Everything Changes...

I'm sitting on my couch with my five-year-old stepson.  He's watching A Dolphin's Tale on DVD, wearing his Avengers pajamas and holding his lavender bunny.  I'm watching my wife.  She's lying on the loveseat deeply engrossed in whatever is on her cellphone's screen... probably Pinterest or something.  (Insert imaginary photo here.  You know, the photo that I just secretly took but am terrified to post without her permission.) Yep, she just texted me a photo she found on Pinterest.

It's moments like this that burn themselves into my mind with the intensity of white-hot steel, leaving indelible memories like the marks my old wood-burner left on pieces of pine during my youth.  These are memories cemented to my soul by the strongest adhesive ever--emotion.

My beautiful wife and I are expecting a baby.  She was actually due five days ago.  

This has been a rough pregnancy, with multiple trips to the emergency room and not a small amount of stress.    For the past week my wife hasn't been able to move the left side of her face due to the sudden onset of Bell's Palsy, adding substantially to Krystal's discomfort and stress.

Tomorrow everything changes.  Tomorrow the doctor will induce Krystal.  We're not sure how we feel about the induction, but considering some of the difficulties Krystal has been facing, the doctor thinks it's a good idea.

So, tomorrow we will finally meet our little Palin Nichole face to face.  Tomorrow will be her birthday, and my heart swells with the possibilities.  We've talked to her, sung to her, rubbed her back (or whatever was protruding from Krystal's abdomen) and prayed for her.  We're thrilled that she'll be in our arms by this time tomorrow.

I think about her future.  I think of how she'll look and the smell of her hair.  I think about how she'll drool as she grows and begins to teethe.  I think of her school years and boys and high school dances.  I think about the gift I will give her on her wedding day and the heart-rending pain in my chest as I walk her down the aisle to give her to her husband.

I think about our little family unit, and how it will never quite be the same.  I think about that beautiful lady on the loveseat and this great little boy beside me.  I think about my sons in Nevada, Adam and Isaac and the bridges that are being rebuilt there.

Everything changes.  Tomorrow marks not only Palin's first breath of fresh air, her first glimpse of light, or the first time we get to touch her skin.  It marks a paradigm shift in our family structure.  Everything we've come to see as "the norm" changes tomorrow.  

And I welcome it.  

I welcome her.

Palin Nichole Land

The Cult of Juvenility in America

We recently endured a very long and arduous political campaign season.  Pundits pontificated, politicians polled and pandered, the media manipulated and voters vacillated.  The volume of news, non-news and outright falsehoods that saturated the airwaves and the internet was deafening.  People were passionate about their beliefs and more than willing to share them.  I know.  I was one of those people.

Being an observer of human nature, I was fascinated by the acidity with which many addressed one another. Insults flew, names were called, characters were assaulted, and intelligence was questioned.  I know.  I was one of those people as well.

I found myself easily angered by the obstinance of anyone whose views varied from mine.  Don't get me wrong, my views have not changed or softened in the slightest when it comes to the liberal vs. conservative debate.  My views are based on history, logic, evidence.  However, I also recognize that others have views about which they are just as passionate and to which they are just as committed.

Having listened to a lot of pundits and pontificators over the past few years, people on both sides of the political bird, I have heard one disturbing thing that was common among them.  Name-calling and immaturity.  

We on the right were outraged by Joe Biden's derisive laughter during the Vice Presidential Debate.  We were angered by Barack Obama's sarcastic vitriol during the Presidential Debates.  We become inflamed every time Harry Reid or Nancy Pelosi open their mouths.  Rightfully so.  However, do we have the moral high ground here?

"Obozo"

"Obummer"

"Idiot in Chief"

"BoBo the Clown"

"His O'liness"

"Osama Obama"

"Ovomit"

These are all things that I've heard conservatives say to refer to President Obama.  Many of these things were spoken by conservative talk show hosts, others posted on blogs and in articles.

I'm guilty, too.  I've been so frustrated and angry about the President's policies that I've condescended to name calling.  However, I was wrong to do so.  

What right do we have to be upset when someone whose opinions differ from ours insults someone we admire when we're spewing the same kind of ignorant bile in our conversations?

This is not how we win the next election.  This is not how we sway the opinions of others and convince them of the value of conservative ideals.  Shame on us for playing to the lowest common denominator and resorting to juvenile name-calling like fifth graders on a playground!  We have logic on our side.  We have history on our side.  How can we expect to win the all-important debates on economics, national security and public policy when we're acting this way?  This is what they do!  We don't have to talk this way to win.

Here's what we need to do.  We need to demonstrate logically and calmly how conservative philosophies, when put into action, benefit the listener.  We demonstrate, passionately but respectfully, how the logic of the left falls apart.  We draw the timeline, and show how it diverges from a workable or acceptable solution.

In short, we win by being different than our opponents, not mimicking them.  

We've become a nation of juveniles.  We've "dumbed down" our maturity level to the point that our forefathers would be mortified.  I propose that we live up to the intellectual and mature legacy they've left for us.  Let us elevate our speech, even if they will not.  Then, the contrast between us will be regained.

Daily Whim 11-04-2012

This is an unusual time in my life.  I'm sitting in my living room with The Pursuit of Happyness playing on the DVD player.  To my left, my mother is sitting in the brown faux-leather chair.  To my right, my wife sits on the love-seat eating a leftover piece of cake from yesterday's baby shower.  Against the wall is a table that holds a pile of gifts brought to the shower by friends and family.  Above our fireplace is a banner that says "Baby Shower" in bright colors and cute shapes.

Krystal's good friend, Mallory, is on her way over to hang out with Krystal for a bit. Tiegen is sitting on the couch next to me, eating a cookie and dropping crumbs on my shoulder.

In the midst of it all, I feel the need to write.

It's an interesting time.  Krystal's doctor has said that Krystal is dilating and her body is prepared to go into labor.  She could, literally, go into labor at any time.

A month ago, the Davis Cellular store I managed was acquired by a larger company called Z Wireless.  It came as a bit of a shock at first, but as time has gone by, I've come to realize that there are many more opportunities for me with Z Wireless.  It's growing rapidly, and opportunities for advancement come far more often.  As much as I loved working for Davis Cellular, I believe God has His hand in this.

So, here I sit:  pregnant wife on one side expecting to go into labor any moment, adjusting to a new work culture, wondering who is going to cover my store when I have to head to the hospital, preparing to vote in one of the most crucial elections in recent history, and desperately... desperately needing a day of solitude.

It isn't that I don't want to be around my family.  Not in the slightest.  It's that I simply need everything to pause for just one day while my brain tries to catch up.  There's a lot of jumbled thoughts bouncing around inside my skull -- thoughts about finances, about patriotism, about family dynamics -- thoughts about health, about the age of our car, about how five-year-old Tiegen is going to handle having a baby invading his life -- about ministry, about dreams, about what the next step is in the journey God has called me into -- about relatives, about lawn mowing, about coffee and how it's helped me survive this last freakishly fast month.  My mind is spinning.

A few months ago, I went to my oldest son's high school graduation.  He's eighteen and ready to launch his Air Force career.  My second son is fourteen and an amazing guy whose options in life are limitless.  I long so deeply to be close to them.  Tiegen, Krystal's five-year-old son, is an outstanding young man whose bright, cheerful personality and impressive intelligence make him a joy to be around.

But it's weird.  I have an eighteen-year-old son and am about to have a newborn daughter.  Wrap your mind around that for a moment.

Yesterday our house was loaded with people who came for the baby shower.  It was energetic and... well... crowded.  Everyone was very nice and gracious.  Everyone was happy and supportive, and there were no problems.  But it was a social environment for which I was not prepared.

This is one of those posts in which I become exceptionally transparent.  You see, I've been in front of people all my life.  I've preached, taught, sung, and acted.  I have no trepidation, whatsoever, about being in front of hundreds or even thousands of people.  I've sung on television.  The largest live audience in front of whom I've sung was around fourteen thousand.  No problem.

But, put me in a room with a bunch of people with whom I have to personally interact, and I break out in a cold sweat.  It's not fear.  It's dread.  There's a difference.  I don't like it.  I do almost anything I can to avoid it.

It really has very little to do with the people in the group.  It's something inside me.

I'm a man of solitude.  I have to have it.  I always have.

When I lived in Alaska and I felt this way, I had a wonderful outlet.  I would take a day off and drive to Eklutna Lake (pictured below).  I would rent a kayak and spend the day paddling around the serene waters and feeling the breeze.  On one side I'd see a moose meandering among the trees and on the other a fox, or sometimes a bear.  An eagle would screech overhead and fish would periodically splash in the water.  I'd paddle for a few hours and pull in to rest along the shore (in the event that there weren't any random wild creatures nearby).

When I was there, I was at peace.  I could go all day and never see another person.  There were no power boats.  There were no electronic devices.  There was no need for interaction.  I could think, sing, pray, hope, and dream.

Since I moved to Missouri at the end of 2005, I have not experienced that.  Not once.  I've tried.  When I was working as the minister of music at Morrisville Assembly, I took a week and went to Table Rock Lake, outside of Branson.  I borrowed a canoe because they don't know what a real kayak is around here.  (A real kayak, not one of those stubby little plastic ones that bob around the rivers and creeks and creates so much drag in the water that you have to work exceptionally hard just to get it to move.  I'm talking about the long, sleek, smooth kayaks that glide nearly effortlessly and gracefully, leaving a long, narrow V-shaped ripple on the quiet water's surface.)  I found a campsite right at the edge of the water.  I got in late in the evening and set up the tent.  Then I cooked some food over the fire and bedded down for the night.

In the morning, I awoke to what sounded like the pit area at a NASCAR race.  When I walked to the water's edge, I saw why.  I was camped across a small lagoon from a major boat dock.  People were working on their boats, revving their engines, using power tools, yelling over the noise of the engines, and otherwise reveling in the freedom to desecrate the silence and create oil slicks.

I shrugged my shoulders and dragged the canoe into the water.  I boarded and began to paddle.  I was on the water about ten minutes and I'd only been sworn at by two power boat drivers as they blew past me.  Both had felt the necessity of circling around, creating a huge swell that nearly capsized me, and stopping to mock my motorless transportation.  Then the clouds rolled in and a Southwest Missouri thunderstorm began.

I paddled back to the shore, turned the canoe upside down and crawled into the tent where I spent the next four days stubbornly refusing to go home despite the weather and the incessant dripping of the water into the inside of the tent.

I've been camping a couple of times since then, but never in solitude.

In solitude is self-analysis.  In solitude is growth.  In solitude is learning.  In solitude is peace.  In solitude is healing.

It's not about being away from the people I love.  It's about being alone with God.  In solitude I can speak out loud to Him.  In solitude I can be transparent.  In solitude I can let my guard down.  In solitude I can be free.