Why?

I'm a protector; always have been. Maybe it's because of my size that I've always felt the need to protect people who maybe couldn't protect themselves.  People I love, friends and family, it really isn't something I'm conscious of doing all the time.  I have friends I just feel a need to protect, to lift them up, and to take care of them and they're grown adults who don't need my protection, so I kinda force it on them little by little.  Because I have this protector's spirit, my biggest fear in life is not being there to protect those that I love.  I am not afraid of dying, losing all my money, my house, the cars, guitars, or any earthly possession.  I don't fear losing friendships or jobs.  My single biggest fear in life is not being there if my loved ones every needed my protection.

I have a prayer, or a part of a prayer that I say almost every day and in this prayer for family and friends, I always ask God to send any blows destined for them to me.  Any sickness, pain, disease, heartache, despair, or any other hardship, please God spare them and send it to me, I can carry that burden so they don't have to.  I pray for that every day.  I pray for it every time I read a post on Facebook about little boys and girls fighting horrible diseases, every time I hear about a parent losing a child, and every time I am reminded just how fortunate we've been to not have to endure those unthinkable tragedies.

I was up early this morning, spending some time meditating on my protector's spirit, my fear, my prayer, and I began to think about my children, Taylor and Bo, 8 and 4 years old respectively, I thought of Bill's kids, Zoe, Tripp, and Jasper.  I thought about Julianna and Samantha.  I thought about AP's two sweet kids, I thought of my nieces and nephews, I thought about Micheal and Amy's kids, Micheal and Melissa's kids, I thought about Patrick and Krista's kids, and I thought about all the pictures of these kids I've seen on Facebook, all the times I watched them run around the Church on Thursday nights, and all the proud comments and funny anecdotes their parents have shared in the relatively short time I've known them.  And then I thought about the children and the parents involved in yesterday's tragedy and I began to weep.  I don't know any of them.  I have purposefully avoided watching or reading anything about this horrific shooting; I haven't seen the images, heard the stories, or seen the faces.  I don't have to watch.  I already know 20 kids and parents just like the ones who lives were lost or forever changed yesterday in this senseless act of violence against the most innocent of us.  I wept for the mothers and fathers who didn't get the chance to take those blows; they all would have.  I wept for the fathers who biggest fears were realized yesterday.  These aren't people I know, but we all know them in some ways, they were just like us up until yesterday.

I was left with one prevailing thought today; WHY?  Listen, I go to church a lot and I pay attention most of the time.  I read a lot of posts yesterday from people who are considerably more well-versed in the Bible than I am, but I'm not sure they will ever convince me that a merciful God would ever allow something as horrific as what happened at that school yesterday.  These were children, the most innocent of people who walk among us, the ones who need our protection the most.  You can talk about a broken world with inherent evil, you can quote Chapter and Verse, but you will never ever convince me that any of that makes sense.  I don't understand it and I never will.  I have doubts about my faith and most of the time I feel really unworthy of being on that platform on Sunday morning because of those doubts and my own shortcomings.  Today, I am at a loss for any sort of understanding or rationalization.  Today, I am just left with WHY?

My Dog, Harley, and Me

12 years ago, just a few weeks after getting married and moved into our brand new home, I answered an ad in the AJC for German Shepard puppies.  I was building the Avenues down in Peachtree City and the ad was from a “breeder” about 20 miles away, so I went to the bank, withdrew the asking price and started out on a trek that lead me past Atlanta Motor Speedway to a rundown duplex.  The “breeder” led me out back where I found 2-3 rag-tag puppies following their mother around the backyard.  The yard had no grass and the dogs were orange because the mud had become so entangled into their fur that you couldn’t really tell what color they were.  These were not reputable breeders, but rather puppy-mill type people who made a considerable living off breeding their two adult German Shepherds.  The dogs were not well kept or loved on at all.  All the dogs trembled when the redneck, err, man of the house spoke and I found my fists clenching up when I observed his demeanor towards the dogs.  You know the type, loves to yell at women, kids, and animals because they lack the ability to punch him in the nose.  One of the puppies caught my eye though.  He wasn’t the biggest or the fastest one; he was the one that was most frightened at the man’s voice.  My heart was taken by him.  I scooped him up, paid those rednecks their money, and put him in the front seat of my single cab 1992 Ford Ranger, mud and all.

On the ride home, he shook with fear as he huddled on the floor board of my truck.  I’m sure my voice was just as frightening to him as his previous “Owner”.  I told him how I would never hurt him, how I would always take care of him, and I promised him that we would have great times together.  He didn’t seem to be buying any of my spiel; he just stayed curled up on the floor board, occasionally peeking at me through the mud.  There was no way I could present him to my new bride covered in mud, so I called my Mom, who is the one who instilled my love for German shepherds in me in the first place, and I drove him straight to her house to give him a bath.  He was definitely less afraid of her than he was of me, but he was still frightened.  We cleaned him and got all of the mud out of his coat and discovered his was almost entirely black except for some “leggings” of tan on his legs.  He looked regal.  Not a traditional German bloodline, but I couldn’t have cared less, I loved him already.

At the time, my wife had bested me in the puppy acquisition department by a week and we had a devilishly spoiled Siberian Husky puppy at our home.  I don’t think I ever asked or discussed getting another dog with her until I pulled into the driveway that night.  Whether it’s a dog, a gun, guitars, or strange women, my wife always meets me with a resounding, “ARE YOU CRAZY”, whenever I bring them home; that night was no different.  Just a minute later though, she loved him too( his new “Brother”, not so much).  It took a couple days and a couple wrestling matches, but the two puppies figured it out as well.  I named him Harley, not because I liked the motorcycles, but because it seemed everyone I knew was buying the bikes and since I had a family to take care of and I didn’t want to end up as a hood ornament, I got a dog.  He was my Harley.  It didn’t take us long to find out that Harley lived to chase tennis balls.  He was so fixated on chasing tennis balls, that I could have trained him to do anything if the reward was chasing a tennis ball.  His vet said that his tennis ball fixation is what police and others look for in a “working” dog.  I started buying used tennis balls from tennis centers, which put them on Ebay; I could get a couple hundred balls for $50.  We went through several cases of them over the last 12 years.  My wife and I both probably will need rotator cuff surgery one day; even though she always threw the ball all girly and underhand.  He would chase tennis balls until he fell over with exhaustion.  He would try to stuff 2-3 of them in his mouth at the same time to bring them back to me, so I could throw them again.  He loved to fetch them so much that he didn’t trust me enough to bring it all the way back to me, instead he’d drop it within 10’ and take off again to wait for the next projectile.  But one, little “EH” from me and he’d sheepishly pick up the deposited ball and walk another 8’ closer to me and drop it before taking off.  Many times, I would leave work a little early and spend the later part of the day in the backyard throwing tennis balls to him and conducting business on my cell phone at the same time.

We were like to peas in a pod.  My wife didn’t allow him in our bed, but when she was gone or would beat me out of the door in the morning, he would jump up in the bed with me every time.  A couple times, she would catch us in there and get all pissed about me “spooning” the dog, but it wasn’t long before she realized that I am one of those dog lovers who can’t seem to see really distinct lines between our beloved pets and people.  If he could have, he would have called Papa John’s on his own.  It was the one visitor to our house where he did not go all ape shit and bark for a half hour.  Instead, he just peered out the door quietly waiting for the transaction to be completed so that he could follow me into the kitchen for the spoils.  I once conceived a new diet plan where I would eat anything I wanted to but would cut my portions in half by feeding the other half to Harley.  I’d always leave a lot of meat on the bone when we ate out so that he could eat out too!  If his lips could have held it, I am sure he would have gotten a dip or two of Copenhagen with me.  He was happier when no strangers are around, so am I.  The only thing we never agreed upon was college football.  As soon as he’d see or hear the Michigan game come on the TV, he’d disappear because I use to scream at the TV during the games and it probably reminded him of the original “yeller” before I got to him.

Harley never got over the man with the booming voice from his earliest days.  He would not let anyone other than my wife and I touch him.  My parents and my In-laws never touched him, my friends I’ve had for 15 years have never touched him.  Oh, they got close a couple times, but Harley always veered away at the last moment and hid in the back of the house or behind me or my wife.  He was peculiar in that sense, but I’m sure he suffered abuse before I scooped him up that day.  He was never aggressive towards anyone.  Well, there was that time the little Latin boy installing our hardwood floors thought it would be a good idea to lunge at my Wife in a threatening manner to gauge Harley’s reaction.  I tackled Harley mid-air as he was going for the jugular, both literally and figuratively.  After the kids were born and grew into toddlers, Harley patrolled the yard anytime the kids were outside playing.  Well, in between tennis ball throws, he patrolled the yard.  He loved our kids, just not as much as a Penn.  As he got to be 10 years old, he’d let a group of the neighborhood kids pet him, but never too long and never anyone he hadn’t seen grow up.  Even though he was more afraid of you than you were of him, he had a ferocious bark that would scare anyone who wasn’t expecting it.  His bark was so loud and mean sounding, I used to laugh that it was meant so we wouldn’t open the door and let them in so he’d have to go hide.  There were many nights when I was on the road that I felt good knowing he was here with my wife and kids though.  There was no doubt in my mind, or in that little Latin fellas, that Harley would lay down his life to protect his family, even though he just as soon bark you away.

He had noticeably slowed down over the last year.  I teased him about his grey beard and the tennis ball tosses were only 2-3 before he took the ball and went and laid down.  His eyes were getting bad because he could no longer catch the ball in the air or the hop; instead he preferred to pick it up on the roll before walking back to me.  I knew he was not going to be around forever, but I’d thought for sure he’d be here a little while longer.  Then last night, something went horribly wrong, and he went from having a little trouble clearing his throat to waking me after midnight with these god-awful guttural sounds that sounded like a bear.  I threw on my clothes and my wife and I loaded him into the back of the Tahoe as I rushed him to the doggie ER off Thornton Road.  In between prayers, I tried to calm him down and reassure him it was going to be okay, just like I did to that little mud-stained puppy 12 years earlier.  I knew it wasn’t going to be okay.  I prayed for God to give his pain to me and to not let him be afraid.  The doctors said it was a distended stomach, a condition that requires procedures and surgeries a young healthy dog could only expect a 50-50 shot at surviving.  He was in so much pain and was having trouble breathing with the amount of bloating in his abdomen.  I made them do all the tests.  They said I had to make a decision.  I just didn’t want him to hurt anymore or to be scared.  They brought him to me so I could spend some time with him.  He wouldn’t even look at me; it was as if he knew.  Maybe it was the pain, or maybe he knew.  I promised him on that first ride home that I would always take care of him, but I couldn’t do anything.   I laid on the floor with him, rubbed the inside of his ear the way he liked, and I just talked to him; told him I loved him and I hoped I had kept all those promises.  My hand was the last thing he felt rubbing his ear and my voice was the last thing he heard as he left us.  I drove home numb and inconsolable.  I let out the angriest quasi-prayer on my way home.  I didn’t know how I was going to tell Shannon.  I got home about 5am and she met me at the door and all I could say was, “He’s gone, He’s gone”.  We cried the rest of the night, called in to work and have spent the better part of today squalling.  My heart is broken, Shannon’s heart is broken, and my kids’ hearts are broken.  I hope he knows how much we loved him and how big a part of this family he was.  Some people wouldn’t understand the depth of our grief; I feel sorry for them. 

Matt called; told me there are animals in Heaven.  Said he thanked God for his dog today.  I never had in 12 years, but I thanked Him today for 12 years with my Harley.  I had him cremated and I will get his ashes back in 7-10 days.  I don’t know what I am going to do with them yet, but there will be a tennis ball involved.  I have my good moments and my bad moments.  Writing this helps me, but I’ve snotted all over my keyboard and my shirt.  I think its Shannon’s turn to cry (we’ve been alternating).  If you call me or come up to me and talk about my dog, I’m going to get choked up or worse, so be forewarned about snot and tears. 

Comfortable Shoes

When I was 18, I went to visit my brother who was in his mid 30's at the time.  A family man and a guy who worked ridiculous hours chasing after the ever-elusive benchmark of success, I distinctly remember my brother had a propenceity to wear the lamest shoes when he wasn't working.  You know the kind, docksiders, deck shoes, duck boots, and all forms of loafers.  When I would openly question and mock his footwear of choice, he would said they were "comfortable".  As an 18 year-old in the early 90's, I swore to myself that when I got his age, I would never wear such "comfortable" footwear.  Didn't want disrupt the "cool". 

It's also important to note, that I have never and will never own or wear flip-flops.  There isn't a more useless excuse for a shoe on the plant than a flip-flop.  Not only does the look not fit my conservative styling, I think they just send the wrong message.  "Hey, look at me, I'm cool, care-free, and have no need for traction".  No offense to flip-flop wearers, but I'll concede the fact that I'm not playing with a full deck of cards.  It's the official shoe of hippies and people who like to make and display protest signs. Again, no offense; not wrong, just different.  I have work to do and neither the flip or the flop is made for working. 

When I went to college, I went through a preppie phase and fell in love with the Bass Weejun; penny-loafers to the lay person, shiny pennies and all.  A lot of people experiment with different things in college and for me it was no different.  So, I tried loafers a few times.  I wasn't a hard core user, mostly just recreational and social use.  I still love a weejun every now and again when the kid's aren't around.  A weejun is still technically a dress shoe; suitable for the office, but it says you've got a playful side.  In this preppie phase, I was known to buy entire color-coordinated outfits for an event.  One-time, I was throwing an epic kegger at my townhouse off campus and for the event, I bought a pair of maroon plaid shorts and a maroon polo shirt to go with my loafers; no socks.  The outfit and the party were great up until I rode over to a neighboring apartment complex with some of the lovely lady patrons at my party and ended up getting into a fight with 4-5 guys who were upset with either the snappy-ness of my outfit or the fact that I punched their buddy in the nose for kissing one of the girls, who happened to be dating my roommate and best friend at the time.  To steal a joke from Ron White, I don't know how many of them it took to kick my ass, but I know how many they used.  I will never forget having to walk back to my townhouse that night, missing a weejun, beaten up and bloody, and my outfit it tatters.  I'm sure I got a couple of them, but it cost me a loafer.  After that night, I swore off loafers for a long long while.

My first job out of college was a Project Engineer for a large commercial construction firm in Atlanta and my footwear alternated between work boots for the field and dress shoes for the office.  Some times, I got them mixed up and ruined my share of dress shoes in the field and rugs in the office.  Only the weekend days when I wasn't at the office were reserved for running shoes.  I got married a few years out of school and someone tried to get me to try those athletic strap-on sandals and minivans, but I still had enough bravato to resist the peer pressure to just pack it in; give up.  I became a Dad and stuck to my guns about sports sandals and mini-vans.  Into my 30's and I still preferred to a good work boot or dress shoe to any sort of footweat malfeasance.  I had dreams to reach, a family to support, and I was going to need some traction to get these things done.  I've been tempted over these last few years with Crocs and the like, even bought a pair of New Balance running shoes without heels in them on a whim once; wore them once, felt ashamed of myself and put them at the back of the closet. 

In roughly 6 months, I'm turning 40.  That is a milestone age for a man.  It's erases the line between young man and man and only leaves the grim reality of old man and death.  I can longer stretch the truth about being in my "30's".  Now, there are guys than can pull off a cool 40, like Clooney is still rocking it, but I am not one of those guys, not even close.  And as the days and weeks pass into the rearview mirror on this path to 40, I find that my mind is obsessed with questions of whether or not I did it right.  Have I worked hard enough?  Have I loved enough?  Have I provided for my family to a level that is acceptable in mind, in my defintion of what a Father and Husband owes to his family?  Have I saved enough for the kid's college tuition?  Have I saved anything for my retirement?  And then there is the doubt.  I have not doubted myself this much since, well, ever.  I find myself doubting that I'm as good at my job as I should be at my age.  I doubt that I've been the best husband; the one my wife deserves.  I doubt that I've taken enough time to be a Father and I worry that college tuition payments will be replaced with Therapist bills for the kids.  I doubt that I've been as good a son, brother, uncle, and friend as I could have been.  Has life gone according to my plan; is this where I wanted to be when I reached 40?  Is this the apex of life and if it is, have I done enough?

My mind has been wrestling with these thoughts and questions for months; not constantly or to the point where I leave my wife and family for a 20 year-old girlfriend, a convertible, and those funny-looking designer jeans with the fancy stitchting on the back pockets, but enough to make me re-evaluate some decisions I made, some paths I took, and the ones I didn't.  In all of this introspection and retrospection it is clear that I made mistakes, fell short of the mark, and missed out on opportunities.  I've also hit homeruns, exceeded my own expectations, and let a few marks along the way.  Through all the twists and turns of life, all the joy and pain, the lessons, and the uncertainty, I stuck to my guns and I wore socks with my shoes everyday that I went to work.  Now, when I work long hours and six day weeks, my body gets tired a little faster and is slower to recouperate.  Burning the candle a both ends because a more daunting task when using one of those 2" candles versus the 8" stick candle.  As I sat on the couch the other day thinking of all these things and taking a momentary respite, I looked down at my feet and started laugh to no one imparticular because there they were; not a conscious decision on my part, I suppose just a statement of life, maturity, and of pending questions:  Comfortable Shoes.

Daddy Daughter Date Night - Don't Miss Your Window

I've never been comfortable holding babies, not even my own.  When I was a boy, I had a little "incident" when I was supposed to be holding a baby that pretty much ruined me when it comes to holding babies.  I fumble, a lot.  There are no five pressure points for holding a baby securely that I am aware of.  So, suffice it to say that I'm uncomfortable.  I'm not comfortable with babies at all; they are so tiny and helpless and I am the proverbial "bull in a china shop".  I will always admit that my wife did all of the "heavy lifting"  with the kids.  When we had our first child, it was my wife who was up all night feeding and changing and taking care of them.  Okay, truth be told, she was always the one up with both of our kids, but she is a very light sleeper and I'm dead to the world when I fall asleep.

When my daughter was about 3 months old, Shannon had been getting up every night since Taylor was born and she was worn out.  (My wife requires 12-14 hours of sleep a night or she is downright hostile; I often joke that she'd sleep her life away if I let her.)  So, at about 9pm one night, I told my wife to bring me Taylor and I would hold her while Shannon got some sleep; she accepted the offer.  She brought Taylor and handed her to me and I was nervous; she was just so tiny and precious and I'm so big and clumsy.  I'm sure I didn't look comfortable holding her because my wife kept asking me if I was going to be okay.  I tried to assure her (and myself) that it would be okay.  I got this.  My wife went to bed and there we were, just me and Taylor Bug.  I was worried that I'd drop her, that I would fall asleep and accidentally smother her with one of my man-boobs.  I was so scared that I would do something wrong.  So I just sat there, petrified.  I just stared at her.  She was so beautiful and tiny and her little hand couldn't even wrap around my finger.  I just stared at her for hours.  I noticed after some time that the sun was starting to come up and the first light of the day was starting to break; I hadn't move at all.  I couldn't take my eyes off her.  After the dawn had fully arrived, my wife walked into the living room and found me sitting in the same spot, still hadn't moved, and the first thing she asked was if I had been up all night holding Taylor; I guess it was obvious I hadn't even so much as twitched since she had gone to bed.  I'll never forget that night.

Tonight, some 8 year later, I took Taylor out for a Daddy-Daughter Date Night; I wore a suit, she wore a pretty dress.  We ate at a "grown-up" restaurant, out on the patio, and she had a strawberry daiquiri that was a foot tall.  We talked, we laughed, and I stared into that beautiful tiny face and I thought of that night years before and everything was perfect. There was a time years ago when I might not have taken the time take her out for a little Daddy-Daughter time and I am so thankful for God's Grace and how it has changed my life.  Someone once asked me how I knew there was a God and I answered that I knew there was a God the day each of my children were born because in that moment when you first see them and hear them cry and a kind of love and joy you never knew existed enters your heart, it is only possible that we were created by God, in His image.  It was an emotion I had never felt before and it was so powerful that I thought the doctor would have to slap me; instead she just told me to get a hold of myself; several times she told me that (and I'm not a crier, well, I wasn't a crier).    If someone were to ask me that same question today, I would have a different answer.  I would answer that I know there is a God because last night I was given a chance to fix something that was once broken, to redeem a relationship that I was letting slip away because of the things in me that were broken.  I would say that when I fell on my knees and asked God to show me all my "warts" that He didn't just show them to me, He showed me how to fix them too.  His Grace is so amazing and earth shaking if you just let it into your life.  You've only have a small window in your children's life when you've got their undivided attention and all of their love and innocence before the World tries to take it from them; distract them, tell them parents and Daddy-Daughter Date Nights aren't cool.  I'm just thankful that God showed me that window and His Grace kept me from missing it all together.

A Dad's Prayer

For some strange reason, I felt the need to explain why I write these blogs because I don’t want to seem narcissistic. The hope is that by writing some of these blog entries that someone who reads it might be helped by some of the things I have experienced and that they might see that it is possible to change their life’s path as well. If you think there is any worth in sharing this blog entry with anyone you know, please send them a link to the blog, or print it out and tape it to their TV remote, or email it to friends and coworkers who might benefit by reading it. 

 

My failures as a Dad far out-weigh my successes. There is no “Owner’s Manual” for being a parent and despite all of your friends and relatives advice, nobody really knew how to be a parent before their kids arrived. Even though that is true, some of this parenting stuff should be intuitive for us guys and sometimes we just choose to ignore our nature. It has been previously documented in this blog that I was a very self-centered person. I was self-centered to the point where it became a wall between me and my own wife and children. This was a wall that I built; stone by stone and brick by brick. They didn’t “wrong” me into building it. I built this wall on my own accord and I built because I thought that I had to play the role of the strong and distant father. In my mind, I thought my job as “Dad” was to provide for them, to protect them, and to guide them through life while showing as little real emotion as possible. In my mind, I already had plans for the type of cars I was going to surprise them with on their sixteenth birthdays, I had planned out how they would always have “stuff”, and how they would always have everything their hearts could desire. But I was wrong in understanding what their heart’s desire was. You see, in my mind, I wanted to give them the world, but all they want is to know they have my heart. As the strong and silent father, they have my heart; they always have had it, but as a Dad, I don’t know if I’ve told them they have my heart. When my daughter was very little, I was on the road working away from home a lot; to the point that when I was home, I was a stranger to her. As she’s grown, I’ve still remained somewhat of a stranger, a stranger hidden by this ridiculous wall I spent so much time creating. Recently, when I was working in Washington, DC due to the tough economy and had to be away from my family, I would write these emails to my wife describing how much I missed her and the children and how I couldn’t stand being apart from them. You would think that my wall wouldn’t fit on the plane, but it did and I brought it home with me each and every time. We would go on vacation once every couple years and I’d hang out in the hotel while they went to Disney. I am/was a mess. I’m still broken. I still have this wall. I’ve spent more time and energy trying to be this strong and silent Father than just being a Dad. I’ve watched my “wife’s sister’s husband” bark and yell at his kids and I’ve thought many many times how he was a giant jerk, but his kids were just scared of him, mine don’t know me. Who’s the jerk now?

A month ago, I was working with the Worship Team at LGC for their annual Shine Conference for their Women’s ministry. The conference is a Friday night and Saturday morning of music, worship, and estrogen. Probably a month before the scheduled event, they asked me to play bass for the conference which would require a commitment of 4 or 5 Sundays of rehearsals prior to the actual event. Of course, I jumped at the chance, I love working with the Worship Team and serving at LGC. About a week before the Conference, my wife comes in the kitchen and asks me what I’m doing on that coming Friday because there was a Daddy-Daughter dance at my daughter’s school. They were both on the same night. If you know me, then you know that one of my biggest mantras is DWYSYWD. Do What You Said You Would Do. I had made a commitment to the Shine Conference and it was too late to back out, I never back out, and I didn’t want to back out. I’m still more selfish than I like to admit. That was the end of the conversation. My wife knows how I am/was/were, so she knew not to light the powder keg of DWYSYWD. I forgot about it, the Shine Conference was a hit. Fast forward to this weekend where my wife and I attended a Marriage Conference at LGC which was another Friday night and Saturday morning event. The conference was earth-shakingly good. When we got home that night to a child-less house, we had the best conversations about our marriage and I finally grew a pair and told my wife just how much I want to be the husband and Dad they all deserve. Then she hit with the fallout from the Daddy-Daughter Dance. Apparently, this was a big deal in my daughter’s world and had I been more in-tune I might have noticed that myself. In fact, several times, my daughter had mentioned it to my wife about how she was the only girl at her school that didn’t get to go. Twist the knife, I know, right? Then last Friday the kids all had to bring in 4 or 5 pictures of themselves to make a poster and all of the other little girls had pictures from the Daddy-Daughter Dance. OUCH! Strong and silent Father was not ready for that. I couldn’t get that out of my head. My wife suggested I take her out for a special date night, just me and her to try and smooth this over. You see, my wife is so much smarter than me as well. We got up the next morning and went to the Marriage Conference and all I could think about was, “Do they have a Dad Conference”? After the conference, I drove to Carrollton, and thought about all my mistakes as a parent. I wondered if Hallmark makes a “Your Father’s Sorry He’s A Douche Bag” card. I prayed about it. I asked God how could I be so changed as a man, but still fail as a Dad? What was it going to take for me to realize that I’m blowing it? I’ve been blowing it the entire time.

The answer came and it was that I can’t afford to lose any more time in getting this right. I had built this wall stone by stone and brick by brick, but it needs to come down now before I look back and realize that time has run short. I decided the night before that I was going to be the best husband on the planet and I decided on that drive home that I was going to be the best Dad I can be; no more strong and silent. I walked in the door and went in to my daughter’s room and I asked her if I could talk to her. We sat down on her bed and I put my arm around her and I apologized from the bottom of my heart for not taking her to the Daddy-Daughter Dance. I told her that next year we we’re definitely going and that I’ve cleared the entire month of February on my calendar for her. I asked her if she would go on a date with me in the next couple weeks or days, so she and I could spend some time together and so I can show her how much I love her and that she’s my little princess. We’re going to dress up, look our best, and really make an effort to do this right; I have a lot of work to do. The funny thing is that she forgave me on the spot and loved on me without condition. She didn’t want stuff; she wanted my heart.

This is my plea, this is my prayer for myself and any of you guys who might be blowing it to, even if just a little:

• Love your kids in actions and words; don’t just assume they know you love them. You don’t have to play the role of the strong and silent Father just because that is how you were raised.
• Don’t let your worldly frustrations blind you to the needs of your children to know and feel your love. If you come home from work tired and frustrated because of the day’s events, your lack of career success, or whatever the root of your frustrations are, leave them in the car/driveway. Your kids will love your middle-management butt, when no one else will.
• Build a wall; build a wall with your wife and kids inside the walls and the world on the outside.
• Be intuitive. It’s not just your wife’s job to know when your kids need a little more love on the tough days.
• Be Superman every day. To your kids, no matter their ages, you are Superman, Batman, Prince Charming, and Spiderman all rolled into one. That is a huge responsibility and it takes a strong man to bring it…every day. When you’re tired and they want to play, suck it up Spiderman.
• Invest your time in them. They will bring you the biggest return you’ll ever receive.
• Love infinitely. I have limited time, limited money, limited patience, limited smarts (obviously, see other blog posts), but we all have an infinite supply of love. You never run low or run out of love, so stop stockpiling it, give it away.

If you’re a great Dad, then God bless you. I am not a great Dad, but God has blessed me with this renewed heart and this brand new set of eyes to see all of my warts and He has given me the strength to change. Of all of the changes that have been happening in my life, I feel that this weekend God has spoken into my life and said that there is nothing more important in life than to be the best husband and the best father I can be, like He designed me to be. I’ve got a lot of work to do, but I’m excited to get started. I’ve got a very important date coming up, and other than the first date with my wife, this is the most important date of my life and I’m sure I’ll be nervous.

O' What a Year It Has Been

To those who have read some of my blog posts, you know that I’ve been renewed in my faith and it has deeply affected my life in every aspect.  So much so, that I’ve been compelled to write a few blog posts about some of the great things that God has done in my life.  It dawned on me this morning (pun intended) as I drove to the office that it has been one year since I first walked into LifeGate Church in Villa Rica and met some of the people who would help change my life.  It has been one awesome and eventful year and I don’t think any of it would have happened had I not found a home that was welcoming, safe, and lead by people who are genuine in their love of the Lord and their love for His church.

I’ve grown more as a man, husband, father, and friend in this past year than any other span of time in my life and that is because of His Word, the teaching of the Pastors at LifeGate, and the people God has put into my life.  I have seen long-lost friendships renewed, a marriage brought back from the edge of divorce, and a life once thought ordinary shown to be nothing less than extraordinary.  My eyes were opened to all of the blessings in my life that I had never seen for their true worth; for what really matters.  I was broken, lost, and chasing after things in life that had no value other than the value popular culture places on them, but all of that has changed now.

A few weeks back, I wrote a blog about how my marriage has changed over the course of this past year and one of my friends at church, after reading it, commented that he thought Pastor Tony’s Wednesday Night message mirrored some of the points I made in my blog and that maybe Pastor T had read my blog and somehow infused some of those points into his message.  He made the same point to me in front of Pastor T that Sunday after the service and I didn’t realize it at that moment, but on the ride home, I realized that the inverse of his comments were true.  It wasn’t my blog post thoughts and musing coming out of Pastor T, it was his teaching of the Word permeating my life and manifesting itself in so many aspects of my life that it was coming out of me through my blog posts.  I looked back at some of my older blogs and right there in plain text were the sayings, concepts, and teachings of Pastor Tony in every one of them.  All of them straight from the Word; packaged for me to understand, use, and apply to my life.  As I reflected this morning, I was thankful that God showed me to that church lead by Pastor Tony and Pastor Sheryll; He knew the type of people and the type of leaders that I needed to shake me off my path and return me to the path that leads to the life He intended for me.  I like to walk up to Pastor T and say to him, “If I haven’t told you in a while, Thank You”, to which, he usually just thanks me back; I guess some things don’t require a bunch of explanation.

More than any one person at LifeGate, I have spent more time with Matt Shaffer than anyone else and I think there has been divine intention in that as well.  Matt is a quirky guy whose mind is always going in a hundred different directions at a thousand miles an hour.  It is the cut of his snowflake, most assuredly.  He is an exceptionally talented musician and musicians are typically wired a little differently than I find myself to be, but there is not a more loving person on the planet, I am sure.  Matt loves people unconditionally and without reservation.  When Matt meets you and talks to you for the first time, he already loves and cares about you and will just pour that love out onto you like a 3 year old at his first attempt at putting syrup on his own stack on pancakes.  For someone like me, that was a whole new experience.  I didn’t know how to handle it and I assumed it was just a façade; nobody just loves other people they just met like that, are you kidding me, c’mon.  When I first started playing with the Worship Team Matt (and his wonderful wife) lead, I was apprehensive because I was afraid to get a “behind the scenes” look at them, the church, and the Pastors.  I was afraid that once I got a look behind the curtain, that I would see how the gears meshed and discover all that glitters is not gold.  And man, I was watching to, like a hawk, waiting for them to slip up, let their hair down, and talk bad about someone on the worship team or a church member, to gossip about “so and so”, for the Pastors to be mean and demanding when the lights went off and the microphones went silent, but it never came.  Not once, not even a little, not even a “gray” area.  What, are you kidding me?  Nope, it never came and resigned myself to the fact that these people were walkers of the talk and they do so without effort.  A football coach famously once said at a postgame interview when referring to the other team, “They ARE who we thought they were.”  Yes they are.  They are people who exceeded my understanding of what it means to be genuine and Godly.  I love Matt.  I love his quirkiness and everything that makes him the man that I draw so much inspiration from.  When people talk about wanting to emulate others, wanting to have some of what “they” got, I think of Matt Shaffer and how he loves and treats people.  At Thursday night rehearsal when the sheet music from Planning Center is in the key of A and we jump into the first song and everyone but me is in Bb, I smile and laugh, not out of frustration, but because I love the guy and I know when he walks over to me and asks, “Are you playing because I can’t hear you in my “ears’”, that I’m going to say “Yeah” even when I’m not playing at all! 

There are so many inspiring people in my life now, that it truly is God sent.  I was “chatting” with a friend on Facebook late last night and it just struck me how God has put all of these people in my life to help me on this journey and that if we accept Him, we will never be alone in this walk.  It is akin to bowling when they put those inflatable bumpers in the gutters; no matter how erratic we are in our walk, God has lined our path with the people we need to steer us back on course.  I am thankful for all the bumpers in the gutters; I need them often.  I’m thankful for Cheri who teaches me not to be afraid of falling down, but to be fearful of not having the faith to stand back up, to know that doing it on my own is a losing proposition, and that it’s in the tiniest pieces of Grace that God shows you that you are His favorite.  I’m thankful that my wife didn’t “throw the baby out with the bathwater” and that I’m learning to be a better husband by being surrounded by men who have great marriages.  I’m thankful for great leaders that God has put in place at LifeGate for it is their leadership that has put all of these people in place to build this great foundation and change people’s lives.  On those tough days, just know that what you do, does, in fact, change people’s lives forever.  I would be remiss not to thank all of those people for what they have done for me, my wife, and our family over the past year; you gained a two-fingered tone deaf bass player with no natural sense of rhythm and I gained a whole new life.  I win.  As Abi would say, “Go Jesus”.  So, if I haven’t told you lately, Thank You All.

Building A Better Husband One Day at a Time

About this time last year, I was in a funk.  For the second time in 2 years, I had been laid off from my job and was spending an inordinate amount of time wallowing in self pity and self doubt.  I was completely self-absorbed.  In hindsight, this was nothing new.  The problem with being self-centered is that you're always concerned about "me".  My marriage was pitiful.  Not because we were no longer compatible or "in love" or anything alone those lines.  My marriage was pitiful because it only had one person in it; I was too concerned with "me" to be an active participant in my own marriage.

Even when life was going great, I was not a good husband.  Now in tough times, I was even worse.  Not abusive or violent, that's not something I am capable of, but I was so focused on "me" that whatever I could blame on her, I did.  She didn't love "me" enough, she didn't care enough for "me", she didn't care what I wanted, she didn't support "me", and she didn't understand "me".  I would be sitting at home, unemployed, thinking of all the ways she wasn't serving "me".  This all came to a head one morning in late February last year.  She was up early for work and getting the kids ready and I woke up frustrated and in the mindset of "she doesn't love 'me".  It was one of those hectic morning scenes that we all have where the kids are sleepy, cranky, and crying as we try to get everyone out the door.  But this morning, "me" had had enough and I screamed at her that I wanted a divorce.  Now this had been floating around in "me" brain for a long time, but this is the first time I had actually said it.  We just stared at each other.  I don't think either of us believed what we just heard.

About this same time, I started going to the most amazing little church, LifeGate Church.  That first Sunday, I went because my sister-in-law wanted the family to go to their church for her birthday.  I certainly was not there for "me".  Funny thing happened when I was sitting there listening to the teaching, I started to understand that God wants "me" to have "rich and satisfying life".  At the time, life was anything and everything other than "rich and satisfying".  The pastor taught and I listened; Sunday after Sunday my life was changing.  The more and more I learned about the Word, the more I changed.  The more I changed, the less I was concerned about "me".  The more I hung out with the people from church, the more I saw examples of rich and satisfying life.  The more I read the Word, the more I understood what life was supposed to be about and what God expected from me.  I can't even begin to explain how all of this changed my thinking.  For seemingly the first time in my life, I was putting things in order of importance and the first thing on the list wasn't "me".This was not some over night epiphany and I'm still learning and still working on getting it right which seems to be a lifelong journey.

As things were being put into the proper order, I started to become a better husband.  Better, but still not good.  To fully understand how much of a change this was, one needs to understand what it was like to be married to me.  For 11 years, when I was home and not working in some strange city away from the family, I was a non-entity in the marriage.  I worked long hours and when I came home, I would get a dip of Copenhagen and spend the evening playing Xbox before falling asleep on the couch.  This was 7 days a week.  I didn't take out the trash, help with the kids, clean house, or even clean up after myself.  I was only concerned about "me" and I didn't want to be bothered with those things.  I thought that since I worked 70+ hours a week and my wife worked 3 days a week, that she could handle all of those things without my help.  Besides, "me" was tired and wanted to come home and unwind.  This went on for 11 years.  So, the morning I screamed at my wife that I wanted a divorce may have actually been a moment of relief for her, I don't know, we've never talked about it since it happened.

When God changed the way I think and changed my heart, it changed how I acted and how I felt about being a husband.  My wife hated my 15 year long Copenhagen habit, which was a can a day at that point, and she hated how I spent all day playing Xbox.  So with very little fanfare, I decided to stop doing both of those things and just like that, I no longer had the desire to do either one.  I started to make family a priority.  Instead of being self absorbed, I was focusing on the family; spending my time with them and fixing what was once broken.  Things got better, I was happier and I felt fulfilled being a husband and dad.  We spent time watching TV together and talking more.  I invested time in the lives of my wife and kids and forgot about "me".  I was improving, but still not where I needed to be.

Every night when I come home from work, the first thing I do is take off my shirt (don't worry I always wear an undershirt of some kind) and throw it on the back of a chair.  By the end of the week, it was common for 4 or 5 shirts to be piled up on a chair in the kitchen or strewn on the couch.  Not to worry, my wife is off on Fridays, so she would clean them up and put them in the laundry and clean the pile of dishes that had accumulated during the busy days of the week.  She'd been doing for the last 11 years anyway.  We went out with some friends one night and while eating dinner she was making fun of the way I leave clothes laying all around and while everyone was laughing, I had an amazing realization.  I had been praying for God to show me where I was failing as a husband, and I realized at that moment that I was still driving my wife nuts by not doing the simplest things to make her life easier.  So I decided sitting right there that I was going to start serving my wife more, you know, serve her by not being "me".  For the next 2 weeks, when I came in the door from work, I immediately hung up my jacket in the hall closet and when I took off my shirt, I took it straight to the laundry.  Now, some of you are probably still shaking your heads at me, but we're taking baby steps here people...baby steps.  Along with the shirts in the laundry, I started doing the dishes every night so that dishes wouldn't pile up in the sink.  Unlike in the past, I did this without wanting anything in return, you know, when your husband does something "right" he wants you to shoot off some fireworks or something; at least I did.  So this new behavior for me had been going on 2-3 weeks and she hadn't even mentioned it.  She did thank me once or twice, but I think she was more confused than anything and probably wondering what I was up to or what I had bought that she was going to find out about when the credit card bill arrived.  But I was happy doing it and I liked the fact that she appreciated the new "me".

Last week, I stopped to get gas on my way to work and when I opened my wallet, inside there was a little folded piece of paper.  I unfolded it to find a little note from my wife that read, "I hope you have a great day, [heart] Spud"  (Spud is her nickname I gave her 18 years ago, but that is a topic for another time).  It made my day.  That is the first note she had written to me in probably 15 years; it was the first time I deserved a note in 15 years.  I posted it on Facebook, I was so proud.  I sent her a text thanking her for the note and in it I said that God was making me a better husband and I apologized that it had taken so long.  My life, my heart, and my thinking has changed so much in the last year and it all started when I walked into that little church and listened to the Pastor teaching about the Word.  Through God and His Word, the positive examples of rich and satisfying life from some amazing people at LifeGate Church, and my wife's infinite patience I have started to become the husband she deserves, the father my kids need, and the man God expects me to be...one day at a time.

Can you imagine how much it is going to blow her mind when I start taking out the trash on my own???