedding gifts or receptions or parties to mark our official union. All we're asking is that our friends and family be happy for us. God will take care of the rest.
Sure, every couple feels this way in the beginning. But this isn't our first time walking down an aisle. For me it's going to be the fourth and fifth times. We're getting married out in Nebraska on November 2nd, and then we're coming to North Carolina to marry a week later. (Jimmy if you're reading this, please book November 9th to marry us).
For those who know us, you can expect us to change; we won't be the same person you know now. We'll be better, because we're going to be much happier together than we've been single. We're going to make decisions not for us as individuals, but as a couple. Where we go, what we do, how we get there - that's something we'll decide together and depend on God to guide us and keep us from getting into trouble.
My daughter and I have been blessed in the past to have been welcomed into the homes of my church family. In the future, Pam and I can invite friends and family into our home so that we can bless you. The changes that are happening may not be apparent right now, but in a year or two you're going to look back and see us in a new light. We feel it happening in us now. Just wanted you to know so you're not surprised. It's a positive change, and we're very excited about our future together.
I write this here because I hope you'll keep us in your thoughts and prayers. We don't need wedding gifts or receptions or parties to mark our official union. All we're asking is that our friends and family be happy for us. God will take care of the rest.
"As A Man Thinketh...In His Heart"
I hope you have a few minutes because this could very well be one of my longest posts. (Sorry James - I know you're busy.)
On Monday I received an email from my very favorite author, James Michael Pratt, asking me if I would endorse his new book - As A Man Thinketh...In His Heart. I've been a fan of James since reading "The Lighthouse Keeper", and writing to tell him how much I enjoyed the story. Surprisingly, James responded to my email and later sent me an autographed copy of "The Last Valentine" which I gave to my fiance who was then dying from cancer. Since then we've written occasionally; but I was both surprised and honored that James would ask me to endorse his new book.
I received the manuscript and printed it out to take home with me on Monday night. Despite having to work two jobs, I finished the book in 24 hours. Let me say up front that this book came into my life at just the right moment, and I suspect that it will do the same for you wherever you are. The timing is just one of the serendipities I've experienced over the past several months. For a long time I've been in a rut, but now I'm at least walking on the slope so that I can see a better, brighter future ahead.
Anyway, normally I work as an usher cleaning theaters at night (http://www.dirtymoviecritic.blogspot.com/), but Monday night I worked in the box office. Traffic was predictably slow on a week night so I went to the car for the manuscript and began reading between customers. I read a little after getting home but fell asleep because I'm too old to be working two jobs. I read some more on my lunch break yesterday and then committed to finish the book last night.
Arriving home I went straight to my bedroom, kicked off my shoes, and sat in the chair next to the bed. I pulled the throw my darling Pam had made for me over my lap, propped my feet on the bed and made myself comfortable. In his book James talks about returning to a simple, less stressful lifestyle. This is the mood I wanted to be in to finish the manuscript. By now I was captivated by the story and how James so skillfully combined fact and fantasy so that the reader doesn't know what is real and what is imagined. His story-telling ability draws the reader into the story and one can smell the salty ocean air and taste the ham sandwich.
I finished the book after midnight, crawled into bed, and dreamed of living in a cottage and doing heroic things. I awoke early this morning, recalling the manscript and the purpose of the story. I won't divulge much of it here because you need to read it for yourself. I'll just say that wrapped into the story within the story is a truth about the triune nature of man who was created by a Triune God. It was the underlying truth in the story that I thought about on the way to work this morning and which prompted me to record my thoughts here before they're lost in the busyness of my work day.
This is my take on James' new book, "As A Man Thinketh...In His Heart": We function in life on three levels. The first is physical - our bodies. Our bodies make demands on us - safety, provisions, pleasure. These primal 'needs' control much of what we do with our bodies. We eat to live, we live in houses to protect us from the environment, we procreate as often as possible. These needs are so great that we create lifestyles to fulfill them: bigger homes, we eat far more than we need to, we find new ways to enjoy sex; we work jobs we don't enjoy to provide for a lifestyle that doesn't satisfy. This is where our second nature comes in.
Our mind is the next highest level. With our minds we create things that will meet our physical needs. We diversify: we go to college to get an education to get a better paying job to provide us more shelter, more sustinance, more pleasure. But more than that, our minds seek to know something more than our own selves. We want to know how we got here, why we're here, where we're going and what, if anything lies on the other side of life. Sometimes our minds can overcome the primal needs of our bodies - but not often. We're so busy today that our most precious possession isn't physical possessions or even relationships - it's time. The more technology does to create more time for us, the more we feel we have to pack something into that time. But eventually our need for rest overcomes our desire to learn or work or even enjoy sex.
It's like the law of gravity can be temporarily overcome by the law of aerodynamics. Gravity still exists no matter how high we fly. Once the law of aerodynamics fails, gravity takes over. Our bodies will shut themselves down in spite of our attempts to pack as much life into the time we have. I know from personal experience that working 16 hour days leaves one exhausted and less efficient at either job.
When we are able to use our mind to overcome our bodies - we consider those moments heroic. We admire Olympic athletes who finish a race a half second before the competition, or soldiers who fight on afer being wounded, Holocaust victims who survived Nazi death-camps or pilots like John McCain who was shot down over VietNam and survived years in a POW camp; or fire-fighters who risk being burned alive to save a life - even the life of a pet. We make heroes of people who put their bodies in harm's way for a cause: Mandela, Martin Luther King Jr, Ghandi, Mother Teresa. But most of us are dominated by our physical nature and seldom rise to the heroic level.
Then there is the third level - the one that James wants us to understand in his book - the heart level. Certainly we think of someone who wins a race or a boxing match as having "heart", but in fact those things were really determination - or mental decisions to overcome their physical bodies. The heart, on the other hand, can be likened to our soul. Where our physical selves are the body, and our intellect is our minds, so the heart is our soul: Body, mind (intellect), soul (spirit) - just the way that God created us.
In James' book, he wants us to make decisions for our lives not only with our reason, but with our instincts. We must learn to trust our hearts if we're going to live a purposeful life; and by combining our heart instincts with our rational minds we can script the path our life should take to realize that purpose. If we say we want to be a writer, for instance, but we spend most of our time being president of the PTA, chances are we're going to be good at leading the PTA, but be a lousy writer.
As James explains, we're where we're at in life because we followed either our minds or our hearts. But if we're going to live a life of significance and change this world into which we were born, we must learn to use the heart to rule our brain, which is the part of us most closely connected to our Creator.
That's as far as I feel comfortable going with James' material - if you want to really understand you're going to have to get his new book. I will only say that this manscript coming into my hands at this point in my life is not coincidental. For the past six months, God has been opening my eyes to His plan for my life. There have been too many experiences to chalk them up to coincidences. I've been blessed with a new love - something that has drawn me out of the pit I dug for myself. I've seen my daughter, her body eaten up with cancer, deliver a baby boy who survived almost nine months of toxic chemicals, cigarrettes, rap music, his mother's daily bouts of nausea and drug induced sleep. My finances have begun to turn to the positive after decades of life-draining debt. I've begun to dream of owning a bed and breakfast so that I can spend as much time as possible with my soon-to-be wife, and I've considered enrolling in a culinary course at the local community college so that I can handle the 'breakfast' part of the business. On top of that, my novel 'Sea Tree' won't let go of my mind. It's a story that needs to be told.
I've procrastinated for two years over this novel - which finds it's origins in a dream, much like James' "As A Man Thinketh...In His Heart" does. There have been three hang-ups I've struggled with: First, will writing this novel be more work than it will be fun? I'm already burned out on work. If Sea Tree isn't going to be fun for me to write, it won't be fun for you to read. Second - what if I find out I can't write and I've been deluding myself all this time with romantic notions that writing is my calling in life? And third - do I really have anything to say in this novel that will touch the readers? It's not so much about whether the book becomes a best seller, but gaining recognition as being a published author does lend a legitimacy to my life and a legacy to my heirs.
My prayers have been that I will lead a life of significance. Like many, success comes most often in our latter years. Maybe this is my time to shine. Maybe there is no coincidence that James Michael Pratt is my favorite author and it certainly is no coincidence that he entrusted his manuscript to me. Perhaps my endorsement of 'As A Man Thinketh' isn't as important as the message that God has for me, that indeed I have a divine plan and purpose for my life and this book is His way of helping me come to that realization.
I hope that you will all read "As A Man Thinketh...In His Heart", not because I want James to earn more money so he can write more great books; but because it can be the catalyst to change in your own life. I know that I am not alone among my friends who are looking for significance and purpose in life. Guided by my heart, in touch with my Creator, I believe that the best is yet to come.
You can find out more about James' new book and all of his other fine novels and non-fiction at this website: http://www.jmpratt.com/ or at http://www.powerthink.com/. Thank you, James, for sharing this life-changing work with me.
On Monday I received an email from my very favorite author, James Michael Pratt, asking me if I would endorse his new book - As A Man Thinketh...In His Heart. I've been a fan of James since reading "The Lighthouse Keeper", and writing to tell him how much I enjoyed the story. Surprisingly, James responded to my email and later sent me an autographed copy of "The Last Valentine" which I gave to my fiance who was then dying from cancer. Since then we've written occasionally; but I was both surprised and honored that James would ask me to endorse his new book.
I received the manuscript and printed it out to take home with me on Monday night. Despite having to work two jobs, I finished the book in 24 hours. Let me say up front that this book came into my life at just the right moment, and I suspect that it will do the same for you wherever you are. The timing is just one of the serendipities I've experienced over the past several months. For a long time I've been in a rut, but now I'm at least walking on the slope so that I can see a better, brighter future ahead.
Anyway, normally I work as an usher cleaning theaters at night (http://www.dirtymoviecritic.blogspot.com/), but Monday night I worked in the box office. Traffic was predictably slow on a week night so I went to the car for the manuscript and began reading between customers. I read a little after getting home but fell asleep because I'm too old to be working two jobs. I read some more on my lunch break yesterday and then committed to finish the book last night.
Arriving home I went straight to my bedroom, kicked off my shoes, and sat in the chair next to the bed. I pulled the throw my darling Pam had made for me over my lap, propped my feet on the bed and made myself comfortable. In his book James talks about returning to a simple, less stressful lifestyle. This is the mood I wanted to be in to finish the manuscript. By now I was captivated by the story and how James so skillfully combined fact and fantasy so that the reader doesn't know what is real and what is imagined. His story-telling ability draws the reader into the story and one can smell the salty ocean air and taste the ham sandwich.
I finished the book after midnight, crawled into bed, and dreamed of living in a cottage and doing heroic things. I awoke early this morning, recalling the manscript and the purpose of the story. I won't divulge much of it here because you need to read it for yourself. I'll just say that wrapped into the story within the story is a truth about the triune nature of man who was created by a Triune God. It was the underlying truth in the story that I thought about on the way to work this morning and which prompted me to record my thoughts here before they're lost in the busyness of my work day.
This is my take on James' new book, "As A Man Thinketh...In His Heart": We function in life on three levels. The first is physical - our bodies. Our bodies make demands on us - safety, provisions, pleasure. These primal 'needs' control much of what we do with our bodies. We eat to live, we live in houses to protect us from the environment, we procreate as often as possible. These needs are so great that we create lifestyles to fulfill them: bigger homes, we eat far more than we need to, we find new ways to enjoy sex; we work jobs we don't enjoy to provide for a lifestyle that doesn't satisfy. This is where our second nature comes in.
Our mind is the next highest level. With our minds we create things that will meet our physical needs. We diversify: we go to college to get an education to get a better paying job to provide us more shelter, more sustinance, more pleasure. But more than that, our minds seek to know something more than our own selves. We want to know how we got here, why we're here, where we're going and what, if anything lies on the other side of life. Sometimes our minds can overcome the primal needs of our bodies - but not often. We're so busy today that our most precious possession isn't physical possessions or even relationships - it's time. The more technology does to create more time for us, the more we feel we have to pack something into that time. But eventually our need for rest overcomes our desire to learn or work or even enjoy sex.
It's like the law of gravity can be temporarily overcome by the law of aerodynamics. Gravity still exists no matter how high we fly. Once the law of aerodynamics fails, gravity takes over. Our bodies will shut themselves down in spite of our attempts to pack as much life into the time we have. I know from personal experience that working 16 hour days leaves one exhausted and less efficient at either job.
When we are able to use our mind to overcome our bodies - we consider those moments heroic. We admire Olympic athletes who finish a race a half second before the competition, or soldiers who fight on afer being wounded, Holocaust victims who survived Nazi death-camps or pilots like John McCain who was shot down over VietNam and survived years in a POW camp; or fire-fighters who risk being burned alive to save a life - even the life of a pet. We make heroes of people who put their bodies in harm's way for a cause: Mandela, Martin Luther King Jr, Ghandi, Mother Teresa. But most of us are dominated by our physical nature and seldom rise to the heroic level.
Then there is the third level - the one that James wants us to understand in his book - the heart level. Certainly we think of someone who wins a race or a boxing match as having "heart", but in fact those things were really determination - or mental decisions to overcome their physical bodies. The heart, on the other hand, can be likened to our soul. Where our physical selves are the body, and our intellect is our minds, so the heart is our soul: Body, mind (intellect), soul (spirit) - just the way that God created us.
In James' book, he wants us to make decisions for our lives not only with our reason, but with our instincts. We must learn to trust our hearts if we're going to live a purposeful life; and by combining our heart instincts with our rational minds we can script the path our life should take to realize that purpose. If we say we want to be a writer, for instance, but we spend most of our time being president of the PTA, chances are we're going to be good at leading the PTA, but be a lousy writer.
As James explains, we're where we're at in life because we followed either our minds or our hearts. But if we're going to live a life of significance and change this world into which we were born, we must learn to use the heart to rule our brain, which is the part of us most closely connected to our Creator.
That's as far as I feel comfortable going with James' material - if you want to really understand you're going to have to get his new book. I will only say that this manscript coming into my hands at this point in my life is not coincidental. For the past six months, God has been opening my eyes to His plan for my life. There have been too many experiences to chalk them up to coincidences. I've been blessed with a new love - something that has drawn me out of the pit I dug for myself. I've seen my daughter, her body eaten up with cancer, deliver a baby boy who survived almost nine months of toxic chemicals, cigarrettes, rap music, his mother's daily bouts of nausea and drug induced sleep. My finances have begun to turn to the positive after decades of life-draining debt. I've begun to dream of owning a bed and breakfast so that I can spend as much time as possible with my soon-to-be wife, and I've considered enrolling in a culinary course at the local community college so that I can handle the 'breakfast' part of the business. On top of that, my novel 'Sea Tree' won't let go of my mind. It's a story that needs to be told.
I've procrastinated for two years over this novel - which finds it's origins in a dream, much like James' "As A Man Thinketh...In His Heart" does. There have been three hang-ups I've struggled with: First, will writing this novel be more work than it will be fun? I'm already burned out on work. If Sea Tree isn't going to be fun for me to write, it won't be fun for you to read. Second - what if I find out I can't write and I've been deluding myself all this time with romantic notions that writing is my calling in life? And third - do I really have anything to say in this novel that will touch the readers? It's not so much about whether the book becomes a best seller, but gaining recognition as being a published author does lend a legitimacy to my life and a legacy to my heirs.
My prayers have been that I will lead a life of significance. Like many, success comes most often in our latter years. Maybe this is my time to shine. Maybe there is no coincidence that James Michael Pratt is my favorite author and it certainly is no coincidence that he entrusted his manuscript to me. Perhaps my endorsement of 'As A Man Thinketh' isn't as important as the message that God has for me, that indeed I have a divine plan and purpose for my life and this book is His way of helping me come to that realization.
I hope that you will all read "As A Man Thinketh...In His Heart", not because I want James to earn more money so he can write more great books; but because it can be the catalyst to change in your own life. I know that I am not alone among my friends who are looking for significance and purpose in life. Guided by my heart, in touch with my Creator, I believe that the best is yet to come.
You can find out more about James' new book and all of his other fine novels and non-fiction at this website: http://www.jmpratt.com/ or at http://www.powerthink.com/. Thank you, James, for sharing this life-changing work with me.
Bathrooms
Yesterday at church my pastor talked about public bathrooms in Greece during the time of Paul. Jimmy said that public restrooms were elaborate affairs, many providing entertainment by way of musicians who played from a stage in the center while being surrounded by patrons sitting on toilets. One could imagine a higher rate of constipation when trying to do your business with someone looking on - especially if there's a stand-up comedian on stage that day. And it must truly suck to only be able to book public toilets to showcase your talent.
Today we've got security auditors in the office. Totally by chance, our fire alarms went off as soon as the auditors arrived. The fire marshals donned their red baseball caps and herded people downstairs even though it was raining outside and employees were reluctant to leave their desks. My job is to check the men's room on the way out to make sure no one is trapped in there in the event of a fire. Sure enough, someone had decided to use the bathroom while we were supposed to be exiting the building. I stood in the hallway outside the restroom waiting for the jerk to finish and vacate my area of responsibility. It sucks to have to check bathrooms for malingerers. Nevertheless I put in my after-action report a note to tell employees that when the fire alarm goes off, you don't stop at the bathroom on the way downstairs.
One more thought on bathrooms. Yesterday after church I went to the mall to play video games and had to use the bathroom. Normally I like to take a book with me so that I can exercise both mind and bowels at the same time; but this wasn't a planned trip so I was empty-handed. However, the mall was playing some pretty good music so I sat there enjoying the music, adding my own percussions and laughing when I was off the beat. I sat there so long my legs fell asleep, which is what happens when I take a book to the bathroom. Once I can't feel my legs any longer I know when it's time to stop reading.
Bathrooms can be wonderful places, unless you have to clean the women's restrooms at the theater I work at. Our female customers have yet to learn to sit all the way down so they don't soil the toilet seats and the floor. Then then come to me to complain about how filthy the women's bathrooms are - as though I'm responsible for making them that way. What a load of crap!
Today we've got security auditors in the office. Totally by chance, our fire alarms went off as soon as the auditors arrived. The fire marshals donned their red baseball caps and herded people downstairs even though it was raining outside and employees were reluctant to leave their desks. My job is to check the men's room on the way out to make sure no one is trapped in there in the event of a fire. Sure enough, someone had decided to use the bathroom while we were supposed to be exiting the building. I stood in the hallway outside the restroom waiting for the jerk to finish and vacate my area of responsibility. It sucks to have to check bathrooms for malingerers. Nevertheless I put in my after-action report a note to tell employees that when the fire alarm goes off, you don't stop at the bathroom on the way downstairs.
One more thought on bathrooms. Yesterday after church I went to the mall to play video games and had to use the bathroom. Normally I like to take a book with me so that I can exercise both mind and bowels at the same time; but this wasn't a planned trip so I was empty-handed. However, the mall was playing some pretty good music so I sat there enjoying the music, adding my own percussions and laughing when I was off the beat. I sat there so long my legs fell asleep, which is what happens when I take a book to the bathroom. Once I can't feel my legs any longer I know when it's time to stop reading.
Bathrooms can be wonderful places, unless you have to clean the women's restrooms at the theater I work at. Our female customers have yet to learn to sit all the way down so they don't soil the toilet seats and the floor. Then then come to me to complain about how filthy the women's bathrooms are - as though I'm responsible for making them that way. What a load of crap!
Distractions Along the Journey
I've had this novel in my mind for over a couple years now...even have the first couple chapters already typed. The problem is, I don't know how it's going to end. I suspect it will turn into a trilogy or maybe even a Never Ending Story. The characters are there and I'm always coming up with scenes and rabbit trails to chase, but lack the discipline to just sit down, start typing and see where it all goes.
The last year has been nothing but distractions: a daughter with cancer; a son who's been laid off from work; another daughter who is a couple years away from college and a life that may take her far from her dad; a grandson who needs a father; debts to be paid; transportation problems; even hiccups in my walk of faith. Along the way, I've begun to wonder if I really have something worth saying. But the dream's still there so I guess it will eventually come to pass. I can only do what I can control.
I wish I could take credit for this, but Allen Asbury said this in a performance when he started his professional music career: "A basketball in my hands is worth about $20. A basketball in the hands of Michael Jordan is worth about $33 million. A tennis racket in my hand is worthless, but in the hands of Pete Sampras, it's worth plenty. Five loaves and two fishes in my hands will make a couple of fish sandwiches; in God's hands they will feed thousands. A rod in my hand may hold off wild animals; a rod in the hand of Moses can part a mighty sea. A few nails in my hand might make a nice birdhouse; nails in Jesus' hands provide salvation for everyone." It all depends on who's hands the instrument is in. All my hopes, dreams, fears, plans and goals are fragile in my own hands, but in the Lord's hands they produce peace, joy, and patience in an otherwise chaotic life.
I've assessed my talents and my pitiful strength lies in the tips of my fingers poised over a computer keyboard. I hope to use them to produce something that will move people somehow, whether it's to laughter, or to tears, from hopelessness to faith. I don't know where the story is going, but I'm blessed to have friends and family who pray for me, who loan me cars when mine is dead; feed me healthy meals when I'm subsisting on chips and dip; who take my grandson to school because his mom is sick and I'm late for work; who allow my youngest daughter to stay over on teacher workdays so I don't have to take off work. You know who you are - and I thank God for you.
The last year has been nothing but distractions: a daughter with cancer; a son who's been laid off from work; another daughter who is a couple years away from college and a life that may take her far from her dad; a grandson who needs a father; debts to be paid; transportation problems; even hiccups in my walk of faith. Along the way, I've begun to wonder if I really have something worth saying. But the dream's still there so I guess it will eventually come to pass. I can only do what I can control.
I wish I could take credit for this, but Allen Asbury said this in a performance when he started his professional music career: "A basketball in my hands is worth about $20. A basketball in the hands of Michael Jordan is worth about $33 million. A tennis racket in my hand is worthless, but in the hands of Pete Sampras, it's worth plenty. Five loaves and two fishes in my hands will make a couple of fish sandwiches; in God's hands they will feed thousands. A rod in my hand may hold off wild animals; a rod in the hand of Moses can part a mighty sea. A few nails in my hand might make a nice birdhouse; nails in Jesus' hands provide salvation for everyone." It all depends on who's hands the instrument is in. All my hopes, dreams, fears, plans and goals are fragile in my own hands, but in the Lord's hands they produce peace, joy, and patience in an otherwise chaotic life.
I've assessed my talents and my pitiful strength lies in the tips of my fingers poised over a computer keyboard. I hope to use them to produce something that will move people somehow, whether it's to laughter, or to tears, from hopelessness to faith. I don't know where the story is going, but I'm blessed to have friends and family who pray for me, who loan me cars when mine is dead; feed me healthy meals when I'm subsisting on chips and dip; who take my grandson to school because his mom is sick and I'm late for work; who allow my youngest daughter to stay over on teacher workdays so I don't have to take off work. You know who you are - and I thank God for you.
What Kind of Future Does He Have
My daughter has a 'friend' who has a little boy. Timmy (not his real name) is almost three. He's not yet potty-trained, doesn't talk as well as other kids his age, and he's solid - about 40 pounds.
Timmy is quiet. He doesn't make a lot of noise when he plays. He's well-behaved. If you tell him it's time to take a nap during play time, he will come and lie down beside you even if he doesn't fall asleep. He's really no trouble at all, except to his mother. She's beaten him so much that he's learned to be obedient to all adults. His mom likes to have fun, and her son doesn't permit her to have as much fun as she would like. So Timmy's mom frequently asks my daughter to take care of him even though my daughter spends most of her time being medicated while fighting cancer. She's in no shape to take care of someone else's child, but Timmy's mom is willing to take that chance so that she can 'have fun'.
Timmy likes to sit in my lap in the car and pretend he's driving. We're sitting in the driveway. When he rides in my grandson's battery powered Gator, he doesn't cry if he can't steer but sits quietly in the passenger seat and enjoys the ride. He's a good kid. But I worry about his future.
Timmy's dad isn't around. He's a drug pusher who spends more time trying to con people out of money than he does taking care of his son. Timmy is an inconvenience to his mother and father. Rather than spend money on daycare where Timmy can learn social skills and his ABCs, his mom chooses to spend her money on drugs and alcohol. That's why she asks my daughter to watch him for her - my daughter doesn't work so she's got nothing better to do right? Timmy has had to go with my daughter for chemo treatments because his mom didn't show up when she promised; but he's a good kid and sits in his chair and doesn't say much.
I don't want my daughter to have anything to do with Timmy's mom, but she loves Timmy. He's got the deck stacked against him: He hardly speaks, he's abused, he's of mixed blood, his parents are barely caretakers at best, he's overweight and under loved. Timmy takes what life throws at him because he's young and knows no better way. I wonder what Timmy will become when he's older? Will he grow up thinking that he's an inconvenience, or will he experience the love and support he deserves? Will he have someone like my daughter who cares about him or will he have to endure the criticism of people who are smarter and better looking than he is?
Please pray for Timmy (God knows who I'm talking about), and for his mom and dad. The world is a tough place for those of us with the advantages Timmy has been denied. I'm proud of my daughter for caring and being willing to sacrifice on his behalf during her own tough times. She's Timmy's Jesus in the flesh.
Timmy is quiet. He doesn't make a lot of noise when he plays. He's well-behaved. If you tell him it's time to take a nap during play time, he will come and lie down beside you even if he doesn't fall asleep. He's really no trouble at all, except to his mother. She's beaten him so much that he's learned to be obedient to all adults. His mom likes to have fun, and her son doesn't permit her to have as much fun as she would like. So Timmy's mom frequently asks my daughter to take care of him even though my daughter spends most of her time being medicated while fighting cancer. She's in no shape to take care of someone else's child, but Timmy's mom is willing to take that chance so that she can 'have fun'.
Timmy likes to sit in my lap in the car and pretend he's driving. We're sitting in the driveway. When he rides in my grandson's battery powered Gator, he doesn't cry if he can't steer but sits quietly in the passenger seat and enjoys the ride. He's a good kid. But I worry about his future.
Timmy's dad isn't around. He's a drug pusher who spends more time trying to con people out of money than he does taking care of his son. Timmy is an inconvenience to his mother and father. Rather than spend money on daycare where Timmy can learn social skills and his ABCs, his mom chooses to spend her money on drugs and alcohol. That's why she asks my daughter to watch him for her - my daughter doesn't work so she's got nothing better to do right? Timmy has had to go with my daughter for chemo treatments because his mom didn't show up when she promised; but he's a good kid and sits in his chair and doesn't say much.
I don't want my daughter to have anything to do with Timmy's mom, but she loves Timmy. He's got the deck stacked against him: He hardly speaks, he's abused, he's of mixed blood, his parents are barely caretakers at best, he's overweight and under loved. Timmy takes what life throws at him because he's young and knows no better way. I wonder what Timmy will become when he's older? Will he grow up thinking that he's an inconvenience, or will he experience the love and support he deserves? Will he have someone like my daughter who cares about him or will he have to endure the criticism of people who are smarter and better looking than he is?
Please pray for Timmy (God knows who I'm talking about), and for his mom and dad. The world is a tough place for those of us with the advantages Timmy has been denied. I'm proud of my daughter for caring and being willing to sacrifice on his behalf during her own tough times. She's Timmy's Jesus in the flesh.
Have Some Coffee
A friend forwarded this story to me. Since I don't know who the author is and can't give them credit and don't want to be accused of plagiarism, I've edited it slightly. It's something I need to remind myself of constantly and this puts the truth in a different light.
"A group of alumni, all highly established in their respective careers, gathered for a visit with their old philosophy professor. The conversation soon turned to complaints about the endless stress of work and life in general.
Offering his guests coffee, the professor went into the kitchen and soon returned with a large pot of coffee and an odd assortment of cups. Some were porcelain, others plastic, glass, crystal; some were plain, some expensive, some quite exquisite.
Humbly the professor told them to help themselves to some fresh coffee.
When each of the former students had a cup of coffee in hand, the old professor quietly cleared his throat and began to address the small gathering...
"You may have noticed that all of the nicer cups were taken up first, leaving behind the plain and less expensive ones. While it is only natural for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is actually the source of much of your stress-related problems."
He continued. . . "Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In fact, the cup merely disguises or dresses up what we drink. What each of you wanted was coffee, not a cup; but you instinctively went for the best cup. Then you began eyeing each other's cups."
"Now consider this: Life is coffee. Jobs, money, and position in society are merely cups. They are just tools to shape and contain Life, and the type of cup we have does not truly define nor change the quality of the life we live. Often, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee that God has provided us. God brews the coffee, but He does not supply the cups. Enjoy the coffee!"
The happiest people don't have the best of everything, they just make the best of everything they have.
"The richest person is not the one who has the most, but the one who needs the least."
Several years ago, God made me three promises: First, He would help me get out of debt. Second, I would live a simple but comfortable life. Third, a wife - one He has chosen for me. I've clung tenatiously to these promises and look for them to be fulfilled every day. Now, I may dream about owning a huge log cabin in the mountains overlooking a vast and beautiful lake. But what this story reminds me is that it's not the cabin or the setting that I'm seeking; it's what those things represent: peace, rest, no stress, a closeness to God and Creation. In my dreams I've bought the finest cabinets for the kitchen, the biggest home theater system, his and her bathroom with built in bookshelves and a large jacuzzi tub, a boat dock and pontoon boat to enjoy on the lake, and a Ford F-250 quad cab pickup in the driveway. These luxuries represent the best for me, but they aren't the best that life offers. It's the things we can't buy that have the most value.
Enjoy the coffee in whatever cup like serves up.
"A group of alumni, all highly established in their respective careers, gathered for a visit with their old philosophy professor. The conversation soon turned to complaints about the endless stress of work and life in general.
Offering his guests coffee, the professor went into the kitchen and soon returned with a large pot of coffee and an odd assortment of cups. Some were porcelain, others plastic, glass, crystal; some were plain, some expensive, some quite exquisite.
Humbly the professor told them to help themselves to some fresh coffee.
When each of the former students had a cup of coffee in hand, the old professor quietly cleared his throat and began to address the small gathering...
"You may have noticed that all of the nicer cups were taken up first, leaving behind the plain and less expensive ones. While it is only natural for you to want only the best for yourselves, that is actually the source of much of your stress-related problems."
He continued. . . "Be assured that the cup itself adds no quality to the coffee. In fact, the cup merely disguises or dresses up what we drink. What each of you wanted was coffee, not a cup; but you instinctively went for the best cup. Then you began eyeing each other's cups."
"Now consider this: Life is coffee. Jobs, money, and position in society are merely cups. They are just tools to shape and contain Life, and the type of cup we have does not truly define nor change the quality of the life we live. Often, by concentrating only on the cup, we fail to enjoy the coffee that God has provided us. God brews the coffee, but He does not supply the cups. Enjoy the coffee!"
The happiest people don't have the best of everything, they just make the best of everything they have.
"The richest person is not the one who has the most, but the one who needs the least."
Several years ago, God made me three promises: First, He would help me get out of debt. Second, I would live a simple but comfortable life. Third, a wife - one He has chosen for me. I've clung tenatiously to these promises and look for them to be fulfilled every day. Now, I may dream about owning a huge log cabin in the mountains overlooking a vast and beautiful lake. But what this story reminds me is that it's not the cabin or the setting that I'm seeking; it's what those things represent: peace, rest, no stress, a closeness to God and Creation. In my dreams I've bought the finest cabinets for the kitchen, the biggest home theater system, his and her bathroom with built in bookshelves and a large jacuzzi tub, a boat dock and pontoon boat to enjoy on the lake, and a Ford F-250 quad cab pickup in the driveway. These luxuries represent the best for me, but they aren't the best that life offers. It's the things we can't buy that have the most value.
Enjoy the coffee in whatever cup like serves up.
Have You Ever Loved?
Have you ever loved something or someone so much that the thought of that person or object brought tears to your eyes? Have you ever been so proud of a relationship that you could neither deny it nor describe the experience to anyone else?
From the old veteran staring up lovingly at the flag he served, while his loyal dog looks up lovingly at him; to the disabled veteran who rises from his wheelchair while able-bodied Americans sit when that flag passes by. From a person of faith who rises early every morning to spend time with God, and who's floorboards are worn where she kneels beside her bed at night and thank Him for another day of His company. The couple who make love slowly and tenderly, lost in themselves and oblivious to the world around them; the mother who reaches out to embrace her child who just took his first step; the father who places his daughter's hand into the hand and care of another man; the husband and wife of many years who can sit together and watch in awe as the sun sets over the furthest dusty blue mountains and know without having to say a word what the other is thinking; the spouse who continues to care for the other when time and disease have stolen the mind and body of their loved one.
These pictures speak of lives lived well and where life is about more than simply making a living. Love allows us to focus our passion on things that really matter. Where there is no love there is heartache and lack of purpose; where love is, there may also be heartache, but it has purpose.
I suspect that a lot of people have cheated themselves of love and purpose because they've built walls to protect them from being hurt. I've held love at arm's length for a long time, unwilling to risk, incapable of living, settling for numb survival - when so much more is being offered. Recently I met someone with whom I've fallen in love, and with that love has come a renewed sense of purpose and hope for the future. Love requires much from us: passion, loyalty, selflessness, patience, sacrifice, obedience, our very lives. But the benefits of love are far greater: joy, contentment, pride, intimacy, purpose, fulfillment, and life itself.
I've found love and gained my life.
From the old veteran staring up lovingly at the flag he served, while his loyal dog looks up lovingly at him; to the disabled veteran who rises from his wheelchair while able-bodied Americans sit when that flag passes by. From a person of faith who rises early every morning to spend time with God, and who's floorboards are worn where she kneels beside her bed at night and thank Him for another day of His company. The couple who make love slowly and tenderly, lost in themselves and oblivious to the world around them; the mother who reaches out to embrace her child who just took his first step; the father who places his daughter's hand into the hand and care of another man; the husband and wife of many years who can sit together and watch in awe as the sun sets over the furthest dusty blue mountains and know without having to say a word what the other is thinking; the spouse who continues to care for the other when time and disease have stolen the mind and body of their loved one.
These pictures speak of lives lived well and where life is about more than simply making a living. Love allows us to focus our passion on things that really matter. Where there is no love there is heartache and lack of purpose; where love is, there may also be heartache, but it has purpose.
I suspect that a lot of people have cheated themselves of love and purpose because they've built walls to protect them from being hurt. I've held love at arm's length for a long time, unwilling to risk, incapable of living, settling for numb survival - when so much more is being offered. Recently I met someone with whom I've fallen in love, and with that love has come a renewed sense of purpose and hope for the future. Love requires much from us: passion, loyalty, selflessness, patience, sacrifice, obedience, our very lives. But the benefits of love are far greater: joy, contentment, pride, intimacy, purpose, fulfillment, and life itself.
I've found love and gained my life.
Dirty Movies
My experience at my part-time job has inspired me to start a new blog. This one is called Dirty Movies (http://www.dirtymoviecritic.blogspot.com/). The purpose of this blog isn't so much as to rate current movie releases as it is to describe how filthy the movie-goers leave the auditorium.
The first post is dated 2010, so you'll have to click on 2007 (and eventually 2008) to view the reviews of each movie. Check it out and let me know what you think.
The first post is dated 2010, so you'll have to click on 2007 (and eventually 2008) to view the reviews of each movie. Check it out and let me know what you think.
Old Photos
(I don't know how to post photos here so I hope you can follow along.)
This past weekend I was looking through some of my old photographs. There was my baby picture that my grandfather had managed to mount and frame inside an old cough syrup bottle. I'm still not sure how he managed that unless he was really good at cutting and glueing glass. They hadn't invented Super Glue back then.
There were the annual school photos, including the obligatory cute pose with me resting my chin in my palms and trying to force a smile. There was a picture of me in my tux standing in front of my first car on the day of my senior prom. I went stag. Another picture showed me with this girl from church. She had a beehive hairdoo. Everyone in church weas trying to hook us up because she was a 'good Christian girl', but I was more interested in her bad sister. The beehive girl became a hair stylist, the bad sister dropped out of school - I don't remember either of their names. My senior picture was the worst photo ever taken of me, where I had this awful haircut intended to imitate the Beatles - except mine was too thin and limp and cropped too high. Looked more like a bowl cut.
In a lot of these photos I was smiling and seemed to be enjoying myself. Those must have been happy times, growing up with no cares except my shyness when it came to girls. The thing is - I don't remember having those pictures taken. I mean, aren't photos supposed to remind us of something?
What I couldn't find are pictures of things I actually remember; like the expression on my face when I found out Santa Claus wasn't real and that my parents had been lying to me about Santa and the Easter Bunny, and Bloody Bones (a monster that came after naughty children). There was no picture from the day my dog, Buster, was hit by a car. There was no picture of my embarrassment when my parents dropped my younger brother and I off at my older brothers home and they had to cancel their plans to take in a movie. I didn't expect my brother to pay our way, even though kids could get a ticket, box of popcorn and a small Coke for twenty-five cents back then. I felt guilty for years about ruining their plans.
I wish I had a picture of the time my mother admonished me for asking for some toy they couldn't afford to buy me. She told me that my dad worked hard to provide for a roof over our heads and the food we ate; and that he could have bought the cheap, one-ply scratchy toilet paper rather than the two-ply soft kind, so we should learn to be thankful for what we did have. That was the day that a light-bulb went off and I realized that it wasn't all Happy Days and that adults didn't have fun because they were always worried about how they were going to take care of their kids.
There was no picture of me sneaking into the living room when I was seven to check on my grandfather where he lay in his coffin. It was spooky having a dead guy in the room next to mine. Papa was 92, and he died while working in the garden. Neither was there a picture of a bunch of us kids freaking out the evening of his funeral when we thought we saw an image of a skull in the lampshade in Papa's bedroom.
I wish I had a picture of that lion I saw in the sky one afternoon while shelling butterbeans on the back porch with my mother and Papa. Actually it was just the face of a lion, like that one on the MGM logo. I would have shrugged it off as the imaginations of a bored child with sore fingers, but my mother would years later confirm that we really saw a lion - in living color - in the sky that afternoon. She said it was Jesus. I think it was Asland.
I'd like to have had a super telephoto lens and have captured the UFO that a group of us soldiers saw high in the sky over Fort Bragg one night. The UFO was flanked by two aircraft. They had the typical red and green colored lights on each wing but the UFO was bright white. It played with the aircraft for awhile, then it sped away at almost warp speed. You could see the two aircraft try to catch up to the UFO but there was no contest. The government disavowed any knowledge of a UFO or military flights above Fort Bragg that night but about 40 of us know what we saw.
Although I don't have pictures of any of my children being born, I was there when they were. It's probably for the better; other people probably wouldn't be too impressed by the slimy, red-flushed babies with mouths opened in their first of many screams; and my wives wouldn't be too keen on people seeing them in such vulnerable and awkward positions.
I have pictures of my wedding days in a box somewhere, but I seldom take those out to look at. What I don't have are the photos where we argued and said things that led to the point where we realized our marriage was over. In retrospect, I don't want to relive those memories. I wish I had did pictures of the moments we fell in love. If I had those perhaps I wouldn't have memories of the divorces.
Still, why do we have pictures of things we can't remember; or where we have to describe what's going on to people who wondered why we wasted film on that picture? We ought to have the presence of mind to take photos of the life-changing moments that shaped our history and our legacy. Forgotten and forced smiles are a sad substitution for our moments of victory, or our shame, our guilt, our love or our moments of growth.
This past weekend I was looking through some of my old photographs. There was my baby picture that my grandfather had managed to mount and frame inside an old cough syrup bottle. I'm still not sure how he managed that unless he was really good at cutting and glueing glass. They hadn't invented Super Glue back then.
There were the annual school photos, including the obligatory cute pose with me resting my chin in my palms and trying to force a smile. There was a picture of me in my tux standing in front of my first car on the day of my senior prom. I went stag. Another picture showed me with this girl from church. She had a beehive hairdoo. Everyone in church weas trying to hook us up because she was a 'good Christian girl', but I was more interested in her bad sister. The beehive girl became a hair stylist, the bad sister dropped out of school - I don't remember either of their names. My senior picture was the worst photo ever taken of me, where I had this awful haircut intended to imitate the Beatles - except mine was too thin and limp and cropped too high. Looked more like a bowl cut.
In a lot of these photos I was smiling and seemed to be enjoying myself. Those must have been happy times, growing up with no cares except my shyness when it came to girls. The thing is - I don't remember having those pictures taken. I mean, aren't photos supposed to remind us of something?
What I couldn't find are pictures of things I actually remember; like the expression on my face when I found out Santa Claus wasn't real and that my parents had been lying to me about Santa and the Easter Bunny, and Bloody Bones (a monster that came after naughty children). There was no picture from the day my dog, Buster, was hit by a car. There was no picture of my embarrassment when my parents dropped my younger brother and I off at my older brothers home and they had to cancel their plans to take in a movie. I didn't expect my brother to pay our way, even though kids could get a ticket, box of popcorn and a small Coke for twenty-five cents back then. I felt guilty for years about ruining their plans.
I wish I had a picture of the time my mother admonished me for asking for some toy they couldn't afford to buy me. She told me that my dad worked hard to provide for a roof over our heads and the food we ate; and that he could have bought the cheap, one-ply scratchy toilet paper rather than the two-ply soft kind, so we should learn to be thankful for what we did have. That was the day that a light-bulb went off and I realized that it wasn't all Happy Days and that adults didn't have fun because they were always worried about how they were going to take care of their kids.
There was no picture of me sneaking into the living room when I was seven to check on my grandfather where he lay in his coffin. It was spooky having a dead guy in the room next to mine. Papa was 92, and he died while working in the garden. Neither was there a picture of a bunch of us kids freaking out the evening of his funeral when we thought we saw an image of a skull in the lampshade in Papa's bedroom.
I wish I had a picture of that lion I saw in the sky one afternoon while shelling butterbeans on the back porch with my mother and Papa. Actually it was just the face of a lion, like that one on the MGM logo. I would have shrugged it off as the imaginations of a bored child with sore fingers, but my mother would years later confirm that we really saw a lion - in living color - in the sky that afternoon. She said it was Jesus. I think it was Asland.
I'd like to have had a super telephoto lens and have captured the UFO that a group of us soldiers saw high in the sky over Fort Bragg one night. The UFO was flanked by two aircraft. They had the typical red and green colored lights on each wing but the UFO was bright white. It played with the aircraft for awhile, then it sped away at almost warp speed. You could see the two aircraft try to catch up to the UFO but there was no contest. The government disavowed any knowledge of a UFO or military flights above Fort Bragg that night but about 40 of us know what we saw.
Although I don't have pictures of any of my children being born, I was there when they were. It's probably for the better; other people probably wouldn't be too impressed by the slimy, red-flushed babies with mouths opened in their first of many screams; and my wives wouldn't be too keen on people seeing them in such vulnerable and awkward positions.
I have pictures of my wedding days in a box somewhere, but I seldom take those out to look at. What I don't have are the photos where we argued and said things that led to the point where we realized our marriage was over. In retrospect, I don't want to relive those memories. I wish I had did pictures of the moments we fell in love. If I had those perhaps I wouldn't have memories of the divorces.
Still, why do we have pictures of things we can't remember; or where we have to describe what's going on to people who wondered why we wasted film on that picture? We ought to have the presence of mind to take photos of the life-changing moments that shaped our history and our legacy. Forgotten and forced smiles are a sad substitution for our moments of victory, or our shame, our guilt, our love or our moments of growth.
OK, Who's Been Talking?
The day's not over yet, but so far I've received 43 emails concerning the size of my penis and how the world would be happier if it were larger. So would I, but how did all these people find out about me? I'm not on par with the likes of Magic Johnson or a rock star, heck I' m not even on par with some priests. I don't work out in health clubs, don't go skinny-dipping in Golden Pond (it's a brown puddle now), nor do I hang out in parks and flash female joggers. I have neither wife nor girlfriend nor prostitute with a memory long enough (excuse the pun) to remember the last time it was used for anything more than relieving my bladder - so who snuck a spy cam into my bathroom?
You have to understand, 43 emails doesn't sound like many, but I get these every day. It's really starting to affect my self-image. By now people in Russia know about my inadequacies and are emailing me in Cyrillic. Darrel Vinson even claimed that the reason I'm not successful is because of my small size. "Good day Larry -Its the size of one's penis that determines success. Darrel Vinsonhttp://jumt.parloe.com/?qkoe". (I wouldn't click on that link if I were you. )
People I've never met are concerned I'm not pleasing a woman I don't even have. Some of them want to sell me creams and others offer pills. They all offer guarantees that their products work or my money back, but what if I have to send before and after pictures to prove my claim? And if their products worked, why hasn't 60 Minutes done a special report on the subject? I would think that there are millions of guys who aren't satisfied with the size of their ding-dong (or ding-ding in my case). This would be great news. Sales would rocket, stocks would soar more than one to three inches in length and 1 and a half inches in girth.
I checked with Snopes to see if these emails are a scam, but Snopes doesn't have any information. I did a search on Ask.com and got a whole slew of commercial sites but practically nothing from a medical perspective. Still, I'm a bit skeptical. Politicians make promises all the time they can't keep, so do those cosmetic companies and beer brewers and car manufacturers. They all promise I'll look sexier wearing, drinking, or sitting in their products.
I think I'm going to put off ordering any of those creams or pills until I actually have a purpose for using them. It would be a shame to grow a massive phallus but have no one to show it off to. I'll bet those same people who are so concerned about my size now won't say a word once it's dragging the ground. I wish they'd just leave me alone so I can sort through the other 700 emails from people who know how broke or uneducated I am.
You have to understand, 43 emails doesn't sound like many, but I get these every day. It's really starting to affect my self-image. By now people in Russia know about my inadequacies and are emailing me in Cyrillic. Darrel Vinson even claimed that the reason I'm not successful is because of my small size. "Good day Larry -Its the size of one's penis that determines success. Darrel Vinsonhttp://jumt.parloe.com/?qkoe". (I wouldn't click on that link if I were you. )
People I've never met are concerned I'm not pleasing a woman I don't even have. Some of them want to sell me creams and others offer pills. They all offer guarantees that their products work or my money back, but what if I have to send before and after pictures to prove my claim? And if their products worked, why hasn't 60 Minutes done a special report on the subject? I would think that there are millions of guys who aren't satisfied with the size of their ding-dong (or ding-ding in my case). This would be great news. Sales would rocket, stocks would soar more than one to three inches in length and 1 and a half inches in girth.
I checked with Snopes to see if these emails are a scam, but Snopes doesn't have any information. I did a search on Ask.com and got a whole slew of commercial sites but practically nothing from a medical perspective. Still, I'm a bit skeptical. Politicians make promises all the time they can't keep, so do those cosmetic companies and beer brewers and car manufacturers. They all promise I'll look sexier wearing, drinking, or sitting in their products.
I think I'm going to put off ordering any of those creams or pills until I actually have a purpose for using them. It would be a shame to grow a massive phallus but have no one to show it off to. I'll bet those same people who are so concerned about my size now won't say a word once it's dragging the ground. I wish they'd just leave me alone so I can sort through the other 700 emails from people who know how broke or uneducated I am.
Time To Revise Victory Over Debt
I recently received my annual social security statement and I think it's time that I revised my book, "Victory Over Debt" (copies of which are still available for $30.00 - a shameless plug, but I need the money).
I've worked almost continuously since my 16th birthday paying into my social security savings account. According to my statement, if I were to retire at age 66, I would receive about $1388 per month; only $1040 per month if I begin collecting at age 62; and as much as $1837 per month if I'll wait until I'm 70 to retire.
Although the Social Security Administration promises I'll earn about $1388 per month in retirement, consider this: If every baby boomer, 75 million of us, were to be paid only $1,000 per month in social security benefits, that would equal $75 billion per month. This is equal to one Hurricane Katrina or the Iraq War - but it would occur every month!
According to common retirement planning guidelines, we need to invest enough money in extra-social security accounts to pay us the difference between what we're currently earning and what social security would pay. If I'm earning $30K per year on my job now, and my social security pays $16.6K, then my investments in 401K/IRAs need to produce the difference of $13.4K annually. For me at this point, I'd need to invest 80% of my salary to generate this much income. What most of us in the middle class don't realize is that the 401K program wasn't designed for people like us; it was designed for rich CEOs who needed a way to protect their income from taxes. If we earn less than $180K per year, our 401ks and IRAs and social security combined are going to allow us to live the lifestyle we imagined for our retirement.
To make matters worse, my social security statement informed me that by 2017, they would be paying out more in benefits than they collect in taxes. By 2041 the Social Security Trust Fund would be exhausted and benefits would have to be reduced by at least 25%. In other research I learned that currently Social Security is in debt $10 Trillion, and that Medicare is in debt $62 Trillion! People talk about our national debt being over $7 trillion - that number is dwarfed by our entitlement programs.
In 2004, two economists, Kent Smetters and Jagadeesh Gokhale estimated that our government's obligations in entitlement programs to Americans equalled $72 trillion. This is greater than all the stocks on the global market (equals $36 trillion), and all the bonds on the global market (equals $31 trillion).
Another depressing fact is that in 2006, our trade deficit was $243 billion dollars. That means that we consumed $243 billion more than we produced. Want more? Although America enjoys the highest standard of living in the world, it's only because we're the greatest debtor nation in the world. In 2004, 44% of our national Treasury debt was owed to foreigners. I thought America was in trouble because we were loaning money to everyone else - but that's not the case! We're not only exporting jobs, we're exporting debt. And to make matters even worse, our government can't fix the problems because debt is a global problem.
We've entered into a time where the middle class is shrinking in our country. In the past we've had a few rich people at the top, a few poor people at the bottom, and the majority of our citizens in the middle. This is a healthy economy, and it's shaped like a diamond. With the shrinking middle class, we now reseamble an hour-glass. The rich are getting richer, and the poor are getting poorer. The problem is not something that throwing money at poverty is going to fix, according to millionaire Robert Kiyosaki and billionaire Donald Trump. The problem as they see it is that we're financially illiterate. We've not been taught how money works.
Depending on where you fall on the economic scale, you've learned different messages. If you fall in the poor category, you've been taught to rely on the government and entitlement programs. If you're in the middle class, you've been taught to work hard, live below your means, invest in 401ks and other investments in order not to lose, and you'll be able to play golf all you want when you retire. But if you're in the rich class you've been taught one thing - invest to win.
Trickle down economics works to a degree, but rich people have gotten richer because they understand how to invest. The rich invest in assets - things of real and lasting value. When asset prices increase, it makes assets more expensive, thus out of the reach of the poor and middle class. Rich people don't tie most of their money to stocks or bonds because these are subject to more volatility than hard assets like gold or real estate. If we had invested $1,000 into savings 10 years ago, that savings would only be worth $500 now because of inflation. If we'd invested $1,000 into four ounces of gold, it would be worth $2,500 today.
Donald Trump has said, "We could ask the rich to pay for everything, but would it solve the problem?" The answer is "No." We could require the government to raise taxes to pay our debt and fund entitlement programs, but the government is too slow and unwilling to do more than print more money and shove the responsibility for our unmanageable system onto future generations; or we can do what Trump and Kiyosaki suggest, and that's to learn to become rich so that we can take advantage of the tax laws, and determine whether we're going to be counted among the rich or the poor. I'm opting for the rich.
So, it's time to pull up my files from Victory Over Debt, update the information there and see if I can't sell enough to get me out of debt:) And perhaps enough to invest to win. The alternative is not only depressing, it's stupid.
I've worked almost continuously since my 16th birthday paying into my social security savings account. According to my statement, if I were to retire at age 66, I would receive about $1388 per month; only $1040 per month if I begin collecting at age 62; and as much as $1837 per month if I'll wait until I'm 70 to retire.
Although the Social Security Administration promises I'll earn about $1388 per month in retirement, consider this: If every baby boomer, 75 million of us, were to be paid only $1,000 per month in social security benefits, that would equal $75 billion per month. This is equal to one Hurricane Katrina or the Iraq War - but it would occur every month!
According to common retirement planning guidelines, we need to invest enough money in extra-social security accounts to pay us the difference between what we're currently earning and what social security would pay. If I'm earning $30K per year on my job now, and my social security pays $16.6K, then my investments in 401K/IRAs need to produce the difference of $13.4K annually. For me at this point, I'd need to invest 80% of my salary to generate this much income. What most of us in the middle class don't realize is that the 401K program wasn't designed for people like us; it was designed for rich CEOs who needed a way to protect their income from taxes. If we earn less than $180K per year, our 401ks and IRAs and social security combined are going to allow us to live the lifestyle we imagined for our retirement.
To make matters worse, my social security statement informed me that by 2017, they would be paying out more in benefits than they collect in taxes. By 2041 the Social Security Trust Fund would be exhausted and benefits would have to be reduced by at least 25%. In other research I learned that currently Social Security is in debt $10 Trillion, and that Medicare is in debt $62 Trillion! People talk about our national debt being over $7 trillion - that number is dwarfed by our entitlement programs.
In 2004, two economists, Kent Smetters and Jagadeesh Gokhale estimated that our government's obligations in entitlement programs to Americans equalled $72 trillion. This is greater than all the stocks on the global market (equals $36 trillion), and all the bonds on the global market (equals $31 trillion).
Another depressing fact is that in 2006, our trade deficit was $243 billion dollars. That means that we consumed $243 billion more than we produced. Want more? Although America enjoys the highest standard of living in the world, it's only because we're the greatest debtor nation in the world. In 2004, 44% of our national Treasury debt was owed to foreigners. I thought America was in trouble because we were loaning money to everyone else - but that's not the case! We're not only exporting jobs, we're exporting debt. And to make matters even worse, our government can't fix the problems because debt is a global problem.
We've entered into a time where the middle class is shrinking in our country. In the past we've had a few rich people at the top, a few poor people at the bottom, and the majority of our citizens in the middle. This is a healthy economy, and it's shaped like a diamond. With the shrinking middle class, we now reseamble an hour-glass. The rich are getting richer, and the poor are getting poorer. The problem is not something that throwing money at poverty is going to fix, according to millionaire Robert Kiyosaki and billionaire Donald Trump. The problem as they see it is that we're financially illiterate. We've not been taught how money works.
Depending on where you fall on the economic scale, you've learned different messages. If you fall in the poor category, you've been taught to rely on the government and entitlement programs. If you're in the middle class, you've been taught to work hard, live below your means, invest in 401ks and other investments in order not to lose, and you'll be able to play golf all you want when you retire. But if you're in the rich class you've been taught one thing - invest to win.
Trickle down economics works to a degree, but rich people have gotten richer because they understand how to invest. The rich invest in assets - things of real and lasting value. When asset prices increase, it makes assets more expensive, thus out of the reach of the poor and middle class. Rich people don't tie most of their money to stocks or bonds because these are subject to more volatility than hard assets like gold or real estate. If we had invested $1,000 into savings 10 years ago, that savings would only be worth $500 now because of inflation. If we'd invested $1,000 into four ounces of gold, it would be worth $2,500 today.
Donald Trump has said, "We could ask the rich to pay for everything, but would it solve the problem?" The answer is "No." We could require the government to raise taxes to pay our debt and fund entitlement programs, but the government is too slow and unwilling to do more than print more money and shove the responsibility for our unmanageable system onto future generations; or we can do what Trump and Kiyosaki suggest, and that's to learn to become rich so that we can take advantage of the tax laws, and determine whether we're going to be counted among the rich or the poor. I'm opting for the rich.
So, it's time to pull up my files from Victory Over Debt, update the information there and see if I can't sell enough to get me out of debt:) And perhaps enough to invest to win. The alternative is not only depressing, it's stupid.
Magic Fades
I remember back to that day in the second grade, shortly before Christmas, when a group of my classmates were telling each other what we wanted for Christmas. When it was my turn, I proudly proclaimed "Santa's bringing me a Lincoln Logs fort!" Hubert, an overweight bully, snorted, "Huh! You still believe in Santa Clause? What a baby!" Glancing around at the others, I quickly surmised that they were on Hubert's side. I might have been a slow student, but I wasn't stupid, so I immediately went into damage control and said, "Not me! My brother still believes, but I know Santa's not real....Everybody knows that." In a moment, my dream of Lincoln Logs, BB guns, and a bicycle evaporated, only to be replaced by the knowledge that my parents had lied to me about something so big! I mean, we're not talking about the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny here, we were talking about the Big Man himself! What? No Santa? Might as well be no Jesus either!
Eighteen months earlier, on the last day of my first year in the first grade, we were having a class party to celebrate the end of the school year. There were four of us boys - Mike, Red, Walter, and myself, who were not being promoted to the second grade the following year. In my case, the teacher wrote on my final report card that my mind was not on my studies and that I didn't even know my ABCs yet. I was bummed out, and dreaded having to show my mother that report card. While I was in the corner having a pity party with my other three failing friends, the rest of the class was whooping it up. They got so loud that the teacher said something that gave me hope, if only for a few minutes. She said, "If you children don't hold the noise down, I'm going to take your passing grade and give it to one of the boys who failed." Well, as you can imagine, the four of us perked up! We hoped that the class would continue to raise a ruckus so that we could get a get-out-of-the-first-grade-free card. I didn't care who she took it from, but I wanted one for myself. Regretfully, the class continue to raise hell, but no pass was coming our way.
Trudging home that day, I realized that those report cards had been prepared before the last day of school. What was already written down might as well have been in stone, because the teacher never had the intention, nor the authority, to take a passing grade from one student and give to another. That day I learned that teachers lie.
The summer after I finally did pass the first grade, my brother and I were outside working in our family garden. It was our job to follow our father, who was tilling a plot to plant potatoes and peanuts, and pick up any rocks or clumps of weeds that would prevent the seeds from growing. Bending down to pick up something white that didn't belong in the garden, I discovered a sea shell - some sort of mullusk shell - but I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that here was a sea shell and we were a couple hundred miles from the nearest ocean. Taking the shell to my father, I asked him what it was. My dad replied that it was left in our garden during the Great Flood of Noah's time. I thought it was cool to have a shell several thousand years old, but as there appeared to be a lot of them, I tossed it away and got back to work.
It was many years later that the subject of sea shells came up again. My brothers and our wives were sitting around the table talking to my mother about the house we grew up in, and the shameful condition the new owners had allowed it to become now. In place of our garden was a mass of weeds and half-grown trees, a snake-infested mess. I recalled finding those sea shells and mentioned the day when my our father told us where they came from. My mother, like Hubert, snorted and said, "Them shells came from oyster shuckings, and we threw them out there to help fertilize the garden." Now I had grown up by now, and I knew that anything that was thousands of years old should have been buried deeper than what a tiller could uncover, but it never dawned on me that my father would lie to me. Sure, he and Mama lied about Santa Claus, but about something from the Bible? What the hell!
Then, there was that afternoon we were sitting on our back porch shelling butter beans, and up in the sky there appeared the face of a lion - not a resemblance in the clouds, but a real live, technicolor face, of a lion roaring - just like that mascot for MGM. My grandfather was the first to see it and pointed it out. I looked up and there it was - big as day! My mother saw it too - or at least she said she did. I'm wondering now if I wasn't somehow hypnotized by some sort of auto-suggestion, into believing that a cloud was really a lion? A few years before she passed, Mama confirmed that it really happened, but how am I to really know? I mean, she lied about something important as Santa Claus!
I realized then that I'm a pretty gullible person. As a child, it was easy to believe in fairies and ghosts, animals that could talk, and aliens that possessed super powers. Eventually, over time, all those supernatural things were nothing more than stories to make children behave. There was no Santa, no Super Man, no "Do-Over-Life" card. And the people that I trusted the most? They are the ones who led me to believe in magic, even though they didn't believe themselves.
Maybe it was their way of paying back their parents when they found out for themselves that magic is nothing more than lies and misdirection. Perhaps they believed in the Almost Golden Rule - Do unto others what you've had done to you. In a real way, it's made me a cynical person. If my parents and teachers lie, what about those preachers? What if they're selling snake-oil to gullible people like myself just to pad their pockets ?
Faced with reality, I vowed not to lie to my kids. I taught them that Jesus was real and Santa was make-believe; Easter eggs come from Wal-Mart, not from a rabbit; comic book heros are a waste of time; and not to put too much faith in what their teachers say - especially if they are Liberals.
The thing is - I miss that time when you could lie in bed on Christmas Eve and swear you could hear reindeer on the roof. I miss having a teacher ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and telling me I could do anything I want if I worked hard enough for it. I miss pretending I'm John Wayne or Roy Rogers or James Bond. But some things I'm still not convinced aren't real: those monsters that hide in your closet, ET, and Elvis is alive.
Eighteen months earlier, on the last day of my first year in the first grade, we were having a class party to celebrate the end of the school year. There were four of us boys - Mike, Red, Walter, and myself, who were not being promoted to the second grade the following year. In my case, the teacher wrote on my final report card that my mind was not on my studies and that I didn't even know my ABCs yet. I was bummed out, and dreaded having to show my mother that report card. While I was in the corner having a pity party with my other three failing friends, the rest of the class was whooping it up. They got so loud that the teacher said something that gave me hope, if only for a few minutes. She said, "If you children don't hold the noise down, I'm going to take your passing grade and give it to one of the boys who failed." Well, as you can imagine, the four of us perked up! We hoped that the class would continue to raise a ruckus so that we could get a get-out-of-the-first-grade-free card. I didn't care who she took it from, but I wanted one for myself. Regretfully, the class continue to raise hell, but no pass was coming our way.
Trudging home that day, I realized that those report cards had been prepared before the last day of school. What was already written down might as well have been in stone, because the teacher never had the intention, nor the authority, to take a passing grade from one student and give to another. That day I learned that teachers lie.
The summer after I finally did pass the first grade, my brother and I were outside working in our family garden. It was our job to follow our father, who was tilling a plot to plant potatoes and peanuts, and pick up any rocks or clumps of weeds that would prevent the seeds from growing. Bending down to pick up something white that didn't belong in the garden, I discovered a sea shell - some sort of mullusk shell - but I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that here was a sea shell and we were a couple hundred miles from the nearest ocean. Taking the shell to my father, I asked him what it was. My dad replied that it was left in our garden during the Great Flood of Noah's time. I thought it was cool to have a shell several thousand years old, but as there appeared to be a lot of them, I tossed it away and got back to work.
It was many years later that the subject of sea shells came up again. My brothers and our wives were sitting around the table talking to my mother about the house we grew up in, and the shameful condition the new owners had allowed it to become now. In place of our garden was a mass of weeds and half-grown trees, a snake-infested mess. I recalled finding those sea shells and mentioned the day when my our father told us where they came from. My mother, like Hubert, snorted and said, "Them shells came from oyster shuckings, and we threw them out there to help fertilize the garden." Now I had grown up by now, and I knew that anything that was thousands of years old should have been buried deeper than what a tiller could uncover, but it never dawned on me that my father would lie to me. Sure, he and Mama lied about Santa Claus, but about something from the Bible? What the hell!
Then, there was that afternoon we were sitting on our back porch shelling butter beans, and up in the sky there appeared the face of a lion - not a resemblance in the clouds, but a real live, technicolor face, of a lion roaring - just like that mascot for MGM. My grandfather was the first to see it and pointed it out. I looked up and there it was - big as day! My mother saw it too - or at least she said she did. I'm wondering now if I wasn't somehow hypnotized by some sort of auto-suggestion, into believing that a cloud was really a lion? A few years before she passed, Mama confirmed that it really happened, but how am I to really know? I mean, she lied about something important as Santa Claus!
I realized then that I'm a pretty gullible person. As a child, it was easy to believe in fairies and ghosts, animals that could talk, and aliens that possessed super powers. Eventually, over time, all those supernatural things were nothing more than stories to make children behave. There was no Santa, no Super Man, no "Do-Over-Life" card. And the people that I trusted the most? They are the ones who led me to believe in magic, even though they didn't believe themselves.
Maybe it was their way of paying back their parents when they found out for themselves that magic is nothing more than lies and misdirection. Perhaps they believed in the Almost Golden Rule - Do unto others what you've had done to you. In a real way, it's made me a cynical person. If my parents and teachers lie, what about those preachers? What if they're selling snake-oil to gullible people like myself just to pad their pockets ?
Faced with reality, I vowed not to lie to my kids. I taught them that Jesus was real and Santa was make-believe; Easter eggs come from Wal-Mart, not from a rabbit; comic book heros are a waste of time; and not to put too much faith in what their teachers say - especially if they are Liberals.
The thing is - I miss that time when you could lie in bed on Christmas Eve and swear you could hear reindeer on the roof. I miss having a teacher ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and telling me I could do anything I want if I worked hard enough for it. I miss pretending I'm John Wayne or Roy Rogers or James Bond. But some things I'm still not convinced aren't real: those monsters that hide in your closet, ET, and Elvis is alive.
The Worst That Could Happen
I'm one of those 'what if' persons. What if I'd accepted that scholarship to West Point when I was in Army basic training; what if I'd not reenlisted for Fort Gordon, Georgia a week before getting that job offer from Gulf Oil Company? What if I'd taken that radio job on the top of the Zugspitz in Bavaria? What if I'd listened to my mother and not married my first wife?
I spent July 4th at a movie (Room 1408 - it was ok) and at the lake in Creedmoor. Just sat in the car with the windows rolled down, reading Subterranean by James Rollins; occasionally looking out over the lake and watching two teenagers paddle a boat along the shoreline. I could remember back to when I was their age, when something like paddling a boat wouldn't have caused my knee joints to snap, crackle and pop. For a moment, I envied their youth and vitality...well, I still do envy them this morning. But the point is, I wish what every middle aged and senior citizen wishes - to be young again, but to know what I now know. What if I could turn back the hands of time, without losing memory of all I've learned during my 55 years?
My daughter, Laura, reminds me that if I'd changed anything prior to her birth, she might not be here today - but I don't believe any of us are here by accident, so she would have been born whether I was her father or not. Certainly, I'd like a chance to undo the mistakes I've made in life; but I don't want to forget them. Without the mistakes, I can't appreciate the blessings.
Take last week. I used a week of vacation, not because I planned on going anywhere, but because I didn't have enough money to buy gas to get to work every day. Instead of working on my job, I worked around my house. The more I cleaned, the more I realized I needed to spend more time taking care of what I have. It was nice having the house to myself. My daughter and grandson were spending a couple weeks in Georgia. I put on an audio version of Randy Alcorn's "Heaven" and listened as he described the place I'm going to spend a lot more time than I will spend on this earth. Kind of put things in perspective - sure I was temporarily out of funds, but I'm not poor; there was food in the frig and cabinets, and work to keep me occupied. The only thing I didn't drag up the energy to work on was Sea Tree.
Sea Tree has been on my mind every day since I first dreamed about it. I'm always coming up with something new to include in the book - far too many to fit inside one book. I will admit that I've asked myself the question, "What if I write this story and no one bothers to read it?" Any money I might make on selling the book is less important to me than knowing I created something that other people could appreciate. I believe we're all here to create something. And it's human nature to want our creations to be appreciated by others. Hopefully that appreciation will be accompanied by an influx of dollars, but just as important is to hear someone say that they were moved or changed by my creation. I suspect God wants to feel appreciated too. I mean, look around and see everything that He has done - even the things we can't see - like how our bodies were designed to heal themselves! What if He did all this work and no one was moved or changed by His sunsets, or the love of a faithful dog, or gave Him credit for creating the plant that provides the cure to a disease?
I believe we were all created to create something with our lives. We spend most of our lives trying to make a living and spend very little creating. What if I write Sea Tree and it bombs? The worst that could happen is that I end up just like I am now. But what if I write it and it changes my life? Now what if everyone follows their dream and succeeds? That's more like the world God created us to dominate.
I spent July 4th at a movie (Room 1408 - it was ok) and at the lake in Creedmoor. Just sat in the car with the windows rolled down, reading Subterranean by James Rollins; occasionally looking out over the lake and watching two teenagers paddle a boat along the shoreline. I could remember back to when I was their age, when something like paddling a boat wouldn't have caused my knee joints to snap, crackle and pop. For a moment, I envied their youth and vitality...well, I still do envy them this morning. But the point is, I wish what every middle aged and senior citizen wishes - to be young again, but to know what I now know. What if I could turn back the hands of time, without losing memory of all I've learned during my 55 years?
My daughter, Laura, reminds me that if I'd changed anything prior to her birth, she might not be here today - but I don't believe any of us are here by accident, so she would have been born whether I was her father or not. Certainly, I'd like a chance to undo the mistakes I've made in life; but I don't want to forget them. Without the mistakes, I can't appreciate the blessings.
Take last week. I used a week of vacation, not because I planned on going anywhere, but because I didn't have enough money to buy gas to get to work every day. Instead of working on my job, I worked around my house. The more I cleaned, the more I realized I needed to spend more time taking care of what I have. It was nice having the house to myself. My daughter and grandson were spending a couple weeks in Georgia. I put on an audio version of Randy Alcorn's "Heaven" and listened as he described the place I'm going to spend a lot more time than I will spend on this earth. Kind of put things in perspective - sure I was temporarily out of funds, but I'm not poor; there was food in the frig and cabinets, and work to keep me occupied. The only thing I didn't drag up the energy to work on was Sea Tree.
Sea Tree has been on my mind every day since I first dreamed about it. I'm always coming up with something new to include in the book - far too many to fit inside one book. I will admit that I've asked myself the question, "What if I write this story and no one bothers to read it?" Any money I might make on selling the book is less important to me than knowing I created something that other people could appreciate. I believe we're all here to create something. And it's human nature to want our creations to be appreciated by others. Hopefully that appreciation will be accompanied by an influx of dollars, but just as important is to hear someone say that they were moved or changed by my creation. I suspect God wants to feel appreciated too. I mean, look around and see everything that He has done - even the things we can't see - like how our bodies were designed to heal themselves! What if He did all this work and no one was moved or changed by His sunsets, or the love of a faithful dog, or gave Him credit for creating the plant that provides the cure to a disease?
I believe we were all created to create something with our lives. We spend most of our lives trying to make a living and spend very little creating. What if I write Sea Tree and it bombs? The worst that could happen is that I end up just like I am now. But what if I write it and it changes my life? Now what if everyone follows their dream and succeeds? That's more like the world God created us to dominate.
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