lifeispeanuts's Xanga

Tis the season?

Fri, 16 Nov 2007 20:32:41 GMT

I was angry a week ago when I walked in Target and a HUGE sign wished me a Merry Christmas. You all know well that it's not even Thanksgiving, and I have always been morally opposed to anything Christmas-y before we slice the turkey. But it seems I am behind the times, friend, because the Christmas season now certainly appears to begin the moment you come out your candy-induced Halloween coma.

Can you imagine what happened today when the "soft" radio station was churning out the holiday melodies? OUTRAGE! That is, until my grinch-like heart started to grow. Christmas is my favorite time of the year. Why should I stand in the way of a few more weeks of Christmas bliss? My only trouble with this is that the Christmas season is honestly all about celebrating a lost world's salvation. Let's try to think of that year-round! But the reason the "Christmas season" starts so early is so Target can squeeze a few extra dollars out of my budget that's already stuffed tighter than the prize turkey.

But I gave up the fight, and let Bing and Elvis -- bidding me a White and Blue Christmas, respectively -- serenade me into retail paradise where I thought about how each of the twinkling pre-lit trees would look beneath my new vaulted ceilings this holiday season. Soon I was swept away by thoughts of mom and dad, friends and family surrounding me soon for, as cliche as it is, the most wonderful time of the year.

Look out, Grandma, cuz I think the reindeer are on the way.

A long one...

Thu, 25 Oct 2007 00:30:06 GMT

4am. It's one of the dumber things I've ever done. Deciding to drive to Atlanta and leave early enough to make the 8m registration. The job would have got an extra night at the hotel. Stupid Stupid.

4:45 -- No open gas stations. Leave Augusta in the drizzle that I willl find carries us across the state.

6:00 -- Finally an open gas station and a McDonald's sausage biscuit. What Weight Watchers?

6:30 -- Standstill traffic in Lithonia. Not really even inside Atlanta. Radio says it's a mess out there. You think?

7:30 -- Right in the middle of spaghetti junction (the place in Atlanta where 3 or 4 or 10 interstates collide) in the rain in the worst part of rush hour.

7:50 -- Circling the building I should be in because there are no signs and no parking.

8:00 -- The start of a day that will change my life.

However, I think it's too early to reflect on that. We'll just say that a lecture and a tour of a church have made a lasting impact on me and where I feel my career is headed. But since I'm falling over exhausted, we'll wait to commentate on it later.

Oh... that last house looks like a no go. Now I'm actually leaning toward a new condo.

Adulthood

Sat, 13 Oct 2007 19:16:06 GMT

Today I did the most adult thing that I've ever done in my life. I hopped in a minivan with a real estate agent, and went house shopping. For a couple of months I've tossed around the idea of becoming a homeowner. I thought it couldn't hurt to look. So I called an agent my friend had used. Now I am obsessed. I can't stop looking at loans, at houses, and dreaming about the dog I can put in a fabulous backyard. A house jumped out at me today. Take a look:

It's also 4 minutes from my job. Not that I'm anywhere close to deciding, I'm just suddenly feeling all grown up.

Little Buddy

Sat, 08 Sep 2007 16:04:10 GMT

I was 12 years old. A string of unfortunate incidents left my family petless once again. We were great pet owners, and as such, needed another. And we had the perfect one picked out. My mother was set on a Shih Tzu. She was black and white. Her name was Angel. And we'd be able to come back and get her in two weeks. Too bad the only thing we could think about was her ornery brother... the brindle and white puppy who had my three-person family fascinated. Needless to say, two weeks later the fourth member of our family was a brown and white fluff named Rascal.

I think pets' names dictate their personality. Obviously we should have kept the name Angel, though that certainly wouldn't have done anything for a male dog already at a disadvantage because he's the smallest, girliest thing in the neighborhood. But from that first newspaper scattered around him in the living room, he was always a complete mess. My dad carried on about how we'd never have an inside dog. So he built a sort of doggie palace attached to his outside shed. After about three meals where that cute face peered from the fence into our dining room, it was clear we had our first indoor canine. And everything my dad railed against, pee stains on the floor and dog hair on the couch, was our reality. The problem was that my father, like the rest of his family, was smitten.

And so for the rest of my adolescence, I had a "little brudder." My lazy teenage self trudged out the door in February to make sure he had a walk. That task was even less enviable when mom bought him a sweater. And even though I seldom claimed him, that face was the last one I saw leaving the house and the first one I saw when I got home. He got special meals, like hamburger meat without the taco seasoning that the rest of us were having, and for years my mother didn't know how to eat an entire hot dog. With a little sweat from me and a lot more from my dad, our backyard was upgraded to chain link. And doggie slobber became a permanent fixture on the car window.

But then the important things happened: graduation, college, "real life" that just happened to be 800 miles from Mena and my constant companion. We grew apart, but the hairball's status back at the ranch was ever- increasing. My summers and short visits home saw the creature eat an almost endless supply of popsicles with my dad. He swears he was trying to kill him so that the weekly baths would stop. But we knew that wasn't the case because Rascal was the only one who would participate in my father's ridiculous dances around the living room. But with each trip home, Rascal's crooked leg bothered him a little more. He didn't roam quite as far when we took him off the leash. It took an extra grunt to get down the stairs.

My phone calls home almost always included a Rascal update. Since Christmas, they've included his loss of vision, hearing, and even appetite. It was Wednesday when my mother told me she didn't know what would happen when another son left her. It was Friday when she found out. "The vet said it's what was best," my father told me in a brief conversation while I was busy living life miles away. "I'll talk to you tomorrow," I said as I went about what I was doing.

My parents didn't answer when I called a few minutes ago. So I'm sorry, Rascal, that I was with folks I've known for just a few days when the friend who's been so close for over a decade was leaving me forever. I'm sorry mom, that I can't give you a hug at this very moment, just as comforting as all those you've given me. And I'm sorry for anyone reading this who has never had a pet that was anything but.

Rascal: for all the barks and bites, for all the love and licks... you're family. I love you. I'll miss you. Sleep well.

Today

Fri, 31 Aug 2007 00:46:34 GMT

Life change.

That's the buzz phrase at my job. Boil it down, it's what God requires of us. Sinners obviously need a life change. But what about us? Who among us couldn't benefit by changing their life to better reflect our Savior?

And that's where I am. Have you ever had a good day with God? On Monday, my day off, me and my Jesus had a good talk, where I realized that instead of focusing on trying to change other people's lives, I needed to surrender to the process. Maybe it's through my change that someone will see the love of God that we all so desperately need.

My dad liked to quote Paul a lot as I was growing up... "I die daily." Thank you. Lord, that today is just a day. Tomorrow is a day when I can serve you better. Fight my imperfections. Another chance to die to the crumbling world around me and surrender myself in worship to You. I know there's a ton of theology in that verse that I'm glossing over, but tonight, that's what it means.

Since I don't often do this whole deep thinking, contemplation thing, I've been a little reserved on the outside lately. It was at lunch with a great friend from my old news life last week I realized just how distracted I am by the path I'm now headed down. Rather, I should say, distracted by the fact that God hasn't told me exactly what's around the next bend.

I am sure it involves life change.

Living Situation Rant

Sat, 28 Jul 2007 13:34:12 GMT

I just exploded. No one is at my house so I truly had a nervous breakdown. I started slamming things around and using words in ways I never imagined. Because I wanted to wash clothes and there were already clothes there.

Now a rational response is to dry those clothes for my roomie. At the very least set them on top of the dryer. As my heart starts to beat at a normal pace, I believe this takes us for a trip down introspection lane.

There is definitely some rage toward my housemates. There are often clothes left in MY washer and dryer. But it's those socks beside the dryer with 5 months of dustbunnies on them that really disturb me. I feel like the only person to put dishes in the dishwasher. When the landlord FINALLY sent someone to fix our clogged upstairs bathroom, they moved a table out from the wall. It's sat in the middle of the room for two weeks. The storage closet has items stacked, no piled, higher than my head. It will be an avalanche of Saturday morning cartoon proportions when I try to move something. I can't use my favorite fleece throw when I want to read on MY couch because it has so much dog hair on it. And NO ONE seems to care that there is mouse poop in our cabinets besides me. ARGH.

Now anyone that knows me knows I'm not a neat freak. I've left clothes for Goodwill by the front door for two months. My room is strewn with laundry, and I have a massive pile of random papers to sort out that have been there for weeks. I also tend to leave a few dishes in the sink when I'm in a hurry.

I guess it's simply time for my own place. If I have a mess, I want it to be my own. And when I clean, I want it to stay clean until I mess it up again.

Then let it be decided, no more lease on our high character, but high maintenance old house. Plus the only way my parents can afford to come and stay a week with me at Christmas is if I have my own place. And my mother would have a heart attack if she came here. OK, I feel better. Now I can put my roomie's clothes in the dryer.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Tue, 24 Jul 2007 21:34:38 GMT

http://www.stevenscreek.net/staff.shtml

A Change in Me

Mon, 16 Jul 2007 15:02:58 GMT

I can't tell you how many times I've sat looking at this empty Xanga box, trying to put into words exactly what's going on in my life right now. First I'll have to explain the title of my last post. I can't explain the feeling to you of abandoning everything you've known... I think that's something you have to experience yourself. For four years of college, I knew I was a news man. It took three long, hard years to know that I wasn't. I counted down my days at the news station for far too long, but it was really the only thing keeping me going. Nausea took over me the moment I inserted the key into the lock every morning.. beyond it was the buzz of scanners, the deadlines, and the contentious atmosphere I'd trained myself to despise. You see my countdown, and a few awesome friends on the inside, were the only reason I'm still sane. Of course, sanity for me is clearly not what it is for most. Then in one fell swoop, it was over. Everything I had known professionally... gone. I was, and still am, at the beginning of a huge new adventure which will require so much from me, and it's all just overwhelming.

Sitting at lunch yesterday, a friend commented how much happier I looked. And I think that describes it all. I used to think my job was atypical, requiring odd and unusual hours and being on call. Now I realize plenty of people have that. I just lucked into an incredible job with insanely flexible hours and some of the best people you could hope to work with. I donned a nice shirt and slacks for my first day of work, and got weird looks. My boss, the creative worship pastor, was in his trendy jeans and printed T-shirt. My associate pastor in shorts and a polo. Flip-flops or sneakers are required for the males in the office. Friendly conversation is around every corner. Anyone in the office will go out of their way to help you. Instead of looks that I'm stupid when I ask a question, I get an answer or a promise to find one. The pay and benefits are better than I expected, and I genuinely like walking into my office each morning, at 8:30, or 9:00, or 9:30. The lights went off at a quarter to four during a storm last week. We all took it as divine intervention that we were no longer meant to be working. It also happened to be during an excruciating conference call and the phones were cut off. Most unfortunate.

Please don't think that I'm not a realist. My new job is likely even more challenging than my last. Right now I am editing a DVD of a live concert, I have videos to film and edit with the pastors. They want to develop our own small group curriculum on DVD by August. We're starting three services, putting live video on projection during each of them. I coordinate a team of 20+ voluteers who make this happen. I have to find and organize all of the equipment which has been strewn around the church for years, I'm producing a huge conference at our church via satellite, There are also announcement videos, countdowns, and my boss thinks of at least 3 new things we can "try" everyday. I'm so busy, but it's in an atmosphere that nourishes creative thinking and understands the limitations on one person. My boss expects excellence, but that's because it's what God requires of us. So even though we have insane time off and I can come in at 10 in the morning or leave at 3 in the afternoon, there are great expectations. After all, the big boss knows where I am even if I'm not punching a time clock.

My first day, I was sent on an interview. We call it "My Story: Life Change at the Creek." I sat down with a woman who had been molested by her father for the first 15 years of her life... but with God by her side, she forgave him, and met with him a few times before he died of cancer, bringing him the message of salvation. She told how through forgiveness, she was released from the cords of anger and resentment she had weaved over many years. It was freedom from the only one who can give it. She told how she and her father wept, and I sat in my office after it had emptied, and cried along side her taped image. All along I was arrogant enough to think God needed me to help him at the church. Like I'm anything significaant. Instead he's using me to tell about what he's doing. My mass communication degree is carrying the greatest message of all time. And boy, does He have some things to teach me. I pray I keep learning.

So that's what's taken me two weeks to get out. Apologies.

The title of this post came to me randomly, it's a song in Beauty and the Beast that was added to the stage musical. I just looked up the words, and they're appropriate.

There's been a change in me, a kind of moving on,
Though what I used to be, I still depend upon.
For now I realize that good can come from bad.
That may not make me wise, but, oh, it makes me glad!

And I--I never thought I'd leave behind my childhood dreams.
But I don't mind, for now I love the world I see.
No change in heart--a change in me.

For in my dark despair, I slowly understood
My perfect world out there had disappeared for good.
But in its place I feel a truer life begin.
And it's so good and real, it must come from within!

And I--I never thought I'd leave behind my childhood dreams.
But I don't mind, I'm where and who I want to be.
No change of heart--a change in me

A Beautiful Disaster

Sat, 30 Jun 2007 21:11:53 GMT

I feel like I am at perhaps the most meaningful point of my life ever. I'm busting on the insides with anticipation. I know exactly what I need to say, I just don't know how to say it. In a few days I'll edit this post. The crucial information is that my days at the TV Station are over. I start working for the church on July 5. And my room is a complete disaster, I haven't even unpacked.

A good dad

Sun, 17 Jun 2007 22:58:16 GMT

On Father's Day at my church, we post photographers at the front doors. We do this on Mother's Day as well. The past few times, I've been one of said photgraphers. On Mother's Day, everyone is looking their best. Everyone shows up for their mother. Everyone is smiling. It's mom's day.

On Father's Day, it's different. First, lots of dads just don't want a picture. Then some don't want their pictures because it's a step-parent situation. Then there are all the kids that pass by me without a father. There's the glimmer in a child's eye that dims when his mom takes his hand and hurries past the photographers. He doesn't know why I'm not snapping his photo. There are the kids who are old enough to know... just another Father's Day without a good influence. I even watched as one mother handed her child over to dad for a few hours on this Sunday. "Meet you at 4?," she asked. "Yes," he said as the child skipped off with his alternate set of parents. Yes, this is dad's day.

On days like today, I regret every time I fussed about mowing the lawn. I regret every ill thought about my father. Because I'm one of the lucky ones... one of the blessed. My dad is an Arkansas boy through and through, but if he does anything, he loves his family. He was taught that family comes first; and it's a lesson he ingrained in my wooden head. My dad never made a fortune and couldn't buy me a car when I turned 16. But he was there at my first band concert. He was there at the piano recitals. He was there to sit me on his knee and tell me about girls; and I mean all about girls. And somehow he was always there when I stepped out of line. He was there every Sunday morning to make sure I was there when the church bells sounded. He was there to kneel beside the bed and pray, even when I was fast asleep. My dad was there.

I was never a father's son. I played instruments instead of sports. I traipsed across a stage, instead of through the woods. I'm laughing because I don't think my artistic inclination ever clicked with my country father. To this day I don't know where this stray gene came from. And while he and Mom ended up at all those crazy shows, you knew they'd much rather be working out in the yard.

But it's there my dad made a mistake. The night I graduated college, and he moved me to an apartment in the city, my dad sat me down and apologized. You see, my dad looked back and saw those few performances he wasn't at. My dad looked and saw insignificant mistakes he'd made. He looked up and saw his scruffy little blonde-headed boy headed out into the rea world, and wondered if he was ready. I think I fought back tears as I told my dad how ridiculous he was, and then laughed it off. That's what guys do (even emotional ones like me). But I didn't tell him that it was me who owed the apology.

I'm sorry dad that I never said thanks for those long days at work. I'm sorry I never said thanks for teaching me how to catch a baseball, how to tie my shoes, and even about women. I'm sorry I never gave football a harder try. I'm sorry Mom always gets better birthday and Christmas presents. I'm sorry I didn't come out to your workshop more often (mostly because I wish I could use a power tool or fix a car). And I'm sorry I never said thanks for teaching me how to be a man, and most importantly, a man of God.

If you made mistakes, I made twice as many. And if I've had any success at all, it's because of you.

But the thing that matters most is all those times you told me you were proud of me. Proof that words can make a difference.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

And by the way, I love you.