A Second Chance

When I was in high school, I befriended this skinny, quirky kid that worked at the local Amoco station across the street from the grocery store where I bagged groceries.  We both drove Monte Carlos; his was a little more scratched up than mine due to an incident with a bug that assaulted him while he was driving down a dirt road near his house or at least that is the story he told his parents the day it happen.  We spent hours and hours hanging out at the Amoco while he was working as I was the new kid in town and never found making friends an easy thing to do.  Since he was at work and couldn't leave, I had a captive audience.  At some point along the way, I must have convinced him that my friendship was worth having and we forged a tight knit friendship and we'd spend the better part of the next decade as classmates, roommates, teammates, and the best of friends.

We moved out of our parents houses right after we graduated high school into this little shanty of a house on the golf course at Fairfield Plantation.  He went off to college at West Georgia and I soon followed after a failed attempt to go off and do my own thing.  More than one time we chased after the same girl; he won most of the time, well all the time, but who's keeping score.  Even through moments when we could have literally killed each other over a girl or some other trivial disagreement, our friendship always made it through.  Even the time he thought it would be a funny idea to wake me up with a very realistic toy snake and found out that I slept with a gun next to my bed and wasn't afraid to point it at people, our friendship endured.  We were inseparable; a ying and yang matched pair.  He was a neat freak and I was the slob.  He arranged his half of the closet by t-shirts, then polo shirts, then long sleeve shirts; my clothes were in a heap on the floor of the closet.  He was outgoing and the life of the party and I was the strong silent type that kept him out of trouble when his mouth wrote checks his butt couldn't cash.

He changed colleges and I feel head-over-heels in love with the girl that would eventually become my wife and for a while we lived separate lives, but before long I followed him to his new college and we lived across the hall from each other in the dorms.  I lived with his family during the summers while working to pay for school.  I gave my life to Jesus in the upstairs bedroom on his stepfathers house in Hampton, Ga.  His mother bought me my first Bible to celebrate the occasion, which I still have to this day.  I loved him like a brother and I thought we'd always be friends.  But funny things happen and some where along this journey, unbeknownst to us, we had built up some animosity, some resentment, and probably a little jealousy and envy.  He was always smarter than me; often correcting my English papers, he was better looking than me and the woman just flocked to him in droves, and he had this engaging personality that was so different from my introverted one.  One day, we got into an argument, feelings were hurt, words were exchanged, but it didn't feel any different than any of the other times we'd gotten on each others nerves or exchanged words, but something was different.  The anger and the resentment never receded and soon we stop talking; he moved out and we didn't speak again for another 12 years.

About 8 months ago, I "friended" his sister on Facebook and she gave me his number; I stored it away in my phone and never thought much about it.  When I was Saved at his house back all those years ago, I never changed my life.  About the same time that his sister gave me his number, on a invitation from a family member, I wandered into this amazing little church in Villa Rica and it would help change my life.  The people of that church and the Word of God touched my life in a way that has changed my heart forever.  Instead of being this bullheaded guy doing life his own way, I now have a relationship with God that shapes my life.  I heard God for the first time and had faith that in His Word there was life; rich and satisfying life.

One day, I was driving home from work and I heard God say, "Call Bill".  I think my initial response was something like, "No".  I was afraid that if I called him it might be awkward.  The last words we spoke were not kind and how do you call someone out of the blue after 12 years.  Again, God said, "Call him".  But this time I had a rebuttal, "No, what if it's awkward or he's indifferent?  I will feel dumb."  "Call him" was the response.  So I did and the conversation couldn't have gone any better.  We talked about wives and children, he leads a Bible study group at his church and I play in the Worship band at our church, and while we only had a few minutes to talk we planned to meet up at our upcoming class reunion.  He said he was glad I called and I thanked God for being so much smarter than me.

My family and I spent yesterday afternoon at his house in Newnan with his lovely wife, whom I love to death, and his three wonderful children.  We laughed, played catch with his son, and the kids jumped on the trampoline.  The wives talked and the children played like they had known each other for a lot longer than a few hours.  We talked, watched football, and ate pizza with a table full of kids and you would never have thought there was a 12 year gap in our friendship.  At one point of the night, he and I went to the local grocery store to pick up some dessert and while we were walking through Publix, he commented that is was funny how here we were after all these years hanging out with each others families.  But you know, that is how I had always envisioned our lives being.  All those years ago, I would never have thought it would have been any different than it was that night.  It was always the unspoken plan to barbeque in each others' backyards, to watch the kids little league games, and to be lifelong friends.

As I sat in church this morning listening to the preacher'n, I took a couple minutes to thank God for being smarter than me, for having a plan for me, for telling me to make that call, for Bill, Ashley, Tripp, Jasper, and Zoee Grace, for "Honk Honk", and for a second chance to make things right.  I didn't know how heavy a burden I had been carrying for the last 12 years until He lifted that yoke from me.  I reflected back on the last 8 months and how so many things have changed in my life and how much more rich and satisfying it really has become.  I don't know often Bill and his family and my family will be able to get together, but I know, thanks to God, that I don't have to worry about not getting a second chance to make things right nor do I have to live with that burden.  Yesterday morning, I sat eating my breakfast next to two men in their fifties, who appeared to be long time friends, and as they passed a business card back and forth, they each had to reach for their reading glasses to see the smallish print as they talked about airplanes and airplane parts, a conversation it seemed they have had many many times, and I thought to myself two things; how cool is that to find a kindred spirit like that to share your life with and man does God know what he is doing or what!

20 Years...Really?

On the morning of my 20 year High School reunion, I awoke at 6:30am, which is a luxury in and of itself these days, and as I walked into the bathroom to shower and start the day, my first thought when looking in the mirror was, "I don't look old, do I?"  I know it doesn't feel like it's been twenty years since I graduated High School but the calendar doesn't agree.  How did this happen?  It's all been such a blur.  First there was graduation in that hot stuffy gym at what was once West Georgia College, then some college here and there sandwiched between Spring Breaks, a job interview, a first date, a wedding, a birth or two (four in some cases), some soccer games, and now this reunion.  It all seems to have been a blip on the radar when one looks back on the last twenty years.

As most men over 30 years old, I have a very distorted self image.  No matter how old I get, how bald I get, or how fat I get, to me, I think I've still got "IT".  I not really sure that I really ever had "IT"when I was 17 or 18, but I am convinced that no matter what it was, it's still there.  At least I have grown wiser in the last 20 years and for the fact alone, I will not try to stuff my self into clothing that I once wore in High School; God bless those of you who still can.  But tonight is not about who we used to be or what we used to look like or act like.  It's not about who's succeeded and who's failed.  It's not about who has and who has not.  No, tonight is about renewing old friendships, looking at photographs of kids and families, meeting spouses for the first time, and reminiscing about the good old days before mortgages and orthodontist bills clouded our thoughts.  Tonight is about taking inventory of our lives from the past 20 years and appreciating the journey, both the good and the bad, that has shaped our lives and made us who we are today.  Grey hairs, extra chins, and wrinkles are just the currency of experience.

Tonight, I get to spend some time with a brother from another mother that I have not seen or, until a couple weeks ago, talked to in over 12 years after we'd been almost inseparable for the better part of a decade.  We got into a huge argument in college over nothing in particular and never spoke again until just a few weeks ago.  We missed each others weddings and the sharing in the joy of the birth of each others' children over an argument I can't even remember.  Through the wonders of Facebook, I friended his sister who gave me his cell phone number; I sat on it for months.  Then one day I was driving home and God just told me to call him, so I did and instead of the call being awkward, it was huge relief of a burden I had carried in my heart for over 12 years.  God is good and he's got a good plan for us.  I'm looking forward to meeting his wife tonight and hearing their story and about their kids; I've got 12 years to catch up on.  Tonight is going to be a good night.

Twenty years where have you gone?  I guess once we take inventory of our lives it will be easier to chronicle those years and understand how they seem to fold away into the wrinkles of our lives.  For tonight, I'm just looking forward to seeing all of these old friends.  I'm looking forward to seeing Cheri and Meredith in person after living vicariously through their week of Facebook posts.  I look forward to thanking Renee for all her hard work in organizing this event.  I hope I get an opportunity to see Mrs. Cetti and complain one more time about that Senior Project that was tougher than anything I ever did in college!  Ha!  It will be fun to see who married whom and what everyone else has been doing with their lives this past 20 years.  Maybe tonight when I get home and look into that mirror again, I'll have the answer to my predawn question, but it really doesn't matter insomuch as the journey has been worth every lost follicle.

Bad day, good night

I had a bad day. Another fourteen hour work day full of problems and complications, no breakfast or lunch, and I couldn't even break away long enough to use the restroom until I left at 6:30pm. All day I had waited on a phone call that never came. Even the things that break the grind of the day seemed to be another source of frustration. By the time I made it to the car for my hour and half commute, I was exhausted, dejected, and out of patience. The perfect remedy for that is, of course, Atlanta traffic.

I hit the road and dialed up a year old podcast that I recently downloaded from the Pastor at our Church. For the first half hour I listened to the teaching and cruised down 85 South without incident, but as I got closer and closer to downtown, the traffic started to increase and with it my frustration. So here I am listening to Pastor Tony teach about the Word and the only sound interrupting that teaching was my voice barking at unsuspecting motorists to “Friggin Move!”. Okay, I cleaned that up, but you get the point. The more I drove, the more frustrated I got and the more I lashed out and interrupted Pastor Tony with my outbursts of anger interspersed with the occasional verbal affirmation of his preaching. Sad, I know. By the time, I hit the Liberty Road, I was in a tizzy; this sort of self-created fit of anger and frustration and my language was horrible. I wanted to wash my own mouth out with soap.

Pulled into the driveway at 8pm to realize that it's Cheerleading night and no one else is home yet, which means no dinner prepared and most likely a few piles of surprise from the German Shepherd. Now I'm mad. In my mind, I'm questioning why I work so hard when it is seemingly play time for everyone else in the household. Why do I work 14 hour days and the wife only works 24 hour WEEKS? My anger and frustration had found a new target. By the time I cut the lights on in the kitchen, I was creating arguments in my head that I wanted to have with her. You know how you have these little mini-arguments in your head where you are both people at the same time? I even had her replies and my retorts going back in forth in my head and I had an answer for everything. I was winning. I was so angry at her that I was just shaking. I was so mad and she wasn't even home yet! I could feel my face getting hot and the heat coming off my bald head. I opened the refrigerator to find a whole bunch of nothing and the cupboards contained the same thing. I thought, “You work three 8 hour days, the least you could do is keep some semblance of food in this house so that when I get home from work I can finally eat something.” If you know me, you know I'm not starving or anything approximating malnourishment, but you could not have convinced me of that at this particular moment.

When you're 6'5” and roughly 330lbs, your fits are loud. I stomped off towards the front door with what sounded like a herd of buffalo in tow. I stepped out into the cool night air and I heard something in me say “You know what this is don't you”, “This is someone letting you know that no matter how much you think you've changed that they still have a foothold in your heart.” The anger and the venom I had been spewing for the last hour or so came from my heart; it's the only place it can come from. Here I was having the teaching of the Word going into my ears, but my heart was full of filth. The worst part is that I was completely oblivious to the struggle going on within myself. My head and my heart were in direct conflict and the filth and crud in my heart was winning.

A couple deep breaths and a conscious decision to change my heart and the anger was gone and the frustrations of the day that once seemed so important were now trivial. I had heard stories about how God keeps on loving you even when you're not at your best or when you're letting the crud still left in your heart rule your thoughts and emotions, but I had never experienced it until tonight. Just then I saw the lights of the rogue cheerio laden Tahoe sweep into the driveway and my heart, now quiet, welled up with joy and happiness. The woman who had been the target of my venom was now wondering why I was standing in the driveway smiling like a giant dufus. The kids rolled out of the car and they couldn't care less why I was smiling, they just wanted to love on Daddy, good day or bad, they have no prerequisites or conditions to satisfy and their love is the best. Now I understand why He loves me, good days or bad, unconditionally, with crud or without. It's the best kind of love.

Like Discovering the Ocean

I have this friend, Matt Williams, who is a wonderfully talented musician.  Several years ago, he wrote a song entitled "Like Discovering the Ocean".  He recorded it with his band, Blueground Undergrass, and on a solo album.  There is also an epically ponytailed version on YouTube that I will link here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ib6VoBpPiJE&feature=related

It is a beautiful tune and I had not heard it quite some time, but I was driving around in the jeep last Saturday with my iPod on shuffle when it came on and I was just blown away by the words in the chorus:
 "It's about like discovering the ocean, to find out that you're still in me".

Man, I was moved by those words and it just resonated with me because of all of the changes that have been going on in my life the past few months.  So much so, that I pulled over on the side of I-20 and texted Matt to thank him for penning that tune.  I'm sure he thought it odd that I would just text him out of the blue about a song he wrote along time ago, but I can't help it when I get a little goofy or a little emotional of late insomuch as all this new found love and joy in my heart is too powerful to keep bottled up.  Those words just summarized a whole lot of what I have been feeling.

Everyone remembers the first time they experienced the ocean.  The size of it was hard to comprehend.  It appeared to have no end.  It stretched as far as I could see and it was hard to tell where the earth stopped and the sky began.  I remember that it just roared with the sounds of the waves crashing into the shore and it's power was undeniable.  But even though it was awe-inspiring and intimidating, there was just something about it that compelled you to want to run right into it with reckless abandon; to just sprint right into those crashing waves with your arms wide open as if to embrace it.

"It's about like discovering the ocean; to find out that you're still in me".  Awesome.  I don't want to guess what Matt meant with those words, but to me it's the perfect description for how I have re-discovered my faith in God.  I was lost for a long long time, but when I turned to find Him, He was there, in me.  He never left me when I tried to do things my way without Him in my life.  And it is awe-inspiring and powerful and I'm just compelled to jump in and surround myself with His grace with my arms wide open. 

Thanks Matt.

A Guy and a Dumpster

I was on the jobsite today making sure that we finished this building on time for a Monday morning turnover to the Owner.  I walked out back to make a phone call, when I noticed a late model minivan pull up to our construction dumpster (one of those large 30yd containers).  A guy in his early 20's jumps out of the minivan and walks over to the dumpster and hops on it to peer over the side.  The next thing I know, he jumps right in the dumpster and starts throwing stuff out onto the pavement.  Metal.  Metal conduits, wires, ceiling grid, and anything else made of metal that can be scrapped for cash.

I deal with this all the time and I handle it one way; I kick them out of my dumpster, threaten to call the police, and run them off the jobsite.  It requires no thought and like Pavlov's dog, it's a conditioned response.  You see, I had already determined that those people were bums and had no business rummaging through my dumpster.  It disgusted me that people would pick through garbage to find scrap metal instead of getting a real job.  I work hard; routinely working 12-15 hour days 5 and 6 days a week and I frown upon those who don't match my effort.  That's just honestly how I felt.

So, I watch this guy for a minute or two as he throws more and more scrap metal out of the dumpster and I start to walk over there to get rid of him and I just stopped dead in my tracks.  Something just made me stop.  Then instead of feeling disgust or anger, I felt empathy.  Then I noticed a little blonde head bobbing out of the passenger side window, then another, and yet another.  There are three little boys all under the age of 5 in this worn out minivan, in the 100 degree heat with all the windows rolled down as I sure the air conditioning quit a long time ago.  My heart kinda sank a little bit more.  I was still frozen there, unable to step forward, unable to step back, just watching all of this.

One of my guys must have walked up and seen me taking all of this in and he starts telling me that the young man is deaf.  His wife had run off and left him with those 3 little boys and he's been coming by the job for the last month digging scrap metal out of the dumpster.  One of my guys had given the three little boys a can of soda on one of their trips to the dumpster and now they ask him for one every time they come by; said Daddy didn't have anything for them to drink.  Wow.

The guy finished his scavenging and filled the back of the van with his spoils and he and his boys headed off to another dumpster on another jobsite somewhere.  I was stilled kind of frozen in place, I hadn't moved from the spot where I was stopped cold.  I finally got it together and walked back in the building, gathered my guys together and told that I wanted all the guys working on cleaning and finishing up the job to sort all of the metal out of their trash and stockpile it in the stockroom.  My superintendent smiled and said "Boy, you must really hate people diving in your dumpster".  I said, "Yes, I do.  I want you guys to collect and set it out for him so he doesn't have to get into the dumpster."  I saw three mouths fall open in a combination of disbelief and disgust.  I continued, "I don't want that man to have to climb into a dumpster in front of his kids.  We can take an extra minute and separate out the metal and leave it so he just picks it up."  The mouths closed except to say "yessir".

A couple weeks ago, I commented on a friends post about crossing paths with some drunkards and her disgust in their life choices.  I got all "holier than thou" with her and commented about how God sends certain people across our paths sometimes as an opportunity to show others a better way to live one's life.  Maybe, just maybe, God also sends people across our paths to teach us things about ourselves; lessons we might not otherwise see.