And the Winner Is...

The winner of my first giveaway is commenter #3 (determined by random.org Timestamp: 2011-05-27 23:14:07 UTC). VERONICA, email me or message me on facebook your address and I'll send out your uber-cool Mr. Owl journal. Thanks for reading and commenting. I'll be giving away another journal very soon. Stay tuned, you never know what this Couch is going to say next!

Moms, Dads, Please Read

     My 6 year old had a little run-in with a classmate today. The other girl wasn't treating Ella very nicely. Her offense got her sent to the office where she had to write Ella an apology note. In it, she wrote "I am rilea sarea! (really sorry)." She said some other things to make amends, but then she went on to break my heart. She stated "Ella! Quoot  Allison! uglea" (Ella, cute, Allison, ugly). I was so sad for this very pretty little girl. She is not ugly at all, but for some reason, her bad choice in how she treated Ella made her call herself ugly. Where did this precious kindergartner get the idea that she was ugly? Who sent her that defective message?
     This incident reminded me of the words of Nobel Prize winning author Toni Morrison: "When a kid walks into the room... does your face light up? That's what they're looking for. When my children used to walk in the room when they were little, I looked at them to see if they had buckled their trousers, or if their hair was combed... You think your deep love and affection is on display because you're caring for them. It's not. When the kids see you, they see the critical face: "What's wrong now?" Then, if you let your face speak what is in your heart when they walked in the room... (I'm glad to see you). It's just as small as that."
     Sometimes I forget to live life this way. Too many days my dialogue is all about "Clean your room, stop running in the house, sit down, keep your hands to yourself, if it's not yours don't touch it, why aren't you cleaning your room, be quiet, have you done your homework, go brush your teeth, let's go, I don't have time, why is your room still not clean!" It's not that I don't encourage my kids but I want to make sure the scale tips way on the side of  love and affection.    
     I think of Ms. Morrison's words often. And when I do I make the effort to show my kids through my eyes that I love them and I'm glad to see them.  They need to get that message from me.
     I don't know much about Allison's home life. All I know is that somehow faulty thinking got through to this poor little girl. I hope she can hear from someone how valuable and beautiful she is, because she is far from ugly, but I don't think she believes that.

My First Giveaway at If This Couch Could Speak

     My friend Sue has a great blog where she frequently gives cool things away (if you're a girl, but I always try to win something for my wife). I wanted to get in the spirit of giving as well, but there's a catch...
     It is no secret that I'm an avid journaler. And I shamelessly try to impose the practice of journaling on others. The gifts for my groomsmen were a Pez dispenser, a pen, and a journal. I've handed out many journals as birthday presents, tokens of appreciation, and just because I found one that reminded me of someone and thought they would like it.
     My most recent attempt at proselytizing was this past weekend. We went to a wedding and I included a journal in the gift specifically for the groom. I encouraged him to start writing out their love/life story from day one of their marriage so their kids could read about their great romance someday. Since both of my parents have passed, I've found that a lot of history and details about our family went with them. I want to leave my legacy behind for my kids, and I encouraged this young man to do the same.
     So, my first giveaway is a journal...

     This is a brand new hardcover lined journal with Mr. Owl on the right hand bottom corner of every page. It has approx. 150 pages and is a cool retro book. For your chance to win, just leave a comment about this post on my blog and you will be entered. Winner will be chosen by random selection. All comments must be posted by Friday Noon, May 27, 2011.
     Since you're here at my blog, why don't you go ahead and follow it? Just click the "follow" tab and help me fulfill my dream of becoming a writer. Publishers want to know who your audience is, so that would be a big help to me.
     Good luck!

Forget You, Mollie and Fred!

I love journals and I love retro comic book art. When the two are combined, I like very much. I'm constantly googling "Superman journal" or "Batman journal" to see what comes up. A couple months ago, I came across the following...

     I needed to calm down. I mean, I have superhero journals, but these were nearly perfect. The artwork couldn't get more vintage and there were TWO of them to drool over. There was only one problem: They were not available in the United States. The only website that had them for sale was in the U.K., Mollie and Fred dot something or such. I tried to order but their website got all snooty on me and said "We don't deliver to your kind of address." If an automated response was ever rude... 

     So I emailed Mollie and Fred. They invited me to with their "contact us" tab, so I thought it would be no time at all before I heard back. That no time turned into a long time, so I emailed them again explaining my plight. I would pay whatever postage required, so would they please let me know if they could accommodate me? Still nothing. What's up, Mollie and Fred? Your website seems legit. So I tried one last time: "Oh, Mollie and Fred, how you hurt me so. You have two journals that I've never seen anywhere else in the world that I long for so much it pains me! And yet, you do not reply to my emails. Do you hold it against a man for living in the United States and refuse to cater to his journaling needs? Will you not make an exception to ship to this sad California boy who wants to partake of the exclusive journals only you have to offer? You hold too much power over me to make me beg so shamelessly. I WANT THE BATMAN AND SUPERMAN JOURNALS!! Hear my plea. If you cannot grant my request, at least reply and say what I do not want to hear so closure can commence. Shane Couch" Still nothing. Rude. 

     A couple nights ago I was browsing on Ebay. I had a gift card and typed in the usual, and the journals Mollie and Fred were being so stingy with came up, and I hit that beautiful "buy now" button and got a confirmation that payment was received and my elusive European journals are on their way. 

     The story doesn't end there. Upon further searching, I came across this...

... incredible journal that was available for purchase from the same, NICE, European company that sold me the others. And so perfect since the Green Lantern movie comes out this summer. I conquered. I OWNED Mollie and Fred. Who needs them? So, forget you, Mollie and Fred, whoever you are. I got tiger blood in me. Winning!

You Know What I Hate About Mother's Day?

     I first felt it in May of 2008. I went in to the Hallmark store to purchase the annual cards for Mother's Day that I always had. Marty's always has to be just right. It cannot rhyme. As Hades says in Disney's "Hercules," "Oy. Verse." It cannot have too many preprinted words. The more typing on the card, the less likely it's going to express what I'm actually feeling. It cannot be cheesy, it cannot be cliche', it cannot rhyme (I already said that but I feel strongly about this)! It has to be just... right. The mother of my children deserves a well thought out and researched greeting card. I'm losing focus...
     But three years ago, I was offended. I was angered in the Hallmark store because I instinctively reached to pick out a card for my mom and I wasn't allowed. Since she had passed away the previous Fall, I was prohibited from ever buying her a Mother's Day card again. I hated that feeling. I hate that I'm not allowed to buy my mom a card this time of year. For 34 years, whether it was made in class or bought with my own money, that woman was getting a card from me. And she deserved every one of them. She absolutely should have had each of those crayon-scribbled "I love you's" and the hand -written "thank you for all you've done's."

  
      On Mom's last Mother's Day, we all gathered at my sisters house. When my family walked in the door, Ella, who was 2 at the time was a little overwhelmed by all the people watching our entrance. She hesitated  before going in, scanned the room, recognized her Nanny and proceeded to climb into her lap as naturally as breathing. I'm sure we had cards for Mom, but Ella acknowledging her Nanny in such a way without saying a word was probably the best gift my mom got that day. That's one of my favorite memories of my mom and my kids' Nanny.
     So, Mom, if I were allowed to write in a Mother's Day card to you this year, I would tell you I kept my promise when I told you before you left us that I would make sure my kids knew how much you loved them (screen going blurry for some reason right now). When I ask them, "Who do you love?" you are always on that list. They constantly say they miss you. Max even talks about "my Nanny" like he knew you even though he was so young when we had to say goodbye. And I miss you, too, Mom. There's so much I want to tell you. Wish heaven had a phone line. Happy Mother's Day.

I Married Superwoman

     14 years ago today, I waited with great anticipation to see my fiance' in her wedding dress walking down the aisle towards me. Part of the anticipation came from the fact that I was going to sing to her a song I wrote in the middle of the night a few months earlier for our wedding day. I had two prayers for that April 19th, that it wouldn't rain, and that I wouldn't cry when I sang to Marty. God acknowledged one of my prayers: It didn't rain. I choked, snotted and heaved through most of the song. I could hear the thoughts of the entire congregation as I bawled my way through the first verse: "Bless his heart." I cried the hardest at lines that meant the most to me. When I sang the lyrics "Can you believe here we are?" my voice went up five octaves to a pitch I've never hit before or since. Musically, it was abominable, but I couldn't believe there we finally were, at the wedding altar, pledging to spend our lives together forever. Plus, look at this beautiful woman standing before me! How did I land her??
     The second verse was about the future. "Like a shepherd, He'll lead us through whatever comes our way, just as His loving hand has led us here to this day." In 14 years, there has been a lot of "whatever." And I've found my wife to be the best partner in life I could have ever asked for. She is strong, stronger than she gives herself credit for. The fact that she pushed three human beings out of her body would be enough to prove that she is Superwoman, but she's endured so much more, like kidney stones and brain surgery, me...
     I never felt more married than when she was recovering in the hospital after a tumor was removed from inside her head. She was hurting so badly from the surgery and there was nothing I could do to take that pain away, but I knew I wasn't going anywhere, for life. She couldn't handle visitors, but she mustered up every ounce of strength she had to talk to our kids on the phone that were separated from us by hundreds of miles. Her voice was so weak, but the sound of love for our kids was so strong, and I was proud of her. I admired her as I watched her in that hospital room. Here she was facing the biggest trial in her entire life, and I had the privilege of being by her side. I felt honored to be married to this incredible woman.
     There were many obstacles for her to face once we returned home, deafness in one ear, dizziness and balance issues, paralysis in her face, ongoing pain from the incision in her head ("incision"... that's putting it lightly), and all with three little kids under her feet still needing her to be mommy. But she faced the challenges and continued to live life. And she continues to live life to the fullest, and I get to be her husband.
     Standing at that altar 14 years ago, I never could have imagined all that we would endure, but looking back, I can say the words I sang to her have been true. God led us through everything we have faced, and I can say now more than I did then, that it is truly "'til death do us part." I love my bride. Happy Anniversary, Beautiful Marty.

Shocking Study Reveals Most People Don't Actually "LOL"

Santa Clara, CA
A recent study has shown that most people do not actually laugh out loud when they type the popular abbreviation "lol." A survey of one thousand texters and facebook users revealed that only 48% of those who  typed "lol" actually laughed out loud. "This is not good," said Artie Malone of The Next Text Communications Group. "If people continue to type 'lol' without actually laughing out loud, it can cause an overuse of the term, depleting  the surplus of the letters "l," "o," and "l," which would cause a shortage of these letters. The end result would be said letters would not be available for those who are actually laughing out loud and wish to express that through a text or type." Malone stated that the situation is especially critical when people flippantly type "lololololololololololol." He says, "First of all, using that many of the letters in danger is wasteful and careless, like the person who cleans off his driveway by spraying it with the water hose. And secondly, how is it possible to 'laugh out loud out loud out loud out loud?' People just aren't being very conscientious when they type or text, and this needs to change."
     An anonymous high school-aged girl from the survey was asked if she was worried about the misuse of the phrase. "I'm not worried," she said. "If we run out of those letters, we'll make up other names for stuff. No one calls them lollipops anyway. They're suckers."
     A parent was asked if they were concerned about their teenager abusing the term. "It's alarming," said a mother of two middle school students." "If they're not actually laughing out loud when they say that they are, then how do I know they're going to school when they say they are going to school?"
     "If this continues, legislation may be passed to regulate the use of 'lol'," Malone said. "It has been reported that there have been less traffic accidents since the passing of the law banning people from using their hand held cell phones while driving. We're hoping for similar positive results."
     In the meantime, Malone says texters and facebook users can all help by not typing "lol" unless they actually laughed out loud. "If people will be honest about what they're typing, this problem will rectify itself." He further suggests that if someone actually does laugh out loud and wants to type or text "lol," to add an "ir" at the beginning of the phrase that would indicate "I really laughed out loud." "Everyone wins this way," he says. "It promotes honesty in communication, it does not leave the recipient of the message wondering if their friend or relative actually did laugh out loud, and it will promote conservation of the endangered letters."
     When asked about the less used term "rofl," (and the sometimes used "roflmbo,") Malone said the concerns aren't as tantamount at this point. "'Rofl' isn't used as often as 'lol,' so we're not that concerned yet. However, the study shows only 27% of people who type 'rofl" actually roll on the floor laughing. To prevent a future concern, we offer the same counsel, only type 'rofl' if you actually rolled on the floor and laughed. And in regards to 'rolling on floor laughing my butt off,' it isn't medically possible so the phrase should be legally banned. We're working on getting that law passed."

The Transparent-ish Pastor

    
     How honest do we really want our pastors to be? I recently read a post entitled, "Dear Pastors - Tell us the Truth," encouraging ministers to be more transparent with their struggles, doubts and weaknesses. The author, who signed the letter as "the congregation" promised understanding and support as the preacher allowed a more candid glimpse into his/her soul. It sounds ideal, but ideal is usually unrealistic.
     How vulnerable are pastors allowed to be before they run the risk of being judged, criticized, or fired? This blogger can offer reassurance as much as she wants in regards to understanding and support, but realistically, is that what would happen? I was visiting a church and the pastor said that he has a group of people that he is accountable to and they are allowed to ask him the tough questions. He didn't say what his struggles were, but what if he had? "I gossiped yesterday." Big whoop. "I was gluttonous at the potluck last Sunday." Who wasn't? "I looked at porn a few weeks ago." You're fired.
     Growing up, my pastor used to say "I'm a sinner just like anybody else," but I didn't believe it. He had to say that. It was even harder to grasp when I only saw him on Sundays in his three-piece suit on an elevated platform worshipping and preaching.
     This is how many parishioners see their pastors, high and lifted up, nicely dressed, and only talking about spiritual things. How could they possibly be less than perfect? I was once talking to a young man I was discipling and a certain minister's name came up. The young man said he couldn't imagine this very popular pastor struggling with the same things he dealt with. But I knew better. Pastors do struggle, pastors are sinners. Pastors make mistakes yet are recipients of the same grace and forgiveness from God that any sinner receives. But would they be offered that same grace and forgiveness from their congregation should they mention their specific weaknesses in a Sunday morning sermon?
      Though some pastors enjoy the pedestal they are perched upon,  I lean towards sharing out of my brokenness. I was asked to speak at a youth snow retreat several years ago. The Lord led me to share with the kids something I had never spoken of in public. I was nervous about it and felt very vulnerable. At the end of my message, I talked with several teenagers one on one who had the same experience I did and they had never shared it with anyone. They had been holding on to the pain and the shame of the past and felt so alone... until that night.
     When I decided to be up front about my struggle with past pornography use, I realized I wasn't going to be pedestal material any longer. There was some back-lash over it simply because I was a pastor, and I realized that was going to come with the territory, but each time I receive a phone call or message from someone asking for help because their story mirrors mine, I know I'm doing what God has called me to do. "Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses..." (see 2 Corinthinas 12), because as I share out of my brokenness, it connects with someone else's, and they can be assured that there is hope.

A Non-Cheesey Title for a Post About A Friend

     I pulled out a journal from 1995 tonight, "The Single Years." In it, I had recorded a time when I had gone to my mailbox and was pleasantly surprised to find a letter from my friend Troy. At that point, I had known Troy for eight years. In that time, we had created a treasure trove of memories that can still make me smile.
     I met Troy in youth group and found a friend that I could laugh with. Troy was funny. I consider myself to have a picky sense of humor, but Troy could have me rolling on the floor (in modern script, ROFL). So my daily agenda was basically work and then  going to Troy's house. There was a succession of days where we had seen each other every day, 14, 15 in a row I'd say, and one night I barely made it to his house before midnight to keep our streak going.
     We made movies with his 35mm film camera. One feature was titled "Terror Talk Show," our version of an 80's teen thrasher comedy that we thought was hilarious. There was no audio in our film, but we would watch it and ROFL! Our youth pastor even let us premiere it in youth group.
     I could rattle off a list of inside jokes that formulated out of our friendship that we would repeat to each other and just crack up. They did not lose their hilarity with repetition. I could say to my wife, "Your hair's to the side. Looks good," and she would look at me like I need to be committed, but if I said those same words to Troy, we'd be busting a gut, and the inside jokes would just flow from there. That letter I received from him in 1995 contained several of what we liked to call our "Top 10's." I took that cherished piece of mail, sat down and just... ROFL.
     The last time I saw Troy was in August of 2008. I had just gone through my parents' house itemizing their belongings for probate. That coupled with terse exchanges between grieving family members made for a heavy day. Knowing I would be in my home town, I called Troy beforehand and asked if he would be available for dinner after the anticipated unpleasantness. Thank God he was. He took me to a good Chinese restaurant and we had a chance to catch up. He let me unload on him about the day, and instead of laughing, there were some tears on my part. He just sat with me and listened and let me cry.
     We've been in contact a little since then, a post here and there on each other's facebook page, or a message sent. But I'm realizing it's not the frequency of the conversations with good friends that matters, it's the quality, and with Troy, it's always been high end.
     "Monique! Freet! Why aren't you with Ricky?" (a top 10 hit).
    
    

My Five Year Old Found a Five Finger Discount

     I picked my son up from preschool yesterday and on the way home we stopped by a store I like to peruse for journals. On a "clearance" table, Max found a toy dinosaur that was out of its package. Of course, he wanted it, but we weren't there for him, we were there for me! Alas, I took him over by the toy section to see if there was anything he might like for his upcoming birthday. After leaving the clearance table, he had asked three times, "Can we go home now?" Not an unusual question from any of my children when we are patronizing a store that isn't named "Toys R Us," but he was persistent about wanting to leave. As we got in the car, I noticed he put something on the side of his booster chair in a manner that tipped me off that he did not want me to see it. I asked him what he had. "I don't know." I insisted on seeing what was beside his chair. Sure enough, it was that dinosaur. No wonder he wanted to leave so badly, he had just ripped off the joint! "Max! We didn't pay for that! That's called stealing!" I told him we had to give it back. He didn't like that idea. We walked back inside and I made him give the toy to the customer service person and say he was sorry, which he did, but as soon as we turned to leave, he erupted into tears.
     As soon as we got home he went straight to his room completely on his own and got under the covers of his bed. I followed him in there so we could discuss what happened. I put my arm around him and explained what stealing was and how the Bible teaches us that we shouldn't steal and how we need to be pleasing to God if He tells us not to steal. "Did you like going back in the store and giving that dinosaur to that man?" He shook his head. "That wasn't fun, was it?" Shook head. "Are you ever going to do that again?" More head shaking. Then I hugged him and said we weren't going to talk about it the rest of the night.
     At dinner, the girls brought up the random items Max had been bringing home from school saying friends or teachers had given them to him; a bell, a coloring book, an old-school fisher price bald headed man toy... little did we know he had been lifting things from his classroom for weeks. I told him when I dropped him off the next day that we were going to thank each person that had given him these gifts. He didn't like that idea.
     Later, I asked Max if he had taken those items without permission. And he fessed up. So, he will return each "gift" and make it right just like he had to do at the store, and I'm praying he has learned a lesson. But I think I was learning just as much as he was, about flying by the seat of my pants as a father when I clearly didn't remember this chapter in the parenting handbook they gave me when my kids were born. After all, no one caught me when I took the little gun out of an opened Star Wars action figure package in Payless Drugstore, but those guns were so easy to lose, you have to understand...