Lanie sure does! A couple weeks ago we got a dusting of snow. Lanie asked me if we could build a snowman. I had to tell the poor girl we couldn't. There wasn't enough snow, and it soon melted away. Then when I left work late this afternoon, there was white stuff coming down from the sky. Once I got home, Tess asked Lanie what was falling outside. "Snowman!" Lanie shouted. It's still snowing now. Maybe tomorrow we'll have the right conditions for Lanie to get her snowman.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Tuesday, November 26, 2019
Monday, November 18, 2019
#151 Hyper Sports
When I ran cross country and track in college, my friends (Bryan) Kunz and (Ryan) Linde(mulder) and I had the best pre-meet tradition. The night before a meet we would head down to the basement of West Hall, where there was an arcade cabinet. The machine had a couple dozen games, but on pre-meet nights, we were only interested in one: Hyper Sports.
Hyper Sports was a pretty weird game. It combined seven seemingly random summer Olympic events into one competition: freestyle swimming, skeet shooting, long horse, archery, triple jump, weightlifting, and pole vault. The game was simple to play and incredibly fun. Kunz, Linde, and I were immediately hooked. But Hyper Sports was not for the faint of heart. Sure, swimming was child's play, and skeet shooting wasn't much of a challenge. Long horse only took a little time to master, and archery became quite doable after a fair amount of practice. But triple jump was a tough nut to crack. As I recall it took us several weeks to get past triple jump. I remember having to go online and find advice about the optimal launch angle to hit for each jump. Oddly enough, weightlifting never was much of an obstacle for us. But then there was pole vault. Pole vault crushed your soul. The end of the game was in sight, but pole vault simply taunted us as it defeated us again and again and again.
Kunz, Linde, and I loved Hyper Sports night. We looked forward to it. We bonded over it. Playing a few rounds while switching off between events made us so happy. But we knew that we wouldn't be truly satisfied until we conquered pole vault. A pretty decent amount of time passed. We started playing the game pretty early during our freshman cross country season. Well into our freshman track season and maybe even into our sophomore year, we hadn't beaten pole vault. But then, one night, there was magic. I took yet another crack at pole vault. I mashed the buttons quickly enough and at just the right time to clear the bar. Our little pixelated guy fell to the mat below. We had done it. We had finished Hyper Sports. We cheered and fist pumped and high fived like we had actually won something. Hyper Sports was truly our game now.
The three of us kept playing Hyper Sports after that first triumph; after all, we couldn't break tradition. The game really didn't become any less fun; if anything we relaxed and goofed around with it even more. We got better and better at the various events, working together to do things like set a new skeet shooting high score or best weightlifting mark. All told, in dozens of games of Hyper Sports throughout our college careers, I think we beat pole vault like three or four times. But one of those times everything clicked, and we managed to break the game's pole vault record, too. Hyper Sports may have been a silly pre-meet tradition, but those good times are forever burned in my memory.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Hyper Sports was a pretty weird game. It combined seven seemingly random summer Olympic events into one competition: freestyle swimming, skeet shooting, long horse, archery, triple jump, weightlifting, and pole vault. The game was simple to play and incredibly fun. Kunz, Linde, and I were immediately hooked. But Hyper Sports was not for the faint of heart. Sure, swimming was child's play, and skeet shooting wasn't much of a challenge. Long horse only took a little time to master, and archery became quite doable after a fair amount of practice. But triple jump was a tough nut to crack. As I recall it took us several weeks to get past triple jump. I remember having to go online and find advice about the optimal launch angle to hit for each jump. Oddly enough, weightlifting never was much of an obstacle for us. But then there was pole vault. Pole vault crushed your soul. The end of the game was in sight, but pole vault simply taunted us as it defeated us again and again and again.
Kunz, Linde, and I loved Hyper Sports night. We looked forward to it. We bonded over it. Playing a few rounds while switching off between events made us so happy. But we knew that we wouldn't be truly satisfied until we conquered pole vault. A pretty decent amount of time passed. We started playing the game pretty early during our freshman cross country season. Well into our freshman track season and maybe even into our sophomore year, we hadn't beaten pole vault. But then, one night, there was magic. I took yet another crack at pole vault. I mashed the buttons quickly enough and at just the right time to clear the bar. Our little pixelated guy fell to the mat below. We had done it. We had finished Hyper Sports. We cheered and fist pumped and high fived like we had actually won something. Hyper Sports was truly our game now.
The three of us kept playing Hyper Sports after that first triumph; after all, we couldn't break tradition. The game really didn't become any less fun; if anything we relaxed and goofed around with it even more. We got better and better at the various events, working together to do things like set a new skeet shooting high score or best weightlifting mark. All told, in dozens of games of Hyper Sports throughout our college careers, I think we beat pole vault like three or four times. But one of those times everything clicked, and we managed to break the game's pole vault record, too. Hyper Sports may have been a silly pre-meet tradition, but those good times are forever burned in my memory.
BMH
Monday, November 11, 2019
#150 Would You Change Me?
One hundred fifty posts! When I started this blog a little over three years ago I intended for it to be an ongoing thing, but I wasn't sure how it would work it out. I'd never had a blog like this before. Yet here we are. One fifty's a pretty respectable number; it's the number of psalms in the biblical book of Psalms. So let's take a psalmlike topic tonight and talk about God in the midst of darkness.
When I was 17 years old, I served as the youth representative on my church's youth pastor search team. The experience challenged and stretched me. I came in with little idea of what to expect and many times had reservations about whether or not I was really beneficial to the group. But I definitely grew from having responsibility entrusted to me and especially from learning from the other team members. After about half a year of searching, in the summer of 2008, our search team met with the church's "steering team" (essentially the elders) to make a recommendation to bring before the congregation. The meeting was long and heavy. We had detailed conversations and took a significant break from discussion to spend time in prayer and silence. I felt moved to speak at a fairly crucial point in our discussion, and I felt like God used my perspective in guiding us a certain direction. Eventually we came to an agreement and concluded our meeting. My work on the search team was finished, and I had a strong sense that God had used me.
Let me give you a little more background info at this point. The summer of 2008 was a great time in my life. I had experienced a huge breakthrough in track the previous spring and was still riding some of the high of qualifying for the state meet. That summer I became much more social than I ever had been before. Three of my friends and I were together all the time, constantly meeting up to hang out and occasionally have some sort of memorable adventure. That summer I also began attending our church's community youth drop-in night, which was a huge factor in pushing me toward a career in ministry. I was 17, enjoying summer and anticipating my senior year. Life was good.
But when I was leaving church that evening of the big two-committee meeting, life didn't seem good. After weeks filled with joy and excitement, my thoughts and feelings took a totally unexpected turn. Seemingly out of nowhere darkness and depression overwhelmed me. I started feeling like I didn't want to live anymore. I remember thinking, "Okay, God, this is it. I've done what you wanted me to do. You can take me now." I just felt drained. Spent. Finished. One of the steering team members caught me by the door, thanked me for my service, and, apparently sensing my pain, asked if I was okay and offered to talk with me. We chatted a bit, but I didn't really disclose anything. Eventually we said good-bye, and I walked over to my car.
Alone again, I wrestled with my thoughts and with God. I'm not sure I actually prayed this, but I remember basically hoping that I would die on my way home. After what felt like an eternity of anguish, I decided it was time to leave the parking lot. But before I pointed my car toward home, I pulled out my iPod. At that time I was obsessed with the album Fight the Tide by Sanctus Real. (It might still be my all-time favorite album, though I don't listen to it nearly as often as I did when I was 17.) Right in the middle of the album was my favorite song, a somewhat quieter but intense track titled "Change Me." I scrolled down and hit play. As I started driving, "Change Me" filled my car:
Did I change your mind with what I said last night?
When I was 17 years old, I served as the youth representative on my church's youth pastor search team. The experience challenged and stretched me. I came in with little idea of what to expect and many times had reservations about whether or not I was really beneficial to the group. But I definitely grew from having responsibility entrusted to me and especially from learning from the other team members. After about half a year of searching, in the summer of 2008, our search team met with the church's "steering team" (essentially the elders) to make a recommendation to bring before the congregation. The meeting was long and heavy. We had detailed conversations and took a significant break from discussion to spend time in prayer and silence. I felt moved to speak at a fairly crucial point in our discussion, and I felt like God used my perspective in guiding us a certain direction. Eventually we came to an agreement and concluded our meeting. My work on the search team was finished, and I had a strong sense that God had used me.
Let me give you a little more background info at this point. The summer of 2008 was a great time in my life. I had experienced a huge breakthrough in track the previous spring and was still riding some of the high of qualifying for the state meet. That summer I became much more social than I ever had been before. Three of my friends and I were together all the time, constantly meeting up to hang out and occasionally have some sort of memorable adventure. That summer I also began attending our church's community youth drop-in night, which was a huge factor in pushing me toward a career in ministry. I was 17, enjoying summer and anticipating my senior year. Life was good.
But when I was leaving church that evening of the big two-committee meeting, life didn't seem good. After weeks filled with joy and excitement, my thoughts and feelings took a totally unexpected turn. Seemingly out of nowhere darkness and depression overwhelmed me. I started feeling like I didn't want to live anymore. I remember thinking, "Okay, God, this is it. I've done what you wanted me to do. You can take me now." I just felt drained. Spent. Finished. One of the steering team members caught me by the door, thanked me for my service, and, apparently sensing my pain, asked if I was okay and offered to talk with me. We chatted a bit, but I didn't really disclose anything. Eventually we said good-bye, and I walked over to my car.
Alone again, I wrestled with my thoughts and with God. I'm not sure I actually prayed this, but I remember basically hoping that I would die on my way home. After what felt like an eternity of anguish, I decided it was time to leave the parking lot. But before I pointed my car toward home, I pulled out my iPod. At that time I was obsessed with the album Fight the Tide by Sanctus Real. (It might still be my all-time favorite album, though I don't listen to it nearly as often as I did when I was 17.) Right in the middle of the album was my favorite song, a somewhat quieter but intense track titled "Change Me." I scrolled down and hit play. As I started driving, "Change Me" filled my car:
Did I change your mind with what I said last night?
Did I break your heart by straying so far
From what you have in mind for my life?
Would you change me from who I've been lately?
'Cause I know I'm nothing without you
Did my words betray the patience I once claimed?
Can't you see it in my face? I need your grace
Would you change me from who I've been lately?
'Cause I know I'm nothing without you
Would you save me from the way I've been lately?
'Cause I can't see living without you
So would you speak to me and show me what I need
Is it patience, kindness, all that's in between?
Loving others the way you love me?
Would you change me from who I've been lately?
'Cause I know I'm nothing without you
Would you break me from the way I've been lately?
'Cause I can't see living without you
Would you change me from who I've been lately?
'Cause I can't see living without you
As I reached the far side of town, I remember the line "So would you speak to me and show me what I need?" hitting me like a ton of bricks. That was my prayer. I nearly broke down in tears. And in that moment God's presence became clear to me. I didn't hear the voice of God or see a vision, but God touched my heart. Suddenly I knew that God had heard all of my prayers and knew everything that I was feeling. I knew that God was with me, that He had been with me, that He would continue to be with me. My feelings of darkness and depression didn't just evaporate, but I knew that I was going to make it. God was going to pull me through. God got me home safely and helped me get some sleep.
I love the psalms, and I think that night in the summer of 2008 is a big part of why I do. I think that my faith works much like the psalmwriters' faith. I don't think believing in Jesus means that I won't have trouble—far from it. But I do believe that Jesus cares about my pain and can handle all of my emotions and insecurities and struggles and fears. And deep down I believe that when I hit rock bottom and want to give up, God is there, listening and watching, giving me strength and helping me through. I know I'm nothing without Him. All the times when I wish I was better or wish I felt differently, it's good to know that God can change me. I can't see living without Him.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Monday, November 4, 2019
#149 Poor Reflections
I had a rough parenting moment today. I was trying to get a resistant Lanie out the door so we could go grocery shopping when I remembered that I needed to take her to the bathroom to let her try to go potty. Since this was her first trip to the bathroom after her nap, I figured her pull-up would be wet, so I helped her pull her pants all the way off. Next the pull-up came down, but when it hit the floor I realized it was full of poop. How could there be poop? That didn't make any sense. She'd already pooped in the morning, and she hadn't said anything to me. She always seems to tell us when she poops. Before I could react, Lanie had already put her right sock into the poop. There was also poop on the floor, poop on Lanie's legs, poop on her bottom. With a groan I whisked Lanie over to the toilet and sternly growled at her, "Don't move." My frustration was growing by the second. Leaving the house was already taking too long before we entered the bathroom. Now I had a huge mess to clean up. As I set about the complicated task of disinfecting everything, Lanie, confused and cold and probably a bit scared by my quick and not-so-gentle movements, started crying. Exasperated, I told Lanie she was fine. She kept crying. I felt like I couldn't take it anymore. "Stop crying!" I snapped. Lanie recoiled in shock. "O-o-okay" she stammered through sobs. Immediately I realized how wrong I'd been. My poor daughter was in tears over an accident, but rather than comforting her, I yelled at her. I was a terrible father.
I wish I could say that this was the first time something like this happened, but it isn't. In a lot of ways parenting is like holding a mirror up to yourself. I see a fair amount of myself in Lanie, but even more than that my interactions with her help me see what kind of person I am. Over and over again I'm appalled at the reflections I see. I'm impatient. I'm easily distracted and often not fully present. I'm selfish and insensitive. I become angry or frustrated too quickly and struggle to respond well to those kinds of emotions. Lanie certainly isn't perfect, but she's really not a very difficult child. Yet again and again I fail her by being inattentive or crabby or just too tired or stressed. When I see myself reflected in Lanie, it's hard for me to think anything other than that I'm a poor father. As a parent I see all of my worst characteristics, all of my most terrible shortcomings and misdeeds. It scares me. This poor girl and at least one more child will have to deal with me as their father. Tess has to put with me as her husband. A whole group of people is enduring me as their pastor. Me! I wish I was a better person for the sake of Lanie and Tess and everyone else. But my personal growth never comes as quickly as I'd like. Sometimes I worry that I've stopped progressing altogether. If parenting has taught me anything it's how incredibly imperfect and broken I am. I need to do a lot of apologizing and making up for my wrongs. I need to ask God for a lot of grace, both when it comes to forgiveness for past sins and when it comes to help to keep me from harming others more in the future. The truth is that I'm a mess. I suppose I could be even worse than I am, but I don't find that very comforting. It's so much easier for me to see all the many ways I could be much, much better.
Grace and peace,
BMH
I wish I could say that this was the first time something like this happened, but it isn't. In a lot of ways parenting is like holding a mirror up to yourself. I see a fair amount of myself in Lanie, but even more than that my interactions with her help me see what kind of person I am. Over and over again I'm appalled at the reflections I see. I'm impatient. I'm easily distracted and often not fully present. I'm selfish and insensitive. I become angry or frustrated too quickly and struggle to respond well to those kinds of emotions. Lanie certainly isn't perfect, but she's really not a very difficult child. Yet again and again I fail her by being inattentive or crabby or just too tired or stressed. When I see myself reflected in Lanie, it's hard for me to think anything other than that I'm a poor father. As a parent I see all of my worst characteristics, all of my most terrible shortcomings and misdeeds. It scares me. This poor girl and at least one more child will have to deal with me as their father. Tess has to put with me as her husband. A whole group of people is enduring me as their pastor. Me! I wish I was a better person for the sake of Lanie and Tess and everyone else. But my personal growth never comes as quickly as I'd like. Sometimes I worry that I've stopped progressing altogether. If parenting has taught me anything it's how incredibly imperfect and broken I am. I need to do a lot of apologizing and making up for my wrongs. I need to ask God for a lot of grace, both when it comes to forgiveness for past sins and when it comes to help to keep me from harming others more in the future. The truth is that I'm a mess. I suppose I could be even worse than I am, but I don't find that very comforting. It's so much easier for me to see all the many ways I could be much, much better.
Grace and peace,
BMH
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)