You can't go back

At Smith Elementary, my best friend was Geoff Otto, at least for the first few years. We met because my mom had daycare in our home and both of his parents worked. After school we would walk or ride the mile between school and my house and we would play until it was time for him to go. Through the summer he would come over in the morning and we would spend the heat of the day burning things with the magnifying glasses he got from a store near his home.

The first time I went over to his house, I realized he didn't live like I did. His house was not huge, but it was big and well kept. Quiet. The exterior was brick with an unusual peak, the grass was well kept and smooth, the single tree provided shade, but it didn't seem to have dropped any leaves. The reddish colored front door opened up into a small entryway and then you were in a home with kept wood floors and beautiful rugs. We didn't really spend anytime in the living room. In the office, with a desk and bookshelves full of engineering and thick schoolbooks, there was a computer, which had games we took turns playing. Upstairs his room, which had walls angled like the peak I had seen outside, had a milk crate with Advanced Dungeons and Dragons books and his own Atari. His house was heaven to me.

In a few months, I had an opportunity to stay the night. Can you imagine a whole night full of games and wonder? I, of course, wanted to go and my parents agreed. This was my first sleep over at a friends house. The day went great, but as darkness settled in, my mind started to wonder home. By bedtime, I actually started crying and my parents had to come to pick me up.

This did not ruin our friendship. He didn't tease me or tell anyone I had broken down. Additionally, he invited me over again, which went much better. No more tears.

I don't exactly remember how all of this unfolded, but Geoff no longer needed to come to our house to be watched and in fifth grade he had been moved into private school. We met a couple times after that, but it wasn't the same. The schedule didn't work for us, we had gone in different directions. There was no moment, it just faded away.

In eighth or ninth grade, I got it into my head that I wanted to be friends with Geoff again. I think it was because I had my own Dungeons and Dragons group and it reminded me of him. Whatever it was, I tracked him down. With his last name and his street I looked him up in the phone book. I stilled my courage and called him. He wasn't there the first time and he didn't call me back. The second time I called him, he was there and we decided to get together on Saturday. He invited me to his house.

I was excited to go back to the house I had, had so much fun in. I could only imagine the games and things we could do. When my Mom dropped me off, I didn't even hesitate. The house was just as I remembered, Geoff looked different, taller, but I could still see him. We played games on his computer, which was new, but n the same place as the old one. It wasn't that fun. We went to his room, where he still had a game system, but he wasn't really that interested. We talked about the games we had and had played, but there was no connection. I told him of my D&D group, which was playing 2nd edition, he had the same books in the same milk crate. He hadn't played them since the days we used to flip through them.

My hope had a slow leak. Everywhere we turned, every activity we tried was like an attempt to catch our own ghosts. I didn't know then, what I know now. You can't go back. You can love the memory, even work hard to recreate it, but the truth is, you can't. We didn't have an awful time, we were cordial and tried to keep ourselves entertained, but when Mom picked me up, I think we both knew this was the end. I never called him again.

Fiction Friday: Chapter 17

When Sarah woke up, she was in the passenger seat of the Flex traveling at seventy miles an hour going west in I-94.  A summer landscape rushed by her.  The driver, the large man who had said he meant her no harm drove the vehicle.  He smelled of a hint of musky cologne, like she imagined a police officer would wear.  Her cousins were not in the car and she could not see the black vehicle these guys had arrived in.

The man's head moved just slightly in her direction, but he did not look at her.  "The rest of the kids are being transported separately.". He paused waiting for Sarah to say something.  She didn't, her head hurt and she was trying to plan.  "We didn't know of anyway to shut down your power before we moved you.  So, we made sure you were discouraged from shocking any of us."

"What are you going to do?" Sarah croaked, her voice sounding pained.

"That's up to Mr. Li.  For now I'm just delivering you."

"Where are my cousins?"

"They left about fifteen ahead of us.  Once you were down it wasn't hard to get the to cooperate."

In the black SUV the four sisters were very quiet.  Savannah and Sierra sat in the way back.  It an act that virtually never happened anymore, they held hands.  In front of them sat Shelby and Sienna.  The men had assured them they were going to their parents, but they were terrified.  

Savannah used her power to locate her mom and dad.  They were headed in the right direction.  She was going to whisper this fact to Sierra, but the man, who had now been shocked twice, was looking back at them from the passenger seat.  For some reason, she didn't want him to see them talking.

Shelby looked behind her, stripping car after car off the road in her mind's eye, but she could not see Sarah.  They were too far behind them.  Sienna could no longer make money, she didn't want that power anymore anyways.  If she got the feather again, she would wish for something else, something that would help her fight these guys.  It was hard to draw joy even from that thought.

In about forty five minutes they pulled off the expressway and entered a manufacturing area.  Savannah saw they were close to her parents.  A gated warehouse with a simple sign, Li Manufacturing stood before them like a looming shadow.  The driver, the man in the Blink 182 shirt, pushed a code into a numbered keypad and the gate rolled back.  The SUV pulled through the gate and into an open orange garage door, where they stopped in the first floor of the warehouse.

An Asian man in black suit stood waiting for them.  On either side of him were cold looking women with machine guns slung over their shoulders.  Mr. Li was ready to be done with this business.

Don't forget your lunch

I had been walking for about twenty minutes, but I was almost there. I walked this last stretch of clean sidewalk toward the light green garage door, which marked the end of the street. The trees the grew in about every other yard were green and well kept. The air smelled of summer, but the school year was not yet over. When I got to the corner, across from the garage, I could see my school, Smith Elementary, across the street and to my left.

As I made the turn to walk to the orange vested crossing guard, I was struck by horror. It was not by anything I saw, but my brain had discovered a significant oversight in my morning routine. The brown paper bag, which had been packed by my Mom had been left on the counter. Earlier in the year it would have been a brightly colored lunchbox, but the snow boot of a malicious kid had shattered the cool plastic one I had, had and it was never replaced. I wouldn't have overlooked it, if I still had a lunchbox, I thought.

I immediately started to do what I always do, I talk myself down. I'm continuing to walk, but I'm looking into the future, making plans. Odds are my Mom will notice the forgotten lunch and bring it to me, so it will be no big deal. If that doesn't happen, I could go to the office and call her. Lastly, if I can't get a hold of her, or she can't bring my lunch, I know they have free lunches for those people that forgot. It wasn't the rectangle pizzas or tater tots the people who bought got, in was usually just a sandwich and a milk. It would do.

I walked across the street and into the building convinced that it wasn't that big of a deal. In the hallways filled with talking kids, walls covered with black and rainbow art, made by scratching off the black paint and floors that had already started to collect the liter of the day, I forgot, for a time, my trouble.

In no time at all lunch was upon us. Alarm bells went off. I had not been called down to the office, meaning my lunch was not here. Perhaps she had just gotten there and there had been no time to call me down yet. That was it. So, I walked into the office. It took a while to explain the situation and for them to figure out what to do. My Mom had not brought my lunch and at this point, they didn't want to wait for me to get it. They gave me a little ticket, which I could use in line to receive a free lunch. I was no longer worried about what I would eat, but time had ticked away and I was sure I wasn't going to have any time to play.

I quickly took my lunch ticket down the line into the kitchen. I stood in a short line clutching the ticket the office had given me. I notice that it is a different color than the other kids in line. I don't say anything about because I don't really know any of these kids and I know it is because they are getting the bought lunch.

When I get to the lunch lady she asks me if I want bologna or peanut butter and jelly. They wouldn't do that today. I select peanut butter and jelly. On a brown tray they had me back the sandwich on a small paper plate and a white milk. The sandwich looks a little moist, but I don't think a lot about it. I get into the lunch room and see my class table, which is pretty much empty at this point.

At the first bite I know something is very wrong, I am left gagging. The bread is overly moist and has a flavor which should not be there. I do not know what is wrong at first. I just know in addition to the sweet of the jelly and salty of the peanut butter, there is a tangy, oily flavor, which makes me think of soured milk. I try to take the sandwich apart to figure out what is wrong, but I can't do it very well. The bread shreds when to try to separate it. Under the pieces I have pulled away, the white of the bread looks to have liquified.

I drink my milk, but don't eat, while I'm trying to figure it out. It takes me a while, but I eventually conclude that someone put miracle whip on this peanut and butter sandwich. It try another bite, trying to muscle through this combination, but even with this knowledge I find it hard to stomach. So, I walk back into the kitchen and try to explain the issue. They either don't understand or don't care. I am told to go eat.

I force my way through half the sandwich, but I feel green even doing that much. I plan that next time this happens I will go to the office right away, so I can call to get my lunch. I don't need this plan, though, because I don't forget my lunch ever again.

The Journey Home

It is the end of my short trip. The road between Indianapolis and Home rolls by outside the window to my left. It is hard to type with them bumps of the church van. To my right is Pastor Matt, who has a heart for Turkish people. He is already making phone calls to get back to work. To his right is Pastor Darrel, who is previewing a video he got on one of the speakers. The speakers was one of my favorite, a short, self deprecating Englishman who started his Christian journey by reading the words of C.S.Lewis in Mere Christianity. In front of the three of us are Pastor Jim, the youth pastor, and Ron, my roommate for the last couple days. They are discussing there ministries, working with youth and music. Driving is Pastor Jeff, who I'm pretty sure is looking for bumps to make this harder. Beside his is Pastor Steve, who works with the youth of a Chinese church. He is not Chinese. He has five kids, which because I only have four, makes him crazy.

We are all decompressing is different ways. We have learned so much, as I wrote about yesterday, our minds are trying to adapt.

For me this is a swirl of thoughts goes like this. First, I am ready to get home. I want to see my wife and kids. I am ready to be on my own couch, in my own bed, back where I a comfortable. Second, I am ready to reconnect with those friends and accountability partner, who I have not really been able to effectively connect with while I have been away. I look forward to my morning call with Steve, even though he is going to be putting me back on my exercise routine. I want to talk to James about the things I've learned and how I might add them to the book. Third, I am ready to go back to work. I have a ministry there, which I would like to take more seriously. I might build a Christian network, or institute a Christian coaching program. I'm not sure, but I know this needs to evolve. Forth, I am looking forward to meeting with Jeff and Jim to go over all the notes the three of us have taken. There are more things we could do, then we have time to do. So, we need to plan our next steps.

By the time you read this, I will already be home. I will not, though, be done thinking about the improvements I need to make. When we talk, ask me what I've done with what I've learned. I hope to have a good answer for you.

Brain Dump

The conference I have been at has been awesome. I have gone in session after session of valuable, powerful information. There are things for the church and things for my 2717 ministry and things just to help I my everyday accountability. I'm laying in my bed, looking at the pictures of tires and cars on the wall and trying to sort out everything I've taken in today. In is in this overloaded state, I am trying to write this blog. It might not be my best decision, but I really want to share a few things I have learned.

The first thing I learned is meet people where they are. I don't mean physically, which most people can do, I mean emotionally and spiritually. This means don't assume people want what I've got; many people can't understand where I am. If I can go to them, then we can build real relationships. It is OK for people not to be ready to believe, they may just be thirty for a little information. It is OK for people to want to do something little, who am I to judge the size of their task. If I can meet people where they are in their life journey, then I can walk with them and if I can walk with them then we can go places together.

The second things I can remember learning, is the fact that within man's heart is deep water and with a good, Godly coach, that water can be drawn out. I can't, right now, put this into the words I want, but this really spoke to me. This is a huge part of 2717. When I helping someone, the needs of their heart are not usually given to me, they are given to them for me to draw out. This means asking them the right, probing, uncomfortable questions until they come into the realization of there need. Then they can solve the problem and they can set the goal. Do you know how much more valuable a goal is when you set it for yourself as opposed to when someone else sets it for you? I have a whole new set of tools to use to get better at this.

The next part of the 2717 cycle is accountability, and that was addressed in the next session. From that session, here is the truth we leaned, transparent lives, with each other, is the only way to have genuine accountability. Did you catch those two critical things? Transparent lives. This means not hiding when you uncomfortable, owning your flaws and failures, cover free. We don't like this, but it is a key because you can't fix what you can't see. That second piece, is with each other. It is not enough that you are transparent, but you need to live lives with each other. This explains the importance of daily contact I had stumbled into on my own, but didn't know why it worked. This is not just how one on one accountability works, but also small group improvement and even building better church relationships.

Think about that power. If you can meet people where they are, then draw out their deep desires, the goals God has planted within them, then live a transparent life with them, so you can strengthen them when they are weak and applaud them when they are strong. You help them become a better person.

I learned a ton more, but I fear my tiredness may already be robbing the understandability of what I have put together. I'm excited to get home tomorrow and put many of these thing into practice. I pray I can make good use of the things God is teaching me here.

Cheesecake with Pastors

The ride to Indianapolis was not bad. I spent the first half of the trip talking to Pastor Darrell and Ron about their churches and the ways the inner city and suburbs should work together. We moved into topics of accountability, which was pretty exciting for me, and then how to reach the community. These were people who cared about people. The second half of the trip, I moved to the front, where Pastor Jeff and I talked about the need to get away and the debate and how hard it is for pastors to network in a really effective way.

When we arrived, I needed to check in first with the Rally and then into my room. Because I was a last minute replacement, it took me a little while longer than everyone else, they needed to make me a name tag. Ron, though, made up for that because was ahead of me in line to check into our room, which meant I got pulled to the head of the line when he got there.

The room was a nice room with two comfortable beds. We unpacked and then I called my wife. I find these phone calls hard. Not much has happened, so there is not much to talk about, but I'm away from her, so I want to hear her voice. We talk about the ride, the room, the kids and the laundry. Then as quickly as it started, we say our I love yours and the call ends. I forget to tell her everyone loved her pumpkin butterscotch muffins.

Not long after that, I get a call from Jeff, his e-mail won't work from the room. I check it out, but I can't figure out why. Yes, that church IT guy can't help the pastor send his e-mail. I am frustrated and a little embarrassed. He, of course doesn't make a big deal out of it.

He then leave Pastor Jim and I in the room, so he can pull up the van. We need to go to dinner before the 7:30 introduction to the Rally. We meet him down in the heavily decaled Praise van in just a few minutes and we are on the hunt for where to go. We select the Cheesecake Factory. Now, I only know the Cheesecake Factory from two places. My first introduction was the top floor of Disney Quest in downtown Disney, where Larry, Dixie, Shelly and I scarfed desserts I between rounds of Pirates of the Caribbean. The second place is from Big Bang Theory. I don't mention these things as we walk in.

The decor in the place is full of crazy colors, with giant columns. There are alcoves in the ceilings with had painted art work. I'm disappointed the staff where white shirts with patterned ties, as opposed to the green and gold the show in the TV show. The conversation takes off and we talk about the great things God has done for us. I tell them of the blessing we received, of a place to live from Pat and Gary and I learn of cars and money that others have received out of the blue. I eat Bang Bang Chicken and Shrimp, drink coffee and split a piece of chocolate cheesecake.

When it is time to make our way to the opening of the rally, most of us decide we need to walk back to the hotel. It is a good start.

Constructing Castles

There are only a handful of toys from my childhood that really stick in my mind. There is the Atari 2600 and the hours spent trying to beat Raiders of the Lost Ark. There is the Oscar the Grouch radio. There is of course the action figures. I have to tell you, my brother was the clear winner in the action figure collection, he had GIJoes and Star Wars. I had Crystar. My guess is none of you have even heard of Crystar, but these were all mine.

I can remember playing of the floor near the large sliding glass backdoor. Justin would have a few of the cooler looking GIJoes, with what ever guns we could still find for them. Alongside these special military agents, would be Luke, the cloaked Jedi model and C-3P0 and R2-D2. On my side would be these blue and green figures, roughly the same height as the others. They were see through, like they were made of gems, carried swords and one of them, my leader, had a gold bracelet I have made from a broke jewelry chain. The figures was not why these were among my favorite toys, it was the dragons they rode, a crystal one and a lava one and most importantly, the castle.

This castle was three floors high and made of thin blue crystal. It had the towers on either side and a drawbridge door. The throne room was on the top floor and we imagine the traps the would stop enemies on the floor below. This was the center of my Toy kingdom.

Just looking at that castle, in fact any castle, was enough to fire my imagination. So, I did my research, how were they built, what were they really defended by, how did you stop enemies in the castle? I learn about portcullis and boiling oil. Halls with arrow slits and oubliettes. My outlets for these fascinating contraptions and designs found their way into the maps I would draw for my Dungeons and Dragons game and the Lego constructions I would build. It was fun to see the terror in a players eye, when they are trapped in a deadly hallway, or the crinkle of worry in a parents brow when you show them how you trap the lego man so you can pour boiling oil on them.

One of the great joys of being a parent is getting to play with your kids, and with their toys. My kids got a variety of toys this Christmas, but for me one of the highlights has to be the Lego set Shelby got. It was a Kingdoms castle set, an official castle that didn't even exist when I was collecting Legos. She agreed immediately that I could help her build it.

The four plastic bags sat on the table, each labeled with a large black number. We found the number one and opened it up. Shelby had the Legos and I had the instruction book. I would tell her the pieces she would need, while teaching the the nomenclature I used to describe Legos, two by two, thin, black. I could then show her the picture and check her work. Step after step we built.

We didn't do it all in one setting, I wanted to savor the moment, the building. We did it across about three days, with her doing one bag on her own. When we were done, though, we had something great. A prison on the top for the captured princess, knights with horses, a portcullis, which open with a chain and yes, even a cauldron to the top, which contained flaming oil.

When we were done, this black castle set on the dining room table for a couple weeks. Every time I would pass it, I would smile, thinking about those castles that came before it and those I hoped would follow it.

Evolving Faith

Josh and I hid in the back room of Arby's in Kalamazoo. We were not that busy and we had people up front. He was the manager, so he was counting down a drawer in his office. I was on drive thru and there was nobody in the drive thru, so we chatted in the little dingy office. I sat on a milk crate in the doorway.

As often happens with my friends, the topic was one you were not supposed to talk about in mixed company. It was abortion. This was a tough one for me at the time. I told him that I personally thought it was wrong, meaning I was convicted that I would never in my power enable one. This was a personal spiritual conviction. On the other hand, I understood that the issue was more complex than that, and I found it hard to say I had enough information, so I didn't think it was a politically decision making issue for me. I really believed this at the time. This was an easy position, because no one could tell me my own choice was wrong and I wasn't trying to force anyone else.

I think he was in a similar mindset, because the issue was not pushed, the inconsistency not questioned, we moved on. My faith didn't just end with personal direction, in included a firm belief in an absolute truth, and absolute right or wrong. This weak position, which I was aloud to get away with completely ignored this. In spite of that, I held roughly this position for much of college. I even used the term human law as a distinction from God's law, when talking this issue.

A couple years ago, a friend of mine, James, wrote an article about someone he met who drove a decorated pro-life van and regularly protested pro-choice politicians and individuals. I read this article during one of my work days and it brought me back to this old college position. I wasn't that person anymore, I couldn't say it is wrong for me, but OK for you. The God I had gotten to know, didn't work that way. So, I could relate to this van driver, even support him. He was trying to bring to light the ugliness of abortion and proclaim this is wrong, this is murder,

I might not have a approached it the same way, but this was what I was convinced of being true. First, man is a creation of God. We are God's from our very conception. Second, murder is the unjust taking of human life. In scripture, in old testament law, it is clear that if you kill a unborn baby, you are to be killed (1). Killing an unborn baby is murder. Third, as this is true, we as a nation should take a stand against this. This is not a popular position, but it is the one I have by faith.

This morning, at church, we had a special sanctity of life service. This meant the topic was on this very topic. It hit me differently this time than it ever was before. I sat in the red chair of the large auditorium and Pastor Jeff was passionately making his plea to the people. It wasn't enough that we know that this was wrong, but we needed to act. We need to remove the legislators who were pro choice, we needed to stand for the rights of the unborn, we needed to cut of funding, as best as we could from organizations, such as Planned Parenthood. Then as I listened he presented a haunting fact. 75% of pregnancies are ended because the mother is concerned a child would impact their life.

This set my mind in a completely new direction. My conviction was not on the legislators or organization or acting in protest. Fighting these things don't fix or stem the problem. The 3500 abortions that are performed everyday are not caused by any of those things, they are caused by the people. Legislators in place by the will of the people, Planned Parenthood exists because it can find the support of a community, when I protest all I do it take a stand and can be safely ignored by the opposition.

What am I to do? I want the number of these murders to go down, but it is clear the nation as a whole even challenges the fact that this is murder. It is a fetus, instead of a baby. It is a voluntary termination instead of killing. Even if the right to abort affected by Roe vs. Wade was overturned, would it change the heart of the people?

The ground fight in this battle is not going to won with signs and gross pictures. It is going to be won the same way all moral issues are won, with love and education. If you care about the unborn, love those who are having children, educate them on God's desires, support them when they have needs that they can not meet and pray for God's will.

1. Exodus 21:22-25 "When men strive together and hit a pregnant woman, so that her children come out, but there is no harm, the one who hit her shall surely be fined, as the woman's husband shall impose on him, and he shall pay as the judges determine. But if there is harm, then you shall pay life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, wound for wound, stripe for stripe.

Fiction Friday: Chapter 16

The strong man walked slowly up to the Flex. He could see the tree girls inside, in the back seats. They stared at him wide eyes. Scared. Good, the big man thought, easier to control. He consider the report the locator had given, if it was correct, and it pretty much always was, the little one could make money and the powers of the other two were not known, but they weren't weapons. He clearly had the upper hand.

He rapped the glass beside the oldest girl, the one with curly hair, not the invisible girl. He bent down and mustered the most convincing smile he could. "I'm here to take you to your parents," he lied.

A flash of bright light reflected off of the flex. Inside, the strong man could see the faces of the three girls all turn from him to something going on behind him. He turned to see the locator on the ground by the vending machines. The shocker. This just got more interesting. He turned leaning on the car, surveying the situation.

"1 inside, 1 by us," Savannah texted Sarah.

Sarah looked at her phone and hopped down away from the Flex. She didn't want to risk going toe to toe with one of these guys. She needed to find a way to sneak up them, the guy inside first. She got low beside the station, and moved toward the side door. The excitement was causing her hands and arms crackle with electricity.

The chameleon got the strong man's call. The locator was down, three of the kids were in the Flex, the shocker was sneaking around the far side of the building. Mr. Li would like him using the feather here, but it would make this situation go so much smoother. "I wish to appear as anyone," He wrote on the wall.

Sienna didn't know it, but here power to produce limitless money had just disappeared. The chameleon was the chameleon again. He dragged the invisible girl out of view of the store windows and took on her appearance. It was everything, down to the very clothes she was wearing.

The chameleon then, looking like Sierra dove out the door, directly in front of Sarah. "I think there is only one left," he said, checking Sarah's eyes to see if she was convinced.

"What about the one in the station?"

"I hit him with a baseball bat, the clerk had, in the head, but he used a gas grenade of some kind just before I hit him and..."

"Stay hidden. I'll take care of the last guy."

Sarah walked to the front of the building and the chameleon walked to where the locator was still laying on the ground.

The strong man leaned away from the car and held his hands to either side, showing he was not armed. He shouted, trying to sound friendly, "I am just here to take you to your parents.". There she was, the shocker poked her head from around the front of the building. She could drop him at any minute, he had to keep talking. "I know you got my partners, but I'm not like them. I just want to do the exchange. I want to make sure you get safely united with your parents, look I'm not armed.". He stepped a little closer, than began turning so she could see him.

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because I could have taken any gun I wanted, but I didn't I don't hurt kids."

She moved closer, but she held her sparking hands in front of her.

From inside the flex, the girls watched Sarah move toward the big man. For the first time in a while, the saw Sierra again. She was behind Sarah with a what looked like a kind of pistol in her hand. Then they were confused. Sierra raised the pistol, pointing directly into their cousin's back and pulled the trigger.

Sarah's body went completely stiff with electricity which wasn't hers and fell to the ground. At the other end of the electrode wires, Sierra grew taller and more masculine, taking on the appearance of the man in the Blink 182 tee shirt.

The fight was over.

Finding Faith

We hadn't been going to Main Street (Baptist Church) very long, but I already knew I looked their potlucks. I don't remember the occasion, or even if there was an occasion, but it was a Wednesday night potluck. While we waited in line, I talked to Jeff and Johnney and wondered what food would be on the Sunday School table. Fried Chicken, Lasagna and Banana pudding.

In the crush of people, my plate was filled and I looked for my family. There were only about 30 people in the room, so they were not hard to find. In the corner furthest from the door and the food. Being only eight, it was before the days I would eat in the youth room with the older kids. I sat beside my Mom, near the end of the table. The seat across from me was empty, so I hoped one of my friends would join us.

Just a couple bites into the meal the pastor, Reverend Headley Thweatt, sat in the seat across from me. I didn't realize it then, but as I look back, I suspect he sat there wanting to be friendly to the new family. Regardless of what he thought, I know now he was placed there. In the moment, I had no such wisdom, I just thought it was fun to talk to adults.

So, we talked, this pastor being gracious to an eight year old me. The conversation evolved from general interest to church to him asking about my Christianity. I told him of church being something that had always been a part of my life and that my parents were Christians. He politely complemented those thing and then ask, what about you?

This little question, sent my mind spinning. I had previously had an equation that went something like this, my parents are Christians, I go to church with them, so I am a Christian. I had never made it personal, it was more of a family thing. When we prayed, it was a good act, but I never really thought about God. When we talked about Jesus he was a good role model. When we talked of his death, it was a kind of gift I inherited from my family. This pastor, though, was challenging that and worse, I knew he was right.

We talked a little bit more, but I was putting the pieces together. If I didn't inherit Salvation, if it was personal, then I didn't have it. If it was something I needed to personally profess, I had never done that. My belief, if that is what you call it, was so shallow it rested completely on others. This meant, I was a sinner, which meant I deserved death and hell and I had never accepted Jesus for myself.

I didn't ask how to accept Jesus that night, I wanted to think about it. The next few days were very hard. At that time, I thought I could only be saved by praying the prayer of salvation with the pastor. This isn't true, but it meant I felt at risk for the next several days. I faced my sins, fighting with my brother, sneaking candy, hiding broken things and the other crimes of an eight year old boy. I knew these had not been paid for, that I was broken and I didn't even know the prayer. I should point out that there is no specific prayer and my parents easily could have prayed with me, but at eight I didn't know these things.

On Sunday morning, I was obsessed with one moment, the invitation. This was the time when the pastor asked people who wanted to pray with him to come forward. In my mind, I think the song that was played during this time was "Just As I Am". Barely a handful of words had been sung, and I was on my way. The room, the people, the music all faded.

I prayed a prayer confessing my sin, acknowledging that this was deserving of death, professing my belief that Jesus died for those sins and accepting this free gift, making him my Lord and Savior. This might be confusing to some, but this changed everything. I was light. It felt as though weights had been dropped off of me and the relationship I had with God as personal.

For the first time I prayed, not because I should, but because I wanted to.

If anyone is confused about the theology behind this article, let me post a few verses from the book of Romans, which explain the basis:

Romans 3:23 for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,
Romans 6:23 For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 5:8 but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
Romans 10:9-10 because, if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved.

Episode 6

There was excitement in the line, which wrapped around the Penn Theatre. People of various ages wore coats and a jackets, waiting on the sidewalk with a small collection of orange leaves. These leaves had fallen from the little trees, which separated the Penn from the small lot beside it. Looking down on us, from high up on the yellow wall were the faded painted images of The Wizard of Oz and Gone with the Wind. The sky had gotten dark enough the street lights came on and you could hear the fountain, which had not yet been turned off for the season, in Kellogg park not far away.

We didn't go to the movies very often, so this would be a treat no matter what, but this was extra special. I don't think ether Justin, nor I thought we would be brought to this movie, but it was the one being talked about at school. My parents certainly hadn't shown much interest. For some reason, one I still don't know to this day, we were there.

The line started moving, which meant they had opened the front door. We shuffled forward in line, looking around to see if there was anyone else we knew. The smell of popcorn puffed over us every time the door swung open, which happened when there was room to squeeze the next family in the lobby. We hadn't even made it in and the magic had begun.

There was no thought of this being the cheap theatre, which ran movies a little after all the others, not consideration that we hadn't seen the movies that preceded this on in the series. Problems didn't exist in this space.

The door popped open and it was our turn. We walked into the tiny lobby, filled with people waiting for snacks. The ticket seller was practically pushed to the front door, which is caused everyone to wait outside. Our tickets were bought, while I tried to take everything in. The overly ornate room. The sounds of hushed talked. The buzz.

The theatre seats were covered in a red velvet type material, the walls had leaves and columns of gold. It was like we were all kings. The large curtain was closed as we waited talking. I can only image how many times I asked what time it was.

The lights dimmed and I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears. The curtain slowly parted and the projector brought the room to life. I watched, trying to absorb every detail, every word, my first ever Star Wars movie, Return of the Jedi. I loved it.

A new challenge

A couple weeks ago I walked the bike path behind my neighborhood for what was probably the thirtieth time or so. The leaves stacked up by the wall the separated the path from the expressway. It was grey and cold. I picked up my pace to keep my heat, but the wind burned my cheeks. It occurred to me, that I couldn't do this all winter.

The problem is, this is one of the things I am held to by my accountability partner Steve. I talked to him about this and we agreed on doing a replacement, when I needed to with Kinect Your Shape. This eliminated the cold problem and contained to push me down the path of becoming more healthy.

The first time I did Your Shape I had no idea what I was in for. I pushed the large green footstool out of the way. It created enough space for me to stand, so the system could scan my body and put a less than flattering silhouette on the screen. I then answered a few questions about my activity, which was better as a result of my walking. It was then time for the Fitness Test.

The system says, this will not be strenuous, but it lies. After lunges, squats and other exercises where you are prodded to bend lower or raise your knees higher, I was done. My legs were shaking, I wondered what in the world I had done, but I was done. Me exercise program had begun.

That was a few weeks ago and now, with Steve, I am onto the next phase. Today, we made an agreement that I would move my exercise from three times a week, to everyday. This doesn't mean I'll be doing three mile walks or being brutalized by Your Shape everyday, but I will be pushing forward. Wish me luck.

Sledding with Floridians

The weather was not ideal, but we were committed. Larry and Dixie were in for the Autoshow and to see his family, but while they were in we had agreed to take Dixie sledding. The snow we got was not very deep, in fact no hill that we found did not have grass and leaves poking through the snow. Additionally, the temperature never produced the kind of snow which turns to ice after doing the run a couple time. Nontheless, we pressed forward.

The night before, we had made a trip to Target to pick up the sleds. These were not going to be needed for much more than the one trip we planned and would otherwise be stored in my shed. There were assurances that my kids could use them after the Floridians left, but given their small use on the trip and the questionable conditions we steered them to the same sleds I predominately used growing up, the saucer.

The advantages of a saucer sled are these: they are cheap, they are pretty quick and they work for people of all sizes. The usual downsides are you have little control in your speed, your direction, or the direction you are facing. Perfect for a novice.

Because there were eight of us, we drove in two cars looking for the right spot. Enough of a hill, with enough remaining snow, few trees and not pointing right into the rode. The women in the flex scouted, while Larry and I trailed behind. We drove Hines drive looking. We started at a spot not far from our house, decided to hunt better ground and then after driving a few miles looking, we returned to our original spot. No trees, the debris on the hill was just leaves and the incline was good enough. Addionally, while it did point toward the road, there was a crop of dead cat's tails to catch you and a far amount of flat ground befor you ever made it to the hill.

The kids wasted no time. Each grabbed on of the four saucer sleds and made their way to the top of the hill. While they started the fun, we made a quick observations on the rules of momentum. Siena's trips down the hill ended not long after the incline ended, this'll the larger kids began knocking down the dead plants on run after run.

After a little while into this the adults, with the exception of Shelly who was clearly smarter than the rest of us, began taking their turns. Dixie was first, noting the bumpiness of the ride and having a less than graceful tumble across the large weeds, which had already been knocked down a bit. When Larry and I went, we raced, because, well, because that is what guys do.

I could tell you who one our race, but I stopped a serving that particular fact because of something I had completely missed about the hill we had selected. It had all the features I described, but it also had one other feature I had completely missed, even as Dixie told us about the bumps. The light snow at the bottom of the hill had pealed back to reveal a sidewalk, the asphalt of which created a four inch solid bump. In a car this would have been noticeable, on an uncontrollable, thin peice of plactic going ludicrous speed toward oblivion, it was everything. My tumble to a stop, included an assessment of how deep I thought the bruise on my hip was. It hurts just to write about it.

By the end of our adventure. I had a deep bruise on a hip, Sierra was telling people she broke her coccyx, we broke one sled in half and another gathers leaves as you use it, because of the crack it has formed. In other words, a good time was had by all.

Fiction Friday: Chapter Fifteen

The three men rolled down the expressway in Mr. Li's SUV. The day was bright enough the three of them were wearing sunglasses, as they drove the speed limit between the safe house and the meeting point. The locator, who the kids just thought of as the Man, drove. Beside him was the changling, who used to be able to look like anyone, but not just looked like himself, an olive skinned man in his early twenties. He was dressed to blend in, which he was good at even without his power. He wore a blue ball cap, a Blink 182 tee shirt and baggy jeans. He would be the first in. In the back seat was the strong man, who once had been able to throw cars in fits of anger. While his power was gone, his size and stare were still enough to chill anyone who would consider crossing him.

They pulled off the exit and drove by the gas station, doing an initial survey. The girls were there, the Flex was in the parking lot. It looked like two or three of the kids were still in the Flex, but the other one and their driver was no where to be seen. The man lowered his hand to the taser, as they drove by, he was really hoping the shocking girl was somewhere.

They drove out of sight, waited a few minutes then returned to the gas station. The strong man would take care of the flex, the chameleon would get the feather and the locator would round up any stragglers.

Sarah saw the SUV pull into the lot, but it wasn't the first car to pull in and it wasn't the car she was expecting, the one the man had been driving. From her hiding spot wedged between the outdoor vending machines, she lost sight of it very quickly. A few minutes later, the guy in the Blink 182 tee shirt stepped up to by a pop. When he noticed her, he jumped a little, not expecting to see anyone there.

"woah, You scared me," he said.

"Sorry," Sarah said, feeling awkward about being spotted.

He pushed the button on the machine, causing the pop he ordered to drop to the bottom and then walked into the store. Why would he buy from a vending machine when its cheaper inside? Sarah's mind started to churn. She leaned forward, looking in the slot of the machine. A new Mountain Dew was resting in the bottom of the machine. He hadn't even taken his pop. In here pocket her phone beeped letter her know she had just recieved a text. In her mind, alarm bells started ringing.

"The man is here," Savannah said from inside the car, to Shelby and Sienna. She texted to Sierra, who was inside already, "Thet're here.". She hoped everything went as planned, she was watching like a hawk. "That SUV." she pointed out to Shelby.

To Shelby's vision, the car was stripped away from the people inside. She saw each of the three men, a strange serious looking collection. "There are three of them," she said, "The one in the baseball cap is getting out right now.". Sure enough in just a moment, a younger looking man, was circling the gas station building. "He's right by Sarah," Shelby continued.

By the time Savannah had sent the text, the man had already stepped away.

Because Shelby was curious, she started tripping away the clothes of the man. Like undressing a doll, which she had been fascinated with for years. She was stopped almost immediately. "He's got a weird looking grenade and a little mask in a bag under his shirt.

The chameleon stepped immediately to the bathroom of the station. He tapped the bluetooth headset, taking it off of mute. "Shocker is by the vending machines." he didn't wait for a response, he put on the mask he had kept concealed under his shirt and withdrew the gas grenade. He pulled the pin, and rolled the spewing device into the small shop area.

Sierra, who had been hiding invisible toward the back of the shop, realized too late what was happening. A step from the door, she fell unconscious to the floor, visible with the feather beside her. A moment later the clerk was also on the floor. The room was filled with a thin layer of gas.

Outside, the man had heard what he was waiting for, the shocker was here. He smiled to himself, it was time for payback. He slipped from the SUV the same time the strong man did. He went crept toward the vending machines, while his partner went directly to the flex.

He moved as silently as he could, placing his feet very deliberaly. He couldn't give her time. He hated not being able to locate her, it was like he was partially blind. He made it beide the machines and took a deep breath. He lifted the Taser and wheeled, military style, pointing the taser between the machines. He thought to himself, "She's not here.". it was then, from the top of the Pepsi machine, where Sarah had shimmied up to, an electrical bolt sent him to the ground.

My only stitches

The summer breeze wove between the houses and across the field, which was mostly open. Justin, Emily and I were in the field behind her house in Ohio. Our mothers were friends, so when she moved from Plymouth, they kept in contact and, as a result, a couple of our summer vacations growing up thrust the three of us together. This was one such vacation.

From the back door the yard looked initially like most backyard. A grill and toys and plastic playground equipment. We played there for a while, but it ignored the rest of the wonder. Away from the house, it opened up into a wide and deep field, which connected all the houses. Crossing the middle of that field was a fence, which I learned we were not supposed to cross, and very near that fence was a large tree.

I loved climbing trees, something I tell my kids not do all the time, because they love climbing trees too. From the yard, I could see this tree was tall, with thick, low branches. The leaves were light and handholds, nearly all the way up, looked good. With very little convincing, the trio of us moved to play by and in the tree.

From the middle of the field, everything looked and felt different. It seemed warmer, I took off the blue windbreaker I was wearing and draped it over the chain link fence. From here looking back, the houses all looked so similar, it was hard to remember which one was Emily's. Justin and Emily were not as gung-ho about getting into the tree, but I had already forgotten what it was we had done before. This is what we were here for.

The fence made the first part of the climb easy. You used the branches as handholds and wedged your feet in the holes of the fence. With just a little pulling, you were airborne. From there I moved up into the second rung of branches and began goading the other two. They were slow, but joined me eventually. I thought we would play in our tree all afternoon.

I don't remember what I was trying to do, but I slowly lost my grip. Not a free fall, but a moment when your feet are dangling and then you realize your hands are not secure enough to adjust. I was going to fall, I just hadn't yet.

In that moment, my world became very small. What was below me? Where we're Justin and Emily? How high up was I? The field, the houses, the breeze, noises and smells were all gone. I took a breath and release.

It was perfect. I flexed my legs, so that when they hit the ground they would absorb the fall. My hand and arms were up, at angels to keep my balance. I felt pretty good about it, until my right elbow bumped the fence.

At first, I didn't think it was any big deal, but when I looked at it, that changed. The top of the chain link fence, where two of the wires that make up its construction we're bent together, was stabbing into my elbow. When I lifted my elbow, it stuck just a little. The bleeding was fast and heavy.

I grabbed my jacket off the fence and wrapped my arm, I needed to get to the house. A bandaid would do, I was thinking. I took off running. Emily and Justin trailed just a little behind me, they knew I was hurt, but I don't think they really saw the wound. By the time I got to the yard, the blood had leaked from under the wind breaker, and was streaming toward my shoulder. This was in part because I had held my arm aloft while I was running.

Suddenly I could see we were going to loose the freedom of the tree. This injury would mean we would not be able to climb the tree again. At the top of my lungs, so everyone was clear, I said, "Don't tell Mom."

The door opened just before I grasped the handle. "Don't tell Mom, what?" my Mother said looking down on me. I broke.

It took 9 stitches to close the gap in my arm and we never went back to the tree.

Chocolate for Lunch

The day was perfect, or at least that's how is resides in my memory. The weather was high seventies or low eighties and sunny. The breeze was just enough to cool you in the sun, but never chilly. This is how I imagine February always is in Florida. We weren't just in Florida, but in Orlando. We were not just in Orlando, but in Downtown Disnay.

We were staying a week at the "Happiest Place on Earth" and I didn't know it, but on this beautiful February day, we were about to do something that would reside in the minds of all there as a highlight of the week. We were not in Epcot eating around the world, or riding Soaring'. We were not having a Character breakfast or dinner with Villians. We were not any of the parks where memory magic is an everyday occurance. We were in Disney's giant strip mall called downtown Disney.

Don't get me wrong, if I'm going to shop, this is about the best place in the world to do it. They have "Once Upon a Toy" and "Legoland" and the monolithic "World of Disney". All of these stores, in there own ways, are worth the visit. Even for me, who is notoriously anti-shopping. None of these things, though, has produced an event, a story told at family gatherings, quite like Ghirardelli.

The seven of us stepped out from the green Disney superstore. Savannah and Sierra wanted to play in the water, which a 15 foot tall Stitch was periodically spitting from the side of the building. I was talking to my Mother-In-Law, Sue. Shelly was still in the doorway with her sisters, Stacey and Sherry.

In addition to the spewing Disney character, you see the docks the surround the water, a small stage, a few vendor carts and other restaurants. The air was full of the smells of sweet and salty. I was suddenly hungry.

In moments the group of us stood beside an ice cream vender with a yellow awning in a discussion on what we would have for lunch. From that vantage point, the most promenant building was the Ghiraredelli Ice Cream parlor. I don't know how they do it, but just glancing at the building makes you smell the rich goodness of the chocolate and fudge so strongly, you almost float through the front doors. Some said, we could have Ghirardelli.

The kids, about four or five at the time, were stunned. Could they really? I want to point out, for those of you that don't know, Ice Cream is my dessert. If you are asking me if I would rather have nearly any other dessert or ice cream, I'm going to take the ice cream. In my mind, this was a done deal. Shelly's mom and sisters, who had no kids to set en example for were in, and my reservation were being smothered by the sweet smell of chocolate and thoughts of a sundae.

The kids chanted, "Chocolate for Lunch" as we waited in line. We might not have been parents of year to any kind of health council, but we deffinately made the list the only place it matters. Even know, as I look at this piece of Ghirardelli chocolate on my desk, I'm not thinking about what the wrapper contains, but rather the sundaes and shakes and satisfied smiles of the best lunch ever.

Borroughs and Fairground

I walked home from East Middle School in the spring afternoon. The sun was warm and the breeze nice; a perfect day to play outside. At the first corner Tim, my friend, made a right and I kept walking. Most of the way home, only a few blocks, I did alone.

I didn't mind. I looked at the the bugs that had crawled onto the side walk. I found a stick, which could become a new gun in my arsonal. I thought briefly of the homework I wasn't going doing, that would show Mr. Armstrong. Mostly, I thought about what I would play when I got home.

A couple doors down from my house, I realize my plans are for nothing. On the steps in front of my house are two bundles, black and white papers wrapped with a single solid blue paper all held together with a thin plastic strap. In addition, there are a few extra papers. I always got more papers then I neededs. I resigned to my fate.

I ran in the house and dropped off my backpack and headed back outside. I didn't walk immediately back up front, I needed to get the wagon. The lock on the garage door always sticks a little bit. It is because the doors are sagging with age. Behind the door is the smell of mildew, spiderwebs and clutter. Just inside the garage door is a golf bag full of cut down and taped hockey sticks. The swords Justin and I would duel with. I stick the stick gun I just picked up into the pocket of the bag, which is already full of golf balls, grenades. I grasp the black handle of the wagon and pull it out of the garage.

This wagon has been with me a long time. It has wood sides, the red paint faded and a little chipped. These sides slip into the metal brackets, which surround the bed of the wagon. In the wagons are the remains of my route earlier in the week, a couple papers, the straps and the solid colored paper. I throw these away as I walk to the front of the house.

I drag the wagon acrossed the bumpy front yard, to rest beside the papers I am to deliver today. The Plymouth Observer. I lift the bundles of papers into the wagon. The fragrance of fresh ink wafts off of them. The print will stain my hands before the end of the day. Once the papers are in place I pop the strap of the bundle in front. I do this by finding the place where the strap is melted together. At that point, you flip the plastic to reveal the loose end, which you pull. This causes a satisfying pop.

The wind seems to have gotten just a little colder, but this is my job. It is not how I planned my day, but it could be worse. I adjust the wagon to face toward the sidewalk and head off to the start of my route.

Saved from myself

I stand beside my wife in one of the most costly rooms in Livonia. It is the showroom in the front of 14 Kt. Jewlers. We are here to get the ring I purchased her, a Christmas gift, sized. I thought I had done good, but my notes had the wrong number down for size. As it turns out, a few numbers off makes a huge difference. She talks to Victor, the jeweler and owner, who she has known for years. I look at the crazy array of sparkling things in the glass cases.

I am not going to buy anything else, enough damage has been done, but the rings and earrings and pendants are an imagination inducing variety of shapes and colors. I first notice that all of the tags are positioned such that you can't see the price. This is not really a surprise, as it lulls you into looking at something, which would be better left under the glass.

The next thing I notice causes me to have a moment of shame. It probably wouldn't mean anything to anyone but me, but me, but it is a bullet my past self dodged. In between the white display boxes of small gold and silver jewelry, are large brooches. These are about the size of a small paperweights and are completely covered in colored stone. They are in the form of tigers and frogs, faces and castles. They are expensively bejeweled artworks.

It takes me back to a place the used to exit in Plymouth, George's Gift Gallery. This was the home to a ton of little expensive and unique gifts and furnishings. It was a collection of brig fabrics, puzzle with local puzzles, dolls and charms. Growing up in Plymouth, this would be a regular place to visit, when we were downtown.

This place collided with my Dad's collection genes with what could have been a catastrophic way. I was looking for something to collect. It needed to be small, but should be unique. It couldn't be stamps or bottle caps, it needed to be rarer. George's had the perfect answer to the problem, under glass, in an attention drawing display, they had jeweled dragons and wizards and bugs. The sign told me they were brooches.

That's right, I was middle school boy planning to collect brooches. Can you imagine any quicker way to get beat up?

I don't know why, but I didn't think about these being for women. I didn't think about how this would make me even a little more of a social outcast. These even went on my Christmas list.

I don't remember my parents telling me I couldn't have them, or they were for girls. They did save me, though, instead, they showed me the cost of one of these things and explained it would be all I would get for both Christmas and my birthday. I did the youthful calculation and decided it wasn't worth it.

I look up from the tiger brooch, to where my wife and Victor are talking. I don't tell her how I almost became the boy who collected brooches.

Fiction Friday: Chapter Fourteen

Savannah stared at the phone stunned, starring at the word Daddy, but knowing that it wouldn't be him on the other end of the line. Sarah took the phone out of her hands and pressed send.

"Hello?" she said, he voice shaking with nerves.

"Are you at home?" the deep voice was calm and poisonous.

"No. We couldn't stay with the police and firemen, we're hiding at our Aunts.". Sarai lied, not sure what she should say.

"Your parents are safe," the man said not knowing he was talking to the girls cousin. "If you would like to see them again, I need you to arrive a ride with someone who can keep their mouth shut. Have them bring you to exit 130 of interstate 94. On that exit you will find a tiny gas station. It is the only one. Bring the feather. Do you follow me?"

"Gas station of exit 130. What time? How I'll we give you the feather?"

"You have until noon. Just bring the feather inside. Don't try anything foolish."

The phone went silent.

Sarah told her cousins what the man had said, then the five of them planned. They were much closer to the gas station than the man had thought. Actually they were closer to him, than the gas station. It was decided that Shelby, Sienna and Savannah would stay in the car. Sierra would carry the feather, invisible into the station and Sarah would wait just outside the station door. As soon as they had her aunt and uncle safely in hand, she would drop the man. She had no intention of playing by his rules.

"What is Mom and Dad aren't with him?" Shelby asked.

"We can shock him then," Savannah said.

"We'll have to let him go and then follow him," Sarah said. The only way he'll make the exchange is if he believes he has got the feather.

The parents were sleeping in the upper story of the safe house. The man had no reason to take them, who knew if he would need them later. Additionally, he wasn't planning to just take the feather and let the girls go. They were loose ends, Mr. Li didn't want to leave any loose ends. He wasn't going to kill them right away, but they certainly couldn't be left to roam free.

He selected a fast acting dart gun, handheld, looking like a pistol. He selected grenades, which released a gas to knock someone unconscious, and a rebreather, to prevent the gas from affecting him. He selected a taser, he hoped to use on the shocking girl, if she was there. Additionally, he took with him two of Mr. Li's men. They had been specials before the feather had been misplaced. They would listen to his instructions, knew the value of this work and would be needed if things got out of hand.

Armed and ready to go, the three of them drove toward the meeting point. If all went well, they would have their powers back by dinner time.

Nothing Makes Me Happy

Have you ever noticed how sometimes, nothing makes you happy. I don't mean that you are not about to achieve happiness, rather I mean you are made happy by something which is not there. Well today there is a certain nothing that is making me happy. A blissful absence.

Last night when we went to bed, we didn't have this nothing we had a something, a leaky bathtub that had filled a couple inches of water in the bathtub throughout the day. We've had this leak for a while. It started with just needing to tighten the handles. Then it got to the point only I could tighten the handles so they wouldn't drip. Finally, in the last week, I would leave the bathroom having worked out my arms on the dated hot and cold handles with the sound of dripping still in the air.

There is something to this that is particularly bothersome. It's not just the sound, which I made quieter but running the leak through the shower handle, which I hung loose near the. Ottoman of the tub. I think it is the fact that something that is mine is broken, something which I should fix. Every drip is a failing of what the man in the house is supposed to be.

Today, as soon as I got up I knew I was going to address this. I had no choice. My wife said so.

I had done this repair before, on the cold side, ut this time it was the hot water leaking. I remembered the tools I would need and even had the little rubber gasket I would need to replace to stop the leak. The problem was, it was more than a year since I did the repair, so I wasn't sure of all of the steps. In addition to the tools, I took my iPad.

It feels very Matrix to me. Rather than being Trinity asking for the knowledge to drive a Bell Helicopter, I'm just an average guy asking for the knowledge to repair a leaky faucet. I'm not instantly trained, as she was, but with the iPad, YouTube and a series of one minute videos, I have step by step instructions to eliminate the leak. Water Off. Handle Removed using the specialized tool I had to buy last time. Take note, this is why men need lots of tools. Then I'm stopped. I forgot that last time I needed to get a large socket to remove the stem. I could have bought these sockets last time, but my father-in-law, who has a minimum of two of every tool, except the specialized tool I had to buy last time, lives just two doors down. It is only a minor delay and I'm back at it.

The rest of the repair goes smoothly. It is the moment of truth. I tighten the handles and go downstairs to turn back on the water. I turn the cold, then hot back on and listen to the water fill the pipes. It just a moment, the system pressurized and the sound stops. I walk up stairs, slowly, listening. I enjoy everybit of. Oohing I hear.

It is a success. I turn the water on, then off in the tub, just to make sure it is not a fluke. It works. That's right, I fixed it. I close the door and do a little victory dance to the sound of nothing.

Perfect Cup of Coffee

Coffee is not just coffee. I've talked to people, probably some of you, who pretty much lump coffee into a single flavor, maybe two flavors, good coffee and bad coffee. This is the black and white TV view of coffee. Coffee, from beans to brew, is art. There are a variety of flavors, and I don't mean the creamer you add, of this beverage. So, for just a moment, I thought I would brew a pot with you.

Beans is the first choice in making a pot of coffee. The some from all over the world and the soils in those parts of the world in part flavor to the beans. You get earthy flavors with beans like Jamaican Blue Mountain and Sumatran, a hint of citrus type flavors in an Ethiopian or Kenyan, They have beans that are floral, or nutty or chocolate like. I have two favorites right now, Sumatran and Bali. Additionally, these regions can be subdivided by reserves, which usually have slightly different flavors one from another. The Bali I like is from the Bluemoon reserve, it is a complex, rich bean, that is almost like dark chocolate.

The next question is how are the beans handled. This is different than the beans, although this is often confused because most beans have an ideal way they are roasted. French Roast is a handling, not a bean. You can French Roast any bean, although this is usually a method done to an Middle East or Central American Beans. In the world of roasting, from lightest to darkest, there is Cinnamon, New England, American, City, Vienna, French and Italian. Light roasts give the beans a grain or light complex flavor, while darker roasts give you caramel or even rich burnt flavors. The Bali is a medium roast, the doesn't burn away any of the various flavors in the bean and maintains some of the gentle flavors you associate with a lighter roast. This makes for a perfect, interesting, not overwhelming coffee you can drink all day.

Now that you have beans in hand, it is important to leave them whole until you are ready to use them. Do not freeze them unless you are not going to use them for more than a month and if you are not going to use them for more than a month, you are ordering them too early. On my counter is a bag do whole beans no more the two weeks old all the time. To brew this perfect cup of Bali, I suggest beans roasted three days ago, so that none of the oils are lost. Ground beans loss their flavor very fast because of the amount of surface area exposed to the air while they are not being used, I'll note that this process doesn't start in vacuum sealed containers, which is why you can still get a decent cup from a K-cup, but that's a different topic.

Now that I've got my fresh, whole Bali beans, it is time to grind them. I now this seems so basic, but grinding should also be done with thought. You can mindlessly pulse the beans in your grinder and get a decent brew out of them, but you may be missing out. Remember, you are trying to produce the maximum surface area for the hot water to extract the flavor oils from your beans. This is countered by the fact that if your grind is too fine it can clog your filter, which should be paper not reusable as the holes are finer. So you need to grind as much as you can without creating a clog, and you need to equally grind all of the beans. The method I use is grinding in three, three second pulses, while I move the grinder at various angles, to prevent and beans or ground from not getting fully ground. This results in a powder roughly one forth the size of industrial ground coffee. As an added note, this needs to be made larger if I'm using a French press for brewing.

I will tell you that the best coffee I have had comes from a French press. This method extracts the flavor by immersing the grounds in the hot water for five minutes, then using a filter to catch and hold the grounds at the bottom of the pot. The amount of flavor you can get from the method is amazing. My most common method, though, is a drip brewing; what you might call normal. In both cases, the most important factor is water temperature. The ideal temperature to brew coffee is just below boiling. This allows for maximum flavor extraction. If you are using a French press, boil the water you plan to use, turn off the pot, wait just a few seconds, then pour. For a drip put, try to get one that keeps a pot or two of hot water within it and that water is kept pretty hot. The Bunn I brew the Bali with is perfect for this. I could probably get better results if the water was a little hotter, but it will do.

Last thing, and really this is more of a foot note, don't sneak a cup before the brewing has completed. The flavor you get from the beans is not consistent throughout the brewing. You get much stronger coffee during the beginning of the brew then you get at the end. So, if you take the first cup without letting it mispx with the rest of the pot, while you may get a great cup of coffee, the rest of the pot will be weaker for it. Who wants to make a pot of coffee for only one good cup? So, patience and enjoy.

Robot Arm

Sienna and I got to spend a little Daddy and daughter time yesterday, because Shelly took the three other girls to a Skating party, which our church youth group was having. Sienna was tired from the last few days of staying up way past her bedtime. She helped carry boxes of Christmas stuff downstairs and then We spent the time cuddled on the couch watching Disney channel shows. It was a peaceful evening.

It was in the midst of the Phineas and Ferb episode where Dr. Doofenschmertz is sick when I got the text from Shelly. "Savannah is never going skating again." it said. For those of you that don't know, Savannah has been skating once before. It was a party I needed to pick her up early from, because she fell and put a hairline fracture in the left arm. So, when I got this text, I wrote back, "Did she fall?". This seemed the most likely thing to have happened, but when you have a hundred kids hyped up on sugar, flailing around on wheeled feet, it certainly was not the only possibility. She fell.

Not only did she fall, but this fall resulted in a bump on her right arm and considerable pain. Pastor Jim, the youth pastor and our friend, agreed to bring the other two girls home, so Shelly could take Savannah to St. Mary's Hospital. Not only did she fall, but an hour or so later, we learned she broke her right arm. That's right, she has been skating twice, the first time she broke her left arm and the second time she broke her right. She is right, she is never going skating again.

This morning, as we wait to get a call from the orthopedic surgeon, I performed what I'm pretty sure is a father's duty in this situation. I asked her ridiculous questions. She was not amused when I asked wether her hook would be silver or gold. She was not amused, when I asked her what attachments she wanted for her robot arm. She also was not amused when I asked her what her superhero name would be when she received said robot arm. I can only assume that the pain has made it so she can't fully appreciate my quite funny line of questioning. Don't worry though, I planning a few more cybernetic related questions I'm sure she will enjoy.

Don't make resolutions

In all honesty, I can't remeber making a single New Year's Resolution. I don't hate them, I understand why some people feel driven to them and I get the I'm going to make this year different, thing. This might be a surprise to those of you that know how much I love goals. So, let me explain a little bit.

I wait up for the turn of the calendar, like most of you. I look to see if Dick Clark's face moves while he talks, or if his speech is impaired by the skin now stretched tight across his face. I enjoy the snacks taken from the freezer and then baked in the oven for a few minutes, this year was pizza rolls. I have worn hats and blown a cheap horn like a fool. The only tradition I haven't done is making resolution.

Using the calendar to make resolutions always seemed silly to me. I don't actually think it usually works. If I don't always get everything done I want to do in a day, how am I going to stick to something for a year, also when you set goals on January first, it becomes an excuse to really blow the last few months of the year, with the idea, I'll start on that on the New Year.

Thomas Jefferson once wrote in an advice letter, if you take care of the cents, the dollars will take care of themselves. The idea, of course, is if you get good at the little things, the big things will resolve themselves. I'm trying to get a book done this year, but that is not the goal I'm working on, the goal I'm working on is writing at least one paragraph a day. The great thing about this, is I can be successful everyday and if I mess up, it's not all ruined, I can be successful tomorrow. The same goes for exercise goals, make a daily goal, not a yearly goal. If you do the work everyday, the year will take care of itself.

I also have a little procrastination problem. If I try to get something done by the end of the week, Saturday will probably be the day I start. If I'm trying to get something done by the end of the year, I'll have for gotten my Resolution by the time the last possible minute to start rolls around. They don't work for me.

Lastly, why would I start over? The idea of a resolution seems to have this notion of a clean break into something new. If I need to start something new, I need to do it now and if I'm doing well, I certainly don't want to give that up. I was pretty happy with 2011. I started exercising more, I drafted the first six chapters of 2717, my book on accountability, and I started accountability relationships with several of my friends, who have had a lot of success. I don't want to stop any of those things and I didn't have an eleventh hour epiphany of how I should do better. I'm always looking to improve.

So, I'm looking forward to a fantastic 2012, not because I have some great resolutions, but because I had a good 2011 to spring from. I know not all of you would say the same, I know some of you had a bad year. You also might have a bad January or February. Don't let that stop you or ruin your year. The time to set goals is today, tomorrow and always. Don't let a year get swallowed by a few rough months. Of yesterday was good, used it to make a better today. If yesterday was bad, start over today. I promise you this, if you want to have a great year, it needs to made up of a bunch of great days.

Happy January 2nd, 2012.