Fair Warrior

On Wednesday October 21st, 2009 I couldn't imagine one person smiling in Praise all day long.  On Thursday October 22, 2009 I didn't have to.


His skin, fair and frail... sensitive even.  I was with friends at the International House of Prayer in Kansas City and he was there.  His arms were thin; his watch crawled a third of the way up his arm.


His skin was so fair as to be red from his forearm down the sides to his palm and through the pinky finger.  He wore bright white fingernails. I'd seen as much on an infant.  I almost felt that he had only a short time ago been born.


He smiled as if he were woven into the basket of the arms of God, the womb of the groom.  I guess I don't know his life story, I don't know if he's experienced anything.  I imagine a man with arms stretched out that far has.


He was certainly not muscular; medium build I suppose...a small medium.  He wasn't fat, not lanky...not anything except fair.  His orange colored short sleeve shirt ran past his shoulder above his arms, arms marked not by muscle, but by sensitive skin.  A weight lifter's shirt holds tight to the arm, fixed and sure.


I'd take him easy.  Seriously, I'd break his arm if we arm wrestled.  You see, I have strong arms, chiseled even.  I can flex my pecs with the best of them.  Lose a few more pounds and I've got a wash-board stomach.


Yet his arm lifted toward God.  His hands gently swayed back and forth as if God held them and danced--as if God enjoyed the worship with his son.  In fact I can say for sure God did.  


His hands rose high on the pivot point called a shoulder for the better part of four hours--held in praise, held high like Moses himself holding Israel's enemies back.  I don't know what enemy languished by this young man's prayers and praise.


On Wednesday I had a lifter's view of strength.  On Thursday I knew much more strength's definition from God's dictionary.  On Thursday I realized I understood little of might and muscled praise, excpt by the example of a fair skinned warrior in a loose orange shirt.


My shoulders hurt not far after five minutes.


He could take me to be sure.  He broke me after five to seven minutes, beat me by four hours. I'd guess there's no way he'd harm me much though beyond his gentle and trustworthy example ... a slight but kind rebuke from a slight-bodied boy who's wash-board was found closer to the heart.  He'd never hurt me.  We're brothers, the bride of Christ.  By his fruit, by his faith I knew him and his strength.  I saw the ancient faith of Abraham in his mighty heart.  I saw one who knew in whom he believed, like Timothy.  I eavesdropped on one who would lead hosts of Christians, like Paul, simply by raising his hands for four or more blessed hours.


All that and he didn't look like much.  Last in the gym, but by God, first where it really mattered.


I'll find him in heaven one day.  Like with Paul and Peter, Elijah and others, I'll probably have a conversation with him, and I'll take notes.


Notes taken by a muscled follower from an interview with a fair warrior.

Lifeboats and Motorcycles

The Triumph Adventurer rolled down interstate 29 south, opposite the direction I needed.  She was shackled into chocks; her muscles failed.  Monique and I had never taken a long interstate run.  We were three hours in and one hour short.  She didn't give up necessarily.  She growled, but had no bite beyond 45 mph.  That was difficult for me.  As those who ride know, the road and wind might as well be vitamin C.

All that gear and no place to go.  The rider stumped and the riderless shackled.

Life gets to me that way.  I've got the tools, the gear.  I ask for one good day, then something breaks.

Many of you have heard the story of the man and the flood.  The man prayed for God to save him from the flood.  Soon a rescuer in a boat floated by and yelled for him to jump into the boat.  The home owner declined believing God would save him.  Another boat came and the same scenario.  The dire moments had arrived and the house would soon be covered by waters.  A rescuer in a helicopter flew in and attempted a rescue but the homeowner again declined, believing God would save him, even when waters rushed by.  The man drowned, and he went to Heaven.  He asked God why he wasn't saved from the flood (The theology behind the story might be debatable, but continue listening!). God said, "I sent two boats and a helicopter..."

I asked for one good day.  We've been stressed.  I called my friend who lives in Sioux City, but he was in Minneapolis vacationing.  He told me, though, to hold tight.  Five minutes later he called me back and said a truck and trailer were on their way.  My friend owns a motorcycle.  Brad petitioned another friend to hitch up his own trailer to his friends truck and go to help me out.  Chris would take my bike to Brad's house, until I returned to Sioux City on Monday, at which point we'd figure out what to do.  I waited forty minutes or so when Chris, the truck and trailer, motored in.

In the mean time my Dad suggested I call my sister and brother-in-law.  My two sisters, their families, myself and Monique and mom and dad were to spend the long holiday weekend together at Lifelight Music Festival, the largest free Christian music festival in the country I believe.  So I called them.  Turns out they were five miles past our location.  They turned around, unquestioningly agreeing to haul us and our gear to Sioux Falls with them.

We arrived at the festival site on Friday night... disappointed, frustrated, stressed and worried.

One good day, God.

We vented a few moments before some of us decided to attend one of the concerts--the group Kutless was playing and I wanted to see them.  They put on a somewhat raucous concert full of haunted lyrics and emotional music.  And yet their show was fun, energetic and uplifting.  The air was cool and the breath fresh.

The flood story relates, you see.  I got rescued.  One good day.  Two actually.  There are no Triumph dealers in Sioux City.  My dealer and service station is in Des Moines, three hours away.  Brad's a police officer and had to work Monday night at Eleven.  He and I met at his house at 4 p.m.  He and I had resolved by phone that he would take me and the bike to Des Moines that night.  Brad felt it to be the best idea out of several difficult scenarios.

And so he did.  He drove three or four hours from Minneapolis, hitched my bike to the truck and drove me three hours to Des Moines and then had to drive back to Sioux City where his job awaited him.

One good day.  The best of friends, God's providence, and miracles galore.

The hairs on my head are numbered says writer Luke, quoting Jesus himself in Luke 12.  And so this morning I learned for the millionth time how to pray.

I'm feeling tired. I didn't sleep last night, but went to my Wednesday morning men's bible study anyway.  At 2 a.m. I was sure I wasn't going to go.  But my friend Neal said that when he's up and can't sleep, he reads his bible, and finds himself at peace.  I did that this morning.  I read Psalm 73, Matthew 4, Luke 12...Neal was right, my angst lessened, and I hung out with God.

So I went this morning--a hundred men get together, have breakfast, chat and study God's word.  We call it "PIGS"--that's "Pretty Important Guy Stuff."  Pigs was pretty good.  Pastor Richard began a series on Prayer.  He said some very profound and simple things.  Like when Jesus taught us to pray saying ABBA.  Richard stopped there.  Abba.

Christians know the prayer..."hallowed be thy name..."  Christians recite the rest of the prayer solemnly and reverently, many times in respectfully toned unison.  Abba, Father.

Christians over time manipulate the prayer into this reverent,  "Thou, Thee, Yahweh" prayer.  We've filled the prayer with pharisaical rancor, denying what God always wanted--to dote on his people.

Thou's, thee's and Yahweh's" actually serves to fill us with doubt.  "God is too big, God is too fearful..."  We want to sound respectful or reverent, but our attempts at "respect" only serve to create distance between God and I and deny the words of Christ who at the pinnacle moment, revealed a God who prefers to be called, "Dad".  Instead, our prayerful words prove to those around us that God is to be feared in such a way that he is almost unapproachable.

So Jesus taught us something different.  And that difference really meant something to me this morning.  In my tired, fearful, disappointed place, were Jesus words, "Abba Father."  And what Jesus began teaching with two words--"Dear Dad..."

One of the lead singers said this weekend to a group of 100,000 people, "We are not the sum total of our choices, no.  You and I are the sum total of God's choices."  My mistakes do not turn away a doting father.  My failures only prove to teach how saved I really am.  This man said, "We are not a people here struggling to be free, we are a people free to struggle and to then have an honest conversation with God."

An honest conversation with God.  There are several contained in the bible, and I've had several in the last few days.  One good day God!  Please!  But, I'm a son leaning on my dad.  Jesus taught me about that.

And so I prayed that way this morning.

"Dear Dad, I know you love me and the hairs on my head are known.  I know, because you are my dad, that you will walk with me and even carry me when I need.  I know you will guide me past temptation.  I know that, because you crown me more gloriously than the sparrow, you will always fill me with bread.  And even if I am hungry, my heart will rejoice because your kingdom comes, and is here.  Your power is, and yet your just ways provided me with mercy and with grace.  I don't understand everything dad.  I guess I am just a kid.  But one day I shall fully know.  What I know dad, is that you are glorious, and I love you."

"One good day God." ... ... "Dad?"

Unconditional Love Never Needs a Reason

I've spent the half a year really speaking not only of relationships, but what it really means to commit yourselves to them. I've written about myself, my birth defect and my accomplishments. I've written about my wife, her radiance, her beauty, her generosity, her kindness and her love for me and her friends. I've written of the many amazing RAGBRAI riders and how their lives intertwine with others all week long. I've written how none are left alone on the road. I've written how some battle the forces of time by their accomplishments and how others are humbled by them. I've written how the best of men return from battle only to be vilified at home. I've written of their strength while their country turned their backs on them. I've written about how one man, forty years removed from battle, saluted my dad, a Viet Nam Vet and said, "Welcome home brother." I've written about a group of Vets that my Dad-in-law has connected with, and how, even now, their bond brings healing. Even now no man gets left behind.


I've written how it is we ought to live together. I've written that it's okay to disagree, to quarrel, to struggle. But then I told you that together you must find the way to repair each other.


I've told you what it is to love.


I tried hard to help you to view others in light of their story. I've told you that for your story to be heard, you must first listen to the story of the other. I've tried to help you magnify your joy for the triumph of others, and by your joy they will also share your triumph. I've told you to listen to instruction, to gain wisdom from rebuke and to enjoy rewards together.


the best relationships, the best friends are those that bear the joys and trials of the other. The best relationships and the best friends take us with them no matter where that is. The best relationships and the best friends don't need "permission" to take the other with them on whatever journey is being engaged. And committed relationships and the best of friends accept the baggage of the other. They're willing to lug that baggage with them, and in many cases, lug the baggage for them. The best relationships and the best friends know that baggage sometimes takes a long time to shed, walls are sometimes difficult to knock down and illnesses sometimes take forever to heal; sometimes they never heal. The best relationships and the best friends love you till the ending day and even the days after your last. The best relationships and the best of friends want to be there to watch you shed the baggage, tear the walls down, and fight the most feared battles.


The wiles and wills of mankind are often to walk alone, separate from another. You nor I need work long to prove this.


It is often the wiles of mankind to take every disconnect and to threaten, even in jest, to leave another.


It is often the wiles of mankind to spend more energy giving up, giving in, than living hopeful, faithful lives.


Even my last two stories were intended to help you discover another.


Unconditional love never looks for a reason not to love. Unconditional love never desires a reason to leave.


I won't necessarily move away from this theme, but I'm going to look for different themes now as well. Maybe you'll look back at past posts to help you find the best and most courageous of your own path.


The video below reveals a dance about one of our worst fears...breast cancer. By this dance you can find how the strength of unconditional love bridges the gap between fear and courage. It reveals how, even at the weakest points, even when the hurting wish to give up, to run away, the other will be there for them and with them. It will show you the unending strength of those with hope and the need for the truest friends when it seems there is none.


The dance will inspire you to wake up and live now. And it will inspire you to be the most amazing friend, the strongest heart, and the best of companions. The journey never ends--what matters is that you travel together.


Watch and live.

Of Chipmunks and Men

"Haaaaaaa!" 


Camper Neal Smith jumped from behind some brush yelling and screaming, hoping to give Rick a scare.  Thought it'd be funny.  Rick was studying one thing or another in the forest for the last forty-five minutes and it was driving Neal nuts.  

"Son of a!"  Rick shuffled nearly four feet backwards.  He moved so fast, it was like time travel.


Neal didn't enjoy idle time.  They'd entered an amazing state park complete with abundant exploration possibilities and an awesome beach.  Neal could think of no acceptable reason they should be sitting around. Joe was mesmerized by the fire, and Rick was, well, he had no idea. 

"Rat bastard." said Rick.

"What?"

"The chipmunk!," Rick replied. He was pissed. "I've sat here for almost an hour with this stupid bread in my hand, and my chipmunk was three feet from eating the bread from my hand."

"Your chipmunk?" asked Neal. I don't think it's the bread that's stupid; who spends an hour on their knees waiting for chipmunks to eat bread out of their hand?"

"Me," said Rick, "Judas."

And yes, my chipmunk, Rick continued. "I don't have to explain."


"He's not tame, he's not yours," joked Neal.


"Well I wasn't holding out for any other chipmunks!" replied Rick, "I only had that one...and a squirrel but he didn't last."


"How do you know it was a he." Neal never did know when to quit.  "They can't all be 'he' or there wouldn't be so many of those buggers running around."


"That's not the point.  I call them all he, that's just how it is," said Rick.  "Short of catching one and tipping it over, they're all 'he'.  I probably couldn't tell the difference anyhow."

"I am not even going there," said Neal.  "Doesn't matter.  I want to do something like hit the beach."  

"When I camp I do three things," said Rick, "smoke a cigar, drink a beer, and try to get a chipmunk to eat from my hand," said Rick.

"Who does that?" asked Neal.

"I think we covered that already," said Rick. "Anyway, waiting here...the forest calms me.  It's peaceful for me. I listen to the sounds in the forest...sort of like get in touch with nature or whatever."

"Who does that?"

"Who turned you into a friggin' broken record player?"

"What?" Neal had his eyes closed. He rubbed his forehead. "Let's do something."

"I mean, there's something amazing about getting a wild animal to trust me. It's like I think it was when Adam and Eve were created," explained Rick.  "I suppose I'm like one of the trees to them, I don't know."

"You're a tree with Wonder Bread branches," said Neal.  "Awesome."  


Neal paused, "But you're a biker. There's not a Harley man in the world that tries to get chipmunks to eat from their hand," said Neal, "You've got a skull on your gas cap and now you're taming chipmunks."

"It's a God thing man," said Rick, "And the bike came with the gas cap."

"Really?" said Neal, "You should find one with a little heart on it or something."

"Funny," said Rick. "Either way, I'm sitting there in complete silence, as still as possible, and the wind blows, birds sing, and chipmunks appear out of nowhere. Stuff happens man, I'm telling you."

"Dude, that's cool, but I think I'd probably fall asleep face down on the bread and the chipmunk would probably gnaw through my nose to get to the bread," said Neal. "Totally great movie plot."

"You wouldn't fall asleep," Rick replied. "Either way, when they take the bread from my hand, it tickles. Feels so cool. And the little thing is completely silent. You wouldn't believe it, but they don't make any sound. They get the bread and they're gone like magic."

"I like nature."

Neal didn't quite know what to say beyond, "I like nature." It's not like he was ignorant. He just wasn't the type to feed chipmunks.

"It's about the book of Matthew," said Rick.

"Matthew?"

"If God is willing to clothe the sparrow, how much more blessing will be given to me?" said Rick. "Accept I think the analogy works for chipmunks too."

"That's deep," said Neal. "You feeling insecure?"

"Sometimes," Rick replied. "It's just good to know, that's all."

"A chipmunk feeding Harley dude," said Neal, "That's just funny. Now let's do something!"

"What do we do?"

"Joe's by the fire, let's go and figure that out," replied Neal, "We'll go swimming or play catch, I don't care."

Neal and Rick joined Joe by the fire. Joe stared into the flames. 

Neal sipped his luke warm beer. Rick nibbled on Cheese Nips.

"Swim?" asked Neal.

"Sure," said the two others simultaneously.

Joe, Neal and Rick, partially slouched in their chairs, sipped beer and nibbled crackers.  The fire burned and they watched, rapt by flames. The burning logs hissed and spit.  The three men, without a word, listened to the fire crackle.

A healthy chipmunk skirted from behind them, ran underneath their chairs to the other side of the fire pit. He paused to test some morsel on the ground, but then scampered silently into another part of the forest.

Life in the present

My turn to write a blog!  Rick has been after me for quite some time to contribute.  So... after 95 entries (give or take) here is my first contribution (I dare not expect he'll let it be my last!)

I could write about resolutions... it's that time of year.

I could write about what happened over the holidays -- visits with friends and family, presents and the real meaning of Christmas.

I could write about what trips we have taken during the past year (or more)

I could write about work, motorcycles and other bikes, being tired of snow and ready for spring, or how much fun I have on Facebook.

Instead, I shall write about a brief lifetime of lessons learned.

Lessons Learned:

• A car accident can change so much...  a career, functionality, pain levels, contact with doctors, new knowledge, sleep
  
• You can't plan your life, you must just live it or you will always wish to be somewhere or some time else
  
• God is not safe, but I am safe in His hand... He will do His will and it may be painful, wonderful or sad, but no matter what, the evil one can never snatch me away from my Father.
  
• Friends are dear and should be told such things...  what years may have been wasted or lost as I have learned how to be a friend, to be sweet and loving, to strive to show my true feelings to my dear friends.
  
• I have an amazing husband... a man of strength, of deep character, loyalty, love and adoration for his God, his wife and his family & friends.
  
• Life is about the little things... the stories of friends, sharing a moment or a memory, a hug, a back rub, the sympathy from your dog, an unexpected word, card or gift, a backyard firepit, the amazing simplicity of nature in all of its complexity

And yet, with all the lessons learned from the past and my hopes for the future, I am watching a movie with my dearest love tonight.  He gently strokes my hair and I need nothing more.  Life is to be lived in the present.

The Wind

The words in the song say something like "Party like it's 1969". I can't even remember who wrote it. There's an old Blues tune by the same name. New Year's Eve I partied like it was 1939. I did. The average age of the party was somewhere well over 60.

Christmas celebrations define a time "when", right? At least Christians celebrate an event which doesn't move. It is the birth of Christ. The events within that story happened within that year. The birth of Christ didn't happen one year and then again ten years later. Even if you celebrate a winter soltice, or a fat guy in a fat suit riding in a fat sleigh with energetic reindeer, including one with a shiny nose, they all have something in common. They don't change. Soltice is, we know that. Santa never ages or grows any fatter (but who can really tell at 2 a.m. when he slides down your chimney right?). New Year's is different. In fact it's the only celebration that celebrates the passage of time, not the time "when". Even your own birthdays mark the day you were born, a day frozen in time. New Year's feels like wind. We're prompted to set resolutions, talk about the unknown, relish in all that was last year with friends, family and hoards of New Year's letters received and written. We don't just get cake and a favorite meal, we celebrate with feasts of great magnitude! There are a great many songs about the New Year and only one about my birthday.

And so it was the New Year's Eve. We partied like it was 1939. We'd invited some of our younger friends, but none could come for one reason or another. So I partied with Don, Herm, Jerry, Glen and others, most who've seen a much greater life span than I. Oh, I played games and messed with the tots that night of course. I had a busy and playful night. But I loved my time with the old guys.

They remembered a day back here or there. Days when Newton Iowa was this way or that way. They remembered days when simple illnesses were major events. I heard one story about life before World War II and I found out that people's attitudes or ways of being weren't much different than they are now. So these old guys--I suppose some of them only have a grunt of life left in their bodies. But we talked, smiled, laughed and groaned about the winds that blew on other days well beyond my memory and I'm glad for it. I studied history in school, but I experienced some of it on New Year's Eve. Don begins many of his sentences with "Well ya know" and Glen often starts with "Why..." and not in question form either..."Why, back when I was 13 we worked..." and so on. They pray in "thee's" and "thou's" and a person like myself learns a little about reverence that way...yearns for that kind of reverence even.

I learned about days before fast food, a time when everyone had a garden and no one minded weeding and everyone loved to sneak a strawberry off the plant as they worked. The stories were blissfully familiar to them. I nodded and laughed as if I understood the wisdom offered by time. I told a few of my last year's motorcycle stories and Yellowstone stories and others, and they nodded and laughed too; maybe I gained some street cred, like twelve year old Jesus at the Synagogue.  But then they remembered riding their own bikes, about how mechanics weren't around every corner, about how they had to figure it out themselves. I'm thankful for mechanics...but I can see how I might benefit without them.

These guys are somewhat trapped by yesteryear and overwhelmed by today and yet tonight they'll all watch the six-o'clock news in digital high definition without wondering much about "where it all went."

But I'm thankful for winds, for parties with old and wise guys who are my old and wise friends, and I'm thankful for the day after, simply because I was with them. But I'm most thankful for the stories. Maybe one day a young lad will sit by my side listening to me regale about my own days--about the winds I remember.

So it was a great night and an unexpected night. The clock struck twelve, we prayed together, I kissed my lovely bride, and drank my champagne.  Then I lay in bed and I thought of the old guys. I would've enjoyed the company our usual crowd, the "yunguns" the old timers call us.  But as it was we might not have spent much time isolated into our own young circle because the golden morsels leaving the lips of the old guys would've mesmerized them too. I hope I remember the things I learned this New Year's night. I hope to party with them again because that is a great, fun, funny, knowledgeable group of guys. And I hope that every time I go outside, that I can hear the wind blow.

CHANGE ROCKS

I usually write something that I can't even wrap my brain around sometimes. Sometimes I reread the things I've written and believe I might've been sleep walking or on acid...at least on demerol. Today isn't one of those days...I feel every moment of every tap of the keyboard...why? Because I have something doctors call "soreness."

Friday night and Saturday Monique and I, Anne-Michelle, Andy Otto and Mom and Dad H. began the grueling process of change...in this case change = ripping apart a kitchen and dining room, then putting it back together in a completely new and different way.

Anne-Michelle (AM) and Monique did the bulk of the work Friday night while I spent my time filling in the gaps. But Saturday we got goin at 8:45 a.m. and didn't stop until 5:30 p.m.

Not stopping seems to be a religion to a man like Andy Otto who's upbringing gave him the mindset that says that the work doesn't stop so neither do you. He's got Cerebral Palsy. Anne Michelle is a great communicator and she's also tireless. She makes the day bright and happy and a delight. Her perspective on life is made of virtues such as patience, diplomacy, leadership and work ethic, although that doesn't exhaust her list. She's hard of hearing to the extreme but gets her most of every day. Mom and Dad's bodies are healthy enough and they're also made of unbreakable binds of work ethic. They're style leans toward efficiency and, although Dad can't seem to make it through a day without a bump on his head or blood somewhere on His body and neither of them knows where either of them have put any of their tools or whether they had them at all...yet they always seem to appear before it's time to go home. They've a wealth of military and work wisdom and we benefited from that. They had fun yesterday, and I enjoyed their company. However, they're 62 years old and put in a solid 9 hours...I'm impressed. One day they'll say they're too old for this, but that seems to be a long way off. Monique is...what can I say? She is the most generous person I have ever met. She has her moments like every one but her sense of duty rises above most I've ever known. She displayed grit, a good attitude a sense of wisdom and duty and a lot of patience yesterday. I'm not going explain her by the 12 hours she spent on the house in two days--three hours Friday night and 9 hours on Saturday. I'm not going to write a long essay about how patient she was or how delighted she was by the dusty hull we'd created. I am going to tell you that she sees and discerns so much and she asks a lot of questions that turn out to make sense. She had worries that a large pantry wouldn't make it down the steps in one piece and she was right. She was the first who had worries that the fridge would need to turn before we could move further...the rest of us caught on to the need, but she was first. There were quite a few moments like that yesterday and I'm very impressed with and proud of my lovely wife. She knows that 14 years ago she wouldn't have been so patient. God's made remarkable changes with her and we've benefited. Me? I'm pretty proud of myself...not in a haughty way I don't think--in a good way. I worked on Friday night too and I hammered and carried and pulled and organized all day on Saturday. I'm wicked sore today...my physical maladies predicted that I might be. But what I'm really proud of is that I made a list of jobs for everyone on Friday night! Everyone had a copy of the things they had to accomplish yesterday. The jobs also mostly fit everyone's skill set. Now, we strayed from the list a bit, and I had to make some minor reassessments throughout the day. If someone started to infringe on another's list item, I simply had to say "stick to the list." Simple. I knew that we needed to stick to the list if we would get all that we wanted done yesterday, and if someone strayed I coached them to consult the list and get back to work...it worked! Everyone knew what they were responsible for and none of us scrambled in confusion. Mom, for instance had drinks and food duty and she timed these things beautifully. AM and Monique had cabinet duty and Monique and I had to take out the dishwasher...yadayadayada. Totally sweet. And anyone who knows what I've been through in the past 4 years rejoice that I could even put in 9 hours of really hard work. It was a great day.

I could turn this into a big affair all about how 3 handicaps, two 60-somethings and one very strong woman broke through the glass ceiling of what was possible and expected. I could write a story about the disadvantaged who conquered the world blah blah blah. Instead, I've got a small story about an April Saturday snow, friends, a little hot coffee, some good spirits, smiling faces and the promise of pizza at the end...and everyone worked their little arses off. We went home tired, full and happy. Our dining room and kitchen are hulls--mere memories. But...memory fades and bursts forth into new ways and new days. That was a poetic way of saying the new kitchen and dining room will rock.