"Once," Twice, and Many Times More

My beautiful and brilliant wife picked up an incredible movie at Blockbuster the other night. If you have not seen "Once" be prepared for some awesome music. Not a musical, though the songs overpower the story, "Once" features the music of Glen Hansard, front-man for the Irish band The Frames. We have already purchased the soundtrack from iTunes and have listened to it several times since last night. The passionate explosion at the end of "Say it To Me Now," the blissful glissando of "Gold," the sweet Casio (effect) keyboard on "Fallen from the Sky," the aching, heartrending melody of "If You Want Me" and the greatness of "Falling Slowly" are just a few of the highlights from the album. Highlights! Every song is fantastic. I almost feel bad not mentioning "When You're Mind's Made Up" and "The Hill." Seriously...it's that good. And I just found out (while trying to find how to play several songs on guitar) that "Falling Slowly" is nominated for an Academy Award this year. Check out the film. Immediately buy the soundtrack. Bathe in the ecstasy that is musical genius.

Jealousy

I had an interesting thought today while checking blogs. I know that God's love is called a jealous love. I was extremely jealous today, but didn't feel it was entirely sinful. Perhaps I could explain.

I read Eric's blog today and was jealous of his friends. It's weird, but they all seem so trendy and hip and cool. They live a free-flowing, urban, bilingual lifestyle. There's a photographer, who must have some influence on Eric's growing photographic ability. Typically, we say jealousy is bad--that we shouldn't want what other people want. But I had this sense that I wasn't really envious of what he has, but that I have deep longings--longings for community, and creativity, and fellowship, and beauty. When I checked the photographer's blog, I saw Ireland, Italy, France, Switzerland, and I was jealous of his travels to such beautiful, far-away (though not for him) places. But I didn't really want what he has, or want to be him; I just wanted to be a part of it all, to have the same experiences.

Maybe I'm romanticizing my own sinfulness. I don't feel discontent with what I have, who I am, who I know, where I am, etc. But there are times when I want to be a part of other things...of everything.

In Case You Care

I read Eric's blog, and loved to hear what he's reading. So I thought I'd share what I've been reading lately, just in case you are interested.

Alfonse Mucha, "Materworks"--a design master
John Singer Sargent, "The Early Years"--amazing painter
"PostSecret"--Funny, heartrending, thought-provoking. Find out more at www.postsecret.com (**VIEW WITH CAUTION! just checked the hyperlink and the first one is, of course, inappropriate. They're not all great, but all together they're interesting).
"1001 Paintings You Must See Before You Die"

And as I wrote in my journal several nights ago, this post confirms that even though I am nearly 30 years old, all my favorite books are picture books.

Decapitation Looks Easier in the Movies

I need to preface all the following content with the Dave-Berry-esque, "I swear I am not making this up." That being said...

We went to the movies today. Driving in we noticed a carcass on the side of the road, but this one was unusual, as it was a dead beaver. Aydan and I were quite excited to look at the beaver (I told him they had huge, orange teeth), but we contained ourselves until after the film. As we left the theater, the sun was getting low in the sky, and the boys and I raced across the road to view this fairly rare sight. Oh...and did I mention we convinced my wife that we should take the skull?

Now, skull extraction/preservation is not new to us. We thought a beaver skull would look great alongside our raccoon. So we raced home, grabbed a shovel, plastic bags, a utility knife, an ax, a flashlight, donned some ski-masks, dark clothes and disguises, and we set off on our covert operation. Imagine our surprise...our horror, even...when we arrived to find no beaver awaiting us.

I will take a brief digression here to tell a story about Halloween. We were on our way to meet friends to trick-or-treat, but before we left the neighborhood, we noticed 2 nice-looking bookshelves sitting by the roadside (and yes, you do see a pattern forming; I'm quite prone to taking interesting/useful things off the side of the road). I told HM that we should get them, but we both decided to just pick them up when we came back because we were running late (I like to tease that she didn't let me go back, get the truck, and then meet her after picking them up, but that's not entirely true). In my heart, I knew they would be gone later, because they were nice bookshelves. Heather has still not lived down the fact that my premonition came true, and as a result of her cruelty, my studio still has books lying on the floor, waiting for a shelf to call home.

Upon reaching the spot where the beaver should have been, I became furious. "If only she'd let me put the entire beaver in the back of the Trailblazer, this wouldn't have happened!!" I thought (which is a ludicrous notion, I know). Even more ridiculous was my paranoia that made me fume at myself for drawing attention when we first inspected the beaver which must have, logically, inspired someone else to carry off the dead beast before we could. But then I came to my senses. Having been dark for only 30 minutes or so, it dawned on me that not someONE but someTHING may have dragged the beaver into the adjoining field/woods. So we walked into the field, "just to see" I told the boys. As we did, I noticed a shadowy form retreat and stand at the edge of a line of trees. I was able to make out the form of a coyote fleeing the field. In front of us, where the coyote had just been, was the body of the beaver, which was previously intact but was now more...how to put it?....disemboweled.

After chasing off the coyote to claim our prize, it came time to separate the beaver's head from it's body. Because, come on: it's crazy to carry off a dead beaver, right? I mean, that thing was 3 or 4 feet long, probably weighing 75 pounds. Plus, only a crazy person picks up roadkill (and yes, for those of you who know V.H. and see some similarity in my actions and hers, which I had previously mocked, the irony was not lost on me). So being the sane person that I am, I had to cut off the deceased's head. After 2 or 3 whacks with my ax, which turned out to be fairly dull and fell with muffled, heavy thuds, I was forced to cut through fur, skin, fat, muscle and connective tissue with a utility knife. Fun. The coup de gras was the ax smashing through the bone of the spinal column with a moist crack. Surprisingly, I was not all that grossed out by the proceedings. It was a bit unsettling to see the beaver's slightly opened eyes staring at me while I worked, and slightly unnerving to finally see the head wobble loose and roll onto the turf, but I managed okay.

In the end, the boys and I returned home with a plastic Walmart bag full of enormous rodent cranium. Which, by the way, is currently rotting in the back of my pickup. Um, yeah...better go take care of that.

Rumblings

Recent Film Diet:
Sicko (Michael Moore)
Amazing Grace

Current Mental Soundtrack:
Alone Without You (Nightwatchmen)
Oppression (Ben Harper)

Most Recent Google Search:
"How to start a revolution" (Thanks to wikiHow for the helpful info)

If health care and college tuition, etc. are such a problem in America, how do we fix them? If we are a democratic society, how do "we the people" make the choices, instead of feeling manipulated by non-representative representatives and their special interest groups?
So how do we get democratic reform?
How do we get people to care for people?
How do we increase community?
How do we reform national values?
How do we make less more? (Does that make sense?)

How do we start the revolution?
And if the battle can't be fought....?
If not, Eric, clear a space in your apartment, 'cause we're coming to Amsterdam!

Regrettably, the Historian was On Vacation

I've often wished for a tiny person, preferably backpack sized, which I could tote around with me to have him (or her) on hand should I need a moment memorialized by a photograph. This would be particularly helpful on wilderness outings with my wife, where there is no one around for miles to capture a shot of us in the glory and grandeur of nature.

November has been quite the productive month, as I have finished my Athena drawing, and while in between projects, have completed several tangential undertakings. Regrettably, the pocket-sized historian was on vacation, and so the job was left to me to document the goings-on. At times I get caught up it the process, so there are lapses between stages of completion, but I post here, for your viewing pleasure, the "Rocky You've Met Your Match: The Preservation of the Raccoon Skull" and "The Creation of An Artist's Palette: A Rite of Passage to True Apprenticeship."



















(I can't get Picasa to stop repeating the beginning of the progression. Sorry.)

Coming Home

It's Homecoming Week at Central High School. And while the weather was beautiful for the parade today (a balmy 55 degrees), I am very excited to be, in fact, going home this weekend. So the glory of the thing is that I'll teach three days, enjoy the best that Texas has to offer, fall-weather-wise, and then sojourn back to Minnesota for some real weather. I'm giddy with excitement.

Somehow I got roped into driving for the "Freshman Favorites" in the parade today, which basically required me to drive to a car dealership, borrow a behemoth of a truck, and cruise slowly through suburban streets with wild teenagers all around. What made this event truly enjoyable, however, was the presence of my two sons. We had planned to go watch the parade, but I'm sure they loved riding in it even more. They loved yelling out the windows (something they always want to do, but are told not to) and being in the thick of things. My favorite part was a conversation that occurred on the ride home. It went something like this:

Brennan--4 yrs. old: (out of nowhere) "The air has gravity."
Me: "Are you sure?"
Aydan--7 yrs. old: "No, the ground has gravity."
Me: "Wel...(a brief, elementary explanation of gravity)."
Aydan: "It's like magnets. Picture it like this: the earth is the refrigerator, and we're magnets. So even when the world turns, and we go upside down, we don't fall off; just like magnets don't fall off when you tip the fridge over." (actual words)

Pure genius.

Freak Flag Fly

"Almost cut my hair; it happened just the other day..."

Transcripts from Central High School:

"You are the coolest teacher ever!" (Said in response to the fact that I ride my bike to school)

"You go to Central? (Response in the negative) Oh, I was gonna say, you look like you're thirty or something." (Said in response to recognizing a student outside of school hours. Of particular note was the way "thirty" was said, as if it were near death.)

"You work out, right?" (Said in response to a polo shirt that showed my arms)

"snicker" (Said in response to just about anything I am/do)

"Here's a tag for Aydan, and one for Dad...or, is it brother? Dad?" (Said in response to me checking my oldest child into childcare at church)

It is possible to feel very hip and with it one moment, and the very next instant realize that hip is momentary. It's nice when kids think I'm in shape, it's funny when adults think I'm a kid. It just goes to show that it's all perspective. The young think I'm old. The old think I'm young. Any I'm so tired today I don't know which I am. I did almost cut my hair today; I'm just so disgusted with it. But as I'm overly tired and overly agitated by everything, I think I'll hold off and see how I feel tomorrow.

Pointless

I was joking with a friend recently who told me she had a weak mind. She said she would read a book, like one she had just finished about an impending terrorist attack on the shores of a slumbering America, and be filled with wild notions influenced by the text.

"You weak-minded fool. He's using an old Jedi mind trick!"

I am not at all unlike this. I don't think anyone is very different. After all, Don Quixote read book upon book, filled with chivalry and fanciful notions, and so brooded and brooded until his brains dried up. In my case, I entertained the notion that all religions have the same stories. Seeking an answer for this, I returned to a person of interest I had heard of years before: Joseph Campbell. The man is brilliant. I plunged into comparative mythology. It was genius! I read further on the compelling claims of atheists ("unintelligent design" being the most memorable argument I read). They made good points!! I don't know how near I came, but I was on the verge of embracing the notion that everyone WAS right. We all had our own take on the universal, cosmic ideal. And it was precisely at this point that I noticed something.

No prayer.
All my reading excluded the Bible.

As Father Zossima relates in "Brothers Karamazov," "I carried (the Bible) ever with me, indeed I was afraid to go out without it, but I never read it. I did not know then that I had it, 'For the day, for the hour; for the month, for the season.'"

And so I entered "The Year of the Raisin." I wasn't sure in January why I titled my journal this. I emblazoned the cover with a raisin looking up at a grapevine, with the severed end of a vine in hand, saying, "Fancy that." Was the year of the raisin to be my return from shriveled life without Jesus? I hoped it would, and so I endeavored to journal daily, reading my Bible and praying.

My atrophy started years ago. There were moral lapses. There were lapses in judgment. There were new thoughts swirling in my head. I remember thinking of a scene in "Tommy Boy." He's trying to sell auto parts, and when people refused he politely, happily replied, "Super!" and bounced on his way. I was like that with Jesus. I didn't want to talk to people about Jesus. I didn't care if they said no. I didn't want to push him. I didn't want to be a salesman, peddling Christ.

This notion, one becoming more and more prevalent in Christian circles, is a nice and friendly idea. It sounds noble to not want to force Jesus on people. It sounds noble to live in peace and harmony with all people, regardless of class, color or creed. What am I saying, "It sounds..."? IT IS!! That's the trick: the ideas aren't bad. But what happens when the tension is lost?

I just had a vision of my son's bike chain slipping off the gears. Without tension in the chain, the bike goes nowhere, regardless how hard or fast you pedal. I'm sorry if that sounds like a cheesy sermon illustration, but it literally just came in my head as I was typing that last bit. What I had intended to move on to was the passage in Ecclesiastes where it says, "Don't be super wicked, but don't be super righteous either. The righteous avoid extremes". The biggest issue in all of life is balance. The Chinese got it right when they thought about yin/yang. Balance is central to life. What always occurs when extremes are taken is that a counterpoint will be raised with equal or greater vehemence, perpetuating further extremes. The issue I'm referring to above became prominent in church history at the turn of the 20th century. The Social Gospel people thought that most Christians were a bunch of lazy, good-for-nothings sitting around and waiting for the rapture. So they basically said, "Get up off your duff and do something!" What they did was good: seeking to eliminate poverty and injustice. Now the establishment reacted to this by claiming a lot of heresy (a lot was based on the pre-millenial/post-millenial debate) and saying, "Don't do too much! You have to hold to sound doctrine. Study and wait upon the Lord." Good things!! But pretty soon battle lines were drawn. Pretty soon each side thought the other side was composed of idiot heretics and would have nothing to do with each other. The gap widened. The extremes were more polarized. Along came WWI, and the New Deal. Social Gospel people said, "Let's get on board with FDR! He's got a good thing going." Establishment Christians watched and prayed, and served in the church.

The parallels between then and our current situation should not be subtle. The similarities between a century-old battle and a present-day discussion should be obvious. We didn't really learn our lesson, and so, forgetting, we repeat it. The issues today have more to do with tolerance, with global connectivity, but things are pretty close. Today, ideas like the one I mentioned, like the salesman pitching Christ, are gaining momentum. They are not original ideas. They are responsive ideas. Previously, within my own lifetime, we handed out tracts, we memorized the four spiritual laws (though now I can only remember, "God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life." Talk about sales pitch!) and we made the hard sell ("If you were to die tonight, where would you go? Are you ready to accept Jesus NOW?"). There are some obvious drawbacks to such an approach.

So the response is swinging to the side of leaving people alone. The idea is to love people without an agenda. The idea is to let people approach the ideals of Jesus in whatever context they choose. If they live out the message of Jesus, regardless of beliefs, they serve God, the Lord Jesus Christ. The biblical approach is to look at all the places where Jesus hung out with the drunks, sinners, the culturally diverse, the foreigners and "pagans" and admire how he loved them without pushing anything on them. Some nice ideas are tucked away there. It's not wrong to love people just to love them.

But recently I have been unable to leave it here. My "current events" reading is now overshadowed by the weight of what I find in the Bible. I've been reading only Luke. Looking at the life of Jesus. Trying to find what he was really all about. All Luke. Only Luke. Looking for Jesus. Ready for the shocker?

Jesus had an agenda.

I don't say he loved people to slip in his agenda. But he did have one. Take one beautiful example: Jesus is hanging out with messed up people, and the "religious" didn't like it. He was loving people and wasn't making them convert, or turn to him for salvation, and the religious leaders were pissed because they wanted them to give up Draco and Caesar and Shiva, etc. PLUS kick the booze, the pot, the whoring, etc. Only that's a modern day understanding. Yes, he hung out with people because he loved them, but he never stopped saying ONE thing:

Repent.

Ol' Uncle Bucky used to talk about the confusion of many seminarians asked to define the Gospel. Most launch into Jesus, Christ crucified, raised, your belief, etc. Nope. Repent. That's what Jesus wanted people to know about the Kingdom of Heaven. Check it out for yourself. That's what he says over and over: "Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is here."

So back to the example. The religious people are mad. They complain. So in Luke 15, Jesus drops some knowledge on them. Far be if from me to put words into the mouth of Jesus, but it's as if he's saying, "I want you to get this. I'm going to tell you 3 stories. They all say the same thing. This is what Heaven (the heart of God) is all about. Now, don't miss it." You'll see that the 3 stories are the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son. What does Jesus care about? What is on the heart and mind of God? Some people are lost. He want them to return home to him. The found ones don't factor in as much, because they're found. It's not about them anymore. So, real simple like, here it is: Lost, God wants them, Found aren't the main thing.

Now we could play games with what being lost and found looks like. "You could be a lost Buddhist who acts like a jerk but when you stop acting like a jerk and act like a real Buddhist, you're found." If we look at Jesus, he says, "Repent. Come home." If we explore repentance and being found by Jesus, it's hard to come to that conclusion. Many are doing it, so it's not impossible, but it's hard.

So finally I get to the point of "Pointless." We don't love people because it's the right thing to do. We don't love people because it feels good. We don't love people because it gives us (and them) meaning and comfort. All great things. But we love people because God loves people. It's not about us anymore. If people matter to God, they ought to matter to us. If you remove God's love for a person from the equation, if you take away the "agenda" of Jesus seeking the lost and calling for repentance, you swing to a frivolous extreme. I know it sounds bad to say loving people just to love them is frivolous, but neither can we say that Jesus loved people without agenda. Repentance was all he talked about. We must live in the balance, the tension between extremes. We must love people AND we must allow people to meet Jesus--the one from whom they're missing. If Jesus isn't all that important, we shouldn't follow him. If he's not absolutely essential--but, gee, his ideas are fantastic--then live up to the ideas and drop him. To live in a world with Jesus and not care, not act, not love is pointless. To live in a world, loving and caring and act, but going without Jesus, is pointless.

You Gotta Respect the Classics

Back in the '80's I wore white deck shoes because I thought I was the coolest human being alive. My siblings used to make fun of them...and me. But I didn't care. I was cool.

Well those days were gone...

BUT THEY'RE BACK AGAIN!!!

The glory of the deck shoes, that is; not the mockery.









I promise I did not put any pressure on my son, but on our recent trip to pick our new shoes for the school year he grabbed the pair shown here.


I said they were like shoes from the '80's, and he said (I am not making this up), "You gotta respect the classics!" (a quote from "Cars"). He wore them out of the store and asked every 2 minutes if I liked his shoes, or if he looked cool in his shoes. He was so excited, and it made me giddy living that excitement through him.

And, of course, seeing the return of the deck shoe.

Wisdom is Proved Slow by Her Progress

not done

trying

getting close

not close enough

New Teacher Training

What does one do during "New Teacher Training" when one is given an entire day to work on preparing one's room and one does not have a room to prepare?

This is what I did for an hour this afternoon. It's not perfect (my left eye is particularly laughable--like Sloth from "Goonies"), but compared to frustrating attempts in recent days, it is infinitely better. Enjoy. Hopefully the Athena Bust Drawing will be done within the next week or so, so check back soon.

The Brazos

"Today we went to the river......and went up on the water fall and went down the spring. We also went cinooing with my mom and dad and brother."

The words above are Aydan's account of today's adventure. We drove about an hour south of Fort Worth to trek by canoe down the Brazos River. During our incredible, 5 hour trip we did some rock-diving (jumping, really...from 7-8 foot boulders), we climbed a rocky ledge and explored a crystal clear, cold-in-spite-of-the-95-degree-day wooded spring, we floated along being carried by the current of the river, we explored a stony beach and discovered tons of shells, we swung from a tree swing into the river while cows watched on from their nearby, verdant pasture, and we enjoyed rowing, talking, singing, and taking in all the nature and scenery. If it sounds spectacular, it's because it truly was. I laughed out loud at one point, because it was just so refreshing to be away from other people, away from any sights or sounds of civilization, and to just relax.

Just so you don't feel too left out, here are some photos, taken on Aydan's digital camera (which explains the low resolution).

"Round the World and Home Again, That's the Sailor's Way!"

And now we're back home. Heather graduated from her massage therapy program and passed her certification test. And speaking of my glorious woman, we have taken up the long forsaken past-time of working out together. We did it all the time in MN; and doing it again was the enjoyable motivation we each needed to get out of the slump we were recently in.

One more week of freedom and then back to school (sort of). These posts may have to satisfy for the next few weeks.

(A huge "Thank You" to Daddy Diggity for the external CD drive which enabled all this posting.)

Work and Play

While in OH we took in an Indians game (with a result being an intense fascination in baseball for the boys)...















...we redid the sidewalk behind my parents' house...















(Like Father, Like Son.)

...I played basketball more than I have in several months combined (much to the detriment of my right hamstring).
...and did a lot of hiking...in flip flops.



Sorry about forcing you up that hill, guys.












Some nIce shots of my dog.
(And can I just say I love my wife--she was always along for the ride. It's fun to have fun with her.)

TBDBITL

My brother Alex is runs the Ohio State University marching band. He's the man.



We had a fun time visiting his campus and checking out his band. Of course we did some messing around while we were there.

Here's the giant Q-Tip.



And me being ridonkulous.



And at the Wendy's in Columbus, 3 of the cousins had a goofy face contest.

My New Favorite Picture

I'm not sure if it's the golden tint, the candid poses or my rad dog, but I love this picture. This was taken just after I shaved off my beard.




This is before.



And here's after.



Mad props to my brother for rocking a Kip Dynamite look while I sported the Fu Man Chu. Here's proof.



Thus transpired the Asp Men's Facial Hair Family Reunion.

"I Spent Like Three Hours Shading Your Upper Lip."

I have been a bit out of touch recently, due to returning home and trying to get things in order. Mainly I have been working on the drawing you see. It actually looks better than this now; I just haven't taken the more recent pictures off my camera. I'm hoping to have it done before school starts, so hopefully I'll have the finished product soon.

And now, I shall go on to post pictures to show you what happened on the trip, and other things of interest lately.

"One Little Thing Can Revive A Guy..."

On "A Prairie Home Companion," Bee-Bop-a-Ree-Bop Rhubarb Pies always sponsors a segment in which Garrison Keillor weaves a tale of heartache and tears, with trouble mounting on top of trouble, building to what would seem like an insurmountable climax. Then suddenly he stops and says, "Wouldn't now be a good time for some rhubarb pie?"

"Yes one little thing can revive a guy
and that is a piece of rhubarb pie..."

In Texas, rhubarb in a non-entity. I have never seen it growing wild. I have never heard of a southerner talking of eating it. It is a bitter vegetable/fruit consumed only by northerners, seemingly. So it had been on my radar to hunt some down while in Ohio. I was fairly obsessed with the notion. It came to pass, and it was a simple and utter let-down.

It was delicious, mind you. I made two pies: rhubarb and strawberry-rhubarb. Both tasted incredible. But the simple taste could not make all the hassle and mess go away. For days now I've been running here and there, seeing this person, talking to that person, trying to please and appease all. Night after night I lay my head on my pillow far after my self-appointed "point-of-no-return." Morning after morning I pop up in bed, unable to really sleep in. Afternoons pass in a blur of frivolous activity, with nary a nap to be seen. Vacations should be crammed FULL of naps!! The basketball is fun, but is a sobering reminder of my mortality--specifically that I am dreadfully out of shape, am no longer 18 and cannot do the things I used to be able to do, and in addition, I may be approaching senility as many of the things I thought I could once do on the court--like being a great shooter--may indeed have been nothing more than a figment of my imagination. An unstructured time seems as though it would be free from obligation and would afford occasions to read, journal, pray, reflect, plan art lessons, draw, lounge, camp, and stroll through nature, but none of those things are happening. In fact, such things have diminished or worsened so that they are worse than they would have been had I stayed home and taught summer school from dawn to dusk and then plotting on how to repair or purchase a car late into the night, as I had been doing prior to this trip. And yes, family is great, but they are also family, and as the movies are wont to point out, they have a knack for frustrating us and pushing our buttons and causing mild annoyance at times. I speak not only in terms of THEM bugging ME, but much more so in regard to my two wild-monkey children, my 300 lbs. rampaging canine, and my egomaniacal, moody, irreverent, abrasive, embarrassing self harassing the life out of everything around me.

No. A piece of pie was not able to make that all disappear. It did not fix it. Did not fix me. It didn't really even refresh or revive me. But I suppose staying up until nearly 2 am will not do much for me either. At least it's only 1 am central time!

"Only in his hometown is a prophet without honor."

Coming home is often a very reassuring event. Things are still the same (mostly). It's good to see old friends and forge new memories with family.

But coming home is also a very disconcerting event. It is the one time when I get to hear what a jerk I am.

Now, keep in mind that no one calls me a jerk. And no one is really mean in any conversation. It's just that my flaws are well known, having been experienced for decades, and flatly stated. I am actually thankful for this. I like it when people tell me how it is. I just hate remembering that I'm not really all that nice of a guy.

Things I have been reminded of this week:
1) I am moody.
2) I am taxing.
3) I am an unspeakable jerk on the basketball court.
4) I could love Jesus better.

Allow me to make things a bit more clear.
1) When I am tired, I am evil. When I am fresh on the scene, I am exuberant. When I am frustrated, I am quiet and sullen. I could make a long list, but it's funnier for my readership if I give some examples of these horrible traits.
I came home last night from a very cool time hanging out with my family, getting to see some behind-the-scenes locales of the OSU marching band, for which Alex is the equipment manager. We arrived home late. We have been arriving "home" late for the better part of two weeks. God bless my sweet, gigantic beast of a dog, Lulu, but she chewed on some items and threw some garbage around my parents house. That is a minor frustration, and easily remedied. But then she had the audacity to run around the house like a maniac (after ONLY being trapped inside for the better part of the day). She would not listen to reason when I politely asked her to calm down (okay...that did not happen), so I had to body slam her. On the kitchen floor. Literally. I might have killed her if my incredible wife had not saved her (and really everyone else in the house, because once I had the taste for it, I might have been unable to stop). I am moody.
If switching from "fun evening with family" to "death to dog" didn't clue me in to moodiness, the fact that members of my family have said (somewhere close to a billion times), "You are sooooo moody" was a good indicator.

2) I LOVE my family. Ridiculously. I would do anything for my parents. I love to hang out with my siblings. I very truly idolize my big brother. When that kind of thing starts at, say, 10 months old it is very hard to shake. When I am with him, we have a good time...until I let myself go to far. It is a huge downfall of mine. I pick at Eric. I mess with him: poking him, bear-hugging him, punching him, etc. I want to be close to him and show him I love him. These cruel tactics may not seem the best way to do so, but it's what I do. I don't know why. Even now I can't analyze it and come up with a reason. But I don't stop there. I joke. It is one of my roles in the family. We all have them, consciously or unconsciously. Roles include the star, the scapegoat, the example...and the court jester. I am the joker. I keep everyone laughing to ease tension, gloss over issues, and generally make the mood light. But I'm mean, at times. I'm sarcastic. I push buttons. I hit sore spots. And when I cross the line, I can see it on my big brother's face. The smile fades. He looks away. He groans. He rolls his eyes. There are many little clues, but I always see them. The approval I long for from him is gone, and I can tell that the last thing I said was a bit off, maybe even hurtful. Like my physical poking, he never lashes back (a response my wife is trying to get him to change: she wants him to really hit me hard in return), just shows that I've let him down. I see it in my mind like the look I imagine is on my face when my kids drain my energy and I feel disappointed. I've drained him. I am often too harsh in my joking. I am taxing.

3) I pushed my brother in the back while playing basketball. He was only posting up, and I pushed him...in the back. Of course, I once kneed a guy in the crotch while fighting through a pick (because he was talking smack and being too physical), so it could have been worse. I am an unspeakable jerk on the basketball court.

4) A friend reminded me that my most important occupation right now should be to decide what I want my boys to look like when they become men, and then live like that. Honestly, I am feeling like I don't serve Jesus well, don't love him well, don't act like him well, don't know him well. How, then, can my children grow up to be like him? I could love Jesus better.

The Irish say, "The best mirror is a friend's eye." Coming home is like walking into a carnival's hall of mirrors. The mirrors are all a bit tarnished, looking well-worn and old, and their shapes are familiar. The figures reflected in those glasses, however, looks hideous and deformed.