Grasshoppers

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

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

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

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

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

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?"

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?