Like Herding Cats

We have a cat, and his name is Rusty. He's 13 years old now, and for as long as I can remember, he has been afraid of me. 

It all goes back to ten years ago. A bad storm was coming through, and tornado sirens began going off. The word from the news station was a tornado had touched down less than a mile from our home. We lived in a manufactured house, so I wanted to leave until the storm passed. Our other cat quickly allowed herself to be scooped into her pet carrier. Rusty however, afraid of the storm, hid under our bed. I did everything I could to coax him out, but he refused to move. I finally made the choice between his life and his comfort, and I chased him out with a broom. For the next few minutes, I pursued him all over the house trying to get him into the carrier. He would dart under the table, then under the sofa, then back to the bed. There was no time for gentle, sweet words with a few cat treats in hand. He needed to be caught, and caught THEN. 

After chasing him all over the house numerous times, he was panting and beginning to drool. I finally threw a blanket over him and shoved him (kicking and clawing) into the pet carrier. We left quickly, and after a few hours away, the "all clear" had finally been given. The storm had passed. Rusty however, was permanently traumatized. He has never gotten over the man who chased him all over the house. Now, cats don't have memories like humans. He probably doesn't remember being chased by me, or the storm, or any of that. What he does believe, (and remember) is that for some reason, I am to be feared, and ultimately not trusted. He will climb up in my lap and allow himself to be petted if I am sitting down, but if I walk into the room, he will often dart away, looking back over his shoulder several times to make sure I am not in pursuit with a broom in hand. 

It occurred to me today during my quiet time that Rusty is a lot like we are as God's people. God saw the storm coming, and he said "Please, I'm trying to save you. You don't know what you are doing. You're going to be hurt. This is a dangerous thing you are heading toward. Please, I beg you. Come to me and be safe. I will make sure you are not harmed." Our reaction (all too often) is to run away from Him. We see his attempts to save us as being unpleasant, and we believe He is trying to take away our comfort. We are happy where we are, safely hidden under the bed. We have no idea the dangers that lurk outside our pitiful little "comfort zone". God sees the storm coming; he knows what will happen to us if he leaves us to our own means.

Consider this for a moment. If I had just given Rusty a bath, and when he got out of the bathtub I tried to dry him off, but he clawed away from me and ran under a table, that would be cause for me to say "Well, if he wants to run away, he can just be cold for a little while until he dries himself." God does this to us as well. If we want to go our own way, but it's not a HUGE mistake we are making, God will often let us run, so that through the process, we might learn what is best for us. Other times though, like the tornado coming through, God knows He must get us away, and get us away quickly.

Recently, God had to do this to me. He had to get me away. He knew I would not want to follow, and that I would hide under the bed. He was prepared for the chase, and he knew that when He caught me, that I would go clawing and kicking at Him before I would be safely carried away. He also knew that when I was finally home, the "home" would not look the same to me. It would be safer than it was during the storm, but I would be angry with Him for shoving me into my pet carrier when I would have preferred to stay in my little hidey-hole.

This is a teaching moment for me, and it should be one for all of us. Maybe you feel like God is trying to tear you up by the roots. Maybe you want to stay in your comfort zone, but His powerful arms are doing (what seems like) everything in His power to tear you away from the happy little place that you hold so dear. 

If this is you...if you hear this story and think "Wow, that's where I am right now. Holy Schnicklefritz!" then I want you to take heart. God's ways are higher. His mind is deeper. His heart is braver. And he is GOOD. 

Am I healed from my trauma? (You know, the one I mentioned earlier.) Well, like our cat, when things are calm and happy, I do love to hop up in God's lap and love on Him. Still, I am always on my guard. In my small mind, I'm afraid the same thing will happen again. So I am always looking over my shoulder, imagining monsters that aren't even there. God loves me enough to wait me out, though. The storm has passed, and He sits quietly, waiting for me to love Him without holding back.

In Psalm 3, David feels uncertain and afraid. But even in the face of all he has endured, he knows the power of God's arms, and the comfort of God's spirit:

"You, O Lord are a shield for me. My Glory, and the One who lifts my head up high." ~ Psalm 3:3 

We need not be afraid of His love. But part of being His child is that He will often protect you from a particular harmful situation at all costs. Maybe it's from a terrible financial move. Maybe it's from a person who means to do you harm. Maybe it's just from yourself. When those times happen, remember, His love remains no matter how much you may fight it. And when the storm passes, He is waiting to love you through the aftermath, and show you where He has taken you safely home.

Dear Wormwood

It has been a while since I have blogged. I remember one of my English teachers in high school said that she hated newspaper columnists because they were paid to write something every day, and so their words become forced instead of inspired. I never want that to happen when it comes to my art. Taking my photography from a hobby to a career has endangered my spontaneity behind the lens, and on more than one occasion this year I have considered closing  my business and going back to a "regular" job so that I can refocus my field of vision. (pun intended)


But that is neither here nor there. I wanted to talk about a few things that happened this year. In 2015, I have been tested in more than one way, and my own "Wormwood" has been having a field day in my heart. The Evil One has a battle plan for all of us, and our Wormwood is well-versed in pressing all the right buttons to make us feel broken beyond repair. Like C.S. Lewis in "The Screwtape Letters", I am imagining what The Enemy's strategy was. He knew the events that would occur in my life this year, and if I had to imagine his letter to my personal "Wormwood", (I don't want to know his real name.) I can imagine Screwtape writing him in this fashion:

"My Dear Wormwood, I have taken note of the things your man must endure this year, and while they could (if we lose our head) be used for his own betterment against us, if we are careful and play our game correctly, each of these events can be used for maximum pain and anguish in the heart and the mind. We can remind him of his mortality, his poor choices, his lack of reason, his unworthiness, and for good measure, we can use others around him to amplify these things. Never forget, Wormwood, that unlike so many others, your man has the terrifying advantage of knowing you exist. Most do not, but your man is very aware of you. He knows, Wormwood! Keep behind him, where he is most vulnerable, and you are best concealed.

Let's begin, Wormwood, with his health. This year he will have so many unexplained aches, pains, sicknesses, and general malaise that he will have ultimately felt like his warranty card ran out the moment he turned 41. Have him focus on those maladies, and deem them his death coming sooner than he ever imagined. In the spring, an event will occur to nail this idea homeward: He will have a mild heart attack. The next few weeks following will be a living nightmare of his own creation. He will be waiting for impending news of quadruple bypass, or even death. Have him focus on putting his affairs in order, and saying goodbye to everyone in his mind. Of course, he's not dying, but HE doesn't know that. We're not done with him by a long-shot, Wormwood. 

We're going to remind him of every opportunity in life he felt he was entitled to, and instead overlooked. We're going to bring back memories of what he could have done differently, and make him wish he could go back in time and change them so that he wouldn't have to endure them now. We're going to remind him of things he held so dear that are now out of reach, and make him feel so sick to his stomach that he wants to cry out in rage over those very things he has no control over. Naturally, the things we love the most are the things we hate to lose, so don't forget to remind him of the past--DAILY. He can't do a thing about the past, but we can make him dwell on it!

Now then, remember that little "spiritual journey" he went on in summer where he gave his life over to The One again? Well, we'll answer to that! Shortly after, we are going to unleash such a multitude of assaults that even if he does  appeal to his Creator, he will feel like his prayers are empty and futile. We must bare down hard and not lose our grip on him at this moment, lest our efforts totter and collapse. This could be the opportunity we have been waiting for since the vile creature left our camp and turned his life over to The One some twenty-three years ago. Remember your humiliation when he held hands with that half-wit and prayed that insipid prayer? You felt so helpless as you stood there, watching him give his life over to something greater than you! Remember that terrible day now. Harness that hatred and hammer it on him with both fists. Don't let him realize for one moment that this present atrocity might actually be a tool by The One who "loves him" to bring him a different kind of joy. Let him focus on the darkness, and make sure he allows just as much of that anguish to pour out on those around him...the ones he loves most.

Your man is an infant at heart. They all are, Wormwood. Envision your man as a child in his playroom, toys scattered about from corner to corner. He can't possibly play with them all at once. Now imagine his reaction when his father comes in and says that gift he loves most must be taken away because he left it lying on the stair for the third time in a row. Suddenly all the others matter very little, and the one that is being sacrificed becomes the most priceless treasure. Had he looked after it better, it might have not come to this, but a child does not see it this way. They only see the grievance. The child blames his father for the loss, of course. Make sure the man does the same. I will be in touch with your cousins who are in charge of so many "friends" around him to him to ensure they either support his anger, or make him feel like he is worthless. He may have true friends in his corner (You know who they are, Wormwood.) but have him focus on the opinions of his modern-day Eliphazes, Bildads, and Zophars. We've got a lot going for us with your man, let's not lose this golden opportunity given to us.

P.S. You mentioned in your letter his pet is dying. Make sure to maximize his mourning for it. We want his pain, Wormwood. Remember yourself. If you play your fiddle smartly, we can own his Christmas holiday as well.

Your affectionate uncle, Screwtape"

I'm not nearly as talented with the pen as C.S. Lewis, but I know my Wormwood very well. The past few weeks, he has been having a banquet at my own expense. I felt like I was fighting this battle all alone, and there was no end in sight. I prayed deeply for weeks, and only after my complete surrender, God answered. As usual, God has a way of answering in ways I never saw coming. He answered me in the voice of my wife. He answered me in the words of scripture in my daily bible study. He answered me from the pulpit last Sunday.

And, he answered me last night as I lie in bed.

It is that final answer I want to make sure I share with you. You may be suffering in a way that you feel is both unimaginable, and unmanageable. The walls may be collapsing all around you, and your heart may be in the process of being ripped to shreds. We try to take on our demons single-handed, and we fall. Oh, how we fall.

But back to that answer God gave me. Four years ago, my family began praying for a woman who lived halfway across the state. She was a friend of a friend, but in the years that followed, she became a part of our weekly life through prayer. Initially, she had gone to the hospital to have a baby, an event that should have been nothing but joy. While she was there, it was discovered that she had cancer. From a distance, and from our knees, we watched her battle this horrible affront to her body. She had good days, and bad days. She had moments that looked like it was beaten, and moments that seemed like she had been beaten. Prayers for this young woman spread far and wide as people who loved her shared her story with others in church and at home. Her young husband prayed for her. Her children prayed for her. I believe the very grass under her feet cried out to God for her healing.

But healing did not come. A few days ago, after four years of fighting, she lost her earthly battle with cancer. Those of us who kept up with her story knew how strong she had been, all the way until the end. I can't form words to emphasize who Kristi Casey was, but I do know who she IS. She is a victorious child of God, and she overcame.

She BEAT her disease.

She OVERCAME her Wormwood.

I can't even form words right now. Just...gah...I'm lost. Lost in His grace. I have so much to be thankful for in my home, in my heart, in my family...

And in this video that was taped of her just a short time ago, where she talks NOT about her cancer, but about having love and hope, I hope you will see what I saw.

Victory.

 

The Silver Cord

Jane Eyre.

Sweet, beautiful, amazing, dark, wonderful Jane Eyre.

This is my favorite novel. Of all time. Bar none. It was written over 150 years ago, and it is so beautiful to me in heart, in passion, and in scope that I cannot form words to convey it.

When I read it, my heart feels like it will pound it's way out of my chest to escape the chains around it.

Rochester loves her. He loves Jane with every fiber of his being. He knows she is too young for him. He's in his 40's, and she is barely 19. He knows she is kind, gentle, and absolutely trusting of him to protect her, and hold her fast. He looks deep into her loving, sweet, endearing eyes and it takes every bit of power and strength he has as a man not to circle her waist with one arm and pull her close to him and press her lips to his.

And it happens again and again in the book...almost. You can almost envision the moment. She is about a head shorter than him, and he reaches out a hand to her, and she take his hand like a lady should, allowing him to be a gentleman....but instead of looking away, she gazes slightly upward, deep into his eyes, and she ensnares him with one flash of hers.

She literally owns him with one demure, adorable bat of her eyelashes.

When they first meet, he asks her to come and sit in a chair next to him, but later on, she begins sitting at his feet, because she wants to. She kneels by him, not in worship, but in love. She looks upward to him with deep, powerful eyes that say "I'm kneeling at your feet, Sir. What would you have me do now?" but in his mind, when he sees her kneeling there with those searching eyes gazing up at him, he crumbles under their weight, and he worships her instead.

The relationship they share is so different from what society would call normal. So forbidden, and yet so powerful. You can tell from the moment they meet at the dinner party on the staircase that she wants to collapse in his arms and let him take her to places both mentally and physically that she has only dreamed of. Maybe thinking of him as she clutched her nightgown around her at night. The teddy bear she might have held against her breast as a child was preparing the way for his head to be lain against that same place, except this time, her heartbeat would be hammering with the same need he has for her, and the childhood desires inside her would now be grown up in one passionate moment.

He looks into her eyes every day, knowing that she is forbidden to him. She's half his age. She's his governess. His au pair. His subordinate. To even lay one finger on her is completely out of the question, and yet, when she stands in front of him, with her face cast downward out of personal insecurity, he speaks to her like a father...a teacher...a lover, and says "Jane, look at me." and when her eyes meet his, she trembles, not out of fear, but because she knows he loves her. He tells her how beautiful she is, and how wonderful her heart is, and in doing so, she loves him even more.

He wants her, with everything he is. When she stands near him, his heartbeat quickens, and he almost cannot bear her proximity. His passion is so real, and with one quick move, he could sweep her up from her place at his feet, carry her to his chamber, lie her on his bed, and love her in every way imaginable, and she would welcome it.

...and he would. Oh, God he would.

But she is off-limits to him.

She knows it.

And a part of her loves it.

She gazes upward at him, as if to say "I would give you my entire being for your own. If only you would just take it, Sir."

But she is off-limits to him.

...and her eyes tease him again, and again, and again.

Oh, how I love this book.

Love.


(...if you read this, tell me.)

Zece (Ten)

Today a very interesting thing happened in the middle of my morning commute. God dropped a bomb on me. I wasn't ready to be hit with this kind of reality, but it happened nonetheless. I was confronted by NUMBER TEN.

What is this NUMBER TEN? It's the commandment that we often think that God must have seen as the least important. After all, it was the last one. Maybe it was an afterthought. Maybe he got to nine commandments and thought "Hm, that pretty well covers it. Murder, theft, infidelity, idolatry, slander, got all those squared away. But still, who's gonna remember nine commandments? I need to make it an even number. There should be ten. Hmm. Envy. That's a good one. Ahem. THOU SHALT NOT..."

In all seriousness though, this is the one I struggle with more than any. I admit, I am guilty of breaking the whole law. Even if you forget that part about "Whoever breaks part of the law breaks all of it." I still am guilty. I have gone beyond that. I have broken every single commandment at some point in my life. Murder? Yep. I have mentally wished death upon people. Adultery? Done. I had roving eyes when my first marriage began to go sour. I have told lies about people, called my father a loser, partied until I got drunk on a Sunday, worshiped at the altar of internet addiction, stole a lollipop from a gas station when nobody was looking, said the G-D word, had a poster of a half-naked Claudia Schiffer on my bedroom wall when I was a teen, and oh yes...I have coveted.

The secret to a happy life is contentment with what you have. In the Parable of the Landowner and Workers, the man who owned the vineyard needed workers, and so he hired them from the marketplace. He found a few at the marlet standing around with their hands in their pockets, and said "Hey, come work for me. I will pay you $20." Later that day, he saw more people looking for work. He offered them the same deal. Toward the end of the day, he found even more workers. At the day's end, He paid the people who began work at daybreak, those who began work at late morning, and those who began work at afternoon all the same wage. The people who had worked since morning were furious about this, and wanted to be rewarded for their work with a higher wage. The landowner said  that he paid each of them what he promised. There was no "fair" to this. The person hired at daybreak was promised twenty bucks. So was the guy hired at 3pm. The both got what the landowner wanted them to have. It may seem unfair, but without the landowner, none of them would have had work that day. So it is with God. Without Him, none of us would have anything.

But I struggle with this. Daily. And in no greater area do I struggle with it than in the area of my gear for work. The other week, for example, I was shooting portraits, and had just finished and was packing up my gear. My camera is 10 years old, and my lens is 12 years old. They serve me well. But I heard an audible voice come from behind me and say "You shoot Canon!" I turned around and it was a lady who looked about 10 years my junior. She had her camera around her neck, and when I saw it, my jaw almost hit the floor. Most of you will not know what any of this means, but she was toting a Canon 5D Mark III,  and it had my DREAM lens attached...an 85mm 1.2L. She opened her bag and inside rested another gem, a 70-200mmm 2.8L IS. I made small talk, and after a bit, she said "My husband bought this stuff for me. I don't really know how to use it. I just play, and hope I get a good shot." I asked if she did a lot of shooting, and she said no, that usually it sits on a shelf. I wanted to scream at her...no lie. Instead, I muttered under my breath "If you want a camera to sit on a shelf, I'll trade you." As she walked away, however, I suddenly felt a gut-check of revolt in what I had just said. I had (in one thought) completely rejected the gift God had given me in my own camera, and was ready to toss it away. I closed my eyes, patted my camera bag, and thanked God for my daily wage. It's more than many people have. If we put this in the proper perspective, God gave her THAT camera, and God gave me MY camera. Yet, I was only focused on what SHE had.

Quite the nice little "graven image", isn't it? I could spend 15 minutes just dreaming about that camera in the photo above. And I have. Some people dream about houses, cars, women, money...it's all about the grass being greener.

You know, I am sadly aware that many men struggle with an addiction to pornography. The internet has made this an easy thing to access, and your cyber-footprints can be erased with a click of the mouse. Pornography is not my struggle however, and I would say "Thank the Lord." for that fact. In reality though, I am addicted to pornography. How? Well, I have a bevy of bookmarked websites devoted to camera gear, and most of it I will never be able to afford. The outfit the woman in the park had around her neck would cost at least $4000. While the young lady herself was pretty, (I remember that she was.) I had not the first desire to gaze upon her physical features. If I had, I would have been guilty of adultery in my heart. So why is gazing upon her camera any different? I may not have cheated on my wife, but I have told God "What you gave me is no longer pleasing. I want what SHE has."

I've done this in countless other areas too. I don't even need to talk about them all. However, it takes me back to a passage from Romans I have been clinging to for what seems like, oh months now.

^"I don’t understand what I do. I don’t do what I want to do. Instead, I do what I hate to do. I do what I don’t want to do. So I agree that the law is good. As it is, I am no longer the one who does these things. It is sin living in me that does them. I know there is nothing good in my desires. I am controlled by sin. I want to do what is good, but I can’t. I don’t do the good things I want to do. I keep on doing the evil things I don’t want to do.  I do what I don’t want to do. But I am not really the one who is doing it. It is sin living in me that does it. What a terrible failure I am! " ~ Romans 7: 15-20

If we go back to the parable of the landowner and workers, I am like one of the workers. Except, instead of complaining about the wage I have been given being the same as everyone else, I point to the vineyard across the road and say "That guy paid four times as much as you did! I saw it! You can take your money and stow it! I don't want it!"

Today, I want to reflect on what He HAS given me, not what He hasn't. To some, much has been given. To others, some has been given, and to many more, a smaller amount has been given. If we learn to see what we have been given as much, we will no longer care about the amount, only that we were trusted with it.

A thankful heart, is a HAPPY heart.

One Small Word

Of late, my fingers have become less coordinated when it comes to typing, and so my desire to blog has waned considerably. As much as I love writing papers for college, lately I have to write about 300 words and then take a break for a few minutes before coming back to it. Maybe it's arthritis, maybe it's just my getting older. Regardless it has made me want to choose my typed words more carefully.

Today I want to talk about an important word. It is a word that much of our world has forgotten. It is a word that Christ talked about, a word He showed in his life, and a word He showed in his death. It was written in the wounds on His hands and feet, and woven into a crown on His head. He bore this word on His shoulders from the moment He was born.

Empathy.

Empathy is defined as being able to understand and share the feelings of those around you. I want to take it a step further, however. I once heard someone say that they were an "empath", and that is why they don't like being in crowds of people. They explained that when they see someone hurting, they hurt with them. They are physically and emotionally unable to shut the suffering person out, and they must try to comfort them. They see the hurt, and they share the hurt. They have compassion on those who suffer, and until the suffering is attended to, they suffer also.

Jesus was like this. In Matthew 14:14, Jesus, after having heard about John the Baptist's execution, went out on a boat to have time alone. When he came back ashore, a crowd had followed Him, and his reaction was instant:

"Jesus saw the huge crowd as he stepped from the boat, and he had compassion on them and healed their sick." ~ Matthew 14:14

I understand this, deeply. It is both a blessing and a curse to have uncontrollable empathy. Many people don't want to be sympathized with, while others misinterpret empathy as you "getting too close" to them, or your trying to take advantage of them in a time of weakness. Still others will try to take advantage of people who have empathy, and use them until they have nothing left to give. Empathy is not something that is not felt by the one who gives it. Empathy hurts when you give it. Jesus experienced this in Luke 8:46 when a woman in a crowd who needed healing knew that Jesus could give it, and so she touched the hem of his robe as he walked by:

"Jesus said, "Someone deliberately touched me, for I felt healing power go out from me." ~ Luke 8:46 

This is important to understand, because if Jesus did not experience a feeling of loss when someone else was healed by Him, then His love was useless. To empathize with someone, you lower yourself to their level of suffering, and you do not rise up again until the healing has begun. It means counting another person's hurt and suffering as greater than your own comfort, and immediately bearing the burden of that person's hurt.

As adults, we may find this difficult to do. We don't like to suffer. We don't like to talk to people who might need something from us. When we see someone hurting, we often look for someone else to fix it, or we pretend we didn't notice, and walk away.

The other day I was at an Upward soccer game at our church, and I was taking photos of the players like I do every year. It had been a hard week for me at work, and my heart was suffering. I needed empathy, but like most adults, I am afraid to seek it. I asked God to show me empathy, and like He always seems to do, he answered in a way I did not expect. On the sidelines of one of the games, a little girl had gotten hurt and was now feeling the physical and emotional loss of that. Her face was cast down, and she had tears welling up in her eyes. I have to admit, I immediately knew how she felt. Then I saw another thing happen. Another little girl came over and sat by her, and instead of trying to fix the problem with laughter and humor, her face began to mirror the pain of her friend. She spoke to her with gentleness and love, and until the little girl smiled again, she did not relent, or smile herself.

This was bearing her friend's hurt. She wasn't trying to shuck it off by making light of it, or pretending it didn't matter. She was embracing her friend's pain. She was clothed in empathy. Later on, (much later) I asked the little girl (her name is Ivy) "When your friend hurts, you feel her hurt, don't you? You don't just want to make her feel better, you literally feel the sad in her, and you can't turn it off until you make it better, can you?" Ivy shook her head. She understood. She got it. She embodied empathy in it's purest form.

What would our world be like if we began emulating Ivy? If the people we saw who were hurting didn't just become a thing to be pitied (or ignored), but someone to be borne up on our own shoulders? What if your friend who is suffering is the cross you must bear today?

Today is all about that very empathy.

Happy Easter. <3 

Between the Covers

This actually began as a Facebook post, where I was challenged (not to dump ice water on myself) but to name 10 books that have stayed with me over the years. Books that have affected my life or the way I look at things in such a way that having read them has changed me forever. These were hard to narrow down, but if I could only name 10, these are my choices...along with a brief reason by each one.

Before I begin, of course, I want to mention the bible. The most ignorant people I know are those who claim to follow it, but have never read it...and those who claim it to be nonsense, but have never read it.

On to this list!

1. The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis - This allegory of a man's visit to Heaven, along with other people who have not realized they were living in Hell left an indelible mark on me. Especially the part where Lewis shows that all the gifts we have been given by God are unique, and we will retain them even when all things become perfect.

2. The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis - Back to Lewis one more time. When I was a child, I read Narnia for the wonderment of it's heroic fantasy. When I read them again with fresh eyes as an adult, the scene where Puddleglum unashamedly declares his loyalty to Aslan (even in the face of having Aslan perhaps not rescue him) painted the idea of unconditional love and sacrifice on my heart in a way I have never had matched in any other book.

3. Watership Down by Richard Adams - Long before I raised rabbits, I found this book at the bottom of a pile my parents had purchased at a yard sale. In less than five pages, I was hooked. The tale of a warren of vagabond rabbits that escape human annihilation, sojourns forward in a perilous pilgrimage to find new life. It reveals not only the human side of animals, but the animal side of humans.

4. Les Miserables by Victor Hugo - After seeing the broadway version with my French class in high school (and holding onto my seat, practically shaking as Fantine sang "I Dreamed a Dream") I went to Oxford Book Store in Atlanta and bought the Signet Classic version shown in the photo above. This translation remains my favorite, and Hugo's magnum opus does Paris the justice only a lover and childhood denizen of it's streets could describe.

5. Speak by Laurie Halse Anderson - Recommended to my by a friend, I devoured this book in three hours. It brought back memories of how many people mistreated this girl I went to high school with, and how we might have unintentionally tormented a soul whose internal battles were beyond what we could comprehend. Be kind, for everyone you know is fighting a hard battle.

6. Homecoming by Cynthia Voigt - My "daughter from Savannah" shared this with me as being her favorite book. I won't even try to explain how Dicey wiggled her way into my heart, but there is one page in the book...one scene...where Dicey is sailing across the water on a boat after having traveled hundreds of miles on foot. Her description made me miss living on the coast so terribly, that I put the book down for a moment...and smelled the ocean---again.

7. The Five People You Meet In Heaven by Mitch Albom - A lot of people see this as "feel-good pablum". I don't give a rats butt. If you can make it through the last scenes and not be affected, go find yourself a puppy to kick. We all need redemption, and even those with no faith can relate to this story.

8. Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson - As a boy who grew up with a girl as his best friend, this book resonated with me the moment I picked it up. (In the Newnan Library when I was 9 years old.) It was storming the day I read it, and unlike many today (who have seen that atrocity of a Disney adaptation) I had no idea what was going to happen. When "it" did, I couldn't breathe for a few moments. Trauma at the hands of a paperback.

9. Le Petit Prince (The Little Prince) by Antoine Exupery - I read this book in French before I read it in English. While some things just don't translate perfectly, the story itself is timeless, and still as relevant an allegory of the world today as it was in 1943 when it was written. Get it. Read it. It will take you all of an hour, but the people in it will make you say "Wait! I know that guy!"

10. The Book Thief by Markus Zusak - I first read this book while flying over the Atlantic ocean on my way to Germany, where a connecting flight would carry me to my first overseas mission trip to Romania. In high school, history bored me so much that I had to repeat one of the classes. Now, it is my favorite subject. I won't attempt to describe this book. My words seem to taint it. All I will say is that I am haunted by it. Stepping off the plane in Munich after reading it was so surreal...and so beautiful. (The movie that has been made of it is ALMOST as good. But please, read the book first. Please.)

Now that I go back and look at my choices, I want to add more. But I won't. Ten is enough.

Now, go read.

Shoo.

Lessons in Stupidity, Part II

My high school librarian Dale Lyles read my first installment of "Stupidity" and asked if this would be an ongoing series. I never intended it to be, but I felt the need to tell this story as well. I would guess that less than 10 people know about this one, and up until recently, I would have been content to let it die that way. Lately though, I have found that there is merit in sharing your mistakes with others. Even the ones that make you nauseated to recall. Especially when those mistakes changed your life for the better.

It was 1996, and I was 22. (By the way, I was still married to Bryanna and Curt's mother at this time, and would not meet Emily for another three years.) Bryanna was already walking, and Curt was able to sit in the child seat in a shopping cart. My wife and I were proud parents, defying the prophetic words of our mothers and fathers who said "You'll be broke before you know it."

They were wrong, you see. We weren't broke. We had three dollars.

We were also on government assistance in three different areas, and my job was cutting my hours. This was not a proud time for us. That morning my wife had said "We're out of diapers." I knew I was not going to get paid for a couple more days, and I didn't want to ask anyone for help. I had too much pride. I'd already hocked everything I had, and the only thing left was our wedding rings. I didn't want to risk losing our rings to a pawn shop, so I made a decision. A decision that would change my life.

We'd steal the diapers from the store.

After making that decision, I remembered that my last venture with theft didn't go so well. I'd tried to steal a pair of sunglasses from a beach gift shop when I was 17. I got busted. My dad had to bail me out of jail. Now here I was again, staring down the barrel of the same gun. I rationalized that this was different. I was providing for my children. After all, it was only a pack of diapers.

We got to Kmart on Macon Road, kids in tow, our diaper bag in the shopping cart, and mentally prepared to do this. We nonchalantly wandered around the store, pretending to shop, then made our way back to the baby section. I took the cart, and my wife took Bryanna and Curt with her. I reached up for a jumbo pack of diapers, quickly ripped it open and emptied the diapers into our diaper bag. I wadded up the wrapper and pocketed it. I made my way back over to my wife, and told her the deed was done.

After some discussion, we decided that as long as we were risking this, why not get some baby formula too? We were almost out. My wife "kept lookout", and I did my best to avoid the areas with security cameras as I loaded the diaper bag full. By the time we were ready to exit the store, we were now the temporary owners of stolen diapers, several cans of powdered Enfamil AR, and a pack of baby wipes. My wife took the kids to the car by way of the main exit, and I made my way to the exit by the garden center...thinking it would be less "monitored".

As I was exiting the garden center, I noticed something odd.  I felt an almost "sixth sense", if you will, saying "This isn't right. Something is strange. Too quiet." I was right. The minute I passed the exit doors, a very large man stepped in front of me and said "Sir, could you step back in the store please?"

I was escorted to the back of the store by two men who told me not to try anything, like running away. When we arrived, I watched as they inventoried my items. One was a store employee with a pricing gun. After the total was figured up, the store security guy laughed. I will remember his words forever.

"Well, my friend. Today is your unlucky day. You see, anything less than $100 is a misdemeanor. Your total here is $101.01. That buys you a nice little felony. You're going to jail for at least two years."

I felt like I was going to throw up.

My wife appeared at the door, and she was in hysterics. My children were with her, crying too. I knew what I had to do. There was no way I was going to implicate her in any of this. This was my decision. I told the security guy my wife had nothing to do with this. He said "Wouldn't matter if she did. You were the one who took the items out of the store. It's all on you."

I was taken to jail, and for the second time in my life, I had to call my father for help. My bail had been set at $5000. My dad let me babble on for a minute, then said words I won't repeat here. He posted my bail, and I walked out of the jail with a court date two weeks away.

I was involved in a church at the time, and ultimately that is what saved my rum-pa-pum-pum. I went to my pastor and asked if he would be willing to testify for me in court. Not to defend my actions, but to perhaps show them I was worth more than a file number on a court docket. My pastor wrote a letter to the judge, saying that were I to go to jail, the children I was working with at the church would miss me deeply.

It worked. I was not convicted of a felony. I got a "get out of jail free" card instead.

In lieu of two years in jail, I was given community service. For one year, twice a week I worked at the Salvation Army. Instead of picking up litter along the roadside, I helped people who were so poor they didn't even have food. Instead of my own "problems" I saw real need every day. It changed the way I looked at my circumstances. On my last day of community service, I hugged the lady who supervised me...thanked her for the new perspective I'd been given.

When I met with my parole officer the final time, I shook his hand. He said with a slight smirk, "Get the hell out of here and don't come back."

Yes, sir.

Yesterday I spoke with that same pastor who wrote the letter for me. I thanked him again, and told him I owed him more than the freedom I had been granted 17 years ago. I have custody of both my children, and I would never have had that opportunity if I'd gone to jail. He said "Oh, you don't owe me anything!"

But I do. More than he can ever comprehend. If one day you happen to meet Rev. Marvin Minton, shake his hand. He's a very good man.

More-so than that, don't ever think your circumstances are so dire that you have to resort to stealing. There is always someone willing to help. Swallowing your pride is much better than sitting in a jail cell.

For those who had no idea about this happening to me, well...there ya go. I decided when I started this blog to be totally transparent about the things I wrote about. Maybe it will have a positive effect on someone down the road. As for me, I haven't so much as considered stealing a pack of gum since. Being a thief means you can't be trusted, and it changes the relationship you have with everyone around you.

I am currently in the early stages of preparing to teach a class of homeschoolers about the Jewish Holocaust. I had no idea when I took on this task how it would effect me. This is real loss. What I had that morning when we ran out of diapers? That was a daisy-path.

I truly, TRULY thank God for the blessings in my life.