A Recovering Wimpy Kid

My name is Shane and I'm a recovering wimpy kid. "Hi, Shane." Okay, so I wasn't the most athletic or the most popular in junior high, but my smokin' hot wife and adorable kids don't care, and I don't care, either (excuse me for a moment while I speed dial my therapist). So when I first saw a book entitled "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" as I wandered through Target, I was compelled to peruse. And after reading the first few books, I thought, "This guy has captured my adolescent days!" and, "Dang, why didn't I write this first. This guy's a millionaire now." Then along came the best book in the series, the "Diary of a Wimpy Kid Do-It-Yourself-Book." Yeah, so what? I'm 40 something and I bought it. And I not only bought it, I did it myself, and I finished it, including the journal portion in the back! I filled out the "Practice Your Signature" and "List Your Injuries" pages.  I attached my photo wherever it said "Attach your photo here." I got signatures from my friends and family on the "Autographs" pages. So what, who cares? I even named one of my "Make Your Own Comics" strips, "So What, Who Cares?" Some of my other comic strips were named "The Couch Kids," ""Life with Catwoman," "Butch, the Bible Boy," (based on a real-life kid from Junior High who brought his Bible to school every day), and "My Funny Dad," a charming strip where a young girl asks her dad for a bedtime story and he responds with, "Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was so tired she didn't need a story. The End," (Based on real events in our home). I have been questioned if this was the best use of my time. When my kids pick up my wimpy book and ask if I've done anything new and ask for their own and already have ideas and plans to fill it out, then I think it's been very productive. Sometimes it pays to be a wimpy kid... FORMER wimpy kid.

We'll Have Nun of That

A few weeks ago I made a hasty retreat to the Carmelite Monastery on Benton Street here in Santa Clara. I just needed to go and be with God and this is a beautiful, tucked away place that is so quiet and picturesque (so I also brought my camera). I was open to hearing from God. I could use some divine direction. Not opposed at all to God writing on the wall or splitting the skies open to communicate with me. I kind of prefer the obvious. So I headed for the chapel, a beautiful sanctuary that is very ornate, much like the churches I've seen in Italy, only smaller. I brought my friend iPod along to add to my prayer and worship experience. I turned the volume up just enough so it was almost background music because I wanted to sing along and utilize the incredible acoustics in that room. I joined in with the first song rather quietly, yet worshipping, but realized this place was made to be filled with the praises of our God, or so I thought. I put on an old worship classic, "I Stand in Awe," and I decided I was going to let it rip! I sang my brains out and listened to the mix of the music in my ears and my voice reverberating off the walls and ceiling. It was quite the audio experience. I was putting on my own private concert for God and I was digging the sound effects. Who knows how long I would have stayed there singing, but in walks a little old nun, sweet as can be, approaching me with just a little trepidation, and informs me that the sisters were going to be starting their prayers soon, so could I pray quietly to myself. "... but you have a beautiful voice!" she added as she clasped her hands to her chest. Uh, thanks. So I sat down and wondered if I should be embarrassed just a little. Nah. It isn't everyday you get complimented and shut down by a nun in the same conversation.

Don't Forget the Wisdom

Some have said the TV show "Don't Forget the Lyrics" was created for me. I would agree. So when I saw there was a chance to audition, I got really excited. I have a friend who is a casting director and she was looking for people to audition for this very show. I contacted her and she guaranteed me a spot to try out. I just had to drive down to L.A. The thought of it, singing random songs on national TV and a chance to win some moolah, and hanging with Wayne Brady!...  I was getting pumped. Couple hurdles to jump through, the trek to the Burbank area, finding a place to stay for the night, getting my wife's blessing! When I pitched it to her, she said I could go. Once in a lifetime thing, right? Just crazy enough, gotta try, you never know, what if...?
    For family church, the girls wanted to learn about King Solomon so I taught them about his request of God for wisdom instead of riches. I added that God promises to give us wisdom when we ask for it (James 1). That night, as I prayed with Marty before bedtime, wisdom came walking into our room right in the middle of my prayer and interrupted. I had one of those "checks" people tend to get. As I anticipated the audition, I started thinking of the bigger picture. I'd be leaving my wife to take care of all three kids by herself, which is a lot to ask of her in this season of life. And what if I made it on the show and I had to sing "Pour Some Sugar On Me"? I'm a pastor, and though some may say "Lighten up! It's just for fun," I realized I did not want to contradict what I teach and believe by singing some song lyric. As wisdom sat on our bed listening in on our prayers, I said to Marty I decided not to go to the audition. And I have not one iota of regret about it.
     Even when all lights are green and every door is open, don't forget the wisdom.

Waiting for Dad

     I'm not working right now, as in getting a paycheck for services rendered. There's laundry to do and a house to clean and kids to care for, so there is work, but the rewards that accompany that kind of labor aren't reported on my tax returns. And since I'm unemployed (there, I said it), my kids see me a lot. They're not used to not seeing me. The other night I was out practicing for a gig I had coming up. I got home at an hour when my children are usually sound asleep. Marty said Julia, my 7 year old, was waiting up for me. I entered the girls' room and looked upon my kindergartner, Ella, zonked out, and Julia, semi-upright in her bed anticipating my arrival.
     "Hi, Daddy."
     "Hi, Babe. What are you doing?"
     "Nothing."
     "Were you waiting for me?"
     "Yes."
     "Okay. Good night."
     "Good night."
     After a bedtime smooch, she turned over and fell fast asleep.
     That morning I had read Psalm 101. "I am finding my way down the road of right living, but how long before you show up?" (The Message). After tucking my daughter in, I discovered in this season of unemployment, I am just a kid trying to do the right things and now I am  semi-upright in my bed, patiently waiting for Dad. I'm reading, I'm praying, I'm talking to people who can give me insight into my future career, I'm finding my way, but how long before my Father shows up? And I don't really need Him to walk in the room and answer all my questions and hand me a job on a silver platter. I just need HIM, His presence, His assurance. I just need my Father to come home and tuck me in so I can turn over and sleep peacefully. Yet, as soon as I am aware of His presence, He is home...  and I can rest.

Lessons Before the Bell Rings

I've trumpeted the fact before, I love walking my girls to school. It is invaluable, cherished time which just got a whole lot sweeter. Deuteronomy 6 says the 10 commandments are to be impressed upon our children and encourages us to talk about them as we sit at home and as we "walk along the road." So, yesterday, I decided to to live this passage out with my daughters. I told them we were going to learn the 10 commandments as we walked to school, brilliantly beginning with number one, "you shall have no other gods before me." We repeated it as we walked and then we discussed it's meaning. Ella, my 5 year old, contributed that God is powerful. Julia, 7, brought up other Bible stories, and we chanted the commandment again. Then we prayed before I kissed my girls goodbye.

Last night I pondered our walk to school and felt such joy that I was able to literally live out the Scriptures with my kids. I want that memory to live with them forever. More importantly, I want the Word of God impressed upon their hearts and all the benefits that brings. I want them to know God and His love for them and to live out their faith in front of their friends. I want so much for them, so I walk them to school and watch them grow in so many ways right before my eyes.

As we headed out the door today, both girls immediately started in, "We have to talk about the 10 commandments!" And the best theological discussion I have ever had began...

4 in the Morning, a Sick kid, and Questioning God

My 5 year old got laid out pretty bad last week. A severe case of strep throat had her lethargic, lying on the couch and not eating... for 6 days. She was coughing, couldn't breathe easily and couldn't be understood when she spoke because her throat was so swollen. The worst part of it was noticing her weight loss as the days went on. My sweet girl was already so thin. It was worrisome. She's had strep throat before, but usually by day 2 she would be up and active with the help of her antibiotics.

On what would have been her 7th day of sickness, I woke up at 4 in the morning. Felt compelled to get up and search the scriptures for general life direction. Not two minutes later, I heard a bedroom door open and my sickly child came around the corner, sights set on my lap. As I held her, I was troubled by her very labored breathing. I began to pray for healing and read scriptures over her about sick people becoming well and Psalms that claim the Lord heals all our diseases.

Then I just flat out asked God, "Why aren't you healing my daughter? You're a dad. You know how difficult this is for me to see her suffer like this. I don't get it." I was aware that there were other more pressing prayer requests that had been offered to Him, but my concern in that moment was solely for my own child as I held her and listened to struggle to get air in and out of her lungs.

Then God stopped me in my questioning tracks and took me back a few weeks after I had experienced an uncomfortable situation, one that had drawn me to Him. As a result, I declared I needed to thank God for anything that pushes me into His presence. And my interrogation of God stopped. I changed my tune and began to thank Him for that time with my kid and I resolved to hold her as long as she needed me to, even if it meant watching the sun come up. I could sleep later. I thanked Him for the time both Ella and I were spending together in His presence. And then He took it to another level.

He allowed me to anticipate the future. My girl was going to grow up and experience other times of sickness, bad days, trials, and hardships. It comes with the territory as we age, as we live. Yet, she could always find her Father's lap in the midst of it and cuddle up to Him and He would hold her as long as she needed Him to. It doesn't mean the trying circumstance is going to just disappear, but His presence would be available for the duration. I wrote it all in a card that will be saved and given to her when she's old enough to understand.

I was so focused on my daughter's healing that I was in danger of missing Jesus in the journey. I wasn't going to stop praying for her healing, but I was reminded to focus on Christ and not just my desired outcome.

Ella got off the couch later that day, ate, played, and even laughed a couple times. Thank God He stopped me from contradicting myself and reminded me that I said with my own mouth that I needed to be thankful for anything that pushes me into His presence. If He hadn't, I would have missed out on a lot.

For the Record...

My wife asked what I wanted for my birthday. I said, "A record player." I spent some time at my friend Justin's house in May. He had a record player and a stack of albums that were purchased for very cheap from thrift stores. It made sense. The Salvation Army outlets sell record albums for a dollar a piece. That's about a dime a song compared to $.99 that iTunes charges. And the special bonus features that comes with playing a record; the crackling sounds that people now add to recordings on their own, the big jacket artwork, and the joy of watching the record label's logo spin round and round. Mezmorizing. I hit up the thrift stores before my record player arrived. I left with a Carpenter's album, the Miami Vice television soundtrack, an old Roberta Flack jazz/soul record from 1969, and the landmark recording, "We are the World," which was in great shape and complete with vintage 80's advertisements for their USA for Africa products printed on the record sleeve. My record player arrived on my 40th birthday and I showed my kids how their mother and I used to listen to music when we were kids. The next day, it was "listening to records family time." My oldest daughter, Julia, wanted to listen to the Carpenter's album. I put it on for her and the track "We've Only Just Begun" played while she settled into the chair right next to one of the best birthday presents I've ever received, and she just stared at the album cover as she listened. She sat through the whole first side of that album with her eyes locked on Karen and Richard Carpenter, and I took it in. My daughter was listening to records! It was quite a moment for me. I had introduced her to something from my past and she was enjoying it. My sister-in-law sent me some albums for my birthday, one being an old Elton John record. I played "Crocodile Rock" for my kids and the rest of the night was filled with "La la la la la's," coming from my kid's mouths. There are things we do together as a family that are very important; We got to church together, pray together, eat dinner together, all very vital. Now added to the list is "listening to records." That's my spin on it.

Marty, My Crown

People, seriously, I wanted my blogs to be up and peppy for the year 2008, but I find I'm not in charge of the universe. And not that this can't be an "up" entry, it can. It's just that the word "tumor" is charged with such imminent doom. To catch you up, Marty, my wife, has a benign tumor in her head that needs to be removed. I've been all over the board in my head. My thoughts are like a pinball. This is pretty big doin's, and of course there's risks with every surgery. It's hard not to go to the worst extreme, but I try with all my might not to stay there. I wanted to write today about my bride, my crown. Proverbs 12:4- “A wife of noble character is her husband’s crown…” I love the story of when I first laid eyes on her. We were at the beach in Santa Cruz for New Student Orientation, for we were both new students at Bethany College in Scott's Valley. We were doing the bat relay in the sand. You know the game, putting the bat to your forehead while the other end of the bat is on the ground then spinning around 10 times only to have to run back to your team. I had just done my leg of the race. After running back, completely dizzy, and having fell at least once trying to do my part, I was sitting there when I watched Marty run her leg. She was on another team, but I noticed her, probably because her hair was so long, that when she spun around the bat she looked like "Cousin It" from the Addamas Family twirling about. Then she began to run back to her team, but in her dizziness, she instead started veering towards the ocean as her team called out to her, "Marty, this way! This way!" She ran right past me, her eyes squinting and her mouth wide open in laughter. I thought to myself, "What a good sport." I love that that's my first memory of my wife, and I had no idea that good sport would end up saying "I do," to me. It's a great first impression, laughing, willing to look silly, veering toward the ocean, her team cheering her on... That was 18 years ago. Who would have thought...? I can't tell you how grateful I am for my wife. She has been the greatest partner I could have ever asked for. She's my balance, she's my support, she's the precious mother of my children. She has loved me, she has forgiven me, she has listened to me, and lately I've needed a lot of listening to. On April 19, Marty and I will celebrate our 11th wedding anniversary and I wouldn't have wanted to spend the last decade plus with anyone else. On May 17 we have a date night planned, and on May 21, she has her surgery. I'll tell you what the word "tumor" means to me right now; It means you hug your kids tighter and you tell your wife you love her more than you ever have. Maybe on May 20, just for kicks and to help keep our heads in this situation, I'll challenge Marty to a bat relay race. Hilar.

Proverbs 18:22- “He who finds a wife finds what is good…”

One Sorry Tomato

I read a great book, Me, Myself and Bob, by Phil Vischer, the brilliant mind behind VeggieTales. When I first took note of the talking vegetables in the 90's, I was proud that something so original had come out of the Christian community, and it was so groundbreaking that a few years later, a secular knock-off of our sanctified veggies came out, and failed. Usually, it is the other way around, but not this time. And that was exactly what Phil set out to do, something original and wholesome for kids. Not only could you buy VeggieTales videos in Bible bookstores, but eventually in Target and Wal-Mart as well. I never wondered how the national chain distribution of the videos came about. To me, it was just product that appeared on the shelf as far as I was concerned. Little did the common man know that behind the scenes, and surrounding the release of their first major motion picture, "Jonah," Bob and Larry were about to get pureed. Phil sets you up in the preface of the book. Something's coming and Phil takes you on that ride. Lest I reveal too much more, I'll get to my point. I was on Amazon.com, reading a review by another reader. This person said at the end of the book, Phil apologizes, "but not quite enough." Hmmm. I read the chapter where he apologizes and from my perspective, Phil didn't blame the collapse of Big idea productions on anyone but himself. He felt completely responsible. He writes, "For the record, I'm sorry... I'm really, really sorry." So I beg the question: How many times does someone have to say they're sorry before they are perceived as really being sorry? And how many times does someone have to say they're sorry before being forgiven? We tend to treat forgiveness as merchandise that has to be paid for before it is given, in singles: "One I'm sorry, two I'm sorry's, three I'm sorry's..." Until the proper amount has been forked over. Only then will the possessor of forgiveness give it to the buyer. And is someone required to ask for forgiveness as a pre-requisite for being pardoned? "Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, 'Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?' Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy seven times,' " (Matthew 18: 21-22). In this passage, there's not even a mention of someone apologizing for the wrong they've done. There is only mention of forgiveness being given. How many "I'm sorry's" did that reviewer need from Phil? And did that reviewer even work for him and were they directly affected by the demise of Big idea? I'm discovering the freedom there is in not demanding people to apologize before I offer forgiveness. There's even more freedom in not mustering up the feeling of being wronged and expecting the offender to then act in a certain way when we can't control their behavior, as much as we want to, or anybody else's  for the rest of our lives. How many times have I demanded an apology before I forgave someone, the whole while entrapping myself in bitterness because of my formula for forgiving someone. I'm not buying into the "Love Story" philosophy, that love means never having to say you're sorry, because I know I'm going to have to say those words multiple times in my lifetime, but I'll be healthier if I can learn to forgive before someone asks to be forgiven, better yet, if I work on not being unnecessarily offended in the first place.  

What if It's God Speaking?

We closed Mom's memorial service with the song from Mandissa's new album. Mom liked watching American Idol. So we ended her funeral on a high note, "Only the World," played as people hugged and  exited the church, a feeling of celebration in the air rather than sorrow. I had Marty buy the album that morning because the idea to play that song hit me the day of. So I listened to the rest of the album as I drove home that night. Track 3 is called "God Speaking." The first line of verse 2 says, "Have you ever lost a loved one who you thought should still be here..." Why wasn't Mandissa sitting  right there in the passenger seat asking me the question in person? She might as well have been. "What if He's somehow involved? What if He's speaking through it all?" There was no question that God was evident throughout Mom's battle and death. I've never felt closer to Him. He was there. Yeah, God speaking. I get it. A few weeks ago I read a book called Into the  Deep, about a man who lost his wife and 4 kids in a flash flood earlier this decade. It was about how he kept his faith in God intact through out any man's worst nightmare. I read it wanting to be encouraged to be that kind of man, a man of faith no matter what happened in my life, no matter the loss, no matter the tragedy. I finished the book in less that 24 hours. Gripping, heart wrenching.  Marty asked me why I was torturing myself while in my own state of grief over Mom, but I told her I had to read it. Who would want to read about a man who had to identify all 5 of his family members after such a calamity? I surely wasn't reading it for pleasure. I just had to read it. Finished it on a Saturday, got a phone call from my sister the following Monday. In tears, she said, "I don't know how to say this... Dad has cancer." After the shock set in, the disbelief hovered, and a few shakes of the head, I thought, "Well, at least it's not my wife and 4 kids." Don't misunderstand me. I'm not making light of that man's tragedy, not in the least. I bawled my eyes out for him as I read his account. And I'm certainly not minimizing my dad's condition. I just realized, if we think we deserve fairness, then this life is not for us. Life is not fair. We get dealt heavy blows. Messenger after messenger after messenger approached Job telling him how he had lost everything and he was still able to fall down in worship and say, "May the Name of the Lord be praised." Yeah, the time between Mom's passing and Dad's imminent death (stage 4 lung cancer, people), seems cruel and unusual, but at least it's not my wife and 4 kids. And even if I had messenger after messenger approach me with debilitating tidings, I could do it. I could handle it, with Job as my example and God as my Father and Jesus as my Savior. Another line from Mandissa's song says, "His ways are higher, His ways are better..." Better? Yeah, better. I am so very glad I can hear God speaking through it all.