My reimagined journey

An aging, hair-thinning man and a little girl who is nothing but pure energy!

My life journey is taking me through a season of reimagination and re-envisioning. I’ve renewed a commitment to run a marathon as part of a bigger journey to reimagine my life. The marathon training this time around is as much about choosing a direction, choosing the course of action to travel that direction, maintaining the discipline and motivation to step in that direction, while doing what is necessary to make it across the goal.

As I’ve begun training for the marathon I’ve begun reimagining the rhythm and direction of my entire being. By rhythm, I mean finding a lifestyle, work ethic, ministry direction that feed my soul. Sort of recommitting myself to God’s call on my life to do what he’s gifted me to do and be fed from that. By direction, I mean making deliberate choices that sustain me and allow me to lead my family in ways that help them find abundant life while moving closer to Christlikeness.

Practically speaking this means I find balance between work hours and time at home. Make time to train properly physically while remaining uncompromised in my devotion to other spiritual disciplines. Pushing myself to extend my relational capacity with others. Finding time to play and rest.

17 years ago today

17 years ago, on this Sunday, I was cleaning fish in my garage getting ready to soak it in brine when Deana came out into the garage to give me the news. My sister had been in a single-car accident. She ran into a tree about 60 miles outside of Anchorage. It wasn’t good.

There was a memorial service and funeral 5 days later.

My girls ask about her from time to time. And with a smile I let them know there was never, nor will there ever be, anyone quite like Gina.

Becoming (Part 1)

So, it’s late, I can’t sleep, and my bride has inspired me to write a few autobiographical pieces. I’ll stay away from a history of my dating relationships. It’s be rather brief and quite uneventful. Instead, I’ll focus on becoming. My life has take many unexpected turns as I’m becoming the husband Deana deserves, the father my children need, and who God created me to be.

My story begins on November 2, 1971 at St. Mary of the Plains Hospital (which no longer exists) in Lubbock, TX. The firstborn of two, I had my parents all to myself for nearly one whole year. My sister came along when I was 11 months, three weeks and 1 day old.  Mom always said she thought having two that close together was harder than having twins. I’m not one to argue since I have no idea what either is like.

I don’t have many memories of my first few years, except that we lived in a house in Plainview, TX. An aptly-named town since about all you could see were cotton fields for miles. We lived close to both sides of my family. In fact, my grandparents lived on the same street five houses apart. I never knew my dad’s dad. He died before my parents wed.

When I was about 3 or so, my dad decided we would move to Alaska. I don’t remember much about this move. My aunt tells a story of finding me in a bedroom sawing the leg of a bed off while she was helping Mom with a garage sale. Texas to Alaska.. What a huge adjustment in so many ways.  My aunt once shared that she worried a great deal about us when we moved because we were 3000 miles away from family to a strange place where we didn’t know anyone. That would all change, but I’ll save that for part 2.

I’m not entirely aware of the depth and scope of impact this early part of my life has had on me as I’m becoming the person God has made me to be. A couple of things come to mind though:

1) Moving to Abilene for college allowed me to live closer to my extended family than any other time in my life. It gave me the opportunity to really get to know my family better. I struggled with that. Used to being far away and extremely independent I kept a safe emotional distance. I’d visit just enough to make them happy, but not nearly as much as I should. That slowly changed as I got older because I began to appreciate them more and more.

2) Related, as I’ve grown older, married and had children, I am beginning to understand the significance of extended family. Consequently, I don’t know much about my heritage. I hardly understand where I come from. I want my children to have greater understanding of who they are and where they come from.

So much at stake

I just got home from a Little Rock Travelers game. Three hours with one of my students at a Class AA baseball game. The final score was 2-4. The Travs didn’t score the 4. I’m not entirely sure how every run was scored. I didn’t pay as close attention to the game’s details as I would have normally. Instead we talked. We talked about fishing, hunting, baseball, BBQ nachos and their after effect. We showed ane employee our best fastball. Mine topped out at a pathetic 71 mph. We talked about Bible class (what would make it more compelling for him, what might spark his interest); a little about faith. But mostly we just hung out and enjoyed a game. 

On the drive home I prayed that he saw something in me that makes him want to be more like Jesus. I hope that he experienced Christ through me.  Though we don’t have the largest, most elaborate “youth program” in Little Rock I pray that the life I share with him carries so much more weight than those things.

So much is at stake with our children.  Too much is on the line for me not to invest. I keep praying, searching, exploring what will get their attention, spark their imagination, perk their curiosity, and spark a flame in their hearts.   I keep hoping and looking for opportunities to walk beside 30 students encouraging and calling them to become all they can be.  I hope they choose the abundant life Jesus offers. I hope they find real life.

You don’t ever realize how much you need to get away and just be still until you do. Last weekend in the Ozarks was exactly what I needed. No computer. No cell phone. Just time away enjoying the outdoors with some good friends and family.

On the edge

Sometimes it seems like I’m standing on the edge. While I admire the view enjoying the vista I know I can’t stay there because there’s more. I need to get down and somehow get to the other side, but I’m just not sure how.

Stories and connections

My family is part of a new house church that’s been meeting for just a few weeks. The children outnumber the adults which makes it interesting as we begin each week with a couple of songs and simply sharing one good thing that has happened from the previous week.

We’ve begun our new adventure together by sharing pieces of our story with one another. Though we’re all different, it’s amazing how much our stories connect with one another.

For example, one person shared how she tends to be a pleaser. That’s me for sure.

Another shared some reflections of his heritage as a preacher’s kid. Though I wasn’t a PK, I related to the questions he asked as a teenager.

There’s definitely power in sharing our lives. As we do, we discover how much we’re connected to one another by the work of God in our lives. It’s been great a great journey so far.

A Great Week

                                       

I love this time of year. I got to spend Monday with Jenna at Mills Park. She loves having her picture taken and wanted to pose on everything at the park.

Stretching

Yesterday morning after running, I spent 10 minutes stretching. What I’ve come to realize is that I don’t stretch enough. After a 4-mile run I still could barely grab my ankles. I’m just not a flexible person. Never have been. Never really spent the necessary time stretching to increase flexibility.

Today, reflecting on ministry, objectives, vision and discerning the best course for students and families, I disocvered that my imagination hasn’t stretched much as well. I’ve relied too much on what has often worked for others rather than discern what’s best for those I love and lead. But I’m learning. I’m learning to listen to voices of wisdom, to listen to my heavenly father and discern what’s best. And then lead. In other words, I’m being stretched… and I’m growing in some profound ways. 

Now, if I could just touch my toes without bending my knees…

To my beloved

Dear Deana,

What can I say to the one who has given more, cried more, laughed more, rejoiced more, hurt more, empathized more, cleaned up after more than I could ever imagine for our two children? You have put countless Band-Aids on elbows, knees, and fingers. You have lost more hours of sleep late at night than I will ever know waking with our children over these past 10 years.  You have put hundreds of miles on the suburban taking our children to Mother’s Day Outs, play groups, dance recitals, art classes, swim practices. 

You have cleaned up messes that you didn’t make. You’ve folded probably a million pairs of tiny socks.  You’ve even taken the time to fix wardrobe malfunctions in the most awkward of situations. Not one school morning has gone by that Julia has not received a note in her lunch. Most of which include some Word from God.

You are open and honest, but appropriate and unashamed, when talking to our kids. You are a friend, but more importantly, the one the girls see as someone who they can unquestionably trust to do what’s best for them.

You have never really asked for anything for yourself, yet have given everything. You won’t even let work get in the way choosing to work into the wee hours of the morning rather than leave the kids alone in the day to work.

You eat at Chick Fil-A and Burger King, Larry’s and Playtime — not exactly the finest cuisine Little Rock has to offer — all to turn a night out eating into an adventure.

You make up silly songs and dance with the girls. You play the piano just so Jenna can dance. You even make the coolest PB and Js known to all kids.

Your being the best mom you can be makes me the best husband, dad, minister I can be. I guess what I’m trying to say, but not so eloquently and with poor grammar, is that I’m proud, humbled, overjoyed and blessed to be your husband. I love you. Happy Mother’s Day.