He wasn't much of a runner...

My father wasn’t much of a runner. After a bit of time, he wasn’t much of a walker either. I remember going to my sister’s softball practice in Huntsville. You probably didn’t know my father, but he loved to play games. At my sister’s softball practice, we played a game that I assume he had made up. We would take out a bat, a ball, and a glove. The idea is that he would hit the ball with the bat and I would catch it or run after it. Then, as I’m running towards him, he would drop the bat. As soon as the bat would hit the ground, I would have to stop. At that point, I would roll the ball to see if I could hit the bat with the ball. Almost invariably, I would miss the bat altogether. But, on the rare occasions I did hit the bat, we would switch. Almost invariably, he would hit the bat.

I really don’t think too often about my dad. I dream about him (as evidenced) but don’t really think about him. Over the years, we had some pretty hard conversations. I found out later (from my mother) that a few of the conversations we had while I was in college actually made him cry.

He was a man who tried to seem so hard on the outside. He had a penetrating stare. He had a smile that could melt your heart and a grip that could crush your hand. He seemed so tired so often.

He never knew, but I learned a lot about how to love my wife from him – whether good or bad, I learned. He taught me a lot about what it means to be a man. He taught me a lot about a lot of things.

My hope was that Christ would be communicated to him through the way my wife and I interact and through the way we would interact with our [future] children. I think that it was always hard for him [on so many different levels] to hear of Christ from his son. He had seen my struggles. He was there to see how much of a hypocrite I was while growing up. He saw my vanity, my arrogance, and my inconsistencies.

Was I his stumbling block?
Maybe not.

Part of what scared him was how Christ was changing my life. I know because we talked about it. Part of what scared him was how much of a different man I had become than what he had expected. Part of what [I think] scared him was that he took me seriously. Sometimes I wonder if part of what made him proud was that I wasn’t going to grow up to be like him in so many areas of life and yet so much like him in the areas that mattered.

I miss him.

When did we become so angry?

One of the things that I notice and love to hate about myself and others is how angry we can be about…well…everything.

We can say that the root of it all is sin. Yes. I agree.

Still yet, there is a sin behind the sin, isn’t there? I mean, at some point someone is wronged, that one then retaliates against those who wronged them. The one who has committed the initial wrong maybe feels like the one who was initially wrong went a little too far in their wronging of the one who initialized. The next thing you know you have two countries drawing on international powers to commit war because two men in one of the countries were kidnapped.

But I’m not writing about that – it seems that so often we take matters that seem to be somewhat simple and make them into an absolute and awful quagmire. You see, two men (2) were kidnapped in Israel by Hezbollah based out of Lebanon (as if you haven’t heard). As of 19 hours ago, over three hundred (300) Lebanese were reported as being dead. Additionally, nearly thirty (30) Israelis are dead.

Meanwhile, George Bush speaks out of both sides of his mouth. On the one end he says no to stem cell research due to his belief that embryos are indicative of the formation of human beings and have a right to life. On the other hand, Israel has the right to destroy life for the sake of self preservation.

Right. The ratio of 30 to 300 sounds like there’s a fair fight going on.

My point? All of this because two men were kidnapped? At this point, Israel has lost 15 times that amount, Lebanon has lost 150 times that amount. At this point, our countries representative to the United Nations is standing firm in that Israel should not call a cease fire until Hezbollah does.

My point – All of this because man is, in his very core, prideful. All of this because man, in his heart of hearts, is more afraid of seeming weak than he is of being truly strong and consistent.

Along the way, every day of my life, I see little microcosms of the Israel – Lebanon conflict. This anger that seems to well up. Maybe it was someone who was wronged by CO and they decide to rail against the ministry. Maybe it was someone who felt like they were wronged by Briarwood so they rail against the church. Maybe it was someone who was wronged by their manager, so they interrupt an entire meeting to seethe their hatred and communicate their anger.

Along the way, every day of my life, I see character dying. I see life disappearing and bitterness taking over. When did we all become so very angry? Ah…that was the question, wasn’t it?

When dreams belie reality...

Laura has told me of reoccurring dreams where she’s losing her teeth. I’ve heard others talk about the same. Sometimes, our dreams are so outlandish that you know something’s up even while you’re having them.

I’ve had a few dreams involving my dad as of late (He passed over a year ago). None of them are reoccurring, but he is. What’s funny is that it’s not that he’s in my dream that seems so out of place – I don’t think of him being dead when I see him in my dream. What is so bizarre is that he’s usually performing some sort of action that I just know he would never do.

Take last night, for example.

I dreamed that we kept driving past this restaurant in a dumpy part of town. It’s a place that I had never been to, but it was a place that everyone seemed to know in the dream. The restaurant was called “The Privates,” and it was supposed to be a real swanky place.

Aberration number one is that my dad never went to a swanky place, as far as I know. If we ever went out, it was to a buffet.

So, we were in luck. The Privates was not only swanky, but a buffet. I walked in and looked at what they had – all I can remember is steam pans full of roasted chicken thighs and strawberry cake and white icing. No, not at all appetizing.

The deal with the Privates is that you had to be a member, which costs $9. This was aberration number 2 as my dad would never have paid to be a member just to eat at a place.

We were in luck, however, as Privates had a special – buy one dinner, get one free. The third and forth aberration are coming up. Three is that the meal cost $29, which is about $20 more than my dad would have ever paid for a buffet. No worries, however, as it was (as stated) buy one get one free. The fourth was that my dad said that my sister and I could pretend like we’re married to get the discount. Enough said. Thankfully, that wasn’t required as you didn’t have to be married to participate.

So, we fork over the $100 ($94 if you want to be exact) and start moving. We were all given dinner passes in order to eat. I walk towards the buffet and a woman in an orange dress stands up and asks in a snooty tone as to the location of my dinner card. I start searching and she tells me that it’s obvious that I have it since I’m looking for it. She decides to start leaving and I yell at her, “No, you’re staying right hear until I find that card.” I find it, and show it to her. My dad told me that I didn’t have to do that.

I’m not going to pretend that I have a clue as to what any of this means. But what interests me is that I’m not alarmed by the fact that my father is walking around posthumously. What disturbs me is that he’s paying $29 for some swanky buffet called “The Privates.” Strange, isn’t it?