beatofmyowndrum

[beatofmyowndrum]

Tell Them!

I miss my dad. I miss him far more than I thought I would. I think that statement deserves an explanation.

My parents divorced when I was a little boy. From the time I was about seven or eight years old until I was somewhere in my forties, he lived in the Chicago suburbs about 900 miles away from me. He came down for special occasions, weddings, and funerals, and he never failed to drive down to pick us up for his two weeks with us every summer, but to a little boy, he may as well have been a million miles away. I learned to live my life without my dad around at a very early age. Consequently, he and I both aged without ever truly knowing how to express much toward each other emotionally. I loved him. And I know he loved me. But neither of us ever actually said those words until I was well into adulthood, and then rarely. So, even though I knew he was slowly dying the last few weeks of his life, I dealt with the whole mess the way almost every other man deals with the unpleasantries of life... I shoved it to the back of my overloaded heart and mind with all of the other things that rip at a man's soul. And, as usual, this worked well for me... temporarily. Dad has been gone from this world for almost a year now and those emotions I hid away are starting to fight their way out. It's not a fall to my knees and cry all day kind of thing, though. My love for my dad is exposing itself in subtle, but powerful ways.

Just a few days ago, I was craving hot dogs. The thought of eating a hot dog reminded me of the hundreds of times he called me and asked if I wanted to meet him for lunch, almost always for hot dogs at the Hidden Grill in Phenix City. That led me down a memory lane of conversations we would have during those lunches about my brother and sisters and how life was going for each of us. He cared SO much about our lives and how we were doing. He worried about us. He loved us.

My dad told me he was proud of me exactly two times in my life. Once, after I had been raising my son as a single dad for several years, dad told me at the end of a phone conversation, "By the way, son, I want you to know that you're doing an amazing thing raising Chance on your own. I'm proud of you." I'm not sure what I said in response or if I was actually able to say anything at all, but it melted my heart to hear those words and carried me through the struggle for a long time after. The second time he expressed his pride was several years later. Before I got older and my joints started failing me, I played recreational softball. I was never the best player on any team, but I was also never a liability. Dad, living as far away as he did, only saw me play in a single game. I played first base at the time and had a really good night. I think I was 4x4 at the plate with a couple of doubles and I made a few good plays in the field. Long story short, as we were walking away from the field to the parking lot, he said, "Wow, son, you played a great game! I'm proud of you. Looking like Paul Konerko out there." Konerko played first for the Chicago White Sox at the time, by the way. On both occasions, until I heard those words in his voice, I had not realized how important my father's pride was to me. Turns out, it's pretty important and I would venture that most men feel the same.

I don't know why we men are so stubborn about showing our emotions. Maybe its genetics. Maybe its thousands of years of expectations to only show strength and hide all weakness. I have no clue. But I know this - my dad loved us and he loved us big! He didn't say the words (at least to me) very often, but he definitely expressed it. He told me he loved me by letting me know that he worried about me. He told me he loved me by letting me know that he was proud of me. He told me he loved me by asking me to have hotdogs with him. He told me he loved me by sharing stories of his childhood with me over those hotdogs. He told me he loved me by sharing his recipe for collard greens with me and teaching me that the secret to great tomato gravy is bacon grease. He told me he loved me by teaching me how to use his power tools. He told me he loved me by allowing me to witness his weakness by asking me to help him do things in his yard when he got too sick to do them himself. He told me he loved me by sharing with me stories from his time in Vietnam that haunted him his entire life. He was a kind and caring man who often hid those traits behind a tough-guy mask. He told me he loved me by letting me see behind that mask.

Men, emotions are NOT weaknesses. If you love your wife and kids, tell them. Tell them often. Tell them with words. Tell them with deeds. Tell them by sharing your dreams and fears. Tell them by standing firm on your morals and being a man of integrity. Tell them by letting them see the man behind the mask. And for the love of all that is holy, if you have a son, let him know that you are proud of him!

I miss my dad. I miss him a lot. And I finally understand why.

[beatofmyowndrum]

Heart, Soul and Might

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might. These words, which I am commanding you today, shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your sons and shall talk of them when you sit in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you rise up. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand and they shall be as frontals on your forehead. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.

Deuteronomy 6:5-9

 Do you love God with all your heart and soul? Do you love Him with all of your might? Do you hide His words in your heart (study the bible)? Do you teach your children to do these things? Do you diligently talk about Him with your children? Is He a part of your day from the time you awaken until you fall asleep at night? Do you take Him everywhere you go?

Don’t worry. I think everyone fails this test. But I thought it was important to share, because God made it very clear in Deuteronomy 6 that we have been freed from slavery (sin) through Him and Him alone.  Without Him, we would still be shackled to our pasts, our mistakes, and our wicked hearts. Because of Him, we have the promised land in our future.  Our promised land is an eternal home with Him, free of pain, tears, and sadness. Because of this promise, which we have done nothing to earn and could not possibly do so, we should love Him with every bit of our strength.  We should give Him our entire heart and soul in worship and praise.  We should read His words and hide them in our hearts. We should teach our children about Him, His grace, His mercy, and His love.  We should do these things everywhere we go, all day, every day, every waking hour. Our lives should be lived in a manner that people clearly see Him working in us, as if His very words were tattooed on our foreheads.  How hard and enthusiastically we work (our hands) should represent Him, as well. We should have reminders of Him and how graciously He has provided all of our needs posted in our homes.  In short, God saved us, promised us a perfect eternal home, and provided an easy way for us to get there.  He deserves nothing less than our best.

I am clearly not where I need to be when it comes to giving Him my all.  I don’t think anybody is.  But we can strive to get better every day. Give Him all that you can today. Then give Him a little bit more than that tomorrow.  

[beatofmyowndrum]

I Melted

I shared over 43 years on this earth with my mom. That's more than 15695 days of memories. So I suppose it's a little odd that one of my absolute favorite memories with her happened in the last few weeks of her life while she was in pain and battling cancer. You'd think that the memories made during that time would be more on the negative side, but there's one that I will never forget. My sisters and I were taking mom to her first appointment (which also turned out to be her last) with the doctor's at the John B. Amos Cancer Center and we were trying to help her get into the car to leave. At that point, mom's legs had begun to ignore what her brain was telling them to do. We had to hold her up to keep her from falling while she tried valiantly to follow our directions. "Move your left foot a little this way." "Slide your right foot a little that way." You know, stuff like that. Anyway, she seemed to be getting frustrated with her uncooperative legs, so I decided that I would sort of "escort" her where she needed to go. I said, "Mom, why don't you just put your hands on my shoulders and I'll hold your waist and guide you. You know, pretend we're dancing." What happened next, I will never forget... My 72 year old mother, for the first and last time in my life, put her hands on my shoulders, laid her cheek against my chest, and leaned on me as if we were dancing. I melted. Happy Mother's Day, mom. I miss you like crazy. And I sure am looking forward to dancing with you again someday!

[beatofmyowndrum]

Growing Old Ain't for Sissies: Episode 327

In my adult life, I have probably installed or changed out at least a hundred ceiling fans, bathroom fans, light fixtures, switches and outlets.  It's pretty basic electrical work and I usually handle it like a pro.  It's been many years since I've managed to shock myself.  So, it didn't scare me a bit when Leslie decided that she wanted a fan installed in the kids' bathroom.  You know - the kind that sucks excess moisture and unpleasant aromas out of the room.  They've never had one and they needed one... badly.  

I suppose old age has affected my brain, because, what should have been about a half-hour project with one quick trip into the attic ended up lasting longer than Gilligan's three-hour tour.  Let's just say that I suffered for about two solid weeks with a severe case of brain flatulence.  Oh, I started out all proud and what not, loudly informing the clan that I would have it done in no time at all.  So off I went, climbing the stairs into the attic.

The first time I "completed" the simple wiring job the bathroom light worked, but the fan wouldn't budge.  The second time, the exact opposite happened - all fan, no light.  The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth times were equally unsuccessful.  Finally, on the second day (about the tenth trip into the attic), after much frustration and several hand drawn wiring diagrams, I finished a new circuit, flipped the breaker on, and it worked!  Both the light and the fan were functioning just fine.  So I cleaned up my mess, put away my tools, picked the insulation out of my hair, washed my hands, and sat down to watch TV.  The king of this castle had once again solved a problem.  Until Sydney called out from her room, "Something's wrong with my ceiling fan!"  Really?!  Further inspection revealed that I had crossed some things up and the bathroom fan switch was also operating the ceiling fan light in her bedroom.  With the fan on, her lights would glow an eerie orange color.  So I did what any other man would do.  I undid everything I had done and said, "I'll figure it out tomorrow."  

The story has a happy ending, though.  After giving up on it for several days with bare (but NOT live) wires sticking out of the wall, the simple solution that would have been a no-brainer to younger Jody finally popped into my head.  Just connect it to the light and let one switch work both light and fan!  Eureka! Tonight I did just that.  It took about fifteen minutes. 

Getting old ain't for sissies.

[beatofmyowndrum]

Comfortably Numb

While driving to work the other day, skipping through the preset stations on my car stereo, I stumbled upon a Pink Floyd song called "Comfortably Numb."  The station came in just as these lyrics were being sung:

"When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse...out of the corner of my eye.  I turned to look but it was gone. I cannot put my finger on it now.  The child is grown.  The dream has gone.  I have become comfortably numb." 

As I was merrily singing along, quite loudly and proudly, it dawned on me that those particular lyrics aren't very pleasing at all.  I was smiling and singing a verse about the death of childhood dreams.  Major buzz-kill.  That was when my mind started doing what it does best...wandering.   What were my childhood dreams?  I had many. 

First, there was Astronaut Jody - My step-father brought an empty refrigerator box home one day and my sister and I painted and drew all over it trying to make it look like a rocket.  That cardboard contraption took us to the moon, Mars, through Saturn’s rings, and beyond.  It delivered me to outer space battlefields, where I fought tiny Martians, Giant Venusians, and any other extra-terrestrial life forms that had the misfortune of crossing my path. 

Then there was Six-Million-Dollar Jody - Like many other boys in the seventies, I had a "Bionic Man" action figure.  NOT a doll - an action figure!!  It was probably the coolest toy I ever had.  The case that it came in opened up to look like a science lab.  The rubber skin on one of his arms rolled up to reveal a robotic arm.  And you could look through a hole in the back of his head to see through his bionic eye.  How cool was that?!  And, yes, I also pretended to move and fight in slow motion making the "bionic" sounds from the TV show.  Don't judge me.

Next came NFL running back Jody - When I was eleven, I decided that my superb baseball skills weren't enough, so I ventured into the world of football.  Our team was horrible, losing every game that season, but the year ended with me being absolutely positive that NFL scouts would someday be fighting over me.  Why?  Well, about half-way through the season, our coaches decided to switch things up a bit (I assume because of the large number of impressive losses we were racking up).  As part of the changes, he took me off of the offensive line and put me at....drum roll please....running back!  I was actually going to TOUCH the football!  The move was not an immediate success, but I eventually had one good game, scoring a couple of touchdowns.  Later that night, while getting cleaned up and ready for bed, I came up with my own theme song.  I changed the lyrics to “Jukebox Hero” by Elton John to “Football Hero.”  Again…don’t judge me.

There were many other dreams that followed: SWAT team Jody,  MLB Hall of Fame Jody, US Marine Corp War Hero Jody (Hoo-ah!), and President of the United States Jody, just to name a few.

So what happened to those dreams?   I’m not asking why I didn’t become an astronaut or get drafted by the Atlanta Falcons.  What I mean is… why do we stop imagining, thinking, dreaming, hoping?  We have to grow up.  That, I understand.   And life has a way of forcing reality upon us.  But we do NOT have to leave happiness and hope behind, do we? 

God instructs us to be more child-like in our faith.  As children, we keep things simple.  Children just know that God exists without adding any complications to the matter.  It’s only when we grow up that we start making things much more difficult and confusing than they have to be.  “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these” (Matthew 19:14).  The kingdom of heaven belongs to such as those… those who take life easy, who dream big dreams, who really live life to the fullest, who still hope for the future, whose faith can still move mountains or fly them to the moon, who haven’t yet outgrown their own happiness, who play in the rain, who love the box as much as the toy that came out of it, who love unconditionally, and who trust that Jesus loves them simply because the bible says so.  There is no rule that says we have to stop being like that just because we’re “grown-ups.”  God put each of us here for a reason.  We may not be clear as to what that reason is exactly… but I am certain that He wouldn’t want us to live a “comfortably numb” existence, just waiting for our time to be up.  I don’t want to get so accustomed to merely existing and filling up space that I turn to look and find that my life was never really lived.  Nor do I want to be dragged into heaven as if it were against my will.  No, I want to fly my cardboard rocket right up to heaven’s gate, kick the doors open (with bionic sound effects, of course) and shout, “HERE I AM!” I may even come up with a new theme song for it.

There’s probably a reason “numb” rhymes with “dumb.”

Get busy living!

[beatofmyowndrum]

Healed

My mother, Gloria Jean Bigham, was completely healed of her cancer on Sunday morning, November 17, 2013.  She is presently enjoying life in a new body, one that feels no pain, sheds no tears, and will never weaken.  I can not possibly express with words the depth of the sadness I feel when I think of how much I miss her, but I am glad she will not ever suffer again.  I'll see you later, Mom.  Good night, sweet dreams, I love you.

[beatofmyowndrum]

Robo-Mom

My mother is sick.  VERY sick.  She was diagnosed a couple of weeks ago with a particularly nasty cancerous tumor in her brain.  In two weeks time, it has completely transformed her.  She was once one of the strongest women I've ever known, independent and able to survive just about anything this world threw her way.  She has lived her entire life blind in one eye.  She's lived with only one kidney for the past forty years or so. She survived quadruple bypass surgery just last year.  She held her husband's head in her lap as he took his last breath, succumbing to lung cancer thirteen years ago.  Mom has had her share of difficult times, but she has always handled adversity with grace, dignity, and a level of emotional strength that surpassed my comprehension.  In fact, more than once, I have referred to her as "Robo-Mom" because all of the trials she's faced seemed to simply bounce off of her. But today she is weak and fragile, unable to take care of even her most basic needs without assistance.  After seventy-one years of fighting off attacks of every imaginable type, she may have finally met her match.  Don't take this the wrong way, though.  My mother is still a strong woman.  Her strength presents itself a bit differently in this trial, though.  Now, even as her mind and body show increasing signs of weakness, the SPIRITUAL strength she displays is what I find amazing. For everything that she hears from doctors, nurses, and hospital staff that is positive, she gives God the credit, sometimes simply pointing up toward heaven when she doesn't feel like talking.  For everything she hears that is not so positive, she reminds everyone that it's all okay because God is in control. In other words, it all belongs to Him and no matter what happens, she is okay because He has her in His hands.  She does have some worries, though.  She worries that my sisters and I aren't eating enough or getting enough rest. She worries about asking for too much help from the nurse techs. She worries about her children and grandchildren not having a good enough Thanksgiving this year because she's in such bad shape.  She worries that we may be spending too much money trying to take care of her.  And she worries about people (family, friends, even mere acquaintances) not knowing Jesus.  In fact, that seems to be her favorite topic of conversation.  Her greatest wish through this is that she can somehow change someone's life for the better, maybe lead them to Christ.  Well, she has changed my life for the better.  My sister's and I have said, "I love you" to each other more in in the last three weeks than we have our entire lives.  I've hugged my mother and told her that I love her more, too.  Seeing her in such a vulnerable, almost child-like state has opened my eyes to a new side of her.  She used to just be "mom" and "nana." Now I can see the entire picture, her whole heart.  She loves people.  That's about the best way I can put it.  For about three weeks now, she has been a perfect picture of God's command to love Him with all that we have and to love everybody else as much as we love ourselves.  I wish I had seen all of this before.  It was there, I was just too busy with life to notice it.  So I suppose the purpose for this particular jumble of words on a screen is this: God is in control. Good, bad or ugly... He has a purpose.  We all have various plans in our hearts and minds for ourselves, but God's purpose will always prevail. Even in the bad times, know that He is still in control.  My mom is facing the biggest fear most of us harbor deep down in our souls.  She's facing what could be the end of her life on earth. But she knows that she is in good hands.  She knows (and reminds everyone who will listen) that God is the ultimate authority and will heal her one day. 

Yes, Gloria Jean Bigham is going to be completely healed one day, that is an undeniable fact.  She'll either beat this cancer and give God the glory for it, or she'll leave this earth and live eternally in a glorified body in heaven.  Either way, she wins.  Now I have to go to bed... I promised her I'd get more rest. 

[beatofmyowndrum]

A Lunchtime Life Lesson

A few days ago, while eating lunch at the 12th Street Deli, I witnessed something pretty cool.  A grown man entered the restaurant with his elderly father.  The father appeared to have some physical and possibly mental issues that required his son’s constant attention.  He was shaking as if he may have something similar to Parkinson’s disease.  He seemed disoriented the few times his son actually left his side to fill their drink cups, get napkins, etc.  The look in his eyes was one of confusion, like that of a small child finding himself in a new environment, but he seemed to want to try to do things on his own as much as possible.  The son was amazing.  I watched as he gently and lovingly guided his father to the counter with his hand on the old man’s back.  More than once, the younger man looked into his father’s eyes and, smiling when he talked, tenderly coaxed him to turn this way or that.  He was diligent in his assistance, yet patient with his father’s need to be somewhat independent.  What I was witnessing was a perfect example of how we are supposed to treat each other.  If this is how we are all supposed to act, why was it so startling to me?

The truth is that this man’s behavior with his father, although it is supposed to be the norm, directly opposes the way life really is for most people.  No matter the reason or excuse, we do NOT treat each other with this kind of compassion most of the time.  Had the younger man seemed agitated or impatient with his needy father, perhaps I would have thought it to be a little more normal.  I may have even felt sympathy for the son for having to “deal with” such a needy person.  How backwards is that?  We should all be so lucky as to have a friend or family member who would be so kind to us – especially family.  God is very clear on how He expects us to treat each other:

Ephesians 6:2-3 : “Children, honor your father and mother (this is the first commandment with a promise) that it may go well with you and you may live long in the land.”

Leviticus 19:3 : “Every one of you shall revere his mother and his father.”

Psalm 103:13 : “As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear Him.”

John 13:34-35 : “A new commandment that I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you are to love one another.  By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Let your goal be to make this kind of treatment of others your norm.  I imagine it will make your days better and your life more positive.  If nothing else, it may cause a total stranger to stop eating his lunch and grow just a tiny bit closer to God just because he was blessed to witness it. 

[beatofmyowndrum]

Night and Day

*This is a COMPLETELY different kind of poetry than what normally pops into my head, but it showed up, so here goes…

  Oh, dreary Night of indecision

your moonlight cast upon the floor

your darkness has with great precision

obscured the path to future’s door

Upon my mind once was a vision

of things no man had seen before

A dream that had become my mission

to venture out and life explore

Night has, though, with great derision

blocked the way as if to scorn

and become my soul’s prison    

His shadows shake me to the core

Oh, dreary Night of indecision

shall I still pass through future’s door

Or will, as quoth Poe’s dark Raven,

I venture forward “Nevermore?”

Should I merely trust my vision

of what may lie on distant shores

Or should I move toward collision

with life no matter what’s in store

I choose to seize this day my mission

Yesterday… it is no more

The Son has loosed the chains of prison

And freed my soul forever more

Oh Son-lit day of great provision

your beams, they fall upon my floor

and through the darkness, a clean incision

frees from the shadows my future’s door

[beatofmyowndrum]

Leave It All On The Field

My mother had quadruple bypass surgery very recently.  While this is a scenario from which numerous life lessons have evolved, one stands out above the rest for me.  At one point, a few hours into her surgery, while sitting in the ICU waiting room with a small group of family and friends, we heard a woman's voice from somewhere out in the hallway.  She was crying out in a manner which I had never heard before.  It became quickly obvious to everyone in the room that this was the voice of a woman who had just received some very bad news.  She had just heard that the loved one she was there to see had died.  The noises she made were mostly moans that very effectively conveyed the indescribable pain she was feeling.  It was, in a word, heartwrenching.  A few minutes later, as her voice began to fade slightly, someone (I think it was my sister) pointed out the sign on the one door in the waiting room that I never saw anyone use.  It read, "Family Counseling Room," or something of the sort.  She said that they (hospital staff, I presume) were taking the woman into that room from a door on the other side.  It was the room where they take waiting family members to give them bad news.  Although it was probably just a second or two, it felt like an eternity had passed before I drew my next breath.  The focus of my attention was that door.  I couldn't take my eyes off of it.  Up to that point, I had felt absolutely confident that mom was going to make it through the whole ordeal and come out on the other side of it like new - just as she had so many other trials in her life.  My mom, the robo-mom who fought through adversity after adversity her entire life, was lying on an operating room table at that very moment with her chest cut open and her heart exposed.  The same mom whose voice was the only one I heard from the crowd at my Little League baseball games was, despite my thinly veiled effort to deny it, in pretty serious danger of no longer being here.  The gutteral moaning of the woman who had just lost someone... the sign on the unused door... the somber looks on the faces around me... everything brought reality down on me so quickly that I hadn't had time to grab hold of my usual optimistic outlook on life.  So I did what my Father tells me to do in difficult situations - I prayed.  I prayed silently and quickly for God to protect my mother and get her through her surgery without any of my family being called into that "counseling" room.  Then I prayed for the woman in the couseling room.  What I received from God in return for my plea was not what I expected.  I expected the usual sense of calm and peace that resulted from similar prayers in the past.  Instead, God gave me a bit of a lecture.  Although I felt reassured that it was not my mother's time to go, there was still a lesson I had to learn from this.  I had been in denial up to that point, not allowing myself to think about the reality of the situation.  The woman's cries brought me back to what was real.  Life is fleeting.  We are only here for a very short time.  Embrace life rather than simply enduring it.  Hug your kids.  Hug your parents.  Don't worry about things that are beyond your control.  If you love someone, tell them.  Take advantage of the time God has given you.  Take better care of yourself.  Smile more.  Give your family what they need the most...your time.  Really live.  And, as my pastor recently said, when the game is over...be sure you left it all on the field. 

[beatofmyowndrum]

The Ride's Not Over

Life can be confusing,

suddenly become clear,

then get all mixed-up again

and fill our hearts with fear.

  The roller-coaster that we ride

has hills and valleys deep.

On hills, we feel His blessings.

In valleys, we just feel weak.

  When will the ride level out

on a plane where we can cope?

When will that level come into sight

so at least we'll have some hope?

  Just when we think we see the path

that's straight - well, that is when

this roller-coaster that we ride

turns sharp and drops again.

  But, take heart, we can be happy,

though the track stills dips and bends,

that, while the ride's not easy,

we haven't reached the end.

[beatofmyowndrum]

I Love Being Me

It's a little after four a.m. and I am wide awake.  I was sleeping well just a few minutes ago when I was awakened for no apparent reason.  I started to think about my wife and kids.  My mind quickly twisted (as it is prone to do at 4 am) to how difficult a task it is at times for me to be a dad, a step-dad, and a husband.  We don't often like to admit that it's a challenge, but the reality is that, although they are each bursting at the seams with blessings and wonderful things, all three demand effort.  Any honest man would tell you that marriage isn't always a smooth, straight path. Marriages are, like any other relationship, full of twists and turns, ups and downs.  The ones that last are the ones in which both parties are willing to endure the tougher times, knowing that good times are right around the next bend in the road.  Likewise, being a dad, step-dad (or both, in my case) isn't always the smoothest of rides.  I find fault in my "dad" skills on a daily basis.  I find that my kids aren't perfect on a daily basis, as well.  But even on the worst days, I thank God for blessing me with each of them.  He reminds me that they are His children and I've only been given a short time with them.  I love my wife and kids beyond measure.  They are my God-given reasons for existing.  They are my blessings, my closest mission field, and my most immediate and important purpose in life.  I would not trade being a dad, a husband, and a step-dad for anything you could offer.  I thank God a hundred times a day for the blessings He's given me, especially my family.  I am constantly learning and growing through my experiences with them and through the many mistakes I make along the way.  In short, I love being me...but it's not a job for sissies!

[beatofmyowndrum]

WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST HUMAN MEMORY?

My mother teaching me that it is much easier to zip my pants AFTER I snap them.  I think I was around three years old.

[beatofmyowndrum]

Swords and Tacos

Have you ever experienced one of those times (hours, days, weeks) where there is so much rattling around in your mind that you can't piece together a single coherent thought? I've been dealing with that for months. Some nights I lie in bed for hours with a million different things racing through my mind. It's strange, too, how the subject matter changes so abruptly that you can't remember what you were thinking about just a few seconds ago. It usually happens something like this:

Where should I go to work first tomorrow? I have work to do in Talbot County and Stewart County. I think I'll have Taco Bell for lunch why did that guy honk at me at the red Man, my back hurts! So it's Talbot then Stewart, I guess. Wait, what did I want for lunch again? Man, my back hu..am I a good father? I hope my kids turn out okay. Mmmm, Taco Bell.  What was that noise?! Was that the cat? Cats. They are so why DID that guy honk his horn at me? Taco Bell? I’m thinking of Taco Bell at midnight? What, am I pregnant?! And why am I watching QVC?  This channel is so OOH! I need to get me one of those six-foot “Braveheart” swords!!  Wonder if Leslie would let me hang it in the living room? Living room.  I gotta remember to fix the AC vent tomorrow do my kids hate me? “Braveheart” was awesome! Okay, Talbot then Stewart county.  Gotta get my work…Taco Bell…mmmmm.

I’m going somewhere with this, I promise. Bear with me.

I love to write. Poems, essays, term papers, I've even attempted to start a variety of books a few times. I wrote a children's book of which I am very proud, but I don't know how to get it published. I've begun and given up on several novels that were pretty much horrible. And somewhere deep in the bowels of my computer's hard-drive, there's a decent beginning to a memoir-type book that I was writing to give to my son some day. So, being a writer at heart, the worst part of the late-night thought parade for me is that somewhere in the middle of the stream there usually hides a brilliant thought or two that I immediately know I should jot down to write about later.  But, invariably, I do not. Have I mentioned that I'm also lazy?

While all of this has been happening - the sleeplessness, the hidden "gems" that are crying out to be written, the desire to scratch out something that someone, somewhere  may actually want to read - God has also been talking to me.  As is His tendency, if I may be so bold as to assume He has habits, it started out as a faint whisper of a thought mixed in with all the rest... "whatever you do, do it for Me." That's biblical, by the way. Check out 1Corinthians 10:31. If that one's not clear enough, try Colossians 3:17. Still don't get it? How about Colossians 3:23? There’s also 1Peter 4:11 if you need further convincing. Unfortunately, along with insomnia and laziness, I'm also a little hard-headed.  I've heard it said that God may start out tapping us on the shoulder to get our attention, but He will eventually hit us in the head with a brick if He needs to. Let’s just say that I've been hit with my fair share of bricks in my forty-two years.  I suppose He got tired of whispering because the thought eventually became a command.

So here I am, sitting at the computer at 12:54 am on a Sunday night/Monday morning with a new-found confidence that God, Himself, wants me to write....but not for the pleasure of any man, woman, or child. He wants me, and both of you who are still reading this, to do whatever we do with the sole purpose of trying to honor and glorify Him. Think about that, if you will. No matter what your profession, hobby, or sport... do what you do to honor Him. I don't think He would have told us to do that if He didn't have amazing results in mind. That does NOT mean that I expect anyone to be overwhelmed by anything that I write. He may fully intend for this to simply be a therapeutic exercise for me alone (and it is definitely that) or He may intend for one single person out there to eventually stumble across what I have to say and be positively affected in some way. He may also intend for a major publisher to read this blog and offer me a gazillion dollars for my thoughts and opinions, but I won’t hold my breath. Who knows what His intentions are? I don't. I just know that I'm going to do my dead-level best to do everything to honor Him.  If we do that, we can’t lose.  We do what we love to do…He uses it however He desires.  Win-Win. 

Gotta run… they’re running out of “Braveheart” swords.  I wonder what time Taco Bell closes.

[beatofmyowndrum]

He's Waiting

This isn't the type of thing I usually like to write.  I generally enjoy trying to inject some humor into life.  I don't even know if anybody will read this, but I can't shake the feeling that it's something that someone needs to hear.  God put it in my head and I'm in no position to question Him, so...

Everyone has heard, read, or seen the little story called "Footprints in the Sand," right?  You know how the two sets of footprints in the sand become one set, causing the person to ask Jesus, "Why did you leave me?"  And, of course, He responds, "My child...I never left you.  The single set of footprints is where I was carrying you."  It's a very inspirational thought to imagine God, Himself, carrying you when you can't continue on your own power.  I love the story and I'm certainly not trying to make light of it, but I have a question for you.  Does that single set of footprints represent where He started carrying you or is that the point where you ventured off of His path and left Him behind?  See, I think there are places where He just will not go with us.  The bible tells us that light and darkness (good and evil) can not exist in the same place.  When we venture off into "darkness" are we to assume that He goes with us?  I highly doubt it.  So, think about where you go, what you watch, the music you like.  Would He go there, watch that, listen to that?  Are you living a life that He can accompany?  Or do you need to follow that single set of footprints back to where you left Him?  If that's you, I have a promise for you.  He's still there waiting.  He's waiting to walk with you again - waiting to carry you when you can't walk on your own.   

[beatofmyowndrum]

Bubble Gum - The Green Kind

The human mind is an amazing, mysterious creation.  It always amazes me how something can trigger a memory, no matter how old, so strong that it brings back the sights, sounds and even smells associated with it.  I don't mean that sentimental feeling we get from looking at old pictures. I'm talking about being able to actually feel as if you are there again, as if you'd been taken there in a time-machine.  For some it may be a song, a place, or a scent.  For me, most recently anyway, it was sour-apple "Super Bubble" bubble gum.  You know... the green kind.  I grabbed a piece from a container in someone's office at a law firm one day - the first time I'd tasted it in a very long time. I was immediately taken back to American Little League on Double Churches Road in 1978.  After our games, my team would line up at the concession stand for a free Coke and piece of gum.  The memory stopped me in my tracks.  I closed my eyes, and for a second I could see the bright sunlight and smell the freshly cut outfield grass.  I smiled at the memory of chewing that hard-earned piece of heaven.  The Coke was watered down by the ice melting in the late-spring heat and always had little pieces of wax floating on top (it was served in those little wax-coated, paper cups).  It was flat, watery, and waxy....but it was the best Coke I had ever tasted in all of my eight years! I could see the bright yellow jerseys we wore and the league-issued uniform pants.  The pants were given out at the start of the season and returned at the end, to be used by the next year's players.  They had long ago turned a strange shade of brown - a perfect blend of grass, red Georgia clay, and dirty hands.  I don't think there was a pair in the entire league that didn't have at least one knee with holes.  Just like that post-game Coke, they were perfectly flawed.  I know that sour-apple Super Bubble will not always take me back like it did that day.  But for that one moment it did, and this middle-aged man got to be a little boy again.  

I suppose we should probably look at ourselves and each other that way.  We are all "perfectly flawed" like that watery Coke and those wonderfully awful pants.  I'm older now.  I have aches and pains.  I lose my temper with my kids sometimes.  My wife and I don't always agree on everything.  My kids and I almost never agree on anything.  I have differences of opinion with friends, relatives and co-workers.  Life does not always go exactly as planned.  Your life may seem watered-down, mud-stained, and full of holes, too, but take heart - God knows what He's doing.  He knew you before He made you (Jeremiah 1:5), He can use bad things for His good purposes (Genesis 50:20), and He causes all things to work together for the good of those who love Him (Romans 8:28).  I am flawed.  But it's nice to know that someday some song, sight, smell, or flavor is going to take me back again.  Something will remind me of a time in my life as a father, a husband, a co-worker, or a friend.  When that happens, it's comforting to know that I'll not only remember the pleasant things, but I'll look back on all of the imperfections as well.  And I'll smile, knowing that whatever it was, God used it for something good.  He always does.

[beatofmyowndrum]

Masterpiece

Riding along a country road,

driving from place to place,

while gazing at the growth of spring,

I suddenly saw His face.

Not in the leaves or trees direct,

more a vision in my heart,

sparked by the thought that His own hand

Created this work of art.

He sketched the trees, painted the leaves,

He colored the grass and sky.

He sculpted the earth with the very hands

that molded you and I.

My mind then turned to those who say

there is no God so kind.

It broke my heart and I prayed,

how can they be so blind?

What else could craft the land and sea,

the valleys and the hills?

Not one thing that man has made 

has ever shown such skill.

No big bang, nor science find

can adequately explain

how this all came to be

like a masterpiece in frame.

So I'm proud to say that I'm a part

of perfect master plans,

crafted, plotted, and perfected

by my own God's great hands.

(written 3/19/01)