Hopelessly Uncool

The End of an Era

2011-09-18T09:25:00.002-06:00

For reasons I shall not fully divulge here, today will be the last day I post on Hopelessly Uncool. If you have enjoyed reading, give me a call or send me an email and I'll direct you to my new site (as yet uncreated). Thanks for following my life for these past 6 years. Goodbye.

Waiting for Muffins

2011-09-11T08:12:00.002-06:00

That's not some cryptic, symbolic title. I'm literally waiting for my breakfast to finish baking. And so I've been to the other blogs I read. I've checked on the weather (we're going to have some days in the middle of the week that go back over 100 degrees). And I sit. I wonder.

I don't have anything to say. I could say I don't have anything to do, but really there is plenty. I just choose to rest. To sit and think. But part of me longs for something to fill this moment. I don't feel lonely. It's just...curious. I'm not sure I've ever felt this before.

The Tooth of the Matter

2011-09-04T16:48:00.002-06:00

Life has been a bit hectic this past week, so please forgive how long it has taken me to relay this tale. Although...I was tempted to wait another week to write about it, but that's only because I like to use the word "fortnight".

A little over a week ago, Aydan was headed to his final day of the first week of school. Due to a drought, the drainage area between a dammed portion of Bear Creek and the bridge for Bear Creek Drive was dry. It's a big cement area that looks a little like this: \____/. Well apparently in the mind of an eleven-year-old boy THAT looks like a half-pipe. So since he had time before school started, Aydan dropped into the half-pipe for a little jump.

When he called me I was just dropping Brennan off at his school. The tears and the mention of pain and blood caused me to hurriedly shoo Brennan out the door and race home. I was a little angry, truth be told, that Aydan had messed around on the way to school and caused a minor injury which was now going to make both of us late. Fortunately I cooled off very quickly when I realized how serious it was.

Well first of all, his tooth was gone. The blood was pretty minor, so I wasn't worried about that. I was a bit concerned about what his smile would look like if the tooth couldn't be put back in, and, let's be honest, how much the dentist was going to cost. But the main thing that concerned me the fact that he couldn't remember where his bike was. Again, I got a little angry, because the boys will often conveniently "forget" things when they did something wrong, rather than confess that they messed up. When he asked me, "How did I get here?" though, I knew something was wrong. Pretty soon, he started asking, "Did you find my bike?" and when I had explained to him that I had not, he responded by asking, "Did you find my bike?"

So I knew he had a concussion. I called out athletic trainer at school to figure out what to do. After he calmed down and the pain had decreased, we went to get his bike (the front fork was bent away from the intended 90 degree position relative to the handlebars) and actually found his tooth as well. From the evidence, I pieced together that he did not pull up on the handlebars when he hit the upward wall of the drainage basin, and his tire stuck, he flipped over the handlebars and smacked his face into the cement wall.

He had a few minor scrapes and bumps. His canine tooth was knocked out, but thankfully it was a baby tooth. The concussion was a concern, but he recovered quickly and didn't have any dizziness or vomiting so we were less worried. Now, after a week of not being able to participate in recess, PE or football practice he is eager to go to the doctor to get cleared to play again.

And what can you say to all of this but, "Boys, eh?"

Finality...and Uncertainty

2011-09-04T13:40:00.003-06:00

I just (re)watched the series finale of "Scrubs." I won't lie to you--I wept like a little girl. I'm serious: shaking, uncontrollable, hard-to-stop sobbing.

Now getting emotional was probably NOT due to the show itself, although it has played an important role in my life these past few months. I've processed thoughts, received affirmation, and been allowed to escape through laughter by watching this show. But more importantly, I've been watching it as I scanned pictured, and captured analog video, and basically electronically documented the last 12 years of my life. That life is over in many ways. My time recalling it and mourning it is over. And now, I have re-watched the entire "Scrubs" series--all 8 seasons (season 9 doesn't really count)--and that, too, is over.

What I particularly appreciated about the finale of "Scrubs" was the concept J.D. was wrestling with: finality and uncertainty. His time at Sacred Heart came to a close, but life wasn't going to stop there. He wanted his goodbye to be significant and he came to realize that it was largely due to the fact that he didn't know what was coming next, and he wanted to savor the warmth of the memories before facing the chilly, uncertain and scary future. But he concludes the show by basically saying, "The future is whatever I make it." I'm a bit more Christocentric, so I would say that the future is whatever God has in store for me and will be shaped by how I respond to what he is doing now. Still, I am sad for a great many things. I'm even sorrowful about what is likely to come, even if it might be considered "a good thing" or "what I wanted." But I have embraced the pain of those moments, I have said my goodbyes, and I am now ready for whatever lies ahead. It's scary to say that, because I'm not really ready. How can I be so confident that I will live well in the face of what could be very hard or tragic? Yet I trust that whatever comes through God's hand is for the good of everyone involved, and I am certain that he will provide (as he has always done) everything he asks or requires.

Though it is something of a diversion, I also want to make mention of a few other reasons why I was moved by the finale. One is that I like J.D. Don't mock me for feeling a connection with a fictional character--I already know it's weird. J.D. prays that his son will have an unhealthy affinity for musical theater. In 2009, J.D. asks Turk if "SportsCenter" is a new show. He is dorky and sensitive. He's skinny with a big nose. He's me. I can only hope that I am ever fortunate enough to have a friend with whom I am as close as J.D. and Turk. I hope that one day I can be in love with a girl--and have her love me in return--like J.D. and Elliot (and I like the show because their relationship gives me hope: on again, off again; hurting each other but always pulled back together). I long for a mentor like Dr. Cox. I want to make a difference in people's lives and teach students how to do the same. I know it's ridiculous, but I see a lot of positive value in J.D. in particular, and in "Scrubs" in general.

And finally, I know I cried because Peter Gabriel's version of The Magnetic Fields', "The Book of Love" was playing as the background music to J.D.'s "slideshow" of the potential future (and no, the irony was not lost on me that the culmination of my compiling a digital "slideshow" coincided with the same happening in the show, though mine was past and his was future). That song is very meaningful to me, and therefore very moving. And I know my words will never communicate the thoughts and emotions I had when watching the show, not anymore than they could tell you how I have felt during the past few months as I watched it, but I'm hoping the song might. In fact, here is the soundtrack to my life recently. Maybe listening to it will give you an insight into who I am and what life is like for me right now.

Summer Highland Falls (Billy Joel)

Out of Love (Toto)

I'll Be Over You (Toto)

Stop Loving You (Toto)

I Dreamed a Dream (Les Miserables)

Wild Horses (Charlotte Martin/Rolling Stones)

Sigh No More, album (Mumford and Sons)

Stay or Leave (Dave Matthews)

I Want You to Want Me (Cheap Trick)

Beautifully (Jay Brannan)

I Just Don't Think I'll Ever Get Over You (Colin Hay)

Right Here Waiting for You (Richard Marx)

It Don't Matter to Me (Bread)

Graceland (Paul Simon)

Slip Slidin' Away (Paul Simon)

What Might Have Been (Little Texas)

It Don't Matter to the Sun (Chris Gaines/Garth Brooks)

She's Gonna Make It (Garth Brooks)

Chalice (Phil Keaggy)

Rachel Racinda (Lost and Found)

Fix You (Coldplay)

Black Snake Moan (Samuel L. Jackson)

The Stranger (Billy Joel)

America (Simon and Garfunkle)

Hearts and Bones (Paul Simon)

The Longing (Andrew Osenga)

I'm Going to Go Back There Someday (The Muppets)

Try and Love Again (The Eagles)

Lying Eyes (The Eagles)

Pippin, musical

Out of Tears (Rolling Stones)

First Day of School

2011-08-22T17:05:00.005-06:00

I have always loved the first day of school. Even when I was a student, I looked forward to going back, seeing old friends, and learning new things. I still love the first day of school, and in some ways it is now doubled for me. Last week we had teacher's inservice, and it is always so much fun to go back to work and see old friends and catch up. Then today classes started, and I enjoyed seeing former students and meeting new ones.

Highlights of the day include:

1) Named AP Teacher of the Year--I found out that my AP Art History students absolutely CRUSHED the exam at the end of last year. I had a 95% passing rate (the next closest teacher was at 78%), and was also mentioned in two other categories (third in greatest increase of students enrolled in the course, and second in greatest increase of students taking the test). Even more, the students did not "just pass" (the final score ranges from 1 to 5, with 3 being a score that is typically accepted by universities as "passing"); I had never had a student score a 5 prior to last year, and I learned that at least four did so, and everyone else I talked to earned at least a 4. That is absolutely amazing! And I'd love to be cocky and say that I'm some great teacher, but really it just shows the quality of students I was able to work with last year.

2) A student walked out of my class.

First he was tardy. Then he refused to work. Then he started texting and when I attempted to confiscate his phone, he refused. When I informed him that an administer would be coming to take it from him--and then made the call to the office--he bolted. He was later found and dealt with. I'm curious to see if he'll be back in class tomorrow. I could joke and say, "I'm sure great times are ahead with this kid!", but instead I've been praying for a way to interact with him and see what's going on in his life.

3) These two little buggers.

My sons were far and away the biggest highlight of my day. They had on their LeBron t-shirts, their new shorts and shoes, and they were ready to go.

Brennan started 3rd grade today. It amazes me how big he's getting.

Aydan is now in 6th grade (his last year before jr. high/middle school!) and wanted to ride his bike up to school by himself, as usual. He did consent, however, to me following him and taking a picture in front of his school.

The highlight on top of this highlight was the moment when Aydan turned to go into school and Brennan called his name, ran after him and gave him a hug. It was so good to see, because they've been getting on each other's last nerves as the summer ended, and it made me realize how crazy I am about them and how I couldn't be more proud.

I did not remember to take a picture of me in my first day outfit, but I am not ashamed to tell you, dear readers, that I was indeed looking pretty fly.

My "Half" Summer

2011-08-20T21:42:00.008-06:00

This summer has been...interesting, to say the least. It has also felt like the summer of halves. Let me share some of these with you.

Thing Half Done This Summer:

Paintings

This one was meant to be decorative and I intended to finish it quickly. It's a design by Charlie Harper (genius), but the precision got to me and I never finished (but I will).

This one is also an homage, but it also serves as an example for a project we do in my art classes. It's David's "Napoleon at Saint Bernard Pass (or, Napoleon Crossing the Alps)." I may have stuck with this one had I not finished Napoleon and been instantly frustrated. I'm sure even the most casual observer can see the fatal flaw that I did not take the time to stop, analyze, evaluate and correct: the two halves of his body are in different scales. The end result is that he looks ridiculous, and I'm ashamed of it. Definitely not my best work.

I'm not sure if this one even counts. I can't remember if I worked on it this summer, and it's been half-finished for over a year. Anyway, here's what it looks like now.

Marriage

I don't really know how to elaborate. It's been weird.

Books
Certainly one of the more entertaining half-read books from this summer.
This one had some good thoughts that hit me at the right moment.

And this one was nice, but for some reason I didn't feel like I needed to finish, since it was just a collection of short stories. Regardless, it's my own fault that I didn't finish any of these books. What sane person tries to read three books at one time?

I have one day of freedom left, and then summer is over. I return to a classroom without a working projector (which is kind of a big deal, especially for art history), lacking the cart of 30 Macbook Pros (I hope they don't dock my pay to compensate for their mysterious absence), and ready to receive 39 students (my largest class ever). And you know what's crazy? I'm actually looking forward to it.

Boys Like Huck Finn

2011-08-11T15:55:00.004-06:00

I think of Huckleberry Finn as a carefree boy, daily seeing what mischief he can get into and never missing an opportunity to head to the creek and catch a fish. This summer my boys have caught that same ethos, especially the part about catching fish. They fish almost daily and have gotten astonishingly good. When we go to Walmart they don't beg for toys or candy--they want lures and worms. And its a great pastime to indulge: giving them knowledge, skills and practice, connecting them with nature, and getting them outdoors. This last one I marvel at even more than their ability to pull sizable fish from a very tiny (and even more so with the lack of rain) creek. They can go out for hours at a time, even in the middle of the day, and contentedly fish. Currently, we are on a 40 day streak for consecutive days over 100 degrees. If we get over a hundred into mid next week we will break the streak, established in 1984, of 42 days. Still, I'm sure the boys will be out in it, living it up and snagging fish left and right. I think it's awesome and it makes me smile.

I'm No Superman

2011-08-09T11:32:00.003-06:00

When I was in junior high I loved comic books. They were one of my main artistic influences, and for a time I thought that "when I grew up" I would be a professional comic book artist.

Then, in high school, the Superman "S" became a convenient emblem for a warm-up shirt I wore to track and field meets. It was convenient because it could have stood for Shelby...but really, it was my way of expressing to everyone how great I thought I was.

The "Superman thing" became something of a gimmick, and provided easy presents from friends in high school and college (I remember receiving Superman lunch boxes, puzzles, mugs, etc.). I still clung to what was really my own ridiculous identification with the Man of Steel: I was invincible.

But I remember reading a graphic novel called "Kingdom Come" when I lived in Saint Paul. In it, Superman retires permanently to the Fortress of Solitude after he was unable to save Lois Lane from being murdered. The story deals with former heroes--disillusioned, washed-up, burnt-out, exiled--and the aftermath caused by their absence.

Since that time Five for Fighting has sung, "I can't stand to fly. I'm not that naive. Men weren't meant to ride with clouds between their knees. I'm more than a bird, I'm more than a plane, I'm more than a pretty face beside a train and it's not easy to be me." Lazlo Bane sings, "I can't do this all on my own, no I know I'm no Superman."

I have come to realize (and this is really no great shock) that I am not, in fact, Superman. Just as society has started deconstructing the myth and looking at how hard it would to be him, I have seen my life experience tremendous challenges, and I have experienced my own weakness and inability to do the right thing time and time again. Superman may not even be a superman, and I certainly am not.

Disappointed? Sure. Clouds cleared from my eyes and able to see clearly? Absolutely. Hopeless? Hopelessly uncool, hopelessly flawed, hopelessly frail, hopelessly needy...but not without out. Because I am unconditionally loved, I am irrevocably saved, I am endlessly strengthened, I am constantly facing death so that Christ's life may be made manifest in me. Even if all is stripped away, including the Superman machismo, it is well with my soul.

Days Gone By

2011-08-07T13:21:00.031-06:00

Summer makes me think of days gone by. In more than one sense, too. Especially now, at the end of the summer, I'm counting the number of days that have passed and comparing it to the ridiculously few days that remain until the start of another school year. But in a more "big picture" sense, summer can really take you back to when you were a kid; the time when days were endless and free of care. I was waiting for one of my favorite summer moments--5 pm on a Saturday night when the old refrain of the "Tishomingo Blues" starts, followed by Garrison Keillor singing the introduction to "A Prairie Home Companion"--when I caught an interview on NPR. The following quote is absolutely brilliant.

It reflects a time that feels incredibly complicated but, in hindsight, is very simple

and we have this gift of NOT knowing...that it will never be like this again.

(Wil Wheaton, on the coming-of-age film, "Stand By Me")

I have never seen "Stand By Me." In fact, my only recollection of Wil Wheaton as an actor comes from "Star Trek: The Next Generation." But I intend to remedy that soon, especially with the promise of dwelling on such a bittersweet truth. Can you imagine how your childhood would have been spoiled if you KNEW that someday soon it would all be gone? If somehow a person could have flipped a switch in your head and you would have understood that you are living some of the best days of your life, and soon it would stop and those days would never come again? I love the way Wheaton says it: it's a gift that we don't know that the simple, endless days are passing, never to return.

But I have allowed myself to be sidetracked. My main purpose was to talk about the days that have gone by this summer and how we have filled them. At long last, here is my report on the summer of the "M" states--Minnesota, Montana and Missouri.

A little over a year ago, the family came together to grieve for the loss of my Grandma Liechty. Early in July, we came together again for the funeral of my Grandma Asp. I feel no shame in saying that both funerals were a celebration of a life, and so it was good to see family and be together with them. But this year I was not in a place to enjoy my family as much as last, and I think that was reflected in the number of pictures we took. Eric did a good job photographing, as he always does, but though I had my camera with me the only shot I took was this one (with my phone). It was ironic, and comforting, I guess, to see another Minnesotan in southern exile remembering their roots. And it was nice to see Grandma Asp's oft-used exclamation on a license plate.

I did enjoy my time with the family, especially the pool-side conversations with my siblings. They were the types of conversations I wrote about in my last post: weighty, but good.

I flew into DFW on Wednesday, returning from the funeral, and we drove out on Thursday. Much of the Montana trip seemed like a really long commute just to get a vacation started, but I pulled out the "travel presents" parenting gem (inherited from my mom) to help pass the time. Every few hours the kids would get a new present that was intended to help them pass the time until the next gift. Most of them were duds, but the boys still enjoyed opening them; and for some reason, focusing on the amount of time until the next present eliminates the question, "Are we there yet?" or "How long until we get there?"

Technically, the photo above isn't Montana--it's Wyoming. But our border crossing happened somewhere in the great Yellowstone National Park.

I love natural places. I had dreamed of seeing Yellowstone. There's nothing like a good wilderness, I always say. (As the joke always concludes...) "And Yellowstone is nothing like a good wilderness." Don't get me wrong--it is beautiful and largely untamed. But I feel like my sons were more wild than the Yellowstone we saw. It was WAY more touristy that I thought it would be (I don't know why I wasn't expecting that). Herds of cars would park by the roadside to snap photos of herds of deer. And they weren't really herds--three or four together, at most.

There is a lodge not 100 feet from Old Faithful that serves ridiculously over-priced (and bad) food. As you can see behind the boys, hundreds and hundreds of tourists sit on benches, munching their crappy food, waiting to see the next scheduled eruption. And even that seemed too domesticated. It was like a movie theater: "The next showtime for 'Old Faithful' will be in 25 minutes!"

I am largely to blame for my lack of enjoyment at Yellowstone, however. We made it there on the third day of driving and were on a bit of a time crunch to see everything. Exhausted from driving+needing to get somewhere=no way to enjoy a national park.

But the rest of the trip was fantastic. Being good Texans we brought along our cowboy hats. The horses were great, the Neal family, owners and operators of the Black Otter Guide service, were wonderful, and the scenery was gorgeous. Here Aydan sits astride Cassidy (must have been named after Butch, because he was a male).
The boys did so unbelievably well on the trail ride in. It was probably close to an hour or hour-and-a-half, but they never complained--in fact they loved it!--and they were finally QUIET. After 22 hours of them chattering in the back seat of the car, it was a blissfully silent ride up the mountain to our campsite. I prayed and sang "How Great Thou Art" and "Great is the Faithfulness", just soaking in the glory of creation. Above, Brennan gets a feel for Snip (short for Parsnip).
The riding was one of the best parts of the trip. Here's the fam, with Heather riding Chica.

And of course the scenery was amazing.

Being the old cowhand that I am, having ridden EXTENSIVELY at Crossroads Camp in St. John, ND, I was glad someone as skilled and experienced as me had some challenges, like crossing this river.

But seriously, it was pretty challenging riding a horse (even my faithful steed Doc) with a broken leg. The place where the stirrup rested against the side of the horse was just at the break line and was somewhat uncomfortable. Then on the way home, I leaned out of my saddle and returned to an upright position using my left leg. Big mistake! The ride down the mountain was excruciating.

If you would have asked me what I wanted from Montana, I would have described a scene like this. Emerging from a dense forest into a rolling mountain pasture, ringed by mountains and covered with a blue sky, all on a glorious, sunny-but-cool day. Amazing. This is where the wildness and the true beauty were.

While Aydan may look like he is in blissful repose, he had in fact just sprained his ankle running through the meadow. He is moaning and wailing under his hat in this picture, but had you not known that, it would have been picturesque, right?

What good cowboy doesn't chew on a piece of grass?

Each day in mid- to late-aternoon the mountain storms would roll in. We all had rain gear, so it was no big deal, and we didn't let it slow us down. Sometimes, during the heaviest rain, we'd huddle under the big central tent where we shared our meals. Fortunately, I brought some card games along and we still enjoyed that time as well. When the rain was light we would still go adventuring.
I mentioned Aydan's injury before because it prevented him from going with Brennan and me when we started exploring on our first day in camp. We just kept climbing higher and higher until we reached the top of the mountain. Unfortunately, it caused Aydan to worry so much that he couldn't eat dinner (such a sweet kid!), which we missed. Still, it provided one of my favorite pictures of the trip.
This may look like an ordinary landscape photo, simply demonstrating the beauty of the mountainside. But look closer.

On the second day we took a ride through the surrounding mountains. Riding was a definite treat, and we got to stop and eat lunch in magnificent surroundings. Some other favorite activities included gathering fuel for and stoking the fire, and feeding and saddling the horses. Seriously, the boys could have done these two jobs all day long. Aydan so enjoyed helping out that he desperately wants to return next summer to work for Black Otter. And the Neals were so kind and appreciative of the boys' help. Gary, the trail boss, even taught Aydan and Brennan how to crack a whip.

Unfortunately, the creek (which is a misnomer--it was like a roaring, cascading river) was too high and fast, due to an unusually high amount of snowfall from the previous winter, which is still melting and flowing down the mountainside. Sadly that meant that the boys could not fish, which has become the ultimate of activities for them this summer. (I'll have to post a picture about that later.) All in all, though, a great trip.

Then last week we went to Missouri to celebrate the 60th wedding anniversary of my father-in-law's parents. It was a good time to re-connect with family, some of whom I haven't seen for ten years. In fact, we went to the exact spot for Jack and Annette's 50th anniversary. Above, all the "grandkids" sit and talk to Grandpa Jack. For me it was all about hanging out with Heather's family and enjoying time with her brothers and sister. Oh, that and cliff jumping.

See me behind the tree branch? This is a pretty decent cliff, right? Maybe 15 feet.
Well this was just a warm up for the real, main event.

This photo was taken 10 years ago. I'm almost positive it's the exact same cliff we jumped off last week. The previous trip was taken in Autumn, so we weren't as crazy about getting out and swimming. As a result, the picture isn't very descriptive in terms of scale.
Well, we remedied that problem this year. Here I am standing in the water at the base of the cliff. And don't worry--the water depth drops pretty rapidly. We jumped into approximately 8 feet of water, with good soft mud at the bottom.

Seen here is the top of the cliff face from which we jumped. The highest point of rock you can see, just right of center in the photo, was our launch place. The goal was to jump over and clear (aiming just slightly to the right) the tree branches below.

Here I am in mid-plummet. We estimated that the cliff was probably 40-50 feet tall. It had a pronounced affect upon ones bottom when one hit the water. That's a polite and proper way of saying it made your butthole sizzle when you splashed down.

To give you a better feel for what it would have looked like watching from a boat in the middle of the lake (and yes, we did have spectators), here is Kelly in mid-jump. I must say, for the honor of all the Faszholz children, that (although not pictured) Heather, Jason and Kyle all jumped as well. But I was an idiot and forgot the camera for the first time. So Kelly and I paddled back to the cabin, got the cameras (there is also video footage this time), and were the only ones to repeat the jump for documentation. Did I mention the butthole situation?

But thankfully I did not remember the butthole stinging from 10 years previous, and I was only too glad to be the first to make the jump again this year. I have included pictures from the last time just for nostalgia's sake.
This shot of Jason really does well to capture how huge a jump it was. I'm not going to try to sound all tough: it was terrifying standing up there, trying to get the nerve to jump.

And here's me. Unfortunately my scanning job made an already off-center situation much worse, so you can barely see me in the top left corner.

Ah...what beautiful days this summer has held!

The Good Stuff

2011-07-31T16:58:00.002-06:00

"Didn't our hears burn within us?" (Luke 24:32)

Have you ever had a good conversation? I'm not talking about mere fun or stirring intellectual topics. Have you ever talked with someone about what God was doing in your life and by the end you feel like the Holy Spirit was within you, within the other, swirling between you and wrapping everything in that moment into an almost utter holiness? Or have you listened to the aching heart of a friend and tried to walk in their shoes and help them bear their burden so that by the end of your talk you feel like their is a solidarity and togetherness that is just somehow deeply meaningful?

That's what it comes down to: meaningful. Fun is fine, but it's terribly fleeting. When you have a meaningful conversation, it sticks with you. It could have been absolutely terrible and heart-wrenching, but it lingers and you feel it and you remember you are alive. See, the thrill of joy, the rush of excitement, the glow of happiness--these aren't the only reminders of being alive. To loss of death, the weight of sorrow, the suffering of pain; these remind us that life matters, and that existence is full of a complete range of emotion. Often in our sorrow we find ourselves. Often we are refined and life becomes sweeter still.

I haven't written much about it here because this is, should anyone in a far-flung corner of the world come up with a ridiculous desire to read this, a global forum. Granted, my world is significantly smaller than that and typically consists of a handful of readers, some of whom know what is going on. But to my wider readership and to the world (if they care to read): I am going through a difficult time. Still, God has caused me to pause and marvel at least three distinct times today, and it's as if the pain clears away distractions, focusing vision and allowing moments of clarity. My most recent astonishment is that even a tough conversation can produce joy, especially when the "meaningfulness" is evident right away and the glory of God can be seen in it. I've heard before that one word for God's glory in Hebrew is "kavod", and it means a sort of weightiness or heaviness. I find it beautifully ironic that God is often clearly felt in the weighty and heavy matters of our lives.

I Am Thankful for God's Love

2011-07-22T16:49:00.002-06:00

There's a wideness in God's mercy
I cannot find in my own
And He keeps His fire burning
To melt this heart of stone
Keeps me aching with a yearning
Keeps me glad to have been caught
In the reckless raging fury
That they call the love of God

Joy and sorrow are this ocean
And in their every ebb and flow
Now the Lord a door has opened
That all Hell could never close
Here I'm tested and made worthy
Tossed about but lifted up
In the reckless raging fury
That they call the love of God

I'm Back

2011-07-19T10:56:00.002-06:00

It's been quite some time since I last posted. This is due to a variety of factors: personal pain and loss (including, but not limited to, my Grandma Asp's death), a vacation (in the mountains of Montana), painting (nearly 20 hours in the last two days), and just general summer style (the carefree, slow and easy-going pace of days uncrowded by a demanding schedule).

But here is my return. I plan to post about each one of those things in days to come, but I was just reading and was prompted to write some recommendations, for those who, like me during the summer days, have a little extra time on their hands and want to know what to do with it.

Books:

"The Four Loves" (C.S. Lewis) It's by C.S. Lewis. That's pretty much all you need to know. The guy is amazing. I like the treatment of a subject I am currently investigating, that is, what do we mean when we say we are "in love"? I like his perspective on what it means to love.

"A Kind of Flying" (Ron Carleson) I've mentioned him before--just earlier this summer, I think--in connection to his fantastic short story, "Towel Season." So I checked out a book of his short stories from the library and have really enjoyed them. Some aren't as great as others, but "The H Street Sledding Record," "I Am Bigfoot," and "Life Before Science" and "The Status Quo" are some of the best in this collection. Maybe they resonate with the stage of life I find myself in, or maybe because many of his stories swing round to hope in the end, or maybe because they're just well written and entertaining, but in any case I have been enjoying them. If you want some bite-sized fiction, check it out.

"The Book of the Dead" (Lloyd and Mitchinson) I heard about this one on NPR. NPR gives you tips on all sorts of great stuff. I picked it up for the Montana trip, thinking I'd read it in the car. Then I remembered that I can't read in the car without getting violently sick. So I just picked it up this morning and have been devouring the little vignettes on the "lives of the justly famous and the undeservedly obscure." I just got done reading about Ben Franklin and it made me appreciate him so much more. The glimpses into the lives of the deceased are grouped based on theme (a dead, inadequate or absent father--Bad Beginnings; or a positive life philosophy or happy outlook--Happy-Go-Lucky). It is fascinating and entertaining and fun. I highly recommend it.

Viewing:

"Mad About You." Maybe my favorite TV show ever. I just started re-watching old episodes on discs from Netflix. It is the perfect telling of married life--funny, difficult, annoying, complex, and (as one character puts it in the series finale) "better."

"Black Snake Moan." HUGE caveat here. It would rightfully be considered by some to be filthy. In the first 20 minutes there are 3 sex scenes. The cover of the DVD shows Samuel L. Jackson holding the end of a chain, at the other end of which is a scantily clad Christina Ricci. But if that doesn't scare you away, if you can fight through some nudity and language, you will enjoy one of the most beautiful (albeit gritty) redemption stories in film. I want to love like Lazarus and Ronnie.

Music:

I've got two Sarah's for you.

Sara Watkins

Formerly of Nickel Creek. Since then she has guest-hosted "A Prairie Home Companion" (preparing for Garrison's announced retirement in a year and a half) and released her own solo album. I was not particularly keen on the music at first, so give it a couple listens before you decide. But now I absolutely love "Long Hot Summer Day," "All This Time," and of course, her version of "Give Me Jesus."

Sarah Jaffe

A Denton, TX native (just up the road), Jaffe is part of a collection of local musicians I just love (I think I've mentioned Seryn before, and Air Review, but also Doug Burr). Her song "Clementine" is great. (There's another "Clementine" by Washington that's pretty good, too.)

So I've returned and now I've given you plenty of things to keep you busy. Look for more soon.

Sad Songs and Waltzes Aren't Selling This Year

2011-06-27T19:35:00.003-06:00

Okay...nobody freak out. I thought of a sad song today and it made me think, "What are the saddest songs ever?" So I've put together this little list. Your contributions of what you think is a sad song are always welcome.

"Running Dry (Requiem for the Rockets)" (Neil Young)

"A Man Needs a Maid" (Neil Young)

"Where's the Orchestra" (Billy Joel)

"Fred Jones (Part 2)" (Ben Folds)

"Goodbye to Love" (The Carpenters)

"Rainy Days and Mondays" (The Carpenters)

"Hurt" (Johnny Cash...not the original Nine Inch Nails version)

"Eli the Barrow Boy" (The Decemberists)

"Another New World" (Josh Ritter)

"Mad World" (Michael Andrews & Gary Jules)

I almost hate to include "Another New World" as a sad song, but it is mournful and beautiful. It is an amazing song. If you haven't heard it you must find a way to check it out.

Ch-, Ch-, Ch-, Changes

2011-06-26T22:26:00.002-06:00

I may not be Ovid, but I've written a series (if you can call two a series) of short stories on the theme of Metamorphosis. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think.

Another Story

2011-06-26T21:50:00.006-06:00

There are a million fish in the ocean, but in a swampy bog off the coast of Louisiana only a handful of fish resided. There were many reasons for this: the fear of alligators, the murkiness of the water, the above-average warmth of the water. Amongst this handful of fish, two herrings, Rhett and Ol' Blue, swam their days away. The two had been best of friends since their early days in the school, and on several occasions Ol' Blue had rescued Rhett from certain death at the end of some fishing line.

The two would often have the other fish in stitches with their unique talent. Rhett would start a sentence, and Ol' Blue would jump right in and finish for him. Sometimes it was ridiculous and silly, but other times it was downright eerie, for everyone could tell that it was as if Ol' Blue had read Rhett's mind.

One day a funny looking fish swam by. Being the kind and generous boys they were, Rhett and Ol' Blue took to protecting the awkward little thing and spent as much time as they could with him. Especially Rhett. He learned the fish's name was Bo, and he learned that Bo had a completely different way of doing everything. When Ol' Blue had chores to do and couldn't be with them, Rhett would find him later in the day and tell the funniest story of how Bo actually jumped out of the water and flopped around on dry land--something Ol' Blue would never even dream of.

As you might imagine, before long it didn't feel like Rhett, Ol' Blue and Bo. No, it seemed like Ol' Blue didn't fit in the picture any more. Mostly it was because he didn't like Bo. Bo's scales had never fully developed, and so he looked and felt odd. And maybe he was a little touched by the sun, but Ol' Blue could swear that every day Bo's flippers looked longer and his tail looked shorter. But the clincher for him was when Bo's death-defying antics became all too regular, and his jumps onto dry land lasted longer and longer.

So one day Ol' Blue swam up to Rhett and asked him what it was he liked so much about Bo.

"I'm not real sure," Rhett responded. "He sure is different, though."

"Different! I'll say! Look at him just sitting on that log there. How does he hold his breath that long? I mean it just ain't natural for a fish to be out of water like that."

"Yeah, ain't he a hoot!" Rhett said.

"He might as well hoot for how weird he looks," Ol' Blue answered. "What manner of fish do you suppose he is, with his smooth, green skin and them awful spots? And how is it his flippers fold up and tuck under his body like that?"

"Ah...you just don't understand him," Rhett told his friend. "He sings these beautiful songs and jumps across the water almost like he's flying for a little bit."

"You call that croaking singing?" said Ol' Blue. "And we can jump, too. But he don't jump up out of the water, he jumps across it. I'm telling you, it ain't natural."

Ol' Blue decided he better study Bo and see what he was like. Of course it didn't take long, but with a little study he learned that Bo wasn't a fish at all, but a big, fat bullfrog. He didn't understand why Rhett couldn't see the differences between the two of them, Rhett being a fish and Bo now changed out of his fishy state. But if Rhett liked a frog, well Ol' Blue was going to be more like one himself. After all, he missed his old friend.

While Rhett and Bo frolicked about, Ol' Blue fashioned some legs out of branches floating on the bog. He figured out a way to wrap and tuck his tail so it almost looked like it wasn't even there. Finally, and most difficult of all, Ol' Blue learned to overcome his fear of land and wanted to try flopping up on it to impress Rhett.

One day as Rhett and Bo were holding a "Swamp Olympics", Ol' Blue readied himself. He heard them talking about the course for the next race, so he swam ahead and positioned himself for them to come by. He strapped on his prosthetic legs and tucked his tail, then sat and waited. In no time at all he could hear their voices coming, so he swam as fast and he could and leaped as far as he could onto a bumpy little island with tufts of swamp grass. The problem was, when the other two raced by, they didn't see or hear him, but just raced away. Ol' Blue began to panic. He gasped for air to call out their names, but there was none. He tried to use his new legs to hobble back into the water, but they were awkward and only held him down. Finally, he flopped and trashed, but it was no use.

As the darkness closed in on his terrified mind, on final thought flashed through. "So this is what they mean by, 'A fish out of water.'"

Winning, Towels, and Family

2011-06-24T07:46:00.002-06:00

Winning and losing. Keeping score. Maybe I'm just a competitive guy, but any personal interaction can feel like a head-to-head. Comparisons are made and I attempt to find in what arena, or in how many, I am superior to another person. That's pride--I struggle to keep it in check. But relationships can be similar. Keep track of what happened: perhaps it will be worth making into a highlight real. Count the score: you have to know where you stand, if you're getting ahead. Make sure you come out on top; make sure you win.

It turns out that is type of thinking is diametrically opposed to the mind of Jesus. Take a fleeting glance at his life, and you will see giving, serving, sacrificing. "Love keeps no record of wrongs." That is why it is hard to be like Jesus. Not because it's complex--it's surprisingly simple--but because it is so divine.

I recently re-listened to a podcast of Selected Shorts entitled "Figuring It Out." The story there is one of my favorite short stories of all time, Ron Carlson's, "Towel Season." It's very apropos because it takes place in summer suburbia. What I enjoy almost as much as the story is an interview with Ron Carlson at the end of the reading. His life motto is, "Make haste to be kind." I love that his stories reflect hope and intentional kindness. He says of his motto, "There's no time to waste. If you have to cross the street [to be kind], do it."

Would I rather "lose"? It's so hard to choose kindness and love sometimes--you feel like you're giving up so much of yourself to do it. They cost. They don't give a glorifying sense of victory. There's no vindication in them. But they are right. They are good. I guess in the end I choose to be the "loser." I hope in doing so I'm choosing to be like Jesus.

"Happy families are all alike. Every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way" (Tolstoy). Poor Anna Karenina. How tragic to live the life of duplicity and heedless chasing after the wind. But don't we all do it? Don't we all "fight [Jesus] for something I don't really want" rather than to "take what [He] gives that I need"? We just hope that somehow there won't be train wheels waiting to crush us at the end. I confess that I spent years of my life doing it. I repent of being a poor leader and a distracted follower. We all must jump off those tracks of selfishness--it's easy enough to look down the line and see where they lead--and follow the new course Jesus offers. I somehow don't think there are rails for that path. I think it sometimes feels like you are pulling the entire train's cargo through the sand to follow him, but even the struggle (at moments of true clarity) seems worth it.

A Story

2011-06-20T11:03:00.003-06:00

Many people have heard the tale of Pygmalion, but they have been sadly misinformed. I knew the artist well and have heard his own account of the now well-known events. Here before you are his very thoughts, told to correct the error and share his woeful story.

The workshop resounded with dull thuds and resonant clangs as the hammer hit the chisel. Many a day Pygmalion would leave at sunset, joyful for the productivity, but with hands numb from the vibrations carried through his chisel. He would take the short walk home, often thanking the gods for his talents and savoring the beautiful Mediterranean breeze that sweetened the corpuscular hour.

At home, he was greeted by his adoring wife. She was a beautiful and diligent woman, always hard at work when he arrived at their house. Some days he would walk over and kiss her gently while she continued to work. Others, he would rush about the house, excitedly talking about the day's creation as he prepared a meal for them to share. She was not an artist, but always listened politely and when she did see a finished statue she would praise Pygmalion for his giftedness and the beauty of his work.

These habits continued for many years, until Pygmalion's wife began to wonder what life in the workshop was like. She began following Pygmalion to work in the morning. She pulled a chair into the corner, away from the shower of falling marble, and watched intently as he worked. After days and weeks, she was no longer perturbed by the chips of stone, nor by the dust and noise. She drew her chair closer and closer, desiring to be more a part of Pygmalion's creation.

Pygmalion reveled in his wife's attention. He lavished affection on her, often making sculptures for her or dedicating them in her name. With her in the studio he had a ready model and began posing her for works he was making. It is true that some evenings she would rub her hands and complain of an almost arthritic ache, but these occurrences were so rare and separated by so much time that he thought very little of it. When her hands ached, he pulled her to his side and rubbed them gently with his own calloused, scratched and bruised fingers.

This was a time of flourishing. The statues Pygmalion created were adored by the public. His wife now regularly stood on a model stand right next to the block of marble Pygmalion was carving. Once Pygmalion glanced at his wife while swinging his mallet and missed the chisel entirely, crushing his hand beneath the blow. They rushed home together, bound up the hand, and sat together gazing at the sky while the sun dipped below the edge of their beautiful island.

In the morning, Pygmalion told his wife he would stay home for a few days to let his hand heal. She responded that she would still like to go to the workshop, perhaps to tidy up or just to ensure that no one bothered his things while he rested. Pygmalion consented and watched his wife walk away. When he finally retuned to the workshop, Pygmalion felt something unusual. The workspace was the same. His statue was as he left it. Even the mallet that had done so much damage still felt comfortable and familiar in his hand. He worked through the day, though he took more breaks to rest his hand, and at sunset began to walk home with his wife. She stepped down from the platform and stiffly walked to the door. Pygmalion's trained eye could see a slight difference in her form, though he could not tell what he was perceiving. That whole evening she seemed less herself, rigid and cold. He asked if her hands were hurting her and began to rub them. She did not respond, but he could feel a tremendous tension in the muscles of her hand. Even his hardened digits could feel the stoney flex of her frozen fingers.

In the morning, they returned to the shop. As Pygmalion's wife climbed onto the model stand, he watched in disbelief as the dust from the floor of the studio swirled around her feet and began clinging to her peplos. She stared at him and did not seem to notice, striking a pose instead to prepare for the day's work. His wife's toe peeked from beneath her clothing, and her noticed not only how pale it was, but the rich luster it had. He reached for her garments and slapped at the dust to shake it away, but he stubbed his finger as it bounced of the granite folds. The dust of the room rose higher up her thighs. He rubbed and smoothed, shooing the dust away, but her once supple flesh was replaced with unbending stone. He began to sob, feeling her arms, her breasts, her elegant neck, and at last her soft cheek. He caressed her cold flesh, trying to tell her how he loved her and staring into her eyes for some sign that she understood. In an instant, all light was gone from her eyes. All that remained were the dull, white orbs of a statue.

To be sure, Pygmalion did love a statue. Certainly, a metamorphosis did occur. But the story of Pygmalion is not a comedy; it is a tragedy.

The Best Ever

2011-06-19T21:02:00.002-06:00

I was recently contemplating the big questions in life, and I had to stop and ask myself:

What is the best movie ever?

The best movie to depict a conversation about "the best ever" is "City Slickers" (they talk about their best days and worst days). I watched that scene today, but that is not exactly where I was going with this.

Perhaps my favorite movie of all time is "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind." Not on the top of many peoples lists, I would venture to say. But its uniqueness, its humor, its poignancy all combine together to make it an amazing film. (Of course, timing is everything; often my "favorite" reflects what is most significant to me "right now".)

And as I thought about it more, I would say that the viewing experience I enjoy the most has just the right mix of humor and poignancy. I'm not sure "poignant" is always the right word. Sometimes it's more about what is true. It's light and funny, and yet weighty and rings of the terrible beauty that comes with living. "City Slickers" is like that. "Eternal Sunshine" is too. I just recently watched "Punch Drunk Love" again and LOVED it (again). It does such a good job of creating a mood and delivering a message in a unique and creative way. My favorite TV shows off all time do the same. "Scrubs" is hilarious, but J.D. always "learns" a valuable lesson about life. "Ed" brought together law and bowling--a moral compass mixed with a laugh track.

So here's to life: serious and heavy at times, but always mixed with a little bit of joy.

The Long and the Short of It

2011-06-18T19:22:00.002-06:00

Summer can be an endless stream of undifferentiated days, but it can also be a mad dash of time between one school year and another.

This is the dichotomy I live with each year. There is so much to be done during the summer: plan for the next school year, paint, complete projects, etc. Yet in another sense there is so little to occupy the time, and there is pure bliss is just bumming around the pool, traveling, and relaxing.

So here we are, two weeks into summer vacation. It feels like a lifetime ago that I had to work. It feels like the summer has just begun. But the dates betray the fact that the summer is speeding along. If I take into account dates that have already been "committed" to activities or trips, the summer is already almost over. But then that's the way it usually goes.

A Confession

2011-06-12T11:12:00.002-06:00

May I make a (perhaps startling) confession to you, dear readers?

I have never in my life sustained the practice of daily prayer, for any one person or thing, nor simply for the experience itself.

As a Christian this is a shameful thing to confess. Admitting to our shortcomings, however, in some way takes the shame away and robs the devil of the power to hold it over our head. I've had several conversations with friends about prayer in the past few weeks. At the heart of the matter, I believe, are two intellectual objections I have never been able to get beyond.

1) I do not know how it works.

This must be due, in large part, to the fact that prayer is a great spiritual mystery to begin with. But I struggle with many aspects of the inner-workings of prayer. How do prayer and providence work together? How does my sin affect my prayer? Is prayer really about asking God to give me what I want (he's probably a bit better as a judge of what I need and what is best in the universal scheme of things)? But is praying "your will be done" the only thing I can do, or does God also hear and move and respond to our requests? Being an all-knowing God, is there great need in me praying every day about the same thing...of which he is already aware and working on? The questions seem endless.

2) The lure of the novel

This is the name I give to a deep-seated desire I find at work within me. When given a choice between the commonplace or ordinary and the new and the fresh, I almost always choose the novel. As a child my father often said, "variety is the spice of life" and now as an adult I have apparently taken its meaning to be "novelty is the spice of life." While this guiding principle is not always true, it certainly makes repeated, daily prayer more of a challenge.

I am saying all this because I was challenged at church this morning that the very act of connecting with God, abiding in him, is transformative. I want prayer to be something transformative in the world at large: lives changed, events altered, the power of God brought to bear for me in my life. And, incidentally, I am often like Veruca Salt: "I want it now." What I was reminded of this morning is that the effect is very often within me, and often any discernible effect will require patience to notice.

Just moments ago I read something about C.S. Lewis in a book, and he told a friend that daily prayer for that friend felt a little like short meetings despite their geographic distance from each other. That's a beautiful picture I can get behind. I then jumped online to look for some information on Lewis's book, "Pilgrim's Regress" and read of an exchange between Lewis and his friend. His friend asked, "When will you write your next book" and Lewis's response was, "When I understand prayer." I guess in a sense it's comforting that others have wrestled with this subject as well, and at the same time have practiced what they could not fully understand.

I've started lifting weights again after the accident, and determined to gain back some weight that I had lost. As I read more about weight training, I was reminded that so much of it has to do with diet. A friend told me once, "You can't out-train a bad diet." I say all this because even though I didn't fully understand the correct way to lift or to gain muscle mass when I was a younger man, I still lifted weights. I drew pictures before I fully understood value and color. Part of living and growing is doing, and progressing as you go.

So I am resolving to make a list (I almost shudder at the thought) and pray daily. It may be the most horrible way to go about counteracting the problem, but it will be something. I simply feel I can no longer neglect something so important and blame it on ignorance.

Incredible Historic Document

2011-06-11T11:42:00.002-06:00

By no means is hoplesslyuncool as valuable as a real historic document, such as the Declaration of Independence. I mean only that it is an extremely helpful reference that I can use to look back at my own life history.

This morning I was scrolling through old posts, as far back as 2006. My post "Subterfuge" seems more relevant and accurate today than it did five years ago. I notice familiar patterns in my thinking, and in the events that were happening around me. I see a former view of myself--what I thought was anemic and spiritually weak seems stronger than I am today...like I've wasted away to become the man I am now.

What will the next five years hold? From my perspective today, they seem very scary and uncertain. So much will happen. Who will I be when I emerge in half a decade? Only time will tell.

A Rare and Unique Creature

2011-06-09T17:08:00.004-06:00

Let me begin by saying that I am not in the habit of snapping pictures with my camera phone while lounging at the local pool. I know, I know...just by having to declare that I make myself somewhat suspect, but nevertheless I am not THAT weird.

But what I encountered today simply had to be documented. The mere description of such a marvelous beast would defy credulity to such an extent that I was afraid no one would believe me without some type of evidence. Sitting right next to this beautiful specimen made it all the more difficult to take its photo unaware, but with a little patience and much craftiness, I was able to do so.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Poolside Business Dad.

This breath-taking natural wonder can be easily identified in its natural habitat by its distinctive markings, resembling business slacks and dress shoes. Just...stunning.

P.S.--

You may be thinking to yourself, "Bold move, sir." But you should have seen his previous two attempts. They raised quite a few more eyebrows.

Mission Accomplished

2011-06-08T19:49:00.005-06:00

This is how I started the day:

And this is how I ended it:

This is only a 4"x6" card. It's only colored pencil. It's far from perfect. But it's a major success in many ways.

1) My summer "return to painting" invariably puts me back to work on a canvas started months if not years earlier, and while I'm knocking the rust off and relearning everything I've forgotten I manage to ruin what had started out as a decent painting. Consider the rust knocked off.

2) Color mixing is a challenging thing. The colored pencil practice won't translate directly to painting, but it puts me back in that mindset.

3) I successfully completed a goal. I told myself I would finish this little card TODAY. When I calculated (each square/pixel takes 4-5 minutes to duplicate. There are 400 total squares. The total time, then, is close to 33 hours) that became a daunting task. Half of that (as seen in the first picture) had been completed over the course of the last two school years. Still, I forced myself to get back into disciplined time in the studio, and close to seven hours later I had done what I set out to do.

4) I saw the torture to which I was subjecting me students. This is an assignment for my Draw 2 class. I noticed this year that the completion rate for the project was way down, and the success rate was smaller still. Knowing that the value in learning to see and mix color was necessary, I used that motivation to justify the project, even though I knew kids were hating it. Having finished my own, and having forced myself to work on nothing else for hour upon hour, I can see how monotonous and tedious it is. Sure, it's valuable...but man was it a pain.

5) I think I'll change the requirements for the project this coming year.

6) I set the tone for the summer. Summers tend to fly by. I'm usually a couple weeks in before I ever start painting, and then after a couple weeks I need to start thinking about school again. This year I'm trying to be more balanced. I've already done some school work, and I refused to let the first days of the first week escape without getting some art done.

Tomorrow I'm off to the Dallas Science and Nature Museum to sketch bird specimens and take photos for a project I've been dreaming about doing for several years. This will be a preliminary step, and I'm not sure I'll start working on that painting this summer (it will be massive!), but I'm excited about two "art days" in a row.

Seated and Drawing

2011-05-30T19:05:00.006-06:00

I haven't been able to paint recently because my common practice is to stand while doing so and standing has been something of a chore of late. In the early days of the injury it was fine for two reasons: 1) I was too uncomfortable to feel like doing anything productive, & 2) I hadn't really painted for about...hmm, let's say a year....so it's not like I was breaking some great streak by not painting. But I have 4 days of school left, so there's very little to do in terms of work-related planning, and I am still largely immobile (although I've been doing some rehab-type stretching and strengthening to bring back my range of motion) and that is a great recipe for wanting to do something creative.

So I present to the world my two most recent creations. Both media are outside my norm. Both are mostly for fun. But most importantly, both could be done while I remained seated with my leg slightly elevated.

#1--The 4-2-1 T-Shirt Design

I don't know if I've written about the 4-2-1 Tournament before. It is a fundraiser for the CHS girls volleyball program in which each girl recruits a team of four guys who pay to play in a tournament conducted on two playing surfaces: court and grass ("Four men, Two surfaces, One Champion."). For the past 3 years we have had the same "coach" from the volleyball team. I say "we" but that has really been very fluid each year, but we still use the same name regardless of who is on the team: THE FIGHTING UNICORNS. The Unicorns played without me this past weekend.

A lot of times I am asked to come up with designs for t-shirts related to various events or causes around campus. I made the 4-2-1 shirt two years ago, and it's production got me thinking about other ideas I could use in the future. I kind of like the idea for the artwork shown here, and the drawing itself didn't turn out too badly. I created it using Adobe Illustrator, with which I am far from proficient, but using it to create things like this has made me better as I go along. In the end, the girl who asked me to create a design apparently waited too long, and so it wasn't used for this years t-shirts, but at least I'll have something ready for next year if they need it. If not, at least I enjoyed making it.

#2--Customized Shoes

We got Heather a pair of TOMS for Mother's Day, and while I was paying for shipping I thought I'd get one for each of us. The great irony is that Heather's were too small (despite the fact that I ordered the size shoe she typically wears) so she was the only one who is still without a pair. I haven't been able to wear mine, due to the elephantine proportions of my left leg, so they have sat in my closet, hidden in their little bag, preserved in pristine whiteness. I'm really into wearing white these days, but I knew I wanted to "modify" my TOMS in some way. So they sat...and I sat...and I finally I came up with an idea. This weekend I completed their creation. The images here show 3 phases: original, artists conception (done in Photoshop), and final version (Sharpee on shoe). The inspiration for the art comes from Tlingit and Haida tribal art--Native American tribes from the North West coast of America (and southwestern coast of Canada). I have always thought it beautiful and simple. I chose to make the top of the two shoes slightly asymmetrical, with the left depicting an eagle and the right showing a raven.

The inside of the shoe (seen above) differs from the outside, but I feel like they compliment each other pretty well. Aydan sat by me last night and helped me deliberate on the choices I was considering, and I was really impressed by his visual reasoning and his strong sense of what made a good design. I then based by drawing on the Photoshop mock-ups I created, but made some slight adjustments for scale as I went along. Again, I'm pretty pleased with how they turned out.

I've also made some trips out to the studio to work on a colored pencil self-portrait that's been sitting around since I started it as an example for what kids were to be doing in class (back in November, maybe?). So even if I can't finish the still life painting that I have set up in the studio, I can tie up other loose ends and get back into the creative swing of things. In a way, it's preparatory for the painting. That's a good feeling as we head into summer and what I hope to be a more artistically productive time.

Two-Tone Toes

2011-05-25T17:00:00.003-06:00

Depending upon how much I've been on my feet for school during a day, my left foot can swell to humorous proportions. But even when I keep it wrapped and stay off of it for the most part it still retains a curious appearance: it's a different color than my other foot. Sometimes it looks red, other times it seems more purple. I'm assuming it is still lingering, accumulated blood that pool in my extremity and the bruising that resulted. All this leftover bruising and swelling is still working its way back into my body to be done away with. That's what I'm telling myself to avoid being concerned that I have duo-tone feet.

Today brings the 3 week mark since the accident. That means I'm halfway through my recovery in a worse-case scenario. Also, I'm only a week away from complete bone fusion in a best-case scenario. That has given me more liberty to try putting weight on my foot and attempting to get a full range of motion back in my knee and ankle. Before, I was worried that too much exertion of my leg could slow the bone healing, but now I'm assuming that has gone well and I'm starting a moderate, self-initiated rehab/phsycial therapy plan. So far it has gone well and things are actually starting to feel like I might be getting better.

Currently

2011-05-18T21:38:00.002-06:00

I just finished a book called, "Unbroken." Brutal. Moving. Beautiful. It took me three days to finish. You should read it if you get a chance.

Largely due to "Unbroken," I've recognized my own self-pitying attitude. I see that I've been someone selfish and neglecting of others. I'm worrying less about getting back to walking immediately. I'm resting (the book also helped keep me in bed!). I'm calling friends to see how they are doing. It's a good shift.

We have great friends, Kyle and Joanna. They are the only couple we go out with, and they are awesome. We recently went with them to the House of Blues to see The Decemberists. I've really been enjoying their new album, and hearing some of the songs performed live added a personal connection to them. One song I already loved has become, perhaps, my favorite song right now (rivaled only by "Helplessness Blues" off the Fleet Foxes new album): "January Hymn." Again, if you get a chance, you should check it out.

Finally, as my independence has shifted to dependence, my schedule has changed to become more like my wife's. Since I can't rise and walk the dog like I normally do, I sleep in later. Therefore, I end up staying up later at night. I wait on people to give me rides to and from school. I adjust what I do to what other people are doing. It's a weird feeling.

Staying Home Sick

2011-05-13T16:56:00.002-06:00

Since the last time I posted, I have spent another day at the hospital (making sure I had no infection, complications with surgery, or blood clots) and have stayed home an additional two days. Today marks my eighth consecutive day away from school. I'm sure you don't need me to tell you, but the days do not get better and better.

So I was sitting at home today, wondering why I was not enjoying the "time off." In my calculations, I came up with several possible explanations, and in reality, they probably add up together.

1) Volition--to take nearly two weeks off from work because you want to, that's a vacation. To take nearly two weeks off from work because you are physically incapable of going....that sucks.

2) Duration--when I stayed at home in elementary school (and I'm talking about the times I really was sick--not the times I faked it) it was usually because I puked in the morning. But as I've seen in my own kids, and seem to remember in the distant past, usually puking in the morning gives way to running around and laughing in the evening. I couldn't end ordeal if I wanted to.

3) PAIN--I'm honestly trying to remember another time when I've hurt like this. Having time on your hands when you're just sitting around in pain is all kinds of terrible. It makes everything worse, since you think about all the things you COULD be doing with the same amount of time off when you are healthy in body and undistracted by hurting.

If there was a bright spot to my day, however, it was that all this thinking about sick days when I was a kid brought back the things I loved about staying home.

1) Toast and Cocoa--I wish I felt like getting up to make myself some, but I remember fondly the days of eating while staying home sick from school.

2) TV--I'm not a big TV guy. If I'm able to be out doing other things, I really don't like to watch TV. But I have been enjoying watching season 1 of "Scrubs" and season 2 of "Arrested Development." In addition, today I took myself back to the days before digital media and watched the shows I loved to watch as a kid, sick at home.

Bob Ross: "Happy little clouds". Sweet afro. Soothing voice. Need I say more?

John Robbins: You may not recognize this name, but you might remember the show. I think it is interesting, and not coincidental, that my two favorite shows to watch when home sick were about painting and drawing (stories).

Other: I came across old theme songs and fun/weird shows we used to watch.

3) Rest--As much as I hate to say it, at least I don't have to be at school suffering, nor do I have to be at home resting AND having my pay docked. I'm very fortunate to be able to rest and recover in peace and quiet, without fear or anxiety about how I will afford it. As a kid, it was always just kind of nice to have a break from the routine. I guess that's a kids version of rest.

Double Dose of Daily Doings

2011-05-10T17:59:00.004-06:00

I can't really tell you why I thought I'd be ready to go back to school yesterday. Or today. Or tomorrow. At this point--and with many friends and family members telling me, "Don't push it! Take your time! You shouldn't even go back this week!"--I'm ask myself that question? Why did I think I'd be able to return so quickly?

Maybe it was pride. Maybe I was trying to look tough. Maybe I was just really naive. I know the thought DID cross my mind: "It's ONLY a broken leg." Then after a couple of days I was struck by the thought: "Oh yeah, my leg was in two pieces. They had to do surgery to put it back together." I started understanding that surgery (which is a whole different ballgame) does knock you back a lot more than a sprain or break (which is the only mental framework I had to compare it to, or by which to prepare myself). It seems really obvious, but maybe it needed to be experienced in order to be understood.

In any case, today--just as I thought I was improving--my ankle started to hurt more. The swelling has yet to go down. Worst of all, when I took my temperature it was 100.8--dangerously close to the 101+ that serves as a sign for possible infection. I called the surgeon and he advised me that an emergency room trip was not necessary, but that I should come to his office tomorrow. So I'm out again tomorrow.

And at this point....maybe for the week.

Daily Dose

2011-05-10T15:41:00.006-06:00

I never thought I'd say this, but sitting around doing nothing for a week can really take a toll on your body. Weird pains and aches have developed, and they're almost always on the injured side, so it's very hard to stretch or bend to relieve them.

So I have my little friends to help me.

The two items at the top--a cotton ball with alcohol and a syringe--help my body reduce the chance of blood clots. These are self-administered, so I get to stab myself in the stomach twice a day.

The big white pill is Calcium. Hopefully it will help my body knit the break back together.

The little, circular, yellow pill is a muscle relaxer. I get to take this three times a day. I haven't counted the pills that remain yet, but it looks like within a couple days I will have worked my way through that non-refillable prescription. From that point on, I hope my muscles will stay nice and relaxed for me.

The two pink pills are Benadryl. They gave this to me at the hospital because of the following (oft-repeated) dialogue):

Me: "Why does my skin itch?"

Nurse: "Where?"

Me: "Everywhere. All the time."

Nurse: "Oh...it may be a side-effect of the pain medication."

I'm not sure if I've adjusted to the pills or if the Benadryl is really working, but I'm not as itchy anymore...and that's a good thing.

Finally, the two oblong, pale yellow pills are hydrocodone for pain. I try and resist, holding out 5, 6 or even 7 hours before taking the next dose, but it's pretty common for the pain to start creeping back in after hour 4 (listed on the prescription as the minimum amount of time that must pass between doses). I'm going to try go back to school tomorrow, and if I make it through the day, it will only be because of these little beauties.

Follow-Up

2011-05-08T08:12:00.008-06:00

It's been some days since I posted about my accident, so I thought I would give an update.

At first I was optimistic that I would go back to work tomorrow, but now I don't think it would be such a good idea. There is still a lot of pain, so I'm still having to take a lot of meds, and those meds lead to a lot of drowsiness. It's just a bad combination of factors that would make it hard for me to be a decent human being to the people around me.

I've been telling people recently that the break doesn't bother me at all. The bones are held in place by gigantic pieces of metal. My knee is the biggest issue. Don't be deceived--ramming a metal pipe through the knee and into a bone is not the gentle, harmless procedure it sounds like. Oh, wait...that's right: it sounds about as bad as it feels.

I'm trying to keep my leg elevated more today, since yesterday I went to the boys' football games. I am finding, however, that no matter what I do, or how I try to be careful and take care of my leg, it's always going to hurt anyway.

But enough of all that. I feel like I'm whining, and I don't want to do that. Below, I've posted some pictures of the broken leg, sans bandages. They may not be for the faint of heart, so if you vomit easily or pass out at the sight of blood and gore, you might want to stop reading here.

Here you get the overall idea of the amount of swelling. Not pretty.

This picture shows where the incision was made on my knee to insert the rod. Notice the awesome staples holding me together.
Lots of bruising here. If you look at the left side of the leg, above the yellow gauze, you can see a bright red bump. These are a series of blisters, my doctor told me, that come from the bone rubbing against the skin from the inside. Apparently I was very close to a compound fracture.
Here's a side view of the same area. You can see the blisters again. The gauze is covering two other stapled-shut incisions where the screws were put in. Those cuts are still oozing blood, so I have to keep them wrapped. Gross, huh?

So there you have it. You can see why mobility is such a difficulty with all the swelling. I'm hopeful that it will go down in the next couple of days so that I can return to work.

The Morning Commute

2011-05-04T12:43:00.005-06:00

I typically (though not always) ride my bike to school. This morning commute keeps me healthy, keeps my pocketbook a bit more full (having to spend less on gas), and keeps the planet a bit healthier, even if it is only a small reduction in carbon emissions. Today, an unprecedented event occurs "on my way to the office."

I will first point out the ironic first lyric to the song I was listening to: "I am at ease...." I was very peaceful, enjoying the cool morning (the fourth of it's kind in a row). I had made it about three blocks from my house, riding just outside the white stripe of the 2-lane, 30 mph speed limit road. The park was on my left, and residential streets passed on my right, marking each block. As I crossed the fourth street, I noticed that the car in the oncoming lane of traffic began to turn. I can't recall if his blinker was on, but I was alarmed because I was already half-way through the intersection when he began to turn. I looked through the windshield and saw that he was not looking at the road (I honestly think he was texting). Since he couldn't see me, I began yelling as loud as I could and tried to get out of his way, veering further to the right in the intersection. It was no good, however, because he did not square off his turn, but cut through all four lanes (his original lane, the lane of oncoming traffic, the right lane of the intersection and headed for the left lane of the intersection) and struck me as I was 3/4 of the way across the street. His bumper hit my left leg, and the force of the impact (as I said, he took the curve pretty flat, so was still probably going 10-15 mph) flipped me over, and in the air--upside-down--I saw my bike shoot out away from the car that had just hit it. In a split-second, I landed on my head, trying to brace myself with my hands. Fortunately, the young man, a high school student (not MY school, though) did stop. I had come down on my left side and was lying on my stomach. After a moment of trying to collect myself, I rolled over onto my back to sit up. I had a sickening feeling as I watched the upper portion of my left leg swing around, but saw the lower part, just above the ankle, drag limply behind. The kid got out and started apologizing, saying he didn't see me, but all I could do was tell him (and I think I actually said it fairly calmly), "You broke my leg. You need to get me to a hospital." The homeowners on the corner of the street came out and called 911. A vehicle following behind me on the road pulled in and waited with me, offering help and ultimately giving his statement to the police when they arrived. I was helped over the sidewalk, spoke briefly to the police, and was then placed on a back board and had my neck put into a collar and had my head taped to the board.

I'm thankful that I was wearing my helmet, because it prevented the situation from potentially being much worse. I'm thankful for the EMT's and their treatment of the situation, ensuring that I wouldn't have any further injuries and taking all necessary precaution. Still I was fairly confident that everything was fine, except for my obviously broken leg. CT scans and X-rays confirmed what I was feeling, and even before I spoke to the doctors, I was betting I would need surgery. This was confirmed by the orthopedic surgeon.

So now I sit and await surgery, which will likely be this evening or tomorrow morning. I will have a titanium rod inserted into my tibia, and the lower portion of the broken bone will be screwed into the rod, as will the upper portion, thereby uniting them to heal. Essentially, it will be like a cast on the inside of my leg, instead of the outside. The benefit is a shortened healing time, and the doctor said I might be able to walk on it as soon as 2-3 days or 2-3 weeks (depending on how my body heals). I was very surprised to hear that I won't be receiving any other additional form of splinting/casting. The surgery will take care of it all.

I've included some pictures, though they hardly tell the story in all it's gruesome detail. I WANTED to take a picture of my foot all askew as I sat in the intersection, but alas, it did not happen.

The splint that keeps my leg from freely flopping around.
Some scrapes from bracing for impact.
Apparently my face made contact with the pavement as well.

Please don't worry about me. I am doing fairly well. As you pray, ask for justice and provision (I haven't spoken to the young man's insurance company yet, but I want to ensure that they will be paying for all the costly services to come, including a night's stay in the hospital).

Wisdom and Folly

2011-04-24T09:50:00.002-06:00

"Better a dry crust with peace and quiet

than a house full of feasting with strife."

(Proverbs 17:1)

I made a huge brunch spread to follow-up our sunrise service this morning. I viewed it as a family celebration. I worked hard to make things everyone would love. I wanted it to be perfect.

Basically, it was all about what I wanted.

Twice, Heather hinted that she wanted to get things started, and I brusquely put her off. I could try to spiritualize it and say I wanted to focus instead on the sunrise service, but that minimizes my bizarre insistence on selfish control.

It's odd, isn't it? I wanted to celebrate Easter--the risen Christ! I was VERY excited about that meditation and reveling in the joy of it. I thought that the great food would only heighten that festive atmosphere. The terrible irony is that what we want is not always what we need.

I'm sort of wishing we had made toast this morning and been done with it. There would have been less contention and more focus on Jesus. Maybe that will be the new family tradition: "peace toast" for Easter breakfast. It certainly seems a lot wiser to me right now.

Thought I'd Toss Up a Comment

2011-04-18T18:49:00.002-06:00

This Lenten Season has been good.

Unfortunately, I wasn't particularly on top of my dates (which is really nothing new), so I was already halfway through Lent when I decided I wanted to make the most of it. But when I decided to focus on Jesus and draw near to him, I must say that I have enjoyed the company of his presence.

I cannot say I've heard the audible voice of Jesus. I can't say I've felt a warm, tingling sensation indicating his presence within. I've seen no miracle, heard no band of angels, tasted no divine manna. I've just prayed in the afternoon.

That may not seem like a big deal, but I think I've struggled with prayer all my life. How can you ever tell if you're "doing it right"? And I don't think my prayers these past couple of weeks have been "good" or "right" or anything special. They just keep me coming back to God. Sometimes it's as simple as saying "hi"; just checking in to let him know I'm thinking of him. But that reminder throughout my day, especially when I'm used to rushing around and forgetting about him, has been particularly sweet.

I hope I am not bragging. I want to be celebrating and declaring that God is true when he says, "Draw near to me, and I will draw near to you."

Yours, Mine and Theirs

2011-03-26T21:53:00.002-06:00

It all started with Justin.

Justin is Brennan's friend, and he came over to play today. All day. And that's not a bad thing: he's a great kid, the boys entertain themselves better with friends over, and Aydan likes Justin as well, so it's kind of like tossing another little brother into the mix.

Then, we wanted to get together with Heather's friend Carrie. She has two daughters, and they also brought a little friend. So now we have three boys (10, 7, and 7) and three girls (11, 8 and 8).

The suggestion was made that we go play volleyball. So we called Justin's parents to come along, and invited our neighbor Chris. After volleyball, we all came back home to eat, talk and hang out. Justin has two sisters. Chris has a daughter. If you're keeping score at home, the total is now three boys, six girls (the new three being 10, 10 and 4).

Because we are a home based on gender equality, we had to even the score. (Actually, that's not true--boys always outnumber girls here, even if you count Lulu; and the real reason for the next addition was a pre-arranged sleep-over scheduled last weekend). For a short time, Aydan had gone with his friend Nick to watch his younger siblings, James and Antoine, play football. After the game was over, Nick (10), Tink (11), James (7) and Antoine (6) were added to the fray. That adds up to a grand total of seven boys, six girls.

So you may be asking yourself, "Why, after a day of being scorched by the sun while watching two football games, running yourself ragged by playing volleyball for a couple of hours, and then talking with friends over the din of 13 children racing around the house, are you still awake?" The answer, dear friend, is that I am waiting for the time to come when I can tell the seven boys (who are still here, after everyone else has left), sleeping here for the night, that it is time for bed. That hour is 11:00 pm, and it has just arrived. Please excuse me--I'm going to announce "lights out" and get some needed rest.

Share in the Blame

2011-03-19T11:29:00.003-06:00

I remember when Willow Smith's "Whip My Hair" came out, she was ridiculed in online comments. There were comments on the poor quality of the song, its repetitive lyrics, its incongruence between her age topics in the song, etc.

It has become a meme, a trending topic, a fertile ground for vlog parodies (and even late-night TV spoofs).

Now Rebecca Black has released a truly terrible song, "Friday." It's ridicule is more singular: everything about the song, video, quality of the singer is terrible. I find it interesting that there are no comments this go-around about kids acting like adults. No one is asking, "Why is an eighth grader singing about waiting for the weekend so she can go partying? Why are the kids in the video dressed like they're going to the club...when they're only 13?"

But can we blame the kids?

Viral videos. "Jersey Shore." Twitter. Facebook. Internet sensations and immediate access to limitless information. Hip hop megastars (like the Black Eyed Peas). Tween stars (like Justin Bieber). Boys bands (like N*sync). Divas (like Brittany Spears).

We've come a long way from Zsa Zsa Gabor. Andy Warhol looks like Nostradamus. It's not just Paris Hilton anymore: now EVERYONE is famous for being famous...for an INCREDIBLY short period of time. Charlie Sheen can't get done sounding like an idiot before Gilbert Gottfried is fired by Afflack. And notoriety is based--in an inordinate amount of cases--on being stupid, of poor quality, or pure controversy. An unknown child is known by millions...because she's horrible. Infamy is the new fame.

And we are all to blame. We watch, transfixed and bleary-eyed; the blue light of our monitors the only illumination we ever see. Our culture is getting dumber. With the Enlightenment, we stopped reading intensively (like the works of Shakespeare, classic mythology, and the Bible) and started reading--and watching--extensively. Anything, regardless of how inane it is, is now worth our attention. So Rebecca Black is worth the attention of millions (even if they're only making fun of her), but this girl is buried in a column on the final page of the newspaper (wait...do they even make those anymore), if she's even mentioned at all.

It's fascinating and sad. I'm going to go watch TV to try to forget about it.

Give Me a Break

2011-03-16T21:01:00.002-06:00

So Spring Break is a relaxing time. The weather is nice. We have a week off from school. Beautiful and soothing, right?

Well, in the past three days I have trimmed the pampas grass (a little late in the season to do it; still, it needed to be done)--and let me just say, if you've never wrestled with that nasty plant, you are missing out on a treat: it tears your flesh just walking up to work on it--as well as mulching the landscaping beds. I also raked the yard (for the second time this year) thanks to our "evergreen" Live Oak trees, who never lose their leaves entirely, but like to make an early spring shedding of their previous generation. I did a fair amount of shopping, and then spent the better part of today completely rearranging our house. Apparently, the haircuts which make our boys look older planted a notion in my wife's head that they need their own bedrooms. So we dumped out the contents of all our closets, got rid of what we didn't need, shuffled the contents of the boys' room, and got it all done just to have dinner at around 8 pm.

If I sound bitter, I am not. I feel very productive. It's just like a taxing vacation: I hope that soon I am able to get a break from this Break.

Heirs' Hair

2011-03-13T13:04:00.002-06:00

I often bemoan the fact that Texas is so warm, but on days like this, when I think of all the northerners longing from a break from their 30-50 degree weather and how they long to come here to soak in the 70's during spring break I realize we don't have it too badly.

Yesterday the boys both received haircuts that are more fitting for these warmer days. Brennan seems almost unrecognizable to me at times, since this is the first time in his life he's had anything other than long hair. I know they are growing up, but it's amazing to see how much older they look with their new 'do's.

Break/Broken

2011-03-11T19:58:00.002-07:00

"Staring in the water like Aesop's foolish dog

I can't help reflect on what it was I almost lost

What I thought I wanted, what I got instead

leaves me broken and grateful"

So the day began, with this melody in my head (though for the life of me I can't remember how it came into my thoughts). But that was when it was still school time, and now it is Spring Break time. So this evening, with time to spare and break just begun, I concluded a long meditation on brokenness.

I just finished reading "Great Expectations" by Charles Dickens. I won't get into what put me onto this trail, but it was a silly whim. However, I soon found I had the book already upon my bookshelf, and had no more started reading it than I instantly began to love it. It is a wonderful tale, and at its heart lies what we think we want, what we get instead, and how those things leave us changed, broken...and better (not in spire, but) because of it all.

I won't trouble you with a book report; or should I say, I would hate to deprive you of the pleasure of reading the book yourself because of my excessive, in-depth analysis of its plot. It is enough to say that I wish to be like Pip, and that is to say, I want to be like the Prodigal. I want to come to my senses and appreciate what it is I've always had--not chase after all the things I hoped would come to pass. When all is said and done, there can be nothing finer than a simple, honorable life. And it is here now, if only it will be grasped. I don't want to look ahead, or abroad, or about.

This may not make any sense. I'm not sure I'm helping myself make sense of it as I type. I only know that I am welled up with feeling. There are moments when you see how close to have come or might have come to utter destruction in your life; to be broken and thank God for the breaks is what makes the present moment so full of joy.

The (Deplorable) State of the District

2011-03-09T18:05:00.002-07:00

I went to Aydan's open house last night. We were encouraged, by the principal, to come early to hear a presentation by the assistant superintendent of the district on the current state of financial affairs. Having heard much already but wanting to clarify some things in my mind, and having missed a staff meeting earlier in the afternoon that dealt with the same subject I decided to go. I wanted to have a clear picture of the state of our school district.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is not good.

After our Federal Stimulus money runs out this year, we will face a $16 million deficit. Sure that's bad. Sure, it comes after years of already "tightening the belt" and so there is little left to cut but personnel. Sure, that's bad, but maybe not so bad right? A person here, a person there. Hopefully I'll be alright...right?

The presenter went on to explain how a Tax Ratification Election could produce an amount (neatly) of around $16 million a year. Just when things start to sound hopeful....

Did I mention that the state of Texas is facing a $20 BILLION dollar deficit this year. They are almost certain to cut educational funding. That means the $16 million we were facing could look more like $38 million.

And heads will roll.

To make up for that deficit, there might be a 1 in 5 lay-off rate. Budgets for programs (like fine arts) will be slashed. Positions in every department of every campus will be eliminated. Coaches will lose stipends, and coaching staffs will lose personnel. It just might be that I am doubly doomed.

We try not to take this too seriously, for after all: who knows what will happen? Heather and I feel confident that we have proven our worth to our campuses. My friend Josh and I joke daily about getting fired. It seems a better solution than sitting around crying and worrying. Humor lightens the situation, but does not make it go away.

Certainly, I will not be angry if you read this and decide to pray for us. We need as much help as possible. But we are content that God will provide, just as he's always done. If nothing else, he will provide opportunity to learn to lean on his staff and rod.

King of the Jungle

2011-02-20T20:09:00.003-07:00

There's this old Steven Curtis Chapman song called "King of the Jungle", and it is running through my head right now.

Well the day has just begun and I'm already running late

with too many irons in the fire and too much on my plate

I'd be pulling out my hair if I could just get one hand free

and I'd stop this world if I could find the key

My week hasn't even begun, and I'm already feeling buried! I took yesterday off to paint with a friend, and spent the whole day today with my family. It was refreshing and restful. But I know tomorrow I have to get back to the grind, and there's so much to do that, as I began to think about the upcoming week, I realized I was already double-booked for 8 a.m. tomorrow morning! Let's hope that's not a foreshadowing of things to come.

A Brief Thought

2011-02-15T18:57:00.004-07:00

If you're considering making a cookie pizza, and you think about stuffing an entire jumbo-size roll of store-bought cookie dough onto the pizza sheet, don't do it. The flames from bits of dough that have flowed over the sides of the pan and caught on fire at the bottom of the oven will then consume the rest of the cookie pizza baking above it. Even those parts not charred by the flames will have an odd mingling of sweetness and smoke when you taste them.

You may have guessed by now that I just foolishly did such a thing, and you would be right. In fact, I think I might need to go outside (at least it's 70 out there) to avoid excessive smoke inhalation.

The State of Music Today

2011-02-14T20:37:00.003-07:00

I'm not one who frequently posts links on my blog, but this one might be worth it.

If you're not familiar with Willow Smith and her "Whip My Hair" song, the video will not be as funny. Nor will it be as funny if you don't realize that what you are watching is in fact Jimmy Fallon impersonating Neil Young. In terms of impressions, it ranks just behind Larry Norman's take on John Wayne as a Roman Centurion.

Enjoy!

A Sea of Pages

2011-02-13T19:54:00.002-07:00

I've been reading a lot more lately. Perhaps that's why I haven't blogged in a bit. But, to be fair, I was blogging at an insane pace for a while there, and it was mostly due to all the snow days when I was sitting around with nothing to do. But back to books. The list of what I am currently reading includes:

1) The Bible
2) Sum (David Eagleman) A neuroscientist give 40 snippets on what the afterlife might be like
3) Severe Mercy (Sheldon Vanauken) The story of a love...not a love story.
4) Rigor is Not a Four Letter Word (Barbara Blackburn) A book study for AP teachers
5) Never Work Harder Than Your Students (Robyn Renee Jackson) A book study for any teacher at CHS
6) An Arrow Pointing to Heaven (James Bryan Smith) Biography of Rich Mullins

For a while there it seemed like I had sort of forgotten how enjoyable reading can be. I should probably focus on one at a time, but I'm never quite content with that. For all my complaints of being busy, I guess I enjoy having much to consider and many ways to engage myself.

With the end of the season this past week, there was a let-down in many of my activities or goals for this year. I struggled to draw daily. I lapsed in my 6-week goal toward 100 consecutive push-ups (though this was also due partly to frustration, as I know I am not on track to make it). I slept in. I basically shut down.

But this week, I must prepare students for their upcoming art show. I have to continue to work and improve in all those areas of my life that I reflect on and think, "I could be better." It won't be easy, but I'm sure it will be good.

"Is There Anything I Can Do For You...Today?"

2011-02-04T19:35:00.004-07:00

As it often works in my mind, there are several thoughts (and one is from a movie; another from a song) swirling in my head and mingling into a unified whole.

Every New Day (Five Iron Frenzy)
When I was young, the further I could reach was not so high, then I
thought the world was so much smaller feeling I could fly
I believed in what I hoped for, and I hoped in things unseen
I had wings and dreams could soar
I just don't feel like flying anymore

When the stars through down their spears
watered heaven with their tears
before words were spoken
before eternity

Dear Father I need you, your strength my heart to mend
I want to fly higher every new day again

(Man versus himself, man versus machine, man versus the world, mankind versus me
the struggles go on, the wisdom I lack, the burdens keep piling up on my back
so hard to breathe, to take the next step, the mountain is high, I wait in the depths
yearning for grace and hoping for peace, dear God increase)

Healing hands of God have mercy on our unclean souls once again
Jesus Christ light of the world burning bright within our hearts forever
Freedom means love without condition, without a beginning or an end
Here's my heart, let it be forever yours. Only you can make every new day seem so new.

How much good can one man do? Depending on the intonation, that can sound like a question posed from a defeated perspective. I mean, really, I'm only one person--what can I really accomplish?
But from another point of view, it is a question touching on possibility: how much good can one man do? How many opportunities are out there, if I just watch for them? How many times a day am I presented with the possibility to treat someone with kindness, to give of myself, to act on their behalf because they are more important than I am?

I don't know if I need to tell you this, but I'm a very selfish person. I spend most of my day thinking about how I can make my life easier, how I can shirk responsibilities in order to pursue pleasure, how I can find enjoyment rather than fulfillment. That drives me crazy! I would think that by this time in my life I would understand that fulfillment always trumps all those other petty things, but then I wake up the next morning and spend the whole day yelling, "ME! ME! ME! ME! ME!!"

I love the movie "Groundhog Day." I started watching it again the other day on, you guessed it, Groundhog Day. I just finished it up tonight, and the point of the movie struck me in a particularly poignant way. The only thing that broke the monotony of the day was caring for others. The only way out of desperation and depression and loneliness and a lifeless existence was to live for others. Phil spend all his time (in the first half of the movie) tyring to enjoy every sensual pleasure. Then he tries to manufacture love (and, basically, tries to get in a girl's pants). Finally, when all hope is gone, he stops and articulates what he finds beautiful about that girl he is chasing: she is kind and good, treating others well. From that point on he thinks about others, bringing them gifts, encouraging them, helping them when they're in need. He stops living for himself and starts living for others, and in that moment--in living "in the moment"--he finds that he is truly happy.

This is a profound thing. I find that days seem to pass without number, that I go through the motions, that each day is the same, old, same-old. I long to "fly higher" with every new day.

I've been reading about Rich Mullins in this great biography on his life, "An Arrow Pointing to Heaven," and I was reminded about "the wreckless raging fury that they call the love of God." The grace and love of God are so great they go beyond our understanding. To be completely honest, I really struggle to believe that I'm worth receiving them. That was my prayer as I walked the dog this morning: the day was still wrapped in darkness, but the early morning glowed in the cover of freshly fallen snow, and as it fluttered down on me, and as I made fresh tracks in virgin drifts, I asked for belief in pureness and newness like this morning. I want to believe that God gives new beginnings, but I've asked for so many I feel like I don't deserve another. What it comes down to, I realize, is turning my attention FROM me and TO my wife, my kids, my students, the neighbors, and all the people who cross my path that need Jesus's love.

Coach Jesus

2011-02-03T14:10:00.002-07:00

It's official: no school tomorrow either. We will have had almost a week of vacation due to a single snow "storm." Crazy.

Still, I've been enjoying (most of) the break. Certainly yesterday was a bit too eventful for my taste, but the other two have been very mellow and low key. The biggest blessing of being away from school for a week has been the break from basketball. With all the complaining and drama it's been awesome to have zero contact with players (and their parents). And being a JV coach, this week has basically been nullified. We likely won't make up the two games we will miss (having no school tomorrow will also cancel Friday's game), and we've had no practice (our district has a policy to have no extracurriculars when school is cancelled). Plus, this has been the last full week of practice, and so we'll just work out on Monday and conclude the season on Tuesday...and be done with it all. That is just a huge blessing.

But having read my brother's blog today, I was reminded of basketball in another way. He wrote about filling out tax forms as Jesus, and it makes me wonder if I've coached like Jesus. And I think about this a lot, actually, because of one girl on the varsity team. When I first started coaching, I was virtually unknown to the girls, but some of them did remember me from the previous year at Central as "the guy who looked like Jesus" (see above). The hair and beard were gone, but one girl took to calling me, simply, Jesus. This has persisted for two years, though she's the only one who does it. She recently told me that she refers to me that way almost exclusively, so much so that her mom asked her, following last week's game, "I didn't see Jesus on the bench--is he okay?" (I was filming the game, incidentally). That's awesome--Jesus wasn't on the bench.

But when it is phrased like that, and when I remember that I really am Jesus (Gal. 2:20) to these girls and all who see me, I hope I'm living up to that high calling in more than just hairstyle.

The Great Freeze of 2011

2011-02-02T18:11:00.003-07:00

Two Two One One.

A day that will live in infamy.

Oh the horror! In the early morning hours on Tuesday, a terrible "wintery mix" rained down upon poor Keller, TX. We awoke to find ourselves BLANKETED in ONE WHOLE INCH of snow!! (To be fair, there was some slush and ice underneath the snow.) In the face of such insurmountable betrayal by Jack Frost, it was decided the Metroplex should shut down. Both Fort Worth and Keller ISD's (among countless others) closed on Tuesday.
But what's this? With temperatures hovering in the teens, that stubborn ice would not melt. And because of this, the schools would stay closed for not one, but two more days (we will not be going back tomorrow either).

So while blizzards rage in the northwest, we won't go to school because of lack of preparedness. It would have taken one snow plow, one salt truck, a single one-hour delay on Tuesday, and all these days off could have been avoided. I know, we are setting record low temperatures, and I know it's probably a cost-effective solution in the south to just sit and wait for a thaw (instead of buying equipment that will rarely be used), but the northerner in me bristles at such inability to deal with cold.

But that is nothing compared to the drama of today. It wasn't just that we woke up to having no power. It has nothing to do with our frozen pipes and lack of water. It started just after 8 am. The boys were excited to go sledding like they had yesterday. They got changed and went out as Heather and I were eating breakfast. They weren't gone for very long when Brennan came bursting into the breezeway crying. Usually this means that Aydan has hurt him in some way. But when he came through the door we could see he was wet. As I assured him he would be okay and we would warm him up, his words chilled my heart: "We fell in the creek...AND AYDAN IS STUCK!"

I sprinted out of the house in bare feet, pounding my feet into jagged ice, slipping and sliding as I raced to the sledding hill. When I neared I could see Aydan's black form clinging to the steep bank of Bear Creek. I pulled him out, stripped him down, took off my clothes and put them on him. In no time, Heather had flagged down a city of Keller employee, who radioed the police. Soon we were in an ambulance and headed to Baylor Grapevine.

At the hospital Aydan was connected to a heated IV and placed under a heating blanket. It took him several hours for his core temperature to get back to normal (at one point I think it was 92.3 degrees). I called home to check on Brennan, and thankfully he was doing fine. In the time while Aydan was being warmed, more of the story came together. Brennan had gone down the hill backward and, unaware how close he was getting, fell into the creek. Since Aydan could see he was in trouble and wouldn't be able to get out on his own he immediately jumped in to save him. He pushed Brennan out, having him stand on his head, and then tried to get out himself. When he couldn't, he sent Brennan to the closest houses on the edge of the park. Finding no one home there, Brennan then came home to get us. It is likely that from first entry into the water, Aydan was wet, frozen and exposed for 10 minutes.

And how do I feel about all this? Am I proud of Aydan for jumping to the rescue of his brother? Absolutely. Am I proud of Brennan for pushing his cold and wet body to find help for his brother? Without question. It fills my heart with gladness to know that, when push comes to shove, the boys will literally lay down their lives for each other. Do I think that I am blessed with quick-thinking, tough and determined boys? Of course. Do I love my boys and hold them tight, knowing things could have gone very badly today? I love them even more. But do you know what emotion dominates all of these? Shame. With tears in my eyes I apologized to Aydan in the emergency room. I am sorry I wasn't there. I'm ashamed that I let them go out without me. It makes me sick to think that my two sons were sitting in a freezing creek, scared that they might not make it, and fearful that I would not come. I should not have had to come; I should have been sledding with them and helping to keep them out of trouble.

So thanks be to God for protecting my kids and providing the help we needed. We're back to normal now, and hoping that tomorrow's snow day will be a bit less eventful than today.

For Emily (Whenever I May Find Her)

2011-01-22T11:30:00.002-07:00

This post is being made as a direct result of my old friend Emily's request to see more updates. Glad to know the Chicago crew is still keeping up with us!

Well one might think that a four day week would, by nature of reduced time in class, be less eventful for a teacher. Not so. This week has been extremely "exciting." I have mentioned to some the basic nature of these events, but I think I must refrain from stating more here. I'm not trying to be cryptic, but I have googled my name before and it immediately leads here. And since anyone in the world could read this, I have to be careful about what I say. If you would like to know more, I would welcome a phone call from you. Look at that...my update has become a teaser trailer to entice all into a real life conversation.

I really don't feel like I have much else to report on. Since just before my birthday I've been doing a drawing today (missing a day here or there). I'm also done with three weeks of the 100-push-up challenge I attempted last year, and it is going well. I envision it as a goal-based entry point into my return to regular work outs (and it should coincide nicely with the end of basketball season). I think I have talked before about my struggles with trying to pray, and I've taken an approach based more in listening. Of course my greatest joy would be to audibly hear Jesus speak to me, or to "hear" very clearly God's direction, but even in the absence of those things I have enjoyed deeper times of worship and feelings of closeness to God. For that I'm thankful.

Both Aydan and Brennan lost their basketball games this morning. I am certainly not a delusional parent who thinks his child is the best basketball player in the world--I am very aware that they both need a lot of practice to get better. Still, they are having fun and they're doing well.

Hope you have enjoyed this rather tedious edition of "Hopelessly Uncool."

I Don't Know What I Said, But I Said Something

2010-12-13T19:43:00.003-07:00

I was trying to think about what I should post. So I started thinking back to my last post, and it was hard for me to remember all that has transpired from then to now. But in an effort to update everyone on recent happenings, I will ramble aimlessly about current events in my life.

1) Hilarious Sayings

My boys are particularly good at coming up with these. While it may not be entirely appropriate, I laughed out loud at an interchange I overheard between them while I was in the kitchen this evening. They were pretending to joust (not against each other--Aydan was the horse and Brennan was the knight; so at least they were cooperating and getting along) when I heard a loud crash. I then heard Aydan moaning, and Brennan starting to laugh. Aydan complained, "Why are you laughing? That hurt my foot!" But Brennan's simple (and awesome) response was, "No...not at your foot. I'm laughing because your penis hit the table."

2) My job

I had my first student teacher this year. I learned a lot from the process, most notably how to manage a student teacher and maximize his/her time in the class (as well as maximizing the benefit for me). It was a bit draining, always having someone around and not feeling fully in control. Not the complete awesome benefit I was anticipating, but not bad in any way.

On the other front, my job as a JV basketball coach has become interesting lately. Due to injury and poor performance of some varsity athletes, my two best players were moved up to the varsity team today. Good for them--but winning willl become more difficult for us without them. Still I'm proud they're making that step.

3) The Beard-Off

Always a fun culmination of No-Shave-November, the beard-off ocurred on December 1st this year. I think for the first year, Josh may have one (see the pictures to judge for yourself). I, myself, had to vote for him, with "Jay" cut into one cheek, and "Asp" carved out of the other.

4) Random Meetings

By an odd chance, I recently ran into my friend Brian at a shopping establishment. I was encouraged to hear that he still visits HopelesslyUncool to keep abreast on our lives. Seeing him made me miss him. Hi Brian. It was awesome catching up.

5) Song of the Moment

I'm currently listening to Jethro Tull's "Another Christmas Song." It is a buried and forgotten holiday gem. If you've never heard it you must give it a listen.

6) Random Sayings, Endowed with Deep Significance

It is probably not funny to hear them retold, but I now have a new arsenal of phrases acting to augment my vocabulary, all but one of them being picked out from daily conversation and applied more generally than they were intented.

(On seeing our head coaches footwear) Josh: "I feel like your feet....'over-socked'."

Over-socked--ill; not quite right

(On the fare in a tournament hospitality room) Josh: "It's horrible: all they had were Sun Chips and a banana."

Sun Chips and Bananas--bad; of poor quality

(On an unfortunately incident in the shower) HM: "That's my life right now: shampoo on my loofa."

Shampoo on my Loofa--crazy, hectic, out of control

7) Performance

The boys sang during halftime at the Houston Rockets game on Saturday. They have been performing with their CPAC "show choir" somewhat frequently in recent months. They've been enjoying it, but they're about to take a break in order to play basketball.

I'm sure there's more, but it will have to do for now.

Happy Birthday to Me

2010-11-30T21:52:00.005-07:00

I was reminded of this little gem while talking to Heather last night. Perhaps you will remember and it will make you smile as well.

Thanks to all of you for your birthday greetings. It was a good day.

Nostalgia

2010-11-28T20:27:00.002-07:00

HM was working on a project for school today, and since it was a project I had done when I went through TMATE I thought I might look through my old things to see if I had something that might help her. In looking for that, however, I came across a treasure-trove of items from years gone by.

The greatest find was my old journals. It was both fun and sobering looking at them. When I looked back and saw where I was and how far I've come, it struck me how little time left I have with the boys (particularly Aydan). He is at the point in his life now where he has spent more years growing up in our house (10) than he will in the future before he graduates (7 1/2). It causes one to stops and consider.

Earlier today I had made a decision (based on Wyclef Jean's claim to write a song a day) to do a drawing a day for a year. I don't know if it's a resolution or a goal or something else. I do know that to make it less like any of those things, I started today (Sunday, November 28th. Not the beginning of a week, nor a month nor a year...whether birth year or calendar). We'll see how that goes. It may be a more attainable goal than showing paintings in a gallery...especially since I'm more desirous to spend the precious, little time I have with my sons.

Tricks and Treats

2010-11-07T21:46:00.003-07:00

Here is a picture of the boys on Halloween.

In case you couldn't tell, Aydan chose to be Slash from Guns and Roses (I truly have no idea where he even heard of him), and Brennan wanted to be Sufjan Stevens.

And while we're talking about Sufjan, I was startled to realize I missed the release of his most recent EP, "All Delighted People" AND his new album, "Age of Adz." If you were similarly clueless, the treat of this post will be this link to download (for free) the track "I Walked" from the new album (at Amazon.com). As I searched for more info on Sufjan's new releases, I found interesting info on his creation of a symphonic masterpiece called BQE (and the resulting creative burnout), and an illness that halted creative output. Additionally, I really like what Sufjan is saying about the death of the album and the song, and how his BQE project seems to have opened new creative doors. There are even interviews out there where he speaks a bit more openly about his faith. This doesn't come as a shock to me, since I saw him on a documentary about the Danielson Family Band a couple years back, but it's interesting to read. He's a smart, creative guy...and I like him (and his music) a lot.

New Year...Same Old Shenanigans

2010-10-27T18:07:00.003-06:00

If you thought this yearbook photo was awesome, allow me to submit this year's offering for your consideration:

I would report on our Fall trip to Arkansas this past weekend, or what it's like having a student teacher, or how basketball season has begun, or any number of the billions things happening in my life right now...but I'm kinda busy. Hope you had a laugh, though.

Proud and Angry

2010-10-15T17:41:00.002-06:00

Several weeks ago, two sixth grade boys confronted Aydan after school. They asked if he liked what happened to his bike, and it just so happened that when Aydan left school that day he noticed the someone had cut slits into his bike seat and handlebars. As he told the story to me, I was very impressed and extremely proud. He said his friend Nick told him to hit them, or do the same thing to their bike, but Aydan said that would be "cruel" (his word). He went on to say it wasn't worth getting into trouble about something as little as a few cuts on a bike. I was amazed at how clear-headed and mature he was. It isn't as though he doesn't care for his bike; he has a nice bike and really enjoys it, going so far as to "trick it out" with colored grips, brake line and chain. So I'm very pleased with how he handled himself.

Today they struck again. This time they cut little nicks on his brake line, and snapped the zip ties that held the line to the frame of the bike. This time he chose not to go to the Keller Pointe (our local gym) after it happened, because he just didn't want to deal with those guys. Again...wow.

But as pleased as I am with my son, I am furious with these boys, a year older than him, that keep vandalizing his bike. The Jesus in me says I should try to understand, be kind and overlook such small offenses. But there is a part of me (the part of me that gets indignant and combative when people talk around me in the movie theater) that wants to find those kids and smack them silly. I knew new stages would come into our lives as the boys got older, but I couldn't have prepared for this. I hurt for my son, I'm angry for him, I want to fight for him, I'm scared for him . It's startling to find how much I love him, and what feelings well up inside...the thoughts of what I would do...thinking about if anyone were to hurt him.

Can a Southerner Ever Really Know?

2010-10-03T10:04:00.003-06:00

If you've noticed, Autumn pretty much dominates my thoughts at this time of year. It is an intense longing that I never would have anticipated prior to moving to Texas. Although Fall was firmly established as my favorite season, I wouldn't have predicted the wanderlust produced by being away from it. Just like last year, I find myself wanting to get up and go somewhere...anywhere more Autumn than here.

While lamenting to my friend Josh the other day, he foolishly said to me, "You realize we DO have Fall here; it just comes later than your Fall." I tried to correct him as gently as I could. Could you yell at a blind man for not understanding the beauty of a vivid green? How can you explain Fall to someone who has never really experienced it?

Then Garrison Keillor helped me out this morning. He reminded me (as he often does, and that is why I hold to his broadcast like a lifeline when I am missing the Fall) that there are so many intangibles that make up Fall.

It's the geese flying south.
The chill in the air for Friday night football.
A brisk, foggy morning.
Fire in the treetops.
Beautiful ribbons piled on the ground.
Orchards of cider and pie, waiting to be made.

It makes me wonder how songs like Neil Young's "Harvest Moon," James Taylor's "Carolina in My Mind," and Van Morrison's "Moon Dance" must sound to a southerner. Or the poetry of Robert Frost? It must seem like a lot of sappy sentimentality. What is it like to read Ray Bradburry's "Something Wicked This Way Comes" or "Halloween Tree" if October for you in merely a milder version of September, and that still a summer month? It must seem an awkward celebration of things irrelevant.

But on this morning of 50 degree weather, I choose to relish in the sentiment, as I set in my breezeway, drinking coffee and soaking in as much Fall as I can.

Finally Fall

2010-09-26T10:33:00.002-06:00

While listening to the season opener of the "Prairie Home Companion", broadcast live from the F. Scott Fitzgerald theater in downtown St. Paul, MN, I began longing for "home." This home could be Ohio, Illinois or Minnesota; it could be anyplace as long as that place is cool at this time of year. When it's still in the 90's in late September, you know something is seriously wrong. In fact, it's always during this time of year that I talk about moving and leaving Texas behind us. As Garrison Keillor told us, we could be enjoying peak fall foliage right now if we lived in Twin Harbors. Alas.

But this morning I woke up to mid-60's and a forecasted high of 78. It's not perfect fall weather, but at least it's a taste. The skies were beautifully overcast, the breeze was strong and cool. It is a day of worship indeed. Thank you God for the fall.

I Don't Have a FAT32 clue about Macs

2010-09-25T14:03:00.003-06:00

While Macs may no longer be the industry standard they once were for those who deal in graphics (I know of a design firm in Dallas whose lab is strictly PC), there are those who still want to pay for the cool points having a Mac (allegedly) brings. Among those are most teacher and administrators on school boards, apparently.

I got a class set of MacBook laptops to start the school year, in anticipation of a class, Electronic Media, that I teach. I would rather have just received PCs, but I will not complain about such a fantastic resource. After a month, the machines finally have the software loaded on them and are now actually usable. One of my first tasks was to use iMovie to import and old VHS documentary on art history into a digital format. Imagine my chagrin when I found that my 500 gig external hard drive was NTFS and not FAT32, meaning that my Mac would not write the videos to it.

For those of you who didn't understand anything about the last few sentences, join the club. Such picadillos will now plague my life...as if I didn't have anything else to fill my time. But I must go...I have to shift over to my Mac and finish the projects I'm working on there.

Why My Dog is Awesome

2010-09-17T23:02:00.003-06:00

I was playing poker at a friend's house tonight, and when I got home, Heather told me that there was an opossum in the garage, despite the best efforts of herself, the boys, and a neighbor.

When I went to check on it, there it was, still huddled in a corner. Instead of messing with it myself, I just called on good, ol' Lulu. When she caught sight of the thing she tore after it, and of course it played dead. After I pulled her off I started to scoop it up with a shovel and the possum took off. Sadly (for the possum) it was not fast enough to outrun Lu. She caught up with it just outside the garage, and--I think--broke the things back with one of her bites. I gave it some time, but it is no longer just playing dead.

How fantastic to have a fearless, mighty beast in the house.

Let the Adventure Begin...Again

2010-09-14T20:00:00.002-06:00

In the world of education, staffing ratios require accurate predictions and maximized placement of teachers to insure the proper balance of teachers to students and the proper (in the mind of the School Board and treasury personnel) allotment of funds. The goal is to never have too many teachers for the number of kids on a given campus. When budget crunches hit (as they are hitting everywhere) the goal also becomes about putting the most kids in the fewest classrooms so as to pay the fewest number of teachers. Makes sense, right?

Of course, this practice flies in the face of research that shows smaller classrooms with lower student to teacher ratios are more conducive to quality education. But the fact is, the dollars often drive decisions. School boards can't always do what's best for the kids, because it's not fiscally possible. So they do what is best with what they have.

Why I am I writing all this? Because Fort Worth has crunched the numbers and found that Daggett Elementary School has too many fourth grade teachers for the number of students enrolled. Now don't fret too much--things aren't horrible. While it does mean that Heather no longer has a job at Daggett, she does still have a job. She has been surplussed. Basically this means she could be sent anywhere in the district (a wide range, whether geographically, socioeconomically, or instructionally) that has need for her. Again, the reality is not as bad as it sound. She was not moved to a campus on the south side (an hour drive) to teacher 8th grade (the top end of her certification). She is moving to the other side of the neighborhood she is in now, from a Recognized Campus (Daggett; based of TEA's school rating system) to an Exemplary Campus. Everyone says it is great and she will love it there. Everyone at Daggett cried to see her go.

And then there's Heather. She will now be forced, a month into the game, to teach another first week of class. In addition, all the decorating of her first classroom is pointless, and she will no doubt want to spruce up her new place. She needs to get to know a new group of coworkers and kids. All of this while jumping in mid-stream (at "their" place), and still maintaining quality instruction. I told her I would probably be a basket case, but she is taking it is stride and handling it like a champ. I know she will continue to do well and will adjust quickly. And in a way, I'm glad for her. The worse your first year is, the better it gets from there on out. Having this "training" right out the gate will only solidify her excellence as a teacher down the road.

Why I'm Smiling

2010-09-10T15:28:00.003-06:00

Could it be any one reason? I think all of these things have added up to make me grin.

1) Brennan wakes up smiling.
I love waking my son, because he will roll over and while his eyes are still closed, smile at me and throw an arm around my neck. This morning was particularly priceless, because he was sleepy from being up a little later last night, and he just wanted to sit and snuggle with me before he left for school. I love that kid.

2) Aydan said, "I love you" to me in front of his friends
There are many things about what Aydan is doing right now that make me smile: he's across the street at the park, hanging out with friends from school, fishing and just being boys. When I got home from work I went to check on him, and he was talkative and respectful. Then when I went to leave, he told me he loved me. I know he's not a teenager yet, but something about his willingness to be affectionate in public makes me proud...like we may be doing something right. I love that kid, too.

3) I'm going out with my lady tonight.
Heather and I had the best time on our date last week. It was simple, but the weather was absolutely amazing, we walked and talked for hours (literally) and just enjoyed each other like crazy. That's good enough on its own, but it came at the end of a rough week for Heather as she adjusted to teaching. I got an email from her today saying she is loving her job and feels like she's doing it well, and I'm very proud of her. I love that girl.

4) It's Friday
There's something about the release of the weekend--a break from the daily grind, the promise of more time with these people I love, some freedom and relaxation. I truly do love my job, but as Aydan's Huck-Finn-ish afternoon with the boys reminded me, there's something of summer caught in every weekend.

My Son and Me

2010-08-29T19:19:00.003-06:00

(I think Aydan looks like his Uncle Alex here...especially the mouth)

We finally told Aydan it was time to cut his hair. We've been trying to let him choose his own look, but he hasn't been taking care of it and it's been frizzy and knappy-looking, so it was time for it to go. I think everyone--including Aydan, himself--is glad that we did. He looks so much better.
And I just love this picture of the two of us.

All Asps Report to School, Please

2010-08-23T19:32:00.002-06:00

I'm really angry with my camera for taking such crappy, washed out pictures this morning, but it was the first day of the 2010-2011 school year today.

Everyone (except me) experienced something new today: Aydan went to a new campus as a fifth grader, Brennan changed schools so he could ride to and from with Mom, and Heather started her teaching career with her first day as a fourth grade teacher. Of course it would be false to say I had nothing new, as I experienced another "first day" and the meeting of hundreds of new kids. By all accounts it was a good first day for everyone, so here's to another great year!

Will the School Year Just Hurry Up and Get Here So I Can Settle Down a Bit?

2010-08-21T21:24:00.002-06:00

Sleep and free time have been in short supply this last week. I've been helping Heather with setting up her classroom, and since she hasn't had access to her room prior to this week, and since she can now stay until as late as 11 pm, we've had some late nights. I think we're both finally getting close to ready--just in the nick of time.

In all the mayhem, Aydan has also managed to go from a cough to pneumonia. He's been on antiboitics and seems to be responding well so there's been no hospital visits, but that was an interesting little wrinkle.

And now it's 10:30 again, and my best efforts to go to sleep early have again been thwarted.

Back in the Saddle Again

2010-08-16T16:46:00.002-06:00

Just a quick update between frantic racing around.

Both Heather and I were at inservice today--two full-time working adults!! I've been waking and tossing in the middle of the night. Today I woke at 3:30, and after unsuccessfully trying to sleep until my alarm, hopped out of bed at 4 am. By the time I came home from working out the boys were already up and at 'em too--by 6:00 am. That early rise is taking its toll as their bodies adjust (Brennan just well apart, sobbing because he lost at a video game). Not that I'm all that tough--it's taking its toll on me too.

But I have miles to go before I sleep. Stacy got the keys to her new home today, so we'll be taking off in a second to make sure she's moved in (or out, depending on your perspective).

Things are falling into place!

The Speedster is Dead, Long Live the Speedster

2010-08-13T20:16:00.002-06:00

Unfortunately, today Speedy, the field mouse that the boys found at Lake Grapevine, died. We are grateful, however, that he seemed to have died peacefully and in his sleep.

Please pause for a moment of silence in remembrance of this dear member of our family.

Life at the Present Moment

2010-08-13T10:59:00.004-06:00

I stayed up last night to watch the Perseid meteor shower. Overall the experience was somewhat less thrilling than last year. To start, I only saw two shooting stars in an hour (which is above average on any other given night, but during the shower 15 a minute is sometimes common). But the real problem was braving the 93 degree heat. That is correct: at midnight it was still over 90 degrees. So it was somewhat sweaty and bug-infested, which did not add to the enjoyment level.

As a result this moment--as I listen to my son croon with an operatic vibrato, a newborn infant wail and a two-year-old loudly babble--is slightly irritating. The lack of sleep and the ridiculous, perpetual heat only add to my intense desire to flee to Alaska and not see or hear anyone for a very long time.

At this moment I am also standing between summer and school year. Inservice starts next week and so the end has begun. I am caught between a desire to relish my freedom and enjoy my family and a panicked feeling that I am vastly unprepared to start the school year and so must prepare. It happens every year, but nothing prepares me for it. It is just the reality of this moment.

As of this moment I have also made some progress on some art. Here is a picture of the skull I completed for my "Billy Goats Gruff" painting, and a shot of some art I did for our favorite--and local--band Seryn. Hopefully they'll be using it for their website or their vinyl album cover. I'm still waiting to hear what they think of it, but you can give me your impressions in the meantime.

And while we all wait, may God give us the grace to live well in this present moment.

When Artistic becomes Quirky becomes Disgusting

2010-08-06T20:51:00.004-06:00

I was going to call this post "DI(f)Y" based on today's events, but then other things happened (more on that later).

Dear readers, today was a blood bath of house projects. Not just any projects: plumbing. Between two outdoor spigots, a shower and a bathroom sink...all leaking...it should have been a hour or two of work.

Do you know why they don't have DIY oil painting, DIY car engine repair, or DIY surgery? Because these are specialized skills. Division of labor is a great thing, but when you take no part in building your house what would make you think you could fix it? Or even if I do attempt to fix something the repairs can be so few and far between that I usually forget how to perform a task I completed a year ago. This is why I'm beginning to feel like Do It Yourself is my horrible delusion, and instead I should adpot a Do It For You attitude. I could have had a knowledgeable, experienced individual fix the leaks in roughly 47 minutes, but instead I Did It Myself and I ended up taking over 8 hours (which included 4 trips to Home Depot, lots of trial and error, and significantly more money than I wanted it to). What is worse, I actually made one leak worse in trying to fix it and added several hours (and 2 trips to Home Depot) to my labor due to my ineptitude. Needless to say it was frustrating. Thankfully all the water has finally stopped flowing.

Anyway, on one of my excursions to pick up washers or a hose or some other torture device, I passed a field. Ironically, this field was very close to a field mentioned previously in this blog. Even more ironically, the earlier discovery was also on a trip to Home Depot. And to finish an irony triology, on a third trip to Home Depot I saw the likely co-conspirator in both discoveries standing on the edge of the woods. He looked something like this.

Now this magical convergence of events seemed too good to pass up, even though I knew this taxidermy hobby is borderline bizarre. But I see very clearly now that in some eyes I have crossed the line from interesting to revolting. That being said, it's probably best I let this skull be my last. It's a bit sad in some way, but not really the giving it up, it's more the clarity of seeing how I'm perceived.

So here's to a day of clarity; of knowing that I'm not a handyman or that my quirks are not necessarily endearing. Hoorah.

Grasshoppers

2010-07-25T19:23:00.002-06:00

This will likely not be a deeply profound or poetic post. I just want to write this down so I don't forget it.

I love my sons. There are so many great things about them. But recently I noticed something that made me smile. While I often bemoan the fact that there are no fireflies in Texas, my kids don't seem to mind (they don't miss what they don't know, I guess). While I'm busy being sad for them that they do not have the experience I had when I was a kid, they are busy substituting a different bug for summer collections. They catch grasshoppers.

Even better, though, is the way they catalog their catches. They have names for the different types of grasshoppers, like "Biggie," "Camouflage" and "Gigantor." I think it's hilarious and beautiful.

I knew I had to write it down when, the other day, Brennan stopped in mid-route while playing football in order to drop down like a flash of lightning to capture a "Green Gem" that his foot had just disturbed.

Yours, Mine, and Theirs

2010-07-24T20:15:00.003-06:00

Unbeknownst to many, we've had a houseguest for the past three weeks. It's not something I've broadcast--I guess in a "don't let your left hand know what your right is doing" kind of way. Still, Heather made a contact with a girl who needed a place to stay while looking for more permanent housing. We have a room, so we were happy to help out.

Oh...did I mention that she has two kids and is pregnant with her third?

So in very short order our "family" has jumped from four to seven. Four kids, ages 10, 7, 5, and 2. Three adults, none of them working. The girl staying here is having a baby shower tomorrow, and so her sister (who will be attending) sent her son to stay with us as well. So this evening we have 8 people in the house. Needless to say, it can be a bit trying at times.

The silly, little things often get me the most. Why, for goodness sakes, must there be 13 plastic cups on the kitchen counter!! Who sprinkled crumbs in the living room??!!!?? While these objections scream in my head, they never find audible manifestation. Then the slightly bigger things can get irritating. Having someone constantly around and messing with "my stuff" can keep me on edge. Finally, the biggest deal is my own kids. They find their own routines noticibly altered--the room with tv and video games is almost off-limits in a sense (since our guests are there), they share everything (willingly or unwillingly), and they do it without being asked for their consent. In their eyes, it must have seemed that people just showed up one day and they had to roll with the punches.

As tough as all this can be, it makes me step back and evaluate why. Is it my sense of comfort that is being challenged? Is it my notion of "mine" that must be changed? Is it my obedience to Christ and the struggle to live as a godly servant that does not come easily? In many ways, I am thankful that my children are experiencing what it is to not merely say, "Go--I wish you well, stay warm and well fed!" but to actually meet needs (James 2:16). I am extremely proud to see how well they've handled it and how gracious they've been. In many ways, I wish I could do as good a job as they are doing. But I know that it is good and refining to clear away the notion that what I have is mine, that I have earned it, and it is solely for my enjoyment; and to replace that with the understanding that I have been blessed by God, and it is not to get me high, but in order that I might be a blessing to others. How difficult even the small things can be at times.

So if you have a moment, say a prayer for my family and me...all 8 (and counting) of us.

On With the Show

2010-07-23T20:03:00.007-06:00

This week our boys attended their second week of camp at CPAC (the Christian Performing Arts Center). They absolutely love their time there, and the week culminates with a performance. I missed the first one, being in Colorado, so I was all the more excited to see them today.

It was 70's week, so the boys donned their costumes and headed to the show.

The job that this organization does is phenomenal. The boys learn choreography, lines to plays and practice solo parts for the group songs. It was awesome hearing Aydan's beautiful voice and see Brennan's exhuberant dancing. They really are great performers, and it was such a blessing to hear them end their performance with a song of praise to God. It was an fantastic show.

(And on an unrelated note, I finished my cat...)

(and the "Jack of All Trades" painting.)

My Father, the Terrorist

2010-07-20T14:10:00.003-06:00

I had a good excuse, alright? I was very busy!! That was my excuse for not having read my father's memoirs until two days ago (sorry Dad!). There was some truth to my excuse: I received it in the middle of basketball season, then moved on to spring art shows, etc. etc. Meanwhile the CD sat dutifully on my nightstand, waiting to be read.

And as my last post indicated, TIME has once again come flooding into my life. In addition to painting, I've done a great deal more reading this summer. From Bill Hybel's "Courageous Leadership" to Donnalyn Miller's "Book Whisperer", with a healthy dose of Alain de Botton (he may be one of my favorite authors) I've finished quite a few books (de Botton's "Pleasures and Sorrows of Work" was okay, nowhere near the supreme excellence of my favorite book he's written, "The Art of Travel"--which I read last year; also, I'm halfway through "The Architecture of Happiness" which is very good). In addition, I read the story of the early years of my dad's life. It was very enjoyable, and I found myself longing to live on the edge of the prairie.

At one point, Dad shows pictures of the overpass that has been updated since the days he sat upon its rafters, watching the train go by. He took these pictures on a recent trip to Minnesota. There is nothing remarkable about any of this information.

Until I add a very telling piece of intelligence....

I have been forced to suffer, over the past two days, the most pointless and boring bus driver training. Admist the useless information, however, one nugget of brilliant truth shone through. It came during a video on the "First Observer" program: an initiative to use various public personnel to help look out for incidents of terrorism. And what, dear reader, do you think they told us would indicate the planning activity of a terrorist? In addition to asking inappropriate questions, and frequently loitering, a terrorist might...TAKE PICTURES OF A ROADWAY OVERPASS!!!

Obviously I was shocked to discover my father's jihadist tendencies, and it caused me no small amount of pain to turn him in to the Feds, but if fills my heart to know that I've done my duty as a bus driver.

Summer is Here

2010-07-16T10:51:00.004-06:00

It is always one of my great hopes for the summer that I might get some more painting done. However, with a time-consuming school year last year, I tried to spend a lot of the early days of summer focused on my boys, spending time with them and doing what they wanted to do. Then came the hiking trip, following shortly by our family trip to Sea World. Not that I'm bitter, but there was very little time for me to get anything done.

But this week the boys have been at Central's basketball camp, which leaves me with 4 uninterupted hours each morning during which I can paint to my heart's content. As usual, it has not been easy. It frustrates me how long it takes to finish something very simple, and I keep yelling at myself to "use more paint!" (as trying to use small amounts of paint is a curse of mine--an annoying and technically limiting byproduct of frugality). I am encouraged that I am noticing some of these bad habits, though, as I seek to alter them and produce better working habits. To me, having time to just work and develop any kind of habit feels productive.

I started working on a painting in April as the school year wound to a close. I didn't want to have to worry about some of aspects of oil painting, and didn't want to feel guilty about occassional and short painting sessions, so I adopted acrylics because I wanted things to dry quickly and be flat and vibrant. I puttered along until the school year was over, getting myself back into a working rhythm.

The motivation for the painting came from an acquaintance of mine, another teacher at school, commenting, good naturedly, that I was "a jack of all trades." I'm sure this seems like something of a compliment: I mean, he was trying to say that I was good at many different things, right? But I'm sure some of you realize that the entire saying goes, "Jack of all trades, master of none." Did you know that in almost every culture and language there is a saying, though not identical in words, that means the same thing, and that in almost all of these cultures the connotation is negative? There is one (I can't remember from where) that says something like "If you have nine things you do, the tenth will be starvation." Especially in a culture like ours, indiviualization of labor is a virtue. To be a specialist earns you more prestige, more money, more acclaim.

So I was very frustrated--not with him and his comment, but with myself. Why did I let myself become a fractured and multifaceted person when I really only want to be excellent at a couple things? And therein was the problem. I could not deny my need to be a servant of God, nor could I deny the love and connection I had with my wife and children, nor could I escape the compulsion to create and the ideas that filled my head. Plus is was fun to play sports, make music, and be on stage to get attention. In my mind, I was aiming for superiority in all these things, as if somehow being able to show someone else up made me an expert in that field. But age and wisdom will show you that there is always someone better out there. So my pride made me think that I was becoming great at many things, but in truth I am merely doing many things that aren't all that great.

What I want is to be a polymath. This is far different from the jack of all trades. It is the Leonardo da Vinci; the Renaissance Man. A polymath is a genius in many fields. He excels at all things he does. I remember analyzing my life as a youth pastor in Minnesota, during a time when I was curious to see if I could add on 20 lbs. of muscle through weight training. Accompanied with my other interests, however, I saw very clearly that I was trying to achieve the status of monk, philosopher, body builder, musician and artist all at the same time. The only problem with such an approach is that in order to master any one of these areas, a life of single-minded focus and being consumed with the chosen endeavor are necessary. There just aren't enough hours in the day to be the polymath.

So I'm stuck with "Jack of All Trades." I'm sure producing multiple self portraits seems narcissistic, but I use self portraits as self analysis. While the end result may not be ultimately pleasing, it is at least very personal.

So here is my latest painting--not yet fully complete. Let me know what you think.

While, Admittedly, There May Be More Than One Way to Skin A Cat, Presently I Know of Only One

2010-07-12T18:23:00.003-06:00

A normal person, when driving down the road on a sunny summer morning, might notice the cars and people around them. A different person might notice the animals in the fields. But I will admit that it takes a decidedly different person--some might even say macabre or bizarre--to notice that the bird in the field is, in fact, a turkey vulture and then screech to a halt in order to go investigate what that vulture is eating.

It turns out that it was a cat. It's pretty common around here for coyotes to drag off small pets at night, and that's what we assumed happened. There was very little left when we arrived on the scene, so we took it home and set to work. The following picture is a bit gross, but the irony of skinning a cat was not lost on me.

In the immortal words of Socrates: "I drank what?"

2010-07-01T06:38:00.002-06:00

I sat on my bathroom floor this morning, philosophizing as I rubbed my right heel. The question running through my mind was, "What is the worst kind of injury?"

This thought popped into my head right after I thought, "Well this isn't too bad." I played basketball again this morning and as I went up for a layup I was fouled hard on my right arm, forcing me to shift my weight to the right to prepare to land, and I came down HARD on my right heel. I was thrilled, really, that I had not sprained an ankle. Sure it hurt a bit, but I walked it off and finished the game. We won, stayed on, and began a new game. In an effort not to pound on my already sore heel, I simply ran on my toes. On a fast break, however, I attempted to shoot out in front of the pack and a pain shot across the arch of my foot to where it was already hurting at the heel. That did it for me. I had someone take my spot and called it quits.

So back to philosophy. If the heel isn't terrible, ranking below an ankle injury, I began to contemplate what was the worst injury I had ever suffered. Take note--"I had suffered." I am obviously making a bigger deal out of my (miniscule) pain that I should. I've never had a stroke, lost a limb, replaced a hip, etc. I'm talking about those little, put-you-out-for-a-couple-weeks kind of injuries. Ankles are horrible (and common for me). I once threw my back out wrestling a kid--that was terrible. I cut my wrist, but this doesn't seem to rank up with those other two. While it kept me inactive, it didn't hurt like a wrist or back, nor did it hinder simple tasks like walking or even standing.

What are your thoughts? Worst/most painful/most annoying (minor) injury?

It Feels Good to Be Back

2010-06-28T21:34:00.002-06:00

Unless a situation is terribly dreadful, the sensation of returning is a very joyous one. For instance, think about not having done something you enjoy for a very long time, and what a wonder of reunion it is when you do it again. The early days of summer vacation have been an enjoyable series of "getting back" for me.

Most notably, taking a week off from my life in Colorado offered the chance to return to children who love me and want to spend time with me (a fact I love), a wife who is eager to express her love for me (for which I am very thankful, and gladly return the expression), and just everything that is familiar and feels like home. Celebrating "getting back" does not take away from Colorado. My conditioning regiment left me in a great position to really enjoy my time there. The first hike up (and it was very "up") left my calves and ankles somewhat strained at the end of the day (from so much toes pointing upward), but I attribute that to not having hills to train on. The big players, my back, shoulders and especially my hips never gave me a single problem all trip. There was some weariness in my legs, but I would feel alarmed if I didn't get tired from so much walking. The only injury I sustained was on the trip down when, 1 mile from the bridge at the train stop, I must have slammed down on a rock with my left heel as I was descending. It was been sore/bruised ever since. It probably doesn't help that in "getting back" I have resumed my summer habit of going barefoot or almost exclusively in flip flops.

And in terms of "getting back" I have made a return to basketball. While I have always loved the sport, I have the hardest time playing because I get frustrtated at myself. No matter how I play, it seems, I always feel like I should have done better. Some days it is more obvious that others. Like this evening, for instance. I haven't really played for a good long while (choosing volleyball instead), and when I did play it was with high school girls. But tonight I went to open gym at CHS and played with the guys. I was definitely the worst player on my team, but made up for my dismal offensive performance (I missed WAY too many lay ups) with hustle and defense. Even though I could have played better, I really need to remind myself that this has been my game all along--hustle and defense. So I'm getting back into basketball, I guess. I plan to go play tomorrow morning as well.

I'm also "getting back" to painting. There has been a significant hiatus there as well, but I have spent a couple hours painting some hands onto an acrylic background I worked on at the end of the school year. I really need to ramp up the time I'm spending, but with Heather working and taking classes, and with the boys wanting as much time as I can give them, I have a calm reassurance that I'm doing the right thing if I sacrifice studio time for family time. The painting aspect of my life will surely develop--just maybe not as fast as I once hoped. But I would gladly sacrifice my "meteoric rise to greatness" in the art world for time with my kids (before they get old enough to not want so much time with me anyway).

(And for anyone who is curious, I do anticipate "getting back" to school in the fall, and with Heather's wise counsel I have erred on the side of caution to ensure that I do so...and thus have removed the picture of myself and Nathan in Colorado. Better to avoid the questions altogether than to try to explain when they arise, I guess.)

Rocky Mountain Highs

2010-06-27T10:55:00.017-06:00

I've tried for some time now to think of a way to recap the events of my trip to Colorado in a way that would adequately convey what it was like to be there. This seems to be impossible, so I'll simply add some of my favorite pictures from the trip and describe a bit of what went on.

First, we drove 14 hours or so from Keller to Durango, CO. We stayed the night and on the next morning we hopped on the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad heading north. This took us to edge of the wilderness and saved us hours of uphill hiking (plus it was a cool experience to ride a train; I don't think I had done it before).

The yellow line on the left of the map shows the route the train took and some landmarks from our trip nearby (the Needleton trail head, marked on the map, is where we began our hike to base camp; Elios and Sunlight peaks are marked, though Windom is not. Windom is right next to Sunlight).

This bridge stood at the crossing of the Animas River going from where the train let us off to the beginning of the Needleton Trail Head.

My traveling companions [L-R: Richard (Nathan's dad), Nathan (who I mentored throughout the school year), myself, and Bob (Richard's co-worker)] at the start of the trail. This photo was taken just before we spent 4 hours hiking 7.5 miles, during which we gained 3,200 feet in elevation. It was a trek!

After climbing uphill for nearly 3.5 hours, it was a glorious site to see the land level out a bit into the Chicago basin, the area that would be our base camp for the next 5 days-worth of excursions.

We chose to climb Windom peak, since it was the highest, yet with the least degree of difficulty. Here we are very near the top (and since I was the one with the camera I did most of the picture taking, so I got this cool shot of Richard with the mountain tops behind him).

This is some of the terrain coming down from Windom. If you look really closely at the middle of the ridge that runs through the center of the picture (separating the nearby hill from the far off pine covered hill behind it) you will see white dots which are actually mountain goats. These pesky creatures made regular encroachments upon our camp during our days there.

This is a view from within the basin, just several yards from my tent site, looking up at Mt. Windom (it is the peak in the very center of the picture). Though it looks smaller than the mountains on either side of it, is it father back on the ridge and is actually much taller.

On another day we climbed over Colombine Pass (the top of which is shown above).

Here I am, standing at the top of Columbine pass (looking back the way we hiked).

This is the crew, standing at the middle of the ridge on top of Columbine Pass.

Climbing down I saw this field which reminded me somewhat of the beginning of the "Sound of Music."

(photo has been removed)

As we traveled out of the basin, Nathan and I paused to join the "All Under Club" (jumping into the frigid mountain water--mostly melted snow run-off--until you are completely submerged). We are pictured here celebrating after a successful dip.

Although it has been brief, I hope you have enjoyed the highlights of the trip. Perhaps someday I will find the energy and time to post all 300 pictures.

The Shoe is On the Other Foot

2010-06-14T18:28:00.003-06:00

Yours is better than mine is
I want to be like you
I want the hustle and bustle
I want nothing to do
Of course what we don't realize is
we're just trading shoe for shoe.

I wrote this poem several years ago after Heather and I had a discussion about the roles we were playing in life and how both of us wished we could switch places with the other.

Now I once again find myself filled with the foolish jealousy of Aesop's dog.

My dear brother Eric--of whom I am perpetually jealous--has now been to Rome. I've spent the last two years talking of Rome and its artistic treasures in my Art History class. I've longed for many years to see all the glorious sites of Europe. And it just seems (darn him!) that Eric keeps getting to see them...and I don't. Ireland, Rome, crazy eastern European forests, panoramic Crekoslovenian lakes. It's like a dagger in my soul.

Of course I say all this on the eve of my departure for my highly anticipated (and much discussed in recent days on this blog) trip to Colorado. I cannot wait to scale mountains. See elk and deer and bear (Heather says, "hopefully at a safe distance"). I am extremely fortunate to have been invited to go with a young man named Nathan, whom I have been discipling for the past year. His father is taking him on a senior trip of sorts, and Nathan kindly invited me along. All told four of us will be going, and I am honored to be in this select group. So not only will it be beautiful, it will be a poignant "farewell" as we send Nathan off to run cross-country and track at Texas A&M. So what do I have to compain about?

Therefore I will not "exchange substance for shadow"...but I still want to go to Europe!!

Song Writing Duo to Rival Lennon and McCartney, Loggins and Messina...even Hall and Oates

2010-06-13T06:34:00.002-06:00

If you doubt, simply watch.

Live Free and Die

2010-06-12T10:27:00.003-06:00

I hope New Hampshirites will forgive the modification of their state's motto, but this morning it occured to me that complete freedom is not all it's cracked up to be. This thought struck me at about mile 8 of a 10 mile hike I took this morning.

Now I've said this before, often using the analogy of trying to select an outfit for the day while standing in a closet full of hundreds of clothing options. The multiplicity of choice is, in such a case, more often crippling than freeing. This morning, however, I saw such a truth in a new light. If you'll recall my autumnal journey to New Hampshire it becomes apparent that living your life based on whims and romantic notions can have real pain associated with it. Having walked 15 miles a day for an entire weekend, bearing a (only) 25 lbs. pack took an extreme, and unexpected, physical toll on my body.

So armed with this painful memory I set about preparing for my upcoming trip with a bit more discipline. On Tuesday I leave for the Durango, CO vicinity. Wednesday will begin a 6-day, 5-night hiking loop through the Weminuche Wilderness, in which we will cross the Continental Divide and the Columbine Pass, in addition to setting up a base camp near three 14,000 ft. peaks, which we will attempt to summit. I am very excited for the trip, but having learned from my previous experience I know that exhuberence does not equal enjoyment. In an effort to fully enjoy the sights and experiences of Colorado, I prepared a series of preliminary hikes.

The first order of business was to understand and control the weight I would be dealing with--not my own, but that of the pack I would be carrying. My companions recommended I aim for about 60 lbs. Ultralight backpacking websites claimed it is possible to have a pack of a mere 20 lbs. While I knew I couldn't get that low (the gear required is very specific and very costly), I liked their thinking WAY better (since it wouldn't mean torturously lugging immense weight around for a week). I budgeted out my food, striving for the optimum calories/oz ratio (130 cal/oz is pretty good). I weighed everything and tried to cut out what I won't need (I was shocked to learn that the sleeping back I borrowed is 6 lbs! I'll gladly take another, 2-lbs. bag someone offered me). Even still, I found my pack will be around 40 lbs (with my food equalling as much as a Bible dictionary, Erickson's "Systematic Theology" and Strong's Exhaustive Concordance--nearly 13 lbs.). So I thought I had better prepare.

To condition my body I planned on a series of hikes. My first was barely three miles, and it was managed fairly easy. Several days later I tried a six mile hike, and there were signs of wear (feet hurting) and tear (back rubbed raw from the pack) and the trip, all told, took me 2.5 hrs. So I rested up for a bit, then tried 9 miles today. After a wrong turn in the dark the distance became 9.5 miles, but I was very pleased to find it was not all that difficult, and it took only 3 hours to finish.

So discipline is a good thing (as we all already knew). And as a result I am certain to live in a greater freedom, enjoy the real thing next week.

That's My Girl

2010-06-11T19:57:00.005-06:00

If you have not listened to the news lately, the teaching situation in the United States is dire. Massive lay-offs, cut-backs, and other nasty hyphenations abound.

I thought I had escaped the negative trend, but alas, it is not true. Now don't get too worried for me. In my case all it means is that my desire to step down from coaching basketball has been thwarted. Despite arrangements being made with my principal and my head coach, it seems HR had the final say, and that say was, in effect, if I resigned both positions (which would be required to get out of coaching) there is no certainty that my principal (no matter how much he would desire to) would be able to re-hire me as just an art teacher. So, in favor of employment for next year, I have "elected" to coach once again. Of course, things could be worse.

Consider the plight of my dear wife. Desiring to enter the profession. Facing overwhelming odds stacked against her (thousands of teachers looking for positions, districts with hiring freezes and limited jobs, veterans vying for the same job that she, as yet an inexperienced and uncertified teacher, is interviewing for, etc.), she has boldly stepped into the fray. Perhaps I paint too bleak a picture, but it is only to express my overwhelming pride in my wife. In the past two days she has secured and participated in 3 interviews. Then in a single day she received 2 JOB OFFERS!! This is truly a testiment to her hard work, her personality and passion, and the obvious fact that she will be a fantastic teacher. Of course I had no doubts from the beginning. I knew she would show them all.

I am very proud of her, and I am grateful to God: to have a job, to have an amazing wife, and for her to have a job as well!

One HUGE thing I miss about summer

2010-06-10T21:23:00.000-06:00

An Impact

2010-06-10T20:47:00.002-06:00

I am (as in, right now, as I type) watching a movie called "No Impact Man." It is this interesting documentary about a guy in New York who decided to live an entire year without making a negative impact on the environment (no trash, no electricity, only local food, etc.). It's very interesting...the kind of stuff I really get into.

I wouldn't call myself an environmentalist, but I do agree with the perplexity and frustration that comes from seeing many small objects individually wrapped in plastic. I hate plastic bags from stores. I despise plastic waterbottles (that you buy in a plastic wrapper) that you throw away after a single use. Still, the things I agree with more are ideas like living in the flow of the earth and its seasons (using only daylight, and candles if need be); not buying anything new (because really, what I have is already do the job well enough); using self-powered transportation (especially since I've been doing practice hikes to get ready for my backpacking trip in Colorado).

I love the idea of living with certain limitations or living up to certain goals (I once read a book called, "The Year of Living Biblically" where a guy tries to be as literal as possible with the Torah--you know...weird but interesting). I participate annually in "No Shave November." And there are many other weekly, monthly or annual "challenges" I present to myself. Just little tests of the will. Because of this I have deep affection and appreciation for two saints: Patrick and Francis. Patrick imposed upon himself a lifestyle of assimilation into a new culture (and other like him--Bruce Olson and even my college roommate Nate). And Francis was one of the first people I know of that set his life up as a grand experiment--setting the limits and goals of chastity, poverty and obedience (and others have followed, like Rich Mullins, who tried to create a contemporary contextualization of those vows with fellow believers called "the kid brothers of st. frank").

What I like about "No Impact Man," and Rich Mullins and Francis of Assisi, is not simply the grand experiment aspect. I can identify with that. I have lived my life by frequent experiments. Some have come to heartbreaking ends. Some have been unbelievable triumphs. But the virtue of making life a series of experiments is that nothing is terminal; nothing is definite. "Flunk" out of vocational ministry? No big deal (and I'm not trying to be flippant...just trying to make a point), there are other ways to do ministry. Homeschool didn't work? At least our kids know we love them and want to invest in them and that their education is of primary importance to us. "Church" has died in my heart? Well now I'll really do what "church" is and be what "church" is and hopefully know others and Jesus better as a result. So experiments are good--they open you up to new ways of doing things. But better still are the results of the experiments. Francis said it was like being a little fish--you are too small for the cares and concerns of this world to trap you. "No Impact Man" can't go back to rapacious consumption, and he can no longer be wooed by the luxury of Starbucks. My friend Troy gave up buying new clothes--a contemporary view on the vow of poverty--because he didn't want to be fixated on getting and having. One of the Types of Soil Jesus mentions is those whose response to the gospel is choked out by worries, cares, concerns, and the worry after wealth. What self-imposed restrictions must we take to weed out (forgive the pun) that which would choke the life out of us?

Does taking a vow, living by a restriction, or striving toward a goal change the world? Does living "no impact" make an impact? Can living by conviction and freeing yourself as completley as possible to follow the Holy Spirit transform the world? To conclude, I will quote the great philosopher Garth Brooks, "It's not the world that I am changing. I do this so the world will know that it cannot change me."

Obituary

2010-05-30T17:11:00.003-06:00

Recently we had an experience at Central High School called "Shattered Dreams." Though the goal was to help students realize the tragic effects of drinking and driving (a mock crash, simulations of losing prominent and beloved students), it gave pause in one particular class in which we discussed the inevitability of death. Though young people often feel invincible, it was surprising to me to see how many of them actually had contemplated death in recent days.

It takes me back to my days working with Tony at Berean Baptist. On one Wednesday evening we borrowed a casket and I popped inside. Looking back, I don't think I approached it with much gravity or contemplation--it just seemed macabre and cool. But Tony's message has always remained with me.

What do you want people to say about you at your funeral?

Aydan has been sick today, so we have watched a lot of movies. We just watched a trailer for "The Blind Side" and, having already seen the movie, I was surprised by how moved I was. Just the reminder of the story--the sacrifice and love of one family--made me quite emotional. And that's what I'm writing about here. A film could have been made about the Touhy family: entrepeneurs and affluent Americans. But a single, simple-yet-profound choice was chronicled in a major motion picture. One act of selflessness, of love and service changed many lives. That is how I want my obituary to read; full of allusion to service and love.

But no where is the separation between life and death more profound than in the daily grind. Knowing how I want to die, knowing what kind of life I want to have lived....why is it still so hard to daily live in such a way? Why do I so easily become selfish and arrognat? I don't want anyone to stand over my coffin and say, "What an a-hole! That guy only cared about himself." So why do I live that way?

The irony is that it is often based upon, "What will people think?" Francis Chan talks about this. We too often live according to the reaction we get from others, instead of based upon the lavish love of Jesus. While it can be sobering and instructive to think how others might speak of you after death, it is supremely corrupting to daily wonder, "Does that person like me? Am I pleasing them?" God is gently and insistently showing my how proud I am, and that in almost everything I only care that I am seen as being exceptional. I love that I am the favorite teacher of so many students. I love that people are awed and inspired by my diverse and profound talents and abilities (and if that sound arrogant, you start to see the problem!).

I have recently talked to a young man about the sort of people we are becoming. I mentor this young man, and I shared with him my heart's desire, the person I want to be, the man I hope to see in the coffin some day: he exudes love. You've been with this man. He is the one who spends time with you and though nothing profound happens, you feel refreshed, loved, inspired to be better. His presence is light and easy and joyful. He is of no consequence, and yet he is a profound influencer. That's who I want to be.

But daily life interupts. I want to be known, be celebrated...and maybe one day be a man of deep love and passionate service. But we are what we repeatedly do. Therefore my epitaph grows more and more unfavorable each day. Soon, living for fleeting notoriety surpasses intimacy with Jesus. Service is sacrificed for selfishness. Love is too costly and messy--reclusive genius is more enigmatic, mysterious...and safe.

I've talked before about great movie lines and their influence on my spiritual life. Perhaps the most plaintive and powerful line I know of--and that which sprang into my head today while thinking these thoughts--comes from Rober the Bruce in "Braveheart." His father is worldly wise and thinks cunning and deception are necessary to survive. He teaches his son, basically, that if you want to get along in this world just join the system. Don't strive to be better, to be more. Just get the best for yourself and life will be good. His words to his son are, "All men betray. All men lose heart." And Robert screams the words that bang and clatter in my chest, especially as I see the man I want to be overpowered by daily unintentional living: "I DON'T WANT TO LOSE HEART! ....I will never be on the wrong side again."

Live today as if death were waiting and therefore live for eternity. Live today as if today (and ME) is all that matters, and live a sad life. The sides are drawn. May we all chose the right side.

Evenings

2010-05-27T20:42:00.004-06:00

I recently spent what can only be described as a transcendental evening at the Central Market in Fort Worth. I know...a weird place for a transcendental evening, right? But that place is awesome! Great food accompanies what have always been great meetings with great friends. Then last week we added great music to the mix.

I have claimed to have "discovered" various bands or musicians in the past, but this may be as close as I'll ever come to actually doing so. The band Seryn is from near-by Denton, and they've been getting some airplay on a local public radio music station. You must stop now and click on the hyperlink. These guys are ridiculously good. To hear their tight harmonies on a warm but breezey Texas evening as the sun was setting...pure magic, beauty, mystical and spiritual. The words cannot convey the joy of being in that moment. Just stinkin' fantastic. Afterward the boys got the autographs of the band (Trenton, Nathan, Chris...my sons are huge fans of them all, and the guys in the band were super gracious to talk to them so extensively). Check out Seryn and when their album hits, buy it. Seriously. They're that good.

Then there's this evening. Instead of feeling contented and joyful, I'm longing and searching. The moon is full and orange. Time seems long enough to never get me toward any place I want to be, but too short to allow me to pursue what I really want to do.

So this will remain a short update. The end of school is a week away. I'm tired, and I'm dragging myself to the finish line. Let's hope I make it.

An Odd Habit

2010-03-29T21:22:00.003-06:00

We had our basketball banquet this evening. As usual, my friend Josh (seen photobombing this pic) and I thoroughly enjoyed ourselves joking around with our team and their families. I could never say it enough, but we had an outstanding group of young ladies this year and we both loved them and were very proud of them.

It is customary in Texas, I have come to find out, that girls WAY over do it for banquet, wearing fancy dresses and inviting dates, almost as you would for prom and homecoming. As such, it is an occassion for many photographs. Looking back through them, I realize that a harmless little tendency of mine is starting to become an unusual habit: I do not smile for photographs. I mean, I will smile, but it's a goofy smile. Or it's exagerated. Or there's a cheesey pose. Or I accompany a funny smile with a stupid thumbs up. I never really take a good photograph.

This has been common practice for quite some time, and it bears looking into. Why not smile? I know my wife gets frustrated when I TRY to look dumb in pictures. What's the reason? If pressed, I think I can find a couple reasons. One I must blame on "Scrubs." In an earlier season, Brendan Frasier plays Dr. Cox's brother-in-law, and he has a habit of snapping photos on a Polaroid at odd times. When questioned, he responds that posed portraits always seem fake. I liked that. It resonated with me. I would always much rather have a candid shot than a smiling portrait. But given that people repeatedly ASK me to be in photos, the stupid expression is my way of fighting the system. In addition, I think some of it may have to do with my coming to grips with my own attractiveness. Sure, it's vain, but I have always thought of myself as an attractive person. But nothing will cure you of that faster than hanging around someone whom you are always being told is actually good looking. Girls will tell me all the time how hot Josh is. Personally, I don't see it. But it's kind of like playing on a team, and after the game is over hearing a teammate recount the outstanding exploits of another player, and then having them turn and say, "Oh...and you played well too." Only no one ever says, "Oh...and you're not hideously ugly either." I don't even have a back-handed compliment come my way. So it begins to dawn on me, you see, that I must not really be that handsome after all. And when that happens, well there are two ways to go: fight really hard to prove that you ARE good looking (and usually end up looking worse for it), or concede defeat...and settle into your role as the goofy-looking one.

This seems to make sense to me. Heather is WAY more attractive than me, so I can never look better than her in a picture. The solution: look like a mildly retarded chimpanzee. What's that you say? Josh is the cool one? Allow me to pose as a giddy stroke victim. Pretty soon, it just becomes habit.

A Further Explanation

2010-03-27T07:45:00.013-06:00

Not long ago I wrote about my intentions to be more disciplined. The actual trial period was not as intensely disciplined as I would have liked, but the goals themselves helped to bring improvement in each target area. In that previous post I said that I would share more at a later date. Apparently, the date is later.

One goal was to draw daily. I did not do this, but I did complete several drawings over the course of the month. Since I normally paint, it was enjoyable to return to more simple drawings. Here are a couple.

My art history class (of 7 students, by the way; on a side note, I have been told by the assistant principal that, due to my recruiting efforts, 58 students will be taking the course next year) has been asking repeatedly for me to make a t-shirt design for the class (many AP classes do this, I guess). Since I love designing t-shirts, I was excited to do it, but it kept getting put off for more urgent matters. However, I was able to create this hip-hop Buddha during my February Challenge. The idea came from a class discussion of Indian art, and while studying traditional images of the Buddha, we contextualized classic lakshana into their contemporary equivalent: elongated ears (indicating royalty) became gauges, the ushnisha (the bump on the top of the head, indicating spiritual vision or guidance) became a Tupac-like front knot of a bandana, the urna (the "third eye" of spiritual sight or enlightenment, represented as a tuft of hair between the brows) became a Little Wayne-esque tattoo, the mudra looks like flashing a gang sign, the mandorla holds graffiti, etc. etc.

A student in one of my Art 1 classes did a drawing of a character he created, "Disco Dolphin." From this drawing came a class discussion/brainstorming session wherein we created a list of other musical style animal mascots. At the top of the list was "Techno Tarantula." They asked me to create a version of this character, which I happily did. I still have to color it, though.

A second objective was lifting weights with the goal being to lift a woman above my head. This was because my friend Nikki Hervey and I were preparing for the annual Prom Fashion show. This year our friend Taylor talked us into doing the final dance from "Dirty Dancing" as a memorial to Patrick Swayze. After all the preparations to do the final lift, we did a dress rehearsal in the theater and were reminded that the side aisles actually slope up, making the lift all but impossible. We sort of did a lift, from the stage, but it was very tentative (Hervey not wanting to fall, and me not wanting to drop her) and brief, as Hervey explained to me at the moment of the lift that she forgot to put on her spandex undershorts beneath her dress. You can see the video (thought not of great quality) of the dance here. And here are some pictures for your enjoyment.

All of this happened close to a month ago. Since that time, my time has been preoccupied with VASE (Visual Art Scholastic Event)--in which I had two students advance on to the state level (so I'll be traveling to Galveston in two weeks)--and SAW (Student Appreciation Week). SAW is an occassion that occurs every 4 years at CHS (so that every students who graduates will have been a part of one) and it involves teachers taking extra time and effort to show the students that they love and appreciate them. We decorated our doors, raffled off prizes, brought in a DJ for a double lunch period, and culminated the week with a pep rally (run by teachers, using teachers for entertainment). I was involved in two projects for SAW: video announcements and step team. Each week broadcast journalism students do a video segment for the Friday announcements and they include school announcements as well as skits they do for weekly projects. Last year the seniors were clever and did some funny things; this year....not so much. So along with my friends Josh and Bobby, we endeavored to show the students how it's really done. Some of the segments were just nice and sentimental (teachers and principals thanking students and telling them they appreciate them), and others aimed to be funny. Josh and I were the newscasters on our own version of "Weekend Update" on SNL. We filmed a commercial--based on the original "Charlie's Angels"--for an upcoming dodgeball tournament. But perhaps the most successful of all was our Ghosting video (which, I'm proud to say, has already had 5o some views since it's posting last night). It started an instant sensation, and I have been told that students have already gotten in trouble for trying to ghost a janitor on campus, and the CHS girls track team competed in ghosting matches between their races at last nights meet. We would love to take all the credit of course, but the idea came from the Australian TV personalities Hamish and Andy. Still, it's brilliant and we're glad to be a part of helping it catch on--at Central High School and around the world. (I'll try to post the Charlie's Angels commercial soon, but for some reason I don't have a copy on my computer right now.) The other effort I was involved in was the CHS Stepperz. We had several practices to learn the routine (including practice over spring break) and I was also able to design our t-shirt. When the big day came, we were received with rousing ovations from the students and the performance went pretty well. Again, I regret that I don't have the video of the routine, but as soon as I do, I will link to that as well. For now, here are pictures of our outfits.

We crept into the gym through fog, looking like this.

After we were announced, we took off our hoodies and performed the step.

My codename was "Thanatos".

I had to tat up for the event...you know...to stand out a bit.

The little details are so important and prove that you are pure darkness.

What Makes the Muskrat Guard His Musk?

2010-03-20T20:01:00.003-06:00

I just watched an episode of one of my favorite TV shows, "Community." In this particular episode, Joel must confront his self-imposed impossible standard of being "special" when he discovers that he's really not that good at pottery.

What I find to be particularly accurate is the depiction of the way we attempt to avoid our inadequacies. There are two things that I think are absolutely essential to living my life: being close to Jesus, and painting. I realize that when paired like that it sounds silly, but since I feel like I have some gifting and some passion to paint, it seems imperative to do it. (And I single these two things out because they apply to what I'm saying; I do not mean to imply that being a husband or father is not important.) At the same time, while they are essential, they are often the things about which I feel the most apprehension. For instance, I had a whole week off from school this past week. For the first two days, I worked for hours on end to clean up and rearrange the studio. Sure, there is a practical point to it, and it will enable me and inspire me to work in the future, but I could have finished a painting this week. Instead, I keep a streak going wherein I haven't painted for something like four months. The fear is this: being out of practice, I will struggle to get the feel and the look I want, and failing to get the look I want is missing the mark on something really important--it is personal failure. There are many quotes that deal with this, and I'm sure I've mentioned it before but to be an artist is to be bold and fearless. Sometimes, like now, I feel unequal to the task. It's easier to plan for future projects than to actually work on one now. In all honesty, I'm afraid I'm just not that good.

The same goes for being with Jesus. At times I fear he'll ask too much of me. At times I fear I'll make progress, only to become selfish again, and then feel like I've let him down. When these feelings build, it's easier to avoid him than to spend time with him and feel like a failure.

So the conclusion of this post, the benediction for my day, and the prayer I must utter is, "Be strong an courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go." Father give me courage.

3 Journals

2010-02-01T17:30:00.003-07:00

Taking my wise, and ridiculously-disciplined brother's advice, I have made February a "trial month." To keep my on track, I have employed three journals. There may come a time (probably around March or April when basketball is long gone, art competitions and showcases are over, and the school year is winding down) when I scan some pages or rewrite some thoughts, but for now, my focus for the month is three-fold.
1) Spiritual: 30 minutes daily of reading, meditating and praying, with reflections and prayers recorded in my "Year of the Raisin" journal (there's a longer story there, but that will have to wait for another time).
2) Physical: I'm back to working out, just 30 minutes, 5 days a week (before or after school). My main goal is to be able to lift a woman over my head for the prom fashion show (again, the bigger story on that will have to wait). I'll be recording everything in my trusty old, super girly zebra print workout journal (last entry: February 2007).
3) Artistic: I haven't painted in FOREVER, so I'm breaking back into artistic thinking by drawing daily in my sketchbook. Nothing amazing; just 15-30 minutes a day. I'll be drawing these in my "Upcoming Projects" sketchbook.

So all that stuff adds up to around 1.5 hours a day. When practice time is subtracted from my life--Wednesday of next week--I'll basically "break even" on time committed to various tasks. I'm excited to see what will come of everything. I'll try to keep you posted...but really, 4 journals would just be a bit ridiculous, don't you think?

Beyond the Pale

2010-01-24T18:27:00.002-07:00

Perhaps this won't make sense, but I thought I'd ramble for a bit, if only to see who's still listening.

First, a confession: I am nearly through reading the entire Harry Potter series. By no means are they the pinnacle of literature, but they sure are easy, entertaining reads.

Reading Harry Potter has pointed to something deep within me, however, and it's not something that I would have expected to find while reading about a boy wizard. The more you read and get lost in that magical world, the more you are brought into contact with magic, with talismans, with omens, with symbols and creatures outside the ordinary.

And I love it.

My friend Josh and I spent New Year's eve looking at what still remained undone in this world. It's hard to imagine doing something that no other person has done on a planet so old, so traversed. But there are two places, apparently, that have never been fully charted on a map. One is in New Guinea (and as for me, I say keep the sweaty jungles) and the other is in Greenland, I think. I almost wanted to pack right away and head out. Just the thought of going where I can be totally alone, and where few have gone before, is terribly appealing.

In Harry Potter, the villain Voldemort sought to stretch magic to its limits. He looked for secrets deep and dark; he sought knowledge few had ever sacrificed enough to attain. And although I'm not planning on going occult, nor do I want to stare into the face of evil to do so, I long to touch the void--to experience that which is "beyond." In my estimation, man has always attempted to do so. If you haven't seen "Sherlock Holmes" yet, I recommend it as (again, not truly spectacular cinema, but still) entertaining, and it hits on this point. There is always an aura of fear and mystery surrounding the unknown. Man has tried to explain the unknown through legends and stories. Man has attempted to discover the unknown through secret arts like alchemy. Man has tried to manufacture a cladestine reality with secret societies such as the Masons. And in what I consider to be one of the great travesties of history, man has tried to banish the fear of the unknown by destroying all secrets and mystery through that omniscient discipline, Science.

It's startling to me, when I stop and think about it, how many people must understand this yearning to know what is out there. "X Files," "The Truman Show," The Matrix," "Dark City," "The 13th Floor"...they all want to find out what lies beyond their everyday living. In each case it is a mystery beyond what they could have imagined before their awakening.

I have a secret love of the Wunderkamern: the pre-Enlightenment, aristocratic pasttime of stockpiling unexplained treasures, whether they be coral from a far off sea, never-before-seen creatures from the New World, or the truly bizarre from just around the corner. I contest that the "Cabinet of Natural Curiosities", as it is also called, has been splintered into the modern conventions of the Science and Nature Museum and the Carnival Side Show. Perhaps the "Ripley's Believe it Or Not" Museum even fits in there somewhere. But when I pour through the images I have collected of all these things, I don't just delight in their beauty or peculularity, but I almost feel my heart leap up, asking, begging, "Please, be real. Let there be magic and mystery still in this world!"

So long live Cryptozoology! Three cheers for medieval bestiaries!! Let's hear it for Wonder Cabinets!!! Let them live and stir the curiosity, if only to remind us that the Truth is out there. Something greater exists outside this Ordinary. Someone is there beyond the pale.

New Stuff

2010-01-11T20:14:00.005-07:00

No time for eloquence. Here's some new stuff (from top to bottom):
My first tattoo--a wedding ring celebrating our 10 year anniversary, drawn on by my old pal Drew.
Our wall--Heather wanted some art, so art is what I gave her. Pretty basic, but she likes it, so that's all that matters.

That's about it. Hopefully more will come soon.

Ebenezer

2009-12-13T07:47:00.002-07:00

Did you know that Scrooge's first name, Ebenezer, means "stone of help" and it was a memorial stone erected by Samuel in the Old Testament? Dickens' genius is in his recognition that we all are supposed to remember, but too often become selfish and forget, not merely about the Christmas season, but the Christ-child himself.

While pausing for an Advent meditation this morning, I was reminded that waiting is a key part of what the season is about. As I reflected upon events of recent days-- with much hustle and bustle, not to shop, but to finish projects for the CHS musical (including my foolish offering of a life-size replica of the Spirit of Saint Louis), and many practices and games (with anticipation of the start of the district season on Tuesday)--I saw my own forgetfulness. Thank God that he has graciously worked to crack through my self-involvement.

I often wonder if I'm on the right track. If you've seen "That Thing You Do" you might recall the question that Lenny asks Skitch just before the curtain goes up on their television debut: "How did we get here?" I ask that alot. If my goal all along has been to serve Christ, how did I end up here: in Texas (of all places), coaching basketball, teaching high schoolers, trying to change the way we live as the church, raising two kids, loving one wife, being a hobbyist painter (instead of a growing painter, as I desire), etc. etc. etc. So many things creep in, and they almost always feel like they crowd out what I really want, or is really important. But Skitch's answer is telling: "I brought you here, sir, for I am Spartacus." I didn't follow Skitch Patterson, but I'd like to think that Jesus has been the guiding force for much of what has occurred. And as Rich Mullins says, even when "I can't see how you're leading me unless you've led me here: where I'm lost enough to let myself be led. And so you've been here all along, I guess. It's just your ways, and you are just plain hard to get."

Thank you God for being too mysterious to grasp. For being too elusive to contain. For being too good to let me go. For being so unfathomable that you would come as a little baby, meek and mild, full of grace and lighting the dawn of hope.

"Here I raise my Ebenezer, hither by thy help I've come
And I hope by thy good pleasure safely to arrive at home"

Minute Update

2009-11-15T13:56:00.003-07:00

Here's what's been going on.

I finished a painting for Heather's cousin and his new wife. It wasn't completed in time for the wedding, but we're mailing it this week for a gift reception. I hope they like it. Here's a pic.

Basketball has started in earnest. We had three games in the past three days. Unfortunately, we are 1-2 on the young season. We're already improving, though.

This week promises to be fun: Turkey Tennis Mixer, Student/Faculty Basketball Game, last week before Thanksgiving break, etc.

And that's about it. We'll get you caught up on everything over the holidays.

(Oh yeah! Remember "Reading Rainbow." I used to love this song (at about 18:45 in the video).)

THIS IS...ART CLASS!!!

2009-11-01T06:53:00.002-07:00

Having a beard at Halloween for the second year in a row led to another beard-inspired costume: Leonidas from "300" (Gerard Butler's character, the king of the Spartans). Everything is homemade, including the airbrushed t-shirt made to look like my chest. It was awesome seeing students come down the hall and do a double-take: from the distance it really did look like I had my shirt off.

The costume-making fun continued with the boys costumes. Heather has some pictures on her Facebook page so I'll refrain from double-posting them here, but feel free to check them out. They both looked hilariously awesome. It was the first truly great Texas Halloween: nearly a full moon, cool enough that we had to wear long sleeves and pants (and still started feeling cold at the end of the night), we walked our own neighborhood with our neighbor friends, and houses were handing out good candy. When we got home we watched Disney's "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" to cap off a thoroughly enjoyable evening.

A Little Humor For You

2009-10-26T13:14:00.002-06:00

So I was eating out with some friends recently and Taylor told me that a video of the CHS prom fashion show from last year is posted on YouTube. I just remembered it today and showed Heather and the boys. I now share it with you, faithful readers, for your viewing pleasure.

(As a side note, if you have not seen the "Evolution of Dance" video on Youtube, you should check that out as well. Funny stuff...and I entirely ripped off the idea from him.)

Enjoy the video!

"Life is Too Much Like a Pathless Wood"

2009-10-19T19:38:00.010-06:00

"So was I once myself a swinger of birches,

and so I dream of going back to be...

One could do worse than to be a swinger of birches."

I wish I had my own words to describe what it was like walking the autumnal roads of New Hampshire. But it feels to me like Robert Frost took all the good ones. I saw a line of bowing birches, glowing white against a firey backdrop of red and orange leaves, and could only think of his poem "Birches." And then of course, many roads diverged and I always tried to take the one less traveled...but let's not get cliche.

I also wish I had my own motivations for going into the woods, but Thoreau has already spoken them. To live deliberately, to suck the marrow out of life, and not, when I had come to die, find that I had not truly lived. I did go into the woods to be intentional, and to experience the fullness of life that only Jesus can afford. I set off to go "camping with Jesus" (as I came to call it in the weeks leading up to the trip).

Still I mention these men because my appreciation of their writing has produced in me an intense desire to see New England in the fall. So I was very blessed to be given an opportunity to fulfill this dream a couple weeks ago. It was beautiful and, well...Fall-like, for lack of a better term...and that alone should have been enough for a northerner stranded in Texas. I walked New England just a stone's throw away from Frost's birthplace in Salem and Thoreau's Walden Pond. I flew into Manchester and hiked out to spend some spiritual time with God.

But as my wife wittily and succinctly put it, the weekend turned out to be "more about commuting than communing."

I fear I might not be taken seriously if I do not post some screen captures associated with the trip, so I include here some information taken from Mapquest and Weather Underground.

This map is the closest I could get to the route that I took. Points A and F represent the Manchester airport. With a 25 pack on my back I hiked out of the airport, north of Manchester, over Massabesic Lake...and then realized that I SERIOUSLY underestimated the toll that walking for hours on end with a backpack would have on my body. The plus side was that I avoided being sprayed by a skunk I nearly walked into . I ended my four hour trek on Friday by passing out in a pathetically constructed bivouac in a wooded area between two houses. It was then that my goal of reaching Bear Brook State Park in four hours (at least taking the route I chose) seemed very silly and...well, impossible.

I know it's hard to believe, but this majestic this chupa did not keep me entirely dry through the rainy night. As the weather chart shows, it was warm enough to not be a huge deal, but it was great preparation for the following evening.

(As a point of comparison, here's Keller's weather--about as great as Texas fall weather can be.)

I woke up the next morning (wet enough and cold enough to abondon sleeping) and started hiking again at 5 am. It turned out, by around 7 am (whilst darkness still covered the land) that I had walked far off my intended course and would spend most of the day doubling back to get to the state park. Once again, by day's end I was exhausted and sore, but I had made it to the most south-westerly corner of the state park. Concentration on prayer, reading, meditation...yeah, it was nearly impossible. I set up a slightly better shelter in preparation for what I was anticipating to be a gold night. It was better, but I still woke up every few hours to rewarm myself. On one early waking, I poked my head out to see two wild turkeys running by.

The following morning I actually enjoyed the first few hours of hiking. It was clear, cold and beautiful. I was able to focus a bit more, and enjoyed worshipping on the banks of a steaming pond. However, as the map shows, there was a long way to go to reach the airport. I walked for hours, made it by mid-afternoon and started my trip home (I did get stuck in St. Louis and slept in the airport overnight).

The trip analysis shows it should have taken just over an hour driving, but the walk took nearly 15 hours total. A conservative estimate puts the total distance at 43 miles.

As the account no doubt shows, the trip, while fantastic was quite taxing and not exactly what I intended. Still, I'm glad I did it. I have additional pictures, but as this evening is continuing on I'm becoming increasingly tired. So I'll wrap it up, perhaps without satisfactorily complete my account of the trip. Apparently, that's the story of my life.

One Should Always Worry When One Starts Keeping One's Own Press Clippings

2009-10-15T20:09:00.002-06:00

On October 1st, an art show opened at the Keller Town Hall featuring local artists. I put in two pieces, and at the Opening a week later my amazing sons turned a reporters attention to me. The result is this fun little article in our local paper. It comes on the heels of being interviewed for the school paper as one of the new girl's basketball coaches. I'm not the most humble guy ever, but even for me it seems a little egotistical to be saving all these newspaper clippings.

Regardless, the show was enjoyable and I had several friends come out to show their support, which was great. I'm not sure if I won the people's choice award mentioned in the article (probably a good sign that I didn't) and I haven't sold either painting, but it is still a positive experience.

In other news, I was blessed to have been able to go to New Hampshire for the fall foliage last weekend. I'll try to post pictures and reflections on that over the weekend.

Tears

2009-10-03T12:03:00.007-06:00

Although it did bring up haunting memories of ridicule received long ago, I did not cry because of painful graduation memories, but because this video is hilarious.

Try to keep in mind this simple question (written above the video when I found it) and it will be even funnier: "Why won't that woman's friends help her?"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hzaoNEG6P4U&feature=player_embedded

(Sorry--for whatever reason, I couldn't get the video to embed.)

Alone-ness

2009-09-13T20:14:00.002-06:00

There are other things happening in my life right now that didn't really fit into the previous post. I've been reminded again about the soul's need for silence, solitude, and stillness. I recently finished reading, "The Signature of Jesus" by Brennan Manning, and it sparked afresh my desire to know Jesus. Not know about him. Not possess some derivative, second-hand knowledge of him. To know and to experience him.

With that hope, I've taken new approaches to prayer. I've committed with my mentor to take a silence and solitude retreat in the fall. And then today I read this poem, and I loved it and thought I'd pass it on.

"When I'm alone--" the words tripped off his tongue
as though to be alone were nothing strange
"When I was young," he said; "When I was young..."

I thought of age, and loneliness, and change
I thought how strange we grow when we're alone,
and how unlike the selves that meet and talk,
and blow the candles out, and say goodnight.

Alone...the word is life endured and known,
It is the stillness where our spirits walk
and all but inmost faith is overthrown.

(Siegfried Sasson)

Seattle, TX

2009-09-13T19:33:00.002-06:00

I love the rain. That may be a bit unusual, but that is probably part of the reason why I appreciate it so. The "rain walk" is one of my most cherished events of the year. Often, it will rain when we are occupied in some other task: at work, driving, going to the store, etc. But every once in a while, it will rain steadily, continuously; and when this happens, I like to grab the dog, put on some clothes that I don't mind getting wet, and head out into the rain. It has been raining for three days straight here in Texas, and so this weekend I was able to take two rains walks, much to the well-being of my soul.

These walks started back when I was in junior high, at least. I remember wandering in the woods surrounding the Black Fork River, just behind our house in Shelby. The rain hushes things--lets you forget all the other thoughts and worries, and just appreciate wooded stillness and the "quiet" of drumming rainfall. That is a special gift for a kid trying to deal with growing up, and I remember with fondness those days.
Then there was a time in college, when Mickie Krish, Katie Fowler, Leah (man...I've forgotten her last name) and I all went running around Chicago in the rain. I can still picture the sight from atop the bridge spanning the Chicago River, next to the Wrigley Building. With all the lights pointed up at the ediface, you could see the rain streaking down from the sky.
Later, in Minnesota, while Aydan slept in his crib, my young bride and I went splashing through the puddles on the lawn of our apartment complex. We soaked in the water and the joy of being together.
Just a few years ago, the boys and I thrilled at the rising level of Bear Creek, and we laid down in the trenches of water that filled low spots on the grassy hills of the park. We wandered wherever flowing water would take us. We laughed and explored, and dried out with hot chocolate in the end.
There have been less happy rain walks. Times of sorrow and lament. Times of questioning and fear. Even these, however, remain fondly in my memory. They are ghosts of what could have been, but never were. They are heartache endured...and overcome.

So when the rain held on through Friday evening, through all my errands on Saturday, and showed no signs of slowing last night, Lulu and I crossed to the park and began another rain walk. When it continued to rain this morning, the boys, the dog and I set off again. They found a turtle lounging in a puddle on the lawn next to the pond, and had a great time holding it, and then watching it get away. We crossed raging waters and jumped in puddles. It was another good walk.

Surrounding this experience, I have watched movies and trailers who remind me that it is a very special thing to raise boys. How can I help them stay wild and free and live their childhood with even moment of raucous, care-free fun possible? How can I teach them wisdom, self-control and respect, so that when the day comes for them to be men they are ready? How can I be patient with them, say "yes" to their harmless (and even potentially harmful) requests, affirm them and give them room to experience, to try (and to fail)? How can I tell them "no" and help them understand that certain loads are too much for their young bodies and souls to carry?

I've enjoyed watching "Second Hand Lions" and look forward to seeing "The Boys are Back" and "Where the Wild Things Are." But moreso, I've enjoyed spending time with my sons. I only hope that a good rain walk sticks in their mind, like I know it has done in mine, and that as they grow it will prove to be one piece in answering all those very difficult and sobering questions. I hope that I am equal to the task of helping them to become men. Seeing that become a reality is what I look forward to most of all.

Dad Always Said, "Day Three is the Hardest"

2009-08-26T19:20:00.002-06:00

For some reason, I seem to remember my dad telling me that the third day of any new season is hardest. You're tired. You're sore. You're run down. It's only the beginning, and you have so far to go.

Well I haven't had a conference period for the past three days, instead spending time with the varsity team in the mornings. I also showed up to my Electronic Media class yesterday to find more students than computers, and no software loaded on the computers for students to use. So there have been challenges, but I am still enjoying this new school year. I think I'll type this, though, and then head to bed.

There have been bright spots. My art history kids seem pretty sharp and with it. We've already started using VoiceThread and I really like it. It gives immediate feedback on what kids are thinking and learning. Some of you have such brilliant minds that I'd really like it if you would comment on our class threads. If you're interested, send a comment and I'll include you on the email distribution for each time a new thread is begun.

I know it's a short update, but it will have to do. I still need to get up tomorrow morning to make sure we're ready to go in Art History, and I need to plan an alternate assignment for Electronic Media, because I just know things will not be up and running by tomorrow. Keep checking back, though. I'll try to keep posting.

The Beginning of the End

2009-08-17T19:23:00.003-06:00

Or is it simply "the beginning?"

I always lament the end of summer, but when the beginning of school comes, I'm always ready and excited. Today was our first day of inservice. I can't honestly say that anything profound happened, but it was great to hang out with the old CHS crew. Some of my best friends at school are in the Fine Arts department (of course all the art teachers are great, along with Josh, Bobby, and Taylor; she's the one pictured above and is the captain of our co-ed volleyball league team). It is great to be Fine Arts, because we feel free to be wild and have fun. So when it came time to take department pictures, we grabbed some wigs and canes from the prop room and snapped some amazing pictures. As you can see from the picture above, my look was not all that unusual, as it turned out. When I saw the pictures I realized it was more of a throw-back look to the middle of last year. Funny stuff.

So tomorrow is convocation, and I'm sure more wackiness will ensue. I just hope I have time to make all the copies I need, get all the work done, and begin to feel a bit more prepared for this year.