Every Little Boy's Dream

One of a few childhood memories I can clearly picture in my mind's eye is the classroom in Benjamin Franklin Elementary School where I spent the kindergarten school year of my life. In particular, I envision the wooden jungle gym near the middle of the room. There were many days were that structure served as the stage of a sort of 5-year-old boy fashion show. Perhaps even a pageant. That's right, I'm talking about...

UNDEROOS!

Yep, you heard me. Underoos!

Now don't get your proverbial panties in a bunch. I'm not suggesting my kindergarten teacher was so "progressive" as to allow half-dozen 5-year-old boys to prance around in the middle of class wearing nothing but their skivvies and smiles. (Yes, that was a bit of an "Auntie Mame" slam:)) In fact, I remember that Mrs. Moroni (more affectionately known as Mrs. Macaroni) had a pretty good handle on things. But let me clarify: during the indoor recess time, in true Clark Kent-esque form, many of us boys would peel off whatever top layer of shirt/sweater/sweatshirt we were wearing to reveal the true superhero that lay beneath.

For example, my Batman undershirt gave me the ability to cause large cartoon dialog balloons (such as "POW!" and "WHAP!") to appear when I struck down a villainous foe. Occasionally, depending on the various household laundry cycles represented in the classroom, there were multiple Batmans, Supermans, etc. protecting the class on a given day--watch out all you demented ill-named fiends plotting to take over the universe!

Through the years between kindergarten and today, I have many times dreamed of really being able to levitate objects with my mind, or to exercise physical strength beyond natural human limitations. And even outside of the context published by the likes of Marvel Comics, I have considered the soaring eagle, and longed to experience the freedom and perspective of his lofty ways.

But I am now arriving in a season where the truth of the matter is becoming clear to me.

As a parent, I see the same impossible superheroic longings and imaginations in my own son and daughters. Yet I also see their tremendous shortcomings in things that are not so superhuman. Things like telling the truth. And working hard. And exercising self-control. And being kind to each other. And being grateful.

And for my part, I have seen positive results when I train/coach/encourage/discipline them with particular skills, like how to play soccer. But, I have also seen very little effectiveness when I try to do the same for those character shortcomings. And it leaves me feeling so very powerless.

Come to think of it, maybe those things really are superhuman after all. Where are my Underoos now?

Good thing there really is a super-power to fight those villains: the Holy Spirit.

So as their parent, I see that what my kids need most is the Holy Spirit.

Me too.

"Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!"

Just Two Things

I've wielded a number of complex thoughts and arguments that defend the existence and intervention of God in my day-to-day life, and in those situations I've been encountering where pain, disappointment, grief, death, loss, etc. seem to be having their way.

But those intellectual weapons don't seem to be having any noticeable effect.

So I'm lingering on a couple of simple thoughts today.

Psalm 62 says...
"One thing God has spoken,
two things have I heard:
that you, O God, are strong,
and that you, O Lord, are loving.
Surely you will reward each person
according to what he has done."

He is strong.

He is loving.

Take that Brokenness! Take that Fear, and Pain, and Hopelessness!

See if you can stand up to His love and strength, Death and Divorce! Love that went to the utmost extreme! Strength that only had to speak to form the very universe!

Just try it!

My heart is stirred by a noble theme...

A stirred-up heart. That would be refreshing.

No, amazing. That would be AMAZING!

Oh, how frustrating to merely endure the daily grind of life. And the hope that somehow my heart will be better equipped to face tomorrow's circumstances swirls unpredictably beyond my control, like the early autumn leaves the neighbor is blowing from his yard to mine.

How will I respond? The "right" answer is already in my cranium, but the actions and attitude don't resonate.

I don't just need the right answer, the right thought, the perfect advice. My heart needs to be stirred up!

My heart is stirred by a noble theme...

Psalm 45 is richly prophetic in its foretelling of a "most excellent" prince and his "all glorious" royal princess bride.

The Prince. Gracious in all He says, victorious, truthful, humble, righteous, just, anointed with the oil of joy.

The Bride. Enthralling in her beauty, courted by wealth, forsaking her past.

The Bride's past, her suitors only serve to magnify Him.

Stir up my heart! Drizzle the oil of Your joy on me!

What does He sound like?

An unexpected question left me wrestling with that question.

Last night while I was tucking daughter #2 into bed, she asked me how she would know if God was talking to her. She had prayed many times about many things, but had never heard Him answer. And she wasn't really sure she would know if He was "telling" her something.

So many have that same question, Christian and non-Christian alike. Just Google "does god talk" to see a plethora of attempts to analyze God's communication with man. While many writings take a heavily theological stance, the best one I found quotes some 7-12 year olds: How Does God Talk To You?

Although those deep, scholastic, logical presentations can be intellectually satisfying, they hardly address the angst I have known in those times when I've longed deeply to hear from Him. The problem is that that longing isn't intellectual; it's spiritual. My spirit needs to be able to communicate, since "God is spirit."

I've never heard Him myself, at least, not with my ears. But I've known Him to respond to my prayers, and to direct certain situations in my life.

And having an opportunity to convey that to my dear 9-year-old, who genuinely wanted to know, was a privilege I won't take for granted. In fact, I'm pretty sure God was speaking to me in that situation!

Thank you gracious Lord!

Guess Who! (updated)

Here's _Mayor Greg Ballard (Indianapolis)_ (in the suit) with me (no, not in the suit, and not wearing a tan jacket walking away from the camera behind the car).

Think you can fill in the blank? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Great guess Lisa! And I didn't even have to give hints.

Not that bloggy...really.

Oh, my dear wife. What are you trying to do to me?

First, I fall prey to the AI blogging epidemic. Now pyramid-scheme blogging with rules? What next?!?!

Alas, here are the rules imposed upon such hapless victims as myself:
1. Write the title to your own memoir using 6 words.
2. Post it on your blog.
3. Link to the person that tagged you.
4. Tag five more blogs.

Drum roll please...

Either way is fine by me.

There it is. I know what you're thinking: profound, daring, poignant. Well, maybe I come across as a little opinionated, but I'm willing to take that risk.

Now the problem--I don't really have any blogging associates. Unless I count my wife's. So, I'll just tag her back 5 times (I love you Sweetie!), and let her pass along another 5 tags.

Shutdown Day - tomorrow!

I'm gonna try this: http://shutdownday.org/



I think the biggest challenge for me will be my cell. phone, especially since it's an e-mail/web browser/etc. SmartPhone.



But I also envision some other difficulties, since our household has come to rely on the convenience of Internet-based driving directions, weather, gardening tips, etc., etc., etc. It's going to take some forethought to avoid pitfalls which will send me scrambling to plug in, power up, and logon (perhaps in a similar sense to this). And since it's nearly Friday afternoon already, I'd better get forethinking!