Ed's Story: Hope when Facing Death

Snipe. Snipe. Snipe.

• We arrived Sunday afternoon to Harrisville State Park which opens up onto beautiful Lake Huron. It had been rainy that day, so the white caps were coming in strong. It made for fun swimming.
• We weren't at the campground more than twenty minutes, and Owen's glasses were swept out to sea never to be seen again. We were so tired from traveling and so excited about the waves, we neglected to take the precaution of removing them before he went in the water.
• He was devastated.
• I, was not. I was already in full vacation mode. Nothing could remove my level of relaxation. They were gone. Let's not ruin the rest of the trip.
• He screamed at the water, "I need those to read!"
• My wife kept asking me if I was "really angry." As if I was hiding it well or something.
• Nope.
• Skunks. Skunks everywhere!
• Our first morning in camp was greeted with a tiny neighbor girl trying to get us to look at a jar. Her father asked, "Would you like your kids to come over and see our bat? We found him on our tent this morning. He's been acting kind of sickly, so we put him in a jar."
• Let me interject this tidbit: I'm paranoid and deathly afraid of the idea of rabies. Bats and Skunks are two of the most common animals to carry said disease.
• I shook my head in a negative manner, but I think the expression on my face conveyed much more. Shortly thereafter, the little girl returned. In a rather crestfallen voice she told us that the bat had been let go. I think the father realized handling bats, especially those "acting kind of sickly," was not a great idea for anyone.
• I actually felt a bit guilty for conveying so much with my face.
• My camping trip seemed to have a theme emerging - me facing my fears without ruining the vacation with fits of anxiety. I'm happy to say I conquered from beginning to end.
• I don't sleep well in strange places. It takes me a few days to settle in. So, I often don't sleep well when on vacation. The first night in camp wasn't too bad as far as noise was concerned.
• The second night, trains started going through. There are tracks in the front of the park, so we're talking less than a block or so from our site. I can't relay in words how loud their cautionary horns were. There were multiple trains that second night. Good times.
• You can successfully cook chicken noodle soup over a campfire. It was great!
• Those huge marshmallows that they sell now, you better have a good cooking fork. Once those things go molten, it's near impossible to keep them on a stick. They are perfect for smores though.
• Another tip: if they go molten and start to fall, DON'T TRY TO CATCH THEM WITH YOUR BARE HAND!
• When you get into small towns, like Harrisville, it's fun to visit their grocery stores. They're very different than the stores I'm used to. Their selection is small on most things. Harrisville has one grocery store, and I don't believe there's another grocer for at least thirty miles. Even in the neighboring towns, the stores are pretty basic.
• This IGA in Harrisville, they had a huge Michigan-based, micro-brewed beer selection. How very surprising. My wife and I love to sample micro-brewed beer. We drink about two bottles a week, and we share those two bottles. So, it's not about the buzz. It's about the flavor. We generally hate most big chain beers.
• They also had this rootbeer called Frostop everywhere I went up there. It's hard to find down this way, but I highly recommend it. They also make a Carmel Cream Soda that is like nothing I've ever drank before. 99¢ gets you a 40 oz.
• The first 40 I ever drank was a Cream Soda.
• The best part of my whole three-night camping experience: Taking Owen on a Snipe Hunt, just the two of us. Harrisville State Park has a great, semi-paved nature trail perfect for Snipe hunting in the dark. I told him that snipes were small, elf-like creatures with bright red noses. We walked about a block into the woods saying, "Snipe. Snipe. Snipe." After a while, I asked Owen if he'd remembered the cheese? Snipes won't come out if there's no cheese. We turned around, toward camp when the flashlight started to flicker. Did I mention the bats and skunks?
• Praying on a deserted beach with a full moon overhead, waves crashing just a few feet away - great experience!

Non-Camping Randomness:

• How can I put this nicely? Who loved the G.I.Joe movie? I was never a big fan, so this isn't a fanboy whine fest, but I watched the cartoon when I was a kid. I found the recent live-action movie comical on many levels, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't supposed to be. They're now making a sequel, and they've attracted some huge action-star names: Bruce Willis and The Rock. I guess it's a good sign. Maybe part 2 will be infinitely better.
• We were playing Apples to Apples with some friends the other day. Someone made the euphemism between coconuts and breasts. It wasn't me.
• The very next day we're driving on Miller Road, and for whatever reason, Gage points out Hooters. I think it was the owl that caught his attention. The boys wanted to know what kind of restaurant it was. I jokingly said they have coconuts. Owen replied, "They have milk in them!" Heidi and I laughed. The kids were puzzled.
• I never thought I'd do a post mentioning Hooters.
• I'm sure I'm guilty of not hearing the words coming from my mouth. Sitting at the play area in Genesee Valley Mall recently with the kids, a mom sits down near me. As her barefoot son runs up she says, "I sure wish you had socks to wear so you didn't have to walk around on this dirty flooring filled with the fungus of all these other barefooted kids here."
• Wow. So, my kids and the other children present were apparently quite dirty in her estimation, and she didn't feel ashamed at all to share that with the rest of us.
• She did leave pretty quickly after that, so maybe her words finally sunk in to her own ears.
• Before anyone points it out, I know, they're supposed to be wearing socks. I've also noticed that very few kids ever do in the Summer. Too many kids are wearing sandals.
• Socks and Summer do not go hand-in-hand.
• I like fish. I love pizza. I hate anchovies. Nasty.
• On a related, tongue-in-cheek note: I'm in mourning. My favorite pizza place in Davison, Rocco's Pizza, was sold last week. It's gone. Gone.
• I took the kids to a Vacation Bible School a few weeks back. I wore a t-shirt that says, "I don't go to church…" on the front, and "I am the church." on the back. It didn't wear it because I wanted to make a statement. It was really the only t-shirt I had clean that day. Every day there was this one lady that insisted I stay long enough to hear the opening worship songs. She said it was because she feared Gage would be more comfortable with me there, but I think she just missed the back of my shirt.
• Snipe. Snipe. Snipe.

Giant, Over Complicated Looking, Explody Robot Destructo Machines

• Dear Summer, I'm sorry. You and I are just not going to make it. I'll still bring the kids around once in a while. They deserve their time with you. I just can't stand the constant sweating, the way the sun effects my skin. We need some time apart. Let's just try to get through the next few months existing together as best as possible.
• I'm reading a book right now that acknowledges the hardships of parenting, and gives the advice of just being consistent and staying the course even if things appear to be in vain.
• It also acknowledges a lot of the specific hardships I've encountered: wife and husband disagreeing on things, kids appearing to ignore certain lessons… I could keep going.
• Gage is a never ending stream of words lately. His grammatical skills are surely lacking, but he gets the points across most of the time.
• When he can't see, he makes it painfully obvious. One night we were at our local school playground. The sun was setting and had blinded him a bit. He shouted, "I can't see my eyes! I can't see my eyes!" Likely there should have been a comma or pause in there, but…
• He has eagle eyes for fast food restaurants. Which might make you think we eat out a lot, but that's really not the case. He just has a great memory. As we pass just about any restaurant, he identifies what type of food they sell and adds, "I gotta get some."
• Bob Evans is known as "Pancakes." If you try to explain that it's called Bob Evans, he gets a bit angry.
• Owen is obsessed with the clock, telling time. A good thing to be constantly concerned about in some ways. A bit annoying in other ways.
• The main reason for his obsession is a show called Wild Kratts on PBS. The show starts at 5:00 p.m. Monday through Thursday. It is educational. He does absorb every second of it. His life seems to revolve around it lately.
• He's doing that fact finding thing kids his age do. "What would happen if you took a bath in fire? What if you tried to eat 100 cheese tacos? How come you only kiss me on the top of my head instead of on the mouth?"
• What I'm about to say will shock you: I liked the Land of the Lost movie. I had avoided it like the plague because so many people hated it, but I borrowed it from the library last week. I liked it. It was funny and fantastical. I was never a huge fan of the TV show. I caught it in syndication, but the TV show never endeared itself to me.
• I'm sure I just lost a bunch of credibility in the movie review department.
• The new Transformers movie is out. I really wish they would have just made up a new franchise. I know. I know. I'm an annoying fan boy that just wants things to be the way they were when I was eight years old. The thing is, I might enjoy these movies if they just changed the names of the characters. That would remove my expectations.
• Maybe they could release a dubbed over version that replaces all the characters' names. They could call the movies, Giant, Over Complicated Looking, Explody Robot Destructo Machines. I'd pay to see that.
• They finally made a Simon Pegg movie I didn't like, How to Lose Friends and Alienate People. It wasn't totally terrible, but it was too long or poorly edited. I'm not sure. I just didn't get the same enjoyment out of the flick.
• Can someone clone Desmond Tutu please?
• I'm officially a year older this week. I don't really care for birthdays anymore. My hair has been grey for years now. No one cards me anymore. It's been a while since someone called me, "Young Man."
• We have a tent that claims it will sleep nine people. We put four air mattresses inside which left room for two people to sleep at our feet. If nine people slept together in that tent, it would be an intimate, lack of personal space, uncomfortable evening.
• My favorite headlines lately: "Police Say Drunk Man Tried to Operate on Dog" and "Monkey Steals Camera, Takes Self Portraits." Some would say they both contain the best parts of the story in the headlines, but I want to know what type of operation we were talking here. Was it brain surgery? Did the dog have a bowel obstruction?
• I don't like to judge other people's parenting skills, but when you go out to watch fireworks in public, you see things that you can't help but judge. If a kid throws a lit sparkler in the air toward a stranger holding a baby, you just don't hand him firecrackers ten minutes later for him to light by himself. It's like saying, "Here. You almost burned a stranger's baby, now go blow off your hands."
• A few years back the local TV news started running stories about what types of fireworks were legal in Michigan and which weren't. Basically, if it leaves the ground or explodes, it's illegal. Here's the catch. I was working at a newspaper at the time, and we were running ads for a local fireworks dealer that advertised bottle rockets and firecrackers (flying, exploding). We called the local police to see if the advertisement was promoting something illegal.
• Their response was this: Dealers can sell any type of fireworks. Consumers can buy any type of fireworks. Consumers can not legally set off any type of fireworks in Michigan just because they can legally purchase them here.
• Of course, no one really cares because you see huge displays flying and exploding in most Michigan suburbs all the time.
• I think I've stated this before: I'm not very nostalgic for actual eighties music. I do, however, enjoy modern music that is clearly heavily influenced by the eighties.

Random Randomness with a Strong Dash of the Politics

This one's a bit political folks. If such things anger you, you might want to steer clear.

• Owen has this habit of rambling about his imaginings. I remember similar traits in myself at this age. It usually goes something like this:
• "I was flying a plane through the lightning storm. Boom. It was like explosions. And I landed on an island that was covered in lava that I had to jump over, and there was these creatures… I went 'pow, pow, pow, pow' with my fists to stop them. I was running…"
• Somewhere toward the end he'll insert some question pertaining to reality like, "Can I have some ginger ale with dinner?"
• On my way home from Grand Blanc one day, I decided to travel Dort Highway north. It was the middle of the day. What could we encounter?
• How about a dude walking drunkenly through heavy traffic? The police pulled up and tried to detain him. He fought the officer.
• The officer, as cool as a cucumber, with little effort of his own, casually grabs the guy's arm, turns his own arm an obviously well practiced way, and takes the guy to the ground as if this maneuver were as easy to him as breathing.
• I observed all of this sitting at a traffic light.
• We watched Gnomeo and Juliet. The kids liked it.
• The voice talent was entirely British. As I watched the deer character, I thought I heard the voice of Ozzy Osbourne. I thought to myself, "No. It can't be. This is a Disney movie, and there are lots of British accents. There are probably thousands of British people that sound exactly like Ozzy. This is likely some dude I've never heard of." It ended up being Ozzy. I have a well tuned Ozzy ear apparently.
• We were in Borders book store last Friday. It was actually hopping with an open mic night. Even the employees were commenting on how busy they were.
• Minding my own business, two men walked up and stood about two feet from me arguing about politics. Without warning, the younger man shouts a reply that includes the N-word.
• Most people wouldn't call me quick to anger, but few things anger me more quickly than racism. The men were walking away at this point, and I very intently walked the opposite direction with many angry words boiling in my brain.
• I circled back around as a young lady was confronting the younger man about what he had just done. Another group of young ladies was standing closer to me openly making fun of the guy.
• Two minutes later I noticed that there were two transvestites in the store too. It actually made me happier to see them so comfortable. I'm often drawn to those that many would consider misfits.
• I watched a Presidential Candidate Debate recently. It doesn't matter which side it was for. Some of the questions seemed so pointless.
• "Do you consider yourself pro-life?" In this day and age, I feel this is a pointless question for many reasons especially when you consider which party the debate was for.
• They also asked, "Should the child of illegal immigrants receive emergency medical treatment without holding insurance?" This was a much better, much more telling question.
• To me, this question gets to the heart of the matter much more quickly. Or maybe a better way of putting it is, it tells us if there is a heart to begin with much more quickly.
• With the first question they're trying to point out that they have a connection to God or their perceived "Christian values." The problem is, with the second question, they often miss what should be the same connection.
• So often in politics things get turned into political jargon. The arguments start by discussing budgets, policies, and money instead of people and humanity.
• If a child is left to suffer in any way, the next question needs to be, "What happened to your heart?" Or maybe, "Do you think God, Christ, would let any child suffer if treatment was available?" Or perhaps, "What difference does age make when we're talking about humane treatment?"
• Another thing bothering me in the world of politics: all the talk about (from both sides) valuing small business. Don't get me wrong, I believe we need tons of small businesses to keep the economy going. I just get the impression that politicians are trying to sell small business as the answer for getting Americans back to work.
• Every small business job I've ever held only paid minimum wage and had zero chance at any benefits. This might help put money in our pockets, but it's a far cry from rebuilding the middle class. My personal opinion is that this strategy would only serve to increase the number of people working in the lowest paying professions instead of empowering more people to achieve more.

Where is our Joy?

I don't like to stereotype, and I don't want anything in the following post to sound racist toward any group including the group I would easily be lumped into…

For Memorial Day, we traveled to Port Huron. We found a city park with a large playground for the kids, picnic areas, plenty of shade, and a large beach. I enjoy our Great Lakes. Lake Huron is only an hour’s drive away. Something about the water, the sand, and the soft grass feeds my soul.

The park showcased the melting pot that our country embodies. It was fun to family watch. This is the soil where my form of patriotism grows, in our open arms, in our diversity, and in our families.

A large latino family claimed a large, sunny chunk of the park to play soccer. They were having so much fun. They kept shouting, "Goal!"

I worried a bit about my kids wanting to join in. Then I realized that I might want to join in.

A large arabic family played very interesting music. The young women all joined hands and danced for a short time. My son, Gage thought that was cool. I couldn't help but think about how that embodied freedom and comfort - to dance in public like that in a setting that isn't known for dancing.

As a large Indian family walked in, I noticed that the men were pushing the baby strollers. At first I thought there were no women in the group. They trailed behind a few minutes later. As the day went on, it was obvious that the men were the main caretakers for the kids.

There were other large family groups around us that weren't just speaking English. I couldn't identify them all, but they had one thing in common, they were large families. There were many interracial families too.

In contrast, most of the caucasian-only families were small (4 to 5), a mother, a father, and 2.5 kids. Most of the non-caucasian families numbered 10 to 15+ with people from multiple generations. I'm guessing that they contained great grandchildren all the way through great grandparents.

It had me wondering… and maybe it’s just my family, but why don’t we get together in such large, extended family groups anymore? We did when we were kids.

Maybe I’m generalizing too much. It was only one day at one park, and it was a holiday. But I still wonder, why don’t we value the same things? I mean, here were multiple cultures all with obvious, strong family ties, except for one.

And where is our joy? We don’t dance in the park. We don’t stake out large sections of a park to play games together. We rarely see one another anymore. If it happens once a year, we’re satisfied. Or are we?

Humbling Lessons

It was probably about four or five years ago that I decided I needed to be more actively helping people. That's when I started organizing street clean ups, diaper drives, donating to shelters. I wasn't doing this to impress God. I was doing it to know God better. If you want to see God, you find him in other people (my opinion).

For about a month, I'd get up and pray, "Lord, give me someone to help today." I'd go through my day, and people would literally show up at my desk asking for help. I WOULD TOTALLY MISS IT! They would actually use the word 'help,' and I would let it go over my head. I'd kick myself later on as the irony set in. People would say they needed help with work or with some home repair I was actually good at. Because I was looking for something grand, I'd overlook these little opportunities to be a good friend. It only made me more determined. I was going to help someone.

One morning, I prayed the prayer. I was alert all day. Nothing. It was freezing cold outside and sleeting as I left work.

I worked in downtown Flint at the time. It's a classic "downtown" with a main strip of older buildings, a few really tall ones. There are two busy times for Flint, the 8 a.m. influx and the 5 p.m. mass exodus. Traffic leaving the area is thick and cranky. 95% of people leave that area at 5 p.m. It's a ghost town after that. Most businesses, including restuarants and shops lock up shop at this time.

I was nearly to the freeway and freedom for the day. I passed a car that was stalled in the middle of the afternoon mess. It took me a few seconds, but I realized, here was a person in need. I turned around. Parked. Ran out into the traffic to see if I could help push.

It ended up being a young couple around 18 years old. The male was pushing. The female was steering. They had run out of gas.

At first the kid seemed surprised that I'd help. We had about a block to go before the gas station. Did I mention it was sleeting? Cars were honking at us. We were in the way of wall-to-wall traffic.

He started apologizing. He started degrading his girlfriend. It was all her fault. They had stopped at a friend's house for a quick exchange of some sort. They knew they were low on gas. He had told her to turn the car off and stay put. It took longer than expected, and when he came out, she had been circling the neighborhood. He started referring to her as "the dumb bitch." He continued to elaborate on his opinion of her and women in general. It wasn't pretty.

I tried to remind him that, if they were together, he must have some feelings for her. She must have some value. We all make mistakes. I shared that I have ran out of gas in the past.

He gave me a look like I was the dumbest person on earth.

There was a few minutes of silence after that.

As we pushed the car into the gas station, he turned away from me acting like I had never even been there. I told him to have a good day. He acknowledged me with a quick sneer, but didn't even say thanks. Apparently I was a fool for helping and a fool for thinking his girlfriend was anyone important.

I went home feeling like crap. On top of that, I got very sick the next day. I even had to miss work.

For weeks I thought about how crappy the experience had been. I had helped someone. It would have taken him much longer to push that car by himself. But it hadn't been a positive experience for either of us.

As time passed, I think I got the lesson. I can want to help people. I can even actually help them, but it doesn't mean they'll appreciate it. Does that mean I quit? I don't think that was the lesson. I think the lesson was to just reign in my expectations. Be realistic. Remember the type of world we live in. A good friend pointed out, perhaps the kid was just embarrassed. Perhaps my words even made him realize that it wasn't cool to bash someone he's supposed to love.

Others have pointed out, maybe I really helped the girl steering.

Or, perhaps it was totally pointless. I have to be willing to accept that because sometimes it might be pointless.

If I'm only helping others to make myself feel good, then my motivations are wrong. If I'm helping just to be a help, it shouldn't matter how I feel afterward or how they respond. I shouldn't be looking for a response.

Violence, Justice, Wrestling…

In the weeks that followed September 11th, 2001, many words escaped my lips that, even then, felt like they were being spoken by some anti-Brian. The words didn't feel like me. Other people told me as much back then.

I had been married for less than a year. Life was good for me. Planes crashing into buildings, that shook my world view, and I didn't like it. It opened my eyes to things I wanted to ignore. It opened up a reality I wanted to deny. I wasn't as safe as I had once thought. Fear, though certainly no stranger in life back then, seemed to grow legs in those days. I was sad too, but that wasn't as transformative.

Hitting that wall of reality made my tongue wag. I wanted justice. I wanted revenge. I wanted violence. I wanted blood. The words that escaped my tongue felt both wrong and right back then. They only feel wrong now. I feel too much shame to share them with you today.

The death of Osama Bin Laden should be something we all contemplate. This is a case where my faith butts heads with my patriotism. It's hard not to see the death of a violent person as a victory when he's caused you sadness and fear, but it's also hard to forget the lessons I've picked up on since then. Death removes the possibility of redemption as we know it.

Using violence to solve problems is easy, but I believe it costs us part of our souls. It's harder to avoid violence if it costs us our lives. So the question may be, what's more important our lives or our souls? Would we rather be a King Jr. or a Bin Laden?

My heart has changed. I feel now that my words were likely very similar to the words of those I sought to harm. I had become no different than my perceived enemy. They were killers, so I wanted them killed, making me a killer.

Justice is a tricky subject. It may sound cliche to say that only God knows the whole story, but I believe it. Even when someone is clearly committing acts of evil, we never know what every motivation might be. We think we do. Maybe there is no justification for evil, but maybe it's not right for us to judge anyway. Over and over again in scripture, God reminds us to be merciful.

I was a fairly new Christian back in 2011. I hadn't chased God much. There's been a lot of pursuit since then. Today, I can't see God being happy with further bloodshed. I can't imagine Jesus approving the outcome or methods. I don't think he wanted us to pray for enemies as we planned to shoot them in the head. It's hard to make a bullet loving.

I also became a father since 2001. My concept of love has grown in ways I can't put into words. If I love my kids so much that nothing they could ever do would take that love away, how much more does God love us? If God loves me, doesn't he love everyone, including terrorists?

If I find fault in a man because he caused so much death, how can I find comfort in even more death? To me, yesterday's death was just one more ugly event in a cycle of ugly events. I doubt the cycle has ended.

This world, this savage garden, it seems it will always leave me shaking my head in disgust, not just for the actions of others, but for the yearnings of my own heart. I thank God my heart is less stony today. I pray it's even less stony tomorrow.