Denied

It's 7:45 AM on Saturday morning and I have plans to help a friend move some of his heavy furniture from a storage building to his house in about an hour. So I woke up early with intentions of fixing a pot of coffee and relaxing for awhile in front of the TV, computer, a book, or the pool. Sounds nice doesn't it? A quite house, steam rising off the mug of a freshly poured cup of coffee that's being cradled in a pair of grateful hands. And as many of you know, everything, be it TV, computer, a book, or a chair at the pool, is better with a hot cup of rich coffee! I think I heard an "Amen" out there. But my problem this morning, which is the reason behind me having the hands free to type, is that when I opened the "coffee cabinet" there was only decaf.! Decaf. coffee in the morning is like non-alcoholic tequila on a Friday night in Cancun. The decaffeinated coffee bean is made for caffeine addicts who either "need" a cup of coffee before bed or "need" to drink coffee all day. It's not the way a cup of coffee should be! I feel sorry for those people who are so addicted to coffee that the have to supplement their cravings by tricking their senses of smell, touch, and taste with a product that doesn't do what it is intended to do. Coffee's intent is to put the drug of caffeine into my body. Sure, this drug is capsuled into a hot, fresh, steaming, delicious, all satisfying package. But it's not the drink I need as much as the drug. Because as much as I LOVE my coffee, I'm still sitting here empty handed with two bags of Decaf. sitting in my cabinet. So my Saturday morning turned out far worse than what it could have been......it could have been so beautiful!

My Road to Damascus

A group of us at church are sharing our testimonies with each other, so I thought I post mine on this site as well.

My testimony could take 30+ years to tell if I were to give all the details. God's hand has been guiding me to Him since He first released me into this world. But for the sake of time and entertainment, I'll just hit the high (and low) points:

I grew up in a Lutheran church, baptized as an infant, confirmed as a teen, and quit going to church as soon as my parents would allow. Church was hot, boring, caused social anxieties, and made no sense to me. So I set off into my adult life with plans to make it on my own. I was a typical high school and college student who went to every party I could find. I was never "really bad", but I was a very typical teen who loved to "party". Check out any '80's teen movie for a quick reference to my life style. (By the way, I'm confident that the Lutheran Church is not to blame for my choices early on).

I met Angela in collage and she was a big step in getting me off the "road that leads to destruction". We both worked hard, bought our house and cars, made decent money, payed our bills, had two children, and some pets. We were almost the "perfect family". We were taught that if we did all the above we'd live happily ever after...and it was looking like we were heading that way.

I had a busy work schedule and as a result, Angela started going to church on Sundays without me. I was cool with that because I was sure I didn't want to go, so she went her way and I went mine and after church we'd meet back up. This was okay until she started "pushing" Jesus on me (not really pushing, but it always feels that way). I felt a wall starting to build between us, and I felt strongly that I wasn't going over to her side.

About 6 months after these events started, my Grandmother passed away. This was on Sept. 10, 2001. My work load required me to work all day on this Monday after I got the news of my Grandmother's passing. The visitation was to be in Iowa on Wednesday, so Angela and I decided to drive all night Monday to arrive in Iowa by Tuesday afternoon. Jacob was 4, Carley was 6 months. About 16 hours into the drive, Carley was still steadily screaming. She had gotten sick because of her 6 month shots she received the day before. So Angela and I (and the kids) were very tired when we heard the news report on the radio. The World Trade Centers were hit by planes! When we finally reached our hotel after 22 hours of driving and 36 hours without sleep, we were pretty miserable. Soon there after we had to take Carley to the hospital because she was so sick, and we got word from the doctors that it looks like she might have Leukemia (she didn't though).

That last paragraph is when I left my "self-established" world and stepped into my Hell! This is my equivalent to Paul getting knocked off his horse (Acts 9:4). My conversion came a few months later, but it was due in large part to Sept. 10-12, 2001. As a result, I began searching for God. I started going with Angela to church and tried to understand what was being taught. It still didn't make sense, but I did see people with a true passion for Jesus so I new I was missing something.

One day I was driving home from work and I turned my radio off and prayed. I prayed out loud to Jesus. I had recognition of my sins and my dependency on a savior, but my prayer felt like a stab in the dark...because I wasn't sure it was real (the prayer or Jesus). But something happened to me! No lighting strike or loud thunderous voice, but 5 minutes later when I got home I had a strong desire to read the Bible. So I read, and read, and read. Then I desired to learn from others so I asked, and asked, and asked. It was truly miraculous! I have so much confidence in the promise of God's gift of the Holy Spirit into a believer's heart, because I experienced it. I was a different person. Still the same old Greg as always, but also very much different. Just ask anyone who knew me.

The moral of my story is that I had little to do with my change. I had no initial desire to be a "Jesus freak"! I was scared (fear of the Lord) and as a result, I seeked God. That was my part. He gave me His Spirit which fueled my desire to learn, my love for Christ, my love for others, and my ability to encourage people about Jesus. So to God be ALL the glory!

The "Best Days"

If we all were to look back on our life, what would we consider to be the "best days"? Would it be the times when everything seemed to be perfect? The times when the sun shined the brightest and the soft warm breezes wrapped around our body like a gentle massage? When our friends and family contributed and enhanced our sense of fulfilment and love? When the world wasn't fighting against our plan for happiness, but rather, seemed to dance along with us and, at times, even let us lead? Are these the best times in life? If so, then I got to see a few of the best times of my life last week while at the beach with my family. But as I recall all the events that took place last week, I realize that we all had more than a week's worth of struggles as well. But I'm beginning to realize that it's these struggles that actually make up the "best days" of our lives.

To me, there is not a much better feeling than sitting on an ocean beach with my mind fully aware that tomorrow's plans are just going to be a carbon copy of today's. Relaxation has been a goal of mine since as far back as I remember. And the best remedy I've found for my stresses, fatigue, and anxieties is a series of lazy days laying on a warm sunny beach. Waves continuously crashing, children continuously playing, and the sun and breezes continuously affecting my senses is as close to heaven as I've felt (at least physically). But as I look back on all my beach trips, all the times of laying on the beach seem to be lumped together in one package. No one day seems to be better than any other. In fact, all the "good times" from these vacations apparently go in a big box in my memory entitle "BEACH". So some of the "best days" of my life have been at the beach, but I don't seem to recall the specifics, just the whole package...the whole box entitled "BEACH".

But what I do recall specifically is the bad times: The arguments, the jelly fish bites, the neck pains, the sicknesses, the sun burns and rashes, the deaths in the family, the tornadoes, the toe nails ripping off.....So in reflection, I wonder why these tough times, these struggles, come to us in the midst of our "good times". Is it God's hand or is it the Devil's handiwork?...or both? My Father-in-law has always jokingly referred to our family vacations as "the vacation from hell #(?)"...I think this year was #12 or something. But even with this title, he along with all of us, keeps coming back for more. Year after year we all eagerly await the next "vacation from hell". So after all this time I'm beginning to realize that these one week vacations are mini-capitulated examples of our whole life. In one week, the good times are multiplied substantially, but as a result, the bad times seem to be as well. But it's the bad times we remember best, because it's the bad times that effect us the most.

Now as I'm three days removed from "the vacation from hell #12", let me be the first in the family to say "bring on #13"! Because with 12 vacations behind us, this family has something that most families do not. Just like people who have been to war together will attest to, it's the struggles in life that bring about growth. And when people struggle together, they grow together. And when our life's journey starts drawing to an end, it will be in these times of shared growth that we will realize that God has given us the "best days" of our lives.

Ode to "Disco Bob"

I've always considered a good book, poem, or letter to be one that can effect the mood of the reader. If the written word can take an angry person to glad, a glad person to sad, or a sad person to laughter, then I believe the author has succeeded in giving the reader the emotional journey required for a "good read." I am so intrigued by this ability, that the written word has almost become an obsession to me. And now I try to use my written words to point others to God, show love to loved ones, entertain, honor, and inquire. All of which give me joy and fulfillment in the process. So thanks to everyone who takes the time to read my ramblings, you give me the motivation to keep pursuing the desire God has placed in my heart...the desire to write.

I'm going to put my writing skills to the test today. I am going to try and give my Dad his due honor. And do it within the confinements of a short enough post as to not bore the reader into retreat. In only 3 paragraphs, I'll strive to make my Dad both laugh and cry. No small feat in either case! And this or the previous paragraph does not count. So here it goes:

Last night I asked my kids to clean out my truck of all their junk that has accumulate over the past months. I left them completely unsupervised so I could put their work ethic to the test. When I walked to my truck this morning I was pretty much expecting to be disappointed, but when I opened my truck door I was shocked at the sight! Although the kids did successfully shovel out the multiple layers of paper, food, and drink that I had become so accustomed to, the interior of my truck was covered with more hair than Andre Agassi's shower drain ever saw! With a little investigation, I noticed my hard working 11 and 7 year old had left the back cargo window of my truck open. You know, the one that's about 10" x 10" wide. As I stared in disbelief at the situation, I realized that the thunderstorm the following night had scared my two German Shepherds enough to cause them to force their way into this small window and take refuge in my truck. Anyone with an imagination can guess how much hair two wet dogs with a combined weight of 170lbs can dispense inside a small truck's interior. Plus the smell wasn't that of a rose peddle! This story is so my Dad knows that his son is also a dad with the typical dad stresses. This should bring him joy!

My Dad grew up the youngest of three boys. I can't say for sure, but I would guess that he grew up without a lot of hugs and compliments from his older siblings. In fact I would say it was probably quite the opposite. Brothers are often very competitive and to acquire the confidence the older brothers need to succeed in life, the youngest brother can become quite the physical and verbal punching bag. But love is too powerful to be concealed. So a young boy can grow up being "picked on" and struggling to gain the respect of his older brothers, but still know that he is loved...that he will always have his role as a brother. So teasing, joking, and harassing isn't always negative, sometimes just below the surface of these actions is an immense love and respect. This is true of our family. These actions are a big part of the"glue" that holds us all together. Not many conversations with Dad come and go without some form of teasing. But contrary to what others might think, I feel great love and respect both to and from my Dad during these exchanges. It is who he is and, as a result, it is who I am. I love when my wife, kids, friends, and family tease me, because it's in this teasing that I equate love. Love can not hide. If it exists, it will be evident even when we are making fun of each other...and in the case of our family, I would question it's presents if those jokes quit coming.

This is by no means a insincere attempt to manipulate my Dad's emotions. I have great respect for who he is as a man, a dad, and a husband. He has achieved great things both in his life and in the lives of our family. I've used him as a model of strength and integrity my whole life, and he's just as solid today as when I first "met" him. I had a phone conversation with my Mom a few days ago, and she had a tearful moment that came as a result of her telling me about some seemingly insignificant action my Dad had done. I'm sure he's not even aware of what he did that effected her so. My Mom's tears were the tears of joy because, in this action, she was fully aware of the love my Dad still has for her. That's one of the best gifts a father can give his child. And that's a gift no Father's Day present will ever match up to. So Happy Father's Day Dad! I love you....even though you look gay in your pink shirt!

The world as we know it

.."It's the end of the world as we know it.

It's the end of the world as we know it.

It's the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine..."

For those of you who lack the 80's music influence that I had, this is a music video and some lyrics from the song "It's the End of The World as We Know It" by R.E.M. I can't understand all the lyrics or the video, but I can understand the chorus. These words ring in my head as I think about gas prices closing in at $4.00/gal., with rumors of it hitting $7.00/gal in the coming years. That being the case, then it is the "end of the world as we know it". So do you feel fine? How does it feel when everything we understood to be our security begins to dissolve away? How many of us could afford to drive to work at $7.00/gal? Or worse yet, there could be such a shortage of gas that our money will no longer help us in filling our tanks. So we may need to find other ways to get to work. Walking, running, horse back riding, bicycle. But then I would guess that most of our employers need gas to stay in business, so our jobs might not be there waiting when we gallop in on Trigger. So then what? No job, no heath insurance, no car, no income, no house, no security. In a matter of months we could find all that we've been collectively working for is gone. The promises of a good education, hard work, and a savings account not fulfilled because our dependency on oil and transportation has become too great.

I say all this to say this: Have we created a god?

You shall have no other gods before me. (Exodus 20:3) This is God's first commandment!

Here is a definition of a god: a person or thing of supreme value. I'd say that definition qualifies most of us for having a god before God. I'm not trying to be one of those "End of Times" Christians, but I am not proud of the fact that my life has been in pursuit of security apart from the security I'm told to pursue in the Bible. And it does not take a whole lot of imagination to play this gas shortage scenario out into a full blown crisis. But one good thing about a crisis is that it helps to show us what is truly important, and where our security is really found. So I'll continue on like most other people and hope gas prices fall and everything returns to normal. But I will also use these stressful times as God's reminder that He may just want us to "Be still and know that He is God"! (Psalms 46:10)

The Rules of Men

I was worried I might have broken a "Man rule" by posting a poem on my last entry. So I looked up the "man rules" just to see if I had stepped outside of any of these pre-established bounderies. I apparently have not, but just to prove I did my research, let me post some rules that are on the list.

Rule 1: Under no circumstances may two men share an umbrella.

Rule 5: If you've known a guy for more than 24 hours, his sister is off limits forever, unless you actually marry her.

Rule 7: No man shall ever be required to buy a birthday present for another man. In fact, even remembering your buddy's birthday is strictly optional.

Rule 13: Unless you're in prison, never fight partially clothed or naked.

Rule 15: If a man's fly is down, that's his problem, you didn't see anything.

Rule 28: There is no reason for guys to watch Men's Figure Skating or Men's Gymnastics. Ever.

The ladies may never know the awesome responsiblity that comes with being a man and keeping up with this list of "man laws". And it's a responsibility I don't take lightly. So men, feel free to read on with the security of knowing that all these posts have been run through the filter of the "rules of men."

A poem

I'm discovering that a spiritual journey is a lot like a poem.
You don't merely recite a poem or analyze it intellectually.
You dance it, sing it, cry it, feel it on your skin and in your bones.
You move with it and feel its caress.
It falls on you like a teardrop or wraps around you like a smile.
It lives in the heart and the body as well as the spirit and the head.
Sue Monk Kidd

I though that was cool enough to share!...It's actually more of a quote than a poem, but it "feels" like a poem.