Obituary

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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!!!

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

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"

"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

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

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

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

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"

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

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.

If

More wise words from father to sons.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

(Rudyard Kipling)