On The Divine

Last night my youngest son prayed before bed:

Dear God,
Thank you for the bad word
Thank you for (my brother’s) bed
Thank you for the things under (my brother’s) bed
Thank you for Grandma and Grandpa and keep them at the beach.
Amen

Explanation:

Thank you for the bad word
My boys would not stop calling each other “Bobby Head”, so I finally put a stop to it and told them it was a bad word, so now they call each other “bad word”, which sounds much worse than just saying “Bobby Head”. Apparently it has even made it’s way into their prayers.

Thank you for (my brother’s) bed
He usually sleeps in his brother’s bed, so he’s thankful.

Thank you for the things under (my brother’s) bed
It’s a bunk bed, and he likes the wood planks under the bed.

Thank for Grandma and Grandpa and keep them at the beach.
His older brother always prays for Grandma and Grandpa, and he always prays that when God “makes lobsters and crabs, keep them at the beach.” The two-year-old puts those two prayers together into one great prayer.

The Olympics are over, so I can stop caring about boring sporting events, such as swimming. Michael Phelps won eight gold medals. That’s impressive, but they were all for swimming. Not one of those medals was for something other than swimming. Imagine if the beach volleyball players had the chance to win 8 medals, depending on various factors. Such events might include fire volleyball, beach volleyball with finer beach sand, barefoot volleyball, only 2 hits per side volleyball, slightly taller net volleyball, hot sand volleyball, quick change of clothes volleyball and relay volleyball. There were so many opportunities for Phelps to win gold, and he didn’t even swim in the other 762 swimming events.

My uncle thinks synchronized events should not be in the Olympics. I would argue that only synchronized events should be in the Olympics. If it can’t be synchronized, then it’s usually not worth watching. I had the pleasure of viewing a few synchronized swimming events on prime time. Not only do they swim upside-down, they do crazy tricks and smile the entire time. Try that, Michael Phelps.

Was I the only American rooting for Hungary to beat the Americans in water polo? Was I the only American watching water polo? It’s Hungary’s national sport, according the the announcer. Let them have the gold. I thought it was just a game kids played in the community pool. I was surprised to see water polo a legitimate Olympic sport. Is Marco Polo an Olympic sport, too? I imagine the water polo team to be the guys who didn’t quite make the cut for football, so they collectively said, “let’s put on ear muffs and speedos and play soccer in the pool, but use our hands.”

I somehow missed the event where they throw up a ribbon, do a few break dance moves, and catch the ribbon. That might be my all time favorite Olympic event. Make that a synchronized event and the International Olympics Committee would win the gold…in my heart. Now that I think of it, what happened to the other 4,000 events? During prime time, NBC just showed beach volleyball, swimming, running and swimming.

Now please excuse me while I become a facebook fan of Phelps.

I’ve always had great sensitivities toward how others feel in the same environment as me. Whenever I’m at a party, which is never, I tend to focus on the person who doesn’t know too many others and imagine how they feel. I should say how I walk over to them and spark up a conversation, but since social situations make me hyperventilate, I just feel sorry for them and hope someone else makes them feel more comfortable. I’m a real jerk like that.

At church I wonder how awkward certain situations can be for those not used to them. I’ve been going to church all of my life, and I still get uncomfortable. We’ve been attending our church for only a few weeks since we’ve moved, but already I’ve felt odd when the associate pastor asked everyone to hold their bibles above their head and pray, like it’s some kind of channeling tool to reach God. I’ve always thought of the bible as the words inside to be what it’s all about, but the actual tangible book is just a book. When it’s old and stained it’s okay to throw it away and buy a new bible. It’s not voodoo - the actual book does not contain the holy spirit. I don’t think. And so I felt awkward. My wife and I just stood there and felt even more awkward when we didn’t participate in the bible raising. It’s only one associate pastor, so we can live with feeling awkward one every 6 or 7 weeks.

Imagine how it felt for my friends to come to Catholic church with me when I was a kid. At any given time we would stand up, shake ten people’s hands while wishing them peace, make some odd gestures with our thumbs, talk about lambs in unison, and listen to the shortest message ever that was usually not even audibly understandable in the tall cathedral full of cruel images in stained glass. Now that’s an hour full of awkwardness for them, but for me it was a normal Sunday. When I was 12 my family went to a friend’s church in the middle of Nebraska. It was 3 long hours full of speaking in tongues with no translation. Do you think growing up Catholic I had ever heard of speaking in tongues? If you answered “no”, move ahead three spaces. I was nervous and fully prepared for any venom drinking or fire walking, but luckily it was just speaking in tongues.

I brought a coworker to church recently. Someone who hadn’t been to church since they were young. She had bad experiences with church and had no desire to return, but agreed after the 100th time I asked. She was surprised by everything. She told me she didn’t feel out of place, and her kids loved the classes. The most important thing for a church to do is make someone feel welcome. Make them feel like they’ve been going there a while - none of this “stand up if you’re new” stuff I’ve heard about but luckily have never experienced. I, of course, probably won’t walk up to anyone new and introduce myself, so everyone else needs to step it up a little. Verbal communication is not my strong suite. I’m a real jerk like that. Okay, okay! I’m feeling convicted (that’s Christian for, “I’m feeling guilty). I’ll try harder.

There are many thing that make a blog successful, and I do none of them. I’d like to increase my readership by fixing my problems…PROBLEM: I jump around from topic to topic, from The Biggest Cross not in Texas to Things I’ve Never Done That Start With The Letter K.
SOLUTION: Focus on one topic, like everyday living as a Christian in a Philadelphia suburb, or bologna gravy. Two people (or one person twice) found my blog by searching for “bologna gravy”. I’ve never heard of bologna gravy, but apparently something led them here. If I dedicated my blog to bologna gravy, I’d most likely corner the bologna gravy blog market.

PROBLEM: I close people out with humor so dry 100% of readers who are not me are completely lost.
SOLUTION: Make my humor more understandable. Every time I think something is funny, I’ll ask myself, “would the studio audience of ‘Everybody Loves Raymond’ laugh at this joke?”. If not, delete and try again.

PROBLEM: One friend always leaves comments that I have poor grammar. I have to assume he’s right because he’s doesn’t provide further information.
SOLUTION: Send this friend offering of fine meats and cheeses in exchange for specific examples of my poor grammar.

PROBLEM: The few people who commit to reading my blogs never leave comments because they are above leaving comments on blogs, therefor I simply don’t have comments to generate other comments. The only exception are atheists who find THIS post and tell me their thoughts.
SOLUTIONS: Tell my friends if they don’t leave comments, I will no longer laugh at their stupid jokes OR write more posts that generate atheists.

PROBLEM: I haven’t written for over a month. It makes it seam like I just don’t care, but I do care. After 45 hours of staring at a computer screen, I simply get sick of it (TV is exempt, of course).
SOLUTION: Instead of playing with my kids and talking to my wife, stick to writing. Insist this is more important than family.

PROBLEM: This blog is another example of how I am not focusing on a specific topic.
SOLUTION: No known solution.

PROBLEM: I write about my friends. Readers don’t care about my friends. It doesn’t relate to them.
SOLUTION: This is tricky, because I really don’t have very many friends. Honestly, every time I refer to a friend it’s usually one of three people, none who live in the same city as me. Take pity on me, I’m not the popular kid you might have come to know.

Despite my hiatus, I still generate a few readers a day. I’d like to increase that number by living by the solutions above. This post isn’t really for anyone to read, it’s my personal manifesto to be a better writer. This brings me to my final problem/solution:

PROBLEM: I write for my own sake.
SOLUTION: Don’t, dummy.

We’ve successfully moved from Carlisle, PA to Lansdale, PA…or maybe Upper Gwynedd, PA. We’ve received conflicting information to exactly where we live, so we’ll have to contact the post office. I hope it’s Lansdale because it’s sounds more pleasant. Two days ago we crammed a moving truck full of our junk, drove two hours, and unpacked. That was the hardest work I’ve done in my life. By the time the last piece of furniture was in the house I was absolutely exhausted. I was so dehydrated I think I only peed once all day.

We now live in a spacious 3 bedroom apartment. It’s very quiet and clean and I’m enjoying central air - an amenity I’ve never experienced in a home before. We first heard about this place when we were looking at another apartment and the girl who worked there told us to check out this place if we wanted something with more space. If it wasn’t for her, we’d be living in an apartment much smaller for the same price. I’m still confused why she sent us away. Maybe she didn’t like us, or maybe she liked us enough to send us someplace else. Either way, we’re happy here so far. Boxes still litter our house. I imagine it might take weeks to fully unload the boxes, especially since I start work tomorrow, leaving Michelle with two boys and a messy house for the majority of the day. I not going to really feel at home until the house back home sells (see how I wrote “back home”? That’s what I’m talking about).

We’ve been driving around figuring out where the parks, restaurants, grocery stores, cheapest gas, day cares, libraries, and other points of interest are in Lansdale, Upper Gwynedd, North Wales, Montgomery, whatever. I’m still use to Colorado where cities are bigger. Here every two blocks is considered a different city or town, which means there are “city parks” everywhere. Everything runs together into one giant outer suburb of Philadelphia. The Septa train runs close to here, yet I feel so far away from the city. I noticed there are quite a few Indian restaurants around here, which is great news for when/if my wife and I will ever be able to get away from the kids for an evening. There is also a giant International foods grocery store, which we visited today. “International” apparently means oriental food with one Mexican isle. I was surprised the majority of the customers where not white - probably more than 90% were Asian. There were foods I’ve never seen before in my life. The seafood area had live blue crab, eels, and cod, along with frozen whole squid, baby octopus and other squidish sea creatures. We purchased some dumplings, tofu, sesame snacks, and pea pod crunchy things. They had a food court area where we were the only white people there. I knew then it had to be good authentic food. I ate beef udon with a side of some crunchy spicy root thing and some pickled somethings. The boys were less impressed. I told my wife every Saturday from now on I’m going to eat there by myself. She said that was fine as long as when I get back she gets to go to the fitness center by herself. These are the kinds of deals you make when you’ve been married (nearly) ten years.

I quit my job at a small company of 5 or 6 full time employees and am starting a job at a large company with who-knows-how-many employees. Everything is so official, from the drug testing to the full day of orientation I have to endure tomorrow. I’ve never had a full day of orientation before. It’s always been, “There’s your computer. There’s the bathroom. Ok, get to work.” Now I have a badge with my photo and if my computer breaks, I just page someone to fix it for me. Both situations have obvious perks. I’m just looking forward to getting settled in and knowing what to do. I’m looking forward to a month from now. I’ll be moved in and know more what I’m suppose to be doing at work. I’m excited and anxious about this new adventure in Lansdale (or Upper Gwynedd).

When checking out at Walmart, the lady put a single item in a bag. “oh, I don’t need a bag, ” my wife said. The lady took the item out and threw away the bag. From the lady’s perspective, my wife just didn’t want to hassle with a bag, but my wife was trying to do her part in making this earth a better place to live by consuming less.

On my bicycle ride to work, I carefully inspect the driver of every car that passes me and assess whether they are physically able to get to work by another means other than a car, truck, or minivan. The answer is usually yes, because I live in Central Pennsylvania. Chances are if you’re on a bicycle, it’s because you’ve had a DUI and lost your driver’s license. This is meat and potato country. Well, maybe bologna, gravy fries and scrapple country. People smoke cigarettes here like it’s 1987. I set up a recycling bin at my work, but I still pull bottles and cans out of co-workers trash. Realtors drive hummers to promote business. You get the point. Sure there are still “green” people here that take care of their bodies and the environment, but it’s a far cry from my home state of Colorado.

I’m not implying I am the perfect person. We’re a two-car family. I own a gas lawn mower. Last year I put fertilizer on my grass. I’ve even thrown a penny away (my wife yelled and me and set me straight on this one). But I’ve been feeling the pressure to take care of the earth lately. I’m not exactly sure what triggered it, but the amount of trash our family throws away every week astonishes me. Everywhere I look people are consuming more and more and taking care of the earth less and less. I’ve overheard two people in the last month bluntly say, “I don’t recycle” like it was part of their manifesto.

God gave us this earth and we should treat it right. Recycle, pick up trash on the sidewalk, ride your bike to work, be aware of the packaging on your foods, use freecycle instead of throwing things away, use a reel mower. Just do what you can to heal our earth.

Wine festivals are better than beer festivals for three or four main reasons:

1. When people drink too much wine at a winefest, they find a spot on the grass and sleep. When people drink too much beer at a beerfest, they climb telephone poles and insult those below.

2. Attractive, well dressed people go to winefests. Even the old people are attractive. No guys with braids, no Marilyn Manson t-shirts, no fat moms with sandals.

3. People don’t cut in front of others. Wine is a mellow drug. It’s all about the love at winefests.

4. No reggae music. Reggae music has it’s place, and that place is Jamaica. I’m kidding. I’m a fan of Peter Tosh and some Bob Marley, I just don’t want to see four stoned white guys playing bongos.

Jesus: Take this and divide it among you. For I tell you I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes…yes Simon?

Peter: Do you have any grape juice? I’m not really a wine drinker.*

“I didn’t do a very good job raising my kids,” my mom somewhat jokingly told me on the phone in reference to her three children. My sister got a bottle of wine for Christmas, my brother had purchased a beer while visiting, and I, apparently the worst of all, brew my own beer. If my mom did a better job raising us we would not let a drop of alcohol touch our tongue. Except of course for communion in the Catholic Church. I never drank the wine anyway because of germs. A little swipe of a rag isn’t going to get all the germs off of the lip of the cup. I imagined all the viruses and mustache whiskers I’d be drinking. Body? yes. Blood? no thanks.

When I first attended a protestant church I was surprised they used grape juice in place of wine, though the bible says many great things about wine. Coffee—no problem. Lets drug up the congregation with caffeine, but thou shalt sip a 1/2 ounce of wine. So grape juice it is. Remember when Jesus turned water into grape juice? What a great first miracle. Even the wedding planner (or “governor of the feast” as he liked to be called) was impressed that the good grape juice was saved to the end. And the time when he told His disciples to pass around and drink the grape juice? What a great bible moment. At the very least, when churches have communion, or break bread, or share the elements, or whatever, the option of wine or grape juice should be offered. While I’m at it, the bread should be bread, not oyster crackers.

I imagine God doesn’t care if we have grape juice, wine, or a grape spritzer. God is more interested in our hearts than having an entire congregation sit the same direction with little plastic cups and octogonal soup and oyster crackers. I simply don’t understand why we feel the need to change it to grape juice. Drinking wine or beer shouldn’t be associated with evil, but the excess in which it is often drank should be the issue (Although macrobrews such as Budweiser and Coors are definitely the devil’s drink no matter how much is consumed).

*not actually from the bible. I am afraid if I don’t write this disclaimer I might be smoten.

When I was young I got along with everyone. I was too shy to cause any commotion. I went through elementary, middle and high school without being noticed by too many people other than my friends. A few people didn’t like me, but I think that was more based on bullies needing someone vulnerable to pick on rather than something I personally did to them. All in all I stayed out of trouble. That is until 8th grade.

I had grown tired of one of my friends of a couple years. This stemmed from, I believe, video games. I wanted to play outside and he wanted to play video games. That’s how I remember it, anyway. And so I decided I didn’t want to be friends with him anymore. Just like that. The camping trips we went on, the games we played, all the things we used to do together I didn’t want anymore. He rode his bike to my house and asked me to be his friend again, and I said no. He told me he would play outside and do the things I wanted to do, but I still said no. And so time had past and one day he passed me in the hallway and flipped me off. I followed him to the bicycle rack and pushed him around. He clocked me with his backpack. A friend of mine started pushing him so I backed off and walked away. Moments later I was sitting in the Vice Principal’s office. My friend and I got two days suspension. Although that is a very short version of the full details, it’s the basics. This was 18 years ago, so I might have missed some things.

A year or two later I felt bad about my behavior and knew it was not the person I wanted to be. I had treated my friend like dirt. Just recently I tried to locate him using the internet, but couldn’t find him. I knew if I really had guts I’d find his parents and ask them for his number, but I never did. About a month ago I successfully located him and wrote him an email apologizing for my actions. I knew I had to let him know I regretted what I had done. I had no idea how or if he would respond. A week had gone by when I received his email. He thanked me for my apology and went on to explain how experiences such as these helped him deal with different situations and people during his life. He wrote about his life and his family. I felt like an 18-year-old wound had healed.

Someone got in my car and took some stuff Sunday night. It was parked in our backyard next to the garage. My co-workers say it’s my fault for not locking my car door. It’s a crazy world when we are blamed for not protecting ourselves enough.

Here is the rundown of how I found out:

I play disc golf. It’s a great game. If you’ve never heard of it, look it up. This last Monday morning my wife found one of my discs in the neighbor’s front yard. No one in my family knew how it got there. My wife then mentioned she had picked up all my frisbee discs that were laying all around the car. That didn’t make sense because they were all in my disc golf bag and now they were scattered in the car with one in the neighbors yard. I searched the car, but didn’t find my bag. I was trying hard to figure out what was going on and my wife just thought there was some basic explanation. That is, until, she asked me what I did with the CDs in the car.

So, basically, someone got in our car, dumped the frisbee discs and took my disc golf bag and a stack of CDs. The bag is old and the CDs are all backed up on my computer, so it’s not really a big deal, it just bothers me that someone was in my car on my property. I’m sure they are enjoying all the wonderful CHILDREN’S MUSIC! The only thing I wish I could have back is the tag hanging from the bag that belongs to the local disc golf association displaying my rank number. I don’t want to tell the disc golf club that I don’t have their nice looking tag anymore. They probably won’t believe someone would take a cheap bag, but leave all my discs worth over $100. Maybe it’s some elaborate prank—no, my friends aren’t that smart (one friend never heard of a turducken before today).*

My wife called the police to file a report. I was surprised they sent someone to our house for such a small theft. On the verge of tears, my 3 year old son looked up at the police officer and said, “Will you look really hard for my silly songs?” He said he would, but said he might not be able to find them.

* My friends really are smart. If you have never heard of a turducken, it’s okay. After taking an office poll, I realized turducken isn’t as common as I had thought. Please look it up after you look up disc golf. Now, friends, please return my disc bag and CDs if you have them.