at least im not fred

so i was doing some research and ran across this video…

all the sudden, my day looks pretty good.

the writer’s seat

hey y’all,

a friend has written a great post. it made me think and i thought i’d pass it along. head on over and show him some love.

check out The Writer’s Seat – Drop your sword.

symphony

it amazes me how humans like to conform. try clapping loudly at a slow rhythm while people are applauding. eventually the whole crowd will conform and clap as one.

i was able to experience a similar episode a few nights into the camino. a german guy was the first i noticed snoring with deep, soft, long inhales through his nose. as he grew a bit louder, the others around usshifted their patterns a bit. while the german held his rhythm someone added a 2 in hale 1 exhale. like ha ha bluuu at beat of 1 te 2 3 te 4. then 2 more joined. then another…and another. soon, at least a dozen people were contributing to this performance of skill and passion. somebody off to my right was giving it all they had. i was impressed with the perfection at which these pilgrims progressed through their symphony. as people would roll over, they would exit their parts and others would enter. it was a fluid morphing creature that grew and changed. it had spells of forte, crescendos, staccatos, and minuets. following one monumental roar, the participants faded one by one, as if they were bowing and exiting stage right. as if all the lights were fading but one lonely spotlight, all theaccompaniments left the german to finish the beautiful masterpiece he alone had started.

along the camino

i saw a goat in a tree.

lucas oil stadium

today i had a chance to get the watercolours out and paint for a couple hours.
not where i thought i was headed with this. a different style completely emerged. i guess that’s what happens after years of neglect and living in southern france.

lucas oil stadium

let me know what you think.

and GO COLTS!!!

purell for pilgrims

my wife says i am a germaphobe. i say i am clean. when we were packing all we owned and moving, we ran across quite a few bottles of hand sanitizer. i had 1 in every room i spent any amount of time in, 1 in my car, 1 in my satchel, 1 at the office, and 1 in my frisbee bag (even i can’t figure this 1 out).

i like to be clean. i like to shower. it is extremely refreshing and energizing to me. 2 or 3 a day would be optimal.

on the camino, there have been…less than ideal hygiene provisions. a couple places have had toilet paper. only a handful have even had soap! just icy water to “wash” your hands. yes, i brought my own roll of toilet paper and soap (and hand sanitizer). that’s just the kinda guy i am.

we have had to take our showers in the afternoon due to walking all day. this is extremely difficult for me. i need that dry, crisp, fresh feeling following a shower to start my day.

today, i walked in the rain. i arrived at the albergue and waited in the rain until the door opened. i laid my stuff by my bed, stretched out and took a nap. i went to eat and returned to shower. the community bathroom smelled like fish and had mold on many of the shower walls. i thought oh well.

i’m now clean and laying on the same bed i took my nap in. the nap when i was still wet with sweat and rain. i’m shocked how my high standards of cleanliness have slipped. taken a kamikaze nose dive is a better description.

this gets me thinking. how easily do my standards slip? when things get hard, how long do i hold on? i think my guard is up. is it really? how have my morals been tainted? do they smell like fish? has my spiritual life suffered? am i diligent?

God help me to see my life the way you do. help me to see the mold on the walls. help me to clean it. please let my life be a pleasant aroma.

yellow arrows

today while walking, i thought why did i choose to take this journey? i’ve been asking people this question for over a week and had a programed answer but hadn’t thought it through.

i was looking for someone to talk to but didn’t have any takers.

donc, i was making good time (i was truckin today. averaged over 6km/hr). i started thinking of the people didn’t have the opportunity to join us on the journey and those who did but passed. then i thought about the people i knew that were at different stages of the journey. then about all those i’d not meet until i get to santiago.

at this point i came to a split in the path. i looked at both. one was paved and had a sign with the city name on it. my choices were take the road or take the footpath. the yellow arrow then caught my eye (the path has been marked by yellow arrows painted on poles, buildings, posts, rocks, trees, etc). i moved some rocks to form another arrow in a more obvious location and followed the path without any more debating. this path was steep, rocky, muddy, thorny and slippery. i even saw tracks where people had slipped and fallen.

as i followed this trecherous path, i thought i sure hope the guy who painted these arrows knew what he was doing. though i doubted, i continued to follow because he had never let me down before.

i saw some of the people who had started the trek before me as i aproached my destination. as i entered the city, one of them called out my name, welcomed me, and led me to the place i would be staying.

at this moment it hit me just how this day had paralleled my spiritual journey as well as that of others.

i thank God for his amazing beautiful way of getting my attention and teaching me in such a personal and relevant way.

well, still no blisters – jake

holding nails

remember the movie “a christmas story” when ralphie´s mom tells him to help his dad change the tire? the one where he says “oh FUDGE” only he doesn´t say fudge.

that´s every boys day. the day you get to help dad and be a man. i can´t remember the first time my dad asked for my help but i do remember a few vividly. holding the nails and helping dad hand drywall in the bathroom. holding nails and helping dad build book shelves.

so many times i was so excited and kept telling myself, “don´t mess up.” i was scared i would do something wrong like drop a nail or hand him 2 when he wanted 1. sometimes i did. looking back, i know i was afraid of trivial things that had no effect on the outcome. looking back i know tha5t dad didn´t need my help. he had the knowledge, tools and power to finish the job much faster and more accurately on his own.

one day he asked me to help hang a small shelf in the living room for my mom. i was ready to hold my nails. ready to hand them over one by one. but this time he didn´t hand me nails. he handed me a hammer. what was he doing? didn´t he remember my job? i was the nail guy.

he had already tapped the nails in. just enought to get them started. that day was my chance to hammer. man was i nervous. i didn´t want to mess up. i didn´t want to disappoint him.

i don´t remember how the job turneed out. for all i know he went back and fixed it as soon as i left. i do remember how i felt. for years i´ve tought of that shelf everytime i´ve seen bob villa or a craftsman commercial.

all thos times i was worried about messing up. derailing dad´s plans. hindering him from reaching his goal.

i reat to God the same way. i´m excited but almost paralyzed with fear that i will mess up. really? i´m gonna mess up the plan of the creator of the universe? ridiculous right?

today i realize that wasn´t the extent of dad´s plan. did that shelf have anything to do with his goal? did i misunderstand everything?

maybe he wanted to spend that time with me. love me. include me in what he was doing. watchme, in my feeble efforts, join in his work and enjoy his presence. loose, bent, dropped nails and all.

making cakes

a few weeks back, a friend told me he was waiting on a letter in the mail. it was a letter that could change the course of his life. i asked if i could pray about it. he said he didn’t want God to worry about it. He has a lot of things to deal with.

i was taken aback until i realized i do the same thing. i assume he is too busy for the details of my life.

growing up mom baked and decorated cakes. birthday cakes, wedding cakes, anniversary cakes, company picnic cakes. this has turned me into a bit of a cake snob but i’ll move past that for now.

in highschool and college i became a night owl. between hanging out with friends, school, and working late i didn’t spend a lot of time at home. when i would return home, i often found mom making cakes. i would pull up a barstool and we would have conversations for hours. i would tell her what was going on in my life and what was happening with my friends. it didn’t matter how many times i had told her that story, only that i was still talking. she would ask questions and give advice. she wanted to participate in my life.

looking back, these were some great times. i’ve always been a bit of a mama’s boy but during this period, during these conversations, our relationship began to change. mom and i became friends.

how many times do i not talk to God because i think he is busy? maybe he wants me to pull up a stool and dialog. even if he has heard it before. even if we’ve gone over it 20 times. maybe he just wants to have a late night talk.

giggling

10 months ago i met some dear friends, the kind i can laugh with. the kind i can cry with. they have 2 little girls. one gravitated toward suzanne, the other toward me. we spent a LOT of time with this family. they became family. we have made quite a bit of effort to stay in touch after we moved to france.

this week we have been able to spend time together again. i couldn’t wait to see the dad. he has been the big brother i’ve never had, the one i never knew i wanted.

i hadn’t realized how much i wanted to see the girls again. the one that was closer to suzanne recognized us right away. but the younger was very hesitant. i called out her name as soon as i saw her. she looked with confusion. i was silently crushed inside. i had such joy, so much anticipation and she just turned away.

today, she sat with me after lunch. we played and laughed together. she remembered my name. she giggled till she couldn’t talk. she giggled till i couldn’t stop laughing. she giggled till she cried. then, tired, she turned and buried her face in my chest.

everything was right. the relationship was restored.

how long will i not remember God’s voice? how long will i not recognize him when he is near?

God, please. let’s play. let’s giggle. let’s cry. please, hold me once again. i am tired.