My Wife Would Kill Me

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Now that I have your attention.  What would happen if I bought a book on my wife?  I think one should be written, she’s awesome.  I could find out what she likes and what she hates.  I could find out her thoughts on many different subjects.  I find out about her past, and her dreams for a future.  All of this, and I had never met her.

Now imagine I was given an opportunity to meet this woman that I had been learning about, but never met.  When I nervously approach this person that I had been learning about over the last 6 months (I am a slow reader) I can’t think of what to say.  So I tell her all of my problems and ask her to solve them for me.

It is great that I know a lot about her, and it is great that I have studied her.  But when it comes down to it, the relationship that I have with her will be informed by the knowledge I have of her, but it won’t define it.  A relationship with her would include interaction, sacrifice, commitment, passion.  I find myself doing this with God sometimes.

Weight, Yes. Age, No

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I have never understood why people get bent out of shape about age, although age does tend to bend the shape.  I cannot control it, time marches on.  Someone told me yesterday that my birthday means I am getting older.  I reject that idea, I just got older as I was typing these last few words, there it happened again, and again.  

I believe in the rule of rounding, I turned 38 on my half birthday.  People asked me if I was getting worried about getting older and I told them that I was more worried about getting fatter because I could control that.  I don’t, but I could.  I have also been told that I am getting more grey to which I respond “you haven’t seen the other guys on my mom’s side of the family, I will take grey as long as I have it”.  

So here I am 38, more grey hair, more to love, and more to ache.  I find it interesting that people have taken me out to eat over my birthday as if to say “lets make you feel better about something you can’t control by tempting you with something that you can”.  Don’t get me wrong, I would not give back the great BBQ I have had over the last couple of day, I’m just sayin’.  There it happened again, and again, there’s no stopping it.  

What Does a Guy Have to do to Get Some Credit?

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So I built a picnic table this winter for the church, which I was pretty proud of.  There are three reasons that I will never be a great woodworker:

1.  My ability (or inability) to notice the details

2.  My absolute impatience to complete a task well

3.  Cheap tools

However in this case I was pretty proud of this table, I felt like I had accounted for the details and I felt as though my tools were adequate for the job.  I did lose some patience near the end which is why the staining job was somewhat shaky.

Here’s the thing, no one believes me!!!  I asked four people what they thought of the new picnic table in the play area of our church and three of them said the same thing.  “It’s beautiful, who made it”.  Initially I thought it was because I didn’t mention that I had built it, but then I realized that it was because they did not believe that I could have.  COME ON!

I don’t think I struggle to greatly with pride but in this case I was upset because when I told them I made it, two of them responded “no really, who made it”.  I think that my reaction had more to do with my pride than my purpose.  My purpose was to build a good table for the play area, my pride wanted it to be noticed as more than a useful piece of furniture.

My Old Told My Young Self, My Young Self Told My Old Self

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I have noticed lately that I am getting older, but only in the last couple days.  Oh yeah, I have gotten significantly bigger too.  I have been thinking about the dialogue between old and young self lately, here is how I picture it being played out:

OS: Man I used to be good looking

YS:  Yeah, what did you do to me

OS: Same as you did, without the metabolism

YS: Metabawhatsee

OS: Hey why don’t you spend more time figuring out what you are going to be doing in 20 years, and less time looking at and thinking about woman.

YS:  Wait a minute, did you just say there are not going to be women in 20 years, I need a girl friend

OS:  (Silent Disbelief)

YS:  What are you doing now

OS:  Working around Seattle

YS:  Sweet, have you been to any Soundgarden or Pearl Jam concerts?

OS:  Well I’m a Pastor

YS:  Oh, (long pause) I guess not then

I am not sure that either one of these guys was too impressed with each other.

They’re All Smarter than Me

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So tonight I was working on my late posts for my graduate work and my daughter decided to make it interesting.  Nathan decided to make trouble at bedtime so I had to go deal with that.  When I came back my daughter  “helped” me type my work because I left my laptop open on the couch.  Asher decided to just stand and watch as this was happening instead of helping his dad out.

I got pretty mad and asked my son why he didn’t move Naomi out of the way, or my computer for that matter.  Then I sat down to go to work again, and my internet connection was shut down so I lost my work.  Biting off a swear word, I pounded the arm of the chair.  My son upon hearing what happened said “well, I guess you will just have to start over”.  This did not make me too happy.  As I am talking to my wife across the room about what happened Asher chimed in again “well maybe you should work somewhere where she can’t get to it”.  Sometimes I don’t like to hear truth.

Skiing, Duct Tape, and a Fake Leg 2

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When I lost my leg in 1992 I spent a good deal of time trying to figure out a way to accept what had happened to me.  One of the ways that I did this was to try to forget about it and move on.  The problem was that I had an ever present reminder of it every morning when I woke up to put my leg on.  Usually in high school and college I also dealt with a great deal of physical pain. My friends and I would spend some of our dumber moments, sometimes less than sober, talking about how we would like to torment the person that did this to me by camping out on her front lawn as a reminder of the accident that took my leg.

When I graduated high school and started to understand the forgiveness that I had been given, I started to changed.  I found myself in my late 20’s wondering what happened to the woman who hit me with that huge car. I am not sure that she ever received the letter that I sent her, but at some point in my life I had moved from anger and bitterness to forgiveness, to reconciliation.  She had an accident that may have caused her more emotional pain and memories than I was dealing with.  I can’t imagine what it would have been like to deal with the regret of hitting someone .

Skiing, Duct Tape, and a Fake Leg

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A friend reminded me the other day about one of my more humorous experiences with having a prosthetic leg.  In 1994 I went skiing with two of my friends, Matt and Chris.  To be honest I am still not sure how we got ski gear, and three people into a 1977 Datsun B210.  Especially since one of those people is 6’8″ and it was a 10 hour drive.  I had not skied much since I lost my leg, and truth be told I had not went skiing much before I lost my leg.

On the first run of the day my friends, knowing the situation and being good friends, Matt and Chris decided to stick with me on the Park Avenue, the green run.  I struggled to turn one direction but not the other, and when the slope got steeper I hit the deck.  The interesting thing is that my ski didn’t come loose from my binding, my prosthetic twisted in the socket and my ski was sticking up over my head from behind me.

Imagine if you were a skier that day that did not know I had a fake leg.  You would have seen a man with his leg twisted 180 degrees around at the knee sitting on the ground while his friends laughed at him.  Here’s to good friends, they eventually helped me up and I made it to the bottom of the run.  I then proceeded to the rental shop and borrowed a role of duct tape in order that I may be able to ski the rest of the day without losing my leg.  I lost a lot of leg hair that day.

Many people would have considered losing their leg a tragedy in their life, I did for several years.  Of course if I could have my leg back I would, but its not so I had a choice.  I could either move on with my life and let the story of my leg be a testimony to others for good.  Or I could move backward in my life, continuing to relive what happened and let it be a testimony to others of anger, disappointment, and regret.  I know several people in my life that have gone through very rough trials that have come out on both sides of that story.