Love is all around You

Freedom to Fail Response

2011-03-31T18:49:00.000-07:00

This post is in response to Michael Goodwin's "Threats to Freedom" video on the loss of freedom to fail. Goodwin states in the beginning: "Without failure, we can't know what success is." While I agree that failure is a necessary precursor to success, Goodwin seems to believe that we need to increase the opportunity for and amount of failure in our society by intensifying the education standards and eliminating most of our entitlement programs. Apparently, he believes that by making failure more stark and apparent, success will somehow become more brilliant in contrast. It is a foolheardy assertion, and not backed by reality. Taking a cursory look at Sweden- arguably one of the most creative and inventive countries in the world, with one of the most advnced welfare states in the world- provides evidence that a correlation between entitlement programs and creative stagnation is flimsy at best. But that is beside the point. What is more relevant is the fact that Goodwin is focusing on symptoms of a disease rather than the disease itself, and its cause. A look at a few of America's cultural mores will serve well in helping to diagnose the illness. Starting with the business world, it is not hard to identify a culture of hyper-competition, individualism, and a Darwinian, survival-of-the-fittest, mentality. Economic power and wealth is becoming more and more concentrated in the hands of a few large corporations. Similarly, the political life of our country has been gravitating to the side of divisiveness and back-biting, with coalition building and compromise becoming endangered species on Capitol Hill . You see this mentality spilling over even to our media- 'newscasters' such as Glen Beck and Rush Limbaugh are less about news and truth-finding and more about championing their own cause and destroying the credibility of their opponents. This dog-eat-dog phenomena is also evidenced by the popularity of reality TV shows such as 'The Biggest Loser', 'American Idol', 'The Apprentice', and 'Survivor'. The concept is simple: winner takes all, and loser goes home, or gets sent to Exile Island. The result is a hyper-individualistic and hyper-competitive value system which permeates our every interaction. In almost everything we do, we are isolated from the whole and competing with others for a limited amount of resources. This, I believe, is the root of our resistance to failure, because in a culture like this, failure is almost a death sentence. We dread failure and will do anything we can- lie, manipulate, or blame-shift- in order to avoid it. For if we fail, we risk becoming marginalized, trampled upon, and exploited. The remedy is a culture of cooperation and community. It is within this spirit that the very nature of failure can be transformed from a stumbling block to a stepping stone. In a cooperative system, the very survival of the community is dependent on the well-being of every individual. When one fails, it behooves the rest of the community to help that person to rise again and become stronger from the experience. It is a radically different approach to failure. Ultimately, I believe that we will only see a resurgence in the freedom to fail when we are able to transform the nature of our very social fabric from competitive to cooperative in nature.

An inspiring quote from a book I'm reading...

2007-01-21T20:52:00.000-08:00

"Jesus came among us to show and teach the life for which we were made. He came very gently, opened access to the governance of God with him, and set afoot a conspiracy of freedom in truth among human beings. Having overcome death he remains among us. By relying on his word and presence we are enabled to reintegrate the little realm that makes up our life into the infinite rule of God. And that is the eternal kind of life. Caught up in his active rule, our deeds become an element in God's history. They are what God and we do together, making us part of his life and him part of ours." (from The Divine Conspiracy, by Dallas Willard)

2 MORE DAYS!!

2006-09-20T20:12:00.000-07:00

...if the due date is correct, that is
but i think it will be just one more day
she's ripe as a plum, says the doctor
and that sounds just peachy

i am ready and steady, gonna catch that baby girl before she hits the ground,
cut that cord,
and take her home

and if we're lucky, there she'll stay till about age 18

3 cm dilated and 80% effaced and the doctor could feel the head- even asked if i wanted to take a feel

i told her i wasn't quite prepared to go reaching up there on the spur of the moment like that, but thank you for asking.

so she stripped Megan's membranes and sent us home with a belly dancing video for pregnancy

which couldn't be any more boring,
but the moves Megan learned may have caused the mucus plug to fall

(don't ask me what that is- you can look it up if you want)

i'm learning how steady and patient our little baby is- no rush to come, but rather nonchalantly progressing towards the birth canal

loving her little home in the womb,
but sensing there is something else out there,
something that she can barely yet perceive or imagine,
and the possibilities are exciting,
and somewhat frightening

like easing into a cool stream on a hot day
it's shocking at first,
but ultimately delightful

we can't wait to see you, little one
and share this life with you

...just as soon as you are good and ready, and not a moment sooner

home on the range

2006-08-20T21:22:00.000-07:00

alas, vacation is over. Back to the "real world".. uh, i mean, back to something other than vacation.

it was a great little trip, full of fun and sun, family, friends, and lots of gifts for the yet unborn.

we went to Santa Cruz, Capitola, Half Moon Bay, Burlingame, San Francisco, Oakland, Tahoe, and Sacramento; and I shopped, ate out, swam at the lake, fished for crawdads, and helped rebuild a roof in Alta.

our car now is official soccer-mom status, complete with suction-cup window shades and a baby seat. the countdown has really begun. it's crunch time. it kind of feels like i'm cramming for a test or a deadline for a paper is coming up. suddenly, there are all these things that need to be ready, and in a hurry. why didn't anyone say we needed to do all this stuff?
pre-register at the hospital, choose a pediatrician, get insurance papers ready, tour the delivery room, take prenatal classes, and pack pillows, diapers, baby clothes, mommy clothes, daddy clothes, music, magazines, a "focal object", food, etc. etc.

i feel really uneducated about this whole process- the three stages of labor, timing contractions, when the water breaks, when to go to the hospital, what i'm supposed to do there. (am i the coach, the punching bag, the masseuse, the gopher, the photographer, or just a figurehead?)

but really, i think you can never fully know what you're supposed to do until it happens because there are so many scenarios, and it's all going to work out fine. by this time, i've heard about 100 different situations, from women laboring for days, to someone being fully dilated by the time they get to the hospital, it's all across the board

there are natural births, water births, home births, c-sections, epidurals, episiotomies, doulas, midwifes, birthing coaches, breach babies- it's just a huge blur to me.

and i'm sure our experience will be as unique and as typical as all the rest.

so, really, i'm brimming with anticipation and wonder when the day will be.

somewhere around sept. 23rd i will hold my little baby girl,

and my life will never be the same.

to all dentists or friends of dentists out there:

2006-08-15T18:10:00.000-07:00

SORRY.

sorry that i sounded so darn nasty on my last entry. i think i was just reliving some childhood trauma that i had stuffed way down low and hoped i would never experience again. i was living in this dream world, telling myself that if i took care of my teeth and didn't eat too much sugar, in some miraculous way i would never need any more work done on my teeth.

but my fabulously constructed facade shattered all around me in the dentist's office, and i wanted to throw a temper tantrum. "but doctor, my wife has never had a cavity, it's just not FAIR. take it back. tell me my teeth look beautiful and i don't need anything done. in fact, tell me i should go eat some pixy stics just to give you something to clean."

why are my teeth so corroded? and why do i have to endure that stuff that i hate soo much? my mouth is like my temple. i don't like people probing and injecting and having funny flavors and sensations and tooth chips in there. it grosses me out. i can't even enjoy food for like DAYS. one of my favorite pleasures, taste. and it taints my taste buds and frankly, i feel violated. you can cut me open, stitch me up- heck, even beat me up. just don't mess with my mouth--PLEASE.

But alas, this is one of life's necessities, and i need to grin and bear it or my teeth will become very problematic.

So, I apologize for anyone who may have been a bit offended by that last rant-- heck, i was offended after i read it. and i promise to start writing kinder, gentler pieces. you know, the ones that make you say, "oooohhh. That's so SWEET!"

the dentist's office

2006-07-31T22:37:00.000-07:00

It all came flooding back to me after ten years away from the dentist's office- like a nightmare. This is why i hate this place. a nurse strapping a bib on you like a baby and then jamming strange objects into your mouth until you gag, and then saying condescendingly, "you just have to breath deeply". then you sit there feebly, without any dignity left, while these hard disks are stuffed at strange angles into your mouth, and you follow the line of successive commands like a private first class: "Bite down!" "Chin up!" "Smile big.. BIGGER!" "Hold Still!" "Release!" Xray after Xray until she finally says, "Okay, I'll send those through and the dentist will be in to see you in a minute". (ya, right. a minute. why not give me a beeper and let me go out for a latte). Meanwhile you sit in that chair and look around the room at all those "inspirational" pictures of a tiger or an eagle with words like "courage" underneath them, followed by some silly definition of courage that's supposed to help you make it through the next hour of agony. Then, from the next room, the dentist's voice as she prepares to stick some strange instrument in a helpless woman's mouth, "I like to call dis one, 'meester bumber'. it's going to get a leetle bumpy." from the voice i'm picturing an east german olympic trainer, a middle-aged woman from the iron curtain with her hair in a tight bun. Moments later, some squeals of pain and then, "why did that hurt so much?"
"vell," Dr. Von Trap answers, "there are just many nerve cells around that area. now i'm going to put some chimicals on your tooth"

if i could help it, i would never have another human being put metal instruments, needles, suction thingees, objects they've given pet names to, or chemicals into my mouth, ever again. it is one of my least favorite things in the world. and you are sitting there so helplessly and unable to talk. you don't even have anywhere to look. there's just this annoying bright light, or the doctor's wide eyes, staring intently into your mouth. mostly, i like to look into the reflection of his glasses at what he's doing to my teeth. And the whole time he's so close to you, you can feel his breath on your face. and these guys usually have two left hands or something the way they have such little sensitivity when yanking on your tongue or scraping the nerves of your gums like chinese torturers. i can understand how male OBGYN's could be insensitive to the female anatomy, considering they don't have those same body parts. but unless they've totally anesthetized themselves with their own supply of novacaine, all dentists still have live nerve endings in their mouths. so you wonder why they use that drill like they're tearing up a New York city sidewalk with a jackhammer.

well, after an hour of staring at my own toe-nails, Dr. Von Trap finally enters, and turns out to be a MAN, with a very soft voice, and i'm too startled to ask the origin of his strange accent. (But i'm guessing romania- and if you're wondering, his name doesn't give it away- it's Wilson or something) after looking at my xrays, he starts prodding each tooth with a metal hook, noting all of my problem teeth to his nurse. "#5, #13, #2, #21..." the list seemed to go on and on. Plus, i have mild gingivitis, need two wisdom teeth pulled, and i've brushed away some of my gums. and, according to him, i chew on my cheecks and grind my teeth, both surprises to me. Maybe that's during the times when i turn green and rip my clothes off, avenging acts of brutality and injustice.

so the upshot is, i need to come in for at least four appointments to drill out my cavities, and another sometime down the road for my wisdom teeth to be pulled. i definitely didn't leave that office whistlin' "dixie". But at least i could've if i wanted to. after next visit, i won't even be able to whistle at all for a few hours. that's when the real fun starts.

"Say hello to meester thirsty..."

and i just wanted to get my teeth cleaned.

as numerous as the stars in the sky...

2006-07-29T16:09:00.000-07:00

i've had many people say that i should have my moles checked out. usually i ignore their suggestion, because i have so many moles and almost all of them are "dangerous" looking. i think i would come out of the dermatologist looking like swiss cheese, so i figure, what's the point? But now that i'm married, i can't ignore my wife's plea to take care of myself. when she reminds me that she and the baby need me around for a while, my machismo attitude of, "i'll be fine" sort of melts away. i need to start being more responsible.
so I agreed to have her doctor take a look at me.
Megan's doctor saw a mole on her belly that gave him concern, so he sent her to a specialist. meanwhile, i'm thinking, that scary mole on Megan's about the size of my smallest mole. if they thought that little crumb was scary, wait till they see my tollhouse morsels.
Some people remark that they'd like to play connect the dots on my chest and see what picture comes up. i've got big ones, small ones, red ones, brown ones-even multicolored ones. mis-shapen ones, lumpy ones, you name it. even so, it was still a little disturbing to see a professional react with horror upon viewing my shirtless figure. "oh, now that's BAD," are not the words you really care to hear in a doctor's office. "I don't kow what we're gonna do"
So i'll have to go back so they can take cutout samples of several of my "worst" ones (i get to choose) and see what the lab results are. then i have to start "mapping" my moles, taking pictures of them and charting their growth. Maybe i could even give some of them names, and create constellations from patterns i see, just like the night sky.

Next up, my first trip to the dentist in about ten years. Sure hope he doesn't shriek when i open my mouth.

one for the gipper

2006-07-16T18:58:00.000-07:00

why is that such a catchy phrase - "win one for the gipper"? i'm sure the "gipper" probably didn't win too many with a name like that, so his boys needed a lot of pep talks.

there's a lot in a name, actually.

i had friends with cool last names and nicknames growing up- Murph, Kuhar, Keely, Spence, etc. I think they come from our identities. when you have a strong identity, a character that is unique and well-liked, you get given catchy and likeable names.

like sports heroes- "the babe", "the rocket", "the mailman", "air jordan"

or if you're really respected, you get all three of your names used when spoken of:
Martin Luther King, Franklin Delanore Roosevelt, William Randolph Hearst

or they might just use one name, like Ghandi, or Madonna, or Gilligan

in any event, i'm thinking of all this because pretty soon i will get to co-labor in the naming of a human being. and that's pretty exciting. it's not like adam, where he got to name every creature, but it still is fun. and i think we've selected a really beautiful name, although it does not officially belong to her yet.

i don't know what nicknames will stem from it, whether it will rhyme well with silly words for her grade-school friends to tease her with...

but i do know that it's beautiful and graceful and fits her to a tee... and nothing at all like "Gipper"

happy day

2006-07-05T09:41:00.000-07:00

well, we did it. megan's hard work at keeping our budget firm and organized allowed us to save up for a new computer. God is good, and so is Megan. Here was my reaction when i heard the news:

I never thought we would have enough, and especially not this soon. I know i would have spent all our excess money on candy bars and amusement parks, so i'm thankful for her diligence.
it's been quite fun so far, enjoying the latest techno gadgetry. We're still getting it personalized and discovering its capabilities.

here's a shot of me filling my head with crazy knowledge from the web:

oh, and here's a little thug shot for intimidation in case you're thinking about stealing our little honey (you can't see it, but my arms are the size of bazookas):

now that i think about it...

2006-06-29T03:52:00.000-07:00

i've just noticed what a wierd world it is in which i live, up here in the redwoods.
it really becomes glaringly obvious when you're alone with your wife for a few weeks on this piece of property.
here are some examples:

it is possible in the course of one day for me to have a close encounter with a skunk or racoon, step on a snake, have a frog or lizard come into my home, and see bats, and all kinds of unidentifiable winged bugs circling around my porch light- but not to see any other human being than my wife.
i haven't sat in commute traffic, punched-in to work, called in sick, or received a pay check in a long time.
i never watch television, nor do i read the paper
if something goes wrong in my house, like the water shutting off, i have to fix it. search the property for the source of the problem, then search the garage for a piece of equipment that might remedy the situation. there is no water company to call, no fix-it man. and even if we had the money, i don't think there is an electrician or contractor in the area to help us remodel or modernize.
my refrigerator is right next to my toilet.
my house is resting on piles of rocks for its foundation.
when it rains hard in the winter, my water turns brown.
i haul my own trash to the dump.
i drive 30 minutes to the nearest grocery store, and 1-1/2 hours to the hospital where Megan will deliver. the nearest Target is almost 2 hours away.
i don't pay mortgage, have equity, financing options, stock options, collateral, or have dividends. i don't even know what most of those words mean.

i guess you could call this lifestyle "unusual". i'm not sure how it came to be, and sometimes i marvel that it's 2006, in California, and yet this is how i live.

what's really strange to me is that i can go from cooking scrambled eggs for breakfast over an electric burner in the woods to eating deviled eggs at the Olympic Club buffet in San Francisco in one day and think nothing of it. i don't feel alienated from folks who get their drinking water from hech-hechy resorvoir instead of a creek up the hill. i just flow with it like i've never been away. that surprises me and pleases me at the same time. i like being able to fit into almost any situation.

and most likely, in a short while, i will know what rush-hour and deadlines and collateral and home financing feels like, because, Lord willing, my wife and i are moving back to the city after the baby is born.

will i miss the trees, and the river, the fresh air, open spaces, and slow pace? sure, a bit. but i'm not one to look back in regret. like when people tried to tell me i would miss being single when i got married, because it would limit my independence and space. but i haven't missed a minute of being single. i know that new situations bring fresh changes and additions that more than replace what was left behind. being close to family, and the buzz and excitement (and, yes ammenities) of the city, to mention but a few, are precious things that i look forward to experiencing... street vendors for skunks, pickpockets for raccoons... i'd say that's a pretty fair trade, but i'm not keeping score. i'm just happy to have the opportunity and freedom to make such choices.

Will You Hire Me?

2006-06-22T17:17:00.000-07:00

Hi. I'm Marc. I like to clean, and sew, and I'm pretty good at cooking. I build things, too. Also, if you get to know me, you'll see that I'm very reliable and honest. I always put in a good day's work, and I hardly ever complain. I'm a good listener, and I am very willing to be taught. Strangely enough, I have no problem admitting when I don't know something or when I've made a boo-boo. I am devoted to doing my absolute best at whatever I am doing, but what I'd really like to be doing is working with people. Like Sudanese refugees who need love and help and a job and a home and to feel like they matter. Or anybody who has been really beat up by life and believe that they don't matter and need someone to spend time with them and show them their worth.

My qualifications are:

I have spent many years believing that I was a despicable failure. In fact, the worst failure in the history of mankind. I was completely broken and without hope.
Then Jesus showed me how He sees me and the depth of His love. And I realized I had value and a purpose.
After that, His love just started to overflow.
Now I can't help but see people as Jesus does: Beautifully designed, highly valued, with fragile hearts designed for incredible love. (usually those hearts have been pretty wounded by this life)

Usually, I find it easiest to reach out to people who suffer in the same way I did. People who have a lot of potential, and the best intentions, but without a compass have veered way off course- and the devil has played with their mind and spirit, turned them in every direction until they don't know what's up or down. And they are so low and discouraged, and they feel like the lowest person on the planet. Like no one cares or understands, and that there is no hope in this world. Those are the ones my heart goes out to, and I see their wounds, and I want to cry and hug them and heal them and tell them that they are loved, there is hope, and there is a Savior who can make all the insanity go away, who can show them the wonderful plans He has for their lives.

So that's my resume. If you know any jobs where I could work with these types of people while supporting my wife and child, could you let me know?

Well, that's sort of a joke, for those who don't see that yet. I mean, I am looking for a job, and I am passionate about the downtrodden, and I believe God will allow me to reach out to them someday, I just don't know if now is the time. Maybe I need some financial stability first, and then I can have more freedom and autonomy to develop the type of missionary organization that would be able to support refugees, or the mentally ill, or both. Who knows. But I am praying for direction in this time of serious transition... I just feel like there is a lot of groundwork to be laid and building up of my own family before we are ready to be truly "sent" on our calling. But it's hard to see all the need out there, all the injustice in the world, and to be here in the Redwoods, chasing skunks and installing doorknobs. But there is peace in knowing God has me firmly planted in His perfect will...

Patience and faith are such precious virtues, of which I could never have too much. More please, Jesus, more please...

A Day in Mr. Hall's World:

2006-06-16T21:10:00.000-07:00

-1:15 or so in the A.M.: can't sleep so I wander around the Land. Find a bag of mini chocolate bars in the restaurant and eat three of them. Note to self: already broke your mock "diet" which you purposely made "impossible" to break.

-10 A.M.: packing up a vehicle for a trip I'm not taking, remembering the last trip on said vehicle, and thinking to myself, "so glad I'm not going" (sorry to all those who are going, but the truth must be told- road trips are tough)

-12-ish: spent way too much time trying to put a doorknob on Chin and Rae's front door. Then, upon completion, was dismayed to learn that it doesn't properly close. Sometimes I think that house just toys with me. It sucks me in and spits me out in a puddle of frustration and hours of wasted time.

-2 P.M. or thereabouts: just pulled off the most impressive gymnastic feat by propelling myself leg first onto the rafters of the garage. And the best part, Curtis was there to witness it.

-shortly thereafter: while helping Curtis pack his truck, my lower back has a small implosion and I am floored for the next few hours. Probably had something to do with my incredible gymnastic move.

-past 5: leaving for Curt & Lena's going away party. Everyone is stressed and frazzled. Too much to do, not enough time. Maybe the party will be good. Get our minds off the trip.

-8-ish: kosher dogs, BBQ sauce with moths, dry donuts, dirt encrusted kids, tears, and hugs for C & E, and carrot cake. The party was a blast. Love 'em, miss 'em already, my dear neighbors in cabin D, may the Lord guide your footsteps.

Honestly, Curtis and Elena deserve much more than those words to describe what they've meant to Megan and me and how much we'll miss them. But I'm not too good at goodbyes, and I know it will hit me hard after they're gone. Wish they knew...wish I could express...

Ramble On

2006-06-16T00:37:00.000-07:00

Transitions abound tonight, C & E are moving this weekend, evrbody leaving for the Rainbow Gathering, me and wifey home alone for three weeks. And I'm just kinda floating along right now. I sure hope I'm still doing the right thing. Ever get that feeling, you know, like when you've been floating on grace for so long, and times have been really pleasant, but you're just looking over your shoulder waiting for the hammer to fall... like God's gonna just drop a big fat setback in your lap, a fresh dose of Daddy discipline that sends you running for cover and into a prayer closet for days? I'm just trying to convince myself that God loves me, regardless, and it's scary. Like saying, He loves me even if I'm not constantly doing something important or strenuous. Even when I just do what feels good and enjoy myself, restfully and comfortably- even then He still loves me and cares for me and is with me and won't punish me and yell: GET BACK TO WORK, SLACKER! I WANT TO SEE SOME SERIOUS PRAYER, PRAISE, BIBLE STUDY, AND DEVOTION. AND WHEN YOU'RE DONE WITH THAT, GO TOIL AROUND THE LAND FOR HOURS UNTIL YOU ARE REALLY WORN OUT. THEN PRAISE ME SOME MORE, SPEND QUIET, STILL TIME BEFORE ME, GET SOME EXERCISE, CARE FOR YOUR WIFE, AND SAY YOUR GOODNIGHT PRAYERS. WHY DO YOU THINK I'VE BEEN SO GOOD TO YOU?- IT'S BECAUSE OF HOW HARD YOU WORK FOR ME. YOU HAVE TO EARN THIS FAVOR FROM ME, YOU KNOW. SO GET OFF YOUR BUTT AND DO YOUR DUTY AS A CHRISTIAN.
For some reason it is so easy for me to subtly start thinking of God this way, even though if you asked me I'd tell you that He is nothing like that. He is love, and mercy, and grace, and joy, and peace (and wrath and Old Testament smack-downs, too- that little voice whispers to me). And so I'm working really hard at NOT working, at learning to rest in Him and accept His grace. This is not easy because it feels like laziness to a workaholic like me, it feels like I'm getting paid for a job I didn't do. And the people who are doing all the slave labor aren't receiving any wages. Shouldn't I have to work to get benefits? It's got to be really hard to be a disciplined Christian, right? Or is God's grace just like the best worker's comp program ever? I don't know, it all scares me. I know I really don't like feeling compelled to do the Christian stuff, because then it's not genuine and heartfelt, and you just get so burnt out on the routine. But if I let go of all that, am I really still a Christian? I have to keep reminding myself that I still love God, and am pleasing Him, even though I am not toiling at the Christian duty grindstone all day. It's okay to enjoy life and take it easy, isn't it? I mean, I'm not just sitting around eating ice cream and watching "I Love Lucy" reruns all day. I'm really working full days at the Land, but I guess I'm just enjoying it too much to call it work.

Peace, Be Still, Marc...Peace, Be Still. My love for you is independent of anything you do. There is nothing that can separate Me from you- nothing.

A Poem To My Daughter

2006-06-07T20:26:00.000-07:00

You're not yet out of the womb
You'll be naked and covered with goo for the next sixteen weeks
Yet you already have three times as many clothes as me.

I've never seen your face nor heard a sound out of your mouth
Haven't smelled your new baby scent
Yet I love you more than anything.

I feel like I already know your personality
When you pounce around inside Mommy's belly it seems like you're being playful
Like you're really having quite a blast in there.

It's hard to imagine what you do in there
Sleep a lot, I guess...
And drink a lot of your own urine, if all those books are right.

I think you're probably the sweetest little creature in the whole world,
or at least in my whole world.
You've really been so nice to Mommy,
and turned her into such a beautiful, glowing, happy momma

You've brought us together in a whole new dimension of love,
and given us a fresh breath of life to carry into tomorrow.

You are the unique blend of two very long family trees,
A link to our ancestors, and a bridge to the future.

You are loved and eagerly anticipated by people all over the globe,
by the Lord Himself...

...and by one googly-eyed, adoring Daddy who wants to bounce you on his knee
and tell you you're his little princess.

Goodnight, sweatheart.. dream of love and beauty, and candy-coated kisses.

the hostess with the mostess

2006-06-07T07:47:00.000-07:00

Grammie Fraser lives alone on a farm in Maine, mows her own lawn and cleans her own house. Usually she is in bed by 8:00 and up by 4:00. This week, her home has been invaded by two crazy Californians and a midwesterner. But she hasn't missed a stride.

You would not believe the energy this woman has. Our plane didn't arrive until 11:30 P.M., yet there she is at the airport, in the rain, waiting to shuttle us home, where she has homemade chicken soup waiting for us. She has also made two blueberry pies, oatmeal, ginger, and chocolate chip cookies, brownies, and sticky buns- all from scratch- and her fridge is always stocked.

On top of that, she drives us around all day, wherever we want to go, whenever, waits patiently in the car until we are ready to be picked up and taken to our next stop. And then she takes us out for lobster rolls and fried clams. So far we've been to L.L. Beans twice, The Gap, Old Port, two different malls, Babies'R'Us, Target, and Borders, just to name a few. This woman is amazing. And the week is only half over!

Grammy, you truly are the hostess with the mostess. I am so thankful for the way you've so cheerfully accomodated all of our whims. You take it all with a sense of humor and a gracefulness that is precious. It is so nice to be taken in and loved like a member of the family. God bless you.

To My Wife

2006-05-26T10:39:00.000-07:00

Thank you, Megan.

Thank you for believing in someone like me. For choosing to stick with me despite all of my past mistakes and present weaknesses. For allowing me to be totally and sometimes painfully myself with you at all times, and showing me that I'm still lovable. You love every part of me: my crankyness, zanyness, fear, and shyness, my immature and my judgmental sides. You show me that I am still worth loving, although I am such a fallen creature.

You have helped to set me free. Your love inspires me to be my best, rather than driving me to be something that I'm not. You provide the patience and grace I need to be able to boldly risk making mistakes, and know that I am still loved. You don't expect me to be perfect, you just ask for the real me. And I've never had to perform for you.

Thank you for looking past the surface and seeing my heart- the love I had for you and for Jesus. For trusting in the transformative power of the cross, and the faithfulness that was possible in a man who clings to the heart of God.

I am more and more astonished every day by the amount of grace that God is bestowing on you. You are more selfless, strong, devoted, and loving than I have ever seen you and it blows me away because you have more reason now than ever to be thinking about your own needs, with our little girl making more and more demands on your body. But your beauty and strength have blossomed through this challenge, and it humbles me to see. I come before the Lord every morning with a grateful heart because He has given you to me. There were times when the thought of someday being your husband was the only thing that could get me to remain faithful to the cross. It seemed so far away, a distant dream- waking up by your side every morning. And now it is a reality, and better than anything I could have imagined.

Thank you for the time you spent in planning my birthday. It was a perfect day, and my best birthday ever. Thank you for the words you shared with me, which I never thought any woman would say to me. I can't tell you how it makes me feel to know that I am your shelter and that I will always be the only man for you. And I don't doubt that for one second, because I know your heart.

I know I don't deserve you, but that is what makes the gift of you so precious. I am the beggar who the King took off the street, cleaned up, and gave the hand of his daughter to. But you never make me feel unworthy- you always honor and respect me as the head of the household, and that loving climate has allowed me to grow so much as a man of God since I've known you.

YOU were my favorite present yesterday, today and tomorrow, YOU were and always will be my "high", ever since I first fell for you like a starstruck schoolboy.

To my best friend, biggest supporter, mirror, and role-model: Thank you, for all of these things, and so much more. I love you, unconditionally, beyond words.

Diet Update

2006-05-25T09:04:00.000-07:00

Well, I already slipped on my diet. Last night I had some chocolate at midnight. At first, I was pretty hard on myself, but then I thought, you know, it's natural for new dieters to make the restrictions too difficult, and then you just set yourself up for failure and begin to hate dieting. So I came up with a new diet that will enable me to make small steps toward ultimate freedom. Kind of like easing slowly into a cold pool so as not to shock the system. From now on, absolutely NO refined sugars between the hours of 1 and 4 A.M. on most days (weekends, holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, and any days I'm not at home are excluded). The slight tweeks I've made are really key. First, the hours are less intrusive on my schedule, and I can still enjoy my weekends and vacations. After all, diets are not death sentences- am I right?! Secondly, cutting out only refined sugars means I can substitute honey or artificial sweeteners in the times when the sugar cravings and withdrawals are at their worst.

Now, I know what some of you are saying: come on, Marc, be real. You're just looking for trouble when you put so many limits on your lifestyle. To you naysayers, my reply is: Would Rome have been built in a day if Caeser had not dreamed the impossible? Huh? Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Ode to W.I.C.

2006-05-24T19:59:00.000-07:00

All right, evr'buddy, I'm starting a diet, too. No sugar between 11 P.M. and 6 A.M., and no more WIC-infused, grilled-cheese and scrambled egg drenched mouthfulls of pure protein and fats. Don't they realize what they're doing to husbands over there at the WIC office? I can't fix myself a fatty salad with nuts and fruits like a little squirrel while my wife is trying to consume her eight pounds of cheese before next months coupons come in. It just wouldn't be fair, OR economical. Milk for breakfast, lunch, and midnight snack. Well, I'm saying, NO. I'm writing WIC and asking them to cut back on the dairy and increase the greens. Aren't there other sources of protein and calcium out there?

But really, you have to love WIC, and the way California looks out for its moms and kids. It makes me feel happy to live in the good old U.S.-of A. --until I have a prophetic glimpse of myself scarfing grilled cheeses at four in the morning with the remote glued to my hand, a greesy wife-beater clinging to my gi-normous beer belly and four kids in diapers drooling all over my feet.

DOOOOOH!!!!!

Cloaks & Daggers

2006-05-23T10:37:00.000-07:00

Something occurred to me last night as I lay awake in bed: Christianity can be two things for us- a cloak or a dagger. Here's the difference:

If we use Christianity as a covering over our weaknesses and sinful natures, as a mask that conceals what is really in our hearts, then it is a cloak, a disguise. We just play the part, trying to ask ourselves in every situation, "What would Jesus do?" as if imitating Him externally will make us pure. Cloaked Christians tend to feel less compassion towards those who struggle, looking down on their weaknesses, and feeling proud of their own moral superiority. These are the ones in Jesus' parable who pray, "Thank you, God, that I am not like this tax collector."

A cloak is imposed from the outside and only covers over what is underneath, the heart of a person. We only reveal what seems "Christian-like" in us, and keep the rest tucked away in the depths of our heart. But God knows our hearts, and in smaller degrees so do other discerning individuals.

If our Christian experience acts as a dagger, however, then it pierces our hearts, changing our entire beings from the inside- out. It exposes every part of us, whether pretty or ugly, strong or weak, and it allows the love of Jesus to inhabit and eventually transform our very nature.

The scary part of dagger Christianity is that it requires transparency, admitting weaknesses and mistakes, and confessing our sins to one another. It demands that we take an honest look at ourselves and allow others to look into our hearts. This makes us vulnerable, but in the end it reveals what we truly are- fallen creatures who are fully dependent on His love and mercy. And we become so thankful that He made the sacrifice to love and die for us, even when we were still His enemies.

Let's not be mysterious cloak-wearers, hiding ourselves under a garment of false pretenses and Norman Rockwell-ian, "all is peachy with me" guises.

Let's become warriors, battling with unsheathed dagger the desires to hide our real selves in the closet of prideful shame. Jesus wants to use us in our weakness, even because of our weaknesses. Only then will we remain totally dependent on Him and compassionate and merciful toward others who struggle. And then we will truly be doing what Jesus called us to do- love one another as He loved us.

Birthday Reflections

2006-05-20T14:21:00.000-07:00

My 32nd Birthday is coming up in five days. Here's what I've learned about myself in the first 31 years that still puzzles me:

I have an unshakeable need to be as perfectly good as possible at all times, like God will cast me away if I'm not always in prime spritual condition. The funny thing is, this is just what prevents Him from doing what He wants to do in my life. But I feel that when I let go of my desire to achieve, I become this weak, corrupted creature who just thinks about himself, and I hate that person. But that's probably the person God loves the most because the weakling is the most thankful for His love. I just can't get myself to accept the fact that I don't need to do anything to deserve and receive His mercy and kindness. It's just part of His amazing nature: to give good gifts to those who don't deserve them and can never appreciate their worth.

How do I love myself when I see how far I have fallen, how far from perfection I am, and how long I have to go down that bumpy road?

...And God said, "You need to look at Me, not at yourself. Look into My eyes and see the love and delight I have for you. Do you still not see? You are My treasure. I sing songs of joy over you, I kiss away your tears, I tuck you in bed every night. I know every imperfection, every struggle, and every attempt you make to be like Me. And I love every last bit of you. That's what you need to do, My son- never forget the love I have for you. That is where all the world's problems come from. You have forgotten your identities, that you are my beloved children. And that is your calling: to remind a forgetful people of who they are and how much they are loved. Happy Birthday, My Son."

watch out, Curt-there's a new manblogger in the house

2006-05-20T01:01:00.000-07:00

Alright, I'm in. I feel like the last person in the world to have a blogpage. At least it seems like it when you're trying to get a username or whatever the lingo is. I'm so out of the computer loop it's ridiculous. It took me like fifteen tries to find a username that hasn't been taken yet, and I've entered so many logins and passwords I don't know if I'll ever be able to get back here. Much less find more time to blog. Right now it's 1:05 on a Friday night. Couldn't sleep, and I'm getting updated on everyone's blogs, and figured, hey what the heck, I can't resist the pull, count me in. It's quite exhilirating, actually, like some kind of drug (the new Christian crack?). I hope I'm not up till 3 every morning posting all my glory stories. Anyways, I don't even know who's gonna read this thing, but it's still fun. It's like, maybe somebody will read it and like me and then I feel like I'm known. Because I really live quite a secluded life up here in the woods. My wife knows me, God knows me, and I know myself. Besides that, we're all too busy to really get to know one another. Isn't that ironic? We're out in the middle of the woods, no rush-hour, no crowds, no TV, and our days are still too busy and hectic to have free time to chill and get to know each other. But that's what heaven will be for, I guess. Anyways, I love you all, my friends and family near and afar, and look forward to a long and sweet blogging relationship. I really do love you all, and it's a shame that my life is too busy to pick up the phone and say it to each of you every day... you know who you are. Okay, give yourself a hug and say, I am loved. Peace...